#jock!clark

Jock!Clark pestering you, trying to get your attention while you bury yourself in books.

“Stop, Kent, midterms are in a month!”

“Exactly, why are you studying now? You’re like, super smart. You could study an hour before and still get 90 above.”

You let out an exasperated noise, turning to glare at him. He only has a lazy smile on his lips, a thick biology textbook gripped in his fingers, pretending to study so the other occupants in the library don’t see him as a waste of space.

Grabbing the textbook and lightly hitting his head, you give him a small grumble. “Why are you even bothering me?”

He flicks the book off him, leaning his cheek into the cusp of his palm, elbow digging into the mahogany table under. “Some friends are planning to go out tonight. Come with. Please?”

The way the light from the windows shine into his eyes almost makes you cave, but you know how dangerous it’d be. Going out? With him? Not only him, but his friends? It’d be chaos. You barely even know them, let alone fit in with his crowd.

You’re not even sure why he pesters you so much. No one knows you other than being the top student, always huddled in the library, wondering if you even have any friends. And then there’s Clark, who follows you around like a lost puppy.

Clark, with all his friends that could probably buy a mansion without blinking and never care about what others say about them because the music from their private clubs are too loud.

Clark, who could have anyone he wanted on campus, and yet he decided to choose you as his own.

And yet, you always turn him down.

What if they shame him for having you?

What if you’re just embarrassing him?

“Clark, you know I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just this once, and then I’ll stay with you every night until 3 to listen to you mumble under your breath about… this.” He gestures to the pile of books and scattered notes acoss the table.

“Please, baby?”

Maybe just one time wouldn’t be so bad.

Arriving at what was supposed to be a small get together at a club downtown, was infact not “small.” Music boomed from inside, and it seemed like hell on Earth for introverts. Everyone was all over eachother, crowds jumping and dancing.

Looking up at Clark, who seemed perfectly fine, not concerned at all, you feel a bit small. You’ve never been to these kinds of places, nonetheless enjoyed big gatherings in loud places. It seemed a bit much, but you didn’t want to ruin his night, if it meant that yours would be much better not being here.

He rests a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you in. The warmth from his palm seeps into your senses, momentarily making you forget about the dread settling deep into your stomach. For just a moment, it’s you and Clark.

The next moment, it’s you, Clark, and the crowds that are shoving and pushing against eachother to the loud music in such a small space. He seems to notice your discomfort, pressing his hand a bit harder into your skin, trying to ground you.

It’s hard to focus, bright shining lights flashing in your face, the smell of bitter alcohol and God knows what else. The floor is a bit wet, and you’re not sure if you really want to find out what liquid it is. It’s not the kind of place you’d call stress relieving. Praying that everything will be over quickly, you rush through with Clark right next to you.

There’s a rather big booth a bit further into the club, where things get a bit quiet and there’s the older men that sit solemnly at the bars, nursing whiskeys and cigarettes. Couples paw at eachother in other booths, but at least there’s not much noise as before.

Clark is still guiding you through, bringing you towards what has been making the dread pool so heavily in you. Interaction. With people you’ve never properly met before. A few guys stand up, patting Clark’s back and greeting him. You can’t lie you get a bit jealous when you see the pretty girls with dresses that barely cover anything call out his name.

Though, it makes you feel better when he holds your hand, entertwining your fingers together. “This is my partner.” Saying your name in a way so gentle they barely hear it, yet feel it in their bones. A few of them smile at you, giving polite waves and reaching their hands out for you to shake.

You freeze for a second, unsure of what to do, but with trembling fingers, you take their hands anyway. “It’s nice to meet you.” A small smile lifts Clark’s lips, and he squeezes the hand he still has a hold on. At least he’s happy.

You follow him closely, sitting right next to him in the already cramped booth. It’s cold, but Clark being next to you keeps you warm. Conversation flows easily, but you aren’t included. You give the occasional nod or polite laugh, but there’s not much for you to say. They’re all of the same kind, same backgrounds, same gated neighbourhoods.

And you’re just… there.