Clark knows he should be happy for you, but it's hard. You're getting married to one of his closest friends, and he's still in love with you. He's so in love with you it's killing him, blooming flowers almost as beautiful as you in his lungs.

"You look amazing," he says, wiping some nonexistent lint from your shoulder, just looking for an excuse to touch you, "Bruce is a lucky man." He tastes blood as he watches you, feels the petals climbing up his throat. He just wishes he was the lucky man.