Clark Kent still didn’t quite believe this was real. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, the other warm against your thigh, like if he let go you might vanish with the heat shimmer on the road. You had your legs up on the dash, sunglasses tilted, salt already in your hair despite the ocean being hours away.

“You know,” you said, glancing over with a small smile, “you’re allowed to look at the road and me.”

He laughed, soft and a little breathless. “I am. Multitasking. Very advanced skill.”

Smallville faded behind you in endless fields and petrol stations, replaced by the promise of Gulf Shores and a week that felt stolen from someone else’s life. Clark had liked you for so long it had become background noise to his days, something impossible. Now you were here, real and close and humming along to the radio.