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Jon would never have thought he’d be spending his Saturday afternoon in the dingy corner of the metropolis Super-burger, sunglasses and the mop of a blonde wig obscuring his face. Still, he guesses there’s a first time for everything.
His day was relatively normal and unsettlingly calm; no hungry powered politicians attempting to destroy the reputation of Superman, no petty criminals hoping to check their luck and rob a nearby convenience store. He even managed to avoid strangers sending glances of recognition his way and the elementary-aged kids he used to be classmates with before life whisked him away to space for five years. He knows he should feel calmer than he is, but his nerves constantly feel on edge as if awaiting a new attack, a new danger he’ll have to leap to. He even wears his Superman suit underneath his hoodie and jeans, albeit uncomfortable in the early fall heat, in case the symbol of hope is needed.
He supposes it isn’t healthy, but glancing at the menu, deciding what to order, and inspecting the dirty silverware he suspects might not be thoroughly cleaned, he decides that’s a thought for another time.
“Hello, welcome to Superburger,” a slightly familiar voice says. Jon looks over to see a pink-haired boy, pen and notebook in hand, a hat with a bobblehead Superman logo bouncing at every moment. Jon feels a sudden urge to flick it. “My name is Jay, and I’ll be taking your order today. Can I get you something to drink?”
Jon glances down at the menu he’d been fidgeting with before realizing he should have been reading it. “Uh, I’ll just take a water.” It comes out like a question, and luckily before he can embarrass himself further, the other smiles briefly before leaving.
He’s kinda cute, Jon thinks as he watches the bespectacled man leave, hair contrasting nicely with the colors of the apron and cap. No man should be able to look as good as he does in a diner outfit.
The small dive looks of depression and smells of grease; Jon doesn’t need super senses to tell him that. It’s full, to be expected for a Saturday afternoon in Metropolis, and the chatter of the customers feels as if they’re getting louder and louder. He pulls out his phone for a distraction, finding a text message from his mother asking his whereabouts, a notification for a game he hasn’t played for years (that isn’t even an exaggeration anymore. Being stuck in space with an evil grandfather and fighting alongside the legion of superheroes for a brief period, he doesn’t feel like he’s quite capable of exaggerating), and a spam email. He deletes the email, ignores his mom’s text, and finds himself looking back at the menu in front of him. He feels pathetic, sitting at a restaurant themed off of his father and now himself, alone, looking at a menu ridiculously named after the villains trying to kill his family and destroy part of metropolis in their free time. Still, he pushes those thoughts away for a moment, just long enough for him to decide on a burger to eat.
Cute-waiter Jay comes back with a cup of water and throws a straw onto the table, and Jon orders a simple burger and fries (he nearly refuses to call it by its labeled name “the Brawny Brainiac Beef Patty,” but decides against it), he receives a small chuckle from Jay with a slightly lower (and unfairly attractive) voice. Jon feels it reverberate through the air.
“You know, usually people avoid saying the names of some of these items. They just call them by their order number.” Jay says, placing his notepad back into his apron pocket.
“Well, with names like ‘the Devil Doomsday MacDaddy burger,’ I can’t see why,” Jon says before he can think, but the nice smile on Jay’s face makes it all worth it.
“Bat-burger in Gotham has some weird selections. I wouldn’t be really fond of jokerzing my fries.”
“You’ve been to Gotham? I have a few friends there.” If by few he means one rich 14-year-old whose family’s favorite pastime includes nightly vigilante crime-fighting.
“Yeah, I lived there for a few months; I've been moving around for a while.” An air of melancholy surrounds Jay before breaking out into a grin. Jon assumes the fake smile is a practiced technique. He knows from experience.
“So uh, how are you liking Metropolis?” Jon asks before he can do something stupid like pry into the other man’s life. It seems he does the right thing because the pink man’s composure turns more relaxed, and he rests his arm over the booth ledge.
“It’s fine, too busy for my taste. The view is nice, though,” he says, eyeing Jon directly. Jon suddenly wishes his wig bangs were longer so the other wouldn’t see the apparent blush blooming on his face. (Being a Kryptonian superhero apparently doesn’t mean he’s immune to the flirtation of a cute boy.)
Jon lets out what he hopes is a natural chuckle. “Yeah, uh, must be better than all those gothic buildings.” He pulls his water closer to give his hands something to do.
A clash of shattering plates and shouts of frustration cut Jon off before he could begin his ramble.
“Well, I should probably go get your order in before my manager starts yelling at me,”
“Yeah, see you around?”
The man sends back a small smile, a sweet, simple toothless yet beautiful action that sets Jon’s heart racing and head spinning. “I plan on it.”
Jon really hopes his sunglasses hide that he watches the other man disappear into the crowd of people and questionable food choices.
