“And he says to me, he says that doesn’t fit his brand—” Clark scoffed, still pacing back and forth in front of the table. “Like—okay, sorry, I didn’t realize having a stupid moustache was a brand—”
He’d just wanted to get to know the neighborhood, and taking a stroll through the Seaside Province area seemed like an interesting assignment, especially when he came across a cafe at the corner.
He was still getting used to having a human metabolism, meaning eating and drinking on a normal schedule. He’d forgotten to factor in the way he could no longer drink giant coffees without feeling a thing, because now he was very much feeling something as he paced back and forth in front of this poor guy’s table, yapping as the caffeine coursed through his veins.
“I was just trying to be nice, you know, lending my expertise—because, hello, I don’t remember the last time his stupid mustache was on the front page—meanwhile, I’ve been on the front page five times this year—I mean, not me—"
He meant Superman had been on the front page. Not him. Or whatever. He was still unsure exactly how to keep everything under wraps in this place when they'd taken his hypno-glasses and given him those stupid goofy disguise glasses instead.
He was not going to wear them, secret identity or not. He just left them hanging from his shirt collar by habit.
"Lois says to let it go, that I shouldn't let Steve get under my skin, but that's easy for her to say—" He paused, taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm his racing heart.
He glanced at the person at the table, they were still looking at him, their expression unreadable.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to drag you into my coworker drama." He took another breath. "I shouldn't even be annoyed, right? Shouldn't I be sad, because if I'm stuck here, then there's a chance I might never seen any of them ever again, right?"
His voice broke slightly, as if he might laugh or cry—or both.