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Your mother slapped your knee under the table, discretely signalling you to look up from your plate. It appeared that Jonathan Kent had asked you a question. You often daydreamed during these weekly dinner parties, your mind occupied by the most random of things.    "Pardon?" You inquired. The fine lines around his eyes crinkled as he offered you a small smile. You were suddenly very thankful for the Kent family kindness, as you knew other Southern families would not have reacted as kindly to your obvious disinterest in this meal. However, it wasn't as though you were necessarily the guest of honour or something. In fact, up until that moment, no one had paid you any mind and instead your parents had been engaged in their usual banter with the Kents.     "I said I heard you'd gotten into knitting recently," he spoke with a look of expectance on his face. You'd barely even started knitting until a few nights ago, and nearly gave up yesterday during a visit to your grandmother due to her overbearing attitude regarding your daily lessons.     "Yes," you replied. "I thought it would be a nice hobby to have, especially as I can just make my own clothes instead of having to go out into town whenever I need to." You'd been picking up random hobbies as of late much to your mother's enthusiasm, though you expected she'd be less enthusiastic at the realisation that you just wanted any distraction from your approaching wedding with Clark. At the thought, you peeked over, noting his usual slouched shoulders and dull shy expression. You fought back a sigh at the thought that this man was who your parents were pushing you to be with. Clark was gentle and kind, but judging by the fact he could barely speak a full sentence in your presence, you weren't sure how he felt about you.      He was different from the other town boys, growing up most boys were pushy and rowdy. Many of which grew up to either work in the mines or take over their respective family businesses. Clark was different, he’d started a job recently at the local publishing house, manning the print and press. It was typically a two person job, but Clark was fast according to his boss, Perry. Jonathan hadn’t been entirely pleased by this, or so your mother’s gossip suggested, as like any father in Smallville, his father wanted him to take over the family farm. Then eventually he’d merge with your family’s farm, just like they all intended.     "Ya hear that, Clark?" Jonathan said. "Maybe she can make you something too for the Winter." His tone was teasing, as he spoke to his adult son as though he were a shy school aged boy.      Clark stuttered for a moment before he collected himself, "yeah, maybe." You offered a smile in response as the table laughed which only seemed to encourage the blush on his face. Again, Clark was kind, he was sweet, but that was where it ended despite the fact that within a few weeks time he would be your husband. It was strange to think about, as you'd hardly call your relationship a courtship as the man could hardly handle you in his personal space. But eventually, he would be sharing a bed with you and laying down with you, and doing what married folks do with you.     And you didn't know how you felt about that.     
      After your weekly dinners with the Kents, the grown folks liked to give you what they called your couple time where Clark and yourself strolled outside along the perimeter of the Kent family farm. Usually, these walks were filled with meaningless chatter from your end whilst Clark stuttered a response. Despite knowing you his entire life, he still couldn't get a full sentence across, just like how he couldn't stand straight or keep his hair out of his eyes.       Something needed to change. You weren’t sure what, but you felt as though you needed to unravel Clark, dig into his insides a little and see what was hiding under all that shyness. It was morbid, but something about his meekness brought out that edge in you.      You paused in your steps, feeling the hard gravel under the heels of your shoes. You faced the giant man, your head barely reaching his chest making you realise just how large he was despite the way he often shrank upon himself. Your actions seemed to have unnerved him as you noted the small tremor in his hands.      "Are you sure this is what you want?" You looked up to face him, his eyes obscured by his glasses and shaggy dark hair.       "Wha--?"     "This marriage," you said. You weren't sure why you were so bold, and perhaps it had to do with your own insecurities and anxieties finally creeping in on you. Nonetheless, you persisted. "Do you want to marry me, Clark?"      "O... Of course," he responded. "D-do I ... Do I make you feel otherwise?"      You sighed, your eyes suddenly downcast. “Do you desire me Clark?" You’d read a line like that in a book a while back, you figured it was relevant enough.      The man's brows knitted in confusion, "Well, I- I just said of course, I want to marry you."     "That's not what I just asked."     "I don't understand," he murmured. You breathed out another sigh out of frustration before you clenched your fists together.     "Do you find me desirable, Clark? What am I to you?” You finally breathed. Your eyes snapping to his, barely spotting traces of blue obscured by his curls.      “Well,” he paused for a moment. “You’re my betrothed, and I think you’re… Well, I think y-you’re… Nice.” Nice. Nice? You were engaged to a man who could barely speak to you, who could not answer if he found you desirable.       “If I asked you to, could you even kiss me now Clark? On our wedding night would you even be bold enough to slip my dress off, or would you simply roll over and act like I don’t exist?” You snapped your lips shut, suddenly embarrassed at your own forwardness. Clark, this was Clark. Kind Clark who was now being harassed over sex when he could barely even hold your hand without turning red.      What would he think of you now? A crazed harlot?      Before he could even stutter out another word, you muttered a small sorry before you ran off. Thankful that the dinner had occurred at the Kent house rather than your own home which was a few minutes away so that you wouldn't have to face your family.
     You hadn't stopped running until you reached your bedroom, you paced around before opening your window and letting sobs escape into the evening air. You were an embarrassment, if Clark could barely look at you before, how could he look at you now, after hearing what you had asked him? The chilly fall air caused goosebumps to raise against your arms which you paid no mind to as you slumped over the windowsill, tears cascading down your dampened cheeks. You hardly noticed the man until he spoke.      "Hearing a lady as beautiful as you cry," he started, "well, it just breaks my heart to see." You yelped, fluttering away from the window in shock at the sudden words, only for your eyes to widen in shock at the sight of the vibrant blue and red of the man's suit.     "You," you gasped.     "Me," he replied.      "Y-You're that... Superman they got in the papers; who can fly, and shoot lasers outta his eyes," you said in astonishment from your spot on the floor as the Superman gracefully squeezed himself through your open window, his red boots thumping onto the floor. You watched as he reached forward and offered you a hand, his eyes shining mischievously.      "So you've heard of me?"     "I may be a farm girl, but I'd have to be living under a rock in an old boot to have not heard of you," you replied, taking his hand and yelping as he easily pulled you up, your eyes face to face with the decorative symbol on his chest. You noticed elaborate patterns woven into the fabric of his suit, realising the theories that he was some sort of alien must have been true due to the fact the material seemed out of this world entirely. The blue, red, and yellows shimmering as though it was alive.       He chuckled, "a rock in an old boot? You have a funny way with words." He smiled, and you noted that he had dimples.      "That I do," you said, taking a step back. "Now why exactly are you here? Last I seen in the papers, you tend to fight off bad business owners and bank robbers, and I ain't robbed no banks, Mr. Superman." You were anxious by his presence, it came across as odd that he'd be in your bedroom.     "Call me, Superman," he simply stated. "Mr. Superman is my father." You raised your brow at his awful sense of humour, it was at though he was socializing for the first time ever, and for all you knew, he could have been.  "And fighting people isn't all I do, sometimes... Well, sometimes, when a civilian seems like they're in distress, I stop by and see if I can cheer 'em up. Now, do you wanna talk about your problems, I promise I'm a good listener-- and a good punching bag too."     "Well, Superman, I'm set to marry someone who I think doesn't wanna marry me. Our folks have set this up our whole lives, and well..." You trailed off, realising that you had said too much. You had meant to say something sarcastic, but instead ended up basically confessing your worries anyway.      "How can you be so sure he doesn't want you?"      "I just am," you snapped, causing him to wince. "Sorry, I just know..."     "Well," he replied before taking a seat on the couch below your windowsill, which funny enough still made him taller than eye level. "You seem like a swell girl; funny and pretty, what else could he need? Maybe he's... Shy... Or bad with words…"      You scoffed, "he's shy alright." You turned your head, hoping he couldn't see the embarrassment upon your face at being called pretty. You couldn't recall if a man had ever called you that before, and the thought caused more tears to escape down your face.     "Oh no," he whispered. He sat up in his spot, his arms reaching up as though he was nervous to touch you, before he settled on laying them clenched in his lap. "I was just trying to cheer you up, but it seems I just upset you more."      You could hear the pain in his voice, and for a second you wondered how selfless a person had to be to be a hero. You'd seen him in the local papers doing all sorts of things, fighting bad guys, monsters, aliens, with a smile for the press photographs, Yet here he was, pained by the thought of having hurt your already delicate feelings. He was simply too kind for his own good, you were used to kindness and southern hospitality, but this was different.       "Please don't be upset," you said. "It's... it's just that I don't think a man has ever called me pretty before, so hearing it for the first time like this... Well, I guess it's a lot."      There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.     "That fiancé of yours sure is a fool then," he said bitterly, and yet it felt as though malice was new to him. "Why... If you were mine, I think I'd remind you everyday just how beautiful you are. So... So, don't cry over clowns like him, okay?" Clark, a fool? He was many things, but you never saw him as an idiot. He was often mistaken for one with all his clumsy habits, but Clark was smart, your mother always said that boy had a good head on his shoulders. She said you were smart too, but you were always too impulsive.      You were about to show her just how impulsive you could be.     You weren't sure if it was your own lack of agency that pushed you to do this next move, or perhaps the thrill of getting close to a man who was supposedly made of steel. Perhaps, it was the fact that in that moment, you were a young woman, and he was a man, and he said something that lit up something deep in you that had never been lit up before. You walked hesitantly over to him, gingerly bringing your hand to his cheek, and planted a kiss on his lips. You felt his hesitation, and nearly pulled away before suddenly he grabbed you and pulled you close, lifting your body effortlessly as he stood up and kissed you hungrily.       It felt as though he had been waiting for this, though you weren't sure if this was your own delusion.       Every few moments you pulled away to gasp for air before returning to his lips, your fingers scaling all over his uniform, feeling the ridges curiously as you had never been so close to a man before in your life, let alone one as strong as this one. A sense of guilt filled your stomach at the thought of Clark, only to wash away as the hero's mouth moved to your neck. Your breathing growing heavier as he grew more bold. Hesitantly you grabbed the front of his suit and pulled until he understood and carried you over to your bed, dropping you gently on its edge. Your dress had ridden up, exposing your inner thighs as he adjusted himself between them. His fingers moved to unravel the front of your dress, allowing for your breasts to spill out and immediately be claimed by his lips. Eagerly, he sucked whilst his hand squeezed and rubbed your other breast.      The pace had jumped quickly, but you were eager to continue, bucking your hips up to meet his. A groan escaped his lips as your pelvis met the hard mass beneath his suit.       "How does this come off?" You asked him, breathlessly. He removed his lips from your breast, and stared at you in a haze for a moment before in a flash of red and blue he reappeared on top of you void of his suit. Gingerly, you reached your hand to feel his naked chest, noting the way his heart was beating eratically, though if he was nervous he didn't show it.     "Can you... Can you touch me?" You asked hesitantly.      He looked at you curiously before he realized what you meant. Carefully his hand moved, squeezing your inner thigh before making contact with your soaked cunt. You felt something twitch against your thigh as his fingers began to prob, gingerly swirling around your wetness before entering you with a soft moan. You gasped at the sensation, your hips bucking to meet his fingers eagerly as he slowly pumped you with curiosity. You watched his eyes, noting the way he looked past your garments in wonderment at the way his fingers delved deep inside you. A sudden curve in his finger led to a loud moan from you, and he paused in his movements, now staring at your expression before repeating the motion. His blue eyes locked onto your strained face as he continued to rock his fingers and curve them inside you, meeting that special squishy spot.     "Please..." you murmured.      "What do you need?" He asked, another finger moving inside you now, as he bent down closer to your face, brushing loose hair away from your forehead tenderly as though you were lovers. You could feel it, large and warm against your thigh, twitching occasionally with every moan you let out.
