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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍: 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄... 𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

i said, "i love you"
you say nothin' back

How Lenore Love got roped into horse-riding in the woods with Chloe, Lana, and Clark was something she was still trying to figure out. She had never liked horses — too big, too unpredictable, and far too aware that she didn't belong on their backs. Buttercup, the one she'd been given, seemed to sense her discomfort from the start. Every time Lenore tugged the reins wrong or shifted her weight the slightest bit off, the horse tossed her head and huffed like she'd personally offended their entire species.

Clark had been riding beside her the whole time, keeping a steadying hand close to Buttercup's reins whenever the horse acted up — and using every opportunity to tease her for it. Lana joined in once or twice, though at least she sounded gentler about it.

The only upside was that Chloe looked just as miserable.

The blonde girl groaned, knuckles tight on her reins. "Okay — here we go. Whoa. I thought learning to drive my dad's Volvo was difficult. But at least the car came with windshield wipers."

Lenore gave her a look, then muttered through clenched teeth as Buttercup shifted under her, "I second that. Lana's mean for not letting me use Dusty. I think he's the only horse that has ever liked me. Can we go back now before I actually break my neck?"

Clark rolled his eyes, his voice maddeningly even compared to her nerves. "No. And, Chloe, you're doing fine for your first time." He turned toward Lana. "So, how's Whitney holding up?"

Lenore's shoulders tightened. She didn't need Clark's explanation of what Whitney was going through to feel the heaviness in Lana's chest — it rolled over her like a low ache the moment the question left his mouth. Lenore forced herself to sit straighter, to breathe past it. She hated when her powers caught her off guard like this, when someone else's pain slipped under her skin without warning.

A few weeks ago, Clark had discovered Whitney buying medicines. Turns out, they were for his dad, who had been very ill. Lenore's heart went out for him — as someone who had lost her father young and had recently hallucinated him in the middle of a party, she knew how hard it must be for him.

Lana looked down at her reins. "His dad's still in the hospital, so he's been working shifts at the store."

Clark nodded, reaching out to give Buttercup a calm pat. "It's tough running a family business."

"I think he secretly wants his dad to sell it," Lana said softly. "He doesn't want to be saddled with it when he graduates."

"I don't blame him," Clark murmured, gaze dropping for a second, "I don't see myself being a farmer when I grow up."

The wave of heaviness dulled, replaced by something more subtle — a quiet uncertainty bleeding off Clark. Lenore couldn't stop herself from trying to ground it with a joke. "Guess I'll have to stop calling you farmer boy, then," she teased, before softening her voice. "What do you want to do, if not that?"

Clark shrugged, almost too quickly. "I'm not sure. Just as long as it doesn't involve putting on a suit and doing a lot of flying."

Lana snorted. "That's Lenore's favorite type of man."

"Lana!" Lenore's cheeks warmed instantly, and she tugged at Buttercup's reins, which made the horse jerk her head and stomp.

Behind them Chloe's voice rang out. "Where's my — oh, I dropped my camera."

Lenore twisted around carefully, her stomach lurching at the movement. "Chloe, you okay back there?" She made a face at the sight of Chloe fussing with her bag. "Why did you even bring your camera anyway?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I'm not out here doing this butt-bashing thing for fun. These woods are like the Bermuda triangle of Smallville."

Lenore huffed a laugh under her breath, but even as she did, something unsettled pulsed in Chloe — curiosity edged with fear. Lenore's chest tightened, her own hands tightening on the reins. Chloe continued, "No, I'm serious, you guys, people come in here, and when they leave they can't remember a thing. There've been dozens of incidences in the past ten years."

Lana pulled her horse around. "I'll go get your camera."

"Thank you," Chloe said gratefully.

"So we're here for the Torch?" Lenore groaned, adjusting her seat when Buttercup tossed her head again. "At least that's a better reason than the one Lana gave me. She said we came here for fresh air."

"It's good for you," Clark insisted.

"No. Nothing that makes me feel like I'm one wrong move from being launched into the dirt is good for me, Kent." Lenore shot Chloe a look. "My mom told me stories about these woods too — said they went all the way back to the Civil War."

"No, Nora, what I'm talking about happened like a week ago," Chloe explained. "Some surveyors from Rickman Industries came screaming out of the woods and can't even remember what happened."

Lenore glanced at Clark. They both knew what that meant — the past few months had led them to an influx of meteor-rock enhanced people around who strange things happened. The last one was a month ago, when a boy from their school with the ability to become invincible had terrorized Lex Luthor. Lenore had stayed away from that, still shaken from what had happened with Phelan but Clark had told her everything afterwards.

Clark's jaw tightened. "I'm sure you have a theory about this."

Chloe nodded. "Kyle Tippet."

Lenore frowned. "That weird guy who sells sculptures downtown?"

Chloe's horse shifted but she steadied herself, nodding again. "Yeah. Don't you think it's odd he lives out here all alone in the woods?"

Clark shrugged lightly. "Thoreau did."

Lenore smirked, pointing her reins toward him. "That's true. He did."

"Yeah, guys, so did the Unabomber," Chloe shot back, her voice dripping sarcasm.

Before Lenore could laugh, a scream tore through the trees. She whipped around so fast Buttercup lurched beneath her, and she nearly lost her seat. Clark's hand shot out, steadying her by the waist just in time.

"Lana," Lenore gasped.

Her stomach dropped — Lana's fear hit her like a physical shove.

She slid out of the saddle, boots thudding against the dirt, and broke into a run toward the sound without thinking. Branches snagged her coat, but she didn't stop.

"Lana!" Clark's voice came sharp behind her as he jumped down. "Stay with the horses."

"Uh... all three? Okay. Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Chloe's panicked yells echoed back as she tried to wrangle the reins.

Lenore didn't slow down — not until she felt Clark's arms close around her. A dizzying rush of wind followed, and before she could breathe, the world snapped back into focus. She staggered, swallowing down bile, her knees almost buckling.

Clark let go just as Lenore spotted Lana on the ground. A man loomed over her.

"Get away from her!" Lenore shouted, fury spilling out before she could stop herself. The man's emotions were weird, rather confused and surprised, burning hot against her senses — then, as his eyes flicked to her and Clark, him and his fear bolted into the trees.

Lenore sprinted to Lana's side, dropping to her knees. "You okay?"

Pain radiated off Lana so strongly it made Lenore's own ribs ache. Still, Lana shook her head quickly, eyes fixed on the empty space where the man had been. "I am fine."

