݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

Apart from your two friends, Finn and Trevor. They’ve always been quite rowdy, and apparently having alcohol in their systems only intensified that. It started as just teasing. Finn said something about Trevor being so down bad for his girlfriend. Only for Trevor to hit him back with a comment about his long list of failed situationships, that he still cries over. Which escalated to light pushing, until they were full on roughhousing each other around your living room.

You tried to stop them, being the only one still sober enough to think properly, but that’s when you heard a body slam against a door. But you were also in the kitchen during that time, catching some air—because heaven knows how intoxicated your living room smelled like—and you had to rush to the small hallway leading to your front door, only to see your two friends laughing in a drunken haze with their limbs tangled. You sighed and scolded them back to the living room.

And they ended up falling asleep.

Which leads you to the next morning, currently.

Where you’re standing in front of your broken door, that one of your friends discovered won‘t open and close properly before they left. They offered to help out, each of them apologetic—especially your prime suspects—but you insisted. Since you didn't want to hold them back from their morning classes.

You let out an exhausted sigh, kneeling down to see that one of the hinges had broken down. Two of its screws have fallen out and it was somewhat bent the wrong way. “How hard did they hit my fucking door?” You whisper to yourself, examining the broken hinge. “I know they work out but what the fuck.” You add, shaking your head in disbelief.

If they secretly had super strength they’d tell you, right?

Apparently, past-you never bothered to buy a screw driver and neither did your parents. So, now you’re changing your clothes to go buy yourself one at a hardware store nearby. Because firstly, you’re stubborn and want to prove something to yourself. Secondly, you didn't want to bother your landlord to call someone to help you. And lastly, because you’re too scared of your landlord! He’s a scary guy, and you’re thankful your neighbor—from last night—didn't send a noise complaint to him straight away.

Just as you’re about to close your broken door, instinctively, you bump into your next door neighbor, Peter. Unfortunately, for your shame, he notices your failed attempt at closing your door and asks what happened.

“The door hinge is, uh, broken.” He raises a brow.

“How?” A question he would soon regret asking.

“Holy shit?!” Peter’s voice comes out high, his lips parted in a small 'o'. “What were you doing last night? The Hulk?!” He points out the small dent on your door, that you didn't even notice until he said so. And now you feel even more suspicious of your friends.

“It wasn't me!”

“Then who!?” You don't exactly know why you’re suddenly whisper-yelling at each other, while crouching down by the door, but it somehow works for you both. “My friends! They came over. They got drunk, made a mess, and now this happened.” You point at the disaster, that was your door. Peter sighs, running a hand through his hair, probably regretting this even more now.

But little did you know that he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. Well, not the broken door, but the opportunity to spend some time with you. Since you moved in, you’ve caught his attention. So, he’s been trying to up his game—his game being nervously meeting your gaze by the hallway, and greeting you awkwardly with a smile—and this was an opportunity he’d never miss.

“I’ll fix it for you.” He says, his tone so sure that you almost agree. But then you remember you actually don't have anything. No screws, no hinges, no screwdriver—especially that. “I don't have–” Peter cuts you off, smiling. “Its fine, I can just use my stuff. I’ll fix your door in no time.”

“What about the dent?”

“Uhm.. Maybe we’ll figure something out?”

You’re sitting next to Peter on the floor, watching him unscrew the broken hinge and passing him the new one. That he’d very kindly bought for you. And you feel kind of domestic right now. Like this is a normal occurrence for you both on a Thursday morning, while sipping a cup of coffee. Speaking of coffee, maybe you should make one.

It still is quite impressive that Peter just happens to know what to do. You didn't really peg him as the kind of guy that .. ‘fixes doors’. But you’re aware that he makes things. Or maybe invent's the right word? As you’ve heard him tinkering a few things in his apartment before. You don’t know what it is exactly though. But its always at night. And you sometimes pass by him in the hallways, always carrying some new invention. Which he says is for class, apparently. You never really thought of prying that much, though.

