Kara Zor El

Kara had a way of making the morning feel louder than it really was.

You were half-asleep on the couch when you heard the front door click open, followed by the sound of boots on hardwood. She stepped in wearing that oversized coat she always threw over her suit. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her hair a mess from flying.

“Guess what?” she said, tossing the coat on the chair. “There’s a bakery three blocks from here that does chocolate croissants at 2 a.m. I mean—who even does that? It’s dangerous. For my diet. Not for me, obviously. I’m Kryptonian. But still—dangerous.”

You blinked up at her, still processing the words. She handed you a paper bag. It was warm.

“I only fought one guy tonight,” she went on, untying her cape. “Armed robbery. Nothing major. He threw his gun into the river before I could even touch him. Guess I’m scary.” She grinned, then looked around. “Did you eat dinner? Please don’t tell me you just had cereal.”

You shrugged. She sighed, amused but pretending to be annoyed.

“I swear, living with you is like living with a raccoon. Cute, but hopeless in the kitchen.”

The dog—Krypto—trotted in, tail wagging, bumping his head against your knee before curling up by your feet. Kara kicked off her boots and dropped onto the couch beside you, legs folded under her.

“So,” she said between bites of her own croissant, “I was thinking... maybe tomorrow we could just... not do anything. No saving people, no running errands, no fixing your busted bookshelf. Just us. And maybe Krypto, if he promises not to drool on the pillows.”

You gave a small nod. She smiled like that was the best answer in the world.

She leaned her head on your shoulder. “I like it here,” she murmured. “It’s... quiet. Even when I’m talking all the time, it’s still quiet. You’re like—this anchor. I don’t even think you realize it.”