     Was this what it felt like to be desired?
     "Can you... Put it in me?" You felt your face grow hot at your own words, knowing there was no going back from this.      "Are you sure?" He whispered, as though it would be a secret, as though he wouldn't judge you for allowing him to defile you, to ruin you, to destroy any chance of your wedding if anyone were to find out.     "Yes," you gasped as his fingers hooked into you one last time before leaving your body. You hardly had any time to miss them until you felt the brush of something solid push against your walls. You reached your arms around his neck, in awe at the way his hair still remained gelled back except for the one perfect curl in front of his face.     He cooed softly at you as you tensed, his cock delving deeper into you, splitting you apart, and for a brief moment you wondered if love was a form of murder. He paused, peppering kisses across your face before continuing until you felt his balls slapping against your folds. You laid there for a moment, before you felt him slowly rock back and forth on top of you, creating a steady rhythm. More moans escaped your lips as you curled your legs around his waist, the white of your dress pooling around your stomach.      His pace grew faster as he watched your bare breasts bounce on your chest, his eyes transfixed on your body.     "You're beautiful," he whispered. You could feel the heat on your cheeks from his words.     "Y... You're just saying that," you replied.     "No," he said. His thrusts hadn't paused for even a moment as he stared, transfixed, "I think you're the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."      "I bet you say that to all the girls whose windows you crawl into," you smirked, suddenly bold as you circled your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.      He scoffed, "Just you," he murmured something else you couldn't quite catch, but you didn't worry on it as you felt something in the pit of your stomach, a tightening as though you were you being pushed off an edge.      "Please," was all you could say, pathetically as you let out another moan. As if understanding, he continuing his thrusting, his hand reaching down to touch and prod at you before they landed on a delicate little pearl and began to swirl. You let out a near scream at this, though he remained undeterred as he continued his work, his eyes still on you as you squeezed around his cock, cumming and producing more slick as his continued his thrusts.     He bit his lip before his hands moved to grab your hips, squeezing gently as he pumped into you rapidly, your sore legs bouncing, and your thighs jiggled at his thrusts until suddenly he sank impossibly deep into you and stilled his hips.     You peeked up in confusion, until you felt the sensation of warm liquid pooling into your cunt. A sensation of fullness until he pulled his cock out and you could feel the liquid dribble down your aching thighs. Now, as he stood tall, you had a moment to appreciate the muscles across his expansive chest, as well as the tuft of hair below his navel that led to his still erect member.       The sight caused you to clench, and ashamedly you felt his cum drip down your thighs again.      “I…” You were unsure of what to say as you sat up, and noted bits of blood in your bedsheets along with his semen. The sight caused a hitch in your breath as you finally processed what you had done.      As if in understanding, the Superman came close and cradled you in his arms as silent tears trailed down your face. “It’s okay,” he said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. What we did was special,” he concluded. His fingers moved to wipe away your tears, and you marvelled at their softness realizing despite his heavy labour as a hero, the softness of his skin would never change.      “Special?” You scoffed. “I’ve doomed myself… My wedding night… He’ll know, mama always said men will know and I have to stay pure…”      “Trust me when I say it won’t matter,” he said. At the unsure look in your eyes, he continued. “Please,” he begged. Despite your mother’s words, despite your teachings, you felt as though you could trust him in that moment. After all, he was a hero, wasn’t he?      Before you could respond however, you heard the opening of your house’s door downstairs and your mother’s faint voice asking if you were home. Before you could even panic, you felt a bright flash and a sudden lurching of your figure.       You now stood fully dressed, facing your bed which had fresh sheets you recognized from your closet.      The Superman was nowhere to found, but the soreness and slickness between your thighs was ever present.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You feigned sickness over the next few days. The Superman didn’t make any appearances, but Clark sure did. In the later evening, he’d stop on by with the latest papers he pressed at the publishing house he worked at. He didn’t come up to see you, though you knew he tried, but your mother had told him of how you suspected you were contagious.       Regardless, he’d stutter outside your door about how Perry let him take the reject copies home. He’d prattled on about ink splatter before sliding the copy under your door. The copies had been turned down for various mistakes, typically typos from that lousy typecaster Jimmy, who according to Clark always tried his best but Perry breathing down his neck made him anxious. He’d said the papers would give you something funny to read while you recovered. It only made the guilt in your tummy feel much worse, hearing him make an extra effort to speak to you when another man had been inside you. The feeling of it still lingering whenever you shifted or paced around your room.        Pace you did, indeed, as your mother had came in early that morning to check your temperature and decided your fever had disappeared miraculously. The truth is her sudden entrance didn’t give you enough time to press a hot towel against your forehead first. Ever since then you had been tending to the various chores you neglected, feigning that it was merely light headedness whenever you winced from the dull aching from your core as you walked or bent over to pick up various tools.     Your day had been long, and yet none of it distracted you from the fact that you’d have to come face to face with Clark any minute now. The late evening approaching and signalling that he had gotten off of work about an hour ago. You didn’t know what you’d say to him, hell, you didn’t know what he’d say to you.       You needn’t think it any longer, however, as you heard the door downstairs creak open. The sound of your parents’ voices greeting Clark, letting him know he could go on upstairs and finally see you now that your fever had broken. The heavy footsteps that followed reminded you of a play you’d seen as a girl, the sound of the prison warden’s heavy boots walking on towards the criminal’s cell. Now Clark didn’t wear boots, he started wearing fancy shoes ever since he got that job at the publishing house. But Clark was a big man, and big men made heavy steps up creaky old staircases. There was nothing delicate about Clark’s walking, it was just as clumsy as the rest of him.      The steps stopped, and you felt your heartbeat race up, as a knock reached your door.     ”Enter,” you called, as though you had no clue who was on the other side. Clark then turned the knob, and stepped into your tiny room. An innocent room, with a nice pretty bed and a hand carved vanity made by your father. You even had a fancy book case filled with childish adventure stories and hidden romances. An innocent room for a lady, if not for the sheets you hid in the back of your closet. Your blood staining the fabric, marking it forever with the memory of what you did with the Superman. It seemed he had placed it delicately in your hamper, but once you caught it, you went and hid it. It wasn’t a keepsake but rather a reminder of your own foolishness and your betrayal to the man in front of you now.     ”I… I don’t really k-know the last… Last time I’ve been in your room… Like this,” he said first. He stuttered his way through it similarly to how he stuttered his way through life. Head on, and with a quiet determination.      “Like this?” You replied curiously.      “Well, I- I just meant alone with you here, why… Why it’s a little intimate.” He shuffled, and you noted that one of his hands had been discreetly placed behind his back as though to conceal something from you.     “I suppose it is,” the guilt continued to whirl around in the pit of your stomach. It was funny how guilt had a way of manifesting physically, as if you needed the heavy reminder that you had done something bad. A lot of the mine owners in town probably be walking around with a bad stomachache all day, and that’s why they’re always so grouchy. You shook your head away from your thoughts, before you continued.      “Whatcha got there behind you?”      You watched as Clark bit his lip, he hesitated for a moment before bringing his arm forward and revealing an elegant little bouquet of red roses. You recognized it as coming from that fancy little shop near the edge of Smallville closest to the big city. That was the thing about small towns, you knew where everything and everyone came from. Well, until the Superman popped outta the sky and decided that people could be secrets too.      There you go again, you thought. Your mind trailing off, bleeding into other thoughts as though you couldn’t stay in the moment. It was all a distraction really, how could you focus when you knew Clark went outta his way to get you these delicate little red roses? What had you done, what had you done?      “I’m sorry,” you said, and you really weren’t sure what for. You must’ve meant all of it, but you couldn’t say that. If Clark felt your tone was repressing something, he didn’t show it. Instead, he took a step closer to you, as if you were a frightened little animal with your leg caught in a trap. As if he knew that you didn’t understand what kindness looked like, not from someone so big, someone who had to crouch down when he walked through any door.       “I… I think you were right,” he replied. He closed in, his arms moving to bring the bouquet closer to you, and you accepted the offering. The strong scent overpowering your senses, and yet you were still so aware of him. “I w… Was thinking we could start fresh? A clean slate,” he determined. You furrowed your brows, perplexed at his sudden boldness and clearness in his voice. He continued, “I haven’t been the best… Man I could be to you. But that’s gonna’ change now, I can’t- can’t stand the thought of you feeling so… Detached from me. I-I’ll be better, for us.”      “I don’t understand,” you replied breathlessly. Was a clean slate possible when you still felt the impurity of your actions between your legs? The dull pain, the feeling of emptiness, still inside you. When you knew, you knew, oh how you knew that if that man flew through your window again, and offered you that dimpled smile that you’d be ready to welcome him back in faster than— well, faster than him.      “I mean I wanna be your man,” he said. “I—“ He hesitated, his face downcast, shaking his shaggy head of hair before he continued. “I… I don’t wanna be mild-mannered Clark Kent, shy ol’ Clark Kent. I wanna be someone you could be proud of calling your man.”        “Clark,” you said. You hurriedly moved the bouquet to your left arm, and held his big hand in your right hand. “Oh Clark, what a mess we are, huh? I’m proud of ya, and I’ve always been proud. I was- I just wanted to feel loved.”      “Don’t you get it?” He replied gently. “That’s where I— I failed. A-All I want, is well, for you to feel loved.”      “Clark, I—“      ”No no,” he said. “L-Like I said, I think we can st-start fresh. H-How’s about a date? J.. Just saying that, well, I feel a bit worse, I don’t think I-I’ve ever taken you out. I promise I’m not a cheapskate, no, just a fool who didn’t appreciate the woman he- he didn’t earn.”      “Well,” you replied quietly. “I’m not some sorta prize you can win at the fair… But, I suppose you could still take me there. I heard it’s opening in two days, just a few roads down… We can treat it as our first.” His words caused your cheeks to warm up significantly. You could feel the heat, and were suddenly thankful for the fact that Clark’s eyes were always partially obscured. It made speaking to him easier since you could avoid as much eye contact as you liked without having to worry about all the formalities.      “O-Of Course!” He chirped. “I-I’ll ask Perry if I can take a half day, and I’ll pick y-you up right after lunch time. How’s th-that sound?”       “That sounds fine,” you replied. Your hand had been absentmindedly rubbing circles into the back of his hand. You had just now noticed how soft they were despite the years of farm work and the repetition of operating the print and press, he had no toughness or calluses. You decided not to overthink it. You let go, and spoke again, “but by a fresh slate, what do you really mean?”     He stayed silent for a moment, as though pondering. “Why, I- I think I mean this symbolizes the start to- to our relationship, no longer o-one our parents set up. B- But a real one, of our own choice. I-I’ll let go of any past… Mistakes, if you can too?”      You remained silent for a moment, the smell of roses slightly suffocating. The vibrant red all of a sudden reminding you of a cape just as bold. But as you looked at Clark, and saw his meek smile and hunched shoulders, you decided to let out a small sigh, the guilt you felt suddenly weighed down harder. “Yes,” you said finally. “So long as you can let go of mine.” It felt manipulative, it made you feel downright nasty to lie, to hide a lie through Clark’s good intentions. A loophole, but how could he really forgive what he didn’t know? Could you live with that? Despite the guilt, despite how it hung around your neck like a noose, a small part of you, a quiet part told you that you could.      He smiled widely, and for a brief moment looking at his little dimples, you felt a sense of deja vu.     The next day, you spent some of your time at your granny’s home. Her nimble hands demonstrating how to knit and purl, knit and purl your yarn. It was when you switched colours that you asked her if she’d ever kept any secrets from your granddaddy. The kinds of secrets that ate away at the soul, that made you feel heavy after.      She sat for a moment, continuing her knitting. You were unsure if she heard you until she replied, decidedly, and told you:      “Sometimes,” she began. “Well, sometimes secrets are all we got, y’know… I loved your ‘pappy, but he was a man, and them men don’t know shit ‘bout nothin’. ‘Sides,” she continued. “Feeling heavy ain’t such a bad thing, now is it? I feel heavy after a good supper, I felt heavy when I was pregnant with your mama. A lady ought to feel heavy every once in a while, or we’d just float away.”        You laughed together, a full bellied laugh that continued as she recounted stories about your granddaddy. It didn’t stop the sickness in your gut, the guilt festering.       “But is it really okay for a woman to lie to a good man?”       Your granny scoffed, “ain’t no such thing as a good man,” she finally concluded.     But your granny was wrong, there were good men in this world, and you were entangled with two of ‘em.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Despite his clumsiness, Clark was a good driver. He picked you up at one o'clock sharp, and led you into his family's automobile with a bouquet of lilies in hand which you had to rush inside with and find a good vase before you headed off. The ride itself was only about a half hour, which was relatively short for the old rural town. Smallville might have been small, but it wasn't that ideal for walking, not unless you expected to get somewhere by nightfall. The ride had been quiet, though not unbearably so, as it was more of a calm quiet with Clark humming a tune here and there. You'd hardly noticed his vehicle had been parked until you heard the thunk of his door opening, and his hurried footsteps rushing over to your side and opening up your door. A classic gentleman, he was.      "I- I know that it's a little early i-in the day, but I thought you'd appreciate not having to deal with no crowds," he said sheepishly as he led you by the hand out of the lot and to the ticket booth. You hummed in response, your eyes latching onto the various booths and attractions.      "Oh!" you cried. Clark's head turned to you in surprise as he shoved the various tickets he'd bought into his pocket. "Oh Clark, we have to see the acrobats!" The sign outside the massive tent showed an imagining of what looked to be a Romani couple and a young boy soaring through the air, the bold elegant writing below titled them The Flying Graysons. It looked as though their next show wouldn't start until tomorrow however, and you felt your excitement flatten.     As if sensing your sadness, Clark spoke calmingly. "Not to worry, I- I just know there has to be other fun events going on today."      He'd been right as the two of you went all around the fair, looking at new trinkets, and seeing all sorts of fun tricks. There had been a man who swallowed an entire sword in one go! That one had been by far the most impressive if not for the escape artist, Mister Miracle, who could escape from anything he put his mind to.      “Oh this one looks new,” you paused. It looked like a typical strength testing game, with a scale and a hammer to match. The difference from all the rest being the giant wooden cut out of the Superman standing tall next to it. The owner of the game beamed when he noticed your concerned look, likely mistaking it for intimidation.      “How’s ’bout ya let ya man take a swing at this, huh?” He chortled, a deep laugh as though the thought of Clark winning a strength based game was hilarious. Clark stood at six feet, and about extra five inches, yet despite his height, many assumed him to be some sort of wimp due to his demeanour.      “Why’s it gotta be my man?” You asked curiously. “You don’t think I could win your little game?”      The man laughed even louder, “a little lady like you?”       “I’m hardly little,” you replied. Your brow quirked up as he continued to laugh, tears practically falling out of his aged brown eyes.      “Now, I don’t think you’re giving my fiancée a fair chance,” Clark chirped up. You angled around to face him, noting his lips were screwed up as if he were holding back from saying more.       “Alright alright,” the man finally relented. “Hand me ya tickets and I’ll let the lady have her shot, but I don’t call this the Superman for nothing, ya hear?” He turned to you, his face in a sneer. “So don’t start crying if ya don’t getcha prize in the end.”      You merely scoffed in response before lifting the hammer, doing your best not to let your nerves show. The hammer was a heavy wooden one, and you were careful not to let it give you splinters as you walked over to a better position near the trigger you needed to hit. You noted Clark was standing quite close.     ”Careful now, Clark,” you said. “I don’t wanna accidentally get your foot.”       Your fiancé only offered a small smile. “I trust you,” he said. “Now let’s show him?”       Those words led you to take a deep breath, and you shut your eyes before you reopened them and drove the hammer down onto the trigger. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but it almost felt like a strong gust of wind came crashing down with you as soon as the hammer hit the trigger. You watched as the little ball rose all the way up the beam and struck the bell signalling that you had won the game.      “Damn!” You said gleefully. The game owner cussed at the same time.      “Ain’t nobody’s beaten this game ever, and somehow a little lady did?” He cried in shock. “Well, ain’t that a lesson for me…”       “If no one’s won it before, surely that’s a sign to make the game a little easier for fairness sake?” Clark spoke, a half smile quirked on his face. “Unless you’re our little superwoman right here, of course.” You blushed at his words, still riding off the high of your win. Sometimes, you liked to hear Clark when he spoke to others. He never stuttered as much, it was as though that part of him was reserved for you funny enough.      “This here’s a business, not some charity,” the owner laughed, handing you a teddy bear.      “Speaking of,” you said, accepting your prize. “Did ya get permission to use his face for your game here?” You continued, pointing towards the painted wooden face of Superman.       “What’s he gonna do, sue me?” The man replied with a roll of his eyes before ushering the two of you away.       As you walked away, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, thinking about your victory.      “Looks like all my years helping out on the farm have really made me super strong, Clark,” you said.       “You certainly showed him,” he responded with a goofy grin.      You'd had a lot of fun playing the other games the fair had to offer, as you soon learnt that Clark had good aim despite his usual lack of coordination. However, it did land you into a few disputes with the respective workers because they swore he had to have cheated somehow. Indeed, you defended Clark from the likes of them as if your life depended on it. They were just a bunch of no good scam artists! After that, the two of you, along with your many stuffed bears, decided to make your final destination the beautiful ferris wheel ride.     "You were right about the crowds, I remember coming by the fair one summer with my ma, and it felt like I had to wait hours to get on this damn ride. But we're already at the front and it's barely been a minute," you praised. Your eyes glued to Clark's arms, making sure that if he dropped any of your beloved teddy bears from today he'd earn an earful. So far he'd been good, but you still kept your eye on him, counting all eleven of your new babies.       "Well, so-sometimes, when y-you're a kid, well, time goes by slow, don't ya think?" He replied. The bears shaking as he spoke, causing a giggle from you. "That sound," he said. "I can't get enough of it."      His voice, void of the meekness, void of the stutter. For a second, for a brief moment you felt something deep inside you turn at the deepness. It felt familiar, but it was easier not to question it, especially when it was now your turn up into the ferris wheel. You bounded on, the worker letting you adjust in your seat as you watched Clark approach, before he suddenly came to a stop, as though he heard something. Clark stilled for a moment before he approached you timidly, he bent over as though to tell you a little secret.      "Gee," he said. "S-seeing it up close, I-- I don't think I- quite con-conquered my fear of heights. I- I think I-l'll put these little guys in the automobile, and wait for-for you once the ride's over." He turned quickly then, barely waiting for a response from you as he walked away still clutching onto those teddy bears like his life depended on it. You continued to watch his back as the ride whirred to life, your body floating higher and higher into the sky, but your eyes still focused on the giant man until you lost sight of him amongst the crowd.     You’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. After all, ferris wheels were supposed to be romantic, weren’t they? Nonetheless, you tried to enjoy the view, taking in the sight of the perimeter of the fair. It really was large, and from this height you could see that you hadn’t gotten a chance to see a small farmer’s market that had been set up along the western edge. Maybe you could ask Clark to give it a stop before your journey home. If he refused, it would sour your date considering his fear of the ferris wheel, but you doubted he would.      Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the ferris wheel lurching to a halt. You sighed, assuming it was just rusty, until a sound of screeching reached your ears and suddenly you felt as though you were sliding onto an angle. People’s screams echoed through your skull as the riders around you panicked, their shaking caused the hinges to loosen more.      You held your breath, gripping onto the handles of your seat. You steadied yourself, and shut your eyes. Your mom had taught you that during these moments, it was important to pray, and you’d be safe. But, the man you prayed to surely wasn’t the one she had in mind. No, certainly not, as you might as well have prayed to the devil in her eyes if she knew of your coupling.       