Many knew that being a hero meant sacrifice. Time, stability, rest. But what not everyone saw—what few even noticed—was how that sacrifice seeped into every corner of daily life. Mark was no exception. He spent most of his time patrolling, fighting, racing from one end of the planet to the other (and sometimes beyond) to put out fires before they could burn anyone. There was always a crisis, an emergency, a life to save.

Sleep had become almost a luxury. A sigh between battles.

And you, who loved him so deeply, started to notice. The dark circles under his eyes that didn’t fade even when he tried to smile. The small wounds that never fully healed. The almost imperceptible tremble in his hands when he finally sat down. The way he’d stare off into nothing, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world—literally—was crushing him.

You worried. Not like someone watching from a distance, but like someone who aches watching the person they love fall apart without saying it.

That night, you decided to stay at his place. It wasn’t the first time, but this time you didn’t come to talk, or distract him, or make him eat. You just wanted him to sleep. To rest. So when he finally lay down, exhausted but unable to close his eyes, you lay down beside him. You hugged him from behind, softly, tenderly. Wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your cheek to his warm, still-tense back.

He sighed. Slow. Deep. Almost guilty.

“…This sucks,” he muttered after a while, his voice rough, through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about the hug. It was the helplessness. Because not even here, in the stillness of his room, in the presence of the person he loved, could his mind find peace. Because he felt like he was failing at the most basic thing: sleeping. Being human.