#dc comcis

freaky wip photo

a breathless sob tore out of your throat, so loud it echoed.

you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, your wet coat soaking through to your skin, but you didn't care.

your chest was heaving so violently you couldn't catch your breath.

It’s just easier....

the words repeated in your head, a cruel mantra that pulsed in time with your frantic heartbeat.

he had lied.. he had left you alone in the dark with cold food and lit candles so he could drink wine in his sweatpants on his ex girlfriend's couch.

by the time the elevator hit the lobby, you scrambled to your feet, wiping furiously at your face.

you didn't just walk out of the building, you broke into a run, rushing past the startled doorman and straight back into the storm, desperate to let the freezing rain wash away the humiliation burning on your skin.

when you finally threw open the door to your own apartment, the silence inside was suffocating.

the candles had burned down to stubs, leaving behind the faint smell of vanilla and melted wax.

the two plates of dinner still sat on the counter, perfectly arranged and cold.

"easier," you choked out, your voice shaking.

you walked over to the table and with a sweep of your arm, knocked both plates off the surface.

they shattered against the hardwood floor, ceramic exploding into a dozen pieces, pasta and sauce splattering across the room.

you didn't stop there.. you lunged toward the dining table, grabbing the vase of flowers you’d bought fresh that morning and hurled it against the wall.

the glass shattered, water and crushed petals raining down onto the floor.

you tore the cushions off the couch, threw the decorative pillows across the room, and grabbed a framed photo of you and Clark from the bookshelf, a photo taken at a park where he was looking at you with what you thought was love and threw it face down onto the floor, the glass cracking down the center.

you trashed the place until your lungs burned and your hands were shaking from the adrenaline.

you stood in the center of the room, panting, looking at the mess you had created.

it was the first time the apartment actually matched how you felt on the inside... completely broken.

you exhaled before moving, you dragged your large suitcase to the bedroom.

you didn't pack everything, just your clothes, your laptop, and the absolute essentials.

your phone buzzed on the counter.

lois: please answer me. i am so, so sorry. it’s not what it looks like, i swear to you. let me come over. let me explain. please don't hate him.

you stared at the screen but didn't reply.

it's not what it looks like... please don't hate him.

you scoffed and instead, you blocked her number and then, you blocked his.

wrapping your now dry coat tighter around yourself, you grabbed your suitcase, stepped over the broken glass, and let the door click shut behind you.

𓂃₊ ⊹

you'd rather be anywhere but here, you've avoided the office for as long as you could but today perry said he needed you here.

a week had passed since you've spoken to either of them.

the silence between you and clark shifted from uncomfortable to deafening.

you kept your eyes glued to your monitor, your fingers flying across the keyboard with a rhythmic click clack.

you could feel clark's eyes on you from across the room, but you didn’t look at him.

not when he drops a file on your desk or when he clears his throat.

every time he builds up the courage to speak, you conveniently pick up your desk phone or rush off to the copy room.

you're making yourself unreachable, and it's driving him out of his mind.

you can hear clark's footsteps before he actually reaches your desk, so you keep your eyes locked onto your computer screen.

he stops right at the edge of your desk and out of the corner of your eye, you can see him shifting his weight from one foot to the other, nervously adjusting his glasses.

he looks entirely drained, the guilt weighing down his broad shoulder, the bags under his eyes are dark.

"hey," he starts, his voice quiet and hesitant. "you've been typing for three hours straight... you uh you need to take a break. let me get you something from the cafeteria? a snack, or... or some tea?"

you don't blink or pause, you just hit the backspace key a few times and keep typing.

clark lets out a small, ragged breath, leaning in slightly closer so his words don't carry across the busy bullpen.

"honey, i know you're furious with me and you have every right to be. what you saw at lois's apartment"

you snapped your head toward him, tilting it slightly as if analyzing a stranger. your eyes narrowed, drilling into his.

clark froze, the words dying in his throat as his eyes locked onto your face taking in every feature like it'd be the last he'd ever see them again before he spoke quietly.

he reached out, lightly brushing your hair from your face before caressing the side of your face. "... i know how it looked... and i know how much i hurt you by lying about where i was. i just want a chance to explain it properly."

he drops his hand, waiting, hanging on the hope that you’ll at least respond but when you turn your head to stare back at the screen.

a look of quiet desperation crosses his face and he swallows hard.

