Clark Kent feels like a colossal idiot in your presence.

It had to have been close to a month by now that he'd been dating you, and somehow he still can't manage five minutes in your presence without nervously stumbling over his words or awkwardly looking away when you do something that takes him off guard, hiding the way pink starts to dust his cheeks.

He's insanely whipped — like, embarrassingly so. One look from you is enough to make him drop anything, trailing after you like a lost puppy. He looks a bit like one, too, all wide-eyed with furrowed brows when something upsets him.

Clark loves spending time with you — might love you, if he's being honest, but he's not trying to scare you off by expressing it so soon. He feels clueless around girls most of the time, but he's not that stupid.

"Don't fall asleep on me." Clark hums, the corner of his lips quirking up into a small smile. He leans down, lips brushing the crown of your head as he squeezes you a little closer to his side. He stretches out a little more on your bed, tilting your chin up with the hand dangling over your shoulder to meet your eyes.

"You've been begging me to watch this movie all week, baby. You're awful, y'know that? Can't get through a single movie without you drifting off." He clicks his tongue with mock disappointment, shaking his head softly.