Elilovesall

That was the first commandment of your personal holy text. A list, scribbled hurriedly in the back of your notebook when you were eleven, weathered by years of spilled sodas and tears. The rules were there to protect that part of you which would take the longest to evolve as you became a young woman: your heart. Really, they were quite infallible rules. Though quite juvenile in conception, and a bit poorly worded, the ideas had to be taken down. You often found yourself struggling to cope in situations that were completely normal, like the average mall afternoons and classroom projects. You needed to have something tangible to follow when you could not function in the wake of Clark’s sunshine. And in your devoted way, you lived by them. From middle school all the way until your senior year you adhered to these guidelines without fail, and it helped you survive lifetimes of being best friends with the golden and angelic Clark Kent, small town hero… and Lana Lang’s admirer.  

It was a poor hand to be dealt, to love a boy who didn’t know what he wanted. It was not that Clark was a bad person, but he certainly had no proper guidance on the subject of love. His parents were a one in a million example, and they set up quite unattainable expectations for true love in the teenage world; not to mention the series of significant others his friends blew through (especially Lex), proving oppositely that love had a time limit, and breakups usually ended badly, or that people did not last if they did not communicate. It seemed every example presented to him made love seem both aspirational and impossible, and for a boy so intent on having it, he was completely conflicted. His only good example was you, and that was the worst one to have, because it was completely invisible. Friend-love. Always-there-but-never-explored love. Too-late love.

The worst of it came from his unfortunate object of affection. Ever the dreamer, Clark latched onto Lana Lang from a young age and had never let go. Something about her aloofness, like a lovable cat who worked on her own clock, ensnared him. He timed his every breath to fit her whims, following the tides of her affection in and out, always waiting for when they’d grace him once more. Even after she had boyfriends, and even after she said she’d never reciprocate the feeling, and even after he promised to get over it, Clark just could not retract his claws. You could not blame him, because you technically did the same– but at least you were quiet about it. What nobody knew didn’t exist and could not be judged. That was Clark’s failure– he was too sweet, open, and trusting. Everyone knew his love. Nobody knew yours. 

There was nothing wrong with Lana Lang. In fact, you liked her very much. It was hard not to. She was gentle and understanding, she got good grades, she worked hard, she showed up when it mattered. She was a good friend to Chloe and Pete and you. But as these things go, you just couldn’t shake the dreadful ache in your stomach when she came around, smiling with white teeth and tossing that glossy hair over her shoulder. There was nothing wrong with her, which made her perfect, and that meant you had to live in her shadow. Anybody would be a little resentful, however selfish or mean-spirited that might be. You were not perfect. Someone had to have flaws. 

You managed well for a long time. You became close friends with Clark’s group, seeing as you were around longer than all of them (you were sandbox, they were grade school), and considered Clark’s most prized friend. You were at the top of your class alongside the quarterback. You went to every Friday night football game and cheered him on wearing the homemade Kent jerseys you and Chloe had bedazzled. You worked your shifts in the Talon without complaint and lived your life in silence. You grew up between braced smiles and new clothes each September, and surprise birthday parties planned by Clark alone, all for you, because he loved you, and you were his best friend, and the world revolved around that. The fabric of your life was repetitive and woven into his, and that of Smallville and all it contained, so you had to be content with it, because you knew nothing else. Did not want to know anything else, really, no matter how painful it became. Every year you got older, loved him more, and hated yourself in a new way. You kept on. 

Somewhere along the line, though, you lost touch with that desire to keep hiding. One person could only take so much self-loathing and pity before they started to hate themselves for hating themselves– it was a slippery slope. You did not look at the sacred list anymore because you had trained yourself in its craft, which in turn morphed you into a shell capable of little more than behavioral adaptation. Nobody could sense it, not even Clark, but you knew. You seemed normal, like the same girl you’d always been, still intelligent and quirky and plump as the day the world met you. But you could feel in every step and breath how you moved mechanically, analyzing your every facial expression and word, making sure you gave nothing away and never truly let anybody see the truth. It was exhausting, and the only way you knew how to behave. You became the rules, and now that you were close to losing this curated life, you were restless. Tired of this game, of this fear. Terrified to stop, but needing to change.

By ‘losing’, college is implied. College and the changes of a young woman’s life. For you, that was a much more loaded event than for others. 