"i'm not going to force you to talk to me here," he says softly. "but please, just give me a chance to make it up to you. let me take you to dinner tonight.. we can just sit down, and i will tell you everything. no secrets. i promise."

you remain still, your expression blank as you scroll down a spreadsheet.

realizing he isn't going to get a verbal answer, he reluctantly pulls a small pad of bright yellow sticky notes toward himself.

he grabs a pen from your desk organizer, his hand trembling just a fraction as he quickly scribbles down the name of a quiet restaurant downtown, along with a time.

he peels the sticky note and gently presses it onto the corner of your desk, right next to your keyboard where you can't possibly miss it.

"eight o'clock," clark whispers, his blue eyes searching your face one last time, practically begging for another glance. "i'll be waiting for you at our favorite table by the window. i really hope you come."

eight o'clock.

by the time 7:30 PM rolls around, the office has emptied out and you sit alone, staring at the note.

every logical instinct tells you to go back to your hotel room and let him sit there.

he lied to you, used his job.. the very thing that constantly tears him away from you as a shield to cover up the fact that he was with his ex girlfriend.

the humiliation in lois’s apartment hadn't faded.. if anything, sitting in the quiet of the office had only made it feel worse.

you feel like an afterthought and yet, your heart betrays your pride.

you want him to fix it, to give you a piece of truth so undeniable that the knot in your chest finally unspools.

so, you grab your coat, pull the sticky note from the desk, and leave.

8:05 PM

the sign of the restaurant shines through the rain streaked window of the cab.

you step out, the door of the restaurant chiming as you walk inside.

the inside is intimate, warm and lit by candles.

you scan the room, bracing yourself to see his broad shoulders slumped over the table, nervously checking his watch.

but the table by the window is completely empty.

a familiar knot forms in your stomach and you pull out your phone... 8:07 PM.

he's seven minutes late.

no, you tell yourself, biting the inside of your cheek as you sit down at the empty table.

he said he’d be waiting and he wouldn’t do this tonight.. not after everything.

you tell yourself he's just caught in traffic or that perry threw a last minute rewrite at him.

you make excuses for him, even now, because what could be the truth hurts too much to face.

9:00 PM

an hour crawls by.

the hostess brings you a glass of water, offering a polite smile that feels entirely pitying.

the bustling dinner crowd begins to thin out, the laughter of happy couples surrounding you sounds like a mockery.

every single time the front door chimes, your head snaps up, your heart doing a pathetic, hopeful leap only to sink lower when it’s a stranger stepping in from the cold.

9:30 PM

half an hour later.

you stare at your phone and there's nothing.. no texts or missed calls and you had unblocked him before you stepped through the door.

the anger thats been in you this past week starts to form into a sickening ache...

is he back at lois’s?

10:00 PM

the restaurant is dead and the staff are quietly sweeping the floors and stacking chairs in the back corner, their hushed voices a subtle hint that you’re overstaying your welcome.

a realization sinks into your chest..

he stood you up.

to explain away a lie, he gave you another promise, and then he broke that one too.

you pull your coat over your shoulders, your body tense with humiliation and exhaustion.

standing up from the table, you slide a generous stack of bills out of your purse, far more than enough to cover the untouched glass of water and the time you took up occupying their best table by the window.

as you walk toward the front entrance, you stop by the hostess stand where a tired looking server is wiping down menus.

