#tgou

He obeys, his world narrowing until the only thing left is the thrum of blood beneath your skin. His fingers wrap around your wrist tight, so tight your pulse echoes against your own skin— and slowly, but surely, color returns to his face, shoulders sagging as the world softens to a muffled hum around him.

When his eyes finally open, they’re back to their summer blue and he lets out a shaky breath. “I have no idea what I’d do without you,” he admits softly, giving your wrist a squeeze— sending a spark that travels straight to your chest— before letting go.

“Be admitted to Metropolis General in five seconds flat," you retort, but there’s no real bite to your quip. You hear your voice fall flat in real time, pursing your lips into a straight line to keep them from quivering.

Sensory overload isn’t a regular occurrence for him; but it worries you nonetheless. It's not easy to see Clark this… helpless. Metropolis is everything that Smallville wasn’t, and even for someone like Clark, the change is a lot to adjust to.

“Hey, I'm okay,” Clark’s voice calls softly from behind you, but you don't turn to look at him. You make your way back to the kitchen, knowing Clark’s eyes are glued to you, and resume your mission with the laundry basket. He follows you (he’s always following you into places, like a lost little puppy) and leans onto the kitchen counter beside you. 

“Ma was right,” he says, putting on a warm and cheery tone, “In making sure you were stuck with me forever.”

The word forever hangs in the air, a heavy weight that neither of you acknowledge.

“Hey, I chose to study Astrophysics and you followed me here,” you muse, snapping a pair of jeans straight before handing them to him. “Don’t blame Mrs. Kent just because you can’t live without me.”

Clark pries them from your hands, as he grins boyishly from ear to ear, his pearly white smile bright in the golden haze of the Sunday afternoon.

It’s dangerous, how you keep pushing the boundaries of what best friends are and what shouldn’t be.

“I didn’t follow you,” he counters, his voice dropping into the playful tone he only uses when it’s just the two of you. “I just happened to realize that Metropolis has a slightly higher need for someone who can catch falling helicopters.” 

There is a sudden movement, a soundless blur and all the clothes lay magically folded in front of you. None of them are correctly folded, however, and you have to roll your eyes at him. 

“Did you grow up in a barn?” you groan, stepping into his personal space to reach for the steam iron on the counter behind him. “You’re so difficult.”

You don’t move around him; you move through his space. Your hip brushes his as you reach, a contact so natural you don't even blink. He doesn't pull away; instead, he leans into the touch, a subconscious magnetic pull that has governed your lives since you were ten years old. It doesn’t mean anything, it's just the way your bodies have learned to exist in the same square footage.

He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray thread on your sleeve, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. His touch is light, but the heat of it seeps through the fabric.

"And yet," he smiles mischievously, “You love me."

You roll your eyes, though your heartbeat does a little stutter.

"I’m phoning Mr. Kent, I have something of his I’d like to return."

·✶·

Monday rolls in with a sweltering summer wave, the kind that pricks at your skin through your clothes as you and Clark navigate the crowded campus courtyard. The sun glints off the glass buildings, but Clark doesn't seem to notice the temperature; he just walks with that effortless stride, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours in the flow of late-for-class students. He's dressed in jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, your one tether to simpler, quieter times at Smallville.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll drop this class,” you huff, the strap of your backpack digging into your shoulder. You shift the weight, your forehead furrowed with stress.

Clark tilts his head, his eyes searching yours with that trademark quiet intensity. “You know we both absolutely need Chem for our degrees,” he reminds you, his voice a calm anchor that soothes your heart.

“Professor Santiago gives us too much work, Clark! It stresses me out just looking at the syllabus.”

A shout of your name cuts through the noise of the quad just then. Stopping, both you and Clark turn toward the voice as a bright smile instinctively splits your face.

“Oliver!” you call out, a little too excitedly.

The tall, blonde man jogs toward you, coming to a breathless halt in front of you. He offers Clark a polite, chin-flick of a nod. Clark returns the gesture, his smile fixed and professional, though you notice the way his jaw tightens— a subtle hardening of his features that most people would miss.

“Hey, I didn’t hear back from you last night,” Oliver says, his attention snapping back to you, voice carrying a hopeful vibrato.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, shifting your bag again, still smiling up at him. “I was buried under a chemistry assignment, Santiago is ruthless.”

