Mark checked the sky the way some people check their phones—out of habit, out of hope, out of please-just-let-today-be-it.
The sky did what skies do. It existed. Birds went wherever birds were late to. Clouds loitered. Gravity refused his RSVP again.
He breathed out through his nose, made a face at his reflection in the hallway mirror, and dragged a comb through hair that only listened when it felt like it.
'Maybe today,' he thought anyway. The thought had worn a groove in him. It still felt new every morning.
_ _ ♛ _ _
School tried to be dumb in a fun way. William and Eve held court at lunch—William improvising a conspiracy about the biology teacher being three raccoons in a lab coat, Eve pretending to be convinced until she wasn't.
"You're quiet," Eve said, eyes doing that soft I see you thing that made it hard to breathe and easy to trust.
"I'm practicing brooding," Mark said. "Very important for my image."
"Mm," Eve said. "You're more… golden retriever than bat."
"Rude," he grinned. "True, but rude."
"Seriously, you okay?"
He poked a fry around his tray to avoid the word no. "Just… waiting," he said. "For the cool stuff. And Stephen's been… I don't know. Weird quiet."
"Little brothers do that," William said wisely. "Like cats. They stare at a corner, and you're like—what do you know."
Mark huffed a laugh. The breath hit something in his chest that didn't move. 'What if I never awaken?'
He said, "I'm fine," like it was a hand stamp that let him back into the amusement park.
Eve didn't look convinced. "You will. And even if you didn't, you're still… you."
"Unhelpfully vague, thanks," Mark said, and meant thank you in the spaces.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Burger Bash smelled like salt and a college fund.
"Grayson!" Todd yelled, emerging from dry storage with a haunted look. "Register first, grill second, and pretend we never had a pickle incident."
"What happened?"
"Pickles everywhere," Todd said, shuddering. "Like a briny war movie."
"Copy," Mark said, tying his apron on in a bow he would never admit he'd practiced.
After-school crowd trickled in: backpacks, hoodies, a dad still in paint-splattered work pants, a toddler with dinosaur rain boots and an opinion. Mark took orders, smiled on purpose, swapped a shake for one the blender had assassinated. The rhythm helped. Button-beep, bill-print, tray-slide, next.
He slid to grill when Jenna tapped out. The hiss of beef on metal was the best kind of white noise.
"Order up—two Bash Classics, one no pickle—"
"Traitor," Todd muttered, popping out of nowhere like a jump scare.
"Pickle PTSD?" Mark asked, lining buns, tapping salt with the flair of a magician who also did his homework.
"Don't joke," Todd said solemnly. "They roll."
Mark snorted, flipped, pressed, timed cheese melts with the precision of a NASA intern. The simplicity was a balm. Bread. Meat. Heat. Do a thing, the thing becomes the thing it's supposed to be.
He caught his reflection in the steel behind the grill: lanky arms, narrow shoulders, not a flicker of different. He rolled his neck, chased the sting down with a joke at his own expense, packed two orders like he was doing something that mattered.
The dinner rush swelled. Voices stacked on voices. The fryer sizzled louder, oil throwing a tantrum. Someone yelled "Milkshake machine!" like it was an emergency. It often was.
"Grayson, we're in the weeds!" Jenna called, sliding a tray his way.
"Copy!" He slid it back, split his focus in three, flipped with his left and dressed with his right, the dance of a boy who really wanted to be dancing in the sky.
The toddler in dinosaur boots escaped his mom and made a break for the door. He could see the whole play before it happened—boot, tile, puddle of soda, skid—Mark vaulted the counter without thinking.
"Hey, dino dude—"
Boot. Tile. Skid.
Mark hit the floor low and received the kid like a runaway football, pivoted on one knee, and bled the momentum into a safe little spin. The kid giggled, thrilled with his own near-death experience. The mom's face went through six stages of grief in under a second.
"I'm so sorry—"
"It's okay!" Mark said, handing back a laughing child who immediately tried to escape again. "Tile is lava. We've all been there."
"You good?" Todd asked, arriving with a mop and his heart in his mouth.
"Never better," Mark lied, standing. His knee did have an opinion, but he told it to file a complaint later.
The problem you can see is easy. The problem you can't—
The fryer coughed flame.
"Kill gas!" Mark yelled, already moving. Jenna reached for water like a human instinct. He caught her wrist. "No water. Lid—now."
Todd yanked the emergency shutoff. Mark grabbed the fitted metal lid from the rack and slid it over the fryer pan like putting a blanket over a cranky dragon. Flame licked the edges, then gave up. The store exhaled as if it, too, had lungs.
"Nice save," Todd breathed. He clapped Mark's shoulder twice, then pretended he hadn't. "Training posters do work."
"Posters and fear," Jenna said, cheeks pink. "Thanks."
"Anytime," Mark said, leaning on the counter for one long second to let his hands stop shaking.
The world went back to loud. It was a loud he could live with. It was people and food and dinosaur boots. It was a lid over a small fire instead of the kind he worried would require a cape.
