Archive of Our Own

Bruce Wayne is hopelessly in love with Clark Kent—the famous reporter from the Daily Planet. He doesn’t know when it started, but he knows he won’t be climbing out of this pit called love anytime soon. He and Kent know each other, but they hardly ever speak. Then again, should they? After all, Bruce Wayne is the owner of Wayne Enterprises, a playboy, a billionaire, and one of the most respected men in the world; while Clark Kent is just an ordinary reporter, albeit a popular, charming one who is deeply in love with his job.

Bruce has never loved anyone before. He liked Selina, but they were walking different paths in life. And, honestly, Bruce had been perfectly content with living alone. He never wanted to love anyone because he wouldn’t survive losing another person he cared about. But Clark… Clark happened unexpectedly. And Bruce never forced himself to forget those feelings.

What could Bruce possibly like about him? There were countless reasons. Bruce could say that Clark was incredibly handsome and attractive, that he was completely devoted to his work as a reporter, or that he was curious and eager to learn. But Clark Kent’s greatest quality, in Bruce’s opinion, was his sincerity and humanity.

Bruce had known far too many people who wore masks. He was one of them himself; even now, he wasn’t sure who he really was anymore—Bruce Wayne or Batman? But Clark… It had taken Bruce only a single glance at the man to realize he was in far deeper than he ever intended. And the first time he spoke to Clark, he had made the other man blush bright red and start stuttering, a memory Bruce still recalled in the middle of the night.

So yes. Bruce had fallen in love with a shy reporter because, for the first time in his life, he’d met someone so kind and so genuinely human that all he wanted was to protect Clark from the entire world.

Bruce wasn’t unfamiliar with feelings like these. There was only one problem: how was he supposed to catch Clark’s attention while living in different cities? Showing up in Metropolis too often would be suspicious, even if Wayne attended every charity gala and fundraiser the city had to offer. There was only one option left.

“Miss Smith,” he said, pulling himself out of his endless train of thought. “Prepare the documents for the potential purchase of a media company in Metropolis. The Daily Planet. I want to know everything—its finances, shares, contracts… everything necessary to make the acquisition quickly.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne,” his secretary replied in a monotone voice. “Everything will be ready by the end of the week. Shall I arrange a meeting with the press for you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I want it to be a surprise,” the man muttered to himself.

⸻

Clark was trying to squeeze through the crowd while balancing two cups of coffee in his hands. He could already hear Perry yelling at him for being late again and Lois looking at him with disappointment. But what was he supposed to do? He’d spent the entire night on patrol with Batman—the man of his dreams.

He and Batman weren’t friends. They weren’t even acquaintances, really. But that didn’t stop Clark from imagining countless different scenarios involving the man every single day. Batman was harsh, but Clark knew that underneath it all he was like a black cat—distant, yet gentle. Batman showed no interest in Superman, but Clark was content with that. He didn’t expect them to ever become best friends, let alone lovers. But there was no harm in dreaming, so he intended to keep doing exactly that.

Yawning from lack of sleep, Clark pushed open the door to the office. Instead of the familiar shouting and rustling of papers, however, he was greeted by complete silence. He knew he hadn’t walked into the wrong building, so what was going on?

His gaze swept across the room until it stopped on a crowd of people staring directly at him. He saw Perry, pale as a ghost, Lois with both hands covering her face, and…

Clark realized he was looking at Bruce Wayne.

Standing right in the middle of the Daily Planet office.

Clark managed to tighten his grip on the coffee cups before they slipped from his hands. After all, they hadn’t been cheap. Trying to steady his nerves, he took a few steps toward Wayne and held out his hand.

“Mr. Wayne,” he greeted him. “Did I miss something?”

He could hear the tremor in his own voice, and Clark knew the man standing in front of him heard it too. But instead of annoyance or irritation, Wayne simply smiled and shook his hand.

“Mr. Kent!” His hand tightened around Clark’s, pulling him a little closer. “No, I only just started. Since you’re here, I might as well tell everyone. As of today, I’m the official owner of the Daily Planet.”

Clark looked over at Perry White, who was staring at him with wide, almost frantic eyes. When he turned back to Mr. Wayne, he realized he had to say something.

“Wow, Mr. Wayne. I’d just like to say—you won’t regret it.”

Clark watched the man’s smile grow even wider, and it made him blush slightly.

Wayne released his hand and took a step back.

“Thank you, Mr. Kent.”

He turned toward the rest of the staff.

“So, if anyone has any other questions—”

⸻

The moment Bruce Wayne said his goodbyes and disappeared, Clark heard Lois rushing toward him at the speed of light.

“Clark!” she shouted. “I can’t believe you actually managed to be late for Bruce Wayne’s speech. You’re lucky he likes you, otherwise Perry would’ve fired you already.”

Clark simply shook his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lois.”

Clark could tell she wanted to say something else, but he quickly sat down at his desk and pretended to get back to work.

Lois talked nonsense far too often. And even if Bruce Wayne did like him for some reason, what difference would it make? There was only one man in Clark’s heart—the Dark Knight of Gotham. No one else.

⸻

Clark hadn’t expected to see the company’s new owner very often. In fact, he hadn’t expected to see him at all outside of charity events. But he was more than a little surprised when he started seeing Wayne in the office every single morning.

They didn’t talk, but Kent noticed the man looking in his direction. Often. Far too often, in Clark’s opinion.

Then, after a week of strange glances, Clark found a cup of coffee sitting on his desk.

It was exactly the way he liked it: a double expreso with loads of sugar.

Before he could even figure out who had bought it for him, Clark turned around and immediately walked straight into the now-familiar figure of Mr. Wayne.

“Mr. Kent,” Wayne spoke first. “In a hurry?”

“No, Mr. Wayne,” Clark answered quietly.

“Wonderful. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Clark raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“What?”

He had heard Wayne perfectly well. He just didn’t understand.

“I have some free time before this afternoon here in Metropolis,” Wayne explained. “And I’d like to invite you to lunch. I’ll leave the choice of restaurant to you—I don’t know the local places very well.”

The pieces slowly fell into place inside Clark’s head.

So Wayne had most likely bought him the coffee.

And now he was asking him to lunch.

Why?

What for?

Maybe Lois had been right?

No. That couldn’t be it.

He and Wayne had only met a few times during interviews. Nothing more.

He was probably looking to discuss work.

“All right,” Clark answered without much thought. “Do you like pizza?”

⸻

No.

Freaking.

Way.

Clark had no idea what had possessed him to invite a man who could probably eat lobster for breakfast to a pizza place.

But watching Wayne eat his slice with obvious enjoyment made Clark smile.

“Do you like the food, Mr. Wayne?”

“Very much!” Wayne answered through a mouthful of pizza, making Clark burst into loud laughter.

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark said once the other man had finished eating. “May I ask you something personal?”

Wayne looked at him and smiled.

