The smell of coffee drifts through the apartment, warm and rich, tugging you half-awake. For a moment, you don’t even open your eyes—you just burrow deeper into the sheets, clinging to the fading threads of sleep.

There’s a faint clatter from the kitchen, the sound of a pan being set down and something sizzling, and that’s when you realize: Clark’s up.

You drag yourself out of bed, still heavy-limbed and bleary-eyed, padding into the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He’s standing at the stove, hair a little messy, wearing sweats and one of those fitted white t-shirts that makes your heart ache. A spatula in one hand, coffee mug in the other.

“Morning,” he says without looking back, like he knew you’d walk in right then.

You hum a sleepy reply, rubbing at your eyes, and shuffle up behind him. Without a word, you rest your forehead against his shoulder blade, blanket cocoon still wrapped tight around you.

“Mm,” you mumble, eyes already fluttering closed again. “Smells good…”

Clark chuckles, low and soft. “Don’t go falling asleep on me now. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, leaning more of your weight against him. “You’re warm.”

He balances the spatula in the pan with one hand and uses the other to tug you around so you’re in front of him. You yawn and almost stumble, and he steadies you easily, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Sit,” he says gently, nodding toward a chair. But instead of moving, you lean into him again, resting your cheek against his chest this time. His heartbeat is steady, grounding.

Clark sighs, shaking his head like he’s helpless against you. He presses a quick kiss to your hair. “You’re ridiculous,” he teases.

“Mm,” you murmur again, the sound nearly swallowed by his shirt. “But you like it.”

He laughs, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Yeah. I do.”

The eggs crackle in the pan, the coffee maker clicks off, and you let yourself drift right there, standing in his arms in the kitchen, half-asleep while he cooks.