He worked the rest of the shift like a man with a secret, except the secret was stupid: he was just good at a job.
Todd scribbled on a napkin at clock-out and shoved it at him. "Free meal. Hero tax."
"You're going to get audited," Mark said, taking it.
"Let them come," Todd said. "I have pickles."
_ _ ♛ _ _
The sky was bruised purple-orange when he cut through the last block home, paper bag hot against his arm. Grease found its favorite t-shirt and stayed. He didn't mind. He liked smelling like he'd done something.
Stephen stood in the backyard like a sundial—barefoot, eyes closed, face tilted. Not weird exactly. Just… tuned to a station Mark couldn't hear.
"Dude," Mark called. "What are you doing?"
Stephen opened his eyes slow, like coming up from under a calm pool. "Just… thinking."
"You've been acting weird."
"Probably true."
"You want to talk about it?"
Stephen smiled, small and tilted, like he had a joke he hadn't told yet. "Figuring things out."
It should have helped. It didn't. The pit in Mark's chest blinked awake, heavy and calm. He could feel it and still be happy to be here, both.
"If you ever want to, you know," Mark said, wiggling the bag. "Fries for thoughts."
"Bribery noted."
Mark let it go. He was good at letting people go at their own speed. It didn't make the waiting less.
_ _ ♛ _ _
He met Eve outside chem the next day. She fell into step like they'd planned it.
"Burger Bash told the tale," she said. "You put out a fire?"
"With a lid," he said. "Very heroic lid."
"Not nothing, Mark."
"It was aluminum."
Her shoulder bumped his. "You don't have to save the world to count."
He loved that she believed it. He wished he did.
"You'll awaken," she added, certain like a sunrise. "And if you didn't—still you."
He threw his empty soda into the bin and missed, because the universe loved a bit. He retrieved it. "I'm doing a stellar job at being me."
"You are," she said, serious. "Don't wait to live."
He put that line in his pocket and sat on it all day so it would warm up.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Night on the roof tasted like cool air and old shingles. Mark pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them because it felt like holding on to something.
Stars didn't care. He loved them for it. Out there was a planet with a story he didn't fully know and a standard he didn't know if he'd meet. In here was a house that smelled like onions and laundry and Stephen's shampoo.
Soft steps. He didn't turn.
"You should be in bed," he said, default setting.
"Could say the same to you," Stephen said, sitting.
They didn't fill the quiet. It wasn't for filling. Crickets filed their paperwork. A car two streets over insisted its muffler still wanted a career in music.
"You don't have to be like Dad," Stephen said finally. It landed without drama, like a truth that didn't need dressing.
"What?" Mark said, deflective by reflex.
"Even if you never fly," Stephen said, like the words didn't crack him open to say them, "you're still… you."
Mark swallowed, throat sandpapery. "You don't get it."
"Maybe not. But I know who brings home fries when I'm sad and catches toddlers and puts lids on fires and makes Mom laugh on purpose."
Mark's eyes stung in a way he'd never admit. He looked at the stars until they turned into nothing but brightness. He wanted to believe there was a version of the story where this was enough. He wanted to believe he could carry a day and have it count.
"Thanks, little bro."
"Anytime, big bro."
They sat until the roof had their shape. The heaviness didn't leave. It… shared the seat.
When Mark finally crawled back through his window, he felt small and stupidly proud. He'd done a good job at his job. He'd kept a kid from face-planting. He'd put out a fire. He'd gone home to the same roof and shared the night with his brother.
He still checked the sky before he slept.
He always would.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Rules (so far) — Stephen's Red Notebook
1. Act normal.
2. Ask questions like you don't know anything.
3. Don't try to fly.
4. No showing off.
5. If you mess up, stop.
6. Listen on purpose.
7. Small helps count.
8. Be a kid when you can.
9. Treat everything like it's made of glass.
10. If startled, freeze—don't grab.
11. Sun helps. Don't chase it at school.
12. Smile and shrug. (If people look too long.)
13. Headphones when the world is too loud.
14. Eggs = practice.
15. Don't test things you can't untest.
16. Journal everything. (Facts > fear.)
17. Keep the question mark private.
18. Practice in shade when you can.
19. Eat when everyone eats.
20. If panic → sun or water → breathe. (4–4–4)
21. Never be the only witness to your own miracle. (Call someone. Make noise.)
22. Share credit. Let adults finish the save.
23. Use the boring answer first. ("Good ears," not "I caught a goal.")
24. Listen to metal. Bolts, hinges, brackets.
25. Receive, don't catch. (Let force go through you into ground.)
26. Track charge by feel. Don't depend on it.
End of Chapter 15
(A/N: you guys dont know this but my monitor broke, im using a freaking blurry projector from tiktok shop to upload my chapters. its been 13 days now since the people who were suppose to fix it to come but nooo, THEY SAID 5 DAYS AND NOW ITS 13 days, almost 2 weeks, why does bad things always happen to usauthors when we are writing and posting, like seriously!)