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Bruce noticed Clark's absence gradually.
Truth be told, he’d always complained about the constant hovering—especially when he was tinkering in his lab at the Watchtower. Clark would linger nearby, occasionally trying to “help” or just talk while Bruce worked. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was trying to get Bruce to join him for a meal in the cafeteria.
Clark was always going on about his day. What shows he was watching. How good (or bad) the Metropolis Meteors were doing that season. Sometimes they’d discuss League business, but most of the time, it was just Clark being... Clark. Easygoing. Chatty. Relentlessly persistent.
And while he and Diana were basically the only two people who made four hours of monitor duty tolerable, there were days when Bruce got tired of hearing Clark go on and on and on.
So when the chatter slowed down, Bruce didn’t think much of it. If anything, he was relieved. Clark had finally gotten the hint—finally realized that Bruce didn’t care what had happened in his show last night, or who won the game, or which dog at the shelter had gotten adopted that morning.
But then the silence kept stretching. Clark stopped coming to his lab entirely. Stopped asking to join him for meals—unless Bruce happened to show up while he was already there at the cafeteria. And when they were paired up for monitor duty, Clark still talked to him, still smiled, but he kept their conversation strictly professional.
Bruce wondered if he’d done something to piss him off. But he couldn’t think of anything. Nothing recent, at least. Besides, Clark didn’t seem angry—he still gave him that bright, ridiculous smile of his like everything was fine between them. Still asked him how the kids and Alfred were doing. So why the sudden shift?
It didn’t make sense.
You asked him to, Bruce thought bitterly. You complained repeatedly about him going on and on about his day to day life. Told him you didn’t care what happened on his shows. Said you were glad the Meteors lost, just to be contrary.
But Clark had always laughed it off. Told him about his day anyway and asked Bruce about his. Sometimes he’d just roll his eyes and keep talking, used to nudge Bruce into conversation even when Bruce pushed back. And Bruce... had listened.
Sometimes, he even found himself looking forward to the next episode update. Sometimes, he was curious how the game had turned out, even if he pretended not to care. Clark had always made it easy to listen.
Now there was just... silence.
Bruce didn’t know how to fix it, or even why it bothered him so much since this was what he had always wanted. But now he wanted things to go back to normal.
He was on his way to check one of the auxiliary generators when he heard it—Clark’s laughter. Muffled, but unmistakable.
He stopped.
It was coming from Ray Palmer’s lab.
Bruce stepped closer to the glass window and saw Clark perched casually on one of the unused lab benches, exactly the way he used to sit in Bruce’s lab. Ray was in the middle of some excited explanation, and Clark was grinning, nodding along, deeply engaged.
Their voices were muffled, but Bruce could make out a few familiar phrases. Episode titles. Character names. It wasn’t hard to piece together the conversation—they were clearly talking about the latest episode of that same show Clark had tried and failed to get Bruce into for months.
Both of them were animated, leaning in, laughing. Like they’d found their own little pocket of the station. Like they’d done this before.
Bruce stood there a moment longer than he meant to.
Is this why he stopped coming to me? Because he found someone else who actually likes the same shows? Someone easier to deal with? He couldn’t help wondering.
Something cold settled in his gut. He didn’t know what to call it, but it gnawed at him, heavy and sharp.
He turned away and resumed walking toward the generator room.
But Clark's laughter—bright and full and familiar—echoed faintly behind him, and somehow it made the silence ahead feel even louder.
Now that a couple of weeks had passed, Bruce was completely over Clark finding a new best friend.
He hadn’t even wanted a best friend in the first place. Clark had just decided they were best friends and Bruce had gone along with it. He was fine with them being just colleagues and co-founders, like he was with the rest of the team.
Their monthly meeting with the senior members and founders had just wrapped up. Bruce lingered at the table, packing away his notes slowly as he watched Clark head straight for Ray. The two fell into step naturally, laughing about something—Ray gesturing animatedly while Clark leaned in slightly, nodding with that wide, easy smile of his.
