Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first crush Bruce ever had was when he was seven.

The first day of second grade had been filled with rain and clouds, seven-year-olds buzzing with energy, growing antsier with every hour spent indoors. When the sky finally cleared, and the harsh rain settled to a low trickle, they were let out to play. The doors were knocked off their hinges by the stampede of children racing each other to the field, echoes of teachers yelling not to run in the mud.

Bruce was near the back of the class, slowly gaining speed as his excitement grew. But then someone bumped into him, he staggered, caught himself, felt his foot slide forward, and suddenly his back hit the ground. His eyes had squeezed shut on the fall, and as gentle raindrops met his eyelids, he refused to open them. Instead, he pushed his fingertips into the muddy grass and took a breath. He heard the trample of rain boots rushing past him, and he squeezed his eyes tighter.

A cold shadow covered his face, and he felt the presence of someone beside him. Someone from the river of classmates had stopped. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes. A dark haired girl held out her hand, her fingers splayed in offering. Immediately, the coldness of her shadow disappeared, and a warmth bloomed in Bruce’s chest.

The clouds parted behind her head, bathing her in a halo of sunlight. Her brown eyes twinkled, and her curly hair glowed. Her smile, which was missing two front teeth, was the largest, prettiest thing Bruce had ever seen. He knew it was still seasons away, but at that moment he could taste summer. They were all sticky fingers and muddy boots after that, Bruce taking her hand with joy as they played in the field. For the rest of the year Bruce would come into class and look at her smile. He would try to make her smile with anything he could, chasing the warmth of her joy, thinking he’d never find anyone as pretty as her.

But then he felt the warmth of a body drain away. He found out that movement and joy were what brought someone to life, and that smoking steel bullets could take it away. The stillness of his parent’s bodies as he held their hands was a feeling he refused to forget, that cold flesh against his skin filling him with sorrow and purpose.

As he watched their caskets be lowered into the ground, Alfred stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder, and the other holding their umbrella. He knew Alfred’s hand was warm, could feel the pressure of his hand, hear his breathing, knew it was a sign of life. But despite it all, he only felt cold.

After the funeral, his body had moved away. First by Alfred, who took him home after that night, fed him, and put him to bed. Then on his own will, going through school, studying his father’s textbooks, watching over Alfred’s shoulder as he worked on Wayne Enterprises. But even as the years passed his mind was still standing under that umbrella. Cold fingers clutched tight in pockets, toes under thick socks numb, icy wind swirling in a pit where his heartbeat had been.

Ten years later, and Bruce barely thought about his life before that night. It was irrelevant, the only thing helpful for his mission was the fact his parents had kept him out of the spotlight for his security, and Alfred stayed true to their wishes. He was grateful for that. Running around the city that haunted him was made easier by being just another face on the streets.

It was getting dark now, and Bruce was in an unfamiliar part of town. Looking around, he found a sewage cover that looked easy enough. He hopped down from the dumpster and made his way over, kneeling down for a better look.

“‘ey, kid. The hell you doin’ down there?”

Bruce ignored the voice and felt around the sewage cover for an opening. The accented voice from above sighed. “Y’u’re not getting in that one, it’s locked up.”

Bruce looked up then, studying the man. He was dressed in a chef’s uniform, cartoonishly long hat and all. He was leaning forward on his elbows, arms crossed as they hung loosely over the railing. He gestured with his head behind him, “Quit chu’r frownin’ and c’mere.”

Bruce tensed then, trying not to let his fear show. The man was on a ramp, so he’d either have to run down quickly, or jump it clean if Bruce made a break for it. He was probably faster, but Bruce was smaller, and could lose him through a gate or if he found a different sewage cover that wasn’t locked. But then something changed in the man’s demeanor, Bruce’s thoughts must have been too readable. Just as the man opened his mouth to say something, he was interrupted by a woman’s voice, “Babe, what’s taking so-”

She cut herself off when she saw Bruce, expression almost blank if not for the surprised purse of her lips, and slight raise of her eyebrows. She was dressed in a matching chef's outfit, her dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail underneath her hat. After a beat of silence she smiled awkwardly, “Hi, are you hungry?”

A faint echo of his father teasing him about not taking candy from strangers rang in Bruce’s ears as he took another bite of chocolate cake. It was good. Better than good, even, but after living off sewer rats for who knows how long, his palette wasn’t the most refined. It turned out the man, Kei, was wearing a baker’s uniform, and that he and his wife Camila ran a bakery together on 7th Street. The place was nice, it had a gentle atmosphere created by the dark wooded floors and soft orange lighting. It was small and spacious, and the booth Bruce was sitting in was surprisingly comfortable.

“Slow down, kid, we’re not gon’ run out,” Bruce looked up at Kei in surprise. He was smiling, so he clearly didn’t have too much of an issue.

He looked down at the table anyway to discover that somehow, there were seven plates in front of him. All empty. He’d managed to devour four sandwiches, two slices of cake, and a mini fruit tart. In his defense, “the sandwiches weren’t that big.”

Kei scoffed, “Yeah, we’re a bakery, not a restaurant.” Bruce blinked, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Can’t believe the first words out chu’r mouth were dissin’ my shop.” Kei shook his head in disbelief, “What’s with the kids down ‘ere eatin’ double their bodyweight and triple their wallets anyway?”

Bruce tensed again, and Kei noticed, again. His eyes softened, “don’t worry, we told ya this’s on the ‘ouse, yea’?”

Bruce tried not to frown at being read so easily twice in a row. He was usually better than that, but he hadn’t slept in days, and it was hard to keep track of his facial movement when it was bordering on the edge of numbness.

Camila peaked her head from around the corner, looking at Kei, “everyone’s headed out for the night,” then she turned to Bruce, “do you want to stay for dinner?”

Dinner turned into staying the night, which turned into two nights, which turned into living with them throughout the summer. They had an extra room because their daughter had just moved out for college, and Bruce found himself staring up at a poster of Lauryn Hill on the ceiling every night. After the summer they had sat Bruce down, and he expected to get kicked out, knew that it couldn’t last forever, and that the reasonable thing for them to do was to take him to an orphanage. Instead, they asked about papers, ID’s, birth certificates, because they wanted him to go to school. They said he could take some tests, graduate high school, and they’d help him through the rest.

It was hard, but eventually they got him identified, and the next thing he knew they were face timing Laila as she directed them on what could get donated and what she could fit in her apartment.

She had laughed over the call, “yeah sorry, I kind of left it a mess. I was sort of a pig.”

“It’s no problem,” Bruce said, just as Camila smirked.

“Like you’ve gotten any better?”

Laila squawked, “Having roommates has changed me!”