Lenore's eyes darted to Chloe's camera lying on the ground near them, clearly still recording,  and she gave Clark a look as he picked it up.

—S—

Lenore had gone with Clark and Chloe to drop Lana at the hospital, where her mother had promised to personally check up on Lana. She'd wanted nothing more than to stay by her best friend's side, but she knew she had to go with Clark to figure out what was really on Chloe's tape.

At the Kent farm, Clark kept rewinding the grainy footage. The recording was shaky, but clear enough — the man standing over Lana in the woods.

Jonathan, watching with them, asked, "What do you think happened, kids?"

Clark shook his head. "I don't know, but... it just doesn't look like he's trying to hurt her."

Lenore bit her lip, eyes still on the screen. "Yeah. He was... confused, surprised. I didn't feel any anger or guilt coming from him. Nothing sharp. It was more like... panic, but not directed at her. I think he was trying to help her."

Martha hung up the phone and came closer. "Okay, Nell. Thanks. Bye."

Lenore turned quickly. "How's Lana? Is she okay?"

Martha nodded. "She has a mild concussion. Other than that, she's fine."

"And Nell?" Jonathan asked.

Martha sighed. "That's a different story. She wants Clark and Lenore to go to the police and say that they saw Kyle spook Lana's horse and attack her."

Clark frowned. "That's not what we saw."

"From Nell's tone," His mother replied solemnly, "I don't think we've heard the end of this."

Jonathan then turned toward Lenore. "Did Kyle seem at all dangerous to you?"

Lenore shook her head slowly. "No. He was... scared. Lost. Like he didn't know what to do with himself." She rubbed her arms, remembering the jolt of his emotions. "If anything, I felt more fear from him than from Lana."

Clark spoke up. "Chloe mentioned that some surveyors were spooked last week in the woods, and now us. I wonder if there's a connection?"

Martha looked at Jonathan. "Jonathan, you should go talk to Kyle, get this cleared up."

"Yep."

Clark stood up. "No, I'll go."

Lenore stood too, ignoring the look Clark gave her. "I'll go too. I'll be able to tell if he's lying."

Jonathan frowned. "Kids, I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's not like he can hurt me." Clark said firmly.

Lenore nodded. "Clark can protect me. And... if Kyle really is hiding something, I'll feel it. Better to know for sure."

Jonathan shook his head. "That is not the point."

Clark moved closer to his father. "Dad, we understand what it's like to be hidden from the world. Give us a shot."

Jonathan hesitated, then finally gave in. "All right. Do you know where Kyle lives?"

Lenore shrugged. "We'll just follow the trail of bad sculptures."

—S—

It was nearly dark when they drove back into the woods. The air outside the truck windows was heavy with the smell of earth and pine, the kind of damp that clung to your clothes. Lenore had only just realized she hadn't eaten all day — between the hospital, the panic over Lana, and the endless worry, her stomach had gone completely quiet until Clark had pulled over at the Beanery. He came back to the truck with two paper bags, grease spots already forming on the sides.

Lenore peeked inside as they rolled down the dirt road. "Did you order the entire menu?"

Clark smiled sheepishly. "We haven't eaten since breakfast. And you get... uh, cranky when you're hungry."

She shot him a look, unwrapping a sandwich. "Excuse me? I'm delightful at all times."

"Sure," he teased, "delightful. That's exactly the word I'd use for the way you snapped at literally everyone today. Even Buttercup."

Her face twisted. "That horse hated me first. Mutual hostility." She took a big bite, chewing before adding, quieter, "Thanks though. For this. I didn't even notice I skipped lunch."

Clark's hands tightened on the wheel, his gaze still forward. "Figured you needed something normal. Food usually helps."

For a moment, the only sound was the paper bag crinkling and the tires crunching over gravel. Lenore finally asked, "Do you really think he's guilty? Kyle, I mean."

Clark shook his head immediately. "No. Honestly? I trust your judgment, Len. If you didn't feel anything dangerous from him, then... I believe you."

That made her smile — a soft, tired one that barely reached her eyes. She turned toward the window, watching the last streaks of sun fade into purple. "When I heard Lana scream earlier... I swear my heart stopped. I thought —" Her throat closed up. She forced the words out. "Ever since this year started, it's like she's constantly in danger. It's just one thing after another. And I don't know... I just worry. I can't lose her, Clark. Not her too."

Clark's voice was gentle, almost a whisper. "You won't. I won't let that happen."

She looked at him, really looked, and the faith in his expression both steadied her and broke her heart a little. "You've been in danger too," he added after a pause, his jaw tightening. "More than once. And I just —" He took a deep breath. "I wish there was some way for us to have a normal day, you know? Just... school, maybe bad cafeteria food, complaining about homework. No enhanced people causing problems. No secrets. Just... normal."

Lenore laughed softly, though it caught in her throat. "Normal? In Smallville? Yeah, that's never going to happen, Clark."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess you're right. But still. Sometimes I think about it."

She nudged his shoulder lightly, a smile tugging at her lips despite the heaviness in her chest. "If it makes you feel better, I think we'd both be pretty bad at normal anyway."

Clark laughed under his breath. "Yeah... probably."

For a while, neither of them said anything. The truck rumbled deeper into the woods, paper bags rustling between them, and though the events of the day had shaken her, the car felt warm. Almost safe. Clark just had a way about him, she guessed.

—S—

The woods were darker now, shadows pooling between the trees. Clark and Lenore followed the faint trail until the outline of a weathered trailer came into view, tucked back behind a stand of pines. A light glowed dimly through the window, the only sign of life.

Clark knocked on the metal door, while Lenore leaned sideways, stretching onto her toes to peek through one of the windows.

Clark frowned at her. "Len, what are you doing?"

"Just checking if he's standing behind the door with a knife," she whispered back — far too loudly to be discreet. Her nose scrunched as her eyes flicked toward the trees. "He's nearby. Lonely."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "You said he wasn't dangerous. Why are you checking for a knife?"

"I could be wrong." She shrugged, still looking through the smudged glass. "Maybe I'm bad at detecting emotions."

"Could be."

She whipped around to glare at him. "You just said on the drive over that you trusted my judgment."

"I was just trying to lift your spirits," Clark teased, grinning as he knocked again.

Lenore smacked his arm lightly. "Wow. That's so reassuring."

Clark shrugged. "Maybe he's not home?"

"He is," she said firmly. "I know he is."

