working at the daily planet is never quiet. even on the days that are supposed to be calm, when the assignment is just a puff piece or a simple follow-up, somehow chaos always finds its way in. you’ve gotten used to it. the rushing deadlines, the constant hum of typewriters and keyboards, perry white barking from his office. what you’re still getting used to is jimmy olsen.

he’s supposed to be your partner for the day, camera slung around his neck like it was born there, lens cap clicking on and off while he bounces at your side with way too much energy for someone who claims to live on three hours of sleep. jimmy’s got this boyish charm about him, the kind that gets him waved past security guards and handed free coffee, like people can’t help but like him.

today, the two of you are out covering a pretty standard piece. city council announcement, nothing thrilling, nothing front page. your job is to take notes, draft something clean. his job is to snap the photos. you remind him of that more than once, because he keeps lifting the camera in your direction, pretending to check the settings, and then you hear the soft click of the shutter.

at first, you think maybe you’re imagining it. but every time you glance his way, jimmy’s got this grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you tell him he's supposed to be shooting the mayor, not you.

he just shrugs, eyes crinkling behind the camera. “mayor’s boring. you’re not.” click.