Camila let out a knowing hum as her daughter pointedly ignored her, addressing Bruce again, “You can roll up all the posters and put them in a closet or something, my walls are already a bit full here. And once those are down it’ll officially be your room!”

Camila smiled, “It was already official months ago, this is more a spiritual purification.”

Laila shook her head, smiling, “right, whatever. Have fun with both of them mocking you instead of me!” She waved, “Love you mom, bye guys!”

Bruce waved as Camila smiled, “Love you too honey,” and then the phone blipped to black.

Camila reached for a poster but Bruce stopped her, “I’ve got the rest, thanks for all the help.”

“It was no problem, I’ll head downstairs then, see if the shop needs help. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Bruce nodded, “Yeah. Thanks again.”

As Camila went down to the bakery, Bruce rolled up the rest of the posters and put them all neatly in the closet. Laila had been right. It was officially his room now. Somewhere along the way he had stopped feeling like a stranger in their house. He knew which cabinets held the plates and which held the cups, he fell into a nightly routine of doing the dishes, and the bed that once felt odd to lay in, like Goldilocks in a stranger's home, had turned into his. He lay in bed, his bed, and stared up at Lauryn Hill. He decided he liked the poster.

.

The Ramirez’s signed Bruce up at Plover High School. It wasn’t renowned for its educational skills, and in fact was almost infamous for the opposite reason, but it was the best the Ramirez’s could do for him given his lack of existence on paper and their not Ridiculously-Wayne-Wealthy income. And despite Bruce’s best efforts, he made friends. A small group of his peers who were terrible at math and reading and writing and science, and, well anything school related. But they were friendly, kind, and sometimes would almost make Bruce laugh.

Chase turned around on the staircase, stopping midway and humming thoughtfully, "Yeah, I would have been scared too."

Bruce frowned, "All I did was ask if he was okay."

Gabe pushed Chase up the stairs, saying something about not blocking the flow of traffic, as Ronnie chimed in, "it was pretty late..."

They entered the classroom as Bruce thought about it, "and?"

"And, you're hella tall, our uniforms are all black, and you do this scary thing with your face." Chase did a poor imitation of a scowl.

"I wasn't making a face."

"That's the face!" Chase pointed at Bruce.

"I'm not making a face."

"I digress," Chase stretched his arms over his head, plopping down in his seat. "Let’s go to karaoke after this! I could use a break from all this school.”

Gabe raised an eyebrow, “It's barely been a week."

"I digress!"

Ronnie smirked, "Learn a new phrase? You're always asking for a break from school. Maybe it’s all that red dye, soaked into your brain.” She tapped her finger to her temple.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he was like that before I dyed his hair,” Gabe nudged Bruce, “What do you say? Wanna get your ears murdered by Chase tonight?”

Bruce stared down at his phone, “Sorry, but I think I’ll pass today.”

Chase gasped, “What? Don’t tell me you’ve got a girlfriend!”

Bruce didn't dignify him with a response, and Gabe helpfully flicked his forehead, "don't be an idiot. He can have a life outside of us."

“All right, take your seats,” Mrs. Brennen closed the class door behind her before beginning the lesson.

.

The rain pattered down as Bruce looked in at the Bakery, shaking off the droplets from his umbrella. Someone rushed behind him, running with a bag over their head to shield themselves from the rain. Bruce shook out his hair before going inside, the bell hung on the door ringing as he made it to the back.

“Yo! You’re late, it’s basically six!” Cam scolded, holding out a brown hat for Bruce to take for his work clothes.

He finished tying his apron instead, “Cut me some slack, it’s a long walk from school. Plus, it started raining on the way back.” She shoved the hat in his hands when he finished and he put it on, “Anyways, are you sure you want a scary guy like me at the counter?”

Cam’s eyes laughed, “Don’t worry, there’s only one customer. And no one else is going to show up in this rain.” She sighed, looking back at the rest of the workers. Barbra was kneading dough with a small concentrated pout, and Nathan was diligently adding the finishing touches to some cupcakes with a white piping bag. “Besides, we’ve got tomorrow's prep and we’re short staffed today. You’re the only one free.” She turned back to him with a smile, “thanks for helping, I’ll see you later!”

Bruce followed her out to the front and stopped at his station behind the counter, “Bye.”

Bruce had started helping out two months after living with them. It had been a busy day, and his guilt for freeloading had grown too much. He’d put things in the oven, washed and dried dishes, and occasionally gone out to the customers to give them their plates. ‘Not a restaurant my ass’, Bruce had mumbled under his breath, but Kei had just laughed and clapped him on the back.

After that, Kei had given him a run down on how the store ran, in case Bruce ever needed to step in again. He rarely did though, as Cam and Kei would shoe him out of the kitchen with a, “go enjoy high school! Hang out with your friends! You’re too young to be working!”

Bruce thought of the irony of those words as he looked through the cakes in the display case, making sure they weren’t overstocked for the slow night. Something bright red and shiny caught his eye and he looked up, seeing a damp umbrella by the door. Right, Cam said they had a customer.

They weren’t anywhere near the front of the shop, and Bruce rounded the corner to see they had taken the second to last seat near the back of the store. On the table he had two large plates with empty wrappers neatly placed on them. There were four, smaller, equally empty cake plates with little crumbs scattered across each.

The boy’s eyes were closed as he took the last bite of his pastry, smiling to himself with rounded, crumb covered cheeks. Bruce wasn’t sure if he made a noise or not, but suddenly the boy opened his eyes and looked over, still chewing. As the moment dragged on, he noticed the boy’s cheeks start to redden, eyes widening, his chewing slowing down to a halt.

Then he was choking. Well, coughing, but it was pretty violent. Bruce figured he should be slightly worried, “Oh- Hey, sorry. Are you alright?” The boy kept coughing, “Sorry, I’ll get you some water.”

After chugging the glass with both hands, he finally spoke with a gasp, “Sorry.”

“It's no problem." Bruce felt kind of bad, he'd developed a habit on the streets of making himself look intimidating, but it hadn't been serving him well since interacting with people who didn't want to actively harm him. Chase and his never ending energy had been immune, but clearly this boy wasn't.

The boy looked up at Bruce. His cheeks were still a bit flushed, but he was wiping his mouth with a napkin, covering most of his face in the process. His eyes were a startling blue, and his black curls were fuzzed up from the rain. The giant plaid shirt he wore made him look tiny.

The boy stood up abruptly, “Everything was delicious! Thank you!”

Bruce opened his mouth just as the boy ran off, making the door jingle on his way out, “Thanks… Please… Come again?”

.

Bruce took the mop out of the bucket and started working on the floor, “I think I scared him off.”

Cam looked up from the register, “Who?”

“That customer that was here tonight.”

“Oh, Clark? What happened?”

