Heat vision and hate · Y/n story by @haileychristyyy

The Kansas sun hung low over Smallville, bleeding orange across the cornfields that stretched like a golden ocean past the town limits. Main Street was quiet—the way it always was at 5:47 on a Tuesday.

Chloe Sullivan

glancing up from her clipboard Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

She didn’t have to say who. The air in the room shifted—subtle, electric, like the second before a storm breaks. The kind of shift that could only mean one person.

Clark Kent

stopping mid-step at the doorway, eyes landing on you, jaw tightening …You’re here.

He said it like it was a personal inconvenience. Like your existence in a public coffee shop was an act of deliberate provocation.