charlie

Lately the air felt thicker. Filling your lungs, clinging to them with a refusal to leave. You could breathe in, over and over and over. You could gasp, and heave, and choke on it, but you couldn't exhale.

There wasn't time. There wasn't space. It didn't matter.

Holding your breath became a forced skill. It was much easier to fade out with not even so much of a chance at a single breath for life than it was to swim through waters of a storm that you hadn't the resources to face. There was no life raft tossed out to your sea.

None that you had caught, at least.

Clark was right at your side, and the air didn't seem to be constricting his breathing the same. It didn't claw it's way down his throat, scrap along his esophagus, nor set into his lungs like cement. No.

You felt his hot exhales. Saw his chest rise and fall in success of another breath. As his air hit your skin you were served a reminder of what you couldn't have.

How did he do it?

It's the most obvious of answers. He's Clark Kent, that's how. Because, sure, he's The Invincible Superman, but at the very core of who he is, he is Clark Kent. And who were you beneath the shining light of divinity?

This question led you to silence. The kind of silence that a person couldn't ignore or miss was there. The kind that made Clark miss you even when he had you in his arms. But he can take a breath, decide how to pull you from this emptiness of your own suffocation.

You needed him to believe it was okay. To believe that air did in fact whirl from your lungs when your chest rose and fell. To fail to notice it was nothing more than reenacting a motion on a repeated schedule. Because, yes, Clark is breathing. But you couldn't be the one to put something on him that would weigh down his chest.

Agreeing to go to dinner was meant to be convincing, but you were well aware that your act was beginning to crumble. You could only replay this show so many times before Clark had no choice but to pick apart the most trivial scenes, expressions, and dialogues. It seemed he was learning to sail the storm that you feared.

And, of course, he's so perfect at it. At swimming his own waters, just to reach the shore of the next person that needed help. He had himself so well balanced that he could do it all. That's how it felt, even when you had pulled him from the depths of his own sorrows before.

Here he was, walking home with you and allowing the silence. Giving you time, probably mentally perfecting the soft words that will likely come out as smooth as honey dripping from a spoon. It just looks like he can do it all.

Admitting that about yourself wasn't the struggle, it was very evident that you couldn't do it all. The issue was that you couldn't do more. Clark could do so much— saving a bus load of children, going to the Planet for work, making sure to call home like a good son does, taking you out to dinner like an amazingly sweet boyfriend.

And here you are, ready to cave from balancing work and home. Sinking deeper in the depths of your sea, watching through a wave-blurred haze as lightning cracks above water. Letting the storm roll until… him.

"In your head?" Clark's voice was quiet, a soft start to the conversation that he knew could be heavy.

Your chest rises again, lungs still caught with last year's inhale. "Busy week."

Busy month. Or was it several months now? Time was undecided when below surface.

Clark saw the tightness in your chest, the hesitance to even look in his eyes. You could only bring yourself to look in attempt of selling a point of wellness. It was a mistake to look at him.

He could read your eyes perfectly within seconds. It would've been a mistake not to look too, seeing as he could read your avoidance just as well. You figured this was the price of being known now. There was no hiding away, because, unlike all others, Clark would never be the one to leave you gasping in salty water.

His life raft was extended, all you had to do was take hold.

"Let's talk about it." He nudges your shoulder. An attempt at keeping things light, inviting.

Your chest falls without meaning. "I just wanna move on from it, I think." He'd accept that. "I really appreciate you taking me for dinner. It was really sweet of you to plan it for us."

Thank you for seeing me drowning and throwing me a raft. Even if I can't get a grip on it.

"'Course," Clark has that small smile. One that reassures you he read all the words in between.

It was the obvious thing in his mind. You were stressed, he wanted to treat you. Work has been a part of the issue, and his immediate thought was to get you physically away from it. That reminded him of that restaurant you mentioned months ago, so he made a quick call and scheduled a time.

His second thought was to get you mentally pulled from work. He directed the conversation towards compliments on your signature looks, observations of the beauty of the restaurant, sampling each other's food and comparing notes. It was hard to stay stuck in your mind when Clark smiled so widely when you saw a butterfly on the walk there, or when his eyes were sparkling in awe at the soft lighting in the restaurant, or whatever small thing he found to fawn over at any given moment.

He's beyond any realm you're capable of reaching. And he chooses you like it is the most obvious choice. That felt so unfamiliar to you. To him, though… who else would he choose?

There was no chance you could ever repay him the same way. Because Clark saw it all. He so effortlessly reads between every line, and goes about living practically three full lives without a second thought about it. Your issues seemed so small in comparison to the life Clark lives.

Only one of you was weighing that scale. He's too good for that.

The remainder of the walk was silent, much to your relief. The door quickly clicked shut and your routine came to motion. Peeling your coat off part way, Clark's fingers brushing yours as he took it fully off and hung it for you. Always taking care of you and needing no reason. Just because.

"Thank you," you always whispered. Clark wondered when you'd catch on that no thanks was ever going to be necessary.

"You're welcome," he always returned. He'd be patient with you.

