Clark hears the click of Lois’s door behind him and leans against the wall. Puts his glasses back on before can forget, and lets out a sigh. Part of him genuinely needs the breather… but then, there’s the other part that’s secretly hoping she follows him out. Clark, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Come back inside so we can finish celebrating our three month date anniversary.

He waits a beat. Two. Three. It doesn’t happen, so he carries on with his way. 

He doesn’t fly. 

He could have made it home within a few blinks of an eye, but tonight he wants – no, needs – the extra time to get his thoughts straight, the stillness of air on his face, the hard ground beneath his feet. 

Between the unexpected pushback Superman had received about his actions in Boravia earlier, that tense back-and-forth with Lois, and the last words she’d said to him, his thoughts were all over the place, flying around a mile a minute. 

One stood out. 

What did she mean she knew this wasn’t going to work?

Those words rattle through his brain, over and over, word by word. 

I knew this would never work. 

He knew it wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world, him being Superman and Clark Kent. That’s why he’d come clean to her from the beginning. 

I knew this would never work. 

Lois had made it pretty clear since before their first date that relationships weren’t her forte. He was okay with that, willing to take things slow as long as they were giving it a shot. 

He still was.

I knew this would never work, she’d mumbled almost under her breath.  

He decides that it wasn’t the words themselves that hurt the most, it was the way she’d said them. Like she’d been holding on to it for a while, like maybe it was just a matter of time. 

I knew this would never work. 

He stops in front of the grocery store – its lights now shut off for the night – where he’d bought the ingredients to make pancakes before rushing to Lois’s cozy apartment to get started on their celebratory breakfast-for-dinner before she got home.  

In those moments, he didn’t feel like Superman. He felt like Lois Lane’s boyfriend – even if that wasn’t their official title yet, or at this point, maybe ever. He’d kind of just felt like a guy who loved someone and wanted to make her smile. 

And even though she claimed breakfast-for-dinner is his favorite (he admits it is), she’d excitedly devoured the lopsided stack of pancakes he’d put together for them. 

He smiles at that. 

Lois Lane as most people knew her wasn’t one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but she certainly had her ways of showing how she felt about him.  

It didn’t typically come as an outward burst of expression, but if you paid attention, you’d catch it in the corners – and of course he always did. 

It was in the way she’d lean against his shoulder when they sat in front of the TV after a long week, sometimes dozing off, but always pretending not to. 

In the way she made sure to keep cocoa in the cupboard at her place, despite always opting for a cup of coffee with way too much sugar herself. 

In the way she’d roll her eyes whenever he gushed about something nerdy, but would always ask questions and (try to) remember the intricate names of characters and worlds and parts and pieces. 

How she never asked him to explain why he was late – just made space on her worn-in couch when he finally showed up tired and quiet, or angry and down on himself, or somewhere in between.  

Or the way she’d just clocked his annoyance at the growing social media hashtag #Supershit. He can’t help but let out a scoff at that. 

I knew this would never work. 

He’s nearly back inside his apartment now, the elevator slowly but quietly climbing its way up to his floor. 

I could call her, he thinks. He could get back to her building in a flash, knock on the door, and ask her what she meant. 

I could ask her if she said it because she’s scared or because it’s true. Whether she meant it or not, he ponders as the elevator slowly comes to a halt. 

He decides against it. 

He reaches the end of the hall, slots the key in into the lock, and pushes the door to his apartment open. It creaks slightly, despite the building being less than a few years old. 

He shrugs his jacket off, sets it over the chair in the living room, and toes his shoes off. He’ll untie the laces tomorrow. 

The rest of his pre-bedtime routine comes to an end swiftly, and he finally makes his way into bed. He’d been sleeping closer to one side of his bed – by the door – since the first time he and Lois had shared a bed and unintentionally claimed their respective sides. 

The phone he’d set on his bedside table 10 minutes ago gets traded for his glasses. It lights up to display two new texts from Jimmy and after a quick scan, he concludes that those can wait until tomorrow, too.   

Happy three month date-versary, Lois, he types out. Good night. 

He hits the send arrow on the message before he can overthink it, sets the phone down, and flicks his lamp off. 

A few minutes pass and then the corner of the room is illuminated again by the soft buzz of a new notification on the screen. He grabs it an instant – 

Long way home? It reads. 

Then, before he can reply, a bubble with three dots and another text: Good night, Clark. 

He stares at it for a few seconds. A small gesture, but a real gesture. A very Lois gesture. 

He doesn’t text back, clicks his phone screen off, and lets the darkness envelope him again. His eyes slowly pace around the ceiling as he tunes down the noise of Metropolis and beyond, and he lets himself feel everything at once.