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The seat of your bike is still cold and you shudder when sitting down, making your way to your favorite bakery just across the street from your workplace. It’s a twenty five minute ride, accompanied by listening to the sound of early traffic. It’s quite relaxing, you must admit; takes the tension away from your shoulders before the usual workday begins. One of the reasons why you haven’t thought about moving closer yet.

The store is already lit up, warm lights and delicious smells drawing closer and making your stomach rumble. You don’t walk inside yet; rather, stand to the side a bit, where the big window is. It makes it possible to take a look inside the happenings in the kitchen, chefs walking around as they prepare dough, decorate pastries and display it for customers to see before buying.

This certain spot you are standing at is where at this time of the day, someone in particular is going to be working on kneading the dough to be put into the baking pans. Someone, you have been looking forward to seeing almost every single morning you happen to make it just in time.

You hear a small knock against the glass, making you look up. You jump slightly, upon seeing the person on the other side. 

Him.

You don’t know his name yet. He simply works behind the scenes, in the kitchen - never takes a step into the storefront or behind the counter. No name tag or anything to identify him by, but you ‘met’ him sometime last winter, when you first started checking out this bakery after work.

Silver hair, lean but slightly built. In the mornings, his sleeves are still rolled down. Pretty blue eyes, that like to muster you before he breaks into a smile. He mouths: “Good Morning”, then “Coffee?”, before pointing to the left where the entrance lies. You nod, gesturing that you urgently need it now that work is getting really busy. 

You would watch for a little bit as he gets started with the dough, taking it out the bowl he has gotten and placing it on the well-floured surface. He works with silent precision and you simply watch. Like a daily ritual. 

Is that weird to say?

Sometime in the middle of him working, you leave to get yourself a coffee. Double espresso for now, an americano to have later. Because you are a regular, the young woman at the counter asks if you want to have a pastry as well, knowing you sometimes do have one at the occasion. 

“No, thank you”, you tell her with a smile. She suddenly beams at you.

“That’s great! Because someone in the kitchen asked me to get you this when you refuse!”, she hands you a small paper bag, in it, a chocolate croissant and a lemon-glazed madeleine.

“Who?”

“Secret.”, she giggles, “But you can probably tell.”

A small blush on your cheeks, you thank her and walk out the door, the little bell ringing after you as the cold air rushes to cool you down.

You make sure to walk over to the showcase window again, where Xavier is already looking at you with a big grin. You point at the bag in your hands and mouth a small ‘Thank you’. 

Xavier leans forward on the window to breathe warm air on it, then proceeds to draw a small smile on the glass where a fog has appeared. You beam at him once more before leaving.

-

“Ready to head out?”

“One second.” you wipe away the small smudge of watercolor on your cheek and take off your apron. You turn towards Tara, proceed to give her a 360° turn, “Do I look alright?”

She raises her eyebrow at you, “We are just getting some coffee, why are you-”, then she pauses, a smirk on her lips, “Oh, I know.”

“W-what?” you put your apron on the coathanger, put your coat over yourself. Tara is already giggling as she goes to the entrance and changes into her outdoor shoes. “Oh, you know, just your not so secret crush on the guy at the bakery, nothing else.”

When you shriek and tell her to shut up, she makes a run for it and is already out of sight before you can tell her off once more. You sigh.

“Don’t forget the list of drinks”, Simone’s voice disrupts your embarrassment as she hands you the little post-it. “And please make sure to only ogle for ten minutes or I’m sending backup for our coffees.” You proceed with another shriek as you shush her before anyone else can hear.

Of course, luck is not on your side today.

“What are you ogling at?”, a small, high-pitched voice beside you exclaims and you panic, immediately look over to Simone for help. She picks up the little toddler next to you with a clean swoop, into her arms, then proceeds to give her a small twirl. “Oh, you know, your teach’ over here really loves the pastries at the bakery next door. You know, the big bakery?” 

The little girl nods energetically, her initial question already forgotten. She continues to tell Simone about getting cookies at that place with her mom recently, counting down each individual flavor she saw. Simone gives you the nod to leave.

“And? When are you getting his number?”, Tara asks, when you finally manage to catch up on her. You groan, “Never probably. We just.. have little moments, alright?”

“Little moments”, she repeats, then turns to you, “So, like flirting?”

“Don’t call it that. I don’t even know if he is single. He doesn’t even know, I am.”

Tara gives you a silent look, “...he surely wouldn’t be flirting with you and giving you free pastries if he was. And considering you accept them and blush at him the way you are now just thinking about it, I’m sure, he knows you are.”

Tara heads inside to make the order while you walk over to the big window once again. It’s 1pm currently, your watch tells you - usually, the silver-haired baker would be working on decorating tarts now. Not that you know his whole schedule of course - you are not a creep like that - it’s just, you are kind of a regular at this point, alright? And he tends to work on the same things usually, with exceptions of certain holidays.

When you approach the big glass, some other customers are already hovering around it, taking pictures and videos or interacting with the staff, who are waving at them or showing them their process. You don’t see him yet, the familiar silver hair nowhere to be seen when you take a small peak from the far right side. 

But the baker at the window spots you. He gives you a grin, a ‘wait a second’ and you see him turn around and say something over his shoulder. It’s not even a second later that light colored strands of hair appear right in front of you, the familiar face of the handsome baker peaking out and he gives you a gentle smile. 

‘Hello’, you mouth with a small wave. ‘Hi’, he replies, ‘coffee?’ You nod. It’s hard to keep long conversations going even though you want to, because you are only able to read his lips. Explaining that you were waiting for your co-worker to get her order would probably not translate properly. You tried before. When you told him you were a daycare teacher and on a small break to get your daily caffeine and he simply tilted his head at you, even though you tried three more times. You never bothered to try again. 

He asks his co-worker to take over - or at least that’s what you assume - as the latter steps away and waves small goodbyes to the customers in front of him. A tray of filled tarts is placed on the station, as well as bowls of fruit and some type of whipping cream. He starts decorating them with perfect little swirls of cream, before placing fruits on them evenly. It looks tasty already. You think of getting one as well.

The little ‘beep’ on your watch is all you need to know before you unfortunately have to end your little session of watching today. Tara sent you a message to tell you to come in and help her with carrying the coffees and snacks. You send her a thumbs up and walk away without another wave. It was getting more crowded now anyways - he doesn’t need you saying goodbye for you to go.

The little bell rings over your head and Tara is already at the counter paying. She asks if you want anything else and you point at the little fruit tarts on display, which the staff at the counter gladly adds to the paperbag. 

You take one of the cupholders and the paperbag, so Tara only has to get the other cupholder. She was already telling you about how much she looked forward to having that raspberry almond croissant she has chosen for herself, when the door to the kitchen opens with haste and the silver-haired baker steps outside. For what you assume is the first time ever. Or at least the first time when you had been inside the shop.

You pause. He pauses. Tara giggles.

“I’ll go back first.”, she whispers to you, opens the door and leaves with the bell chime.

You stare after her, speechless. Then return your eyes back to him.

“Uh… hi?” you say and for the first time it’s not mouthed or silently whispered. For a moment, hearing your own voice made you feel awkward.

He blushes? Or it’s the heat of rushing to the door. He clears his throat. “Hello.”

His voice is soft, very gentle. Very like him. Perfect almost.

Exactly how you expected it to be - not that you ever did that.

“...you just left.”, he suddenly mutters. 

“Pardon?” Your ears were turning red.

“The window. You were there for a second and then gone again.” He says and maybe you are going crazy, but he was pouting slightly.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you when there were so many people around.”, you respond, unable to look him in the eyes. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. 

Then, he turns back to the kitchen door again. You think he might just go back to work and you probably missed your shot here, but he says: “Hey, I’m going to take a quick break alright? Be back in ten.” Without taking any response for an answer, he closes the door, takes off his apron around his waist and his chef's jacket, revealing a black simple t-shirt underneath.

He makes his way around the corner at such a speed, you’re barely able to register what is happening. The staff at the counter gives you a wink. You feel yourself blush again.

You feel the paperbag of pastries being taken from your hands and when you turn to your left, he is already holding it for you, gesturing with his other hand to the door, “I’ll walk you back.”, he says.

So you let him.

Maybe he knew how close your workplace was, but his stride was slow and his steps quite small for his size. 

“So… uh..”, you turn your head to him. 

“Xavier.”, he replies. “I’m Xavier.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks. Xavier. Thank you.”

Upon hearing you stutter like that, he lets out a laugh, “Yes, no problem.”

He walks you down the street where in no less than two minutes, the entrance of the daycare was already pointing in your direction. You stop walking, he does as well.

