"Stop!" Helena shouted as the Joker's body plummeted to the ground.

The hiss of a grappling hook firing echoed in the night, followed by the snap of a taut line. Batman's silhouette appeared at the edge of my vision, his cape flaring as he caught the Joker mid-fall. The bastard dangled for a second, flailing like a broken marionette, before Batman reeled him back.

My chest heaved, my breath uneven, and for a moment, I just stood there, staring. The world around me blurred, sound flattening into a dull hum as the heat behind my eyes began to fade.

Batman dropped the Joker in a heap, his bloodied face still twisted into that unbearable grin.

"Thanks for the assist, Batsy." He wheezed. "Truly. I was worried the curtain might fall too soon."

"What the fuck are you doing?" I said hoarsely.

Batman turned to me, calm as ever. "Stopping you from crossing a line you can't come back from."

I barked out a bitter laugh. "You think this is about me? About my fucking 'line'?" My fists curled tighter at my sides. "Look at him! He doesn't deserve another breath. Not after everything he's done."

Helena's boots crunched against the gravel as she stepped closer, crouching beside the Joker. "You might've left a mark on me, but it's nothing compared to what Arkham's gonna leave on you, asshole."

The Joker coughed, spitting out blood. "Arkham?" he croaked. "That's my playground, sweetheart. They patch me up, I come back sharper. Maybe next time I'll finish that little smile of yours?" He tilted his head. "I'll carve it so deep, so wide, it'll never fade. Maybe I'll play a little longer. Just to hear that perfect little scream again."

Helena's breath hitched audibly behind me.

"And you..." The Joker's bloodshot eyes locked onto mine. "This doesn't end here, sunshine. The Narrows..." He coughed again. "They kicked me around, beat me down, treated me like dirt." He stared past me as if seeing something only he could. "Now I'll repay the favor. Every alley will scream. Every street will run with gas, every corner will smile back at you with faces I've made perfect. The scum, the rats, this whole city will die laughing." He leaned forward. "I'll laugh so loud, your mommy will hear me from wherever her broken body is rotting. And if I'm lucky..." He paused, his grin stretching wider. "Maybe I'll find her next. Give her the encore she deserves."

Something broke loose inside me.

I didn't even feel my body move, it just... happened. One moment I was frozen in rage, and the next, my hand was around his throat, hauling him to his knees.

There was a sharp crack, before my fist came down like a freight train.

It connected with a wet, crunching explosion, bone and flesh collapsing under sheer, unrestrained force. His skull shattered violently, the rooftop cratering beneath him as his body crumpled like a discarded ragdoll. Blood and viscera erupted in every direction, painting the ground in dark, crimson streaks. His body hit the ground like dead weight, the faint gurgle in his throat the only sound left. I stood over him, knuckles smeared with gore.

Helena screamed my name, and Batman's hand closed around my wrist, pulling with all the strength he could muster. But it didn't matter. Moving me without my say-so was impossible. His effort was futile, and I barely registered it. "Clark!" His voice bounced off me, distant and muffled.

I flexed my fingers. The Joker's face was unrecognizable, blood pooling beneath him. His obnoxious grin was gone, replaced by the crater I'd punched into his face. My gloves were covered in blood. His blood. I couldn't stand the sight of what was left of him, but every time I blinked, it was there.

"Clark," Helena tried again. "Look at me."

I didn't move. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the gory mess I'd made. The fire in my chest burned out, and all that was left was something cold. Not regret, not relief. Just... nothing. Like it wasn't even my body that had done this.

"This wasn't the way." Batman's shadow fell over both of us. I turned to meet his calculating gaze. "What happens next time?" he said. "When someone else crosses your line? When you decide the world's better off without them? Where does it stop?"

His words didn't sting. They didn't even make me flinch. They just... landed. Like stones dropping into an endless well. My fists unclenched slowly, the tension bleeding out of my hands.

"It stops here," I said quietly.

Helena's hand brushed briefly against my arm before pulling back. When I glanced at her, her face was unreadable. She looked down at the Joker's body. "If you believe that," she murmured, "I hope you're right. For your own sake."