“Mr. Kent, mixing business with personal matters?”

“What? No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Clark didn’t get to finish apologizing because rich, velvety laughter interrupted him.

“I was only joking, Kent. Of course you can ask. Anything you’d like.”

Clark found himself staring into his gray eyes as he tried to calm his nerves.

“Then tell me…” he began carefully, “why did you decide to buy a newspaper company? Especially one in Metropolis?”

Wayne tilted his head slightly, pretending to think seriously. A moment later, the smile returned to his face.

“The Daily Planet is an excellent investment—and not only financially. Every newspaper in Gotham is obsessed with chasing sensational headlines. They don’t care whether what they publish is actually true. I’ve read your articles,” he paused to take a sip of his Coke, “and I liked them. Your employees take their work seriously. But that’s not the only reason.”

“Then what’s the other one?” Clark asked before he could stop himself.

“There’s someone I’d like to have an excuse to see more often in Metropolis.”

Wayne slowly lifted his eyes to meet Clark’s.

Clark noticed the faint pink coloring his cheeks.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Obviously, Wayne was only flirting to avoid giving him the real reason.

Still…

He looked so adorable. Nothing like Gotham’s most influential man.

Clark could feel warmth rushing into his own cheeks.

He had no idea what an appropriate response would be, so he simply smiled shyly and took another bite of his pizza.

For the rest of lunch, they talked about the differences between Metropolis and Gotham.

When it came time to pay, Mr. Wayne insisted on covering the bill.

“Mr. Kent, I was the one who invited you. It’s only logical that I pay.”

He said it in that effortless playboy manner of his.

As they stepped outside the restaurant, Wayne smiled.

“Thank you for lunch, Mr. Kent. I have to run now, but I’d like to have lunch with you again.”

His hand slipped into his pocket before he pulled out a business card with a phone number handwritten on it.

“This is my number. Call me anytime.”

Moments later, he disappeared into the crowded streets of Metropolis.

Clark looked down at the business card in his hand.

Lois was never going to believe him.

⸻

For the next several days, Bruce couldn’t stop staring at his phone, waiting for a call—or at least a text message.

No, of course he hadn’t expected anything.

But it had seemed to him that Clark understood the hint.

He hadn’t been to Metropolis in three days because of work at Wayne Enterprises, as well as Batman’s nightly patrols.

Yawning, Bruce set his phone aside.

He was just about to go downstairs for dinner when his communicator buzzed.

“Batman!” Superman’s familiar voice came through the device. “I need backup! I can’t handle all these robo—”

The transmission cut off abruptly.

Bruce took it as all the invitation he needed.

He quickly pulled on the suit and climbed into the Batmobile. After leaving Alfred a message saying he’d eat dinner later, he headed for Metropolis.

Only a few minutes later, he saw Superman fighting Lex Luthor’s robots.

And, quite obviously, losing.

Batman joined the fight without hesitation, immediately taking on the machines, which, to his surprise, seemed completely uninterested in anyone who wasn’t Superman.

Together they dealt with Lex’s toys rather quickly.

Afterward, they spent a few minutes simply trying to catch their breath.

It was then that Bruce allowed himself to actually look at his teammate.

Superman looked…

Unfairly handsome for someone who had just been beaten from every direction by an army of robots.

Bruce tried not to stare too openly.

After all, Superman’s attractiveness didn’t interest him in the slightest.

“Thanks,” Superman rasped. “I wouldn’t have managed on my own.”

Batman nodded.

“No problem.”

He turned to leave, but Superman caught him by the wrist.

“Want to grab some pizza? My treat!”

Bruce had already opened his mouth to refuse.

But at the last second, a quiet,

“Yes,”

escaped him.

He was just as surprised by his own answer as Superman was.

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing as he followed the Kryptonian, who walked beside him in awkward silence.

Shouldn’t he be patrolling Gotham?

Standing beside a small pizza truck, Bruce found himself thinking about Clark.

He had genuinely enjoyed having lunch with him. Talking about nothing important. Sharing ordinary moments. Even if it hadn’t lasted very long.

He should go back to Metropolis tomorrow. The thought of Clark made him smile before he even realized it.

Superman couldn’t possibly have missed it.

“Woooow,” Superman drawled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.” He grinned.

“Is the pizza really that good?”

A beat.

“Or are you not thinking about pizza?”

Batman shook his head.

“None of your business.”

“All right, all right.”

Superman raised both hands in surrender.

But after a brief pause, he added,

“I bet I can guess what you’re thinking about.”

Batman rolled his eyes.

He was already regretting agreeing to this whole thing.

“I think…” Superman said dramatically, “you’re thinking about love!”

Bruce spun around so abruptly that Superman nearly took a step back.

“What did you say?”

“Oh.”

Superman rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I guessed right…?”

Batman merely clicked his tongue before turning back to finish his pizza as quickly as possible.

“Sorry, B!” Superman called after him. “But you can tell me, you know?”

Before Superman could say anything else that would make Bruce question every decision he’d made that evening, Batman disappeared soundlessly into the darkness.

⸻

Bruce woke to the sound of a text message.

He frowned in his sleep.

Who in the world had the right to interrupt what little sleep he got?

He didn’t bother reaching for his phone, hoping to fall back asleep.

Then another text came.

And another.

With an irritated sigh, he finally sat up and grabbed his phone.

Unknown Number

Good morning, Mr. Wayne! This is Clark Kent from the Daily Planet.

Bruce held his breath before scrolling to the next message.

Unknown Number

Sorry if I’m bothering you. I wanted to ask if you’ll be in Metropolis today.

Unknown Number

Would you like to get coffee with me?

Bruce didn’t even hesitate before replying.

—

Good morning, Mr. Kent! Yes, I’ll be in Metropolis today. What time would you like to meet? I’ll send a car for you.

Bruce bit his lip as the little typing… indicator appeared on the screen.

Clark Kent

How about noon? And please, Mr. Wayne, there’s really no need. I can get there myself—just tell me the address.

—

I insist, Mr. Kent. See you soon.

Bruce stared at the message for several seconds.

Then, at the last moment, he deleted everything.

He started over.

—

I insist, Mr. Kent. See you soon :)

Bruce let out a slow breath as he hit Send.

He glanced at the clock.

Only eight in the morning.

There was still plenty of time.

⸻

“What are you smiling at?”

Clark practically jumped out of his chair.

His phone slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a loud thud.

He looked up to see Lois standing beside him.

Just like always, she’d managed to sneak up on him without making a sound.

“Nothing!” he blurted out.

Because there was no way he could admit he’d been texting Bruce Wayne.

“Uh-huh.”

She smirked knowingly.

“Want to grab lunch with me today?”

“Sorry,” Clark said. “I’m… having lunch with a friend.”

Lois didn’t buy it for a second.

“And who exactly is this… friend?”

“You don’t know him,” Clark dismissed.

