i like to write angst

It didn’t miss him the way you shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself in the snow. The holographic plastic materials of your short clothing did nothing to keep the biting cold from nestling into your bones. If anything, the sleek and hard material of your skirt just made it worse. Clark dropped beside you, clumsily trying to mimic your pose. His long legs seemed to fail him. You felt his cape drape over your shoulders, the tremors wracking your body lessening when wrapped beside him.

“What’s going on?” Clark asked.

“She’s been holding on by a thread for a while, but this is it… It’s busted,” Peaking your gaze up from behind your hands, you took in the sight of your spacecraft’s smoking engine. The black haze filled the cool arctic air, dancing around you before fading into the bright midnight sun. “Must’ve been the landing last night and the cold. It’s done.”

“Well, where’s home? Maybe Kara and I can—” Clark’s instinct to fix the situation, to do what he could, seemed to fail him as you cut him off.

“That’s home!” You threw your hands forward, gesturing to the wheezing ship before you. “I live out of my ship, Clark.”

The hissing sound of the dying engine filled the silence, giving Clark a moment to consider what to say next. Consider how his skills could be of service. Looking over at you and seeing how defeated you looked, this person, whom he’d only known for a day, yet somehow took a camp inside a small corner of his heart, he knew he couldn’t sit in the snow and watch.

“Well…are you in a rush to leave? Stay here, on Earth, for a bit,” his eyes couldn’t stop fixating on the way your fingers pulled at the loose threads on his cape. How your nose scrunched and brows furrowed each time the wind pulled another groan from the spacecraft.

“And stay where? There’s no heat in the ship anymore…” You said with a scoff.

“You…you could stay with me… at my apartment,” Clark’s stomach dropped as he watched your fingers still. He wasn’t one to put himself out there like this. Sure, he had no problem catching crumbling brownstones or derailing nuclear missiles. This was different, laying down his defenses for the woman he’d taken apart only hours ago. But something in the way the fluorescent white glow of your eyes pulsed at his words told him you may say—

“Really?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

With a soft shrug of his shoulders, Clark flashed you that famous Kryptonian grin. “Of course, grab your stuff.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

Maybe he was expecting you to have more, given that you had made your ship your home. After coming back from inside the craft, dragging just two full bags, Clark couldn’t help but wonder what drove you to camp out inside a tin can rather than back on the planet you came from. Maybe you were more alike than he thought.

Clark always kept that window unlatched, giving easy access to the high-rise. When he set you down on the dark hardwoods, he was expecting a more frantic reaction. Everyone he found himself sweeping off their feet always let out a yelp that made him chuckle. Yet when he plucked you off the arctic floor, you hadn’t even flinched.

While he didn’t spend a lot of time in the minimal flat, it wasn’t like he didn’t feel at home. He never felt anxious, not until he found himself standing by the window watching you creep around.

“So this is it, huh?” you asked. You padded through the living room with the kind of comfort one would only expect of an owner. Your hands, covered by those iridescent gloves Clark had felt on his chest just hours before, were just as delicate as they brushed over the black leather sofa. He wondered if you were always this delicate, or if it was a sort of gentleness reserved just for him.

“It’s… I know it’s kinda bare, but I’m not here much, so…” Clark said, rambling as he followed you through the apartment.

“Do I really make you that nervous?” Your words were blunt, spinning on your heels to give him that stare. The same one you gave under the neon lights of the club on Mors. Not much had changed; you were still wearing your skirt and boots, and he was still clad in the same blue suit. Maybe now that your hands had been all over each other in these same clothes, something was different.

“You don’t…I-I,” Clark stammered.

“Or are you always like this?” his gaze was observant as you found your way into his kitchen. 

He assumed you’d be more surprised by the smartphone on the counter or the digital screen on his fridge. But no, you seemed to linger in confusion on the yellow bananas hanging from a stand by his coffee maker. 

“You can crash here as long as you need. It’s the least I could do for someone who has to deal with Kara more than me,” he walked over to you, taking a banana in his hands and peeling it back for you. Your brows arched in surprise as he revealed the soft fruit and passed it over to you.

“She’s not that bad, she has a cute cousin,” so busy taking a bite from the fruit, you missed the deep scarlet that bloomed over his cheekbones from your comment. Clark couldn’t hold back his chuckle as your eyes widened from the sweet taste.“You guys just eat these? Like all the time?”

