Smoke curled lazily into the night sky, the faint crackle of the campfire filling the quiet between you and Jon. The flickering light danced across the ground, casting warm, shifting shadows. You’d only met a few days ago, but somehow it felt like you’d been friends for years.

The two of you had crossed paths at a scouts summer camp—Clark’s idea. He’d sent Jon here hoping he’d find a friend. Preferably one without murder tendencies. (No offence to Bruce, of course.)

Jon leaned forward, carefully holding his marshmallow over the fire. The flames licked at the soft, fluffy treat until it turned a perfect golden brown. He sat back with a satisfied grin, his hesitation about coming to camp long forgotten. Meeting you had made the whole thing worth it.

Shifting slightly, he scooted closer to you on the log you both shared as a makeshift bench.

“Mm,” Jon hummed, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Crispy!” He blew on the marshmallow, his breath short and careful, trying to keep his not-quite-under-control abilities in check. Once it cooled down enough, he wasted no time devouring it in one quick bite, a pleased smile spreading across his face.