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Why NOT Me?

Part Seven

It’s been a few days since the football game. Things between Clark and I have been… strange.

Not bad. Not good either.

Just… suspended.

After i confessed to Clark that i knew what he said to Lana i told him i needed space to figure my feelings out.

And he’s been doing exactly what I asked — giving me space. Or at least, his version of it. He doesn’t sit next to me in class anymore. He doesn’t walk me to my locker. He doesn’t fall into step beside me in the halls like he used to, like it was second nature.

Instead, he hovers at a distance he clearly doesn’t know how to measure.

I’ll catch him stopping himself mid-step when he sees me, like his body moves toward me before his brain catches up. Or he’ll slow down so I can walk ahead, eyes fixed on the floor like he’s afraid one wrong look might cross a line I drew but never clearly defined.

Sometimes it feels worse than if he’d just stayed close.

Because he’s still there. Always there.

In the cafeteria, he sits two tables away instead of across from me — close enough that I can feel his presence, far enough that it feels intentional. When I laugh at something Chloe says, I’ll see him glance up, like he wants to know why, like he wants to be part of it again. Then he looks away, jaw tight, reminding himself he’s supposed to be giving me time.

In the halls, we keep almost running into each other. Every near-collision ends the same way — an awkward pause, a soft “sorry,” eyes meeting for just a second too long before one of us looks away first. Usually him.

And every time, I can tell it costs him something.

Because Clark doesn’t know how to not care loudly. He doesn’t know how to want less. All he knows how to do is show up — and now he’s trying to figure out how to do that without overwhelming me.

I think that’s the hardest part.

Knowing that if it were up to him, he’d be right beside me. Walking me to class. Sitting next to me. Making sure I’m okay without having to ask. But he understands — really understands — that after everything that happened, I’m confused.

And instead of demanding answers or pushing for clarity, he’s waiting.

Even though it’s clearly killing him.

And somehow… that makes it harder to breathe than the silence ever did.

Today however, things with Clark were extra weird.

Not distant — not exactly. Just… off.

He was still hovering at a distance, keeping the space I’d asked for, but something changed. I didn’t feel his eyes on me the way I usually did — not the quiet glances, not the instinctive checking to see where I was. It was almost like his attention was pulled somewhere else entirely. His energy seemed off today. He wasn't acting like the Clark i knew. His jaw stayed tight, shoulders tense, movements sharper than usual. He was angry.

He was angry about something he was carrying alone.

And God, it took everything in me not to step closer. Not to ask what was wrong. Not to do what I always did — be the person who tried to fix it.

Because I was the one who asked for space. And I didn’t want to confuse him the same way I was confusing myself.

So I left it alone.

I told myself that was the right thing.

I accidentally figured out the reason why he was so angry all on my own.

Because as I walked into lex's office just now, backpack slipping off one shoulder, I stopped in the doorway.

My father was standing there.

Lionel Luthor — perfectly composed as always, hands folded behind his back like he owned every room he stood in.

And across from him…

Martha Kent.

Clark’s mom.

She turned first, surprise flickering across her face before it softened into something warmer. Something careful.

“Oh,” she said gently. “Hi, Y/N.”

My dad smiled, the kind of polite, unreadable smile that never meant anything good. “Perfect timing,” he said. “We were just finishing up.”

My chest tightened.

I glanced between them, confusion settling in slowly, like fog rolling across the floor. “Finishing… what?”

“Business,” Lionel replied smoothly. “Your father is in town longer than expected. I needed someone trustworthy to be my assistant. And who would be more trust worthy than Mrs. Kent?”

Martha’s eyes flicked to mine — apologetic, almost — like she hadn’t expected this part.

Nothing about this felt right.

But suddenly Clark’s mood made sense. The tension. The anger he was swallowing whole. The way he’d looked like he was bracing for something all day.

It wasn’t about me.

It was about him.

Lionel Luthor wasn’t just my father — he was a man Clark didn’t trust. A man with a reputation that stretched far beyond Smallville. A man who had hurt people, manipulated them, used them like pieces on a board.

And now that man had his mother on his payroll.

The realization settled heavy in my chest.

Lionel checked his watch, already disengaging, like the moment had served its purpose. “I have a call I can’t delay,” he said calmly. “Y/N, if you’ll excuse us.”

He turned toward the door, then paused — not quite looking at me.

“Try not to make yourself scarce,” he added, voice measured and distant. “We’ll speak properly before I leave.”

It wasn’t a goodbye.

It was a reminder.

Then he glanced at Martha. “Come on Martha”

“One moment,” she replied gently. “I’ll meet you there.”

He gave a short nod, satisfied, and walked out without another word. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality that made the room feel smaller.

Too quiet.

Martha waited a beat before turning to me. Her expression was soft but serious, like she’d already chosen her words carefully.

“Y/N,” she said, folding her hands together. “We need to talk.”

Something in her tone told me this wasn’t just about my father. Or the job. Or even Clark.

It was about all of it — and what it meant for the three of us now.

I swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

And for the first time since I’d walked through that door, I let myself feel just how unsteady the ground beneath me had become.

Martha didn’t move right away. She gestured toward the sitting room instead, the one just off the entryway, away from the echoes of my father’s presence.

“Why don’t we sit,” she said softly.

I followed her, legs feeling heavier with every step. She waited until I was settled before taking the chair across from me, her posture calm, grounded — the kind of steadiness that made it easier to breathe without realizing why.

“I know this puts you in an impossible position,” she began. “Between your father… and Clark.”

I let out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s one way to put it.”

She gave a small, sympathetic smile. “Clark sees the world very simply when it comes to right and wrong. He always has. It’s one of the things I love most about him — and one of the things that makes him hurt more than he should.”

I nodded, staring down at my hands. “He hates my dad.”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “And he’s afraid of him.”

That made my chest tighten.

“Not because of what your father might do to him,” she continued. “But because of what he’s capable of doing to people Clark cares about.”

I swallowed. “Including me.”

“Especially you,” Martha said gently.

The words landed softly — not accusing, not dramatic. Just true.

“He’s trying to respect the space you asked for,” she went on. “Even though every instinct he has is telling him to step in. To protect. To fix.”

“I know,” I whispered. “And I hate that he thinks he has to choose between doing right by me and being honest about how he feels.”

Martha leaned forward slightly. “Y/N… Clark doesn’t know how to be distant from someone he loves. So when he tries, it comes out awkward. And quiet. And painful.”

I looked up at her sharply. “He loves—”

She didn’t backtrack. Didn’t soften it.

“He cares about you deeply,” she said. “Enough to put his own feelings second. Enough to be confused and still do what he believes is right.”

Silence stretched between us.

“I’m not saying you owe him clarity,” Martha added quickly. “Or forgiveness. Or answers before you’re ready.”

She reached across the small table, resting her hand lightly over mine.

“But I do think he deserves to hear — from you — that the distance isn’t rejection. That you’re not pushing him away forever.”

My throat burned. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

She smiled sadly. “You probably will. Clark usually does too.”

That earned a small laugh from me, surprised and shaky.

“Talk to him,” Martha said softly. “Not to fix it. Not to promise anything. Just… to let him know he isn’t facing this alone.”

I nodded slowly. “He looked so angry today.”

“Because he feels powerless,” she replied. “And because the idea of Lionel Luthor having any influence over our lives terrifies him.”

I squeezed her hand once before letting go. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why you already are.”

The words weren’t unkind — just honest.

Martha stood, smoothing her cardigan. “When you’re ready,” she added, “he’ll listen. Even if he pretends not to know how.”

As she walked toward the door, she paused. “And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to figure everything out at once,” she said. “Just don’t leave the people who care about you guessing.”

Then she was gone.

And for the first time since the party… since the kiss… since everything fell apart, I wondered if maybe space didn’t have to mean silence.

Maybe it could mean honesty.

Even if it scared us both.

Martha was right. I couldn’t ask Clark to respect my need for space and then leave him alone to drown in the emotions my father stirred up. Not when it was his mom. Not when it was Lionel Luthor. I need to go to him.

I didn’t stop to overthink it — because if I did, I knew I’d talk myself out of it. I grabbed my keys, my jacket, and slipped out of the mansion before the weight of everything could settle back in.

The drive felt longer than usual, my thoughts looping the whole way. What I would say. What I wouldn’t. How to explain that caring about him and needing space weren’t opposites — they were just happening at the same time.

By the time I pulled onto the familiar dirt road leading to the Kent farm, the sky had already started to fade into deep blues and golds. The house lights were on, warm against the darkening fields, and for a moment I just sat there, hands tight on the steering wheel, gathering the courage I’d already decided I needed.

I found him in the barn.

Of course I did.

Clark stood near the workbench, shoulders hunched slightly, like he was bracing for a hit that hadn’t come yet. His jacket was tossed over a chair, sleeves rolled up, hands resting on the edge of the table — tense, restrained, barely still.

He looked up when he heard my footsteps.

Surprise flickered across his face first. Then concern. Then that careful distance he’d been practicing so hard to maintain.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey.”

The space between us felt louder than the barn itself.

“I—” I started, then stopped, taking a breath. “I saw my dad today.”

Something in his expression shifted instantly — jaw tightening, eyes darkening, like a storm moving in behind his calm.

“And he wasn’t alone,” I added softly.

Clark swallowed. “My mom.”

I nodded.

He looked away, a sharp exhale leaving him as he turned back toward the workbench. “I don't like it,” he said, like that mattered. Like he wasn’t already blaming himself somehow.

“I know you don't,” I said quickly, stepping closer despite myself. “That’s why I’m here.”

He finally looked at me then, confusion flickering beneath the restraint. “Y/N… you don’t have to—”

“I do,” I cut in gently. “Because this isn’t just about me needing space anymore.”

The barn felt smaller now. More intimate. More honest.

“I don’t want you dealing with this alone,” I said. “Not with my dad. Not with your mom. And definitely not while you’re trying so hard to do right by me.”

His shoulders sagged just a little, like the words hit somewhere tender.

“I didn’t want to make things harder for you,” he admitted quietly. “So I figured… distance was safer.”

I swallowed. “Safer doesn’t always mean better.”

Silence settled between us after that — heavy, fragile. We stood there in the middle of the barn, close enough to feel each other’s presence but not touching, like we were both waiting for the other to decide what came next.

Clark didn’t look away. He didn’t move either.

All I could see on his face was a collision of emotions he didn’t know how to untangle — sadness weighing down his eyes, anger tightening his jaw. It looked like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Before I could overthink it — before I could convince myself I shouldn’t — I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

Clark froze.

His body stayed rigid at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to return it. Like he was bracing for me to pull away, or tell him this didn’t mean anything, or apologize for crossing a line I’d drawn myself.

I understood.

I was probably confusing him.

But after a heartbeat — maybe two — I felt him let out a slow, shaky breath. The tension drained from his shoulders as his arms came up, hesitant at first, then certain. He pulled me in closer, forehead resting lightly against my shoulder, like the fight had finally left him.

And when he sank into the hug, he really sank — like he’d been holding himself upright all day and finally didn’t have to anymore.

“I hate him,” Clark said quietly, voice muffled against me. Not angry. Just honest. “I hate what he does to people.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I do too.”

His grip tightened just a little, like the confirmation mattered more than he’d admit.

“I don’t want him anywhere near you,” he added, guilt creeping into his tone. “Or my mom.”

“I can handle my dad,” I said softly. “But I don’t want you thinking you have to protect everyone alone.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know how not to,” he finally said.

I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Then let me help. That doesn’t mean I have everything figured out. It just means… you’re not on your own."

His eyes searched my face, careful, hopeful, afraid all at once.

“You still need space,” he said quietly — more statement than question.

I shook my head. “No.”

His brows knit together, confused.

“I still need time,” I clarified. “Time to sort through my feelings. To process everything that happened. But right now?” I took a small breath, steadying myself. “Right now, being here for my friend matters more than pulling away.”

Something in his expression shifted — relief softening the sharp edges of worry.

“I didn’t want to assume,” he said. “Or push.”

“I know,” I replied softly. “And I appreciate that. But you don’t have to shut me out to respect me.”

He nodded, like he was filing that away. “Okay.”

The word was quiet, grounding.

I tightened my arms around him again, just for a moment, and this time there was no hesitation when he returned it.

We stayed like that, surrounded by the quiet hum of the barn, the world outside paused just long enough for us to breathe.

Not everything was fixed.

Why Not Me?

Part Six

The Monday morning hallway buzzed with the usual chaos — slamming lockers, snippets of gossip, sneakers squeaking against the tile. I was halfway to my locker when I spotted him.

Clark.

He was leaning against the wall near the science wing, talking to Pete, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. The moment his eyes found mine, his smile started — small, hesitant — but I didn’t let it fully land. I just gave a quick nod and kept walking, my heart doing that uncomfortable twist it had perfected over the last few weeks.

We weren’t… fixed. Not yet.

I pulled open my locker door a little harder than necessary, trying to focus on swapping my books instead of the way I could feel Clark’s gaze lingering. But my mind betrayed me, drifting back to the loft.

The barn was quiet now, most of the guests gone. The faint hum of the string lights was the only sound. I was sitting on the old couch, legs tucked under me, watching Chloe and Pete disappear down the steps with the last of the cooler.

Clark appeared a moment later, hands in his pockets, that careful, almost nervous expression on his face. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

He hesitated, then crossed the loft to sit across from me — not beside me, not this time. “I just wanted to say… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable tonight. With the game.”