They turned around, just to come face to face with the man from before — middle-aged, unshaven, eyes darting between them like he'd already weighed every possible threat.

"You're trespassing," he said flatly.

Clark froze, caught off guard. "How'd you do that?"

"Magic." His tone was dead serious, though Lenore bit down on a laugh, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Haven't you heard of crazy Kyle who lives in the woods by himself? He's somewhere between Bigfoot and the Blair Witch."

Clark shifted awkwardly, holding up his hands. "I'm —"

"Clark Kent," the man interrupted. "Jonathan and Martha's son. And you're Lenore, Henry Love's kid."

Both Clark and Lenore stiffened at that. Clark blinked, confused. "How'd you know that?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I live in a trailer, not a cave." He looked at Lenore, "I was sorry to hear about your family."

Lenore nodded and then exchanged a glance with Clark before stepping forward, her voice steady but careful. "We wanted to talk to you about what happened this afternoon."

"You mean the girl?" Kyle asked. "Well, the horse threw her and I went to make sure she was still breathing."

Clark's eyes narrowed. "So you don't make a habit of scaring people out of the woods... and spooking their horses?"

"And then running away when you saw us?" Lenore added, her arms crossing over her chest, tone sharp.

Kyle's jaw twitched, though his expression stayed cold. "If I wanted to explain myself all the time, I'd get a job. But I left that world behind for a reason. Goodbye."

Clark stepped forward, frustration edging into his voice. "Why are you so unfriendly?"

"Because I'm not interested in friends."

Lenore tilted her head, her voice softening, almost instinctively slipping into the empathy she couldn't quite switch off. "Everyone needs a friend."

Kyle's eyes hardened, his words quick and certain. "No they don't, because they'll always betray you in the end."

—S—

After the weird talk with Kyle, Lenore and Clark made their way back into town. The Beanery was buzzing with its usual after-school crowd, but Lenore didn't notice any of it — the moment she spotted Lana at a corner table, she bolted forward and wrapped her arms around her best friend.

"Lana, are you okay?" Lenore fussed, pulling back just enough to look her over. "Does anything hurt? Do you want coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?"

"Nora, I'm fine." Lana laughed into the hug, though her voice was tired. "It's just been a long day."

Clark slid into the seat across from Lana, concern etched across his face. "How you feeling?"

"Better. Thanks," Lana said softly, then looked between the two of them. "Nell said you both were going to talk to the police."

Clark shook his head. "Actually, um, we both went out and spoke to Kyle."

Before Lana could reply, a voice cut in from behind.

"You talked to that psycho?" Whitney was standing there with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, glaring at Clark like he'd just announced the dumbest plan imaginable.

Lenore opened her mouth, but her attention snagged on someone else — Miles. He'd walked in right behind Whitney, and the surprise on his face was unmistakable when he saw her sitting with Clark. His eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering as he set his backpack down.

"Why would you do that?" Miles asked, his voice sharper than usual. His gaze flicked from Lenore to Clark, lingering there with accusation. "Why would you ever take her near that man? He's dangerous, Kent."

Lenore rolled her eyes, though there was an affectionate smile tugging at her lips. She reached her hand out toward him, tugging gently until he sat down beside her, crowding into the booth so that she was wedged comfortably between him and Clark.

"Miles, I'm okay," she said, letting her head fall against his shoulder with an easy familiarity. "See? Alive, no broken bones, not kidnapped by a man in the woods. Now come on, sit, and let him talk."

Miles exhaled through his nose, still looking unconvinced, but he looped an arm around her waist almost protectively, his thumb brushing absent circles against her side.

Clark cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, his gaze dropping to the table. His emotions — warm a second ago, now prickly and sharp — brushed against Lenore so loud she nearly frowned, though she mistook it for lingering tension from Kyle.

"Yeah," Clark said quickly, eyes flicking up toward Lana instead. "So, he said that he was just trying to make sure Lana was okay."

Lana turned toward him, brows knit. "Do you believe him?"

Clark nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."

Whitney made a scoffing noise, nearly spilling his drink as he leaned forward. "That's bullshit." His sharp gaze flicked to Lenore. "Nora, what about you?"

Lenore straightened a little, her hand still linked with Miles's under the table. She didn't even glance at Whitney, her eyes going straight to Lana. "I don't think he was lying."

Miles's shoulders softened slightly at her certainty. Still, the unsettled look didn't leave his face. He dipped his head, brushing a quick kiss against her temple, like he was reminding himself that she was sitting right there, safe and warm beside him.

Whitney grunted, rolling his eyes as though the whole table had lost their minds. "If I were there, I would have done something."

Lenore whipped her head toward him, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Whitney, respectfully, shut the hell up."

Miles chuckled under his breath, unable to stop himself, and gave her hand a squeeze beneath the table.

Clark, however, didn't even smile. His eyes lingered on the way Lenore leaned into Miles, the little comfort they shared like it was second nature. He swallowed down something heavy in his chest, turned back toward Lana, and ignored Whitney completely.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked gently.

"Not really," Lana admitted with a faint shake of her head.

Clark nodded, pushing back from the booth. "I gotta get home. I'm glad you're okay." His voice was soft, but his eyes stayed fixed on Lana instead of letting themselves drift back toward Lenore. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the Beanery, his tall frame disappearing into the crowd.

Lenore watched him go, puzzled by how abruptly he'd left, but Miles leaned closer, his arm warm around her shoulders, and the thought slipped away.

—S—

Lana Lang was no stranger to change. In Smallville, it sometimes felt like her life had been built on it — ever since the meteor shower, she had learned to bend without breaking, to swallow grief without letting it consume her. She'd worn every change with a brave face, because what else could she do? Complaining never brought anyone back. Being ungrateful never made the pain easier.

But there was one thing in her life that had never shifted, never faltered, never left. Lenore Love.

There were a hundred ways Lana could describe her — kind, stubborn, luminous, fierce. But those words never touched the heart of it. Lenore wasn't just her best friend — she was the one person Lana knew would walk through fire if it meant pulling her out. It wasn't about Lenore's strength or even her goodness. It was that Lana had never known life without her. Lenore had been the fixed point, the one constant in a world that wouldn't stop spinning.

And yes, both of them had been marked by grief too early, losing people they loved before they should've had to. But strangely, that wasn't what had bound them. If anything, it was in spite of it. They didn't cling to each other out of shared sadness — no, they carried each other through it. They refused to let the other forget the love they'd lost, but when the weight of it became too much, when the anger and the fear pressed in too close, they held each other up.