I didn't respond immediately. My gaze drifted back to the ruined body on the rooftop. The sight burned into me, every shattered inch of it. This couldn't stay here. Not like this.

"Leave," I said. "I'll take care of the body."

Batman's head snapped toward me. "That's not your call. We bring him in."

"No," I said firmly, meeting his gaze. "I'll handle it."

"We don't cover up killings, Clark. That's not justice."

I didn't argue. I didn't have to. Before he could stop me, I grabbed the Joker's broken body and shot across the rooftops in a blur. His weight was nothing in my arms, but the gravity of what I carried pressed into me like lead.

I didn't stop until I was several rooftops away, the city below stretching out in endless lights. The Joker's body hung limp in my grip. This wasn't just about erasing him. It was about erasing what I'd let myself become, even for a moment. No reminders. No evidence. No legacy of him, or of this.

I set him down carefully, and stepped back. My heat vision flared to life, the part of me that always felt more monster than man. The smell of burning flesh hit me instantly, turning my stomach. My jaw clenched as I pushed through the nausea, the beams cutting deeper until there was nothing left but ash. My chest tightened as I sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled hard, the force scattering the remains into the night breeze.

Gone. Completely.

Something caught my eye. Ice flakes littered the rooftop, glinting in the moonlight. They hadn't been there before. It wasn't nearly cold enough for snow. Had I... My breath caught, the sight pulling me out of the moment for just a second.

Slowly, I brought my glove to my mouth and blew, deliberately this time. Frost spread instantly, crawling over the fabric like spiderweb.

"Shit," I muttered, flexing my hand. The crystals cracked, splintering into tiny shards that flaked off and fell to the rooftop.

Just great. Another fucking abnormality I hadn't asked for. Ice out of thin air. Another thing to remind me I'd never be one of them.

But tonight, it wasn't the fact that I could blow ice into existence that made me a monster.

I stood there, the rooftop empty except for the faint remnants of frost and ash.

At least he couldn't hurt anyone else.

Ever again.

The safehouse looked like it had been plucked straight out of some storybook. It was too peaceful, too idyllic to feel real after everything that had happened. The walls were warm stone, vines crawling up the sides as if nature was trying to claim it. Flower boxes under the windows spilled with colors too vibrant to belong anywhere near this city. The porch had a swing, for God's sake. A swing.

The image of the Joker's mangled head flashed in my mind. Blood and teeth, that twisted grin split wide open. Even now, I could still hear the crunch, the wet spray of his blood hitting my gloves. I stared down at my hands, half-expecting to see them still stained red. They weren't. But I could feel it. My stomach churned. A part of me almost wanted to feel sick. But I couldn't let myself go there. Numbness was safer. Safer than guilt. Regret wasn't even an option.

The Joker wasn't a man. He was a fucking cancer. One that would've kept spreading if I hadn't stopped him. That's what I told myself, over and over again, trying to drown out the rest. It was about protecting Mom, protecting Helena, protecting Gotham.

But deep down, I knew it wasn't just necessity that drove me, I'd killed the Joker because some part of mewanted to.That part still hummed with the memory of it, vibrating in my chest. How easy it had been. How good it felt to hear that laugh die in his throat.

I hated it. Because I knew better than anyone. Someone like me had no room for feelings like that. I'm a loaded weapon with no safety. Batman wasn't wrong to be afraid. Hell, if I were him, I'd be afraid of me too. No one should have this kind of power, least of all someone who knows what it feels like to use it andlike it. I keep telling myself I did the right thing, but all I feel is this knot in my gut.

I didn't even notice I was standing rooted to the spot like an idiot until Helena's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Well, don't look so thrilled," she said as she leaned against the doorframe, her arms casually crossed.

My gaze snapped to her. She cocked her head, her eyes flicking from me to the house, then back.

"This isn't Gotham." I muttered, still staring. "Can't be."

"Take the win, Kent," she said with a half-smile, her gaze dipping briefly to my hands. Her brow twitched just slightly, like she was checking for cracks in the railing. "And move your ass."

