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When Henry first landed in this world, he figured his standards for housing would be rock-bottom. A roof, four walls, and running water what more could a Kryptonian in exile ask for?
Turns out, quite a lot.
The more places he toured, the more he realized: every apartnt had sothing wrong with it. So were too loud, others too damp, too dark, too sketchy. In hindsight, it made sense if a place was actually decent, it wouldn't have landed in Fabio's lower-tier real estate listings.
Fabio, for all his charm and salesmanship, wasn't exactly operating at the top of the L.A. real estate food chain. He specialized in helping broke twenty-sothings chase pipe dreams in Hollywood. Henry, on the other hand, had a little cash stashed away… and more importantly, secrets that made shared living a potential nightmare.
So while he kept saying "I'm not picky," the truth was: he was extrely picky. Not unlike those overly selective dating app users who claid to be chill until they t soone who wasn't six-foot-two with a law degree and a pet-friendly landlord.
The good news? Fabio was a pro. He'd seen all kinds starving artists, down-on-their-luck drears, borderline fugitives. So taking a few extra days to drive Henry all over L.A. didn't faze him.
In the end, Henry settled on an older apartnt building on the fringe of a Portuguese neighborhood. It wasn't high-end, but it had a few things going for it: the surrounding streets were quiet, there weren't any obvious drug dealers or working girls on the corners, and the place had a certain low-key charm.
That said, areas dense with one ethnic group often ca with an unspoken rule: if you weren't part of the tribe, you were on your own. But Henry's Kryptonian status gave him the confidence to ignore those politics. He just needed sowhere safe and semi-private.
The landlord, as it turned out, lived on the ground floor. He insisted on eting every tenant personally. No exceptions. If he didn't like your vibe, you didn't get the keys. Simple as that.
Fabio gave Henry the rundown on the drive over. The landlord wasn't Portuguese he was a long-ti L.A. native whose family had been here since Hollywood's golden age. But now, he was all that remained. Divorced, child in custody with grandma, and apparently halfway into his "post-societal norms" phase of life.
When Henry t him, he imdiately understood why Fabio had sounded... hesitant.
The guy was bald, short, well into his sixties and wearing lipstick and eyeliner.
Fabulous.
Henry instantly understood why the landlord's kid preferred grandma.
He tensed slightly, already ntally warming up his Kryptonian right hook, just in case this guy mistook him for soone interested in a different kind of lease.
But to his surprise, the man Gary was all performance, no predation. His campy aesthetic didn't co with any sleazy undertones. No predatory leers. No awkward brushes. Just a man living his best life, consequences be damned.
Henry had seen weirder stuff back ho, and that was before he woke up on this Earth with Superman's DNA.
"Fabio, darling!" Gary greeted the Italian with a cheek-kiss-adjacent hug. "You brought another bright-eyed hopeful. Let guess: actor? Filmmaker? Failed magician seeking a second chance?"
Henry stayed cool. "Just… looking to see what the big city's about. If I don't like it, I'll go back to Alaska."
That wasn't a line. It was the honest truth. The mont life in L.A. got too crazy what with mutants, tahumans, and the occasional cosmic death god Henry had zero sha about retreating to the Alaskan wilderness and making money mining gold with his heat vision.
"Alaska," Gary repeated, circling Henry like he was sizing up a mannequin. "Hmm… you from the west?"
Henry caught the real aning behind the question. "West" was Cold War code for "Did you defect from the Soviet Union recently?"
Technically… sort of? But Henry wasn't about to explain interdinsional body-hijacking from a Russian black site. So he just shook his head. "Just Alaska."
Gary seed satisfied. "Alright then, Mr. Alaska. If you're serious about renting, co take a look."
He grabbed a ring of keys off his belt and opened the stairwell door.
Fabio gave Henry a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Gary's cool. A little... eccentric, but harmless."
Henry smirked. As long as he's not trying to convert into a drag show understudy, I think we'll be fine.
He followed them up to the third floor. The unit was on a corner, which ant two windows, decent lighting, and just enough space for soone who didn't want to go full hermit but still valued privacy.
Kitchen, fridge, bed, desk, closet, washer, and dryer check. Clean, well-kept, fully furnished. Everything a superhuman masquerading as a broke twenty-sothing could ask for.
Gary stood by the door, arms crossed dramatically. "You've probably already heard the basics from Fabio, but let make this clear: No pets. Guests are fine, but this isn't a rave den. No blasting music, no drugs, no chaos. If you get high and start banging on doors, I will evict you. Personally. And unceremoniously."
"Sounds fair," Henry said with a nod. "No argunts from ."
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