#kalel

So why would you say no when he got down on one knee? He brought you basic flowers, gave a little speech, and flashed a charming grin. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you nodded. It was a moment every girl waited for, along with getting to pull out the wedding binder from under their beds or on the high shelf of their closet in safekeeping. 

The wedding was beautiful, held in Smallville on your parents' farm, wind blowing through your veil as you said ‘I do’ and pulled your forever into a long-lasting kiss. That’s when things were simple. No one warned those poor brides and grooms about the honeymoon phase. How after a year or so rolls around, things start to change. That you’d start to feel self-doubt in those marriages you had been so sure of, and everything is in shambles. Big conversations about kids and buying a house, moving and paying bills, were all scary, and you wondered how you’d juggle it all.

It brought out the bad side in people—especially your husband, Daniel. 

When everything got too hard, he shut you out. Sometimes he yelled or took you for granted. There were countless nights when you or he were sleeping on the couch. It was usually you, curled up into a ball and crying your eyes out, wondering when this phase would come to an end. He wasn’t quite how he used to be; when he was your boyfriend, he was doting and gave you flowers or compliments, flowers that weren’t your favorite but thoughtful nonetheless. In marriage, he dropped that. Sly, degrading comments that were masked as love that you were too blind to see. “Maybe don’t eat too much of that,” he’d comment about your body. You’d stop buying desserts altogether. 

“You just don’t understand what it’s like to work hard! Everything's being handed to you by me, so will you get off my ass and just let me be a provider? I don’t care that you want to go home and see your family; I’m your family now!” his voice boomed through your little apartment. You had abandoned Smallville for him so he could pursue a bigger career in Metropolis while you hunted for jobs. “I’m sorry, honey… I just miss them too; can’t I have both?” you ask, voice quiet as your husband towered over you, steam practically coming from his ears. You sat on the couch, your dog nuzzled under the blanket on your lap. The old lab only did this when he was scared, which occurred more and more these days. 

Your husband shook his head, brows furrowed angrily. “Fine! Go, waste all my hard-earned money; I don’t care. You know I can’t get time off work.” You were surprised, not knowing he was feeling that way. “I know,” You said quietly, your eyes going to Molly, who was nudging your hand. “Then why are we still having this conversation?” Your shoulders tensed as you shrugged, eyes flicking back up to his. “I just miss them…” you croaked out, and he shook his head, jaw stiff. “I’m your husband. You should be supporting me.”

That was another night spent on the couch, crying into your dog's fur. It gave sighs of disappointment, like it was tired of doing this too. 

Spring was slowly starting to ebb away, and the summer sun was bursting through the clouds as the days grew longer and longer. Your return to Smallville had been dropped as you searched for jobs; it was a silly idea anyway. It could wait until summer. You had a degree in education; being a teacher was a lifelong passion that hadn’t aged with time. Your husband found it silly, but if it was bringing in money, who was he to complain? 

Today you walked your old dog, Molly, as you went from school to school for teacher gigs. They said they’d email or call soon, leaving you hopeful. You got a coffee drink and walked Molly through the park, a longer route than usual. “Such a good girl…” You cooed, the pup cup you bought her plastered to her nose making you laugh. Quickly, you snapped a picture and sent it to your husband. He left it on read. 

You and Molly raced up the apartment staircase, faster than taking the elevator, all the way up to the 6th floor. Out of breath and laughing, you swung the apartment door open. “I’m home!” You called, slipping Molly’s collar off and hanging it up. “Where have you been?” your husband asked, rounding the corner; his tone was flat, angry. “I was handing in applications, remember?” you said, hands going to his chest and moving in for a kiss. He turned his face away. “You weren’t with someone, were you?” he prodded, Molly rolling onto her back for a belly rub. “No! Just me and Molly.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Your face faltered as he gently pushed you away, hands crossing over his chest. “Let's face it, you’ve been different. I got you tickets to Kansas; you can spend the summer there, but you better fix this new attitude while you're there.” You nodded, initially feeling hurt before happiness took over. He was right; you guys needed a break. Maybe you had been too nagging lately… “Thank you.” The whisper died in your throat as you shut yourself away in the bathroom. 

So you were off to Smallville. You hadn’t been there since the wedding; you missed your mom, your dad, friends—all that. Clark Kent, your childhood best friend, had been trying to keep in contact, but it was difficult when your husband insisted you didn’t. ‘You have me now; you don’t need a best friend. Plus he only wants one thing from you.’ You felt terrible giving him half-thought-out replies, but your husband was right; you needed to be there for him.

It wasn’t long before your dad was helping pull your bag from the truck bed and you were stepping out into the fresh Kansas sun. It was already beating down on you, despite being 8 in the morning. Molly started to bark excitedly as she jumped out of the car—yes, Molly came. You were the only one who really took care of her. She relieved herself quickly before greeting your parents' Border Collie. “Good to have you back; your mom's been over-cooking for this for weeks. And that Kent boy has been asking about you for weeks now!” Your dad's voice was raspy and deep with age. You felt your heart flutter with excitement; there really was no place like home. 

“You're here!” your mom hollered from the porch, the screen door slamming shut behind her. She wrapped you into a hug that smelled like baked bread and her perfume that she’d been using since you were a kid. “I am, hi, mama.” You kissed her cheek before being whisked inside. Breakfast was on the table—anything you could ever dream of: eggs, pancakes, bacon, and sausage. “Jeez, really outdid yourself,” you teased, your mom smiling at you. “I told you,” your dad said, bringing your bags to your room. You excused yourself to the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your hands and splash cold water on your face. 

