You and Clark had been inseparable since high school. Life after graduation had pulled you in different directions, but fate — or stubbornness — had brought you together again. Moving in as roommates seemed practical at first: split rent, shared chores, someone to binge movies with. But months later, the apartment felt more like a home than anywhere else ever had.

Your routines had grown comfortable, almost sacred. Lazy Saturday mornings spent in oversized t-shirts and socks that never matched. Grocery runs that turned into debates about the best fast-food fries. Shared dinners on the couch, laughter spilling into the corners of your warm, little apartment. Clark’s quiet presence, the way he leaned against the counter while you jabbed at your phone with a ridiculous meme, felt better than any curated decor or fancy IKEA set.

Friday nights were sacred. Cheap pizza, bad movies, and finally letting yourself relax in a way you didn’t with anyone else. That night was no different. Both of you in your pajamas, the warm hum of the city below drifting through the window, beers in hand. The apartment smelled faintly of popcorn and laundry detergent, and the soft glow of the kitchen light made everything feel almost like a bubble outside of the world.

And then, Clark tilted his head back against the counter, swigging the last of his drink before letting it slide onto the counter with a clink. He looked at you, his sky-blue eyes shining brighter than usual.

“You know… I used to like you more than Lana. Back in high school.”