The truth was simple: Lenore Love had always been the anchor of Lana's life.

Even now, as Lenore fussed over her, after calling an impromptu sleepover to make sure she was fine, Lana couldn't remember a single day when her path hadn't curved alongside Lenore's. It was as if her friend was Odysseus and Lana was Eurydice, bound to follow, tethered by something deeper than choice. And because Lenore loved her — truly loved her — Lana knew she would always be looked back on, never left behind.

And if she was honest, Lana wasn't sure that was a bad thing at all.

"You okay, right?" Lenore asked, bringing Lana out of her thoughts, getting into the bed. "Nothing hurts?"

Lana rolled her eyes. "How many times will you ask?"

"I have a right to ask," Lenore scoffed, tugging the blanket around Lana like she was tucking in a child. "I am your best friend."

Lana giggled. "Yes, you are."

And then she saw it again — that look on Lenore's face. That pinched, worried expression that meant she'd appointed herself nurse, protector, or guardian angel, depending on the crisis. It was a look Lana knew by heart, one that carried her back years and years, all the way to the third grade.

She remembered it vividly, as if it had been yesterday.

It had been the week before Christmas break, and their class had been sent home with a stack of catalogs for the annual gift-wrap fundraiser. Whoever sold the most rolls of glittery paper, shiny bows, or holiday stickers got a prize. For most kids, it was just something their parents dealt with. But not for Lana and Lenore.

Lenore had plopped down at Lana's kitchen table that afternoon, spreading the catalog like it was a battle plan. "We are going to win this," she'd declared, eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll be the top sellers in Mrs. Conklin's class. No doubt."

Lana, who had been more interested in the gingerbread cookies Nell had just pulled out of the oven, had blinked at her. "Do we really care that much?"

"Yes!" Lenore had cried, already scribbling names on their list of potential customers. "It's not about the prize, it's about pride. Plus, Mrs. Conklin said the winners get a pizza party."

That had been enough to sway Lana.

The two of them had marched from door to door around the neighborhood, their catalogs clutched in mittened hands, Lenore doing most of the talking, Lana smiling sweetly in the background. By the end of the day, they'd sold more rolls of candy-cane–striped wrapping paper than they could count.

It was on the playground the next morning that Lenore had made the mistake of telling Clark and Auguste about their success.

"Bet we can sell more," Clark had said with the easy confidence of an eight-year-old farm boy who thought everything was a competition.

"Yeah," Auguste chimed in, puffing up proudly beside him. "We'll crush you."

Lenore's eyes had narrowed, a spark of challenge lighting in them. "Fine. You two against us two. Loser buys the winners candy."

Lana remembered the way Auguste's jaw had dropped. "We don't even have money for candy!"

"Then you better win," Lenore had replied smoothly, already dragging Lana toward the monkey bars to strategize.

The next few days had turned into an all-out war of wrapping paper sales. Clark had leaned on every adult in town who owed the Kents a favor, while Auguste had tried — unsuccessfully — to sell to people walking in the town square. Meanwhile, Lenore had practically turned into a door-to-door saleswoman, pitching rolls of wrapping paper like they were shares in a booming company. Lana mostly followed along, giggling at her best friend's antics, though she remembered pulling in a few sales of her own by batting her big brown eyes.

In the end, Lana and Lenore had won. By three whole rolls.

Clark had taken it in stride, grinning sheepishly as he handed over a dollar bill for candy, muttering something about something to do with the farm. Auguste, however, hadn't. He'd scowled, his cheeks red with cold and frustration, insisting it wasn't fair, that Lenore must have cheated somehow. He'd stomped off behind the schoolyard fence and refused to talk to anyone for the rest of recess.

Lana remembered how Lenore had looked then — her worried face, the way her brows pinched and her lips pressed together as though she was trying not to cry on his behalf. She'd padded over to Auguste, crouched down beside him in the snow, and whispered something soft. Lana never knew what words she'd said, only that a few minutes later, Auguste had finally let her tug him back toward the playground.

That same face, that look of pure, limitless care, was the one Lenore wore now as she hovered beside Lana's bed, fussing, worrying, holding her as if she might break.

It was the look of a sister.

And sometimes, Lana forgot that Lenore used to be one.

That thought always made her chest ache.

Because if anyone was built to be a sister forever, it was Lenore Love.

—S—

Turns out, a lot can happen while you and your best friend are having a much-needed sleepover. A lot.

Lenore hadn't really believed it until the next morning when Clark cornered her at school, his voice tumbling over itself, trying to explain everything at once. He'd apparently been calling her half the night — her phone had died in the middle of Lana's room floor between the popcorn bowl and the blanket pile — and when she didn't answer, he'd gone so far as to wait outside her house in the dark. Nearly gave her mom a heart attack when she pulled into the driveway and saw a six-foot-something shadow hovering by the porch.

By the time she caught up with him in the hallway, he was practically buzzing with words, and she felt the thrum of his urgency in her chest before he even started speaking.

"So," he started, running a hand through his hair, "after you and Lana went home, I ran into Kyle outside. He said he was going to file a complaint against Rickman. And then Whitney showed up — out of nowhere — and told Kyle to stay away from both of you."

"Me too?" Lenore blinked at him, thrown. "Whitney thinks of me as a friend? Why?"

Clark groaned, exasperated. "Len, is this my story or yours?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. "Fine, go on."

So, as it turned out, Clark had ended up driving Kyle to grab groceries and back to his trailer. On the way, he asked him why he'd been at Rickman's. Kyle had turned the question back around — why was Clark at Rickman's? Clark had explained he'd heard rumors someone was trying to buy the farm.

"Your farm?" Lenore cut in, interrupting for what felt like the tenth time. "Your dad would never sell the farm."

Clark nodded, grim. "I know. But I — I don't know, I just have a bad feeling about all of this. Anyways, Kyle also told me to stay away from him."

Lenore's brow furrowed. She could feel the unease rolling off Clark — heavy, like pressure behind her ribs.

But then things had gotten worse. Clark told her how, on his way back, he spotted Whitney's car parked near Kyle's place. By the time he sped back to the trailer, Kyle was swinging a baseball bat at Whitney like a man possessed.

"Why was Whitney there in the first place?" Lenore asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.

