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Small, raised bumps coated his skin as the television announcement sounded throughout the cafeteria. A second later, it was quiet. The only sensation keeping him grounded was his nails buried in the skin of his rough palms. An eruption of cheers might have broken out, maybe a shove against his shoulder. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t focus. He wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing.
“Lex? Aren’t you happy?” the muffled voice questioned, barely breaking through to him. Happy. Was this how he was expected to feel? Was joy meant to fill every bone in his body and warm him?
This was not joy. As he cracked his jaw, eyes locked onto his fellow inmate, he knew exactly what familiar feeling was coursing through him. Rage.
“Superman’s gone, man. Put on a smile!”
Lex stood up, his eyes narrowing at the man who dared to speak and pester him.
“You have five seconds to stop talking to me before I bash your head in,” he seethed. The other put his hands up defensively and fled to another table as Lex took a deep breath. His fingers curled around his lunch tray, the cool metal against his flesh bringing him back to reality. The lunchroom was indeed cheering; men were embracing each other in quick handshake hugs and indulging in other celebratory nonsense.
How cute.
Lex raised the tray in the air before bashing it against the table repeatedly as a yell ripped from his throat. Up and down, the metal clashed repeatedly against the plastic surface, sending the leftover food into the air.
Bang, Bang, Bang!
Each hit was a hit to Superman. To the metahuman freak, the alien who paraded himself around in primary colors, and the creature that ripped away everything that Lex was to Metropolis.
As expected, Lex was yanked back forcefully by the correctional officers seconds later. They wrapped their arms around his body, attempting to restrict his limbs as the others tore the tray from his fingers. Once they removed his weapon of choice, they dragged him away by the collar of his orange jumpsuit. Once at the door of his cell, they physically threw him inside, his body landing sideways on the cold cement.
Lex didn’t move from the position on the floor. Instead, he stared at his palms that were decorated with the blood where his nails pierced his skin. His right arm then throbbed. Although it had long healed from its fracture, it would proceed to act up every now and again. Damn that dog. Lex ignored the flick of pain, like always.
Contrary to what his fellow inmate had said, Superman wasn’t ‘gone.’ He was on hiatus, a pause on his ‘good deeds,’ for an unspecified amount of time.
After all that Lex had done, after all the waiting and planning, Superman decided to go on hiatus the day before Lex was released from his three-year sentence.
Un-fucking-believable.
His arrival at LuthorCorp two days later wasn’t as glorious as he had planned. Of course, his staff greeted him with praise and reassuring smiles. They were glad to have him back; he was a beacon of hope for inspiring human minds. Lex, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to smile back at them.
Two weeks ago, when his official release date and time were relayed to him, he planned a lighthearted return with balloons and an adoring applause from his team before conducting a board meeting to catch up on the state of LuthorCorp.
He had wanted fucking balloons for Christ’s sake.
Now, he was storming into the Comm room, scorn drawn on his face. He went straight to the windows, his fingers interlocked in front of him as he attempted to compose himself as best as he could. The room, filled with a healthy amount of his loyal staff, was silent. The first, and bravest of all his employees, to comment on his demeanor was Angela.
“You don’t seem to be happy to be back,” she hummed, her arms crossed against her chest.
Lex turned to face everyone, clasping his hands together for one crisp clap.
“Give it up to Angela, everyone! Do you want a prize? Of course, I’m not happy when Superman decides, for the first time in six years, he decides to go into hiding. Is that not terrifying? Who knows what he’s planning to do to humanity? I will wait around until he appears again to find out. Since the day I arrived at that hellhole they call Belle Reve, I’ve been constructing a plan that is sure to beat Superman where he is. However, don’t you think it’s a little funny that now, out of all the times, he chooses to go on hiatus? What does that sound like to you?”
Lex paused, which no one seemed to expect except Otis, who said, “He seems scared.”
Lex clapped his hands together loudly before repeatedly pointing alternatively with his left and right fingers at Otis.
“Correct! He knows that we’re onto him. You all saw that with our hard work, Superman had lost for the first time in his life. We were so close to getting rid of him once and for all. He’s scared of what we’ll do next to get him. This means we need to work on finding him now. We need twenty-four-seven monitoring of traffic cameras and hacked security cameras. Any last sights? Anything out of the ordinary? We are not resting until we find Superman and kill him!”