Breakfast was filled with chatter about Metropolis, your husband, and how jobs were going. “I got an email on the plane, might have to do a virtual interview while I’m here,” shoveling the home-cooked meal into your mouth. You cooked at home, and while you weren’t terrible at it, it just never compared to mom’s homemade meals. “I’m happy to help prepare you; you know I was a teacher once,” your mom said with a proud smirk. You knew. She had been your teacher at that little high school for 3 years in a row! “You’re too kind. I’ll help clean up, then I’m gonna head over to the Kents’.” Your parents just nodded, used to this usual routine.

Clark was studying at a nearby university, majoring in journalism, just as he hoped since you were kids. As you approached the farm, you saw his tall figure, not having changed much since your wedding. He had overalls and a T-shirt on, covered in dirt and very sweaty; he was lifting a tractor from its spot where it’d sputtered in the mud like it was easy. “Hi, bad time?” you asked, his head perking up like he hadn’t heard the crunch of gravel beneath your boots. “No! Gosh, hi!” Clark set the tractor down and quickly wrapped you in a hug in 3 long strides.

“Yuck, Clark!” you teased, his sweaty body swallowing you whole, holding you like it’d been decades rather than a year. “Hi to you too.” Clark pulled away, beaming down at you. “How was the flight? You bring Molly? You really staying all summer?” He started rattling off quickly, his blue eyes taking in your face. Despite the distance you set, it was like you’d never left. That was the kind of friendship you and Clark had; a million years could pass, and he’d treat it like it was only a day. That was just who Clark was.

“Slow down! It was good, though I can’t say the same for Molly,” you joked. Clark started to walk you inside to see Martha, another mother figure in your life. Clark’s house was like a home away from home. “You could’ve left her with your husband; she hates flights,” he said, opening the door for you with a gentleman’s smile plastered on. “3 months is too long without her, plus she loves the farm.” 

Martha was boiling water in the kitchen, and her eyes lit up when she heard Clark’s laugh. “Hi, sweetheart, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” Another hug was shared, except hers was much less sweaty than Clark’s. “I missed you and your knitting,” you tease, sitting at the table. Martha set out tea stuff as you began to ramble. “So why a summer out here? Where’s Daniel?” Martha asked first, though you could tell it was on the tip of Clark’s tongue. “Well, he has to work, and I missed home. Just a little break.” The whole plane ride, you had avoided thinking too deeply into it. What did it mean if the break healed nothing? Clark’s eyebrow knitted in confusion. “A break? From what?” Ma kicked him under the table. “Don’t be impolite; that’s her and her husband’s business; she doesn’t owe that to you,” she said, taking a sip from her tea. You looked down at your lap, ears reddening. 

You were happy that the topic was excused, though you could tell it was still mildly upsetting to Clark. You didn’t blame Daniel, not even a little bit. He had his days, and he was just providing for the family, right? 

It wasn’t long before you got into the usual summer routine: rising out of bed at 9:30, feeding the animals in your pajamas, sitting on the porch until someone dragged you to do something. Usually it was your mom dragging you to help her sell at the market in town; sometimes it was Clark bringing you to little lakes nearby. 

Tea in one hand, muffin in the other, you heard the back porch door swing open, then heavy footsteps followed them. “What are you doing today?” Clark asked, looking at your pajama attired and crossing his arms. He wore a T-shirt and old jeans, simple stuff. “Eating this muffin… and not much else,” he shook his head, grinning. “Come on, I have a swimming hole you haven’t seen yet!” Clark holds out a hand to help you up; instead, you set your teacup in his broad hand. “I just washed my hair,” you complained, walking into the kitchen.

All the windows were open; your mom and dad had gone out for breakfast, their usual Sunday morning routine after church. “You can’t wash it again? Or put it up? I promise this one will be cool,” Clark insists, setting your cup in the sink and grabbing your wrist as you tried to walk away. “Fine, I’ll get my suit, but I can’t promise I’m getting in.” He grinned, letting you get changed; in the meantime, he changed at home, it taking half the amount of time it took you because of his super abilities. 

He patiently waited at the bottom of the stairs. You came down the stairs, hair braided, shirt and shorts, the swimsuit straps showing from under it—it felt like you were kids again. You tossed a towel at him, and he caught it with a laugh. Molly whined by the door, tugging on the leash hanging on the wall with her mouth. “Can she come?” you asked, watching Clark get down on his knees and scratch between Molly’s ears. “Sure, just might have to carry her for a few parts.” 

You frowned. “Clark, it better not be a hike like last time! I think you forget I don’t have superhuman abilities!” He shook his head, giving an easy smile that made his dimples pop. “I’ll carry both of you?” he offered, and you finally relented. Molly ran ahead of you as you walked, finding sticks and whipping them around dangerously fast. 

The sun beat down on you both, your skin pricking with sweat; meanwhile, Clark remained unfazed. “So, when are you transferring to Metropolis?” you asked, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. Sticks cracked beneath your feet as you followed Clark into a drive of trees that only kept getting deeper and deeper. “Soon, I hope. I don’t think I’ll make it out there, to be frank with you.” You could hear the insecurity in his tone, and you looked up confused—he was an incredible writer and had many trophies in debate.

