#heartbeats

you stood in your apartment kitchen, watching the morning glow creep across the countertops while clark buttoned his coat behind you. he was quiet in that thoughtful way he got when something mattered to him. "you reorganized the pantry." you said, smiling into your mug. "again." clark laughed softly. "i couldn't sleep." your smile was small and a bit sheepish. "nervous? he hesitated, then nodded.

"a little." you turned, leaning back against the counter, studying him, your clark. glasses slightly crooked, tie not quite straight, kindness written into the lines of his face. "big superman day?" you teased. "big people day." he corrected, stepping closer. "i just... i want to do it right." you reached up and smoothed his tie. "you always do."

he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he was memorizing you. almost a year together. long enough that you knew the difference between the way the city pulled at him, and the way you did. "you don't have to come home early." you said gently. "i know today's going run long."

clark wrapped his scarf, your scarf, red wool from a winter market last year, around his neck with care. "i'll come home." you smiled, knowingly. "i know." at the door, he paused. his head tilted, subtle, instinctive. listening. your heartbeat was steady. calm. warm. his shoulders relaxed. "i can hear you." he admitted softly. "even from down the block."

you smiled, you've known clark to use his super-hearing to check if you were okay, even when he was at the planet. "that's not a reason to worry." you said, voice soft, and still. "it's a reason to come back." he replied, and then he was gone. leaving behind the quiet hum of the apartment and the promise of his return.

your day moved within it's own rhythm. compsoure magazine's winter issue meant fabric swatches, shade references, handwritten notes about undertones and finishes. as a makeup catalogist, you loved this part, the-behind-the-scenes care that made beauty feel international instead of performative.

by mid-day, you were navigating downtown with coffee cups balanced precariously and a garment bag slung over your shoulder when— "whoa-sorry!" lois bumped into you head-on, instinctively grabbing your elbow before either of you could spill everything. "careful."

cat laughed, already steadying one of the cups. "you trying to multitask yourself into danger?" you breath out a laugh. "story of my life." you said exhaling. "i swear i had this under control." lois grinned. "you never do." cat's eyes flickered to the garment bag. "composure?"

you nod your head. "winter issue." you sighed. "i'm dropping off makeup refrences before the shoot." cat giggled softly, handing you the cup of coffee back. "of course you are." cat said, her giggles dying down. "if anyone can make frostbite look editorial, it's you."

lois opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. the air shifted, as wind rushed down the street, sharp and sudden, papers lifting as a streak of red and blue tore past the corner. "was that-" cat began. "superman." lois finished, already reaching for her phone.

you didn't even look, you just smiled. a quiet, knowing thing. lois noticed instantly. "why are you smiling like that?" you shook your head, trying not to laugh. cat's gaze flicked between you and the empty street. slowly, her lips curved. "oh." lois echoed her reaction. "oh?" cat leaned in, lowering her voice. "you definitely know something."

your laugh escaped, your cheeks tinged pink, from the cold or the warmth clark brought you. "i really don't." you said lightly. lois snorted. "uh-huh, because. most people panic or scream. you look like youjust watched your favourite person leave the room." you lifted one shoulder. "maybe i just trust him." cat laughed softly.

"whatever it is, you're glowing." she sang-song, her eyes twinkling. lois shook her head, amused. "i'm telling calrk you're weirdly calm during superhero fly-bys." you laughed, "please don't." they both grinned at you, and cat looped her arm through yours briefly before letting go. "text us when you're free!" lois said "and try not to carry your entire life in one trip."

you grinned bashfully, "no promises." you said, voice soft. as they walked away, you felt it. the faintest rush of air again. already distant, as your smile lingered.

clark didn't mean to rush, but the call came sharp and urgent, and his instict took over. he moved through the city like breath through lungs—lifting, fixing and listening. a broken traffic light threatening an intersection. a power outage leaving a block of apartments in darkness. a stranded bus on a flooded street.

each person he helped didn't know him, didn't know they were being carried by someone who had the world's weight on his shoulders and still chose to notice them. and then-you. laughing, steady and safe. your heartbeat spiked, not fear. not even surprise. amusement. affection. he past you in a second, but the sound alone followed him like a tether.

wrapping itself around him in a way nothing else ever could. later, he promised silently. the warmth in your chest told him you heard it. clark carried boxes of winter coats to a shelter, quietly folding them and stacking them so every child who arrived could pick one without shame. he replaced broken radiators in apartment buildings, adjusted heaters.

