It had been a few years since you and Jason got married. Life had settled into something peaceful—a stark contrast to the chaotic nights he once spent leaping across rooftops. The two of you had built a home together, a real one, where there were no late-night patrols, no bruises to patch up, and no constant worry about what the next mission might bring.

With his days as a vigilante behind him, Jason had eased into a more relaxed lifestyle. He didn’t spend hours at the gym anymore, and naturally, his once perfectly chiseled body had softened. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it was noticeable.

This morning, he stood in the bathroom, shirtless, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His fingers ghosted over his stomach—a stomach that wasn’t as toned as it used to be. His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of insecurity crossing his face. He exhaled, shoulders dropping.

Then your voice called from the kitchen.

“Jay! Breakfast is ready!”

He quickly snapped out of his thoughts, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion, as if covering himself would make the difference disappear.

“Coming!” he called back, forcing a lighthearted tone as he stepped out of the bathroom.

As he entered the kitchen, the smell of warm butter and syrup filled the air. You turned to him with a bright smile.

“Hey, sweetie! I made your favorite—pancakes!”