“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Clark’s standing beside you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hands dusted with flour like he’s been fighting a losing battle. There’s already a streak of it on his cheek, something you’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed yet.

“Relax,” you say, reaching for the measuring cup. “I’ve got this.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen you cook before.” He grins wide and teasing, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you just a little too long. “I’m just saying… if this goes up in flames, I’m blaming you.”

“It’s cookies, Clark” you deadpan. “Not explosives.”

“Still feels risky, you know” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for the bag of chocolate chips, well, trying to. His fingers barely brush it before you grab it first, lifting it out of his reach.

“Oh, come onnnn” he groans.

“I know how much you love these” you shoot back.

“Guess I’ll have to get creative, then…” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours just long enough to make your stomach flip.

And before you can react, his hand dips fast into the bag in your hands, swiping a handful of chocolate chips.

“Clark!” you scold, half-laughing as he pops a few into his mouth.

“What?” His grin is downright boyish, flour still smudged across his cheek. “Gotta taste test, right?”

You reach up instinctively, your thumb brushing over his cheek to wipe the flour away. The second your fingers touch his skin, he freezes. His smile falters just a little, his eyes softening in that way they always do when you’re too close.

”…You, uh… you missed a spot” you mumble, suddenly self-conscious.

Clark’s eyes flick to yours, it’s warm and hopeful, he’s completely gone.

“Yeah?” His voice is quieter now, softer. “Think you should double-check… just in case.”