The choking feeling was back, words desperately wanting to escape but your heart refusing to let them go. You couldn't even think of what could be said, or maybe what wouldn't be said. It scared you.

Water. You needed a drink. The kitchen seems impossibly far. Or, no? You already had a glass in your hand, head tilted back and water rolling past your lips with a gulp. You don't even remember walking past the entryway.

The water was cooling. This typically is what would wash these thoughts away before their tendrils could latch on too tightly. It swirled, mixing with that oceanic mess you've been washed around in the last several weeks. You kept an eye on that raft Clark had thrown.

Accept his help.

"Thank you for dinner." You hadn't said that explicitly before. He knew, and you know that, but you had to say it. He cleared his schedule, set Superman aside, just because he saw your struggle.

He was behind you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Thank you for going with me."

What?

But he moved on, trailing kisses down your neck. Because, again, this is second nature to him. Kindness, doting, a gentle force.

The water was sloshing in you, a wave forming in your stomach. But you went along, tilting your neck and closing your eyes because it feels nice. Because he makes you feel like you do deserve this regardless of how convincing your poisoned brain can be.

"I would've been crazy to not." You half joke.

That light air was trying to find its' way back to the conversation. Maybe you just had to be more receptive to it.

Clark chuckles, vibrations tingling the crook of your neck as his lips pressed another kiss. "Then I'm just double lucky. Lucky you're not crazy, and lucky you were at my side tonight."

It makes you sick. Or sicker? Not that that was really possible anymore. Yet… it made you smile, too.

Your hand found the back of his neck, following his dipping motions while he lead his lips back to yours. Each kiss against your neck reminds your sickness to settle down. He's going nowhere. He thinks you deserve each and every kiss, otherwise he wouldn't give so many.

If he didn't intend on staying, his hands wouldn't so softly trace their way down your body, making you shiver such a gentle touch. They find their place right below your butt, lifting you up to sit on the counter and be more at level with him. If he was going to go, this wouldn't be so easy.

It had to settle it all. If you weren't good, Clark wouldn't be so tender. He wouldn't have memorized that chill that was always sent up your spine when his fingers did their best to crawl beneath the waist of your pants.

"What's wrong?" His breath rolled hot against you, and you saw a concern in his eyes that you didn't expect. His fingers left their task, reaching up and brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. "I lost you, what happened?"

Lost you.

It's now that you feel the cooling of your cheek, when his fingers swipe off and you feel a smudged tear drying in wake. God, it's not the night you wanted to have.

"I really needed tonight." Your voice was much quieter than expected. Your eyes shot down, feeling your lip quiver and wishing you could do absolutely anything to hide. "You saw that, but also did something about it. And I know I've been off all week…"

He continues his perfection. Eyes locked on you, hands giving you the space your glance away silently asked for. But he was still there, holding your waist and standing between your legs.

"Or probably longer," a bitter laugh, and quick swipe of falling tears. "But you've put up with work, saving the world, taking care of your Ma and Pa, and taking care of me on top of it all. I can't stop wondering how it's possible."

Clark could pretend to be lost in understanding, but it's not the first time he's been here. He is Mr. Perfection, after all. Even if he is the only one that knows it isn't true.

He knows you don't need to hear him go on and on about how he hasn't got it all figured out. He knows you know that he isn't Mr. Perfection. He's Clark.

"I'll always take care of you." He settles on these words, gently cupping your cheek again.

You smile solemnly. "I believe that, too."

Because you deserve it. You could always find him between the lines.

"So the tears?" His thumb massages your cheek gently.

"I figured out how you do it." Why hide? Take the raft. "It's possible because of how deeply you care."

He smiles at the idea, dimple popping. "How'd you mean?"

"You have so much hope, and love, and good." Your hand is on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "And I just feel so incredibly lucky that I get to receive even a fraction of that."

Your eyes betrayed the honesty of your confession, tears still threatening to spill. But they stayed right there. It didn't have to be a betrayal. Maybe just a representation of your own love that you didn't quite know what to do with?

"You've been a beacon for millions of people, but I don't think I have shown enough appreciation to you for being with me through it all." Because it's not just about how he can do it all. "So thank you, again. For being my personal beacon too, and taking the time to find me in my own problems."

You playfully tug the collar of his shirt, sniffling and letting the final tear fall and clear your vision. You'd never be ready to look at him again, so you did it anyway. He's, as always, a vision.

His curly hair sat askew, falling over his forehead and reminding you to find the light in the day you spent together. His cheeks are tinted red like they always are when someone gives him a compliment. His glasses had slowly begun to slip down the bridge of his nose. And his eyes? Oh, damn. He's too perfect.

His smile never faded. "I love you."

His hands both come out to hold your face, lips finding yours again with a complete lack of reserve at this point. One kiss, two, three… six? Ten? The score didn't matter anymore.

He hums against your lips. "I love you, and I'm always going to find you." Another kiss. "Cute you thought you could escape that, though."

You laugh quietly, eyes opening again. "Escape it?"

He's looking at you through his lashes, lips curled into a grin that pairs with his joke. "Yeah. I'm a particularly good finder, and I do have a pretty large beacon, after all. No escaping that."

