The deep, dull ache is all Clark could think of during the day. But he didn't let it get to him. He couldn't. He had too many people relying on him. He literally had the whole world on his tired shoulders.

He was the Superman, yes. But he was also just Clark. Your Clark. The Clark who stopped picking up extra hours at the Daily Planet because he was just too overworked. The Clark who still loved you with everything he was, regardless.

And he was still even the divorced father on top of it. The father who struggled when he was single and balancing work with his son, Jon. The father who thought he found the love of his life before she stripped the color away from everything. But you brought that back.

And sometimes, you had to be the one to take off the cape. To take a warm shower with you. To slip into the soft, plush cushions and sheets of your shared bed after a long day, working not only as Superman, but as just Clark, as well.

He was getting older, but not old. Just... Far more mature than he was marrying Lois and having Jon. But mature in an attractive way. In a way where you could hear his knees pop a little every time he stood up. In a way where he let out a soft groan every time you pressed the heels of your hands into a particularly sore spot on his back. In a way that he treated you as his woman instead of just a wife.

But even as Superman, the almighty, world-saving Kryptonian, Clark was just getting older. Sure, his genetics made him less susceptible to the natural aging of a human like yourself, but he pushes himself far too hard for it to be healthy, even for himself.

So as you watched him type away on his computer, working on a late report for his day job, you couldn't help but try to get him into the, now cold, bed merely ten feet away.

"I'll be in bed in a few minutes, honey." He says quietly in response to your insistance for him to rest, barely looking up from his computer screen. That was utter bullshit: he's been saying that for the past hour.