Clark Kent rolls out of bed and stretches out his aching muscles. The women and alcohol every night was fine for his public appearance, but not for his health. Especially when he passes out with a deadweight of a woman on his arm. She had passed out before anything happened last night, which was perfectly fine with him. To save her dignity, she would describe in made-up detail an 'amazing night with Clark Kent' and then when nobody asks anymore she'll forget, or proposition him for another night of nothing, he didn't know, and didn't care. He didn't sleep with women that he was later attempt to forget. Eidetic memories could suck, especially when he didn't want to remember a woman that did nothing for him, arousal wise or other. She was beautiful; tall, curves that could kill, long luxurious blonde hair, and a nice face that was unfortunately for her, covered in the worst fake spray tan Clark had ever encountered. And that was saying something since he had lunches and parties with a lot of celebrities that did those sorts of things. She said her name was Dixie, a short background check with her fingers prints said her real name was Beatrice Lansing, a girl from some tourist trap in Florida that came to Gotham to have fun with her friends in a really big city, and to see if she could bed the richest bachelor in the United States, and possibly the world. She had made an admirable attempt, but you won't get very far in seduction if you can't hold your liquor.

Clark writes a quick note to her before getting out of bed and going into the bathroom for a morning shower. It was quick of course, since he didn't want the girl to wake up and think it was an invitation to join him. He put on his clothes from last night that were slightly wrinkled but by the time he straightened them out he looked pristine and new, just like anyone in his position would while doing the 'walk of shame'. He never brought women to his mansion or hotel room, he always got them to invite him, whether it be lying about renovation or something like that, he would find ways to get out of them seeing where he lived, or mainly how to get in.

Once Clark was on the street people would gasp and try to take a few pictures, but he didn't stop to talk as he got into his Mercedes and drove to his mansion. He would be getting ready to head to Metropolis today, probably to get to an endless week of business talk, girls trying to hook up with him, and his parents constantly checking in on him to see how things were going. He would say 'great, as always' before discussing minor details or something before hanging up without so much as a 'goodbye, we love you and we know you're doing great'. It was more of a 'don't screw up on the weekend that we're actually letting you out of Gotham' kind of goodbye. The one without meaning or any affection. Affection was for the poor, the rich, had to keep up appearances now that their son was getting old enough to inherit. He was 17, it wasn't like he had a lot that he could do. Sure, his parents allowed him to drink and none of the bartenders cared because they knew the Kents taught their children to hold liquor at 12 years old and younger. He had been able to identify a good bourbon by taste at 7 thanks to his dad, and how to make a good martini when he was 10, courtesy of his mother that claimed that servants couldn't do it right.

Clark's grip on the steering wheel became so strong that he almost bent the wheel before cooling himself down. It was fine, he just grew up when he was young, it wasn't like he had needed a childhood anyway. Childhood was for friends that lied about staying by your side until you died, it was for fun, getting dirty, not caring about rules or appearances, he couldn't have any of that when he was the heir to a multi-billion, almost trillion company that was making extreme headway in the fields of weapons technology, and the like. He had to be perfect in everything he did, top of his class, won every award, never got into trouble, and whatever else his parents decided for him. He had had no choice in anything, once he turned 16 he at least got to pick out what 'super-car' he could have and what girls he could 'sleep with' every night. The 'super-cars' didn't give him any adrenaline rush when they went fast and the girls didn't arouse him like they should. No matter how hard they liked to try. He wanted someone that would talk back, not take his shit, love him, someone that could bust down his walls with a single look. Not someone that when he told them to jump, they would say 'how high'. He was sick of it, but he couldn't get out of it. It was his life.