“Oh, I think I do.”

Her smile widened.

“His name wouldn’t happen to be Bruce Wayne, would it?”

She said the last two words far too loudly, making several employees glance in their direction.

“Shhh!”

Clark quickly covered her mouth with both hands.

“Not so loud!”

“Clark!” Lois protested.

After one stern look from him, however, she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“You’re seriously having lunch with Bruce Wayne?!”

“Yes,” Clark admitted. “But we’re just getting coffee!”

“Sure.”

Lois pressed her lips together.

“First coffee, then a date, then your first—”

“Be quiet!” Clark hissed.

“He’s just… a very interesting person. That’s all.”

This time Lois didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, her expression grew noticeably more serious.

“Just be careful, Smallville. You’ve heard the stories about him.”

Clark squeezed her hand before watching her walk away.

Yes.

He’d heard plenty.

He’d heard about Wayne’s reputation.

About the way he played with people’s feelings before leaving them behind. About how he seduced people simply to get what he wanted.

But Clark would be careful.

For Batman’s sake.

Clark checked the time and left the office. Only seconds later, a black Mercedes pulled up outside.

He took a deep breath before climbing inside.

⸻

Bruce had already wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers more times than he could count.

He hadn’t wanted to dress up.

But Clark would definitely arrive wearing a work suit.

Bruce couldn’t exactly show up in jeans.

…Although maybe he should have.

They were only getting coffee, not having dinner at some expensive restaurant.

He had already been waiting several minutes and had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

What would they even talk about?

How was he supposed to impress Kent without coming across as pushy?

Then again…

Clark had been the one to text him first.

Right?

It didn’t matter anymore.

Bruce would figure something out.

When the familiar silhouette of the reporter appeared in the doorway, Bruce stood up almost immediately.

He watched Clark scan the café, searching for him.

Bruce was just about to call out to him—childish as it might have been—when Clark’s wandering gaze landed directly on him.

Bruce felt his palms grow even sweatier.

Clark smiled.

Then hurried over.

“Mr. Wayne! Hello.”

Kent offered him his hand, and Bruce shook it before they both sat down.

“Mr. Kent.”

Bruce smiled as warmly as he could.

“I think it’d be better if you called me Bruce.”

The smile didn’t come out nearly as naturally as he’d hoped.

What was wrong with him?

“Oh!”

Clark blinked.

“All right… then you too. I mean—”

He flustered immediately.

“Call—call me Clark.”

Bruce laughed sincerely at Clark’s stumbling attempt.

The name rested on his tongue like sugar.

He liked it.

He liked saying it.

And he liked hearing Clark say Bruce in return.

“Have you… have you already ordered anything?” Clark asked.

“No.”

Bruce shook his head.

“I was waiting for you.”

The words sounded strange the moment they left his mouth. He realized it immediately.

Clark nervously licked his lips.

“Mm… okay.”

“Then I’ll just have a double espresso.”

Bruce smiled.

“I guess we’re the same person. Because I’m ordering exactly the same thing.”

“You survive on coffee too?”

“Not survive,” Bruce corrected. “I live on it.” He chuckled.

“Sometimes I order drinks that barely qualify as coffee. Like coffee with way too much whipped cream and toppings,” the reporter smiled shyly.

“Caramel?” Bruce added with a raised eyebrow. “Syrup?”

“Sprinkles?” Clark suggested.

Bruce laughed.

“Yes. Sprinkles too. Rainbow ones, if I’m being honest.”

Clark smiled.

“I get it,” Kent said. “But I prefer the pink ones. They taste better.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“I disagree. The rainbow ones are the best.”

“Oh really?”

Clark grinned mischievously.

“Then let’s order both and compare.”

“Pfft.” Bruce folded his arms dramatically “Fine.”

When the waitress came to take their order, she probably hadn’t expected Bruce Wayne to order a coconut milk latte topped with whipped cream, vanilla syrup, caramel syrup, and rainbow sprinkles.

Nor had she expected the random man sitting across from him to order a banana milk latte with mango and passion fruit syrup, hot chocolate, a single shot of espresso, and pink sprinkles.

In the end, neither of them changed their opinion.

Even after practically finishing each other’s drinks while arguing across the café about which sprinkles tasted better.

Someone was definitely going to post about this.

Probably on Twitter.

Who knew.

Clark checked the time.

There were only ten minutes left before his lunch break ended.

He sighed.

“Bruce, I’m sorry. I only have ten minutes left.”

Bruce smiled softly.

“Of course. Thanks for having coffee with me.”

“No problem.”

Clark smiled back.

“I really enjoyed it.”

A pause.

“Would you… like to do it again sometime? Whenever you’re free?”

The question surprised Clark almost as much as it surprised Bruce.

He’d thought this would be the last time.

Just a way of thanking Wayne for lunch.

For a brief second, Bruce looked genuinely caught off guard.

“Of course I’d like to.” He hesitated before adding, “thank you for today, Clark. Text me once you’re back at work.”

Bruce gently rested a hand on Clark’s shoulder.

Clark smiled nervously.

He nodded before hurrying toward the exit.

Bruce watched him leave.

He couldn’t help thinking he’d overstepped. Clark had looked uncomfortable. Bruce was already beginning to mentally scold himself when his phone buzzed.

A message from a familiar number.

Clark Kent

Lois says the pink sprinkles taste better.

Clark Kent

:)

⸻

Turning up to work with a wide smile, Clark doesn’t even have to look at Lois to know what kind of expression she’s watching him with.

⸻

That evening, Clark gets ready for patrol. The night in Metropolis is quiet, with only a few robberies. So Clark decides to do something he really shouldn’t do. Listening to the sounds of Metropolis one last time, he heads to another city. He flies to Gotham.

The city greets him with the sound of sirens, gunshots, and screams. Superman clears up every crime without much effort. But he didn’t come just to help. He focuses, and when he hears a familiar heartbeat, he smiles to himself. Time to say hello to the Bat.

“Batman!” Superman calls out as he lands on a rooftop. But Batman doesn’t even turn in his direction, continuing to watch the streets.

After a long pause, Batman finally starts the conversation.

“Superman. Good thing you’re here. I need your opinion.”

Clark can’t see it, but his eyes are probably sparkling. This will be their first real conversation! The Kryptonian quickly sits down beside Batman, dropping onto the hard concrete floor. Batman gives the streets one last serious glance before turning to Superman.

“How do you tell if someone’s interested in you instead of just being polite?”

“Mmm… Depends on the person. Are you friends? Coworkers?”

“Superman.” Batman begins tensely, but Clark quickly cuts him off.

“No, no, no! I don’t need the details. Secret identities and all that. Just tell me—have you known each other for a long time?”

“A long time,” Batman agrees. “But we only recently started talking as… friends.”

“Okay. And do you… like this person?”

Batman is silent for several seconds before answering.

“Very much.”