Your eyebrows raise, and lips mirror his grin. "I never said that."

"You said it reached millions, that sounds pretty large to me." He rebuttals, hands trailing beneath your thighs again.

"I never said that!" You laugh, arms looping around his neck.

"You absolutely did." A kiss to your cheek, to your jaw, to your neck. Suddenly your in the air again as he carries you off, legs wrapped around his torso.

"I said you have been a beacon for millions." Your fingertips scratch the back of his neck, encouraging him on.

"Well, maybe I just wanted to hear it a certain way. Point got across still." His teeth graze your neck before landing another kiss.

Laughter rings out again as Clark hoists you unexpectedly, holding you up with one arm around your back. His hand swipes around to find the bedroom doorknob without having to stop kissing away at your neck. The kisses are falling a bit more haphazardly.

"And, I mean, c'mon." It's like that smirk of his is stapled in place suddenly. He looks at you through lidded eyes, pulling from your neck just long enough to gesture his head down. "You can't exactly deny—

"Stop talking." Your fingers grasp hold of his hair, chest rising and cold air swirling around your lungs.

Apparently you needed him in more ways that you'd realized as of late.

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"Y/N!" Lois cheered, a beer in hand of course.

Lois immediately stepped over the apartment threshold to pull you in for a hug. You had to laugh as she slightly stumbled into you, no doubt three drinks in already.

"Hey." You hugged her back, before following her into her apartment.

The music was loud inside. The house-lights turned way down low, with some colourful disco balls beaming neon lights around the room.

There were lots of people here already, but you'd told yourself to not show up on time because it would be easier to blend in after people were already a few drinks in.

"Your outfit is so cute." Lois said.

"You don't think it's too casual?" You asked, looking down at your clothes. Jeans and a nice top - both comfortable and effortless.

"No, you look good." She said, shutting the door behind the two of you. "Okay. There's food and drinks in the kitchen. Help yourself."

"Thanks." You nodded.

"Jimmy is here somewhere," Lois tried looking around the crowds, "if you wanna say hi."

"I'm sure I will." You looked around the room to see if you recognised anyone, but unfortunately not, "Anyone else here?"

"That you'd no? I don't think so. Oh, a couple of Gotham Blades and Metropolis Mammoths are here too."

Your heart might have stopped working, because your breathing definitely had.

Your gaze drifted carefully to Lois, trying not to give anything anyway from your reaction. You carefully regained a pattern breathing and swallowed back the anxiety.

"Oh really? L-like who?" You cleared your throat.

"Uh - I know Dick Grayson is here. Barry Allen was with him. Oh and I think Clark Kent is here too. There might be more, I honestly don't know." Lois shrugged and wandered off, probably thinking you were following.

But you couldn't move.

Your hand gripped the bottle of wine tighter as a grounding method.

Your breath hitched as you thought about him.

Clark Kent.

Your ex-boyfriend. Could've-been-fiancé.

Your eyes flicked from one corner of the room to the other, waiting to see the broad outline of his shoulders or his curly mop of hair. The room was so dark you couldn't see much, but you knew you'd be able to make him out anywhere.

Your chest heaved up and down erratically with a fear of not being able to control what could come next this evening.

Instead of following Lois you backed away and quickly walked down the corridor to find Lois' bathroom.

"Watch where you're going!" A guy called when you accidentally bumped into him.

Just find the bathroom. Everything will be okay.

You tried convincing yourself this was fine, but it really wasn't.

Opening Lois' bedroom door to get her bathroom, the last thing you expected was to see your ex-boyfriend, Clark, being passionately mauled by a blonde model.

The moment you'd crashed through the door and made eye contact with Clark was when you knew that you definitely couldn't do this.

"I.. I-I'm so...." You tried to apologise, but your words failed you. Instead, you backed out of the room so quickly with a click to shut the door.

Fuck.

Okay.

You kept your eyes on the floor as you pushed through the crowds of people.

You weren't sure at first how long you should stay at this party for, but now you felt like you had your answer and that that you were done. You'd shown your face, surely that counted for something with Lois.

"Y/N! Wait up!" Lois shouted at you before you could turn the corner to leave. She sidled up next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. You tried to make your body less tense, but you just couldn't.

You turned your head to the side and watched Clark come down the hallway, blushed cheeks and a frantic look in his eyes.

"Kent!" Lois shouted.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Hey, Lo... I'm going to...."

"Kent come here!"

"Lois..." You really tried to stop her before this developed any more, trying to wriggle out from her arm but God she was strong.

"Hey Kent." Lois smiled, "Want you to meet my friend--."

"Y/N." Clark said.

He was standing right in front of you both now. His intense blue eyes were locked onto you and you felt your eyes water from the anxiety of the situation. He probably still tasted of her.

All you could think was how he said your name.

So much history expelled with just one word.

You looked away before he did.

It felt like your soul was crushing you from the inside, squeezing and squeezing at all the important parts of you that made you feel anything.

"Yeah. Do you two know each other?" Lois asked, unwrapping her arm from your shoulders.

Even though the music was loud and the crowds were even louder, the silence between you and Clark was unmissable. The unspoken conversation was deafening.