I looked down at my hands. “That’s not… the problem.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then what is?”

The words came out before I could stop them. “I’m confused, Clark. I don’t know where we stand. You’re showing up now, and I appreciate that… but I can’t just pretend everything’s like it was before.”

His brow furrowed. “Because of—”

“Because you weren’t there when I needed you,” I said quietly, my throat tightening. “And because of what happened that night. I can’t trust you the way I used to. Not yet.”

He didn’t interrupt, just listened, his jaw tightening slightly.

“I’m… willing to give you a shot,” I continued, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “But I need space. And time. If you can’t handle that, then…”

“I can handle it,” he said immediately, the words firm enough to make me believe he meant them.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he gave a small nod, like he’d accepted terms to a deal, and stood. “Okay. I’ll see you at school.”

The locker slammed next to mine, jolting me back to the noise of the hallway.

I shut my locker and turned on my heel, heading down the hall before Clark could decide to cross it. The quicker I got to the journalism room, the less chance there’d be for an awkward “so… about the other night” conversation in front of half the school.

The room smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink when I pushed the door open. Chloe was perched on the edge of a desk, Pete leaning against the wall beside her, both mid-laugh about something I clearly missed.

They both looked up when I walked in.

“Well, well,” Pete said with a grin. “Look who survived the weekend.”

Chloe’s smile was a little sharper. “And look who’s avoiding eye contact with a certain farm boy in the hallway.”

I rolled my eyes, dropping my bag into a chair. “Good morning to you too.”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “So… anything happen after we left the barn? You two disappeared pretty quick.”

I froze halfway through pulling out my notebook. “We didn’t disappear. People just… left.”

Chloe tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “Which is exactly what people say when something did happen.”

“Nothing happened,” I said, maybe a little too quickly.

Her eyes narrowed in that investigative-reporter way that meant she smelled blood in the water. “Mm-hm. So you’re telling me that after that dare, after the way he looked at you the rest of the night, you two just… parted ways without a single conversation?”

I hesitated. Which, apparently, was all the answer she needed.

“Oh my God, something did happen,” she breathed, leaning forward.

Pete crossed his arms, looking smug. “Spill.”

I sighed, sinking into the chair. “Fine. We talked. That’s it.”

Chloe’s grin widened. “And?”

“And… I told him I’m still confused. That I can’t trust him like I used to. But I’m giving him a shot — just… on my terms.”

Pete let out a low whistle. “Ouch.”

“Not ouch,” I said firmly. “Honest.”

Chloe’s expression softened for a beat. “So… space and time?”

“Space and time,” I confirmed.

Pete shook his head with a smirk. “You realize he’s not gonna handle that by staying away, right? He’s gonna keep orbiting. That’s just how Kent works.”

I didn’t answer, because part of me suspected he was right.

Pete’s smirk lingered, but before Chloe could press me for more details, she straightened up and waved a hand like she was physically brushing the topic away.

“Alright, fine, we’ll table that for now,” she said, grabbing her coffee from the desk behind her. “We’ve got more important things to talk about anyway — like the fact that Smallville High’s about to play their biggest game of the season on Friday.”

Pete perked up. “Oh yeah. Against Granville. That’s gonna be a bloodbath.”

“Not if Clark has anything to say about it,” Chloe said, shooting me a knowing look before quickly turning back to Pete. “You’ve seen him at practice lately. Coach says he’s basically unstoppable this year.”

Pete chuckled. “That’s because he is unstoppable. Guy’s like… part freight train. I don’t even think Granville’s defense can touch him.”

I leaned back in my chair, raising an eyebrow. “Since when does Clark play football?”

Chloe shrugged like it was obvious. “Since Coach practically begged him to join. You didn’t know?”

I shook my head slowly. “Guess I missed that memo.”

Pete grinned. “You’re in for a show, then. He’s been killing it at practice. Fastest guy on the field. Strongest, too.”

Chloe smirked. “So, I assume you’ll be there to cheer him on?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“What? I was talking to Pete,” she said innocently, but the glint in her eyes told me she was anything but.

Pete laughed. “Sure you were.” you chirped back.

Chloe took a long sip of her coffee, eyes narrowing like she was hatching a plan. “Oh, you’re coming to the game,” she said suddenly, like it was already decided.

I frowned. “Who says?”

“Me,” she replied without hesitation. “And Pete. And probably half the school. I'm glad you came out with us on Saturday but you need to stop being cooped up in that mansion, and what’s better than supporting the hometown team?”

Pete smirked. “Translation: she wants to yell at you every time Clark scores a touchdown.”

I shot him a glare. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Sounds like fun,” Chloe corrected. She hopped off the desk, already pulling a notepad from her bag. “I’m thinking signs. Big, obnoxious ones. Maybe with glitter.”

“Oh no,” I said, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not. I am not standing in a crowd holding a sign for Clark Kent.”

Chloe’s grin was nothing short of devious. “Fine. I’ll hold it. You can stand next to me and pretend you hate every second.”

Pete leaned back against the wall. “You might as well give in now. She’s like a steamroller when she decides something.”

I groaned, realizing resistance was futile. “I hate both of you.”

Chloe beamed. “Great. I’ll pick you up Friday at six.”

The rest of the week went by smoothly. No drama, no awkward hallway confrontations. Clark kept his distance like he promised — but every so often, I’d catch him stealing a glance at me from across the cafeteria or the parking lot. He never lingered long, just enough for me to notice… and maybe think about it more than I wanted to.

By Friday evening, the air had that crisp bite that always came before winter, the kind that made you want to bury your hands in your pockets. Chloe showed up at my house right on time, a smug smile in place and an obnoxiously large poster board in the back seat.

“What’s that?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

She tapped the glittery letters proudly. “‘Go Kent, Go!’”

I groaned. “You’re impossible.”

Pete was already waiting at the stadium gates when we arrived, hands stuffed in his hoodie, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else — until he spotted us. “There’s my backup heckler,” he said, nodding at me.

“I’m not heckling anyone,” I muttered, following them into the stands.

The bleachers were packed, the air buzzing with chatter and the faint smell of popcorn from the concession stand. Students in red and gold were waving pom-poms, the marching band warming up in the corner. Down on the field, the team was running drills, helmets catching the stadium lights.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Clark stood near the fifty-yard line, helmet under one arm, talking with the coach. Even from here, I could see the way he was focused, jaw set, like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Chloe elbowed me. “See? Freight train.”

Pete grinned. “More like Superman.”

I rolled my eyes, but when Clark glanced up at the stands — just for a second — his gaze found mine. His mouth quirked into the faintest smile, like he wasn't expecting me to be there, before he turned back to his teammates.

The game kicked off fast, Smallville taking an early lead. Every time Clark got the ball, the crowd roared. He moved like the field was his and no one could touch him — and, judging by the way Granville’s defense kept failing to catch him, maybe it was true.

Chloe kept yelling beside me, waving her glitter sign every time he scored. Pete alternated between commentary and trying to get the wave started in our section. And me?

I clapped when everyone else did. But I didn’t miss the way Clark kept glancing toward our corner of the stands after every play. Like he was making sure I was still watching.

The scoreboard ticked over to the start of the second quarter, the crowd roaring as the band launched into another fight song. Chloe was still on her feet, waving the glitter sign like her life depended on it, and Pete was shouting something about Clark being “a human bulldozer” at the top of his lungs.

I’d just settled back on the bleacher when movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

“Hey,” Lana said, her voice careful.

I didn’t move right away. The last real conversation we’d had had ended with me walking away, and the memory of her smug little look at the party still stung.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked, already sliding into the empty spot beside me when I didn’t object fast enough.

We watched the players run another play, neither of us speaking for a few moments. Finally, she let out a slow breath.

“Look… I know the last few times I’ve tried to talk to you, you weren’t interested. And I deserved that.” She glanced at me, but I kept my eyes on the field. “I’ve been selfish. That night at the Talon — I knew Clark was supposed to meet you. I knew how you felt about him. And I still kept him with me.”

I felt my jaw tighten.

“I told myself it wasn’t a big deal,” she went on quietly. “But then you got hurt, and I realized… it was. I should’ve let him go. I should’ve respected you enough to not interfere.”

The air between us felt heavier, but she kept going.

“I talked to Clark a couple days ago,” she admitted. “He was… different. Quiet. I’ve never seen him so mad at himself. He told me, ‘God, she means so much to me. I didn’t want to let myself believe it because she’s my best friend’s sister… but the thought of losing her scared me.’”

That made me glance at her despite myself.

Lana gave a small, rueful smile. “I think that night made him realize it. And maybe it made me realize how badly I’d been acting too. I can’t take it back, but… I am sorry.”

Before I could respond, the crowd erupted into cheers — Clark had just scored. Even from the field, his head turned toward the stands, scanning. For a moment, I thought his gaze landed right on me.

Lana followed my line of sight, then looked down, almost sheepishly. And I couldn’t tell if the knot in my chest was from her words… or from his.

Before I could decide what to say to Lana, Chloe’s voice cut in from my other side.

“Did you see that?!” she practically screamed, nearly smacking me in the face with her glittery sign. “Clark just made that look easy!”

Pete leaned over Chloe to grin at me. “I’m telling you, Kent’s on fire tonight. This is championship-level playing right here.”

I tried to give them a polite smile, but my mind was still half-stuck on Lana’s words. “Yeah… he’s doing great.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes knowingly, but didn’t push. Instead, she turned her attention back to the field and screamed, “GO CLARK!” so loud the row in front of us turned around.

The game kept its momentum, and Smallville’s team didn’t let up. By the time the final whistle blew, the scoreboard flashed victory in bright red numbers. The stands erupted — people were hugging, jumping, spilling popcorn.

And then the chaos moved downward. Students started pouring onto the field in a wave of yellow, maroon and white, the marching band blaring like we’d just won the Super Bowl.

I stayed seated, clutching the edge of the bleacher. “Yeah… I’m good here.”

“Nope.” Chloe was already yanking on my sleeve. “You’re coming.”

“I can see him fine from—hey!”

Pete had moved to my other side, cutting off my escape like this was a coordinated attack. “Don’t fight it, Y/N. Tradition says we rush the field. You have to be part of it.”

“Pretty sure tradition also says not to get trampled,” I muttered, but it didn’t matter — they had each hooked an arm through mine and were hauling me to my feet.

The next thing I knew, I was stumbling down the bleachers, caught in the current of laughing, shouting bodies as we hit the grass. The noise was deafening, the air full of sweat, cologne, and the metallic tang of the scoreboard lights buzzing overhead.

Somewhere in the crowd, I caught sight of Clark — helmet under his arm, cheeks flushed from the cold and the game. Even surrounded by teammates, cheerleaders, and fans, he was still scanning… like he was looking for someone.

And that was the moment I realized my heart was pounding for a reason that had nothing to do with running.

Clark’s gaze locked on mine like a magnet finally finding north. One second he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his teammates, grinning as they slapped him on the back, and the next he was weaving through the crowd like nothing else existed.

People tried to stop him — a cheerleader holding out her pom-poms for a photo, a couple of guys from the team wanting a high five — but he brushed past every single one of them without slowing down. His eyes never left mine.

By the time he reached me, my pulse was a chaotic mess, and I could feel Chloe and Pete melting into the background, giving us space they’d never admit to giving.

I gave him a small, shy smile. “Good game.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice a little breathless — from the run or from something else, I couldn’t tell.

I hesitated, then blurted it out before I could chicken out. “Lana… told me what you said.”

His brows pulled together. “What I said?”

I nodded, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. “That I mean so much to you. That you didn’t want to admit it because I’m your best friend’s sister. And that… the thought of losing me scared you.”

The noise of the crowd felt miles away now. Clark’s expression softened, guilt and something warmer flickering in his eyes. “She shouldn’t have—”

“I’m not mad she told me,” I cut in quickly. “I just… needed you to know I heard it. And I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

Why Not Me?

Part five

You didn’t make it three steps out of the kitchen before Chloe intercepted you, nearly bumping into your shoulder.

“Okay, spill,” she said, raising a brow and glancing over her shoulder. “Why does Clark Kent look like a lovesick puppy trailing behind you?”

Pete appeared right on cue, holding a red cup and grinning like he’d just solved a mystery. “Oh, I’ll tell you why—because my man Clark has got it bad.”

I frowned, though I could feel my cheeks warming. “He does not.”

“Oh, please,” Chloe scoffed, shifting closer so her voice wouldn’t get lost under the music. “You walked away from him, and he followed you like you had him on a leash. And the way he was watching you at the bar? Girl, if looks could melt, you’d be a puddle.”

Pete nodded enthusiastically. “I’m just sayin’—that was not the look of a guy who’s just your friend. That was the look of a guy thinking, ‘How do I get her to forgive me and maybe make out with me in the barn later?’”

I nearly choked on my own laugh. “You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” Pete countered, tapping the side of his cup before taking a swig.

“Y/N, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we got here,” Chloe pressed, her investigative-journalist instincts kicking in. “He’s not even subtle about it. It’s like watching a planet stuck in orbit—you’re the sun, he’s the moon, and I think Pete here is Saturn for some reason.”

Pete grinned, “I’ll take it. Saturn’s got rings. Means I’m fancy.”

I rolled my eyes. “You guys are reading way too much into this.”

“Uh-huh,” Chloe said, clearly not believing me. “So you’re telling me you didn’t notice him dancing way closer than necessary earlier?”

