Setting: Probably twenty years past sv, and somewhere amid the sm timeline

~||x||~

He brushed the wetness from of his eyes and stood letting the chair creak behind him. Luthor's didn't cry, he reminded himself with a laugh. The sound was empty and hollow echoing around the room like a something choking and rasping inside a paper bag long tied shut. Throwing the rumpled paper into the trashcan by his desk he strode away from his office. He'd find something warm, dark and sharp. Something to chase away the demons because they still whispered in his ear, the words the ink stains on his fingers had written;

Dear Clark,

It's been ages.
Do you think of me?
After all that's happened, I think not.
Too many wars between us now.

I dream of you.
Last night, standing in a field of gold under a sky of perfect blue.
The way you were all those years ago, guileless, naive and untouched.

Sometimes it's different. But it's always the same.

I dream of you...