#smallville edit

You shoved your notes into your bag before leaving the classroom, your camcorder in hand with a small, mischievous smile. The aroma of sweat and perfume wafted through the halls as you maneuvered to find Clark. He wouldn’t mind doing it, that you knew for sure. He could never say “no” to you. 

He wasn’t anywhere in the halls, so you made a beeline for the Torch room and, lo and behold, he was there with Chloe. They sat behind a computer, probably researching something to stick on the Wall of Weird. 

“Hey, Y/N/N.” He smiled, that adorable boyish one.

“Hi,” Chloe chimed. 

You didn’t grant either of them a reply. Instead, you lifted the camcorder, aimed at the both of them. “Who is Clark Kent?” you drawled and sauntered toward them, peering through the screen to look at them. 

“What are you doing?” He couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his face, despite the effort. Chloe seemed rather amused. 

You approached Clark, adjusting the camera so it centered on him, zooming in maybe a little too closely to his face. 

“It’s an assignment for my Media Arts class,” you said, pressing the button labeled stop. You dropped your arms at your sides and gave Clark a toothy grin. “We have to film someone we care about.”

“That’s such a cool project,” Chloe muttered with a soft upturn of her mouth. 

Clark parted his lips. At first, you thought he might say he wasn’t comfortable with being on camera, or that it was flattering of you to choose him, he just wasn’t into it. But he didn’t say either of those things. No, he just gave you those mesmerizing light eyes—something twinkled within them—and smiled, the fangs of his teeth showing just enough in the dim light of the Torch room. 

“Do you need me to do anything specific?” he inquired. 

“Nope.” You shook your head. “Just look pretty, which shouldn’t be hard for you.” 

Clark looked down and blushed, smiling again. 

“But I may ask you some questions for certain clips,” you informed. “But it’ll be very candid, so don’t worry about it. Just be yourself and pretend I’m not shoving a camera in your face for the next week.”

He laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

. 

Kent Farm was wrapped in a golden haze as the sun receded behind the horizon, slowly taking its leave for the day. You’d mentioned to Mr. Kent your assignment, so he’d cut back on your tasks on the farm until you’d finished the project. Working on Kent Farm was a dream—something you loved more than anything. It was easy to get wrapped up in all those animals and the smell of the field, the morning dew that freckled the blades of grass. 

Clark was in the midst of baling hay and part of you felt a little guilty not helping him, but he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. 

The camcorder was set on a wooden bench, aimed at Clark while you stayed out of the frame. 

“I don’t think I see myself working on the farm forever,” he said, compacting hay into a wooden crate, binding them with thin twine. 

“No?” You raised your brow, fiddling with the hangnail on your pinky. 

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I want to do, but hopefully it won’t involve a suit and a lot of flying.” Clark’s thick brows furrowed—whether in concentration or deep thought, you weren’t sure. 

You looked through the camcorder screen and smiled softly.

“I think you liked the farm more when we were kids,” you chimed. 

Clark nodded with a smile. “I still love it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not my forever, I guess.”

“What could be your forever?” you asked inquisitively. 

“Something where I can help people,” he said, turning to face you. He didn’t look at the camera, it was almost like it wasn’t even there. “Maybe a firefighter.” 

You smiled. “I can see you doing that.”

“Do I have a nice build for it?” He grinned cheekily and spread his arms, doing a twirl in gesticulation to his large frame. You laughed and he did too. 

.

In the Beanery, you sipped on a hot cup of tea with one hand, while the other aimed the camcorder at Clark. He was caught gazing at Lana. You’d have to edit that out later, you reminded yourself. 

“You seem more relaxed today,” you observed, placing the mug down carefully. You peered through the screen before lifting your gaze to Clark who didn’t pay heed to the camera, his light eyes only focused on you. 

“Yeah, I guess I woke up and realized my life changed.” He sipped his coffee. “I decided to kick back and accept the fact that I couldn’t control everything.” 

“That’s a good way to live,” you said softly. 

“It beats stressing over things out of my hands.” 

“You’ve always walked like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.” You were looking at him now, over the camera. “Ever since we were little.”

“Yeah, well, when you have a best friend who’s as clumsy as you…” he trailed off with a wide smile. 

“Hey!” Your voice cracked and you reached for your crumpled napkin, throwing it across the table at him. You got a perfect shot of him laughing before pressing your thumb against the stop button and placing it down on the table. “You’re trying to make me look bad,” you grumbled with a playful eyeroll. 

“It’s the game we play,” Clark retorted with a smile. 

Your lips spread into a grin that was almost villainous. “I’ll remember that when I’m editing.” 