Clark pulled up to the gate and tossed the keys to the valet. The worker would then bring his car into the underground 145,000 square feet parking garage housing some of the most expensive luxury cars in the world. That was connected to a 400,000 square foot mansion that while it cost millions to build, was just a small amount taken from one of the Kent's bank accounts. Over 20 bedrooms, 15 specialty rooms, another 15 full bathrooms, and more, the house was a construction marvel that was started when Clark's grandparents were children and only got done a few years ago. It was extravagant, totally unneeded, and only a way to show off the money that the Kents had had since their descendants were practically royalty in the eyes of almost every single empire for as long as Clark could comprehend. Portraits were hung all around the house by the best artists of that ancestors generation, all brought in from mansions and castles around the world to be in this humongous palace that would make Bill Gates shiver with envy. They were the richest people in the world, with all of their bank accounts combined being almost 1 trillion dollars. They would entertain people from all over the world, paying for their ticket for them because it was like as soon as they spent any money their company made that but 20 times over. It felt like they never actually lost money, and it was a little ridiculous, especially because they just kept making it.

Clark threw open the engraved metal 20 food doors of the mansion and immediately went up the stairs to the second level, and to his bedroom. It was the largest, except for his parents' room and he tried to tell them he didn't need it but they thought he was being modest so they made him move into it and demanded that he didn't complain since they claimed that he should accept anything that people tell him to. He was confused by that, but he decided not to mention it again.

He immediately took out his suitcase and started packing for the five day trip in Metropolis. He told the servants to inform his parents that he would be leaving that afternoon to get there early, and that they could expect him gone by lunch, especially since it as only 8:00 in the morning. After he was done packing he changed his clothes, because until they he had forgotten about the day old clothes. Unfortunately, as he finished changing his clothes his parents came into his room. "Have you seen this?" His mother throws a newspaper at him and he easily catches it so he doesn't get hit in the face.

Once he opens it, he realizes it wasn't a newspaper, it was a tabloid. It was a picture of him dancing with Beatrice at a club that doesn't require you to be 21 to get into. "'Billionaire Son Gets His Party On'," Clark looks up to his parents after reading it, "I don't see the problem here."

"You were supposed to be looking over the deals for this week! What were you doing out partying!" His father demands.

Clark scoffs, "seriously? One minute it's 'Clark you work too hard, go party' and now it's 'Clark you party too hard, go work' how about you two make up your damn minds already. Do you want me to work or keep up my playboy appearances?"

His father stalks over to him and stands in his face, "you will do as we say, when we say it, you ungrateful little shit. We took you in off the street and made you an heir to a company that is about to be worth trillions with the acceptance of this deal, so you better not screw it up."

Clark straightens to his full height so he was much taller than his dad, "what are you going to do if I do, Jonathan? Are you going to disown me and risk a scandal? Wipe my memory of all these infidelities with that new little gadget you've had Lucius Fox work on like a dog day in and day out? Or are you just going to hire some private contractor to kill me and make it look like an accident just so you can choose some other sorry kid to train and groom to be your perfect little minion that will marry some business partner's daughter just to be killed later anyway? Or is it none of the above, and you're just going to-." He was cut off by his father slapping him, of course to keep up appearances Clark jerks his head like his father had hit him.

Jonathan stood there, looking proud of himself as Clark brings his hand up to his cheek like he was hurting. It wasn't like he could strike back because a) he was his father and b) he'd probably kill him. "Maybe now you'll know your place a little bit better, Clark." His father wraps his arm around his mom's shoulders and the two saunter out of Clark's room.

Clark growls under his breath, "I wish you hadn't found me."

After another 20 minutes he was finished packing and put his bags outside his rooms so a servant could take them to the helicopter on the roof. Clark looked over the banister to see his parents welcoming a group of reporters into the house, and he made the mistake of getting seen by one of them. She looks back at the older Kents who were busy with the others and she ran up the stairs. "Clark Kent!" She exclaims happily, "I'm Lana Lang, a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis, I was hoping to get a small interview about what you're planning to do in Metropolis."

Clark rolls his eyes, "I have to leave for Metropolis right now," he looked down at her and she looked so hopeful. Clark sighed, "can you write and talk?"

Lana smiled brilliantly, "I would record it of course," she brought out her recorder. "Ok, whenever you're ready."

Clark turns and walks towards the helipad, but to be nice he took the long way. "Ok, my parents are sending me to Metropolis to make a deal with a company that has been floundering lately. We've seen the reports and we suspect that we'll be able to help them. It'll bring in more money for us, keep the building open, and keep the people in work."

