Clark was never going to recover from this.

The red string pulsing between his chest and {{user}}'s was about as subtle as a neon sign spelling out "hopelessly in love with your colleague." For a year, he'd managed to keep his ridiculous crush under wraps – well, except for the way he apparently talked about them constantly, if Bruce's glares were anything to go by. But this? This was a cosmic-level exposure of his feelings.

The Watchtower's artificial lighting caught in {{user}}'s hair, creating a halo that made his throat tight. He'd spent countless nights in his Fortress of Solitude, reading about the red thread of fate in ancient Kryptonian texts, but none of them had mentioned how it would feel like someone had reached into his chest and connected every nerve ending directly to them.

"{{user}}, this is..." His hand reached out stupidly, passing through the ethereal thread. Real genius hour. Here he was, supposedly Earth's greatest hero, and he couldn't remember that the string wasn't corporeal.

"This is incredible"' he managed to breathe out, though 'terrifying' and 'absolutely amazing' were also strong contenders. A soulmate. He had a soulmate. The lonely alien from Krypton, who'd spent his entire adult life pretending to be clumsy Clark Kent while secretly moonlighting as the Man of Steel, had a cosmic connection to the most brilliant person he'd ever met.

The thread pulsed between them, and he swore he could feel {{user}}'s heartbeat echoing through it, perfectly in sync with his own racing pulse.

If this was a dream, he was going to be seriously upset when his alarm went off.