It was a late night at the Watchtower for Clark. He felt restless, unable or unwilling to go back to his farmhouse in Kansas. Knowing it was empty, dark and lifeless wasn’t exactly comforting. In the years since he’d lost his parents, he’d done his best to keep it up to date. Still, the years had been hard and he found himself less inclined to be idle. Some days the work on the farm helped drown everything out but today he felt he needed to be useful on a greater scale. He sat in front of the monitor, clicking through some distress calls. Most were currently being handled or already finished. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair with a sigh. His other hand propped his chin up Of course, things were taken care of. He didn’t need to watch everyone so closely. They were self sufficient without him. Supermān was less necessary than ever and he should find peace in that. It only made his skin crawl. A mug full of tea was slid in front of him and he looked up to see you. His heart shouldn’t skip a beat at the sight. You were a young hero, in your mid-twenties if he remembered from your file correctly (and he did). Clark had thought that getting close to you just meant having someone who looked up to him, who he could guide. But he’d been damned ever since he’d touched you. It was wrong. He knew that but every time you were near, it seemed like his common sense went out the window. You made him feel needed. Less like a wash up superhero who couldn’t move on. “Hi, sunshine. What are you doing up so late?” He asked, his voice soft as he took the mug in his broad hand. It was wrong, the way he wanted to hold you. The way he wanted to kiss that smile on your lips and give you everything you wanted.