Lex’s ranting speech earned him cheers from his employees, who smiled and shook their fists in agreement. Their CEO was back. Even after spending minimal jail time for aiding Lex in his misdeeds, his elite staff members returned to LuthorCorp without a doubt in their minds that the world would be a better place without Superman.
“In the meantime, keep up the good work. I appreciate your return to LuthorCorp after all we’ve been through,” he cleared his throat, “Update me on any findings at any time.”
With that closing statement, Lex proceeded to his office, beginning to chip away at the mystery of Superman. The alien could be anywhere he pleased. The first, and most obvious location, Lex could think of was his ice fortress. However, with Ultraman missing, there was no reason to travel all that way for nothing. Although…
Lex shook his head. That was pointless. Three years later, he doubted that Ultraman was alive. The stupid beast depended on him for everything. Food, clothes, shelter. He barely functioned on his own due to Lex’s preference. An obedient superman at his will. Now, he was most likely trapped in the pocket dimension and had starved to death– or worse. What a waste of genetic cloning.
Back to the drawing board.
Lex pushed open the door to his office, making his way to his desk. It looked different now; the repairs to the Luthorcorp towers after the ‘Rip’ (the name was coined by Guy Gardner; no one likes it) involved swapping out some of the material. The contractors attempted to replicate it as best as they could, but without Lex’s guiding hand, they failed. Regardless of the changes to the office, occupying the space for the first time in years automatically reminded him of his first encounter with Superman. The anger in the metahuman’s body, the bass in his voice. The display of raw strength in utter rage. Lex doubted he would ever get to see him in action again.
Plopping himself down in his chair, he leaned into the leather and shut his eyes. A sigh slipped past his lips as he replayed the event in his mind until the knocks against his door quickly caught his attention. Lex pried his eyes open to see Angela, with Otis in tow, at the door frame. His most trusted employees and confidants.
“Yes? Did you find something?” he asked, sitting up as he flagged them in. The two entered without answering him. Angela made herself comfortable at her favorite corner of his desk, leaning her body’s weight on it with her leg raised so she could turn to face him. Otis took a seat in the only other chair in the office in front of his desk, aside from the couches in the corner.
“Lex,” Otis started, his fingers crossed in his lap, “We wanted to… check on you.”
“Check on me?” he echoed in confusion.
“You just got out of Belle Reve,” Angela stated as if Lex wasn’t well aware of that fact.
“I handled myself perfectly fine in there.” Mostly true. It wasn’t until the end of his sentence that things started to work in his favor. But regardless, they worked.
“Look, we want to kill Superman as much as you do, you know that. But, don’t you think you should run your plan through us? Make sure it’s air-tight before we start searching for him?” Otis, the man who had never questioned his choices, sat in front of him with concern etched on his face. Was Lex dreaming?
“We would be working on borrowed time regardless, Otis. You know this. You said so yourself that Superman is scared. We have to act now before it’s too late.”
“It might be too predictable, Lex. Plus, Otis is right. We haven’t even heard of this so-called ‘great plan’ of yours.”
Lex’s eyes fixed on Angela and then on Otis. Sinking back into his chair, he pressed his lips together tightly before staring at the windows, at the blue sky behind them.
“You’re doubting me.”
“No. We are making sure that you don’t make a mistake,” Angela rebutted.
“I know last time there were some hiccups, but I know what I’m doing–”
“It took us three years to get to where we were last time, Lex,” Otis stated, cutting him off. “Three years. You have a plan? Great. Let’s hear the plan and develop it, not rush and ruin our chances. Slow and steady will win the race. Brain will beat brawn. We only have to play it smart.”
Smart. Lex held back the bitter laughter that sat in his throat. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps.
“Alright… we’ll have a meeting about it tomorrow. In the meantime, I still want eyes on cams. We at least need a sighting or something similar to work off from.” His voice was quieter, the high amplitude from earlier gone.
Angela rapped her fists against his new wooden desk.
“We’re glad to have you back, Lex.” The final message before they both left their boss alone with his thoughts.
He wasn’t sure if he had ever stopped thinking about the timing of it all. His right arm twinged as he considered the validity of his prison release triggering Superman to go into hiding. He picked at the skin by his nails as ideas, thoughts, and hypotheses swarmed his brain. When he got to one thought, he quickly discarded it, forcing himself to come up with something better. He had to think of something better.
