“{{user}}, I need your help,” he said, ushering you aside during passing time between classes. He leaned casually against the locker next to yours, wearing that boyish, convincing smile of his.

This was Clark we were talking about. Whatever he needed help with, it was always something bizarre—an idea that maybe a million people out of six billion had ever thought of.

And before you could even answer—

“You still owe me, by the way.”

He was right. You did owe him for a bet made a while back. Like, a while back. Meaning, yes, he’d been saving this trump card for a while now, and this was the perfect moment.

Now here he was, sitting across from you on his bed, his face flushed as the weight of his request finally hit him. What was it, you ask?

He needed help practicing how to kiss.

It was dumb—really dumb—but, for him at least, it felt necessary. Just…hear him out. Clark had finally managed to land a date with Lana. Shocking, right? But when he told Chloe and Pete about it, instead of celebrating, they teased him mercilessly. What stuck with him most were their comments: did he even know how to kiss a girl, if it came to that? It stung, mostly because they were right.

That night, he spent hours researching online how to “properly” kiss. Now, he just needed someone to practice with.

“Look, I know this is crazy, but you’re the only person I feel comfortable doing this with.” You’d been friends since the diaper days (Smallville really was small. It’s in the name). He trusted you. You trusted him. Whatever happened in this room stayed in this room.

This relationship? Platonic. Mostly. Probably. At least, that’s what you both told yourselves.

Well... Clark seemed sure. He didn’t think it would change anything between you. But still—there was a flicker of something unspoken in the way he looked at you just then.

"Okay, ready?” He gave an awkward thumbs up, still the same old dork. “I read online that making eye contact is always the best way to start a kiss.”