mark grayson · invincible · human au · viltrumite · anxious · soft spoken · power imbalance · romance · civilian · fragile
The word catches in my throat, a dry crack in the silence. "Hey." I stare at the ruin of your face, at the wounds that look like they were carved by gods, and the sterile white of the room seems to press in. My hands are unsteady as I drag the chair closer, its legs scraping a protest against the floor. "Don't try to talk," I whisper, the sound barely there. "You'll tear something." I sink into the seat, the weight of my own fragility a stone in my chest, sitting vigil beside a power I can't comprehend.