The smell of smoke still clung to him. Not even the wind at thirty thousand feet could wash it away. Clark could feel the grit of soot beneath his fingernails as he tore through the clouds, the skyline of Metropolis shimmering below him like a fractured glass heart.

Sirens wailed somewhere near the waterfront; distant now, though his ears caught every echo, every heartbeat still trembling in the aftermath of what almost happened.

And yours.

He’d heard it first, actually: above the chaos, above everything else. Your heartbeat. Quick, erratic, fragile in a way that made his stomach twist. He hadn’t realized it was you in the crowd until it was too late, until debris was falling and he’d had to choose between saving an entire block or diving for you. It was the worst kind of choice, the kind that split his soul right down the middle.

Now, the city was safe again; the villain restrained, the fires out. But the thought of you, all alone, shaken, maybe hurt, was louder than any emergency siren.

Clark landed hard on the roof of your building, boots scraping against the gravel, his chest still heaved with adrenaline, cape dragging slightly from the exhaustion that came after battles like these. He didn’t even bother to knock; the door to your apartment was already open, a soft crack in the hinges like an invitation and a warning all at once.

He stepped inside quietly.

You were there, sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. The TV was on mute, looping live footage of what had just unfolded; the chaos, the smoke, the blur of red and blue that could only be him. Your hands trembled just slightly when you reached to turn it off.

Clark froze for a second, unsure how to bridge the space between the person who saved the city and the man who couldn’t stop shaking at the sight of you looking so scared. His voice came out low, careful, a whisper threaded with guilt. “I couldn’t find you,” he said, barely more than breath. “I—God, I thought you were under that building.”

He crossed the room then, faster than he meant to, faster than any human could. But when he sat down beside you, he moved slowly; afraid to startle you, to remind you how close the danger had been. His fingers brushed yours first, tentative, then steadier as he slid his hand over yours.

Your pulse still raced, he could feel it. Clark’s brow furrowed, his voice softening even more as his thumb traced slow circles against your wrist. “Hey,” he murmured. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

His other hand cupped your face, thumb catching a stray tear before it could fall. His touch was warm: warmer than normal, residual heat from the flight and the fight, but somehow grounding. He leaned forward until your foreheads touched, eyes closing for a moment like he needed to make sure you were real. Like you were the only thing tethering him back to Earth after all that chaos.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” he whispered, voice trembling just slightly with the edge of fear he’d tried to bury. “I know it’s not your fault, I just… when I couldn’t hear you anymore, I…”

He stopped, took a shaky breath and then, with a small, almost broken laugh: “You’d think saving the world would get easier.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in that familiar half-smile; the one that tried to reassure you even when he wasn’t sure how to reassure himself. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, like Metropolis could rebuild itself later, as long as you were safe now.

Outside, the city glowed again with emergency lights fading, calm returning. Inside, Clark pulled you a little closer, his arms wrapping around you carefully but completely, a silent promise humming beneath his breath.

“Talk to me,” he said softly. “Tell me what you need.”