Where could he get more information that is not from online biased news sources? Could his newfound connections in illegal criminal organizations have that kind of dirt? Potentially, but not without a price that he wasn’t willing to pay at the moment.
The front of his head began to throb softly. Lex was feeling too much. He had been since he met Superman in this very room.
Images of the brown bourbon and dry white aged wine bottles he stored at his penthouse flashed in his mind. Stress relief in a glass. Without another thought, he stood up and collected his things. A drink or two while he worked from home would be nice. It’s been three years since he’s indulged in liquor. He deserved something nice after all he had been through.
Lex shifted in the seat for what felt like the twentieth time. The gray piece of furniture was clearly made without care. The angle of the seat offered no incline; it was stuffed in a way that made it stiff, and it was covered with uncomfortable leather. Now, positioned by the window, it was deceptively cold to the touch despite the warmth that filled the apartment. What a waste of money.
Blue eyes found themselves drawn to Metropolis’ bright glow as she continued to work well into the night. She was a city that barely rested, pinching sleep a few hours after midnight just to be up again before dusk. She was the city that inspired him to make a name for himself, and the city that had supported him and made it happen. He had missed Metropolis. But after all that happened, he wasn’t sure if Metropolis missed him.
Keys clanging by the door drew him out of his mind, yet his eyes continued to concentrate on the city’s captivating sparkle.
Footsteps, the opening of the door, the dropping of a light object, the ruffling of clothes, and–
“W-What the-? Lex Luthor…?”
Lex chewed on his lip, his flesh soft against bone. He breathed in through his nose before he turned to face him.
The man was tall, his curly hair beginning to fall into his face as a picture unfolded before him. It seems as though he was midway through slipping his suit jacket off as it hung off his arms. His brown suitcase lay at his feet, which he most likely dropped when he entered in exhaustion. He looked a mess, the smell of a city’s commute peeling off his person. He was the exact opposite of his minimalist, tidy apartment. The exact opposite of the awful plastic chair he now inhabited.
“Clark Kent. We finally meet,” Lex hummed, his voice coming out raspy and low. The eyes behind Clark’s frames shifted down, making Lex eerily aware of the cool glass bottle he grasped between his fingertips. It was a French red wine that had been gifted to him after attending a gala. It was comforting, more comforting than the bourbon or dry white wine, and he refused to leave it behind on his adventure. It was now his companion for the night, and it was doing its job well.
“What are you doing here?” Clark’s voice was unwavering as he stood absolutely still. He wasn’t scared.
Strange.
Lex ignored his question. “Three years ago, you were meant to die. You were to be kidnapped and used as bait for Superman to answer for his crimes to the government. Funnily enough… Superman broke out of his prison the night before my team was meant to collect you.”
An emotion that Lex couldn’t quite decipher in the dimly lit apartment appeared on Clark’s face.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you, Mr. Kent, and your relationship to Superman.”
Clark fully removed the suit jacket from his person and draped it over his arm before responding.
“Mr. Luthor. I think it is best that you leave. I don’t know how you got in, but you are illegally breaking and entering.” Lex rolled his eyes, turning back to the window. With his head buzzing, Lex’s patience was higher than usual. By now, he would have had a gun to Clark’s temple.
“You, out of everyone in Metropolis, know the blue menace the best. He trusts you. He must of– You have to know–” The words tripped over one another as his grip on the glass bottle tightened.
“He didn’t,” Clark finally chimed in. “I don’t know where Superman is.”
Something small inside Lex snapped. If Clark Kent, Superman’s only non-metahuman friend, didn’t know where he was, Lex was back to the drawing board. Again. He thought Clark was the best lead he had. Clark was his only lead.
“What a terrible friend he must be.” Lex’s voice felt strained against his throat. He was feeling again. With the threat of tears behind his eyes, his fingers worked quickly to remove the cap of his bottle before taking a needed swig. The alcohol stung as it slid down, causing the initial feeling to disappear. He wanted to be numb. It was working.
“Mr. Luthor. I believe you’re drunk.” His voice was louder than it was before. Lex whipped his head to see that Clark was closer now, officially in the living room of the apartment.