Bruce blinked, the boy must be a regular for Cam to know his name, “He saw me and bolted. If he stops coming here it might be my fault.”

Cam sighed, “Why would it be on you? You have this bad habit of blaming yourself for everything. Besides, Clark isn’t that kind of person. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.” Bruce wasn't sure what could have been misunderstood, but he felt Cam eyeing him suspiciously, so he kept mopping. “Even if he does stop coming I’ll just win him over again with our cake, he’ll be hooked in no time.”

That made Bruce snort.

.

Despite Cam’s attempt to make him feel better, he still thought about it in class the next day. He’d feel bad if he traumatized some poor guy, especially a regular customer for the Ramirez’s. His phone buzzed with a text from Cam, “Thanks again for helping out last night! I’ll make your favorite chocolate cake next time >:p”.

Bruce texted a thumbs up before putting his phone away, turning instead to look out the window toward their neighboring school, Felicity High. The front gate was never open unless a teacher was outside, letting students in, and the curtains were always pulled shut. Thinking about it now, he’d never once seen inside the building.

There was a strange atmosphere between the two schools, one being infamous for its poor funding, the other being renowned for its low acceptance rate and high testing scores. When Bruce asked about it, Gabe had explained that the Felicity High students seemed to hate them, due to being stuck-up rich kids. Bruce had nodded in understanding before changing the subject.

Chase came up beside Bruce, interrupting his thoughts, “Yo! What’s up? Something on your mind?”

Bruce looked away from the window, toward Chase, “No, it’s nothing.” He felt his stomach rumble, “I’m gonna go buy lunch, you guys can start without me.”

“Right. Sounds good,” Chase said.

.

Back at home Bruce came out of his shower to a text from Laila, “If you liked that one, check out Deadly Class! If it wasn’t donated, the first one should still be around the house.” She had attached a woogle image of the front cover for reference, and by 8 pm Bruce was in bed hooked on the comic. Just as the students were given their first murder assignment, Cam burst into Bruce’s room, breathless from running up the stairs, “Clark’s here! He says he wants to see you.”

Downstairs, Clark was looking out through the windows, back towards Bruce. When he got to the front of the counter Clark turned, looking at him with a slightly wobbly mouth. He looked nervous, and Bruce took pity, “Hi.” Clark opened his mouth, and then closed it, clearly still nervous, so Bruce continued, “Right… About yesterday…”

“Let me buy you some cake!”

Bruce blinked, then let out an involuntary, “Huh?”

Somehow, he found himself sitting across from Clark at the same table he saw him at the day before. This time, they each had a water glass, a single slice of strawberry cake between them. It was hard to tell, because Clark had only worn oversized clothes, but he was almost sure the boy was younger than him. It was weird, being treated to cake by a younger kid at his own place. He was just about to decline the offer, granted a bit too late, but then Clark cleared his throat.

“Sorry, for running off like that yesterday. Please, enjoy the cake, it’s my way of apologizing.” He gave a small smile.

Bruce looked at him. Despite the rain outside, his curls were more curl than frizz this time around and he wasn’t dressed in pajamas. He followed Clark’s eyes and they were- they were staring. At the cake. Bruce couldn’t help but imagine drool coming out of his mouth, and he almost laughed.

“Here,” he pushed the cake across the table.

“What? No! It’s- it’s for you!” Clark insisted.

Bruce smiled, “It’s fine, this one’s really good, you should try it.”

Clark bit his lip, “But…” he trailed off, looking up and down between Bruce and the cake. “Thanks. I’ll- I’ll try it then…”

Bruce watched as he took a tentative bite, and almost looked like he was going to cry from how good it was. Behind him, Bruce heard the bell jingle and the familiar sound of Cam welcoming them in. When he turned his attention back to Clark, he had finished his cake and started to talk again, “Sorry if I surprised you yesterday, not many people eat that much on their own,” he laughed gently, the shyness from before disappearing, but the awkwardness remaining. “There were no other customers yesterday, and I couldn’t wait to get home before eating them…”

“Right,” Bruce said.

“Ah, I’m Clark, by the way. May I-”

Bruce frowned, still hung up on what he was saying, “Wait, you didn’t run away because you were scared of me?”

Clark blinked, “no, I just… um.” His ears started to turn red, “I’d never felt- I mean- I just got a little flustered, is all. And embarrassed. So I ran out.”

Bruce felt his heart pound as his face flushed, he didn’t understand. Someone was flustered, but not afraid of him, what was Clark saying? He swallowed, hoping his face didn’t feel as red as it felt as he stood up, “It’s getting dark, let me walk you to the bus. It can get dangerous this late.”

“What?” Clark leaned to the side to look past Bruce, “Golly, you're right! It’s really late isn’t it? Is it alright if I buy some cake first? I’ll be quick, promise.”

Bruce nodded, like he would stop someone buying from the store.

While Clark was getting his cake, he kept insisting he’d be fine by himself. Bruce still walked him outside, asking for the last time, “are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“Yeah, the station’s pretty close to here, I’ll be alright.” Clark started off toward the station, but then stopped, “Uh, actually,” he turned around, “May I ask your name?”

Bruce felt another wave of embarrassment. That whole time he had forgotten to introduce himself, "I'm Ethan Ramirez.”

Clark laughed lightly, “I’ve never heard someone give their last name before.” It had become a habit after being Bruce Wayne for so long. Bruce opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could, Clark smiled, “Mine’s Kent. Clark Kent.”

~

Clark felt his eyebrow twitch at another tick of the clock. He’d come to the unfortunate realization that no matter how hard he glared down at his paper, the clock couldn’t take a hint. He sighed, pushing his textbook away and flopping his head on his desk. When he closed his eyes, all he could hear was his own voice exposing himself to Ethan. Admitting he was flustered, asking for his name–twice, and Ethan’s face, looking blank and confused and probably overwhelmed by Clark.

It was overall very embarrassing. Granted, it could have gone worse—ig., their first interaction—but Clark couldn’t seem to act normal around him, so the poor guy must think he was crazy. A brief craving for strawberry cake crossed Clark’s mind, and he slapped his hands over his face in embarrassment, groaning. His poor wallet couldn’t take another trip to the bakery this month.

His chair dragged as he pushed himself up. He didn’t wake up early for nothing. He needed to focus on his work. He’d spent the first 30 minutes thinking about Ethan, and he refused to waste the rest of his hour without doing a single problem.

Clark walked over to the windows, reaching for the curtains and mumbling to himself, “No one’s here yet, it should be fine.”

He opened one side of the curtains, peaking out into the sun and taking a breath. He considered opening the window itself for the air, but stopped halfway when he saw a familiar cut of blonde hair.

