Clark’s reactions when you’re around aren’t intentional, he swears. He’s pretty sure his brain has been hardwired somewhere along the way to turn into mush every time he hears you laugh — you’ve conditioned him. This is your fault.

Clark can’t even be sure when best friend rewrote itself in his brain as ohmygodthey’resopretty, but he knows he’s in too deep now.

You make Clark into something he doesn’t want to be. He’s not a creep, but he swears he has to squeeze his eyes shut sometimes in your presence just to stop himself from using his x-ray vision in some less than savoury ways.

Don’t even get him started on his super hearing — you’ve been staying over at his house for as long as he can remember, but that was before this stupid crush. Now, in the middle of winter, he’s starting to get a little stir crazy when he starts to hear you shivering in the spare bedroom when you guys have sleepovers. It takes all of his self-control not to join you in bed and cuddle you until you’re all warm and comfy.

Clark should probably just tell you how he feels. You’re nice, you guys are cool. You’d be totally chill about it, even if the feelings aren’t mutual (please, god, let the feelings be mutual). His mom already loves you, and his dad likes how sweet and down to earth you are.

He’s got it bad.

“Dad wants to know if you’re still staying over tonight,” Clark says as he walks into the barn with an armful of snacks, flopping back on the couch in his little hideaway with you. It’s nice — he likes it a little too much. “Mom’s already decided she’s making your favourite, so you have to stay for dinner, at least. I don’t make the rules.”