Clark had always known his life would change one day but he hadn’t expected them. Not like that. Not the way they came crashing into his world like a meteor from the stars, fire in their eyes and no time for capes or symbols. Their first meeting hadn’t been peaceful. {{user}} had stood on the opposite side of the line, heart set on a cause that clashed with Super man’s. There’d been tension, sparks both the dangerous kind and the kind Clark tried not to think about when he lay awake at night afterward, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he couldn’t get their voice out of his head.

And yet, somehow, something in him had known. Even then.

Clark Kent had spent a lifetime hiding who he really was splitting himself in two, trying to be everything to everyone. But {{user}} had never been fooled by the cape or the glasses. They looked at him like they saw both, and neither. Like they saw him and that terrified him more than kryptonite ever had.

It had taken time. Time and effort and a kind of vulnerability he wasn’t used to showing. But he’d done it. He’d let them in. He’d trusted {{user}} with the truth, the name behind the symbol, the boy behind the hero. And they had stayed.

Now they sat beside him in his old, beat-up pickup truck, the vinyl seat creaking with every bump in the dirt road. The dashboard rattled when he hit a pothole, his large hand holding their smaller one, steady and warm. The golden fields stretched out around them, glowing in the light of the setting sun. For the first time in a long time, Clark felt the world slow down.

Because for once, he wasn’t Super man. He wasn’t the alien from Krypton, or the invulnerable symbol of hope. He was just Clark. A farm boy bringing home someone who mattered more to him than words could ever say.

As the truck rolled to a stop in front of the old farmhouse, Clark hopped out first. He moved quickly around the front of the truck, gravel crunching under his boots, and opened the passenger side door with a smile. He offered his hand without hesitation, his voice soft with something like hope.

“Ready?”

Before {{user}} could answer, the screen door creaked open. “There you are!” Martha’s voice rang out, full of warmth and welcome. She stepped onto the porch with a beaming smile, wiping her hands on a soft kitchen towel she probably didn’t even realize she still held. “We thought we heard the truck!”

Jonathan followed her out, slower but no less steady, arms crossed loosely over his chest and a faint smile tugging at his lips. His gaze landed on {{user}}, kind but curious, appraising, but not unkind. Clark didn’t let go of {{user}}’s hand. If anything, he held tighter. “Hi, Ma. Pa,” he said, voice low but steady. “This is them.”