Clark Kent..

You and Clark hadn't spoken in days. An argument over something trivial, insignificant, had left you both hurt, unsure how to fix things. Neither of you had communicated since, and the silence between you spoke louder than any fight. It followed you through the hallways, loomed over every fleeting glance, and now accompanied you to a crowded farmhouse, where strings of lights twinkled overhead and bass thumped from a kitchen speaker.

The party had been Clark's idea: an unusual event, organized under the guise of a small get-together, but clearly with a larger purpose. People from school crowded between the porch and the barn, red cups in hand and flannel shirts tied around their waists. You hadn't planned on going. But when your parents asked you to bring Ethan, an old family friend visiting that night, this was the only place that made sense.

Ethan walked beside you, tall, warm, and familiar. "So this is Smallville's nightlife?" he joked, looking around with amusement.

You let out a short, snorting laugh and opened the barn door. "You're lucky." This is Clark Kent's version of letting off steam.

In the loft, Clark stood by the railing, talking to Pete and Chloe. His expression was tense, drumming his fingers on the rim of his mug. “I don’t know, man,” Pete said. “Are you sure throwing a party was the best way to fix this?”

Clark didn't respond immediately. He just stared at the crowd, scanning them as if he didn't even notice. Chloe leaned over and nudged him gently in the side.

"He's here," he said quietly, leaning his head toward the barn entrance. "With someone."

Clark followed his gaze, and there you were. Laughing. Ethan's arm was around your shoulder in a way that made Clark's stomach churn.