The bar is buzzing with music and laughter, but Clark barely hears any of it. His gaze is sharp and intense, staying locked on you, flickering to the guy standing a little too close, laughing a little too easily. His jaw tightens.

He knows it’s irrational. You’re his best friend.

But when the guy wraps an arm around your shoulder, lingering just a second too long for his liking, Clark grips his glass so hard it nearly cracks. He usually has some self-control, but right now, he’s glaring with his beautiful green eyes, and it’s aimed directly at the guy beside you.

“Got a problem, Kent?” the guy finally snaps, catching onto the unspoken daggers Clark’s been shooting his way.

You step in before Clark can answer, placing a hand on his arm, your touch instantly grounding him. “Clark’s just looking out for me, that’s all,” you say. Clark exhales slowly, his annoyance simmering just a little.