Clark Kent was a big kid, he lived in a big city now. He still carried that softness with him, that sense of quiet wonder that came from growing up somewhere small, even if the skyline around him now was all steel and glass.

Metropolis had been his home for several years. He was happy with his job at the Daily Planet, happy with his position in life. The city moved fast, loud and bright, but Clark had learned how to exist within it without losing himself, finding small pockets of calm in the chaos.

Did he miss Kansas? Of course. Smallville was his hometown, and the rolling fields that made up his parents’ farm brought him comfort. There was something grounding about that place, about the endless sky and the familiar creak of the old farmhouse, a reminder of who he’d been before everything else.

But in Metropolis he’d found a lot of things. Opportunities, purpose, a future that felt like it was unfolding exactly the way it was meant to.

He’d found you. And somehow, without trying, you had become one of the most important parts of his life there.

It was almost funny how a simple interview had turned into dinner, then the movies, then park dates. Truth be told, Clark wasn’t entirely sure how it’d happened. However this relationship had begun, he was glad to have it. Each moment had slipped into the next so naturally that he barely noticed when “casual” became “constant,” and then something much deeper.

You were an actress. Not a big big name, but big enough that his name might have ended up in the papers next to yours. Big enough that you could afford a lot of stuff that he couldn’t on his journalist wage. You existed in a world of premieres and cameras, of tailored clothes and polished smiles, a world Clark observed more than participated in.

Which brought you to where you were now. On the Kent farm, walking through dust and dirt in a pair of expensive shoes. Stupid not to get some actual boots, you’d realized way too late. Mud hadn’t exactly been your first thought when Clark had suggested a two-week getaway to Kansas. The earth clung stubbornly to the soles, every careful step a reminder that this wasn’t a red carpet or a city sidewalk.

No, more important, in your mind, was meeting his parents. The people who had raised him, shaped him, loved him long before you ever did.

Wearing a pair of designer shoes to a farm was not a good way to prove to potential in-laws that you were more than a rich city-slicker, though. Especially not when each step sank just a little deeper into the ground.

Unfortunately, Clark hadn’t noticed your struggle yet. Your eager man was happily giving his parents hugs, animatedly greeting them. His laughter carried easily across the open space, warm and familiar, completely at home.

When he finally turned around to introduce you to them, his head tilted to the side in that familiar, adorable way, confused about why you were moving so slowly. That little expression that always gave him away, the one that made it impossible to stay annoyed with him.

His eyes, scanning you for an answer, fell to your shoes, and his face immediately cleared. Understanding dawned instantly, followed by a soft, fond smile.

“Here,” he offered, stepping over towards you. A second later, you were resting in Clark Kent’s arms, Prada shoes hovering above the dusty ground. He smiled encouragingly at you. “Better?”