London is… not what Clark was expecting.

He had every intention of making it a romantic retreat. It’s one of the most famous cities in the world, and he could fly you out literally anywhere with ease — perks of being an alien and all. You’d already done Paris, Venice, Barcelona, Berlin. London was meant to be the next big getaway.

It was not.

On your first day there, a child that could not have been older than twelve called him a ‘wasteman’ followed by a string of very creative expletives, simply for asking him if he would take a step away from the doorway so the both of you could get through (very politely, mind you). Clark is very aware he must have looked like a massive idiot as he stood there, mouth opening and shutting as his brain failed to catch up with what had happened.

The weather was awful — it was meant to be the middle of summer, but one day of sun was quickly followed by an onslaught of rain and grey skies that entirely befuddled the poor Kryptonian. Your trip to Kensington Gardens had to be delayed, and after the fourth day of heavy downfall, Clark entirely gave up on the idea.

Upon having a pigeon attempt to fight him for a chip from the fish and chip shop you insisted on going to, he’s more than ready to go back to Metropolis.

“I’m sorry. I can fly us back, if you want.” He says sheepishly, nose wrinkling at his food before he drops it in the bin, dusting off his hands. “I thought it’d be a little…”

Clark tries to think of a nice way to put it, before he realises it’s impossible, and just ends up just shrugging.