No, you had shut your eyes, and whispered, as if knowing he’d hear, “Superman,” and for a moment there was nothing. It frightened you because you realized the screams had stopped and you didn’t know why. That was, until you felt a strong pair of arms wrap themselves delicately around you.      “You called?” He said as he lifted you into the air. The sound of the ferris wheel creaking.      “We have a lot to talk about,” you said. Your eyes were still shut, refusing to open them, knowing that currently you were suspended in the air and the only thing keeping you afloat was the man who been running through your mind since the day you met him.      “Indeed we do,” he replied, and you shivered as you felt how close his lips were to your neck. A sudden warmth flooded in your gut at the memory you shared. “I’ll visit you tonight, but I can’t show favouritism right now… I also have a bad guy to catch.”       You opened your eyes, sensing yourself being lowered slowly.      “What about the other people on the ride?” You asked, suddenly worried. He only gave you a half smile in response.     ”I’ve already gotten them all down to safety, I didn’t think it would hurt to take my time with you.”       “I thought you couldn’t show favouritism,” you replied in a snarky tone. His feet were now on the ground, and he let you go as a crowd instantly formed around the two of you.      “Sometimes,” he whispered. “I suppose I can break my own rules when it comes to you.” You didn’t reply, as the crowd all gathered, displacing you amongst them. You watched for a moment, a bright smile on his face as mothers’ brought their children close to him. It looked as though he cared deeply, you knew then that he loved doing what he did despite how the people suffocated him. He said his apologies and then took off into the sky and towards a nearby tent.      He had said something about bad guys before he left you, and suddenly you came to the realization that perhaps the ferris wheel malfunctioning wasn’t no accident.      It took you ages to spot Clark amongst the giant crowd that had formed, especially as the sheriff and his crew had also turned up to grab the culprits that Superman had left behind for them. You weren’t sure why he didn’t stick around, though you assumed he had other people to save considering you knew that he’d been spotted all over the world. You felt he had a particular soft spot for Smallville. Perhaps it was your own bias but you believed anyone who came to Smallville had a soft spot for the town and its people.      “Are you alright?” Clark asked when he saw you. “I— I didn’t k-know what to think wh-when I saw the big crowd, and why, I- I nearly fainted when I heard something ha-had to the ferris wheel.” He breathed a deep sigh. “I- I should’ve stayed with you,—“     ”It’s alright, Clark,” you said lightly. “Let’s head on home now,” you smiled. That feeling of guilt had once again returned, though not for your previous actions. But in the fact that it was Clark you had to comfort just now, it was Clark you had to reassure. You felt resentment bubble over in you, but it didn’t come with anger, instead it came with guilt.     You felt guilty because he was a good man, and a small part of you wished he was an even greater man. The date had gone well, it really did. But the thought at the back of your brain that resented Clark for leaving you alone in the first place had you a bit bothered.      It wasn’t his fault, of course it wasn’t and you knew that, and you felt like an awful person for thinking this way.      “I didn’t know you were scared of heights,” you said quietly after you had stepped into his automobile together.      “I— I suppose I didn’t either until I— I came face to face with the ride,” he replied, his eyes downcast. “I- I hope you don’t think less of me after today,” he murmured.       “I think… I think I was just disappointed, that’s all,” you replied. “But I suppose it’s for the best, after all, it wouldn’t have helped your fear had you been on it when the accident happened.”      “I suppose not… But it wasn’t right of me to leave you alone,” he replied. His tone was earnest. He turned to face you, his hand hesitantly opening to offer you assurance. Gracefully you placed yours in his, welcoming his warmth and softness. “I promise never to leave you like that again, I— I was cowardly, dear, a-and just the thought of you terrified all alone up in that ride until he came, well, I— I don’t know how I can sleep tonight…”      Your heart ached at his words, suddenly aware of how you truly had given into your negative thoughts about Clark just as he had suspected. It wasn’t fair for you to judge him for this, it hadn’t been fair that he left you all alone, but it wasn’t like he could have saved you had he been there.       “I want you to sleep comfortably, Clark,” you replied before taking his hand up and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I always want you to sleep comfortably.” He offered a squeeze back in response, his eyes obscured by his curls but the red of his cheeks as visible as the sun on a hot summer’s day.       “Thank you for today,” you mumbled, and pressed your lips against his hand once again. The first kiss was reassurance, and the second was an apology for whatever would happen tonight behind the closed doors of your bedroom once he said his goodbyes. You kissed his knuckles again, and realized you needed to kiss his hands until the day you died to make up for your sins; past and future.     Was it possible to let a good man come between you and another good man? If so, well, what did that make you?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You were half asleep by the time he appeared in your bedroom. You had been under your sheets, a small candle being the only light in the room, strong enough for you to see the words in the book you were holding, but weak enough that you didn’t notice him until you felt your bed dip.      “Now, did I say you could sit on my bed in your outside clothes?” You said in a quiet voice, anxious that somehow your mama or papa’s ears would pick up on you.       He only chuckled softly in response, and you turned your head to face him and noted a tired look in his eyes. You wondered if it was there earlier today and if you’d somehow missed it. Were you any better than the crowds that swarmed around him? You hardly knew anything about him, and yet you’d let him in between your legs within minutes of meeting him. Would you have done the same with any man who’d comforted you then?     ”What are you reading?” He finally asked quietly, matching your softness. In lieu of a reply you simply flipped the cover so that he could see.      “Frankenstein,” he said. “A little old, but I’ve read it in my spare time as well, I enjoyed it. How are you feeling about it?”      ”I’ve read it a few times already, this is my ma’s book, she told me she got it as a little girl and it scared the hell outta her. I like to read it, just as a reminder that ma was a dumb kid at one point too.” You laughed softly at the memory of her description, and how your granny had to tell her there was no walking corpses lurking outside the farm. “The book ain’t scary at all,” you continued. “I think it’s sad, and it sorta… It… Well, it’s starting to make me think of you.”      “Me? How come you say that?”     You shut the book, laying it on your bed as you sat up on your elbow, careful not to let your blanket slip and reveal your night gown. You had changed into it out of habit, but now felt unsure in the sheer material, not wanting to send an unclear message.      “You ever wonder if people would have still kept kindly to you if you didn’t look the way you do?”      “How do I look?” He asked curiously, to which you rolled your eyes.     ”Now don’t be modest, you’re a handsome fella. But what if you weren’t? Now the creature in the story, he wanted to be kind, but he was hardened not just ‘cause he was different but because he was ugly too. That ain’t fair now is it?” You tilted your head as you met his eyes, and if he needed to think about his response, he didn’t show it because it flew out his lips like it was nature.     ”I think I’ll always believe in human kindness, in goodness. There’s a lot who love the idea of me, and maybe it’s because I look like most people—“      “— more handsome though,” you interjected, much to his amusement. You could spot the blush that crept onto his face despite the dim lighting.      ”I… I suppose,” he continued in his deep voice. “I have a privilege in looking the way I do, despite the fact that I’m not even from this earth. That’s why it’s part of my duty to be a champion of the people, a champion of the oppressed.” You nodded at his words, a sense of pride swelling in your gut at the fact that you managed to get him to open up. Maybe, you could see how far he could go?     ”Do you mind telling me where you’re from? I know ma always says that’s a rude question but…” you trailed off, hoping he’d reply. The room was silent for a few painful heartbeats before he spoke.     “I was sent here as a babe from a faraway planet once called Krypton… I had parents, and likely more family, but I never got the chance to meet them. Krypton was doomed, and so I was sent here as its only survivor; my planet’s last son.”      “I’m sorry,” you replied earnestly. He’d confirmed your suspicions, as well as the suspicions of many people that he was some sort of extraterrestrial. It was strange to think about, but it didn’t bother you. You don’t think it would have bothered you even if he looked a little funny. He had a good heart on him, and maybe he was right about kindness, but in your eyes there was a lot of bad in the world.     “No, I understand the curiosity,” he replied. “I grew up in America, raised by regular parents, and eventually became this,” he gestured to himself. “My mother wove fabric that came from my spacecraft and made this for me, this cape came straight from this planet though. My mother thought it would add to the appeal, at first I thought it silly, but I couldn’t let her down. Now I suppose I couldn’t imagine being without it.”      “A bit of a mama’s boy, huh?” You inquired, a teasing smile gracing your lips.     “It’s hard not to be,” he replied coolly.      “I don’t suppose you were raised in Smallville, now were you?” You asked, regretting the words before they even finished on your lips.      ”I am unsure if you want to know the answer to that,” he said. You didn’t know what he meant by that, and you realized the reality of the situation. It felt as though the temperature of the room had changed though you weren’t sure why. You’d always had a sense of yourself and your surroundings, and realized it wasn’t the room at all but your own worries suddenly creeping up. You could only chitchat for so long until the inevitable conversation needed to happen. It had been fun while it lasted; just talking about books and mothers. It was nice to know he had a mother, it was something else that pulled him down to earth, made him digestible as a stranger.      ”I don’t know what to make of myself,” you said into the room. Your eyes were focused on nothing, and seemingly everything all at once. You could hear his light breathing, you could see the shine of his red and yellow emblem on his chest. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look into those eyes of his. You weren’t sure if you could stomach it, especially when you tried to imagine Clark’s and it felt as though you couldn’t get his face right. His features seemingly confused, as though his nose didn’t know how it was meant to sit, and his eyes didn’t want to cooperate. It seemed to always be like that in the Superman’s presence.       “I think you’re very wise for your age,” he said. “I think you think a lot, and maybe a little too much.”      “A wise woman wouldn’t have cheated on her betrothed with the first man to call her pretty,” you said. “If anything, I think that’s the making of a very unwise woman.”      “I’d hardly call it cheating,” he replied softly, and surely. “It was like you said, you didn’t think he liked you, and it was your parents’ decision, wasn’t it?” There was something below the surface of his words, as if it was breaking him to say. Was he guilty too? Your pa had once said a man can often hide his sins through doing good deeds. It was gambling almost, and his words as a child, led you to steal cookies from jars every time you needed to do your chores. Your pa had chuckled after he told you just because lots of folks do it, don’t mean it works that way.      “But now I know he does like me,” you said.     ”And how do you feel about him? This man you were told you gotta marry?” You heard him hold his breath after, and in an odd way you felt as though the silence of your room didn’t feel as familiar as the sound of his breathing.      You were quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I made a promise to him,” you finally decided.      “You didn’t answer the question,” he said softly. You weren’t sure why, but you felt as though you failed them both, at that very moment.      “I think you have the answer then,” you murmured.      “Do you love me?” He asked after a small sigh, and you suddenly felt as though you were saying all the wrong things.     ”I don’t even know you,” you said. “I don’t even know your name.”      “You didn’t answer that question either,” he replied. You could feel the tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks, and embarrassingly you began to wipe them away. You stopped at the feeling of him shifting over, almost hovering over your frame as he wiped them away himself.       “I…” You trailed off, at the sensation of his fingers brushing away a tear that had travelled close to your lip. His hand had moved, and circled itself under your chin, bringing your face up towards his. The candle light reflected in his baby blues, and from the flame’s light you remembered that despite his gentle and soft hands, he could kill you if he really wanted to. Yet, despite that, you felt yourself sink down, and rested your head in his hand.     ”I don’t understand what pulls me to you,” you whispered. “I’m not some crazed fan chasing a dream, I feel like I know you, as though I’ve known you my whole life. Is it disgusting to say you remind me a bit of him? The parts a’ him I could never talk to ‘cause he couldn’t let me in?” Your words came out like a flood, with sudden gasps as you felt your stomach get lighter with your confession.       “You could never be disgusting,” he said, and you knew he meant it. He meant every word he’d ever said to you, and that was what made him frightening. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, I wish I could make it better somehow.”     ”I miss him,” you said. “I feel like when I’m with him I feel an ache like he’s not there with me; it goes away when I think of you. Ain’t that something?”      “I’m sorry,” he replied. You knew it was the type of sorry someone gave, but they meant something else entirely. Why did it feel like he was saying I love you? You didn’t know this man, and yet it felt like you’d always known him.       “I think we’re a mess, not a single one of my thoughts makes any sense when I’m around you,” you finally said, sniffling. He chuckled at that, though you knew his heart wasn’t in it.      “Is that so bad?” He asked gently. His hand under your chin, and the other rubbing your cheek with his thumb. It was intimate, more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced before you met him. The thought overwhelmed you even more.       How could any of this be bad when it felt so natural? When it felt natural to be in the dark, with this man, a nameless man, as if you’d known him across many lives. It felt natural with Clark too, but disjointed somehow as if there was some type of force preventing the two of you from merging.       How long had it felt that way? Why did it take another man waltzing into your life to see that?      “I don’t know anymore,” you whispered. You shut your eyes, consumed by the softness of his skin. It felt familiar, like a hand you know just as well but your mind couldn’t put the pieces together.      “It’s hard for me too,” he finally said. You opened your eyes in confusion, your brows knit together. “I wish I could tell you everything, I wish I could stop the tears, but there’s… I can’t say too much, it’s a burden really.”      You scoffed, sitting up and away from his hands. You were suddenly aware of the cold as you moved away from him, your nipples pebbling up under your gown. You didn’t care if he noticed, not in this moment.     ”Don’t tell me you’re hiding a wife and child back home or something,” you said. The thought of it made you sick to your stomach.       “No,” he said. “Definitely nothing like that, but it isn’t as if I can ever be truly honest with you about who I am. That’s something for you to put the pieces together on, it’s a vow I took, in order to protect those I love.” 
     Those I love. 
     “How can you love me? You don’t know me,” you said.     “I don’t know Krypton either,” he replied without hesitation. “A distant planet, now nothing more than ashes in space. Yet, I carry it with me everywhere. I see home in everything I see, in what I touch, in every smell. I may not know you in the ways you think I should, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love you. Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve seen you in everything.” He spoke softly, not a stutter, and not a single moment where he looked away from you. It was overwhelming, it was so overwhelming to know a man so capable of vulnerability.       You had been so used to men who carried their feelings inside of them until it ate away at them. Your pa was a good man, but that didn’t mean you’d ever heard him talk about your ma the way the men in stories did about their wives.      “You scare me,” you said. “It’s scary to know there’s someone out there, someone who knows all the right words into your heart.” Your words had a touch of humour, but deep down, what you really meant to say was I love you. You suspected he knew that, because the truth was despite your self awareness, you weren’t quite as ready to be as vulnerable as he was. You may have been your ma’s spitting image, but you had all your father’s flaws.      “It is,” he said. He looked away for a moment, as though in contemplation, before he turned to face you again. “I think there’s something else you’re scared of though, your heart’s been beating like a rabbit all night.”      You gulped softly, your mouth suddenly turned dry. “I’m scared I could be pregnant,” you said carefully, watching as he shut his eyes in thought. “It’s too soon to know, but… I don’t know what to do if that is the case.”      He kept his eyes shut tight, before he opened them again. His eyes downcast, and you could feel your stomach drop at the sight, a sight that felt so familiar. You hadn’t seen him look so reserved before, and yet something about it itched.      “I shouldn’t hav—“     ”It wasn’t as though I didn’t want you to,” you said. “If I could go back, I don’t think I would’ve changed anything. I don’t care anymore if that makes me horrible.”      “You’re not horrible,” he said. “You could never be horrible.” His eyes were blazed, you felt as though you saw a spark of red but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He moved fast, his body suddenly leaned over yours as he held you gently in his arms. They circled around you protectively as though you could break, and you supposed you could if he wasn’t careful.      “What is it you’re not telling me?” You asked hesitantly. Your own arms now circled around his neck, as you breathed in his scent.      “I want to tell you everything,” he whispered against your neck. His breath tickled you, and caused the little wisps of hair on the back of your neck to stand. “I want to tell you so bad, I think it’s breaking me,” he said quietly, his voice so soft you nearly didn’t hear. You turned in his arms, moving enough that your head was now pressed against your head board. You moved your hand to cup his cheek, and stared into his eyes and noted their sudden glassiness.       “Why can’t you?” You asked softly. “A vow you said?”        “You’ll understand in due time,” was all he said. “Please, please,” he begged. “I want you to know that you will be okay, you won’t ever have to feel bad ever again, okay?” You knew he was telling you the truth, but it still wasn’t enough somehow.     ”And if I’m with child?” You asked bluntly. He replied with silence, his forehead now pressed against yours as if to comfort you. You only sighed, your hand moving to your belly, and finding his own already pressed gently there over the sheets.       You gripped his hand and let out an unexpected sob. A silent pathetic sob because despite your turmoil, despite the anxiety and fear, you were much more afraid of waking your mother. He shushed you gently, his hand still clutched in yours, and his other wrapped around your head. He rubbed tenderly, doing his best to calm you down with his hands. How could you mother a child when you felt like a grown child yourself?       “My name,” he said suddenly after you’d finally stopped your crying, the room quiet if not for your shared breathing. “My name is Kal-El,” he spoke again after another beat of silence.      “Kal-El,” you murmured with a dull sense of thrill, as if the two of you were sharing a secret. It didn’t stop your worries, it didn’t stop the pit of fear that had manifested deep inside you.     Regardless, you shared another secret of your own as your lips met against his. There was no hesitation, and there was no guilt either, and perhaps that would be your biggest secret of all.      Kal-El, you’d whisper it sporadically through the night as he held you tenderly. You traced the letters onto his hands, and tried to picture it as though you’d read it in a book somehow. You held a small fearful delusion that you’d forget it the moment he turned his back to leave you.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Your mother had been upset with you that morning. You’d slept in severely and neglected to tend to the various chores you were meant to do. She’d called it unusual behaviour and had a sour look on her face as she had watched you get up and move quickly.      After you’d finally done everything you were able to walk over to your granny’s house. A reasonable distance, usually your pa would give you a ride there but it was too late since you had slept in. In your house, and in most Smallville households, if you weren’t up by six sharp then you practically missed the whole day. You thought a lot about Kal-El on your walk, and felt that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. He’d said you seemed like an overthinker, and maybe you were.      You reached your granny’s house and opened the door without much thought, people here hardly locked their doors anyway, it just never felt necessary. You’d heard that in the bigger cities, country folk who started to move into them were given a rude awakening. Leaving your windows open through the summer was common practice in the farmlands, but in the city you’d likely be greeted by some creep trying to smuggle themselves in.       “Why I was startin’ ta worry,” your granny spoke from the kitchen. You entered, and immediately washed your hands in the sink because you noted that she had already started on preparing lunch. “Ain’t sure if you forgot ‘bout me today,” she said.     ”Oh ‘nanny,” you replied. Your back now turning away from her to begin chopping the vegetables she had laid out on the counter. “How could I forget my one and only? I’m sorry, I just slept in today.”     She offered only a hmph in response as she continued to stir her stew on the stove, you noted the quantity and guessed you’d have to be carrying it home with you on your walk back later.      “I ‘ssumed ya forgot ‘bout me ‘cause ya got one of them fancy dinner parties tonight with the Kents. Gettin’ yaself all prim an’ proper for ya groom to be,” she finally spoke after a few minutes of peaceful silence as the two of you prepared lunch. Despite how much you loved your granny, she was a stubborn one. So stubborn sometimes she threw away logic like it was a used tissue.       In reality, you’d completely forgotten that you were meant to be meeting with the Kents tonight. Last week’s dinner had been called off because of your sickness and so you hadn’t thought about this week’s either. In fact, now that she’d mentioned it, you were suddenly hit with nerves regarding the whole thing. “You know you’re always invited to those too, granny, the Kents love you.”     