Turning eighteen early was what ignited the turnaround. You reached the milestone sooner than most of the kids in your grade. You were light years ahead in maturity, already focused on your acceptance to MetU and counting the days until you could escape forever and be someone who was a part of a bigger world with other chances to be loved. After so much time spent giving back to Smallville and surrounding yourself with the things that looked, felt, smelled, tasted like the love of your life, you were growing weary. You had endured the pain as long as you possibly could, and now it was breaking you. There were only so many sleepovers and lake trips and study nights you could spend with your circle before it all felt like playing house with a handful of dolls, positioning yourself in a plastic chair to reenact a life you had never truly been living around people who thought you were present. No wonder you were an old woman trapped inside– you had heaped on more emotional damage than any eighteen year old should ever sustain. 

Graduation was a few weeks away, and you had an early MetU start in July, so you had two options now that your heart was finally evolving. Or rather, now that you have become self-aware. You could come clean before you go and leave the baggage behind, or you could keep your secret forever and hope it doesn’t bite you in the ass when you’re gone. 

Everything was so confusing now that you weren’t sure which path to choose. You were not a confrontational person, and you knew that Clark would only meet you with a slurry of apologies and soft rejections, so it would be safest not to say a word. But the grown part of you, the piece that was forged in the sole flame of your heart that knew you deserved peace, felt he deserved to know. With everything he’s been through these last few years, all the leaning he’s done on you, all the heartbreaks you’ve sheltered, he should know it wasn’t done selflessly. He should learn not to trust those who surround him– he’d believed in a fraud for too long. Gave her gifts and movie nights in the truck bed without knowing he was sitting beside a motivated girl. Then again, that might break him. He was so empathetic he might just die from knowing what he put you through. See? Confusing. Impossible. It seemed like there was no way to know how to handle the situation.

Then again, you had always been prepared, hadn’t you? You had a list for these things. A scripture to abide by. So, with just mere days standing between you and the rest of your life beyond Clark– who was still unsure of following you and Chloe to MetU, or Lana to Central Kansas–  you decided to revert to your best shot at getting through the change alive. You dug through your bedroom for the sacred notebook and laid your eyes on a page you needn’t touch since the age of fourteen. And upon reading it, you devised your plan. 

THE DO NOT LIST

Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel

The look on Clark’s face was worse than all those years of imagination could have ever conjured. It was a bad place to do it, but you just didn’t have the patience to wait any longer. It was gnawing at your body like a parasite, and you suddenly had to spit it out after harboring the secret so long. Granted, you could have waited until you were in a position to leave swiftly, and not done it in the car when there was another fifteen minutes to spare before he reached your house. 

“You… what?” He gulped, eyes wide as a deer’s while his father’s old farming truck rumbled down the county road. 

You sighed in resignation, regretting the impulse. “I love you,” you repeated. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. A-and I’m sorry to say it now. It’s bad timing, I know, but I just… can’t be quiet about it anymore. I feel like you deserve to know.”

The boy– well, young man now, isn’t he? Eighteen like you, grown up, beautiful, strong, your best friend after so much time– clutched the steering wheel like a buoy. His words drowned beneath his heavy tongue. “Cap… how long?”

That was easy. “Since I was ten, at that Christmas party in Ms. Mary’s class. When you kissed me under the paper mistletoe.” You smiled a bit at the nickname. Everyone started calling you that when you captained the debate team in middle school. Even in a moment like this, he let it slip.

Clark dared to glance at you, relieved to find you were not looking back. Your eyes were trained on the cornfields outside the window, and your polished nail fiddled with the crank. Your face had not changed since ten years old. Your cheeks were still round, and they got red as apples in the cold or when you felt afraid. They were a deep Gala shade now, like the ones his mother picked from their tiny orchard along the edge of the farm. It was June, so it had to be the other catalyst for bloodflow. “You remember that?”

“Yes, I remember that,” you nodded, dropping your limp hand into your lap. “All this time we’ve been friends. And you love Lana, I know that. I never tried to tell you because it was pointless, but I don’t know, something in me just– just can’t keep lying. It’s not right. To me or to you.”

Clark had to remember he was driving and to keep his eyes on the road as you shifted in the cab. He blinked a few times, as if he could see all the moments of your shared life flashing before his eyes and was trying to scrutinize in vain, attempting to find any moment that stood out which might point towards a sign that you’d shown your love and he was too blind to recognize it. But nothing was memorable. That was your intention, after all. To go unnoticed.

“I don’t expect you to say anything,” you said softly, breathing deeper, “or to apologize. Nothing is your fault. And it’s mean to just drop this on you, I know, but I don’t want to upset you or confuse you, okay? That’s not the goal. I just wanted you to know, that’s all. I don’t… need anything, or, like, want anything from you. I don’t need anything to change. You’re still my best friend and I’m yours, unless you say otherwise. It’s just been a long time coming, and with me going to school soon and everything moving along, I felt like if you didn’t know I’d be cheating you, or something. Failing to be the friend I’ve been. I know how important it is to you for people to be honest, that’s like your number one thing, and I wasn’t brave enough where it mattered for a really long time. So I’m sorry. And I hope you’re not angry, or sad, or… whatever.”

