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Clark was a bit of a clutz.
Okay so that was an understatement, he was a huge clutz. When he was younger, he was definitely more clumsy but now it had become more about trying to protect his identity as Superman. Nobody looked at him, a nerdy, anxious clumsy sort of guy and thought, wow there’s our greatest hero . Of course, Superman was definitely a nerd and clumsy but he played it up when he was out of uniform to an extreme.
That being said, sometimes accidents were just that.
And that was how he ended up in one of the dozens of bathrooms in Wayne Mansion, hastily scrubbing the red wine out of his dress shirt. It was a white shirt too, which didn’t help at all. Great. And it wasn’t coming out. Super great.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Lois had practically jumped all over this story, yet another rich guy holding a charity ball for orphans. The ‘raising mone for orphans’ was good, but there was something unsettling about making a big party with lavish drinks and delicacies to support such a cause. It was almost mocking, how separate the upper class of Gotham seemed to be from the rest. Charity was fantastic but Clark had a certain distaste for rich people just throwing money around to keep their good reputation.
Maybe they were deep down good people at heart just wanting to give back, but Clark doubted it. When you had as much money as they did, you could almost forget that other people were in need. Surrounded by nothing but wealth and prosperity from birth did that to a person. And when you have enough money to fill a ballroom when people are starving just a block away…
Clark sighed, scrubbing at his shirt uselessly. His fingers were wrinkled and pruny from the water and the wine was still not coming out. He was just standing here shirtless(because his undershirt was ruined too, thrown on the vanity to be washed next. If the stain ever came out.
God, I’m so stupid , Clark mentally reprimanded himself, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He brushed a hand through his dark hair, accidentally disheveling the gelled-back locks.
“What are you doing , Clark?” He turned off the sink, ringing out his shirt and hanging it up.
Suddenly, the doorknob was turning and a spike of icy panic ran through Clark as he realized he didn’t lock the door.
The sounds from the party came crashing in as the door opened and a man walked in, closing the door behind him just as quickly.
Clark backed against the vanity as the man leaned against the door, letting out a groan. The man opened his eyes and immediately paused when he realized Clark was in the bathroom.
“Oh,” The vowel seemed to slip from the guy’s lips. “I’m sorry I-”
“No, no it’s no problem. I should go-” Clark quickly reached for his button-up hanging on the towel rack. He didn’t want to go out looking like this, but he certainly wasn’t going to rob some guy of a bathroom. The man looked familiar in his designer tuxedo and sleek shoes. His hair was dark and perfect and his skin was clear and pale with eyes as bright as a shimmering glass of sparkling water.
“No please,” The man held up his hand gracefully, smiling softly. “I just needed a moment of quiet and I’ll go.”
Clark stilled before glancing at the shirt in his hands, holding it up to the light.
“What happened?” The man asked.
“I bumped into one of the guests. And now I’ve got another problem on my hands.”
“Well,” The man glanced at the shirt. “When you get home, just put some dish soap and hydrogen peroxide in the wash. It’ll come right out.”
Clark looked at him with new curiosity, setting the shirt down on the vanity. He pretended not to notice the way the man’s eyes flickered down to his chest. The man sat down on the edge of the claw foot tub that was against the far wall of the bathroom, his arms pressed against the rim of the tub as if to hold him up. The whole bathroom was lavish, obviously. Gold and black accented white walls and appliances, giving a classy and simple environment. Everything in this room probably cost more than Clark’s salary.
“Wow, I’ll have to try that,” Clark murmured, glancing back at the shirt. His only hope was to walk through the gala and through the crowd with a stain on his shirt or…go shirtless. Okay, stain it is. The concern must have been visible on his face because the guy spoke,
“I think I could find an extra shirt, if you want?”
“Here?” Clark almost scoffed. “We’re at a charity event and unless this is your house, I don’t know where you’d find a shirt.”
The man raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips upturning. “I could find one if you need it.”
Clark even found himself smiling. “That’s very mysterious.”
The man’s smile grew. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me mysterious.”
“Well, I just did.”
“Who are you? How have we not met before?”
“I’m Clark,” He paused, not wanting to give away the fact that he was part of the press. “And you are?”
“The guy who’s going to get you a shirt,” The man pushed himself up from the bathtub to a standing position less than a foot away. The man’s eyes darted down Clark’s chest almost unconsciously and Clark could feel the heat from the man in the tuxedo. He was handsome, young, and charming. Magnetizing would be the correct word.
“You don’t have to,” Clark said softly.
“Oh but I want to,” The man winked. “What’s your size?”
Clark told him his size and the man’s eyes glanced at his chest once more. Then he nodded, telling Clark to stay put.
Sure enough, the man come back with a shirt that fit him and Clark couldn’t have been more thankful. The gentleman in the tux left him shortly after that and Clark got dressed. He missed the heat of the man’s presence in the bathroom, and once he gathered his things to leave, he found himself searching in the crowd for the man, but he was nowhere to be found.
He couldn’t wait to tell Lois about the mysterious tuxedo man, and maybe if he was lucky, some guy would throw another gala in Gotham so he could visit.
Clark hummed as he walked down the street on his way to his car, but paused when he saw a figure on the edge of a nearby building, silhouetted by the round pure light of the moon. It looked somewhat like a man with a cape and he stared for a while before the cloaked figure vanished into the darkness.
Was that the dark knight of Gotham Lois ranted about every hour of the day?
Oh well, he thought to himself as he got in his car. He’d ask her about it tomorrow.