Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4- Part 5 - Ongoing
Summary: Nighttime has the fascinating ability to revealing the truth of one's character. After kissing Schlatt, you weren't sure if you could hide from your true feelings anymore.
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: angst, miscommunication, blueballs, sad cats, insecure!Schlatt, silent treatment, minor fluff, NYC glaze, rpf, 18+ minors dni
divider cred: @uzmacchiato ✦ masterlist
As the the sunlight fades, the sparkling gems of streetlights start to illuminate the city. They cast a compulsive spell to draw us nearer to each other, to seek comfort only found in corporeal warmth. You've felt this particular magic sporadically.
It was in the breeze when Schlatt drove to the failed dinner reservations. Greens and reds painting duochromatic highlights on his face. It was even present on the very first night. On the coolness of the rusting city bench as you ate warm shawarma.
Unsurprisingly, you felt that subdued magic staring down at you right now. Festering clandestine desires that were ready to emerge at long last.
"We don't need to sleep with each other yet." Schlatt said, washing soap suds off a newly clean coffee mug.
"I think that ship has sailed." You said absentmindedly while drying off cutlery.
You weren't looking at him, yet you knew Schlatt was rolling his eyes.
"Are you scared I'll pounce on you if we sleep together in a real bed?" You said, trying to laugh off your embarrassment. There were still so many uncertainties about how far this thing could go. Maybe Schlatt's feelings for you were more platonic than either of you had realized. It wouldn't be the worse thing in the world if you held off sex until you knew for sure.
"It's not you I'm worried about." Schlatt finally replied.
In his view, there wasn't any need to rush this very new, very imperfect budding flower. Schlatt would've happily taken the couch for the rest of eternity if it meant you'd stay with him longer. Especially considering how even now, as you were dressed in one of his old oversized shirts from college, you looked like a flight risk. Your luggage was already packed, standing ominously in a corner by the front door. Handle standing taut with the promise of an impending flight back to California, away from this fantasy.
Had you told this very scene to the version of you from a few weeks prior, she would've laughed at the improbability. There was no universe that could possibly exist in which Schlatt was not only interested in you, but actively desired you. For the first time in your life, you felt happy to be wrong.
Before settling in for the night, you both went off to do the remaining important tasks of the day. Schlatt had a couple of things to approve for his editors. You had to take a urgent call from your assistant to confirm the flight details. More pressingly of all, you had a nap scheduled. Curling up in the very same spot on the couch where you slept the night before, you succumbed to sublime comfort. A few hours passed before Schlatt came out of his office. Jambo was curled on top of the side of your hip. Never in his life had Schlatt been so jealous of a stupid cat.
You were awake by now, idly doomscrolling on social media. Schlatt sat beside you, carefully avoiding sitting on your sprawled out hair.
"How'd it go?" You asked, not yet looking up from your phone.
Schlatt groaned impatiently. In response, you let out a small laugh. The question from before headed it's curious head into your mind.
"Not good?"
Schlatt nodded, clasping a hand over his face. You climbed into his lap (much to Jambo's annoyance), gently prying it off. Two kisses, innocuous and sweet, landed on each of his cheeks. Schlatt should've fought for his chivalry more. It would've done wonders for his peace of mind. But, he didn't stand a chance the moment you climbed into his lap on his couch. Skin still warm from the post dinner nap. Your legs straddling his hips was overkill. The real smoking gun were the kisses. Resigning himself to just be an easy slut, Schlatt couldn't help but pick you up, legs still intact, to carry you over to his bed.
"Again, we don't need to sleep together."
Schlatt said this against your bare collarbone somewhere in between a kiss and a bite. Your sweater was somewhere on the tiled floor of his bathroom thanks to his killer aim. One word from you could command saint like patience from him. But you pulled on his half-undone belt, whining softly like a bitch in heat. Your mind was too clouded to think of a clever response.
"Why waste the opportunity?" You whispered before pulling him into another kiss.
Disasters start slow, sometimes even innocuously so. Schlatt's mind went quiet as he froze at your kiss. Stepping back slightly — a miracle considering the state of his arousal — he tried to comfort himself with shoddy reason. He's never wanted anyone more and there was no need to think about the gravity of what you said then and there. By all logical accounts, Schlatt was in the clear to continue on with a night of frenzied passion. For any other girl, in every other situation, he would've.
"What do you mean?" Schlatt asked cautiously.
It didn't settle in just yet how hard you fucked up. Lawyers make their living thanks to their precision with language. A professor told you this the first day of Torts class. Precision is critical because the law is a delicate matter.
And so was Schlatt by the look of it.
His eyes were examining your every move, face taut with apprehension. Although he stepped back from you, his body was still peering closer in anticipation of your response.
Whatever you said next was make or break.
"It's not like…we necessarily know when the next time we'll be together like this again…" You began. Very word came out strained in its formulation. "I mean, I fly back to L.A. tomorrow…"
"We fly back tomorrow." Schlatt cut you off. "Last I heard."
As if Schlatt's stomach couldn't drop any further, he watched as you pressed your lips together before shaking your head.
"Mine's tomorrow. Yours is on Wednesday."
You were going to tell him, in post-nut clarity glow coupled with a few conciliatory kisses. Sara called you with the happy news that she got an earlier Monday flight for you and a later Wednesday flight for Schlatt. Everyone in the office didn't mind delaying the inevitable cranky podcast host if it meant they got to have you back a few days earlier than intended, filming schedule be damned. But the minor change in schedule only highlighted the crucial unanswered question regarding a potential relationship with Schlatt: logistics. Schlatt has a fulfilling life that didn't seem likely to mesh well with your own. Someone would have to give up some part of their career or renounce their city to placate the other's lifestyle. You loved him too much to ever fathom compelling him to even consider that level of sacrifice. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you weren't sure he would anyway.
Schlatt let out an exasperated laugh, closing his eyes momentarily before settling his gaze on you again. False relief washed over him. Maybe he understood you incorrectly. This wasn't a fling or another situationship memento for you, just a simple slip up of words.
"So what? It's a few days, it's not the end of the world."
"That's not what I meant." Despite the firmness in your tone, you were scrambling to find the right rhetoric strategies to get you out of this mess. "I work a lot, you work a lot, and realistically it'll be hard to get a few days like this again in the near future. And even by then, it's not like they're guaranteed."
A beat. Realization sunk in alongside a soft breeze from the window. Hair stood up on Schlatt's neck and arms. Tightness begun to grow in the middle of his chest.
"Why wouldn't they be?"
"Schlatt-"
"If you're worried that I'm going to change my mind about you, about this, because of a couple months of long distance, you're wrong."
"That's what you're saying now."
"I'm just saying I want to try. What exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm not sure yet. That's all. The logistics of-"
"So you're okay with having sex with me even though you're not sure you want to be with me?"
An unknown heat found it's way on your cheeks. Embarrassment or anger, you weren't sure which one.
"I-"
"That's…" Another half hearted laugh. "That's pretty fucked up."
The heat morphed into the beginning of a few tears splitting at the corners of your eyes. There was no rebuttal, no counterargument you could've possibly presented at this time that would've resolved this tangle.
"I g-guess it is."
Vulnerability dislodged itself from your throat. You tried not to cringe at the small waver in your voice as you walked out of the bedroom towards the apartment door. You tried not to notice the Cats' confused little furry faces as you rushed to put on your shoes. And with great effort, you tried to ignore Schlatt's complete silence as you grabbed the handle of your suitcase, leaving the warmth of his apartment in favor of New York City's freezing, snow encrusted streets.
Summary: Henry Winter is a man of many epiphets. Genuis, asshole, scholar, cold-blooded. Heartbroken fool was not among them until you. In the weeks that follow the breakup, one single question has lingered on Henry's mind: Don't you miss me?
Word count: 900
Warnings: alc use, drug use, cigarette use, mentions of violence and blood, little proofreading , minors dni, 18+
divider cred: @uzmacchiato ✦ masterlist
Sundays were for dates. Bunny and Marion had established that tradition long before you were in the picture. Sundays were for picnic spreads with English cucumber sandwiches and whiskey in tea cups when the weather allowed. Or, as the semester progressed, for late night drives to nowhere in particular.
Bunny sprung the idea of a double date to Henry within a few weeks of being "official". Henry's "no" was the only veto that could've saved you from pained socialization, but alas it never arrived. Marion took to the double date idea far better than anyone could've expected. She loved your effect on Henry. You warmed his iciness to a tolerable chill. Since she insisted, there was truly no hope of declining.
The date went surprisingly well. The boys competed in their own silly way to see who was the better gentleman. You and Marion would sit pretty in idle pleasure, watching as they fought over paying the check, over pulling open doors or even to lay down a wool jacket over a puddle of water. Henry won in almost every instance. There was an unscrupulous seed of pride that lingered as Henry took you home. It bloomed later that night when Henry kissed the center of your throat. You hummed a simple note of approval.
"Love is madness." You whispered as Henry's lips trailed further down.
His breath hitched at the quotation.
"Who taught you that?" He grumbled against your skin.
His fingers gently latched onto your jaw, tilting your face upwards. The sharpness of his fingernails gently digging into your skin culled obedience from you. Henry's gaze fixated on the dull shine of your lips, awaiting your answer.
"My philosophy tutor."
Pinpricks of jealousy struck Henry's nape. He remedied the dirty words that came from your mouth with aa swift kiss. He was hardly a saint as his hands raked down the slip of your dress towards your hips.
"Let me teach it to you in the original Greek."
Late in bed, after a few hours of passionate companionship, Henry kissed your shoulder before nodding off to rare sleep. Sometimes, even now, you swear you could feel the searing warmth coupled by soft stubble. His kiss imprinted on your bones, his body on your soul.
Nights like these were always recounted in Richard's memory as a series of beautiful blurs. There was a rainy drive. Then, the uncouth deliberation of even attending the party to begin with. Francis and Charles went back and forth for a few minutes, trying to remember which frat was the one where Camilla suffered a thrown drink. The last thing Richard remembered was his time on the dancefloor being interrupted by the sight of Bunny and Charles dashing to the scene of two men fighting. Shouted swears were muffled by shifting of bodies hoping to secure inches of distance. Camilla's hand desperately interlocked with Richard to pull him from the cesspool of PanHellenic grinding. It took a grand total of six minutes to settle the skirmish. Richard couldn't believe the sight that awaited him in the kitchen. Henry's jaw —bloodied and purpled — was gallantly taut with rage. His lips worked themselves into a series of swears, some English others Sumerian, before finally acquiescing to Bunny's silent pleading to go outside. As the group stumbled outside to find the car, Richard couldn't help but shoot you a dirty look.
You were draped in Henry's overcoat. He didn't so much as insist but rather impose, resting the coat on your shoulders like he's done so many times before. It dragged slightly on the ground as you walked.
They found the car in no time. Charles and Bunny immediately begun their shittalking, working up hot shot stories of revenge that would never come to fruition.
