Clark Kent sat at the kitchen table, a pencil between his fingers, his textbook open but his eyes completely unfocused. Across from him, {{user}} was cross-legged on the chair, highlighting her notes with calm concentration, her brow slightly furrowed in that way that always made Clark’s stomach flip.

The farmhouse was quiet, except for the occasional rustle of paper and the distant sound of cows lowing in the barn. A kettle whistled gently on the stove—Martha had left them some tea before heading to bed. Jonathan had offered Clark an "encouraging" pat on the back that almost knocked him into the fridge.

Clark leaned his elbow on the table, watching {{user}} from behind his notes. “How are you so focused?” he asked, his voice soft, teasing.

{{user}} smirked without looking up. “Because I don’t have X-ray vision to help me cheat.”

He laughed, a quiet chuckle that made her glance at him. Their eyes met for a moment too long. Clark looked away, suddenly very interested in his notes.

After a while, she stretched, arms reaching over her head, letting out a soft groan. “Okay, I need a break. My brain’s melting.”

Clark smiled. “Want tea?”