"i'm so sorry for keeping you all late," you say, your voice tight as you force a small, apologetic smile. "thank you for letting me stay so long."

the server looks up, her eyes softening with a wave of pure sympathy that almost makes your composure crumble on the spot. "don't worry about it, sweetie. have a safe night, okay? it's really coming down out there."

you nod quickly, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, and push open the heavy glass doors.

you walk blindly, your head ducked against the harsh wind as you begin to walk down the cracked sidewalk of the downtown district.

the towering office buildings shut out what little light the night sky has left

your mind is trapped in a loop of humiliation.

he promised, with his hand trembling, and swore there would be no more secrets.

and you, desperate to believe him, sat in an empty restaurant for two hours like a fool.

a sudden, earth shattering boom rips through the air, vibrating so violently that you stumble.

you freeze, it wasn't thunder and before you can even process it, there's a wave of police cars speeding down the street, one siren echoing after the other.

you shrug it off and keep walking but then the corner of the intersection half a block ahead erupts.

a wave of people come screaming around the brick building, bodies fleeing the main strip.

it starts with a handful of late night commuters, but within seconds, it grows into a desperate flood of dozens of people.

umbrellas are abandoned on the flooded ground, crushed by feet as everyone sprints for their lives.

"he's killing them! he's picking up the cars!" a man screams, his voice hoarse with terror as he sprints past you, his tie flying over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

a woman trips on the slick curb just a few feet away, her heels skidding out from under her.

she hits the wet concrete hard, crying out as the crowd blindly swerves around her, too consumed by panic to stop.

you instinctively step forward to help, but the momentum of the crowd hits you.

a rushing shoulder slams into yours, forcing you forward, your head slamming against the concrete with a sickening crack.

everything goes white, your head is ringing and the noise around you is deafening, slaps of wet shoes, the ragged, breathless screams of children being dragged by their arms, and the blare of police sirens in the distances.

a throbbing ache is at the base of your skull, and when you blink, hot rain washes over your face except it’s too thick and warm.

you reach up with a trembling hand, your fingers brushing your forehead, and they come away stained a dark crimson.. you're bleeding.

you try to push yourself up onto your elbows, but your limbs feel like lead and the stampede of people don't care that you're down.

heavy boots and soaking sneakers splash violently into the puddles just inches from your head.

a heel catches the fabric of your coat, dragging you a few inches, while another foot just slightly misses stomping directly onto your hand.

you are completely invisible to them and if you stay flat on your stomach, you’re going to get trampled to death.

adrenaline forces your body to move despite the dizziness.

you push yourself up trembling hands and knees and the ground sways beneath you, while you gasp for breath, you begin to crawl, dragging your heavy, soaked coat through the water.

you lose your sense of direction entirely.

instead of reaching the shelter of the storefront doorway, you accidentally crawl off the lip of the curb and slide directly into the open, empty street.

the stampede remains confined to the relative safety of the sidewalk but you are completely exposed.

the massive, armored villain stands in the center of the intersection, his eyes fixed on the remaining police line.

with a guttural snarl, he digs his heavy fingers deep into a crumpled, overturned sedan.

he lifts the multi ton vehicle over his head with sickening ease and launches it forward.

but it’s not aimed at the cops, the trajectory is completely off.

it's hurling through the air directly toward you.

time seems to slow as you stare up from the wet street, paralyzed by the sheer horror of what’s coming.

the massive underbelly of the car blocks out the flashing emergency lights, casting a large shadow over you as it tumbles end over end through the heavy rain.

your completely frozen, it feels impossible to move, impossible to run.

you can feel the rush of wind pressing down on you as the falling metal begins its final, crushing descent.

you close your eyes and brace for the impact but the crushing weight of the falling car never comes.

instead,the sound off concrete shattering rips through the air directly infront you, so powerful it blows the rain away in a wide, circular shockwave.

the deafening screech of tearing metal explodes right over your head as the shadow stills.

trembling, you force your eyes open through the blood and rain falling down your face.

standing over you, his feet planted firmly into the now dented concrete, is superman.

