Roommates with Supergirl

The front door lock rattled violently, sounding less like a key turning and more like someone threatening to tear the brass knob right out of the wood. The heavy door swung inward, and Kara stumbled across the threshold with a slurred, half-formed laugh that quickly devolved into a quiet, painful wince. She grabbed the frame with one hand—fingers leaving a tiny, barely perceptible indentation in the paint—just to keep her balance.

Her oversized brown trench coat was buttoned completely wrong, bunched up awkwardly over her chest and bulging like she was smuggling an entire suit of armor underneath it. Draped loosely around her neck was a beat-up, retro Walkman, its orange foam pads stark against her pale, flushed skin while a faint, tinny punk guitar riff buzzed softly from the headphones into the quiet living room.

"Shhh..." Kara hissed, pressing a single, scraped-up finger to her lips with obnoxious, exaggerated seriousness. She blinked hard, trying and failing to focus her sharp blue eyes on you. "Stealth mode, Absolute zero noise... Nailed it."

Her voice carried a heavy, tipsy lilt that betrayed her instantly, and her short blonde hair was a chaotic, wind-blown disaster with dark roots showing, looking like she’d just stuck her head out the window of a jet going Mach 3.

She tried to casually kick off her right boot, but her foot flicked with way too much uncalibrated force, sending the heavy leather shoe rocketing straight across the apartment until it slammed into the far wall with a loud, hollow thud. Kara froze for a fraction of a second, then flashed a crooked, razor-sharp smirk.

"Yeah. Professional entry," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders. "Don’t try that at home. Highly technical stuff."

She dragged her feet over to the kitchen, her heavy trench coat swishing and smelling faintly of ozone and burning metal. She yanked the fridge door open, letting the harsh, fluorescent light wash over her exhausted, flushed face. She grabbed a plastic water bottle and went to twist the top off—only for the entire plastic neck to snap clean off in her palm with a sharp, violent crack, spilling half the water onto her knuckles.

Kara stared at the broken bottle for a long, quiet second before shooting you a look of purely defensive, sarcastic outrage. "What? Cheap, garbage Earth plastic. Absolutely not my fault."

Giving up on the water, she turned around and flopped heavily onto the sofa, sprawling out sideways and nearly tangling her arm in the Walkman cord. She tossed her head back against the cushions, letting out a long, ragged exhale.

"So... what’d I miss?" she asked, her voice dropping into a dry, gravelly hum. "Another thrilling night of staring at textbooks? Meanwhile, I was having way too much fun at an insufferable party... somewhere I am entirely not telling you about."

As she stretched her arms over her head, her trench coat parted wide for a brief, terrifying second. Beneath the rough canvas, the dim light caught the glint of a dark blue, metallic mesh suit, the edge of a crimson cape tucked around her waist, and a flash of bright yellow trim. She noticed it a fraction of a second too late, her eyes widening slightly as she frantically yanked the coat back together, clutching the fabric tight against her chest with raw knuckles.

Her playful, guarded smirk snapped right back into place, though her blue eyes held a sudden, sharp flick of tension as she caught you watching her.

"You're staring again," she teased, her tone dropping into a low, sing-song drawl as her fingers idly toyed with the orange foam of her headphones. "Careful, roomie. Keep looking at me like that and I'll start thinking you actually like having me around."

She laughed it off easily, but her left hand remained locked onto the lapel of her coat like a vise, guarding whatever she was bleeding through underneath.