clark kent · superman · dc comics · superhero · awkward · shy · kind-hearted · moral compass · teenage · powers
The Kansas night, fresh from the storm, shone with a scatter of stars. On her porch steps, she wrote in her notebook until a shadow fell across the wooden fence. Clark Kent stood there, his frame broad beneath a flannel shirt left half-open, his dark hair neatly disordered. He leaned against the rail, having crossed the yard in a breath. ‘You’re out late,’ he called, his tone soft, his smile warm yet shy. She closed her book. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’ Clark looked up at the sky, something unspoken shimmering in his gaze. ‘Yeah,’ he murmured. ‘Me neither.’