You were sort of glad that some of Clark's friends appeared just in time, wrapping their arms around Clark and completely not reading the room. One of them shoved a beer in his hand and the other patted his chest in a brotherly way.

"Excuse me." You said to Lois whilst Clark was momentarily distracted.

She let you go without a fuss.

You quickly left the apartment, feeling like you were breathing air for the first time when you made it to the corridor.

In the lift you allowed yourself a brief five seconds to break down, but had to compose yourself before the lift doors opened again. You wiped your under-eyes from any tearful evidence.

Once you were outside the cold air instantly calmed you.

It had been too hot in there and not because of the number of people, but because of how thick the tension had been between you and Clark.

You tried your best to look at your phone as you thought through your options to get home. Uber was going to be a long wait, but the bus was also horrible at this time of night.

Your chest rose quickly as your nerves tried to surface.

Your fingers trembled as you tried to book an Uber, because regardless of how quickly you wanted to be home you didn't feel in the right state of mind to be using public transport tonight.

You sniffled as your thumb shakily pressed 'Book now'.

“You’re breathing too fast.”

Your head shot to the side and saw Clark standing there in just his t-shirt - like he hadn't thought of anything before leaving Lois' apartment other than finding you.

Of course he still noticed things like that.

“You don’t have to do that anymore.” You said, turning your gaze away from him. There was less of a chance in breaking down if you didn't look at him.

The air outside had suddenly started clamming up again. You thought that you'd finally be able to breathe, but with Clark standing next to you it was impossible to concentrate and led your anxious state to return.

Clark didn't say anything more.

He stood quietly to the side of you and waited for your Uber to arrive.

He made sure you got in safely, asking the driver to make sure you got home safe, before tapping the car window to let you go.

Your tears started then.

Silently.

You let yourself cry for the events that had happened this evening, but mostly for all the decisions that had led you to tonight.

It had been a week since you saw Clark.

You'd had time to piece yourself back together and try to forget you'd ever seen him again, which was incredibly difficult considering he wasn't just a random passerby in your life.

Clark had been the first boyfriend you'd had outside of college. You'd been through lots of highs and lows together and once upon a time it had seemed impossible that you were destined for anything other than forever.

Yet here you were, without him.

Albeit, it was your choice for it to be that way.

Now was not the time to dwell on the past though. You had a job to do and a job that you wanted to do well.

Lois had managed to set you up as her photographer for a charity gala tonight. Even though you didn't work for the Daily Planet newspaper Lois wrote for, she'd rated you so highly within the photography industry that her boss hadn't wanted anyone else for the job other than you.

Now you were in this beautiful museum, where the gala was being hosted.

It was floor to ceiling marble.

The museum atrium was where the main event was being hosted. There were marble-arched walkways running the length of the room, with a double sided staircase at the very end of the hall.

The room felt grand, especially since it was lit up in gold light with the white marble reflecting it.

The room was full of high-profile people wearing gorgeous ball gowns and crisp tuxedos. The conversational chatter bounced around the walls of the atrium and created a buzzing atmosphere.

You were taking photos of the architecture when someone cleared their throat behind you.

"Excuse me?"

You turned to find a man standing there with a recording device held in his hand. You looked at him warily, not sure of who this was.

"Hi. Can I help?" You gave your best smile.

"Are you Y/N L/N?"

You were about to respond but he rudely cut you off. So he was that kind of reporter.

"Clark Kent's ex-girlfriend?" He stared at you, waiting for a response like he hadn't just verbally shot you with his question.

"Oh, uh--."

"It's okay, I know who you are." He gave you a half-smile, "So, is it true that you broke up with him just before he was going to propose?"

You stared at him.

How did he know this stuff? This was personal information between you and Clark.

"That's not..."

"You do realise that you cost the Metropolis Mammoths the Championship title that year? Kent wasn't on his A-game and everyone says that's because of you, what do you think?"

The walls that you had built over the years around you heart chipped away with every word.

You'd never meant to impact Clark's life like that, if it was true.

Your heart sank at the mere thought of causing incredible amounts of pain to Clark. Of course breakups are not easy and certainly yours hadn't been, but you'd always assumed that Clark was tough enough to bounce back from it better than you ever could.

"I just think that women should--."

"Steve Lombard. Why am I not surprised that you're harassing yet another woman?" Lois came to stand beside you defensively.

"Lois, a pleasure as always." Steve chuckled and left without a single useable quote. Although you were sure he would spin your silence into something malicious.

"Dick." Lois muttered.

"I'm just going to get some air." You said, before walking through an archway and out the glass doors onto a balcony.

The Metropolis air was cool, but nice.

The sun had set hours ago, leaving a display of twinkling stars in the sky. You looked up at them and used them as a calming technique. Someone once told you stars were useful in making all your problems seem so much more insignificant.

You felt so humiliated by Steve.

How dare he think he can ask such intrusive questions. Looking back you were so frustrated for not defending yourself.

A fire was building inside you.

You were tired of hiding behind people's narratives about you. Yes, you'd broken up with Clark. Yes, you'd broken his heart. But was anyone else, even for a second, concerned about how you felt? No. Instead, the media built stories around you to feed the fans lies.

