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The scent of freshly cut pine filled the living room, mixing with the lingering smell of butter cookies drifting in from the kitchen.
Clark held the tree steady at the base, carefully adjusting it while Lex stood nearby with his arms crossed, studying the situation like a structural engineer assessing a potential disaster.
“It’s crooked,” Lex said.
“It’s not crooked,” Clark replied, tilting his head. “It’s… artistically leaning.”
Lex raised an eyebrow.
“Clark.”
Clark smiled—that open, disarming smile that somehow managed to soften even Lex’s sharpest criticism.
Before Lex could respond, quick footsteps padded across the carpet.
“I’m helping!” Conner announced, appearing with a box of ornaments nearly as big as he was.
Right behind him came Midnight, the jet-black cat with bright, curious eyes and a slowly swishing tail, already studying the tree as if it were a worthy opponent.
“Careful with those ornaments, Conner,” Lex warned.
“They’re glass.”
“I promise I won’t break anything!” Conner said with complete confidence.
Midnight, meanwhile, had already decided the tree belonged to him.
He sat upright, eyes tracking the lights Clark was carefully unraveling.
“Maybe we should put the lights on first,” Clark suggested. “Before someone—”
A soft clink interrupted him as an ornament rolled across the floor.
Lex sighed.
“And so it begins.”
They decorated slowly.
Clark wrapped the lights around the tree with gentle precision, almost like he was hugging it.
Lex placed the ornaments in what he insisted was a “balanced pattern,” while Conner argued that all the colorful ones should go together.
“The red one goes here,” Lex said.
“No! It’s happier over here!” Conner replied, shifting the ornament a few inches.
“Ornaments don’t have emotions.”
“Yes they do,” Conner insisted. “Look, this one’s smiling.”
Clark watched the exchange with a soft smile.
Midnight stretched out on the rug, pretending not to care, though every so often he lifted a paw to bat at a dangling light.
“I think the tree looks… alive,” Clark said finally.
Lex looked at him, then at the tree, then at Conner, who was now trying to place a small star far too low.
“‘Alive’ is a dangerous word when there’s a child and a cat involved,” Lex muttered.
Still, he didn’t sound unhappy.
“Hot chocolate,” Clark announced. “I think we’ve earned it.”
“With marshmallows?” Conner asked.
“With lots of marshmallows.”
Lex hesitated.
“Five minutes,” he said. “No more.”
“Promise!” Conner replied instantly.
Clark gave the tree one last look before heading to the kitchen.
Midnight watched them go… then turned his full attention back to the lights.
The silence lasted exactly thirty seconds.
The sound was a sharp crash, followed by a very pleased-sounding meow.
Lex froze, mug of hot chocolate in his hand.
“Clark…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to alarm you.”
“Lex.”
“But I believe the tree has just died.”
They rushed back into the living room.
The tree lay on its side, completely defeated. The lights blinked weakly.
Ornaments were scattered everywhere, like the aftermath of a tiny holiday tornado.
Conner stood in the middle of it all, tangled in lights, the star hanging from one shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and fascination.
Midnight was inside the tree. Literally. His head poked out from between the branches, purring contentedly.
“…How,” Lex blinked, “did this happen?”
“It wasn’t me!” Conner said quickly. “Okay, maybe it was… but Midnight started it!”
The cat lifted his head, clearly offended by the accusation.
Clark stared at the scene for a few seconds… and then started laughing.
“This isn’t funny,” Lex said, though there was no real bite to his voice. “That tree cost—”
He stopped when he noticed Conner’s face, his eyes shining and dangerously close to tears.
“I’m sorry,” Conner murmured. “I just wanted to help.”
Midnight climbed out of the branches and sat beside Conner, gently flicking his tail against the boy’s hand.
Clark knelt immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly. “No one’s mad.”
“Really?” Conner asked quietly.
Lex let out a long breath.
“I’m frustrated,” he admitted. “But not at you.”
He looked at the mess.
Then at the child.
Then at the cat.
“He’s your son,” Lex said, resigned.
Clark looked at him—and smiled.
“He’s our son.”
Lex was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, slow and certain.
“Yes,” he said. “Our son.”
They cleaned up together.
Clark lifted the branches, Lex untangled the lights, and Conner sat on the couch with Midnight in his lap, watching closely.
“I think the tree can survive,” Clark said. “It just… needs support.”
“Like most things,” Lex replied.
They set it upright again, this time securing it properly.
Conner placed the star at the top—correctly—while Midnight supervised from the couch.
“Does it look okay?” Conner asked.
Lex looked at him.
Then at the tree—slightly crooked, a little chaotic, but glowing warmly.
“It’s perfect.”
Clark wrapped an arm around both of them.
The tree didn’t survive intact.
But the night did.
And the family—more than ever.