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"So, you've got super-hearing, huh?" Buck asked, curious what that must be like in a city this loud. He ran his fingers soothingly through the hair at the nape of Clark's neck. "That must get exhausting, baby."
They were cuddled together on Clark’s oversized loveseat, built perfectly for two lovers sharing secrets in hushed voices. Buck sat across Clark's lap, wrapping an arm over his shoulder as he leaned his side against his boyfriend's sturdy chest.
Their relationship had been a whirlwind from the start, full of surprise saves from Superman and the 118. But, so far, the biggest surprise had been Buck's keen attention to detail, since he was able to figure out Clark's secret identity faster than anyone else in his life.
“Yeah, sometimes…” Clark said, resting his head on Buck’s shoulder. He didn’t usually admit when things were hard — but with Buck, honesty came easier.
They had spent the last hour talking about all of Clark's powers: the good, the bad, and the ugly (according to Clark). Who would answer all of Buck's follow up questions with a non exhaustive list of pros and cons to each, finally finding someone who could follow his thought process with ease.
"But, it's not all bad. Like, for example, I gave my parents an emergency button out in Kansas and I'm attuned to that sound, so if I hear it while I'm anywhere on this Earth, I'd know it was them."
"Wow…" Buck said dreamily, still running his fingers through Clark's hair as bit his tongue to stop himself from asking when he'd get one. They hadn't even been on a total of five dates yet, that could wait. Plus, Buck lived in Metropolis so he was never far from Clark's range of hearing within the city limits.
Clark heard the stutter in Buck’s heartbeat and knew—without a doubt—that the idea of someone always having his back was foreign territory for him. Superman meant safety, sure, but Clark? Clark meant home.
"I can make one for you too, but to be honest I don't think you'd ever need it." Clark said, pulling back with a smile to look up at Buck. As soon as Buck's brows started to furrow, he smoothed them out with a thumb, and caressed his cheek gently, bringing Buck's eyes to his own. "The more you talk to me, the more I'm internalizing the frequency of your voice, and the easier it'll be to navigate all the noise in the city to find you, whether you need me to or not. It's partly why I love listening to you talk."
Buck blushed and attempted to duck his head and hide from Clark's knowing smile, but he was held in place by Clark's gentle hand and pulled into a chaste kiss instead. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the way Clark seemed to know his every thought before it happened and how to reassure him.
"The other reason I love hearing you talk, is because I think you might be the only person on earth that's more curious than I am. You sure you don't want to switch careers?" He teased as Buck slid down on his lap to hide his face against Clark's stomach.
"Hey, get your own thing." Buck laughed freely, tugging on Clark's shirt, "I'd be a shit journalist, but you'd be a better firefighter than me, hands down. Most of your powers could help put out a fire in seconds. Maybe you should re-brand yourself — you could be Super-fireman." He looked up with a cheeky grin, waiting for Clark's amused grin at his pun.
Clark groaned at the play on words, "You goofball." But even as he said it, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Buck’s head, like it was second nature.
Buck lingered there for a moment, cheek still resting against Clark’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
He sighed and stretched with a reluctant little groan. “Alright,” he said, voice low and warm, “as much as I’d like to stay curled up here all night, it’s getting late.”
Clark tightened his arms around him, just briefly. “You could stay.”
Buck smiled into his shirt. “Tempting. But I’ve got an early shift.” He sat up slowly and looked down at Clark. “Plus, I want to try something.”
Clark raised a curious brow.
“You said you’re getting better at picking out my voice in all the city noise,” Buck said, grabbing his hoodie from the arm of the loveseat. “So, I figured I can walk home and just… talk to you the whole way. See if you can still hear me.”
Clark’s brows knit together immediately. “Buck, I really don’t like the idea of you walking alone this late.”
“It’s only a few blocks,” Buck reassured him, slipping the hoodie on. “Metropolis isn’t Gotham.”
Clark didn’t laugh — not this time. His jaw flexed a little like he was weighing his options.
Buck softened, stepping back into Clark’s space to cup his cheek. “I promise I’ll stay on well-lit streets, and I’ll keep talking the whole time. You can text me back. You know, just to prove you’re listening.”
Clark huffed out a breath, his hands resting lightly on Buck’s waist. “You’re going to ramble about whatever pops into your head, aren’t you?”
Buck grinned. “Absolutely. You might regret encouraging this.”
“I won’t,” Clark said, kissing him again—soft and quick, like sealing a promise. “Just, be careful, okay?”
Buck nodded, already stepping toward the door. “You’ll hear me,” He called over his shoulder, voice teasing. “And I’ll be waiting for those texts.”
And with that, the door shut gently behind him.
A second later, Buck’s voice reached him, even from the stairwell: “Alright, Superman, here’s your first test. I’m officially narrating my walk home. Right now, I’m walking down Clark Kent’s stairs, which are way too nice for a guy who claims to live modestly…”
Clark smiled, grabbed his phone, and started typing.
