Metropolis wasn’t supposed to feel cold.

But tonight, rain hammered the rooftops like a warning, turning the neon lights into blurred streaks on the glass. The storm had rolled in fast — too fast even for Clark to ignore. He stood on the edge of the Daily Planet rooftop, shirt damp and clinging beneath his jacket, hair dripping into his eyes. He could hear everything: car alarms from flooded streets, the hum of electricity, the distant hurt of people who needed help even in the smallest ways.

And then— someone else stepped onto the roof.

Someone he didn’t expect to see in Metropolis at all.

Bruce Wayne.

Not the Batman yet. Not fully. But close enough that the storm didn’t dare touch him without permission.

He stepped out of the shadows wearing a dark hoodie under a soaked leather jacket, gloves on, boots heavy with rainwater. There was a bruise forming on his jaw. His hair stuck to his forehead. He looked like he’d just gone a few rounds with the city itself.

Clark tensed, turning only when Bruce was close enough for his heartbeat to drown beneath the thunder.

“You’re supposed to be in Gotham,” Clark said softly.

Bruce gave a humorless huff. “Yeah. And you’re supposed to stay out of trouble. Here we are.”

The rain ran down his face, turning his already serious expression into something sharper — something tired. Something human.

Clark tried not to stare.

Bruce moved beside him, leaning against the railing. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for Clark to feel the heat radiating off his body, even through the cold air.

For a moment, neither spoke. The city breathed around them — the storm, the chaos, the people below.

Then Bruce finally said, “I heard what happened.” His tone wasn’t accusing. It was… worried. Worried about him.

Clark swallowed. “You came all the way here for that?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing yet, Clark.” Bruce didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “You’re strong, but you’re still… figuring everything out. You could’ve been hurt.”

Clark’s gaze softened. “So could you.”

Bruce’s lips twitched — almost a smile, but not quite. “You’re worse at staying out of danger than I am.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Unfortunately,” Bruce muttered, “no.”

Lightning flashed. The wind hit harder. Bruce shivered slightly; Clark noticed instantly.

Without thinking, Clark reached out — fingers brushing the edge of Bruce’s sleeve, steadying him when the wind pushed too hard.

Bruce looked at the touch. Then up at him. For a second — just one — he let the walls slip.

“You could’ve called,” Clark murmured.

“You wouldn’t have answered.” Bruce’s voice was low, almost raw. “You only show up when you think I’m about to die, remember?”

“That’s not why,” Clark said, stepping closer. “You know that.”

Bruce didn’t move away.

Rain dripped off Clark’s jaw. It ran down the lines of Bruce’s face. The storm swallowed the world, leaving only them — heat, breath, tension, and the quiet way their chests rose in sync.

Bruce’s voice dropped.

“…You scare me, Clark.”

Clark blinked. “Why?”

“Because you look at me like I’m someone worth saving.”

Clark’s hand slid up, fingers brushing Bruce’s cheek. Bruce didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just breathed, eyes half-lidded, letting himself be held for once in his life.

“You are worth saving,” Clark whispered.

The rain softened — like the storm itself paused to listen.

And Bruce leaned in, barely noticeable, barely a shift — but enough for Clark to feel it.