“What? Why do you think that?” you asked quickly, stumbling on a rock. He laughed, thinking before he spoke again. “It’s so busy, and there are so many great people out there, truly. I’m not one in a thousand like those journalists. Plus, if I’m doing my big debut with my powers, how am I supposed to hide under all the scrutiny of the press?” Clark spoke with so much negativity, unusual for him. You shook your head. “With that attitude, you want. I think you forget, Clark, you are one of a kind. You have powers that do good; who cares if you're a ‘mediocre’ journalist? It just keeps your hero side of yourself more concealed. And you are a very talented writer!”

You watched his cheeks heat, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Molly whined behind you both, tongue hanging out of her mouth from the heat. Clark quickly swooped her up, holding her like a baby. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Feels nice to have someone other than my ma and pa believe in me.” You gave a small nod; sometimes you forgot that Clark was a bit of a loner, having spent his teenage years trying to control this power that surged through him. “Anytime.”

The rest of the walk was filled with mindless chatter and strenuous hills, finally reaching a deep water hole, a large waterfall gushing over the rocks above, splattering into the water beneath it. Peaks of the sun reflected onto the rocks and water. “Whoa, how did you find this place?” you ask, setting your towel down, slipping off your shoes to slip a foot into the water. Clark set Molly down and grinned. “I have the whole Earth memorized; this one stood out to me most. At least this one was most walkable.” You look up at him in awe. His eyes were already on you, soft and filled with admiration. 

You slid your phone from your back pocket, taking a picture for Daniel. “Want me to get a picture of you in front of it for him?” Clark offered quickly, reaching out for your phone. He saw your hesitation. “I don’t want to make him jealous or anything; I’m out here while he’s working…” you explain. He tilts his head in confusion, shooing you off to pose. “Fine, don’t send it. Just have it for yourself.” That settled you more as you posed with a smile in front of the landscape. Clark had always been so… supportive.

You ended up getting your hair more than wet; the calm spots in the hole were cold and refreshing. You and Clark took turns throwing the ball in for Molly, watching her splash before following. Of course, you guys had a trick battle. “Front flip?” you challenged, jumping from a high point with a flawless flip before crashing into the water. To your dismay, he was even better. Damn his superpowers.

“Wish it wasn’t so risky to fly, could get you home faster. And it’s so beautiful up there,” Clark comments, drying off his body. You watched as he smoothed the towel over his body, carved of muscles. Back when you were young, you had a small crush on Clark; you could admit beauty when you saw it. That was until you started dating Daniel in sophomore year, and your attraction cut off there. “What?” he asked, catching you staring. “Nothing, just thinking about when we were kids. When I had a little crush on you before I went out with Daniel.” Clark’s eyebrows shot up; he didn’t know about this. “Golly, news to me.” You laughed, starting to walk back, t-shirt hanging off your frame, slowly starting to dampen from contact with your swimsuit. Your shorts were slung over Clark’s shoulder. 

If he was honest, he had harbored a crush for you long before high school, and he nursed it throughout school. When you moved off to live on the university campus, it faded when he saw you less. It had been for the best, since you were 21 and engaged to the love of your life. Who was he to ruin that? But sometimes he felt those feelings linger in his gut; it drove him crazy sometimes. If only you had given him one chance, and now it was too late. 

You split ways for the night, cleaning up and spending time with your family. After many card games, you settled into bed. You pressed the FaceTime button on your husband's contact, listening to it ring multiple times before he answered. In the background was the familiar sight of the picture above your bed, Daniel staring back. “Hi, honey! How’s it going?” you chirped out first, lying on your stomach. You wore your cotton shorts and tank top tonight, since the heat wasn’t relenting and your little bedroom fan could only do so much. “Good,” he said gruffly, a small pause, and he spoke again. “What have you been up to?” Daniel asked. He seemed distracted, but that wasn’t unusual for him.

“Mama’s been taking me to the market, getting to sleep in, feeding the animals. Clark’s been taking me to all these swimming holes, want to see the pictures?” You asked, being ignored. “Clark Kent? The big nerd you always hung out with?” Daniel said, and the tone made you hurt a little. He knew how much Clark meant to you, and he could barely care to remember him. “He’s not a nerd… he’s very nice,” your defense is weak to his anger. Why did he hate Clark so much?

Your husband shook his head. The conversation passed quickly; he started to talk about work, and you tried to listen as best you could. “I love you, goodnight…” You say into the phone once he was done talking. “Goodnight.” The line went dead, and you set your phone to the side. You felt a wave of sadness overcome you. Back in high school, he didn’t care about Clark. You ended up sending the photo anyway, the one of you in front of the waterfall—cheeks and eyes shining with delight. Just to show him you were happy. A short reply lit up your phone: “Remember who you’re married to.”

Clark noticed the next day how dimmed you seemed; of course, you had changed a lot in the past year. You went from loud to reserved; you passed up the opportunity to make smores or go bathe in the sun like you used to. It sat like a rock in his stomach. Why were you passing up dessert? What had changed? Where had that rich laughter gone, or all those storytelling skills? You used to have a new story every day, just over-the-top enough to resonate.

“Want to go walk Molly?” he asked, and you shook your head. “Pick peaches from Mr. Mayfield's tree?” he tried again, and still another firm shake of your head. What Daniel had said really struck a chord deep inside you somewhere. “Okay, what is wrong with you? Do you want to do anything?” You shrugged at the idea; wallowing all day sounded like a pleasant idea. “Talk to me!” Clark insisted, tugging your book away, then your phone and holding it to his chest. “I just think my husband's a little mad at me, don’t know how to fix it,” you said glumly. 