I was about to argue, but Pete cut in, pointing toward the kitchen. “And now he’s pretending to pour himself a drink just so he can be five feet from you.”

Sure enough, when I glanced back, Clark was at the counter, red cup in hand, looking at the liquor bottles like he didn’t know how alcohol worked. But his eyes flicked up the second I looked at him, and when our gazes met, he gave the tiniest half-smile before looking away.

Chloe let out a laugh. “Oh my God, it’s so obvious.”

“Look,” I said, turning back to them and lowering my voice, “he can look all he wants, but nothing’s changing between us. I’m not—”

Pete interrupted with a smirk. “Not interested? Or not ready to admit you’re interested?”

I gave him a flat stare. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

Chloe grinned, leaning in. “You do realize if you keep dancing around each other like this, the entire school is going to start making bets, right?”

Before I could reply, Pete raised his voice just enough to cut through the music. “Hey, Clark!”

My eyes widened. “Pete—”

Too late. Clark looked up, and Pete waved him over like we’d just been talking about something urgent.

Clark made his way through the crowd, still holding that same untouched red cup, and stopped in front of us. “What’s going on?”

Pete smirked, leaning against the wall. “We were just talking about how you’re having the time of your life tonight.”

Clark’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Pete. “Uh… sure?”

Chloe bit back a grin. “You know what we should do? Head to Clarks barn and throw and after party"

Clark looked at me, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “What do you say?”

I crossed my arms. “Why are you asking me? Did they put you up to this?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Nope.”

Chloe and Pete exchanged a glance, both of them looking far too pleased with themselves.

I sighed, pretending to think about it for a second before shrugging. “Fine. But you’re getting me another drink.”

His smile widened. “Deal.”

As soon as Chloe heard the word she started weaving back toward the door, Pete right on her heels. Clark gave me that small, almost shy smile again before following, and I trailed after him.

We didn’t exactly make a beeline for the door — Chloe and Pete had apparently decided this was a recruitment mission. They stopped every few steps to pull someone into the plan. “We’re heading to Clark’s barn,” Pete announced like it was an official after-party sponsored by the school. A few people laughed, a couple nodded, and soon there was a small but growing caravan forming behind us.

The crowd in the living room was thicker than when we’d arrived, bodies swaying to the beat and conversations overlapping into a dull roar. Clark glanced over his shoulder at me, then subtly stepped to my side, angling himself so his shoulder brushed mine.

When a group of guys stumbled past, nearly sloshing their drinks, Clark shifted again — his arm coming up just enough to guide me forward, his frame blocking most of the chaos from my side.

“You know I’ve been navigating crowds my whole life, right?” I teased, glancing up at him.

He didn’t look down, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make it easier.”

It wasn’t overbearing — just… steady. Every time someone got too close or the crowd closed in, he was there, a solid wall between me and whatever nonsense was happening two feet away.

By the time we finally pushed through to the front door, the cooler night air hit my face, and I realized my shoulders weren’t as tense as they’d been inside. Clark’s hand brushed my arm as he held the door open, eyes meeting mine for just a second longer than necessary.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure if he meant for the barn… or for whatever this was turning into.

The walk to the barn wasn’t far, but with Chloe and Pete leading the way like over-caffeinated tour guides, it took longer than usual. They narrated every streetlamp and mailbox like we were on some small-town history tour, earning a few laughs from the group trailing behind us.

By the time we reached the Kent property, the barn glowed warmly against the dark, string lights in the loft already twinkling. Chloe bounded up the steps first, calling over her shoulder, “Welcome to the after-party, ladies and gentlemen!” Pete followed, holding the door open for the little caravan that had made the trip.

Inside, people scattered — some to the cooler in the corner, some to the makeshift dance area, and a few straight to the loft’s old couch. I claimed a spot in the middle cushion, Chloe sliding in on my right, Pete dropping onto the armrest like he owned it.

We talked over the low thump of the speaker, Chloe animatedly replaying a story from earlier in the night, Pete chiming in with his usual one-liners. I was mid-laugh when a shadow fell across us.

Clark.

He was holding a few beers, balancing them easily in one hand. Without hesitation, he sat down directly beside me. Not on the other open end of the couch. Not in one of the empty chairs nearby. Right next to me.

The old springs dipped, bringing his knee dangerously close to brushing mine.

“Thought you might want this,” he said, holding out a beer without taking his eyes off me.

I took it, trying to play it cool even though Chloe’s gaze was practically burning a hole through the side of my head. “Thanks.”

Clark leaned back, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch — not quite behind me, but close enough that I could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. Pete smirked over the rim of his drink, and I shot him a look that promised retribution later.

Still, I didn’t move away.

The couch was already warm from all the bodies packed in the barn, but with Clark sitting so close, I could practically feel the heat radiating off him. Chloe leaned forward to grab her drink from the coffee table, her eyes flicking between the two of us like she was cataloging evidence.

“So,” she began, grinning, “now that we’ve migrated, who’s ready to tell me their most embarrassing middle school story?”

Pete groaned, tipping his head back. “Oh, no. I’ve known you long enough to know that’s a trap.”

Chloe sipped her soda. “What? It’s just conversation.”

“Uh-huh,” Pete said, glancing at me and Clark. “She’s fishing for blackmail material. Don’t give her anything.”

I smirked. “Guess I should keep my ‘accidentally called my teacher ‘mom’ in front of the entire class’ story to myself, then?”

That earned a chorus of laughs from the small group nearby — two of Pete’s basketball friends leaning against the railing and a girl from Chloe’s journalism class perched on the edge of a chair.

Clark chuckled beside me, shaking his head. “You never told me that one.”

I gave him a look. “Not everything’s for public consumption.”

Pete raised a brow. “See? She’s hiding the good stuff. Definitely a trap.”

The banter kept going — Chloe trying to bait people into sharing ridiculous stories, Pete countering with sarcasm, and the occasional interjection from the people standing nearby. Clark didn’t talk much, but I noticed he was always listening, eyes flicking toward me whenever I said something, like he was storing it away.

Then Chloe leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her. “You know what would make this easier?”

Pete caught her glance, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Oh, I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s never a good sentence when it comes from you two.”

“Relax,” Chloe said, waving a hand like she was shooing away my suspicion. “It’s just… people are too guarded when you say ‘tell me something embarrassing.’ We need something that forces honesty.”

Pete leaned forward conspiratorially, his voice just loud enough for the people in our immediate circle to hear. “And a little chaos.”

From the way their eyes lit up, I knew exactly what was coming before Chloe even said it.

“Truth or dare,” she announced.

A few people nearby immediately perked up — apparently, barn parties in Smallville didn’t have much competition for entertainment. Someone called out from across the loft, “I’m in!” and a couple more voices joined in.

I groaned. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Chloe coaxed. “It’s tradition.”

Pete grinned like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Plus, think of the possibilities.”

I turned to Clark, half expecting him to look just as wary, but he only shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Could be fun.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I muttered.

Chloe was already clearing space on the floor, pushing the coffee table aside with Pete’s help. “Alright, everyone! Circle up!”

Before I could protest again, Clark stood, offering me a hand. “Guess we’re playing.”

I looked at his hand, then at the gathering circle of people, and finally took it — if only because the alternative was tripping over everyone’s legs on my own.

His fingers curled around mine just long enough to help me up, but he didn’t let go right away.

The circle formed quickly — a messy sprawl of cross-legged friends, a few leaning on the couch or against the railing. The string lights overhead cast a warm glow, making everyone’s expressions a little softer, like this was all perfectly harmless.

Chloe plopped down directly across from me, eyes already glinting with mischief. Pete sat beside her, clearly in on whatever plan they were brewing. Clark settled to my left, close enough that our knees brushed, and for once he didn’t seem in a hurry to move them.

A battered, empty soda bottle appeared from somewhere — Pete gave it a little spin on the floor like he was testing its balance. “House rules?” he asked, glancing at Chloe.

“Simple,” Chloe said. “Truth or dare. You chicken out, you do double next time.”

A few people laughed nervously. Someone called out, “That’s evil,” but no one backed out.

Pete grinned, set the bottle down in the center, and gave it a firm spin. It whirled around, light catching on the plastic, before pointing at one of Pete’s basketball friends.

“Truth,” the guy said immediately.

Pete groaned. “Boring. Fine. Uh… have you ever snuck into a game without paying?”

The guy admitted he had, the group laughed, and the bottle moved on. The first few rounds were light — dares to do bad dance moves, truths about dumb childhood fears, nothing too deep. It lulled everyone into thinking this was all harmless fun.

Then Chloe got the bottle. She didn’t hesitate to spin it, and when it slowed, it landed squarely on me.

She smiled like a cat with cream. “Truth or dare?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Truth.”

Her tone was casual, but her eyes were anything but. “Alright. Who in this room would you trust with your life?”

A murmur went around the circle — apparently that was a heavier question than expected. My gaze flicked to Clark before I could stop it, "Nobody" i said while making eye contact with him.

He didn't look away but i could tell my answer hurt him.

Pete spun next. It landed on Clark. “Dare,” Clark said, no hesitation.

Pete leaned forward, clearly savoring the moment. “Alright, Kent… I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

A chorus of “oooh”s and whistles broke out immediately. Someone laughed. Chloe’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly touched her hairline.

My heart thumped hard in my chest.

Clark’s gaze flicked to me — quick, almost unnoticeable — before he looked away, standing up like he was actually considering his options. A couple of people called out teasing suggestions, and he smiled politely at them as he made a slow circuit around the circle.

I kept my eyes on my hands, willing my pulse to calm down. He was just playing the game. That’s all.

But then his footsteps stopped in front of me.

When I looked up, he was already lowering himself back down into the space beside me, close enough that our knees knocked.

For half a second, he just sat there, his expression unreadable — and then his hand came up, fingers brushing my cheek, tilting my face toward his. The barn seemed to go completely silent, even though I knew people were still breathing, still watching.

His lips met mine gently at first, almost testing, then deepened just enough to send a warm, dizzying rush through me. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t for show. It was deliberate. Like it was something he was waiting for, something he had been craving.

When he finally pulled back, the space between us felt charged, like the air was humming. Clark’s thumb grazed my jaw before he let his hand drop, his gaze holding mine for one steady beat longer than necessary.

The circle erupted into cheers, laughter, and exaggerated “whooo”s, but I barely heard them.

Clark just smiled, he knew he made his choice long before the bottle stopped spinning.

———————————————————————————————

Part one

Part two

Part three

Why Not Me?

Part Four

It had been a few days since the whole “Lex locks me in a room with Clark” fiasco, and, much to my surprise, Clark hadn’t vanished off the face of the Earth like he usually did. He’d kept his distance, sure, but there were the small things—catching him glancing at me in the hall, holding the door open when we were both walking into class, even offering me his notes without saying a word.

Still, I wasn’t about to let my guard down.

I was leaning against Chloe’s locker that morning, half-listening to her rant about a teacher who “clearly had a personal vendetta against journalists,” when Pete bounced up with his usual energy.

“Big news!” he announced, grinning ear to ear.

Chloe sighed. “If this is about the cafeteria switching to frozen pizza instead of fresh, we already know.”

“No, no,” Pete said, shaking his head. “This is about the party of the semester. Saturday night. No parents. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And why exactly are you telling us?”

“Because, Y/N,” Pete said, pointing at me like I’d just asked the dumbest question on earth, “you’re coming. Both of you are.”

I crossed my arms. “Not really my thing.”

Pete smirked. “Not really your thing… or not really wanting to risk seeing a certain farm boy outside of school?”

Chloe tried not to smile. I glared at both of them. “I hate you.”

“That’s not a no,” Pete teased.

Pete grinned like he’d just scored the winning touchdown. “Come on, it’s not like you’ve got big plans. Live a little.”

“I do have plans,” I lied flatly.

“Which are…?” Chloe folded her arms, giving me her investigative-reporter stare.

I shrugged. “Breathing. Avoiding awkward social situations. Maybe watching TV.”

Pete groaned dramatically. “You sound like a ninety-year-old woman. Look, this isn’t just some random get-together. Everyone’s gonna be there. Music, food, probably some questionable dancing—”

“And Clark,” Chloe cut in, smirking.

My stomach tightened instantly. “Pass.”

“Why?” Chloe tilted her head. “Because you’re afraid to talk to him? Or because you’re afraid of what you might say if you do?”

I shot her a warning look. She didn’t back down.

“Y/N,” she said gently, “you can’t keep avoiding him forever. This could be… I don’t know… a step. Just one step toward not feeling like you’re going to implode every time you see him.”

Pete nodded, clearly enjoying the show. “Exactly. You can hang out with us, dance a little, eat free food, and if Clark happens to be there—well, so what?”

I hesitated, glancing between the two of them. Chloe’s eyes were hopeful, Pete’s were smug.

“You two are relentless,” I muttered.

Chloe grinned. “We know.”

I was halfway through explaining to Chloe and Pete, for what felt like the hundredth time, why I wasn’t going to this party, when a shadow stretched across our table.

“What party?”

The sound of his voice froze me in place. I didn’t have to look up to know.

Clark.

He was standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, tilting his head just slightly. His eyes flicked to Chloe, then Pete, before finally landing on me. That furrow between his brows deepened.

Pete leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk, like this was the moment he’d been waiting for all morning. “We’re trying to convince Y/N to come to the party Saturday night.”

Clark’s gaze lingered on me, unreadable. “Oh yeah? How’s that going?”

