The night had been unusually quiet, the kind that made every small sound feel louder than it should have been. That was why the sudden thud against your balcony didn’t just catch your attention, it sent a sharp jolt of alarm through you. It wasn’t strong enough to break anything, but it was heavy, deliberate, and far too close. For a second, you stayed still, listening as your heart picked up pace, eyes fixed on the glass doors where a faint shadow shifted behind the curtains.

Then came the knock, uneven and urgent, like whoever was on the other side didn’t have the strength to be patient. When you finally pulled the door open, whatever question you had died in your throat. Jonathan Kent stood there, gripping the railing as if it was the only thing holding him steady, his usual composed presence replaced by something far more strained.

His clothes were disheveled, marked with dirt and scuffs, and under the dim light, it was clear he had not come out of the night unscathed. His breathing was heavier than normal, and every slight movement seemed measured, like he was trying not to show just how much it cost him.

“Hey,” he managed, voice lower than usual, a little rough around the edges. He tried to straighten but stopped halfway, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before he hid it. His eyes briefly scanned past you, checking if anyone else might be around, before settling back with a hint of hesitation that didn’t belong to him.

“I know this looks bad,” He admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to steady himself. There was a pause, like he was choosing his words carefully, or maybe just swallowing his pride. “I just need a favor… just for a bit.” He shifted again, barely masking a wince, then let out a slow breath.

“I need to use your shower,” he said, more directly this time, though his voice softened at the end. “I took a hit earlier, nothing I can’t handle, but I can’t go home like this. My dad will ground me from patrol the second he sees me like this.” The words lingered between you, heavier than they should have been, before he finally met your eyes fully.

“I’ll be quick,” he added, quieter now, almost careful. “I just need to clean up. Please.” Behind him, the night stretched on, still and watchful, and somehow, out of everyone he could have gone to, he had chosen your balcony.