Bruce couldn’t hear them, but it didn’t matter. He knew that look. Knew that tone, even when he couldn’t hear the words. They disappeared out the door together, voices muffled to silence as it slid shut behind them.
It was fine. He was cool with it.
Even if the cold feeling in his gut hadn’t gone away.
“Ouch,” said Oliver, sidling up beside him. “Looks like you’ve been replaced, Bats.”
Bruce didn’t dignify that with an answer. He stood, collected the last of his files and his datapad, and walked toward the exit, but of course Oliver fell into step with him like a particularly persistent cat.
“Don’t be like that, Brucie, c’mon.”
“Don’t use my name on the job, Arrow,” Bruce growled, low and sharp.
Oliver held up his hands, still walking. “Chill, Bats. Sorry.”
Bruce huffed, eyes forward, long strides eating up the hallway as he stalked toward his lab. He just needed to pick up a few samples and then he was going straight back to Gotham.
“I just wanted to check on you,” Oliver continued, undeterred. “I know you don’t have a huge number of close friends, and that Supes was kind of your bestie—don’t give me that look, you know it’s true. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m sure whatever it is, you’ll patch it up.”
Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes behind the cowl. Oliver wasn’t going to drop this, and Bruce didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the hallway where the security cameras could see them. There wasn’t any audio feed, but on a satellite full of supers, he didn’t like leaving things to chance.
He jerked his head, motioning for Oliver to follow. The man’s grin was immediate, practically giddy.
“Score.”
Bruce ignored him.
The lab doors hissed shut behind them, sealing with the quiet finality he appreciated. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and moved to his workstation.
“Your lab is way cooler than mine,” Oliver muttered, poking around as he followed Bruce in. “Seriously. Yours looks like a Bond villain’s dream.”
“Well, I paid for the Watchtower in its entirety,” Bruce said, brushing dust off a container as he opened a drawer. “It’s only fair my lab’s the best. Besides, you just use yours for weapon upgrades. I actually work in mine.”
“Hey, I work too,” Oliver said, hands raised. “Just, you know, differently.”
Bruce didn’t answer. He pulled out a sealed tray of samples and double-checked the containment lock.
“Sure,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes. “So… what did you do to piss off Clark?”
Bruce’s shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second.
“Why do people always assume I was the one who fucked up?”
Oliver gave him a look.
Bruce didn’t meet it. “I didn’t do anything. And he’s not pissed at me.” He kept his tone flat, impassive. “He still talks to me. Still asks me to eat with him. Still smiles like always.”
He picked up a data pad, flipping through it without really reading.
“I guess he just has more in common with Ray. They’re both more optimistic. They laugh more. It’s probably... easier.”
Oliver frowned, sensing something behind the words.
“And you’re okay with that?”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Oliver didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t need to.
“We’re adults,” Bruce continued. “Clark’s allowed to hang out with whoever he wants. He was the one who latched onto me in the first place. I never asked for any of it.”
He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t let anything slip, but the words came a little too fast.
“I’ve been more productive now that he’s not hovering over my shoulder every time I’m up here. It’s better this way.”
Oliver watched him carefully, then slowly nodded.
“Sure. If you say so.”
Eventually, Oliver pushed off the table. “Alright. I’ll back off. Just... if you ever want to talk, or spar it out, you know where I’m at.”
Bruce gave a tight nod, eyes still on his workbench and Oliver left without another word.
The lab was silent again.
Bruce stood there a moment longer, unmoving, fingers resting on the sealed case in front of him.
He was over it. Totally fine.
If he said it enough times he'd start believing it eventually, right?
Bruce actually got a respite from all his non-existent feelings about no longer being Clark’s favorite person shortly after his talk with Oliver.
There was a major case in Gotham—one of those city-wide headaches that somehow managed to involve the Penguin, the Riddler, and even Falcone. It demanded his full attention, League business be damned (alien invasions and world-ending disasters excluded). Everyone had pitched in, even Jason. For the better part of three weeks, Bruce had been too busy to dwell on anything else.
When he finally returned to the Watchtower for one of their monthly founders' meetings, he was running on fumes and exactly thirty-two minutes early. He figured he’d grab a coffee from the cafeteria first. Sure, he presided over the meetings, but that didn’t mean they weren’t mind-numbing.