“What an excellent deduction. You’re a journalist indeed. The Daily Planet only hires the very best,” he scoffed, fiddling with the cap.
“Are you… okay?” Lex froze, his words seeming to strike him in a place that wasn’t expecting. The downside to becoming numb was that his defenses were down. His staff had approached him with similar concerns. What were they seeing that he couldn’t?
He looked up at Clark, who decided it was safe enough to advance forward again. He sat on the chair’s leg rest that was directly in front of the plastic seat Lex occupied. With him as close as Lex would allow, he finally got the full whiff of Clark. Sweet, sweaty, and woody. Lex scrunched his nose as he pulled his knee up to his chest. He needed some sort of barrier between himself and the journalist.
“I simply require information on Superman’s whereabouts. You have to know where he is. He would tell you. That idiot would trust anyone with sensitive information like that.”
“Even if I did know, which I don’t, why would I tell you?” Lex sighed, feeling around in the pocket of his robe. His fingers grazed cool metal before holding on, retrieving it to display to the other man. In his palm lay a handgun.
“Like I said,” Lex said, mustering up a small smile, “You were supposed to be dead three years ago. So let’s play nice.” Clark shifted back on his makeshift seat, discomfort evident in his body language.
“I thought Belle Reve was supposed to change you…” Lex put the gun back in his pocket, watching Clark.
“You thought if Superman threw me in jail, I’d come out with a change of heart? That thing ruined my public image, almost plunged LuthorCorp into the history books, and fractured my fucking arm. So pardon me if I’m still not on the Superman cock-sucking train!” Lex spat, saliva leaving his lips as the words flew out.
Clark didn’t seem phased; however, his blue eyes behind his frames peered at him curiously. Lex wondered what he was thinking. His right arm tingled.
“You know,” Lex started again, “Superman also believed that I could change. That I could ‘put my best foot forward’ and make the right choices. I wonder if he ever thought that what I’m doing is making the right choice. I am unblinded from the God-like image he parades around. He is the very opposite of hope; he is a terribly humorous reminder that the human race can never achieve societal actualization.”
“Your opinions about Superman always confused me,” Clark sighed, “He’s meant to be a reminder that things will get better. That hope should thrive for a better life and a safer world.”
“He is a being who does what he wants and answers to no one, flying in a world that is bounded by treaties and alliances. He is the symbol of difference, and he disregards the rules Earth has set long before he arrived here. Now look at him. Disappeared selfishly. Hidden in the shadows to leave the Justice Gang in charge of Metropolis. If one of those imbeciles went on hiatus, we at least know Lord Tech would keep them in check. Superman is a different story. He’s always different.”
Lex shook his head and found himself taking another swig from the bottle.
“I really can’t help you with looking for Superman. Our relationship is strictly professional, and our interviews are brief. However, I do know that after six years of working with him, he doesn’t hate you, Lex. I don’t think he ever did. I’m sure you’ve only hurt his feelings.”
Lex licked his lips, small giggles escaping him before he threw his head back in a fit. He pressed the bottle to his chest, unable to stop his laughter for a few moments.
“Hurt his feelings? Is Superman not estimated to be in his thirties? He sounds like a child. And after nearly killing him, I’m sure he harbors greater feelings against me.”
Clark’s arms flexed underneath his shirt as he leaned forward. “Mr. Luthor, is there a reason you want Superman to hate you?” Lex swallowed, feeling smaller in the chair with Clark’s confrontational manner.
“Is it not to be expected that the feelings of animosity would be mutual? He has caused me physical harm!”
“Perhaps he was angry at that moment. That doesn’t mean he continued to be angry at you afterwards.”
“I would feel disgusted if that alien did like me.”
“Isn’t Superman’s hiatus a good thing for you?” Lex inhaled sharply.
“You people don’t get it. If he’s not in the public eye, then we have no idea what that alien is planning. Why now? Out of all the times to take a break? He’s been going for six years straight, and with the gig of superhero, you don’t just stop randomly to get on a cruise to Barbados. He has a motive, and you are all too blinded by his deeds to see it! I’m trying to help you all. Just because I don’t dress around in a blue-and-red onesie with a blanket taped on my back doesn’t mean I didn’t fight for this city too.” Lex felt his eyes burn as his chest rose and fell as an attempt to get all the air he missed during his speech. “I’ve spent so much time waiting for the day I can show him that he doesn’t always get his way. Superman does not always win. And now…he’s gone.”