Xavier hands you the bag after you insisted it would probably be better to go in alone. There was a pinch of sadness in his eyes when you rejected his offer, but you simply knew better. Your co-workers would have a field day with it.

“Thank you for walking me.”, you awkwardly say, unsure what to do next. He nods. “Of course.”, he tells you, “I… uh, wanted to talk to you for a while, actually. Never got the chance to. I didn’t know…”, he gestures around awkwardly, as if hoping you get his point. His ears are pink.

“...if I’m interested?”

His eyes widen. He nods repeatedly.

The hostess nodded, flashing you a warm smile in return. “Right this way.”

As she led you through the restaurant, you took in your surroundings with subtle curiosity. The place was charming—exactly the kind of cozy, floral-accented spot Lois would dig up for an ‘informal work chat.’ The kind of place that felt like it had stories tucked between its soft candlelit tables and ivy-draped walls.

You tried to dress the part, too—professional but approachable. You weren’t here for a casual dinner, after all. This meeting was supposed to be a quick sit-down with a lawyer Lois had arranged, someone who could confirm a few key details for a piece you were both working on. A case involving a corporation and some shady legal maneuvering—Lois had the sources, but you were the one handling the research. You’d spent the past week buried in legal jargon, piecing together statements and contracts, and now you just needed a professional to verify what you suspected before the article could go to print.

By the time you reached your table, you were already running through the questions in your head, mentally preparing for the conversation. The restaurant wasn’t grand, but it was stunning in its own way. You admired the decor, taking in the quiet hum of conversation and the delicate clink of silverware.

At least if Lois was late, you had time to go over your notes one more time.

You ran your hands over your portfolio, smoothing the cover absentmindedly as you flipped through the pages. The neatly typed notes stared back at you, but none of the words really registered. All you could do was wait—for the lawyer, for Lois, for some sign that this wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time.

With a sigh, you reached for the glass of wine you ordered a few minutes ago, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. You had to pace yourself, or you’d drain the whole thing before anyone even showed up. You checked your phone, hoping for an update, but the screen remained frustratingly blank.

Disappointed, you rested your chin on your hand, eyes drifting across the restaurant. The warm glow of golden light reflected off polished wood and delicate floral centrepieces, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of silverware. Your waiter had already stopped by twice, politely offering more appetizers while you tried not to look as painfully alone as you felt. If they came by again, you weren’t sure if you’d accept out of politeness or embarrassment.

And then, just as you took another sip of wine, a familiar figure walked through the entrance.

Clark Kent.

You blinked, watching as the hostess led him inside, guiding him through the rows of neatly arranged tables. Even from where you sat, you recognized the way he carried himself—like he was constantly trying to shrink his presence, shoulders slightly hunched, movements careful and deliberate. It was ironic, really, considering how much space he naturally took up. Clark was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossible to miss, yet he carried himself like he didn’t want to be noticed.

You knew him, but not really.

Not as much as you want to.

You were office acquaintances at best—two reporters who shared the same workplace, desks across from each other, but rarely the same conversations. There had been moments, though. Fleeting ones. Catching his lingering glances during late nights at the Daily Planet, both of you working in near silence, save for the tapping of keyboards. A handful of polite exchanges over the coffee machine, his voice always gentle, soft-spoken. And then, of course, there were the times someone would call out "Hey, Smallville!" across the office, earning a sheepish smile from Clark as he adjusted his glasses and ducked his head.

He looked nice tonight. Not too different from his usual work attire, but more relaxed. A crisp button-up, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a strong line of his forearms, dress pants fitted just right. He had forgone the tie, leaving the top button undone. Simple, but put-together. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t have been so charming, but somehow was.

And then you realized the hostess was leading him closer.

You quickly dropped your gaze, staring into your half-empty wine glass like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. The last thing you wanted was to be caught staring, especially while sitting alone, nursing a drink, and very clearly sulking.

Maybe, just maybe, if you looked busy enough, you could avoid drawing any attention at all.

And for a moment, it worked.

You picked up your phone again, checking the time for what had to be the hundredth time that night. With a little too much urgency, you started to type out a message to Lois—something casual, something that wouldn’t sound desperate, something that would make it seem like you weren’t upset about currently sitting alone in a nice restaurant, swirling the last remnants of your wine waiting for her to get there. You were so focused on forming the perfect text that you almost missed it—

Your name.

Spoken softly, but clear. Familiar.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. The voice had a weight to it, warm and steady, like someone genuinely surprised but pleased to see you. You swallowed and glanced up, feigning a search for the source before your gaze finally landed on Clark.

He wasn’t seated directly beside you but rather at the table across, angled just enough that you had to turn your head slightly to meet his eye. His lips curled into a sheepish smile, glasses slipping just a little down the bridge of his nose before he quickly pushed them back up again.

“Hi.”

That was all. Just hi. Simple, unassuming, but it made something settle in your chest, something you hadn’t even realized was tense.

You couldn’t bite back the smile forming on your own lips. “Hi, Clark.”

“Hey.”

A kind man with few words.

Though you’d heard him talk endlessly before, especially with Lois—deep in discussion, debating headlines, getting lost in conversations about ethics and reporting. But with you, it was always something short and sweet. A few words here and there. And yet, even the simplest conversations had a way of lingering. Would it be silly to admit that your brief, slightly awkward chats with Clark kind of made your day? Even when it was just him asking to borrow an extra pen?

God, you felt like a teenager again, having a crush on a classmate.

You watched as he rubbed at his cheek, the scruff there catching the soft glow of the restaurant lighting. His pointer finger rested idly at the seam of his lips, and you forced yourself to focus—not to stare at his mouth, not to let your gaze linger anywhere it shouldn’t.

He was your coworker, for fuck’s sake.

A really pretty one.

A really kind, really good-looking coworker.

You exhaled lightly, pressing your fingertips against the stem of your glass as if that might ground you. “It’s nice to see you.” The words came out before you could stop them, but they were true. It was nice.

It was almost like he perked up at that, his posture straightening just a little. “Yeah, great to see you too. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I... I could say the same.” Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you were smiling. You tried to temper it, but it was hard when Clark Kent was looking at you like that—all honey-eyed.

“Are you here for work?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio by your hands, stacked neatly beside your drink.

You glanced down at it as if you had momentarily forgotten it was there. “Um, yeah. I’m meeting with a source, so... they should be here any minute.”

Clark’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s your story on LexCorp, right?”

Your fingers, which had been absently tracing the condensation on your glass, paused. “Yeah, it is actually.” You blinked at him, a little surprised. “How’d you know?”

His smile was almost bashful, his hand brushing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was being modest. “Oh, I just remember you mentioning it a few days ago. It’s a great story.”

Something in your chest tightened—not in a bad way, just in a way that made you feel warm all over. You hadn’t expected him to remember, let alone bring it up. The conversation you’d had at work had been so brief, just an offhand remark about how you were stepping outside your usual comfort zone. No one else had really asked you about it since.

“You think?” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I thought it was kind of a stretch. I mean, like—a stretch from what I usually write, you know? I don’t really deal with politics and corporate stuff and all that.”

Clark shook his head, that gentle, reassuring look in his eyes making it impossible not to believe him. “I’m sure it’ll be great. You’re an amazing writer.”

You were smiling even wider now. Compliments weren’t uncommon at the Daily Planet—people gave each other nods of approval, a “good job” here and there. But Clark said it like he meant it, like he had read your work, thought about it, believed in it.

It reminded you of the time he had quietly left a sticky note on your desk after an article of yours had been rushed to print. Really great work on this one! -CK. You’d found it hours later, after everyone had gone home. It had been such a small thing, but you’d kept the note tucked inside your notebook anyway.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Clark. I think you’re a great writer too.”

He ducked his head slightly, smiling. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just something familiar to the pauses between you two at the office. Expect this time you didn’t have any work to distract yourself with. You hesitated before finally breaking it.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh… I have a date, actually.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But for some reason, you felt your stomach drop slightly, and you almost wanted to smack yourself in the head for not catching on sooner. Of course, he was here on a date, looking like that—all charming and shy.

He even smelled good, like fresh linen and something warm, something undeniably Clark.

“I know how it looks,” he started, and you noticed the way his shoulders began to hunch in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Feels strange. I don’t think I’ve been dating since college.”

You let out a breath of amusement, nodding slowly. “Wow. Uh—good for you, though. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He hesitated, then glanced up at you, a little sheepish. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a blind date, so I have no idea what this person looks like or who they are.”

You blinked. “You don’t know anything?”

“They’re a friend of Lois.” He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. “But that’s as much as I got.”

