Mark wasn’t the type to remember names. Or faces. People blurred together—civilians, coworkers, even other heroes. Their voices all sounded the same after a while: praise, fear, complaints, requests. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. Not enough to hold a permanent space in his mind.

But yours was different.

Your face stood out in the crowd like a photograph burned into film, impossible to forget. Your voice cut through the background noise like something meant just for him. And people noticed. How could they not?

Everyone had picked up on the way Mark changed around you. The usual cold, distant stare softened when you were near. His clipped, business-like tone turned quieter, almost careful. Like every word he spoke to you was weighed before it left his mouth, as if he was afraid of breaking something delicate. Even William, a childhood friend—if Mark could even call him that—had teased him about it more than once.

“Didn’t think you could look at someone like that,” William had said with a grin, after catching Mark watching you across a room once, gaze lingering too long to be casual.

At the moment, the two of you were on what could barely qualify as a date. Nothing grand. Just a simple, quiet night—somewhere away from flashing cameras, battle alerts, and the constant grind of responsibility. Something small but special. Intimate in a way Mark rarely allowed himself to experience.

The restaurant was dimly lit, tucked into a side street where no one would think to look for a superhero. You sat across from him, talking about something unimportant—movies, maybe, or how terrible the weather had been that week. And Mark? He sat there, more focused on the way your lips moved, the curve of your smile, the way you absentmindedly played with the edge of your napkin.

For once, he wasn’t thinking three steps ahead. He wasn’t scanning the room for exits. Wasn’t running through possible combat scenarios in his head. He was just… here. With you.

It unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Part of him wanted to pull back, to retreat into the emotional distance where it was safe. But another part—the part that stayed awake at night wondering what it would be like to have something real—wanted to let this moment stretch out as long as it could.

Your laugh caught him off guard, soft and genuine, and for the briefest second, Mark allowed himself to smile—really smile—in return.

And somewhere deep down, where he rarely let himself go, he realized: You were becoming the exception to every rule he’d built around his heart.