The cafeteria wasn’t packed, but it had a healthy scattering of senior and junior League members. Among them—of course—were Clark and Ray. Ray had his back to the entrance, but Clark was facing the doorway, coffee in hand.
Once upon a time—what now felt like a lifetime ago—Bruce might’ve comm’d Clark and asked him to join him for a coffee. Now he just forcibly redirected the thought, trying not to fixate on the fact that their suits even shared a similar color scheme. Another way they were apparently complementary.
He’d almost made it out unnoticed when Clark’s voice cut through the cafeteria: “Batman!”
Bruce froze.
Clark sounded… cheerful. Genuinely happy to see him.
“Come join us,” he said, waving him over. “We still have time before the meeting, right?”
Bruce considered finding an excuse. Last thing he wanted was to be, as his kids so eloquently put it, the third wheel on Clark’s little date with his new best friend.
(He was fine with it. He really was.)
Still, he’d never actually seen the two of them interact up close. Maybe it would help. Maybe if witnessed it, he’d finally understand what made Ray the preferred companion. What made him better.
So he stayed.
“How did your case go, B?” Clark asked as he sat down. “Everything wrapped up?”
Before Bruce could answer, Clark picked up the sugar cube dispenser and dropped exactly four cubes into Bruce’s coffee.
Bruce stared.
“What?” Clark said, smiling. “You hadn’t put any in yet—I could smell it. And I know you don’t really like it straight black, you just drink it that way to keep up the whole ‘dark and brooding’ image. Ray won’t tell anyone you like a little sugar instead of straight-up black tar.”
“Cross my heart,” Ray added, grinning and making the gesture.
Bruce sighed and grabbed a bamboo stir stick from the holder on the table. Not his preference, but he didn’t feel like getting up for a spoon.
“So,” Clark prodded again. “The case?”
“It went well,” Bruce said finally. “Penguin and Riddler are back in Arkham. Falcone’s awaiting trial—hopefully his stay in Blackgate will be permanent this time.”
“Good to hear.” Clark beamed. “You were sorely missed up here, my friend. The meetings just aren’t the same without you.”
“This one gets cranky without his Batman fix,” Ray teased. Bruce couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light or not, but Clark’s ears looked slightly pink.
Bruce decided not to comment.
“What about you?” Bruce asked, pivoting. “Anything interesting happen? I haven’t gone through all the reports yet.”
“Not really,” Ray shrugged. “Pretty normal, all things considered. There was work, of course, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing we couldn’t handle without the Batman.”
“Well, we did have six other founders around,” Clark added.
“Sure, but everyone knows Batman is the strategist,” Ray said.
“Diana’s an Amazon warrior, trained since childhood. And John was a Marine.”
“You really want to argue with me after being so wrong about the mid-season finale?”
Clark sputtered. “That has nothing to do with—! Look, I know Batman’s the best strategist. That doesn’t mean we don’t have other good ones! That was my argument! Being wrong about a TV show doesn’t invalidate every opinion I’ve ever had.”
“I still think it hurts your credibility.”
Bruce blinked. Was he even part of this conversation anymore? Apparently, he was the topic now—but not actually in it.
“It was just a setback,” Clark insisted. “They’ll get together by the season finale.”
Yeah. This was no longer a productive use of his time. He still had things to prep before the meeting, and standing here listening to Clark and Ray debate the endgame of a TV couple wasn’t helping.
Neither was the quiet, cold feeling still gnawing at his gut.
He got up and picked up his half-drunk mug. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said evenly.
Clark looked up from his argument, blue eyes wide and vaguely disappointed. “You’re leaving already?”
To be honest, I didn’t think you’d notice, Bruce thought. But what he said was: “I still need to review a few documents before the meeting, since I’ve been away. I only have about twenty minutes left.”
Not a lie, technically. Close enough to the truth that Clark wouldn’t hear anything strange in his heartbeat.
Clark nodded. “Alright. See you in there.”
Bruce walked out, coffee in hand.