Ethan sat at a desk, cheek slightly smushed by his palm as he held his head up with an elbow on the table. His eyes were icy and bored, and Clark stopped himself from using his powers to look at his eyelashes closely when he blinked. When Ethan opened his eyes again, his head turned toward Clark, and Clark’s heart thundered with nerves.

The yellow curtain pulled shut, hiding Ethan, and Clark stood stunned in his window. He let his own red curtain fall shut again, and gripped the windowsill as hard as he dared without cracking it. Ethan was just feet away. Clark hadn’t ever stopped to consider that Ethan could go to Plover. He barely thought about the school itself, but now it was the greatest blessing he could have asked for.

Clark put his face in his hands, surprised to feel himself smiling so hard.

“Gosh. I’m so screwed.”

-

Cat was sick. She had shown up to work with a stuffy nose, tears in her eyes, and a mission to get Clark to cover for her. With all that said, he didn’t really have a choice. Superman couldn’t not help people as much as Clark Kent could. Naturally, as soon as he’d agreed her tears disappeared and she started talking business. She’d given him specific instructions of who to talk to, what to find out, and it had all honestly confused the heck out of Clark, but he wrote it all down as if he were taking a final, and promised her he’d get the quotes she needed no matter what.

As he arrived at the gala, he realized he was noticeably under-dressed. He had worn his best looking, but still ill-fitting suit, the blue a bit faded after years of ownership. Comparing himself to the shiny, tailored world of Cat’s expertise, he definitely stuck out like a sore thumb. He scanned the room, comparing the faces in front of him to the names in his notebook. No one looked very recognizable, and he hoped it was because all the people he needed weren’t here yet.

After a couple hours of fruitless searching, a woman with a familiar face showed up. Heather Chandler. Blonde curls flowed down her back, and her red dress was as stunning as the rest of the gala. Clark watched as she greeted people with a smile, a slow trickle of people surrounding her and making their rounds. He did his best to inconspicuously slide into the crowd, and waded his way toward her.

“Ms. Chandler! Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Do you have a moment for a quick interview?” Clark said, as friendly as possible.

She looked him up and down, a single perfectly lined eyebrow raised at him, “I suppose. You’re not the usual from the Daily Planet.”

He showed his badge just in case and smiled, "unfortunately, Ms. Grant is out of commission today. So about your recent fundraiser…”

The rest of the gala went by about the same as the first interview. Boring, confusing, and a bit awkward. It turns out the more important someone is the less likely they’ll be on time. Clark found this out the hard way as he waited for his last quote. He’d like to pretend he hadn’t been staring down the entryway like a hawk, but he was raised better than to lie, especially when there were four downed champagne glasses sitting guiltily next to him. His immunity to alcohol didn't stop him from stress drinking, and the fizz helped him get through the night.

When Bruce Wayne finally arrived through the doors, Clark realized he hadn’t needed to try looking for the guy so hard.

Living up to his reputation, Bruce Wayne made a spectacularly loud entrance. Already drunk from who knows where, he had a model on either side of him as he hiccuped his way through the crowd. They parted like the red sea for him, following him around as if the ground he walked on was gold. And his smile; it was knowing. He knew how these people viewed him, how he could take advantage, and he loved it. It kind of made Clark sick.

Despite this, he took a breath and tried to reach the billionaire as best he could. After five minutes of pointless “excuse me’s”, he tried what he did with Ms. Chandler, wading through the crowd, waiting for the waves to let up and let him in. But after another ten minutes of nothing, Clark realized it was steadfastly impossible to reach the man.

Just as he was about to text Cat for advice there was a crash through the roof. The glass shattered everywhere, and men in dark clothes were grappling down onto the floor. Clark bolted for the nearest staircase and was out of his clothes in a flash. He flew in through the already broken ceiling and saw the men pointing guns at a large group of people. Quickly, he flew in front of them and pulled the ends of the guns down so they couldn't be shot.

“It’s Superman!”

“In Gotham?”

“Where’s Batman?”

Clark scanned the crowd for any other potential dangers, tying up the men with a comically long table cloth he’d apologetically borrowed. As he looked through the crowd he realized there were a lot of familiar faces. Not because he’d been seeing them all night, but because moments before he had been trying to get through them to- Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne was missing.

He listened through the building, and picked up two heartbeats, one quickening and the other steady.

Before flying off he called out to the crowd, “call 911! Tell them what’s happened!” Then he went down fast to the parking garage. He found a man tugging Bruce Wayne toward a car. Surprisingly, the billionaire wasn’t putting up much of a fight. Just as the man pushed Wayne into the back seat, Clark grabbed him and pulled out a zip tie from the kidnappers pocket.

“This is perfect! Hope you don’t mind if I borrow it.” He tied up the man before turning to Wayne.

He broke the zip tie off Wayne’s wrists, scanning him over, “Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?” He didn’t seem to have any broken bones, barely any bruising either, just the zip tie marks and where the kidnapper must have grabbed him along his forearms and biceps. There was no internal or external bleeding, and his heartbeat- was familiar.

“Please, call me Bruce. And I’m just peachy, nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Although, I’d prefer rope to zip ties, if you-” Clark doesn’t catch whatever Bruce Wayne says next because his heartbeat wasn’t just familiar, he knew this heartbeat.

He double checks it’s coming from the right person, because he hopes he’s wrong, knows he isn't, and there’s no actual way to prove it because it’s just his memory but- he knows he’s right. That heartbeat, he’d recognize it anywhere, he could never forget it. Having it so close to him, under his ear under the stars. The vivid memory of sweet summer kisses in sticky clothes, bright fresh air lapping at them like waves as they ran, days of studying that left them smelling like books and coffee. The taste of salt water in his nose as Ethan had looked at him instead of the dolphins.

Ethan was Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was Ethan Ramirez.

Bruce Wayne was his first love.

Chapter Text

(Present Day)
~“Popsicles! Get your popsicles here!” A man in a red hat called out, and a little girl came running up to him, dollar in hand. She smiled as she pointed at the superman shaped desert, trading the dollar for her popsicle. She ran back toward the park, opening the wrapper and licking one of the corners of Superman’s hair.

A cloud passed over her head, casting a shadow in a giant circle. Slowly, she looked up, eyes widening. A scaly, three-toed foot descended down onto her, and she screamed. Her mom ran toward her, yelling, “Josie! No!” And then the foot hit pavement, crushing the ground 5 feet under.

“Josie?” Her mom touched her face, making sure she was alright. The pair were safely miles away, and just as Josie looked up, she saw a blur of blue dash away.

She pointed after it, “Superman!”

