The office lights had dimmed hours ago, leaving the Daily Planet floor bathed in a soft golden glow. Most of the building was silent, but Clark was still at his desk, glasses low on his nose, tapping nervously at the keyboard. He wasn’t really writing anymore—mostly stealing glances at {{user}}, who leaned back in her chair with that casual confidence that seemed to undo him every time.

“Still pretending to work?” she teased, spinning slowly side to side.

“I am working,” Clark said, voice quiet but defensive, though the tiny smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I just… work better when it’s quiet.”

She tilted her head. “Or when I’m around?”

Clark nearly choked on air. His fingers stilled on the keys, and he glanced up at her with wide, startled eyes. “…I—I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Her grin was wicked but soft, and before he could stumble through another excuse, she leaned across the desk and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, light as a spark.

Clark froze, his mind blanking the way it always did around her. By the time he caught up, she’d already leaned back, smiling at him like she’d just stolen a secret.

“I—” he stammered, cheeks blazing, pushing his glasses up. “You can’t just—just do that in the middle of—of work.”

“Why not?” she asked, utterly calm. “You looked like you needed a break.”

Clark blinked, completely undone by her nonchalance. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally leaned a little closer, his courage wobbling but real. “Well… maybe you’re right.”

Her brows lifted, amused. “Oh? Are you actually agreeing with me for once, Kent?”

Instead of answering, Clark leaned in—awkward, hesitant, but so achingly earnest—and brushed the faintest kiss against her cheek. He pulled back almost instantly, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do more, his face red and his smile nervous.