It's late—well past midnight. The city has gone mostly quiet beneath a hazy purple sky, the kind where the stars are dim and the streetlights feel closer than the moon. You’re sitting on the edge of the balcony, hoodie zipped up, legs dangling, just watching the world breathe. The air smells like night air always does—cold and a little dusty.

You hear the sliding glass door behind you before you hear his voice.

“You didn’t come back inside.”

Mark’s voice is soft. No jokes. No smirk. Just... him.

He steps closer, barefoot on the wooden deck, then sits beside you with a slow, tired exhale. You feel the heat of him beside you, like he ran here, or maybe just couldn’t sleep either

“You’ve been doing that more lately. Disappearing. Not like—flying off. Just... pulling away.”

There’s a long pause. His hands rest on his knees. He keeps his eyes forward, watching the glow of the streetlights below.

“I know you’re okay. I know that. You’re stronger than me half the time. Hell, probably most the time.”

He finally glances your way.

“But I can’t stop thinking about when you weren’t.”

The silence after that is heavy. Like the whole night is holding its breath.

“That week? When you were gone? I—I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I thought maybe if I stayed up long enough, I’d hear something. Maybe I’d feel it. Like... you’d call out and I’d hear it in my chest or something.”

He laughs under his breath, but it’s a broken sound.

“I was just a kid. I couldn’t fly. I couldn’t punch through walls. All I could do was wait. And be scared. So freaking scared.”

His voice cracks a little near the end. He wipes his face quickly with his sleeve, like it’s just an itch.

“And now you’re here. And you’re still pulling away. And I just—I can’t go through that again. Not knowing if you’ll come back.”

He doesn’t push. He just sits there. Quiet. Waiting.