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Clark squinted at the sun above as he entered the topmost floor of the Wayne Tower.
It wasn't overcast in Gotham for once. Spring had taken over Metropolis with its sunny disposition and blossoms, but Gotham, all too characteristically, seemed to still surround itself with its rains and smog almost every single week.
Alfred was nowhere to be seen among the gothic columns and corridors. The two evidence of life there seemed to be the plated blueberries and a white spray paint diagram that refused to dissolve by any of the butler's cleaning methods (Alfred rants of this frequently).
Well, maybe it was a wrong day to come after all. But he couldn’t just say no to ma when she handed him the basket, filled to the brim with her special recipe apple pie.
“Oh, Mr. Kent!” Dory's voice boomed in the usually quiet commons area. “Are you looking for master Bruce by any chance?”
When he turned, he's met with the brightest smile anyone living in a gothic lair could ever give. Bless her soul, honestly. She lit up the whole place.
“I'm afraid so, but I can just come back later though,” He smiled politely.
“Well,” She glanced at her wristwatch “He should be at the orphanage right now, and for the next two hours, it seems.”
“The orphanage?”
“Oh, silly me! It's better known as the Wayne Manor, although it doesn't function as one anymore. You see, he renovated the place after that Renewal Project fiasco. Poor Riddler must've scared him half to death if another child would become like that.”
Clark nodded, not quite following. They've never really discussed on that. The unspoken code between them goes: what happened two years ago, happened two years go.
“I can call you a cab there right this minute,” Dory continued with enthusiasm, her eyes crinkled with a genial smile.
He couldn't say no now, could he?
What met him at the orphanage was a surprise.
Well, that's an understatement. Let's say he almost fainted and died the instant he saw Bruce.
Dark sunglasses sat atop Bruce's face, but Clark still saw the way his eyes focused on him. He raised a hand at Clark, inviting the curious gazes of the children around.
The afternoon sun struck on Bruce warmly, along with the group of children on the playground, some playing with their friends while others laced around on the grass. A small boy sat on his shoulder, all too satisfied with having the prince of Gotham piggyback him as he talked to his friends. Bruce held himself with a less pronounced hunch as if the place had given him a long-needed breathing space.
It's beyond Clark's foresight to have seen this Bruce coming, this complete opposite of the maniac who (for lack of a better word) used to assault petty criminals on the streets years ago. Clark had had to write that particular headline for the Daily Planet himself—he hated himself for a while after that, but Bruce just chuckled at the article and added it to his favorites tab on his browser.
“Dory sent you here?” Asked Bruce, bending to let the boy on his shoulders down.
Clark snapped out of his reverie.
“Um—yeah.”
“Who're you?” A girl pointed to Clark, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Her other hand held a toy firetruck.
“He's my friend, Emm. You can call him Clark.” Bruce answered. “He's a reporter, you ever met a reporter?”
She shook her head, big dark eyes stared up at him.
“Pie?” She glanced to the basket in his hand after a whiff, which made Bruce let out a chuckle.
“So that's why Dory sent you here. You know your mom gotta stop baking this much for us to finish any of the batch she sent us.”
“It's a tendency, far too late to stop her now though,” Clark scratched the back of his neck.
“I'll get it to the kitchen so they can plate it.”
Clark handed him the basket. As Bruce left, Clark felt all eyes on him.
The questions came and went in a frenzy: why are you so big? do you like being a reporter? are your glasses legit? A myriad of others were asked, but what stood out the most are you and Bruce together?
“As in dating?” Clark asked, a touch alarmed. “Oh, no no. We’re just friends.”
The little girl who asked tilted her head, unconvinced.
“How about a break?” Bruce called as he walked out to the yard, to which the kids promptly invested all their energy into getting a plate of ma's apple pie. Needless to say they cleared out almost instantly.
“You got some time?” Asked Bruce, seemingly nonchalant despite his heart rate spiking up in Clark’s ears.
“Sure, I don’t have plans today. You wanna go investigate something?”
Bruce’s cheeks colored a faint red as a crease appeared between his eyebrows. He glanced away in his signature uneasy fashion.
“No. I mean, you wanna go for a ride?”