“Slow,” Chloe answered for me, clearly enjoying herself. “She’s got excuses stacked taller than the Daily Planet building.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not excuses—they’re reasons. Very valid reasons.”

Clark tilted his head, that almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like what?”

I straightened in my seat, crossing my arms. “Like maybe I don’t feel like being around a bunch of people I barely know.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Or maybe…” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “…you don’t feel like being around me.”

The air at the table seemed to thicken. Pete’s smirk faltered, Chloe glanced between us with the kind of curiosity that could power an entire news column.

I gave a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kent.”

“I’m not,” he said softly, “I’m just… asking.”

Chloe leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “I think you should go, Y/N. It’s not about who’s there—it’s about having a night where you’re not stuck in your own head.”

Pete nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. It’ll be fun. You might even—dare I say—enjoy yourself.”

I gave them both a flat look. “Doubt it.”

Clark’s voice was quieter now, but it carried. “I’ll be there.”

I didn’t respond, but my silence seemed to say enough.

He took a small step closer, enough that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. “Maybe you should be too.”

For a second, it felt like he was waiting for me to answer—but Chloe, of course, jumped in before I could. “Perfect. Settled. You’re coming.”

“It’s not settled,” I argued, leaning back in my chair.

Pete grinned. “You say that now, but Saturday’s a long way away.”

Clark gave me one last look before turning to walk down the hall. But even after he was gone, I could still feel his words hanging in the air.

Clark disappeared into the crowd, but it felt like the hallway was still humming from his presence. I kept my eyes glued to my notebook, pretending to be fascinated by absolutely nothing, but I could already hear Chloe clearing her throat.

“So…” she started, stretching the word out like taffy. “That was interesting.”

Pete leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Uh-huh. Pretty sure he wants you to come now. And let me tell you—Clark Kent does not say that to just anyone.”

I shot him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pete shrugged, all fake innocence. “Nothing. Just… if I were you, I’d take the hint.”

I rolled my eyes. “You two are ridiculous. I said I’m not going.”

“Not yet,” Chloe corrected, wagging her finger like she’d just caught me in a lie. “But you will. In fact…” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I think we should go shopping Friday after school. You know, pick out something new. Something that’ll make people’s heads turn.”

I laughed in disbelief. “Oh, so now we’re spending money I don’t have to buy clothes I don’t need… for a party I’m not going to?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You can’t walk into your first Smallville party in just anything. It’s a statement moment.”

Pete nodded enthusiastically, pointing between us. “She’s right. And if anyone deserves a statement moment, it’s you.”

I shook my head, already feeling the corner of my mouth twitch upward despite myself. “You’re both insane.”

“Maybe,” Chloe said with a sly smile, “but we’re insane people who have already decided you’re coming with us. So, better start thinking about whether you’re a ‘casual chic’ or ‘mysterious heartbreaker’ vibe.”

Pete grinned. “Definitely mysterious heartbreaker.”

I groaned, slouching back in my chair, but the truth was… the tiniest, most annoying part of me was already wondering what I’d wear—if I went.

I stared at both of them like they’d completely lost their minds. “You guys don’t give up, do you?”

“Nope,” Chloe said, popping the p. “It’s part of our charm.”

Pete leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with a smug grin. “You’re going to thank us when you’re having the time of your life Saturday night.”

I raised a brow. “Or I’m going to blame you when I’m hiding in a corner with watered-down punch, wishing I was home.”

“That won’t happen,” Chloe said confidently. “Because you’ll be with us. We’ll get there together, we’ll stick together, and we’ll leave together if you want. No pressure.”

“Except for all the pressure you’ve already put on me,” I pointed out.

She smirked. “Exactly. So… Friday after school? We hit the boutique in town, maybe grab coffee after, and you can try on things until we find the outfit.”

Pete added, “Yeah, we’ll even let you veto anything you hate. No forcing sequins if you’re not feeling it.”

I eyed them both for a long moment, weighing my options. If I kept saying no, they’d just keep at it until Saturday anyway. Chloe was relentless when she got like this, and Pete… well, he was Pete.

“Fine,” I finally muttered, the word tasting like defeat.

Chloe’s face lit up instantly. “Fine as in yes?”

“Fine as in I’ll go shopping with you,” I clarified quickly. “That’s it. No promises about the party.”

Pete grinned. “We’ll take it.”

Chloe clapped her hands together. “Friday after school. I’ll pick you up.”

I shook my head, already regretting it a little. “I can’t believe I let you two talk me into this.”

Chloe’s smile widened. “Oh, trust me—you’ll thank us later.”

The final bell of the day rang, echoing through the hallways like freedom. Students spilled out of classrooms, chattering, laughing, and practically sprinting for the exits.

I shoved my books into my bag, moving at a slower pace. Chloe had already texted me three times in the last hour to “remind” me about our after-school plans, as if I could somehow forget.

By the time I stepped into the hallway, she was already leaning against my locker, arms folded, a mischievous smirk on her face. “You ready?” she asked, straightening up the moment she saw me.

“Define ready,” I said, swapping out my books for the ones I’d need tonight.

“Ready as in mentally prepared for me to make you try on twenty different outfits until we find the one that makes you look like you own the room.”

“That’s… a lot of pressure for a party I’m still not sure I’m even going to.”

Before she could answer, Pete came jogging down the hall toward us, his backpack bouncing. “You two are still set for this, right? I mean, we gotta make sure you’re fully geared up for Saturday.”

I gave him a look. “Do you people think I’m entering a gladiator match instead of a party?”

Chloe grinned. “In Smallville, they’re basically the same thing.”

Pete chuckled, then nodded toward the front doors. “Alright, let’s go. The boutique closes early on Fridays, and I have a feeling it’s gonna take a while to get you into ‘party mode.’”

Just then, Clark walked past, clearly catching his name from earlier conversations in the day. He slowed his pace, glancing between us with curiosity. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Convincing Y/N to come to the party Saturday,” Pete answered without hesitation.

Clark’s eyes flicked to mine, his expression unreadable. “You’re going?”

“Maybe,” I said, my tone sharp enough to signal that the topic was closed.

Chloe, of course, didn’t get the hint. “Yes, and we’re going shopping now to make sure she’s fully ready.”

Clark’s mouth twitched—maybe a smile, maybe something else—but he nodded. “Well… have fun.” He hesitated for a second like he might say more, then walked off toward the doors.

I shoved the last of my books into my bag. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Chloe looped her arm through mine, Pete trailing after us. “Oh, you’ll thank us. By tomorrow, you’ll be imagining yourself in that perfect outfit and wondering why you didn’t say yes sooner.”

“I highly doubt that,” I muttered as we stepped into the fading afternoon light.

The boutique’s bell chimed softly as we stepped inside, the faint scent of new fabric and perfume washing over me. The place was smaller than I expected, with racks neatly arranged and soft lighting that made everything look more expensive than it probably was.

Chloe was already scanning the room like a hawk spotting its prey. Pete trailed behind us, his hands in his pockets, clearly more interested in the entertainment value of watching Chloe play stylist than in the clothes themselves.

I was halfway through pretending to browse when my phone buzzed. The caller ID made my stomach sink. “Why is Lex calling me?” I muttered.

Chloe gave me an innocent shrug that was anything but innocent.

I answered. “Hello?”

Lex’s voice came smooth and amused. “So, I hear you’re going to a party on Saturday and are currently out shopping for an outfit.”

I shot Chloe a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Do you have spies following me now?”

“I didn’t need spies,” Lex replied. “Chloe called me.”

My glare toward her intensified. She just gave me a sheepish smile and mouthed, You’re welcome.

Lex continued, “Since you’re apparently being dragged into the social event of the season, I’ll make this easy for you—whatever you want, it’s on my account. Don’t worry about the price tag.”

I blinked. “Lex, that’s not—”

“It’s not negotiable. Consider it an early birthday gift. Or a late one. Take your pick. Just… try to have fun, okay?”

There was a pause, softer now. “You’ve been through enough lately. You deserve a night to feel… normal.”

Something in my chest twinged, but I pushed it down. “Fine. Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t ‘I guess’ me. I expect pictures,” he said lightly before hanging up.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at Chloe. “You called him?”

“I may have… mentioned it,” she said, clearly pleased with herself.

I groaned, running a hand over my face. “You know I’m slightly annoyed at you right now, right?”

“Yes, but you’re also grateful,” she said, already pulling a slinky black dress from a rack. “Now, try this on before you change your mind.”

Pete grinned. “I’m just here for moral support. And possibly to rate the outfits.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “Alright, fine. But if I end up looking ridiculous, I’m blaming both of you.”

The dressing room door creaked shut behind me, and I stared at the first dress Chloe had shoved into my arms. Black, sleek, and definitely not my usual style.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I muttered, tugging it on.

When I stepped out, Chloe gasped dramatically, hand over her heart. “Yes. Absolutely yes. This is the one.”

Pete tilted his head. “Hmm. Solid eight. Maybe a nine if you actually smiled.”

I crossed my arms. “I am smiling… internally.”

Back in the dressing room, I swapped the black dress for a deep red one with thin straps. My reflection stared back, and for some reason, my mind betrayed me with the thought of Clark seeing me in it. The idea made my stomach twist in a way I wasn’t ready to unpack.

When I walked out, Chloe’s eyes lit up even more. “Okay, this is a ten. Maybe even an eleven. Right, Pete?”

Pete nodded slowly. “Yeah, Kent would—”

“Don’t,” I warned, pointing at him.

He held up his hands. “Just saying.”

The next few minutes were a blur of fabric and color—emerald green that made Chloe practically squeal, a gold one Pete swore “screamed confidence,” and even a short silver dress I refused to step fully out in.

“You’re impossible,” Chloe sighed, flopping onto a nearby bench as I emerged in my jeans again.

I folded the black and red dresses over my arm, still not sure which one I liked better. Or maybe I was just not sure which one made me feel less… exposed.

Chloe noticed my hesitation. “Hey. It’s just a party. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, but part of me knew she didn’t believe it either.

In the end, I didn’t pick just one.

The cashier’s eyes widened as I piled the counter with the black dress, the deep red, and the emerald green Chloe had practically forced me to try on twice. Then there was the gold one Pete swore “screamed confidence,” and—against my better judgment—the short silver dress I’d nearly refused to step out in.

“If you’re gonna go, you might as well have options,” Chloe said with a smirk as she handed the cashier Lex’s platinum card.

“I haven’t decided I’m going,” I reminded her, watching the total climb higher and higher.

“Uh-huh,” Pete said, leaning against the counter. “And I’m not addicted to Lana’s coffee.”

Chloe shot him a look. “You basically live at the Talon.”

I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “You two are impossible.”

By the time we stepped outside, the sun was already starting to dip, casting golden light across Main Street. Lex’s driver was waiting by the curb in his usual black sedan, standing stiffly by the open back door.

“Miss Luthor,” he greeted with a polite nod.

I slid in first, tossing the shopping bags onto the seat beside me. Chloe and Pete followed, Pete already digging into the tiny bag of candy he’d bought from the shop next door.

As the car pulled away, Chloe leaned forward, practically glowing with satisfaction. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, staring out the tinted window as the storefronts rolled by. The dresses beside me felt heavier than they should have.

I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of going… or of what might happen if I did.

In the end, I didn’t pick just one.

The cashier’s eyes widened as I piled the counter with the black dress, the deep red, and the emerald green Chloe had practically forced me to try on twice. Then there was the gold one Pete swore “screamed confidence,” and—against my better judgment—the short silver dress I’d nearly refused to step out in.

“If you’re gonna go, you might as well have options,” Chloe said with a smirk as she handed the cashier Lex’s platinum card.

“I haven’t decided I’m going,” I reminded her, watching the total climb higher and higher.

“Uh-huh,” Pete said, leaning against the counter. “And I’m not addicted to Lana’s coffee.”

Chloe shot him a look. “You basically live at the Talon.”

I shook my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “You two are impossible.”

By the time we stepped outside, the sun was already starting to dip, casting golden light across Main Street. Lex’s driver was waiting by the curb in his usual black sedan, standing stiffly by the open back door.

“Miss Luthor,” he greeted with a polite nod.

I slid in first, tossing the shopping bags onto the seat beside me. Chloe and Pete followed, Pete already digging into the tiny bag of candy he’d bought from the shop next door.

As the car pulled away, Chloe leaned forward, practically glowing with satisfaction. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, staring out the tinted window as the storefronts rolled by. The dresses beside me felt heavier than they should have.

I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of going… or of what might happen if I did.

Saturday night came faster than I expected. Or maybe I’d just been avoiding thinking about it.

The emerald dress lay draped across my bed, shimmering faintly under the soft glow of my bedside lamp. I’d tried on each one at least twice that afternoon, but somehow, this one had felt… right. It wasn’t too much, but it wasn’t safe either. The way the fabric hugged my waist and flowed at the hem made it impossible to hide in the background—not that I was planning to try.

I was fastening the clasp on my necklace when a knock came at my bedroom door.

“Y/N?” Lex’s voice was calm but held that knowing edge. “Chloe’s here.”

Before I could answer, the door opened and they both stepped in.

Lex stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened, then narrowed like he was trying to process what he was seeing.

“Oh. My. God.” Chloe’s jaw literally dropped. “That’s the one you picked? You look—” she spun toward Lex—“tell her she looks amazing.”

Lex’s brow furrowed. “She looks like she’s about to give me a heart attack,” he muttered. “What is that neckline? And why does it feel like I need to hire security for this party?”