. 

The halls of Smallville High were busy, as usual. You slipped through the bodies of adolescents and found Clark with Pete and Chloe by their lockers. The camera was already recording as you approached, aiming it at the three of them. 

“The inseparable trio,” you mused peering through the screen. 

“Hey, Y/N’s class!” Pete stepped in front of the camera, entirely too close if the view of his nostrils had anything to say about it. “Pete Ross here, Clark Kent’s hottest friend. If any ladies are interested, I’m single.” He adjusted his jacket, popping the collar like he was some sort of Hollister model. 

Clark was standing in frame, behind Pete’s shoulder, trying to smother his grin. Chloe was grimacing with a furrowed brow. 

“I’m sure they’d love to go on a date with you and your nose hairs.” You smirked, zooming in even further. 

Pete covered his nose with a cupped hand. Clark and Chloe couldn’t help but laugh as Pete stepped back from the camera, a nervous blush on his face. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I now have to get a trim.” He disappeared down the hall. 

You fixed the camera on Clark and Chloe, their height difference more pronounced. 

“I gotta go edit the last couple pages before the paper goes out on Friday, I’ll see you guys later,” Chloe said, reaching over to squeeze Clark’s bicep. She gave you that warm, happy smile before receding down the hall. 

“Last man standing,” you sing-songed, shoving the camera in his face. 

He laughed nervously, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. 

“Where’re you off to now?” you asked with a gentle smile, peering over the camera to look at him. He wasn’t staring at the lens, just at you. Always at you. 

“Bio,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. “I think we’re watching a sex education documentary today.” The two of you walked down the hall together, the camcorder catching every moment. 

“Ooh. Try not to fall asleep when the lions start getting it on. It’s important information that will help us when we leave the confines of high school,” you chimed. 

Clark chortled. “I’ll see you later. Come by the loft after school.”

“I’ll meet you there,” you said with a smile. 

“Bye, Y/N/N.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before stepping back to walk into the classroom. 

“See ya.” You waved, filming him sauntering inside before pressing stop. 

. 

The air was cold as you ascended the steps leading to Clark’s loft in the barn. You’d been up there a million times with him. It was his as much as it was yours. It’s where the two of you had countless sleepovers, shared secrets, and exchanged embarrassing dreams, or nightmares. It’s where he told you his secret. You remembered it like it was yesterday:

It was in the midst of winter. You were eight. You’d fallen into the lake behind your house, through the thin sheet of ice that glazed the surface. You hadn’t meant to fall in, but you were playing in the snow by yourself. Clark’s parents wouldn’t let him outside, they said it was too cold. No matter how much you pleaded with them, they said he couldn’t. So, you played alone. You wandered to the lake and thought you might be able to skate across it, but the ice was too thin and when you pressed your boot into it, you plunged below, like a vacuum sucking you under. The water was so glacial, it knocked the breath right out of you. You screamed for help, but no one was around. Your parents hadn’t been home—both of them worked—you were alone. You couldn’t grab anything to help haul you up no matter how hard you tried, until two very strong, very warm, arms wrapped around you and pulled you out. 

It was Clark. He hadn’t even worn a jacket and it was in the middle of winter, when the chill was at its peak. He held you then, practically giving you his warmth before taking you back to his house where Mrs. Kent made you hot chocolate and Mr. Kent started a fire on the hearth. 

That same night, he told you in the loft—the two of you engulfed in a wool blanket. He thought you were going to think he was weird or a freak, but that’s not what you thought. A piece of you burned with the most precious love for him that evening. You didn’t treat him differently after that. If anything, you treated him like nothing had changed—but on occasion you wanted to see what he could do and he always showed you. You reassured to Mr. and Mrs. Kent that you’d keep his secret safe and they believed you. They were like your second set of parents—always treating you like their own. 

Now, Clark laid against the couch, his nose buried in a Ray Bradbury book. Luckily, you had the camera already rolling. You got a shot of him before he even noticed you were there. 

“Hey,” you greeted. He sat up immediately, closed the book, and placed it against the low, wooden table. 

“Hi.” He smiled. 

You placed the camcorder down on a shelf, aiming it at Clark and keeping yourself out of frame. You perched on a cushioned chair across from him. 

“Fahrenheit 451?” You reached over to grab the book. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, a little sheepish. “I was just catching up on the assigned reading.”

“A book always looks so small in your hands,” you laughed softly, placing the tome back down. 

Clark grinned, holding up his hands to scrutinize them. “I guess they are pretty big.”

“Your heart is too,” you observed. 