Well, fuck that.

You stormed back into the museum, eyes looking around the crowd in fury for Steve Lombard.

"Oh hey, Y/N." You heard Lois say beside you, but you didn't react. Instead you set your sights on little-weasel-Steve, "Y/N..."

You find Steve laughing at the bar with another woman.

"Hey." You say upon approaching him.

He doesn't react. Not yet. The crowds around you seem to notice, though.

"Hey." You say more firmly this time. It's like something else has taken over your body and you're just a vessel for letting the anger escape.

"Oh, it's you." Steve smirked, noticing the crowds forming behind you to see what was going on.

"I didn't deserve the disrespect you dished me earlier." You said, throwing a finger towards his face as you spoke.

Steve laughed, "Okay sweetheart. I can clearly see you're a bit emotional--."

"No. I'm just so fed up of meatheads like you, pretending like you know anything when you know nothing!"

"So?"

"So, stop spreading lies about me like you have any idea what happened." Your chest heaved as you spoke - well, shouted.

The lady next to Steve was clearly trying her best not to laugh, which started to bring you back to the moment. The anxiety of the situation was catching up to you.

“Hey, that’s enough. Y/N, come on.” Lois tried touching your arm, but you shrugged her off.

Perhaps you were being too much now, but it seemed like whenever you didn't make a scene no one actually heard you or believed what you were saying.

Lois could no doubt tell that your hands were shaking and your neck was flushed from the pent-up anger, and she was worried for how far you would take this.

“You’re not going to win this.” Lois tried reaching through to you again.

"Yeah. It's a touchy subject isn't it?" Steve taunted you, "And women aren't always the best at controlling their emotions."

What the...

You were about to lunge for him, but an arm wrapped around your waist from the side of your body. You knew it was him just from the touch.

"Y/N." Was all Clark had to say to steady you.

You turned your head to face Clark, looking up into his eyes for any indiction of what to do next, because you really didn't know anymore.

People were whispering all around you, but it didn't cloud your mind. Clark's presence completely took over all of your senses and muted out everything else.

Clark didn't need to say anything but your name. His eyes did the rest of the conversation.

Don't do this. I'm right here. You don't need to make this people believe you, because I already do. I'm here.

"Breathe." Clark told you, noticing your chest hitching - no doubt from the adrenaline of the situation catching up to you.

You could slowly feel the anger evaporate from your body, even if it was still slightly there, but at least you were now anchored. You had someone familiar and comforting to you ground you and remind you of what really mattered.

Once you were steady in Clark's arm, he looked from you to Steve.

“If you print a word about her, I’ll correct it publicly. And I won’t be kind.” Clark threatened, his arm still around you.

Steve visibly gulped and nodded in fear.

Steve then left, which caused the creeping crowd to also disperse.

Clark's gaze was attached to you, even though yours was now hiding into yourself.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“You had every right to be angry.”

You looked up at Clark with watery eyes, before looking to the side where people were stood nearby whispering to one another.

"Hey, eyes on me." He said and you were instantly pulled back to focusing on him. "I'm right here."

You hold yourself together enough not to cry and instead just nod in response, allowing yourself to be held by the man that was once entirely yours.

"I didn't realise you'd be here tonight." You said.

"Yeah, both hockey teams were invited. As Captain, I thought I really should be here." He responded.

"Sorry for—”

"Y/N. Don't. Steve deserved what was coming for him." Clark chuckled. You let out a teary laugh in agreement, but did your best to keep composure afterwards.

"I wasn't very professional."

"Lois is too punk to let you go just because you caused a scene, especially when it was because you stood up to a misogynist."

"True." You took a deep breath, "Okay, I should get back to it."

"Okay." Clark nodded, taking his arm away from you.

"Have a good night, Clark."

"You too, Y/N."

You woke up with a text from Clark the next day.

Clark: Hey, it's Clark. Clark: I wanted to make sure you’re okay?

You opened the text, but didn't scroll up to any other texts. You were too in your head about last night to take a trip down memory lane this morning.

You: I'm okay. Thanks for checking in

It felt unnatural to send a message to Clark without ending it with lots of kisses or emojis.

Clark responded instantly. Almost as if he had been waiting for you.

Clark: Good, I'm glad Clark: I’m at the rink late tonight. If you want to talk, you can come by.

You text back agreeing to meeting him before you could chicken out. Once the time and place is set, you spend the rest of the day panic eating as a way to distract yourself. Healthy coping mechanism? Sure.

It's 8PM and you're at the ice-skating arena.

You're walking down the familiar hallways of the building, except there's no one around like there used to be on game days. It's quiet and serene.

You wrap your coat around you a little tighter as you enter the ice arena. The flood lights are on and the room takes you back to all the games you've witnessed here. All of the good games and the rough games. You look to where you used to sit, on the front row, for every game and smile over the good times.

A smacking sound breaks you away from the memories.

You watched Clark hit another puck into the net, before skating off and looping around.