The sound of you breathing had always been so familiar to him, but as it sounded now, you were entirely new. Clark wasn’t sure if he was feeling anger or remorse or a thousand emotions in-between. He wasn’t sure of anything after hearing such unexpected words. He wanted to tell himself that he should’ve known better, but how could he? You never seemed to care about him any more than just special, true friendship. In a way, he never assumed you would, so that might have helped blindfold him. You were this untouchable thing all his life, a constant between every heartache and failure; the one person he knew would never change, who always had his best interest at heart. And here you were, admitting to keeping a secret he would’ve wanted to know. It could have been handled. You could have been cared for. He didn’t know how to feel, and he definitely didn’t know what to say. 

But for you, the feeling was a better outcome than the payoff. The weight lifting from your chest made you wonder if you’d ever truly breathed right at all since you met Clark. The icy fear in your veins began to warm in his silence, and while you still wondered if you had ruined everything, you were less afraid to find out. You read somewhere that when people are finally ready to have an important conversation, they will know, because the idea will stop feeling like pressure and start feeling like an urge. That was exactly it. You had stopped wondering how long can I keep this up, how long before he finds out, when will I have to come clean, and begun thinking if I don’t do it now, I’ll regret it. The change occurred without you even knowing. Finally, for the first time, you had broken the primary rule, and it felt good. 

Clark didn’t say anything that night. He just drove you home, and when you smiled and thanked him for the ride, he watched you leave with tears in his eyes, feeling so very confused, like he’d always been. 

Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast

Clark’s First Rule: Be honest with yourself

“It came out of nowhere.” 

“I don’t think so, Clark,” Martha sighed, running her fingers gently through the thicket of hair at the base of her son’s neck. “She might have hid it from you, but she didn’t hide it from the world. That girl has always had eyes for you.”

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Clark sniffled, swiping tears away from his reddened eyes. “I feel like such an asshole.” Martha gave him a friendly whack on the neck and he winced. “Sorry, Ma.”

“You are nothing of the sort,” Martha hummed, pursing her lips in disapproval. “You’ve just had your head set on Lana. It wouldn't have helped for you to know.”

“Yes it would!”

“How, honey?” Martha gave a pointed glance. “Would it have made you like Lana less? Are there feelings there for you?”

Clark broke down into another sob and clutched at his hair. “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

He curled into his mother’s arms and cried for a long while. Clark didn’t cry much, he was always the stoic type, but something inside him felt sick and rotten and he wanted to wretch until he rid himself of it. Never in his life had he felt more responsible for someone’s pain than now. All he could imagine was little you, chubby and covered in glitter from art class, pining after him while he pined after Lana. Lana, who never wanted him back. You, who hugged him every time he was reminded of that reality. You, who forced him to watch 10 Things and Clueless and She’s All That, as if they’d cheer him up. You, who never turned him away. It must have been torture to sit idly by and love him when he had his head too far up his own ass. You were his twin flame, the one he came to for everything, over even his own parents. Nobody else knew all of his secrets and mistakes. Nobody else could remember his favorite songs or what kind of publisher he liked to buy from– Oxford Classics, not Penguin, because he liked white spines. Not a soul could promise him everything would be okay and mean it like you did. And all he’d given you in return was a shotty friendship where his heart was somewhere else and his need with you. 

Martha shushed into his hair as his breathing began to level. “Shh, Clark, it’s alright… what are you thinking, huh?”

Clark croaked, “That I’m a terrible person.”

“Oh, you are not,” she tutted, petting his ears. Clark lifted his sore eyes and gazed up at Martha. “You’re a kind, generous person, that’s why you’re so upset. You love her and you don’t want to see her hurt.”

Clark rubbed his dribbling nose on his sleeve. “I don’t know what to do, Ma. I’m so confused.”

Martha tilted her head and brushed a few drying tears from his soft cheeks. “Well, do you love her too?”

Clark grunted in frustration. “No! Yes! I don’t know!” He added quietly, “I love Lana. Or, I think I love Lana. I just don’t know. I always wanted it to be Lana.”

“But it isn’t. And it won’t be. I know that hurts, but you have to dig deeper than that now. You have to look at your life. You have to admit a few things to yourself, honey.”

“I want her to be happy,” Clark rasped, and he wasn’t sure which girl he meant.

“Let me ask you differently,” Martha sighed, sitting back against the couch. She could answer the question for him, but he had to be the one to understand, not her. “When you think about her, and about Lana, which one do you feel sure with?”