I shook my head, stepping onto the porch. "Mom's gonna lose her mind when she sees it. Probably think I knocked over a bank... or joined the mob."

Helena grinned. "She'll love it. And if she doesn't, I'll take it."

I didn't respond. For once, I couldn't find the words. It wasn't just the house. It was the thought of her, walking up those steps and seeing a door that didn't stick, a roof that didn't leak. Something safe, somethingnormal. My chest tightened, but I shook it off.

The door swung open with a softclick, and I froze again. A fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting a warm light over the hardwood floors and cozy furniture.

"This is nice," I said under my breath.

Helena strode in ahead of me, tossing her bag onto the oversized couch. "Alright, I'm officially moving in," she said, kicking her boots off. "You can have the swing."

"Ha-ha, so generous." I dropped my bag by the door, catching her sideways grin.

Exploring the rest of the house, I felt like I was walking through someone else's life. A life where things didn't constantly break. Where there wasn't mold crawling up the walls or the stench of cigarette in every corner. Then I opened the door to the bedroom and stopped dead.

A bed. A big, clean, fluffy bed, covered in a quilt that looked handmade. Not a couch. Not a cot. Not the spring-loaded nightmare I'd slept on back in the Narrows.

"Well, hell," I muttered.

"Not bad," Helena said, peering over my shoulder. Then, she launched herself onto it with a dramaticfwump, her arms spread wide as she buried her face in the quilt. "Alright, that's it. This is my life now. I'm never leaving this bed."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Pretty sure that's my bed."

"Not anymore," she mumbled, mock-sleeping. "It's perfect. It's mine. You can't make me leave."

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. "Aw. You sure about that?"

"Positive."

I measured the bed with my gaze, carefully calculating the space around her. Then, with every ounce of focus I could muster, I jumped. My body landed above hers without so much as brushing her, my arms caging her on either side, avoiding her limbs. The bed groaned slightly, protesting the sudden shift.

Helena didn't even blink. She just stared at me, her electric blue eyes unyielding, like she was daring me to do my worst.

I leaned closer, instinct overriding reason for one stupid second. She didn't move, didn't push me away. Her pulse was visible in the hollow of her throat, and I tried to ignore how loud it felt in my ears.

"Well, that's one way to prove your point," she said. "Gonna try and wrestle me off now, too?"

The thought flickered, uninvited, and I shoved it away just as fast. Her pinned beneath me, laughing like she always did when she was being impossible, her hands pushing weakly against my arms. She looked so solid, so self-assured, but the truth was louder in my head. Her skin would bruise too easily. Her bones would splinter with just a little too much force.

My smirk faltered. I dropped my gaze, breaking the spell, and carefully shifted my weight back. The mattress sighed in relief as I rolled onto my side, leaving a deliberate gap between us. My head hit the pillow, and I stared at the ceiling, tracking the movements of a tiny moth that had found its way inside.

The knot in my chest pulled tighter, but I said nothing. What could I say?Sorry, but I'd rather not accidentally crush you?Real reassuring.

Helena's grin faded. She propped herself up on one elbow, her hair spilling over her shoulder.

"Okay," she said, breaking the silence. "You've been brooding since the drive here. Spill."

"Not brooding," I muttered. "Thinking."

Her brow arched. "About the Joker?"

My jaw tightened, and I glanced away. I hadn't been thinking about him. Not in the last few minutes, anyway. But the scene hadn't let go of me since last night. It wasn't just about what I'd done. If I ever slipped, even for a second, it could be anyone.Her. The thought crept in before I could stop it.

She tilted her head, studying me. "You're still stuck in that moment, Clark. It's written all over your face."

"I'm fine," I said automatically.

"Sure you are." She rolled her eyes. "You crushed his skull, Clark. It's okay to talk about it."

"Is it?" I said bitterly.

"Yeah. You're sitting here trying to convince yourself that you're fine with what happened. And maybe you are. But that doesn't mean it won't catch up to you."

A dull pressure built in my chest but I forced my gaze to stay steady.

