The article went live on Monday morning. By noon, it had over 200,000 reads.

“The Day Superman Saved Me — and Saves Us All” was a heartfelt, vulnerable, almost poetic account of the moment that changed your view of Metropolis forever. You wrote about the feeling of being held by him — not just the strength, but the gentleness. How the world felt safer, brighter, just knowing someone like that existed.

You didn’t mention that you’d started sleeping better since it happened.

Didn’t mention how you caught yourself daydreaming mid-commute, looking up at the clouds, wondering where he was.

The comments flooded in. Perry clapped you on the back in passing. Lois Lane even gave you a small nod of approval from across the bullpen. But when you turned toward Clark’s desk… he wasn’t there.

Again.

He’d been disappearing more and more this past week. Slipping out for interviews he didn’t tell anyone about. Coming in late, leaving early. When he was around, he was quieter than usual — and you hadn’t missed how he avoided eye contact whenever someone mentioned your piece.

It hurt more than it should’ve.

⸻

That night, you were the last one in the office. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the glowing skyline of Metropolis cast reflections on the floor-to-ceiling glass panels. You were polishing off a follow-up draft when you heard it — the sudden whoosh of wind… and then silence.

You turned. And froze.

He was there.

Hovering just inches above the floor, cape fluttering ever so slightly in the still air.

“Superman,” you breathed.

His boots touched down softly. The city lights caught in the dark of his hair and the curve of his jaw. He looked somehow larger than life — but his expression was… careful. Almost unreadable.

“I read your article,” he said, voice smooth and low. “It was beautifully written.”

Your breath caught. “You read it?”

“I make it a point to stay informed,” he said, then paused. “But I read yours twice.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Oh. I… I didn’t expect that.”

He stepped closer — not too close, still respectful — but enough that you could feel the sheer presence of him.

“I wanted to thank you,” he continued. “You reminded people what hope looks like. Not just because of me… but because of the way you told the story. That matters.”

Your heart thudded. For a second, you forgot how to speak. “I just… wrote what I felt.”

His gaze softened. “That’s the most powerful thing you could’ve done.”

His eyes searched yours, deeper than anyone had ever looked at you, and suddenly the newsroom felt very, very quiet.

You hesitated, then smiled softly. “Why do you always disappear before anyone gets the chance to really know you?”

Superman exhaled slowly, almost like he’d expected the question.

“Because I’ve learned that sometimes… being known means being vulnerable. And not everyone can see both sides of who I am.”

His words landed heavy, meaningful. Before you could reply, he offered the smallest smile. “Be careful going home tonight. The sidewalks are slick.”

And just like that — whoosh — he was gone.

You didn’t realize Clark had returned until the next morning.

He was already seated at his desk, tie a little crooked, typing away as if he hadn’t vanished for the past two days. But something was different. His posture. His quiet smile when you arrived. The way his eyes lingered on you just a moment too long.

“You’re in early,” you said, setting down your bag.

“Thought I’d try to beat Lois to the coffee pot,” he joked softly. Then, with a glance toward your desk, he added, “I saw the new Superman article. About his visit.”

Clark looked up, and something in his gaze — something quiet and earnest — made your breath catch.

“What would you do,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, “if the person you trusted most turned out to be someone… you never expected?”

You smiled, unsure. “I guess it would depend on why they kept it a secret.”

Clark’s jaw flexed slightly. “What if you saw both — and still stayed?”

You paused. “Then I’d say… that person’s luckier than they know.”