Clark scratched between his eyes. “What?”

“Which one makes you feel sure, sweetheart? Unafraid, happy, confident? Which one makes joy easy?”

Clark had never asked himself that question before. 

THE DO NOT LIST

Rule #2: Never tell anyone else either

“I’m sorry, come again?”

“Come on, Chloe, don’t make me do this over and over,” you mumbled, nudging the microscope towards her. The metal screeched on the black lab table, and she winced as she slid a new slide onto the plate. “Is it really so surprising?”

“Yes!” She hissed, giving you a look of incredulity. “Why did you never tell me? You’ve seriously just been, like, hiding this? Forever? Never thought it would help to let somebody know?!”

You huffed and scribbled a few notes onto the lab sheet. At the front of the room, Mr. Gable was grading the most recent quiz while the chemistry class did filler work. You could do this sort of thing with your eyes closed. “It wouldn’t have helped. He’s always loved Lana, you know that. Would’ve wasted my time and gotten me hurt way worse.”

Chloe frowned as she shoved the microscope back. “Did you not trust me?”

“Of course not! I trust you with everything. I just… you know. It wasn’t something I wanted anyone to know about, okay? Too personal. Too… much.”

Chloe reached over with her pen, some sky blue doodad with a fuzzy top, and jotted a detail onto your sheet. She peered up at you from beneath her light eyes and sighed. “I can’t say I don’t get it. We’ve all had our things for Clark. It’s hard not to,” she offered, “but… jeez. Eight years?”

You shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”

“So you suffered in silence. Like a hermit. Or a monk.”

“I wouldn’t say it was that extreme,” you fibbed.

“Come on.”

“It just wasn’t worth it, Chlo, okay? Now, can we please move on?”

“No,” Chloe waved her fluffy pen in front of your nose. The interspersed tinsel shone under the fluorescent lights. “We need to figure this out. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

The girl nearly choked. “Nothing?”

“What do you expect? He still loves Lana!” You grumbled, glancing around. Everyone was busy pretending they were finishing the lab, itching for the bell to ring and set them free. Senoritis had a ghastly grip on the student population now. “Plus, I’m going to MetU in a few weeks. He doesn’t know what he wants or where he’s going, and I have to let go. I need to be able to start fresh.”

“So you’re telling me, what, you’re doing some crazy mental purging so you can run away to Metropolis and pretend it never happened? He won’t let you go that easy and you know it. He loves you. He’ll miss you!”

“I didn’t say we can’t be friends,” you sighed.

“But you’re treating it like he’ll never want to see you again.”

You glanced at her, trying to find a reasonable rebuttal, but Chloe had a point. Maybe you were trying to shelter yourself, hoping the brave thing would eliminate the problem, and therefore circumvent the pain. Could you have been both brave and cowardly in the same moment? Would he see it that way?

“Did he say anything?” Chloe tacked on. 

You shook your head, flipping the packet over to keep writing. “No. I did tell him that he didn’t have to, though. It’s been a few days, I did it after the game last Friday. I haven’t seen him since. I worked all weekend, so I don’t really know what he’s thinking.”

Chloe frowned and rubbed your arm. “Oh, babe…”

“Don’t do that,” you begged, “this is why I didn’t tell anyone! I’m not some kicked puppy.”

Chloe leaned her head on your shoulder and said, “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to be one for a while. Feel something. Want something. He does, so why can’t you get a chance?”

You stiffened a bit at the advice and stopped writing. Chloe could be very astute when she wanted to be.

THE DO NOT LIST

Rule #3: Do not talk about him when he is not there – friends will snitch

“You have to talk to us at some point, Cap,” Lois grumbled, “because Clark certainly won’t.”

You flushed and adjusted your jacket sleeves. “That’s his choice. Also my choice.”

“Bullshit,” Lois frowned, tugging her own coat on. That early summer chill was rolling over the darkening town, and the lake was too cold to stay much longer. “We’re all in this, like everything else.”

“Actually, Lois, we aren’t,” you snipped.

As Chloe stoked the fire, everybody seemed to quiet down real quick. You were not known to assert yourself, especially against the big and mighty daughter of General Lane. Lana and Pete shifted uncomfortably in their Adirondack chairs, eyes flitting toward the shoreline where Lex stood beside Clark’s shadowy frame. They were skipping rocks and undoubtedly avoiding you. 

Lois’ frown deepened. “So, what? You come clean with this crazy secret and expect it not to change the dynamic? Clark barely talks to anybody now, and neither do you! It’s been two weeks of awkwardness! You guys need to work this out or else everyone is going to get real distant,” she warned. “We’re about to graduate. You really want to end on this note?”