“You were partying last night?” Peter asks, his tone inquisitive, turning to you with his palm laid out.

“Yeah, I guess you could say. You didn’t hear us? We had Mike from 202 complaining.” You chuckle, embarrassed by the memory, passing him the screws.

No, Peter didn’t in fact know, because he was out swinging around the city, keeping watch of anyone in trouble, or the ones causing it. But he couldn’t tell you that, obviously. “No..” He trails off, turning back to your door. You raise a brow, tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You notice his brows furrowed, and you think it’s amusing how he looks so focused.

Huh, is it just you or has he always been this cute?

“I take it you weren’t home last night?” He responds with a hum and a nod, as he then reaches for something in his tool box, from your side. You scoot back, pushing it closer to him, and he gives you a small thank you. But your gaze just happens to drift on his rolled up sleeves and down to his biceps, and suddenly you’re telling yourself to calm down.

“Can I make you something?” You stand abruptly, catching his attention. “You don’t have t-” “Okay, that’s fine!” You’re sure Peter’s looking at you with that confused puppy expression of his but you can’t turn back. Not when you have the picture of his biceps engraved in your mind.

Checking out your cute neighbor’s a canon event for everyone, right?

You find yourself leaning on your kitchen counter, elbow down and chin propped on your palm, watching Peter as he finishes fixing your door. He’s not doing anything special, but somehow seeing him work—especially with his back turned towards you—is hiking up your dopamine levels. And now you’re in a constant battle with your mind.

Your coffee is left unattended, nursing it with your other hand, its warmth on your palm keeping you from going up to imagination land. Because where was Peter hiding all those back muscles? You shake your head, trying to physically push your thoughts away from you.

“I’m done here. Sorry, I can't fix the dent. I think these doors are just awfully gullible.” Peter wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, turning to you with a slight grin. And you’re surprised your knees didn't give up just then.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I mean it’s not that obvious.” You shrug, trying to force some semblance of composure to yourself. Peter hums, agreeing with you. “You’re right. You wouldn't even see it from here.” He picks up his tool box, heading towards your side. And you feel a shiver run up your spine. Peter notices it, staring briefly at you.

Actually, Peter is aware of what he’s doing and his effect on you. You aren't really that subtle, at least when it comes to him. But he likes having your attention on him, so he isn't that opposed to it. And there might’ve been instances where he was flexing his muscles, for you, on purpose. But you wouldn't know that of course!

“Thanks for helping me out, Peter.” You hear him chuckle, as he shakes his head, dismissively. “Uhm, let me see, you’ve said that about three times to me already.” He holds his fingers up, obviously teasing you. And you roll your eyes, hiding the grin on your face behind your cup.

“Just let me know if you need help with anything as well.” You watch him raise his brow, crossing his arms, as if pondering. And there goes your eyes drifting down to his arms again. Why did he have to roll up his sleeves? Matter of fact, why did his arms have to be so distracting?!

“Actually, I wanted to ask.” Peter finally speaks, cutting off your train of thoughts. “Yeah?” You ask, genuinely. He faces you, a little nervous.

“Do you, maybe, like legos?” Your eyes widen for a second, definitely taken a back. That wasn't exactly what you thought he’d ask you, but it was better. “I know, that’s a weird question. Actually, don't answer that!” Peter begins nervously rambling, waving his hands at you. But then you’re laughing, shaking your head.

“Not weird. Just surprising. And I do like legos, yes.” He pauses from that, his eyes searching your expression if you’re joking or not.

“Really?” You hum, reassuring him. And it’s as if a switch has been flipped inside his mind, Peter’s face beams and suddenly he’s back to being giddy again. “Okay, okay!” He says, giving you awkward two thumbs up. And you find yourself staring at him fondly.

