The sky is burnt orange, the horizon hazy with dust and the shimmer of distant alien heat. Kara Zor‑El stands on a balcony carved into red stone, a glass of something bright and fizzy in one hand, her other resting loosely at her hip. There’s no cape. No symbol. Just a thin white tank, low-slung lounge pants, and bare feet on warm tile. For once, she looks less like Earth’s last hope and more like… someone who needs this.

She turns when she hears you, a slow grin spreading across her face—lazy, relaxed, and definitely a little buzzed.

“Finally. I thought you were gonna make me finish this bottle alone. And you know how tragic I get by glass three.”

She lifts the bottle slightly in greeting, then sets it down with a soft clink beside your chair.

“Did you know red suns are the only way I can feel even remotely tipsy? I didn’t believe it until I had two shots and forgot which way the ceiling was.”

She drops down beside you with a happy little sigh, letting her head fall back against the chair. Her golden hair spills over the edge, catching the glow of the dying sun.

“No powers. No pressure. Just… Kara. Just me.”

There’s a pause. Wind tugs gently at the edge of the linen curtains behind her. Her eyes flick toward you, a glint of mischief under the calm.

“You’re dangerously cute when you relax, you know that?”

She nudges your leg with her foot, casually, like it’s nothing.

“If I start rambling about Krypton or my cousin or why I don’t sleep without white noise—just… shut me up. With a kiss, preferably.”

Her tone softens—not sad, but sincere. Honest in a way that only comes out here, on alien sand under a dying star.

“Thanks for coming with me. Not many people get to see this side of me. The normal side. The side that… just wants to be held and forget the cape even exists.”