Crashlanded Viltrumite Mark discovering more about earth and essentially, the concept of caring about other people, barely proof-read, 1k words, discovering more about Viltrumites genuinely not giving a shit about eachothers well-being
Anyone would be so confused by earth if it's their first time here, though Mark acted like a cat, perking up at any noise or anything he doesn't understand. He often ran head first into whatever shiny new thing he found believing he'll stay unscathed because of his genetics.
It was a headache, keeping him safe. Seeing Mark get hurt made you feel bad and as you cared for him more and more, you couldn't help but hold him back from that odd thirst to discover the different kinds of pain earth could inflict.
As you were curled up in your favorite corner of the couch, working on your laptop, He turned his head towards the window at the sound of distant thunder.
"Relax," he turned to look at you. "It's just thunder." You explained. "Thunder?"
"It's a weather thing here, rain sometimes is accompanied by thunder or lightning, we just gotta be careful with electrical outlets." You explained, Mark remembers when he was first introduced to rain, the drizzle irritated him.
You really thought that'd be the end of it, it always was like this; Mark asks, you answer, topic dies. You didn't notice when he walked right past you to the front door, unlocking it.
"Mark. Mark. Come back. Mark!!" You got up hurriedly, laptop almost tumbling to the floor, your socks almost slipping on the ground trying to catch up with him.
He was already outside, soaking quickly as the downpour continued, he held up his hands, water overflowing and pooling in nooks and crannies between his fingers before overflowing and dripping down his palm, either cascading down his wrist or dripping off his hand.
"Not as gentle as before..." Mark mumbled, the rain pounded against his skin, nothing he couldn't handle. The smell was distinct, he couldn't describe it.
"Mark! What're you doing?!" You called out, staying inside as he was illuminated by the soft glow of your home's lights, the water glistening as his borrowed clothes clung to his skin. "Get back inside! You'll get sick!... Probably?!"
"Sick?" He glanced at you, strands of his hair curled at his forehead from the water. "I'm a Viltrumite, a common cold won't kill me."
"Get back inside!" You finally got the mental preparation to step outside, rain hammering down on your skin and quickly triggering goosebumps from the freezing wind. "Mark, what's gotten into you?!"
"... I wanted to see the thunder." He returned his gaze to the sky. "It's taking a while to come out again."
"They're not as common as rain— okay, come back inside!"
He sat at your vanity as you dried his hair on the lower setting to speak to him, towel draped around his neck, fuzzy material poking his cheeks. "You're such a child, Mark. Who runs out into the rain to see thunder?! You could've died!"
"I dont hurt easy, I'm a Vil—"
"Viltrumite. I know." You raked your fingers through his hair, huffing. "Now I might get sick because of you!"
He slumped in his seat, disappointed in himself and a little hurt, the silence filled with the warm hum of the hair dryer. He didn't understand why you were so angry with him, he can understand the frustration of an uninformed idiot— he knows he's seen some idiot troops who were born into Viltrum but were far from Viltrumite.
Another thing he didn't understand was how easily readable he was, you watched his face dart everywhere but at yours or anywhere above the vanity desk's level, he looked like a guilty puppy. "... Mark, I'm not mad."
"Ok, smartass." You paused, putting down the hair dryer. "Listen, I just don't want you to get hurt."
"I don't understand that." He watched you move about, you changed earlier from your clothes and insisted he does too. "If I'm going to be alright, why worry?"
"... I'm going to assume this is a Viltrumite thing." You grew exasperated, pulling your desk chair closer to the vanity chair he sat on. "On earth, when you care about someone, you don't want them hurt." You tried to explain. "Be it insults, cuts, tripping. We worry because we care."
"... even for small-scale injuries?" He squinted, eyebrows furrowing. "It's a waste of energy and mental—"
"Mark." Your hands landed on his shoulders. "When we love someone, we don't want them to go through pain, even if there's the smallest possibility of it happening— we'll worry."
Your hands felt warm, even after the freezing cold. "... so.. you care about me?" Mark asked suddenly, was that a hint of insecurity you caught in his voice?
"You're asking me that after everything we've been through?"
"Touché." A smile finally cracked, his hand coming up to your wrist. "... I think I feel the same about you. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'm flattered." You responded, smiling back at him as you kissed his cheek gently. "Alright, come help me in the kitchen. We need to get started on dinner."
Your hand wrapped around his, he got up and followed you obediently, his eyes glancing down at how your fingers curled around his.
The night grew quieter as the rain fizzled out, reduced to a simple shower. Mark laid in his own bed away from you in the guest bedroom, he stared at the ceiling with a conflicted mind. After tonight, it felt wrong to go to bed alone, unlike the nights where you two would doze off together in this bed or yours.
He admitted something big, he cared. He actually cared about you. He built stronger bonds with other Viltrumites and didn't even shed a tear when they died; he considered it a natural part of life, taking out the trash, the weak.
His heart felt disgustingly warm around you, something he never felt before. Viltrumite mating is almost void of any romance
He sat up, having discarded his shirt to sleep in just a pair of pants. Standing, he made a beeline to your bedroom, cracking open your door. "(Name)?"
"Mmf?" You were half asleep, sheets ruffled and eyelids heavy. "What?"
"... I don't want to sleep alone tonight." Mark forced himself to admit, you sat up groggily and patted the empty side of your bed, silently offering.
He accepted too quickly, walking inside and shuffling under your sheets, already radiating warmth from underneath he settled his head into the softness of your pillow.
"... I'm sorry about today, by the way." He added, you were far gone into the daze of sleep, only responding with a muffled noise.
Mark tried to shimmy as close to you as possible without scaring you, or without letting that guilt well up again, the same one he feels whenever he acts a certain way with you.
He mentally makes a promise not to worry you again. His body could handle anything, but a part of him deep down didn't want to admit the need to keep you happy.
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