By the time the last fortune cookie had been cracked open and Lois’s laughter had faded into her bedroom, the apartment had gone quiet in that late-night kind of way—muted, cozy, wrapped in city sounds from the street below. Jimmy was out cold on the couch, one arm hanging over the side, shoes still on.

That left Clark and {{user}} on the floor, sitting among empty cartons and chopsticks like some small battlefield of takeout. The glow from the streetlamp outside painted the room in amber, catching the edge of Clark’s glasses as he pushed them up nervously.

He cleared his throat, fiddling with the folded paper of his fortune slip. “I, uh… don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard during a deadline before,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual, like it might wake Jimmy if he spoke too loud.