“That’s tough.” Oliver’s smile tugs upward, leaning in slightly, narrowing the space between you. “Do you think we could… tonight, then? There’s a screening at eight.”

You offer him a small, non-committal smile, casting a sideways glance at Clark. He’s standing remarkably still, his hands tucked into his pockets, looking between the two of you with an expression that’s hard to read— a mask of polite curiosity that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll let you know, Oliver,” you say softly. “The professors haven’t exactly been generous with our free time lately.”

“Right,” Oliver says, a quiver of disappointment in his voice, shoulders dropping just a fraction. He promises to catch you later and bids you both goodbye, disappearing into the sea of students.

Clark gives you a slow once-over, his eyebrows arched, mouth opening to surely, comment something.

“He asked me if I wanted to go to the movies,” you confess before he can start.

At that, Clark’s mouth breaks into a broad, dimpled grin. 

“That’s what I thought,” you say, making a face. “Bring it on. Tease me all you want.”

He adjusts his glasses, the frame catching the light, expression turning serious. “Well… do you want to? See him, I mean?”

You shrug, a sudden heat that has nothing to do with the weather rising in your cheeks.

“I don’t know? I mean, he’s definitely cute."

Clark’s smile falters— a momentary flicker, like a candle caught in a draft.

You could have imagined it.

“Well, you should,” he says after a beat, his voice an octave lower, lips curving into a supportive smile. “If you want to, that is.”

There’s a slight, nauseating tug beneath your navel that you choose to ignore. You nod and smile back at him.

“Maybe I will,” you murmur quietly, Clark already walking ahead of you.

You follow Clark into class in silence, the atmosphere feeling strange and thick, even once you've unpacked beside him at your desks.

Chemistry is usually a frustrating class because of measurements and dry theory, but Clark has always been the quiet filter, making everything seem like a breeze.

Right now, however, that filter is more of a wall. He is uncharacteristically silent, or maybe just too focused on eyeing the slow drips from the pipette.

​“Have you hung out with him before?” Clark asks.

​The question drops into the space between you, sudden and sharp, cutting through the low murmurs of the laboratory. You are halfway through gently swirling a beaker of Calcium Hypochlorite, the liquid a translucent white.

​“Um, yeah,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck. You keep your eyes fixed on the glass, annoyed by the sudden thrum of defiance in your chest. You haven't done anything wrong; there is no reason for your heart to kick against your ribs like a guilty thing. “We have Physical Mechanics together. We’re partnered up for a project. He is… easy to talk to.”

​You finally look up, and catch Clark's gaze. There is a flicker of something raw behind his glasses. He opens his mouth to say something but the air in the room suddenly curdles, as if the pressure had dropped to zero.

A chill settles deep within your spine.

And then, the class explodes.

·✶·

Everything happens dizzyingly fast. You’re slammed against the floor, your breath being driven from your lungs by the sheer mass of Clark’s body pressing into your back as debris rains down around you. The air is a thick, smoky curtain that tastes like copper and molten plastic. Heat licks at your side, and you spot a hungry orange glow burning through the fog out of the corner of your eye.

A scream, high and terrible, pierces the cackling of the fire. Clark hauls you up by the shoulders, his grip tight enough to bruise, dragging you through the chaos. You cling to his arm for dear life, your boots skidding over debris as you both navigate the sea of panicked students. When you finally burst into the quad, the sunlight instantly blinds your eyes. You gasp, drawing in stinging lungfuls of air as Clark’s hands skim your arms, a frantic search for any sign of hurt. You can tell he’s simultaneously scanning your body with his x-ray vision, and you suddenly feel a little exposed.

"Stay here," he rasps once satisfied that you’re unhurt, eyes dark with worry. "Don't move."

You nod, breathless and watch as he sprints back into the maw of the screaming building. You slide down against the cool brick of a planter, ears filling with a high-pitched ringing. You aren’t afraid for Clark; he has survived worse, but you watch the entrance with a hollow dread for classmates who aren't super humans.

After what feels like hours, Clark finally emerges from the diminishing shroud of smoke. He’s carrying an unconscious student by the legs… but he is not alone. A woman is with him— her dark, mermaid curls bouncing against her shoulders, her brown skin luminous even beneath the soot. She supports the student’s torso, her movements fluid and impossibly calm.