"That's the last time we ever go to one of these dreadful parties." said Francis, lighting a cigarette. He took a long drag before exhaling the smoke through his nostrils.
The bitching was lost on Henry, who was simply staring down, expressionless as ever. A few droplets of blood dripped onto the hood of the car, shining brilliantly against the stark white paint.
"What happened?" Richard piqued.
The question came out weakly and felt even redundant to say. Precision could've helped with receiving an answer. What happened was quite obvious, but why it happened wasn't immediately evident to anyone. The why was seated in the driver's seat of the car, her body obscured from view thanks to the propped open door.
Camilla abandoned the boys to join you in your makeshift hideaway as they went over the events with Richard.
"Where were you?" She asked coldly.
"We broke up."
No hint of any emotion in your voice. Factual. You might've well just told her that the Greeks built a wooden horse once upon a forever ago.
"So?" She said, sighing in exasperation.
You looked up at her, confused. Her grey eyes held a few tears at their corners.
"You left me alone. With them." Camilla continued. She sniffled a little before pawing at her tears. "You should've said something."
Silence hung. The chilly air felt suffocating. You had no answers for her nor any worthwhile excuse. Just one solemn offering.
"I'm sorry."
The apology felt astringent, not nearly enough. All the remorse you had was caught in your throat, unwilling to move. But for now, Camilla nodded her head hastily before reaching out. Her cold palm seared the softness of your cheek. Leaning into her touch, you felt yourself relax a little bit. There was at least one tranquil moment tonight.
Richard was barred from making any more decisions that night. Everyone was waiting on what Henry wanted to do. He alone held the keys to the rest of the weekend's destiny. After another few moments of banter, Henry finally cleared his throat to announce his decision.
"Eamus ad villam rusticam." Let's go to the country house.
smaller update but i just wanted to get something out before i became unmotivated again, but thank you as always for reading <333
in the beginning, his interest is purely intellectual — or so he tells himself. you speak with precision, you listen with intention, you never overexplain. henry begins to crave your presence in discussions because you elevate them; he likes the way you think beside him, not beneath him.
he notices that he starts preparing himself for conversations with you. not rehearsing, refining. choosing words more carefully, revisiting texts you mentioned in passing, rereading passages simply to be ready in case you bring them up again. he gives you space to talk about whatever you want; he watches you, fascinated, curious. no matter the subject, he follows you there, admiring the architecture of your mind as it unfolds.
henry doesn’t recognize love immediately, he recognizes change. you alter his internal order. thoughts he once accessed with clarity now orbit you first; what you’d think of the book he’s reading, how he can no longer complete a greek text without thinking of you, how often he starts to associate you with a myth, elevating your presence until it feels almost sacred. deep down, he finds this disorder disturbing, and he can’t yet name it.
he begins to observe you unconsciously: where you sit in the library, how long you stay, your perfume when you pass him, the way you listen to the professor with quiet focus. this alarms him, henry doesn’t like attachments he didn’t choose consciously. he tries to stop, but he can’t. he’s already lost.
the realization arrives quietly. one day, you aren’t there. and he keeps searching for you with his eyes because the conversation feels shallow, unfocused. henry finds himself irritated, not with the people around him, but with your absence. that is when he suspects something is wrong.
henry truly falls in love when admiration becomes necessity; when your approval matters more than being right, when he corrects himself not for accuracy, but for you.
once he understands what he’s feeling, he doesn’t panic, he becomes meticulous. it takes time for him to admit it to himself, but when he realizes there is no study, no text, nothing capable of removing you from his mind — and his heart — he accepts it. love, to him, it’s responsibility, consequence and permanence.
from then on, his behavior shifts subtly. he positions himself at your side more often, matches your pace without comment, offers rides more frequently even when you insist you don’t want to bother. he invites you to dinner at his place. he invites you out with his friends when he’s comfortable, then proceeds to ignore everyone else and give you his full attention. his voice lowers when he speaks only to you. he offers his coat without ceremony, as if it were inevitable.
henry’s affection is deeply practical, and unmistakable. he lends you books with detailed notes in the margins, as if they were manuals to his heart. he corrects others when they misinterpret your words and ensures you are included without making a spectacle of it.
he never flirts openly. his version of flirting is attention; prolonged, deep eye contact, asking for your opinion before offering his own, pausing conversations to hear what you’ll say next, always waiting for you when class ends. he lends you things he would never lend anyone — important books, private notes, even lets you copy his work without hesitation.
he becomes strangely protective; not possessive, but alert. he notices who interrupts you, who underestimates you, who watches you too closely. he intervenes quietly, efficiently, without drawing attention to himself, ensuring those mistakes are never repeated.
he’s always where he says he will be. he remembers dates, times, details you mentioned once and never repeated. loving you becomes part of his essence, not a deviation from it.
slowly, he begins to invite you into his private world: unfinished thoughts, half-formed theories, doubts he has never shared with anyone, fragments of his past, his childhood, his family. this is intimacy to him; letting you see what he has hidden from the world for years.
jealousy arrives as shame. he notices when others hold your attention and despises the feeling. he doesn’t react outwardly; he internalizes it, analyzes it, decides it’s his burden to bear — and then, silently, moves closer to you.
henry’s touch, when it happens, is devastating in its restraint. a hand at your wrist, fingers brushing yours as he passes something to you. the contact is so brief it feels deliberate, because it is.
eventually, he begins to imagine permanence. shared routines, quiet mornings with no obligations except each other. literary arguments, conversations about films, long silences that don’t demand explanation. a future that includes you without condition, without doubt — as though it has always been the only logical conclusion.
as you might've noticed, i've been absent from this blog for a while. i've been mainly focusing on grad school applications and moving within these last few quiet months. initially, i was a little lost on the right way of coming back, so consider this post as "breaking the ice" so to speak. while i am back, my updates are probably going to still be a bit slower than before.
for the schlatt fics, those will be on a backburner as i pursue writing for other characters. i've learned better than to make promises to you all, but i do hope the ending i have planned for somewhere in the city and benders over silverlake will be worth the wait.
anyways, i hope this new year brings you all joy and some semblance of peace. i missed writing on here so much you guys have no idea.
Summary: Henry Winter is a man of many epiphets. Genuis, asshole, scholar, cold-blooded. Heartbroken fool was not among them until you. In the weeks that follow the breakup, one single question has lingered on Henry's mind: Don't you miss me?
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: frat parties, yearning while drunk, Playboy bunny suit, boys fighting, cliffhanger, alc use, drug use, cigarette use, little proofreading , minors dni, 18+
divider cred ✦ masterlist
The Greek class managed to convince Henry to take a night off of his ridiculous inclinations to celebrate Halloween.
The makeshift party did little to soothe his anxieties (or his raging headache for that matter). Richard was out with Bunny procuring more alcohol. Charles and Francis were at the beginning of a spirited argument. Henry's view of the debate was obscured by Camilla's hovering. Henry allowed her to do his makeup. Camilla though this gesture was sweet, vaguely romatic. But really, Henry just longed to have his hair tousled and gripped with a pressure he's begun to forget.
"Relax your face. You're being difficult." Camilla said.
She dipped the brush head into her mouth briefly, forming a sharper point with the aid of her spit. The sight alone should've aroused Henry. Scornfully, the glistening brush as it lined itself around his eyes just reminded him of the questions that haunted Henry constantly.
Where were you?
Were you trading spit with some other cretin by now?
Were you in trouble, in danger?
Would you let him buy you dinner again, just one last time?
Henry grumbled in response, breaking free from Camilla's grip to steal a swig of his drink. He sat with a strained "relaxed" face long enough for her to finish. The final product was strikingly editorial. Black eyeliner brought forth the lighter tones of blue in Henry's eyes. He looked horrifyingly intense and terribly handsome all at once.
Richard stumbled into the apartment accompanied by Bunny, reeking of cigarette smoke, carrying clinking bottles of whiskey and gin. Richard consistently found himself to be a vagabond between two worlds. The contemporary world with its newfound delights. The dorm rooms and his pitiful French class. And the world that only the Greek class kept alive. A world that venerated old books, Homer, and above all the zealous veneration of a certain kind of beauty. So, the very fact that Richard not only witnessed the corruption of Henry Marchbanks Winter firsthand but directly facilitated it on that fateful first date in the dorms and every consequential day since ate at him. How could he disturb Henry's clandestine aesthetic life with the anchor that is the modern woman?
To see his great Homeric hero lined with traces of disgusting modernity. The image of Henry in eyeliner made Richard realize how far gone Henry had truly become. There was no remedy, Richard concluded as he set down the liquor, other than to convince Henry to look back. To see your wretched place in the jaws of Hades. If there was any hope of Henry returning to the land of Grecian living, Richard figured he must proctor some resolute conclusion to this scroll.
The drive over to the frats was rainy. Fat droplets were flicked away by the BMV's windshield wipers. Francis was kind enough to steal Henry's keys. Henry sat in front, inattentive to the excited babble coming from the backseat. Camilla had her legs thrown over Richard's lap, her foot occasionally bouncing from the bumpy road to brush against Charles' knee. Bunny laughed at the indecency. Henry's pale cheek was pressed against the window. Freezing glass mulled his warm, drunken haze. There was enough Scotch in Henry to convince himself that there was still remnants of your perfume on the seatbelt. Residual sacred notes of chicory wood and vanilla beans. But he wasn't drunk enough to fool himself that you were still here, still his. The dying fragrance was evidence enough.
Henry was careful not to show his longing discomfort on his face considering it's how he ended up in this position to begin with. Richard saw a sullen, dull look in Henry's eyeliner laden eyes and poisoned the others of the idea that it was there too. A present day bacchanal. That's how Richard pitched it. Revelry on a day where the veil between the Underworld and corporeal realm was the thinnest was bound to reveal some sort of insight on current cultural depravity. The class needed to go for research purposes. While sitting on the couch, cocktail in hand, Henry let out a half-hearted chuckle upon hearing the ensuing debate. Richard wasn't grasping many concepts in class, that much was evident by his stricken face whenever Julian called upon him for an answer. But manipulation isn't a skill that can be honed on it's own. Richard has certainly become a scholar in that regard.
Loud music vibrated the walls from an undisclosed speaker. There were no books in sight. Any available table or counter space was occupied with near empty cocktails, forgotten beers and the occasional powdery shadow of an absent cocaine line. Charles, Camilla Francis, and Richard disappeared into the growing cesspool of party goers. Bunny opted to stay by Henry's side.
"Never took you for the heartbroken type." Bunny said, taking a hearty swig of a scrounged up beer.
"I'm not." Henry replied, his voice clipped.
"Yeah sure.” Bunny rolled his eyes, his spectacles glinting in the dim lighting. “You're not fooling anyone, you do know that right?"
Bunny's tone dropped, like it always did whenever he decided to be esoterically clever.
"The way I see it, old man, is you have two options. Either win her back or forget she ever existed."