You sighed, feeling how her jabs rolled right off you like water on a duck’s back. Everything did, now that you had released the fear. Nothing seemed to matter so much, but not in a bad way. Everyone around you took everything as if it was the end of the world, in the customary teenage fashion, and you were growing out of that. The world did not end when you told Clark you loved him, and it wouldn't end with a few angry friends. And for any of them to share in Lois’ sentiments would prove that they cared more about preserving the illusion than performing the actual act of friendship. “Lois, I get that it’s awkward, but really, this isn’t about you or anybody else. It’s between me and Clark. If you want to talk to him, talk to him. I’m not gonna just air my shit out here.”

“She has a point, though,” Lana interjected, sipping a Coke with nervous eyes. “We just don’t want it to ruin the group.”

Funny that the wedge between your heart and Clark’s would feel comfortable enough to drive deeper in this moment, isn’t it? That soft voice always seemed to grate you. Sometimes you wanted to tell her to stop speaking everything in whispers. But you affirmed your indifferent face and shifted your attention to Lana. “The only thing that would ruin our friendship is if you guys can’t get over it.”

“You don’t think that’s a little harsh?” Pete furrowed his brow. “I mean, you guys are like our family. Everyone’s just a little blindsided.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m not sorry I said it,” you shrugged, staring into the rekindled fire. “It was a long time coming, and I can finally be proud of myself for something. I feel like I could say anything now, I feel that good. 

“And you know what?” You continued, “I think it’s wrong that you guys are blaming me. Whatever grudge you have against me finally speaking my mind isn’t my job to fix. If anything, I’m just sorry I let everyone get so used to me being quiet. I’ve felt a lot of things, big things, for a really long time, and I never told any of you out of fear. Good thing, since now I know how you’ll handle it. I didn’t intend to upset anyone, but this isn’t a group ordeal, y’know? This is me and Clark. The Clark I knew before anyone else. Maybe it would do you guys some good to think about that before you judge me for putting myself first for once.”

The circle of shocked faces listened raptly as your even, gentle tone said things they would never have imagined you to think in a million years. You weren’t angry, you didn’t scream or cry, but you spoke with a level of confidence unseen. You weren’t the girl they’d come to know at all. You were someone entirely different, and a low cloud seemed to settle over each of their heads, shrouding them in the shame of being unobservant and judgemental enough to never look past your veiled surface. 

You stood up spryly, smoothing out your jeans, and you smiled at them all with no resentment attached. “I’m gonna go home. If you want to talk to Clark, go ahead. I hope you get what you want from him. I’ll see everybody on Monday.”

“Wait–” Chloe began, her face sullen as the rest but eyes much more bright, because she was proud of you. One out of four ain’t bad. 

You cut her off with a smile. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’ll call you.”

After grabbing your bag from the sand, you clodded up the incline to the street, leaving your friends to sit around that stupid fire and wonder. They would have to think now about what it means to take care of yourself after being stuck in the center of a feeding circle, where everyone saps each other and never puts their personal growth in the way of the group. They would have to compromise with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be held back, nor would you leave, but had committed some third thing born of a need to set free the girl you’d bound beneath your rules, and theirs. 

Clark turned to see you leaving, and he saw the way you smiled. He heard you, even down at the shore. You had never looked happier, he realized. He did not follow you. He didn’t have all the right words yet, and he wouldn’t try until he knew what to say. 

Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast

Clark’s Second Rule: Be honest with others

Clark turned around again and thumbed the smooth, flat rock beneath his thumb. Lex watched the cold water ripple around his feet as he swirled one ankle in the lake. 

“What are you gonna do, then?” Lex inquired, picking up the previous chat they’d put on hold. Clark paused him to listen to you. “Seems like she just handed them their asses. Quite eloquently, I might add. Then again, that girl always knew how to make herself clear. When she actually tried, that is.”

Clark gave a slight chuckle and tossed the rock with a calculated flick of the wrist. It skipped on the water four times before sinking under the moonlight. “I still don’t know.”

“Well, I think we talked enough about Lana. You’ve had time to mull it over. What conclusion have you come to? Anything you can credit me with?”

Clark smirked at the man to his side and ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, there is something. The other day, you said something about love being hard, and needing a lot of maintenance.”

“Yeah,” Lex nodded, bending down to pick up some new stones. “Great stuff.”

“I don’t think that’s right.”

“Oh, really? Are you the love expert?” Lex snickered.

