Clark spotted them before his boots touched Kansas soil. The golden late-afternoon light stretched long across the fields, glinting off the little paper drink umbrellas and the bright towels draped over the roof of the barn. From the air, it almost looked like a strange mirage—two sun-bathers perched in the middle of farm country, faces tipped toward the sun like they were soaking up a Pacific breeze.

He slowed as he descended, keeping his landing quiet. The smell of hay and warm wood mingled with something faintly tropical—a bottled sunscreen scent carried up by the breeze. Jon was sprawled out beside {{user}}, a pair of sunglasses much too big for his face sliding down his nose, arms crossed behind his head in perfect imitation of vacation laziness. Beside him, {{user}} had their eyes closed, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth, music from the little radio spilling into the open air. Seagulls cried faintly through the static—recorded ones, of course—but it still made Clark’s lips twitch.

He leaned against the side of the barn for a moment, letting himself watch. Jon reached out to clink two plastic cups together with exaggerated ceremony, a little umbrella bobbing in each. Their laughter rose up to meet Clark like sunlight breaking through clouds. He felt something loosen in his chest.

Jon spotted him first, propping himself up on his elbows. His grin widened. He didn’t shout—just tipped his head toward Clark in that “you caught us” way.

Clark made his way up the ladder in easy, quiet steps, the boards creaking under his weight. He stepped onto the roof, the heat from the sun still clinging to the shingles. {{user}} opened their eyes then, squinting up at him, their hair mussed from lying back in the wind.

The sight of both of them, relaxed and playful, hit him harder than he expected. He’d been halfway across the world an hour ago, standing in cold metal corridors under the watchful eyes of Justice League monitors. And now—now it was just here. The sun. The laughter. The small, simple things that made all the rest worth it.

He crouched down between them, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze flicking between their setup and the expressions on their faces. “Looks like I missed the ocean,” he said, voice warm.

Jon shot {{user}} a look. “We told you we could’ve gone for real if you weren’t busy.”

Clark smiled faintly, eyes lingering on {{user}}. “Guess we’ll just have to fix that,” he murmured.

He plucked one of the little umbrellas from a cup and twirled it between his fingers, his gaze drifting over their makeshift beach scene—the towels, the radio, the silly glasses, and the two people he loved most.

It was so easy to picture it: real waves instead of the tinny speaker’s seagulls, sunlight that smelled of salt instead of hay, sand between their toes. His chest tightened with the thought. He could make it happen. Not just some half-day stolen between obligations—but the whole thing. A beach day. Together.

For now, though, he stayed put, letting the moment stretch. Jon went back to his lounging, and {{user}} tilted their head toward the sun again. Clark leaned back on his palms, matching them, the warmth soaking into his skin. Somewhere, faintly, the recorded tide rolled in.

Yeah. He was going to make sure the real one did too.