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It was rare for the rain to last a whole day in Metropolis. Light drizzle, or short rain showers yes, those were common occurrences, enough to often see rainbows in the sky around the city, sunshine slipping through the retreating clouds.
But today, Clark had woken up to the sound of rain already hitting the windows of his small apartment, and it felt like he would be going to sleep tonight without having seen a hint of sunlight. Somehow, he knew he and his Kryptonian nature linked to the sun, weren’t the only ones affected by the downpour. It seemed that the whole office was, pun intended, under the weather today. Probably the lack of natural lighting, or having to rush under the rain during lunch break for those who hadn’t brought anything to eat from home.
The newsroom of the Daily Planet was emptying out for the night, earlier than usual. Lois, though, was still hammering at her keyboard, distracted by Cat Grant, perched on the corner of her desk like a fashionable bird of prey. She was fishing for more details on the last date Lois had gone on, who had, like numerous times before, not ended as well as she’d hoped. The both of them had once joked that a curse had been placed on the staff of their newspaper : neither themselves nor none of their friends there seemed to be lucky in their love lives, always bringing in more gossip and drama to the table, but unfortunately not much actual development or serious commitment. Cat was desperate for any sort of news on that front, and Clark knew he had to make a swift exit if he didn’t want to be, once again, caught by his friends and their inescapable investment in his love life. Or lack thereof.
He was buttoning his coat, already running through his dinner plans for the night ; takeouts, maybe from that Thai place two streets from his place, or he might just fly home for dinner with his parents… He did always enjoy a flight during a storm. He probably had enough groceries left to make himself something, but today being productive seemed like such an effort. Eating on his couch in front of a good show while the rain hammered outside sounded so good right now.
Adjusting his glasses, he made a break for it, trying for casual and discreet and…
“Smallville, where are you going ? You’re not abandoning us are you ?”
Oh well, he tried.
Sighing, he turned to Cat with a smile. Lois snorted, surely she’d caught his attempt at slipping away.
“I don’t remember making plans for tonight ? I’m clocking out, dinner awaits.”
“Plans, he says,” she rolled her eyes. “How about improvisation, how about living a little ? How about enjoying our youth while it’s still there ! It's Friday night, and I know for a fact you don’t have any urgent deadlines coming up. Let’s go out !”
Clark made a show of turning to the window, where the horrible weather was clearly on display, before turning back to the girls and raising his brows.
“It’s clearly pouring Cat. I think this is the definition of a raincheck, sorry.”
Cat groaned, throwing her hands up as she stood. “This is boring, you’re boring, your life is boring. It’s not just about today, you never join us. It’s like you forget you’re not in Smallville anymore, Smallville.” She pursed her lips, “It’s just a little rain, it’s not gonna kill you.”
“Hey now, my life is not boring !” Even without the Superman aspect of it, Clark Kent, investigative journalist, lived some thrilling days. “I went undercover with Lois to take down that drug dealer just last month, almost got shot–”
“That’s work, it doesn’t count.”
“… I accompanied you to that bar the weekend before last–”
“It was Jimmy’s birthday and you were the designated sober one.”
Her raised eyebrows and Lois’ agreeing nods behind her had Clark press his lips together. He was not boring ! Superman business did take up a lot of his free time, and yeah, he hadn’t drunk at the bar but it’s not like alcohol had any effects on him.
“You need a date,” Cat said flatly, ignoring him entirely as he opened his mouth to plead his case. “It’s unhealthy to go home to that apartment and eat takeout alone.”
Clark adjusted his glasses, lips twitching. “Who says it’s takeout ?”
“Clark,” Lois started gathering her stuff, closing her draft. “It’s always takeout.”
Now that was just offensive. He laughed and held his hands up in mock defeat. “Dont gang up on me. And I know you love the Thai food I get just as much as I do, Lo. And it’s not today I’m gonna find a date.”
Cat shook her head, amused. “You like hiding behind that corn-fed smile, but you’re not fooling me. It’s a waste, and it’s selfish of you to keep yourself to yourself !” She pointed an accusing finger to his chest before turning back, “Lois, tell him. He needs to get out there, bless someone with his 6 foot something of farmboy charm.”
Lois smirked, putting on her yellow scarf, “Don’t look at me. I gave up long ago.”
Clark shook his head fondly, shouldering his bag as they all headed out, bickering still about their romantic options and opinions. It’s not like Clark refused to allow romance in his “boring” life, on the contrary. Clark loved being in love, he thrived on it, shined with it… But it didn’t come as easily as one might think of a romantic at heart. He fell hard and fast when he did, as he had with Lana Lang back in high school, Teddy Hart a few years later, and obviously Lois. But it didn't happen every other day. He just… Hadn’t found anyone to give him the butterflies he’d had with Lois again. And it felt wrong to start something with someone random just because he felt lonely, no matter that Lois told him that’s just how it started sometimes. He didn’t think that’s how it went for him.
Coat collar turned up against the mist and slightly biting wind, Clark waved his colleagues goodbye. This evening smelled of wet pavement and exhaust, but there was somehow a comfort in it too, like a city humming itself to sleep. The gray clouds obscuring the sky almost looked soft.
He was halfway down the block, thinking about whether he’d prove Cat and Lois wrong and fly home for his Ma’s cooking, or try to put something together himself, like a stir-fry, when something grabbed his attention.
Two young voices, low under the rain and the sounds of the living city.
He slowed without thinking, tilting his head as he tuned in, focusing his hearing on the agitated voices not far from here. They weren't panicked yet, nor were they really arguing, but still, he followed the thread to a storefront a street over, tucked beneath the awning of a closed clothing shop.
Two boys, the tallest couldn’t be older than fifteen, both damp from the rain, shoulders pressed together as they looked down at a seemingly off phone.
“I told you we shouldn’t have left the hotel,” the youngest muttered, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and the sully look of someone who didn’t like being proved right.
