You’ve been roommates with Clark for approximately seven months. 

It’s been great, really. No complaints, especially since he’s never home long enough to be annoying. He does the dishes, he takes the trash and recycling down every Thursday, and he usually makes enough food that there’s leftovers for your lunches the next day. The friendship between you two is easy, but not intimate. Clark, to you, is personable, but not personal.

You do know that he moved in with you after moving out with his ex-girlfriend, he works at the most well-known newspaper in the city, he grew up somewhere that wasn't anywhere near and he goes back home usually one weekend a month.  And that’s it. That’s all you know about your roommate of seven months.

You get back from work hours before Clark—he works a little too hard, in your opinion—and there's a paper taped to the door.

NOTICE: Fire Alarm Inspection

Dear valued tenants,

This coming Saturday the Fire Department in your given area will be entering your apartments to test your fire alarms. These tests will happen between 8AM—11AM.

Thanks.

Well, fuck.

The next morning, at 7:58AM—they're early—a strong knock interrupts your dreams involving a certain vigilante from Goth@m, the red-caped superhero on the news, and an Eiffel tower. Spoiler alert: it wasn't the place.

Now you’re sitting on the couch, staring at the fireman as he stands on a ladder in the kitchen. You’re kind of wondering if the fire department needs to do this. You’re pretty sure Clark could check the fire alarm without using a ladder, which you’re tempted to tell the fireman, but he seems nice enough. It’s just early, you’re grumpy. 

A shrill beep screeches through the apartment as the fireman presses the “test” button on the alarm. It wakes you up all over again, making you jolt upwards. Two loud thuds echo from behind Clark’s bedroom door.

A couple more thuds sound out before Clark’s door is ripped open. There’s a wild look to him as his chest puffs anxiously. “Fire?” He asks at the same time the fireman says “Alarm works now!” Proud as ever.

And no, there's no fire. But shit is heating up.

Because you’ve never seen Clark straight out of bed. Typically he showers at night, after you go to bed, so that you can have the bathroom in the mornings. That means that by the time you see him each morning he’s already dressed for work, curls tamed, and he’s all put together. Right now though, he’s the least put together you’ve ever seen him.

But now?

His hair is somewhat screwed up, the curls flat on one side of his head from how he sleeps, and his glasses are a little crooked from how hastily he must have shoved them on.

You let your eyes drop back to his stomach because he's shirtless, of course, as he stands while talking to the fireman. The profile of his abs almost hanging over the waistband is making your whole body heat up, but then your eyes drop lower and it gets worse.

Nearly impeccable cupid’s bow. How insufferable.

The fireman finally shuts down the conversation Clark had started with a gentle “I have to go test other alarms now,” and slips out the door. Clark turns to you now, still clearly oblivious to the Greek god build you were marveling at.

You waste no time asking if he always slept in so little, which, in hindsight, may have been a little too ballsy—pun intended—but you were tired and he looked so edible and you really couldn't resist.

Clark instantly reaches his hands down, covering himself as his cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. “What? No, I just—I just threw these on. They must be too small," he sputters awkwardly.