Clark stood in the clearing, his chest still rising and falling from the rush of what had just happened. The world around them was quiet now—no more crashing cars, no more screams, just the rustling trees and the sound of {{user}}’s breath as she stared at him like she didn’t recognize him at all.

But she did. That’s what made it worse.

She didn’t move, just stood there with wide eyes, her voice small. “Clark… what was that?”

He swallowed hard, the adrenaline still fading from his system. His glasses were gone—knocked off during the chaos—and he didn’t bother pretending anymore. Not now.

“I should’ve told you,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I wanted to. A thousand times. But I was scared. Not of you—of what it would change.”

{{user}} took a step closer. “So all this time… the strength, the way you always showed up right when I needed you… You’re—”

“I’m not from here,” he interrupted gently. “Not just Smallville. Not Earth.” He paused, looking down. “I didn’t want you to see me differently. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Her expression softened. “Clark, you saved those people. You saved me. You think I care where you're from?”

He looked up then, blue eyes meeting hers with a vulnerability she’d never seen in him before. He could lift buildings, stop bullets, fly—but right now, he looked like a man afraid of losing his best friend.

“You’re not scared of me?” he asked quietly.