“You can have as many of them as you want,” he propped himself against the wall, watching as you slipped up onto the countertop. Your boots swung and bounced softly against the cabinets. Finishing up the fruit, you pulled the peel close and chewed on the leathery rind. When your nose scrunched in disgust, Clark’s giggle pulled a smile he hadn’t seen before from your lips.

Coming to stand between your thighs, he pulled the peel from your fingers. With a mind clear of the adrenaline from the night before, your thoughts fixated on the way his large hands dwarfed yours. How even from your elevated spot on the granite, he still had to look down at you. After tossing the peel into the trash behind him, his now freed fingertips lingered along the cool counter until they met the shadow cast by the hem of your skirt.

You cocked your head, leaning in to duck your head back into his gaze. His eyes trailed along the gap between your skirt and boots, where the soft flesh of your thighs showed. Your knees pulled in, pressing together till they gently rested at his hips. By the time he met your glowing eyes, you swore the thick pads of his fingertips had found the hem of your skirt.

Perhaps you’d know what was coming next if his morning alarm hadn’t gone off. Clark’s Adam's apple bobbed, and his jaw tensed as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, a groan falling between his red lips and tickling your collarbone.

“I gotta go to work,” he said.

With that same boldness from the night before, your hands slipped over his, where they rested on your thighs. You rolled your head back, giggling as his nose brushed against the tender skin under your jaw. 

You weren’t expecting the hunger you saw in his eyes when you finally looked back. The tautness in his jaw told you just how much he was holding back.

“Will you be okay today? I mean, I’ll be in and outta the Planet. With Superman stuff, so you know—” Fuck, you loved how he rambled.

His tumbling words stalled when your lips pressed against his. His teeth pulled your bottom lip between, tugging softly as you pulled back. His smile was cruel, given his early departure.

“I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl, Clark Kent,” you said.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

He didn’t know why he expected you to be sitting in the apartment when he got back. That wasn’t you; he barely knew you a day, and that much was clear. You didn’t strike him as the kind to sit back and wait, or to be entertained by the tech in his apartment that came nowhere close to matching the advanced gadgets you had strapped to your boots. 

When Clark came back to find the place empty, lights still on, and television blasting the local news, he knew he had his work cut out for him. Zipping over the tops of Metropolis, he tried to hone in on your strange heartbeat. It was unlike anything he’d heard before, but then again, so were you. Erratic and unpredictable, no steady thump or rate; each beat displayed a different strength. He couldn’t judge your anatomy; he himself had some unusual features due to the Kryptonian roots.

By the time he reached Midtown, back out where he was not too long before, he could hear that peculiar heartbeat. He ignored the awes and gasps of onlookers, excited to finally catch a Superman sighting in person as he zeroed in on your location. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for him, no super senses were needed to spot you in the busy streets. Your metallic and neon attire made that a task even the Gotham police could accomplish.

Clark liked your look, he really did. It was arbitrary and demanded attention, reminding him that you were different from him in so many ways. A different planet, culture, maybe even galaxy— he hadn’t yet pinned that down yet. Your clothing showed your spunk and guts before you got the chance to speak; he loved it. What he didn’t love was the attention it would draw.

He didn’t care that it was flashy or short or eye-catching. What he was afraid of was those who did. Since his stint with Lex Luthor just a few months ago, Metropolis had changed. Despite his friend, Lois, revealing it all— his corruption, underhanded cruelty, and bitter jealousy of metahumans such as himself— his rage still pulled back the curtain on a sentiment that he didn’t realize was brewing in his city. Luthor’s plot seemed to give some citizens the free pass to showcase their anti-alien sentiment on full display.

He didn’t want you to hide, to shield who you really were. But he also knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened to you. It would destroy something in him he didn’t even know was there.

The aura of Superman let the crowded street part as he touched down on the speckled sidewalk. A few tight-lipped nods and fleeting waves, and he was right up beside you. Softly clearing his throat, he reached a ginger hand to tap your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, coming by your side into your view.

Your stance was rigid and on guard until the flapping red served as a white flag. Clark watched as your shoulders softened and your lips curled, the bottom slipping between your teeth.

“Oh, hey!” you said, enthusiastic and with a tone that called just as much attention as your bright green boots. Not to mention the otherworldly weapons.

