summary: Late night study session with Clark doesn't end with a confession, or even acceptance of feelings. But with a kiss on the forehead and a very nervous Kansas boy.
pairing: Clark Kent x reader
warnings: none
words: 1,019
note: i spent all night thinking of this. i am now cursed with the need of more metropolis university setting sorry. this is kind of inspired by spoil it all by saying something stupid but you don't have to read that to understand this one!! english isn't my first language and any feedback is appreciated<3
Knowledge brought wisdom to the sharpest minds. Ignoring evidence of his powers getting out of hand would be dumb. On the other hand, the perfume mixing fresh citrus with the sweetness of your skin filled his lungs dumb. To focus on his strength as to not break your books carried in his hands was dangerous. To be around you numbed his senses beyond the human scale. Fear of losing his grip near you filled his thoughts, but infatuation rushed blood high to his crimson cheeks after your eyes meet.
The risk of being alone with you intensified as he could feel his heart flutter, waiting for the crush. Nobody in sight as the world peacefully limited to your bedroom. Posters and pictures hanging on your walls, a chair with piling clothes in front of your desk and soft sheets covering your bed. Kindness attracted people to you, being head of the university newspaper or volunteering at events, somehow someone at any place in campus knew your name. He honors the oath between inviting him to your room and studying together, fearing that saying something out loud would make you snap, and notice he was a variant in your world.
“Do I have something on my face?” you duck your head, steading him to reality. To the warm rug where he sat, back against your bed where you laid and his head resting against your mattress, parallel to your arm. The history books in your hands could have been the reason for the roughness in your voice.
Soft raindrops tapped the window above the desk before dawn settled the night. Clark’s index wandered across the page, long forgotten stories about fallen empires and tragic heroes. He mumbled a sound, playing confusion. You sighed a smile, complying his ingenuity. All his attention shifted to the book he wouldn’t admit he read twice now.
Thoughts of the crowd in the debate class bypass his mind, how you got his lost eyes with your lips raising your cheeks. The only thing that kept him in that class was being assigned your partner. Some topic about rights and being against something he believed in wasn’t worth his grade. It was worth yours, which you saved by researching the topic and guiding through the steps. His emotions got the best of him, strengthen by the yellow sun and somehow you absorbed yours as motivation to guide your words and help him find the right ones of him. Too much strength, and heat vision, and sharp hearing—weak against diplomacy, gathering his thoughts and shaping his ideas. He hoped being around you would rub something of your magic against him.
“I don’t think I’ll do well,” he says solemnly, winning a snort from your tired laugh.
“That’s what you say,” you turn on your back meeting the roof. “And then you get a 90% score. You’re the worst”
He lets a proud sound of defeat while he rises his shoulders, “I have a great tutor”
Your opened mouth hypnotized his senses so far to ignoring the horses racing in his chest. All of his attention was stolen by the rhythm of your breathing, and the sound of your finger tracing circles on your stomach. Captivating silence settled in the room, before being broken by a mutter daring your sleepiness: “Come here”
He opened his eyes, unsure of what he’d heard as you omitted the letter O as you whispered. Waited for infinite seconds, before you moved slightly to make space for him in your bed. Heavy fingers fought to not break the floor when standing up, reaching for your bed. This is what normal people do; his mind repeated countless times. Your world centered in doing extraordinary things without needing lightning speed or breath that reached below negative degrees, and you were inviting him in—he kept refusing to say no.
Clark Kent spent half his life balancing belonging, fitting into normality. An outsider, who felt too big and taking up space in any and every room. When he met you, the rooms seemed to fit you, a force driving your fate unashamedly taking up space. He could physically touch the clouds but, in his eyes, you’re always capable of flying and competing with the sun. Distances apart from what meant to be human, none of his powers reached your resilience of loving your community. You kept welcoming him to your world and he’s offended to the idea of a world where he doesn’t belong with you.
Even if he did have these feelings in mind, which he didn’t. Because he’s your best friend. Shaking hands trying to reach your mattress, but your weighted breath and closed eyes froze his feet. He reached for a lighter covering your pillows and wildly wondered, for a long instance, if he could lie next to you without breaking the bed. If Clark ever allowed himself to share that the thought of you heated his ears, and for some mystical reason you shared his feelings; it wouldn’t be with you heavy on your sleep in your pajamas and his grey sweatpants. As the sheets reached your shoulder, and his fingers dared to trace a path against the skin in your arms, you moved your head lightly with eyes close and a snore-like sound escaping your mouth.
The heat in his face hurt his smile, and he swore his heart fluttering was a cardiac attack. Numb on his limbs and with a whirl in his mind, his longing threatened to close the distance between your forehead and his lips. Pausing before shattering the barrier between your worlds, the risk greater than the control of his power. He defied his speed by counting every second he spent close to your face. The instant where his lips tapped your forehead was enough to daze his body stumbling to rush out of your dorm. His fleeting steps took all his focus away from your lips raising to your cheeks. Leaving you with an empty room and the wondering of where the boundaries of best friends ended and the need for another kiss began.
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need to see him whimpering like an injured animal, can he pleeease pleaaase lose a concerning amount of blood until he’s barely lucid. can i nurse him back to health like a baby bird pleeeeaaaaaseeeee