“Do you want to build one with me? I was supposed to do it with my friend. But he’s got this like.. date.” He turns a little sheepish, but you nod your head. “I mean sure. Are you like.. asking me to hangout?” You face him this time, leaning against the counter. He turns even more coy, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “I.. kind of wanted it to be a date.” Peter’s voice turns small, as if he doesn't want you to hear it, bracing himself for rejection.

But you’re in too deep. In your mind, you can't believe your attractive neighbor just fixed your door for you, and even asked you to build legos with him as a date. Looks like you have to thank your friends for breaking your door.

“Alright, I’m in. I’m free this weekend.” Peter could feel his cheeks warming up. You’re just.. going to say yes like that? So casually? “Are you su– I mean, that’s great!” He reaches out to hold your arms, out of his own giddiness, and you let him albeit a little flustered by it.

“I’ll pick you up?”

“Peter, your apartment’s right next to mine..” He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take you out to eat first. Then we’ll build legos.” You nod your head, lips stretching into a smile, and his gaze flickers down for a moment before pulling away. You don't miss the implication of his stare—however—and your whole body heats up. Shying away, you change the topic.

“So.. Do you just go around fixing your neighbors’ doors?” He laughs, shaking his head once more.

“No. I’ve never fixed anyone's door willingly. But for you? I could do more than just that.”

Touché, Peter, Touché

Perhaps it was out of the blue. Suddenly, there’s this huge, dorky, football player following you around and insisting he walks you to your next class. Or even accompany you when you’re doing a task as one of the student aides. But Clark’s actions are very kind-hearted. He has promised you that. Plenty of times. His words being “I won't force you into anything that you don't want.”. And so far, you don't seem to be complaining about his company.

So, for today, he’s decided that this small scratch on his arm calls for an emergency visit to the clinic.

“Clark Kent.” A woman, in her late-twenties and also your university’s registered nurse, greets your best friend with a knowing look. And a glance at you to pair with it. “Hello, Ms. Winters.” Clark, who wasn't expecting her when he slid the doors open, gives her a quick nod before bee lining towards you behind the desk. Where you just finished giving a freshman his allergy medication after a minor flare up.

“Have to get this back real quick, Clark.” You push your chair back, heading towards the nearby medicine cabinet to store the allergy medication you just grabbed. Clark follows you like a big puppy, taking up more space than he intended that he almost knocks the chair back. He holds it steady before you can notice. But Ms. Winters definitely did. “Mr. Kent.” She says his name in a firm, almost scolding, manner. Clark whips his head back to her, a baffled expression on his face. He almost looks hurt. And it seems to work on Ms. Winters, as she sighs.

“Do you need anything?”

“Uhm, Well, I’m sure its nothing my friend here can't help with.” He pats you on the shoulder, in what seems to be his normal strength but sends you coughing. Ms. Winters raises a brow. You turn and send her a reassuring smile, and you catch Clark’s worried gaze. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to.” He mouths, you nod your head, understanding the fact that he can sometimes forget his own strength. Especially when he’s all flighty like this.

“Right, so, what is it this time?” You ask, pulling Clark near one of the empty beds. He, happily, follows you with a growing smile on his face. You can almost see his imaginary tail wagging behind him. “A wound.” He says, as if its the most alarming thing in the world, while taking a seat down on the bed. He lifts the sleeve of his jersey and shows you the wound—that’s just a small, thin, and red jagged line—on his bicep. You hear the student, who supposedly has a bad headache, on the next bed gasp as she lifts her head up to ogle. You raise your brow at her and she lays back down, pretending like nothing happened.

“Clark, is this becoming a thing now?” You sigh, feigning annoyance—but really you’re just as amused as he is, as he forces a hiss when you clean his wound. “What do you mean? I got hurt and I went to you.” He says, fighting back a smile, and you see Ms. Winters roll her eyes behind her monitor. As you reach for the antiseptic—and a hello kitty band-aid that Clark very much insisted on—you can feel him gazing at you intently.

