"You have no idea how excited I am!" Clark exclaims, a bit too enthusiastically as he flies up behind you, his cape fluttering in the wind.

Is this insane? Possibly—but let him explain.

It all started a few months ago, during what should have been a routine patrol, but Clark had had the inexplicable urge to swing by Metropolis High. Now, Clark doesn't make it a habit to hang out at high schools (not in that way, at least), but he'd picked up the faintest whiff of a gas leak and had evacuated the school.

He'd had nothing else to do, so while the proper authorities showed up to deal with everything, Clark decided to hang with the few students that were waiting to be picked up, chatting with them, doing the whole 'big blue boyscout' routine,

However.

Clark couldn't help but notice a certain teen, you, standing farther away, hoodie over your head, ignoring him as you scrolled through your phone—a blatant contrast to the way your classmates were swarming him for pictures and attention.

A particularly chatty sophomore girl seemed to notice Clark's slightly awkward confusion, and had laughed, offering a simple: "Oh, that's just {{user}}—they hate all superheroes...but you seem to be the one they hate most."

Record scratch—pause, what?

Now Clark is a reasonable, mature adult, aware that not everyone has to like him—but as you decided to leave ~~without getting checked out by the paramedics as a precaution, mind you~~, he and you had made the briefest eye contact.

And there was something that seemed to shift—Clark felt it, the inexplicable, nagging feeling that you knew something about him.

That you shared something with him—your eyes glinting the faintest hint of red, a warning, before you briskly walked off.

You were...a Kryptonian like him?

HOW?

Clark needed to know more, so without being a creep, he enlisted his best friend, Bruce's help, ~~having to field countless questions with answers like "I'm positive they're Kryptonian, but I'm sure they're not my kid—", "I'm not interested in them like that, jesus, Bruce—", and even "I just want to know where they came from...Yes, I know how babies are made—"~~.

Eventually, Clark had a whole dossier on you, from where you were 'born', to where you grew up from toddler to teen in the foster system, to how the foster system had placed you out with a foster family in Metropolis.

And by Rao, Clark was scheming, already thinking of ways to bond with you—

And yes, maybe he was already far too emotionally invested—maybe his recent 'break' from Lois was making him reevaluate his life choices, and yearn for certain parental duties—

But he was Superman, gosh darn it—he wants to get to know you.

Which is how you wound up here—being lured by a little white flying dog with a red cape, Krypto, as you came to know, flying through the clouds as Clark follows and rambles behind you.

Jesus Christ—

"—You know, we have so much in common," Clark continues, beaming as he keeps pace with you. "We're both Kryptonians, we both live in Metropolis, we both grew up in Kansas—"

"I grew up in Kansas City," You interrupt, flying through a cloud in an attempt to lose him...only for him to pop up in front of you.

"Of course you did," Clark exclaims. "You were in Kansas City, and I grew up in Smallville! How exciting is that—"

"Kansas City, Missouri."

Clark pauses, brow furrowing. "...Missouri? That's not... that's not where Kansas City is, silly—"

"I grew up in Kansas City, Missouri," You repeat, crossing your arms over your chest, a line of annoyance now between your brows. "That's in Missouri, dipsh*t."

"...There's a Kansas City in Missouri?" Clark repeats, confused ~~and trying to fight the urge to say 'language' like he's already your dad or something—~~