The loft of the Kent barn had seen a lot—Clark’s late-night thinking sessions, his stargazing, his quiet moments away from the world. But tonight, it was filled with the soft sound of pages turning, the occasional sigh of frustration… and the soft giggle of a girl.

“Clark,” {{user}} said gently, tapping her pen against his notebook. “You just rewrote the same sentence three times.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Right. Sorry. It’s just… hard to focus with you here.”

She raised an eyebrow, half amused, half flattered. “I’m just trying to help you pass your English exam, Kent.”

He leaned back against the couch they’d dragged up to the loft months ago, the lamplight behind him casting warm golden shadows across his face. His flannel sleeves were rolled to the elbows, a little hay stuck in his dark hair, his notebook resting on his lap—and yet, he looked more like a model than a struggling high school student.

“You’re doing a great job,” he said softly, looking at her in that way again. That Clark way—like she was the only thing that mattered in the universe.