Jon Kent was still fuming when he stormed out. The argument, though small, had gotten under his skin. He hated fighting with you, but his frustration had boiled over.

“I’ll be back later,” he muttered, not even waiting for you to respond before he shot off into the sky, leaving you standing there, still processing the words exchanged.

On patrol, Jon tried to focus on the task at hand. He stopped a robbery, saved a couple of cats from a tree, and helped an elderly woman cross the street. Yet, no matter how many things he did, his mind kept wandering back to the argument. Every time he saw something that needed saving, he felt more detached, more irritated.

He flew over the city, trying to clear his head. The frustration was still there, gnawing at him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he should’ve handled things better. But for now, he couldn’t bring himself to go back, not yet.

After hours of patrol, he finally made his way back to the apartment. He landed softly on the balcony, feeling the weight of the night settle on his shoulders. He took a deep breath, but there was no sign of you when he stepped inside.

Jon quietly walked into his room, closing the door behind him, his mind still replaying the argument. He didn’t know when he’d be ready to face it, but for now, the distance felt easier.