"I've seen what happens when people bottle this shit up," she continued. It doesn't go away. It festers. It grows until one day, it eats you alive."

I wanted to argue. To deny she was right. But I didn't know how to pull the mess in my head into something coherent.

Her hand reached out slowly, brushing against my cheek, and I stiffened instinctively. "Talk to me," she urged. "Don't just sit in your own head and pretend you're okay."

I exhaled, long and slow. "I'm not pretending," I said finally. "That's the fucked-up part. I don't regret it. Not for a second. He deserved it. You know he did. After what he did? What he was going to do?"

Her hand fell away, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. "You don't have to justify it to me," she said firmly. "Believe it or not, I'm not shedding any tears for that asshole. He tortured me, remember? And I'm not stupid enough to think he could ever be reformed. He broke out of Arkham once. He would've done it again."

"Then what's your point?" I said, pressing my lips together.

"That you're not like him," she shot back. "You're not some cold-blooded killer. What you did was brutal. But don't confuse brutal with wrong."

My lips twisted into a bitter half-smile. "Is that supposed to make it better?"

"No," she admitted. "But it's the truth."

Silence settled between us as I held her gaze. Her hand drifted to mine, curling around my knuckles with a warmth that felt undeserved. Her other hand moved, brushing lightly against my wrist. Her pull was barely there, but I indulged her anyway, letting her draw me closer. Before I realized it, I was leaning back over her, my arms bracketing her shoulders. Her unwavering eyes unnerved me.

"How are you not freaking out right now?" I asked. "How are you this... okay?"

"Who says I'm okay?"

"You don't seem all that rattled," I said. "Doesn't it bother you? Seeing me go... full rage monster?"

"What? Pissed off and dangerous?" She smirked. "Please. You know what bugs me? The way you think I'm scared of you. I'm not. I'm scaredforyou, genius. There's a big freaking difference. And let's just say I'm good at compartmentalizing." She shrugged. "Gotham's a hell of a teacher."

My fingers curled into the quilt, as I processed her words. She made it sound simple, like locking parts of yourself away was just another skill. But for me, those parts didn't stay locked. They slipped through the cracks when I wasn't looking.

She sighed. "Alright, enough sulking. I'm making hot cocoa." Helena placed her hands on my chest, and I felt the subtle pressure of her palms.

"What?" I blinked as I carefully lifted myself to free her.

"Hot. Cocoa." She enunciated each word like I'd suddenly forgotten English. "You know, warm, sweet, marshmallow-y goodness? Just what you need right now."

"I know what cocoa is, Helena." I muttered. "Just didn't expect you to pivot there so fast."

"Good," she said, grinning as she pushed past me. "Because you're making it. Chop chop, Kent."

She shot me a look over her shoulder, before rummaging through the cabinets as she searched for cocoa powder. I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face as I followed her toward the kitchen. The faint smile tugging at my lips surprised even me.

"Found it!" she announced triumphantly, holding up a tin. "You're on milk duty. Don't screw it up."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, grabbing a carton from the fridge. The kitchen wasn't exactly big, and it forced us to bump shoulders as we worked. She didn't seem to care. For once, neither did I. Every movement I made was deliberate, controlled like it always had to be. But somehow, it felt lighter, doing something so painfully normal with her. For once, I wasn't weighed down by the need to hide what I am.

When the cocoa was done, we settled onto the overstuffed sofa, stretching out on the L-shaped corner that faced the fire. The heat from the flames mixed with the steam curling up from our mugs.

I took a sip, the warmth spreading through me like a balm. Helena let out a yelp. "Hot!" she cried, fanning her tongue dramatically.

I winced. "Shit, sorry," I muttered, realizing too late that I hadn't even considered the temperature. "Forgot it doesn't burn me."

Her brows shot up. "Doesn't burn you? Like at all?"

"Nope, perk of being indestructible," I said dryly. "Give me your mug for a second," I said, an idea forming.

She handed it over, skeptical. "What are you gonna do? Cool it down with your 'ice vision'?" she joked.