Eyes from onlookers lingered and latched onto you as they passed, taking in the sight of Superman engaging with some woman with glowing eyes and silver guns strapped to her legs. Before they could make any more assumptions, or even worse prod, Clark’s arms were around you. The spot where your boots met pavement was empty, leaving civilians to gasp and stumble away. 

By the time you reached the rooftops, Clark’s anxiety had dropped. He placed you down by the water tanks, taking a moment to make sure you were alone.

“What’s with you?” you asked with a giggle.

“Y/n, you can’t… You can’t just be out like this,” he said, gesturing to your attire. You raised your brows and smirked.

“Yesterday you liked my skirt just fine,” you snickered at the way he blushed and dodged your gaze.

He closed the space between you, hands coming to rest at your hips but stilling. They hovered just above you, begging to glide along the reflective plastic around your hips.

“I don’t care what you wear, I like how you dress,” he said. “But you’ve never been here. And things are different lately. People aren’t as open to the idea of aliens right now.”

You furrowed your brows and tilted your head. You could see the hurt in his eyes as he spoke. The hollowness as he fed you words you could tell burned to speak. There was more beneath the surface, a tone that said I know this because I lived it.

“I just need you to blend in for a bit. Just until you know the planet and feel safe. You don’t know this place, you’re not from here, and…tensions are high, I don’t want any—”

The mood was growing too sappy for you, too serious. It almost hurt just how much he cared. How deeply you could see the concern. It was new, foreign. You loved it, but from habit, you needed to break the tension.

“Aw, you care about me, Kent?” you said.

“Yes,” there was no humor or slyness in his tone. Just benevolence, devotion.

Whoa.

“I get it,” you said.

“You know, I love your clothes. Your home planet must really be something,” he meant it as a compliment, he really did. But the look on your face after he said it, the way your eyes dropped, and your jaw went taut. He wished he could take it back, and he didn’t even know why.

“Let’s go find you some stuff, it can still be crazy and fun like you,” that brought a smile back to your face. “Maybe just less plastic and no weapons.”

“That’s very fair,” you took his hands and finally let them rest at your hips.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

He wasn’t used to this, a presence in his apartment besides himself. Someone other than the person he became when a deadline was approaching and he buried himself in his computer on the couch. Or when he’d don the red and blue before leaping from the window, only to return hours later to a setting sun and dim lights.

His apartment was quiet; it always was. Bare, impersonal, and serene. You were none of those things. Your boots were loud, you constantly asked questions, and you insisted on leaving the window open to ‘hear the city’. The apartment came alive with your presence. Your scattered clothes brought much-needed colors to the greyscales of his one-bedroom.

Clark found himself sat on the couch, sinking back into the plush leather as you paced the room. You looked different, still you— still something out of his world. But different. 

He wasn’t sure what you’d settle on when he took you to find something more Earthly for your time here. Maybe he was expecting you to stick with the neons and shimmers and metallics, but something more mundane. He wasn’t expecting the layered mesh, the short skirt with way too many buttons and zippers, or the leg warmers that ran so far up your thighs they almost seemed like an homage to those boots he loved so much. You looked sleek, almost reborn. 

“This is so good!” You said, stilling from your pacing before him. His phone sat in your hands, blasting through a 2013 playlist he had never searched himself. Your hips swayed to the beat with a rhythm he got a glimpse of briefly the night before. “Who sings this?”

Clark leaned forward in his seat, taking the phone to see the familiar boy band so many of the girls he grew up with loved.

“One Direction,” he leaned back, placing the phone on the coffee table. 

“It’s great! The music back home is not like this!” Your dancing carried you over to where he sat, leaning down to get his attention. Though it never left you, it hadn’t since you yanked him into the neon lights outside the club. “Do you know them? Are you their friend?”

“Am I friends with One Direction?” he couldn’t mask the soft giggle that slipped. If you noticed, you didn’t let it show, nodding eagerly as you sat at his side. “No, no, I don’t know them…”

Clark sat, leaning back to take in the way your head bobbed to the melodies that flowed through his phone. Song after song, he could watch you for hours. At some point, he noticed just how close you’d gotten; your knees pressed into his thigh, and your propped arm behind his neck. Your eyes were closed, lost as you hummed along to some Ke$ha song he hadn’t heard in at least six years. You were mesmerizing, alluring, dangerous. There was no more kryptonite on Earth, but Clark began to wonder if he had brought some back from another planet by bringing you to his home.

