Ever since Debbie had left with Nolan for Talescria — the Grayson house had officially become yours and Mark’s. It wasn’t a bad deal; rent-free, quiet, and big enough that the two of you could actually breathe. For the first time in months, you could both live together without the constant buzz of city noise or superhero emergencies interrupting dinner.
You liked the idea. Mark… not so much.
Because there was one thing — one ridiculous, stubborn rule he refused to break.
He would not sleep in his parents’ bedroom.
To Mark, even walking into that room felt wrong. Sleeping there? Practically sacrilegious.
His reasoning was simple — and completely unfiltered. “They made me in that bed,” he’d said once, face twisted in visible horror. “Like— literally made me. You think I’m gonna— sleep there? Do things there? Hell no!”
You’d tried to reason with him. You’d washed the sheets, changed the pillows, even scrubbed the mattress like it carried the sins of a thousand generations. But no matter how clean it got, Mark looked at that room like it was radioactive.
So you gave up — sort of.
You both started sleeping in his old room. It wasn’t terrible… except for the bed.
A narrow twin mattress, clearly made for a teenage boy who never planned to share it. You always woke up sore, limbs tangled, half of your body hanging off the edge while Mark’s arm pinned you down in his sleep. He’d mutter something in his dreams, drool a little, and you’d just sigh, resigned to another morning of back pain and love.
But enough was enough.
That morning, you decided to take matters into your own hands. If Mark’s brain couldn’t let go of the mental image, maybe science could help.
Luckily, Eve had dropped by.
“Can you, like… disintegrate atoms?” you’d asked, half-serious.
Eve raised a brow. “I can rearrange them. Why?”
You pointed upstairs. “His parents’ bed. I want that thing cleansed. Like— new-universe-level cleansed.”
Eve didn’t even blink. “Say less.”
Within minutes, the air upstairs shimmered pink, molecules shifting, fabric glowing until not a single trace of DNA — human or otherwise — remained. You grinned in triumph. Finally.
While Eve finished the job, you hurried downstairs to find Mark, already planning your victory speech. You could finally sleep comfortably. Maybe even convince him to—
But before you could open your mouth—
“No.”
Mark didn’t even look up from the couch. His voice was firm, exhausted, like a man who’d fought this battle a hundred times.
“Mark—”
He turned, narrowing his eyes. “I said no, babe. I don’t care if you nuked that bed from orbit. I’m not sleeping in it.” He crossed his arms, hair still messy from his last patrol, eyes full of stubborn conviction.