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“Give them back!” Clark swiped at the older boy who was now dangling his glasses high above his head.
“Or what, four eyes?” His bully since the first day of middle school, Billy sneered. “I just wanna see ’em.”
Clark knew that wasn’t true. Every time Billy wanted to “see something” he’d just outright take it without giving it back. It started with his pencils, which was innocuous enough, until it moved on to the lunches his mom packed, and even his new sneakers at one point.
Clark was okay with losing those things. He had plenty of pencils, and he was never really that hungry. He could try and fly home if worst came to worst too, but his glasses were the one thing he couldn’t give up to Billy.
The first time his heat vision had flared up, Billy had spilled his carton of milk in his lap on purpose, making it look like Clark had peed himself in front of half the school. He’d almost burned a hole into the school lunch table out of embarrassment. The second time happened on that same day, after school when he’d snapped at his mother for prying too much, singeing the doorframe.
A few days later Martha Kent would give him a a special pair of glasses that she’d made herself using the glass of the spaceship he landed in. And upon seeing her gift, he’d bury his face into his mother’s arms as an apology and a ‘thank you’.
“How the hell are you even seeing through these?” Billy inspected the glasses, all the while avoiding Clark’s reach. “They don’t even work. Just a piece of garbage.”
Clark could feel his anger rising and a prickling heat behind his eyes. Reflexively he squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled, tripping backward from Billy’s rough shove.
“What? You crying, loser?” He taunted. “Don’t worry I’ll take out the trash for you.” Billy wound up, preparing to throw the glasses like a baseball.
“Hey! Leave him alone you big bully!”
Clark peeked his eyes open to see you barreling down the road wielding a baseball bat and already swinging wildly.
Clark had heard about you offhandedly from his peers. You were like a Smallville Middle School urban legend mostly for your weird outfits and lack of filter. Unlike Clark, no one dared to bully you for fear of your unpredictable nature. Even Billy, big as he was, knew better than to stick around to test it.
“That’s right! You better run!” You shouted as Billy escaped.
Clark blinked dumbly back at you, and even more dumbly when he felt his glasses being placed back on his face. Your face was close, and your mouth was moving but he could only hear the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Your tugging him to his feet was what finally pulled him back to reality.
“—and if anyone bothers you again they’re gonna have to go through me! And if I’m not there you better fight back and kick his butt, Clark!”
You held out a pinky, the look on your face leaving no room for Clark to refuse it. He linked his pinky with your own, marking the beginning of your friendship along with the unofficial beginning of Clark’s crush on you. The next day you would sit next to him at lunch, naturally, as if you had always been friends.
The Kents began to notice that their usually quiet son was visibly happier and becoming much more talkative. Imagine Martha Kent’s surprise when a phone call for Clark came into the house phone, and a female voice was on the other end.
Jonathan Kent would be equally surprised when he accidentally picked up the house phone and overheard Clark talking to you excitedly about his favorite book series. Needless to say, they would hint incessantly to Clark that he should invite his new “friend” over for dinner.
It wasn’t long before you were inseparable; and for all of middle school everywhere he was, you were not far off. Until one day you told him you were moving away, 100 miles away to be exact, to Metropolis.
You would pinky promise each other to keep in touch but as you both got busier and Clark discovered more about his own origins, the letters and phone calls became more sparse until communication stopped entirely.
10 years later
The one day you decided to get your hair done was the day some eldritch abomination decided to descend upon the city of Metropolis.
You were used to it by now; you had your fair share of close calls. Most people would hole themselves up in their apartments and never come out with all the intermittent attacks lately; but you weren’t most people and in your opinion, living in fear was not living at all.
So when you found yourself falling to your death from a building, you accepted your fate and braced yourself for the inevitable impact. Only...it never came. You did feel your cheek resting against something hard though, and when you looked up at what seemed to break your fall, you found yourself face to face with the “Man of Steel” himself: Superman.
“Fear not, citizen. You’re safe now.” You could hear his deep voice rumble from his chest to your ear as he spoke.
When Clark finally got a good look at your face, it felt like he was back in Smallville again, back to the day you’d chased Billy off. Back to the moment your face had filled his vision entirely; All he could see was you. He almost blurted out your name out of surprise until he remembered he was supposed to be a hero now and not Clark Kent, the farm boy.
“You look…” You began but then trailed off as you stared at his face. You were breathless from everything; the fall, the chaos, and now the handsome man who made you feel safe in his arms. You couldn't quite place it, but he looked oddly familiar. “You look a lot like someone I know.”
“I…get that a lot, Ma’am.” Clark tried to sound professional and not alarmed at the fact that there was a chance you’d recognize him. “Get to safety quickly.” He recovered the authority in his voice, but it was now clashing with his reddening face. When he set you down, you wondered why the charismatic superhero you’d seen on tv seemed much shyer in person.
“Well, I would but--” Your eyes both drifted to where he still had a protective arm circled around your waist pulling you close to his body. Upon realizing he hadn’t let you go, he jerked his arm away to give an awkward salute.
You gave him a curious look; He was so jumpy and…cute? Oh god, it was killing you. Where had you seen that face before?
A loud crash accompanied by a guttural roar from the 50-foot-tall monster in the background saved Clark from further embarrassment. “Well, uh, that’s my cue.”
“Hey, Superman?” He paused to look back in mid-preparation for flight. “Kick its fucking ass!”
And with that, he returned you a bashful smile with a thumbs up and took off into the air.
That night, after a long fight with the inter-dimensional threat, Clark had gotten a voicemail from his Mom saying that you had called her asking for his number. Not shortly after, his phone vibrated, an unknown number with a Metropolis area code filling the screen. It must’ve been you.
“Hey, it’s me, Y/N. Something reminded me of you today." His heart leaped. Ten years later and yet your voice still made his heart rate erratic; a form of muscle memory.
"I got your number from your Mom," You continued. "Do you…still remember that promise we made when we were kids? The day before I moved.” You talked to him like you’d never left, like you were picking back up a conversation that began yesterday and not a decade ago.
How could Clark possibly forget? And what happened to Hello, how are you? But being too embarrassed to say it out loud, he could only breathe out a shaky “Y-yea. I remember.”
On a warm summer day, you made rings out of dandelions and a half-joking pinky promise that you would marry each other someday.
You were kids who didn’t know much about marriage or how it worked exactly, but you knew that’s what people did if they liked each other enough. And there was no doubt that you both liked each other because that pinky promise was the first and only one that had been sealed with a kiss.