Lana stares up at him weirdly, "your parents don't usually care about keeping people in work, as long as they get more money. Have your parents had a change of heart about their business endeavors? Or at least how they get their money?"

Clark shakes his head, "no, they think I'm going to Metropolis to take over the building, fire everyone, and pave the way for a new strip mall that would bring in more cash than the current business but with how their stocks have been sold and how much they were worth I can get more money from that than the strip mall. And if I could ask a favor, don't run this story until I get to Metropolis and have stayed for a few days."

Lana raised an eyebrow, "may I ask why?"

Clark lets out a huff of air and gives her his best billionaire smile. "Because if my bosses figure out what I'm doing before I've done it, there goes the deal. They can't back out on a deal 'they' have already agreed to."

Lana nods, "ok, that makes sense. So what are your other plans for Metropolis? I'm sure the women of the town are very excited to meet you."

Clark scoffs, "I'm sure, but I'm only 17 Ms. Lang, if most of them want any chance at getting at me they'll have to wait until I'm legal." He glances at her and sees her eyes are wide, "did I say something wrong?"

She shook her head rapidly, "n-no of course not, but most people think you're at least in your mid-twenties, maybe even early 30s, nobody has ever expected you to be this young, let along this successful at such a youthful age. On average, you-."

"Yes I know, if I was an average teenager with an average upbringing I would still be in high school. But I wasn't, I was groomed to do this ever since I came from my mother's womb. It's in my blood, and I've taken tests for my intelligence, it's highly above anyone my age in the remote area. I would've graduated if I didn't have tutors." The teenage businessman stopped in front of the staircase that led to the helipad. "Now, if you excuse me Ms. Lang, I must be getting to my helicopter." He turned once more and made his way up the staircase as the reporter left to try and find the group again, Clark guessed a servant would find her wandering the halls later tonight.

After a short ride to Metropolis, which Clark spent checking over his plans for the meetings that were going to be starting in a few days, he checked into his expensive hotel and stared out at the Metropolis cityscape. It was a beautiful town, brighter and more hopeful looking than Gotham could ever be. Gotham's skyscrapers seemed to be fighting each other for space, most of them being owned by his family, while Metropolis buildings went straight up with shining glass and beautiful architecture that showed off newly painted walls. Gotham's windows were all tinted and dirty while this city seemed to shine, Clark sighed in content as he watched all of the people. Unfortunately for him, that content ended when his phone started to ring. "Kent," he huffs into the phone.

"Clark, how have you been?" The unmistakable voice of Lex Luthor.

The younger man rolls his eyes, "Lex, to what do I owe the displeasure?"

Lex laughs on the other end, "now that's no way to answer your best friend, but anyway, you'll never guess who I met last night while in Smallville."

Clark starts pacing the floor, "would I really care?"

"I think you would, since he's the one person that rivals your nearly perfect intelligence scores."

Clark raises an eyebrow even though his counterpart couldn't see him, "who?"

Lex laughs again on the other end, "you didn't think you were the smartest person in the area did you? One Bruce Wayne, a kid with an eidetic memory that scored higher than you in every test. Apparently he's a genius that graduated at 16. Remember the Wayne Farm we tried to buy from under each other?"

Clark remembers, LexCorp was trying to buy it to make another shopping center in Smallville, Kent Enterprises was trying to buy it to increase the crop production by firing the owner and industrializing everything. The owner refused, and on top of that removed all of the produce sales to the company so now they had to buy from some other farm that was worse. Clark had heard his parents arguing about it a lot. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"It should, he's the owner since both of his parents were killed. Apparently he's been running the place since he was like 10."

Clark laughs, "you do realize that's impossible right, a kid can't do that."

Lex snorts, "that's what I thought, turns out his guardian was named one John Grayson, an acrobat for the local circus that performs every other Saturday and he claimed responsibility for the farm. I've got guys in Smallville telling me they've never seen that man out there working once, it was always a young kid. Guess he did a pretty damn good job since it's still running."

"And you saw this brilliant farmer last night?" Clark sets his hands on his hip.

