Date night, by far, is Clark’s favourite day.

The two of you try to have a night to yourselves every two weeks or so to just unwind, but your schedules didn’t always line up — especially considering when he isn’t working, he’s often going off to do hero stuff.

Today, he finally managed to finish his work up early. Metropolis was quiet, and he found himself crossing his fingers the entire way to your apartment that no Supеrman-level threats surfaced. You’re not home, and he knows you’re not home, which means it’s the perfect time for him to be able to surprise you.

Clark immediately gets to work after letting himself into your apartment with the spare keys you gave him, putting away the groceries he brought before getting started on cooking you a meal. He thinks he must read through the instructions he got from his Ma about five times before he finally has the confidence to start throwing things together. He might not be a cook, but he’ll try for you.

Clark knows how much you loved her stew when he brought you down to Kansas to meet his parents, and learning how to make it while you’re both in Metropolis has got to earn him all the brownie points you could possibly give. He hums along to the Mighty Crabjoys as he works, the music playing quietly from his phone. Just as he’s finishing up, he hears the sound of you approaching the apartment complex.

Clark takes the opportunity to speed around your kitchen, setting up the table in record time. He keeps the food on a low heat to stay warm, carefully setting down flowers and candles on the table. He thinks he must rearrange the set-up of the table around eight times before he finally hears your key in the lock and starts to freak out a little.

He double, then triple-checks, that he hasn’t forgotten anything before having a mild panic when he looks down and sees that there’s stains from cooking on his very white button up. He super-speeds his way to your bedroom, thanking every deity that he’s started keeping spare clothes at your place. When the door finally opens, he’s halfway down the hall with his glasses crooked and his shirt stuck with one arm awkwardly trapped.

“Hey.” Clark says, voice cracking in the middle of the word. He smiles sheepishly at you, clearing his throat before trying again. He desperately tries to straighten out his shirt, but just ends up fumbling awkwardly and giving up, his face warming immediately. “Uh, you… you’re early. Not that I’m not happy to see you — I’m very happy. You look… just wow.”

At least the cooking itself was disaster free.