They reach the fleet of ambulances together, moving in a manner that’s enchantingly synchronised; almost like they’ve done this before. You watch them hoist the gurney with the first responders and help the injured student into the ambulance.

As they walk back toward the grass, the woman says something that makes Clark’s face break into a quiet smile. She lifts her elbow, pointing to something, a scrape maybe, and Clark’s brows knit together in fussing concern. 

You watch as he grabs a first aid kit by himself, and dabs at her skin with a piece of gauze. His head is bowed close to hers (a little too close) as they rapidly exchange words. You’re not sure if your smoke-filled mind is playing tricks, but you can actually see electricity crackle between them, drawing them closer. 

Suddenly, Clark’s head snaps in your direction. He looks startled, as if he’d momentarily forgotten about you, and jogs back to you. The woman follows a few paces behind, her stride feline and graceful.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering near your face. 

But you aren't looking at him. You’re looking at her.

Up close, the woman is a dream come to life. Her skin, as impossible as it seems, is glowing— a soft, unearthly shimmer that makes your vision swim.

“This is Luma,” Clark says, and his voice has a nervous, electric quality you’ve never heard before. He leans in closer, whispering with an excited grin, “Luma Lynai. She’s... she’s like me.”

The words somehow feel worse than the blast you just experienced, the faint ringing in your ear amplifying by a hundred decibels. 

Like me.

A cold, slumbering monster stirs in your chest, stretching its maw but you force your lips to stretch into a friendly smile. 

For years, everyone around you (and part yourself) had convinced you that you and Clark were binary stars, locked in a private, inevitable orbit. That eventually, the laws of physics would work out and you would someday collide. It was always assumed, the unspoken simmering underneath the surface— friendship or something more— this bond was for life.

But as Clark stands up, turning his back to you to address her— his posture subconsciously mirroring hers, their silhouettes overlapping in the sun and casting a shadow over you—  you realize that in a system of three bodies, the orbit almost always decays. 

✶ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

✶ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ! ✶

"Yeah, we’ll be there soon I’m guessing," he is saying into his phone, as he clicks the door shut behind him. He steps towards the cooler, pouring himself some water, his movements quick and thoughtless. “Yeah, don't worry about it,” he finishes, taking a sip.

“Luma?” you ask, even though you already know.

He nods. “She’s starting from the dorm.”

“I’m excited to get to know her,” you say, the words feeling flat and hollow in the air, but you try to smile.

“Me too,” he says, his eyes lighting up with a spark that wasn't there a second ago. He takes another large sip of the water. “We’ve made so much progress together. She’s better at channeling her energy and I feel like I’m finally learning how to actually control things too. Training with her feels like having your own sounding board, you know? I didn’t know how much I needed this my whole life.”

You ignore the burning sensation in your throat.

“I’m glad you met someone who you resonate with so much,” you say softly. You try to keep your tone neutral, but there’s an unintended sharpness to the sentence. A pointed piece of glass you don't sand down.

The room goes quiet. A beat passes— then another.

“Are you sure Oliver won’t mind if I come with you?” Clark asks. You almost hear a twinge of friction in his voice.

“Uh, yeah, farmboy,” you say, trying to sound casual. ”It’d be weird to explain why you wanted to get to the observatory on your own, and not just come with us.”

Clark’s expression flickers, a brief, passing shadow. “Right.”

The silence stretches, tight as a tripwire.

“How’s it going, by the way?” he asks. His voice is restrained, the words forced through a throat that sounds tight. “You and Oliver?”

Okay, you know why he sounds… deflated. You've never really discussed the man with Clark. When you were younger, Clark was always there for you when it came to boy trouble, always guiding you through heartbreak and bad dates. Maybe, even in between his own entanglement, he was hurt that you weren't confiding in him.

Good, a voice whispers in your head. Let him feel the silence for once.

“We’ve been hanging out. Pretty often. I don’t really know… yet,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on your phone, watching for a call from Oliver.

“Good. That’s nice,” he says too quickly, the words overlapping yours. “I mean— it’s good that you’re taking it slow. Not rushing into anything.”

The air in the room is thick enough to choke on. You make a non-committal noise, a soft mhm that means nothing and everything. He gazes at you then, for a split second too long, before moving to take his cap off the hanger and putting it on.

The phone rings then, Oliver is downstairs.

“After you,” you murmur, following Clark out.