"Yeah I didn't talk to him though, he and his friend yelled at me and flipped me off before jumping into his truck and doing a couple doughnuts in the parking lot. Then they just sped away." (Lex doesn't want to admit he's a horrible driver)

Clark clicks his tongue, "right, I'm sure. And it wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you are most likely a bad driver and could've almost hit them?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, "I have to go Clark."

"Don't hit any school children." Clark remarks as he hangs up and tosses his phone onto the bed. He still had a few hours to kill before his first round of meetings so he grabbed his coat and his room key, leaving his phone on the bed since anyone that would call would be unimportant.

Once he got onto the street, he realized there was also a different air to the city. In Gotham, it felt like you were suffocating on heavy smog and cigarette smoke, but here, he could take in a deep breath without coughing. It was odd, feeling so at ease as he walked along a street. He wasn't worried about muggers -even though he never had to anyway- and the people would sometimes smile at him as they walked.

It was about an hour later once again and Clark walked into a pub a couple miles from his hotel. He ordered a water and sat watching the people either walk by or the people sitting near him. Another thing that was nice about Metropolis was that people didn't immediately recognize him from a mile away. They had their own celebrities and wouldn't catch on to him right away. "Anything else for you Mr. Kent?" The waiter asks as he comes back.

Clark shakes his head, "no thank you, please send the bill to my hotel."

The waiter nods, "no problem, stay as long as you like and just call me back if you need anything. If you don't, have a nice day." He winks at Clark before setting down a napkin with his number on it, causing Clark to chuckle and tuck it into his pocket. The waiter was cute, and more of his type than any woman he had ever been with in the last year alone.

Clark stayed in the pud for another half hour before getting up, waving goodbye to the cute waiter, and making his way back to the hotel. Or at least attempting to, because he was halted in his efforts by running into a man as he walked down the front steps of a house, knocking him and the stranger over. "That's gonna leave a bruise in the morning." The other man groans, but at the slight fluctuating pitch, Clark guessed he was a teenager not that far away in age from himself.

"Thanks Captain Obvious, I was aware from the throbbing in my ass." Clark retorts, even though any pain he felt, if any, faded already.

Instead of getting mad at his sarcastic reply, he actually laughs. "I guess you're right. But I am sorry for knocking you on said ass, I should've watched where I was going." He declared as he stood up and dusted himself off.

Clark took a moment to assess the man in front of him before raising an eyebrow in interest. Aside from the horrible flannel he was wearing, the man was not bad looking at all. With a thick build, a deep and broad chest, strong shoulders, and from the tight fit of his shirt and stretch of his jeans; he had to be ripped. Clark licked his lips for a minute before the man turned to him and fixed him with a dark blue eyed stare. "Are you alright? Aside from the eventual bruising of your derriere?"

Clark couldn't help it and let out a laugh, "uh yeah, I'm alright. Though I haven't heard someone use that word in a very long time."

The kind stranger shrugs and offers him a bright, white-toothed smile as he extended his hand to help Clark up. The other takes it and notices how strong and calloused the grip is before he's yanked up, almost running into the flannel-clad teen. "Wow, wasn't expecting that strength, though I probably should have. Judging from the flannel and shit covered boots, you must be a farmer?"

The man looks down at his boots and inspects them, "damn I thought I chose my boots with the least amount of poop," he looks up with a smirk, "gotta dress up for the city. Though judging by your appearance, I'd say my dressing up would be your dressing down."

Clark suddenly felt self conscious for a moment, underneath his black trench coat he wore a dark blue suit that most likely had a very expensive logo somewhere, giving away that he was very very rich. Promptly realizing that with this complete stranger, he didn't feel comfortable in a tailor made suit like he usually did. He felt like he was flaunting and showing off, even being rude rather than living in the life his parents raised him in. "Uh yeah, what gave it away?"

"I'd say the fancy tux that probably costs more than my entire house." The country teen stated as he looked him up and down. "Though I have to say, you seem quite comfortable in it."

Clark gasps, "I'll have you know this is a suit not a tux! Tuxes are reserved exclusively for good looking dates, red carpets, and movie premiers. Suits are just to look fancier than the average person."

