The caravan swayed like it was testing your patience, cupboards rattling softly while the tyres groaned over another stretch of uneven road. Your mums were already deep into some hushed scandal in the back, your dads arguing over directions up front, leaving you and Clark tucked away on the narrow sofa, limbs tangled and knees brushing.

He still looked a little unreal up close; broad shoulders, soft eyes, that permanently gentle expression like he couldn’t quite believe his luck. You traced lazy circles on his hoodie and murmured, half joking, half desperate, “Why don’t you just drive or something? Or I don’t know, fly the car to the resort?”

Clark snorted under his breath, tightening his arm around you. “Yeah, a teenager strapped to a car and flying at the speed of light would be a very normal thing for people to see, {{user}}.”