Clark swallows the unpleasant lump in his throat. Now isn’t the time to dwell on his unrequited feelings.

“Then try spending more time with them. Meet up, hang out together. If they’re interested in you, they’ll want to spend time with you too.”

“And what if this person sees me as an authority figure and thinks they can’t disagree with me?”

“Then make sure they see you not as an ‘authority figure,’ but as someone they’re genuinely close to.”

They sit in silence for a while. Batman is probably thinking over Superman’s words. The other stays quiet because all his dreams and fantasies shattered after a single question. Unfortunately, Clark doesn’t have time to be sad. Besides, he’ll have plenty of time for that later.

“Sorry, B, I have to go. Robbery in the next district.”

Superman gets to his feet and starts heading in the opposite direction when he hears Batman’s deep voice.

“Thank you for the advice, Superman. I needed to hear that.”

But the Kryptonian doesn’t answer. He simply nods in Batman’s direction. Time to save people first, and suffer from a broken heart afterward.

When Clark finally gets home at dawn, he lies in bed unable to stop thinking. Maybe this is a sign from the universe. A sign that it’s time to move on to someone else. He’s known Batman for years, yet there’s barely been any progress between them. Only recently has Batman started acting calmer around him, though that’s probably because he doesn’t really have any superhero friends left who are close to him. Then again… who knows.

Clark turns his phone over in his hands and decides to text Lois. She’s probably asleep. After all, they both have the day off today.

—

Good morning ;))))

—

SOS situation. I need advice. Wanna order pizza at my place tonight?

Clark doesn’t expect a reply this quickly, but Lois decides to surprise him today.

Loiiiis

Do you even know what sleep is?

Loiiiis

Jesus. Fine. Buy us martinis and Sprite, bitch.

Clark smiles at his friend’s messages. Lois knows perfectly well that almost no alcohol affects him. But martinis taste better than vodka or whiskey. Clark isn’t about to complain.

The day passes quickly.

Clark goes to the store, buys groceries and drinks. And at every turn he either sees Batman merchandise or Bruce Wayne’s face on billboards. He forces himself to push away every thought about both men until evening, when Lois appears at his doorstep together with the pizza delivery guy.

The moment she walks through the door, Lois starts interrogating him. And Clark gives in, telling her everything. About Bruce. About Batman. About his dilemma.

“Clark, you really need to shift your attention to someone else,” the woman says, sipping her martini. “But are you sure Wayne is that person?”

Kent groans into a pillow.

“Lois, he’s really not the way people say he is. But I just don’t understand what he sees in me!”

She snorts.

“Have you ever considered, my thick-headed friend, that maybe he just likes you?”

“Me?” Clark stares at her wide-eyed. “But we barely know each other!”

“You’ve known him personally for a long time. How many times have you interviewed him?”

“Interviews are different,” he whines. “But when he keeps texting me and asking me to meet up, I don’t even know what to think.”

“Talk to him, Kent. Maybe it’s better to just ask than keep suffering like this.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Clark agrees.

But the girl doesn’t look satisfied with his answer.

“What?”

“Text him, idiot!”

“Right now?”

“It’s evening. He’s probably having black caviar for dinner and planning how to spend the company’s money this month.”

Clark clicks his tongue but takes out his phone.

—

Hi, Bruce. Would you be against meeting up? I need to talk to you. If you’re busy, I can come to Gotham.

Holding his breath, Clark waits. But Bruce doesn’t make him wait long.

Bruce

Good evening, Clark. Did something happen? Of course we can meet. No need to come here, I’ll be in Metropolis on business tomorrow. Would after lunch work?

—

No, everything’s fine. Just something personal. After lunch is perfect, thank you! See you :)

Bruce

;)

“Done,” Clark says, showing Lois his phone screen.

“Kent, seriously? What’s with the emojis? Are you two ten years old?”

Clark lowers his eyes.

“Well… that’s just how we text.”

Lois only hums in response. Clark takes another bite of pizza and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow.

He just has to figure out what to say.

⸻

“Thanks for coming. I’m not pulling you away from work, am I?”

“No, of course not! Everything’s fine. What did you want to talk about?”

Clark spent the entire evening and night thinking about this conversation. The truth is, he never came up with anything decent because Lois started snoring on his couch, and then he ended up falling asleep too.

He’ll have to improvise.

“Bruce, I wanted to talk about… us. I really like you as a person, but I just don’t understand anything. I mean, I’m just a reporter. An employee of the company you bought. In simple terms, there’s nothing special about me. But you take me out for coffee, for pizza, and you send me emojis…”

Clark mentally kicks himself over those last words. Who even brings something like that up?

“And you… you’re an incredibly interesting person. Famous. Influential. You could have dozens of people like me, and that bothers me. Why me?”

Bruce looks at him like a drenched kitten.

Clark wants to take every word back, but he remembers what Lois told him.

So he waits.

He watches the man across from him gather his thoughts.

“I like you,” Bruce finally says, leaving Clark completely stunned. “I’ve liked you since our very first interview. And for a long time I kept thinking about how I could become something more to you than just Bruce Wayne. I bought the Daily Planet because it let me come to Metropolis more often and see you. I know it sounds unbelievable and strange. But you… you’re the kindest person I’ve ever known. You’re genuine, unlike everyone else. Sure, I could have dozens of people like you. But that’s a lie. Because no one could ever compare to you, Clark. Not for me.”

Ever since the first sentence, Clark has been frozen like a statue.

But as the rest of Bruce’s words finally sink in, he understands what Bruce meant. About buying the newspaper. About why he chose Metropolis.

Clark never could have imagined that Bruce Wayne—the most famous playboy in Gotham—could be so… romantic.

Kent realizes he’s been silent for far too long because Bruce’s expression shifts from nervous to sad.

Instead of the words caught in his throat, Clark quickly takes Bruce’s hand in his own.

“I like you too!” he says shyly, finally seeing Bruce smile in disbelief.

“You’re serious?”

Clark raises an eyebrow.

“No, you know what? I’m joking. Just decided to mess with you.”

Clark feels Bruce squeeze his hand so tightly that, even though it doesn’t hurt, he still yelps.

“Ah!”

“It’s already dark. I’ll drive you home,” Bruce says as he puts on his coat.

“N-no need! I can walk. It’s only five o’clock.”

But Bruce looks at him as if Clark has just said complete nonsense, and Kent decides not to argue.

On the drive home, Clark is lost in his thoughts, watching how good Bruce looks behind the wheel. He’s so captivated by the man that he barely has time to blink before they’re already on his street.

When did he even tell Bruce his address?

“Thanks for the ride. Text me when you get home?” Clark says as he turns to unbuckle his seatbelt.

To his surprise, someone opens the car door for him.

“Bruce? Why’d you get out?”

“I’ll walk you to your apartment,” the man says with a smile.

Clark feels as though his blood has turned cold.

