Mark Grayson was having a bad day.
It wasn't the worst one—no sudden alien invasions or apocalyptic storms—but it was still firmly in "this day sucks" territory.
His eggs had been cold, his hair wouldn't cooperate, and his history teacher had called on him even though he very clearly wasn't paying attention.
And then there was gym.
"Grayson, hustle up!" Coach barked.
Mark jogged over, chest already tight from the warm-up run. He wasn't out of shape—he worked out when he could—but today everything felt heavy. Slow.
It wasn't just his body.
It was the silence.
No powers. No flight. No nothing.
Sixteen years old, and he still couldn't fly. Still couldn't punch through a wall. Still couldn't do anything that would even remotely impress his dad.
And with every day that passed, it got harder to pretend he didn't care.
_ _ ♛ _ _
After school, he slumped onto the bus with his usual crew.
William dropped into the seat next to him, chattering about a movie he'd watched over the weekend. Something with talking bears and interdimensional portals.
"You'd love it," he said. "One of the bears throws a train at a kaiju."
"Sounds exhausting," Mark muttered.
"Sounds awesome," William corrected.
Eve was nearby, earbuds in, watching Mark with that look she gave him when he got too quiet.
"You good?"
Mark glanced at her. "Fine."
She didn't believe him. She never did. But she didn't push, either.
That's what Mark liked about her.
Most of the time.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Work was next.
The burger place was loud and greasy and always smelled like burned onions no matter how many times they cleaned the grill. But Mark liked it better than being home some days.
At least here, no one looked at him like they expected him to save the world.
"Grayson!" Todd shouted from the back. "Register's jammed again."
Mark grabbed his apron and headed over. "You're the one who keeps slapping it like it owes you money."
"It does owe me money," Todd grumbled, disappearing into the storage room.
Mark shook his head and started punching buttons. The machine beeped in protest.
"Of course," he muttered. "Even the cash register hates me today."
"You hate you today," came a voice.
Mark blinked and looked up.
Stephen was standing outside the window, face half-covered by his hoodie, eyes turned toward the sky like he was waiting for something.
Mark stepped outside, wiping his hands on his apron. "Dude, what are you doing here?"
Stephen didn't look away from the clouds. "Needed air."
"You walked all the way here?"
Stephen shrugged. "Felt like it."
Mark frowned. "You okay?"
There was a pause.
Stephen tilted his head, just slightly. "Are you?"
That caught him off guard.
Mark hesitated. "I'm... fine."
Stephen finally looked at him, eyes dark and unreadable.
"Sure you are."
And then he walked off, like the conversation never happened.
Mark stood there, watching his little brother vanish around the corner, heart thudding for reasons he couldn't explain.
_ _ ♛ _ _
He didn't say anything about it when he got home.
Didn't mention Stephen's weird vibe, or how his walk looked a little too… balanced. Like a gymnast in slow motion.
Instead, he went straight to the roof.
It was his spot. Always had been. Quiet, above the noise. He could sit there for hours and just stare at the stars and pretend—just pretend—that something bigger was waiting for him.
Tonight, the sky was clear. Cool breeze. The kind of night that almost made you believe in fate.
He barely heard the footsteps behind him.
"Should be in bed," he said without turning.
Stephen dropped beside him, legs crossed.
"You sound like Mom."
Mark smirked.
They didn't speak for a long time. Just sat. The stars blinked lazily above them.
Eventually, Mark sighed. "Do you think Dad's disappointed in me?"
Stephen was quiet.
Then, "No."
"You didn't even hesitate."
"I didn't have to."
Mark laughed bitterly. "You don't know that. You don't know what it's like. Everyone expects me to wake up one day and suddenly be flying and punching meteors and—" He shook his head. "What if it never happens? What if I'm just… Mark?"
Stephen didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "I think being 'just Mark' might be enough."
Mark looked at him, really looked.
"You don't believe that."
"I do."
"You're ten."
"I've been watching you for ten years."
Mark blinked. "That's how long I've been your brother."
Stephen gave a tiny smile. "Exactly."
There was something in his voice. Not smug. Not condescending. Just… calm. Like he meant it.
Mark stared at the stars again.
"You ever feel like you're waiting for your real life to start?"
Stephen nodded slowly. "Sometimes I think... it already did. I just didn't notice."
That one hit.
Hard.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Later, Mark crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling.
He didn't feel fixed. Didn't feel powerful or brave or special.
But for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like he was drowning either.
And maybe—just maybe—being "just Mark" for now was okay.
End of Chapter 16