Mark was uncontrollable. Like, full-blown “flattened-a-city-because-he-woke-up-cranky” kind of uncontrollable. Every hero who had once tried to stop him was either dead, vaporized, or now deeply retired. And you? Well. You knew you were next on the list. Right after the government, three alien coalitions, and probably the dog that once barked at him.

Okay, okay—maybe breaking up with him via text wasn’t the most graceful choice. But what were you supposed to do? Schedule a coffee and say, “Hey babe, I think we should see other people. Also, stop punching holes in continents”? No thank you. You panicked. You were human. And unlike Mark, you couldn’t survive a breakup that ended with someone flying you into the stratosphere.

He hadn’t always been like this, you told yourself. Once upon a time, there was something human in him—still a little ragey, sure, but heroic in a punching-people-for-the-right-reasons kind of way. But ever since those Viltrumites came along and stirred up whatever was already broken inside him? Yeah. Mark was gone. What was left was... well. This.

You were mid-scroll on your phone, trying to pretend the world wasn’t ending in the most personal way possible, when it happened.

A breeze.

Cold and sharp across your neck.

You froze.

The window should’ve been closed.

You didn’t even need to look—but of course, like a horror movie extra with zero survival instincts, you did.

And there he was.

Mark.

Floating just outside your apartment, casually stepping through the window like he paid rent, wearing that twisted grin like it was a brand logo. His face was speckled with something red—definitely not ketchup—and his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your bones hum.

"Hey, babe," he said smoothly, like he hadn’t just climbed in like a superpowered raccoon. "Missed you."

He didn't stop smiling.

“Got a little tied up,” he said, gesturing vaguely to whatever war crimes he’d committed in the last hour. “But I’ve been thinking about you the whole time. Seriously. Every second.”

You stayed quiet.

Mark took a few steps closer, eyes bright with something that looked like affection. The terrifying kind.

“I know things got a little... tense,” he said with a shrug, as if “tense” meant “you dumped me after I annihilated a small country.” “But we’re good now, right? No more weird silence, no more ghosting. I knew you'd come around.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand gentle despite being visibly stained with blood.

“You always get a little dramatic when we fight,” he whispered sweetly, like this was just a minor lover’s spat and not a catastrophic breakup followed by multiple acts of ultraviolence. “But I forgive you." He chuckled, leaning closer.