***
Jon’s not ready to be Superman. He knows, his mom knows, the whole world knows apparently other than his father, whose vote seemed to matter more than the rest of the world’s. When his father gave him his cape, a final wish goodbye, and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Jon felt his whole world flip upside down and a constant pressure on his chest, slowly submerging him underwater.
The few months into his father’s absence, Jon’s tried his best to keep a smile plastered on his face, an air of confidence and optimism surrounding him, because if not him, then who else? But lately, the buzz in his brain’s grown louder, and his mom’s noticed. He adores her, he really does, but her determination to get the truth bleeds out of her journalism work, and Jon’s too tired of pretending to be happy.
He supposes going to Super-burger is sort of a punishment for him. It should fill him with pride, knowing how his father and now him is the beacon that sparks hope in the hearts of this world, that people apparently like them enough to model a capitalistic business after their costume. But all it does is make him feel like a fraud and make the bags under his eyes more pronounced.
Jon picks at the ice cubes in his half-full drink as he wallows in self-pity. He should be worried about starting college, making friends, finding a girlfriend or boyfriend, not about when he has to leap into action next or how he’ll fight off the nightmares of being trapped in the volcano by a demon with the face of his father.
He feels pathetic, complaining about his problems when he has a world of problems to save.
A swish of an apron brings Jon back out of his train of thoughts, and the presence of the pink-haired man short circuits his brain.
So much for forming words.
“Here’s your ‘brawny brainiac beef patty.’ Can I get you another refill of water?”
Jon shakes his head and looks over at the slab of grease and meat in front of him. If anything could represent the state of American food, it would be that. “I noticed you don’t seem to be wearing the complete dress code.” Before Jon went into his spiral of overthinking, he noticed the capes adorning the backs of each of the employees. It’s a safe topic to talk about with the handsome waiter. It also doesn’t help that he finds the poor quality of the cloth and the hand-painted House of El symbol oddly adorable.
“Yeah, not much of a capes and tights guy.”
“Oh really?” He tries to sound as casual as possible. “How so?”
“They’re just so Inconvenient. I’d much rather wear jeans and a hoodie. Much easier to change into, Don’t you think?”
Jon thinks back to his costume under his hoodie and almost interjects that simply wearing tights under his normal clothing is much easier than changing his whole attire but stops himself short.
He can't talk about his part-time superheroics with him.
Scratch that, he doesn’t need to.
“Does dress code mean nothing to you?” Jon mock gasps, feeling himself regain his confidence. “Your high school must have hated you.”
“Hey, it’s just this once. My manager lets it slide as long as I keep the hat on.” The diner looks busy, the booths are almost entirely full, and the sounds of screaming children seem to have increased since the time Jon got here. But regardless, he wants Jay to stay in their little bubble as long as possible. “Besides, my high school would have hated me for other reasons.”
“Ohh, much of a rule-breaker, are you?”
“Well, in more ways than one.”
Jon picks at his food with the suspicious fork and tries to think up a new conversation starter. If he can keep asking questions, maybe Jay will stay for a little longer. Even a few more minutes of chatting with a cute boy and keeping his mind off self-depreciation would probably be enough to lighten his mood for the day. “So you mentioned moving around. How long have you been in metropolis?”
Jay leans on the other booth seat, which Jon hopes is a sign of the other engaging himself in the conversation. “Around two years now.”
“Do you have any family here?”
“Not really,” Another dip of sadness, Jon wishes he kept his mouth shut. “But I sort of have a journalism internship nearby.”
“Really?” Jon perks his head up. “I… have some interest in journalism. Anywhere I’ve heard?”
“We’re kind of an underground type thing. You probably haven’t heard of us before.” I highly doubt that Jon thinks, but by the stiffer posture of the other man, he lets himself drop the topic. “I don't think many major corporations would hire a college student with pink hair.”
“You’d be surprised; besides, I like it.” Jon feels the word slip out of his mouth before he can think.
Jay raises an eyebrow. “I don’t normally hear any compliments about my hair from any guys.”
“Well, they all must be blind. You look like a… strawberry?”
Jay lets out a hearty laugh, a rich and booming sound, but one that feels like a sweet melody to Jon’s ear in the diner’s chaos. He realizes it’s the first time he’s heard unrestrained laughter from the other man and God, and he wishes he could capture it on video and listen to it on repeat.
“And you look like a blond feather duster. You really know how to get a guy’s attention.”
Jon flushes, realizing, Oh, he’s really into this guy, and they’re actually flirting, finally hitting him. “Yeah, I don’t really do this that often.”
“Oh, I can tell,” Jay teases, a warm smile painting his face, and holy shit, he has dimples. How can someone be this perfect?