Pairs of pretty girls approached the duo throughout the night. Bunny would play the kind gentleman role for a while, cooing praises about how sweet they were or how nice their hair looked before sending them on their way with a lighthearted rejection. A proper East Coast gentleman. Henry's lips remained suffocatingly silent. Eyes occasionally assessing the crowd for any trace of your silhouette. Eventually, Bunny saw a friend of Marion, which was a reminder to seek out where Marion was. With a hop and skip away, Bunny left Henry standing guard just outside the dance floor.
At last. Alone.
Lost in contemporary debauchery. Or rather trapped. Francis has his keys. Another drink. Accept the lot you've wagered for, so Henry thought. Three shots gone with a flash of a pale hand. At least, his girl wasn't here to witness all this uncouthness. She was a kept woman, his kept woman. Another drink to celebrate? In vino veritas. Domesticity was hardly a cause to rally for. Aristotelian dialogues tinkered in his brain. Family as a model for the state. The most delightful form of government was sure to be found somewhere between the nape of your neck and wrist.
A soft hand interrupts his shoulder, stopping his flurry of genius. Fingertips brushed against the rare exposed skin of his neck. Mortals who encounter the incomprehensible tend to die quickly. Henry turned his face to reproach the undead. His blood froze instead.
Saint. Sinner. Madonna. Whore, Lupa, Amica.
His favorite ex-girlfriend.
Modern sexual excitement wrapped itself garishly around your body. A Playboy bunny suit, to be precise. Waist cinched, black latex. Hair coerced into a fluffy blowout. Lip gloss glistening in the dimming kitchen light. Impropriety by all accounts.
"What are you doing here?" You said. The beautiful features on your face were crossed in frustration towards him. Any residual tenderness you held for him existed in the waning warmth of your hand.
"Futue te ipsi."
Henry took it upon himself to teach you Latin over the course of a few weeks. He was determined to get you speaking better than Richard. Only then would he introduce you to Julian to aid in his eventual private audience with Julian about the manner of kicking Richard to the conventional drones of the literature department to make room for your usurpative arrival. He taught decided to teach you the basics with poetry. Catullus, Horace, Ovid. Henry started with Ovid's Amores. Every night, for two weeks straight, Henry would make you recite a new elegy with him. He'd speak a line with his perfect diction. You'd repeat it back to him with staggering pronunciations. Eventually, you got better through his little encouragements. A kiss for a decent word or two, a kiss down south if you could really nail a whole verse. The Latin lessons stopped at Catullus. Swears were your favorite thing to learn, even if it felt a bit crass to admit it.
Futue te ipsi. Go fuck yourself.
A man walking behind you carried a toppling red Solo cup filled with beer. Reflexively, Henry's arm found itself wrapping around your waist to pull you away from belligerent nonexisrent danger and back to his safety. His hands recoiled slightly at the strange feeling of the latex fabric. Henry was used to feeling soft wools hugging your body, sometimes lace if it was a special occasion. A gloved hand crept up to brush his signature stray piece of hair away. You loved seeing his scar whenever possible. The thin white line kept him human.
You were at a loss for words. In no known universe could you have predicted Henry Winter would've been at a frat party left seemingly alone to his own devices. Descending the stairs, you saw Richard swapping spit with a sorority girl in some seedy corner. That alone would've been just an icy reminder of the man you left behind. It wasn't until you saw Charles and Camilla sneaking off Jove knows where that you suspected the entirety of the Greek classes unannounced visit. So you poked around the frat house. Opening doors that would've preferred to stay closed. The state you found Henry in was a sobering sight. Standing in the kitchen, body curled slightly towards the cup in his hand. An innocent, unsuspecting stag. Whatever words you've conjured by now have long since vanished. Latin swears yield intimidating power.
"Why are you here?" He finally managed to slur out. You bit back a giggle. Even while drunk, his Latin was far better than his English.
"I was invited."
Henry let out a laugh. A cruel, bitter laugh. Invited.
"By whom?"
You bit your lower lip as to try to stop yourself from answering. Truth would serve little justice. You felt Henry's fingertips underneath the bottom of your jaw, tilting your head upward to face him. The reality of the situation dawned on you. You were in the arms of a man you've deliberately tried to destroy. Despite the very obvious wrath he could've held against you, there was no denying the affection that emanated from him. Before you could respond to his question, the answer came forth via a fist meeting Henry's jaw.
Summary: Henry Winter is a man of many epiphets. Genuis, asshole, scholar, cold-blooded. Heartbroken fool was not among them until you. In the weeks that follow the breakup, one single question has lingered on Henry's mind: Don't you miss me?
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: stalker!Henry, yearning, Richard Papen being a silly goofball, alc use, drug use, cigarette use, breakup, little proofreading , minors dni, 18+
divider cred ✦ masterlist
The day you broke up with Henry Winter was atypically beautiful.
Mourning doves were cooing, their woeful melodies stirring in the October breeze. The last autumn leaves pranced about Hampden's main quad in illustrious swirls, as though they were inked from a Japanese calligraphy brush. Autumnal beauty offered no pleasure, only guilt for the tarnishing to come.
Throughout your relationship, (with one small exception) Henry was the one who planned dates. There was an unshakeable, delicious thrill that came whenever the phrase "2 for Winter?" escaped your lips or the courteous nod you gave if that very question was poised at you from a hostess. It should've been the first sign of trouble: the reservation was made under your name. Hell, even the way you asked him to join you at the restaurant should've been a tell. Sending Richard with a note like a poor dog with a newspaper was ridiculous move on your behalf. But the pageantry of the invite alongside his annoying love for you blinded Henry to what should've been clear.
Henry's body was freed from ropes, from the ship mast. So approached the Siren's call with her impending doom.
The table you were seated at was rather drab. The wildflowers in the cream colored vase were wilted, on the cusp of developing mold. The tablecloth was wrinkled, soap scum lingered on the scratched up silverware. As he pulled out your chair for you, Henry was just about to gently scold you for your choice of restaurant. The playful tease never escaped his lips.
The rest of what he later came to find out was a mere 15 minutes was a gallery of glimpses of a whole memory. Coffees were served before growing cold. Their steam feathered around your definitive, precise words. Unlike Homer, you left no wiggle room for alternative interpretations. The entire ordeal felt particularly curated to inflict as much needless injury. Disgusting reheated coffee and lazily laundered napkins. You didn't even let him pick up the check. In a swift motion, while Henry was still trying to interpret the words you let linger in the air, you placed a fifty dollar bill underneath the vase. Kissed his cheek before finally departing. You left the restaurant the same was you ended your relationship with Henry Winter: abruptly, coldly, without releasing a shred of the dignity you hoarded for yourself.
If Henry were a normal man, he would've tolerated heartbreak with vices and indulgences. Sleazy hookups, insufferable amounts of cocaine or Scotch. Hell, maybe even the sitcom route: copious amounts of ice cream. All his wealth could've afforded him a happy christening to renewed bachelorhood. Alas, despite the growing number of his epithets "typical man" was not among them.
Henry's new pesky habit started off small. Almost indiscernibly minuscule. He started to follow you from afar, silently joining in your routine to and from classes like he always did. The original reasoning was rooted in supposed chivalrous morals. You were a lady. It was his duty, even as a slighted gentleman, to ensure your safety. This half baked argument was fooling no one. His habit was utterly self-indulgent. Henry relished in pretending as though he were still some unconquerable force that could still protect you. His habit trickled, slowly but surely, to "joining" you in other situations. He'd watch you in the library while translating Porphyry. Silently, always holding back a tsk about your reading speed.
Sometimes you would return to your dorm room, a place he always hated with loving glint. On your first date, you invited Henry to come over to your dorm to watch a movie. For the mere suggestion alone, he almost turned you down. But it was the manner of which you asked, which was more of an order rather than a request, that made him venture into the dormitories. The layout of the dorms although extremely utilitarian quickly became a confusing labyrinth. Henry stood in front of a faded fire map for a decent five minutes, desperately trying to decipher a path to the room you specified. Completely on accident, Richard stumbled across this unusual sight of a bewildered Henry and found himself too awkward to offer assistance. Retreating back to the hallway, Richard was deadset on taking this secret to the grave. Good fortune soured when Judy Poovey loudly pointed out Henry's presence from the other side of the hallway, causing Richard to painstakingly turn back to offer the help he should've to begin with. With as much feigned discretion as he could, Richard tapped Henry on the shoulder.
"Are you lost?"
"No."
"Just tell me where you want to go."
"Is that any of your business?"
"Do you want to see her or not?"
Richard had only himself to blame for this situation. Within the first few days of transferring to the Greek class, Richard picked up on yet another of Henry's quirks. Just before Julian entered the room ti begin instruction, Henry would take a small pause from whatever it was he was doing. Translating, reading, writing. None of it concerned him for a few blissful minutes. Henry would gaze outside from a classroom window to admire what was quickly becoming his favorite sight in Vermont: a wistfully beautiful girl reading outside. Last year, you made a habit of starting your day with leisure reading. This year, to change things up, you enjoy these thrity minutes of peace outside. Every morning you arrived to your conquered patch of soft summer grass. A rotating curation of readings. Sometimes your hands would be hidden by a plastic dust jacket, other times by rigid leather bound hardcovers. No one in the Greek class really understood what in particular about this sight enthralled Henry, so much so to even command his precision away from his coursework to studying you.
Richard on the other hand had a suspicion. A crude one at that. It was later confirmed by a quick remark Henry made one morning after returning to his seat.
"Dog-like."
Bunny scoffed, finding the musing to be nothing more than a pretentious, round about way of calling a respectable girl a bitch. Richard felt elated. Dog-like, Helen-like. A face to launch a thousand ships. If love were a fire, this comment was evidence of an early smouldering ember.
"She's in my French class." Richard interjected. No Julian yet. Henry halted his own reply. "She's not very good, tried to beg me to be her tutor once I think. But I've got enough on my plate."
Henry abruptly stood up and walked out of the classroom. With the help of long strides, he arrived to your perch, a bit winded from nearly breaking out into a full sprint. The rest of the Greek class huddled around the window to get a better look at the scene unfolding.
"Hello." Henry said, his voice strained.
"Hm?"
"Do you want a French tutor?"
In ordinary circumstances, you would've assumed this question was an indecent proposition. You've never seen him before, nor another man like him. Something about the umbrella by his hip or the fact he was in a full three piece suit in the middle of August clued you in about two facts.
This man was genuine.
This man was incredibly attractive.
You accepted his proposal and his conditions. Two meetings per week for the rest of the semester. Around the fourth meeting is when you decided enough was enough. In better French than you've ever spoken, you asked him out. He replied in the only Latin you knew at that point.
"Sic."
You opened your door to a lovely sight: Henry carrying a copy of Le Livre de la Cité des Dames, dried bouquet in hand, and pale cheeks slightly discolored with embarrassment. In front of an already awkward Richard Papen, you slipped a scrunchie onto the door handle before beckoning Henry to step inside. The dorm room was teetering on the edge of uncomfortably cramped. Half read books were littered on every possible surface which did little to relieve the ever present feeling of claustrophobia. On your makeshift dining table, fashioned out of a coffee table and the only nice tablecloth you had, was an Altoids tin, a bottle of red wine, and a frosted chocolate cake.