He completely forgot that Lois is probably lying on his couch watching TV right now. Clark had offered for her to stay another day so they could work on an article together.

God, he’s such an idiot.

Bruce will probably have to be offered tea.

Out of politeness, of course.

“Okay…” Clark answers quietly, while his mind races, trying to figure out how to explain why his coworker is lying on his couch.

They ride the elevator in complete silence.

Clark starts searching for his keys, deliberately stalling for time, silently cursing Lois with every curse in the world.

He doesn’t even get the door open before he feels Bruce touch his shoulder.

“Thank you for tonight, Clark. And for what you said.”

Clark has no idea how to answer.

“You’re welcome”?

That sounds stupid.

But before he can think of anything, Bruce gently takes him by the chin, tilts his face down, and kisses him on the cheek.

Kent doesn’t even have time to react before the man is already heading down the stairs.

Clark smiles like an idiot as he walks into the apartment.

He doesn’t even notice Lois springing off the couch the moment she sees him.

“So?!”

She grabs him by the shoulders.

Clark pauses, but eventually gives in.

“Well… I think… we’re dating now?”

“What?!”

The girl’s scream could probably be heard across all of Metropolis.

But Clark doesn’t complain, because he would’ve reacted exactly the same way.

⸻

When Bruce arrives at Wayne Manor, Alfred greets him with a very strange look.

“What is it?” Bruce asks, confused.

“Nothing, Master Bruce. It’s just… are you… smiling?” the old man says in surprise.

Bruce looks into the mirror and…

He is.

Looks like he’d been smiling the whole drive home.

“Today was a good day,” Bruce says simply.

Alfred shakes his head, clearly unconvinced.

The awkward silence is interrupted by a phone ringing.

“Hello?” Bruce says into the phone, stepping farther away from the old man.

“Hello, can you hear me? This is Clark Kent, I’m fro—”

“Clark, it’s Bruce,” Wayne interrupts impatiently.

“Bruce! Sorry for calling. You’re probably busy. Did you get home okay?”

Bruce glances back and sees Alfred slowly wiping down the tables.

He’s eavesdropping, the old man!

To hell with it, Bruce thinks. Let him listen.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. And… how are you?”

“I’m great!” comes Clark’s cheerful voice through the speaker. “Good night, then?”

“Good night, Clark.”

A few seconds of silence pass before Clark hangs up first.

Bruce looks at Alfred, who’s still pretending not to have heard anything.

“You taught me that eavesdropping is rude,” Bruce says with a smile.

“That’s true. But I can allow myself one exception. Never thought I’d live to see you in love,” the old man says playfully.

Bruce quickly turns away and heads for his room.

He doesn’t want Alfred to see his flushed cheeks.

He didn’t even get the chance to say that he’s absolutely not in love!

But there’s no point trying to convince Alfred. He sees right through him.

Opening the window, Bruce lets the cold autumn air brush against his face.

Outside, the night is already deep.

Which can only mean one thing.

He should thank Superman for his advice.

Not that Bruce actually followed it… but he’s in a very good mood today.

Some time later, standing on a rooftop, he takes a breath and quietly calls out,

“Superman.”

Bruce feels something suspiciously close to embarrassment stirring inside him.

What if he doesn’t come?

And even if he does… what is Bruce supposed to say?

A minute passes.

Two.

Three.

Five.

Inside, Bruce is growing irritated, though outwardly he remains calm.

Well. Looks like it won’t happen tonight.

He can’t waste any more time waiting for the Alien.

Time to get back to patrol.

Apparently, fate has other plans.

Just as Batman is about to leave the rooftop, he hears the familiar rush of air.

“Did something happen?” the Kryptonian asks, breathing heavily.

Bruce feels guilty.

Maybe the man thought there was some kind of emergency?

“No. Everything’s fine,” Bruce replies, watching Superman visibly relax. “I just wanted to thank you again. For your advice.”

Superman smiles his usual wide smile.

“No need. So… I take it everything worked out?”

Bruce can only nod.

The words have been said. There’s nothing keeping him here anymore.

But Superman takes a step closer, catching Bruce’s attention.

“Wait. Just a second. There’s something I need to tell you. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“Go ahead.”

There’s uncertainty in Superman’s eyes, but he clears his throat, almost like an ordinary human.

“I know this isn’t the right time to say this. You found your person… and today I think I found mine too. But if I don’t say it, I won’t be able to live with it.”

He pauses, his gaze shifting from Bruce to the city below.

“I’ve had feelings for you all these years. I know they were unreturned, hopeless, and unexpected. But I don’t want anything from you now. I just wanted to tell you that even if you never really liked me, I was always ready to help you. I’m sorry, Batman.”

Bruce had heard a lot, but now wasn’t the time to focus on the details. The meaning of Superman’s words was clear enough.

“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

“I guess I am,” Superman smiles sadly. “Thank you… for everything.”

And just like that, Superman disappears into the clouds, leaving Batman with a pile of unsolved equations.

⸻

After their meeting at the café, a lot of things changed, yet it barely felt like they had.

Bruce and Clark started seeing each other more often, meeting just to talk. They didn’t need any particular reason to get together. But their relationship felt more friendly than romantic. And Clark was okay with that—it gave him time to forget Batman.

He kept replaying his monologue in his head, wondering if he’d said everything he wanted to. He remembered the look in Batman’s eyes, which, for the first time in all the years they’d known each other, had seemed… sad. Then again, Clark Kent had a talent for imagining details that weren’t there. Maybe Batman had been looking at him with disgust instead of sadness. Either way, Clark would never know. He stopped flying to Gotham on a regular basis. Stopped listening for someone calling his name. Sometimes he hoped Batman would come find him. Just to talk, like old friends.

The only problem was—they had never been old friends. And they never would be.

Clark was saddened by the change, but Bruce pulled him out of his misery before long. Clark knew they both had secrets, though he tried not to dwell on them. He liked going on dates, being afraid to brush against Bruce’s hand, and seeing that Bruce felt exactly the same way. Clark often wondered what Bruce would think of his true nature. But he wasn’t ready to tell him his secrets yet, just as Bruce wasn’t ready to tell Clark his.

The only question was whether they’d ever be ready.

Clark hoped they would.

Because Bruce’s secrets were going to drive him insane.

It started with something simple: bruises, scratches, cuts. Clark asked about them, but never got a proper answer.

I fell.

I slipped.

I didn’t notice.

Bruce always had another excuse.

And Clark tried to believe him. He really did.

But then it got worse.

Whenever they met, Bruce’s face would be free of bruises. But then he’d turn his head just slightly, and Clark would catch sight of a dark mark peeking out from beneath his shirt collar.

The problem was that Clark wasn’t… anyone.

Not anyone who had the right to worry. Not anyone who could keep asking questions.

They were more than friends, but less than lovers.

Just as Clark was about to ask Lois for advice, Bruce invited him over to the Manor.