"are you okay ma'am?!" his voice clear and steady through the rain.

he's holding the entire crumpled sedan above his head with one hand, his jaw clenched as he effortlessly hurls the massive piece of steel away, sending it crashing into an empty, abandoned building down the block where it can’t hurt anyone.

the savior of metropolis is standing right in front of you.

his red cape snaps in the rough winds, and the streetlights catch the bright 'S' across his chest.

he looks completely invincible.

but as he turns his head to look down at you, the confident aura of superman completely fractures.

he freezes.

through your dizzy, blurred vision, you can see his face perfectly.

superman is staring at you with a look of absolute horror. his chest heaves, his breath catching in his throat so sharply it looks like he’s the one who just took a physical blow.

his eyes track the dark crimson blood dripping down your forehead, your soaked, shivering clothes, and the way you are helplessly sprawled on the wet pavement.

he drops to his knees, sinking straight into the deep puddle without a care for the mud or the freezing water soaking into his suit.

before you can even gasp through the pain, his massive hands are framing your face.

his palms are calloused and warm, completely covering your cheeks, but they are shaking violently against your skin.

he cradles your head with tender care, his thumbs brushing frantically across your cheekbones to wipe away the rain and the dark blood that won’t stop leaking from your hairline.

"hey, hey....look at me, you're okay, hmm," he begs, his voice cracking.

"it's okay.." words tumble out of him in a breathless, frantic rush.

the resonant voice that superman uses when he addresses crowds or speaks on the news is completely gone.

in its place is a soft, broken whisper filled with terror.. a voice that hits your concussed, foggy brain with a wave of familiarity.

It's a voice you know intimately, stripped of all its usual calm.

he leans down so close his face is basically against yours, using his broad shoulders and the heavy fabric of his cape like a makeshift tent to block out the biting wind and the downpour.

his eyes are wide and wild with guilt as they track the injuries on your face again, the way you are shivering uncontrollably, and how close that car actually came to ending everything. a ragged, choked sob catches in his throat.

"i've got you, baby, i've got you. you're okay, i promise you're okay," he murmurs against your wet hair, entirely forgetting the rest of the city, the damage echoing down the avenue, and the fact that he is wearing a symbol meant for millions.

in the middle of the dark street, the hero has completely evaporated.

the mask has slipped without him even realizing it, leaving only a terrified man holding onto his entire world.

he presses his forehead gently against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips as he closes his eyes.

"i'm so sorry. oh God, my love, i'm so, so sorry. i shouldn't have been late. i'm right here."

you look past the bright 'S' on his chest, past the heavy red cape, and look straight into his wide, terrified eyes.

through the static of your concussion, the familiar slope of his jaw and the specific, frantic cadence of his breath finally cut through the illusion.

the impossibility of it settles into your chest, an unsure realization.

"clark...?" you breathe out.

it’s barely a whisper, more like a faint, breathless question easily swallowed by the howling wind, but his entire body goes completely rigid at the sound.

his chest stops heaving and his thumbs freeze against your wet cheeks, eyes widening in shock as it hits him that you've seen past the suit.

but you don't have the strength to wait for an answer.

the pulsing concussion has you passed out, your head lolls back against his arm, your eyelids fluttering shut as your body goes completely limp in his embrace.

"no, no, no.. hey! sweetheart, wake up! look at me!"

𓂃₊ ⊹

the first thing that returns to you is the smell.

that sterile scent of rubbing alcohol and heavy bleached linens.

then comes the sound, there's a rhythmic, electronic beep that echoes in the quiet room, a steady, comforting pulse that keeps time with the throbbing ache at the base of your skull.

you force your eyelids open, but the harsh light above makes you wince, a low groan escaping your dry throat.

the ceiling is made of those familiar, white acoustic tiles... a hospital.

"honey?!... hey, take it easy. don't try to sit up just yet."

the voice is soft but cautious, and instantly draws your eyes to the right side of the bed.

clark is sitting in a cramped hospital chair pushed right up against your mattress.

he looks completely exhausted, his flannel shirt is wrinkled, his heavy winter coat draped over the back of the chair, his glasses sitting squarely on his nose, and his blue eyes are bloodshot.

the moment he sees you looking at him, his shoulders drop in a massive, visible wave of relief.

he reaches out, his large, warm hand carefully enveloping yours where it rests on the stiff hospital sheets.

his fingers are trembling slightly, his thumb gently tracing the back of your knuckles.