He’s gone.
Lex hadn’t really thought about it or said it out loud. If he couldn’t find Superman, there was a chance he could choose to never show his face again. Life is good when you’re not slaving around to please another. His stomach twisted.
Clark shifted in his seat, this time towards Lex. Too tired to move, he watched as he began to reach towards him. Instinctively, Lex lurched back, his hand meeting with the handgun in his pocket.
“I- Sorry. It’s just…you’re crying…” Lex instinctively touched his face and was met with dampness. He was crying. He had cried multiple times in prison over his embarrassing loss to Superman to the point where it was normal. He thought once he was out of Belle Reve, he wouldn’t ever cry over it again, but the alcohol in his system seemed to be welcoming that bad habit with open arms.
“Mr. Luthor… with all due respect, with the way you talk about Superman, it seems as though you… miss him.”
Lex immediately stood up, disgust filling his body, but everything spun slightly, and he lost his balance. He collided against a firm surface, and to his utter shock, it was Clark’s. The journalist had stood when he noticed that Lex was about to take a tumble. The musk from his body suffocated Lex as he scrambled to find his footing. Clark, however, grabbed a hold of his arms, steadying him.
He internally cursed Clark’s stupid observation. Him? Miss Superman? Six years ago, he dedicated his time to killing Superman. Three years ago, he met the flying menace face to face for the first time. And since then, he’s been locked in jail, plotting on what he would do the next time he was in the same room with him. He didn’t miss Superman then. He had missed the chase of Superman. He missed studying his moves, tracking down his DNA to create a clone, and watching his team beat the shit out of him. The rush and thrill of adrenaline zooming across his body at the mere sight of him.
Oh.
Well fuck.
Maybe he did miss Superman after all.
Lex pressed a hurried hand on Clark’s chest, pulling at his shirt. “Show me your nearest bathroom now unless you want me to puke all over you,” he mumbled. Without hesitating another moment, Clark removed the wine bottle from his grasp and assisted Lex to his bathroom. With the bright overhead lights and white porcelain in his face, Lex spilled the sickness out of his stomach. The once white sink was now maroon and dark green in his pupils.
The soothing warmth of Clark’s hand sliding up and down his back brought a strange sense of comfort to him. He was so warm. So warm.
Lex ran the faucet, washing away the colors in the sink before collecting water in his palms. He brought his hand to his lips, sipping the water to swish it around in his mouth.
As he finished cleaning out his mouth, he stood up and swatted Clark’s hand away, catching sight of his appearance. His eyes were puffy and slightly red from his crying earlier, water was now dripping from his chin, and the black fur decorating the cuffs of his silk black robe were now wet.
He was a mess.
“Mr. Luthor, I don’t know if you’re in a state to go home and be by yourself if you’re vomiting. I will allow you to stay here for the night.”
Lex whipped around, shaking his head.
“Preposterous! I am… fine.”
Clark’s hand found its way back on him, this time on his shoulder as he began to guide him. With the bathroom lights off, it was harder to see down the hallway he was leading him towards, but Lex allowed him.
“Clark,” he mumbled, but the words died on his tongue. His head was still spinning, and so was the room. For once, he didn’t argue back or fight. He was numb.
“It’s okay, Mr. Luthor,” the taller man whispered, his breath tickling his ear. Lex felt his face warm and the corners of his mouth curve up. “Everything will be okay.”
And somewhere deep down in Lex, he wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that, after all he lost, he could come back and make things right again. Get rid of Superman and turn things back to normal.
Until then, he’ll welcome the thin comforter around his body, the flat pillow against his head, and the deep voice that spoke nothingness as he drifted into black.
Cold.
Lex Luthor felt incredibly cold.
There was disdain, discomfort, and shame within him as he attempted to replay his behavior from the previous night.
Impulsive. That was the only word he could think of to describe what led him to Clark Kent’s house last night. It was also the only word he could think of to describe why he was lying in the snow in the middle of the Arctic.