And somehow… Clark already knew why.

To tell him that whatever this was—

Their friendship? Their fling? Their relationship? Whatever it was—

Was over.

Or maybe Bruce would say he only wanted them to be ordinary friends. More like acquaintances, really.

Clark dressed casually, skipping the shirts, slacks, and blazers. He could’ve flown to Gotham in just a few minutes, but Bruce, not knowing that of course, had sent a car for him.

Clark could already imagine how tense the ride back would be.

The trip passed surprisingly quickly.

Maybe because Clark never climbed out of his own thoughts.

When the driver opened the car door for him, Clark, lost in a haze, even forgot to thank him.

He looked around.

Wayne Manor was enormous and luxurious. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, but magnificent.

The butler, Mr. Pennyworth, greeted him at the entrance. A very pleasant man.

“Master Wayne is already waiting for you, Mr Kent.”

Clark nodded.

Taking a slow breath in and out, he simply followed the older man, running through every possible thing Bruce might say.

When he stepped into the large room—probably the living room—he was met by a pair of familiar, beloved eyes.

“Leave us, Alfred,” the brunette asked.

The butler gave him a respectful nod before leaving the room.

“Have a seat, Clark.”

Bruce pulled out a chair, and Clark sat down.

Bruce didn’t look nervous. Quite the opposite, actually. His gaze was gentle.

Hungry?

Clark had to be imagining it.

Bruce’s shoulders were relaxed, his posture confident, and there was a faint smile on his face.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Clark said. “You wanted to talk?”

“I did,” Bruce confirmed, rising from his chair.

Clark didn’t want to—

Couldn’t—

Watch him walk away.

He was terrified of what came next.

And sure, Superman wasn’t supposed to be afraid.

Maybe Superman wasn’t.

But right now he was Clark Kent, not Kal-El of Krypton.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the table, Clark listened to Bruce’s nearly silent footsteps until they stopped right beside him.

Instead of speaking, Bruce rested a hand on his shoulder. Clark still couldn’t bring himself to look up. The weight of that hand made his heart pound with anxiety.

He counted the seconds until Bruce would surely pull away.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, Bruce’s hand slowly slid across the fabric of his sweater before finally coming to rest against the side of his neck. Clark froze. He had absolutely no idea what was happening.

The words caught in his throat when he felt warm breath against his ear… followed by a warm tongue dragging slowly down the side of his neck.

That was what made Clark practically leap out of the chair.

Everything, he was certain, was written all over his face.

Because Bruce—whose expression had been completely calm just moments ago—was now looking at him with…

Concern?

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, somehow managing to create even more questions inside Clark’s head.

“‘What’s wrong?’” Clark repeated in a voice so high it made him want to crawl under the table. “Bruce, I don’t understand anything!”

“I see,” Bruce said quietly. “You didn’t want that.”

“Didn’t want what?” Clark asked, completely bewildered.

“Intimacy. With me?” The last words come out sounding like a question. They make Clark’s face flush an even deeper crimson than before.

“What?!” he blurts. “Bruce, what are we even talking about?”

Bruce looks at him in confusion. “Talking?”

“Yes! You invited me here to talk! I thought you wanted to stop seeing me, not have sex!” The last words are almost shouted, and Clark apologizes to Mr. Pennyworth in his head.

“Clark, I don’t understand anything. Why would I want to stop seeing you? We’re in a relationship, and I thought this would be our next step.”

“In a relationship?” Clark asks quietly.

“Yes?”

“I thought we were just…”

“What?”

“Well… more-than-friends, less-than-lovers? Something like that?”

“Are those even real terms, or did you make them up?”

“I don’t know!” Clark explodes, then immediately adds more calmly, “I don’t know. I only know that I thought you thought I wasn’t right for you. That I annoy you, stick my nose into your business, worry about you even though, basically, I’m nobody to you.”

“Nobody?” Bruce says in surprise. “Clark, I thought we’d already established who you are to me.”

“Then explain it to me again.”

Bruce steps closer.

“You’re my boyfriend. I like you. I’m in love with you. I thought we’d settled that a long time ago.”

“Boyfriend? But we… You never said that.”

“I thought it was obvious!”

“How is that ‘obvious’? You said you liked me. I said I liked you. That’s it! Nobody said anything else.”

“I thought that was enough…”

Silence falls, but Bruce is the one who breaks it.

“Clark Kent, will you be my boyfriend?”

“What?” Clark asks, even though he heard every word.

Bruce simply looks at him, waiting for an answer.

“Yes. Yes!” Clark blurts out. “Yes, I will.”

Bruce takes another step forward until he’s standing directly in front of Clark. Without warning, he lunges at him like a starving beast. His lips press against softer, warmer lips. Clark kisses him back, savoring the moment. His hands find Bruce’s broad shoulders, squeezing them gently as he pulls the man closer. When Bruce finally pulls away for air, all Clark can do is silently miss the familiar taste of his lips.

“Why did you think I’d stop talking to you?” Bruce asks, still breathing heavily.

Clark doesn’t want to talk about it now, knowing his answer will sound ridiculous. Instead of explaining, he takes Bruce’s hands in his own and pulls him close again.

“You don’t want to talk about it… later?”

Bruce only answers with a hungry smile.

⸻

They barely make it to Bruce’s bedroom.

Maybe because Bruce can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.

Or maybe because Clark lets him, while having to constantly remind himself to calm down. At least one of them lacks enough self-control.

The moment the bedroom door slams shut behind them, Clark finds himself pinned against the wall.

Everything that follows feels blurred, too vivid, unfamiliar.

Bruce—everywhere and nowhere at once—makes Clark feel human for the first time in years. Because someone else’s fingertips burn against his skin, and his breathing falters at the sight before him: Bruce Wayne, flushed from head to toe after only a few kisses, kneeling in front of him.

His hands find the belt of Clark’s jeans and deftly undo it.

Clark tries—wants—to help, but every time their fingers brush, his own go numb. Bruce certainly doesn’t mind the extra work.

Not at all.

He deliberately drags the moment out as he slowly unzips Clark’s jeans. Clark bites his lip, trying to keep quiet, but fails. A low, quiet moan escapes him. Bruce looks up, staring straight into his soul before stripping Clark’s jeans away in one swift motion, leaving only his boxers. Without breaking eye contact, Bruce lowers his head and slowly licks over Clark’s erection, still tightly confined beneath the fabric.

Clark’s knees nearly give out, but he doesn’t fall.

Instead, he threads his fingers into Bruce’s hair and gently tugs his head back.

The gesture doesn’t make Bruce stop.

If anything, it only encourages him.

His hands slide down Clark’s legs before gently urging them apart. One hand begins stroking the inside of his thigh, making Clark mutter something unintelligible. At the same time, the other slips beneath the waistband of his boxers and wraps around his hard, heavy cock.

Bruce simply holds him, giving the slightest squeeze, but even that tiny touch is enough to affect Clark.