He was a goner.

“We should…um, go over some house rules,” he said, hand lingering by your thigh. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, leaning into his shoulder. Your fingers fidgeted with the pleats in his trousers, flicking back and forth along the pressed seams that ran down his legs. 

“You can’t…you can’t leave all the windows open if you leave,” he tried to focus, his mind racing for minuscule rules he could think of to pry his thoughts away from how close your lips were.

“Okay…but you have to help me get one of these,” you pointed to the phone on the table. “I need to hear more of this music.”

He nodded, his body subconsciously drawing closer to yours. Your fingers found the hairs at the nape of his neck, trailing up and carding through the curls. He couldn’t control the stutter your hands pulled from him, “yea, yea, we can get you a phone…”

“Well, if you get rules, so do I. No being a buzzkill,” that pulled him from his haze with a joking scoff. “I’m serious!”

“Okay, then you can’t eat all the bananas,” he was grasping at straws; he knew it. You could leave the windows open all day, cause a banana famine in his home, anything— something told him he wouldn’t care.

“Fine! Then you can’t be a baby about my blasters!” You were engaged now, propping yourself up on your knees and leaning in. Clark lowered his hand, resting at the back of your thighs. When his fingertips began to explore the hems of your legwarmers, he thought of another rule.

“Then you can’t wear these around the house,” he said.

The glow of your eyes pulsed at his words, the bright white hue bursting with a quick spurt of energy. Clark’s smile grew wide, biting his lip softly as he leaned closer. Under his breath, you could hear the desperate and faint words of ‘gosh, i love those’.

Before he could take back his words, maybe play them off as a joke or a lapse in judgment, your hands were cupping his face; the tender skin of your palms finally resting on his jaw with no gloves to separate you. Your movements were spontaneous and assertive, pulling him closer as you slipped yourself onto his lap. His hands quickly moved to rest at the small of your back and cradle your head. 

When he felt your nose gently brush against his, he pulled back. Resting his forehead to yours, his hand traveled back to the legwarmers, gently tugging at the plush knit material.

“Okay, maybe we can forget that rule.”

“Come on, Clark,” you said, “I need an explanation, I mean, how does a guy smash through a metal and wood roof?”

His hands wrung around the handle of his shovel, clenching and unclenching as his eyes darted anywhere but yours. For a moment, you almost convinced yourself the metal bent beneath his grasp. His bottom lip slipped between his teeth again, something you’d begun to notice he always did when he was anxious— even in the few months you’d known Clark Kent, it was pretty easy for you to read him like a book.

“I…It was just a dump accident, you know…” That higher pitch remained, his hand moving to scratch at the back of his neck. “I was just doing something stupid…”

He was lying.

You didn’t know Clark long, but what you learned quickly was that he didn’t like to lie— hated it, really. He did it so little, if at all, that it became painfully obvious each time he tried.

“You’re lying,” you said.

“Y/n…” he sighed.

“You don’t trust me?” Something in the way his eyes widened, the soft panic that showed from your words, stirred up in your stomach.

“No! No, no, you know I do. It’s just—” he stuttered.

“And to think I give you and your Ma free sheep’s cheese,” you said, dropping your shovel and stepping a bit closer. Your tone was joking, light, as you tried to reel him back in.

The barn was quiet; the sound of Clark’s work boots scraping against the floors filled the space as you waited. After a beat, he met your eyes; his face was torn, but he couldn’t hide the longing behind his eyes. The longing for truth, to share the truth with someone he cared about.

You cocked your head, smiling at him— one that stripped the joking tone from before, leaving just sincerity and space for him.

“You can trust me, Clark,” you said.

“It’s kinda a long story, hard to explain…” his voice lowered, meeting you back down where you were.

“We’ve got time.”

Metropolis — 2025

You couldn’t figure it out; how was it that one minute you were speaking with a journalist from Metropolis, one you’d never met, then the next, Clark Kent stood before you.

All that changed was the glasses.

“Clark… what, how are you…” Your confusion showed as your eyes squinted to take a closer look.

With a sheepish grin, he held up the glasses. Placing them quickly on and off, you watched as his appearance shifted from that of your best friend to a stranger, then back again.

“It’s the glasses,” his eyes lowered, fixated on the floor and your boots. The boots he hadn’t seen for five years. “It’s a lot to explain.”