Clark gave his friend’s shoulder a shove. “Obviously not. But I asked my mom–”

“Oh, goodie–”

“Shut up, will you? Listen,” Clark sighed. “I asked my mom, and the first thing she said was that she wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear about all this. Which made me feel incredibly stupid. But then we got to talking, and I told her about Lana. Y’know, how I always admired her, and wanted to make her happy. But when I got to thinking, I realized how hard that was, and it wasn’t even reciprocated. What I’ve been feeling for her all these years has been at my expense, hasn’t it? I’ve just been getting myself hurt over and over, and for what? To prove I could love somebody long enough it might wear them down? She never loved me back, but man, did she lead me on. That relationship is hard, and it took more work than I think was fair. And I wouldn’t call that love at all. I would just call it… I don’t know. Codependency, or… something.”

Lex straightened up again, pausing before tossing a rock over the water. “So, you think you never really loved her?”

Clark rubbed his eyes. “It’s hard to say. Maybe there’s a difference between loving someone and loving someone.”

“That’s actual gibberish,” Lex grinned. 

“Maybe it is,” Clark groaned, shaking out his arms. “But you know what my mom asked me? Because I told her I was confused, right, and maybe it was possible I did have feelings somewhere deep down. She asked me, ‘Who makes you feel sure?’ And when I really thought about what that could mean, it sort of… all opened up.”

“Meaning?”

“All I ever did when I was around Lana was doubt myself. I pushed too hard, or worried too much. I would change how I acted and what I cared about for her. I second-guessed my every move.”

Lex stifled a laugh of agreement. “Oh, I know.”

“But with Cap, I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t sure.”

“Like, you never doubted anything?”

“Never. I trust her with it all. We could always talk, no matter what it was about, and she thinks I’m funny when I know the joke is bad, and she never once did anything to make me feel like I needed to change, or feel differently about something,” he muttered. “When I’m with her, I’m not thinking about what I should be doing or who I need to be to make her happy. Everything just feels easy, and when she leaves, I wish she would stay. I always felt that way, even when I was hung up on Lana. Like, when she leaves, nothing is the same anymore.” He wasn’t sure when Lex began staring, but he was well into it now. “What?”

Lex blinked at him, and said it plainly: “Dude, I think you love Cap.”

Clark stared back, and wondered if that was the look of surprise he sprouted when you had confessed a couple weeks back. He nodded simply. “I think maybe I always did, but because I thought love had to be hard, I never knew it.”

Lex looked back out over the water and asked, “Do you think we fucked you up, man? All of us, with all these dysfunctional people?”

Clark managed a smile and took a stone from his hand. “I don’t know. Maybe. All I know is that she never did. And now I wish I could just go back and see it all from the start, and do it right this time,” he admitted, “she must be scared. We haven’t talked.”

Lex nudged his elbow. “You heard her before– I think she’s just fine. You’re the scared one, buddy. So, I think I have to ask again– what are you gonna do?”

“I think I’m gonna tell her.”

“How?”

Clark really smiled this time, and he watched his stone skip eight times. A record. His number, too. His number… “I have an idea.”

THE DO NOT LIST

Rule #4: Always be one step ahead

When you went to the last pep rally of the year, you did it alone. Chloe insisted you were still welcome to sit with your friends in the bleachers, but ever since the night at the lake, the others have been avoiding you at all costs. You would be better off without the stress, and you didn’t want to make them more uncomfortable either– their pettiness was beyond your ability to help. So, you sat down front by yourself, near the gate. You were only there for Clark anyway.

It was a lively night. The weather was warm and dry, and the sun was just cresting over the stadium seats. All of the Smallville teams were making their entrances across the field, receiving their praises for another year well-played. This rally was a send-off for the seniors who were graduating, and so it was always the brightest, loudest, and most populated event of the year. The eldest members across the field were tossed around atop strong arms, painted in the school colors; the marching band blared their instruments loud in vaguely familiar pop renditions; the teachers and coaches took their time calling awards and honors into the microphone, giving everyone their chance to stand in the spotlight before the curtain closed at graduation in three days. It was a sweet thing to see, and now that it was Clark’s turn, there was no way you’d miss it, even if you guys hadn’t talked yet. He won the championship for the school, after all, and he worked harder than anybody on that team this year. He deserved his flowers. 

You sat through soccer, field hockey, wrestling, and every other team on the list before they closed the night out with the long-awaited senior varsity football players. The stands roared as Clark’s teammates rushed the field, and you saw him holding up the end, carrying a duffel bag. Props, you figured, and you clapped as the coach took the microphone. 

“Let’s hear it for our championship winners!” The coach rumbled, and the floodlights gleamed as the stands rallied. 

The players were bustling around Clark, right on the fifty yard line. You could barely make his mop of hair out in the commotion. You watched suspiciously as the coach smiled and raised a hand. 