He goes for another shot, the puck lined up perfectly. Clark skates around, no doubt playing a certain move in his mind. When his stick makes contact with the puck he's so engaged that you can see he's focusing on nothing else other than scoring a goal.

He shoots.

And he scores.

In your head you can hear the chorus of cheers from the fans, you also being one of them.

Today, though, you give him a steady round of applause.

You make your way to the team bleachers and rest your arms on the wall between the seating and ice.

"Nice shot, Superman." You smiled as Clark skated his way over to you.

He laughed as he took off his helmet, his hair all wet and sweaty underneath. God, did he look good though.

"Superman?" He chuckled.

"That's what the fans call you, no?"

Clark skated to a stop in front of you. You automatically reached for the only water bottle on the shelf below the wall and handed it to Clark, causing your fingers to brush slightly. You feigned ignorance to the skin-on-skin contact, but really you melted slightly.

"Uhuh." Clark nodded, whilst tipping his head back to drink.

You watched his Adam's-apple bob as he drank.

You should really look away.

“You used to hate watching from the stands.” Clark said after he finished drinking.

"Only because I wanted to knock out every guy who would make contact with you." You tutted.

Clark huffed at that, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Want to skate?" Clark asked, leaning against the wall too.

"Clark, you know I'm terrible."

"I've got you." He says so casually, you have to remember it doesn't mean the same thing as it once did.

“I don’t even have skates.”

"Your spares are in my locker."

Your eyes tracked to his and it felt like time stopped so you could just have a moment to look at one another.

He was so close to you, physically, but he had never felt so far away. Although, you guessed he was much closer than he had been a week ago.

Surely it had to mean something if he had kept your skates all this time and in his locker no less. You wanted it to mean something, but you didn't know what wanting it to mean something actually meant. God, it was infuriating inside your head sometimes.

Ten minutes later, after you'd okayed the idea of skating, you were bravely stepping onto the ice.

Clark had forgone all his protective padding, helmet, gloves and guards. He was left in his jersey, bottom leggings and shorts and his skates. It was annoying how hot he looked. Whereas you looked like Bambi who was taking her first steps.

"You got it." Clark kept close to you as he watched you step onto the ice carefully. You kept a close hold onto the wall, but knew that Clark would catch you if you did fall.

"Ahh..."

Your feet felt unstable beneath you.

"You've got it. There you go." Clark encouraged you through it.

"I was always so shit at this." You laughed, watching your feet carefully.

"Don't look down."

"But..."

"Look at me." He said, forcing you to look up. He was skating backwards from you. Show off. Clark was moving into the middle of the ice, away from the wall.

"Clark.." You pouted, not feeling confident to let go of the wall yet.

"C'mon. You got it."

You mumbled a string of curse words under your breath, but trusted him enough to let go of the wall and glide towards him.

You were tempted to look back down at your feet, "Uh uh. Eyes on me, L/N." Clark said, fixing your gaze to his.

Clark couldn't help but smile as he watched you slowly approach him. Clearly everything he had taught you all those years ago about ice skating had been for nothing. All those late night skates hadn't worked clearly.

You laughed as you made your way to him slowly.

"I'm doing it!"

"I see you." You were too happy with yourself to understand the gravity of his words in that moment.

When you got close enough to Clark to not have to shout, you tried to stabilise yourself to a stop, “I forgot how quiet it can get in here.”

“Yeah. I think that’s why I stay late.”

Clark skated in a circle around you.

You tried to let your gaze follow him, but you nearly fell backwards when he skated behind you. Your hands threw themselves in circles to stabilise yourself, but Clark was also instantly there to keep you upright.

His hand steadied itself on the small of your back. You could feel every finger span there, pressing into you to keep you steady.

"Thanks." You chuckled, the fun of the moment being brought to a more serious tone when you realised how close he was to you.

You could smell the remnants of his after-shave and his favourite deodorant. You breathed him in subtly, the smell so comforting and familiar.

"I'm glad you're here." Clark said.

"Me too." You nodded.

You both stayed on the ice for a little while longer, before eventually returning to the stands.

It was nice just being in his company.

As you took off your skates, Clark packed his kit into a sports bag. You both worked in silence sat next to each other, but it was comfortable. You didn’t feel like you needed to fill the air with conversation.

It was drawing an end to the evening though and you wanted to make sure that he had a chance to part from you. You wanted to respect his boundaries, even though he’d never stated what they were out loud.

“I-I’m going to get going. It’s late and I have work in the morning.” You said, standing up from the bench.

“Yeah. Do you need a lift?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. I’ll see you around, then, I guess?” Clark stood up too.

“Okay.”

You smiled a little awkwardly and moved out of the aisle towards the arena exit.

“Hey, Y/N?” Clark called after you.

You turned to see him standing in the same place.

“Yeah?”

The arena was so quiet, just the sounds of you two breathing. The look on Clark’s face told you he had something important to say, but he was struggling with how to say it.

“I-I…” Clark huffed, running a hand through his hair like he did when he was stressed, “T-thanks for coming.”

Your body physically sighed.

You thought he might’ve approached the, what felt like, forbidden or taboo topic of conversation between you, but no.

“No problem.” You gave your best brave smile and wore it like a mask out of the arena.