Before Bruce can react, Clark drops down, knocking him onto the floor and ending up above him.

“What kind of games are you playing, Bruce?” Clark growls before pushing his tongue into Bruce’s mouth.

Bruce gasps into the kiss but refuses to surrender. While Clark devours him, Bruce slides a hand onto his ass and gives it a rough squeeze. The next second he feels Clark’s teeth catch on his lower lip, pulling it. Bruce groans from the sting, but the pain is immediately swallowed by a sharp rush of pleasure.

“I didn’t know you were a masochist, Mr. Wayne,” Kent says with a smug grin.

Bruce ignores the comment.

Instead, determined to wipe that smile off Clark’s face, he slips his hand beneath the waistband of Clark’s boxers again. This time Clark doesn’t resist, allowing Bruce to roll them over. Sitting between Clark’s legs gives Bruce an incredible view, though he’ll have plenty of time to admire it later. He straddles Clark’s thighs before removing Clark’s shirt, then his own.

Slowly tracing Clark’s chest with his fingertips, Bruce leans down and leisurely licks across his bare skin. Clark shifts beneath him, but Bruce presses him firmly into the hardwood floor. Soon his tongue finds Clark’s hardened nipples, refusing to leave them alone. Apparently they’re incredibly sensitive, because the moment Bruce takes one into his mouth, he feels Clark’s cock press insistently against him.

“The bed?” Bruce suggests.

Clark eagerly accepts.

⸻

When Clark opens his eyes, it takes him a moment to remember what happened. But the warm body quietly breathing beside him brings back the memories of last night. Seeing Bruce so exhausted and vulnerable makes Clark lie back down and pull himself close against him.

The quiet breathing suddenly stops, and strong arms wrap tightly around Clark.

“Good morning,” Bruce rasps, burying his face against Clark’s shoulder.

“How’d you sleep?” Clark asks, slowly untangling himself from Bruce, who lets out an unhappy growl but doesn’t stop him.

“Do you have work today?”

“Yeah,” Clark says. “What about you?”

Bruce props himself up slightly and glances at the clock.

“In an hour. We still have time for a second—”

Clark cuts him off with a quick kiss.

“Sorry, sunshine. I have to run. Big project today,” he says apologetically.

Bruce strokes his hair, disappointed but forced to accept reality.

“It’s alright,” Wayne says with a slightly disappointed voice. The reporter can’t help but chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Clark’s said as he buttoned his crumpled shirt. “Just thinking how to make up for my lack of time.”

They end up kissing a dozen times, which results in Clark being late to work.

Lois, as always, greets him with a suspicious look.

Clark pays it no mind.

For the first time in a long while, he feels genuinely happy.

Happy enough to completely forget the conversation he’d promised Bruce.

⸻

Three months.

For three months, everything is perfect.

They go on dates, see each other at least three times a week, have dinner together, fall asleep at each other’s homes.

Clark even starts thinking about introducing Bruce to his parents, though he decides to leave it for later.

After all, Ma and Pa already know about Bruce. They just don’t know that he’s… Bruce Wayne. Though that probably wouldn’t be much of a problem.

Clark introduces Bruce to Lois.

Not on purpose—they only happen to cross paths once at work—but Clark feels like he owed that introduction to both of them.

Later, Bruce describes Lois as “a successful and fascinating woman,” while Lois describes Bruce as “a man worthy of your heart.”

Clark finally lets Batman go.

They cross paths a few times, but their relationship remains strictly professional.

Batman doesn’t seem uncomfortable working with him, but he also doesn’t try to reclaim whatever they’d once had. Clark decides not to cling to the past either.

Everything becomes so perfect that Clark forgets the very first problem in their relationship.

And then that problem comes back—

—and stabs him right in the back.

Clark grows suspicious again.

Every time he sees Bruce, there are more injuries. Bruises and hematomas become deep cuts and burns. The excuses grow stranger every time. Clark wants to leave things alone, he truly does.

But he can’t.

He’s worried. And he knows that if anything happens to Bruce, he’ll never forgive himself.

They argue. Not with broken dishes or hours of screaming—they’re both too exhausted for dramatic fights.

But Clark watches Bruce’s gaze become colder, more distant, and every time he wants to fall to his knees and beg Bruce to tell him the truth. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—the fear of losing him is stronger than the desire to finally know all of his secrets.

One day Bruce arrives with stitches in his shoulder.

He hadn’t even intended to tell Clark. Clark simply notices blood soaking through his shirt and instantly knows something is wrong. Their argument is quiet, but neither of them chooses their words carefully.

“Who do you think you are, sticking your nose into my business?!” Bruce shouts.

His eyes fill with guilt immediately afterwards. But Clark never gets to see it. He’s already storming out of the room, trying to get as far away as possible.

They don’t speak for a week. At Clark’s insistence, of course. Not because he’s angry. Because he doesn’t want to see Bruce and hear that their time together is over.

Clark throws himself into work without stopping. Not just as a reporter. Superman patrols the city every spare moment he has.

It calms him.

It reminds him that some things never change.

The very next day, the Joker escapes Arkham.

And his only goal is to kill Batman.

⸻

News of the Joker’s escape interrupts the evening broadcast.

The weather forecast is cut short by a live report. Sirens. Red and blue lights. Chaos filling the streets. Everything caused by the villain’s escape.

But people aren’t just afraid for themselves. Many will get hurt. Everyone already knows that.And everyone knows the Joker’s goal: to kill his greatest enemy.

Batman is first on that list.

Clark doesn’t want to get involved. He has no intention of getting involved. But anxiety eats away at him all night, until he has no other choice. The Joker loves putting on a show.

Superman, unfortunately, wasn’t invited.

He arrives at the scene, but the Joker is already gone. Police and FBI surround the area, but that isn’t what catches his attention. Instead, he sees him. Beaten. Unconscious. Shot.

“Batman!” the Kryptonian shouts, rushing toward him.

Batman doesn’t respond.

Clark gently shakes his shoulders, careful not to hurt him.

Ironically, the pain itself pulls Batman back to consciousness.

His mouth twists with pain, his hands searching blindly for something to grab.

“It’s alright… shh…” Superman murmurs. “You’re okay.”

He isn’t expecting any response. But Batman rasps someone’s name. Maybe someone close to him. Clark leans closer to make sure he hears correctly.

“Clark…”

Batman groans.

“Clark…”

That shouldn’t freeze him in place. Why should he care whose name an injured, barely conscious Batman is calling? But that voice…

That tone…

Clark has heard it countless times before.

God.

It’s Bruce.

His Bruce.

Without a second thought, Clark flies toward Wayne Manor.

“Superman?” the butler says in surprise as he opens the door.

The moment he notices Batman in Superman’s arms, Alfred simply nods.

“Bring him inside.”

Clark does exactly that.

