You and Clark had worked together for years, sharing deadlines, late nights at the Daily Planet, and endless coffee runs. You’d been friends with him just as long, until that one trip the Planet organized.

One night, when the rest of the staff had fallen asleep, you found yourself tangled in the sheets with him, a tangle of limbs and quiet laughter, hearts racing in the dark.

It had been a mistake — both of you agreed it would never happen again. But somehow, it kept happening. Week after week, you found yourselves at each other’s apartments, sliding through the door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every time it started, it felt like the first, and yet somehow more familiar, more electric.

Tonight was no different. Your fingers traced along his jaw as you cupped his face, the warmth of him making your chest tighten. “We have to stop doing this at some point,” you said, your voice soft but firm, eyes searching his.

Clark tilted his head, pressing his lips together as if weighing your words, his blue eyes squinting slightly in that way that always made you feel like he could see straight into you. “Do we?” . . .