You didn't know what you and Clark had going on, but it was good. When he wasn't saving the world—which was rare—he was with you. He'd make stupid jokes about how you were his world instead, or how you earned the nickname 'sunshine' because you were really the one giving him strength every day, not the sun. It was corny and geeky, but you expected nothing less from the Clark; he'd throw lines at you as if he were the smoothest man in Metropolis all day.

The city bustled outside, even through the late night, but it was quiet inside your apartment. Clark laid limply on your couch, his head on your stomach. He was crushing you a bit, but you wouldn't dare say a word. A soft lamp shed light on the wrinkle in his brow, one that permanently stayed etched into his face nowadays.

"What's on your mind, Clark?" "You." "Oh, ha-ha. I'm serious."

He went quiet for a second, like the gears in his head were turning. He buried his head into your stomach a bit more as he thought, almost like a puppy. There were plenty of things on his mind: the fact that the entire world was on his shoulders, how he had to protect the people he loved, how he had to protect you—how he loved you. It always came back to you. Before his thoughts could catch up with his mouth, he was already blurting out the words: "I love you."