“Now, I think we’ve seen enough awards and hubbub for one night, how about you, Smallville High?” As he received an affirmative cheer, he divulged, “Our varsity players chose not to take their sendoffs this year in favor of pulling together for one standout senior alone. They’ve put together a little number for you– haven’t you, boys?”

As the coach swiveled to address his players, they all scattered from the center of the field and lined up– in tutus and tiaras. You let out a shocked laugh as Clark emerged in the center, wearing a crappy king’s cape over his shoulders to complement the red jersey underneath, #8, and a plastic gold crown on his head. He strode forward to take the microphone and shoo his coach off the grass. You sat in utter confusion– Clark hated public speaking. What in the world was this about to turn into? Out of curiosity, you turned around and glanced up the bleachers toward Chloe, who was beaming like she knew a secret you didn’t. She winked at you and pointed back at the field. You turned again, stomach suddenly dropping. 

Facing the crowd of friends and family who would certainly never let him forget this as long as he lived, Clark raised the mic to his mouth and said, “How’s it going, Crows?” Another roar shook the field, and his laugh fluttered through the speakers. “All of us seniors have been so lucky to play and win for you, so thank you for all the support tonight. But we have a little problem. While everybody else on this team is ready for the future, I still have one problem to solve.”

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding. Clark stopped to scan the crowd, and you saw how his eyes searched above, where he expected you to be with the others. When he couldn’t find you, his voice cracked: “Cap, are you here?”

All that echoed in your head was, Holy shit. Without missing a beat, you stood up and braced the fencing in front of the stands. “I’m over here!”

At the sound of your voice, Clark’s lips turned up. You knew that face. He was up to no good. His eyes finally fell on you, all the way at the edge of the bleachers, and he beckoned you with an open hand. “Would you please come down to the field?”

The stadium erupted in sound, every voice cheering you on as you fumbled through the gate and walked onto the mushy grass, knees wobbling. You forced yourself not to look at the crowd, or else you’d spook and run. You weren’t even halfway into the green when the speakers began blaring a song which stopped you in your tracks. The soft trumpets crooned in a decreasing arpeggio, and you felt blood rush to your head and fingers and toes, all at once. 

“You know I can’t sing to save my life, but I seem to recall you having a favorite movie scene,” Clark began, stalking closer. The sparkly seniors behind him began moving in sync, displaying poorly rehearsed dance moves. “Where Patrick sings to Kat in the stands, making up for being a complete idiot.”

In the crowd, you heard muddled voices joining in: Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothing else to compare…

“Everyone, this is Cap, although you might know her as the valedictorian, or the president of the literature club, or the debate team, or the Torch writer,” Clark gestured to the audience, who waved their happy hands. “She is my very best friend. My oldest friend. The only girl in my life who loved me when I was the worst person to love, and the one girl I never learned how to give it all back to.”

Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast

Clark’s Third and Final Rule: Do what will make the ones you love happy

Clark held out a hand, and when you took it, yours was trembling half as bad as his. He was pink as the setting sun sky above, and his eyes glistened as they gazed down at you. People were starting to buzz in their seats as the trumpets picked up. He carefully tucked your hair away with the microphone-clutching hand, and he spoke for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find the right words to say, but I wanted to do it right. And I wanted to be sure that you knew I meant it. Is this public enough?”

You laughed weakly, trying to swallow tears. The color of your eyes gleamed like little planets, drawing him in by force. So familiar, and as beautiful as the day he met you in the sandbox. You nodded without a word. 

“Good,” he grinned, voice shaking. “I wanted to say that I hope you can forgive me for everything I’ve put you through, and that there’s nobody in the whole world that is more important to me than you are. I’m an idiot, baby, but I love you. I have always loved you, only you, even when I didn’t know it, and I’ll embarrass myself in public like this every day until you believe me.” 

He would not have thought a town could be so loud if he did not hear the evidence for himself. The force of their cheers nearly shattered his eardrums– Frankie Valli washed over the field like a spell, and everybody was teeming in the stands, awaiting your answer and trying not to burst into song too soon. His teammates were leaping around you, calling out words of encouragement. As mortifying as all this was, they were willing to give up their last chance at small-town fame for him to make this moment special. He would have to find some way to thank them later.

You stood stock still, trying to gather the facts. He saw your gears turning. He imagined the inside of your brain, hearing your analytical voice which always made him laugh inside his own head. What he did not know was that it was then you realized your rules would not serve you anymore; because no matter how this played out, there was absolutely no way for you to be ahead of the curve. Clark had beat you at your own game. All there was left to do now was surrender.

“So?” he asked.

As he tipped the microphone against your lips, you managed a soft, albeit meek, response: “I believe you.”

