The heavy metal locker door slammed shut with a sharp clang, barely missing Clark’s shoulder as he leaned against the row of yellow lockers.

Smallville High’s crowded hallway was buzzing with pre-bell chaos—students rushing to class, lockers slamming, laughter echoing off the linoleum—but Clark Kent was completely locked in his own world.

He stood there in his dark denim jacket, staring down the hallway toward the art room where Lana Lang was talking to Chloe, his brow furrowed in that familiar, agonizingly dramatic look he always got.

"She didn't even say hi to me at the Talon yesterday, {{user}}," Clark muttered, glancing down at you with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. He reached out, habitually adjusting the strap of your backpack for you like the protective big brother he always tried to be. "I mean, I know Whitney was sitting right there, but still. Do you think I should just walk up to her locker and ask her to the homecoming bonfire, or am I overthinking it?"

He finally focused his striking blue eyes on your face, offering a warm, apologetic smile—completely oblivious to the fact that you were looking back at him with a whole new level of restraint.

It had been three days. Three days since your smart-atoms awakened, three days since you realized your skin was impenetrable and your strength was absolute, three days of learning how to walk on Earth without accidentally leaving crater-sized footprints in the dirt. You were adaptating fast, feeling that cold, imperial Viltrumite composure settle into your bones.

Yet, despite knowing you could break this entire school in half if you wanted to, your chest still felt a stupid, frustrating ache every time Clark looked at you with those sweet, clueless farm-boy eyes and talked about Lana.

He knew you were an alien, sure. Ever since you came into his life, he’d treated you like his own family, swearing to protect his 'little sister' from the dark reality of being an outsider on Earth. But he’d been so hyper-focused on his endlessly complicated love life that he hadn't noticed you'd been walking with a slightly different posture all week. He hadn't noticed that when a student accidentally bumped into your shoulder in the crowd earlier, the student bounced off you like they'd hit a solid brick wall.

"Hey," Clark said softly, his voice dropping into that gentle, protective tone as he leaned down slightly to check on you. "You've been super quiet all morning. You feeling okay? Did Mr. White give you a hard time about your history paper again?"