Bruce had studied footage of the alien multiple times, and he always saved every person first. Even with the ill-named ‘Justice Gang’ doing their best to wreck havoc without a concern for the humans they were defending, Superman was there, cleaning it up. It’d be more efficient for them to have Superman doing the fighting and the rest clearing the area until it was safe to fight, but it seemed each member had their own goal. The only parallel Bruce could truly draw from it was a middle school project, where each child did what they wanted, didn’t talk at all, and hoped for the best.

Watching it made him internally wince, but he suffered through it, learning the weaknesses of each member, and making sure he had a safe guard for everyone.

He’d been monitoring them as a precaution at first—knew that kind of raw power in the hands of five irresponsible middle schoolers was dangerous—but after Superman’s recent activity in Gotham, he began actively looking for ways to keep the group out of his city. Especially if Alfred’s idea of, ‘asking politely’ backfired.

Superman had suffered a near defeat—presumably to Lex Luthor—months prior, but Bruce had a feeling if the alien had decided his no-kill policy was done, the fights would have been much more one-sided. There was a moment, though, when Superman had completely disappeared off the map. When he returned, he seemed weakened, and didn’t make an appearance for days. Bruce needed to find out what happened at that time. What could make the man of steel go out of commission so drastically?

.
“Kryptonite.” Lex Luthor said proudly.

It was easier to get the information out of him than Bruce had thought. Brucie Wayne had many advantages, one of which was being thoughtless, rich, and pretty. At least, that’s how Luthor seemed to perceive him. Luthor seemed to… maybe want to sleep with him? Or perhaps the blonde woman beside him. It was hard to tell, but the genius was peacocking for someone, and Bruce felt if he pushed hard enough, he could slip away while Luthor seduced Anna.

After a few more questions and the occasional eyelash batting, Bruce was out of the event, brunette man on his neck, and Luthor sufficiently uninterested in him. After tipping the driver a heavy amount and pretending to be too drunk to continue with Brad, Bruce made it to the cave, starting his research.

.
It had taken Bruce one month to get his hands on Kryptonite, and three to figure out Superman was Clark Kent. It had been two months since then, and despite the time he was given, Bruce was still in the midst of processing that Superman was his high school sweetheart. This process was made all the more difficult when a beaming Superman showed up in his city unannounced and invited him to Metropolis. Bruce had glared behind his lenses, and felt his dismissal on the tip of his tongue. But as he looked at Superman, all he saw was Clark Kent, the sweet boy from Kansas.

So Bruce accepted with a curt nod, still managing to tack on, “I told you to stay out of my city.” As menacingly as he could.

When he arrived at their headquarters, Superman greeted him with another smile.

Once everyone else had gathered, he declared, “We’d like you to join us!”

Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Metamorpho, and Mister Terrific all stood beside him.

In terms of Bruce’s precautions, Superman wasn’t special. He now had fully formed files on every member of the formerly named Justice Gang, now rebranded as, ‘The Justice League’, including their real names; Diana Prince, Guy Gardener, Kendra Saunders, Rex Mason, and Michael Holt. He knew who they were, and he knew their motivations. They had proven themselves as—slightly incompetent—heroes, who together, had saved the world multiple times.

With their offer, he figured they were asking for his help, or testing the waters of the rogue vigilante who had been unwelcoming to them. Either way, with the mix of their good-intentions having been proven, identities fully vetted, and Bruce blatantly ignoring the giant Clark-Kent-shaped elephant in the room, he felt confident in giving them his answer.

~
“‘Not a people person’? ‘Call me if you need help’? I mean, who does he think he is? We’re the Justice Gang!”

“League,” Hawkgirl glared from her seat.

“It’s still two to two,” Guy grumbled.

“Only because you won’t count Clark and I’s votes,” Terrific pointed out.

Rex hummed in thought, “And all the reporters are calling us the Justice League.”

Guy smacked his shoulder, “Bro. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever, if it weren’t for that Clark Kent character, that name never would have stuck. Hear that Underpants? You cheated!”

Clark grimaced, “I was just following the unbiased flow of the press. Besides, if I were to use my reporting for any kind of influence, it wouldn’t be to re-rebrand us as ‘the Justice Gang’.”

“Mhm,” Hawkgirl hummed, loud enough just to piss Guy off.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything untoward by it. Accepting our invitation right away would be out of character, would it not?” Diana pointed out.

Clark jumped at the chance to get back on topic, “Yeah, I’m sure he really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Think about it my ass. With an attitude like that, he wouldn’t be able to work with a team anyway.”

Diana joined Clark in his pointedly silent stare at Guy. He didn’t seem to notice.

.
Even though Clark hated admitting Guy was right, working with Batman proved to be almost impossible. The first time they called for assistance, all they got was a gruff, “Busy.” The next time, he added another word to his vocabulary, “I’m busy.” And when he finally did work with them, it felt like all he could do was disagree, quietly disagree, or always be right. All of which were mildly infuriating.

“What’s up Smallville?”

Clark looked up from his computer to see a worried looking Lois Lane leaning against his desk.

“Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow at his blinking cursor, which he now realized hadn’t been moving for a while. He sighed, “Work stuff. Hard-to-work-with people. The usual.”

“You know you’re at work right? Besides, I doubt you’ve been productively thinking about anything.” She nodded at his screen and he winced.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve also been glaring daggers at your screen for the past hour.”

He turned fully toward her, giving up on any pretense of working, “I don’t know what to do! He’s just impossible to work with!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“He’s so obnoxious! He’s disrespectful, stubborn, and never says what he means! That is, if we even get to talk with him, always, ‘busy this, busy that. Blah blah.’”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, he has a reputation for a reason.”

“Yeah, and it’s ridiculous. I doubt he could hold an actual conversation for long. Hard to be scared of someone with the social finesse of a five year old.”

“I mean– I don’t know how scary he is, but I guess if you feel a certain way about the rich–”

“That’s a good point. I bet he’s rich. In that stupid suit and–”

“What the hell are you talking about? Of course he’s rich, do you not know anything about the people you’re interviewing?”

“What–”

“His last name is practically a synonym for being filthy rich.”

“How–”

“I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if his middle name was rich.”

“Who–”

“Bruce filthy rich Wayne.” Lois snorted, shaking her head.

“Oh–”

“Could you imagine? Wait, look it up. I bet I’m right.”

Clark gladly followed her directions, not wanting to explain himself. He’d almost forgotten the reason he had been thinking of Batman was because he was decidedly not thinking about Bruce Ethan Wayne Ramirez.

“Unknown? Huh. Crazy someone that famous still has a secret.”

Or two. Clark thought vehemently. Instead he said, “Yeah. I guess no one had thought to ask him? Or he’s just avoided the question,” He thought back to what Lois had said before, “like… he usually does.”

“Yeah. Maybe you can finally be the one that figures it out.” She said flatly. Clark winced. “Are you finally gonna answer me now? What is up with you?”