The other replied sharply, “Yeah well I’m not the one that kept whining about being bored cause I forgot my book.”
“I never asked you to go buy me a book ! Or to get us lost.”
“My bad for trying to be a nice brother, damn. The bookstore didn’t look that far on the GPS, I just didn’t check the battery, I didn’t know my phone was gonna die on us.”
“And I forgot mine back in the room.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme with you.”
“Shut up, Dick.”
Clark’s eyebrows rose on his forehead. That seemed harsh coming from what, a ten years old ? The other didn’t seem offended at the insult though, so Clark assumed that was his usual language then. He didn’t have siblings but had heard from people who did that calling each other names was mostly normal. Ma would’ve washed his mouth with soap, he mused as he made his way to the two boys.
“Dad would have come back by now. He's gonna kill us,” the smaller one groans.
“He’s not gonna kill us. We’re definitely grounded though, and he’s gonna blame me for the whole thing–”
“You are to blame for the whole thing. Who even goes to buy a book when it rains like this ? The book would have been ruined,” the kid’s glower was impressive, but didn’t seem to move his brother.
“You say that, but you still followed me.”
“I wouldn’t have if I knew you had no idea where we were going ? Dad’s gonna be so mad, we can’t call him, and we don’t even know how to go back to the hotel…”
“Jason, hey. Calm down, you know I wouldn’t let anything bad happen, right ?” His tone of voice changed immediately as his brother, Jason, started to really show his worry at their predicament. “And yeah, B’s gonna be mad, but not seriously. He’ll find us, we’re not that lost…”
Okay, that was enough. Clark quickly crossed the street, his step splashing in the water and warning them of his approach. Immediately, they turned to him, Jason scowling at him and his brother shifting a bit in front of him, placing himself between the youngest and Clark. His expression would have looked nonchalant to most anyone but Clark. But he saw through it.
“Hey there,” he shouted to cover the rain, “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear you two might be lost ? Do you guys need any help ?”
Their dad must be worried sick, and it was only a matter of time before the kids fell actually sick, drenched as they were.
The oldest’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, the other scoffed, “Right. You never heard of stranger danger, douchbag ? Piss off.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped him as his eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t help but be a little amused at the rude, aggressive child in front of him. The kid probably barely reach his chest.
“Okay then,” he raised both his hands in a non-threatening gesture, and hoped his smile conveyed that he truly didn't want them any harm. It was hard to be deemed harmless when you had his stature, but Clark was pretty good at appearing safe. "Fair enough. How about I let you use my phone to call someone ?" He looked at the device in the oldest's hand and pointedly grimaced, showing he'd understood the situation.
The boys exchanged a look, still uneasy. It was smart of them not to be too trusting, and Clark thought fast how he could make them feel safer about this whole thing. He pushed his soaked curls out of his eyes, blinking out the water slipping beneath his glasses.
"Look, there's a coffee shop right over there," he pointed to the cozy café across the square he sometimes stopped by on his way to work. "Well-lit and lots of people around, no way I could try anything funny. You can call someone to come pick you up and wait out of this rain, yeah ?"
"That's… That's be awesome, thank you sir." Smiled the tallest brother, easily accepting the help, even though Clark could see he was surprised at the offer, and still on guard. He masked it exceptionally well.
"I'm Clark, by the way," he introduced himself as they started speed walking to the café. They both threw up their hoods and followed.
"I'm Dick, and this is my brother Jason," The oldest had to shout in response, not knowing Clark would have heard even if he'd said it in a whisper.
He hoped it didn't show, but Clark rose his brows in realization. Dick had been his name, not an insult… He felt a little bad now, he'd been the one jumping to conclusion. Though he doubted Jason minded throwing such words around, seeing his reaction when Clark had approached.
Hurried as they were to escape the downpour, they quily reached the café, the bell above the door loudly signaling their arrival. The café was warm and smelled like cinnamon and roasted beans, the kind of place that Clark always told himself he should stop by more often but never did. He held the door open as the boys darted past him, dripping on the tiled floor and immediately looking out of place among the cozy lamps and the soft indie music playing overhead.
He'd been right about the place being full, mostly people trying to escape the rain like them. Still, there was a few tables free, and Clark, shaking the rain from his coat, ushered them toward one near the back, in the corner with the upholstered booth seat. It was tucked enough for some privacy, but still in sight of the barista, which seemed to reassure the boys. Instead of sliding in the booth, the two kids stood next to the chairs, waiting for him to take his place. When he'd been a kid, he'd always preferred to take the bench, but well… He supposed it made sense for them not to want to be trapped there by the table. The chairs offered more access to the exit, even if faced away from it.
Clark shook his head ; kids wouldn't be thinking of that kind of things anyway. Not consciously at least. He took off his coat and winced at the mess they were making, drenched as they were. It couldn't be helped, and as they all sat down, he could hear how the boys appreciated the warmth. He hoped he'd gotten there in time and they would get sick from their time outside…
Dick slid into the chair with casual confidence, already flashing him a quick, polite smile. Jason followed, hood dripping on the seat as he folded his arms.
"You two look like you're about to turn to pop-sickles. Hot chocolate's on me," he winked, and got his phone out, unlocking it with his thumb before sliding it across the table. "But first, you should call one of your parents."
Jason perked up at the prospect of the sweet beverage, but hid it beneath another suspicious scowl.
“Thanks,” Dick said, his smile widening. He didn’t snatch the phone up immediately, though — he tilted his head, studying Clark like he was trying to puzzle him out. Then, with a shrug that carried far too much charm for a kid his age, he added, “You’re doing the good Samaritan thing pretty well, you know that ? Not everyone would’ve stopped.”
Clark chuckled, a little caught off guard. “Well, you looked like you could use a hand.”