You glanced around the stairwell. It was empty, with no cameras or people. Just you and Clark. Something you once cherished and until now never thought you’d experience again.

Your eyes roamed over him, taking in the soft slouch of his shoulders hidden under a blazer that was slightly too big. The way his hands fidgeted at his sides. This wasn’t exactly the man you’d come to know so well, the one you once held so dear.

“Well… we’ve got time,” you said.

His face softened, the curve of his lips twitching upwards in a way that almost let you know how desperate he was to have you back. Suddenly, he wasn’t crammed in the stairwell of the Daily Planet, worn-out loafers squeaking against the concrete as he anxiously scraped his heel. He was back in the fields of Kansas, the scraping of his shoe instead of the scraping of a shovel at hay as he told you about his Kryptonian roots.

“So, you know Superman, right…” His voice floated up an octave at the end. Same old Clark.

“Oh, you mean you?” you said, leaning against the metal railing of the stairs.

You wished you could capture the shock on his face and keep it as a memento forever. The way his brows lifted and lips curled into a confused frown. The poor guy genuinely was surprised you knew.

“How, you…?” his words stumbled out in a stutter as he began to bite his lip.

“Clark, you never wore those around me,” you gestured to the glasses hanging from his fingers at his side. You reached for the plastic specs, fingertips brushing against his hand just long enough for you to miss the touch when you pulled away. “It’s kinda hard not to recognize my best friend when he’s plastered all over the news wearing a blue bodysuit and Speedos.”

He would’ve scoffed at the comment, let some of the humor you tried to throw out reach him, but he couldn’t. Not when you just called him that.

Best friend. Your best friend.

At that moment, five years hadn’t passed. You hadn’t walked out. He didn’t say what he did. Everything was how it always was, how he needed it to be. You were here, and maybe things would be okay.

“I watch all the stories, every fight. I always knew it was you,” his eyes fixated on the way your boots scuffed along the floor as you spoke. He had seen you there a thousand times in the years he’d known you. But five years without was too long.

Smallville — 2013

Senior year wasn’t supposed to fly by as fast as it had. You wanted more time; you needed it. Ever since Clark smashed into your life, he had been set on leaving Smallville; the Kryptonian needed to see more and be more. You always wanted that for him; you knew he was destined for that. You just hoped you wouldn’t get left behind in the dust. Something told you that was foretold.

You kicked your feet where they hung off the bed of your truck. The back of the high school was flooded with your peers as they raced through the doors and out of the building for the weekend. The cuticles of your nails were flaky and picked at throughout the day for hours. Each scrap and pluck is a way to try to sort through your worries. What if he left right after graduation? What if you never see him again? Would he even miss you?

It was hard to stay focused as the familiar bouncing head of dark curls came jogging towards your truck. With one smile, you were able to forget it all. Forget that maybe this friendship— if that’s what it was— maybe had an expiration date. One smile was able to wipe the insecurity that rang in your mind, that he was a metahuman and you were just you. He was a metahuman that was bigger than just Smallville, Kansas, and even you; he wasn’t yours. Maybe he never really was.

“Hey, I know we were gonna get ice cream, but Ma needs—” his bright and almost innocent tone shifted when he got close enough to see the sullen look on your face. “What’s up?”

Drawing your knees up and resting on the truck, you glanced up at him. It wasn’t fair, the way he was able to pull the truth out of you despite how hard you fought. It wasn’t one of his powers, at least you didn’t think so.

Your eyes fell back to the loose gravel parking lot, unable to meet his as you spoke.

“Are you taking off after graduation?” Your voice was softer than normal.

“Why are you asking me this?” he sank next to you onto the bed of the truck. The tires bounced under his weight. It never ceased to shock you just how strong the Kryptonian was. 

“You just…you always talk about leaving. About your purpose and what you were sent here to do,” you said, picking at the nail bed of your ring finger. “You’re gonna do big things, bigger than Smallville, and…me. And I don’t wanna be selfish and say don’t leave, cause that’s not fair, but—”

You stopped and let out a rattling breath.

“I know you’re leaving, I just… is it soon?”

He didn’t respond right away, but scooted closer, pressing his thigh against yours.

“Hey, mustang,” that damn nickname, the one you never could shake— not that you minded it. It started as something witty, something to try and get under your skin. You always suspected Clark got a kick outta winding you up. He told you that you reminded him of the wild horses he’d seen a few times out in the fields past his parents' farm. When he came to pick you up for school one morning and saw you sleeping with one of your horses in the stables, that sealed it. You were his mustang, wild, unpredictable, and loyal. 