Clark didn’t squeak necessarily, but it’s a close thing, “Hm?”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Clark scoffed, “Well, I think–”

“I’m not an idiot, Clark.”

And she was right. He knew he couldn’t keep things from her, especially when she was looking at him so intensely. It was eerily similar to her researching face. Finally, she seemed to come to a conclusion, and her words pointed in the direction she was correct.

“I’ll swing by with take out tonight. We can talk then.”

He sighed gratefully, “Yeah. That’d be perfect.”

He told himself he’d finish the outline of his article when he got home as an excuse to let himself sulk for the rest of the working day. He could write everything that didn’t have to do with Bruce Wayne first, then figure out the rest after the fateful interview. Naturally, when he got home, he set his laptop on the coffee table and flopped on the couch like a potato.

Lois arrived exactly one episode of The Great British Baking Show later with a take out box held up like an entrance ticket and surrounded by the smell of Thai. Clark gladly let her push his laptop aside to set up the food, and less gladly let her pull him up to a proper sitting position to eat. He tried to insist that having his face full of a throw pillow was typically how he ate his food, but there really was no fooling her.

“Very convincing,” she said. “But not even Batman could do that.”

Clark rolled his eyes, shoving noodles into his mouth, “He can’t do everything. He shouldn’t be the staple for doing everything.”

Lois raised her eyebrows, “Surely this isn’t just about Batman. Are you stressed about your interview with Wayne?”

Clark chewed harder. He thought about how happy he’d been when he first talked with Ethan, and compared it to when he first heard Bruce Wayne’s heart. He thought about sparklers and nerves and lonely beaches. “It’s not, not about Batman.”

“Right…”

Noel said something about the chilling time for biscuits. Clark tried not to pout at the screen.

Lois studied him. She clearly saw a string in his traitorous face, and wanted to pull at it. But after another beat she surprisingly let it go. “Let me guess. The unfriendly vigilante who keeps a rock that could kill you under his pillow at night wasn’t very nice to work with?”

Clark hugged a pillow to his chest, “Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Clark looked over at her. She was sitting with her legs pulled up, hair down—he’d never seen it up—and in one of her soft lavender sweaters. She looked the same as when they were together, but her words had changed. Her actions were different.

Typically, she wouldn’t have let the fact he was keeping something go. But now she had let him change the subject. It would have taken something huge for her to ask about his feelings but now it seemed almost natural.

Clark felt lighter when he responded, “Firstly, he let us chase after one of Guy’s buddies alone when he got kidnapped by some Man-Hunters.”

Lois smiled and picked up a box of Pad Thai, taking a bite.

“I mean, I made time even though I had to deal with an earthquake. Plus it was light out! I thought he only went out at night! What could he have been so busy with? He offered his help, didn’t accept our offer to join the Justice League, and then didn’t even follow through. I mean, granted, we ended up not exactly needing him on it, but it’s like–”

“Why’d you guys invite him anyway?”

Clark pursed his lips and frowned at the TV. Amelia’s Swimming with Dolphins biscuits were being drawn into the animated book. There were so many tiny lines. He wondered if Amelia would frosting every single one. Wondered if one even frosted a biscuit.

“The work he does is good. Not just good in the sense that it’s good, but more like well done. No detail missed, no person unaccounted for. He’s fast, efficient, doesn’t kill.”

Lois raised her eyebrows like he’d said the magic word. In some sense, he had. Amelia started labeling her pastries with little numbers and letters. It was pretty impressive.

Clark sighed. “It was actually my recommendation that had the rest of the League really look at him. I mean, before me they thought the Batman was some urban legend or something.”

Lois snorted, “Me too.”

“Yeah, honestly me three. But that rescue I did in Gotham brought him to my attention.” Clark wrinkled his nose, it was technically the day all his problems had started. “Now that I think about it, he was pretty rude when I met him. I don’t know what I was thinking, suggesting him to the team.”

“Probably thought you could all do some good together.”

“Yeah.” He stirred his noodles, “Still do, I guess.”

“How was this mission? The one he tagged along for?”

“It was fine. I guess. He kept undermining Guy, and the dynamic of the team felt… I don’t know. Strange.”

“Strange as in different? Or strange as in bad?”

“I guess… Different. He and Hawkgirl clashed a bit, and there was this moment with Rex…” Clark shook his head.

“What about the rest of them?”

“I mean, you’ve probably figured that he and Terrific got along well.”

“I didn’t, actually.”

“Really?”

Lois scoffed, “Are you kidding me? A guy who knows he’s always right working with a guy who knows he’s always right? I would imagine they’d get along the worst.”

“Surprisingly, they agreed on a lot of stuff.”

“Mm. Maybe that says something.”

Clark tried not to glare at the TV.

“Him and Wonder Woman?”

“Surprisingly well.”

“So you’re saying the very calculated hero disagreed with punch-first-ask-questions-later Hawkgirl, was very against Guy Gardner, the known asshole of the team, had some weird unknown ‘moment’ with Rex, and got along great with the other, more reasonable members of the team?”

“I… guess.”

“...Right.”

When Lois laid it out for him, he realized he did sound a bit ridiculous.

“Clark, do you think maybe you just don’t like the guy?”

“I— I don’t not like him.”

Lois hummed.

“Right. It’s okay if you don’t. But it’ll probably be helpful if you could say it out loud. Or, at least consider it an option. Look,” She put down her almost finished box, and leaned to the side to look at him better. He glanced over. “You have every right to not like him. I mean, he’s a stranger who dresses like a bat and went out of his way to threaten you. Not the best first impression.”

Clark tried to sound as undefensive as possible, “I suggested him for the team, though.” He had to physically stop himself from tacking on, ‘How do you explain that?’

Lois blatantly fought an eyeroll, “I know for a fact you would never let your feelings stop you from protecting a single person. You said yourself, you thought you’d all do good together. Anything to save the world, right?”

Clark thought about her words. He hated to admit it, but she was right. He thought what he’d been feeling was simple annoyance, a slight irritation. But he’d been feeling uncomfortable about the vigilante for a while. He didn’t know what Batman thought of the team–what he thought of Clark.

Usually it was easy to tell. He hated to toot his own horn, but most people liked him. And if they didn’t he was able to tell, and would try not to disturb their peace. But Batman was unpredictable. He never showed emotion, his heartbeat was always steady, breathing never ragged from battle. The League didn’t even know if he was human or not.

He didn’t owe them anything, sure, but did it mean he didn’t trust them? What were his motivations when he declined their offer but still offered his help? In their last mission, it felt like he had slowly reeled in their trust just to stomp on it.

