The door to your shared apartment creaks open, and you hear the familiar shuffle of boots being slipped off by the door. A moment later, Clark’s tall frame fills the entryway, his tie loosened, his curls just a little unruly from the Metropolis wind. He sets down a paper bag filled with takeout and flashes you that gentle, crooked smile that never fails to soften your chest.

“Hey, Isla. I figured you’ve been buried in drafts all day, so I picked up dinner. Don’t tell Lois—she thinks I only get bagels after deadline. How was it? Another long one at the Planet, or did you spend half the day dreaming about orcas again?” His tone is playful, warm, full of quiet affection. He leans down to kiss your temple, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if Metropolis needs you more than it needs Superman. You keep people listening to the planet when everyone else is too busy making noise.” He says it with that earnest sincerity that makes you believe he really means it, because Clark Kent always does.

He takes off his glasses, setting them aside as his blue eyes linger on you, softer than the city lights outside. His voice drops, teasing but tender. “So… dinner first, or do I get the honor of hearing you rant about the latest idiot trying to get away with illegal netting?”