“Oh.” Your lips parted, then closed. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Clark.” You shot him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I’ll be here for moral support.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve got your thing to worry about.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend out too.”

The words left your mouth before you had a chance to really think about them. Friend. You wondered if you could even call yourselves that. You were more acquaintances if anything—a friend of a friend. But Clark always did little favours for you, and he was always kind to you.

Like the time he had grabbed you a coffee when you’d been stuck in a seemingly endless editorial meeting, dropping it off at your desk without a word. Just a small smile, a quiet “figured you could use one.”

Or the time he’d helped you carry an entire box of research binders up three flights of stairs because the elevator was down. He had done it without hesitation, without you even asking, took it from your hands like it was weightless.

Then there was the time he had lent you his jacket when an assignment had left you stranded in the rain. It had been late, the Daily Planet nearly empty, and you had been standing by the windows, arms wrapped around yourself, shivering slightly as you tried to figure out how to make it home without getting completely drenched. Clark had passed by, paused, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Just give it back tomorrow,” he’d said.

But it wasn’t just him.

You had done things for him too.

The time you had stayed late to help him rework an article after an editor had torn through it with a red pen, sitting beside him as the newsroom emptied, tossing ideas back and forth until it finally felt right. He had looked at you then, something warm in his eyes, and said, “I owe you one.”

Or the time he had misplaced his glasses—how he had checked every possible spot, growing more and more flustered, only for you to walk over and pluck them from where they had been resting atop his head. You had laughed, shaking your head as you handed them back. He had gone pink in the ears, mumbling something about being forgetful, but the way he had smiled after made you think he didn’t mind the teasing.

Then there was the time you had covered for him when he had mysteriously disappeared right before a meeting. Lois had been looking for him, impatient and muttering about how he always seemed to vanish at the worst times. You had lied—just a small one. Said he had mentioned stepping out for a quick errand, and that he’d be back soon. You weren’t sure why you had done it.

Helping him out never hurt. So it shouldn’t hurt one more time.

Well, maybe it would. Just a little bit.

It might hurt your pride, mostly.

“Besides,” you continued, “I’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and no one’s showed up.”

“That’s... odd.”

“I know,” you muttered, glancing at your phone again, the screen glowing with no new notifications. You hesitated, thumb hovering over your messages before sighing and picking it up. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

“Of course,” Clark said, ever patient, though his brows knit together slightly in concern.

You slid out of your seat, weaving through the dimly lit restaurant. The warm hum of conversation filled the air, glasses clinking, silverware scraping against plates. A jazz melody played softly from the speakers, almost drowned out by the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. You stepped toward the front, near the entrance, where it was quieter, and pressed the phone to your ear.

Lois hadn’t answered your last two—three?—messages. You tried calling her once. The line rang and rang, then went to voicemail. You exhaled sharply and called again, tapping your fingers against the wooden counter near the hostess stand.

On the last ring, she finally picked up.

"Hello-?"

“Where are you?” You didn’t bother hiding the frustration in your voice, pacing a little near the door.

"I'm... on my way, I swear."

“You said that almost half an hour ago, Lois.”

"I know, I know—I’m sorry. I was just about to call—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through your teeth. “And the lawyer, do you know when they’ll get here?”

A pause.

"I… I don’t know."

Your stomach dropped. “You don’t know?”

"No… now that I think about it… I don’t think I confirmed a time."

“Lois,” you breathed, dragging a hand down your face.

"I’m sorry. Maybe we should rain check. I’ll leave them a message or something and we can do this another day."

You glanced back toward your table, then toward Clark, who was politely minding his own business, idly staring at his menu. Your eyes flickered to your untouched portfolio, the very reason you had come out tonight in the first place.

“I need the papers approved by Wednesday.”

"And it’s Saturday night. You have plenty of time."

“This is rich coming from you,” you deadpanned, rubbing your temple.

"I know, just… maybe it’s a sign you gotta take things slow. You know, focusing on yourself instead of work. Maybe you should go to a club or something."

You scoffed, barely biting back an incredulous laugh. “Lois… this fucking sucks.”

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, okay? I’ll take you out tomorrow for brunch, swear on that. I promise. And I’ll transfer you for whatever you order tonight. Keep the receipt and give it to me."

You sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I’m just gonna go home.”

"What? And waste a perfectly good night? You should stay out, meet new people, socialize with things that aren’t your laptop. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You exhaled, staring blankly at the floor tiles. “I think a movie from my bed sounds really nice.”

"I’m not even gonna fight you on this."

“Bye, Lois.”

"Bye. Love you."

You ended the call with a quiet sigh, lingering in place for a moment, letting the frustration settle. You had spent the entire day mentally preparing for this meeting, running through questions, making sure every document was in order. Now, all of it felt like wasted energy.

With another steadying breath, you pushed off the pillar you had been leaning against, shoulders still tight with frustration, and made your way back to your table. The restaurant hadn’t gotten any quieter in your absence—if anything, the crowd had only grown as the night grew longer.

Clark glanced up as you returned, and the way his expression softened told you everything—he didn’t even need to ask how the call had gone. He just knew.

Still, before he could say anything, you beat him to it. “Your date’s not here yet?” You sank back into your seat, brushing a stray napkin aside as if the small action would help ground you.

Clark shook his head, and he didn’t seem too disappointed. “No, not yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, observant way of his. “Is everything alright?”

You blinked at him, still half in your own thoughts. “Hmm?”

“The phone call,” he clarified, “you seem… a little… annoyed.”

That was putting it lightly.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should push further, then asked, voice gentle, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The simplicity of it—the way he just offered, no pressure, no expectations—unravelled some of the tension in your chest.

“I don’t wanna bother you about my stuff,” you said honestly.

“It’s no bother.”

You glanced up at him, at the unwavering patience in his expression. “You’re really sweet, Clark. You know that, right?”

A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears. “I wouldn’t say that…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s in your nature?” you teased.

He let out a small, awkward laugh, shaking his head. “I definitely wouldn’t say that either.”

That made you smile—something small, something real.

“Well, it’s true,” you insisted. “Must’ve been the way you were raised.”

“Must’ve been.”

Before you could say anything else, a waiter arrived, carefully setting a starter plate and a drink down in front of Clark. He thanked her politely, offering a small nod before she walked away.

“I, uh…” He gestured to the plate. “I ordered some nachos if you want some.”

You raised a brow. “Shouldn’t those be for your date?”

He gave you an easy, lopsided smile. “They won’t have to know.”

A small chuckle slipped out before you could stop it. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The nachos were surprisingly good, crisp and warm under the layer of melted cheese, but you barely tasted them. Instead, your focus kept drifting—to Clark, to your phone, to the door.

At first, you thought about calling it a night. You could have told Clark you were heading home, and he probably would have understood, probably would have even offered to walk you to your car or wait with you for an Uber. But something stopped you.

Maybe it was the way he seemed at ease, talking to you like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. Maybe it was how easy it was to talk to him tonight, without work looming over you, without deadlines keeping your conversations clipped and efficient. Or maybe—maybe it was the nagging feeling in your gut that kept telling you he was waiting on someone who wasn’t going to show.

You hated that thought.

You didn’t say anything, though, not when another ten minutes passed, not when he checked his phone for the fourth—or was it fifth?—time. You just sat with him, keeping him company, even if you dreaded the moment someone else walked through those doors.

Clark kept insisting his date would be there soon. But every time he said it, the confidence in his voice waned.

By the time another twenty minutes passed, you were sitting with your phone open in your lap, ready to call an Uber. You should go home. It had been a long day, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be out any more. But you hesitated when Clark spoke again.

“They should be here any minute now,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You glanced up at him, watching the way his brows pinched slightly as he checked his phone again.

He had said that before. More than once.

You were starting to feel bad for him.

You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to get stood up for a date (work was something else you could get over by tonight but a date?)—to wait around, watching the minutes tick by, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the person you were waiting for was running late instead of ignoring you altogether. And worse, you were starting to get peeved. How could anyone ghost Clark Kent?

But you didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t seem upset.

Or maybe he was just pretending not to be.

Either way, you didn’t want to remind him of the rejection. If he was pushing through it, then so were you.

It wasn’t until another thirty minutes flew by—until the sky outside had fully darkened, the city lights reflecting off the windows—that you finally exhaled and set your phone down.

“My source isn’t coming.”

Clark blinked at you, pulling his gaze away from the door. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there was a mix-up with the times or something.” You waved it off like it was no big deal, even though frustration still sat heavy in your chest. You weren’t nearly as mad as you had been earlier, but you had still wasted your night on something that should have been simple.

Clark studied you for a moment, then gave a small, almost amused huff. “Looks like we’re both out of luck then.”

