Disclaimer: Don't own anything on the TV.

There’s this feeling, more of a voice, deep down inside, that flares up occasionally. When it does, it mostly yells ‘this isn’t right’ at him. And he knows it isn't.

That haunting voice has always belonged to Clark. Now more than before, it interrupts his business deals and the scams he pulls on ‘the innocent victims’, as far as the voice is concerned, and when it does, he almost wishes Clark hadn’t pulled him out of the car-wreck all those years ago; that he hadn’t saved his sorry ass over and over again after that. He’ll almost wish that Clark wasn’t living in Metropolis, wasn’t a reporter spending his days digging up dirt to throw at him, wasn’t dating Lois Lane (that one he really does wish), wasn’t self proclaimed world saviour, wasn’t the mirror image of the innocent looking blue eyed farm boy from Smallville, that he didn’t remind Lex of the only times he’d been happy in his life. But only almost.

He tells himself that he doesn’t need companions or friendships, weaknesses; yet every time he spots Clark in the middle of a crowded press conference he wants to ask if Clark would like to go and have a drink at this quiet bar he knows, an absolutely brilliant place, with good drinks and polite, non gossiping staff. It would be just like old times. Then he wants to tell Clark how he longs for days just like the ones where they sat in silence in front of the fireplace at the Luthor manor. The day they kissed in the Kent’s barn and then again the next day.

But he knows that this is only temporarily, a milder kind of frost in his heart, before the cold again sets heavily on his shoulders and pushes him back into that shape of the Lex he was always meant to be.

AN: will dance for reviews.