"What are the Altoids for?" Henry finally said, draping his wool coat over a chair.
"Open it and see." You said, barely containing a smile.
The Altoids tin held a few goodies. A joint, two gummies, and a little plastic baggie of an unknown substance. Henry opted for the herbal refreshment, you took the gummies. High out of your minds, you finally put on the movie selection for the night: Watership Down (1978). The night was gratifying for a laundry list of reasons. The chocolate cake was delightful. The wine and weed were pleasant. The movie though graphic was cerebral enough to capture Henry's inebriated attention. But the warmth he felt as your body slipped onto his was incomprehensible. His bones felt seared with delight. For a blissful moment, Henry found the indulgences to be wonderfully excessive, even if everything he did that night was in no way a meaningful tribute to Dionysus. How could a single person enjoy this much beauty without feeling a bit of guilt? Ever the dichotomous man, Henry felt gluttonous and generous whenever he was with you. Whatever you had to offer, he would selfishly take and then some. But whatever you wanted, whether it be a drawer in his apartment or one of the moons of Jupiter, Henry felt more than moral obligation to give. Every cell in his body compelled him to provide anything you wanted. It was the most sacred form of worship. You were his parishioner, saint, and God all mixed into one corporeal being.
Was it really so strange to imagine the damage would be after the fact? This habit was the one tether Henry had from fully descending in hermitic insanity. How else would the faithful cope with the suicide of God?
like schlatt i too do not endorse former ny governor andrew cuomo for nyc mayor.
things cuomo has done:
1. asked for the gynecological records from the women who accused him of sexual harassment
2. took money intended for mta repairs and used it to “update” fix ski resorts
3. understated the covid death toll in nursing homes (a direct action he initiated btw) by as much as 50%
please please please if you live in nyc, vote for mamdani. if you don’t, please look up if your state is hosting any special or state wide elections this upcoming fall. make ur voice heard !!!
Schlatt has a reputation to retain, even among those closest to him. He's a complex man. Standoffish, brutish at times. The typical New York asshole. His consonants swirled into haphazard insults whenever a camera was near. But there was a quiet part to Schlatt. A part he tried to keep hidden, even from himself, to save face. It appeared in the silence of a car ride upstate. In the pensive pauses before he opened his mouth to order at a sushi restaurant. It appeared so briefly, like a whisper, most people couldn't tell it was even there to begin with.
Most people, excluding you.
Schlatt hung around you more and more every day. Usually with an invented excuse of wanting to make sure you were making good progress on his thumbnails and editing his streams. You would've never pegged him for a micromanager, but neuroticism comes for us all in the end. The days he would come by, he'd usually come bearing some self-indulgent gift. Takeout from places he liked, freebies of his merch, etc.
It was hard to deny that all this new proximity was just fuel to the fire that was your attraction to him. Schlatt, despite his crassness, was undeniably handsome. You loved whenever he would sneak up behind you in public. You didn't need to turn around to see if it was him. You could tell by his large presence alone. Six foot three speaks for itself. His smile was a sight to behold. One night over Thai takeout, you managed to make him laugh. But really laugh, the kind that is cruel to one's ribs and diaphragm. His lips curled into an impossibly wonderful smile. Slight dimples at the sides of his lips appeared. As soon as they came to existence, they vanished behind another barrage of feigned insults he hurled about nothing in particular.
You felt attracted to Schlatt. The persona, whatever he wanted to call it, of a hyper masculine asshole. But you yearned for that small crack of that very persona and the light that escaped. Was it the real Schlatt? Or just an aspect? Whatever it was, that part of him was the part you wanted to know more, to love more.
Schlatt invited you over for another night of takeout and beers. Like usual, you dressed in your very best easy access dress. Fixed your hair and face before you went on your way to his apartment. The doorman let you in with little hesitation. You've been here so many times, he doesn't need to bother buzzing. A few dings in the elevator and you're at his floor. Knock. Pause. He unlocks the door with one hand.
"Hey." You say, smiling up at him.
"Get in, the food's getting cold."
He sounded like an nonna for a split second, fretting about dinner. There was nothing to do but oblige. Shoes at the door. There's already a plate with your name on it. Warm, fragrant rice. Miso soup. Another sushi night, not that you're complaining.
"Did you get-"
"Yes, yes I got your fuckass plum wine."
It was sitting in the fridge, prechilled. Schlatt is kind enough to let you fetch it for yourself. You browse through his cabinet looking for a wine glass you brought over a long time ago. With unbridled familiarity, you help him grab various small plates, chopsticks and his beer glass around his kitchen to finish setting up the dinner table. You ate alongside friendly conversation about prefilming content for the holidays. Schlatt complains at length about having to travel to California for his upcoming studio session.
"Are you going to record more Sinatra?"
"Probably. I want to do more standards though."
"Oh so like Autumn Leaves?"
"Yeah. You get me."
The glimpse of the smile you knew, the smile you craved for appeared for a millisecond before vanishing once more. Dinner came and went. You swore he stole some of your tuna roll from you while you briefly checked Instagram. Dishes in the sink, you sprawled yourself out on his couch. Jambo arched his back, clearly annoyed from having to share his territory. He repositoned himself on an empty pillow.
Then it happened. If you weren't slightly buzzed from the plum wine, you wouldn't have doubted what you heard.
A squeal. Of pure excitement. Schlatt quickly took out his phone to snap a picture of you and Jambo. He found it funny, to see you laying upside down while Jambo was sitting right side up. You knew Schlatt loved his cats more than anything in the world, you've seen his Snap stories. But to directly witness his adoration of his cats in person was an entirely new thing all together. A wave of pure happiness washed over you. Schlatt didn't get to be like this in front of anyone. To be a witness to this part of him was a privilege. An assured goal nestled itself in your consciousness as he sat down finally next to you, coaxing you to use his legs as a impromptu pillow. You'd do anything in your power to see more of this part of Schlatt.
summary: you're used to your co-worker doing everything and anything for you. until one day he decides to take advice from jimmy olsen and discovers willpower you didn't know he had.
pairing: female reader x clark kent
notes: clark is the leader of simp nation and you can't tell me otherwise. thanks again ms carpenter for the fic inspoooo, I've had this whole album on repeat nonstop. also this ended up being so much longer than I originally planned oops... enjoy!
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
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Clark had three main rules when it came to his professional life.
Always remain objective.
Maintain friendly but strictly professional (and definitely not romantic!) working relationships with his colleagues.
Never take advice from Jimmy Olsen (again).
Although Clark liked to think he approached each of his stories with a level head and neutral position, he knew that the first rule had been broken the second he started interviewing himself as Superman.
The second rule had lasted for about a week until he'd ended up letting an extremely drunk Jimmy Olsen crash on his sofa after Friday night knock off drinks. Upon getting wind of Clark's inability to say no, each of Clark's colleagues - including Cat, Lois and even Perry once - had all had a drunken sleepover at Clark's.
Despite this, there'd been absolutely no romance involved, so he'd given himself a pat on the back for that one. He was comforted by the fact that maybe there was an argument that he'd only kinda broken rule two.
That was until you happened, you’d walked right into the Daily Planet on your first day and spun Clark’s world right off its axis and suddenly there was no argument about rule two.
The only thing that Clark could hang his hat on was that the sanctity of rule three had remained very much intact.
Rule three was mandated after Jimmy had convinced Clark that the only way to get a girl was to walk around drenched in Lynx Africa. After that Clark had sworn he would never ever take advice from Jimmy Olsen on any subject matter ever again.
“You’re doing it again.”
Clark jumped in his chair, his glasses knocked askew at the action. He swivelled around to find Jimmy peering down at him, his chin resting on his forearms that were leant against the divider of Clark’s work cubicle.
“What?”
“You’re doing the thing again.” Jimmy repeated.
"What thing?"
Jimmy smirked. “The thing where you count how many sips of coffee she's had so you can perfectly time your trip to the coffee machine and casually offer to get her a refill."
Clark dared a glance over to your desk. Brow furrowed, face pinched, a ballpoint pen clenched between your teeth. Breathtakingly beautiful as always, and most importantly, blissfully unaware of the two sets of eyes currently on you.
“If you weren’t you it might be considered creepy.”
“I’m just trying to be a friendly work colleague.” Clark defended.
“You don’t do that for me.” Jimmy shot back. “You also don’t stare at me longingly across the bullpen like I’ve hung the moon and stars.”
Clark’s face flushed. Subtly had never been in his wheelhouse, but he thought he’d at least being doing an ok job at hiding his infatuation.
Truth be told, he was in much deeper than Jimmy realised.
Jimmy didn’t know that he’d memorised your coffee and sandwich order within a week of you starting so that he could make sure you ate lunch when you handcuffed yourself to your desk and inevitably forgot to eat.
Jimmy didn’t know that he always kept an extra raincoat and umbrella under his desk just in case you forgot yours when the clouds of Metropolis inevitably split open and caught you by surprise.
Jimmy didn’t know that he’d started taking the bus of all things to get home because it meant he had an excuse to walk an extra ten minutes with you before your commute paths diverted, despite it adding an additional 40 minutes to his trip home.
Jimmy didn’t know that whenever he wasn’t thinking about saving the planet as Superman, he was entirely consumed by thoughts of you.
“You don’t bring in freshly baked goods for me every week.” To further emphasise his point, Clark held up a plate in front of him containing only the remnants of a chocolate chip cookie, which may or may not have been one of the best things he’s eaten in his entire life.
You’d recently picked up baking on the weekends, having told Clark that you needed something to distract you from your work. This meant the entire office was now spoilt with a new baked good every Friday, so much so that Cat had started complaining about her waistline.
Jimmy’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “Whatever you say buddy.” He rapped his knuckles on the divider before sauntering back to his desk.
Clark slumped in his chair, which felt like a vortex - slowly pulling him down further into an all familiar spiral. He would have preferred Jimmy to stand there and argue with him. He knew Jimmy was probably trying to be nice, but that made it so much worse because that meant Jimmy pitied him, like he was a puppy abandoned on the side of the road waiting for someone to show him a shred of kindness.
Maybe it was finally time for him to pluck up the courage and ask you out. He'd been dancing around it since you'd first started at the Planet all those months ago. He could do it. He was Superman gosh darn it. He'd tackled world eating monsters, asking you out to dinner should be a cake walk.
"Any feedback on this week's batch for me?"
Your sweet voice cut through Clark's internal dialogue, acting like a shining light that guided him back to reality.
He looked up at you through his glasses. You were standing in the spot where Jimmy had been only moments ago. Your eyes darted to the plate still lying on his desk before you looked at him expectantly.