You turned to face your granny, noting the way she rolled her eyes. “Them Kents is good folks,” she said. “Really, I love ‘em to death, but I can’t sit with all y’all in the same room really,” she said with a sigh. Her aged hands returning to the soup ladle. You noted the way that despite her words and the years of hardening from all her years of farming, she still had a delicate side. She was a smaller woman, and it made you wonder how she was okay living alone when so often your ma and pa offered her to live in the spare room in your home. She always refused, citing that this was the home she built and if she died in it, she’d die proud.     ”Why’s that?” You asked curiously.      ”Their boy,” she said softly, her hand still gently stirring. The smell of the soup was enticing, a rich blend of tomatoes and other veggies, far better than any of the slop other families had to offer. Your granny had a special gift when it came to her recipes. You were so immersed in the richness of the blend, you barely even realized she was talking about Clark until she continued.       “I just don’t think you should marry him,” she said coolly. The words shocked you, and you felt your eyes widen as this was the first time you’d heard her speak on the matter— at all. She’d never even acknowledged your union as far as you knew, and you now realized she’d never really attended any of the parties your family had hosted to celebrate.      “Clark’s a good boy,” you said softly, as if unsure of why you even needed to say that. Clark and good were practically synonymous to anyone who knew him.      ”And I ain’t doubtin’ that,” she said with a scoff. “But I ‘on like no man who keeps secrets, what’s up with ‘em stupid glasses? He don’ need no glasses,” she finished.     ”He needs them to see, don’t he?”      Your granny halted her stirring and turned to you, a quizzical look in her eyes. “See now,” she said. “I known that boy his whole life, and I know two things; the Kents been telling some fib, ‘cause no way that beast of a man came from Martha’s ‘lil twat—“     ”Grannie!” You shrieked in embarrassment.       “An’ secondly,” she continued, unbothered by your interruption. “That boy ain’ never needed no glasses, that boy could always see clearly. Some’ ‘bout him changed over the years, he used to be outgoing, he used to chase ya around the place, lift ya up like ya weighed nothin! Now it’s like he’s tryna’ make his-self all small, and it pisses me off! Wearing his hair how he do, them silly glasses, and oversized suits. He got everyone fooled, but the boy’s built like an ox, an’ always has been since he was a wee chile,” she huffed.     You stopped for a moment, and considered her words carefully. She was right though you hadn’t really taken it all in. It must’ve been easier for her to spot the changes over the coming years since they had more limited contact. But for you, all the changes were like filling up a cup of water using only drops every so often. You could faintly remember Clark’s old outgoing personality, faint traces of a boy who once played with you and made efforts to do so. He was bolder, but overtime it changed, and maybe you were too self-obsessed with your own changes after puberty that you hardly noticed that Clark was a shell of himself.     But you knew deep down, that you did notice, you really did. You’d just cried about it last night, it just took a man, a familiar man to let you notice it.      “He’s still a good boy,” you said quietly.      “Men don’t go making they selves small, no not ‘round here, not unless they hidin’ some’ bad, real bad.”     You hummed in response, and for a brief moment, an emblem, a bright red and yellow flashed before your eyes.      You brought your knife down hard on a carrot.     You had to leave your granny a bit earlier than you would have liked because you needed time to change before the Kents arrived. You carefully adjusted the pot you were holding over your hip as you opened up your door. You knitted your brows in confusion, noting that your mother wasn’t sweeping away around the dining room table as she usually did during this time. You assumed she must’ve been cleaning at some other area of the house before you placed the pot of stew on the kitchen counter and made your way upstairs.       You sighed on your way up the stairs, thinking about what clothes to bring with you, as the bathroom was a small shed about a minute’s walk from the house. Your pa had recently been talking about making some arrangements for indoor plumbing so that no one had to take those midnight walks no more. Your family was a little behind on that, but most folks in Smallville were too.       “Ma?” You said, as you stepped into your room. You noted her figure, hunched over on the floor by your closet. Cleaning supplies and a laundry basket scattered around her though she didn’t seem to pay no mind. In her hands you noticed a familiar sheet clutched in her grip.      You felt your stomach drop.      “I can explain,” you said calmly despite the tremor in your voice. She didn’t move, nor did she appear to have registered your words.      “At first,” she said, her voice grave. She hadn’t moved from her position on the floor, the sheets still tucked in her arms as though the evidence would disappear if she let go. “At first, I thought maybe you had just had your time of the month, ya know? And tried to hide it ‘cause you were embarrassed to have ruined these good sheets.” She chuckled at that as she rose, the edge of the sheet still clutched in her hand despite how the rest of it spanned the floor around her. “But then I caught a whiff of it,” she paused and turned to look at you. Her face void of emotion if not for her heated eyes, it was animalistic almost. You had never seen your mother this angry before in your life. “And darlin’, I may be getting old, my nose might not be what it used to be. But I sure as hell know what a man’s spent smells like.”      You burst into tears, and realized that seemed to be the only thing you could do these days. You’d cried more in these past few days than you have in your whole life. Maybe all this was to make up for having a good childhood? I’m sorry, you wanted to say but you couldn’t over the sounds of your own frightened gasps of air.     “I can’t believe I raised some harlot,” she said. “A stupid one at that, a dumb sentimental slut who doesn’t know how to hide anything from her mama.” Her words were like poison, like she was feeding you teaspoons of it, forcing you to swallow until your skin grew cold. This wasn’t your mama, was it? Your mama had a temper, oh she sure did, but never like this.      “Ma—“      “Don’t you sniffle at me like that,” she sneered. The sheets now crumbled to the floor as she raced to clutch you by the shoulders. “You think you grown now? Don’t ya?” She cooed, but it wasn’t comforting like you were used to, not with those crazed eyes and barred teeth. “You listen here, girl, and you listen good,” she said.      “Tell me is it Clark’s? He the one you let into your bed at least?”      You didn’t know.      “Actually, don’t answer that; I don’t care. Did this scum finish in ya?” She took your silence, and your sniffling as an affirmative, and gripped your shoulders tighter.      “Are you with child?” She moved to latch onto your cheeks in your hand when you didn’t respond. “You need to tell me.”    ”I- I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. She sighed, and dropped her hands though you could still feel where her nails had dug into your cheeks. Your face was sore from them, but you stared straight at her confused by this change. Confused by her capacity to hurt you after having never had hurt you before; never like this at least.     ”Tonight,” she sighed. “Tonight, you’re gonna tell the Kents you wanna speed up the wedding; they’ll be overjoyed.” You nodded hesitantly at her instructions. “Then I want you to take Clark on your little walks, and you decide what you’re gonna do.”       You grew confused, and stared at her unsure, until she sent a fierce glare your way.      ”Like I said, I don’t care whose it is. But if a baby comes kicking and screamin’ in nine months, I want Clark Kent to believe it’s his without a shadow of a doubt. Do what needs to be done tonight; hopefully it’s nothing at all, but who am I to know? After all, you lie to your mother, you lied as if you understood what this family— what this town values, I bet it’d please you to lie to the Kents. To lie to a good man, don’t it?”       You didn’t respond, the shock setting in of what she was demanding of you.      “I asked you a question,” she said.      “It don’t,” you said quietly.      She scoffed in response, and turned to leave the room and the door slammed behind her. You collapsed to your knees at the sound, your eyes made contact with the open window across the room. The sun was setting, and the outside looked barren if not for it setting across the field. You wondered if he had somehow heard all that, and if he did, why didn’t he bother saving you?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You were sat at the dinner table, a spread of food prepared by your mother miraculously in the short time between her confrontation and the arrival of the Kents. Nothing was amiss, except for the fact your mother was sat across from you rather than next to you as she usually was. Instead now, Clark was sat next to you and you kept your eyes on your plate. Every time you looked up, you met your mother’s watchful eye, her expression was eerie because to everyone else she likely seemed in character. Yet to you, there was something terrifying about her nonchalance after the argument you had had.       You were grateful though that it had been your mother to have discovered it rather than your father. The more you thought about it, the more you came to realize that in a twisted way, her decision to force you into a larger lie was to protect you. A part of you, a smaller part of you, was unsure if was actually to save face. Did it matter? You couldn’t answer nor could you decide if you were nothing more than a social asset to her.      Your relationship with your mother would change entirely— in fact it already had changed, and you were given no time to mourn.      “Oh how lovely,” Martha Kent said. “This stew, I assume it’s your mother’s? I haven’t seen her in so long, I should pay her a visit.”      “It is,” your mother replied with a smile. “She’s been such a shut in these days, I would’ve thought she ran off somewhere if not for my girl’s visits.” She turned to you then, and spoke your name. “In fact, how was she doing today? I didn’t get the chance to ask you on your way back. She still think that neighbour of hers is taking her letters?” She laughed along with the rest of the table as they were familiar with your granny’s paranoia and antics. You only sat there and took in the sound of laughter with a pit of dread filling your stomach. You turned to look at Clark who was smiling through it all, and once the laughter died down, you spoke.      ”She’s doing good,” you said honestly. You gripped your fork tightly as you braced yourself for the lie. “Actually,” you bit your lip before you continued. “She was asking ‘bout the wedding, if maybe we could speed things up. She said she ain’t got all the time in the world anymore… And I agree,” you said finally. The room was tense for a moment before a chorus of excited chatter began. It had been unexpected as previously the only reason the wedding kept getting delayed was because of you. You always came up with some type of excuse despite the fact that the Kents had already built you a home to settle in between your farms and you’d both completed your education. The wedding itself wasn’t gonna be anything grand either, it would be a backyard wedding at the Kents estate with friends and family. If anything it was quite surprising how much they’d let you delay the inevitable.      “Why,” Jonathan Kent stated. “That’s great news! How soon we talking?” His smile was bright and despite the fact that this was something for you and Clark to decide, his eyes were on your father’s.     ”Two days,” replied your pa. “I think that’s enough time.”      “Two days?” You asked nervously. “You sure about that? What if that’s too short notice for the guests.” Your father only chuckled in response, assuming your nerves were just butterflies rather than fear.     ”Oh trust me,” he said. “I only gave one day’s notice for my own wedding with your ma, and I doubt anyone’s got plans since it’ll be Sunday anyway.”      “This is so exciting,” your mother said, and it unsettled you even more. “It looks like we’re all about done dinner, Martha why don’t you and I start writing the invitations? I have had a pile of envelopes in the drawers just collecting dust! I bought special pens for this.”      Martha cheered in response and quickly followed your mother to the living room, though not before your mother turned around with a bright smile.       “Hon, why don’t you and Clark go take a little walk? Talk about the wedding, your future together,” she said and gave you no room to reply as she walked out.      You weren’t sure how to describe the silence between yourself and Clark as you headed in the direction of the barn. You had no idea what to say to him, nor did you know what you were doing. Thankfully, by the time you reached the barn doors, he spoke up.      “I— I almost feel relieved,” he said. “Part of me i-is a bit scared, b-but I just wanna call you mine.” You turned around to face him, you noted the way his glasses obscured his eyes and the faint blush on his cheeks.      It angered you.      “So much for a clean slate, huh,” you said. You turned around, ignoring the various equipment scattered around and dropped down onto a pile of hay. The sudden noise alerted some of the pigs nearby and they squealed in excitement assuming it was feeding time.      Clark gingerly took a few steps forward, his frame towering over you. The blush on his cheeks only growing brighter and you realized your skirt had rod up to reveal your ankles.       “Is- isn’t a wedding, the cl-cleanest slate of all?” He asked hesitantly.      “I suppose,” you said. “How about you come sit next to me?” Your tone was soft, inviting.     ”Wh—?”      “Come lay down next to me on this hay, Clark,” you ordered. The man gingerly moved to sit, his posture stiff and his head hung low. You moved to caress his arm, his body somehow even growing more stiff at your actions. You weren’t surprised to note the feeling of well defined muscles under the layers of clothes. You sat up and ignored the way your knees scratched against the hay, and faced your groom to be.      ”I’ve never been this close to a man,” you said. Carefully you watched his expression as you spoke, hoping to gauge any sort of reaction to your words. You trailed your hands over his chest, as if curious of the muscles you found. You noted the clench in Clark’s jaw, and the fact that he’d shut his eyes tightly. “Have you ever thought of me, Clark?”      “I- I think of you often,” he said with a shiver as your mouth moved to breathe against the shell of his ear.      “Do you?”      “Y-yes,” he said. “Recently I-ive been thinking of more date ide-“ you bit his neck softly, licking a trail up to his ear. “W-what a-are you doing?” He asked, he moved back and practically laid his back on the hay. You took the opportunity to straddle his lap and noted the feeling of hardness in his pants.      ”How about we consummate our union?” His face turned impossibly more red, as he stuttered for a response before he shut his eyes as if to collect himself.     ”T-the w-wedding is only two days away,” he said.     ”So?” You replied.      “S-so we should wait,” he said. “It’s the r-right thing to do.” You laughed bitterly, a bitter angry laugh, and you imagined you looked just like your mother did earlier. You think you assumed correctly based on the look of shock on Clark’s face.      “Does it really matter all that much to you?” You said, holding back from a sneer. Your eyes were trained onto his face, memorizing every detail. Clark had always been handsome, how come you never really thought about it?     “Your h-honour and dignity,” he said. “I-it matters a lot to me.” You scoffed at his words. What honour? What honour was there in you? You were pressed against him tightly, your hand sprawled along his chest, feeling his heartbeat skip with every brush of your core against his clothed member.       “Does it?” You asked with faux care, his expression appeared all the more unsettled.     ”Yes,” he said softly.      “What if I told you I already laid with another man?” You said softly. The barn was silent now if not for the cries of the various animals it housed, disturbed by your previous temperament.      “You wouldn’t,” he said, it sounded so sure. It was as though he had complete faith in you, and it disturbed you all the more that he could lie so blatantly.     ”I have,” you said calmly. “What will you do? Ya still gonna marry me? What if I have his baby?”      He paused for a moment. His heart was still pounding in his chest as if begging to be let out and to make contact with your palm. “I’ll still marry you,” he said. “W-we s-said a clean slate, didn’t we?” He looked at you earnestly, and you considered for a moment your grandma’s words that no good man truly existed.       You smiled, a real smile, perhaps one that seemed a bit too manic. Clark’s face held a look of shock and you wondered if your grandfather ever looked at your granny that way, or your father to your mother. It was such a raw shock, there was a nakedness to it as well. Especially when you moved your hands up his chest, delicately over his face until you met his glasses and pulled them off. You tossed them to the side, satisfied by the sound of its fragile glass shattering against the wood and hay.      Instantly he covered his face with his hands to shield what you had long already figured out. He was heaving now, panicked and perhaps even startled by your sudden shift. Guilt, familiar and now an accepted part of you burrowed its way into your head at the sight of his fragility. Regardless, you spoke.     ”I would say now we can call it a clean slate,” your words were hollow. “No masks, no lies; it’s just me and you now, the real you.”      “H-how—“     ”Quit your stuttering,” you snapped.     ”I- I do… don’t think I can,” he said. His hands still covered his face, and you didn’t know if it was out of shame or fear. To be frank, you were doubting if you were ever able to read him at all. “H-how did you f-find out? W-when?”      “I think I always knew,” you said. You weren’t sure how true that was, but as far as you knew it was the honest truth. Part of you always knew. It wasn’t that easy to start to love a man, not unless you’d already loved him. “But today it really started to all come together.”     ”W-why t-the mind games?”     ”That’s funny coming from you,” you scoffed. “I was tryna see just how far you’d go with this. Were you gonna let me think I was tricking you into thinking you were my baby’s daddy? Then I took it a step further to see if you’d pretend you could play step-daddy to your own child. What was the plan, you were gonna keep up the charade our whole lives knowing your wife thought she was deceiving you?” You words were rushed and despite the emotions you held back from crying. You’d cried so much already, for your dignity and for the child that was either all in your head or cooking up in your belly.     ”I…” He moved his hands from his face. He took a deep breath before meeting your gaze, and you found it so jarring to see those mystical blue eyes with Clark’s disposition. “I was hoping… Hoping you’d put the pieces to-together.”      “And I did,” you said. “Made a mess of things, didn’t we? My ma thinks I’m some sorta harlot now, and maybe I am.”     “No, never. I-I can talk to her,” he said. He breathed a deep sigh before he continued to speak. ”I- I want to s-say sorry,” he said carefully. “But I d-don’t even know w-where to b-begin.”      “Well,” you laughed bitterly. “Lucky for you, you have a lifetime now to apologize to me for this.” In another context, maybe even in another world, these words would have been romantic. But here, in this moment, they were cold and unforgiving. You weren’t sure you could understand Clark, or Kal-El.      In fact, you didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Who was speaking to you right now? You were listening to Clark’s stutter but his voice was deeper, more firm like Kal-El’s. Who were you marrying?      Clark didn’t reply but instead hung his head in shame. You sighed and slumped forward, your whole body managing to fit snuggly in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you.       “I think I hate you,” you mumbled against his suit, his tie rubbing against your nose. Clark didn’t reply but instead held you tighter as though it was now his turn to be scared that you’d disappear.      You chuckled at the thought, at the mess, and wondered how you could both hate a man and love him, and if a man could be two at the same time.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Clark was four years old he single handedly lifted his father’s tractor to seek out a stray cat that was hiding underneath it. Martha Kent witnessed the entire ordeal and realized that perhaps motherhood wasn’t what she had expected. Regardless, she held only warmth in her heart after having witnessed the event. A miracle, her miracle boy, a gift she felt after years of troubles with infertility. Unfortunately, gossip around town centred around Martha's womb, and yet she never let herself succumb to the relentless harassment and she knew deep down she was one of many women at the centre of bodily speculation. It was easy for her to take Clark on, and claim him as her own, because he was her miracle, and every child despite their differences was a gift. When Jonathan Kent was told the news later on that evening, the farmer only sighed and rubbed his thumb over his eyes. Jonathan loved his boy, more than anything, but unfortunately his principles as a southern man did not often align with loving a son like Clark.       Clark’s childhood from when the Kents had found him in that spaceship had been a series of miracles and mistakes. It was hard to tell which was which at times. For example, a miracle was his ability to lift up various furniture to assist his mother in cleaning the house. A mistake was to use his powers at all in the presence of Jonathan Kent.      Now Jonathan Kent was a wary man; he considered his past unimportant and didn’t dwell on things that made him feel weak or bad. He’d seen a lot, unfortunately, and despite the fact he’d never met a boy quite like his own, he’d met his fair share of folks who were different. It never ended up pretty for them despite how bad he wanted to protect them. He remembered holding his breath the first time he held Clark, the feeling of baby soft skin and hair in his arms. He remembered shutting his eyes and picturing that the wreckage of the space craft would disappear; it never did. He avoided its presence whenever he thought back to the memory of first finding Clark, he avoided thinking about hauling the craft into his truck and locking it in an old unused shed. Sometimes, when Jonathan had bad thoughts, wicked thoughts, he'd go to that shed and stand before the space craft. He'd think real hard about those thoughts, maybe even cuss a little before turning around, locking the door and never dwelling on it again. A good man never cussed in front of his wife, a good man never dropped to his knees and sobbed over his fears for his son either, not in front of his family at least. But in that shed was a rocket that wasn't supposed to see the light of day, and buried with it were the worries of Jonathan Kent that weren't supposed to exist. Jonathan was a strong man, and strong men didn't feel.     Sure, Clark was strong, and sometimes he had a habit of walking without his feet touching the ground. But Jonathan had decided that the only miracle about Clark should be the fact that they’d found him after having prayed for a child for many years.      Clark was a kind kid, it was easy to knock some sense into him, Jonathan found. A stern talking to every once in a while was enough to get him to act straight. He shared his anxiety about lynch mobs, the government and other sources that would steal him away and hurt him if they knew he was from somewhere far far away. Clark listened eagerly, like a little sponge— a human sponge when it came to Jonathan’s words.     Clark was especially interested in Jonathan’s opinions on masculinity. The concept interested Clark; he wanted to know how to act, when to act and what to do, and who better than his father? Jonathan made his thoughts very clear on the matter because a man should always know when to back down. 