“Lex,” I groaned, smoothing the skirt, “it’s a dress, not an international crisis.”

“It’s that dress,” Chloe corrected, practically bouncing in place. “And if you try to back out now, I will drag you to that party myself.”

Lex crossed his arms. “Just… remember you have a brother who owns a security team.”

“Noted,” I said, rolling my eyes, though I couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at my lips.

“Good,” he said, still glaring as he stepped aside. “Now go have fun—but not too much fun.”

Chloe and I walked down the grand staircase, our heels clicking against the marble floor. Lex trailed a few steps behind us, his usual cool demeanor in place—until we stepped outside.

Parked in front of the mansion wasn’t the sleek town car I’d expected. Instead, a long, gleaming black limo sat at the curb, polished so perfectly it reflected the glowing mansion lights.

Chloe froze mid-step. “Uh… please tell me that’s ours.”

Before I could answer, the tinted back door swung open, and Pete leaned out with the biggest grin I’d ever seen on him.

“Isn’t this amazing?” he exclaimed. “I’ve never been in a limo before. God, I love rich friends.”

Chloe and I burst into laughter. Even Lex’s mouth twitched in the faintest hint of amusement.

Pete slid back into the plush leather seats, leaving the door wide open like an invitation. Chloe grabbed my wrist to tug me forward, but I turned to Lex first.

I didn’t say anything—just gave him a look. The kind of look that said thank you without words.

He caught it immediately. His expression softened, and he gave a simple, quiet reply. “You deserve it.”

I didn’t trust myself to respond without getting sappy, so I just smiled and ducked into the limo, Chloe right behind me. The door shut with a satisfying thud, sealing us in a bubble of warm leather, twinkling lights, and the faint hum of excitement.

The limo purred to life, gliding away from the mansion gates like we were in some kind of movie. Chloe immediately popped open the little champagne fridge—stocked with sodas for us—and handed me one with a grin that was just a little too knowing.

“You seriously look amazing,” she said, leaning back against the leather seats, eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Like… stop-traffic, make-a-guy-forget-his-own-name amazing.”

Pete nodded vigorously, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, Y/N, when Clark sees you tonight, he’s gonna—”

I shot him a look over the rim of my soda can. “Clark? Really? That’s where we’re going with this?”

Pete grinned like I’d just confirmed all his suspicions. “What? I’m just saying, I’ve known the guy forever, and I promise you he’s gonna notice.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes, pretending to check my phone. “I don’t care what Clark thinks.”

“Uh-huh.” Chloe smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “That’s why you just got defensive about it.”

“I did not—” I started, but Pete cut me off with a laugh.

“You totally did. And honestly, I don’t blame you. If I were Clark, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you walked in looking like that.”

I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck, so I turned to look out the tinted window, watching the streetlights flicker past. “You two are impossible.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Chloe teased, nudging my knee with hers. “Besides, party or not, this is your night. You get to walk in, own the room, and remind everyone—including a certain farm boy—that you’re not someone they can overlook.”

Pete raised his soda can like a toast. “To Y/N stealing the show.”

I clinked my can against his, trying not to smile too much, but Chloe caught it anyway.

“See? She’s already excited,” she said, laughing.

“I’m not excited,” I lied, taking another sip. But deep down, I couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves—or the tiny spark of anticipation I was trying so hard to bury.

The limo slowed to a stop in front of a sprawling farmhouse that had been transformed for the night—strings of lights crisscrossing the yard, music pulsing from inside, and the unmistakable hum of weekend energy in the air. Pete leaned forward and peered out the tinted glass.

“Okay,” he said, practically bouncing, “this is it. Showtime.”

Chloe turned toward me with a look of exaggerated seriousness. “Remember what we said in the car—chin up, own the room. You’re a Luthor, Y/N. People are supposed to stare.”

The driver opened the door, and Pete hopped out first, grinning at the little crowd gathered by the porch. Chloe stepped out next, smoothing her hair before she offered me her hand.

I took a deep breath and stepped out into the cool night air. The moment my heels touched the gravel driveway, the chatter outside the house slowed, and then—like clockwork—eyes started turning toward me.

It wasn’t subtle.

A few people whispered. Others straight-up gawked. A couple girls I vaguely remembered from classes elbowed each other like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Chloe leaned in, her voice low but thrilled. “Told you. They’re already eating it up.”

We walked toward the door, and the closer we got, the more I could feel the shift in the air—like I’d walked onto a stage I didn’t ask to be on. Pete was grinning ear to ear, clearly loving every second of it.

Inside, the party was buzzing—The music was blasting from giant speakers shoved into the corners of the farmhouse’s living room, so loud the windows rattled in their frames. The air smelled like beer, cheap perfume, and way too many people crammed into one space. Someone had strung Christmas lights along the beams overhead, casting the whole place in a warm, golden glow that didn’t quite match the chaos of the party. But as we stepped in, there was this… ripple. Heads turned. Conversations trailed off for a second before picking back up, but not before the glances, the double-takes, the nudges between friends.

I caught sight of Clark across the room before he noticed me. He was standing with Lana near the snack table, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair. He laughed at something she said—and then he looked up.

The second his eyes landed on me, it was like someone had hit pause on him.

His expression shifted—confusion, surprise, something I couldn’t quite place—before settling into that slightly stunned look I’d seen maybe once before in my life.

Lana turned to follow his gaze. She didn’t hide the way her eyes traveled over my dress, her polite smile not quite reaching her eyes. Jealousy, an expression I had never seen on Lana Lang, especially not directed at me.

Chloe noticed too, smirking beside me. “And there it is. Farm boy has officially short-circuited.”

Pete let out a low whistle. “Yeah… he’s done for.”

I tried to play it cool, keeping my steps even as we moved deeper into the crowd, but my pulse was a steady drumbeat in my ears.

“Y/N?” Clark’s voice finally broke through the music as he stepped toward me, his brows still drawn in something between awe and confusion.

I glanced at him once, just long enough to acknowledge him, before turning back to Chloe and Pete like I hadn’t heard him.

But I had heard him. And I knew from the way he kept watching me that this party was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Clark caught up to us before we even made it to the drinks table.

“Y/N—wait,” he said, stepping in front of me, forcing me to stop unless I wanted to run straight into him. His eyes searched mine, almost pleading. “Can we talk?”

I raised a brow, tilting my head just slightly. “Wow… you actually left Lana to come talk to me. That’s… new.”

Pete choked on a laugh beside me, disguising it with a cough, while Chloe gave me the be nice look.

Clark’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair—”

“Neither is getting stood up at the Talon,” I cut in, keeping my voice even but my words sharp enough to land.

He winced, glancing down for a second before looking back up. “I told you I’m sorry—”

“Right, I remember,” I said, brushing past him. “And I told you it doesn’t change anything.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond, slipping into the crowd with Chloe and Pete. But Clark wasn’t exactly subtle about following.

By the time I’d reached the drinks table, he was right behind me again. “Y/N, just—please, hear me out. You look—” He hesitated, his eyes flicking over me in that way that made my stomach twist, but I forced myself not to react. “—amazing tonight.”

“Careful, Kent,” I said, pouring myself a cup of punch without looking at him, “Lana might get jealous.”

That one hit. He opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again. “This isn’t about Lana. This is about us. I… I hate that you think I don’t care.”

I finally looked at him then, letting him see the guarded wall in my expression. “Clark, if you cared, you’d have shown up when you said you would.”

For a second, neither of us said anything. Around us, the party was still alive—people laughing, music thumping—but it felt like all the sound was muted, just for us.

Chloe appeared at my side, sliding an arm through mine. “Hey, come dance with us,” she said, giving Clark a polite but firm smile before pulling me toward the middle of the room.

I let her lead me away, but even as the crowd swallowed us, I could feel Clark’s eyes on me, like he was trying to figure out what to say next—and whether he’d get another chance tonight.

Chloe wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted to dance—she practically dragged me into the middle of the floor. The bass thumped through the speakers, lights flashing, and before long, we were laughing and moving in sync like we’d done this a hundred times before.

Every so often, I’d catch sight of Clark near the edge of the crowd. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to stare—but failing miserably.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one noticing him watching me. Out of the corner of my eye i saw Lana with her friends glancing between me and Clark.

A tall guy with messy brown hair and an easy smile stepped in front of me during a song. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, leaning close so I could hear him over the music. “Haven’t seen you around before. Wanna dance?”

I gave him a small, polite smile. “Already am.” I motioned to Chloe, who grinned and shimmied dramatically in place.

That didn’t deter him. If anything, it made him step closer. “I mean with me.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Clark’s posture stiffen.

“Tempting,” I said lightly, “but I’m good.”

The guy chuckled and shrugged, stepping back—only for another one to take his place a few songs later, blond this time, flashing an equally charming smile.

“You here with anyone?” Blond Guy asked, eyes flicking over my dress in a way that was way less subtle than Clark’s had been earlier.

“No,” I said. Then, because I couldn’t resist, I added, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Behind him, I caught Clark’s jaw clench. He looked like he wanted to storm over, but something—probably the memory of me shutting him down earlier—kept him rooted in place.

Chloe leaned close to me, smirking. “You’re causing a stir tonight. Half the guys here can’t stop looking at you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great. Exactly what I wanted—more attention.”

Still, I could feel Clark’s gaze like a physical weight on my skin. Every time a guy so much as stepped into my orbit, he shifted his stance, his fingers curling slightly, like he was holding himself back.

And that, more than anything, told me he wanted to do something about it—he just knew he wasn’t allowed to.

The night kept rolling, Chloe and I still dancing, still laughing, still ignoring the heat of Clark’s stare. But eventually, one guy didn’t get the memo.

This one was taller, broader, and clearly had a little too much to drink. He slid in beside me mid-song, close enough that I could smell the beer on his breath.

“Come on,” he slurred, placing a heavy hand on my waist. “Just one dance. I promise I’m a good time.”

I stiffened immediately, moving his hand away. “I said I’m good.”

He chuckled, not budging. “Don’t be like that—”

And then he was gone. Not because he decided to leave, but because Clark was suddenly there, hand clamped firmly on the guy’s shoulder.

“She said she’s good,” Clark’s voice was low, calm, but it had that edge—the kind that made you realize this farm boy could bench press you without breaking a sweat.

The guy’s eyes flicked between us. “Who are you, her boyfriend?”

Clark didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared him down until the guy scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed off into the crowd.

I crossed my arms, meeting Clark’s eyes. “Wow,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You left Lana again to come talk to me, i'm not sure how i feel about this new development.”

His jaw tightened. “I wasn’t talking to Lana. I was watching you. Making sure you were okay.”

“I was okay,” I said flatly. “Until you decided to swoop in like some hero.”

“You didn’t look okay,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes searching mine. “And forgive me for caring when some drunk guy can’t take a hint.”

I huffed, looking away, but my pulse was still pounding—not from the guy, but from Clark being this close, his voice this raw.

Chloe sidled up, sensing the tension. “Everything good here?”

“Peachy,” I said quickly.

Clark didn’t take his eyes off me. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t think we do,” I replied, turning away.

But before I could step back into the crowd, he caught my wrist—not hard, but enough to make me pause. “Please,” he said quietly. “Just… let me explain.”

The earnestness in his voice caught me off guard. For a moment, I almost caved. Almost.

I pulled my hand free. “Not here.”

Clark’s eyes softened slightly, like that was enough of a win for him. “Then tell me when.”

I didn’t answer. I just walked away, back to Chloe, leaving him standing in the middle of the dance floor with that frustrated, helpless look.

Chloe and I had been moving through the crowd together for most of the night, Pete popping in and out like an excited ping pong ball. My cup kept mysteriously refilling—Chloe swore she had nothing to do with it, but the smirk on her face told another story.

By the time my drink count reached “definitely too many,” the music shifted to a fast, pounding track that made standing still completely impossible. Pete turned to us with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know what this party needs?” he shouted over the noise. “A police raid?” I teased. He ignored me. “Us—on that table over there.”

I followed his pointing finger to a long, battered wooden table in the middle of the room, already surrounded by people cheering for the few brave souls dancing on top.

“Pete, that’s—” I started, but Chloe was already climbing up beside him, laughing like a maniac. “Come on, Y/N! Don’t chicken out!” she called, hand outstretched.

The drinks, the music, the crowd—it all blurred together into one impulsive decision. I took Chloe’s hand and hauled myself up, the table wobbling slightly under our weight. The room erupted into cheers.

Pete threw his arm around both of us, bouncing in time to the music, while Chloe lifted both arms high and whooped. I couldn’t stop laughing. The beat was in my veins, my hair was falling in my face, and for once I didn’t care who was watching.

Except… someone was.

Across the room, leaning against the doorway like he owned the place, Clark was watching me. His eyes locked on mine, a mix of shock and something darker. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white where his hands were shoved in his pockets.

Pete caught my glance and grinned like he’d just won a bet. “Looks like somebody’s jealous,” he yelled over the music.

“Good,” I shot back, spinning away from Clark’s gaze and letting the music swallow me again.

The table groaned under us when Pete jumped, but the crowd only got louder. Somewhere in the back, a guy in a letterman jacket whistled at me, and a couple more tried to get my attention. I ignored them, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clark’s expression darken even more.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about the Talon, or Lex, or all the drama Clark and Lana had caused. Right here, right now, I was just a girl at a party—laughing, reckless, and absolutely alive.