"Oh-" Clark started, straightening up in his seat as he adjusted his glasses. "They're um- yeah they're really good. Did you do something a little different with the batter this time?"
Your smile widened. "Yeah I tried using brown sugar, I think it adds a nice twist to it."
"That's what it is. The brown sugar." Clark nodded. "Really delicious."
"Very glad to hear it." You smiled down at him, tilting your head ever so slightly. "You coming tonight by the way?"
"Tonight...." Clark trailed off. You rested your chin on the palm of your hand as you shook your head and tisked.
"Don't tell me you forgot." You teased.
Clark felt his cheeks redden under your stare as he desperately racked his brain. He was hopeless. One look from you and all thoughts flew out of his head like they were fleeing an approaching storm.
"Uh-" Then it hit him. "Oh right. End of financial year party, how could I forget."
"Duh, and it's at good old Duke's. Going to be the party of the year."
Your eyes narrowed when you noticed his expression falter. "You're not thinking of ditching are you Kent?"
"Well-" Clark stammered as he stole a glance at his computer screen. "It's just there's this story that Perry really wants to get out and-"
"-No no no." You cut him off. "I'm up to my ears in this never ending corruption scandal and even I'm finding the time to come. Besides, you work your ass off and deserve some fun. If Perry has a problem with that he can go through me."
In Clark's eyes, you might as well be classified as an angel on earth. You seemed to have a permanent glow, radiating your perfect features. And when you got fired up, that glow burned even brighter.
You could see that he was still wavering. "Please." You pursed your lips. "It won't be the same without you there."
Clark couldn't believe it. You were pouting. Literally pouting those perfect lips and batting those long eyelashes at him. How was he supposed to say anything other than yes? You were his kryptonite, more so than actual kryptonite.
"Ok." He nodded. "I'll be there."
You shot him a radiant smile, enough to make the possibility of pissing Perry off worth it a thousand times over.
"Good." You pushed yourself off the cubicle divider, "hope you're ready for me to drink you under the table Kent."
A bemused smirk twitched up on his lips. "We'll see about that."
Who was he kidding, there was no way he was ever going to get up the courage to ask you out.
You smiled to yourself as you turned away and felt Clark's eyes following you all the way back to your desk.
You knew Clark had a crush on you. It was so obvious even the cleaning lady could probably tell. It made coming to work just that little bit more exciting. Whether it was wearing a new slightly too short for work skirt or brushing your hand seemingly innocently against his when you went to hand him a pen, knowing it would make the apples of his cheeks go red and the sentence he was uttering fall apart on his tongue.
If you were being honest, the feelings were definitely not one sided. How could it be when Clark was well, Clark. But that's all it was. A harmless, fun, not debilitating in the slightest, crush.
You finally let yourself glance up at the clock. Half an hour until drinks. The day had been dragging on excruciatingly slow, like time had fallen asleep at the wheel.
It seemed that everyone else felt the same way. The usual thriving hum of the newsroom had quietened to a dull roar, unenthusiastic keyboard taps and monosyllabic exchanges. Motivated by the optimistic idea that making a coffee might kill time, you forced yourself up and onto your feet.
You shoved a mug under the spout and pressed the button that grumbled the machine to life. You tapped your foot as you waited for the life giving elixir that was espresso to pour out. It seemed even the coffee machine had taken an early mark.
"You're going to give that boy a heart attack one day."
Cat appeared beside you, reaching up in her stiletos to grab a mug.
"You're going to have to be more specific."
Cat looked at you deadpan. “Really?”
You shrugged.
She pouted out her bottom lip and dramatically batted her eyelashes.
"It won't be the same without you."
You couldn’t hide the grin that spreads across your lips as you roll your eyes playfully.
“It’s true.”
“Uh huh.” Cat smirked as you moved over to let her use the machine. “You have that poor boy wrapped around your finger and you know it.”
You stole a glance over your shoulder to make sure Clark was no where to be seen before taking a sip of your coffee. Your nose involuntarily wrinkled as the burnt roast singed your nose hairs.
“So I may like to get him a little flustered… what’s the big deal?”
“Oh, I like nothing better than making a man squirm believe me.” Cat wriggled her eyebrows. “But there is the slight complication that he’s completely in love with you. And he's your coworker."
You felt a pang of guilt course through you. You couldn’t lie, half the fun was the way Clark doted on you. He was always noticing when you got your hair done or bought a new dress. He was the first to compliment you on your articles, but he'd also give you honest feedback if you asked for it. If you were ever off sick he'd call and check in on you, always offering to bring you soup or medicine.
He’d even trusted you with the biggest secret a person could harbour. His secret identity.
It was selfish, but you liked the fact that you could get the self esteem boost without the commitment. You flirted but never took it too far, never let him in through the solid walls you’d built up around yourself. Because if you kept him at arms length, there was no risk of him dismantling them.
Was that leading him on? You supposed it was. You winced at the thought of his adoring smile as he offered his shoes when you wore painfully high stilettos that you hadn’t broken in yet, or his umbrella when he didn't have a spare, leaving him standing out in the rain.
“Am I terrible person?”
“Oh god honey no.” Cat shook her head. “That’s not what I meant to imply I’m sorry.”
You frowned, deep in thought as you took a sip of your coffee. Your lips curled in disgust. Why did you think it would be better on the second sip?
“Forget I said anything ok?” She said hastily. “I more just meant… well...what are you going to do if he finally finds the courage to ask you out?”
You froze. You’d never thought about it, never even imagined the possibility that sweet, nervous Clark would actually take the next step.
Cat patted your arm sympathetically when she noticed the frazzled look on your face. “Aren’t you glad we’ve got drinks tonight?”
The Duke was a hive of activity. Corporate suits all suddenly brought to life by the promise of the weekend. It was packed wall to wall with patrons eagerly downing their drinks, excited to celebrate the work week coming to a close.
You were two white wines in and feeling much more relaxed, your corruption investigation now only a gentle hum in the forefront of your subconscious.
You were crammed into a booth, strategically sandwiching Clark between you and the wall. Your skirt had ridden up so the flesh of your thigh was pressed against Clark's under the table. The warmth of his body radiated into yours and the music pulsed through you as you fought to be heard over the din of the bar.
"You've finished your drink."
You looked over at Clark amusingly, "very observant of you Mr Kent."
His brow pinched, his lips pursed ever so slightly in response to your teasing. But the way his eyes brightened gave away his true emotions.
He leant in ever so slightly, his mouth angling towards your ear as he spoke. "Careful, I might have to rescind my offer to buy you your next round." You fought off a shiver as his voice reverberated up through your spine.
You tilted your chin up slightly so you could look up at him through your lashes. "Well luckily I would have rejected your offer anyway. You bought my last two drinks."
His brows jerked up, a casual smile hanging from his lips. "Here I was thinking you appreciated my generosity."
You laughed, leaning in closer just a fraction. "Of course I do, I just think it's time I repay that generosity by buying the next round."
With that you twisted around to sidle out of the booth. This was where the strategy came into play. You'd learnt from previous nights out that if you were against the wall, Clark would never let you past to buy yourself a drink.
You felt a large hand gently envelope your wrist. You turned around on the seat to see him frowning at you.
"You don't need to buy me a drink."
You giggled at the seriousness on his features. "I don't need to, but I want to." You tapped his forearm teasingly. "And I'n not taking no for an answer." Your tone was stern, but lacked any real bite.
He studied you and for a brief moment, the roar of the bar and the chatter of your friends faded into the background, making it feel like it was only the two of you in the room. Your skin encircled by his grip felt like it was on fire.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Nope." You smacked your lips obnoxiously. He tried to maintain a serious expression but failed, his mouth twisted up into a smirk as he shook his head in defeat.
"Fine. But I'm coming with you."
You felt triumphant in your defeat. "Your company is welcome."
You slid out of the booth towards the bar, Clark hot on your heels. You couldn't control your giddy smile as you felt his hand gently brush over your lower back. It wasn't in a controlling way, it never was, but more of a quiet reassurance that he was there with you.
You loved when he got like this. Slightly more relaxed and touchy, even more clingy.
“What can I get you?” The bartender asked.
“Can I get two lychee martinis please.”
You felt Clark shift to stand beside you, his fingertips grazing across your back as he moved.
“Lychee martini’s huh?”
You looked up at him, your features twisting in bemusement. “You act like you love beer in front of Jimmy, but I’ve seen your eyes light up when us girls order our fruity cocktails.”
“Master of deduction all of a sudden are we?”
“No.” You looked up at him innocently. “I just know what you like.”
Even in the dingy lighting you could see the apples of his cheeks grow pink. “Really?” His voice faltered ever so slightly, revealing his nerves.
“What else do I like then?”
He was looking at you so intently, like he was waiting with bated breath to hear your response. This time it was you turn for your cheeks to flush. You suddenly became very aware that his hand was still on your lower back.
Shit. Maybe your liquid courage had made you overshoot this. You were wading on the edge of uncharted waters here, tiptoeing the line between harmless office flirting and something much more real.
What scared you the most was that a part of you wanted to dive in head first.
“There you are!”
Lois’ voice was like cold water over a hot flame, pulling the two of you apart and extinguishing any moment that might have been.
“Do you know what time it is?” Lois’ eyes were wide as she glared at you, it was like Clark didn’t even exist. You forgot how scary she was when she was mad.
“Uh…” You hastily check the time on your phone. “8:37?”
“Oh my god.” Lois muttered. “You don’t remember what I organised for you tonight, do you?”
You stared at her helplessly, desperately racking your brain for a hint of what she might be talking about.
“Oh.” It hit you like a train. “Oh fuck.”
“Oh fuck is right.”
“What is happening right now?” Clark asked, his eyes darting between the two of you.
“Lois organised a blind date for me and I completely forgot.” You inwardly cursed yourself as you fished your lipgloss out of your bag.
She was never going to forgive you for this.
“A date?”
“The restaurant is just on the next block over isn’t it?” Clark’s query got drowned out by you and Lois.
“Yes. He’s been sitting there for like 40 minutes you know.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” You hastily reapplied your gloss before throwing it back into your bag.
You finally turned your attention to Clark. “I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll be back.” You looked over sheepishly at Lois. “On the bright side, you now get a free lychee martini.”
You were so frazzled that you missed the clench of his jaw and the grimace set on his features. Unfortunately for Clark, Lois did not.
“Ok bye!” Not wanting to have to see Lois’ judgmental glare again, you turned on your heel and made a beeline for the door.
Lois shook her head and mumbled something under her breath as she pulled out her phone. "I better go call him to make sure he doesn't leave before she gets there."
She looked up at Clark. "You ok?"
Clark flinched at the way her tone softened, it was as gentle as Lois got, like she was worried he might break. "Why wouldn't I be?" The question came out harsher than he'd intended.
Lois raised a brow but didn't say another word as she pressed her phone to her ear and moved to find a quieter pocket of the bar.
His shoulders slumped as he felt his good mood deflate like a popped balloon.
