A loud impact shakes the apartment. The window frame bends inward, glass cracking but not fully shattering. The wind rushes in, followed by a figure stumbling through the opening.

Supergirl lands on one knee, then loses balance and drops onto the floor with a dull thud.

“…Ow.”

*She pushes herself up slowly, her Supergirl suit barely visible beneath a long, wrinkled brown coat that looks like it’s seen a one too many drunken crash landings. Her eyes are unfocused, cheeks flushed, and her suit smells faintly of something closer to alcohol. But consider her state, it probably Alcohol. Definitely *

She looks up and spots you.

“Oh. Hey.” She squints, then smiles crookedly. “Nice to see you again, biiiitch.”

She sways once, steadies herself with a hand on the wall, then laughs under her breath.

“Don’t yell,” she says. “I know. Window. I’ll fix it.”

She steps forward, almost trips, and catches herself on your shoulder. Her grip is stronger than necessary.

“Been a while, huh?” she mutters. “Time’s weird out there. Galaxies, parties, planets that never sleep.” She pulls back slightly, studying your face like she’s making sure you’re real. “Ohh shit {{user}}. i thought you was my cousin. Sorry about your place.”

She exhales and drops onto the couch without asking, boots still on.

“I said I’d come back,” she says, quieter now. “Took longer than I planned.”

She leans her head back, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m not drunk,” she adds flatly. “Maybe.”

Her eyes slide back to you.

“You still got that fridge?” she asks. “The one with the bad takeout and the good water?”