Chapter Text
It happened on a Tuesday morning.
You’re meant to be retrieving encrypted files for Lex’s Ultraman project, just a quick walk from the lab in the secret pocket dimension to the main LuthorCorp building, when the sound of something splitting the air makes you pause.
You looked out the window.
Outside, the city is alive in a way you rarely see because you don’t spend time looking outside. You saw crowds gathered on the street below, all their faces tilted skyward. You follow their gaze just in time to see a streak of red and blue cut across the skyline.
“Superman,” You breathed, eyes in utter awe at how he so easily flew in the sky.
He’s carrying two people, a child clinging to his neck, an older man cradled in his other arm, before setting them gently on the ground next to an emergency vehicle. It’s over in seconds, but the cheers from the crowd ripple up through the glass, muted but unmistakable.
You just watched.
Thoughts lingered in your mind as you went back to the lab.
Why does Lex hate him? You’ve heard his speeches before, about unchecked power, about control, about who decides the rules. But seeing it yourself felt different because Superman wasn’t hurting anyone. He was saving them, what’s so wrong with that?
That evening, Lex was working at his office desk, and you were seated next to him doing nothing.
You finally ask, “Have you ever met Superman?”
He glances up from the holographic schematics. “No, Y/n.”
You shifted your weight. “So how do you know what he is like?”
“I know that he is smug,” Lex says flatly, his eyes on you. “Condescending and pretends to have humility, but every action says otherwise.”
You frowned. “But you’ve seen him save people, right?”
“People cheer for fireworks too, that doesn’t make them intelligent.”
“Ah, I see,” You don’t argue, but you can’t stop thinking about it.
. . . . . .
Over the next week, your questions for Lex grow bolder.
“What’s your favorite food?” you asked one afternoon while feeding data into the analysis grid.
Lex arched his brow at you, “That’s relevant to Ultraman, how?”
“It’s not,” you say lightly, “but it’s relevant to me, I want to know.”
That earns a faint huff of amusement. “I like whatever you like.”
You accepted that answer.
Another day, you lean on the edge of his desk while Lex was reviewing projections. “Where did you grow up?” You asked.
He doesn’t look up, “Kanas.”
“Was it nice?”
Lex stopped typing, glancing at you like he’s weighing whether to answer. “It was cleaner when I left.” And he patted your head, ruffling your perfect hair, and it was fine because he was the one that did it.
You hummed, smiling brightly. “I want to go there with you, it’s a lot of farm stuff, right?”
“Maybe one day,” Lex said softly.
And then, one night, when you’re both the only ones left in the lab, you asked the question that’s been sitting in your throat. “Why do you do what you do?”
Lex leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. “Because someone has to.”
You tilted your head. “That’s not really the answer I was looking for.”
“It’s the only one that matters, Y/n.”
The questions become a quiet rhythm between you, small exchanges that no one else would hear.
When you bring him reports without being told, he takes them without breaking eye contact. When you stand too close while reviewing data, he doesn’t correct you. When others speak to him, you notice he never uses their names but he always uses yours.
It cements something in your mind: you’re the one he keeps close because you’re his only real companion.