I shot her a look. "Something like that." I focused as I blew gently across the top of her cocoa. I willed the strange, frosty sensation forward, keeping it as controlled as I could. A faint chill spread over the surface, a thin mist forming briefly before fading. "Try now."

Helena tilted the mug, hesitating for a second before taking a tentative sip. Her eyes widened as she pulled it away, staring at the steamless surface. "Holy shit. How did you do that?"

I shrugged, leaning back against the cushions. "Figured out yesterday I can blow ice," I said simply, leaving out the circumstances. "Thought I'd give it a shot."

A small smirk threatened to pull at my lips, but I reined it in. First try, and I'd managed to cool her drink perfectly. No accidental frostbite, no overdoing it. For once, something new didn't spiral out of control.

She studied the mug like it was a miracle. "Insane," she said, then smirked. "And actually kind of cool. Pun absolutely intended."

Cool.Not terrifying. Not monstrous. Cool.

Jake had spent years drilling into my head that my powers made me some kind of abomination, something to hide, to fear. But here she was, holding a literal example of my 'curse' in her hands, and she didn't flinch. She smiled. The weight of it slipped from my shoulders, just a little.

"Glad you think so," I said, smirking.

Helena laughed, setting her mug down on the coffee table. For a moment, I forgot about everything else. The Joker. The blood. The weight of what I'd done. Here, now, she wasn't judging me.

Then she took my hand, turning it over in hers, tracing the lines on my palm. Her touch sent a ripple of heat up my arm.

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. I could feel it, even without trying. I frowned slightly, curiosity curling in my chest. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," she said too quickly, her cheeks flushing as she looked away.

"Come on," I teased. "Not to me. I can almost hear your gears grinding."

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, I thought she actually believed I could do that. But then she leaned back and shook her head. "I was just thinking about how insane it is. The power your hands can wield."

I went rigid. "Trust me," I pulled my hand away, "no one wants this. I spent ten years not even being able to hold a glass without breaking it."

"I don't think that's true," she said softly. "I can think of a few moments that godly power would've come in handy. I could've kicked some serious ass."

I snorted. "The little I've seen, you don't need this curse to kick ass."

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But I can think of a few times I wouldn't have gotten mine handed to me. Like when..." She trailed off.

"Like when what?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "Like when the Penguin got me strapped to a table for two days."

The room went dead quiet. For a second, I thought I'd heard her wrong.

"What?" My voice came out flat, but there was nothing calm about it.

"It's fine," she waved a hand dismissively. "I got out. Obviously."

I stared at her, my mind running wild with images I didn't want to see. Chains. Darkness. Her screams. "What the hell happened?"

"What do you think happened? I pissed him off. Happens all the time. Not my fault he's got short-man syndrome."

"Helena—"

"Relax, Kent," she interrupted, her tone breezy, like she was talking about a bad hair day. "If he wanted me dead, I wouldn't have made it past the front door. He just wanted to teach me a lesson."

"When?" I asked more sharply than I intended.

"Last year," she said, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to shake off the memory. "It was stupid. I got too close to his operations, thought I could handle it on my own. Turns out, Penguin's guys are smarter than they look."

I forced myself to breathe, my fists unclenching as I sat down on the edge of the couch. "And they just... what? Grabbed you off the street?"

"More or less," she said, leaning back against the cushions. "They cornered me in the Iceberg Lounge after hours. Figured they'd have a little fun. Next thing I know, I'm waking up strapped to a table in one of his warehouses."

My grip on the couch's armrest tightened. "And you think joking about it makes it better? He could've—"

"What do you want me to do?" She cut in. "Cry about it? Write my feelings on a piece of paper and burn it?"

"What I want you to do is practice what you preach. Weren't you just lecturing me about how it doesn't go away? Or does that only apply to me?"

"And you think your little temper tantrum is going to fix it?" She shot back, crossing her arms. "Because newsflash, Clark, I've been handling myself just fine without your 'help'."

I stared at her, my jaw clenched tight. "What did he do to you?"

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her fingers curled slightly, her nails pressing into her arms. "What, you want details? You want me to sketch it out for you? Sorry, but that's not happening. I walked out of there, didn't I?"