“Oh, shut up.” Jon chokes out, hoping the other overlooked his obvious gawking. But, telling by the small chuckle and the look of amusement sent his way, Jay can tell.
Jon really has no idea what he’s doing, but at least someone’s finding it amusing.
“Kidding, kidding, you’re doing great, really sweeping me off my feet.”
“Hey, I think I deserve a little bit of credit. You’re still talking to me.” He chuckles.
Jon watches as Jay adjusts his glasses.“You’re not wrong. Calling me a fruit isn’t the smoothest compliment I’ve ever received; you’re lucky you're so endearing.”
Get it together, Kent , the reasonable voice in his head yells. A cute guy showed just a smidge of interest, and you’re already a mess? Small glances, awkward flirting, and sly smiles shouldn’t have you twirling your hair like a schoolgirl. He forces himself to relax. He’s a normal teenager who’s definitely done a normal amount of flirting before. He can handle this.
“And you’re lucky you’re cute.” A huge blush blooms before he can even finish the sentence. Jon watches the other’s eyes go slightly wider, a slight blush painting his face, barely visible to Jon. He lets out a sigh of relief. I’m glad I’m not the only one affected.
“Not really; it’s all the hat’s doing. It makes me so irresistible.” Jay counters.
Ever since Jon came back to Earth, descending from the sky taller, older, and scarred in more ways than one, he’s felt like he’s been competing with his 10-year-old self. Every corner of his home, from the family portraits shining with the love of a close-knit family, the old stuffed animals and posters adorning his room with memories of his old passions and childhood innocence, to the way his mom looks at him sometimes early in the morning, eyes glossing over him as if she’s looking for someone else, reminds him that he isn’t the Jon he once was. That he isn’t the Jonathan Samuel Kent his friends, his parents, his whole world wants.
But now, laughing in this diner full of odd fumes, possible health violations, and cranky families who were unlucky enough to find themselves eating here for lunch, he feels happy, free. Normal.
It’s weird to think how just one man, who seems to see the real him without even knowing his name, can do that.
But Jon sighs, knowing that enough time has passed between them to get weird looks from other diner patrons. Like all fantasies, it’ll always end soon enough. “You know, I’m surprised your manager hasn’t called you back yet with this many people.”
He notices Jay’s smile falter slightly. “Tired of me already?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that.” I don’t want this to end.
“Joking.” his signature smirk is back, but Jon can’t tell if it's just for show. “Flirting with a hot guy during a shift isn’t something I normally do; I’m hoping my manager will let it slide just once.”
He forces himself not to combust with Wait, he thinks I’m HOT ringing through his head as he tries to convey in the smoothest and least pathetic way that he needs to see Jay again or else he thinks he’ll die. “In all seriousness, I’d love to keep chatting with you for the record. You know, outside of this fast food grease corner.”
“Woah, going a little fast. First of all, this fast-food grease corner gives me a paycheck, and second, I don’t even have your name.” Oh right.
“I’m Finn, Finn Conners.” He nearly says Jon, he wants to say Jon. He wants to hear the way his name sounds on Jay’s lips and in his alluring voice. You’ve known him less than an afternoon, you idiot. You can’t give up your entire identity over a man you’ve just met.
He holds out his hand before realizing that a handshake may be too corny, but the cute waiter takes it in his own. His fingertips feel so calloused against Jon’s impenetrable skin, and cheesy as it sounds, the second of contact feels like electricity against his hand. “Jay Nakamura. It’s nice to meet you, Finn.”
Angry yelling from behind the diner’s counter snaps Jon out of his tunnel vision, and the loss of warmth from Jay’s hand makes him frown.
“You know, I should head back.” Jay gives a small wave as the distance between the two grows once again. “Your food might be a little cold by now, but enjoy, Finn.”
“Wait!” No, I can’t just let us be strangers again. “When can I see you next?”
“When I deliver your check.”
“I meant, preferably after your work.”
For the second time that afternoon, Jon watches as the man turns pink, and he prays to the luck Gods that it won’t be the last. “I get off in half an hour if you’re willing to wait that long. You seem like a busy person.”
Jon looks out the window and lets his super-hearing expand outside the diner and into the bustling city. No distress calls, no kittens stuck in trees, and calm, clear skies for the next few hours. He breaks out into a large grin, “I think I can make it.”
Jay returns a smile just as warm, and Jon swears his heart’s been set aflame. “See you then, Finn.”
And when Jay turns to leave, shouting a quick apology to his coworkers and grabbing plates of food that must be lukewarm by now, it’s only then that Jon realizes the pink-haired man’s captivating voice sounds awfully similar to the intriguing green-masked frontman of The Truth .