Chapter Text
Clark was sure of it.
It was too odd a coincidence, even if you forgo the fact that he had his rhythmic heartbeat engraved into his mind.
The one-twos in each interval between the systematic pumps he hears thrashing through his very veins; it was all there — it had all rushed through contact and engulfed his mind.
When the hoard of people had clamoured onto the lift, Clark hadn’t expected to be shoved forcefully into the corner with Bruce Wayne. The man wasn’t that much shorter than him, and his body pressed against his — unwillingly.
There was a filled silence in the lift with people shifting awkwardly and occasional throat noises. The ride up from the 1st to 11th floor felt unbearably long…
Clark stared bewildered at Wayne’s face. His mind was a blank. This man…He had an almost-tousled hair ( which seemed like a desperate attempt to style it to fit gala standards but it was forcibly reverted back into its comfortable ways ) and wore a standard suit and tie. Most of all — he had that dark, brooding feel to him, like he harboured something deeper.
And Clark suspected that he might.
You see, Bruce Wayne seemed to share the exact same heartbeat as Batman, down to the tee.
It was only when the lift doors cracked opened with a “ting!” that Clark snapped back to reality, realising Wayne’s returning stare burning through the cracks of his stray hairs. The man seemed to stare passively; Clark did not really feel compelled to tear away from his gaze, no matter how much his mind was screaming that he should.
Bruce Wayne was the first to break the contact, pushing himself off him as the rest of the gala attendees ( and press alike ) clamoured out. Clark followed a few moments later, walking into a wide ballroom, having lost Wayne already.
The gala was not a major scale one. It was one of the many fundraising efforts for rebuilding Metropolis after Luthor’s Interdimensional Rift tore apart the city, zeroing in on efforts pertaining to rehoming displaced and orphaned children.
Wayne’s attendance did not come as a surprise, even if he was from the city over. Just 3 years ago, when Gotham City was flooded, several Metropolis philanthropists cashed in to help the neighbouring city in similar efforts — so it was only fair to pay it back.
Clark was meant to spend a brief one and a half hours there, documenting the day’s proceedings and snagging a few interviews while Jimmy, who had arrived earlier, snapped some photos.
Clark decided that the Wayne/Batman business could wait for now…
Into the hour, Clark had managed to ask a few questions here and there, gaining insights on Luthor’s ex business partners as well as comments on their hope for the future of Metropolis. In short, it was pretty standard.
“Clark,” Jimmy’s voice cut through the bustle, “I’m done with my side. How’s it going on yours?”
Truthfully, Clark had a substantial amount to go off on. Yet, His eyes darted to the clock stationed in the far corner of the room. He still had a good 30 minutes to kill.
“Ah… I just need to clear a bit more here and there. I’ll meet you at Rogue’s after I’m done here.” Jimmy nodded, mumbling back a ‘gotchya’ and disappeared without so much as a word.
Clark remained in his position, feeling desolated now. His eyes scanned the entire floor as he fiddled with him ‘Press’ lanyard, trying to pick out Wayne. His eyes locked onto the man, who seemed to be engaging in some light conversation with those around him.
Wayne held a wine glass in one hand, taking occasional sips from it during the little pockets of silence in conversation. Mr. Wayne looked generally disinterested, but seemingly trying his best to exude an aura of confidence and charm. He had the looks for it, and certainly the potential, Clark thought to himself.
Clark did not find it all that hard to connect this Bruce Wayne to that Batman. Of course, it would be inconspicuous to any average person, but Clark had the advantage of knowing his heartbeat, knowing that it all aligned like stars in a constellation. They radiated starkly different energies, but their mannerisms were very much alike. Though Batman was more precise and calculative with every move, even how he chose to portray himself around Superman, Bruce Wayne seemed to care less or struggle with that aspect. It must be easier behind the mask.
Batman had been a bit more hostile when they first met less than a year ago. He turned away support from foreign vigilantes and superheroes in his city, but after the Dam was blown up, the city was open to any and all help in their new era of rebuilding Gotham. He had grown warmer to Superman ( Not exactly, but he seemed to provide responses whenever he would talk nowadays ). Clark might consider himself (or Superman, however you want to call it) one of Batman’s closer friends. That is, if Batman didn’t have any other friends he seemed to be keeping secret from Superman.
He did admire him. He admired his courage, his dedication to his city, his calculative nature. He admired how he takes precaution is everything, how he looks out for him ( though it comes off snarky ), how every punch was methodical. He admired his measured gaze, his silent conversations with him…well… he admired basically everything about him, in ways that no one else would understand.
Being able to put a face to all of that was thrilling to him. He had never considered the idea of peeking under that cowl, and although guilt nibbled at him for unintentionally invading a secret like this, he was albeit suppressing a smile. Especially considering the fact that all this time, Batman had been hiding that beautiful, gorgeous face underneath that darkness.
During one particular detached sip of wine, Bruce’s eye darted along the room. Lo and behold, his eyes happen to chance upon Clark’s. His forehead creased, and Clark found it difficult to tell what went beyond that face of his. He didn’t return the stare in a pointed way, rather, he looked genuinely fazed.
Clark found it in himself to look away this time.
Yet, when he timed himself appropriately to look back, Wayne had gone. Vanished, just like his alter ego often seemed to… Clark was befuddled. He started looking around a little less than frantically, before he heard a voice bordering a silky baritone from behind him.
“Mr. Kent,” Clark spun around to face the shorter man, who looked at him inquisitively. “I can’t help but notice how you seem to stare me down ever since we met in the elevator. Do you have an interest in interviewing me, or have you noticed something else?”
Clark was at a loss for words. Wayne seemed to look at him, eyebrow slightly raised and a slight smirk creeping onto his face. Like he was ‘in’ on something. He manage to stammer out, “Ah. Uhm. Mr. Wayne…I sincerely apologise for that. I hadn’t mean to stare so rudely but…” He seemed to consider his options here, “Yes, ahm, It would be a pleasure to interview you,” Pushing down his oblivious embarrassment at the situation, Clark decided he could use this to his advantage. He was curious, after all, on how this Billionaire managed to keep up a front while still keeping his city safe during the dark hours. Did he ever get sleep?
Bruce let the smile crack. He eyed the hunkier man that made Clark’s face contort in a cocktail of expressions.
“I’ll tell you, how about I schedule you an exclusive interview with me back at Wayne Enterprises. You could ask me all the questions you’d like…”
Heat threatened to sear Clark’s vision. Was Bruce Wayne… flirting with him? Clark’s mouth moved to say “Y-Yes, sure” in a stunned dazed before he even realised what he had agreed to.
“Great, i’ll get my assistant to call you later Mr. Kent…For now, I have other business to attend to,” Bruce said, taking the glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip. Clark had not expected Bruce Wayne to be the playboy type, but here he is, projecting it full blast. Was it another front?
“Ah. Mr. Wayne I’m—“
“Tut tut. Don’t worry about me being able to reach you. I know full well who you are Mr. Kent.” With that, Bruce eyed him, his gaze a little less flirtatious and more so edging with seriousness. He turned away and disappeared into the masses before Clark could reply.
…Now what the hell did that mean?