The hardest thing was Lois, of course. But Clark owed it to her to end things cleanly.

"Is it Wonder Woman?" Lois asked, deceptively casual as she watched Clark pack up his things. Such few items from the time spent with the woman he had loved. Still loved, in a way.

"There isn't a woman on the planet or universe that could hold a candle to you," he said honestly.

The piercing look she gave him then made him think she'd seen a little too much of the truth than he'd wanted. But then she nodded, slowly.

I'm sorry, he thought, but he knew she didn't want to hear it. They didn't speak again that day. He bought his stuff to his new apartment, sat down on the bed and wondered what the hell he was doing with his life.

Bruce had gotten under his skin and into his mind and there was nothing he could do now but wait the period of time he had set, because Bruce was particular in all things and even more stubborn than Clark. He thought of the time they'd spent together, so close, almost touching, and felt his entire being yearn for them to be that close again. He didn't want them to go back to cold, polite greetings and terse comments over a communicator.

He knew Bruce still blamed himself at least partly for Clark's death, still tried to shoulder the burden of the world alone even though he had started the Justice League. He'd been alone for so long that it would take awhile for him to open up again, to trust again, but Clark knew he was up for the task.

If Bruce was stubborn, Clark was endlessly patient. He had learned this from the stars themselves, floating high above the stratosphere and closing his eyes until the music of the universe washed around him. It was just a year. If Bruce wanted to scare him off by being difficult, he was in for a surprise.

One year later…

Bruce looked up at a small sound and found Superman floating there where he hadn't been a second ago. No, not Superman. Clark. His hair was windswept instead of carefully combed back, eyes earnest instead of distant. He looked like the Clark Bruce remembered from his time at the Fortress for the first time in a year, encompassing both of his worlds.

"Don't shut me out again," Clark said without preamble. "Please. I need you in my life."

Bruce looked at the small hopeful smile and caved. There had never been a doubt in his mind what would happen when he invited Clark to visit the Manor, exactly a year after they had parted on the rooftop. Clark had appeared almost instantly at the Cave, already with that small hopeful smile that was still currently on his face.

He stalked up to Clark, seeing him shiver at the look in his eyes. He'd thought that a year apart would have shaken Clark out of the sudden insanity that had come over him after seeing Bruce so badly injured but it seemed like it was permanent now. He couldn't find it in himself to care. Clark was special — beautiful and good and kind. And so, so painfully human. And he looked at Bruce like he was the same, like he was a hero out of a fairytale, like he never wanted to look at anyone else again.

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve someone like Clark looking at him like that.

"Never again," he promised and pulled Clark in. When their lips met Clark made a soft noise and then they were holding each other tightly, licking into each other's mouths. They both gasped for air a little when they finally broke apart. Clark's eyes were dark with need.

"Please don't tell me we need to wait another year," Clark growled hoarsely.

Bruce laughed a little, and watched Clark's eyes get impossibly darker at the sound. "No," he agreed. That was all Clark needed. In less than three seconds they were naked in Bruce's bed.

"Bruce," Clark groaned, and it was more glorious than he could have ever imagined.

Later, when they were lying intertwined, exhausted and sticky and happy, Bruce tracing idle lines on Clark's broad chest, Clark spoke again.

"Bruce," he started. "I didn't mean for it to turn out this way." And Bruce felt his heart constrict in his chest. "Oh, no, no, no," Clark said urgently, realizing why Bruce had frozen. He kissed the tip of Bruce's ear, then his jaw, then his neck. "I didn't mean it like that. His hand found Bruce's in the dark, unerringly. Bruce wondered suddenly if he could see in the dark. "I meant I wanted to do this right. I wanted to take you out to dinner, go on dates, I didn't want to imply that I wasn't in this for the long haul. Because I am. And if you're not ready that's okay, because I can wait."

Bruce felt his heartbeat even out again. "This isn't the Victorian times, Clark," he said, amused. "I don't think having amazing sex and doing things right are mutually exclusive. And Clark, I was in it for the long haul ever since I laid eyes on you again."

This speech prompted another bout of kissing, which Bruce was not at all opposed to. "Already?" he said, amused at the feeling of Clark stiffening against him.

"It's not my fault you're so beautiful," Clark said. Bruce scowled, revising his earlier theory that Clark could see in the dark.

"Stop thinking so much," Clark said. "You are. Even with your scars. Especially with your scars."

Bruce felt a vague prickle of outrage that Clark was apparently able to read his emotions like reading the newspaper. So much for cultivating a mask for the past few decades.

"Oh come on," Clark said, laughter like sunlight in his voice. "Don't be like that." He reached out a hand to stroke along Bruce's arm and nuzzled into his neck, mouthing along his jaw, and Bruce suddenly found it very difficult to stay cranky.

And over the course of the following months turning years, Bruce also found it difficult to stay dissatisfied with himself, because Clark looked at him like he was worthy of love. Clark had that effect on people, that deep rooted sincerity that made people believe they could be better than they were.

Clark moved some things into the newly renovated Manor and kept his Metropolis apartment, though he mostly slept in Bruce's room when he stayed over. He could consume large amounts of pancakes, to Alfred's delight, during the rare lazy mornings they had together. Bruce visited the Kent farm with him sometimes, to return the favor and attempt to outeat him in homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Clark often covered Bruce's nonprofit in his articles and understood why it was necessary that Bruce Wayne distance himself from the Justice League.

They fought side by side and back to back, and Bruce learned how to trust again, how to love again. Every day, Clark reminded him in so many little ways that the world did need him, that Clark needed him.

And every day, when Bruce looked to the future, it looked ever brighter.