The following Monday, the usual high school chaos of slamming lockers and frantic chatter felt muffled to Jeremy, as if he were tuned to a frequency that made the rest of the world seem like a low-resolution broadcast.
The center of the hallway, however, was sharp. Lana Lang and Chloe Sullivan were standing by Chloe's locker, and the air between them was thick with a new, jagged electricity.
…
Jeremy approached, and the change in the room was instantaneous. Lana, usually the picture of porcelain composure, reached out and tucked her arm through his with a proprietary gentleness. Her eyes, still reflecting the lingering shadows of the bunker, brightened the moment she felt the warmth of his sleeve.
"I didn't think you'd make it before the first bell," Lana said, her voice soft but clear enough to carry. "I wanted to thank you again for the coffee this morning. It helped the Talon feel a little more like home."
Chloe's expression didn't falter, but her grip on her notebook tightened until the cardboard barked. Her pupils were still slightly dilated, a physical hangover from the "spark" Jeremy had shared with her at the Torch only a few days before.
"The Talon is great for caffeine, Lana, but Jeremy and I actually have a deadline to meet," Chloe interjected, her tone clipped and professional—a mask she wore when she was feeling defensive. "The Sheriff's department is breathing down my neck about the Watts article, and Jeremy is the only one who can help me decode the technical gaps in the bunker's power failure."
Lana's smile didn't fade, but she didn't let go of Jeremy's arm. "The article can wait an hour, can't it? Jeremy promised to help me go through the insurance paperwork for the Talon. It's a lot to handle alone."
Jeremy stood between them, a lightning rod for two very different kinds of need. He could feel the soft, steady rhythm of Lana's gratitude—a quiet sanctuary—clashing with the sharp, frantic pulse of Chloe's intellectual and physical addiction to his presence.
"I'm sure I can manage both," Jeremy said, his voice a calm modulation that bridged the gap. "But let's prioritize. Chloe, the data logs are already on your server. You don't need me to hold your hand for the draft."
Chloe stepped closer, invading his personal space just enough to catch the faint scent of ozone that always clung to him. "It's not about the draft, Jeremy. It's about the truth. Some things are too complex to be handled over a server. They require... direct contact."
Lana's grip on his arm tightened. She wasn't a girl who played games, but her survival instincts were piqued. "Direct contact is exactly what I'm trying to avoid, Chloe. The world has been loud enough lately. I just want some quiet time with the person who actually kept me safe."
The silence that followed was brittle. Other students drifted past, oblivious, but for a moment, the three of them were trapped in a private circuit. Chloe's eyes darkened, her gaze shifting to Lana's hand on Jeremy's arm with a flicker of something primal. She wasn't just jealous of his time; she was craving the charge she knew only he could provide.
Across the hall, Clark Kent stood by his own locker, his hand frozen on the dial. He wasn't looking at them, but Jeremy could feel the weight of his stare. To Clark, the scene was a double betrayal: the girl he loved and the best friend he trusted were both orbiting a man who had only been "awake" for a few weeks.
Jeremy caught Clark's eye for a split second. The silent communication was clear: Clark was the hero who saved the day, but Jeremy was the one holding the pieces.
"I'll see you both at lunch," Jeremy said, gently disengaging from Lana while giving Chloe a nod that promised a visit to the Torch later.
As the girls walked in opposite directions—Lana toward the gym and Chloe toward a classroom—the tension lingered in the air like a storm that hadn't quite broken. Jeremy turned to find Clark standing right behind him. The taller boy was gripping the strap of his backpack so tightly the fabric groaned under the strain. He wasn't looking at Jeremy with the heat of a rival; he was looking at him with the pained, weary confusion of a protector who had lost his compass.
"You're popular today," Clark noted, his voice flat, though his eyes betrayed a deeper tremor of anxiety.
Jeremy stopped, leaning back against a row of lockers. He could feel the low-level hum of the school's electrical grid behind him, a comforting buzz against the jagged edges of Clark's worry. "It's a high-maintenance frequency, Clark. You should know that better than anyone."
Clark stepped closer, his voice dropping so the passing students couldn't hear. "I'm not trying to be the hall monitor, Jeremy. But I've known Chloe since we were kids, and I've... I've cared about Lana since before I could even talk to her. I see the way they're looking at you. I see how much they're starting to need you."
He paused, his brow furrowed in that sincere, heavy way that only a Kent could manage. "Lana's been through a nightmare, and Chloe... Chloe gets obsessed. She dives into things headfirst. I just don't want to see them get hurt when the 'miracle' wears off. Or when you realize you can't be everything to both of them at once."
Jeremy watched him for a beat. He could see the genuine "good guy" shining through—the boy who would rather bleed out than see a single tear shed by the people he loved.
"You think I'm playing with the current, Clark?" Jeremy asked, his voice calm, almost soothing.
"I think you don't realize how much power you actually have over them right now," Clark replied. "It's not just about rescuing someone from a bunker. It's about what happens afterward. If you drop the connection, they're the ones who are going to feel the fall."
Jeremy reached out, clapping a hand on Clark's shoulder. He didn't send a pulse this time; he kept it human.
"I'm not Lex, Clark. I'm not collecting them like trophies for a display case," Jeremy said firmly. "Lana needs a sanctuary where she doesn't have to be the 'Girl in the Woods' or the 'Tragic Orphan.' I'm giving her a place to just exist. And Chloe? She's a seeker. She's found a truth in me that makes sense to her. I'm not going to pull the rug out from under either of them."
He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto Clark's with an intensity that made the fluorescent lights above them flicker just once.
"I care about them too. Different frequencies, sure, but the intent is the same. I'm not going to let them break, Clark. You've spent so long carrying the weight of this town on your shoulders that you've forgotten that other people can help hold the line. Let me hold this one for a while. They're safe with me."
Clark searched Jeremy's face, looking for any hint of the Luthor-esque coldness he feared. He didn't find it. He found a strange, steady assurance that he couldn't quite replicate himself.
"I hope you're right," Clark whispered, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. "Because if they get hurt... I won't care about 'frequencies' or 'miracles.' I'll just be a friend who's had enough."
"I'd expect nothing less," Jeremy said with a faint, respectful smirk. "Now go to English. You're already three minutes late, and I don't think even your speed can explain that to Mr. Ford."