Do you have time to linger for just a little while?
He tilted his head, as if catching the question between breaths of wind. Superman’s voice still trembled faintly in the air, a low hum that seemed to bend the light around them. His lips parted, words are soft but steady, laced with something tender and unnamed. ❛❛ For you, I could linger past the turning of the sun. ❜❜
His eyes caught the golden outline of the man before him: sun-forged, impossible, a creature who had outgrown the earth’s gravity (but not its longing). Sleuth stepped closer, boots whispering against the grass. The scent of rain clung to hero's cape—that strange electric sweetness that came before thunder. (Superman’s gaze softened and Tintin felt the pulse of it, that gravity drawing him in, the warmth of a man born of sunfire.)
❛❛ Just a little while, ❜❜ he murmured again. ❛❛ Let the world spin without us. I have no wish to run tonight. ❜❜ And for a moment, the sky bent low around them—two myths caught between duty and desire, the mortal and the divine meeting in the hush before dawn.