Jason made a face, muttering, “We’re fine,” but Dick was already dialing, shooting his brother a look that clearly meant play nice.
Clark took out the menus and handed one to Jason as his eyes slid over the hot chocolates options, but his hearing zeroed in the moment the line picked up, not two full rings in.
“Dad ?” Dick said quickly, “Hey, it’s me. Don’t freak out.”
The voice that answered was low, strained, and Clark nearly flinched at the raw panic behind it.
"Where are you ? Christ, Dick, are you safe ? What happened—"
Dick winced. “We’re fine, promise. Just… I'm sorry, we're kinda lost. We went out for a bit and my phone died, and Jason left his in the room—yeah, yeah, I know, that was stupid.” He glanced at Jason, who was glaring at the table like it had personally betrayed him.
"Stupid ? You… Do you have any idea how worried I was ? I left for two hours and come back to an empty room, I thought—" the man let out a shaky exhale, and Clark could feel through the phone that he was trying to center himself. The relief in his voice was glaringly obvious. "Where are you, right now ? What street ?" the man pressed.
“Sorry. We’re at a café. Uh, Haven and Hearth on the fountain square ?" He looked at Clark for more information, and he mouthed the response. "Yeah, near 8th, at the corner of Sesame street. Some guy let us use his phone.” He shot Clark another quick smile, the kind that said see, I’ve got this handled.
"Some guy. Some guy ? Dick what—"
Clark bit the inside of his cheek, pretending to study the sugar packets on the table.
“Dad, don’t worry. We’ll just stay here until you get us,” Dick added firmly, and there was a pause on the other end. Clark heard the sharp inhale of someone forcing themselves to breathe, to keep control.
"I’ll be there in ten minutes. Stay put. Don’t move. You understand me ?"
“Yes, sir,” Dick said, softer now. “We’ll stay put.”
Jason mumbled, “We said we’re fine,” but even he sounded relieved.
The line went dead. Dick set the phone gently back on the table and exhaled, running a hand through his wet hair. Then, grinning again, he said, “See ? Crisis handled. He’ll be here before we’re done with hot chocolate.”
That's right. Chocolates. The chalkboard menu above the counter listed drinks in looping chalk script, with doodled hearts and steam curls, and a glass case by the register gleamed with slices of cake, fruit tarts, and brownies big enough to share.
Clark waved a hand toward the counter. “Alright, hot chocolates all around. And trust me, they make the best in the city.”
Dick leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms along the top like he owned the place already. “Do they put whipped cream on top ?”
“Of course,” Clark said.
“With sprinkles ?” Jason piped up, clearly trying to sound unimpressed but betraying himself with a spark of hope in his eyes.
Clark tilted his head, as if giving the matter serious journalistic consideration. “Whipped cream, sprinkles, maybe even marshmallows if you want.”
Dick smirked, nudging his brother with his knee. “You hear that ? Marshmallows. You can’t be mad at me anymore.”
Clark slid the menu toward the boys. “Actually,” he said, “they also do cookies, brownies, even cinnamon rolls the size of my head. Your call.”
Jason muttered, “Hot chocolate’s fine.”
“Just fine ?” Clark raised a brow. “You sure ? They’ve got a s’mores one, marshmallows toasted right on top. And caramel drizzle. It’s basically dessert in a mug.”
Jason’s lips twitched before he schooled them back into a scowl. “Sounds too sweet.”
“Sounds perfect,” Dick countered, grinning. “I’ll have that one.”
Clark chuckled. “Alright, one s’mores hot chocolate, and one regular then ? No regrets ?" he waited for Jason to shake his head and headed to the counter to order.
He did ask for sprinkles for Jason's though, he knew the kid wanted some. Which kid didn't ? He took a classic as well but with chocolate syrup on his whipped cream.
When the drinks arrived, the table was an instant riot of whipped cream and cocoa powder. Dick’s mug looked like something out of a cartoon, marshmallows roasted golden on top and caramel dripping down the side. Jason’s was simpler, just a thick swirl of cream and a dusting of chocolate. With sprinkles.
Jason poked at his mug with the spoon, testing the cream. His face softened in spite of himself after the first sip. “...Okay, that’s actually good.”
Clark chuckled, proud.
Dick smirked around his mountain of toppings. “Hell yeah.”
Clark sipped at his own drink. The warmth seeped all the way through, cocoa clinging to the back of his throat. He hadn’t realized how chilled he’d been until now. He couldn't really be cold, but still.
“You guys picked a good spot to get lost in,” he said, trying to keep the mood light. “Metropolis does sweets better than anywhere else I think. And here, they even have something called a ‘meteor muffin.’ It’s basically chocolate chip with chunks the size of boulders.”
Dick’s snorted. “You’re joking.”
“Not at all. And don’t even get me started on the cheesecake.”
Jason gave him a sidelong look. “Do you eat here all the time or something ?”
Clark shook his head, smiling a little ruefully. “I wish. I pass by almost every day on the way to work, but I don’t usually have the time.”
Dick tilted his head. “Work, huh. What do you do ?”
“I’m a reporter. Daily Planet.”
The shift was subtle, but Clark felt it — Jason’s eyes narrowing, Dick going thoughtful, both of them suddenly less open.
“A reporter ?” Jason repeated, slow. “You're a paparazzi ?”
Clark blinked.
“No, no — nothing like that.” His hands went up automatically, palms open, as if to ward off the idea. “I don’t work the gossip columns, and I’d never stick a camera in someone’s face for a headline. That kind of thing… Well it’s not the journalism I want to do. What I do is investigations — corruption, crime, fraud — the kind of stories people deserve to know, because the truth matters. And privacy matters too.”
The distaste in their expressions softened, but the wariness didn’t vanish completely. He adjusted his glasses, a familiar habit whenever he felt a little self-conscious.