Wednesday, the day after the Joe Diner incident, was scheduled for saving the world with Luma.

Thursday, you had to give it to him; a reprieve in the form of a night of popsicle sharing— a half-hearted attempt to compensate for Joe’s diner.

Friday was Training with Luma. Again.

Repeat for week two, with minor permutations and even less Clark.

He’s been distant for a while. Disappearing at random moments after class, without any receipts of where he’s been. Is it a crime that you’re feeling a little dejected for not having seen your best friend much, despite sharing the same roof? And now you’re all suddenly going to the observatory together, pretending that nothing is different and pretending that you’re not harboring any sadness.

Oliver’s bright, smiling face beams at you, straightening up from the driver's side door when you and Clark approach his car. His eyes scan your face, worry evident in the way his mouth twists open to say something.

“Not a word, Queen,” you remark, your voice sharper than intended as you reach for the handle.

Oliver holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I was going to say you look pretty,” he adds softly.

The compliment is simple and… so very uncomplicated. You feel a small, genuine smile tug at your mouth, the first real warmth you've felt all day.

“Hey, Kent,” Oliver greets, nodding at him before stepping into the car himself. Clark nods back, a polite, awkward smile pinned to his face.

“Has she always been this bossy?” Oliver asks once the car is on the road, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“From the very first time we met,” Clark says from the backseat. You catch his gaze in the rearview mirror, your eyes narrowed in a silent challenge. He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“I was not,” you retort, and Oliver lets out a deep chuckle, echoed by Clark’s own.

Oliver is in his element, one hand relaxed on the steering wheel while the other taps a beat against the console. In the back, Clark is fighting for space, his broad shoulders making the sleek interior of Oliver’s car feel small.

“So, Clark,” Oliver says, his tone light and conversational, catching the other man’s eyes in the mirror. “I didn’t realize you were into astronomy. You always struck me as more of a... feet-on-the-ground type of guy.”

“I think everyone likes looking up once in a while,” Clark replies. His voice is polite and steady. “It’s a nice change of pace from the city.”

“Fair enough,” Oliver hums, a playful tilt to his head. “Though I’ve found that the best views in Metropolis are usually at eye level. If you spend too much time staring at the stars, you might miss what’s right in front of you.”

You shift in your seat, Oliver’s words making your skin prickle.

“I try to pay attention,” Clark says softly, almost to himself. Then, more clearly: “How about you, Oliver? This isn't exactly the usual haunt for someone like you, is it?”

“Oh, I like to branch out,” Oliver counters. “I find that the best way to get to know someone is to see the things they care about. I’m just along for the ride today.”

He glances at you and you smile appreciatively.

The conversation drifts into the technical— the history of the observatory, the renovations— but a tightness remains. Oliver is inquisitive, poking at the corners of Clark’s life with a friendly curiosity, while Clark remains a fortress of curt, honest answers.

“It must be nice, though,” Oliver remarks as he takes a sharp turn toward the coast, “having someone who’s known you for so long.”

“It is a privilege,” Clark says, tone soft. It’s the kindest thing he’s said all week, the closest he’s come to acknowledging your friendship, and your heart flutters inside your chest.

You look out the side window, watching the city lights begin to blur into the dark silhouettes of trees. You can feel Clark’s gaze on the back of your head— while Oliver reaches over to adjust the gear, his knuckles accidentally brushing your knee.

“Well,” Oliver says, pulling the car onto the gravel lot of the observatory, the headlights cutting through the growing dusk. ”We’re here.”

He kills the engine, and for a moment, the silence is absolute. Then, you see a figure standing by the gates, her silhouette sharp against the darkening sky.

“Is that her?” Oliver asks, nodding toward the gates.

“That’s her,” Clark says, and the way his voice lifts— just a fraction— is enough to make the sleeping monster in your chest rear its head.

·✶·

The Solarium observatory is a sprawling, skeletal cage of glass and iron. It smells of cold dust, and the chemical tang of rusting iron. Overhead, the telescope— a gigantic wonder of brass and blackened steel— is shrouded in white canvas, looking like a ghost in the dim light filtering through the dome.

Clark and Luma had been hunting for a high-aperture lens to— as Clark vaguely put it— "verify some atmospheric data," while your own astrophysics homework of star-charting required more than a campus-grade telescope. When you’d vented about this to Oliver, he’d shrugged with that billionaire nonchalance, noting that Queen Industries (obviously) had an observatory (of course, it did) currently under renovation, but the glass and the gear were perfectly functional nonetheless.