You watched as his gaze flickered back toward the entrance, and then, after a beat, he sighed.

“I don’t think my date’s coming either.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” you said, and you meant it.

“Don’t be,” he told you, and before you could say anything else, he was already flagging down the waiter, asking for the bill. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he turned back to you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You blinked. “And go where?”

He shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Anywhere. I don’t mind.”

And somehow, that was how you ended up walking down the streets of Metropolis, shoulder to shoulder with Clark Kent.

The night air was crisp, cool enough that you tugged your coat tighter around yourself. The sidewalks were busy with people, cars rolling lazily through the streets, their headlights casting soft glows against the pavement.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how a frustrating, dead-end night had turned into this. But you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you were enjoying every minute of it.

The streets of Metropolis buzzed with an early-night energy. Neon signs flickered, storefronts cast golden light onto the pavement, and the hum of conversation from passing pedestrians filled the air. You walked close to Clark, close enough that your arms brushed with every step.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something trusted about it—something new.

You risked a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. But when the light of a passing car swept over his face, you caught the way his jaw tensed slightly, like he was thinking about something.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable for a split second before softening into something reassuring. “Yeah. Why?”

You lifted a shoulder, tucking your hands into your coat pockets as you shrugged. “Just… getting stood up sucks. I figured you’d be at least a little upset.”

Clark exhaled a small huff of amusement. “I mean, yeah, I guess I could be. But I’d rather not waste my night sulking about it.”

You nodded, accepting his answer. But then, after a few seconds, you heard him add, quieter, “Besides… I’m having a nice time.”

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

You kept your gaze forward, pretending like those words didn’t sink into you in a way that left you warm despite the cool night air.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time, it felt different. More aware. More weighted.

And then Clark suddenly spoke.

“Can I show you something?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. “Uh… sure?”

He smiled, but there was something almost shy about it, something hesitant like he was second-guessing himself. “It’s not far.”

Curious, you followed his lead, stepping off the main sidewalk as he turned down a quieter street, where the glow of streetlights gave way to something softer, something greener.

Within moments, you realized where you were headed.

The city park.

You’d been here plenty of times before—Metropolis had its fair share of green spaces, a welcome contrast to the steel and glass of the skyline—but Clark led you past the more well-known paths, past the benches where couples sat talking in hushed tones, past the fountain that usually served as a meeting place.

Eventually, he guided you toward a narrow, gated pathway, tucked between a stretch of trees. He reached for the gate, pausing before glancing back at you.

“It’s, uh… it’s kind of a secret spot.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Secret?”

His lips quirked. “Sort of. I mean, it’s public, but not many people know about it.”

“Riiight... totally not a cheesy thing to say.”

“Just, come look.”

You watched as he pushed the gate open, stepping aside to let you through first.

You hesitated for only a second before slipping past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as you stepped inside.

And then you saw it.

A sheltered little garden.

It wasn’t grand, but it was beautiful. A small, enclosed space, with an arched trellis overhead wrapped in evergrowing vines. Flowers bloomed in neatly arranged clusters, their colours muted under the soft glow of the moon and city. A narrow stone pathway curved through the space, leading to a bench beneath another canopy of vines.

The whole thing felt… unreal. Quiet. Removed from the city entirely.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is…” You exhaled, searching for the right word. “Wow.”

Clark smiled, stepping further in behind you. “I found it by accident a while ago. It’s kind of nice, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Kinda nice is an understatement, Smallville.”

The two of you lingered in the quiet, the city’s distant sounds muffled by the greenery around you. And when you looked at Clark again, you caught it—

That brief hesitation. That barely-there glance.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before he cleared his throat, looking away, suddenly busying himself with adjusting his glasses.

It was awkward. Endearing.

And for some reason, it made your heart beat just a little faster.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to break the silence. “So, what, you bring all your failed dates here?” you teased lightly.

Clark huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. Just you.”

His voice was light, teasing back—but something about it stuck with you.

Just you.

You had no idea what to say to that.

So instead, you just smiled. And hoped the darkness hid the warmth rising in your face.

Clark shifted beside you, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets, gaze flickering toward the night sky. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Just... don’t tell Lois about this place.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Or else it’ll be on the front cover of the Daily Planet and it won’t be so secret anymore.”

You snorted. “Figured.”

Then, almost immediately, your lips twisted into a frown. “Ugh, you know what? I’m still kinda pissed off with Lois.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Lois? What—why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “She was the one who arranged the whole meeting with the lawyer today. My source. She forgot to confirm or something and cancelled last minute. Can you believe it?”

Clark blinked. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither. She’s probably got caught up with Superman again or something—I don’t know.”

Clark’s head tilted slightly, brows drawing together. “Sorry? Superman?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just an inside joke between us and our friends. Since she’s so close with the guy, we joke that whenever she’s acting weird, it’s because of him.”

Clark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Does she usually?”

“Not really. But we like to watch her squirm when we bring it up.” You smirked. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s been acting weird all week.”

Clark hummed, his gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I noticed that too. When she was telling me about this date, she just... wasn’t herself, I guess. Left a lot of things in the dark.”

Your steps faltered slightly, your brows knitting together as something in his words made your stomach twist. You turned to look at him, trying to piece together the implications of what he was saying.

“Wait—” You exhaled, mind racing. “Lois set you up?”

Clark slowed as well, blinking as if he’d only just realized you hadn’t put it together yet. “Uh… yeah?” He frowned slightly. “I did say my date was a friend of hers.”

“Right.” You blinked, mind catching up. “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The sounds of the city—distant honking, the chatter of pedestrians, the hum of neon signs—faded into a dull blur. It was as if the entire world had taken a collective breath and was holding it, waiting for the two of you to catch up.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The pieces clicked together—Lois arranging your meeting, forgetting to confirm, being strangely vague about the details.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped as realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Clark’s eyes widened just a fraction, his breath hitching. And then, almost at the same time—

“…No way.”

You exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking your head as your mind reeled. Clark let out a chuckle of his own, one hand running through his hair, his fingers ruffling the strands at the back of his head. His ears—just barely visible under the glow of a nearby streetlight—had turned the faintest shade of pink again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just looked at each other, as if confirming that, yes, this was real, and yes, Lois Lane had absolutely just played matchmaker.

“Well,” Clark finally said, voice warm, laced with amusement. “At least we won’t have to spend the whole night getting to know each other.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The tension in your shoulders, the nervous energy, the awkwardness of the night—it all melted into something else entirely. Something softer. Something that felt… kind of nice.

Clark was still smiling, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and you had to resist the urge to look away, to keep from giving away the way your heart had started beating just a little faster.

He shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced down for a second before looking back up at you.

And then, with just the slightest hint of something almost timid in his voice, he asked—

“Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Sure.”

“When Lois was telling me about the date... I was hoping it would be you.”

“…Really?”

Clark nodded, lips pressing together like he was debating whether he should keep going. But then, in a quieter voice, he admitted, “Yeah... It was the only reason I agreed. And when I saw you at the restaurant, I was really excited—until you told me you were there for work.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Sorry I let you down.”

His head snapped up. “No.” He shook his head, quickly, almost too quickly. “You didn’t.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I still had fun,” he added, a little sheepishly.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. “You should’ve just said something.”

Clark exhaled a laugh, glancing down again. “I know. I just... I’m not really good at this stuff.”

You smiled, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You’re doing pretty good so far. Had me swept off my feet.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice just a little lower, a little softer.

“Oh yeah.”

A pause. A lingering look.

And then—

“We should do this again.” His lips curled, a little nervous but hopeful. “On purpose next time.”

You grinned widely, feeling warmth spread through you, from your chest to the very tips of your fingers.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

“Did you say something?” His voice is kind, expression open, as though he’s finally ready to listen. But the bell rings, cutting into the moment. You only have a minute to sprint to the other side of school. 

“No,” you sigh, forcing the stilted smile to stay on your face, “I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he offers, falling into step beside you. “That way you can tell me what you actually said,” he teases, giving you that familiar boyish grin that never fails to make you unravel. 

You bite your tongue for a moment, mind unraveling as you struggle with telling him the truth or not. This is stupid. He’s Clark, your best friend. Your stupid, oblivious, beautiful best friend. But the way he looks at you, soft and warm as he slows his stride so he can walk together a little longer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

No. It will definitely still hurt. 

“Would you want to do something this weekend?” You rush it all out at once and immediately look away from him, terrified by what you might see on his face. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then Clark laughs, light and easy. Your stomach twists and your head shoots up, a disbelieving glare on your face. You’d known it would be unlikely that he’d return your feelings, but laughing seems below him. 