A few hours after Lex escaped from the Kent residence, he found himself with a developing headache and a persistent brain. Lex knew he couldn’t summon Superman’s ice fortress without his DNA. However, the high possibility of him being there or around its surrounding areas was something his half-drunk brain wouldn’t let go of. Without alerting anyone to his plan, he called in his private helicopter. He wanted to face him alone.
The humming of the motor and the vibration of its spin have been a comforting sensation while he was on route. Each cloud was a welcomed sight as he sipped occasionally on a bottle of water, a minor attempt to deal with his weakened state.
Memories of his first venture to the outside came to mind. Ultraman, Eve, and Angela all had accompanied him then. His two employees were silent most of the ride while his ex-girlfriend snapped selfies and did whatever she did on her phone. Lex dared to wonder what she was up to now before quickly discarding that thought. He didn’t care. She had cheated, and therefore, she wasn’t worth thinking about.
When Lex finally arrived, he marched his way to the direct coordinates of Superman’s fortress, convincing himself that this would work. Once the numbers aligned, he stood there, in his large fur coat with matching gloves, and shouted into the icy abyss.
“I will not leave this spot until you come out of hiding, Superman!” He signed to his helicopter and it began to ascend in the air, on the way back to Metropolis– without him. “You will not try to hide from me, nor will you leave me to die!”
Now, hours later, he was lying down on his side in the snow. Sixty minutes ago, he assumed he could hear the inner workings of the hideout if he pressed his ear against the ground. When he collided with the ground, he was met with harshly cold crystals and silence. He found himself without the will to sit back up.
Taking slow, shallow breaths, Lex raised his arm slowly to his face. He eyed the wristwatch he wore, confirming that it had indeed been hours since he first arrived. At this rate, Lex was bound to get hypothermia. He already felt weak and exhausted, and the lingering alcohol in his system was actively working against him.
This was a stupid idea.
Lex could admit that to himself as his teeth chattered behind chapped lips and his fingers presented themselves in a blue-ish hue. Still, determination rested in his heart.
He willed himself to remember why the cold was nipping at his nose and why he could feel it seeping into his clothes.
Superman.
He was here for Superman. He was trying to hide for the first time in six years. Lex doubted the United States government was thrilled to hear such news. He could approach them in due time, sure that the number of meta-human complaints and Superman’s recent disappearance meant that he could win them back. They could grow to trust him again, and perhaps they could seriously research Kryptonite alongside NASA to discover how to make it in a lab.
Lex blinked, his eyes losing focus.
Why did he feel so cold?
Superman.
He sniffled, preventing snot from escaping his nose. He was growing sick. Still, Lex didn’t move, whether it was out of determination or exhaustion; it didn't matter. He would stay true to his word.
But Lex blinked again. His vision appeared crooked as the cold seemed to squeeze between his ribs. It was surrounding him on all sides.
Where was he?
Superman’s hideout.
Lex attempted to keep his mind on something else. The cost calculations on kryptonite research, alternative ideas to the dimensional portal, and anything else that could keep his mind stimulated.
But then Lex blinked for the third time. His breaths were incredibly shallow, each inhale feeling like it's last as his lungs burned for more air.
What was he waiting for?
Superman.
Lex wondered if this was how the children of Boravia felt when waiting for their favorite red-and-blue hero. Did they feel the weight of dread in their stomach, contrasting the microscopic warmth blooming in their chest? Even with little to believe in, he wondered if that comforting embrace of hope welcomed them, as it did him as he closed his eyes.
He slipped away.
Away to where there was no time.
No snow.
No cold.
But even here, in nothingness, Superman still taunted Lex. His blue blur darted around as specs in his darkness. He slipped in and out of his cerebral cortex with ease. A game, a dance, a chase. His form was formless and ever-changing. His voice was an echoey whisper surrounding him whole.
Superman thrived within the deepest part of him. There was no escape as he occupied every fold and crevice of his brain. And Lex had accepted it as so, subconsciously, for years. He knew now the only way to defeat an evil like him was to devote himself to this. To devote himself to him.
The blue blur faded into him as light grew once again.
The first thing Lex could recall was the light illuminating his eyelids, morphing his darkness into a glowing red. With fluttering eyes, he became aware of the sunrays gracing his skin. A groan slipped past his lips as he shifted, blinking once, twice, thrice.
The shapes and shadows became clearer and familiar each time, and soon, he knew where he was. Home.