“That’s cool,” Dick said easily, swirling his spoon through his chocolate. “You get to chase after the truth, right ? Find the stories no one else will tell.”
Clark blinked at the earnestness in his tone. “That’s…exactly how I’d put it, yeah.”
The words hit Clark square in the chest. He covered it with another sip of cocoa, smiling.
Clark let the moment settle, the rain still pattering against the windows. Then, a little more cautiously, he asked, “So, Metropolis isn’t home for you two ?”
Dick shook his head. “We’re visiting. Dad had business here, and we tagged along."
Jason muttered into his drink, “Business stuff that takes forever.”
Clark nodded, smiling softly. He didn’t push. He remembered being their age, dragged along when his parents had to run errands in town, restless and ready to climb the walls. “Sounds like you were just trying to make the best of a boring day.”
That earned him a snort from Jason, who hid it quickly behind his mug.
"I thought we’d check out a bookstore while he was stuck in meetings.” Dick shot Jason a rueful look. “Didn’t plan on the whole ‘getting lost in a storm’ part.”
Jason grumbled into his drink, “Told you it was dumb.”
Clark nodded, but there was no judgment in it, only a quiet warmth. “Happens to the best of us. Honestly, you handled it well. Sticking together, and waiting it out. Your dad’ll be proud you kept cool, even if he's angry.”
Or well, he hoped.
Dick flashed that bright, practiced smile again ; grateful, maybe a little curious, like he was filing Clark away in some mental folder.
“And you said something about a bookstore ?” Clark tilted his head. “That sounds more fun than meetings. What do you guys read ?"
Jason perked up, despite himself. “Yeah. I forgot the one I'm reading at home, but it's The Count of Monte Cristo.”
In a split second, Clark had the time to be surprised a kid would read that book so young, a little disapproving of his father to allow it, and then remembered there was a children's version, and concluded that must have been the one Jason was talking about. Thank Rao for his super-speed.
Clark let his face face light up in recognition. “I love that book. Epic story, betrayal, revenge, redemption… it has everything.”
Jason blinked at him, then frowned like he didn’t want to be caught impressed. “You’ve read it ?”
“More than once,” Clark admitted, sheepish. “Though the first time was in high school, and I’ll be honest — half of it went over my head.”
Dick laughed at that, warm and quick. “You’re braver than me. I like books, but not doorstops like that. Jason’s the one who drags us into giant novels.”
“I don’t drag anyone,” Jason shot back, though his tone was softer now, his defenses cracking.
Clark leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Sometimes I skip the boring parts. Don’t tell anyone.”
Jason stared at him like he’d just been handed permission to sin. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Finally, someone honest about it.”
Dick smirked, clearly pleased his brother was loosening up. “See ? You’ve got an ally now.”
Clark raised his mug in a mock-toast. “To skipping to the good parts.”
Jason clinked his own mug against Clark’s with surprising enthusiasm. Dick joined in too, though his was more of a theatrical flourish, grinning the whole time.
These kids were awesome.
The hot chocolate was good, better than good even. Clark thought the café might be using shaved chocolate instead of powder, because the richness clung to his tongue, warm all the way down to his chest. The boys were sipping theirs, Dick focused on his marshmallows, and Jason’s shoulders weren’t so tight anymore.
Clark was smiling into his cup when the door’s bell chimed, the cold breath of rain rolling in behind a new arrival.
Clark looked up.
And then couldn't look away.
The man who stepped in looked like he’d wrestled the storm itself to get here. His coat was heavy and dripping, collar turned up to frame a face drawn tight with worry. Shadows lived beneath his eyes, like sleep hadn’t touched him in weeks, and his jaw was set in the kind of line that dared the world to cross him. The air seemed to bend around him, charged, like he carried a weather system of his own. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his coat half unbuttoned, his scarf hanging loose like he'd nearly pulled it off in his haste.
Clark froze with his mug halfway to his mouth, heart stuttering. Oh.
The stranger’s gaze scanned the café — quick, sharp, assessing. And then those eyes, a blue-gray storm of their own, landed on the booth. On the boys.
“Jason. Dick.”
His voice was low, frayed with tension. Not loud, but the kind of sound that cut through every other noise.
Both boys startled upright. Jason made a strangled sound that might’ve been relief and guilt all at once, then immediately ducked his head, muttering as he got up, “Told you he’d be mad.”
Dick winced but grinned anyway, lifting a hand in a sheepish wave. “Hey, B.”
Clark glanced between them, startled. B ?
The man was already moving, long strides carrying him across the café. Relief cracked through his sternness as he reached the table, pulling both boys to him. He tugged Jason into his chest briefly, hand gripping the back of his neck before pulling the older in too, as if he couldn't decide who to hold first. His coat dripped on their still damp hair, and Jason squirmed but didn’t fight it, cheeks red with embarrassment ; Dick leaned into it shamelessly, grinning into the fabric of the man’s coat.
"What were you thinking ?" His voice was low and gruff, his eyes flicking over them, checking for any sign that they'd been hurt.
"Sorry," Dick said, sheepish and suddenly looking younger than he had this whole time.
Jason mumbled, “We’re fine,” but the bite was gone, his hands clinging for a second before he pushed back, gruff and defensive. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
"Don't make it a… You left the hotel,” the man said, voice raw, as if the words had been torn out of him. “I went back to the room and you weren't there." His voice dropped even lower, rough with something that Clark recognized instantly : panic, only half buried under anger. "I couldn't find you, you didn't answer your phones, do you have any idea—" He broke off, pressing his forehead to Dick’s temple, then Jason’s damp hair. He breathed in. “I couldn’t find you.”
"I— Sorry. We didn't mean to," Jason said, the words coming out sharp, as if it hurt to say. When the man's hand mussed his rain-flattened hair, he ducked out of reach, scowling.