He had practically faked his own death to get the jump on the enemy. It might have been the right call, but the knowledge that Batman could simply disappear off the map—lie to the team so easily without blinking—after it felt like they had just started to trust him was hurtful. It had been barely one mission and he already had his foot out the door. In fact, he barely stepped foot in the door, yet still told them he’d walk through it. It was all vaguely reminiscent of Ethan.

Clark swallowed, “You’re right.”

“I am.” Lois hid the question in her voice, but her face said it all.

“I don’t get him. I mean– one second I think I do, and then the next I don’t, and he never says what he’s thinking, which makes it even harder to feel like I understand him.” Clark let out a breath. “The only clear thing about him is his line.”

“That he doesn’t kill.”

Clark nodded. He spread out his hand like he could show Lois everything in his head, “It’s the whole reason I thought he’d be good for the team.”

Her voice softened, “It sounds like he is.”

Clark thought about Batman saving the team in the last mission. The guilt he’d felt when Batman had disappeared, and the relief that came when a batarang had broken him free. The whole team had basically let out a breath of relief, and no one but Clark seemed to have an issue. In fact, the whole ordeal seemed to have strengthened the trust between Batman and the League.

Even Clark could admit that his feelings towards Batman were unwarranted. But every time he disappeared into the shadows, Clark was reminded how easy it was for someone to disappear.

He sighed.

The surfing biscuits were decidedly ‘okay,’ and Clark felt like he had enough of Batman invading his home for one night. He nodded to the TV.

“Poor Amelia.”

Lois snorted, “Yeah. Poor Amelia.”

(2012)
-—-Clark stared hard at the bathroom mirror, ruffling a hand through his hair and then making his curls sit the way he liked. After a reasonable amount of time fiddling with his hair, he went down the stairs, willing himself to go slowly. Outside, he crossed the threshold between schools and waited patiently in front of the open gates, back towards Plover so he didn’t seem too eager. He resisted the urge to fix his hair again, but as the school bell rang, more and more kids in black uniforms started eyeing him curiously, if not a bit hostile. Before he knew it he was messing with his hair, hoping it kept the same look from the bathroom.

“What are you doing here?” A girl with a short curly bob glared at him.

She was dressed in the same uniform as the rest of the Plover students, but had stopped next to him with her arms crossed, rather than walking past with quiet judgement. Her eyes narrowed impossibly harder, and she pinned him with a look that scorched harsher than Rao.

Clark flinched, “Sorry. I was waiting for someone…”

“And who is it you’re ‘waiting’ for?”

“Ronnie. Leave him alone.”

Clark bit his lip to stop himself from smiling as Ethan appeared behind the girl. She turned her head toward Ethan, but kept a suspicious eye on Clark, “He says he’s here to see someone.” She turned back to address Clark, “Like you want to have some kind of friendly conversation with one of us?”

Before Clark could even think of how to respond, he was interrupted by one of his classmates, “Clark! What–” she walked over quickly, grabbing Clark’s arm, “C’mon, let’s go back.”

Clark halfheartedly tried to tug himself out of her grip, keenly aware of his strength and not wanting to hurt her. He saw a blur of familiar snowy hair on his other side, and before he knew it Sam was tugging on his other arm. “The teachers will kill us if they see you over here,” She said softly.

A small group of Plover students had formed at the gate, watching the scene unfold. A similar group had formed at the gates of Felicity, and Clark realized what was happening could be considered a scene. Ma was in the back of his head, as he let himself get dragged away.

He heard the girl, Ronnie, murmur an apology to Ethan, something about having been fed up. He didn’t get a chance to focus on Ethan’s response, because he’s quickly swarmed by classmates.

“God Clark, don’t you know it’s dangerous?” Ari—the dragger—said.

“Yeah, a bunch of them have dyed hair.” Clark didn’t see the face of whoever said it, but either way the point seemed invalid.

“Did you see how angry that girl was? She just went off for no reason!”

“Why would you wait in front of their school?”

“I heard one of them beat up some poor guy after he got broken up with…”

“Yeah! I heard it was some tall blonde guy.”

Clark tensed, “Those are just rumors!” The group around him fell silent, and Clark tried to make himself sound calmer than he felt, “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

A few of the faces he didn’t recognize mumbled a few, “I guess”’s and wandered off, making their excuses of needing to get home. Clark sighed, forcing his shoulders to relax as Ari and the rest of his actual friends said small goodbyes and left as well. Sam held her arm with her hand, a nervous habit Clark had noticed she had when they first became friends.

“Are you okay?”

Clark smiled gratefully, “Yeah. Sorry if I worried you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. But, Clark…”

“I know.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“I…” Clark wanted to explain, but everyone’s voices played on a loop in his head. He didn’t know if he could stand hearing the same things from Sam. He sighed.

“You could have gotten in trouble.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for being so nervous about this, I know you aren’t that worried, so maybe I shouldn’t be either but–”

“It’s okay. I have to go. Are we still on for this weekend?”

Sam looked at Clark, worry still evident in her voice, “Yeah.”

.
“Really Mrs. Ramirez, I’m okay.”

Mrs. Ramirez stared at Clark hard, one hand on her hip and the other holding her 50th offering of cake. “Are you sure? I know how much you love our cakes, and this one is especially good. It’d be such a waste if no one ate it.”

Clark sighed at her obvious attempt of guilt tripping. He felt like he had already eaten so many of their treats over the past hours, but the chocolate cake she was dangling in front of him did look especially good… Plus it was free.

She smirked, “I insist, Clark. You’re our most loyal customer, and I feel bad that Ethan’s made you wait for so long.”

Clark blushed at the mention of Ethan. He’d come straight after school to apologize, but Ethan hadn’t been home yet. He tried to pass the time by ordering cakes and pastries while doing school work, but there was only so much money he’d willingly spend as an excuse to see someone. Mrs. Ramirez had been checking in on him every other hour or so, and by the time the sun set Clark gave up on excuses and explained why he was there.

Despite his insistence, she let him stay past closing and offered the remaining sweets to him.

“It’s really no trouble. I’m just grateful you let me stay.”

Mrs. Ramirez put the plate in front of him and smiled, “Enjoy the cake, Clark.”

“Thank you.” He said, hoping she knew he meant for more than just the free slice.

After he made a bit more polite conversation, she patted him on the shoulder and smiled, “As much as I enjoy talking, I need to head up for bed. A baker needs a bit more sleep than you young kids.”

Clark laughed, “Of course. Sorry for keeping you. Thanks again for everything.”

She waved him off as she walked behind the counter, “You and your manners. Get some sleep, and don’t forget to eat well tomorrow too, yeah?”

Clark couldn’t respond before she disappeared behind the kitchen doors, so he took a bite of the cake instead, savoring the rich chocolate. “She was right, this is really good.”

