clark loves bruce. bruce doesn’t, and clark is okay with that.
it used to ache. a pit in his chest when the feeling was still tender and fresh. clark spent the initial weeks in a daze. it was confusion, then panic, before it reached utter bliss. he was drawn to bruce. a knight in shadow, quiet but heard in his dedication to what many deemed a lost cause. it was the burning sense of justice he held over criminals guilty, and the gentle presence he was to the innocent. it was in his determined stare, the baritone of his voice, the rare huffs of laughter from smooth, plump lips.
clark found himself searching for bruce in everything, as if he was always meant to be beside him. he couldn’t help but believe it. any touch between them were golden rays of sunlight caressing his skin. clark saw the grey of bruce’s eyes in storm clouds and, for the first time, found himself wishing for gotham rain.
then bruce showed no signs of reciprocating, and clark spent the following months in the wallows of a hurt no sunshine could cure.
a part of him wanted to hide, to get back into the motions of a mild-mannered reporter in a city too loud to care. where everyone had wanted their fill on success stories and celebrity gossip that the average joe like himself could never garner—not without the cape. but bruce saw more than a headline.
“superman,” bruce had said to him one night back in their early years, bloodied beyond belief with a possible end on the horizon, “no. clark. whether or not you don the blue and red, i will still feel at ease. because the symbol it carries has always been you.”
“knowing that there are people like you, who are willing to fight for what’s right no matter what—who refuse to let others suffer…” bruce’s heartbeat was slow, but clearer than it ever was, “leaving my city to a world like that brings me hope.”
it didn’t matter that his feelings would remain unspoken. they trusted each other over anyone else, and bruce still gazed at him with a softness that few else have received. bruce wasn’t in love, but bruce loved him nonetheless.
so clark moved on, for the most part. he kindled a spark with lois, even if it faded over time. he gained a camaraderie with the justice league. he built a home with the little moments of people he helped and those who cared for him in turn. over time, clark molded a place for himself where he can love and be loved, and bruce was beside him through it all. world’s finest indeed.
the ache bruce used to bring grew to a sort of comfort, a weighted blanket. the heaviness lingers, but it’s familiar and warm. it’s safe. their relationship was not in the way he wanted, but it was in the way it would stay. as clark stared at bruce, the years marking what was once his youthful face but never the hope in his eyes, it was enough.
then bruce started acting differently.
his gaze towards him was even softer. clark caught the expression bruce wore when no one was looking. even with the cowl, he recognized it after a decade’s worth of staring at the mirror: the face of a hidden yearning—of love.
bruce looked forlorn. clark was a slight return of affection away from kissing him senseless.