The look he gave you was unlike you’d ever seen before. It was much warmer than usual, more sentient. Not that Clark wasn’t benign as ever—he was, but this mien spoke a different dialect of the same language. A kind of familiar expression that says you see me even when I don’t see myself. And it was true. You and Clark saw each other more deeply than anyone, like you were intertwined into each other’s lives by something akin to fate. 

“Tell me about someone you love and how you met,” you whispered. “And, unfortunately it can’t be me,” you added with a soft snicker. 

Clark chuckled and thought for a little while. He settled on Chloe and recounted the time he first saw her, what she was wearing and where they were. You, of course, knew this story, but you’d gladly listen to it again and again—like a symphony on repeat. 

“It was eighth grade,” he started, reminiscence threaded his voice. “She’d just transferred from Metropolis. And I was assigned to show her around.” His lips curved into a soft smile as he stood up and neared the window. “When she found out I lived on a farm, she insisted I invite her over to experience it first hand. She thought I was Amish.” Clark chuckled, lowering his gaze to his sneakers. You smiled, eyes glistening in the dimly lit loft as you listened. He crossed the room to sit back down on the couch. “When I brought her up here, she just… kissed me.” He looked at you, a little shy now. “It was my first kiss.”

“I’ve still never kissed anyone,” you admitted. It was your turn to be shy now. 

Clark blinked, looking at you. 

“What about that kid from fourth grade? I thought you said he kissed you,” he questioned. 

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod. “My cheek.” 

“Oh.” Clark’s lips parted as he looked at you. “Do you ever wish for it?”

“On occasion, but I’m trying to let it go. If it happens, it happens and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. It’s an uphill battle that I’m choosing not to fight.” You folded your legs up to your chest, hugging them, as you rested your chin atop your knees. 

“Sometimes letting go is the only way to move forward.” 

There he was, always saying the right thing at the right moment. Always speaking the words you needed to hear even if you didn’t want to. 

You pressed your lips together before exhaling a gentle breath. You got up from the chair and pressed the stop button on the camcorder. 

“Are you sure you have enough?” Clark asked as you approached the couch, taking a seat beside him. 

“I think so.” You leaned your head back against the arm rest and stretched your legs over his thighs. His fingers grazed the material of your sweatpants softly, delicately. “You’re a really great guy, Clark,” you whispered. 

He shook his head, a soft pink blushing his cheeks as his lips curved upwards into a reticent smile. He dropped his gaze to his jeans.

“I’m serious.” You sat up, peeling your legs off him to sit cross-legged. “You always say the right thing. Even when it might be hard for the other person to hear. Even if it’s hard for you to say. It’s brave. You’re the most valiant person I’ve ever met because of it.” 

Finally, he met your eyes burning with a quiet sort of passion, but there all the same. 

“I think you’d make a great firefighter,” you whispered with a coy smile. 

Clark’s eyes flicked down to your lips, tracing the ridges in them. “Yeah?” he whispered, a little breathless. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled. 

Suddenly, the room grew warm—even though no candles burned, and the autumn air still slipped in through the open window. But Clark’s body radiated heat as he leaned in, his light eyes never leaving your lips.

When the distance between you began to cease into nothingness, footsteps ascended the loft stairs. You both broke apart. The cold returned to your skin, but your cheeks still burned from the heat that had just been there.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Kent apologized, probably a little more embarrassed than you and Clark. “I didn’t know you were here, Y/N. I was just coming to get Clark for dinner. You know you’re always welcome to stay, if you’d like.” 

“Uhm, no, that’s okay. I, uhm.. already ate. I should probably start editing this anyway,” you said, scrambling off the couch—like the klutz Clark always said you were. You reached for the camcorder off the shelf and turned to your best friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when I have this finished.” You gestured to the camera.

He nodded, his cheeks flushed with chagrin. 

“Goodnight,” you said to both of them with a soft smile before leaving the barn. Your stomach was in knots the entire walk home. 

. 

You’d spent all morning uploading the footage of Clark onto a computer in the Torch room. It took all night and all morning, but eventually the short film was finished. It wasn’t really a film, more like a montage of his life—in school, at home, with friends, doing chores on the farm, etc. You were so proud of it. It even had Mr. Bruner standing up at his desk and clapping after you’d shared it with your class. 

Now, you were waiting for Clark. You’d left him a note in his locker to meet in the Torch room at precisely 2:30 PM. It was 2:29 when he walked through the door. You met his gaze with an excited smile. 

“Hey,” he beamed and crossed the room to sit beside you. 

“Ready?” You gently squeezed his forearm, your other hand resting on the mouse, hovering over the play button on the screen. 

Clark nodded. 

And you hit play.

.