even helped a small cafè with a leaking roof, so it could stay open for people who had nowhere else to go. every small act was loud in its quietness. a whisper to the city that someone was listening, that someone cared. he handed a coat to a trembling girl who looked too old for her small, skinny frame. she smiled shyly. "thank you." she whispered.

he smiled back, just the faintest curve of lips, and said nothing. actions mattered more than words. at the park, he rebuilt the burned playground swing set with such speed and precision that by the time the workers arrived, they only had to bolt the last few pieces. children squealed as if magic had filled the air. clark just paused for a moment to watch.

their laughter was a chorus of small victories, and he carried it with him like oxygen. all throughout, he could feel it. the city’s heartbeat, a thousand overlapping pulses of anxiety and hope and resilience. and beneath it all, yours—constant, steady, tethering him to something softer, warmer.

by the time evening settled over metropolis, clark was tired in the best way. the kind of tired that came from giving, from choosing presence over spectacle. he’d handed out coats to shaking hands, rebuilt what had burned, helped people who didn’t even know they needed saving yet. each small act felt like a quiet victory. not loud.

not flashy. just peace, stitched back together one moment at a time and through all of it, he carried you with him. the faint ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum of your heartbeat followed him through the city. light, steady, familiar. a soft drum beneath the chaos, reminding him that no matter how far he flew or how heavy the day became.

there was a home waiting for him. when he finally stepped through the apartment door, snow dusted lightly along his shoulders, the world slowed. pinewood, cinnamon, and vanilla noel wrapped around him instantly. the candle flickered on the counter. soup simmered on the stove.

you sensed him before he spoke, before he even fully crossed the threshold. your body responding to him the way it always did, warmth blooming low and steady like a quiet flame. "hey." you said softly. clark didn’t answer. he crossed the room in three strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you like the ground itself might disappear if he let go.

his face pressed into your hair, breathing you in like he needed to remind himself you were real. "you okay?" you murmured, fingers curling into the soft tufts of hair at the base of his neck. "yeah." he breathed, voice muffled against you. he pulled back just enough for his breath to fan across your cheekbone.

"i just needed to hear you without the city in the way." your heartbeat answered him immediately. gentle, sure, welcoming him home. you hummed softly and turned back to the stove, serving soup for the both of you. clark watched you move around the kitchen, the ordinary intimacy of it grounding him more than anything else ever could.

you ate in comfortable silence, trading small glances and half-smiles, the kind that said everything without asking. later, the apartment settled into its nighttime hush. cinnamon and melted butter lingered in the air, the heater humming quietly as snow brushed past the windows.

you curled into clark on the couch, head resting against his shoulder while his fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your wrist. "you’re ridiculously calm for someone who just watched the city almost explode." you teased, nudging his side. he chuckled—low, warm, vibrating through you. "i have my reasons."

"oh?" you tilted your head, smirking up at him. "and what are those?" he leaned down until his nose brushed yours. “mostly you.” you laughed, batting at his chest. "oh really? that’s it?" he grinned, eyes bright. "well… you and the fact that you drop spoons mid-laugh." you protested, laughing harder. "i did not drop it on purpose." your laughter ringing in clark's ears. "sure you didn’t." he murmured, tugging you closer and hiding his smile against your hair.

"you make chaos look cute." you rolled your eyes, but softened when he leaned back just enough to look at you—really look at you—with that warm, boyish smile that always made your heart ache in the best way. "you’re very generous with compliments tonight." you said quietly. "every night with you is one." he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your forehead.

slow. intentional. "flatterer." you teased, brushing a kiss against his cheek. "guilty." he said with a dramatic sigh, before pulling you fully onto his chest and wrapping his arms around you like he never planned on letting go. his voice softened against your ear. "and lucky. i get to come home to you." you felt it then—his heartbeat finding yours, settling into the same rhythm.

strong. steady. certain. like it had always known exactly where it belonged. you smiled, voice barely above a whisper. "good. because i was starting to think i’d have to charge rent for all this hero-staying-home time." clark laughed, deep and warm, the sound vibrating through you. "i’d pay it..." he said easily. "in hugs." you pretended to think it over. “hmm. i think that’s a fair rate.”

he kissed you then. soft, teasing, lingering and the world narrowed down to just this. shared warmth, shared breath, shared quiet. outside, the city lights twinkled against the snow. inside, wrapped in each other, the world felt safe. whole.and for a moment—just the steady rhythm of two hearts beating together—the war was gone, the city was calm, and love was enough.

~*~ the strawberry patch ~*~