Clark shrugged, tension pulling at his shoulders. "He said he just wanted to talk to Kyle because he blew him off earlier. And then Kyle just... attacked him. But Kyle swears Whitney tried to hurt him first."

"Which one do you think is lying?" she asked softly, chewing the inside of her lip.

Clark shook his head, torn. "I don't know. Kyle... wouldn't just attack someone, would he?"

Lenore felt the flicker of doubt twist in her stomach. What if he had? What if her gut had been wrong this time ? "Clark, what if he did attack Lana first?"

"No. You said you believe he didn't."

"I could have been wrong."

For a moment his whole face softened, sincerity radiating off him so strongly she could almost taste it in the back of her throat. He smiled at her, quiet, steady.

"Somehow, I doubt that."

The honesty of it settled into her body, clashing with the sharp edges of her doubt. She didn't know what to believe.

—S—

By the time they pushed open the Torch's door, the morning had already stretched too long. Chloe was waiting, a copy of the day's newspaper in her hands. She offered it wordlessly to Lenore. A huge picture of Kyle glared up at her from the front page.

"Tippet hasn't broken hermit status in years," Chloe said, eyebrows raised, "and all of a sudden he's one of Smallville's most wanted?"

Pete shrugged from the other side of the room. "Something must have made him snap."

Lenore felt Clark's glance brush against hers. He spoke carefully. "I think it's Bob Rickman."

Chloe tilted her head, considering. "Yeah, but what does our rural Rodin have against Rickman?"

"Well," Lenore shrugged, "that is, other than the obvious 'poisoning the environment' angle?"

Clark shook his head. "I don't know." He turned to Chloe, "Could you do some digging, find a connection?"

"Yeah," Chloe said, a little spark lighting up her eyes. "Absolutely. Sounds like an interesting story — the tree-hugging hermit versus the pesticide tycoon."

Lenore leaned forward, staring down at the stack of photos Chloe was flipping through. "There has to be something they have in common."

Chloe snorted. "Definitely not their personal grooming habits."

That earned a ripple of laughter... until the door creaked open.

Lana stepped in, her expression sharp, eyes hard, every inch of her radiating quiet fury. Lenore felt it before she even fully saw her — a hot rush of anger crashing against her chest like a wave.

Oh, shit. Something was wrong.

"Lana —" Lenore started, voice faltering. But Lana didn't even look at her, her eyes on Clark the whole time. Lenore tried again, "Lana, what's wrong?"

"Can you guys give us a minute?" She said, her eyes still on the Kent boy, "I need to talk to Clark alone."

"Lana —"

The Lang girl finally looked at her and gave her a small, albeit hesitant, smile, "Nora, please."

Lenore shrugged, "Okay."

—S—

"I just don't think Kyle would do something like that. He doesn't seem like a violent person." Clark argued.

Lana glared at him, crossing her arms, "And you can tell that from knowing him for two days? He's lived in the woods alone for ten years."

Clark scoffed, "That makes him odd, not dangerous."

Lana stepped forward, "Whitney wouldn't attack anybody."

"He strung me up in a field."

Lana raised her eyebrows, "So that's what this is about? You haven't forgiven him."

"Lana," Clark replied with a shake of his head, "I just think there's something else going on here. Lenore believes so too. We just want to help —"

Lana closed the little distance between them, eyes hard and very, very close. Her voice dropped.

"You don't like Whitney or whatever — say it, instead of pretending to be his friend and pretending to care about what's happening with his dad. You don't even have to like me. I don't care, Clark. But ever since you came back into my best friend's life, things have been going wrong and she has been in danger too many times." Clark gulped as Lana took a step back, "Clark, if Nora gets hurt because of you, I will make sure your life turns into a living hell."

—S—

That evening, Lenore balanced a tray of mugs on one arm, weaving through the Beanery's crowded tables. Lana stood nearby, drink in hand, pretending to look busy but her eyes never left the door. The second Clark pushed it open, Lenore saw Lana stiffen, her jaw tightening like he was the reason her week had been going so bad.

Something had gone down between them. Lenore didn't even need her gift to feel the tension radiating from Lana — sharp, bitter, like glass scraping across her skin.

Ignoring Lana completely, Clark headed straight for the counter. "Two coffees," he said, voice clipped.

"Hey," Lenore greeted softly, forcing a smile as she reached for the pot. She flicked her gaze toward Lana. "What happened earlier? She's looking at you like you kicked her puppy."

Clark exhaled hard. "She's mad because I didn't believe Whitney's story."

Lenore's brow furrowed as she glanced back at Lana, who leaned closer to Whitney and whispered something heated against his ear. The bitterness spiked, burning in Lenore's chest until she shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure that's all? Lana's not really the type to attack someone just for disagreeing."

Clark shrugged, but the way his shoulders curled in told her everything. His unease crawled across her skin, heavy and restless, and it was starting to dig under her nerves.

"Clark," she pressed, lowering the coffee pot before her hands shook, "what's wrong?"

He hesitated, then muttered, "Rickman got my dad to sell the farm."

The shock hit her like a wave — his panic surged straight into her chest and made her heart stutter. "What?" she whisper-yelled, nearly sloshing coffee over the counter. She shoved the pot into another waiter's hands without thinking and grabbed Clark's arm, dragging him toward the side hallway.

"Yeah," Clark said tightly, letting her pull him. Lana's eyes tracked them across the room, her expression carefully blank, but Lenore could feel her... annoyance? bitterness? "Apparently my dad doesn't even know how it happened. One second he's saying no, the next... Rickman shakes his hand, and suddenly there's a signed contract."

"Oh my god." Lenore stopped short in the hallway, her grip on his sleeve tightening. His fear and anger tangled in her, pressing against her ribs until she almost couldn't breathe.

Clark raked a hand through his hair. "I came to talk to Lex about it. He might be able to help."

"Clark —" Lenore's voice broke, and she reached for his hand before she could stop herself. His emotions slammed into her, raw and sharp. She closed her eyes, trying to steady him the way she sometimes did, push calm into him, ease the edges of his panic.

But tonight it fought her. His fear clung stubbornly, refusing to be smoothed out. The harder she pushed, the more it rebounded in her own chest, leaving her short of breath.

"I could..." she started, forcing herself to take a deep breath. "If I just — if I touched Rickman, maybe I could —"

"No." Clark's voice snapped sharp enough to make her flinch. He pulled his hand back instantly, guilt rushing out of him and into her like cold water. "Len, absolutely not."

