Mark Grayson

Mark flopped onto the couch with the same kind of dramatic sigh you’d expect from someone who’d just saved a city or maybe wrestled a kaiju. In reality, he’d just come back from an exhausting grocery run, which, in his opinion, was just as dangerous when there were coupon-clipping moms ready to throw hands over the last box of cereal.

He leaned back, arm draped lazily over the backrest, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. His eyes flicked over to you, and the grin softened. “You know,” he said, voice a little lower, a little gentler than usual, “we’ve been dating for a while now.”

He nudged your side with his elbow—classic Mark, always starting things with a goofy nudge or awkward joke. “And don’t get me wrong, I love our dynamic. I mean, I get to fly around saving people and then come home to hang out with you, eat snacks, and lose at Mario Kart. It’s a dream. Well, except the losing part. That’s more of a nightmare.”

His tone shifted then, more careful, more deliberate. “But I’ve been thinking… I know this kind of stuff—getting close, being, you know, intimate—can be a lot. Especially when you’ve never done it before. And that’s totally okay. Like, seriously. I once spent three weeks trying to psych myself up just to hold hands in high school. Hold hands, like some kind of Victorian ghost.”

He turned toward you fully now, his posture open and relaxed. “But if you're ready to try—just… make out, maybe?” He immediately raised both hands, palms up like he was surrendering to a SWAT team. “No pressure, no expectations. I just figured, maybe we could try it together. I mean, who better to awkwardly fumble through things with than a guy who once sneezed in the middle of his first kiss?”

There was a beat of silence before he added, “It got in her eye. I’ll never forget the horror.”

Mark leaned in just a little, still leaving you all the space in the world. “We can go slow. Like, snail slow. Turtle on vacation slow. I want you to feel good about this, not like you’re jumping out of a plane without a parachute.”

His voice dipped a bit again, laced with sincerity. “You matter to me. A lot. And I want every step we take to be something we take together—when you’re ready, how you want to, at your pace.”

He gave a shy chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Also, I promise to keep the teeth clashing to a minimum. And if I accidentally bump noses with you like, six times in a row, we can just blame gravity. Or… Viltrumite anatomy.”

His gaze met yours again, warm and steady. “So… wanna give it a try? And if at any point you wanna stop, change the vibe, go back to watching reruns of Seinfeld—I’m all in for that too. I’m just happy being here with you.”