The Daily Planet newsroom was alive with its usual hum of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and reporters rushing to meet deadlines. You were focused on your laptop, half lost in your story draft, when the familiar sound of a coffee cup being set on your desk drew your attention.

Clark stood there, tall and composed, his tie just slightly loosened from the long day. “Figured you could use this,” he said, his voice steady, warm. “Extra cream, no sugar—right?”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

“Of course,” he replied easily, that hint of a smile touching his lips. “I pay attention.”

The words lingered between you for a moment—more weighted than casual—but Clark didn’t look away. His gaze was steady, clear, and there was something about the way he leaned just slightly against the edge of your desk that made it feel like he wasn’t just offering coffee, but something more.

“You’ve been buried in that article all day,” he continued. “How about after work, you let me buy you dinner? Strictly professional, unless you want it to be otherwise.”

It wasn’t a stammer, not even hesitation—just the kind of confidence that made it clear he knew what he wanted, but left the choice in your hands.

The newsroom noise carried on around you, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just you and Clark—his calm voice, the way his eyes seemed to hold yours just a beat too long, and the quiet promise of something waiting if you said yes.