"You shouldn't have had to!"

She stared at me, her gaze steady despite the sharp edge in my voice. Then, she sighed. "Penguin's in Blackgate now. Locked up tight. Whatever happened, it's over."

"It's not over," I growled. "Blackgate doesn't mean shit. You think someone like Penguin's going to stay locked up?"

"And what, exactly, are you gonna do about it? March into Blackgate and snap his neck like you did the Joker?"

A sharp ache winded through my chest. I dragged my gaze to the fire, my breath shallow. "If I'd been there..." I started, but she didn't let me finish.

"You're protective now? You do realize I've been patrolling Gotham a hell of a lot longer than we've known each other, right? And I didn't know what you were back then. So maybe quit acting like you would've solved it all."

"Doesn't mean I'm not going to be there next time," I said quietly.

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Next time, huh?"

"Yeah," I said. "Next time."

"You're exhausting, you know that?" She snorted softly. "Still... you're kinda cute when you try to sound serious."

I let out a dry laugh. "Cute, huh? That's what you're going with?"

"Sure is," she said, grinning. "I mean, you're not exactly subtle about the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing.Next time," she mimicked, her voice dipping into a mockingly dramatic tone. "Like you're already planning out matching patrol outfits or something."

"Matching outfits? Yeah, no." I shot back. "Purple is not my color."

"Shame. I think you'd look good wrapped in something tight." Her eyes flicked over me in a slow once-over. "Though... keeping you in line would be the real challenge."

I chuckled. "We haven't even patrolled together yet, and you're already writing me off?"

"Please." She tipped her head back. "I'd have to carry you the whole way. Might as well strap a little red wagon to my back."

"Let's be real," I said my tone roughening. "You wouldn't last two steps carryingme.Turns out, I've got this whole higher bone density thing going on. You'd be dragging me across the pavement. Me carrying you, though..." The corner of my mouth tugged upward. "You'd be light as air."

"Touché." Something flickered behind her eyes. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she stood, stretching like a cat. The firelight caught the curve of her waist as her shirt lifted slightly. She caught me staring but didn't call me on it, just smirked and sauntered over to the fireplace cabinet.

"Well, I'm officially done with the doom and gloom. I need a drink. You want anything?"

"I can't get drunk," I said, trying to focus on the flames instead of the way she moved. "But I'll have whatever you're having. To keep you company."

"Figured. You're always too sober. It's unsettling," she said as she crouched to pull out a bottle of some dark and expensive-looking liqueur.

She poured a generous amount of amber liquid into our mugs and handed me one, her fingers brushing mine. "Cheers," she said, lifting her mug.

I clinked mine against hers. The first sip traced a muted heat down my throat, barely noticeable. My attention was on her as she settled onto the rug, leaning against the sofa. The glow of the fire made her look like something out of a dream.

"Your turn," she said. "Tell me something about you."

"You've pretty much uncovered everything I usually keep hidden," I replied.

"Oh, come on," she drawled. "There must be more to you than bench-pressing boats and neon red eyes."

I stiffened. "What?"

"On the rooftop. Last night. Your eyes... they were glowing red," she said, a curious look in her eyes.

"You... saw that?"

Heat rose to my face. Of course she did. Of all the things I wanted to keep buried, this was the one that made me feel the most... alien.

She nodded. "Kind of hard to miss."

I dragged my hands down my face, fighting the rising panic. "Heat vision..." I said finally, the words tasting sour in my mouth. "It's fire. If I let it go too far, it's like a laser tearing through everything in its path. That's why I don't use it. Ever. Last night, it slipped. It shouldn't have. I was losing control."

Helena tilted her head, studying me. "It looked controlled to me," she said quietly.

I shook my head. "You don't get it. It wasn't. Not really." I flexed my hands against my thighs. "Look, it's not something I like to talk about. Most people wouldn't understand. Hell, Damian and Bruce think I'm enough of a wildcard as it is. If they knew about this—"

"Well, good thing I'm not most people," she said lightly, her lips curving into a smug little smile. "And, for the record, I'm not snitching. But... if I noticed, you know my dad probably did, too."