Dick chirped, “Sorry. Jason forgot his phone, mine died, you know how it is. It wasn't raining as much when we left, so I didn't think…"
“That's right, you didn't,” the man said sharply, but his hand lingered at the back of Dick’s neck anyway, squeezing. "Out of the hotel. No phone. No permission."
Dick winced, grin faltering."… Not my best idea."
"Not indeed." The words were heavy, but there was no heat behind them. The man sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You scared me half to death."
And Clark… Clark just sat there, staring like a fool.
Because yes, the man was disheveled, exhausted, clearly running on nothing but coffee and stress. But the anger, the relief, the protectiveness, all tangled together made something raw and real and messy in the most adorable way.
Clark sat very still, heart hammering. He felt like he’d stumbled into the middle of a play where everyone else knew their lines, and he was just the stagehand holding a prop too long. He was intruding, wasn't he ? He should’ve looked away, given them privacy — but he couldn’t.
Not when he was so painfully, devastatingly beautiful.
The man radiated gravity. And Clark ? Clark was falling into orbit.
His palms went clammy against his mug. His face burned hot despite the storm outside. What is wrong with me ? He didn’t even know this man, but his chest was doing somersaults, and suddenly Lois’s and Cat’s teasing rang in his ears, uncomfortably prophetic. This was absurd. This man was a stranger. A very worried, very tired, very…
Pretty, his brain supplied again, unhelpful and insistent.
Jason was the one who saved him from staring too long. “Uh, yeah,” the boy said awkwardly, gesturing vaguely in Clark’s direction, “this guy helped us. Let us use his phone. Got us hot chocolate.”
And so those storm-colored eyes turned to him. The man finally looked at Clark. Really looked.
Clark had the strangest urge to hold his breath.
Then his ears ears went hot. He straightened so fast he almost knocked over his mug, fumbling with words like putting sentences together wasn't his job. “I— it was nothing, really. I just— I overheard, and I thought…” He trailed off, tugging at his collar, don’t fumble don’t fumble don’t fumble. “I mean, anyone would’ve.”
The man studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly. Then, with a stiffness that was almost formal, he said, “Thank you.”
Clark’s blush came on so fast he thought he might actually combust. “I—uh—I didn’t mind, really. Just, it was raining, and, well, kids shouldn’t…” He stopped himself before he kept rambling. He offered a weak smile instead. “I was glad to help.”
Another pause. The man's lips parted a few second before he spoke, "You didn't have to do this, but I'm thankful. Sorry for… The trouble." His voice held the edge of exhaustion and gratitude.
Clark wanted to melt through the floor. His blush was a betrayal. He covered it with a quick smile, awkward but genuine. “No problem. They’re good kids.”
Beside his father, Dick rose an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with amusement as he looked between Clark and his dad.
Before the tension could stretch, he spoke up, ever the savior, “Right, Dad, this is Clark. He helped us, y’know, not freeze to death in the rain.”
The man’s gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing again. “Bruce,” he said shortly.
Clark lit up all the same, smile easy and warm. “Nice to meet you, Bruce.”
Bruce straightened, patting both boys once on the shoulder before reaching for his wallet. “I’ll cover whatever they had.”
“Oh, no, really— you don’t need to,” Clark hurried to say, waving a hand. “I already paid. Wasn’t about the money, I just…” He trailed off, caught in Bruce’s stare again, then found his footing with a soft grin. “It was no trouble. Honestly.”
Bruce’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. His hands slipped back into his coat pockets, like he’d rather disappear into them altogether.
Clark, fumbling against the awkward silence, blurted, “You should have one too. A hot chocolate, I mean. They’re really good. Warm you right up.”
Dick’s grin was bordering on smug, and Bruce… blinked at him, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “That’s not necessary.”
“Sure it is,” Clark said, cheerful, maybe a little desperate. “If you’re coming in from the rain, nothing better. It’d be a shame not to.”
Normally Clark would let it go — he’d spent enough of his life smoothing over brusque edges — but something about this man’s exhaustion, the way his shoulders held an entire world of weight, pulled something stubborn out of him. He smiled, small but steady. “C’mon. We haven't finished ours, we’d all feel bad, drinking while you just sit here watching. That’s hardly fair.”
There was a tiny pause, as if Bruce were recalibrating against the logic. Finally, with visible reluctance, he gave the barest of nods.
Then Dick, oh-so-innocently, pushed his half-empty mug across the table. “Scoot,” he told Clark sweetly, already circling around and sliding in the booth. “Dad should sit.”
And with that, he plopped himself down next to Clark, bumping shoulders with him as if this were all perfectly natural. He even grinned at Clark like they were in on a secret together before sending a daring smile to his dad.
Clark’s brain short-circuited. Bruce was left standing there, silent and severe, while Dick beamed, Jason scowled, and Clark tried very hard not to look like a man on the verge of combusting.
Bruce finally sat across from him, the only one left free. Dick was awesome.
Bruce's eyes fell on the mug Dick had in front of him — an avalanche of whipped cream, caramel drizzle, and slowly melting marshmallows.
“That,” Bruce said flatly, “is not hot chocolate.”
Dick, all faux-innocent charm, leaned back beside Clark and lifted his mug. “Correction: that’s the best hot chocolate. Deluxe. A masterpiece.”
Jason snorted. “It’s a sugar bomb.”
“And delicious,” Dick shot back, unfazed.
Clark’s smile twitched wider before he could stop it. He gestured toward his half-empty mug. “Well, to be fair, the classic is hard to beat. Just cocoa, milk, a little foam : simple and perfect.”
Bruce gave a single nod, as if that were the only sensible option in a world gone mad.
“Boring,” Dick muttered with a grin.
Jason’s lips twitched like he wanted to agree, but he stayed quiet.
Clark couldn’t help himself, warmth spilled into his voice. “I think it just depends on what kind of mood you’re in. Some days, classic’s the only answer. But other days ?” He tilted his head at Dick’s marshmallow monstrosity. “A little over-the-top sweetness can be just what you need.”
