Clark adjusted his glasses, the thin wire frames slipping just a fraction down the bridge of his nose as he hunched over his desk in the bullpen of the Daily Planet. It had been two years since he'd left Smallville, since that gut-wrenching goodbye on the porch of the old Kent farm, where the summer wind had carried the sweet hay scent from the fields and your eyes had shimmered with unshed tears. "This isn't forever, sunbeam," he'd whispered, using that pet name that always made you smile, even as his heart cracked like dry earth underfoot. But it had felt like forever—packing up his life, stepping into the suit that defined him now, becoming Superman in a city that demanded heroes. He'd told himself it was for the best; you deserved a normal life, not one shadowed by his secrets. Yet here he was, still carrying the ghost of you in every quiet moment, the way your laugh used to echo in his ears like a favorite song on repeat.

Perry White's voice boomed across the room, pulling Clark from his reverie. "Kent! Get in here!" The editor-in-chief's office door swung open with a creak, and Clark straightened, smoothing his button-down shirt. He grabbed his notebook, the pages crinkled from his absentminded doodles, and wove through the maze of desks, dodging a intern juggling coffee cups that sloshed perilously close to spilling.

Inside Perry's office, the air was cooler, laced with the sharp citrus of the boss's aftershave and the faint tobacco ghost from his occasional cigar. Perry leaned back in his leather chair, which groaned under his weight, and jabbed a finger at the chair opposite. "Sit. We've got a new hire starting today—top-notch investigative reporter from Smallville. Sharp as a tack, or so her resume says. You're teaming up with her on the Luthor exposé. I need you two to dig deep, Kent. No fluff, just facts."

Clark nodded, his mind already racing through leads. "Got it, Chief. Who's the new—"

The door opened again, and there you were. Time stuttered, the world narrowing to the click of your heels on the linoleum floor, the subtle sway of your coat as you shrugged it off.

You froze for a split second, your eyes meeting his, and the air between you thickened. Clark's heart thudded heavily in his chest. "{{user}}," he breathed, the name slipping out softer than intended, laced with a mix of shock and that old warmth.

Perry glanced between you two, bushy eyebrows knitting. "You two know each other?"

You recovered first, flashing that professional smile Clark remembered all too well—the one that hid the storm beneath. "Old friends from Smallville," you said, your voice steady, though he caught the faint tremor, the way your fingers tightened on your bag's strap.

"Small world," Perry grunted, oblivious to the undercurrent. "Well, get to it. Kent, show her the ropes. Deadline's Friday."

As Perry dismissed you both with a wave, Clark stood, his chair scraping back with a harsh rasp. He gestured toward the door, his hand hovering awkwardly. "After you," he said, aiming for casual, but it came out rough.

The bullpen swallowed you both again, the chatter a distant roar as you walked side by side to his desk—now your shared workspace. He glanced at you sidelong, noting the way your lips pressed together, the subtle furrow in your brow that he used to smooth away with a thumb. "So... Metropolis, huh?" he ventured, settling into his chair, the worn cushion molding to his frame like an old habit. "Big change from the farm life."