Clark softened immediately as he plopped down roughly on the porch swing next to you. “Easy on my porch swing, Kent!” your mother yelled from inside, making you both laugh. “Why do you think he’s mad?” You looked up at Clark; his face was filled with concern. He was ready to listen, nothing else on his mind, and it felt warm. Nobody had really listened to you in a while, not even Daniel. He figured that protecting you was all you needed. “That he’s working while I’m here, I don’t have a job yet, and I’m spending his hard-earned money to be here.”

Clark frowned. “He’s keeping tabs on you for seeing your family?” he asked, his eyes flashing with emotion, shock being one of them. “No… he just works hard, and I don’t do much,” you said, insecurity bubbling out of your chest. It had been nestled under your skin for a while now; to see how affected you are by it made Clark hurt. “So? You still deserve nice things.” 

He said it so simply, like that’s how it would be if he were married, and deep down, you knew it was how he’d be. 

“I know, I just… I can’t explain it,” defeat flooded your tone as you sank further back into the chair. “I know what will fix this…” Clark said, a proud smile. “Ice cream!” You cocked an eyebrow, eyes going down to your attire. “I can’t go out like this,” you insisted. He swooped you up like you weighed nothing, marching you up the stairs as you laughed. “Stop making silly excuses, come on!” Clark insisted. It felt like weight was being lifted from your shoulders, his head thrown back in laughter as he carried you like you were nothing. Daniel hadn’t done that since your wedding day, and the conditions had been a lot less friendly and much more heated. 

He set you on your bed gently, rifling through your drawer. He tossed you shorts and a tank top with a cool design; he left you to get socks and stuff, none of his business to rifle through that drawer. “Change. And don’t mope.” You smiled to yourself, changing into the clothes he picked, and sliding socks on. Clark waited outside, a boyish grin spreading on his face as you stepped out. 

At the ice cream shop, the line was short, just short of being empty. You got the smallest size in one of the kids' sugar cones, your favorite flavour. Clark got a big cup, chocolate and brownie. “Why’d you get such a little one? When we were younger, you would get the biggest one to give me a run for my money!” he teased, taking a lick from yours, and he offered you a thick spoonful. You took it with a hum and shrugged. “Not that hungry,” you lied. Daniel’s words rang through your head sometimes, especially now. ‘Cut back just a bit on the sweets, ’ 8 words that had cut deeper than anything else before.

Clark noticed the hesitation but ignored it, shrugging. “Whatever you say. You know, tonight we should watch a movie! Like one of those old ones we watched when we were kids,” he suggested with a smile. Chocolate ice cream smeared on his cheek, and you laughed; without thinking, you brushed it away. He straightened, and you wondered briefly if you had crossed a line. 

Of course you hadn’t; Clark quickly recovered with a smile. Spending the summer with you had dug up old feelings, leaving him conflicted. What was wrong with a harmless crush? Was it harmful when the crush was married? 

After going separate ways, soaking in a few hours with your parents on their porch, your dad made a mean dinner on the grill. You knocked on Clark’s door with a plate of meat and potatoes. He opened it, and his face was smeared with flour, wearing one of his mother's aprons and a grin. “Hi, sorry you caught me mid-baking. Come in,” he said, stepping aside, wiping sweat from his brow. “Since when does Clark Kent bake?” you asked, taking in the modest little living room. 

In front of the TV was a blanket fort, built from blankets and random chairs around the house. “Brought food from my dad…” You said, and Clark gave a quiet thanks. The house was warm, the warmth swallowing you as you followed him deeper into the kitchen. “Since now. I know your favorite is brookies. The chocolate chip with brownies on top? Is that still your favorite? Either way, it's not movie night without them,” he said. It was easy, stirring the batter in a rush to get it into the oven. 

Your heart felt like it’d melt.

He’d remembered the littlest details, and it made you think of Daniel. How Valentine's Day came aroun,d and he said, “I bought your favorite.” and on the counter was a frosted sugar cookie that had no thought put into it. Like maybe it was on discount, and he was feeling nice. Like it was a regular day rather than the most romantic holiday in the world. Your silence made Clark frown.

“What? If you don’t like them, I can scrap them and make popcorn instead…”You heard the stress flood his tone, his eyes big and desperate. You’d seen that look a million times, puppy dog eyes filled to the brim with worry and fear of disappointing someone. “No!” you snapped quickly, making him freeze. 

“Sorry. It’s really nice. I haven’t had brookies in… I don’t know how long,” you gave a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. How could something so small be so significant? Marriage was supposed to be built on protection and respect. So why did something as simple as homemade brookies feel more meaningful than all the grand gestures Daniel had ever made?

He settled after that, getting them in the oven and setting out a big box of DVD’s for you to pick from. They were all from when you were younger, when you got to go into the big city and check out the big Blockbuster. 

“Clark! We should get this movie!” You held up a new copy of ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’. You’d both been 12 or 13 at the time.” He read the back and the rating and shrugged. “Okay, if you want.” And that was when your first celebrity crush formed; poor Clark had to hear all about it for weeks. 

You giggled to yourself, and he perked up. “When we first watched this movie, I didn’t stop talking about Matthew McConaughey for weeks!” Clark didn’t even have to look at the movie cover to know, shaking his head. “You owe me for the weeks of torture I endured. I didn’t hear the end of it. ‘He’s so charming! I want a boyfriend just like him one day…’” Clark mocked, taking a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. More laughter bubbled from your chest. “Don’t pretend you didn’t have a thing for Emma Watson in Harry Potter when you were 12.”