Today’s interaction had been… enlightening. Clark clearly still considered him a friend. Maybe not his best friend anymore, but he remembered Bruce’s coffee preferences. He asked about the mission. And Ray had teased that Clark missed him while he was gone.
That’s what friends did, right? Miss each other?
There was a new feeling growing somewhere in his chest. A quiet, traitorous flicker.
To Bruce’s utter dismay, it felt a lot like hope.
He knew he’d hit rock bottom about this situation with Clark when he found himself sitting on a rooftop with Selina after patrol, so late into the night it was almost early.
“You were off your game tonight, Bat,” Selina said, never one to mince words.
“I know,” he admitted.
That seemed to catch her off guard. “I usually have to pry that kind of confession out of you. What’s gotten into you?”
Bruce considered coming clean. They’d dated once. It hadn’t worked, but they’d salvaged a friendship—better than most of his romantic failures. She knew all his idiosyncrasies and still thought he was worth the trouble. That had to count for something.
At the very least, she didn’t live with him. If this blew up in his face, he wouldn’t have to see her every single day.
“Something happened at work,” he started.
“WE or JL work? Be specific,” she cut in.
He glared at her. She could definitely tell—even through the white lenses.
“If you hadn’t interrupted, I would’ve gotten to it,” he muttered. “JL work. Not a mission or anything. More of an interpersonal issue. If you can even call it that.”
“Who’d you piss off this time?”
A small flare of indignation lit in his chest. Sure, his social skills weren’t stellar, but he wasn’t completely inept. He could play charming when he wanted to. Hell, half his civilian persona was built on charisma. He deserved some credit.
“I didn’t piss anyone off. Why does everyone always assume that?”
“Because, Bat, you’re not exactly easy to deal with. And let’s be honest—you do like pushing people’s buttons for fun sometimes.”
“This wasn’t one of those times.”
“Okay, okay.” She raised her hands in surrender. “Tell me what happened. I’ll shut up and listen.”
So he told her. He told her about how Superman used to drop by his lab all the time, uninvited, rambling about his day, his favorite shows, how the Metropolis Meteors were doing that season. It had been annoying. He’d told him as much more than once. But Superman had always just laughed it off.
Then, over time, the visits slowed. Then stopped. Superman didn’t act any differently toward him—he didn’t seem upset or distant. Just... not around. And Bruce had seen him hanging out with Atom. Chatting, laughing. The same way he used to with him.
He even mentioned the strange, cold feeling in his gut.
To her credit, Selina didn’t interrupt. She listened the entire time, face unreadable. When he finished, she tilted her head slightly.
“You’re jealous.”
“What?” he sputtered. “That’s not—I’m not jealous!”
“Yes, you are,” she said, calm and annoyingly certain. “That cold feeling? That’s jealousy. You’re mad because you used to be your crush’s main focus, and now someone else has taken your spot.”
His brain short-circuited.
Crush?
He was still trying to reject the jealousy allegations when she hit him with that. Besides, he was a grown man with (too many) kids—far too old to have a crush like a schoolboy.
“What the fuck, Selina?”
She rolled her eyes. “Is this really news to you, Bat? Because it was one of the many reasons we broke up. You were already in love with someone else.”
“I’m not in love with Superman.”
“You’ve been hopelessly in love with him for years,” she said, tone matter-of-fact. “The way you talk about him—like he’s beyond reproach. The way you smile around him. I’ve seen it, multiple times. He makes you happy.”
He opened his mouth, but she kept going.
“Be honest. If anyone else came into your lab, rambling about their day and their favorite shows, would you have let them stay longer than five minutes? Be real.”
That… was a valid argument. Diana maybe could get away with it. But she was different. She was respectful of his time. She had invited invite him to meals before, but she wouldn’t linger uninvited.
Clark, though—Clark had practically done it daily. And he’d let him.
“That doesn’t mean I’m in love—”
“It does.” Her voice softened. “We were together once, remember? I know what it looks like when you’re in love. I know the way you look when you’re fully focused on someone. When something—or someone—makes your eyes light up. I’ve seen it. I don’t resent you for falling out of love with me. But don’t pretend you know better than me what you look like when you’re in love.”
