— Journalism isn’t as easy as everyone says. It’s competitive, demanding, craves creativity. You have to have credible work, get the work in before the deadline, it has to meet the standards and the chances of your piece making it to the front page among the rest of your peers’ work and other journalistic companies is a one in a hundred chance.

Perry had been giving you shit about a deadline all week, a future deadline for a piece you’d just started. You were late that morning because of traffic, which pushed your work time back further, and it was your day to go get coffee, which set you back even further.

When you finally got the chance to sit down, for some reason, your computer glitched and didn’t save anything in your draft. It was a mess, and Clark could see the tension radiating off of you from across the news room.

Clark clocked out a few hours before you, since you decided to stay after and work on your piece a little more because of Perry’s insistence. You got home around midnight, and entered your apartment to the subtle sound of the sink running and plates clanking together.

It was Clark, washing your dishes. “What are you up to?” You questioned, only slightly skeptical as you shrugged off your jacket and stepped into the space. He turned with a dopey smile, shrug while he dries his hands with a rag.

“Figured you could use some help. Speaking of.. I want to take you on a little trip.”

That’s how you ended up in the sky, a thousand feet from the ground in your boyfriend’s arms. You’re calmer than you thought you’d be, silence, nothing but Clark’s breathing and the stars.