“Why’re you being so weird?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “We’ll just do a movie night like always.” He squeezes your shoulder, casual, friendly, a wholly innocent gesture. Nothing more and nothing different. It’s completely platonic to him, as it always is. It takes you a moment to realize that he took what you were saying the wrong way. Or, maybe this is just the gentlest way he knows how to let you down. 

“Right,” you struggle to keep your voice even but it doesn’t matter, the dejection slips through your tone. His smile falters slightly and he looks like he wants to say something when the shrill ring of the bell interrupts you both.

“I’ll see you later,” he offers but he sounds uncertain. Most of your plans have fallen through lately. Either because he was busy with Lana or off disappearing somewhere. You’re not sure, but you know the divide is growing larger between you both and you’re getting scared you’re going to lose him. 

“Sure,” you give him a flat smile and he hovers beside you for a moment, like he wants to fix this but doesn’t know how. 

“You’re going to be late,” you startle slightly and glance over your shoulder. Blake, a boy you share your English class with offers you a shy smile as he hovers by the door, holding it open for you to walk through.  

“Thanks,” you walk past them both and into class, not wanting to look at Clark any longer. You miss the sharp look Blake shoots Clark and the way your friend lingers by the door for a minute before rushing off to his own class. 

You slide into your seat, lucky to have gotten in before Mrs. Brown, lord knows she would love to make a spectacle of anyone being tardy. Blake follows not far behind you, slipping into the seat beside you as always. He’s nice enough, quiet, unassuming. You’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but right now all of his attention seems to be on you. 

He whispers your name and you give him a brief glance and smile, mind still wrapped up in Clark. “Um, I was going to ask,” he stutters over his words for a moment, swallowing thickly before finally meeting your eye. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you answer absentmindedly. “I have plans with Clark,” you tell him shortly as Mrs. Brown walks in. You don’t have time to explain that you’ll probably just end up waiting around your house all weekend. Just to get a brief and incomprehensible explanation of why you were all alone on Monday. 

He sinks back in his seat with a sigh just as the teacher begins writing the assignment on the board. You shoot him a slightly concerned look before brushing the interaction off as nothing.

Standing in the line at The Talon has become almost a hobby for you. Not just because Clark drags you here constantly, but because he distracts Lana from actually taking any orders. The wait time seems to triple every time he walks into the shop. You hear people grumbling behind you and finally move toward Clark, breaking the unspoken rule of leaving him and Lana alone. 

“There’s a line, Clark,” you sing-song, warning him. The both of them flush, breaking their hushed conversation and shooting you a sheepish look. 

“I’m sorry,” Lana apologizes and you wave her off. “Do you want anything?” 

You’d been considering getting a muffin, but when you look over and see the lovesick smile Clark is giving her, you find your appetite has disappeared. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

Clark turns toward you with a soft frown and he nearly makes you forget just how much you resent him for dragging you along to see this. “I thought you were hungry.”

You glance back at Lana and find her eyes already on him. God, what’s the point of a breakup if you’re still obsessed with each other? “No, it’s alright.”

You move away from the counter to step outside, expecting him to stay there and continue flirting despite the angry customers behind them. You’re surprised when you hear his voice immediately beside you. 

“Hey,” he moves away from the door, a grin on his face. Face wrinkling in confusion, you nod your head in greeting even though you’d just seen him. Your eyes narrow in on the leather of his jacket and your head tilts in confusion. You swear he was wearing a zip up a moment ago. “What’re you doing?” He asks, tone light as he stands beside you closer than he normally would. 

“Uh,” you’re tempted to glance over your shoulder and make sure he isn’t still standing in The Talon. “Did you hit your head?” He flushes slightly and you laugh. “Just our usual friday endeavors, you moon over Lana and I hold back the mob of angry customers who just want a coffee.” Laughing to ease some of your own tension, it trails off when you see the smile drop from his face. 

His eyes narrow and he glances toward the shop, “Idiot,” he mutters. You shoot him an affronted look and he blanches, quickly correcting himself. “Me, not you.” You want to question him further but he slings an arm over your shoulder and redirects you away from the shop. Mind a blank slate, you feel your brain break slightly at the simple touch. 

When you were younger, before Lana, before either of you even knew what crushes were, something like this would mean nothing to you. As it is, though, your friendship seems to have dwindled to nothing but compulsory hangouts and the occasional conversation in the hallway. Something as simple as his arm around you has turned into everything for you. 

“So, what are we doing tonight?” 

“Movies at your place, like usual,” you remind him. He must have slipped and hit his head on the way out of The Talon.  Either that, or he already forgot the plans you made just this morning. Neither would surprise you. 

His face screws up and he shakes his head, “God, that’s lame.” You scoff, shooting him an odd look, not bothering to remind him that it was his idea. “I mean what’s he-” 

Clark cuts himself off, glancing down at you before letting out a short laugh. “How ‘bout the fair?”

You reach up and press the back of your hand to his forehead. He gives you a bewildered laugh, taking your hand in his and grinning. “What are you doing?”

You lean back slightly, breathless at the awestruck way he’s looking at you. You’ve only ever seen him look at…

Lana, you’ve only ever seen a look like this directed at Lana. But now, those deep blue eyes are pulling you in and you feel helpless to fight them. You swallow hard, blinking while you try to remember what you were even going to say. 

“Uh,” licking your lips you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement. “I was seeing if you had a fever. Since when do you want to go out?” 

He laces your fingers together and tugs you forward, “Since now.” 

Usually, you’re not so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth. Months, you’ve been praying he treats you with even a semblance of care he throws toward Lana. Now, you finally get it and you can’t help the sick tightening feeling in your stomach telling you this is all wrong.

The fair is less crowded than you had expected. Though, it is nearly the last day it’s in town, you suppose everyone’s already had their fill of it. You have been trying to get Clark to come with you for nearly a week, maybe this is why he had waited so long to join you. Some of the rides you actually got all to yourself. 

“You know these things are rigged,” you tease, watching as he tries and fails at the bottle toss for the third time. The bored teenage girl behind the booth briefly glances up from her book to glare at you both. You shoot her a sardonic smile and she turns to Clark. 

“You can just buy the stuffed animal, ya know?” She drawls. 

“That’s cheating-”

“Where’s the fun in that-”

You and Clark share a grin as you speak over each other. The girl pales at your joined voices and returns quickly to her book, muttering something about annoying couples. 

Your stomach flutters at the idea of you and Clark as a couple but you push it down. “Alright,” Clark chuckles and holds his arm out for you, “let’s get out of here.”

You slip your arm through his easily, smiling up at him. You’ve long since stopped questioning just how touchy he is. Clearly, he’s in a generous mood tonight and you feel like taking advantage of that as much as possible.

“Where to next?” He asks and your eyes crawl across the fairground, struggling to find something you haven’t already done. 

You toss what must be your third lemonade in the closest bin and shoot him a sheepish smile. “I think I’ll need to go to the bathroom before we do any more rides.”

He’s slow to let you go, hand drifting down to hold yours as he steps back. “I’ll wait by the ferris wheel,” he tells you lowly. 

Your cheeks flush, eyes widening slightly as you slip away from him. The ferris wheel is notorious among Smallville students as the place to make a move. Everyone knows it’s just couples that ride up in those rickety old cars. Still, Clark is slightly oblivious to stuff like that. You don’t want to get your hopes up just for it to ultimately be nothing more than a friendly outing. 

Rushing toward the sad group of Port-a-potties you let out an annoyed sigh when you see the long line awaiting you. Your foot bounces against the dirt impatiently as you peer around the girl in front of you just to see there has to be, at least, ten people before you. 

There’s a vibration in your pocket before you hear the shrill ringing of your Nokia. Digging it out of your jeans you answer without checking the contact. “Hello?” The girl in front of you shoots you a dirty look and you take a step back from her. 

“Hey, where’re you?” You frown at the sound of Clark’s voice, glancing around like you might be able to spot him in the crowd. You’d told him where you were going, why would he be calling?

“You know where I am,” you tell him, chuckling. 

There’s a slight huff on the other end and you frown, he almost sounds disappointed. “What are you talking about? We were supposed to watch movies tonight.”

“Okay, Clark, I’m officially concerned. You’ve been acting weird all day. We’re at the fair,” you say slowly, over-enunciating your words like he’s slow. “You said movies were going to be lame.”

There’s a long pause and he utters your name in a concerningly serious tone. “The person you’re with-”

“Alright, do you mind?” The girl in front of you whips around and snaps at you. Blanching, you lower the phone from your ear and she shoots you an incredibly dirty look. 

“Clark, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” you whisper into the phone. 