He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even known that had played into their breakup. It had been mutual, peaceful. He still cared deeply for her.
That had been the problem, hadn’t it? He had just cared.
He was fond of her. The way he was fond of Alfred, of his children, of a particularly well-designed gadget.
But Clark—
His thoughts caught up with him. He did worry about Clark differently. If they were on a mission and Clark took a hit, it took every ounce of discipline not to abandon position just to check on him. He cared about all his League members, of course—but Clark was different.
Clark was the only meta allowed into Gotham without asking. He was the only one who had a standing invite to the monthly Wayne family dinners—still came, too, even though he hadn’t stopped by the lab in weeks.
Bruce had chalked Clark’s attendance at the monthly Wayne family dinners up as an outlier since the original invitation had come from Dick, who was ten at the time and completely starstruck. Dick was now in his mid-twenties, there had been a parade of Robins since, and yet Clark never missed a dinner.
Bruce had never questioned it. But now... he did.
Was he really in love with Clark and never noticed?
And they called him the World’s Greatest Detective.
He let that fact settle into his bones for a moment—right alongside the even more humiliating realization that he was, in fact, jealous of Ray Palmer.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m in love with him.”
Selina smirked. “Yep. And you’re jealous.”
Bruce groaned and buried his face in his hands. “And I’m jealous,” he mumbled through his fingers.
After a moment, he looked over at her. “What do I do now?”
“Find out why Superman stopped coming to your lab,” Selina said. “Have you asked him?”
He looked down at his boots.
“No…”
“Then do it.” She shrugged. “Maybe he got tired of waiting for you to make a move and decided to make you jealous. And hey—it’s working.”
“Superman would never,” Bruce said automatically. “He’s too… good. Too nice to pull something like that.”
“If you say so,” she said, clearly not convinced. “Then there’s only one way to find out. Ask.”
Bruce exhaled through his nose. Asking meant showing his hand. If Clark didn’t feel the same, it would ruin everything. But right now, things weren’t great either. Either way, he was already losing.
“Mhm. Thanks… for the talk,” he said, a little stiff.
Selina smirked. “Don’t sweat it, Bat. I’ll come to you next time I’m having boy trouble.”
With that, she slipped away into the shadows, leaving him alone on the rooftop.
Bruce was having somewhat of a crisis ever since he realized he was in love with Clark. And he still hadn’t figured out how to best broach the subject with him without Clark figuring out his feelings. Which, considering the subject was Clark, made the entire endeavor feel somewhere between impossible and actively humiliating.
So, naturally, Bruce did the only thing he knew how to do—confront the problem head-on while pretending it wasn’t an emotional one.
He found Clark at the Watchtower, manning the monitor station in the late shift, his posture relaxed and his attention flickering between several different satellite feeds and a paperback half-tucked under the console. Of course. Only Clark could multitask planetary security and a novel.
“Clark,” Bruce said, more clipped than intended.
Clark looked up, startled but smiling. “Hey, Bruce. Everything alright?”
“I need to speak with you. In private.”
The smile faded into something more serious. “Sure.” Clark stood, setting his book aside. “Let’s head to the observation deck.”
Bruce usually didn’t like leaving the monitor room unmanned, so he activated a script that would alert him if anything serious came up while they were away.
The walk was silent, tense. Not unusual between them considering how often they used to get into fights in the beginning, but Bruce could feel his own discomfort like an ill-fitting cowl. The stars outside the glass wall flickered, vast and endless. Clark leaned against the railing, arms folded, waiting.
Bruce stayed standing. Still overthinking it.
“I...” he began, and then immediately regretted not preparing an actual speech. “I noticed you don’t come by the lab anymore.”
Clark blinked, clearly surprised. “Oh. Yeah, I figured you wanted space. You always seemed kind of... annoyed when I dropped in.”
“You were interrupting my work,” Bruce said quickly.
Clark laughed softly. “Exactly. And when you stopped grumbling about it you looked like you actually wanted to throw me out. So I figured I’d take the hint.”
