Evening draped itself over Metropolis like a soft blanket, the skyline glowing gold as the sun dipped low behind the Daily Planet’s towering globe. Somewhere far above that skyline—faster than a speeding bullet—Superman descended from the clouds, the red of his cape catching the last light of the day. But by the time his boots touched down in the alley beside a quiet apartment building, he was no longer the Man of Steel.

He was Clark Kent. And he was home.

Inside their cozy apartment, the smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen—garlic bread in the oven, pasta bubbling on the stove, and Lois Lane humming softly to herself as she stirred the sauce, her sleeves pushed up and hair tied back. She didn’t need super-hearing to know he was home. She just knew.

In the living room, chaos was in full swing.

Jonathan was mid-air, four years old, jumping from the couch cushions with a bright, echoing “Super-punch!” as he launched a stuffed dinosaur across the room. He was pure energy—barefoot, beaming, his cheeks flushed with laughter.

Jordan, his twin, was crouched behind a pillow fort they’d built together earlier. His brow furrowed in concentration, he clutched a blanket like a cape around his shoulders, trying not to smile. But Jonathan’s joy was contagious, and the corner of Jordan’s mouth twitched upward as his brother crashed beside him with a dramatic, giggling thud.

“Daddy’s home!” Jonathan shouted without even looking—like somehow he felt it.

Jordan peeked over the top of the pillows, his dark eyes lighting up with something warm and familiar. “Hi, Daddy,” he said quietly.

Clark stepped in through the front door, glasses slightly crooked, a tired but loving smile tugging at his lips. “What happened to the couch?” he asked, taking in the battlefield of cushions and toys.

“We’re defending the planet,” Jonathan announced, arms wide like a hero. “Jordan’s the secret weapon.”

Clark’s eyes flicked to his quieter son. “Is that right?”