The music pounded in my ears, but somehow, even through the chaos, I could still feel Clark’s eyes on me. Every time I spun around or laughed at something Chloe said, there he was—still in the doorway, still watching. Not dancing, not talking to anyone… just watching.

At first, I ignored it. Or at least, I thought I did. But after another drink—or maybe two—I felt my patience slipping.

“What is his deal?” I muttered to Chloe, my words already starting to blur together. She just gave me a knowing smirk and shrugged.

I didn’t wait for a response. The music was thundering, the crowd a blur, and before I could think twice, I jumped down from the table and stumbled my way toward him, weaving between people with my drink sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

Clark’s brows furrowed as I approached. “Y/N—”

“Are you—are you just gonna—” I jabbed my finger vaguely toward him, the motion sloppy and uncoordinated, “—stand there all night and stare at me like some kinda… like… giant barn statue?”

His lips twitched like he was trying really hard not to laugh, which only made me glare harder. “I’m serious!” I shouted over the music. “What, you think you’re… you’re all… judge-y, with your…” I waved my hand in a big, exaggerated circle at him, “… Clark face?”

He stepped a little closer so I could hear him better, lowering his voice in that annoyingly calm way of his. “I’m making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine!” I insisted, swaying slightly. “Perfectly fine. Totally… great.” I squinted up at him. “You’re just mad I’m having fun without you.”

Clark’s jaw tightened. “No, I’m worried you’re going to—”

But I didn’t hear the rest, because someone bumped into me and my drink nearly spilled all over both of us. Clark reached out instinctively, steadying me with a firm grip on my arm.

“Let go,” I snapped automatically, even though part of me didn’t actually want him to. “I can… stand by myself. See?” I took one wobbly step to prove it, then had to grab the wall for balance.

Clark just sighed, his eyes softening like he’d seen this movie before and didn’t like how it ended.

I huffed, crossing my arms. The alcohol had me warm, bold, and maybe a little reckless.

“Fine,” I said finally, pointing a finger right at his chest. “You’re right. Happy?”

Clark looked caught between relief and suspicion. “About what?”

“About… whatever. Me. Not being fine. Or… being fine but not fine.” I waved my hand vaguely. “But if you’re gonna keep watching me—” I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at him, “—stop doing it from across the room like - like some shy cowboy in one of those horrible romance movies.”

Before he could respond, I reached out and grabbed his hand—slow, deliberate, letting my fingers linger just enough to make him blink in surprise. “Come on, Kent. You want to keep an eye on me? Then you do it right here.”

I tugged him through the crowd, weaving back to the table where Pete and Chloe were still dancing and laughing at something. Pete spotted us immediately, his eyes widening like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“No way!” Pete whooped, jumping off the table. “Clark Kent is actually on the dance floor tonight? Hold up—this I gotta see.”

Chloe grinned from ear to ear, her eyebrows shooting up in that “I knew this would happen” way she had while climbing down.

Clark tried to protest, muttering, “I don’t really—” but I didn’t give him the chance. I slid one hand up his arm and pulled him in closer.

“Dance with me,” I ordered, smirking up at him drunkingly.

His jaw tightened, but after a beat, he let out a breath and started to move with me, still stiff at first, but loosening as the beat carried us.

Pete started hyping him up immediately, clapping and laughing. “Look at you, Clark! Man, you do have moves!”

Chloe just shook her head, clearly loving every second of it.

And there we were—me with my head tipped back in laughter, Clark’s hand steady at my waist, keeping me from falling over, the music pounding all around us—while Pete kept acting like he’d just witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Clark’s hand lingered just at my waist. His other hand brushed against mine as we moved, and I could feel him watching me in that way that made my stomach twist—half warm, half infuriated.

The music thumped around us, the floor vibrating under my heels. I kept swaying with the beat, my hair brushing his chest when I spun.

“You know,” I said, glancing up at him through my lashes, “for someone who’s supposedly terrible at this, you’re not doing half bad.”

He smirked faintly, but I caught the way his eyes softened. “I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

“That’s your first mistake, Kent,” I teased, my voice low enough for only him to hear. “You’ll never keep up with me.”

Pete suddenly slid into our orbit, dancing like an absolute maniac, laughing so hard he nearly tripped over himself. “Ohhh, okay, I see what’s going on here!”

Clark’s brows knitted. “What are you talking about?”

Pete just waggled his eyebrows between us, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Man, don’t even try it. Everybody in this room can see it—” he pointed between us dramatically, “—that look. Like you’re both pretending you don’t wanna be here but also refusing to leave.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a step closer to Clark just to prove a point. “You’re imagining things, Pete.”

“Uh-huh,” Pete said, grinning even wider. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

Chloe appeared out of nowhere, drink in hand, smirking like she’d just been waiting for this moment. “I hate to break it to you, Y/N,” she said, “but Pete’s not wrong. The two of you have had enough tension tonight to light up Smallville.”

I scoffed, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me. “Oh please, Chloe. I’m just dancing.”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, glancing away for a second. “Yeah, it’s not—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Kent,” Chloe cut in, her smirk growing. “Because if you say it’s not like that, everyone will know you’re lying.”

Pete laughed so hard he had to step away, clutching his drink. “Man, this is better than TV.”

The teasing should’ve made me want to walk off, but instead, I turned back to Clark, tilting my head with a slow grin. “Guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?”

His lips quirked, but there was something in his gaze—something deeper than amusement. “I don’t mind,” he admitted quietly.

And that? That threw me off-balance more than any drink could.

For a few beats, we just danced, our movements syncing naturally. His hand tightened slightly on my waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of my dress. I should’ve stepped back, cracked another joke, broken the spell—but I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned in just enough to feel his breath against my ear. “Careful, Kent,” I murmured, “people might start thinking you actually like me.”

When I pulled back, his jaw flexed, his eyes locked on mine. “Maybe they’d be right.”

My heart did an embarrassing little flip, but I masked it with a smirk, ignoring the way Chloe and Pete were still watching us from the sidelines, exchanging knowing looks.

“Dangerous territory, Clark,” I said, spinning away from him before he could read too much on my face.

He followed without hesitation.

The tension didn’t break—it wrapped around us tighter with every beat of the music.

The music shifted into something slower, but we didn’t stop moving. Clark’s eyes stayed locked on mine, his steps matching mine without thought. It was almost too easy—too natural.

And then, out of nowhere, he leaned in just enough that his voice was barely above the beat.

“I should’ve been there that night.”

I froze mid-step, my chest tightening. “What?”

“The Talon,” he said, his jaw tense. “If I’d shown up when I said I would… if I hadn’t—”

“Clark,” I cut in sharply, shaking my head, “don’t. You can’t rewrite it now.”

“I’m not trying to rewrite it,” he said, eyes full of something almost painful. “I just—every time I think about it, I hate myself for not being there.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. For a second, my brain stalled, unsure whether to shove him away or… let the sincerity sink in. But that second was enough to scare me.

I pulled back, breaking the contact between us. “I need a drink,” I said abruptly, turning away before he could see the look in my eyes.

I heard him sigh, but his footsteps slowly followed.

When I reached the makeshift bar set up in the farmhouse kitchen, I grabbed a little plastic cup, poured tequila almost to the rim, and tossed it back without hesitation. The burn gave me something else to focus on besides his words.

When I slammed the cup down, Clark was right there, leaning on the counter, watching me with that unreadable expression. It wasn’t the casual glance of a friend—it was hungry, almost reverent, like he was memorizing me in this exact moment.

I reached for another, pouring while my hands wobbled slightly. “If you’re gonna stand there staring at me, Kent, you could at least make yourself useful and pour one for yourself.”

His lips tugged into the faintest smile, but he didn’t look away. “Maybe I like the view.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat rising in my cheeks betrayed me. I downed the second shot, setting the cup down with more force than necessary, then met his gaze head-on.

“You should be careful saying things like that,” I said, my tone sharp to mask the sudden thudding of my pulse.

He didn’t back down. “Maybe I don’t want to be careful anymore.”

For a moment, the party noise felt far away—the laughter, the music, the shouting—muted under the weight of his words.

I broke the tension with a smirk, grabbing a third shot. “If you think a couple of compliments and an ‘I’m sorry’ is gonna change everything between us…” I threw it back, grimacing at the burn, “…you’ve got a lot to learn, Kent.”

Still, as I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me.

Like he wasn’t going to stop following anytime soon.

Part One

Part Two

Why Not Me?

Part Three

The afternoon had stretched on in heavy silence, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock down the hall. I’d stayed in my room since my conversation with Lex, half-reading a book I wasn’t really absorbing, half-staring at the same spot on the wall.

A knock came at the front doors, echoing through the mansion. I ignored it, figuring Lex would send someone to answer—until I heard the familiar, determined voice float up from the entryway.

“Hi, I’m here to see Y/N. And no, I don’t have an appointment. Tell Lex it’s Chloe Sullivan, he knows I’m harmless… mostly.”

I groaned and shoved the book aside, already knowing this wasn’t going to end with her leaving quietly. Sure enough, a few moments later, her footsteps approached my room, and then her head popped in through the door.

“There you are,” she said, scanning me with a mix of relief and disapproval. “You look like you’ve been hibernating. Come on, we’re going out.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

She raised a brow. “Nope. Not buying it. You’ve been in here for hours, and if I leave you like this, you’re going to start blending into the wallpaper. Get up.”

I shook my head. “Not happening, Clo.”

She stepped fully into the room, arms crossed, that investigative-reporter determination radiating off her. “Okay, so you can either sit here and mope until Lex starts making sarcastic comments about your social life, or you can come with me, get some fresh air, and maybe remember what the sun looks like.”

I rolled my eyes. “Tempting.”

She smirked. “Fine, how about this—I’ll buy you a coffee. And one of those muffins you pretend you don’t like but always finish when I order them. Plus, if you don’t come, I’ll be forced to assume you’re hiding something huge and juicy from me, and you know how I get when I smell a story.”

I let out a sharp exhale. “You’re really pulling the guilt-trip card?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “Now, are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

I groaned, throwing the blanket off. “Fine. But I’m only going for the muffin.”

Chloe grinned in triumph, already grabbing my coat from the back of the chair. “Whatever you say.”

The drive into town was quiet. I stared out the passenger window the whole time, my reflection in the glass looking as tired as I felt. The closer we got to the Talon, the more my stomach twisted, the more my chest tightened.

By the time Chloe pulled into a parking spot, my hands had gone cold.

We stepped out, but I didn’t follow her right away. I just stood there, a few feet from the entrance, staring at the familiar brick building like it was something out of a nightmare.

Chloe noticed. “You okay?”

I nodded automatically, but my throat felt tight. My eyes flicked to the glass door—and the memory slammed into me.

I was back on the cold floor, curled in on myself as boots crashed into my ribs, my stomach, my side. The sound of my own strangled cries echoed in my head. Another kick, sharp and blinding, connected with my head—then nothing.

I blinked rapidly, pulling myself out of it. Chloe was still watching me.

“You coming?” she asked gently.

I swallowed hard, forcing my feet forward even though every step toward that door felt like walking straight back into that night.

I forced myself through the door, the bell chiming overhead. The warmth and familiar smell of coffee hit me instantly, but instead of comfort, it sent a wave of nausea rolling through me.

Chloe led the way to a small table in the corner. I sat with my back to the wall, scanning the room without meaning to—counting exits, watching every person who walked in.

For a few minutes, I tried to focus on the muffin Chloe had ordered for me, breaking off small pieces and chewing slowly, even though I could barely swallow.

Then the espresso machine hissed.

It was so sharp, so sudden, I flinched hard.

And just like that, the edges of the room began to blur. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Voices around me melted into a jumble of noise I couldn’t separate. All I could feel was the phantom ache in my ribs and the air rushing out of my lungs as if I’d been kicked all over again.

“I—” My voice cracked. “I need to get out of here.”

Before Chloe could respond, I was on my feet, shoving through the tables and out the door. The cold air hit me like a slap, but I kept moving, my chest tightening with every step.

“Y/N?”

That voice stopped me for half a second. Clark.

He was standing just inside the Talon, holding the door open, confusion written all over his face.

But I couldn’t stay—not with him here, not now. I turned and started down the sidewalk, my pace quickening.

“Wait!” Clark called, already following me.

I kept walking, ignoring the sound of his voice calling my name. The rhythm of his footsteps behind me was maddening—steady, unhurried, like he knew I’d stop eventually.

“Y/N, please—just stop for a second.”

I didn’t. I turned sharply down a side street, away from the crowds, my heeled boots hitting the cracked pavement faster than I realized. The knot in my chest was growing tighter with every step. I didn’t care where I was going until I found myself slipping into a narrow alley between two brick buildings.

The shadows closed in around me. I pressed my back to the cold wall, trying to catch my breath, but it wasn’t working. My heart was hammering so violently it felt like it might burst.

Then his footsteps turned into the alley, slow but sure.

“Hey,” Clark said softly, his voice echoing off the walls. He raised his hands a little, like he didn’t want to startle me. “It’s okay. Just… breathe with me.”

“I can’t,” I gasped, my hands gripping my ribs like I could hold myself together. My breaths were shallow, too quick—pulling in air that felt like it wasn’t reaching my lungs.

“You can,” he said firmly, but without the edge. His voice was calm, low—steady in a way that made the noise in my head falter for just a second. “Look at me," he said while grabbing my face forcing me to look at him "In through your nose. Hold. Out through your mouth. Just follow me, alright?”

