1/2
Clark was tired. Not in that physical sort of way, where a person felt like they ran ten miles and back to the point where every bone inside their body hurt. No, the weary demeanor that had overtaken him was purely emotional and, worse yet, one that Clark didn't quite know how to fight off. It wasn't like he could crawl into bed, close his eyes, and wake up good, rested, and emotionally pumped for the day when all he felt was a heavy sense of agonizing burden no matter what he did or where he went.
Kon was dead. Everyone knew that he was. It was a simple enough fact, the sort of thing people could bring up casually in conversation and nod their heads along to as though his death happened to be just another topic for discussion. Just another day in the life, wasn't it? That poor kid. He had never stood a chance with another dose of horror crawling from the seals mouth. All factual. All true. Yet it all felt so empty. Kon was dead. There should have been more to it than that, right? The world should have shut down. Word of his death shouldn't have been the subject of gossip. Worse yet, it shouldn't have been so quiet. Forgotten. Insignificant. Yet, somehow, it was. People still left their houses, stopped for coffee on the way to work, made plans, went out, kept living. The boards were still churning out posts on a regular basis, drunken banter and amusing, friendly sort of talk filling into the places where mourning should have thrived.
It was pessimistic of him, Clark knew. He shouldn't have expected the entire world to throw in the towel just because Kon had died. Logically, Clark understood that life was always going to go on, no matter who died or how screwed up things got in the city. Not everyone was going to bury themselves in bouts of depression and, furthermore, not everyone had to, because not everyone knew Kon the way that Clark Kent did. All of that was fine and well and Clark was very much capable of understanding that. Again: logically. Emotionally? It was a different matter altogether. He had been angry at the world, angry at himself, angry at Kon. How could they all have kept on going? Why hadn't he been there to save him? Had Kon even given the consequences of chasing after a different version of Clark any thought?
The anger he had felt at the thought of it all had been unbearable. It had reached a high point a night ago, when Clark had stormed into his apartment and ripped his door clear off it's hinges. Upon doing so, the frame had twisted in on itself, wood splintering in such an unnatural way that most in passing probably would have wondered how someone could even have managed that much damage on their own. Clark was usually careful. So very careful. In that moment, though, care had fallen to the backburner. Clark could say it was an accident all he wanted, but truthfully, he'd ripped the door and it's frame apart of his own accord.
It hadn't helped any.
Darcy was standing at the doorway now. It was mostly replaced. Clark had gone out and bought the supplies he had needed to re-build the entrance to his home and had set to work on it earlier that day. It needed a paintjob and the frame was still a little busted, but Clark wasn't too worried about it. He was good, so long as there was a door there. Clark wasn't of the mind to worry about perfecting anything in relation to home decor right now. His head was too muddled up with grief and his schedule, complicated as it was, was completely full up with funeral arrangements.