His shoulder nudged into yours, his head ducking closer as his eyes fought to capture yours. You never could win when it came to him.

“Nothing’s bigger than you,” his voice was softer in an effort to push away any doubts in your mind. “I don’t… I don’tknow what I'm gonna do next. I don’t know where I’m gonna go. But I’m not leaving you behind.”

You felt an arm wrap around you, his hand resting at the nape of your neck. The way his fingers dug tenderly into the soft flesh of your skin, the way his body subconsciously drew closer, the way his eyes sparkled, how they only did when locking with yours— everything told you he meant it. 

“Yeah, I don’t plan on staying in Smallville, but… anywhere I go, you’re still my number one. I’m not leaving you behind. Ever.”

Metropolis — Present

Clark was able to snag you on the way out the door. The awkward swoosh of his slightly ill-fitting suit left you chuckling as he jogged to catch you on the way to the elevator. It was strange to see him like this, not just the warped face due to the glasses, but everything about him. The way he walked, spoke, and the fit of his clothing. The Clark you knew hated pointed shoes, said they made his toes feel funny. He wouldn’t even wear boots back home cause of the points. But now here he was, sleek leather loafers with a tip that made you wonder about those familiar poor toes.

The elevator was quiet, but not awkward. Well, maybe not for you. Clark’s hands fidgeted around the handle of his bag, fingers picking at the threads of the stitches. He couldn’t remember a time when there was silence between the two of you. Even the day when everything fell through, there wasn’t silence. His shoes scuffed against the linoleum floors of the elevator as it carried the two of you down the skyscraper. The descending number of floors mocked him, reminding him that his time with you was coming to an end.

“God, it’s so weird seeing you like this,” his eyes moved to where you stared at him. There was no resentment or awkward tension in your brows, just curiosity. “You’re a whole new person.”

“I’m not, I’m not that different,” he said, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Maybe not, what do I know,” you said, dropping his gaze. “It’s been a while.”

Five freaking years. It’s been more than ‘a while’, it’s been too long.

Clark was grateful you weren’t a metahuman, that you couldn’t read through his thoughts like an open book. If you could, you’d see just how badly he wanted to unload everything. To tell you about the last five years, to tell you about Metropolis. To tell you he missed you, that he was wrong. That he was sorry.

And maybe something else he couldn’t quite figure out himself.

The doors opened, leading out into the marbled lobby of the building. To the revolving door, he hoped, wouldn’t be ushering you out of his life again.

“You um… You have any plans tonight?” he said as you left the elevator cart.

“I was just gonna get dinner and crash at my hotel,” you said. “You know me, I’ve never been a city girl.”

He knew you, he knows you. He knew you were right, you never felt drawn to the city or the hustle and bustle that was found out east from the dry canyons of Arizona or the dusty fields of Kansas. But he also knew you could never hide the curious or eager spirit inside of you, the same one that left a twinkle in your eyes as you took in the towering skyscrapers just outside the Daily Planet.

“Well, maybe you wanna catch up? I could show you my place… we could order BBQ,” he could feel the leather cracking beneath his palm from his grip on his bag, “It’s not as good as Smallville, but—”

“I’d like that,”

There was something about how quickly you responded that sent a pang deep into Clark’s chest. That lack of hesitation that he knew always used to be reserved for him, that still was even after everything.

---

Clark walked on the outside of the sidewalk, keeping you sandwiched between himself and the buildings that passed. You never had to worry about standing near the street when he was around. Kansas dirt paths, walking home from his farm, he always kept you away from the cars and near the corn fields. Some things never changed.

“Everyone is really excited for Steve’s piece. Lois and Cat were stoked to meet you. I guess they watch your videos,” it was refreshing to hear the light-hearted giddiness deep within Clark’s voice as he rambled, filling any silence with that familiar timbre that pitched up every once in a while. 

“Yeah, it’s, I don’t know, it’s cool, I guess,” your fingers fidgeted with the belt loops on your pants as you walked. “It’s still a bit overwhelming how popular it’s gotten. The fame isn’t exactly what I was hoping for, but the money helps.”

Clark scoffed at your quip. When your laugh followed shortly behind, he swore his heart stuttered.

