Temperance Cain

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Awwww Thank uuuuuu <3 i hope you like it :)

It happens by accident. He isn’t snooping. Clark would never.

He’s just looking for the sweater you left in his loft after movie night, climbing the ladder quietly so he doesn’t wake you. The barn is dim, moonlight slipping through the wooden slats, turning everything silver and still.

That’s when he sees it. Tucked under your arm. A small, slightly worn plush rabbit. One ear bent from years of being held. Clark freezes.

Not because he thinks it’s silly. Because you look so peaceful.

You’re curled on your side on the couch, cheek pressed into the faded fabric, fingers loosely tangled in its fur like it’s something precious. Something grounding.

He stares at you for a long second. Then he smiles. Soft. Fond. Completely gone. The next morning, you wake up before he does.

Or at least, you think you do. You stretch and immediately realize the plush isn’t beside you. Panic flashes hot and irrational in your chest. You sit up quickly.

Clark is leaning against the barn post a few feet away, watching you with an unreadable expression.

And in his hands—Your rabbit.

Your stomach drops. “Oh my God,” you whisper. He tilts his head slightly. “It’s got a name, right?” You consider launching yourself off the loft. “I— It’s not— I don’t always—” Clark steps closer, careful, like you’re a skittish animal about to bolt. “It’s okay,” he says gently.

You cross your arms over yourself, mortified. “It’s stupid. I don’t even know why I still— It’s just from when I was little and I never—” He reaches you then, holding the plush between both hands like it’s something fragile.

“It’s not stupid.” You refuse to look at him. “I’m not five.” “I know.” His voice is warm. No teasing. No judgment. You glance up cautiously. He’s serious. “You think I don’t get it?” he says quietly. “Holding onto something that makes you feel safe?”

The words settle into you. Clark knows what it feels like to cling to pieces of comfort. To keep something small and familiar in a world that doesn’t always feel steady. You swallow. “You’re not… weirded out?”

He looks genuinely confused by that. “Why would I be?” You gesture helplessly at the rabbit. “Because.” Clark studies it for a second, then gently brushes his thumb over its bent ear. “It’s kind of cute.” Your eyes widen. “Clark.”

“What?” His lips twitch. “He looks well-loved.” You groan softly, burying your face in your hands. Clark steps closer and carefully presses the plush back into your arms. “There,” he says. You hold it automatically.

He watches you for a moment before adding, softer, “You don’t have to hide the parts of you that are still soft.” That makes you look up. His expression is open. Warm. Entirely sincere. “I like that about you,” he admits. Your chest tightens. “You do?”

He nods. “I think it’s brave,” he says. “Most people pretend they don’t need comfort. His hand comes up slowly, brushing your hair back from your face. “And if that helps you sleep,” he continues quietly, “then I’m glad you have it.”

There’s a pause. Then his smile turns faintly shy. “Though,” he adds, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous.” You blink. “Jealous?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “He gets to hold you all night.” You laugh before you can stop yourself. Clark’s ears go a little red. “I just mean— I could— I mean, if you wanted—”

You lean forward and wrap one arm around him, plush still tucked between you. He melts instantly. Strong arms circling your back, careful but firm. You feel his cheek rest against the top of your head. After a second, he murmurs, “We can share.” You smile against his chest. “Okay.”

And when you lie back down, Clark slips in beside you, one arm around your waist, the other carefully adjusting the plush so it stays between you.

Not replacing it. Not mocking it. Just making space for it. For you. Because loving you, Clark decides, means loving every version of you.