The roof access door slammed behind you with a mechanical clang, the city lights stretching endless and soft beneath the skyline. You hadn’t planned to come up here, not exactly—it was just instinct. A cigarette break without the cigarette. An escape from flickering fluorescent lights and the arguments downstairs about who leaked the Luthor drone footage.

You stepped into the wind, pulled your jacket tighter. And then—you heard the sound. Not a bang. Not a whoosh. More like a fold in the air. Something shifting where it shouldn’t.

You turned. And there he was. Hovering at first. Just a shape. Then his boots touched the rooftop, quiet and steady like he weighed nothing at all.

Superman.

Not Clark. Not the sweet, slightly rumpled man who always offered to carry the coffee tray. Not the one who asked questions in quiet tones and smiled like spring thaw.

This was… him. All of him.

The suit was tighter than you’d imagined. Sleek. Seamless. No cape tonight. Just the red and blue clinging to his chest, the bold curve of the S like something ancient and sacred and indecent, all at once.

You stared. You meant to say something witty. But instead—“Oh.”

Just that. One syllable, high and startled, like you’d forgotten how mouths worked. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He just looked at you with that deep, patient gaze. Like he saw everything—your heartbeat, your thoughts, the way your thighs pressed together without you realizing.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping closer. His voice lower like this. Less Clark, more gravity. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You swallowed. Your throat felt like sandpaper. “You didn’t. I mean—you did, but not… not in a bad way.”

He was close enough now that you could see the veins on his forearms beneath the suit, the faint shimmer where moonlight met the curve of his biceps. His body heat radiated toward you like he glowed. Which, maybe he did.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and God—he looked worried. Of course he looked worried. He was always worrying about everyone else.

You nodded too fast. “Yes. Just. Um.” You waved vaguely. “Seeing you like this. It’s a lot.”

He tilted his head. “Like what?”

“Like… that,” you said, gesturing to all of him. “I didn’t know the suit was that… formfitting.”

There. You said it. Kind of.

He blinked. Then—finally—he smiled. That Clark smile sneaking in through the cracks in the superhero. “It’s a Kryptonian polymer. Adaptable. Aerodynamic.”

“Right. Of course. Very practical.” Your voice went up an octave. “And, you know. Handsome. If you’re into the whole ‘God walking among men’ thing.”

He laughed—really laughed—and you felt it in your stomach. Warm. Dangerous. “You’re blushing,” he said gently, almost teasing.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

You turned your face toward the skyline like it could save you. It couldn’t.

And then you felt him beside you—closer now. Barely a hand’s width apart. You could smell him: ozone, wind, warmth. And underneath, something oddly clean and earthy. Like fresh cotton and river water.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

You nodded, already breathless. He offered his hand. You hesitated for half a second. Then put yours in his. Warm. Solid. The way you’d always imagined safety might feel.

“Hold on.”

And then the world fell away. Wind tore through your jacket as he lifted you gently—not bridal style, no. Just palms at your waist, your chest against his, your face buried half against his shoulder, half in the wild rush of air.

The city blurred beneath your feet. Stars sharpened overhead.