“Fine, fine. You win,” Clark said through a mouthful. You started the movie after 30 minutes, the timer on the oven beeping loudly to mark the brookies officially finished. You ended up picking Boy in the Striped Pajamas. In the coziness of the little fort Clark had put together for you guys, you shared brookies; they weren’t bad for his first time. Other than the fact you had to pry them from the bottom of the pan. “Knew I was forgetting something…” he mumbles, digging in despite it. Tonight you didn’t hold back; you indulged in the treat Clark had made for you.

As the movie came to its end, you looked over to see a little tear rolling down Clark’s cheek. The blue of his eyes was so soft, and holding onto the tears by the rims of his eyes for dear life. You reached a hand out to his, and he took it gratefully, giving a small squeeze. 

When the credits rolled, he sat up from the pillows supporting his back, pulled the blanket off his lap, and gave you a sad look. “Why’d you pick that movie again?” he asked, sniffling. You let out a small laugh, wiping away a tear or two yourself. “Sorry, now I remember why I haven’t watched it since it was released.”

Clark let a small laugh bubble out too. Quietly, you both start to clean up the first; you fold up blankets, he puts away the chairs and pillows, before eventually tucking the blankets into the hallway closet. “Thank you… for watching a movie with me and being a good friend,” he whispered, like maybe it should be a secret. Like something else was hiding behind it. 

You stood on his porch, the light dim, the air around you loud with the background noises of Kansas. You nodded, feeling a flash of guilt. This friendship had been everything, and Daniel wanted you to give it up, said you didn’t need Clark. But who would make you brookies and a pillow fort if Clark didn’t? Who would make you eat ice cream even if you ‘didn’t need it’? 

Because it wouldn’t be Daniel. 

“I’m sorry.” It left your mouth before you could stop it, and you watched confusion wipe over Clark’s face. What were you sorry for? You had made this his best summer in years. “For being distant, not answering your calls or your emails with links to cool stuff. I promise, I read all the articles, your work, your messages.” Words were spilling from your lips now, and you knew the truth would fall out soon, rapidly before you could do anything about it. 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” The small tilt of his head, eyes a little hurt but understanding, hands deep in his pockets. Despite standing at 6’4”, he looked so small, like a puppy being rejected. It had weighed down more on him than he had expected.

“I…” a small pause. You could tell Clark anything, and he wouldn’t judge you. “Daniel says I don’t need a best friend. That you only want one thing from me. That it’s best I just ignore it for the most part and move on, because I live in Metropolis now, not Smallville! But the truth is, Clark, I don’t want to forget Smallville, move on from what’s here. It doesn’t make me happy…”

Those feelings had been bottled up for a while now. Like you’d been too scared to admit them, this was the first time they’d really hit you. Daniel was making you into the shadow of someone you once were. 

Clark was unreadable, his shoulders tense. Insecurity struck as he said nothing; you wondered if you sounded crazy, or like you were lying. Tears stung your eyes; suddenly it wasn’t about movies and brookies, it was about feeling ignored—lost. 

“Then why don’t you stand up to him?” Clark asks, like it was simple. You weren’t scared of Daniel, but there were lines you couldn’t cross. You couldn’t talk back to him, defy his wishes. “Because… he’s my husband and I love him. I have to support him,” you whisper in return, your heart beating out of your chest at saying this. Like Daniel was listening in now. 

Clark’s expression softens to a more familiar one, something bordering pity. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I chose him. I said I would when I married him.”

“That doesn’t sound like true love.” Clark runs a hand down the back of his neck, awkward but so sure at the same time. Like he had this speech ready. In some aspects he did. He had overheard the phone conversation, his super hearing betraying him. Clark had assumed that your new-and-improved polite laugh had been drilled into you from somewhere, that you hadn’t stopped cutting back on sugar on your own accord, because deep down he knew you better than anyone. He saw every phase of you. “You don’t have to spend the rest of your life unhappy,” he adds.

The ring on your finger suddenly felt heavy. You remembered when Daniel proposed. When he had spoiled the surprise by asking whether you wanted a gold band or a silver one. As if you hadn’t been wearing the same color of jewelry since you were 10. 

A small sob escaped and made your shoulders jerk; it wasn’t long before Clark had his arms open for you, holding you close. “He keeps a roof over my head, and he kisses me. He gets me flowers on Valentine's Day. Daniel is a husband any girl could ask for.” It was like you were trying to convince yourself, and the thought made Clark’s shoulders sag. 

Clark held you close, one hand rubbing slow circles against your back as your tears soaked into his shirt. He knew the scent of your shampoo. He knew your favorite flower, the exact amount of sugar you put into your coffee, and that you always brushed your teeth for exactly two minutes every morning and every night. 

He wondered whether Daniel knew any of that. 

Did he know that you hated thunderstorms but loved standing outside afterward to smell the rain? Did he know how you liked your pancakes, or how you needed a warm arm around you to sleep the best? Did Daniel make you feel desired, or did he just roll over with a sigh and go to bed as nothing had happened?

Clark’s arms tightened around you. “Love isn’t transactional.” You tensed in his arms, pulling away from his chest, relishing his warmth. His feelings for you were set aside for this emotional turmoil while you made the hardest decisions of your life. Do you stay or go? 

“What do you mean?” you asked quietly, searching his eyes for all the answers, like maybe Clark could use his superpowers to get you out of this. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. “I mean that if you love someone and they love you, it shouldn’t be keeping tabs. Daniel should simply get you your favourite flowers because he knows it makes you happy, not because he has to.” You nod along, the cool chill of the night air on your arms causing goosebumps to ripple up your skin. 

