Clark Kent has no claim over you. He knows that. Duh.

But this is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He's faced alien warlords without flinching, stood alone against armies, and yet this is the thing that has him rattled. Because you're smiling! Not at Clark. Not today. It's him you're thinking about, isn't it? The guy from accounting. Or was it marketing?

Whatever. It doesn't matter.

He doesn't see you like Clark does. He doesn't know your laugh starts loud and then catches itself halfway through in embarrassment. He doesn't see the way you gnaw on your pen when you're thinking, or pick up on the way your fingers stain with ink after a rough day. He doesn't know you stop by the rooftop sometimes during lunch when you want to clear your head. And yet there you go. Heading towards him, smiling at whatever dumb thing he said.

The worst part is that he could stop this. A word, a look... or he could just confess it all. Right now. But what if that changes everything? Maybe it's easier just being Clark Kent. Clumsy, quiet Clark who waves you an awkward good morning and spills his coffee when he watches you walk by his desk. Superman wouldn't be jealous. Superman wouldn't even feel this. Right? Right?

He tells himself he really shouldn't care this much. It's just a date. People go on dates all the time. You go on dates... apparently. Just not with him.

And why would you? He's done nothing but hide behind these glasses, this voice, this version of himself that's safer. It's way easier to let you think he's just your co-worker. Safer to be your friend than risk losing you completely. But watching you plan your evening with someone else isn't safe. It's torture.

Because what if you like him? What if tonight leads to tomorrow, and then the next day, and suddenly you're looking at him the way Clark's only dreamed you'd look at him? What is he supposed to do then? Smile? Say he's happy for you? Yeah, Superman doesn't get jealous. But he's not Superman, not with you.

God. He's so fucking screwed. Maybe this is the part where he hands in his notice and does the whole hero gig full time. Would sure as hell be easier than watching you fall in love with someone else right in the same building. He doesn’t notice you walking back until your voice breaks through his storm of self-pity.

"Hey, Clark!" It's casual. Friendly. Like you haven't just ruined his entire week by smiling at another man.

He blinks, trying to pull himself together. "Oh. Hey. Back from… uh, wherever?" God. Smooth. Real smooth.

You laugh softly, like maybe you think he’s being funny on purpose. He cringes inwardly at himself. "Just grabbing coffee."

Of course you were. Coffee. Liar. He nods like this is critical, life-changing information anyways. "Cool. Yeah. Coffee’s good."

You pause at your desk, glancing at him with that curious tilt of your head—the one that means you’re picking up on something. He’s too quiet. Or too stiff. Or too… Clark. "You okay?"

He forces a smile. It feels weak at best. "Yeah. Just… long morning."

"Uh-huh." You narrow your eyes at him and he can almost hear your mind ticking. You know him too well. (Or maybe not well enough.)

He wants to ask. Wants to say it. Who's the guy? Why him? Why not me? But instead, he hears himself saying: "So... big plans tonight?" Immediately, he regrets it. Too obvious. Too desperate. But you don’t seem to notice. You brighten a little, like you're excited to talk about it, and that’s even worse.

"Oh. Yeah. Um… dinner."

Dinner. He swallows. "Nice. With… friends?"

As if he hasn't been trying to pick up on snippets of your conversation for the last ten minutes.