Her throat tightened. "But if he made your dad do something —"

"That's exactly why you can't," he cut in, voice low and urgent. "You don't know what he could do to you. I'm not letting you risk it. He might be enhanced."

The words should've felt protective, but what she felt pulsing through him wasn't just worry. It was fear — for her.

Lenore swallowed hard, pressing her hands against her arms to ground herself. "Clark... he's hurting your family. He's dangerous. I can't just stand by —"

"You think I want you to?" His eyes burned, his jaw set. "But if something happened to you, Len, I —" He stopped himself, shoulders stiffening. "You know what I mean to say."

Her powers flooded her with the words he wouldn't say. Fear of losing her. The ache of it, raw and unspoken, left her chest aching.

Lenore bit her lip, heart racing as she looked away. She wasn't supposed to feel this. Not from him.

"Please," Clark said finally, softer this time. "Stay out of this one."

"Okay."

—S—

Lenore was forced to believe she needed distance, and so, distance was what she took. Distance from Lana's pointed worried looks, from Clark's stupid silences, from the storm of emotions swirling around Smallville lately. Her powers had been gnawing at her — every angry moment, every wave of fear or jealousy, it all found its way into her chest, blocking her vision like smoke.

So when Miles showed up outside the Beanery that morning, leaning against his truck with the sun catching his messy brown hair, she didn't even hesitate.

"Skipping work?" he called as she stepped outside, holding her bag in her arms.

"Maybe," she said, eyeing him with a smile tugging at her lips.

He held up a paper bag like an offering. "Chocolate brownie. Still warm."

Her eyes lit up. "Your dad made it?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." His grin widened. "Don't ask questions, just accept your bribe."

Laughing, she tugged open the bag and tore into one of the pieces, flakes of crust sticking to her fingers. The taste was almost too sweet, buttery and comforting in a way that made her eyes close for a second.

"Am I forgiven for being an ass yesterday?"

"I wasn't even mad," she mumbled around a mouthful. "You're my favorite person today."

"Today?" He clutched at his chest, fake-wounded. "That's cold, Nora. Real cold."

"Fine," she said, crumbs dusting her sweater, "you can have the whole week."

He smirked, holding the truck door open for her like he'd won something. "Knew you'd come around."

The old truck rumbled down back roads, windows cranked open to let the September air pour in. Lenore rested her elbow on the window frame, letting the wind tug her hair into her face. Miles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, humming off-key to whatever country station came through the radio.

She turned to catch him stealing a glance at her. The fourth one in as many minutes.

"You're staring," she sang, narrowing her eyes.

He glanced back at the road, grin breaking across his face. "Not true. I'm... checking the road."

"You're checking the road?"

"Yup." He tapped the wheel for emphasis. "Making sure the road hasn't moved. Very important. Roads are tricky like that."

She laughed so hard she had to grab the door handle. "You're a dork."

"And yet," he shot back, "you're still here. Laughing at all my jokes."

"Laughing at you," she corrected.

"Same thing."

The ease of It — his lightness — slid over her like a balm. The constant buzzing weight of other people's feelings quieted, dulled by the way Miles' emotions poured out steady and warm.

They drove out past town, past fields bleached gold by the sun, until the road narrowed into gravel. The pond appeared suddenly between trees, a stretch of green-blue water that shimmered like glass.

Her mom would kill her if she knew she had left town. Lenore didn't care at the moment.

Miles parked on the slope and pulled his jacket off, tossing it onto the grass. "Blanket," he said proudly.

Lenore lay down beside him, the jacket scratchy under her arm, the sky wide and endless above them.

For a while, it was just quiet. Birds chattering in the trees, wind rustling the reeds, Miles' hand brushing against hers every so often.

Then he started talking — little things at first, like how he hated math but liked sketching old cars in the margins of his notebooks. How he wanted to rebuild a motorcycle one day, take it out on the open road just to see how far he could go.

Lenore talked about the book she was reading that week. Her attempt at knitting that didn't go quite as well as she had hoped. The cookies she helped her mom make. Seeing the world.

Then came the heavier things.

Her brother and her dad. How she thought she saw them sometimes.

His mom. How she'd been gone for years, no word. How she always used to come back with excuses that never made sense — new job, new city, old friends. "She always smells like cigarettes when she comes back," he said, voice half a laugh, half a sigh. "Like she lived someone else's life while she was gone. And now... she's just gone."

Lenore felt it as he finished speaking — the ache that pulsed off him, and it was sharp and it was lonely. It landed like a bruise. She swallowed, squeezing his hand.

"You don't deserve that," she whispered.

His thumb traced her knuckles slowly. "Maybe not. But I got you, so..." He gave a crooked smile. "Life evens out."

Her throat tightened. She wanted to believe him. Wanted it to be that simple.

By late afternoon, they were back in town, sitting in the bed of his truck behind the Beanery, sharing milkshakes. She'd ordered chocolate, he'd gotten strawberry, claiming it was, for some insane reason, 'the superior flavor.'

"Superior?" she teased, licking whipped cream off her straw.

"Obviously." He leaned closer and swiped his thumb across her cheek. "You missed a spot."

Her skin burned under his touch. She laughed, batting his hand away, but her heart beat faster anyway.

For a while, it felt perfect.

Which was probably why it all unraveled.

"You've been with Kent a lot lately," Miles said, too casual. He didn't meet her eyes, just stabbed his straw into the cup like it had wronged him. "I didn't want to say anything because we've been having a great day, but it's really bothered me, Nora."

The sharp edge of jealousy slipped under her skin before the words registered. It burned in her chest until she shifted, unsettled.

"Clark's... Clark," she said finally, trying for light. "We've known each other forever. We're friends."

"I know." His voice was tight. "It just feels like whenever something happens, he's the one you run to. Not me."

"That's not true." She gestured at him, at the truck bed, at the milkshakes sweating in their cups. "I'm literally with you right now."

"Yeah, after days of being with him. And you didn't even like him when we first met."

She set her milkshake down too hard, chocolate sloshing against the rim. "Clark and I are just friends. We resolved our differences."

Miles gave a short, humorless laugh. "You say that like you're trying to convince yourself."

The words cut. Not just because they stung, but because part of her feared he was right. She thought of Clark in the hallway yesterday — his fear for her, so strong she'd nearly drowned in it. She hadn't been able to shake it off since.

"I don't —" She broke off, shaking her head, words tangling in her throat. "You don't get it. Clark's been in my life since before Auguste. He's... family, Miles. That's all."