A ripple of unease rolled through me. Damian had already caught a glimpse during training. And Bruce... Hell, he probably had footage of it already, cataloged and filed away underWhy Clark Is a Liability.

I blew out a resigned puff of air, dropping my head back against the couch. "Yeah. That tracks," I muttered. The power I wanted to hide most was probably halfway to being a Bat-Family PowerPoint presentation by now.

Helena just sat there, legs tucked under her, calm as ever, like she wasn't sitting next to a guy who could incinerate her with a blink. Like she knew exactly how much her reaction meant to me. My pulse slowed, the knot in my chest easing a smidge.

"You know," she added, nudging me lightly with her elbow, "you haven't actually answered my question."

I blinked, caught off guard. "What question?"

"The one I asked before you started confessing about your laser eyes," she said. "What else is there? What's the one thing no one knows about Clark Kent?"

I hesitated, scratching the back of my neck before my lips twisted into a grimace. "Alright. I can sing."

"No way," she said, her eyes lighting up. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious," I said, smirking. "When you're an only child with too much time and... quirks, you end up experimenting. My voice was just one of those things that came naturally."

Her grin widened. "Alright, hotshot. Prove it."

"I'm not just gonna—" I cut myself off with a sigh. "I used to have to wait until Jake was out of the house. If he heard me, it was all'Shut up, you little freak!'" My voice dipped into a gruff mimic of his pitch, earning a snort from her.

"Come on. I'm not Jake." Her gaze held mine, waiting. "So sing me something."

I froze, my mind scrambling for a way out. But something about the way she looked at me made me sigh. "Fine," I muttered, more to myself than to her. I cleared my throat and let the first note slip out. Just a few bars of Sia's "Elastic Heart," the way I'd reworked it to fit my range. The sound filled the room, carrying something I hadn't let out in years. When I finished Helena's eyes widened.

"Holy shit," she breathed.

I raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

I caught her rubbing her arms absently.

"Are those goosebumps?" I teased.

"Shut up," she said, looking at me like I'd just hung the stars. That... that was... angelic doesn't cover it. The way you hit those notes. Shit, you could probably winThe Voice."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm serious." She shook her head. "Why do you keep this to yourself?"

I shrugged. "Got used to thinking no one wanted to hear it."

"Now you know better." She took another sip from her mug, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Then she let out a soft yawn, her voice slightly warped as she spoke. "Tell me something else. Something you couldn't tell me before I... knew."

I hesitated. "I've never yawned."

Her brows furrowed. "Never?"

"Nope. I can fake it, but I've never actually done it. Doesn't happen."

She laughed. "You're so weird."

"And you like it."

Her eyes glinted with a teasing look. "Cool it, Kent. Your ego's gonna need its own zip code soon."

"Just calling it like I see it." I said, leaning forward slightly, the tension between us pulling tighter.

She set her mug on the table and slowly climbed onto the couch. She stopped when she was kneeling between my legs, her hands resting lightly on my knees. Every nerve in my body lit up like a flare, and the couch's armrest creaked under my grip. I forced myself to let go before the damn thing snapped, earning a knowing look from her.

"Careful," she murmured as her thumbs brushed the fabric of my jeans, sending a buzz straight to my bloodstream. "Wouldn't want you breaking anything..."

"Careful yourself," I shot back, my gaze flicking to her hands then back to her eyes. "You keep this up, and I might."

She didn't say a word, her eyes pulling me in. Like she was daring me to move, to let go of the restraint that defined every moment of my existence. All I could think washow far was too far?

A/N: If you're curious about how CK's voice sounds, check out Elastic Heart (Cover) by Caio Klin, especially at 00:40. To get a sense of how the safehouse looks like, head over to my W ttpad account (Outback-1), it's in the header of chapter 29. Oh, and while you're there, if you feel like dropping a Vote, I'd seriously love the dopamine boost. Thanks a ton!

What song do you think would really show off Clark's freakishly good voice? I'd love to hear your take!