“Exactly.”
Jason shifted, a bit more thoughtful than his brother. His eyes darted to the glass case near the counter, where desserts gleamed under warm light. Clark caught the look and smiled.
“So,” Clark said gently, “If we're doing this, we might as well do it right. Are we sticking with just drinks, or… Should I grab something to go with them ? Cookies, muffins, a slice of cake ?”
“That’s not necessary,” Bruce said at once, low and final.
“Necessary ? No,” Clark said cheerfully. “But tasty ? Definitely.”
Jason looked like he wanted to agree, but his stomach was faster, making itself known with a small growl. He flushed instantly, ducking his head.
Clark grinned, kind enough not to tease.
“See ?" Dick said, a corner of his mouth stretching up, jumping in before Bruce could shut it down again. “Case closed, we get to eat something. I want — What was that thing you said earlier ? A Meteor Muffin ?"
Bruce’s look could have felled a lesser mortal. Dick grinned wider.
Jason glanced at him, caught between irritation and want. “…that does sound good.”
Bruce’s expression flickered — reluctant, tired, but softening in the smallest degree. “Fine. But don't exaggerate.”
“Us ? We'd never,” Dick took a spoonful of melted marshmallows in his mouth.
Clark, amused and half-delighted, rose before they spiraled further. “Why don’t I just take everyone’s orders ?” His voice was light, but his eyes found Bruce’s — steady, warm. “That way you don’t have to get back up.”
Bruce’s jaw shifted, something flickering across his face like he wanted to protest again but couldn’t find the words. After the boys both decided themselves on what they wanted, Clark smiled and added, “And don’t worry — I’ll stick to the classics for you.”
Bruce blinked once, almost as if he hadn't expected to be addressed at all.
Clark’s ears went hot. He turned too quickly toward the counter, waving a little. “Back in a minute.”
Bruce said something to the boys basically as soon as he was "out of earshot", but Clark did his best not to hear, though he could guess it was about his kids disappearing act from what he caught as he headed to the counter.
At the register, Clark rattled off the order ; one classic hot chocolate, two Meteor Muffins, a cookie for him, and a slice of cheesecake for Bruce ("Does he seem like a cheesecake kinda guy ?" he'd asked, and the barista laughed in answer.) He slid his card across, pointedly not thinking about how he really hadn't planned on spending that much. It was worth it anyway.
He could’ve left it at that. He should’ve. But old habits — the kind you could call nosy or, if you were being generous, investigative — tugged at him. His hearing sharpened, tuning past the low café chatter until the voices from the booth reached him. He missed the beginning of Bruce's sentence.
“…what exactly are you playing at ?” Bruce’s voice, low and sharp, but not unkind.
Clark could almost picture the look that came with it.
“Playing at ?” Dick replied, all innocence. Too much innocence. “I’m just enjoying a treat from a nice, helpful person. What’s wrong with that ?”
"You know exactly what I mean Dick, don't play dumb, I—" Bruce cut himself off, a quiet breath like he regretted the words as soon as they were out.
Jason, confused, piped up, “Play dumb about what ?”
“Nothing,” Bruce said curtly.
There was a pause. Then Dick’s amused drawl : “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Jason groaned. “Oh my god. You’re doing a thing, aren’t you ? Can we not—”
Clark’s ears burned hotter than the espresso machine hissing beside him. He turned abruptly back to the counter, thanking the barista too brightly when she slid the tray toward him.
He carried it back carefully, willing his smile to fade, but knowing it hadn’t.
When he reached the booth, Dick beamed at him like the cat who got the cream. Jason was looking at him through narrowed eyes. Bruce’s face was unreadable, as if it had been carved out of stone.
Clark set the tray down, smiling too wide, heart thundering. “Okay,” he said, a little breathless. “Meteor Muffin for you guys, and I got a cheesecake for you, Bruce. I hope that's fine.”
He slid the plate forward, his voice steady even as his cheeks flamed.
Bruce accepted his plain mug with a nod, eyeing the cheesecake with a frown. “Thank you.”
Clark swallowed. What had he gotten himself into ? He’d heard what Dick had said… And the worst part ? Some ridiculous, hopeful part of him wanted to believe he hadn’t been entirely wrong about what Dick was insinuating.
Speaking of, Dick didn’t waste a second, spearing a bite of muffin with his fork. He hummed exaggeratedly. “Mmm. That's so good."
Jason rolled his eyes, but his own fork was already halfway to his mouth. He took a bite, chewed, and muttered, “Okay… yeah. It’s good.”
Clark laughed softly, cutting into his cookie. “See ? Told you. Rainy day food.”
“Cheesecake isn’t rainy day food,” Bruce said suddenly. His fork hovered over the plate Clark had set in front of him, as though acknowledging it was already a defeat.
Clark grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Cheesecake is any-day food. Don’t tell me you, uh, don’t like it.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t move. His fork did, though, and a bite of cheesecake vanished in a deliberate, measured motion.
“Well ?” Dick prompted, eyes bright.
Bruce chewed once. Twice. Swallowed “…It’s fine.”
Clark’s smile widened helplessly, “High praise.”
Dick smirked into his cocoa, the marshmallows all gone by then.
“You’ve got a sweet tooth, too,” Dick said suddenly, tone laced with false innocence. “Don’t pretend you don’t like 'em sweet.” His eyebrows wiggled meaningfully.
Clark swore Bruce almost choked on his cheesecake, but recovered immediately, training on his son a glare that could’ve cut steel. Clark tried very, very hard not to look up from his cookie.
“I’ll admit, I’ve always had a sweet tooth myself. My mom makes pies back home in Kansas— pecan, peach, apple, whatever’s in season. I grew up on them.”
Jason glanced up. “You're from Kansas ?”