His ceiling-height windows were letting in the light from the setting sun, which was mixing hues of orange with each second that passed in the sky.
With his comforter flush against his body, Lex ran his hands over his face. If he thought he knew what a headache was before, he was wrong. His skull throbbed intensely against his skull, each time more painful than the next. If that wasn’t enough, his entire body ached with each movement.
Through all his pain, Lex could only think of one question. How did he get back to Metropolis?
The sound of footsteps faintly echoed in the hallway, making Lex shift in bed to sit up regardless of the pain that shot up his nerves. His eyes fixated on the door as they approached closer.
Lex knew who stood on the other side. Heart thumping in his chest, he bit his lip in anticipation of the flying devil.
As expected, a man appeared at the entrance of his bedroom, and Lex let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Oh, good, you’re up. I hope you don’t mind. Your, uh, friend let me in.”
That, however, was not the man Lex was expecting. It was Clark Kent.
“How,” Lex started, but it came out as a raspy squeak. He coughed in the pocket of his arm to clear his throat before continuing. “How did I get back here?”
And with the look etched onto Clark’s face, his assumption was confirmed: Superman did save him.
“Superman, he had asked me to make sure you were okay. Said you might have hypothermia?” He definitely did have hypothermia, but now the air against his skin was incredibly warm, eliminating any lingering coldest. Even Clark seemed to be feeling it too, the sleeves of his work shirt rolled up to his elbows. Poor thing.
Mr. Handsome entered the bedroom behind Clark, holding a mug in his hands. Clark must have been referencing him when he said a ‘friend’ let him in. Lex muttered his thanks as he took the offered cup, the soothing aroma hitting his nose.
“What…is that?”
“Earl Grey.”
“Oh. I meant-”
“I know what you meant. His name is Mr. Handsome.” It was clear that he was expecting more, but Lex refused to give. He instead sipped carefully at the cup, the liquid warming his stomach and body.
As he started into the mug, Lex noticed that he was no longer in his fur coat or the suit he wore underneath it. Instead, he was clothed in his long-sleeve green silk pajama set. He looked back at Clark, who seemed to already read his mind.
“I think Mr. Handsome changed you into those clothes.” Lex only hummed and took another sip before settling his full focus on Clark.
“I thought you said your relationship with Superman was strictly professional.”
“It is.”
“Professional enough to ask for favors while on hiatus? Did he text you on a secret phone, or did he fly to collect you? Why are you so willing to help him, and where did he go after bringing me here?”
Clark didn’t answer.
Lex took another sip.
“You may leave, Mr. Kent. You’ve completed whatever task Superman has given you, and it’s clear that you do not wish to answer the simple questions I have posed to you.”
The other man fiddled with his glasses, not moving from the spot by the doorway. With his shoulders hunched and his slightly pursed lips, Clark looked like a lost puppy. How did he ever make it this far in life? Lex sighed, rubbing his fingers into the smoothness of his scalp.
“I do not have the patience, Mr. Kent. Leave on your own accord, or I will have Mr. Handsome escort you out.” Clark let go of his glasses and gave him a curt nod.
“Right. I apologize. I, uh, I’ll leave my phone number on the kitchen counter in case you need something else. Please do take care of yourself, Lex.”
Lex stared at him before shooing him out. He was exactly the type of guy Superman would prey on. Meek and needlessly caring, too insecure to feel confident in his body, but friendly enough to hide it from others. He was an interesting case, but Lex no longer wanted to be in the presence of others, especially when he was feeling incredibly ill.
Once his tea was half empty and Mr. Handsome confirmed that Clark had left, Lex got comfortable in bed again.
While things did not go according to plan, Lex could now confirm that Clark was an important variable in his search for Superman. If he wanted the alien, he would have to keep an eye on the journalist’s daily routine. He made a mental note to add Clark Kent to his own personal surveillance duties. He didn’t need to alert his team until he had true evidence to back up his claims.
As he fluffed his pillow, his mind wandered to the intensity of Clark’s eyes that watched him behind their frames. What secrets did they hide? Lex was determined to find out.
In the other room, the piece of paper that held the eight digits of Clark’s cellphone sat on the kitchen counter, basking in the fading rays of the sun. It only took fourteen hours until Lex input the numbers in his own device and pressed ‘call.’