The front door clicks open just as you’re curled up on the couch, half-lost in whatever show’s been playing for background noise. You hear the heavy sound of Clark’s footsteps before you even see him, the kind of stride that tells you exactly what sort of day he’s had.

When he finally steps into the living room, he looks exhausted—tie hanging loose around his neck, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair a little mussed like he’s run his hand through it too many times. But the second his eyes land on you, some of the weight eases from his shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft but tired, like it’s been stretched thin all day.

“Hi, you,” you murmur, patting the spot beside you. “Rough day?”

He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, almost a sigh, and drops onto the couch next to you. The dip makes you lean into him automatically, and he doesn’t waste a second before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

For a moment, he just sits there with his eyes closed, forehead pressed against the top of your head, breathing you in. “You have no idea,” he admits quietly.

You rub slow circles on his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he’s still holding some of the day in his body. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he answers honestly. “Just… want this.”

And then he pulls you tighter, settling you onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His face buries in your shoulder, his arms banded strong around your waist, like you’re the one thing tethering him back to himself.

You thread your fingers through his hair, scratch lightly at his scalp, and feel him melt under your touch. “You’re home now,” you whisper against his temple. “That’s all that matters.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, filled only by the sound of his breathing slowing down, his heartbeat steady against yours. Finally, he mumbles, almost sheepishly, “Don’t fall asleep on me. I still need to change out of this suit.”