“Wait-” 

You cut him off, hanging up and shoving your phone in your back pocket. She turns back around and rolls her eyes. It doesn’t take long for your Nokia to start ringing again but you figure you’ll just meet Clark by the ferris wheel like he said. 

Low groaning drifts through the noises of the crowd and makes you pause. Tilting your head around the corner of a trailer, the sounds only grow louder. Everything inside you says not to investigate, but the person sounds like they’re genuinely in pain. You can’t just walk away. 

“Hey,” you call out softly. “Are you okay?”

There’s no response and you take a hesitant step closer. A scuffed white converse slips from behind the back of the trailer and it looks worryingly similar to Clark’s. “Clark?” You call out, creeping a little further into the dark. 

It’s like a cocoon of silence back here, as though the shadows swallow the voices and loud cheering sounds of the games beyond you. “No,” the small voice croaks out. You see a hand in the dirt and they begin dragging themselves forward. You jump back a step, heart picking up as you watch them get to their feet. 

This was a stupid idea, walking toward a stranger in the dark. Even in Smallville you couldn’t trust everyone. They finally turn and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Blake, hey.”

He gives you a weak grimace, clutching his stomach like he’s in pain. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, taking a step closer to him, trying to get a better look. 

“Fine, fine,” he stutters out, shifting just enough to keep his face half-hidden in the shadows.  Even knowing the person lurking within the shadows, you still feel slightly on edge. Something about the way he moves unsettles you. It’s not as though you know him well, he’s just a classmate. Someone quiet and harmless. Or, you hope he’s harmless, right now there’s something about him that feels wrong.

“Alright, um, if you’re sure,” you take a careful step backward. Your foot’s barely back on the ground when he lunges forward. His hands stretch toward you like he’s about to snatch you into the shadows with him. You’re stuck deciding whether you’re going to scream or bite him when he jerks back like a puppet being yanked on a string.  

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, breathless. “Clark walked by. He- he told me to tell you he was leaving.”

Your stomach twists with panic. Right now you care more about not getting your throat slit in a dark alley than you do about Clark ditching you. Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and run out from between the trailers. You swear you hear footsteps, quick and light, following your path to the cars. 

Sliding into your car, you lock your doors and peel out of the lot. You leave the fair, and whatever just happened, behind, not looking back. The phone in your pocket vibrates again but you ignore it, too freaked out by what just happened to bother answering.  

Someone calls your name and you peer around the edge of your locker door, grimacing when you see Blake walking toward you. His brown hair is a mess, like he’s been fussing with it all morning, and his thick glasses, normally perched precariously on his nose, are nowhere to be seen. His normal polished clothes look like they’re three sizes too big and you frown.  

“Hey,” you drag the word out, trying to sound polite even if his outburst last night left you feeling incredibly unsettled. “Feeling any better?” You hesitate to meet his eyes, and when you do, your annoyance only deepens. 

He’s watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for something. 

“Did you need anything?” You ask, voice trailing off as you close your locker and take two deliberate steps back. 

Blake’s brows furrow and he almost looks hurt before his expression smooths over into something startling unreadable. “Um, no, I’m sorry,” his gaze drifts past you. The color drains from his face and you barely have a second to process the oddity of this conversation before he turns on his heel and goes barrelling down the hall.

“Hey,” Clark’s familiar voice cuts through your confusion, and you turn to see him striding toward you. Gone is the easy, playful grin he wore last night. He looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, intent on something. “We need to talk,” he tells you, tone grave. 

“I know,” you snipe, not bothering to hide your irritation at just leaving you alone at the fair last night. You aren’t surprised, he’s been doing that for weeks now. What stings is that, for a little while, you had felt like you were actually friends again, only for him to ruin it. 

His brow furrows and he glances around the empty hallway with a frown. “Look, we can’t talk here, but-”

The warning bell rings, cutting him off. “Shit,” you mutter, shoving your books into your bag and turning away from Clark. He calls your name but you wave him off. “Later, Clark, I can’t be late again.” He watches you go with a frown, running a hand through his hair before turning toward his own class. 

Not even ten minutes later you spot him walking past Mrs. Brown’s room. Though, you swear he was wearing a red shirt not a green one. You could be wrong, it’s not as if you had long to take in his outfit.

You figure he’s just passing by and go back to taking your notes. There’s a light hiss from the door and you frown, looking up to see him hovering in the doorway and waving you forward. You glare toward Mrs. Brown’s back and shake your head. No way, you mouth. 

Clark gives you a pleading look, frowning and motioning you forward again. You know that look, you’ve been on the receiving end of it for years now. He’s clearly not going to let go of whatever  he was badgering you about this morning. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” You call out, not bothering raising your hand. The old bat’s half-blind, you doubt she’d see it anyway. 

She answers without even bothering to turn around and face you. “If you need to use the restroom, you do so before my class,” her shaky voice calls out with a huff. 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, stuffing your books in it as she turns back to the board. There’s no point in arguing with her, she’s never going to give in. You wait until she drops her eraser. The second she bends over to grab it, you’re bolting toward the door. Clark grabs your arm, dragging you behind him.

He makes a break for the end of the hall, blowing past the geometry class he’s meant to be in. He busts through the school doors and leads you quickly through the courtyard. “Clark,” you hiss, trying to hold back a laugh at the stupid grin on his face. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes alight with mischief, “Come on, you can’t tell me you actually want to listen to her rambling on about Shakespeare for an hour.”

You can’t argue with that, but he hasn’t done a jail bust for you in a while. Especially not during one of the few classes he shares with Lana. “No, I didn’t,” you pause as you realize he’s leading you to your car and not his truck. “Am I driving?”

“Truck didn’t start this morning,” he tells you shortly, not bothering with any further explanation. You swear you saw him drive in this morning but you could be wrong. It’s not like he’s the only kid driving his dad’s old busted truck in this town. “I’ll drive, though, you won’t know where we’re going.”

“Ominous,” you snark as he takes your hand in his, directing you toward the passenger door. Gentle hands push you up against the side of the car and he ducks down, leaning into your space. You crane your neck up, flushing slightly at the proximity. Any closer and you could kiss him. 

“Well?” He questions softly, lips curling up in a half-smile that makes you want to melt. You blink, forgetting what you were doing before you notice his outstretched, open, palm. Swallowing thickly you take your keys out of your bag and place them in his hand. “Thanks,” he ducks down, soft lips pressed against your cheek before rounding the front of the car. 

Your hand drifts toward your cheek, a bewildered smile on your face as you try and regulate your breathing. “What the hell?” You mutter, shaking your head slightly. Turning around, you open the car door and slip into the passenger seat. 

Clark greets you with a grin, scooping your hand up in his as he pulls out of the school parking lot. You don’t want to think about the trouble you’re going to be in tomorrow, all you can focus on is how good Clark’s hand feels in yours. 

“I’m really starting to feel like I’m getting kidnapped,” you joke, head tilting to look out the window. The golden fields stretch endlessly, rolling past in waves as the car gets further from town. Houses become scarce, replaced by sprawling farmland and grazing cattle. The further you go, the more isolated you feel. 

Clark chuckles, but there’s something off about the sound, a slight wheeze, a strain where there wasn’t before. His face crumples and he turns away from you, his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel from his tight grip. 

“Are you okay?” You reach instinctively toward him but he jerks his hand back. You gasp, jumping back when you catch a glimpse of his face. It ripples, the skin shifting unnaturally, as if something beneath it is struggling to break free. 

“Oh no,” Clark groans, voice strained. His entire body spasms and his hands slip from the wheel. The car lurches violently to the side, tires screeching against the pavement. Panic surges through you, hands bracing against the door as you shout his name. 

He curls into himself, muscles seizing, leaving the car veering out of control. The telephone pole ahead rushes toward you, growing larger by the second. You throw yourself forward, grasping at the wheel, desperately trying to steer, but Clark’s foot slams against the gas instead of the brake. 

Everything happens too fast. A blur flashes in front of the windshield. Then, a sudden stop. Your body flies forward, arms bracing against the dashboard as your head whips forward and back, pain rattling through your spine. 

You whine in discomfort, slowly sitting up and trying to take in your surroundings. The passenger door is ripped open. You flinch, recoiling instinctively and sending a shock of pain down your body. Your breath stutters as someone ducks their head inside, a startling familiar pair of blue eyes find yours.  

“Clark?” You whisper, gaze flicking to the seat beside you where Clark still sits, doubled over, his breathing ragged. 

The Clark outside the car reaches in and gently pulls you out. Warm, calloused hands skate carefully over your arms and shoulders. He cups the back of your neck, tilting your head up, thumbs gently smoothing over your jaw as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice is soft, thick with concern. His eyes briefly leave yours to double check you for any injuries he might have missed. 

