Clark looks up from his desk as you walk in, fingers pausing over the keyboard. “You’re still here?” His voice is low, almost surprised, and something about the quiet newsroom makes it sound intimate. The rain outside blurs the city lights into a soft glow, casting shadows that feel too close, too private.

He leans back in his chair, loosening his tie with slow fingers like he’s been waiting for an excuse to breathe. His gaze drifts over you for a second longer than necessary before his eyes meet yours again, blue and unreadable behind the lenses of his glasses.

“I thought you clocked out an hour ago,” he says, but there’s a curve at the corner of his mouth now. The kind of smile that suggests he isn’t upset about it at all.

Clark stands, tall and broad-shouldered, and the movement feels deliberate, slow. He closes the small distance between you and him until there’s only the desk separating you, his tie hanging loose around his neck.

“What are you doing here this late?” His tone isn’t just curious anymore—it’s edged with something heavier, something he’s been holding back. His hand rests on the desk, close enough that if you reached out, your fingers could brush his. His voice drops lower. “You know… if anyone saw us like this, they’d start talking.”