After the blissful high of last night, of course you couldn't assume that it was last that long.

Instead, you woke up to a news article by Steve:

"Kent distracted by unfinished business with ex-girlfriend."

And there was an image of you and Clark at the charity gala to top it all off.

If Steve's intention was to piss you off, then he definitely succeeded.

First of all, you know you're not the reason that Clark is "distracted" in his games for the same reason you knew that you never used to be - even when you were sitting rink-side with his jersey on. Secondly, the fact that Steve had diminished you to into just being an "ex-girlfriend" was so misogynistic. You were your own person. A talented photographer at that. Damn him.

With a huff, you opened your social media to see floods of fans in your comments begging for you and Clark to get back together.

"MY PARENTS ASJKHFAKHA!!!"

"OMG IT'S HAPPENING!"

"CLARK AND Y/N ARE ENDGAME"

Whilst some made you smile, they all reminded you of how you and Clark weren't back together. You were both single - you think, although Clark was kissing that model... No. Don't go there.

You noticed that Clark hadn't responded to the article like he had threatened Steve he would.

Before you could think about doing any damage control, there was a heavy pounding at your door.

You dropped your phone on your bed and padded out of your room, down the hallway and to the front door of your apartment. Before you opened the door you realise you were still wearing your pyjamas, but it was too late to care now.

You opened the door in a flash.

"Clark." You stood confused, hand on the door handle.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking at you with so much worry.

"What are you..."

"Are you okay?" He asked again, taking one step closer.

"Y-yeah, I.. Yes. What's wrong?" You asked and opened the door wider as a gesture that it was okay for him to come in. He stepped over the threshold carefully, as if double checking he was allowed.

You shut the door behind you.

"I didn’t want you reading that article alone.” He said.

"Clark." You sighed sadly, but your heart was swooning. No other man on Earth could possibly be as kind or as considerate as him.

Clark gave you a small smile. The kind of smile that paused time and could fool you into staying in this moment with him forever.

No matter how hard you thought, it was hard to convince yourself that Clark shouldn't be here. It felt right - him standing in your apartment hallway, checking up on you after such a shit storm. That was Clark through and through, no matter the emotional history.

"Can't believe he.. Why would he..." Clark huffed, rubbing a hand over his cheeks and down onto his chin.

You stepped forwards and pulled his hand away with yours before he could cause any stress lines to form. Clark's fingers instantly curled around yours almost like it was second nature.

Your linked hands fell together and remained entangled.

"C-can we talk?" You asked.

Clark just nodded.

"Do you want a drink?"

Clark shook his head, and followed behind you as you led him into the lounge. Clark's hand only left yours when you pulled away - not because he wanted to - and sat himself down on the sofa next to you. Your bodies were angled towards each other, with no room for sheltered conversations this time.

You didn't want to beat around the bush, so you jumped right into the conversation.

"I want you to know that I left because I was losing myself. Not because I didn’t love you.”

"I know." Clark gave you an encouraging smile.

The words almost undid you.

Clark had never doubted your love for him - he didn't need convincing of that. He was simply here to understand.

"I accept the public needs someone to blame."

Clark shook his head and made a sound of disagreement.

"And I get it, because I did hurt you. I know I did."

"That doesn't mean you deserve this." Clark argued.

"No one knows the real story though, so of course they'll spin a version of the truth, Clark, we both knew that."

"But it's not fair that you're the bad guy."

"Well I was! I hurt you." You exclaimed, trying to get him to understand.

"And yet that doesn't mean you weren't hurting too."

Clark's words land like a blow - straight to the heart if it had been physical. His words landed heavy on your chest.

The room went quiet after that.

He was right. You were hurting and still are, but you're not going to pretend you're the innocent one in the situation. The air around you had just settled with the truth of the matter.

"You shouldn’t have had to carry that alone." Clark said, bringing your attention back to now.

"I didn’t want you to feel guilty." You swallowed.

"That's never been something you should have to worry about."

A small, involuntary, laugh left you before you could stop it. Clark’s eyes flicked to your mouth, just for a second but long enough for you to notice. Long enough for your chest to tighten and your stomach to swarm with longing feelings.

The space between you definitely changed. Like you could physically feel the tilt of the world's axis.

Clark's knee brushed against yours.

He cleared his throat as his posture changed to open up more to you.

It was almost like he was gearing himself to do the one thing you've been craving since the last time you had one from him; a kiss.

"Clark." You whispered.

"If we do this now, it’ll be because the world pushed us together and not because we chose it." He whispered back.

You nodded, even though it hurt, because you knew he was right.

Just as you thought that was it, Clark leaned in. He moved so slowly, as if testing your want for him to be close. For one awful, perfect, second, you thought he might ignore his own rule and kiss you anyway.

But he stopped.

Close enough to rest his forehead against yours, but far enough away for his lips not to be tempted with yours.

"I won't," He sighed, "Tonight’s a game night."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself exist with him for one more heartbeat. Then you pulled back first.

"Well go win, then, Superman." You forced out a smile.

He nodded, putting on his own fake smile, "I’ll see you later."