Your heart pounds. This isn’t possible. You must be concussed. You blink rapidly still struggling to wrap your head around the whole two Clark’s thing when the second one stumbles out of the car. 

He steps are uneven as he rounds the fender, his entire body shaking. Your rescuer moves swiftly, placing himself between you and the other Clark. He shields you, broad shoulders tense, protective to a fault. Must be the real one. Right? You rub your aching head and frown. 

“What were you going to do with her?” The one in front of you barks the question out, his voice sharp and edged with something dangerous.

“I just,” the other one keels over, cutting himself off with a pained groan and shaking his head. “Wanted to get away,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forcing himself straight again. 

“And you had to take her with you?”

“What’s going on?” You jut in, stepping back from both of them. Facing them, you see the same wounded expression reflected on both faces. Whichever is the fake, he’s certainly mastered the puppy dog look. 

Your rescuer tries to take a step forward but you throw your hand up, keeping them both at bay until you know what’s going on. He sighs and glances over at his shoulder at the other one.  “How long have you been able to do this?” 

It's like they start a conversation in the middle and you’re completely lost.  “Last year, I never saw a use for it and it was too much of a pain. But then I realized,” he looks at you, face contorting. “You would never go for a guy like me. You couldn’t. You were too wrapped up in him,” he spits the word out with venom, nodding toward the Clark you know has to be the real one. 

“You love him and that stupid all-American smile.” He chuckles, but it breaks off into a groan as he doubles over in pain, clutching his stomach. He drops to his knees and moans through clenched teeth, clutching at his face as he folds over. The longer black hair shrinks to a dull brown, broad shoulders slimming as the clothes he wears hang loose on him.

The illusion shatters, “Oh, God, Blake?” You gasp out, taking one step toward him. He shakes his head and you stop as Clark grabs your elbow. You glance up at him but he just shoots you a soft look that has you rooted to the spot. 

“I’ve been in love with you since freshman year,” Blake chuckles, still sounding like every word hurts. “If only I figured it out earlier, it’s always going to be him. I never had a chance, did I?” His gaze flickers toward Clark before he collapses to the pavement. 

You both go running toward Blake. Pressing your trembling fingers to his neck, you let out a sigh of relief when you feel his faint heartbeat. 

“We need to get him to a hospital, fast.” You lean back from Blake, looking around for Clark’s truck, confused when you don’t see it. “Dammit, Clark, where's the truck?”

He flushes, shaking his head, “I didn’t bring it.”

You frown, “What’re you talking about?” 

He glances toward Blake, the rise and fall of his chest steadily slowing. When he looks back at you his expression is unreadable, an intensity to it that you’ve never seen before. “I need you to trust me.”

“Always,” you tell him without missing a beat. He gives you a small smile but it lacks the usual warmth. 

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” You glare at him but he just shakes his head. 

“Please,” he looks close to begging and the pulse under your grip is getting weaker. Swallowing down your confusion you close your eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I’ll be back.”

You frown, feeling a rough breeze blow back your hair as your eyes shoot open. But the spot in front of you is empty and the body under your hand has disappeared. Getting to your feet, you spin in one slow circle. There’s nothing out here except golden fields, your totaled car, and you. All alone. 

Clark eventually came back for you. His truck rolling into view after being on your own for half an hour. You hadn’t talked to him the whole ride back to town, too shocked by everything that had happened. 

He carried the conversation for the both of you, offering a brief explanation that only confused you more. Blake had apparently been one of the meteor freaks, somehow being exposed to it when it had left a crater in your town. 

But Clark didn’t tell you how he made it across the highway and to the hospital in under five minutes with no car. He didn’t tell you anything that actually mattered. So, you told him to drop you off at home and you haven’t seen him in a week. 

Chloe had called you once during your self-induced isolation, just to tell you that she’d driven by Blake’s house. Apparently the entire place looked like it had been cleaned out. No sign of him or his parents anywhere. You wish you could say you care, but you don’t. You’re almost grateful he’s gone. Not only did he reveal your long held secret infatuation to Clark, he’d clearly had ill intentions as he tried to take you out of town. 

Your Nokia nearly buzzes itself off your nightstand as you set your book to the side and look at the all-too familiar contact.

Clarkie

The stupid nickname you’d given him in middle school lights up the small screen and you let out a rough sigh, watching as it rings and rings before finally quieting. The screen goes dark before lighting up once more as his ringtone fills the silence of your room. He doesn’t give up easily, you have to give him that. 

You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to face him. Not now that he knows about your feelings for him. There’s no hiding what Blake so plainly laid out for him. You sink into the comforts of the pillows on your bed and wonder if you could just live here forever. 

Something knocks against your window and you ignore it as nothing more than a branch from the tree. It’s not much longer before it happens again and you rip your hands off your face and are forced to sit up. Your phone rings once more and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that you know exactly who waits outside your window. 

“You can’t hide forever,” comes an annoying cheerful voice from outside. You force yourself off your bed and slink toward your window. Sure enough, Clark waits below it, a boyish grin poised on his face as he looks up at you. As much as you’re avoiding him, it’s plain cruel to just leave him outside. 

Reluctantly, you open your window and he’s quick to climb your tree. You back up as he slots his broad frame through and into your room. He lets out a short huff of breath and straightens up, giving you a sheepish smile. 

Taking a seat on your bed, you find it a tad difficult to look at him. Clark sucks in a deep breath and grabs your desk chair. He straddles it, resting on the back of it and staring at you until you feel like he’s going to burn holes into the side of your face. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You hum and shrug, tucking a loose wave behind your ear. “I’ve been sick,” you lie, briefly looking up. The intense way he’s looking at you leaves you breathless and you have to take in a slow breath so your heart doesn’t kick up too much.  

“I want to tell you something.” Your head shoots up, concern lacing through you at the grave tone of his words. He looks away from you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I want to ask you something first. Is, uh,” he chuckles a little and licks his lips, a nervous tick he’s never been able to kick. “Is all that stuff that Blake said true?”

Your stomach drops, burying your face in your hands, you let out a low groan. “Oh, god,” you suck in a sharp breath, unable to look at him as heat flushes through you. 

Lying is always an option. It’s a poor option, but it’s there. Maybe, if you just lied straight through your teeth he would drop it and leave you alone. But you’ve been hiding this for so long, tucked so tightly to your chest, it would be a relief to finally be unburdened of the truth. 

“Yes,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him, don’t want to face the truth of his rejection. Clark has been your best friend since you could walk, losing him over this stupid crush would destroy you. 

The silence drags on for too long and you feel the anxiety calling its way around you. Warmth envelops your hands and calloused palms draw them away from your face. 

You peek one eye open to find Clark kneeling before you, a soft smile on his face. “You better not be laughing at me, Kent.”

A small chuckle slips through his lips and you slap at his shoulder. He catches your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m not, I promise. I wish you’d told me.”

“Why? So I could ruin our friendship faster?” You snark. 

“No, so I could do this,” he darts forward, soft lips capturing yours. You freeze up, eyes wide as his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. 

There’s a brief moment of shock where you’re completely frozen. But then you feel the way his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. And you find yourself melting into the feeling of his embrace, eyes closing as you slowly open up to him. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the soft waves of his hair. 

The kiss itself is gentle, chaste almost. But it warms you from the inside out, makes you feel like you’re going to be nothing but a puddle of goo the longer he holds you. When he pulls back, he drags it out, lips lingering as long as they can. 

You’re slow to recover, eyes glazed over as you stare at him. He seems just as shocked, like he hadn’t expected to do that. Of course, you say the first thing that comes to mind instead of just shutting up and enjoying the moment. “What about Lana?” You blurt out, wincing the second it leaves your mouth. 

He frowns at you and shrugs, “What about her?”

“You’ve been blowing me off for months for her. We go to her shop every day just so you can stare at her. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly discovered feelings for me. I won’t be your backup, Clark.”

He shakes his head vehemently, looking almost offended by the idea. “What? No. Of course you’re not,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you before sinking back on his heels with a huff. “Look, I wasn’t ditching you for her, I can explain all that,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “later.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and he reaches up, taking your hands in his. “There’s a lot I have to tell you. But the most important thing is that I am completely over Lana.”

“Really?” You question, tone harsh but bordering almost on teasing. “You look at all your friends like that?”

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “just you,” he adds with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and shake your head, looking away from him. “Whatever you thought you saw between us, it was only on her end. I swear, it’s been you for a long time.”  

You look away, but he’s not accepting that, tilting your chin to face him once more. “It’s always been you,” he murmurs, voice steady, certain.

