The late afternoon sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and amber. It was golden hour - Clark's favorite time of day. It reminded him of the times the friend group used to stay at Saltmere Beach until midnight, playing "truth or dare" and "Uno". But he didn't have time to admire the sky today. He was focused on the football match.

Only a few minutes remained in the game against Saltmere High, and his team was losing. He had the ball at his feet, no defenders in sight. One of his perfect shots could bring the match to a tie. It was just what Bluebell High needed to lift everyone's spirits. It had been a tough week for the football team: the captain, Evan, had gotten injured, and nearly half of the team was down with a fever.

Clark was right in front of the goal, ready to shoot. He had to prove he could do it – for his teammates, the ones who had started calling him "golden boy" and for his parents, who had just found out that an Ivy League school was interested in offering him a scholarship.

That's when he saw her.

Delilah. 

Standing just beyond the chain-link fence, sunlight catching her blonde hair.

His concentration slipped slightly.

The shot went wide. The ball hit the crossbar, and missed.

The final whistle blew moments later, echoing across the field. His teammates groaned in frustration, some dropped to their knees, others slammed their fists into the turf. Clark stood frozen, the weight of the miss crushing his chest. He didn't turn to face them. He couldn't.

───── ⋆ ─────

The locker room emptied fast, voices trailing off until only silence remained. Clark sank onto the bench, sweat drying on his skin, heart pounding like a drum in his ears. The pressure he had carried all season suddenly felt unbearable.

He needed to get out of there.

He slipped out the back, careful not to be seen. The last thing he wanted was for a teammate to follow him – or worse, to see him in the middle of a breakdown.

The evening air was thick with humidity and every step on the grass felt like a blow to his chest. He found the storage shed behind the gym, its wood faded to gray, its paint peeling from years of neglect. A place where no one would think to look for him.

He pushed the door, which groaned in protest and as he stepped inside, the sounds of the outside world vanished. The air smelled of dust and rusted metal.

With a guttural, almost animal scream, Clark grabbed a crate of old orange cones and hurled it with all his strength against the wall. The crash echoed through the shed like thunder. Then he slammed his fist into the wall, again and again, knocking off flakes of white paint. His hand burned, his chest ached. Rage and exhaustion spilled out of him in a relentless flood.

A faint sound reached him from behind. A quiet, steady voice broke through.

"There you are."

Clark froze, his breath ragged. Slowly, he turned his head.

In the doorway stood Arys. Their calm eyes were fixed on him, without a trace of judgement. The light from outside softened the outline of their figure.

When he spoke, his voice broke. "How... How long have you been there?" He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and added, "What are you doing here?" 

Arys stepped inside slowly, eyes locked on him. "You weren't at your locker. You always go there after a match." They closed the door behind them with a gentle click.

They didn't come too close. They wanted to give Clark the space to be vulnerable, to not put his mask back on. 

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "You didn't answer my question." 

"Because it's not important, Clark," they replied, almost gently.

"I... I needed to be alone, I... I lost control, Arys." He looked at his knuckles, red and bruised from the impact. "I... I don't..."

Arys interrupted him. "It wasn't losing control. It was a full-on breakdown, you know?"

Clark stayed still for a few seconds, his smile fading, as he looked down at his feet. He was suddenly very interested in the floor. He laughed bitterly, then added: "Great. That really makes me feel better."

"That's the truth," they said, as they took a step closer to him. "You don't have to be the golden boy all the time." Their voice softened. But Clark didn't notice. He just looked away, tears filling his eyes. "It's the only thing I'm good at. I don't know how to be someone else. How to be the real me."

Arys didn't push further. They sat down next to him on the floor.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Clark let himself break down. 

───── ⋆ ─────

Clark was gathering the last things from his locker when Delilah found him. His eyes were still red from crying, but his smile had returned.

"Arys told me I'd find you here," Delilah said hesitantly, breaking the silence. She approached slowly, almost afraid of how Clark might react. She stopped a few steps away, then added in a soft voice, "I'm sorry about earlier... the goal. I didn't... I really didn't mean to distract you. It wasn't my intention."

Clark looked at her.

"It's not your fault," he replied, his voice rough but firm. "Or at least, not entirely. It's just been a bad day, that's all."

He closed his locker and started walking toward the exit. He was about to disappear from Delilah's sight when she called out,

"Clark!"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't come just to apologize," she said, pulling out the now crumpled letter. "I wanted to give you this."

Clark stepped closer, curiosity clear on his face.

"It's a letter," Delilah continued, "I wrote it. Uh... It might sound strange, but... I wrote one for each of us."

Clark stared at the envelope for a long moment, his hand trembling slightly as he took it.

"A letter, huh? I see you haven't changed," he said, looking at her with softer eyes. "Why now?"

"I want to try to bring us back to how we were before. Before everything changes again with college."

"I get it. That's a good idea, Lilah."

"Thanks."

She moved as if to hug him, then remembered what she had told Yuki. "Um, I want to ask you something else, if you don't mind."

Clark nodded.

"I want you to help me give it to Arys," she showed him another letter, with Arys' name written in gold on it. "You're the only one who can do it. You're the only one who really knows them - not the façade they show all of us. You're the one they trust the most, Clark, and I... well, I can't convince them on my own."

Clark took a deep breath, his gaze growing more determined.

"Alright, I'll help you. I'll try to give it to them as soon as possible. But you know they'll only accept if Milos comes with us."

Delilah let out a sigh of relief.

"Of course he'll come too," she said, lifting a third envelope. "I already thought of that."

Clark chuckled softly. "Of course."

"Thank you, Clark. Really. I don't know what I'd do without your help."

DIANA SPEAKS!!

Here we are! The third chapter is here! I just said I was losing motivation and yet here I am with the third chapter ready. Sorry hahaha. The next one will see Clark and Delilah delivering the letters to the Cortez siblings. I'm not sure when it will come out yet — probably it will take me a bit longer because I'm on vacation next week — but I'll try not to keep you waiting too long!