[Kara's Apartment — August 2017, 7:30 PM]
The kitchen was a disaster zone.
Mon-El stared at the smoking pan with the kind of despair usually reserved for major catastrophes. The vegetables had somehow become charcoal. The sauce had transformed into something that might qualify as a weapon. The noodles had fused into a solid mass that resisted all attempts at separation.
"I followed the recipe," he said, bewildered. "Every step. How is this possible?"
Kara leaned against the doorframe, her expression caught between sympathy and barely suppressed laughter. "Did you set the burner to the right temperature?"
"There are different temperatures?"
"Mon-El." She crossed to the stove, turned off the heat, and surveyed the wreckage. "You had this on maximum. For everything. Including the pasta."
"Faster cooking?"
"Faster destruction." She kissed his cheek, softening the critique. "It's the thought that counts. But maybe we should order pizza."
They ordered pizza.
An hour later, they were on the couch, empty boxes on the coffee table, city lights twinkling through the windows. The apartment had become familiar over the months—their apartment now, not just Kara's. His clothes in the closet. His preferred coffee blend in the cabinet. Small touches that marked a life being built together.
"I'm going to take cooking lessons," Mon-El said, breaking a comfortable silence. "Proper ones. From someone who can explain what 'medium heat' actually means."
"That's very noble of you."
"I'm a hero now. Heroes should be able to feed themselves."
Kara tucked her feet beneath her, turning to face him more fully. Something shifted in her expression—thoughtful, almost vulnerable.
"Where do you see us in five years?"
The question caught Mon-El off-guard. He'd spent so long in survival mode—dealing with Cadmus, the invasion, his parents, the endless crises—that long-term thinking had seemed like a luxury he couldn't afford.
"I haven't..." He paused, considering. "I've never really thought that far ahead."
"Never?"
"On Daxam, the future was predetermined. I'd rule. Marry someone politically advantageous. Produce heirs. Die eventually." He shrugged. "Planning wasn't really my responsibility."
"And now?"
Now was different. Now, for the first time in either of his lives, the future was genuinely his to shape.
"Here," he said finally. "With you. Protecting this city." He took her hand. "Simple. True. That's what I want."
Kara's smile was warm but her eyes held something deeper—hope, maybe, or longing. "That's a good answer."
"What about you? Where do you see us?"
She was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Maybe a bigger apartment. This one is perfect for now, but eventually... room to grow." A breath. "Maybe public acknowledgment of our relationship. Not hiding anymore, not pretending we're just 'partners' for the cameras."
"I'd like that."
"Still heroes, definitely. That part doesn't change. Protecting people, making a difference, all of it." She hesitated, something flickering across her face. "And maybe..."
"Maybe?"
"Never mind." She looked away, color rising in her cheeks. "It's too soon. We've barely been together a year."
Mon-El reached out, gently turning her face back toward him. "Whatever you were going to say—I want it too."
"You don't even know what it is."
"Doesn't matter." He met her eyes, letting her see the certainty he felt. "If it's with you, I want it. Whether it's next year or five years or twenty. Whatever future you're imagining, I want to be in it."
Kara laughed—a sound mixed with emotion she couldn't quite contain. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"Ridiculously in love with you."
"That's not a word."
"It is now."
She kissed him then, soft and sweet, tasting like pizza and promises. When they pulled apart, something had settled between them—not a formal agreement, but an understanding. They were building something real. Something lasting.
"I'll take those cooking lessons seriously," Mon-El said. "If we're doing the long-term thing, you deserve someone who can make dinner without setting off smoke alarms."
"I appreciate your dedication to our future culinary wellbeing."
---
Later, lying in bed with Kara's head on his chest, Mon-El stared at the ceiling.
The conversation replayed in his mind—the warmth of it, the hope, the glimpse of a future he'd never imagined possible. Kara wanted to build a life with him. A real life, with all the permanence that implied.
And she was building it with someone she didn't fully know.
The thought settled into his chest like cold water. She loved Mon-El—the Daxamite prince who'd crashed to Earth, the hero who'd fought against his own people, the partner who shared her bed and her battles. But Mon-El wasn't entirely who she thought he was.
He was someone else. Someone from another world—not Daxam, but somewhere stranger still. A consciousness that had lived and died and awakened in a body that wasn't originally his. A mind that carried memories of a life she couldn't imagine.
How could he let her commit to a future without knowing that?
How could he tell her without destroying everything they'd built?
The questions had no easy answers. They never did.
But lying there, feeling Kara's warmth against him, Mon-El made a decision. Soon—not tonight, but soon—he would tell her everything. She deserved to know who she was building a future with. Whatever the consequences, whatever the fallout, she deserved the truth.
He just had to find the courage to give it to her.
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