Clark: You forgot to mention how good you look doing it.
***
As soon as Buck stepped outside, the warm summer air wrapped around him. He tugged his hoodie tighter out of habit, even though he didn’t really need it. The streets were quiet—just a few cars humming past and a couple walking their dog across the avenue.
He put an earphone in one ear, to make it look like he was on the phone as he started talking, not loud enough to draw attention, but just enough for Clark to hear him, if he was really listening like he said.
“Alright, Superman, test begins now. Test Subject: Buck. Location: walking home like an absolute idiot in socks and sandals because I left in a rush. Condition: mildly hungry, emotionally compromised, stupidly in love.”
His phone buzzed.
Clark: You wore the sandals? I’m breaking up with you.
Buck grinned. “You love the sandals. You just don’t know it yet.”
Clark: They're criminal. Keep walking, Buckley.
“Okay, I’m passing the pharmacy. There’s a guy yelling into his phone about fantasy football drafts. Strong start. Now, I’m crossing the street — don’t freak out, no cars.” He paused for dramatic effect, then muttered just loudly enough: “And, now would be a great time to hear you say something reassuring.”
His phone buzzed again.
Clark: I’m with you. Keep going.
The smile that bloomed on Buck’s face was unstoppable.
***
Back at the apartment, Clark sat on the edge of the loveseat where Buck had just been, phone in hand, listening as carefully as he could. The world was always loud —car alarms, sirens, distant conversations layered one over another — but, Buck’s voice had a rhythm he was learning by heart.
He closed his eyes, focused in. Buck’s footsteps, his breath, the faint smile in his tone as he talked to no one, but also very much to Clark.
When Buck started talking about his “condition,” Clark couldn’t help the snort that escaped him.
He texted back fast.
Clark: You wore the sandals? I’m breaking up with you.
He pictured Buck’s eye roll even before he got the reply.
And then, just as Buck reached the street corner, Clark tensed for a half-second when he heard a loud horn blare blocks away—but it wasn’t near Buck. He’d know if it was.
Still, the protective part of him was itching.
But, Buck was still talking, “Crossing the street—don’t freak out, no cars.”
Too late.
Clark gripped his phone tighter.
Clark: I’m with you. Keep going.
He could hear Buck’s heartbeat pick up—just a little—but in a good way. Like the kind of flutter that meant he was happy. That meant this silly test was working.
***
Buck turned onto his block with a soft sigh, “I know you said I wouldn’t need one, but… I think I like this emergency button idea. Not because I’d use it all the time. Just… knowing it’s there. Knowing you are.”
Buzz.
Clark: You don’t need a button. You’re already the loudest signal in the room.
“Damn. Are you trying to seduce me via text now?”
Clark: Is it working?
Buck stopped at the corner of his building, looking up at his window. He bit back a grin. “Yeah. You’re lucky I have self-control. I could turn right back around.”
Clark: Don't. Go to bed, Buck.
“Yes, sir.”
As he walked the last few feet to his front door and pulled out his keys, Buck hesitated before unlocking it. The silence was kind of beautiful—and for once, he didn’t feel alone.
Not really.
He locked the door behind him and made his way onto his small balcony, gaze drifting toward the skyline until he found Clark’s penthouse in the distance. The soft lights were still on. Buck felt his chest ease a little, still riding the high of shared secrets and Clark’s steady presence.
“You still awake, pretty boy?” he asked into the night.
Clark: Of course I am. Can’t sleep until you do.
Buck smiled.
“Yeah, okay, sweet talker. Get off your ass and get ready for bed with me.” He knew Clark was probably in the exact position he’d left him — still on the loveseat, still tense with worry.
Clark: Yes, sir.
Buck snorted at the mocking tone, shaking his head as he stepped back inside. He floated through his evening routine half on autopilot, brushing his teeth and changing into an old shirt, just trying to get horizontal faster.
He climbed into bed with an obnoxiously loud groan as he stretched out his back.
Then, quieter now, more to himself than anyone else, he whispered, “I gotta be honest… it’s a little strange knowing that you can always hear me.”
There was a pause.
“I mean, what if you hear something you don’t like?”
His words hung in the air of the dark room — unguarded, self-conscious. They weren’t meant to hurt, but there was a quiet fear behind them. He didn’t know who he was trying to warn: Clark, or himself.
His phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.
Clark: Buck, I’ve heard buildings collapse. I’ve heard people scream their worst fears. I’ve heard heartbreak in real time.
Another message popped up before Buck could breathe.
Clark: Your voice? It’s the one I choose to listen to.
Buck swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling, overwhelmed in the best way.
Clark: Even if I hear something heavy… I’d rather know. I’d rather be there.
Buck turned over, tucking the phone against his chest like that might bring Clark closer somehow.
“Okay,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut. "Goodnight, Clark."
Clark: Goodnight Buck ❤️