Bruce didn’t respond.
“And besides,” Clark continued, more casually now, “Ray’s into all the same weird shows I watch. We ended up on monitor duty together a few months back, started talking, and now I’ve got someone who actually argues with me about season arcs and plot holes. Thought I’d spare you the pain.”
The cold feeling lodged itself in Bruce’s gut once again. Jealousy was back with vengeance.
He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d come to depend on Clark’s interruptions—Clark’s voice, Clark’s presence. But how was he supposed to explain that?
Clark tilted his head, reading him the way he always could. “Bruce, are we good?”
Bruce looked away, jaw tight. “You’re still welcome in the lab. If you want to talk about your shows. Or your day. Or whatever.”
Clark stared at him.
Bruce didn’t look up, but he could feel the grin spreading on Clark’s face.
“Are you saying you missed me?” Clark asked, clearly delighted.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You heavily implied it.”
Bruce took a breath. Now or never.
“Yes,” he said. “I missed you.”
Clark froze. Just for a second. Then he laughed, just a little—warm and stunned. “Okay, wow. That’s... honestly? I didn’t think that would work.”
Bruce frowned. “What would work?”
“Kara,” Clark said, looking slightly embarrassed now. “She told me to try playing ‘hard to get’. Said maybe if I backed off a little, you’d realize you liked having me around.”
Bruce stared at him.
“She what?”
Clark scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. I didn’t think it would work either. Honestly, I thought I’d messed everything up. You didn’t seem like you cared at all I wasn’t around as much.”
Bruce opened his mouth. Closed it. Selina’s voice echoed mockingly in the back of his mind: Maybe he got tired of waiting for you to make a move and decided to make you jealous…
Selina had been right. Selina had been right.
He groaned softly and leaned against the glass. “I hate it when she’s right.”
Clark blinked. “Selina?”
“Don’t ask.”
Clark didn’t push. He just stood beside him, shoulder brushing against Bruce’s lightly. Quiet for a moment. Then: “I missed you too.”
“When you said playing hard to get… You meant making me jealous?” Bruce finally asked.
Clark looked confused. “What? No—Bruce, I just wanted to give you space. See if you’d miss me. I never meant to make you jealous.”
“Oh.”
A smirk began to curl at the edges of Clark’s mouth. “Wait. Were you jealous? Of how much time I was spending with Ray?”
Bruce wanted to lie. Desperately. But damn Clark and his stupid ability to know when someone was lying—even him, Batman, who had trained to beat a polygraph in his sleep.
So he didn’t say anything. Just hit him with one of his classic ‘hnn’s and turned to leave, hoping Clark wouldn’t notice the faint flush creeping under the cowl.
No such luck.
“Bruce,” Clark said, voice catching just the edge of a laugh, “oh my god, you were totally jealous.”
Bruce kept walking. “I was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I wasn’t.”
Clark floated alongside him now, half-gliding backwards like it cost him nothing—which, of course, it didn’t. “Of Ray? You thought I liked him?”
“I don’t care who you like,” Bruce muttered, eyes fixed forward.
Clark laughed. “Right. Sure. That’s why you’re sulking like someone canceled your quarterly Batarang shipment.”
Bruce stopped walking. He turned down the auxiliary corridor—anywhere to get away from this, from Clark being so close and so warm and so right.
Clark was faster. Of course he was.
He touched down in front of him, blocking the path without even trying. “Bruce, c’mon. Were you really that upset?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce said tightly.
“It does,” Clark said—quieter now, all the teasing gone. “Bruce, talk to me.”
The words came out before Bruce could shove them down. “Fine. I was jealous. But I wasn’t jealous because of Ray, specifically. I was jealous because you stopped coming to me. Happy now?”
Clark blinked, clearly startled. He hadn’t expected that.
Neither had Bruce.
He immediately turned to walk away.
“Wait,” Clark said, and this time, when he caught Bruce’s wrist, he didn’t let go.
Bruce froze.
