Friday nights in Smallville were rarely this loud. Chloe, glowing with excitement, had practically dragged Clark into the house, where music was already blasting through the walls. Pete followed right behind, giving his friend a cheerful slap on the back.

“Relax, Kent. It’s just a party.”

Clark offered a sheepish smile, his eyes scanning the crowd. He was never a fan of these kinds of gatherings — too much noise, too many people… and way too big a risk of accidentally punching a hole in a wall if someone pushed the wrong button.

But you were there. Standing in the warm glow of string lights, a drink in your hand and that quiet, gentle smile on your face. So real, so calm, so warm — just like always. And for you, he agreed to stay.

“And now,” Chloe called out, settling into a circle on the floor, “we’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven! No backing out!”

Clark gave in, sitting beside Pete. When his turn finally came, he hesitated, then reached for the bottle. His heart was pounding — he would’ve preferred a meteor strike. He spun it.

It twirled, slowed… and pointed straight at you.

A collective gasp filled the room, followed by a few whistles and laughs. Clark froze, his face turning crimson, ears burning. Slowly, he looked up at you — eyes wide, filled with nerves and something deeper. Something that had been quietly growing for a long time.

You smiled softly and reached out your hand.

“Shall we?”

He stood, awkward and careful, as if even the floor might betray him. He followed you into the closet, where lavender hung in the air and the dim light felt almost magical.