I believe you, you said. It sounded a whole lot like I still love you.

Clark let the equipment fall to the ground as the pep rally broke out of control, people bringing the party to the grass like nothing could stop them now. You were jostled around until Clark wrangled you into his arms, and before you had the opportunity to ask why he did all this, he was cupping you by the cheeks and pressing his lips to yours. Your ears ached from the volume and your body shook in the crowd, but his mouth tasted like red Gatorade and he smelled like the blue 3-in-1 body wash in his bathroom, and his arms around you did not feel new at all, but like every other hug you had ever shared. He loved you just as you loved him all that time, and you knew it because nothing felt different at all, except that you were free. Free as a bird, and easy. That was the word. Easy.

You hadn’t yet lost your hearing, though, because his words were crystal clear against your lips. “I’m sorry for everything,” he repeated, “take me back?”

You giggled like an exploding star, bathing him in light. “I never let you go.”

You were about to kiss him when you paused, remembering the last rule. Wait– 

THE DO NOT LIST

Rule #5: Avoid conversations about Lana Lang AT ALL COSTS!!!!!!!!!

......

But then he was kissing you again, and you found the rule still held up. You couldn’t talk about Lana Lang with a mouth full of love. You’d bring it up later, after you ripped the page out of that notebook and threw it away. She didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but you and him. 

You felt Clark rest the plastic crown on your head, and he tucked his face into your neck, squeezing you so tight you could pop. “It’s always been you.”

You laughed as your feet left the ground. As Clark spun you on the fifty yard line, you clung to the crown and teased, “You think?”

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

THE DO NOT LIST

Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel

Rule #2: Never tell anyone else either

Rule #3: Do not talk about him when he is not there – friends will snitch

Rule #4: Always be one step ahead

Rule #5: Avoid conversations about Lana Lang AT ALL COSTS!!!!!!!!!

Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast

Clark’s First Rule: Be honest with yourself

Clark’s Second Rule: Be honest with others

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Simon! who learns how to make proper chai and throws away every teabag in his kitchen. Don't mind him flexing on his team in base.

"Proper tea. Not the crap you lot drink", he goes looking at their faces. Everyone equally shocked as to why their Lt. prefers grinding gingers, cardamom and spices violently instead of just boiling water and throwing a bag...

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Desi! Reader who wears a saree in front of Simon for the first time. And had to wear another one, because that man went rabid the moment you walked in looking oh so sensual. Silk falling and wrapping your body just right.

"I've never seen anything hotter than this", he whispers caressing the drapes and pleats.

"Is this supposed to be so..exposed", he mumbles kissing your neck as his thumb brushes against your waist.

"Yeah, it uh usually is like this".

He tugs at your front as you let out a gasp feeling hours of your hardwork unravel, just like that. Before you could protest he frowns tugging it more and more till it comes out flowing.

"The hell it's endless or what", he groans trying to get it all down. But oh, he was beyond thinking straight. So he does what he could, fuck you while you grab onto your slipping fabric. Bangles clinking, anklets chiming and Si was in heaven. Yeah, don't wear a fucking saree again. Unless you plan to get late.

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Simon! who hears you call him 'jaan'. He never asks you upfront what it meant. But yes, he did google it.

Later – you overhear him bragging to the team.

"My bird calls me Jaan."

Soap snorts,"You sure that’s not an insult?"

Simon scowls.

"It means life in her language. Yeah? Like — not January-Jan. It's Jaaan."

She calls me her life...

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Desi! Reader who lays down in front of him butt naked for him to draw henna patterns all over her body. Don't mind him writing "Riley's" on your bum knowing you can't see it.

Rest, he would try his best to draw little hearts and flowers on your thighs and back as you drift to sleep. A disfigured skull on your nape. And admires his own work grinning ear to ear.

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Simon! who thinks you have the biggest family on Earth. Each time he discovers a new cousin, a new uncle or a new aunt at your family get togethers. But oh, your family loved him from the first meeting itself.

"Pyara Gora chora", you hear your old grandma say as she laughs. You look around the hall to see Simon bending down and touching feet of every damn adult in the room...jesus you did not teach him that!!

Everyone stops what they were doing the moment every kid in house makes Simon their personal jungle gym. All of them hanging by his biceps as he stands tall amused.

He grins spinning as a little girl sits on his shoulders grabbing his hair giggling.

Despite the differences. Despite the fact you both grew miles apart. He tries for you. Learns how to say words in a language that commands full use of tongue.

Broken words sure, but full of adoration. And he'll die trying if that means having you forever.

And you go from a 'fucking coloniser' to 'fucking a coloniser'. 🌷🫣