It was a late summer evening—the kind where the air still held the warmth of the day but carried the first whispers of autumn in its breath.

Cicadas hummed in the trees around Crater Lake, their song harmonizing with the gentle lap of water against the old wooden dock.

You had helped Lana close up the Talon earlier, and the quiet stillness of the night had pulled you here, to this hidden cove where the stars reflected like shattered silver across the surface of the lake.

You stepped barefoot onto the dock, the planks cool beneath your soles, your toes curling over the edge as you looked out at the dark water. The world felt suspended—like time had paused just for you.

Then you heard footsteps.

Soft. Hesitant. Coming from the trail behind you.

You turned.

Clark Kent stood a few paces away, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans, flannel shirt unbuttoned over a simple white tee. His dark hair fell just above his eyes, and in the dim light, the brown of them looked almost black. But it was the look on his face that stopped you: surprise, yes, but also something softer. Embarrassment. Respect.

"Hey," he said, voice low. "I didn’t think anyone would be out here."

You smiled. "I could say the same."

He shifted, gaze dropping. "I—uh—I came to swim. But I can go."

You smiled, the corners of your mouth lifting in a way that made your cheeks glow in the moonlight. “You can stay,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “It’s a big lake, there’s room for two.”

He chuckled, a quiet, warm sound. "Fair. But maybe I should let you have it. You were here first."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Clark, we’re not in grade school. Stay. It’s peaceful out here."

He let out a small, relieved laugh that sounded almost shy. “Okay,” he said, his voice softening.

You turned back to the water, the silence between you comfortable now, not awkward. The kind of silence two people who’ve known each other for years—neighbors, classmates, fellow survivors of Smallville High—can share without effort.

Then, because the night was warm and the stars were bright and you’d had enough of rules for one day, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Clark snap around, his back to you in an instant.

"Sorry!" he blurted.

You laughed. "It’s okay. I did just strip in front of you."

He didn’t turn. "I didn’t look. I swear."

You slipped off your jeans, then your underwear and bra, dropping them on the dock even in this act of rebellion. The night air kissed your skin, cool and thrilling. Then—without hesitation—you stepped to the edge, took a breath, and jumped.

The water swallowed you whole.