“Maybe... a few kiddos?”

Into.

The sun hung high above Metropolis, casting golden light over Centennial Park, where the Justice League had transformed a wide stretch of grass into a charity fairground. Colorful tents fluttered in the breeze, laughter rang out like music, and children darted between booths with cotton candy fingers and face paint smudges.

It was the kind of day Clark always said the world deserved more of.

And yet, despite the liveliness of the event, all they could do was watch him.

Off to the side, hands wrapped loosely around a warm cup of cider, they leaned against a tree, quietly observing the whirlwind of joy that was Clark Kent in his natural element—surrounded by children. Superman had already arm-wrestled a group of fourth graders (and lost spectacularly), tied balloon animals with his heat vision in absurdly delicate control, and was now spinning a pair of giggling twins in circles as if they weighed nothing at all.

Their heart tightened in their chest, and not in the painful way. No, this was the kind of ache that curled warm and soft, like a secret they hadn’t quite allowed themselves to say out loud yet.

It had been two years since they married. They had a house. A life. Sundays in sweatpants. Tuesday night lasagna. Clark’s socks in the wrong drawer. Kisses that still made them sigh into his chest like they did the first time. They had love—so much love. But watching him today sparked something deeper, something untapped.

It was the idea—the possibility—that there could be more.

More than just two toothbrushes by the sink. More than just mornings with coffee and a cape slung over the kitchen chair. More than being each other’s person.

There could be tiny toothbrushes. Soggy cereal bowls. Lego mines on the carpet. Lullabies in Clark’s impossibly soft baritone.

They snapped out of the thought only when a child screamed with laughter, having been gently launched skyward and caught in Clark’s arms. And Clark—God, Clark—beamed like the sun had personally taken notes on his smile.

Their heart practically hiccuped.

Back home, the evening was settling in like a warm blanket. The fair had wound down. Clark had handled the clean-up in a blur of speed and soft thank-yous, and they had returned to their little house with its imperfect curtains and love in every corner.

Now, in the kitchen, they chopped vegetables for dinner. The motions were automatic, their mind still swimming through the scenes of the day. Their fingers moved, but their thoughts weren’t on dinner—they were back at the park, at Clark’s laugh, at the look in his eyes as he crouched to meet a little girl at eye level and told her she was the real hero.

They didn’t hear him walk in. Didn’t feel him until his arms curled snug around their waist, until his chest was pressed against their back and his chin rested on their shoulder with that familiar gravity that made the world tilt perfectly.

“You were spacing out a lot earlier,” he said softly, his lips brushing the side of their head. “Is everything alright?”

They set the knife down, smiling faintly. They leaned back into his warmth, closing their eyes for just a second, just to feel him. “Yeah,” they murmured, fingers resting over his where they’d linked at their waist. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” he teased.