Chapter Text
Sometimes he has reactions to things. Ordinary, unimportant things.
He didn’t know why he hated the colors red and blue, why he felt uneasy around bodies of water and a contradictory sense of longing but disgust at the sight of cornfields outside his plane window. Or why he hated stained glass and long empty tables, psychiatrists and asylum white walls, the type that close in on you— just that he did. And it drove him mad.
One thing he knows, has known since the first time he saw him up in the sky, is that he completely— utterly— hates Superman.