"Okay."

The Metropolis Mammoths won.

Clark scored the winning goal and you jumped with joy when you watched the moment from your TV. You were so proud.

You'd even like to think that he won for you. After all, he had told Steve that he wasn't "distracted" and in fact he was "seeing more clearly than ever". Steve no doubt was sulking somewhere over the fact his headline had it's three seconds of fame.

You'd somehow managed to track down the bar that they'd be celebrating at and managed to get in.

Now, you were looking for Clark.

There was a small doubt, or perhaps worry, in your mind that you'd find him kissing the face off another model - like you had at Lois' party - but a large part of you hoped that the spark-filled moment you had had earlier had meant something to him too.

You apologised as you bumped into people, your feet sticky on the wooden bar floor from spilled drinks.

You almost turned around, but then you saw Clark across the room, surrounded by his teammates, flushed, smiling. He didn't have a drink in hand, but still looked to be having a good time.

His smile was so genuine and wide.

It got even wider as he made eye contact with you from across the room.

Clark didn't waste a second before travelling across the sticky floor to you. You only covered half the same distance he had in the same time.

He came to stand right in front of you.

The lights around you were dim, but you could see him so, so, clearly. The music was terrible and someone was laughing too loudly behind you, but the moment was perfect because you were with him.

"You're here." He breathed, that smile not going anywhere.

"You won." You volleyed back.

Clark chuckled, "Yeah. Were you at the game?"

"No. I didn’t want to be a headline." You answered truthfully and he nodded in understanding. "But I cheered along at home."

Clark's eyes softened at that.

"I’m glad you’re here. Wouldn't be the same without you. I-It hasn't been the same."

His words shouldn’t have meant so much, but they did. They landed heavy and warm in your chest, settling somewhere you hadn’t realised was still waiting for him.

The noise of the bar swelled around you. Glasses clinked, music pounded hard and someone was shouting Clark's name from across the room like the place was on fire. But Clark didn’t turn. He stayed focused on you.

"I need to say something." He said.

"Okay." You nodded too, in case he didn't catch your voice.

"About that night. At Lois’ party."

Your stomach tightened, instinctively. You weren't sure you wanted to hear this, but you promised yourself that you'd be open to whatever this conversation may bring.

"I didn’t kiss her because she meant anything," He moved slightly closer to you and bent his head so he didn't have to talk so loud, "I did it because I thought if I acted like I was fine without you… maybe I’d start believing it."

You breathed out a shaky breath, which Clark took notice of.

"And did it work?"

"Not for a second."

And that was what it took for the castle to crumble.

Whatever walls you’d rebuilt cracked right down the middle and toppled over, leaving an army of thoughts and feelings to come crashing through.

"I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because I was scared that if I stayed, I’d disappear. That I’d start resenting you for a life you never asked me to give up."

"I know."

"You didn’t then." You said, thinking back to that horrible day when you broke up and hurtful things were said.

"No. I didn’t." Clark corrected himself, "But I do now."

Someone bumped into the back of you, causing you to fall a little further into Clark. Clark's hands came to steady you at your waist and then left to hover over the space - no doubt due to his incredible gentlemanly personality.

"Y/N, I don’t want you back the way things were. I don’t want you shrinking yourself to fit around my life. I want you choosing me. As you are."

You lifted a hand up to cup the underside of his jaw, watching his face melt into your hand like it was second-nature.

"I’m not here because you won or because everyone wants us to be some kind of story."

"Then why are you here?" Clark smirked knowingly.

"I'm here because I still love you. And this time, I know what it’s worth."

Clark didn’t hesitate even for a moment.

He brought his hands up to cup your cheeks and pull your face up to reach his, his lips finding yours. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow and grounding and achingly familiar.

The noise of the bar faded into nothing and his friends had given up on shouting for him.

There was only him.

Just the way Clark's thumbs brushed along your jaw, unhurried, like he was taking his time this time. The kiss deepened slowly, not desperate but full. Years of love, distance and unsaid apologies folded into it.

This time, when you pulled back and rested you forehead against his, you watched Clark smile like he’d won something far better than a game.

"I choose you." You said with a beaming smile.

"I choose you too."

You thought the rink was empty when you got there.

The lights were on full beam though and you could hear the cutting of skates on ice.

Then you saw him.

Clark was already out there, jersey on as always. He looked up when he heard the door to the ice-rink shut and his face lit up in a way that still felt unfairly special.

"You’re late." He shouted over to you.

"You’re early." You yelled back, throwing your bad onto a bench and tying on your own skates. This time, your own pair.

Clark kept his focus on you as he made his way over to you.

He had told you that he had the ice-rink to himself most evenings and most mornings. Today, he thought it might be nice for you to come and skate with him before he had another big hockey game later.

Now you were here, three days after your kiss.

You couldn't believe that he was yours again. How did you get so lucky? Little did you know that Clark was asking himself the same question over and over.

When you finished tying your laces, you stepped onto the ice. The first step made you wobble, just a little, but Clark was there instantly with his hands to steady you by the waist.

"Still got you." He said.

There was no crowd. No pressure. No performance. It was just you and him.