Soren shook his head and picked up the knife and fork, "I can eat by myself."
They ate in silence.
After the meal, Clark tidied up briefly and returned to the room.
"I remember there's a more spacious lounge around here," he said, "If you feel this room is too cramped, I can move the bed there. You'd probably sleep more comfortably."
—But they both knew that as long as Soren couldn't leave this place, the size of the room didn't matter in the slightest.
Soren sat on the bed, he lowered his head, exposing a stretch of his long, pale neck.
His black hair made his skin look even whiter, almost snow-like, with the blue veins on his arms vividly visible.
He looked a bit listless.
Clark tried bringing up a few topics to talk about, but Soren barely responded.
His eyelashes trembled slightly as his gaze followed Clark's tightly wrapped black boots upward, landing on Clark's face—a face he knew so well, yet now felt strangely unfamiliar.
—This wasn't his Clark.
This was Kal-El.
Soren hugged his knees, resting his face against them, turning his head slightly to look at Clark.
He saw that boy, walking towards him step by step in the fields of Smallville.
Corn leaves swayed gently as Clark passed through them, wearing a red plaid shirt, smiling like sunlight bursting into Soren's heart.
He just watched him like that, watched him grow taller and older, watched him soar into the sky, watched him don his blue suit, and watched him one day suddenly start combing his hair differently.
Soren had made sure Clark no longer experienced all the things that once hurt him.
Clark had a companion in his childhood, an untroubled high school life, a university time where he was well-liked, and those joyful, free moments soaring above the clouds over Metropolis.
Soren had been with Clark through nearly all of his life up to this point.
But Clark...
Soren had spent ten years by his side, yet in the end, he lost him to an unforeseen death.
Soren gazed at Clark's face for a long time, and eventually, a single crystal-clear tear fell from his eye.
Clark was startled by the sudden tear, he quickly wrapped Soren in his arms, "What's wrong? Don't cry, don't cry. I'll take you to see your parents tomorrow, okay? Please don't cry…"
Soren wiped his tears with the back of his hand and suddenly realized that all those years ago, when Dr. Manhattan had found him, it had all been leading to this moment.
All the things he had been avoiding.
He had always been half-skeptical.
He didn't want to believe it.
—The truth of fate.
Soren had created a ten-year-long illusion for both himself and Clark, thinking that with just a little effort, he could steer fate back on track.
Yet he didn't realize that the train of destiny was moving ever forward, carrying both of them far into the distance, with a roaring speed.
So that's how it is...
That's how it is.
What Dr Manhattan had hoped for him to accomplish was to bring Clark back onto the returning train.
In this moment, which point in time could Dr. Manhattan be witnessing now?
Soren closed his eyes and asked, "Tomorrow?"
"…Tomorrow."
Clark hesitated briefly, but then firmly agreed.
"But after you see them, you'll have to come back with me."
Soren nodded, agreeing silently.
He didn't say anything more and lying down.
Two comic books were tossed carelessly to the other side of the bed, "I'm going to sleep, Clark. Are you going to sleep?"
His gaze was damp, unsure of what he was hoping for.
"You sleep. I'll stay with you," Clark said, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently stroking Soren's hair.
He had developed a peculiar fondness for playing with Soren's black hair, "I'll leave after you've fallen asleep."
Soren seemed very tired; he didn't say anything else.
He turned over, facing the window, and quickly fell asleep.
Only after Soren was asleep did Clark quietly leave.
The Earth's day-and-night line moved across the planet once again.
Soren sat, hugging his knees, in the Watchtower's monitoring room.
The long monitoring console in front of him, spanning several meters, was entirely dark.
Only the stars outside the glass walls of the space station still twinkled brightly.
This monitoring room had clearly been Batman's domain.
In fact, there was still a tiny Bat symbol etched into the corner of the console.
Soren could almost imagine Bruce sitting there, watching over everything that happened on Earth's front lines.
He ran his fingers over the small bat symbol.
—Clark appeared behind him.
"Is it time to go back now?"
Soren turned his head, jumped down from the chair, and said, "Let's go back."
...
Clark brought him back to Earth, landing in front of what had once been his home.
The gardens of the lakeside estate seemed to have been neglected for a long time.
Ivy had grown wildly everywhere, and under the rose bushes, there were only weeds.
Standing outside the house, Soren was suddenly overwhelmed with hesitation.
The sound of the door opening startled him, and Clark placed a steadying hand on his back just in time.
Then, Soren saw a face full of sorrow appear behind the door.
Ah.
He heard a stifled sob deep within himself.
...Was Charlie really this old?
His father looked like a different man.
The once straight, proud posture had slightly hunched, and his face bore the marks of defeat.
The man who used to stubbornly wear a tailored casual suit even in Smallville was now wrapped in a knitted cardigan.
It wasn't until this moment that Soren realized with utter clarity—
Charlie and Renee were both well past middle age.
They were almost fifty-six years old.
Charlie stared at Soren, frozen for a moment, his eyes scanning the face of someone who no longer looked the same as before.
Even though Clark Kent had already told them that Soren was coming home, David still couldn't believe his eyes, his eyes reddening. "...My child? Are you... are you really...?"