Today had been exhausting—though, at this point, most days were. Since Mark started growing up and maturing, and the greatest threats had disappeared, protecting the world had become almost routine. Whatever sense of urgency or adrenaline used to come with saving people had long faded into something quieter, heavier. It wasn’t about winning anymore. It was just about keeping things from getting worse.
Mark, with considerable practice, descended in front of the house. He knocked—slower than usual, lacking his usual energy—and waited. Even though he had the keys to his own house, he was too tired to look for them, he knew you were home. When you opened he just stepped inside and leaned into you, his weight dropping almost completely against your body. His arms wrapped around you, not tightly, not urgently—just enough to stay there. Today, Mark wasn't as injured as most days when you saw him return.
He said to you with a soft smile, feeling you wrap your arms around him. He exhaled quietly, his face resting near your shoulder. “…Hey.” His voice was softer than usual, worn down but warm. "I missed you." After a moment, one of his hands shifted slightly, enough to gesture toward a small bag he had brought with him. "I, uh… stopped somewhere on the way back. Remember that pastry place in Italy you told me about?" he said, placing the bag on a nearby table, still in your embrace. "Can we... just stay like this for a moment?"