“Hey, ow, careful now. You know I don't do well with wounds.” Clark jests, as he jolts his shoulder up dramatically. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes, knowing that it’d just fuel him. “There. All done.” You say as you place the band-aid on top of his small scratch, the hello kitty design is a stark contrast to the rest of him, but you’re still enamored by it. “Thanks.” Clark responds, his voice rasped with a sudden intimacy. You look up at him, slightly startled, but he only smiles.

“Let me walk you home.”

“Clark, you don't have to.” He finds your hand and squeezes it, silently pleading. You give in.

“Its not because I have to. But because I want to.” Clark pulls away, not before giving your hand another squeeze, standing up. You try to push his sleeve back down but he stops you. “Uh-uh, gotta let coach know that I meant business going here.” He winks, you let out a chuckle, and he grins at that. The sound of your laugh causing butterflies in his stomach. “See you later.” He then adds, waiting for you to wave at him before heading out the clinic. Ms. Winters eyes you both from behind her desktop, a small smile creeping up her lips.

“Is he your boyfriend yet?”

“Oh, God, no.”

She shakes her head and mockingly tuts. You turn your head down, a little embarrassed.

Maybe when the moon turns blue.

“That’s the last time I’m ever stepping foot on the field.” Clark laughs at your quip, with a kind of smile that makes his eyes disappear. And make your heart do somersaults, apparently. He’s changed into his casual clothes, paired with his varsity jacket. It’s funny, You've been hanging out with him so much that you’re starting to predict his clothing patterns.

It was either that Letterman jacket or those denim ones, that he paired with any colored flannel shirt underneath. Which he’s sort of claiming as his own staple, despite not meaning to. Now every time you see someone wearing a similar outfit, you always think of Clark Kent.

Which might be a great tactic to creep his way into your mind.

“Oh, come on, coach already loves you.” Clark exclaims, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you to his side, when the janitor turns around the hallway with his mop bucket—which almost collided with you. Your eyes widen in a fraction from your sudden proximity. And when Clark notices you tense, he pulls away. Not wanting to make you uncomfortable. Even though it has nothing to do with that.

“Didn’t even meet the guy.” You manage to say, reaching the front steps of the school. Clark shrugs, mumbling something about how it’s not hard to love you. Which you catch, the words falling in your ears smoothly, making you smile. Your family’s apartment isn't that far from here. Though, you prefer taking the bus home for safety purposes. But since Clark’s here, you feel safe enough to walk straight home.

“How was the Debate club recruitment?” You ask after a long moment of just walking side by side. Clark hums, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, with a small tilt to the side. Which leads you to believe it was mere satisfactory. Not too bad but not too good. “The freshmen still need improvement. But they did good, considering they’re new recruits and all. They have that eagerness to improve, I can tell.” You love that about Clark. That once he’s really passionate about something, he treats it with utmost care and importance. Just like his love for debate and journalism.

Much like with you.

“What about you? I’ve been seeing you take on more tasks than usual.” You both stop at the sidewalk, just as the pedestrian light goes red. Clark’s referring to your tasks as a student aide, and of course he’d notice. It’s not like you’re not aware that he’s been keeping tabs on you. But he is right.

You’re part of the student council yourself, and have been helping out in the faculty since. So it didn't take you much convincing to become part of the university’s student aide association. Volunteering to help just came easy with you. But you can understand why Clark would worry.

“I’m fine, Clark. I swear. I won't take this much load if I can't handle it.” He gives you a brief side glance, before nodding his head. You can tell he’s not buying it but he doesn't want to upset you either. Once the pedestrian light turns green, Clark’s hand hovers on the small of your back, instinctively, as you cross. “Okay, but we made a promise. That we both won't overwork or burn ourselves out.” You chuckle, nodding your head. It’s sweet that he still remembers that.

“Promise, I won't. I’ll even let you drag me away mid-task.”

“Holding onto that.”

