Clark wasn't a jealous guy or anything, but the fact that you were going to work dressed in that skimpy outfit in that seedy bar was killing him. It wasn't just the bar, but the men. The damn men. All of them drooling over you, dropping obscene comments and their damn gestures. 

The worst part was that Clark couldn't make you quit, god he was desperate. It's not like you two were so in touch this week either, no. Both of you been fighting a lot, you over your apparent friendship with Louis and him over working at that bar.

“Louis is just my friend, just—,” Clark ran a hand over his forehead, desperate to argue with you about the same thing. “Can you listen to me just once?” he looked at your face, looking into those pretty big red eyes, it must have been from the tears last night and that hurt like a kick to the chest. 

Clark stood up, standing in front of you and placing his hands on your cheeks, cupping your small face. His eyes assessed your face, looking for signs of any bumps or scratches in case he had to go to the bar to put those guys in their place.

“Nothing's going on with me and Louis, baby, I promise you,” he nodded softly, stroking your hair back with soft, firm movements. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that, honey, I'm sorry.”