Alfred calls someone, but Clark barely hears the conversation.

All he can hear are his own thoughts.

A voice finally pulls him from his trance.

“Superman… are you alright?”

Clark blinks, looking at Alfred.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

He rises from the chair he’d apparently spent more than an hour sitting in.

“Will he be alright?”

“Yes. With time,” the older man says wisely.

Clark nods.

“I should go.”

⸻

Clark spends a long time alone with his thoughts.

He thinks about Bruce.

About himself.

About whatever future they might still have together.

Do they even have one?

The moment Bruce learns Clark was once in love with his alter ego…

Clark doesn’t even want to imagine that look.

Full of hatred.

Full of disgust.

But he knows Bruce will want answers.

For example: how Superman learned his secret identity. Or maybe Bruce has already solved that puzzle himself.

While Clark waits, he feels miserable.

A day passes.

Then two.

Then a week.

Neither Batman nor Bruce reaches out.

Clark messages Bruce several times, receiving only short replies and, later, a text explaining that he’s very busy.

At least that finally lets Clark breathe a little easier.

During the second week, Batman finds him first while they’re out on patrol.

The two of them meet in a dark alley. Clark doesn’t even manage to say a word before Batman grabs him by the throat and slams him into the wall. Normally, Clark wouldn’t even move. 

Not today.

Today he lets himself crash into the concrete.

“How did you find out?!” Batman growls, yanking him closer by the suit.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the only thing Clark can force himself to say.

“I’m asking you again. How did you find out?”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” he whispers quietly, lowering his tear-filled eyes.

At last, Bruce’s grip loosens.

He steps back.

“Clark?”

His voice is full of confusion and disbelief.

Clark hears only one thing: disgust.

A single tear slips down his cheek.

He wipes it away quickly.

“I didn’t know. I only found out after you got hurt. I’m sorry, Bruce.”

Clark turns to leave.

Batman grabs his wrist.

“No.”

His voice is firm.

“You’re not running away this time. We need to talk.”

“My apartment’s a mile from here,” Clark says, shaking his head.

Bruce simply nods and follows him.

⸻

As Clark steps into his apartment, he closes the door painfully slowly.

He can barely bring himself to look Bruce in the eye.

“Clark. Look at me.”

Bruce’s voice comes from behind him. With a sigh, Clark turns around. He’s surprised to see Bruce has already removed his cowl and cape.

Silence stretches between them.

But Clark has had plenty of time to think about what he wants to say.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he whispers. It’s cowardly of him, Clark knows he owes Bruce much more than this. His eyes burn with tears.

Clark refuses to let himself acknowledge that weakness.

Not now.

Not here.

He looks away, unwilling to see Bruce’s face, probably full of disappointment and sadness. In the end, Clark can’t bear it anymore. He turns toward the window instead, staring out at the nighttime skyline of Metropolis.

The city lights shimmer below.

He can hear Batman’s calm heartbeat. And he doesn’t understand, how had he never noticed how familiar it sounded?

Silence hangs behind him. Only the distant voices from the street break it. Finally Clark gives in.

The warmth of the tears is the only thing keeping the cold away.

“Why are you doing this, Bruce?” Clark asks quietly.

“Doing what?” Bruce sounds genuinely confused.

Clark turns to face him fully.

“Say it, Bruce. You have to say it.”

Clark’s voice is desperate.

He doesn’t want to drag this out any longer.

“I don’t understand,” Wayne says, shaking his head. “Clark, what are you—”

“Say it!” Clark shouts.

His voice suddenly spikes high enough that a vase shatters somewhere in the room. The same vase Lois had given him as a housewarming gift.

“I know what you think of me now. I know I betrayed your trust, your principles, your feelings. I can’t even ask for your forgiveness. I’ve made a fool of myself!”

At last Clark squeezes his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want to hear the words he’s begging for.

Suddenly Bruce takes a step forward. Clark doesn’t dare open his eyes. He knows what’s coming. Maybe instead of all the words Bruce wants to say, he’ll choose the easier way.

Any second now he’ll raise his hand—

Clark feels warmth against his cheek.

Gentle warmth. Not painful at all.

A second later that same hand wipes away his tears.

Bruce is standing right in front of him, pressed close, his hands gently brushing across Clark’s damp, burning face. His eyes show no other emotion than love.

“First,” he starts, “I am quite honoured that my alter ego got your attention first.”

He must have meant it as a joke, but Clark can’t help but furrow his brows. “Bruce—“

“No. Let me say this,” he said firmly. “I know how you feel, Clark. Believe me, you’re not the only one to fall for someone’s secret identity. I would know. I fell for yours first.”

“What?”

“I—,” the man swallowed nervously, “there was a time, a long time when it was Superman who had my attention. First, as a potential threat,” Clark couldn’t help but wince at the words, “then, as as a friend. An later, as something more than that.”

“You never told me.”

“I wouldn’t have, even if I wanted.”

“But you didn’t. Why?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to love someone. Not another superhero, anyway. It was too dangerous for me to get attached to you.”

Hot disappointment ran through Clark’s body, stinging him like poison. That’s what this was about, then. What made him different now, if Bruce has never wanted to be with a vigilante like him?

“I don’t think so now.”

Kent’s eyes shot upwards.

“You don’t?”

Bruce coughed slightly, “Let’s commit the perfect crime. I’ll steal your heart, and you steal mine.”

Clark stood still for a moment.

A snort escaped his mouth.

He couldn’t help but bend in two and burst into laughter.

“Where did you even read that?” The Kryptonian asked, still smiling widely.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I need to know, Bruce.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Still no.”

The taller man laughed once more, then intertwined their fingers together.

“I am really sorry about everything. I didn’t even get to ask how you were after the Joker was caught.”

“And I didn’t get to apologise to you after our fight,” Bruce admitted. “May I make it up to you?”

Clark’s eyes shone brightly in the darkness.

“It depends. Can I make it up to you first?”

The distance suddenly disappeared between them, as if it has never existed.

And sue them if Bruce never went to the Manor that night.

⸻

Two months later

“Stop sweating, darling, they’re going to love you!” Clark said with encouragement as he drove to his parents farm in Kansas.

“I’m not sweating,” Bruce told him. But he was. His body was basically shaking all the way to the farm, either from excitement or nerves. As they passed the sign “Welcome to Smallville” Bruce knew there was no way back.

Jonathan and Martha Kent were already waiting for them at the porch.

“You told them about me, right?” He asked Clark as the other man was getting something from the trunk of his car.

His boyfriend froze.

“You didn’t?”

“I told them about you. I did!” He said nervously. “I guess I forgot to mention the Bruce Wayne part.”

“You’re kidding.”

Clark threw him an apologetic glance.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m sorry, love! But they’ll love you either way, I swear.”

Needless to say, a pot of casserole was dropped during the introduction.

And Clark, with his supernatural abilities, didn’t even try to save it.

Figures.