Miles' laugh was short and bitter. "Family doesn't look at you the way he does."

The words hung between them. Lenore's chest squeezed as she picked up on his emotions — jealousy, fear, but underneath all of it, something raw and aching. The desperation of someone who didn't want to lose any more people.

She wanted to reach for him with her powers, to make him feel better, to assure him that she wasn't going anywhere without her having to say it. But her hand trembled in her lap. She couldn't. Not with Miles. It would feel like a lie.

"Miles —" she started softly.

He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he looked at her again. His voice cracked with the weight of it. "I just... I don't want to lose you."

The honesty in his tone broke something inside her. She grabbed his hand, squeezing so hard her knuckles ached. "Miles, you're not going to lose me."

He stared at her like he was memorizing her face, then whispered, "I hope I don't. Because —" His throat worked, the words dragging out of him like they'd been waiting too long. "I love you, Nora."

Oh.

Oh.

The world seemed to stop. The buzz of crickets in the grass, the distant hum of cars on the street, even the pounding of her own heart — it all stilled. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The words she wanted weren't there. Or maybe they were and she was too afraid to say them.

Her silence stretched.

Miles' smile wavered, but he covered it with a crooked shrug. "Hey. No pressure. You don't have to say anything back. I just — needed you to know."

Her eyes burned, guilt pressing hard against her ribs. She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "You mean a lot to me, Miles."

He let out a breath that sounded like it hurt, but his arms wrapped around her anyway. "That's enough," he murmured, even though his feelings screamed louder than his words ever could

—S—

That evening, when Miles pulled his truck up to the Kent Farm, the silence between them was heavy enough that even the rumble of the engine couldn't cover it.

Lenore had asked him to drop her there — she'd said Clark needed her help with something, which wasn't even a lie. Still, she could feel the way it twisted inside him. The sharp flare of jealousy, the ache of not being chosen. It bled into her chest until she almost couldn't breathe.

When the truck rolled to a stop, neither of them moved right away. Miles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel once, twice, then shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned against the side of the truck like he was bracing himself. He looked like he wanted to say something — like he was turning the words over in his head, trying to find the right shape for them — but nothing came out.

It was awkward. Awkward because he was dropping her off at Clark's place, after her spending the whole afternoon insisting that Clark was just a friend. Awkward because he'd told her he loved her, and she hadn't said it back. Awkward because the truth was, she didn't know if she ever could.

She wished she could tell him she felt safe with him. That he made the noise of her powers quieter, that he gave her a kind of peace she had dreamt about. That he was someone she wanted to want. But the words jammed in her throat.

Finally, he moved. He stepped forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, slower than usual, lingering like he was memorizing the feel of her. It was softer, different — less like a habit and more like a question. A question he was sure she'd never answer. Maybe she was sure too.

"Bye, Nora," he murmured, voice low, tired.

Her heart clenched. She wanted to call him back, to fix the sting she felt pouring off him, but she stayed frozen until his taillights disappeared into the dark.

When the quiet of the farm settled over her, the guilt started gnawing immediately. She should have felt steady, secure. Instead, Clark's face flickered unbidden through her mind, sharper and sharper until she hated herself for it.

She knew it was just the beginning of the end for them, but god knew she was going to hold on till she couldn't.

—S—

She walked into the farmhouse, pushing open the door, and froze when she saw Lana already there.

Lana was stood next to the kitchen table, arms crossed, her smile warm but a little sheepish. Clark stood nearby, leaning awkwardly against the counter, like he wasn't sure where to put his hands.

"You guys are friends again?" Lenore asked, confused, glancing between them.

Lana grinned when she saw her, jumping up to pull her into a quick hug. "Yeah," she said, smiling softly at Clark. "I decided I'd rather have him as a friend than nothing after all."

Clark ducked his head, but Lenore caught the tiny, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. The relief rolling off him hit her chest like a wave.

Lana raised her eyebrows then, tilting her head curiously. "Where have you been all day?"

Lenore shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I was with Miles. We went out." Her gaze flicked to Clark automatically, searching his face. "What's the latest?"

Clark opened his mouth, but Lana cut in, shaking her head. "I'll let you two talk — I need to get back before Nell starts going door-to-door with missing posters. Nora, you want to come over after? We can watch that show you like."

Lenore grinned. "Yes, please. Just tell Nell to call my mom and let her know."

"Ok-ay!" Lana sang, grabbing her bag. She gave Clark one last smile before slipping out the door.

The house fell quiet again.Lenore turned back to Clark, her smile softening as she folded her arms and leaned against the table. "So," she said, tilting her head. "Did anything happen today?"

"Rickman's dead." Clark said it with a shrug, like he was commenting on the weather.

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?!"

He chuckled at her reaction, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Yeah, it's... a long story." He hopped up onto the edge of the kitchen table, casual as ever, while she slid into a chair, crossing her legs and waiting expectantly.

"Well?" she prodded.

Clark sighed, but his smile didn't fade. "Alright. So — last night someone tried to kill Kyle while he was at the station."

"What the hell?"

"Yeah," Clark nodded. "Anyway, turns out he and Rickman used to be best friends. Partners, even."

Lenore shook her head. "Really?"

"Yeah. When the meteor shower happened, they were both in Smallville." He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice like he was telling a ghost story. "They got powers from it."

Lenore groaned, throwing her head back. "Of course they did. Why am I not even surprised anymore?"

He laughed. "Yeah, well... theirs was pretty dangerous. They could literally shake someone's hand and get them to do whatever they wanted."

Her eyes widened, her stomach tightening as the idea sank in. "They could control people?"

"Exactly," Clark said, nodding. "A bit like your powers. Kyle didn't want that life, so he stayed away from everything. Rickman? He built an empire with it."

Her expression darkened. "Wow."

"So last night," Clark continued, "Kyle got shot. I got him to Lex so he could get some help. But today, just a few hours ago.... Rickman used his powers on Lex. And Lex —" He hesitated, unbuttoning the top of his flannel. He pulled it aside just enough to show a dark bruise along his neck, still fading but stark against his skin. "He open-fired on me."

Lenore gasped, lurching forward before she could think. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing over the bruised skin. The instant her touch connected, her powers flared, and she almost felt an echo of what he must have felt — shock, pain, fear, relief. It hit her so hard she sucked in a breath.

"I can't believe..." she whispered, her voice shaking. "Clark, your bruises are from bullets."