“I—” My voice cracked, and the word died in my throat.

“Please,” he added, softer now.

And against my better judgment, I did what he asked. At first, my breathing was erratic, every inhale shaky, every exhale too quick. But he stayed with me, each breath he took slow and deliberate, giving me something to mirror. Bit by bit, the pounding in my ears eased, and the air started to come easier.

When the dizziness faded, I slumped against the wall, my palms braced against the rough brick. My cheeks were damp, and I quickly wiped at them, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Clark stayed a careful distance away, leaning slightly forward like he wanted to come closer but wasn’t sure if he was welcome. His eyes searched mine for something—an opening, maybe.

“Better?” he asked finally.

I hesitated before giving a small nod. “Yeah… thanks.” My voice was quiet, unsteady. I let my gaze meet his for a brief moment before looking away. “But this doesn’t change anything between us.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded once, like he was agreeing to a deal neither of us really wanted to make.

We stood in the alley for another few seconds, the silence heavier than the air around us. I straightened up and brushed myself off.

“You should go,” I muttered.

“I’m not leaving you to walk home alone like this,” he replied immediately. “You don’t have to talk to me. But I’m walking with you.”

I wanted to fight him on it—God, I wanted to—but after everything, I didn’t have the energy. So I just turned toward the street, and he fell into step beside me, keeping a respectful distance.

Even if I didn’t want him there… I couldn’t deny that part of me was glad he hadn’t listened when I told him to leave.

We walked in silence, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the narrow alley before fading into the quiet street. My heart rate had slowed, but my chest still felt tight, like the panic had only retreated far enough to wait for the next chance to come back.

“Y/N…” Clark’s voice finally broke the silence—low, strained. “Was that because of what happened at the Talon?”

I stopped walking, my fingers gripping my bag strap until my knuckles whitened. “Clark, I told you—don’t.”

He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “I can’t just let this go. I need to know what happened. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than I intended.

“No, you’re not,” he shot back, his voice cracking just slightly, enough to catch me off guard. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and now you’re… you’re having panic attacks in the middle of the street. That’s not fine.”

I looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t get to act like you care now. You weren’t there when I needed you.”

That hit him. I saw it in the way his expression faltered, like I’d just knocked the air out of him. “I know,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “I messed up. I should’ve been there instead of—” He stopped himself, his throat working. “Instead of wasting time somewhere else, with someone else. I will never forgive myself for that night.”

I froze for a second replaying what he said in my head 'with someone else' what did he mean by that? I shook my head, stepping around him. “Good. Because I won’t either.”

He followed, a few steps behind. “I just want a chance to make it right.”

I slowed but didn’t turn around. “Clark… you don’t get to make it right. Not with me.” My voice softened, barely above a whisper. “But… thanks for helping me back there.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then I walked on, and this time, he didn’t follow.

The sunlight spilling through my bedroom window felt too bright, too cheerful for the way my chest still felt heavy from the night before. I groaned, dragging myself out of bed and throwing on the first hoodie I could find.

The mansion was quiet as I made my way downstairs, the faint scent of coffee drifting through the halls. My bare feet padded softly against the polished floor as I rounded the corner into Lex’s office—only to freeze mid-step.

Clark was standing there, a small bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His head snapped toward me at the sound of the door opening, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Y/N…” he said softly, like he wasn’t sure if saying my name would make me bolt.

Before I could answer, Lex stepped out from behind his desk, crossing the room toward me with that all-too-casual smirk he wore when he was up to something. “Clark was just stopping by to see you,” he said smoothly. “I wasn’t sure if I should allow it, but… since you’re here…”

I immediately felt the trap closing. “Lex—”

But before I could finish, Lex walked to the door, opened it just enough to step out, and then closed it again—with a sharp click of the lock.

“LEX!” I spun around, grabbing the handle and rattling it. “Unlock the door!”

From the other side, his voice came muffled but maddeningly calm. “Fix things with Clark, and I’ll let you out.”

“Are you serious right now?!” I shouted.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “Call me when you’ve stopped being stubborn.”

“LEX!” I banged my fist against the door, but his footsteps faded away. I turned back toward the room, my pulse still racing, and crossed my arms.

Clark stood there awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I moved toward the farthest corner of the office, sinking into the armchair with an exaggerated sigh.

He hesitated, then started walking toward me. “I, uh… I brought these for you.” He held out the flowers, his eyes searching mine for any sign of acceptance.

I stared at them for a long moment, my pride screaming at me to refuse. But finally—reluctantly—I reached out and took them from his hands, not looking up.

“Thanks,” I muttered, the word flat but not entirely empty.

Clark didn’t sit. He just stood there, like he wasn’t sure if stepping any closer would help or make me bolt for the windows.

“I just… I wanted to check on you,” he said finally, voice low. “After yesterday—after everything—I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I leaned back in the chair, twirling one of the flower stems between my fingers. “Well, you’ve officially seen me. Mission accomplished.”

His jaw tightened, just slightly. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“Yes, I do,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Because every time I start to think maybe I can trust you, you… choose someone else. Or you don’t show up. Or—” I cut myself off, my chest tightening.

Clark stepped forward, slow, careful. “I know I’ve screwed up, but I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

I stood, pacing to the other side of the office just to put space between us. “Intentions don’t erase what happened.” My eyes flicked to the locked door, half-expecting Lex to be leaning against it, listening in.

Clark’s voice softened. “You think I don’t care about you? Because that’s not true. I—”

“Don’t,” I said quickly, holding up a hand. “Don’t say something you can’t take back. Not because we’re locked in here and Lex thinks this is some kind of twisted bonding exercise.”

For a moment, we just stood there, breathing in the heavy silence.

Finally, I sat back down, clutching the flowers without really realizing it. “Look,” I said quietly, “I’m… grateful for what you did yesterday. I am. But it doesn’t magically fix everything. And I’m not ready to pretend it does.”

Clark nodded, moving a little closer this time. “Then let me try. Let me actually be there this time—no disappearing, no excuses. One chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And what does ‘being there’ look like to you?”

“It means…” He took a deep breath, his voice cracking slightly. “Showing you that you matter to me. More than you think you do. More than I’ve ever said.”

I hated that my chest tightened at his words, hated that my grip on the flowers softened. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I warned.

“I know,” he said, a faint, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “But maybe it means I can earn it.”

I stared at him for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. You can try. But the second you pull a Clark Kent disappearing act, I’m done, for good this time.”

He smirked faintly. “Fair enough.”

The door clicked open behind us. “Progress?” Lex asked, leaning casually in the doorway.

I rolled my eyes and stood, brushing past both of them. “We’ll see,” I muttered, but this time… I didn’t slam the door.

Part one Part two

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Will Clark keep his promise? Will he show up for you? Why does he care so much?

Why Not Me?

Part two

It’s been a few weeks since the Talon incident. Ever since I was released from the hospital, Lex has kept me cooped up in the mansion. I haven’t seen another human being who isn’t either related to me or on the Luthor payroll. Clark has stopped by a few times to visit Lex, but I’ve made sure to avoid him completely. Lex suspects there’s something going on between us, but I keep denying it. The last thing I need is to influence my brother’s opinion of Clark. I’m mad at him—Lex doesn’t need to be as well.

“You ready to go back?” Lex asked as I stepped into his office.

“I’m not sure…” I hesitated, not wanting to give him my real answer. “I’m not really ready to see Clark.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?” Lex pressed, fully aware he wouldn’t get a response.

“Bye, Lex. I’ll see you later,” I said quickly before hurrying out of his office.

Pulling into the parking lot, I instantly regret coming. The familiar brick building looms in front of me, buzzing with the usual morning chaos—students laughing, slamming car doors, hurrying toward the entrance. I stay in my car, fingers gripping the steering wheel, trying to convince myself to move.

A few minutes pass while I stare out the windshield, my thoughts bouncing between every reason I shouldn’t be here and the fact that I have no real choice. With a sigh, I grab my bag from the passenger seat and step out.

The air feels colder than I expected, crisp enough to sting my lungs as I cross the pavement. I slow my pace until I’m standing just a few feet from the entrance, my heart thudding harder than it should for something as simple as walking inside.

I finally force myself to move and step inside. The familiar scent of floor polish and too many bodies hits me immediately. As I make my way down the hall toward my locker, I try not to tune in to everyone’s conversations. It’s harder than it should be—not because I care what they’re saying, but because I don’t want to hear my own thoughts.

When I reach my locker, I spin the combination and pull the door open. Hanging on the inside are half a dozen photos, snapshots of me with my so-called “friends.” Clark and Lana are in more than half of them. Lana never did anything directly to hurt me, but seeing her smile beside Clark still sends a twist of resentment through me. I can’t help it—it’s guilt by association.

My gaze lingers on the photo of the three of us—me wedged between Clark and Lana, all of us smiling like nothing could ever change. The memory of a conversation with her drifts back, uninvited.

Sitting at the edge of the bleachers after school, the sun dipping low enough to turn everything gold. Lana had tilted her head, watching me with that patient curiosity she’s so good at.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she’d said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is something bothering you?”

I remember shrugging, eyes fixed on the track below. “Just… thinking about someone.”

“Oh?” Her voice had been light, but there was a spark of interest there.

“It’s weird. I’m not even sure what it is I’m feeling,” I’d admitted. “Like… maybe I’m starting to—” I’d stopped myself, unable to finish, my heart pounding at the thought. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

Lana hadn’t pushed, but I could still see it in her eyes—the quiet understanding. She knew exactly who I meant, even if I couldn’t say his name.

The memory fades, leaving a knot in my chest. I slam the locker door shut harder than I mean to—only to find Chloe standing there, her grin wide and eyes bright.

“Sullivan,” I say flatly, more out of habit than malice.

Her eyebrows lift in mock offense. “Luthor,” she shoots back, mimicking my tone. “Why are you so moody?”

I blink, realizing too late how sharp I sounded. “Sorry… I didn’t mean it like that.”

Chloe tilts her head, studying me with that curious, investigative look she’s famous for. I force a small smile, reminding myself that she hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m not mad at her—just at everything else.

I turn on my heel and start down the hall, Chloe falling into step just behind me.

“So,” she calls, quickening her pace to match my longer stride, “how have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Her voice is light, but I can hear the genuine curiosity underneath. I keep my eyes forward, unsure how to answer without letting too much slip.

“I’m not sure, Clo,” I say, using the nickname I’ve called her since the day we met.

Chloe and I go way back—back to Metropolis, before Smallville was even a thought in my mind. We met when we were kids, back when her dad worked for my family’s company. She moved out here years ago, and I stayed behind… until my father decided to exile Lex to Smallville.

I followed him here, not because I wanted to, but because things between me and my father have always been strained—strained enough that I’d rather deal with Smallville and my overprotective brother than my fathers cold silence in Metropolis.

“What’s going on? I haven’t seen you like this since the big move to Smallville,” Chloe says, her voice laced with concern.

“Nothing… it’s not a big deal.” I quicken my pace, hoping she’ll drop it.

But then I spot him—Clark—coming down the hall toward us, and my chest tightens. The last thing I want right now is to deal with that. I look away, pretending to be fascinated by the row of lockers ahead, willing Chloe not to notice the way my shoulders stiffen.

“Hey, Chloe! Y/N…”

I’d recognize that voice anywhere. The way his tone dipped when he said my name—less warmth, less… everything—hit harder than I wanted to admit. But I refused to let him see it.

I turned to face him, meeting his eyes for a few lingering moments. Then, without a word, I broke the connection and walked away.

“That was weird,” I heard Chloe say to Clark as I walked away.

Even without looking back, I could feel his eyes on me—heavy, lingering—as I made my way down the hall. Every step felt louder than it should, like the whole world had gone quiet just so I could hear the sound of putting distance between us.

I didn’t stop walking until I was around the corner, out of sight. My locker, Chloe, Clark—everything was behind me now, but the weight in my chest stayed put.

I headed toward the journalism classroom, partly because I needed somewhere quiet, partly because I knew Chloe would probably follow and I could at least prepare myself for whatever questions she was bound to ask.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, I heard the quick rhythm of her footsteps catching up.

“Okay,” she said, breathless but determined, “you must tell me what that was all about.”

I pushed open the classroom door without answering, letting it swing shut behind us. “It’s nothing,” I muttered, sliding into one of the empty chairs. “Just… Clark being Clark.”

Chloe crossed her arms, leaning against a desk. “Uh-huh. And you walking away from him like he’s goes some contagious disease is just… totally normal?”

I didn’t respond right away, my fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. The truth sat heavy in my throat, but I wasn’t ready to let it out—not yet.

Chloe’s eyes narrowed, the way they always did when she smelled a story. “You’ve been off ever since the Talon incident,” she said slowly, like she was laying out puzzle pieces in her head. “And now, you can’t even look at Clark without acting like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

I kept my gaze fixed on the desk, tracing the faint scratches in the wood with my fingertip.

She tilted her head. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t answer.

“Wow,” she breathed, leaning back. “Okay… so, you’re mad at him. Hurt, even. And I’m guessing it’s not just about friendship stuff.”

I glanced up sharply, and she caught the flicker in my expression.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “You like him.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she replied, her voice softer now, like she understood the weight of admitting it—even if I hadn’t.

I looked away again, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same.”

For a moment, Chloe was quiet. Then she slid into the chair across from me, resting her arms on the desk. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, Chloe,” I said, the words sharper than I meant. “He was supposed to meet me that night at the Talon, but—” I broke off, shaking my head. “Like always, Clark Kent chose Lana. He always chooses Lana.”

