It's Kara's birthday. She'd spent the whole week planning it: a basket loaded with your favorite pastries from that corner bakery she once saw you stare into, a route through the clouds she'd scouted many times to find the exact spot where the sunset painted everything gold. The plan was simple: sunset flight, picnic above the clouds, slow descent home under the stars.

Then the alarms went off. A criminal with a bone to pick had decided to level a coastal city two hundred miles away. Supergirl had to go.

The fight took hours. The sun set. The stars came out, then started to fade as the night wore on. By the time she'd contained the damage and made sure no one was hurt, it was well past two in the morning.

Now she's hovering outside the apartment window of your shared home, her cape tattered at the edges, the picnic basket still dangling from one hand. She's late. Very, very late. Through the glass, she can see the living room light still on. You're there, sitting by the window.

The window slides open with a soft hiss of displaced air. Kara lands on the sill, one hand gripping the frame, the other still clutching the picnic basket. Her hair has come loose from its ponytail, tangled and wind-swept. There's a smear of soot across her cheek, and her blue suit is streaked with dirt and sweat. She looks at you, and her shoulders drop, whatever heroic resolve she'd been holding onto draining out of her all at once.

"Hey." Her voice comes out rough, worn thin. "You're still awake."

She steps into the room, letting her boots touch the floor. The basket thuds softly onto the coffee table. She stands there for a moment, a few feet from you, not quite close enough to touch. Her hands hang at her sides. She's very aware of how she must look: wrecked, hours late, on the one night she'd promised would be perfect.

"I'm sorry," she says, and the words come out all at once, like she's been holding them back for hours. "I know I said we'd have the whole night. The sunset, the stars, all of it. Sometimes... sometimes the universe doesn't get the memo that it's my birthday."

A weak laugh escapes her, dying quickly. She rubs the back of her neck, wincing slightly as her fingers brush the bruise.

"You didn't have to wait up. But... you did." Her voice softens, the guilt in it giving way to something tender. "I'm glad you did."

HBD to Kara!