So, here you are.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper in awe, gazing up through the glass dome at the vast, obsidian sky littered with twinkling diamonds.

“It is,” Oliver whispers from beside you. You turn to look at him, only to find he’s already looking at you, a wistful, quiet smile playing on his lips. You feel a sudden heat sweep your cheeks, the air turning warmer.

“Oliver Queen,” you murmur, tilting your head. “Did you bring me here thinking you’d make a date out of it?”

In the last two weeks, you’ve slowly begun to paint the picture that was Oliver Queen. You have started to become familiar with all the mundane things that make him; the way he takes his coffee, how he picks a different car everyday depending on the weather and his brazen flirting disguised as banter.

“Maybe,” he replies, his smile turning smug. He leans back against a heavy wooden workbench, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw.

“Well, why did you ask Clark and Luma to tag along then?”

“I was nervous,” Oliver replies, his voice suave and smooth. You swat his chest playfully, the solid weight of him, grounding.

“I don’t believe you,” you muse. Oliver Queen being nervous about anything is an absurd concept.

“Besides, those two lovebirds seem to be doing fine on their own,” he adds and your eyebrows knit as you look across the room. Clark is leaning over Luma’s shoulder, his frame almost enveloping her as she holds a flashlight in her hands. They are huddled together, focused intensely on the controls of the telescope, their heads tucked close.

Watching them, the bitterness you’ve been harboring trickles into something much more sour.

“C’mon,” Oliver says, his hand casually slipping into yours with practiced ease, as if he’s been doing this forever. "Let's get that assignment of yours finished before we can get to the good stuff.”

·✶· “You have to align the right ascension first,” Luma is saying, as you approach her, her gaze laser-focused. There’s a precision to how she operates the telescope; she looks like a master of the machine. Her fingers dance over the brass dials, adjusting the sensors Clark had helped her rig to the base.

“Wait, the refraction index for the new lens must be higher,” you interject, leaning in, your academic instincts momentarily overriding the thudding in your chest. “If you don't adjust the compensation, you’ll overshoot the sector.”

Luma looks up, her eyes bright with genuine appreciation. “Good catch. I was thinking about the focal length, but forgot about that.” She moves with efficiency, recalculating in her head before you can even reach for your pen. “Clark, can you stabilize the secondary mirror? It’s throwing off the sensor.”

Clark moves immediately, his large hands resting on the steel handle of the telescope’s arm. He gives it a slow twist and the machine groans. “Got it. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Luma murmurs.

“I’m starting to feel like the only one here who doesn’t speak Space,” Oliver quips, though he’s watching the three of you with keen interest. He drifts away from you, moving to study the base rig of the telescope.

“Clark says your thesis on gravitational waves is brilliant,” Luma says, stepping closer to you. You can feel your body thrum with static, something you’ve come to associate with her presence. “I’d love to hear how you handle the data noise. I’ve always wondered if my own energy signature would interfere with sensors like that.”

You look up, meeting her eyes. You’d expected to feel a defensive prickle, but her interest is so sincere, that you can't help but respond in kind.

“The noise is the hardest part,” you admit, shifting over to give her a better view of the monitor. “I actually have a few algorithms I’ve been playing with to filter out interference. We could pull them up. Make a science party out of it.”

Luma laughs, a melodic sound that echoes in the large space. “A science party. I like the sound of that.”

“And,” she adds, her shoulders relaxing, “Clark mentioned you’ve got a really tough assignment on star-gazing due. I know I'm new here, but I’d love to help out if you’re into it. It’s the least I can do for you letting me crash your observatory date.”

You feel a twinge in your chest— that burning sensation that’s become too familiar these past days— but you push it down, firmly. She isn't the enemy.

“Actually, I’d really appreciate that,” you say, forcing a smile.

Now nobody can say you’re not trying.

You move towards the array of monitors lined in a quarter-circle to the left of the telescope, and study the various programs that are starting to slowly crunch out numbers and charts on screen. You tinker a bit with the values, your pen scratching rough observations into your notepad, losing yourself in the mundane task for a while.

Then, some time later, a streak of light cuts across the velvet sky. It illuminates the observatory in a flash of brilliant silver, so bright it feels as if it passed right through the glass beside you.