He wipes a tear away with his thumb; you sigh and press your forehead to his chest. Clark hesitates before stroking your hair. “You want to stay here tonight? Ma won’t mind.” Slowly, you nod. Your gloomy body forces one foot in front of the other as you go inside. You check your phone, messages from Daniel that you hesitate to answer before ignoring them. You needed space.

Clark ends up picking you up, carrying you carefully under the stairs. Already in your pajamas, he slips off your shoes and tugs you into bed with him. It was like you were 14 again, when your first-ever boyfriend broke up with you. Clark had snuck into your place and held you much the same. 

“Always a boy, huh?” He whispers into the quiet of the room. You're thankful for it; the silence left your thoughts swirling out of control as your eyes locked into the wall. His hands were gentle as they traced lines up and down your back. “What?” You asked, poking your head up. Clark guided your head back to his chest. The thumping of his heart grounded you. 

He pauses, his eyes on the rickety ceiling fan that spun along slowly. “There’s always a boy ruining the perfect life you deserve,” he rephrased. You felt him tense under you, his mind racing. Why would he say that? Too romantic for this setting. In his childhood bedroom, with a ring on your finger. This is where he always had imagined you two. 

You lying on his chest like this while you talked until your speech slowed and you eventually dropped off into sleep. He imagined you kissing him to one of the new CDs you bought at the store, how you’d take charge as always. His dreams were just dreams now.

Your silence made it worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to fill it.

The ceiling fan creaked overhead as the summer wind slipped through the open window, carrying the scent of earth and fresh-cut grass into the room. Somewhere outside, crickets chirped. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmured, the sound muffled into his chest. His fingers still on your back. “Why?” His hands started new motions, tracing the alphabet into your shirt. 

“Because they make me think.” A quiet laugh slipped past his lips without warning. You lifted your head just enough to look at him. Moonlight poured across the room, turning the sharp line of his jaw silver. His curls were floppy on his forehead after being neglected for the day. His cheeks were sunkissed, and he looked 17 again. 

“I think that’s what we should be doing,” he suggests lightly, eyes flicking to the ceiling. You shook your head, a humorless laugh bubbling up. “No, we shouldn’t.” A smile jumped to his face; he shrugged; the choice was forever yours. 

You settled back against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat—slightly faster than a human's, something you could only know after spending years with him. You’d spent half your life listening to it. During thunderstorms or after nightmares. During long drives home from the big Friday night football games. Through every heartbreak, celebration, every step of adolescence. 

The only time it changed was at night, when he was tired, and his body wasn’t busy photosynthesizing—or whatever he does. It was getting close to its slowest now. “Daniel… he doesn’t like to listen to me talk in bed.” The silence was broken again; you felt his body tense under you. “Serious? Why?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. He just doesn’t want to pillow talk; the bed is for sleeping and… well, you know the rest.” 

Clark’s cheeks flush, always squirmish when you even vaguely mention such lewd topics. “Oh,” he paused, wishing he had swallowed his stupidity and asked you out in high school, pre-Daniel. “I like listening to you talk.”

“You do?” You weren’t shocked necessarily, but Clark sounded so honest, like your chatter was the most valuable in the world. He nods slowly, no explanation needed. He always listened with the same expression, and he soaked it up for later. Clark’d bring it up later at random, and your heart would flutter at him remembering something as stupid as what you had for breakfast on Monday. 

Clark’s ears were burning, and he was happy was dark enough to go unnoticed. His honesty settled heavily in your chest. You needed a clear mind, and Clark Kent had always made thinking much more difficult than it should have been. “You should get some sleep,” he whispered into your silky hair. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Always.”

This was one of the rare mornings that 8:30 rolled around and you had woken up before Clark, still perched on his chest. Even in his sleep, he had a tight grip on you, but this wasn’t new. His inhumane strength was hard to maintain in his sleep. 

You propped your head up to take in his features, softer with sleep. His jaw was still strong, but his stubble was growing in, and the soft sunlight made him glow. His lashes rested on his cheeks; you could already imagine the soft blue of the irises hidden behind his eyelids. 

His eyes fluttered open within 15 minutes or so, and you had stopped checking the time. His eyes met yours, and a soft smile spread across his lips, his dimples working overtime as they dipped into his cheeks. “Good morning,” he rasped out first. 

For just a moment, he let himself think about how this could be reality; you on his chest with messy hair and eyes hooded from a long night of rest. 

“Good morning,” you reply, your voice soft. The sun made him look too good; before you could stop, you were leaning forward. Forgetting about the ring on your finger that didn’t belong to Clark, and that anything outside the room existed. 

Your lips found his. It was soft, barely there, the sort of kiss that might have been if not for the warmth of his mouth against yours.

Clark froze.

For a single, terrible second, he kissed you back.

Then he pulled away.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was rough as he shook his head. “No.”

“You don’t want me like this, not like this. Not when you’re hurting,” he whispered, his breathing heavy. Clark liked it. Really liked it. But he couldn’t do this, not to a married woman who was battling some of the hardest decisions of her life. “I thought we were feeling the same thing…” You sounded hurt, and it made his stomach clench. 