“I didn’t think it would actually work,” Clark said, almost sheepish now. “The whole pulling back thing. Like I said Kara was sure that if I gave you space, maybe you’d… realize something. But I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I just missed you. And I thought I’d pushed too far.”
“You didn’t.” The admission came out low, rough. Honest.
Clark smiled—small and a little stunned.
Bruce looked away. There was nowhere to hide. Just glass and stars and that damn hopeful expression Clark always wore when he was trying not to expect too much.
“I guess it really worked because I missed you,” Bruce said, each word pulled out of him like a tooth. “And I didn’t know how to tell you without—”
Clark’s grip tightened just slightly. Not pushing. Just steady.
“—without you figuring out how I felt.”
A beat passed. Then two.
“How you felt,” Clark echoed.
Bruce huffed under his breath. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” Clark said again—firmer this time, stepping closer.
Bruce didn’t back away.
“I’m pretty sure I feel the same,” Clark added, softer now, like saying it any louder might break the moment.
Bruce looked up. Clark was close—too close—and warm, and everything Bruce had been trying not to want for weeks.
Clark took one step more. Close enough that they were nearly touching. He sounded so giddy, still. “You missed me.”
“I think we’ve established that we missed each other several times now,” Bruce murmured, voice low.
Clark let out a small laugh and then his eyes flicked to his mouth. Just briefly.
Bruce stopped thinking.
He leaned in. Not much—just enough to make the choice.
And Clark met him there.
The kiss was soft, and simple, and utterly disarming. No fanfare, no dramatic swell. Just lips and heat and the dizzying relief of finally.
Bruce hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been carrying until it broke.
When they pulled apart, Clark rested their foreheads together. Still smiling, a little breathless.
“So,” he said, “still don’t care who I like?”
Bruce exhaled. Closed his eyes.
“Shut up.”
Clark laughed.
And Bruce—against every instinct, every habit, every wall he’d built around himself—smiled too. Just a little. Just for him.
The next time Clark showed up in the lab, he didn’t bother knocking.
He just wandered in like it was the most natural thing in the world—mug of coffee in hand, a half-eaten sandwich in the other—and settled into the chair beside Bruce’s workbench like he’d never stopped coming by.
Bruce didn’t acknowledge him at first. He was calibrating something delicate—a waveform stabilizer that refused to behave—and needed all his concentration.
Not that it mattered.
Clark started talking immediately.
“Okay, so I finally finished that miniseries Kara recommended—you know, the one with the time-traveling archaeologist and the ghost horse? I’m not gonna lie, I thought the first two episodes were rough, but then the twist in the fifth one? With the cursed pocketwatch? Genius. Total retcon bait, but I respect the hustle.”
Bruce kept working, jaw tight. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, having Clark in the lab like this. Constant commentary. Barely pausing for breath. Elbow practically pressed against his. The faint, infuriating scent of coffee and sunlight clinging to him like it had a right to be here.
Clark leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Also, I did some digging. Turns out the lead writer used to ghostwrite romance novels. Explains so much. The lingering eye contact? The shirtless swordfight in the rain? Peak melodrama.”
Bruce sighed and set his tools down.
“Clark.”
Clark paused mid-sentence, looking at him with innocent curiosity. “What?”
Bruce turned to him and pulled him forward for a kiss.
Firm, deliberate, and without warning.
Clark made a muffled sound of surprise, then relaxed, lips curving into a smile against Bruce’s. He tasted like bad coffee and smug satisfaction.
When Bruce pulled back, Clark blinked at him, dazed.
Then he laughed.
“If I’m talking too much,” he said, “you can just tell me to shut up. You don’t have to kiss me stupid every time.”
Bruce gave him a flat look. “I find this method more foolproof.”
Clark grinned, bright and shameless. “Gotta say, I like your new conflict resolution strategy.”
Bruce huffed and turned back to his tools. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.” Clark said cheerfully, bumping their shoulders together. “Can’t wait to see you try that the next time we disagree at a League meeting.”
Bruce snorted but didn’t bother replying.
But he didn’t move away either.
And when Clark resumed talking—about cursed objects and ghost horses and overdramatic plotlines—Bruce let him.