     “Don’t ever let anger take over, ya hear?”
     ”Learn to let things go,” he’d always say.     Jonathan was quite passive, and he made it his goal; or better yet, his duty to instil this ideology into Clark. Jonathan loved his son, he really did, but he’d be lying if he said the things he could do didn’t give him the heebie jeebies.      “Be kind or they’ll never accept you,” he’d say often. These words had echoed through Clark’s skull his entire elementary school years. It had really been sealed in when Clark had accidentally pushed a boy so hard he nearly flew; luckily the child was only a bit scrapped up and hardly had the attention span to care about the physics involved in the incident.      Jonathan had told Clark that evening that violent men were monsters. When Clark looked into the mirror that night he realized that if he focused real close he could start to see his own anatomy. Was he a monster? How could he be when he still had a beating heart? When he asked his father about it the next day, he only responded that people shouldn't be able to see their own organs.      It was after that incident that Clark began to avoid roughhousing with other boys. This unfortunately limited his friends as most boys in Smallville were quite taken by wrestling and boxing. The girls were at that young age where they wanted nothing to do with any boys, well, except one.     You were always nice to Clark, if not a bit bossy. You got along well with one another when it came to chatting about childish nonsense and playing games. Although Clark was a few years your senior, he still joined in your tea parties and spoke to your stuffed bears and referred to them by the names you’d given them. The two of you were close in those early years as your families often visited one another. They gossiped often, the two of you wouldn't understand until much later that they had made a bit of a deal when it came to your futures. Clark and yourself were wrapped up together whether you liked it or not, really. It was quite traditional, maybe even a little outdated for the time, but Jonathan Kent felt the idea of marriage was exactly what Clark needed to keep being human. 
     "All a man needs to do is provide, Clark," he'd say.

"What if I wanna help people?"
     Your favourite thing had to be the fact that Clark had a habit of lifting you into the air whenever you came near. It was fun for the both of you as due to his height despite his young age it made you feel like you could fly. As for Clark, he just loved the way butterflies would flutter in his tummy whenever you laughed.      Your mother had remarked to his parents that “Clark sure is strong.” Martha chuckled awkwardly, but Jonathan stared at the two of you in fixed silence. His jaw tense as he was seemingly disturbed. He flinched subtilely every time Clark touched you after that, the same way a parent would flinch if a wild dog got too close to a baby. He shook his thoughts, Clark wasn’t a dog, Clark was a person.      Sometimes Jonathan Kent felt unsure, and it only made him feel guiltier.      In the coming days after, Clark had stopped lifting you and at first you were curious but you quickly moved on as children do. You had noted that Jonathan Kent seemed more involved when the two of you played though you were unsure why, nor did you mind, considering the man was nice. However, in his presence it felt as though Clark was suddenly guarded as though he wasn’t a reckless kid no more.     When had Clark grown into a man? You weren’t sure.      It was around when Clark turned thirteen and he burned a hole into the roof that Jonathan Kent sat him down and told him he wasn’t just from somewhere far away, but rather he wasn't from this planet. He told him also that because he wasn’t from this planet, that made him something else, and if he wanted to continue living on this planet happily he’d have to be somebody else. Clark started to wear baggier clothes that day, an attempt at hiding the muscles that were seemingly developing abnormally for a boy his age. 
     “A true man, a real man, is willing to make himself uncomfortable so that everyone can feel safe. Don’t you want others to feel safe, Clark?” 
     By the time Clark had matured into his body and was practically his own man, his father’s ideology had been drilled into him. A man had to be kind, a man had to know when to lose a fight, and that any good man had to suppress his strength. After all, everyone respected Jonathan Kent, so who was Clark to question him?      It all came to a head the night of a dance the local community centre had hosted for all the youngsters in town. It was a joyous occasion because despite the youth of the attendants, many of them had been working odd jobs since they could walk or talk. It was a good way to let loose, and an even more notorious way to find a match.      Clark lingered around the drink table which was a far enough distance from the band. His hearing had been especially sensitive these days, and any sudden noise left him cringing. He didn’t mind though, he didn’t mind being uncomfortable as long as he could keep his eye on you. You were dancing along to the music with a few of the other girls, a bright smile on your face as you spun around in circles with them. Despite his stature, Clark didn’t feel out of place as many of the other boys stuck to the sidelines during this particular song as it was more so for the ladies.     It wasn’t until the music played a more classier tune that you finally acknowledged him. A coy smile graced your lips as you beckoned him over. It took him everything in his power to act normal and not trip over himself. He was a bit clumsy now that he wore an old pair of glasses that were meant to obscure his vision a bit. His father had said his eyes were too unnaturally blue and the glasses would keep people from paying attention to them. The consequence was they blurred his surroundings and turned him into a bit of a klutz.      Luckily he made it over to you safely and managed to offer his hand in order to lead you into a dance. It felt natural to move in sync with you, and he’d never been this close to you in some years. You’d left behind the play fights in childhood and instead took up various crafts whilst Clark worked on his father’s farm. Despite the distance between the two of you, he felt as though no time had passed.      “I heard my ma and pa talking,” you said. “That they’re gonna pair us up.” A blush crept on Clark’s cheeks at the thought though thankfully you didn’t seem to acknowledge his eagerness at the thought. However, Clark never could get a good read on you. You always said things matter of factly, your own feelings were never given away. Were you eager too?      “H-how d-does that m-make you feel?” He asked, cursing himself for stuttering his way through the question. The stutter was a more recent development since puberty, and manifested often in your presence. It didn't help that his father had been training him to speak softer, citing that for a big man like Clark it was easy to seem aggressive. Clark didn't want to seem aggressive, that was the last thing he wanted to be. If softening himself made everyone-- especially you, more comfortable then that was fine. Men weren't supposed to feel comfortable, that was what he was taught.      Clark never learnt your answer that night, as you'd been cut off by another voice.      "Hope you don't mind if I cut in, buddy," spoke a familiar brutish man who made it his habit to trail around you. He wasn't a scary man per se, in fact both Clark and you knew him and his family fairly well. At that moment however, his hand was on Clark's shoulder, firm as if in warning. You looked at Clark as if waiting for a response, likely one similar to one of those romance books you had been starting to read. Clark kept track of those, he wasn't necessarily a fan of the genre but he liked to know what you liked.    Unfortunately, Clark wasn't like any of those book characters. He didn't tell the man to buzz off, nor did he deck him for thinking he could cut in and try to swoop you off your feet. Instead, Clark said:     "I- I don't see why not," his hands moved from you, leaving a sense of coldness behind. "Just have a dance with him," he whispered to you then, as though sensing your hesitation. You looked at him, really looked at him in that moment before you turned away and allowed the other man to lead you away in a dance.      Clark didn't know why his fingers felt so stiff, Clark didn't know why the look on your face made him want to tear his own heart out. But what Clark did know was that he was feeling discomfort, and that discomfort was what being a man was all about.      But did Clark really want to be a man?     He didn't stay that long after that. He found himself feeling the need to vomit as he watched you dance with that man, and by the time your dance with him ended, he barely had a chance to try to speak to you because another man had appeared and grasped your hand.      Within seconds Clark found himself in front of the shed he knew his father liked to yell and cry in when he thought no one could hear. Clark didn't have the guts to tell him he could hear everything. He opened the shed easily, apologising under his breath when he felt the lock break under the might of his hands. It was dim inside with barely any moonlight trickling in and yet Clark could see everything clearly as he removed the tarp from atop the space shuttle and watched it come to life.      He watched stunned as the ship reacted to his touch as though it had been waiting for this. It projected images that lit up the shed and casted stunning imagery of generations of people, seemingly of various genders, with some sort of foreign writing next to the images. They were as different as they were similar, all of them seemingly great warriors or scientists, conquerors or engineers. Clark noted their matching dark hair and bright blue eyes alongside a symbol, a mysterious crest dawned on all their chests in the shape of what he could only recognise as an S. Its true meaning was lost to him, and yet he seemed to understand that what was presented to him was a different form of pride entirely from the one he was raised with. These people stood tall, stood proud as though they had nothing to be ashamed of.     The following day he begged Martha to sew together fabrics from the ship to make a suit for him, and so she did. Jonathan did not say a word, at least not until he saw his son finally dressed in the material, standing in their living room, seemingly out of place with the traditional furnishing and decor.     "Clark," he said. His son turned to look at him, towering over the man who once was able to hold him in one hand. "I want you to promise me this," he continued.     "Anything, pa," Clark replied.     "I want you to promise me no matter what you won't tell no one 'bout this side of you," he said. "I've done what I can as your father, but please Clark. You have to promise me." He practically begged him, and Clark felt his breath hitch as he had never seen his father so intentionally vulnerable before.     "I promise," he said, and he meant it.      "Swear to me, Clark, swear or I just may die."     "I swear."