He nods thoughtfully. “I… no. Well, yeah! Golly, I do feel the same way, but you're married. You need to make a decision and talk to Daniel before I pursue anything with you.” Clark watches your face fall, rejection seering through you. He felt it too in some ways—like he was setting himself up for failure. But it was the right thing to do, and he could live with that, 

“This is huge, and I want you to make sure that you're happy with the outcome,” Clark said, tilting your chin to look at him when your eyes drifted. He loved you, more than best friends should. But he could set it aside to be a pillar to lean on and use as a guide. 

Absolutely not though, due to your roomate Reese, is fucking another guy for the 3rd day in a row. She knew you enjoyed the comfort of your shared dorm, but sadly she takes everything you do for granted. You huffed out as you blew the single strand of frizzed hair away from your face. frustration swarmed you in red flames as you continued to type.

A few silent tables away, Professor Kent, Lane and Oslon sat discussing midterms for their students. Clark's hands covering his mouth as he chews and speaks. His classes midterm over creative writing. Lois' political science and Jimmy's over photography. Clark's view shifted from his co-workers to you for a split second. you waved, your face softening as you spotted one of your favorite professors.

Clark waved back as his pointer and middle waved up and down. his own little "old-man" wave as his students called it. Even though he was in his mid thirties and I twenty something and impaitent. One girl described it as his "daddy wave." which made you giggle out loud, causing Professor Kent to glare at you mid lecture over your assignment on "Write about your earliest memory... the one you've never told anyone." What seemed to be an easy assignment for you, seemed to be like the hardest one Kent has given all semester.

Groans and slight kicking could be heard as kent raised a hand in the air for silence. "You're attention please." he gruffed out, his eyes on you briefly before he overlooked the crowd. "Now, I want you to do this assignment with keeping in mind... it's worth 50% of your overall course grade. As this is your midterm before spring break in two weeks." The rest pf lectured carried on with the class doing rough outlines and planning. along with a loud "class dismissed!"

Here you were now, ever the teachers pet (as Reese called you) because you were getting a head start on the assignment, when it was due until the 13th of March. Your eyes crinkled in corners as you shifted focus onto your macbook once again. You barely noticed when the noise died down and checked the time. 5:41 pm. You stretched and grabbed your bag, as you saved and closed the rough outline to your midterm.

✧ Delta Krypton Phi, the jocks with big athletic energy and "legacy bros." Sigma Kael Nu, the academic nerds with secrectly the most powerful house on campus. Alpha Metroplis Sigma, mean girls central/elite with their old money and where everything is a competetion. Zeta Prometheus Tau, no one knows what they stand for but they throw the best house parties.

Your feet carried you to the apartment, you needed some quiet time to think and finish your draft. the silent click and turn of the lock lulled you into thr routine you've done nearly enough times. the smell of printer ink and coffee grounds immersed you when you stepped in, toeing your sneakers off in the progress. you let out a huff as you set your own keys down. "bingo." you muttered as you saw the set of keys hanging next to where you put yours.

"you're early..." he uttered, his glasses catching the low light of his kitchen, his back turned as he read whatever was in front of him. "problem professor?" you purred, as you made your way towards him. sliding in between him and the counter. His eyes looked over the rims of his glasses as he studied your face. "no." he snit. "I thought we agreed to see each other this weekend. It's Monday." his voice whispered as he set down the assignment.

your eyes shined like a baby doe's in the kitchen light. "Yes, but I wanted your critiques on my rough draft Clark." your voice moaned, your hands coming to grab his glasses. His hand stopped you, as he looked at you with that 'stern' look but really it was him trying to not give into you. "alright sweetheart, I'll look into it... you sure you didn't just miss me? you're always so needy you know?" you feigned hurt as your hand drew to your chest.

"Always needy?! WOW! The Clark Joseph Kent called me needy!" you pushed off the counter as you walked away. Clark's hand grabbed your wrist, sliding to your waist as he pulled you in. "I was just kidding sweetheart, no need to be upset." you wiggled out of his grasp, going to grab your laptop. "Here, Can you please look it over?" your voice pleaded as you clasped your hands together, praying. "okay." he huffed, he pushed his glasses back and focused.

"so?" you impunged, your voice soft. you titled your head to look at him, neck craning up. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, apple bitten into as he hummed. "Well... your intro is the hook. You gave me a foreshadowing moment within your writing. You pull people in without even trying." His eyes dropped to your mouth. "Much like right now." His eyes slowly clouding over with lust and his pupils blown so only the barest hint of blue could be seen.

"Is that so?" It wasn't a question, you knew exactly what you were doing. He set the apple down slowly, deliberate, like a man deciding something. The air shifted. His hand came up, thumb brushing your jaw before his fingers wrapped loosely around your throat, not squeezing, just.. reminding you they were there. "you like being told you're good at things, don't you?" His voice dropped an octave. Your breath caught.

"careful," he murmured, tilting your chin up further. "That little mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble." you swallowed, knowing you were playing with fire. "Maybe I want trouble." The corner of his lip pulled. He reached past you, fingers curling around the rope draped over the chair behind you. You hadn't even noticed it until now. "Then be a good girl," he said quietly, "and put your hands behind your back."

"His voice dropped low, almost a murmur your ear. "Smart girls still fall apart, you know." The rope was soft but firm where it looped your wrists above you, his knot he tied deliberate, tested twice. He stepped back to look at you and something in his expression made your stomach drop in the best way. "Daddy..." you started. "I know." He cut you off gently.

"You can handle it." His hands moved slowly at first, mapping every reaction, cataloguing you like you were something worth studying. And when you arched and whimpered he just smiled, unhurried, and started again from the beginning. "Please." the word fell out before you could stop it. "Please what?" Not a question. A lesson. Your wrists pulled against the rope instinctively. His eyes flicked up. "Say it properly, sweetheart."