"the doctor said you have a concussion, and they had to put a few stitches on your forehead and the gash on your cheek," clark says softly, his voice raspy as he leans a bit closer.

he looks down at your hand. "but you're going to be okay. they're just keeping you for observation."

you look at his hand wrapped around yours, and a spike of hurt flares in your chest.

with a tight frown, you pull your hand completely away from his grasp, tucking your fingers beneath the stiff hospital blanket.

the sudden movement makes your head throb but you ignore it, keeping your eyes fixed on him.

clark’s thumb freezes, he looks down at his open palm for a fraction of a second, his expression fracturing with a look of hurt before he slowly lets his arm drop back to his lap.

"where were you?" you ask, your voice raspy, the exhaustion making the words sound heavier than you intended.

you stare at his wrinkled flannel shirt, "i waited for hours, clark. you didn't text. you didn't call. i was sitting there by myself like an idiot, and then the whole city went to hell while i was trying to get home."

clark looks completely devastated.

he flinches slightly at your words, his jaw tightening as he stares at the white blanket between you.

he opens his mouth to say something, to give the usual clumsy excuse about a deadline, a lost phone, or getting caught in transit but the words seem to catch in his throat.

he looks up at you through his thick glasses.

the silence stretches between you, you turn your face away from him, staring fixedly at the blank white wall opposite the bed.

the sight of his slumped shoulders and his guilty, exhausted face is just too much to handle on top of the throbbing ache in your skull.

"just go home, clark," you say quietly.

your voice is flat, stripped of all its anger, leaving only exhausted exhaustion.

beside the bed, Clark goes still. "darling, please... let me stay. just let me make sure you're okay..."

"i am okay," you interrupt, still refusing to look at him.

you pull the rough hospital blanket higher up around your shoulders, physically shielding yourself from him. "the doctors are watching me. i don't need you here. just... go home. go back to the daily planet, or wherever it was that was more important than meeting me."

out of the corner of your eye, you see him open his mouth to plead, to give you some kind of explanation, but he stops himself.

a ragged exhale escapes his lips.

slowly, the vinyl chair groans as he stands up. he towers over the bed, he goes to walk but stops.

he leans down into your space and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I am so, so sorry," he whispers against your skin, his voice filled with regret.

"i'll... i'll go," he whispers, "but i'm leaving my phone on. if you need anything.. anything at all.. just call me. please."

you don't answer, you just close your eyes.

he pulls back slowly, as if pulling away from you physically pains him, before turning and making a quiet, reluctant exit from the room.

the soft click of the latch signaling that you are finally alone.

your eyes stay closes, your chest aching with something that has nothing to do with your injuries.

you expect to feel a sense of relief now that he’s gone, now that you don't have to look at his guilty face or listen to the excuses you were sure he was going to make.

but instead, the anger and hurt begins to drain away, leaving behind a feeling of loneliness.

you shift slightly on the stiff mattress, and a sudden vivid image flashes behind your closed eyes.

not the empty restaurant table or clark in his wrinkled flannel.

you see a cape blowing in the wind, a blue and red figure kneeling in a flooded street, unbothered by the storm.

you feel the ghost of massive, trembling hands framing your face with terror, and a voice deeper, stronger, but carrying that exact same, frantic cadence whispering sweetheart and my love into your wet hair.

your heart rate spikes, the monitor beside you accelerating slightly.

hands that could crush steel, yet held you as if you were made of glass.

the monitor beeps faster, its frantic rhythm filling the quiet room as your heart begins to hammer against your ribs.

the voice, the breathless, cracked panic of the city's hero as he knelt in the mud, crying over you, calling you darling, calling you my love.

it wasn't the booming voice Superman used on the news, it was a voice you knew personally, a voice that felt like home.

“clark...?”

the breathless question you had whispered right before passing out echoes perfectly as you repeat it out loud.

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(i tagged people who asked for a pt2 and seemed like they'd be interested in one sorry if you didn't wanna be tagged or i missed you)