The night had stretched into that sweet spot where the bar hummed low, the jukebox crooning something soft and nostalgic. Glasses clinked, laughter rose and fell like the tide. Lois was locked in debate with Jimmy about which takeout place reigned supreme, her hands flying as she argued.

Clark sat quieter, though not calm. {{user}} was leaning close, her shoulder brushing his every so often, the scent of her perfume drifting warm and dizzy around him. His drink sat forgotten, ice long melted.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” she said over the music, “I’ve always wondered what the world looks like through these.” Before Clark could react, her fingers slipped up and plucked the glasses right off his face.

“Wait—” His hand jerked up too late, heat rushing to his cheeks.

She slid them on, blinking as the lenses magnified her eyes just enough to make her laugh. “Whoa. Clark Kent vision. Everything’s… blurry but important, huh?”

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of how exposed he felt without them. “I, uh… I kind of need those.”