Your breath hitches, heart stuttering in your chest. Maybe this is real. Maybe it’s been you that’s been the oblivious idiot. 

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then prove it.”

His smile is slow, confident, and this time when he leans in you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway.

"No! Nonono — WAIT, STOP! WAIT!"

You sprint as fast as your legs will take you, but it's no use. The bus pulls away from the stop and keeps on going, ten minutes earlier than it should've, and leaves you behind. You groan and resist the urge to throw your bag to the ground.

"God dammit." The next one wouldn't be around for at least an hour and a half, and it would be long dark by then. You didn't have the cash on hand for a cab all the way to downtown Gotham, either. You pull your phone out and check how far the closest hotel is, but that's also downtown.

As far as options go, you can either call your brother and ask him to come get you, or walk as fast as your legs will take you and hope you make it back home unscathed.

You start walking.

"It's fine," you tell yourself, white-knuckling the strap of your messenger bag. "You've made it home after dark before and been completely fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything is great. You could use the exercise, actually. A little leg work does a body good, and you spend most of your time sitting at a desk. Yeah. Yeah! It's like walking on the treadmill..."

The small pep talk helps. Taking large strides, you estimate that you'll make it back home in 45 minutes. That's fine! It's all fine!

Except it isn't fine, because twenty minutes in, you become acutely aware of someone following you about half a block back. You test that by crossing streets at odd places and walking around the perimeter of a liquor store, and he remains on the edge of your periphery the whole time. It's absolutely not fine.

You pull your phone out and dial 9-1-1, picking up the pace. Your heart feels like it's leapt into your throat and you hope against hope he changes his mind and fucks off somewhere else.

"Gotham City Police. Where is the address of the emergency?"

"Uh...I'm currently off the intersection of Cherry and Roman," you explain, looking at the street sign, and give the dispatcher your name. "I'm walking South along Cherry. There's a man following me, about...uh, sixty feet back? I think I'm gonna get jumped, and I missed my bus, and I just wanna get home before dark —"

"Okay, alright," the dispatcher says, voice gentle. "It'll be okay. I've alerted units in your area to come by. The closest one is five minutes out. Stay on the line with me."

"Okay," you mutter. "Thank you. I'm just really scared."

"It'll be okay," the dispatcher repeats. "What does the man look like? Are you able to describe him safely?"

"He's kind of short," you explain. "He's got jeans on and a black coat. I think he's blonde, but I don't wanna look behind me and piss him off..."

"That's fine. You're doing great. They're four minutes out. Just keep walking and talking to me."

"Okay. I'm crossing the street now, still on Cherry... There's a book store that's closed on my right. It's called...um..." You squint. You're not quite close enough to see the sign yet, and before you get the chance to better read the lettering, a hand clasps around your arm and yanks you backwards. You scream, cellphone dropping to the sidewalk, and the man is trying to drag you into an alleyway.

"No!" You cry, beating a fist against his chest. "Stop!! GET OFF ME!"

"Shut the fuck up!" The man snarls. You yank a taser out of your tote bag and press it against his side, shocking him. He shouts in pain and spasms, letting go. You stumble back, scoop up your phone, and take off in a sprint. "Get back here!!"

"Hello!?" You yell into the receiver. "He's chasing me! I'm running but he's chasing me! I need help right now, please!!"

"A unit is two minutes out," the dispatcher replies, sounding tense. "Do you have any means of defending yourself? A weapon? Pepper spray?"

"My taser didn't do shit! I don't have anything else!"

"Keep running. They're hurrying as fast as they can, I promise."

"I'm running! I'm going!!"

You pump your legs as fast as they can possibly carry you, then push them to go even faster than that. You're gasping noisily for breath and there's a stitch developing in your side. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest. But you can't stop, because you can hear him running after you, and if you stop you'll most certainly die.

"Please!" You wheeze into the phone. "I can't — please!"

The sound of sirens reaches your ears and you feel almost weep with relief. You start shouting that you're here, you're right here, hurry the fuck up and get here, but you're grabbed again right as the patrol car rounds the corner.

The stalker hooks an arm around your throat and yanks you to his chest. He presses a gun to your temple and you freeze, ice crawling up and down your spine.

"Drop the weapon!" A cop shouts. Two of them hop out of the vehicle and aim their own guns at the two of you. "Put the gun down and step away from them right now!"

"This doesn't have to go down with anybody getting hurt tonight!" The second officer yells. "Surrender peacefully!"

"Fuck your peace!!" The man that has you screams. The hand holding the gun is shaking as badly as you are, and you hope and pray his finger isn't twitching against that trigger. "Back up or I blow their brains all over the street!"

"Don't!" You choke out. "Don't do that! Please don't do that, I'm just trying to go home please don't —"

"SHUT UP!" He snaps. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I SWEAR I'M GONNA —"

Two gunshots sound. You flinch hard, hands flying up to your head to feel for any bullet wounds, but there's nothing there. The responding officers are sheet-white, looking at you like they've seen a ghost.

No, not at you. Past you.

You don't wanna look. You've lived this long not having to see a dead body and don't intend on breaking that streak. Maybe they hadn't intended to shoot to kill? Is that why they seem to scared? But — no, that doesn't make sense. Because if they shot him, the body is on the ground. Their eyes should be on the ground. Not up as high as they currently are.

They're looking at something else.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Chimes a voice behind you, and you turn just as pale as them.

You don't dare turn around. You don't move. You don't breathe. The exact reason why you're so diligent about getting home before sundown every night is standing about two feet behind you, and you suddenly feel like your odds of survival were better with the stalker.

"Why don't you two go on back to the precinct? I've got it from here."

The police continue to stare behind you for several, long moments. They share a look between each other. They look at you. They step towards their car.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Cold sweat forms on the back of your neck and your eyes start to water.

"Don't go," you stammer, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't leave me here. Please don't go —"

"Shhhh..." What feels like a block of ice lands heavily on your shoulder and squeezes tight. So painfully tight. You can't breathe. "Don't listen to 'im. Go on, boys. Get."

The first officer climbs back into the car. The second one hesitates just a moment longer.

"I don't like repeating myself. Go, before I run out of fucking patience."

The second cop disappears back into the car, shutting off the lights, and drives away.

You feel like you're going to throw up. There's nothing protecting you anymore. No one around. Just your ragged breathing to fill the silence and the Red Hood practically pressed against your back.

"You know what's coming next."

The voice is low and distorted by a modulator in the helmet. Every word makes your heart race faster and your vision gets spotty at the edges.

"Hey, hey, hey...easy," he teases, the icey hand on your shoulder moving to cup your jaw. Pressure starts to be applied, urging you to tip your head back and expose your throat to the open air. You sob.

"M'just try-trying t'go ho-home."

"Yeah?" The Red Hood coos. You swear it sounds like he's grinning under that fucking helmet.

"I just wanna go home," you repeat, nearly whispering.

"Heard ya the first time. Quiet, now."

He tips your head back until it won't go any further. Through tears, you blink up at a blood-red helmet, reflecting your terror back at you. The hand at your jaw moves up and covers your eyes, eliminating even the small solace of the street lamps and leaving you in total darkness.

"You don't move. You don't run. You don't pull away from me. You keep these pretty eyes shut nice and tight. Do all that and maybe. Maybe. I let you go home. Say yes if you understand."

Your bottom lip wobbles, teeth practically chattering.

"Y-yes," you whisper.

"Good."

You hear the click of latches coming undone and hear him take the helmet off. You feel his other arm come around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You feel his breath against your throat.

Getting bitten by a vampire is a terrible experience. It's nothing like the movies and books tell you at all; no little pinch followed by numbness, no erotic tingling coming from the point of contact, no gentle suction like getting a hickey.

It feels like somebody is stabbing you with a fucking fork and then subsequently trying to suck the skin off your bones. It hurts like nothing else you've ever experienced.

You scream, because he didn't say you weren't allowed to do that, and you cling to the arm around your waist as tight as you possibly can, like it's the only thing grounding you to what's happening because it is. It is.

This is why most of Gotham's businesses are closed by sundown, why most people have shut themselves into their homes and settled in for the evening by now, why you were trying to do the exact same thing before you missed that stupid bus. Because ever since the Red Hood started prowling the streets at night, nobody has wanted to be caught outside with him.

He emerged four years ago with a mission and two rules:

1. If he catches you out at night doing some shit you shouldn't, pray you've gotten your affairs in order before he kills you.

2. If he saves you from someone who was out at night doing some shit they shouldn't, he will take payment from you whether you give it willingly or not.

He does not accept money. He does not accept bribes. He does not leave a debt unpaid.