His companion holds up his hands, "my apologies your royal highness, I was not aware the business of clothes was the one you dealt in."

Clark was about to retort that his family owned several clothing chains but snapped his mouth shut so he didn't seem like he was bragging. The stranger stares at him for a minute for his silence before shrugging and bending to pick up the empty crate he had dropped. "Well your highness, it was lovely to meet you but I unfortunately have several more deliveries to make. Not all of us can afford to know the difference between a tux and suit. And I don't need to have my unbruised ass Cinderella-ed into knowing it. I'm perfectly fine with my idea of expensive being boots that cost more than $50."

That was the horrible moment that Clark's eyes caught on the crate the man was holding. Wayne Farming and Livestock, in big bold letters. The 'delivery boy' sees Clark's shock and looks down at the crate before scratching his neck. "Ah, so you must know about the family business, huh?"

Clark's eyes widen even more and looks back up at the stranger, his mind flashing to a man older than him, smiling kindly at Clark. "Well hello there, you must be Clark. I'm a friend of your father's, would you mind telling him I'm here?" The eyes, hair, and build were all the same, just this man had less grey, less smile lines, and a little more muscle that wasn't withering with age. "You're Bruce Wayne?"

He nods with a sheepish laugh, "uh yeah, it's not that big of deal of course, it's not like I'm a rich guy like you."

Clark waited a moment before letting out a sigh of relief and letting his eyes go back to normal size, Bruce didn't realize who he was. He could preserve this semi-friendship for at least a little longer. "So what are you doing here in Metropolis, Bruce?"

Bruce shakes his head, "now wait a minute, if we're going to continue, shouldn't I know your name?"

His heart hammered for a moment, what was he supposed to say? Hi my name is Clark Kent and my family tried to destroy your farm and I just sat back and watched, do you still wanna be nice to me? That would a) make him seem like an idiot and b) make him lose his chance at a probably really good friend. (Don't build friendships on lies, don't be Clark) "Uh my name is…Kal, m-my name is Kal."

Bruce cocks an eyebrow, "you sound a little unsure about that."

Clark shakes his head, "no no, I'm sure. That is my parent-given name."

Bruce shakes his head and laughs, "you're an odd character Kal."

Clark hits him in the shoulder. "So since you know my name, what are you doing here?"

Bruce sets the crate in the back of his truck, "well the main reason was my best friend dragged me here. But my ulterior motive was making some deliveries of my produce. I have a lot of business in Metropolis, I just don't tell my friends because he's always so happy to bring me here and think that he's the first one to show me all of these fancy neighborhoods and houses when I've seen them a dozen times from my deliveries. He's a little ridiculous, but he loves coming here and partying since Smallville isn't much in the party department, unless you count the backwoods bonfires that high schoolers throw but we never really went to that because I wasn't very popular and Dick didn't want to do anything besides gymnastics and everyone made fun of him for it even though he could kick everyone's ass, so we weren't invited much. We were picked on sometimes though in middle school so we stuck together, and then we both grew up to be bigger than the jocks that bullied us so they moved onto smaller prey that didn't work on a farm 24/7 or do a sport as their actual livelihood. Wow I've been talking for a really long time now I think I'll shut up now." Bruce talked really fast, but Clark was glad that his hearing and comprehension were above average, otherwise he might not have caught all of that.

Clark chuckles, "it's alright. It was kind of cute." His eyes widen again, why did I just say that he screamed in his head.

Bruce's eyes widen as well and he ducks his head in a blush. "O-oh, uh thanks you. I-I mean th-thank you! God I d-don't know what's wrong with me, he he, sorry."

Clark's eyes go back to normal and he smiles softly, "would you like to have dinner with me? It's getting kind of late and I haven't eaten a whole lot today."

Bruce whips his head back around before shaking his hands, "no no, thank you for the offer but I-I have to go and see my…my…my-."

"Your friend?" Clark finishes for him as his smile stretches to a grin, "you know, if your friend was really that important, wouldn't you remember the name of that friend?"

The other man blushes even harder, "yeah uh…I guess not."