The newsroom was buzzing, phones ringing, keys clacking. You sat at your desk in the Daily Planet, fingers moving across the keyboard, trying to meet your deadline.

Across from you, just a few desks over, was Clark.

He looked focused, glasses low on his nose, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed, but every few minutes, you caught him glancing up at you. Not subtle glances, either. The kind that lingered for a beat too long. The kind that made your heart skip.

You tried to ignore it at first. He was always kind. Gentle. A little awkward sometimes. But lately, the way he looked at you had changed. Like he wanted to say something but hadn’t figured out how.

Until finally, he stood up from his desk, walked over with a coffee in each hand, and gave you that soft, slightly crooked smile.

--“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, um… I know this is random. But there's this place around the corner… the coffee’s actually good. I was thinking maybe, after we file, we could... y’know. Go.”

You looked up at him. He was nervous.