The bitterness in my voice hung in the air between us. Chloe’s expression shifted—part sympathy, part frustration—but she didn’t rush to fill the silence.

“Okay… I can see why that stings. I would be mad too. But you know Clark—he’s not exactly malicious. He probably had his reasons.”

I scoffed. “There’s always a reason. Always some big, mysterious excuse.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe he just messed up. We’ve all done it. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.”

I shook my head, eyes on the floor. “Feels like he only messes up when it comes to me.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset,” she said gently. “You’re allowed to be. I just think… maybe there’s more to the story than you know.”

I didn’t respond, just kept my eyes fixed on the floor.

Chloe leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “So tell me what happened. The whole thing. Not the edited, ‘I’m fine’ version you’ve been feeding everyone.”

“There’s nothing else to tell.”

Her eyes narrowed, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Come on, I’ve known you too long to buy that. You don’t get this worked up over nothing. Something happened at the Talon—something you’re not saying.”

I shifted in my seat, the knot in my stomach tightening. “Even if I told you, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted, “but at least you wouldn’t be carrying it around alone.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Fine… you want to know? He asked me to meet him at the Talon. Said it was important, that we needed to talk. So I went. I sat there for over an hour, Chloe. Watching the door, waiting.”

Her face softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And then… I saw him. Outside. With Lana. Laughing. He didn’t even come in—didn’t even text to say he wasn’t coming. Just… left me sitting there like an idiot.”

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the sting of the memory. “It’s not just about that night. It’s about every time before it, every time he’s made it clear she’s the priority. I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Chloe’s gaze was steady, her voice low. “And you’re sure there’s no other explanation?”

I gave her a look that said everything. “He made his choice.”

Chloe leaned back, studying me with that sharp, investigative gaze she couldn’t turn off if she tried. “You know… all this frustration, all this hurt—it doesn’t come from nowhere. You don’t get this mad about someone unless you care about them a lot more than you’re willing to admit.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me. “It’s not like that.”

She smirked knowingly. “Right. And I’m not a reporter. Look, maybe you hate him right now, and maybe you have every reason to. But underneath all that? You still like him. Maybe more than you want to.”

I shook my head, ready to argue, but the words caught in my throat. She wasn’t wrong, and we both knew it.

Before I could come up with a deflection, the door creaked open.

“Hey,” Lana’s voice filled the room, warm and unassuming. She smiled as she stepped inside, completely unaware of the storm she’d just walked into.

“Lana,” I replied, my tone polite enough to pass, but with an edge sharp enough that Chloe’s eyes flicked toward me.

Lana didn’t seem to notice. She pulled up a chair beside Chloe. “I’ve been meaning to check in with you. How are you doing? I heard you were… keeping to yourself lately.”

“I’ve been fine,” I said, my voice tight. “Busy. Not much time for… socializing.”

Chloe coughed lightly, glancing between us, but Lana pressed on. “Actually… about the other night—I feel kind of bad about it. Clark said he was supposed to meet you at the Talon, but…” She trailed off for a second, chewing her lip. “We ran into each other earlier in the day, and we just… kept talking. One thing led to another, and before we knew it, hours had passed. He said he didn’t want to cut it short.”

My stomach dropped. “So he just… forgot?”

Lana winced. “Not exactly. I think he knew he was running late, but… we were having a really good conversation, and—”

“—and he didn’t want to leave you,” I finished for her, my voice cooler than I intended.

Lana’s expression shifted, guilt flickering across her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were waiting that long.”

I forced a tight smile. “Of course you didn’t.”

Chloe’s eyes darted between us, reading every unsaid word in the space between.

The air in the room felt suffocating. Without another word, I shoved my chair back and stood, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“Y/N—” Lana started, but I was already heading for the door.

I heard her footsteps behind me in the hallway. “Wait! I didn’t mean for—”

I spun around so fast she nearly ran into me. “You didn’t mean for what? For him to choose you over me again? For me to sit there like an idiot at the Talon, wondering what I did wrong?” My voice was shaking now, anger spilling over the edges. “You knew he was supposed to meet me, Lana. And you kept him there anyway.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. “It wasn’t like that—”

“It’s always like that,” I cut in, my chest tight. “Every time. And somehow, you never notice until it’s too late.”

The hallway went quiet except for my own ragged breathing. Lana just stood there, her face pale, her eyes full of something I couldn’t bring myself to read.

“Y/N!” Chloe’s voice rang out from behind Lana as she stepped into the hallway, her expression caught somewhere between alarm and determination.

“Okay, let’s just take a breath,” she said quickly, moving to put herself between us. “You’re both upset, but yelling in the middle of the school isn’t going to help.”

I shook my head, still fuming. “I’m not upset, Chloe. I’m done.”

“That’s not true,” she said firmly, eyes locking on mine. “You’re hurt, and yeah, maybe Lana could have made a different choice that night. She isn't to blame about that night and neither is Clark, but Clark isn’t here to defend himself."

Lana stayed quiet, guilt written all over her face.

I crossed my arms, my voice dropping to something sharper, colder. “Maybe I’m just tired of explanations.”

Chloe sighed, glancing at Lana, then back at me. “Then at least take a break before you burn the bridge completely. Please.”

I stared at Chloe for a long moment, her words hanging in the air between us. Then I shook my head. “I can’t do this right now.”

Before either of them could answer, I turned and started walking down the hall. I didn’t look back, not even when I heard Chloe call my name.

My footsteps echoed off the lockers, each one pulling me farther away from them—away from the conversation, away from Clark, away from everything I didn’t want to feel.

But no matter how far I went, the weight in my chest didn’t budge.

By the time I hit the front doors, my pulse was pounding in my ears. I didn’t even think about where I was going—just kept moving until I was outside, the cool air biting at my cheeks.

Minutes later, I was behind the wheel, the school shrinking in my rearview mirror. I didn’t stop until the iron gates of the Luthor mansion came into view. They swung open without question, and I drove straight up the winding drive, parking without caring if I was crooked in the space.

The heavy doors slammed behind me as I stormed inside. My boots echoed across the marble floor, each step taking me deeper into the quiet halls until—

“Whoa.” Lex’s voice came from just ahead. He stepped into view from the study, brows raised in surprise. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you bursting through my home like a hurricane?”

I didn’t answer right away, still catching my breath from the whirlwind of the last hour.

Lex tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in that calculating way. “Something happened. And I’m guessing it involves Clark.”

I crossed my arms. “I just didn’t feel like being there.”

Lex’s brows rose. “You were only there for a few hours. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, maybe too quickly.

“That tone,” he said, pointing at me like he’d just solved something, “means it was absolutely not nothing. And considering your track record lately, I’m going to take a wild guess—Clark?”

I rolled my eyes and looked away. “You really think everything in my life revolves around him?”

“Not everything,” Lex said, stepping closer, his voice softening. “But enough that when you come home looking like you’ve gone ten rounds in a boxing match with your emotions, he’s usually involved.”

I let out a sharp breath and stared at the floor, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a confession.

Lex’s tone shifted again, quieter now. “You know, you don’t have to keep everything locked up. I’m not Dad. I’m not going to judge you for feeling something… or for being hurt by someone.”

My eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a second, I almost said something. Almost.

Lex studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “Look… you’re my sister. That’s not just some title. You mean more to me than any friendship, even with Clark.”

I stayed quiet, unsure if I believed him or if he was just saying it because I looked like I was about to crack.

“I know you think I’m always playing some game, or that I only care when it benefits me,” he continued, his voice steady but softer than usual. “But that’s not true when it comes to you. You’re family. And if Clark has done something to hurt you, I want to know—not because I want dirt on him, but because I care about you.”

The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know where to put my eyes. His gaze didn’t waver, like he was waiting for me to take the leap and just tell him.

“I’m fine, Lex,” I said finally, though the words didn’t sound convincing even to me.

He gave a small, knowing smile. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be here.”

I let out a slow breath, my arms loosening at my sides. “It’s not… a big thing. Just… he said he’d meet me somewhere, and he didn’t show.”

Lex’s jaw tightened slightly. “Did he at least have a good reason?”

I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “He was with Lana. Lost track of time, I guess.”

His eyes narrowed, that calculating expression creeping back in. “And you’re okay with that?”

I looked away. “I’m… not. But I don’t want you going after him about it, Lex. It’s not worth it.”

His voice was quieter now, but it carried an edge. “If he hurt you, it’s worth it to me.”

“I’m serious,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze again. “Just… let it go. Please.”

Lex didn’t answer right away. He just studied me, clearly weighing whether to respect my request or dig deeper.

Lex’s eyes stayed locked on mine for a moment longer, like he was trying to read everything I wasn’t saying. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair.

“Okay,” he said simply.

The word felt unfinished, like there was more he wanted to add but decided against. He picked up the glass of scotch on his desk, swirling it lazily, but his gaze never fully left me.

I knew him well enough to know that “okay” didn’t mean he was done—it just meant he was waiting for the right moment to do something about it.

Part one

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I hope you are enjoying this series. I made part two a little longer so you have more to read before part three comes out later tonight.

Why Not Me?

Part one

There you were, standing alone in the Talon, waiting for Clark to meet you. He had asked you to come after an awkward encounter at your brother’s mansion.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed the time—10:00 PM. He was late.

You began turning off the espresso machine. You had kept it running after closing, thinking Clark might want a coffee when he showed up. Just as you did, you heard the front door open.

“Finally! I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” you exclaimed as you turned around.

Your breath caught in your chest when you realized it wasn’t Clark.

Standing at the entrance were three masked men. One of them held a gun. Your eyes filled with tears as panic took over. You wished you were anywhere but here.

“Open the register!” the biggest one barked, walking toward you.

You obeyed, trembling, terrified of what might happen if you didn’t.

He walked behind the counter and grabbed the cash inside the till.

“THAT’S IT?!” he shouted, shaking the small wad of bills in your face. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Scared, you flinched and turned your head. “The manager took it… to Lex.”

He grunted in frustration, face inches from yours, then turned and scanned the Talon. When he couldn’t find anything of value, he turned back to you.

“Call Lex Luthor. Tell him to bring me cash, or you die.”

Tears streamed down your face. Your head was spinning, filled with desperate thoughts. If only Clark had shown up on time. If only he would walk through that door—right now.

“I… I can’t,” you choked out, your voice shaking.

You regretted the words instantly.

He backhanded you hard. You hit the floor.

“Call him now,” he growled, “or what I do next will hurt a lot more.”

Clutching your face, pain radiating through your cheek, you gasped, “I can’t… I don’t have his number.”

You didn’t know why you lied again. Maybe fear made the decision for you. But deep down, you were afraid that if you called your brother, both of you would be in danger.

You instantly regretted it.

His boot slammed into your ribs. You cried out and curled into yourself, shielding your stomach. Another kick. Then another. And another.

The pain was unbearable. You could feel yourself slipping.

Just before you blacked out, you heard one of the other thieves shout, “Enough! She’s just a kid! Let’s just go!”

One final kick—this time to your head—and everything went dark.

You woke up slowly, your vision blurry. You looked around, struggling to make sense of where you were.

The hospital, you realized.

How did I get here?

The door opened. You turned your head toward the sound. Tears filled your eyes when you saw your brother’s face. Relief overwhelmed you.

You were safe. You were alive.

“Y/n, you had me worried... What happened?” Lex asked, his voice low, his expression full of concern.

You told him everything—every terrifying moment. The tears wouldn’t stop. As you spoke, you watched his face slowly shift. The concern was still there, but something darker began to grow behind his eyes.

Anger.

He gently wiped a tear from your cheek, then stood and walked out of the room.

From your hospital bed, you watched through the window as Lex bumped into Clark in the hallway. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you saw Clark’s expression change as Lex pointed toward your room.

Then Clark looked up—his eyes locking on yours.

He stepped inside. Quietly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Sadness filled every word. He closed the door behind him. “Lex told me what happened… Y/n, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

He reached for your hand.

You pulled away.

“Where were you, Clark?” you asked, your voice full of hurt. “You were supposed to meet me at 9. It was your idea. And you weren’t there.”

“Lana needed m—” he began.

You cut him off. “Lana?! It’s always Lana. I should’ve known.”

“Y/n… I’m sorry. I should’ve called,” he said, guilt in his voice.

You looked at him, pain and anger burning behind your eyes. “No, Clark. You should’ve been there. I needed you… You’re always there to save everyone else. But when I needed saving, you were nowhere to be found.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore. You had never been able to stay mad at Clark—but this?

This hurt more than anything that had happened at the Talon.

“Leave,” you said quietly.

“What?” Clark asked, confused, trying again to reach for your hand.

“Leave,” you repeated, louder this time. You pulled your hand back. “I don’t want you here. Not now… not ever again.”

His face fell. Sadness and disbelief washed over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

You watched as he slowly stood, turned toward the door, and walked out.

You followed his figure through the hospital window as he walked down the hallway—slower than usual.

Once he was out of sight, the tears came again.

You clutched your chest, trying to stop the ache that wouldn’t go away.

You sat there for hours, battling your thoughts.

Did I do the right thing?

You tried to convince yourself: You love him. You would’ve done anything for him. And he couldn’t show up when it mattered most.

Clark Kent isn’t worth loving.

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I hope you enjoyed part one, please let me know your thoughts! What do you think will happen next? Will you forgive Clark? What is Lex going to do?