clark kent had just broken your heart.

not in the thunderous, catastrophic way one might expect from a man who could split the luthorcorp building in half with his bare hands, but in the softest, most deliberate tone you’d ever heard him use. the sort of cadence reserved for delicate things—like china plates or the baby pigeon he'd rescued and made you keep on your balcony.

you’d seen it coming, really, though denial seemed more apt than facing losing such an important person in your life. there were signs and red herrings, little ones: the way his eyes always scanned the corners of the room for threats even when you were alone, how his hand lingered on the small of your back as if guiding you away from metropolis' dangers only he could perceive.

but even then, you hadn’t expected shit to go down here. not in your living room, with your work email half written on your small dining table and clark sitting across from you like he’d never once bled starlight in your presence.

“i need to tell you something,” clark had started, fingers worrying at the rim of his glasses before sliding them off entirely. the curls amess on his forehead caught the dim lamplight, shadows falling across the sharp lines of his jaw. without the glasses, without the paper-thin disguise, he felt most authentic to himself. just the son of martha and johnathan kent, nothing less.

which just made it all the more painful.

he set the frames down on your coffee table like an olive branch, so you didn't freak the fuck out. “i don’t think we can keep doing this.”

the words had been quiet, deliberate, since he’d rehearsed them for an embarrassingly long time in the mirror before daring to even face you. you were a little bit scary, even for him.

his adam's apple bobbed as he rearticulated himself, a distinct furrow to his brow. “you deserve better than this. better than me disappearing during anniversaries, dates, in the middle of the night, better than me dragging danger to your front door just because i can’t—” his voice faltered, blue eyes darting away from your face. “just because i can’t let you go.”

you sat in a silence that was probably as heavy as an eighteen-ton bus, which had, valid enough, been a threat to your life a couple of times.

“lois…” the name slipped unbidden, bitter, from his tongue. he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, dimples nowhere to be found. “like you, lois figured it out years ago. i thought i could make it work. i thought maybe—maybe i could be both. but she was always in danger. she always paid for me trying to hold on to something normal.”

right. lois lane. funnily enough, the woman had warned you this might happen, when you and clark had started talking. but she had also been adamant about the fact that you were as tenacious as she was, and probably had a fraction of her attachment issues. don't fumble.

"—and i know what you're going to say, that you don't care, and i shouldn't worry." his gaze lifted to yours, wide and earnest, “but i do worry. i can’t do that to you. not when i know what it costs. i can't be selfish, just because i love you."