Clark nodded. “Small town, lots of farms, way too much corn. Quiet compared to here.” He tilted his head at the boys. “What about you guys ? Where’s home ?”
“Gotham,” Dick and Bruce answered as one.
Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah. That explains it.”
Jason blinked. “Explains what ?”
“The rain,” Clark said with a grin, nodding toward the window where droplets still streaked the glass. “Metropolis doesn’t usually get storms that stick around all day. You must’ve brought the weather with you.”
The corner of Bruce's lips twitched slightly, and Dick let out a snort. Clark counted that as a win.
"It's true that the few times I'd been here, the weather had always been lenient," Bruce allowed, voice quiet ; soothing.
"Shit luck that the time we're here, it rains like pissing dogs."
"Jason, language," the man scolded his youngest, though the kid looked thoroughly unimpressed.
"What ? It's true. Not like we're not used to it, it always rain in Gotham."
"It certainly seems like it. I went there for a story once, and it rained all three days I was there. Not the whole day of course, but once the humidity's settled in, it's hard to shrug it off."
"A story ?" Bruce tilted his head.
And wow, that was so cute ? Up close, Bruce was truly something of beauty, with his dark, long lashes framing his eyes, and the sharp edges shaping of his features.
The boys both speaking up pulled him out of his momentary contemplation.
"He's not a paparazzi."
"An investigative Journalist for the Daily Planet."
Clark blinked at the sudden explanation. He guessed Dick and Jason must have gotten their dislike of paps from their father. That was fair he supposed, he wasn't a fan of most of them himself, and you heard some crazy stories out there about their breech of privacy. Everyone was entitled to their own opinions after all, and even if Clark knew honest people in the field, he mostly shared those reservations.
"I see. I think I've read their issues a few times. Anything of yours I might have… Heard of ?" He said, seemingly struggling to get the words out.
"Oh, I don't know ? I've done a few articles on LexCorps and other corrupt companies, but uh… Oh wait, yes !" Clark snapped his fingers. "I've interviewed Superman."
"What !?"
"Superman ?"
"Really ?"
Clark chuckled, proud to have gotten this kind of reaction. Surely it couldn't hurt to use his other reputation like this, could it ? "Yup, it made the front page and everything."
Jason was gaping, glancing at his dad. "You met Superman ?"
"That's so cool. What is he like ?"
Clark smiled at Dick's enthusiasm, a warm feeling in his chest at the starts in the kids eyes.
"He's actually quite a regular guy. Except you know, the flying."
"And the red and blue spandex," Bruce smirked.
Clark sputtered, reining in a blush with great efforts. "It— It's not spandex ! His suit is actually more thick than you'd expect from afar, you know."
"What, you're a fan ?"
"I mean. A little…" he mumbled, embarrassed to be talking about himself. "You're not, I take it ?"
"Don't take what he says into account," Dick interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Superman is badass and awesome. Dad's just a skeptical."
That was too bad.
"Well, to each their own I guess. You're supporting your own city's superhero I take it ?"
"Batman's the best superhero," Jason blurted out, then turned bright red, his father looking at him with such a fond expression, eyes crinkled in quiet delight.
"Yeah, we love Batman in our house," Dick added in a chuckle, prompting yet another new expression on Bruce : an exasperate roll of his eyes.
"At least Batman's suit is less, ah, bright ? Gaudy ?"
Gaudy !? His costume was nowhere near gaudy !
Clark swallowed his offense and let out an amused exhale, "He certainly fits Gotham's aesthetic better, with the whole dark, gloomy vibe and scary attitude."
Both Jason and Dick snorted.
Clark’s smile lingered— then faltered when he noticed Bruce watching him. Not glaring, not disapproving. Just… Watching. Assessing.
And Clark, idiot that he was, nearly dropped his mug. He scrambled for words, any words. “Ah— Of course, that's not to say Gotham’s gloomy or, I mean, it's got amazing history too. Architecture, museums, art—”
“Crime,” Jason deadpanned.
“Jason.” Bruce’s tone was quiet but firm.
Jason grimaced. “…what? It’s true.”
Bruce’s hand tightened around his mug. He didn’t argue, but the shadow behind his eyes deepened.
Way to go Clark, you screwed it up.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it thrummed with something Clark couldn’t name. Bruce sat across from him, silent and unmoving, but his gaze lingered on Clark like he was trying to puzzle out whether this farmboy grin was genuine.
It stretched just long enough for Clark to regret opening his mouth. Then, mercifully, Dick leaned back in the booth and announced with exaggerated drama, “Well, I think we can all agree the true hero here is the Meteor Muffin.”
Jason snorted into his cocoa. “You’re such a dork.”
“Yeah well,” Dick said smugly, waving his fork, “Clark did say being sweet was a Metropolis specialty, so I'm enjoying while I can," he popped it into his mouth his last bit of muffin and chewed with a grin that was all teeth.
Clark laughed, the sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it. That kid was something else. Bruce ignored the pointed look of his son, as well as whatever he tried to insinuate… That Clark was… To his father's taste, sweet ? Gods, he was loosing it. The blush was back full force, but the tension thinned again. Even Bruce’s shoulders shifted— not relaxed exactly, but less like steel rods pinning him upright.
Jason, looking at his brother with something aching to disgust, but clouded in confusion, muttered, “Whatever, it was good I guess."
“There,” Clark said warmly, lifting his cookie. “Unanimous verdict : sugar is what saves the day.”
Dick clinked his empty mug against Clark’s cookie. “To everything sweet.”
This god-darn kid.
That earned the faintest huff from Bruce — not quite a laugh but close enough to make Clark’s heart lurch. He ducked his head, hiding the smile that threatened to be way to wide for his own good.
The rain had softened against the windows, the café’s hum mellowing as people trickled out. Their plates were nearly empty, mugs drained to the dregs. It felt like the little bubble they’d found here was slowly thinning, about to burst.
