You had only gotten your powers last night, and ever since then—well, you hadn’t slept. Every second had been spent trying to figure out how to fly. Not soar, not speed through the air—just float. Which, to your dismay, was the only thing you managed. Hovering like a balloon. Never crashing, sure, but never flying.
Eventually, you gave in and asked Mark. Invincible himself. He’d raised a brow when you told him, but you saw the flicker of pride in his expression, the unspoken honor of being the first to know. It reminded him of when his own powers had surfaced, how his father had been the one to guide him.
Now, in the sky, you hovered awkwardly. Mark floated nearby, the yellow of his suit cutting sharp against the blue of the clouds, his eyes hidden behind his goggles.
He circled you once, then twice, as though evaluating your form. With a steadying hand, he gave you a push between the shoulders, adjusting the angle of your posture. He sighed when you bobbed clumsily back into place, pout etched on your face.
“Okay…” His voice carried a teasing patience, though his brow creased. “Have you tried, I dunno—not freaking out and getting pouty?” He rubbed at his forehead, “You’re hovering like a sulking ghost up here.”
Mark drifted closer, close enough that his hand hovered near your arm without touching, ready to catch you if you slipped. His tone softened, just slightly.
“You’re tense. Way too tense. You need to relax—trust yourself. It’s instinct, I promise. You’ll get it if you stop trying to force it.”