Clark lit up at that. He must’ve been smiling like an idiot before he caught himself and nodded.
Without a word, Bruce grabbed Clark’s arm and led him to the Honda CB parked at the back.
They sped off. Suburban homes slowly but steadily gave in to the urbanity of a crowded city. The wind lapped on Clark as he watched the varying roadsides.
He found Bruce’s back to be quite fixating. The draft blew the black t-shirt against his friend’s lean torso. He’d always been smaller than Clark, which couldn’t be helped when Clark just always had been comically big. In a way, Bruce was the most free here, relaxed in a way that was such a rarity. A far cry from his twitchy exchanges in socialite lobbyings.
Lois once told him that a cat will keep its eyes off you once it trusts you. That was the warm feeling in his gut, he supposed.
Bruce brought him to a Kebab stall. It was only the two of them and the seller on that almost empty block, who greeted Bruce with a nod and never spoke a single word. Bruce always had a way of finding uninhabited places in an overcrowded city, Clark came to conclude.
“Eat any faster and I’d think they aren’t paying you enough,” Bruce frowned from his spot on the pavement, where he was leaning against the door of a closed storefront.
“Sorry, it’s just—really good,” Clark sighed delightedly, crinkling the wrappers and throwing it in the trash.
“I didn’t know you were coming today.” Bruce glanced at him, steel-blue eyes in all its glory under the street lights, now that the sunglasses were tucked to his t-shirt collar. “If I knew I would’ve warned them against asking so much.”
“Oh, it’s fine. They’re kids after all.”
“I know you take it all well, but some days you just aren’t up for it.”
“Thanks, B. It’s fine, really.” Clark smiled. “But being out here with me, isn’t that gonna cause problems for you?”
“Bruce Wayne spotted with Daily Planet reporter? They'd put anything on the goddamn news nowadays.”
“The press is eating you alive as is. My office practically has a bet for when you’d appear at an event.”
“Maybe you could mess with them if I ping you on the ones I’m joining,” Bruce huffed sardonically.
“You know I won’t do that.”
Bruce glanced to him, almost meeting his eyes a bit too meaningfully, as if Clark managed to surprise him.
Bruce settled on a scoff.
“You really are a boy scout, Clark.”
“I wasn’t even one, stop calling me that.”
“It was Miss Lane who started this trend in your office, no?”
Clark shrugged. He wanted to wipe the grin out of Bruce’s face, he really did. But the expression was just too sincere. To make it short-lived would be a shame.
“Now, I didn't think I'd get to see that in this life,” When Bruce's smile immediately disappeared, Clark widened his eyes “No, don't stop! When'll I get to see that again?”
Bruce was confused, truly confused. He even glanced around to catch what he'd missed.
“You were smiling, B.” Clark said.
What answered him first was a blink. “You sound like Alfred.”
“Well, it might escapes you. But people do look great when they're happy.”
“Are we friends?” Bruce asked timidly.
“Course.”
“I don't think 'friends' typically do what you do, Clark.”
“You were listening?”
Bruce nodded.
“What would you like us to be, then?” Asked Clark.
“Anything.” Bruce shrugged, eyes darting everywhere but at him. He mentally grasped for words when Clark just stood there without saying anything. ”God, alright. I hated how your goddamn savior complex interfered with every single thing at first. But once you calmed down,” he gestured vaguely to Clark “you're nice to be around. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I like being around you.”
“You have no idea how cute you sound right now,”
“I'm not—“ Bruce frowned as he crossed his arms, reprocessing Clark's words. “I'm not cute, Clark. The fuck,”
“Right, sorry. I like being around you too.”
When Bruce eyes widened, Clark could just cry. Bruce looked like no one had ever said that to him before, and how could this so-called darling of Gotham be so unloved in his own city?
Bruce flushed the brightest red he'd ever seen. He was already so pale that a slight one might've made him look flustered, now this one just rendered him a tomato.
“I thought you worked on your self control,” Clark teased, smirking.
“Oh, shut up.” Bruce turned his face away, although he still glared at Clark after a beat.
He pulled Bruce into a hug and the man shoved at his arms playfully.
Bruce's heart pounded like he just ran a mile. It's all worth it if Clark got a smoke grenade or two thrown at him after this.