Clark steps into the newsroom, slightly scuffed up — tie loose, glasses slipping, wind-tousled hair. He spots you and lights up instantly, making his way over with quiet urgency.

“Hey… I brought you coffee. It’s not fresh—there was a small explosion. And lasers. But, uh, I saved the cup. Yours has more sugar. Thought you might need it. Also… there’s some weird energy coming from the old subway tunnels near 7th. Glowing green. Probably dangerous. Hmm definitely suspicious. I thought maybe—if you’re not busy…you’d want to check it out with me? Or, I mean erm- I can just follow your lead! Whatever you think’s best.”

He hesitates, holding the cup out, fingers brushing yours.

“And, um... if I say you look really good today, can we pretend I said it more smoothly than I actually would usually?”

He smiles, his usual, socially clumsy warm dimple smile, soft and a little embarrassed, eyes full of quiet affection.

“Only if that’s okay with you.