Clark hated that thought more than he should have.
Jason stretched, muttering about the rain finally letting up. Dick leaned his chin into his palm, casual as anything, though his eyes sparkled with far too much amusement.
Clark glanced at Bruce, who was still watching him — steady, unreadable, but no longer sharp. And for one insane, dangerous second, Clark thought: Don’t go yet. Please.
As if to mock him however, Bruce set his fork down, deliberate. “We should head back.”
Clark’s heart sank, though he tried to keep his smile easy. “Right. Of course. You’ve probably had a long day." He swallowed around the lump in his throat, mustering a smile that he hoped didn’t look as wistful as it felt. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to get caught if the weather turns for the worst again.”
Bruce didn’t answer immediately, only watched him for a beat too long before nodding.
Then he reached for his wallet. “I’ll take care of it,” he said simply, as if there was no room for debate. This tone probably made most people fall silent without trying.
But Clark only smiled, warm, a little sheepish, a little stubborn. “Oh, that’s already covered.”
Bruce’s head tilted again, startled. “What ?”
“I paid up at the counter while ordering earlier. It's not a big deal."
“You shouldn’t have.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, voice edged with quiet authority. “At least let me reimburse—”
“Please don’t,” Clark cut in gently, surprising himself. His voice softened, firm but kind. “Consider it a welcome to Metropolis gift, in apologies for the weather. I can't let you leave disappointed, right ?"
Across the booth, Dick was grinning into his empty mug, like he was watching the greatest comedy of his life. Jason muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Unbelievable.”
Bruce stared at him a beat longer, as though measuring the intent. Clark held steady, even though his stomach flipped in a somersault. Finally, Bruce let out a small breath, slipped his wallet back into his coat. The surrender wasn’t much, but Clark felt ten feet tall.
Then Bruce ruined him completely by murmuring, “…Thank you. Again.”
Clark’s grin came helplessly, like sunlight breaking through.
The air shifted then, final, inevitable. The moment to leave had come.
Clark stood with them, his heart sinking like lead. He told himself it was fine, that this was how these things went : chance encounters, fleeting moments, strangers who passed like comets. He'd tell this anecdote at work come Monday. He’d go home, Lois and Cat would tease him for being lovesick over a man whose last name he didn’t even know, and eventually, he’d laugh about it. Like he wasn't going to think about it more than he should, eating takeout alone in his apartment.
Like his chest didn't already ache at the thought.
They made it near the door together, the little bell chiming overhead. The rain had thinned into a drizzle, mist blurring the city lights. Bruce steered the boys with a hand on each shoulder, Clark hovered by the door, smiling too wide.
“Well,” he managed, “I’m glad you found each other. And that you got warm.” He raised a hand in a small wave, the gesture feeling pitifully inadequate. “Take care of yourselves, alright ?”
Jason ducked his head in his hood, muttering something like thanks. Dick flashed him a grin. Bruce gave the smallest of nods, grave and polite.
And then they stepped out. The mist swallowed them slowly, their silhouettes fading into the blur of headlights and umbrellas.
Clark’s hand dropped uselessly to his side. His chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt. He could already feel it : the memory calcifying into something he’d replay in lonely moments. He’d never see them again. He’d—
“No.”
The word broke from him in a whisper. His feet were already moving, too fast, too certain. He pushed out of the café, the bell jangling sharp in the quiet, rain dampening his hair instantly.
“Wait !”
The Waynes stopped on the sidewalk. Jason turned, startled. Dick perked up like he’d been expecting this. Bruce pivoted slowly, his coat catching droplets, his eyes unreadable and storm-grey under the streetlights.
Clark swallowed hard. His brain scrambled uselessly for words, for something suave, for something that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. Nothing came. He couldn't just ask for the man's number with his two kids right there, could he ? For one suspended heartbeat, Clark forgot every word he’d meant to say. Bruce stood there in the damp light, coat collar turned up, droplets clinging to his dark hair. Rain clung to him like a second skin.
But then the drizzle eased. The clouds above thinned just enough to let a faint brightness through, pale but stubborn, cutting the edge off the gloom.
Clark’s throat tightened. He managed a breath, and words stumbled out, softer than he’d planned.
“I thought… maybe I could show you around. If you’re staying in Metropolis.” Clark pushed on, his voice steadier now even as his pulse hammered ; “I know this was an accident, we just happened to be in the same place at the same time, but…” He hesitated, heat rushing up his neck. “I mean if you guys are here for a bit I could… Yeah, show you around ? They didn't get to find that book Jason wanted, and I know this little bookstore. Just a thought. It’d be nice. If you wanted.”
Jason blinked between them, suspicion warring with curiosity. Dick’s grin spread like wildfire, elbowing his little brother. “I think that sounds great.”
“Dick—” Bruce began, but his son bulldozed right over him.
“You heard the man. We're staying for the weekend anyway right ? Bookstore. A guided tour. What do you say, Dad ?” His tone was pure mischief, eyes gleaming with conspiracy.
Clark’s breath caught. He turned to the the quiet man in front of him, broad-shouldered and tired and damningly pretty.
Bruce’s gaze lingered, searching Clark’s face like he could peel back layers with a single look. Clark tried not to squirm, not to show on his face the litany of please say yes, please say yes, please say yes echoing in his head.
The clouds shifted again, and a thin beam of sunlight pierced the mist, slanting golden across the slick street. It landed on Bruce’s shoulder, on the edge of his coat, turning droplets into brief jewels.
Clark’s chest went weightless. He had to check he hadn't started floating, he hadn’t even realized he’d stepped closer until he felt the warmth on his own face, the sunlight spilling between them.
And then Bruce’s mouth moved, quiet, “…Sure.”
And Clark, fool that he was, let himself smile like the sky itself had opened just for him.