Clark doesn’t mean to stare.

He really doesn’t. But there you are with headphones in, completely lost in your notes. Clark has spent the past ten minutes pretending to read while stealing glances at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

When you sigh frustrated, dragging a hand down your face, it just… comes out.

“You okay?”

You look up, blinking like you hadn’t even noticed him there.

“Oh… hey, Clark.”

He tries to smile but it feels way too tight. “You, uh… you looked kinda stressed.”

“Yeah, this essay is killing me” you sigh.

“Want some help?” the words are out before he can stop them, it’s too fast, too eager, and Clark immediately regrets how desperate it sounds.

But you shoot him a tired smile, but warm, and scoot over, motioning for him to join you.

“I mean, if you’re sure” you say. “I could really use a second pair of eyes.”

He’s next to you in a second, closer than he probably should be, but he’s too distracted by the warmth of your arm brushing his to care.

For a while, you both just… work. Quiet and focused, your notes filling the page faster with Clark’s suggestions here and there. But every now and then, you pause to ask him something, smiling whenever he answers like he’s actually helping.

And Clark? He can barely focus on the words anymore, too caught up in the way you tilt your head when you’re thinking, or the quiet “ohhh” you mumble when something finally clicks.

Finally, you lean back in your chair, tapping your pen against his arm.

“I think you just saved me” you say with a grin.

Clark laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would” your smile lingers, and for a second, Clark forgets how to breathe.

Then, quieter, almost hopeful, he says “so… I guess I owe you some coffee now, huh?”