"Here you go." The bartender plonked the two lychee martinis in front of him. He stared down at them. It felt like they were mocking him, reminding him that the cloud nine he had been floating on had been snatched from him so quickly.
"Yo, did you order these? Wait let me guess, they're for Y/N." Just to dig the knife in further, the universe had sent him a tipsy Jimmy Olsen.
"She ordered them for us but she left."
Jimmy's brow knitted together. "Where'd she go?"
"On a blind date that Lois organised for her."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Clark didn't care to mellow the bitterness on his tongue as he picked up one of the glasses and took a deep sip.
"I'm sorry man."
There it was again - the pity. Jimmy Olsen didn't do pity, which could mean only one thing. Clark was well and truly screwed.
He glanced over at Jimmy to see him surveying the bar, his eyes glassy and his balance slightly off kilter. Jimmy never had any problems with women. In fact, he seemed to have problems with getting them to stay away from him.
He felt himself waver. Rule three was the only one of his rules still unbroken and that was for a reason. Was he really about to stoop this low? Destroy whatever dignity he had left?
The memory of the heat of your leg against his and your wine flushed cheeks invaded his thoughts, compromising his senses. He could never think logically when it came to you.
"Jimmy I-" He stopped himself. The words were thick and heavy on his tongue, like they were desperately trying to claw their way back down his throat. He was going to have to force them out.
"Yeah?"
"I need your help."
Jimmy looked like he'd hit the powerball in that moment, but was quick to throw on a mask of indifference as he leant casually against the bar.
"With?" Jimmy knew what. He just wanted to hear him say it.
Clark sighed in defeat, "with Y/N. I don't know what to do."
"Buddy, I have been waiting for you to ask me for Jimmy's help." His grin was almost impish as he clapped a hand onto Clark's shoulders. "And luckily for you, I have already thought of a solution."
"Which is?"
"Simple." Jimmy shrugged. "Just act like you're not interested." Before Clark could protest he lurched forward and snatched the second martini off the bar.
"Act like I'm not.... interested?" Clark watched as Jimmy downed half the liquid in one gulp.
"Yeah."
Clark blinked, "uh-" He cocked his head slightly. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means no more planned coffee refills or lunch deliveries or detoured commutes which yes-" He held up a hand to stop Clark from interrupting. "- I know all about, because I know everything about everyone. The point is, you can still be your nice Smallville self but strictly no boyfriend activities."
"But I'm not her boyfriend."
Jimmy nodding enthusiastically. "Exactly. She doesn't get to redeem boyfriend privileges on a friendship membership."
Clark just felt more and more confused the longer Jimmy kept talking. "Right, ok." He nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he tried to decipher Jimmy Olsen code.
"How will I know if it's working?"
"Trust me. You'll know."
"I just-"
Images of you invaded his thoughts again. Heat coursed through him at the thought of the look you gave him as he slid his hand down the small of your back or when he complimented your baking or writing.
"I don't know if I can."
"Clark." Jimmy clasped onto his shoulder dramatically. "You have the drive to break some of the biggest stories in Metropolis, you have the discipline to ask the right questions at the right time and the patience to wait out a witness or a source, the dedication to craft a story so it practically jumps off the page."
Clark was mesmerised, tipsy Jimmy was never usually this prophetic.
"Take a dose of self-restraint and harness the willpower I know you've got in you."
He nodded, totally absorbed by Jimmy's emphatic display. "Ok, I will."
"That's my boy." Jimmy clapped his back. "Oh and-" He hiccuped. "Best we don't mention this conversation to the others, Cat and Lois will run straight to her. Girl code and all that."
"Good point."
"Hey jackass! Did you drink my martini? Y/N promised it to me." Lois appeared between them, her arms crossed as she glared at the empty glass in Jimmy's hand.
Clark tuned out as they began to argue, the cogs of his mind spinning at how he was somehow going to muster up the strength to resist being at your beck and call for everything and anything. He was Superman, surely this couldn't be too hard - could it?
"Clark Kent on willpower.... got it." He muttered to himself.
You'd woken up on Saturday with a dull pounding in between your ears and sharp sleep in your eyes. Monday had rolled around way too soon after a weekend of bed rotting, but at least you were feeling back to your usual self.
You strolled into the chaos of the bullpen that always greeted you, coffee in hand and handbag jolting against your hip. Cat and Lois were already at their desks. Surprisingly, so was Clark.
"Morning."
"Morning sunshine." Lois greeted, not looking up from her computer.
"How was your hot date on Friday night?" Cat wiggled her eyebrows as she twisted around in her desk chair to face you.
"Not so hot." You answered, dumping your bag underneath your desk. "He was lovely but it was just..." You trailed off as you tried to find the right word.
"Boring?" Cat suggested as you sat down in your chair.
"He's Lois' friend, impossible for him to be boring."
Lois' mouth quirking up slightly was the only sign that she was indeed listening, and agreed.
"No it was just, I don't know, more of a friend vibe. I don't think he really felt the connection either."
"Oh no he was into you." Lois chimed in. You swirled around to look at her in disbelief. "Was never going to admit it when you ended the date with 'so.... friends?' though."
"Ouch." Cat laughed.
"Why'd you have to tell me that?" You whined.
"Just keeping it real."
You groaned as you turned around to face your computer, deciding that it was better to do some work then continue on this conversation any longer.
Cat tutted from her desk, "you should know better than that honey, girls that look like you don't get friendzoned."
You couldn't help but steal a glance over at Clark. He was staring intently at his computer screen, barely even blinking, like he was trying too hard to act like he wasn't hanging on to every single word.
You didn't notice it at first, the subtle shift in the Daily Planet continuum.
You were so caught up in your work that you didn't clock that it had gotten to mid morning and your coffee cup hadn't been refilled, or that after lunch a sandwich hadn't magically appeared on your desk.
In the mid-afternoon you finally got a chance to talk to Clark when the pair of you reached the coffee machine at the same time. The two of you were so busy it wasn't unusual that you'd barely speak some days.
"I didn't see you at Duke's when I came back." You opened the cupboard and reached up on your tippy toes to grab one of your favourite mugs.
"Oh yeah I decided to head home, needed to do some things early on Saturday morning." Clark reached up and grabbed the mug for you with ease.
You went to take the mug from him, but he placed it on the counter before you could.
"Thanks." You smiled. "Well you made the right decision, I should have gone home about four hours before I actually did."
Clark let out a short, polite laugh before picking up his mug and heading back to his desk. You didn't think anything of it, sometimes when Clark got deep into a story he ventured into nonverbal territory.
At the end of the day you habitually looked over at Clark's desk to see if he was ready to leave so the two of you could walk part of your commute together, but he was already gone.
By Wednesday, you were starting to notice something was off.
You realised that Clark had started taking a different route to the kitchen, bypassing your desk entirely. It was the shorter route, so you initially figured that maybe he was trying to be more time efficient. But on the flip side this was the same man who was consistently late and would disappear for hours at a time in the middle of the day to go superhero-ing.
When your stomach growled you looked up from your article to see him sitting and eating lunch at his desk. It was from the same place he always went to, except this time he hadn't brought back a sandwich for you.
You also realised that Clark hadn't called you on the weekend to check on your hangover, or sent you any perfectly curated instagram reels.
At the end of the day you made sure to pack up at the same time as him, so you could casually wonder over to his desk and ask, "you ready to head off?"
"Oh you shouldn’t wait for me, I've started taking a different route home. Saves me like forty minutes each way."
“Ok no problem, see you tomorrow then."
You'd tried to ignore the wave of disappointment that washed over you as you made your way towards the elevator. You really enjoyed your walks home together, catching up on everything you hadn't had time to say during the day. Talking about movies or books or office gossip. Now you just had your airpods as company.
And now that you'd noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it.
It was like a loose thread, and now that you'd tugged on it the whole thing had begun to unravel - splitting the rift wide open.
At first you thought you were going crazy, reading too much into things.
He was still pleasant and kind, of course. But there was something missing. It was like someone had filled your connection up with cement and sealed it over. There was no depth anymore, every smile and conversation was clipped and surface level. No more inside jokes or shared glances. No more hovering at your desk for the off chance you might want to have a break and have a chat.
When you brought in a freshly baked batch of cookies on Friday you made sure to make his favourite, but all you got was a polite thank you and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He also never handed you anything anymore. He just put it down on whatever flat surface was between you two, almost as if he was ensured that there was no chance of the two of you even slightly brushing fingers.
When you took a few days off sick all you got was a polite, some might even describe as courteous, text message checking in to make sure you were ok. No random drop by to bring you soup or daily check ins to see if you needed anything from the pharmacy.
He also hadn't touched you since the night at Duke's when his hand had brushed along your lower back. And now it was all you could think about.
You felt like waving at him and saying 'very funny Clark! The joke can be over now!'. But what could you actually say without sounding insane?
'Hi Clark, I noticed you've stopped brushing your fingers against mine when you hand me a pencil or conveniently walking past my desk when I need a refill, everything ok?'. You might as well just say ‘so, why aren't you obsessed with me anymore?'
But saying all of those things would mean that you'd have to first admit that there was something between the two of you, and then secondly that you missed whatever had been between the two of you.
You sighed and flopped down on your couch. It was a Friday and you had no plans except for a date with a glass or two of wine and chinese takeout. That was when an idea popped into your head. Maybe he was just so busy that he'd forgotten you had existed. And if that was the case, you could very much remind him.
You pulled out your phone and opened up your contacts. Clark's name stared back at you, illuminating your face in the dark of your apartment. This was such a stupid idea, but the wine had already gone to your head and before you could overthink further your thumb had pressed onto his number.
You chewed the inside of your cheek as you pressed your phone to your ear. The ringing dragged on for so long that you were convinced he wasn't going to pick up. You had just moved your phone away from your ear to hang up when the ringing abruptly stopped.
"Hello?"
"Clark, hey - it's me." You internally cringed. Of course he knew it was you idiot. "Is there any chance you're still at the office?"
"Unfortunately for me, yes."
"Yeah I kind of figured you might be... hence why you were the first call." That loosened a short chuckle from him.
"The reason I was calling is because I accidentally left some reports on my desk that I was hoping to look through tonight... any chance you could drop them over? I appreciate it's a really big ask so totally fine if not."
You could practically hear him having a struggle with himself about what to say through the silence on the phone.
"Sure, I'll head over now."
You beamed, "thanks Clark. I'll pay for your taxi over."
His breathless chuckle crackled through the speaker, "you really don't have to do that. I'll be there soon."
"Ok see you soon."
The second the call disconnected you sprung up and practically sprinted into your bedroom. You rifled through your dresser until you located your cutest pyjama set in the bottom draw. A cream cami set hemmed in pink frills with matching pink hearts dotted all over it.
The second it was on you hurried into the bathroom. You ran your brush through your hair and dabbed on some blush and clear lip gloss. Just enough so you could say 'why yes Clark, I do just naturally look this rosy cheeked and glowy when I'm laying around at home.'