“Look!” Clark exclaims, his voice light and you whip your head up. He points upward, his finger tracing a path through the stars.

Luma moves closer to the center of the deck, her face bathed in the fading glow of the arc above. “It felt so close,” she whispers, her eyes wide with a rare, childlike wonder. “Like if we just reached out, we could’ve touched it.”

“There goes another one,” Clark says softly, his eyes tracking a second, slightly distant streak that reflects clearly in his baby blues.

“Make that three,” Oliver corrects, leaning over from behind you to point, the scent of his cologne settling over you as his mouth brushes near your ear. “The universe is putting on a show for us.”

Suddenly, the sky ignites. A deluge of silver and pale gold streaks across the sky; long trails of stardust following diamonds that drip westward. For a long minute, the four of you just stand there, heads tilted back in awe, as the muted blue of the laboratory is replaced by the mesmerising strobe of the meteor shower.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you whisper and happen to glance over at Clark. For the briefest second, your eyes meet, and the suffocating air seems to thin out. “Remember that one summer in the back pasture? The one where we stayed up until four a.m. and your dad thought we’d gone missing?”

Clark’s expression softens into something nostalgic. “I remember. We only saw about five meteors that night, but you insisted we stay out until we saw ten.”

“I had high standards,” you say with a smile, reminiscing.

“You still do,” Oliver chimes in, though he isn't looking at the sky anymore. He is watching the two of you, his expression curious but unusually quiet.

“That was stunning,” Luma murmurs, her voice soft as she continues to look at the still twinkling sky. “I’m glad we were all here for that.”

The moment of shared wonder dissolves gently into the night. Slowly, the group drifts. You return to your monitors, the glow of the data charts reflecting against your skin, and Oliver follows, leaning against the edge of your desk to watch you work. Across the floor, Clark moves back to the telescope’s housing, falling into a hushed conversation with Luma.

“Is it supposed to make that sound?” Oliver asks suddenly, eyebrows furrowing.

“What sound?” Clark asks, his head snapping to look at Oliver.

“It’s like a hum, like something’s singing,” you say, frowning. You look at the oscilloscope reading on the monitor. The green line isn't a wave anymore; it’s an irregular, spiking graph.

Luma freezes. Her hands stay on the dials, but her knuckles have gone white. “I’m not… I’m not doing that,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

The air in the Solarium begins to vibrate. It’s a sound that feels like it’s coming from inside your own skull. The loose extension cords on the floor begin to dance, and the canvas shroud on the telescope ripples as if caught in a large draft.

“Luma?” Clark’s voice is a low warning, but laced with concern. He reaches for her, but as his hand nears her skin, a spark of violet leaps across the gap, crackling like electricity.

The hum intensifies, dropping an octave until the glass dome overhead begins to rattle in its iron frame. It suddenly feels like all the air in the room is being sucked into a vacuum.

“Oliver!” you yell, but the words are swallowed by a sudden, violent groan of structural steel.

The scaffolding overhead begins to sway. The air is shimmering now, and a burning, violet ball of energy is expanding from Luma’s center. For the first time, you see pure, unadulterated terror cross Clark's face as the floor beneath begins to shake.

“What the fuck?!” Oliver yells, staring at Luma, a look of absolute confusion twisting his features.

“I can’t— Clark, I can’t stop it!” she screams, the sound echoing through the ruckus with a metallic ring.

“You can, Luma!” he commands, his voice booming and echoing off the walls.

You know that look on Clark’s face all too well; it’s one of laser-sharp resolve. You grab the sleeve of Oliver’s jacket as he stumbles towards you, hauling him toward the heavy, reinforced concrete base of the telescope’s mounting. It is the only thing in the room that feels anchored to the earth. 

From behind the safety of the concrete, you watch the white-hot ball of energy grow, illuminating the lab in a pulsing light. Clark steps right into the blast radius, his hand reaching out for Luma’s. As they connect, a violet surge arcs violently through his body and into the floor.

“Just like we practiced,” Clark’s voice roars over the thrumming.

Luma’s face twists with a fierce, agonizing concentration. There is a terrifying yet enchanting fluidity to her and Clark in that moment. They move in sync— Clark acting as the lightning rod, grounding her power while she fights to reel it back in. It is a private language born of the hours spent in the dark where they had learned the limits of their impossible natures together.