He tilted his head at her, his voice gentler now. "My mom said the same thing."

Her hand lingered a second too long before she snatched it back, suddenly aware of the heat flooding her cheeks. She coughed awkwardly and stepped away, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Clark cleared his throat and looked away, his own ears tinged pink, before continuing. "Anyway, I was able to knock Lex out. And by then, Kyle had already ordered Rickman to... shoot himself."

Lenore sank back into the chair, exhaling slowly. "That's sad."

"Yeah." Clark's voice dropped, and for a moment his eyes darkened with something heavy. Then he shook it off, glancing back at her. "I'm glad you stayed away, though."

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she nodded. "Yeah. It was a nice day, actually."

His grin broke wide, brighter than she expected. "I'm glad."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the silence thick but warm. Lenore's chest tightened with guilt again — Miles' voice echoing in her head, Family doesn't look at you the way he does.

She pushed to her feet quickly, forcing the heaviness away. "Anyway, I should go before Lana starts the show without me."

"Oh," Clark said, still smiling. "Sure. What show?"

"That 70's Show."

His brows furrowed. "Which show?"

"That 70's Show," she repeated slowly, as if he were five years old.

Clark groaned. "Which 70's show, Lenore?"

She rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. "That 90's show about the 70's. God, keep up, Kent."

He laughed, shaking his head and her smile lingered as she headed toward the door.

—S—

Lana's living room smelled faintly of popcorn and the lavender candle Nell always kept burning on the coffee table. The TV was already humming low in the background when Lenore kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the sofa beside Lana, pulling a throw blanket across her lap.

"God, I'm exhausted," she sighed, tucking her legs under herself. "Miles dragged me all over town today. Even out of town."

Lana arched an eyebrow as she reached for the popcorn bowl between them. "Dragged you? Or did you want to go?"

Lenore gave her a look, half smile, half grimace. "Both, maybe. I just needed a distraction."

"Miles is good at that," Lana said, popping a kernel into her mouth. "He's a good guy, really. Always ready to do something. Whitney told me he's been helping out at the store too."

"Exactly," Lenore said with a little laugh. She fiddled with the edge of the blanket before blurting, "He told me he loved me."

Lana's hand froze halfway to the popcorn. Her eyes widened. "He did what?"

Lenore winced. "Yeah. Just — out of nowhere. We were arguing about Clark —"

"Of course you were," Lana muttered. "What's going on there?"

"Shut up," Lenore shot back, rolling her eyes. Then her voice softened. "Nothing is going on between us. And Miles and I were arguing and then he just... said it. Like he couldn't hold it in anymore."

"And you said — ?"

"Nothing?" Lenore groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Absolutely nothing."

Lana gasped dramatically. "Lenore Love, you monster."

"I panicked!" she said from behind her hands. "I just... I couldn't say it back. It didn't feel right. And then he said 'no pressure,' which is the worst possible thing someone can say after dropping the L-word."

Lana leaned back into the couch, shaking her head with a smile. "Oh my god. He really likes you."

"I know," Lenore whispered. "And I do care about him, I just... I don't know if it's the same. It's so confusing."

Lana reached over and nudged her knee. "Hey. It's okay not to know. You're sixteen. You're allowed to figure it out."

Lenore peeked out from her hands, grateful for the reassurance. Then she grabbed a handful of popcorn and changed the subject. "Anyway, you'll never believe what Clark told me earlier."

"Oh god, what now?"

"So apparently," Lenore said, lowering her voice like it was a scandal, "Kyle and Rickman used to be best friends."

Lana's jaw dropped. "No way."

"Way," Lenore nodded. She filled in Lana with more details about the day, careful not to give too many details, just enough to make her feel comfortable with the events that had occurred.

Lana nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "I wonder what happened. Like — what actually made them stop being friends."

Lenore's eyes softened, and she leaned her head against the back of the couch. She knew the reason but she didn't say it. She wondered if Lana would hate her if she found out about Lenore's powers. "Do you think we'd ever end up like that, Lana?"

Lana turned to her sharply. "You and me?"

Lenore shrugged, forcing a casual tone. "Yeah. People change. Things happen. What if one day we're not — us anymore?"

For a second Lana just stared at her, then she grinned and shook her head. "Nora, this is never going to end."

Lenore blinked, surprised at the certainty in her voice. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because," Lana said simply, tucking her legs up on the couch too, "you're my person. We've been through Nell's horrible cooking phases, all the shit that's happened to us, your mom's rules, Clark's awkwardness, and now Miles saying the L-word. If we survived all that already, we can survive anything."

Lenore laughed, her heart easing a little. "That's your criteria? Clark's awkwardness and my boyfriend's premature declarations of love?"

"Exactly," Lana said, dead serious. Then she broke into a giggle.

Soon they were both laughing. Once it died down, Lana looked at her with all the seriousness in the world and said — "Trust me, Nora. We're going to be legendary."

WORD COUNT: 10, 161

Buckle up this is going to be a long one. I REALLLYYYYY need to rant.

my week has been the ABSOLUTE WORST, I am not even kidding. It's like every bad thing decided to happen this week itself omg.

So, on the 9th I found out my TRC (temporary residence) was rejected and therefore I had to leave the country ASAP before I became an illegal immigrant. Then the issue became where I have to go. I grew up in another country but I am a citizen of another so now, my documents are spread out over three different continents. not fun,

anyways, I had to suddenly book a flight home, despite just buying groceries (goodbye to that apple pie I had to throw away, you will always be loved.)

then, my flight got delayed. TWICE.

And then, the worst one, when I landed, I found out my dog died.

I am not the biggest animal lover, I have never been but a few years ago my parents got a dog and that dog had a baby. Istg, he was the only dog I've ever loved. I am usually so scared of dogs but Cookie was my favourite and I used to spend so much time with him :(

goodbye Cookie, you will always be my favourite <3

anyways, that's been my week. Hopefully it will get better! my dad's flying in tomorrow to help me with the visa application, conrad and belly are gonna meet up in paris and I'm using someone else's money to buy food (no more looking at prices, it was a tough life guys)

SOOOO, pls pls pls comment and vote!! I really struggled with this chapter, my mental health has been on an all time low fr. I'm going to start the next chapter asap tho so don't worry!!

ty for sticking w me so long <3

anyways, some memes now for yall

clark running for his life while lex tries to kill him:

meanwhile, lenore and miles living their best twilight saga lives:

miles when he finds out lenore likes superheroes