The doorbell ringing seemed to snap you out of your psychosis. What on earth were you thinking? This whole plan was insane. But it was too late now, he was here and you were dressed like this. Might as well make the most of it.
You ran your fingers through your hair and puckered your lips one last time before opening the door.
"Hey I wasn't sure which ones you wanted so I just brought-" Clark's eyes practically bulged out of his head when he looked up from the stack of papers in his hands.
"I- He swallowed as his eyes involuntarily darted down over your figure. "Golly sorry I just- it's been a long day."
You shot him your signature smile as you leant against the door, jutting your hip out. It was working.
"That's ok, thank you so much for bringing them over."
"Don't mention it." He muttered, his cheeks growing red as he hastily shoved the papers into your awaiting arms.
"You want to come in? I feel like I’ve barely seen you recently.”
"Sorry I can't I uh - I've got this urgent deadline." He jerked his thumb haphazardly over his shoulder as he took a step back from the doorway.
You frowned. This was not part of the plan. You thought you had him hook, line and sinker.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah it's um... urgent." You watched as he began to back away from the door towards the elevator. The chances of you reeling him in were rapidly dwindling.
“I’ve got leftover cookies and wine. My way of saying thanks.”
“No sorry it’s just- yeah I’ve really got to go.”
"Ok well, I'll see you Monday." You tried to hide the disappointment in your tone. "Thanks again."
"Anytime. Have a good weekend."
Clark waited until he was outside before he pressed his back against the brick of your apartment building and let out a shaky breath. He pressed his phone to his ear and glanced down at his feet.
"Gosh darn it." He cursed, bringing his satchel over the front of his groin to hide his growing excitement.
"Buddy, what's up?" He ground his teeth at the jovial tone of his best friend.
"Jimmy, I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this."
"Woah wait, what happened?"
"I'm going crazy." He snapped. "She just rang me asking if I could bring some documents over to her place that she forgot and of course I couldn't say no and when I answered the door she was standing there in these-" He pressed his bag firmer into his groin as memories of your pyjamas taunted him.
"-these lacy pyjamas and I nearly combusted right then and there." He hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot.
"Lacy pyjamas?" Jimmy let out a low whistle. "Geez I didn't think she had it in her."
"Jimmy." Clark bit out.
"Sorry, but I don't know why you're freaking out. This is great."
"How is this great?"
"Because... it means our strategy is working. Think about it. Have you ever known her to just 'forget' something important that is work related?"
The receiver crackled slightly as Clark processed Jimmy's words. He had a point, you forgot a lot of things, but never anything in relation to your work. You were a gun.
"The point is she doesn't. So, she either intentionally forgot them or didn't actually need them."
"But why would she do that?"
Jimmy sighed. "Honestly Clark, your naivety is endearing but also so concerning at the same time. She wanted you to come over and see her in those pyjamas."
Clark glanced up at your apartment building, "you really think so?"
"I know so. This is her trying to remind you that she exists. To tempt you."
"Oh golly... I definitely know she exists." You were literally all he thought about.
"Yes but she doesn't know that. Trust me, it's working. Just keep doing what you're doing."
Clark sighed, "How long do I have to keep doing this?"
"Until she cracks."
"And when will I know when she cracks?"
"Oh, you'll know."
"I don't understand, he used to be literally obsessed with me."
"I'm pretty sure he still is."
You glumly look up from your coffee at Lois. "Something's changed. This is a version of Clark I don't even recognise." You pause as you lift your coffee to your lips. "I want a refund." You muttered into the liquid.
"Maybe he's playing hard to get." Cat suggested.
"This is Smallville we're talking about. Playing hard to get would be physically impossible for him." Lois remarked.
"True. Maybe he's just... going through some stuff."
You sighed and slumped into your chair. "I don't know what I did, but he hates me."
"He definitely does not hate you."
"How do you know?"
"Because, I see the way he looks at you from his desk when you're not looking." Lois raised her brows. "Trust me. It's sickening."
"Then what do I do?"
"Well." Lois leant forward over the table. "Firstly I think we need an answer as to why this is bothering you so much."
You crossed your arms over your chest. "Because Clark is my friend and he's acting weird."
Lois' eyes narrowed, her face sharpening into that interrogative look she often got when she was about to blow a story wide open.
"You're a terrible liar."
"Let's just cut to the chase. We both know you like him." Cat interjected.
Your eyes darted between them nervously. "Why do I feel like this is an interrogation?"
"It's not an interrogation if we already have the answers." Lois said smugly.
"Ok let's just say hypothetically I did have some...feelings for him." You began. "It takes me back to my initial question which is, what do I do?"
Thankfully they were both kind enough not to shout 'I told you so' in your face, but you knew they both desperately wanted to.
"Well the logical answer is to tell him how you feel but obviously you don't want to do that because that would mean you would have to admit your feelings and lower those walls you've built around yourself."
You glowered at Lois. "I don't remember asking to be psychoanalysed."
"Yeah ease up Sherlock." Cat rolled her eyes. "Although she has a point, I agree it's a big jump to outright say anything. I think he just needs a nudge, a reminder that you exist."
You winced. "What if I've already tried that?"
There was a pause as Cat and Lois blinked insync before leaning forward. "What do you mean?"
Your cheeks flushed as you recounted the pyjama incident. Even Lois' infamous poker face faltered at points. Silence enveloped the three of you once you finished as the girls digested what they'd just heard.
"Shit. This is worse than I thought." Lois finally spoke.
"See why I'm stressing! My slutty pyjamas aren't even tempting him."
"You're down bad." Cat tutted and shook her head.
You shot her a glare, "not helpful."
"There's no need to stress yet. Clark's a gentlemen and as innocent as a lamb, he might have not picked up on anything or was too flustered to react."
Cat nodded in agreement. "Clark is hopeless. It needs to be something that gives you guys a chance to spend more time together, like working on an article or going to a work event."
"There is the gala that's coming up, the one Perry invited us all too." You suggested meekly.
"Yes that's perfect."
Lois nodded at Cat's answer in agreement.
"Ask him to go with you, you don't need to suggest it as a date or anything, but even Clark's not that clueless. And if for some reason it went pear-shaped, you can just say something like 'oh I meant like a group of us all go together'."
You looked at them intently, "you two are geniuses."
"Tell us something we don't know." Cat winked.
"Oh and be confident. One smile and bat of your lashes and he's putty in your hands. You're the prize, remember that." You smiled as a rare glimpse of affection crossed Lois' face.
She was right, you had him wrapped around your finger. You could dissolve his willpower in a matter of seconds if you wanted to.
"I can do that."
You finally got your opportunity the day before the gala when you wandered into the break room and realised it was just you and Clark in the tiny space.
"Hey." You smiled.
"Hey." He muffled out as he awkwardly tried to shove the mouthful of egg salad sandwich that was currently glued between his teeth down his throat.
You tried to control your nerves as you confidently crossed the room.
"I can't believe Perry's dragging us to one of those galas again." You commented casually as you grabbed your lunch out of the fridge.
"Yeah I know. Hopefully the food's better than the last one." He'd just confirmed that he was planning to go. Off to a good start.
"Surprised we didn't get food poisoning." You remarked as you shut the fridge door with your heel.
Clark chuckled in agreement before taking another bite of his sandwich.
"So I was thinking..." You trailed off as you perched on the table, swivelling your torso around so you were looking down at him. You swallowed as you caught a whiff of his cologne. This was the closest you two had been in weeks.
"You and I should go to this thing together, you know as a preventative measure to try and mitigate the inevitable boring conversations." You made sure your face was the perfect image of calm, with the addition of a soft smile and a flutter of your lashes.
Clark spluttered at your words causing his food to get caught in his throat and for a second you thought he might actually be at risk of choking.
"Clark are you ok-" You leant forward to touch his arm gently.
He jerked his arm back so quickly you were surprised he didn't get whiplash. The movement was so violent you felt the table shake underneath you.
"Sorry I-I can't."
You recoiled like you'd just been slapped. You felt nausea pool in your stomach. Could he really not bear for you to even touch him? It was like you were a leper and even your presence repulsed him.
You forced a tight lipped smile onto your face. "Got better plans huh?" You were aiming for a teasing tone, but instead it just came out pained. You prayed that he didn't catch the way your voice wavered at the end.
"I um- I'm already bringing someone."
Suddenly it all made sense. The complete shift in attitude, the lack of interest. He'd met someone else. You supposed you couldn't really be mad, you'd gone on a date yourself not that long ago. And yet, you were. You felt the rage bubble in the pit of your stomach, seeping into your bones.
You both had still been friends. Good friends in fact. Or at least you'd thought so. Was that all it ever was? He was attracted to you and then when he found someone better, you were just discarded? That didn't seem like the Clark you knew, your Clark.
Then again, you supposed he wasn't ever really yours.
"I see." You nodded. "I'm looking forward to meeting them." You shot him a smile that you knew didn't reach your eyes.
You pushed yourself off the desk and hastily made your way to the door, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.
Your hand hovered over the handle, your heart rooting your feet into the ground. Something inexplicable forced you to twist around to face him. He was still staring at you.
"You know... I actually hate baking."
You laughed bitterly as you thought about the hours you'd spent cursing the kitchen as you measured the ingredients and rolled dough.
"But you mentioned once that you hadn't had a good cookie since you'd left Smallville and I thought what the hell, I can give it a go. And then after your reaction.... I just kept going."
You forced your voice to stay steady as you kept your eyes locked with his.
"Now that I think about it, maybe it was my way of giving you a piece of me without realising it."
The silence between you was taught but Clark's jaw was slack as he tried to make sense of what you'd just unleashed.
"I'll see you tomorrow night."
Without another word you shut the door, giving you the much needed separation. You exhaled a shaky breath as you forced yourself to keep walking back to your desk.
You hadn't realised how much you would miss him. Yes, you still technically saw him everyday, but having him be present and having his presence were two very different things.
He'd always been so reliant. He was like a steady current, always keeping you afloat even when you felt your confidence waiver.
Now you felt like you were a ship lost at sea, floating aimlessly in the still water, your walls well and truly under siege.
The gala was exactly as Clark had predicted. Packed with boring donors who all walked around with stiff upper lips and perfect postures. The waiters were carrying around plates of food that looked like they'd be more suited to be served on Krypton than Earth.
But according to his heart rate, this was the equivalent of taking on an intergalactic threat. He fiddled with his bowtie as he scanned the room. He still hadn't spotted the reason for his rapid pulse.
He'd barely slept last night. Your conversation in the break room playing on a loop as he picked through it, sifting through the inflection of your speech and the micro expressions on your face.
The second he'd said he was bringing someone else, he wanted to take it back, to collect those words up and stuff them back down his throat. He had no idea why he said it. But the look on your face when you’d tried to make a joke of the situation had made him so close to blurting out everything that he'd just said the first excuse that had popped into his head.