Oliver throws a protective arm around your frame, pulling you close against him and the concrete, as your hair whips around your face from the gush of wind that seems to be drawing to the center of the observatory.

Luma lets out another blood-curdling scream and you watch Clark's grip tighten on her hand. Slowly, the sphere begins to contract. The blinding intensity bleeds into a dull, red blur before vanishing entirely.

The silence of the aftermath is deafening. The only sound is the groaning of metal and the heavy breathing of the two figures in the center of the room. Luma and Clark stand hand in hand, chests heaving, looking like they were just thrown through the eye of a storm.

Oliver turns to look at you, blinking as the dust settles on his shoulders. “Would’ve been nice,” he whispers, his voice strained, “if you’d mentioned you were best friends with two literal superhumans. I might’ve brought a sturdier coat.”

You want to laugh. You want to offer him some witty retort to bridge the gap back to normalcy, but your throat is tight. You’re too busy staring at the center of the room; Luma has thrown herself into Clark’s arms, her frame shaking with the aftershocks of the surge, while Clark holds her close, whispering something low against her hair.

“You okay?” Oliver asks softly, fingers grazing lightly against your elbow.

“Yeah,” you lie, your eyes fixed on the way Clark’s hand slides down Luma’s back in a slow, consoling manner. It’s a gesture of such intimate familiarity that it makes the air in your lungs feel thin. “Just… stunned.”

Oliver stands up, offering his hand. You take it, the warmth of his skin briefly pulling you from your daze. He pulls you up, and together you approach the two figures at the epicenter.

“I’m so sorry,” Luma says as you draw near. Her face is lined with terror and guilt, she looks like she aged a few years. “I put you in danger. I swear I’m generally in much better control, I’m learning—I’m trying. This is the first time something like this has happened.”

“Hey, relax,” you say, forcing a steadiness into your voice as you reach out to put a hand on her shoulder. You can still feel the faint static of her skin. “What even happened?”

“I think… I think I accidentally pulled the potential energy from the structures around me,” she breathes, looking up at the twisted scaffolding. “That’s why everything started to give way.”

You look at her, a cold shock freezing your blood. “Could you do that before?”

“No,” Clark answers for her. His voice is flat and defensive and he doesn't let go of her.

“Right. Well, this is officially too much for me,” Oliver says. He reaches for your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours in a claim that feels both protective and a way for him to moor himself. 

“Don’t worry, we’re leaving,” Clark manages, his eyes wide and darting between you and the wreckage. “It’s possible this may happen again while she's settling, and we don’t want to put you and this observatory in jeopardy.”

“Where will you go?” Oliver asks, genuine concern replacing the usual playfulness in his words. 

“There are plenty of abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of the city,” Clark responds, his arm still anchored firmly around Luma’s shoulders. “We’ve been using one for sparring. There isn't a human for miles.”

“Call us if you need anything,” Oliver says, stepping forward to give Clark a steadying pat on the back. “I have means to handle things like this without people knowing, so don’t worry about the fallout. Just get her somewhere safe.”

Clark smiles politely, murmuring a small thanks. He finally meets your gaze, and for a second, the mask slips. A rare fear etches across his features— raw, tense, and filled with a thousand unspoken things, but also genuine dread for the girl currently tucked under his chin.

You recognize that look too well; you’d seen it in the quiet cornfields of Smallville, in moments where it felt like darkness had swallowed you for good, in all the times Clark had almost lost you. Only now, the haunted look isn’t for you.

There’s so much you want to say— a desperate urge to reach out, to hold him, to remind him that you’re still there, still the same girl who holds his hand against her heart and anchors him. That he can still lean on you, that he doesn’t have to run away or carry it all alone.

But Oliver’s pulse thrums steady against your palm, warm and present, while Clark's free hand lingers at Luma's elbow, steadying her like an extension of himself. The air between you stretches, strained, cooling the space where your shared silences once bridged worlds.

All you can manage is a sharp nod, your fingers tightening involuntarily around Oliver's.

“Take care, Clark,” you whisper, the words feeling like lead in your stomach. 

He is standing right there, just a few yards in front of you and yet, he feels farther away than when he’s halfway across the world, lost in the silent vacuum of space.

✶ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ [coming 20th March]

✶ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ.ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ! ✶