Cut off from dates, time, and news, everything that might offer him a piece of comfort, Lex still manages to find a moment of amusement. Whenever he recalls one specific secret, he can momentarily forget the lingering agony of abuse. As long as Clark Kent exists, Superman can never be the first man to have taken him. Whether Kent is still alive, or whether he was murdered by Lord Superman when the alien finally revealed his true nature.
Teeth gritted, Lex endures the pain flaring in his gut once more. He looks down at his mottled skin before letting his eyelids flutter shut, sinking into a memory from years ago, even before he announced his candidacy for President. Back when his political strategy to stop Superman and other metahumans was merely skeletal.
Lex still remembers exactly what Kent wore to his penthouse for the interview that day, the very scent of his cologne, and how many times he pushed up his ridiculously unattractive glasses. It was a cheap scent. Something he would never find at the charity galas he used to attend, yet something only Kent could wear without it seeming out of place.
The fool who endlessly tried to explain his view of humanity, so hopeful it bordered on delusional. And a sincere journalist who actually listened to Lex.
A beautiful, perfect human being.
Lex used to blame the alcohol from the gala for choosing Kent as his impulsive one-night stand, but he no longer does. Thanks to that single night, Lex has a sanctuary to retreat to, away from the endless waves of shame and humiliation Superman inflicts upon him. It is Lex's final stronghold Superman will never discover unless Lex chooses to speak.
Him--the past version of himself who was capable of loving Clark Kent.
For that, he can endure another day.
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