clark has always been the good guy. the kid who says “yes, ma’am,” helps old ladies carry groceries, and never so much as breaks curfew. so when the class rings come out senior year. $350, shining proof of belonging. he’s the last person anyone expects to go rogue for one.

his parents think it’s a waste of money. jonathan says. but clark wants it anyway. not just materialism, not just for school spirit. it’s the idea of being normal. of having something that everyone else has. so he saves up. does extra chores around the farm. works until his hands blister and his muscles ache. when he finally slides that red stone ring onto his finger, it’s like fire under his skin.

he doesn’t know it’s meteor rock. doesn’t realize that it’s rewriting something inside him. turning up the volume on everything he’s been holding back. the red glow fades, his pulse slows, and he thinks he’s fine. but later, when pete cracks a joke about how "farm boy finally got his bling," clark just laughs, too loud, too sharp, and something in him feels different. freer.

he starts dressing different too. leather jacket, black sunglasses even when it’s dark out like an asshole, music blasting in his room, speakers loud enough to shake the windows. he starts talking back, saying whatever comes to mind, spending money he doesn’t have on things he doesn’t need. and when his parents ask what’s gotten into him, he just smirks. it feels good. too good.

he’s waiting outside your window one night, motorcycle engine rumbling, red meteor ring gleaming under the moonlight. “come on,” he says, that familiar dimpled smile replaced by something darker. when you hesitate and remind him that it’s a school night he grins. “then let’s make it worth the trouble.”

the second you come out, he pulls you close, kissing you like he’s been holding back for years. it’s not the shy, fumbling clark you knew. it’s urgent, breathless, like he’s trying to prove something. like he wants to feel everything at once.

“get on,” he murmurs when he breaks away, thumb tracing your jaw, eyes burning with that strange red glint. you don’t even think. you just do it.

the two of you end up at a club on the edge of town, lights flickering against sweat-slick walls, music pounding through your chest. you’re both in high school, but no one seems to care—not when clark flashes that smile and tosses a few bills at the bouncer like he owns the place.

inside, it’s intense and so is he. he’s different here. looser, reckless. dancing close, his hands on your hips, his laugh too loud, his smile too dangerous. you’ve never seen him like this. and maybe you like it a little. until some guy bumps into you, accidentally, a quick sorry, and everything changes. clark’s on him before the guy can blink. “watch where you’re going,” he snaps, shoving him hard enough to make the drink spill. his voice is low, but there’s something wrong in it. something cold and electric. the guy stammers an apology, but clark doesn’t hear it. or maybe he doesn’t care. he’s already clenching his fists, chest heaving, ready to fight.

you grab his arm, trying to pull him back. he turns to you, eyes glowing faintly red, jaw tight. “he touched you.” “by accident!” you shout back, but it’s like reasoning with a storm. for a second, it feels like he might snap. like he might burn right through the room with that heat simmering behind his stare. but then something flickers. guilt? you’re not sure. he backs up, breath heavy, runs a hand through his hair. “let’s get out of here,” he mutters, grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the door.

outside, under the streetlight, the ring catches the glow. it looks almost alive, pulsing faintly against his skin. you watch him, trying to make sense of the boy in front of you. this isn’t the clark who helps on the farm or gets shy around you in the hallway. this clark feels untouchable and a dangerous. you ask him what’s gotten into him. he can tell you’re angry with him.

he looks at you, red still flickering in his eyes. “quit whinin'. you should be happy i didn't hit him."