“What? I’m just being honest! Look, I’d be chasin’ with or without the bucks, but…it helped me buy back Dad’s ranch,” you said, finally looking back up at him through those glasses. “... back in Sedona.”

“You bought the ranch?” His feet stumbled to a halt, his tall figure looming as he stopped to take a step closer to you. You nodded with a soft and humble smile, one that perhaps revealed just how proud you wanted him to be. “Y/n that’s… that’s amazing… why didn’t you—”

His words died before he could let them out. Why didn’t you call?

You both knew why.

“That’s amazing, Y/n,” your pace picked back up in silence, the buildings passing as you neared his apartment. As brownstones turned to sleek high rises, Clark could feel the emotions clawing up his throat. 

“I’m…I’m sorry for what happened, you know. Those years ago,” you didn’t have to look up to know he was looking down at you. He watched as your thumb dug at the cuticles of your fingers, brows twitching as he spoke. 

He knew this wouldn’t be the talk you needed, that there was no way things could be saved in the middle of Midtown besides a halal cart and someone’s dropped morning coffee. But it could be a start. He just needed you to say something.

When your lips parted, the ground shook. Something in Clark almost thought that’s how it would feel if you told him that your life was better with him gone, what he was expecting to hear. But no. That wasn’t the cause of the quake. Becauseyou had yet to even speak.

Cars crashed down the main street, steam rising, and civilians screaming and running. The sight of a creature roaming through buildings, weaving between the trees of the park, caught his attention. 

He didn’t want to go; he needed to hear what you would say. More than anything. But he wasn’t just Clark anymore; he was Superman.

He dashed into the alley and out before you could process that he was gone. With the glasses now discarded, Clark, as you knew him, stood before you. Only now, the ill-fitted suit was replaced with that blue and red Kevlar that had graced your TV plenty of times.

“I gotta go…” Clark tore his gaze from yours, glancing at the creature that was thrashing through police cars. “I—”

“You can call me when you’re done,” you said. “...if you still have my number.”

Clark wished the smile he gave you wasn’t bittersweet.

“I’ll see you in a bit, mustang.”

You couldn’t process the nickname before he was gone. A flash of primary colors racing into the sky faster than the day you first watched him take off.

Smallville — 2015

“Keep going!” 

Your hands curled up in your horse’s mane, your boots digging into his stomach as he raced you through the fields outside your farm. The brush of the wheat scratched against your calves, the feeling eventually going numb from the speed. 

To your side, the Kryptonian who somehow wormed his way into your life hovered above the vegetation. The jersey of his tee rippled against his chest, and the cotton of his jeans flapped as he kept pace with the Appaloosa you rode. 

“It’s hard to keep speed and balance!” Clark’s voice carried over the wind as he shouted back.

“You can do it! It’s natural!” you called back, glancing over your shoulder with a laugh. His curls were brushed back by the wind, giving you a clear view of his eyes as he tried to control his balance. “You fly all the time!”

He did, all over the fields at his farm and eventually yours when your Dad was gone. But high speeds and balance were a challenge. That was what landed you a Clark-shaped hole in your stable just a few years prior. When you grew up hiding your alien roots, that didn’t present a lot of opportunities to hone your natural abilities. Speed and balanced control were his weak spots.

“You’re thinking too much, starboy! Just do what feels natural!” You turned your gaze back to the horse that carried you at high speed. “Just like Waya here! Don’t think about it, just ride!”

You tugged gently on Waya’s mane, and with a soft kick, he took off at full speed. Lost in the sight of the sunset over the fields and the way the wheat parted in your wake, you didn’t notice the gust of wind blow past you until its cause was far ahead.

Clark zipped past you at a speed you couldn’t comprehend, your human eyes only catching glimpses of him as he weaved around the field. You pulled back your horse, slowing to a stop as you watched him take off into the clouds. The fields parted in a boom beneath him, a ripple cascading through the grass and tickling against your legs. By the time you could see him through the clouds again, the winds had switched. What was blowing east had now shifted west, obeying whatever shift Clark had set off. 

You watched in awe as he landed back onto the ground, the first soft landing at that speed you’d seen. He wobbled a bit as he ran towards you, a disbelieving grin on his face.

“That was incredible!” he shouted. “Next time, you’re going up there with me!”

Of course, that was his first thought. Wherever he went, he never left you behind.

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