As he took another, the shop door jingled and Ethan stepped through the entrance. He turned to lock the door behind him and called out, “Hey, you know the lights aren’t off, right?”

Clark swallowed and cleared his throat, “Hi, Ethan.”

Ethan turned and blinked in surprise, “Hey.”

“Sorry, I tried to tell your mom she didn’t have to keep the store open for me, but she insisted. Probably a mom thing.”

“What.”

Clark blushed, “Ah, my Ma definitely wouldn’t have let anyone wait outside in the dark. Or sent them home for that matter–”

“I mean, what are you doing here?”

Clark took a second, realizing he was practically waiting on Ethan’s front step without explanation. “Right. Sorry. I came to apologize.”

“You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“Apologize. And come here. To apologize.”

Clark smiled, “Manners. Ma drilled them into me as a kid. And I can’t seem to stop actin’ rude ‘round ya.” His stomach did a flip when Ethan raised an eyebrow at his accent. He swallowed, “Anyway, I came to apologize again. This time about today. I didn’t realize how badly our schools hated each other. I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble with the scene out front.”

Ethan looked past him, “It’s no problem, really.” Clark followed his gaze and realized Ethan was looking at the table Clark had been sitting at.

He tried not to smile at the opportunity, “Do you mind finishing this slice for me? Your mom stuffed me full while I was waiting, but I couldn’t turn her down.”

Ethan’s look turned haunted, “Yeah, that sounds like her.” Clark laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want the rest?”

Despite asking, Ethan had already started walking over to the table.

Clark nodded insistantly and followed, “I was being serious, I’m basically a turkey ready for thanksgiving.” That earned Clark a small snort and a look that he’d be replaying in his head daily.

When they sat down Clark pushed the plate over and Ethan started eating. After a few bites he said, “Can I ask why you were out there in the first place?”

Clark sat up straighter and felt his toes curl, “I…wanted to see you.”

Ethan stopped mid bite and stared.

“But I promise, I won’t do anything like that again, the commotion it caused was crazy. Which I’m really, really sorry for.” Remembering Ethan’s words he tacked on, “Again.”

Ethan smiled, finishing his bite, “You really don’t need to be so sorry, we’re the ones who started it.” He studied Clark’s face for a second, as if looking for something. “Honestly, when I saw you at the gate, I was… surprised.”

Clark heard Ethan’s pulse jump before he quickly reeled in his hearing. He really hoped the blush he was feeling wasn’t visible. “Yeah, sorry. It was kind of out of the blue, huh? I guess I was just happy to see you in the morning, um. Through the windows. I thought it’d be easier to get to know each other.”

Ethan hummed, “I didn’t expect you to come by the shop.”

Clark tried not to blush harder, feeling apologetic, “‘Cause coming here would be weird, and out of the blue?”

“No. I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

Clark looked up, “What?”

“I mean, you’re a Felicity student, and I go to Plover. Talking with me would probably do you more harm than good. I figured–”

“Oh.” Clark kept his face neutral as his heart fell a bit.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just…” Clark forced a smile, glancing out the window, “Sorry, I just realized how late it’s gotten. I should get home.” As Ethan stood with Clark he hurried on, “I’ll be okay on my own, really.”

Clark bit his lip as he grabbed the door handle, forcing himself to look back, “I did mean it. When I said I wanted to get to know you better.” The door jingled, “Thanks for the cake!”

~
“You can be such an idiot sometimes.” Laila said.

Bruce looked at her as she stood upside down, gathering her hair. He silently compared her to a mop. When she flipped back up to look at him, settling her hair into a bun, he replied, “What did I do?”

She glared, “Remind me to punch you next time I’m over.”

“Why does he want to get to know me anyway?”

“Why does anyone? Clearly there’s nothing going on up there.” Bruce glared the way he’d learned would make her smile, “Look, you know how people always think you're scary looking? And it sucks?”

“It’s fine.”

Laila waved her hand dismissively, “Okay, well, didn’t you do the same thing to him? Assume what he’d do just because he went to this other school?”

Bruce thought about the look that Clark had left with. The one he’d put there.

Bruce preferred to be alone. And the reality was people made assumptions everyday. He had realized this and used it to his advantage, allowing people to be scared of his looks so they wouldn’t bother him. Clark either didn’t know this reality or didn’t like it, but it didn’t matter. The small tilt of his frown and the spark in his eyes that had disappeared was enough for him to realize what Laila was saying.

“You can punch me, next time you see me,” Bruce said. “Thanks.”

.
Bruce stared at the red pavement, following the lines between each brick. The matching brick wall that framed Felicity’s gates itched his back.

He had come early with the assumption Clark would arrive early, based on when they’d seen each other yesterday. The similarity between their schedules made him bite the inside of his cheek.

He turned at the sound of shoes on pavement, and was met with Clark, who didn’t seem to have noticed him. He was clearly lost in thought, eyes lowered to the ground, both hands resting on his messenger back.

“Hi Clark.” Bruce said.

Clark looked up, startled, but then gave a small, strained smile, “Hi Ethan.” His brow furrowed slightly, “What are you doing here?”

Bruce pushed himself off the entrance, “I’m sorry.” He let the silence between them hang before continuing, “I hurt you. So. Sorry.”

“You… hurt… me?”

“I thought the reason you looked so sad when you left was because of me.”

Some of the color returned to Clark’s face as he covered it, “Oh jeez.”

Bruce tensed, worried he’d been mistaken, or said something insulting again.

“Did I really look that sad? That’s so embarrassing.” Clark mumbled through his hands, peaking through his fingers. He slid his hands down his face, and looked to the side, “It is true though, I was sad. And then I all but ran out on you. Jeez. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so rude the entire time we’ve known each other.”

“You haven’t been rude.” Bruce felt himself searching for what Clark would want to hear, “I don’t actually care about our two schools, or the weird feud between them.” But then he thought of all the strangely honest things Clark had said to him, and figured he could match his honesty a little, “I… had the same thought. When I saw you through the window.”

Clark smiled, this time fully formed, and the light in his eyes came back. “That’s really. Uh–” he cut himself off with a small laugh, “I’m Clark Kent.”

“I know.”

Clark laughed again, but this time Bruce was ready for it. It was a soft exhale of breath that showed his teeth, crinkled his eyes, and made his shoulders hunch a little. “No I mean, let’s start over. I’m Clark Kent.”

“I’m–” Bruce stopped himself. “Ethan Ramirez.”

Clark nodded, “And I go to Felicity High.”

Bruce continued, trying to figure out what Clark was getting at, “And…I go to Plover High School.”

“Right. But, those names don’t matter. They’re not who we are. They don’t define us. Like I said before. I want to get to know you.”

Horrifyingly, Bruce felt himself smile.

He held out his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Clark Kent.”