He'd wanted to run after you, to drop onto his hands and knees and explain that he'd meant none of it. But when you'd turned and looked back at him, he froze with his mouth open, like a pathetic clown at one of those fair stalls.
He noted the beautiful chandelier and the antique paintings and décor peppered throughout the ballroom. You would love it. He wanted to point it out to you, to tell you how the shimmering chandelier reminded him of you. How it was nearly as effervescent as you - but not quite, because that would be impossible.
"There you are Kent!" Cat and Lois approached him. No sign of you.
"Where's Y/N?"
Clark frowned, "she's not with you?"
Lois and Cat exchanged a look. "She didn't ask you to come with her?"
Clark's cheeks reddened. "How do you know about that?"
Another look was exchanged. Clark got the feeling they were having a conversation right in front of him.
"So you said...no?" Cat folded her arms in front of her chest.
"I-" Clark glanced between them, swallowing nervously at their piercing gazes.
"I told her I was bringing someone."
"And did you? 'cause I sure as hell don't see anyone."
"No." He admitted quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Explain. Now."
Clark felt himself beginning to unravel. "Well Jimmy told me that I should-"
"Well well well, don't we all scrub up nicely!"
The three of them turned to see Jimmy sauntering towards them. He froze when he saw Cat and Lois' murderous expressions. He gulped at the sight of Clark's terrified one.
"You know I kind of feel like I'm interrupting something so I'm just going to-"
"No." Lois' voice cut through the tension like a blade. "I really think you should stay."
"Clark was just about to tell us why he told Y/N he couldn't come with her tonight and that he was bringing a date."
"Wait what-" Jimmy balked.
Lois held up a hand, "continue Clark."
Clark's eyes darted to Jimmy nervously before looking back at her. "Well Jimmy suggested that I act less interested, to stop acting like I was her 'boyfriend'."
"You what-"
"It was just so she could realise how much she would miss him fawning over her." Jimmy protested. "I didn't tell him to turn her down if she asked him out."
Clark winced under Jimmy's glare. "I just panicked, but after everything she said in the break room yesterday, I've decided that I'm going to tell her how I really feel."
There was a pause as everyone processed his words.
"Clark." Lois said slowly, her voice eerily calm. "What did she tell you yesterday in the break room?"
"She told me that she actually didn't really like baking but saw how much I liked it and that... that it was a way for her to give me a piece of her without realising it."
They all looked at him in disbelief. Clark thought Lois might actually punch him.
"Jesus Clark." Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Remember when I told you that you'd know when she cracked?"
There was a pause as Clark swallowed nervously, "that was her cracking, wasn't it?"
Clark swivelled around and felt his heart nearly burst out his chest at the sight of you. The polished floors reflected the shimmer of your floor length pale yellow gown. You turned to grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter, revealing the low cut of the dress at the back.
You met his eyes from across the room. An unreadable look crossed your features as you took a sip of your drink. Clark blinked and you were gone, lost in the sea of attendees.
Clark turned back to see Lois' eyes fixed on him. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man. He gulped.
"Fix it. Or else the Planet's headline tomorrow is going to read 'Journalist brutally murdered by co-worker over his inexplicable stupidity'."
You had no idea why you were here. It must be some sick and twisted new form of self-flagellation that your brain had concocted. The second you saw Clark standing there in his tux you had felt what little resolve you'd patched up over the last twenty four hours crumble. The only saving grace was that you were yet to see his date. That might just be your last straw.
You should have brought someone as revenge. You’d thought about it. But you didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.
You watched a server walk past you, your face scrunching in disgust. If you were speaking to Clark, you would have asked him if he'd flown to Krypton to supply the food at this thing.
Within ten minutes of walking in the door, you'd been cornered by an older man who was claiming to be incredibly interested in your line of work. You watched as his eyes moved down your body. More like the line of your underwear.
"I don't understand how someone like you could be here alone." He purred. "You have to let me take you out onto the dance floor. I won't take no for an answer."
And there it was.
"I'm not-"
"She's not alone."
You didn't need to turn to know who it was. The way his voice crept up your spine was enough to give away his identity. You stole a glance up at him. He towered over you, even in your heels. The heat that radiated from him was enough to make you weak in your knees.
You were close enough that you could see the tick of his jaw as he clenched it. His blue eyes piercing holes through the man in front of you.
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise." He stammered, cowering under Clark's glare.
He glanced at you and muttered, "Have a lovely evening."
"You too." You answered, shooting him a sarcastic smile as he scurried away.
"Creep." You grumbled under your breath.
His eyes were already fixed on you when you looked up at him this time, like he was trying to mesmerise every detail of your face.
"You look beautiful."
You tried to unscramble your brain as you studied him. The proximity that you had been craving for weeks was clouding your judgement, sending your senses completely off kilter.
"Would you... like to dance?"
The yes that you wanted to say was desperately trying to leap off your tongue. He studied your face like it was a work of art. You could sense his hand hovering over your skin, threatening to touch you. The yes was on the precipice now.
"I'm bringing someone else."
His words echoed in your brain, shoving you back into reality. He'd turned you down and now he had the audacity to do all of this without an explanation?
You took a step back, his outstretched hand falling limp at his side immediately. Your face hardened as you stared at him.
"Actually, I think I need some air."
His lips began to form your name but you turned and made a beeline for an exit before they could reach your ears. The satin fabric of your dress clung to you as you weaved through the crowd, which all suddenly felt much too suffocating.
You went through the closest door you could find, spilling out onto a small balcony overlooking the city. The room that the gala was being held in was so soundproof it was easy to forget that you were right in the heart of it. The combination of the harsh sounds of a humming Metropolis below you and the crisp night air hitting your exposed skin was a shock to the system.
You gripped onto the rail, exhaling a shaky breath as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.
You squeezed your eyes shut at the sound of the door opening and closing behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know who stood behind you. You could feel his presence, sense the way that the energy slightly shifted. Like time stilled around you just for a brief moment.
The sound of your name coming from his lips made you ache. He said it softly, just loud enough that the wind could carry it to you.
"Please just let me-"
"Enough mind games Clark." It was supposed to come out as a demand, but it came out more like a plea as you turned to him.
His glasses were in his suit pocket, leaving his face raw and exposed. The face that you knew only a select few got to see. The one that carried the weight of the world on its shoulders. The one that had thrown your life into disarray.
"For weeks you wouldn't touch me with a twenty foot pole and now you're looking at me like you never want to let me go." Your voice was painfully wobbly as your grip tightened on the rail, like it might somehow steady you in the storm of emotions.
"I know.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I've really screwed up. But I can explain." His expression was desperate, his eyes shining with a mixture of emotions.
He took your silence as permission to continue. "I didn't have a date for tonight. I made it up because I was so close to telling you the truth and it was the first excuse that popped into my head."
"The truth?"
He inhaled a deep breath. "After the night at Duke's when you left to go to your date I kind of... spiralled. I broke one of my golden work rules and I..." He looked like he was physically in pain from what he was about to admit, "I took advice from Jimmy."
You blinked in surprise. "You took advice from Jimmy?"
He nodded.
"Clark." You spoke slowly as you tried to process what he’d just said. "what advice did Jimmy give you?"
"He told me to pretend I wasn't interested in you and to stop doting on you, something about 'no boyfriend privileges on a friendship membership'."
Despite everything, you let out a snort of laughter. "Oh my god."
"I know, it's stupid. I'm a jerk. I'm so sorry."
You shook your head in disbelief, "no, you're not. I'm the jerk."
You let out a defeated sigh at his confused expression. If he was going to be honest with you, it was about time you returned the favour.
"I knew you had a crush on me. I knew for a while. And I enjoyed it. I liked the attention but not having to commit because that meant-" You felt a breath catch in your throat. "-that meant it wasn't ever going to be anything real. That I couldn't get hurt."
He took a step towards you as you felt your voice waiver again. "But then all of a sudden you weren't there anymore and I- I couldn't handle it. And it wasn't about the five refills of coffee a day I used to get without leaving my desk-"
His lips twitched up in amusement at that.
"It was about the fact that I missed our walks home together, the calls on the weekend after a new episode of our show came out, the way our hands would brush when you'd hand me a coffee cup. I just missed you."
You couldn't believe the words that were flowing out of your mouth, but now you'd started spilling your confessions to him, you couldn't stop, like you could feel yourself getting lighter as you unburdened yourself.
"I've missed you too. So much.” He breathed out. "It's why I was acting so strange. I couldn't risk you touching me...because I knew that if I felt your touch I wouldn't be able to hold myself back.” He let out a humourless chuckle.
“Heck, I couldn’t even bear to even really look at you properly. This has been- this has been torture for me. I’ve been on the edge the entire time.”
Your breathing hitched as he took another step towards you. "And don't get me started on that night I dropped those documents to your place."
You swore his eyes darkened for a split second as he looked down at you. You felt the energy crackle and pop as it shifted between you. You knew then. You weren’t on the edge of uncharted waters anymore, you were up to your neck in it.
"I thought I had you dead to rights there." Your tone was light, the side of your mouth quirking up.
He caught his lip between his teeth as he moved forward again. You were almost chest to chest now, so close that you could feel his body heat desperately reaching out to engulf you.
"Believe me, I had to use every last bit of my self control."
"Luckily for you, they're still in my drawer."
His face bloomed red at that. "Don't tease me."
"Who said I was teasing?"
You let out an audible gasp as he finally closed the gap between you, snaking his broad arms around your waist to bring you flush against his chest. You felt warmth bloom across your lower back as his fingers gently brushed your exposed flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He let out a shaky breath as he admired you. "Now that I've touched you again, I don't want to ever stop."
"Then don't." You murmured. Pleaded.
His breath fanned your face as he leant up to cradle your jaw. He tilted your head up so he could press his forehead against yours.
"I love you." He said it reverently, like he was swearing an oath at the alter of you. You squeezed your eyes shut as you processed his words. "I have since the first day you walked into the Planet. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner.” When you opened them again, his eyes were glassy. You swore you could see the ocean in them.
"I love you too. I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it to myself, even when I've known it deep down this whole time."
Then his lips were finally on yours. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly your knees might have buckled. The kiss was much like him, warm and steady, safe.
You knew it then. Your walls were well and truly down.
But you'd found your safe harbour.
The two of you only broke apart when you needed air, your chests ragged, Clark's bowtie askew.
"What?" Clark asked when he noticed the amused smile playing on your lips as you curled your fingers into the hairs on the nape of his neck.
"Nothing, I just can't believe Jimmy's advice actually worked."
"Me neither." He breathlessly chuckled.
"He can never find out." You both said simultaneously. You both broke into a fit of giggles, your noses bumping against each other as you clung to one another.
"Do you think we should go back inside? The others might be wondering where we are." You murmured against his lips.
Clark shook his head.
“I’ve used up all my willpower when it comes to you, I’m not spending another minute in there when I can have you out here all to myself."
“Good.” You grinned. "Because I’ve realised that I like my Clark Kent with absolutely zero willpower."
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