"Please..." you tried again, wrists pulling agaisnt the rope uselessly. "use your words." His voice was infuriatingly calm. "You're my best student." Your face burned. "Please, daddy." The smile that crossed his face was slow and devastating. Like he'd been waiting all semester for exactly that. His hands smoothed uo your side, unhurried while your breathing came apart completely.

Every time you got close he'd pull back, read you like a page he'd already memorized, and start somewhere new. "You're doing so well." moments had felt like they passed. "Good Girl." The praise hit different when you were like this, Undone, wrists bound, completely at his mercy. He knew exactly what he was doing when he said it. Knew what it did to you.

He leaned in close, mouth near your ear. "you going to be good for me or are we going to have a problem?" Your voice came out smaller than intended, "Good." His hand came down on your soft cheeks flesh once, sharp, deliberate. "I didn't hear you." You swallowed hard. "I'll be good." His voice like steel moved you. "Prove it." The words landed somewhere low in your stomach. You knew what he wanted. You always knew.

That was the thing about him, he never had to spell it out. he'd trained you too well for that. You held his gaze and didn't look away. That was your answer. His smile was slow, satisfied. "There she is." The corner of his mouth curved. "Good girl." Twp words. That's all it took. Your whole body responded before your brain could catch up warmth spreading through your chest, your breath going shallow.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. Taking his time, like he had all night. He did. His eyes on you, like he had all the time in the world and you were going nowhere. (you weren't) "Tell me what you want," he said quietly. "And be specific." Your throat tightened, being specific was the hard part. He knew that, that's why he asked. "I want..." you started, then stopped. "Try again." No impatience. You exhaled slowly and made yourself say it. All of it.

Every word he'd been waiting for. Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. "I want you to touch me. I want you to tell me I'm good. I want..." you paused, cheeks warm, "I want to make you proud daddy." The last words barley above a whisper, but he heard it. He always heard everything. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up slowly. "Since you asked so nicely."

His other hand found your waist, pulling you in without rushing, making you feel every second of the wait you'd earned your way out of. "Eyes on me," he said quietly. "The whole time." His mouth found your neck first. Slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wanted you to feel exactly that. Your breath caught. "Good girl," he murmured against your skin "Stay still for me."

Your hands reached for him but you couldn't not when his knot was tight. So you kept them above you, he noticed. He always noticed. "That's it." His voice low, approving right at your ear. His hands moved slowly, giving you exactly what you'd asked for, making you earn every moment of it. "Tell me what you want." he said against your ear, low and unhurried once more.

The words came easier now. You'd already broken that wall open. His grip on your waist tighthened just slightly, rewarding the honesty before you'd even spoken. Waiting. Paitent. In control. He guided you back gently, his eyes never leaving yours. Every moment deliberate, every touch exactly where you needed it. You stayed present, stayed his, gave him everything he asked for without hesitation.

Afterwards, he pulled you close, his fingers threading slowly through your hair. "That’s my girl," he murmured softer now, less commanding, more reverent. "So good for me." But the urgency was gone. What remained was warmth.

Your breathing steadied against him, your cheek pressed to his chest as his hand continued its slow, absent strokes through your hair. He didn’t let go. Didn’t rush. Didn’t speak for a while.

When he finally did, it wasn’t praise it was quiet certainty. "You alright?" You nodded, too tired to form more than a hum. Safe. Heavy. Boneless in his arms. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. Lingering. Not possessive. Just there.

Moments later, he shifted carefully. "I may have overworked your legs," he said under his breath, almost amused with himself. "Let me fix that." The bathwater ran warm, steam curling through the room. He lifted you without ceremony, like something precious but familiar, lowering you into the heat.

"You know," he said quietly as he knelt beside the tub, rolling the tension from your calves with slow, practiced hands, "you’re going to make a good writer someday." You blinked at him, sleep tugging at your lashes. "You think so?"

"I know so." His tone sharpened slightly, professor and partner blending together. "And not because of us. Your work is yours. It always has been." That made you smile. "Well… relieved." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your palm once, then again. "I’m serious. I wouldn’t trade this for anyone else."

You watched him for a long moment. "I just can’t wait to stop hiding." There it was. The real thing. The weight under the softness. He reached for the towel, draining the tub before wrapping you up and lifting you again, holding you close to his chest. "Soon." he said, more firmly this time. "Spring break. After that, you’re not my student anymore."

Not a warning. A promise. "No grades. No office hours. No pretending we don’t look at each other like that." Your heart stuttered at the way he said it — steady, deliberate. Planned.

He set you down gently on the edge of the bed and pulled one of his worn t-shirts over your head, helping your arms through like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Socks," you mumbled.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Right. Can’t forget those." His glasses slipped down his nose as he tugged them onto your feet, shaking his head at himself. You watched him like he was something impossible.

"After spring break," he continued, softer now, "We’ll tell them. Not dramatically. Not recklessly. Just honestly." You searched his face. "You’re sure?"

"I’ve never been more sure of anything." That silenced the last of your doubts. You leaned forward, resting your damp head against his chest. "I love you," you whispered. His arms came around you instantly, solid and warm and real.

"I love you too," he said not playful, not teasing. Steady. “And when you walk across that stage in May, I’ll be clapping for you like everyone else.” A pause. "Just with better seats." You laughed weakly against him, already slipping toward sleep.