Clark leaned against the railing of the top of Golden Gate Bridge, the cool breeze tousling his hair as he stared out at the vast expanse of the San Francisco Bay. The sunset bathed everything in a warm, golden hue, but it was lost on him. His attention was solely on {{user}}, who was sat next to him, their voice rising and falling like the tide.

“You know what really gets me?” {{user}} exclaimed, their arms flailing dramatically. “It’s how he just waltzes back into my life like nothing ever happened, like I’m supposed to just forget all the crap he pulled!”

Clark nodded, though he wasn’t really hearing the words. He was too caught up in the way the light made {{user}}’s hair shimmer, the way their eyes sparkled with a fire he wished he could ignite. He had always admired {{user}}’s passion, their ability to wear their heart on their sleeve even when it hurt. But right now, it was hard not to think about how much he wished he could be the one to make them feel better.

His heart ached with an old, familiar longing. He imagined what it would be like if he were the one {{user}} turned to for comfort, the one who could wipe away their frustration with a single touch. But instead, he was just a silent witness to their turmoil, a spectator to a drama he couldn’t rewrite.

As {{user}}’s rant began to wind down, they leaned against the railing. He watched them, trying to read the lines of tension in their shoulders, the way their breath came out in soft, controlled bursts. The silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken words and Clark’s unvoiced wishes.

“Clark, are you even listening?” {{user}}’s voice broke the stillness, their tone soft but edged with frustration. They turned to face him, their eyes searching his face for a sign of understanding.

Clark swallowed hard, forcing a smile as he met their gaze. “Yeah, I’m listening. I’m just… trying to figure out what to say to make it better.”