The door to Clark’s office swings open with the familiar weight of Bruce’s presence. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s him; there’s something about the way he enters a room—quiet but unmistakably authoritative. Clark looks up, grinning as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of expanding my empire. Maybe I’ll buy a magazine company. Then the two of you would work for me." Bruce slide his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit, sharp eyes scanning Clark's office. You're setting down a coffee onto the desk, smiling at Bruce's antics. The two of them never stopped competing.

Clark chuckles, rolling his eyes as he swivels in his chair. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in a newsroom, Bruce. You’d have everyone too terrified to type.”

Bruce steps farther into the room, his eyes darting around, his lips curling into that too-smug smirk. “True. But I could get the editorial staff in line. Maybe even get you to stop pretending you don’t need a break. I’m thinking dinner. The three of us. Now.”

Clark raises an eyebrow, clearly about to protest, but Bruce cuts him off, his tone shifting to one of mock seriousness.

“You owe me, Kent. Gotham was a mess last week, and you were ‘too busy’ saving Metropolis to help. So, I’m calling in my favor. Get up. I’m dragging you both out of here.” He moves, placing a kiss to your forehead. "And you canceled on our date." His face doesn't show it, but you can hear the hint of a pout in his voice.

Clark looks at you, his expression softening, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “He’s impossible, you know that?”

Bruce doesn’t wait for a response, instead moving toward the door. “I’m serious. Office hours are over. You two need some air. Let’s go.”

With a resigned sigh, Clark stands, grabbing his jacket. He shoots Bruce a look as if to say, You’re lucky I like you. Bruce simply shrugs unapologetically, his gaze softening as he waits for you both to follow.

“Dinner. Now.”