You arrive in front of your apartment building a couple of minutes later. Clark seems like he doesn't want to let you go yet, and as much as you don't as well, someone has to make the first move. Or else your mom’s going to keep feeding him until you can no longer have seconds. “So” He drawls, kicking a pebble and trying to stall you as long as he can. But you hold yourself back from falling for it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clark.” He pouts, you laugh.

“Library, tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, with Ms. Ashcroft.” Clark nods his head at that, as he slowly turns around, taking as much time as he can while watching you ascend up the stairs to your floor.

Clark wears a smile on his face the entire night. He ends up rerouting his way home, the bus stop looming further behind him, as he finds himself entering a flower shop.

The library’s bustling with students this morning. You see Ms. Ashcroft, the usually bright librarian, peek her head from the small crowd of students surrounding her desk. Her eyes scream for help when they meet yours, as you step inside the library. This wasn't the morning you expected, you sigh as you head towards her.

“Sorry, dear, can you email me the file again? I don't think this is the right one.” You hear Ms. Ashcroft say in the middle of the chaos she’d found herself in. Ironically enough, the library stayed silent. “Ms, how do you..” A girl with braids holds her phone up towards you, silently pleading for you to take over. As you take a step closer to her, some of the other students start handing their phones to you as well. And you have to hold your hand up. “Alright, why don't we take this one at a time?” But a student chimes in. “But I need this paper now. My class is in an hour.” Ms. Ashcroft sighs from your side and stands up.

“Who needs their files printed now?” Two, then four students raise their hands. Followed by another one a little while later. “The rest can have their files printed to me.” You say and Ms. Ashcroft’s shoulders ease, relieved that you offered. “Thank you, dear. For a second, I thought I was going to reboot.” A chuckle comes out of you at her small jest, before she sits back down and ushers the other students to her side.

“Let’s get the rest of you settled.” You turn towards the three students left, nudging each other to go first.

You’re back to your usual routine of checking the bookshelves, after the crowd has gone. Meanwhile, Ms. Ashcroft is showing her new intern around. When you take a few steps back, eyes glued on the books, you notice a small book wedged in between two large ones, looking out of place. That was definitely not there before.

As you pull it out, Clark greets you from the other side. You flinch in surprise and you can hear his laugh as he heads to your side. “Clark.” He holds a hand up in mock surrender, his other one noticeably hiding something behind him. He says your name in the same chiding tone you use, and before you could ask about what he’s hiding, he presents the bouquet of forget-me-not flowers to you.

Clark watches your eyes widen, taking the bouquet from him. He’s starting to grow a little shy from your silence, letting out a bashful chuckle to fill it. “Forget-me-not?” You ask and Clark hums, shrugging in a coy manner. “I noticed they were the flowers outside the window next to your seat.” You share a few classes with Clark. One of them is Public Relations, and coincidentally that classroom has one of the nicest view in the building. So, you decided to sit near the window, unaware that Clark’s taken notice of your seating choice.

“Well, I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to thank you for being thoughtful.” You tease, and he smiles brightly. His eyes turned into half moons. You find yourself doing the same thing, feeling the weight of the bouquet in your arms. It’s light, but with its sudden significance, you almost don’t want to drop it.

“And I guess this is also the part where I ask you out on a date.” Clark steps closer to you, cutting your distance short. You feel your breath caught just as his fingers curl around the belt loops of your pants, pulling you closer. The plastic of the bouquet makes a small noise as it wrinkles. “Is this your way of persuading me?” You ask, trying to hold yourself together. But your voice comes out breathless. Clark finds it amusing. “Maybe.” He says, nudging his head to the side, you see his eyes glance down to your lips before returning back to yours. It makes you shiver.

“Would you do me the honors of being my date this afternoon?” His voice is low as he asks, leaning closer so his face is just inches away from yours. You don’t answer him, you just pull him down for a kiss. And he smiles into it, as if it’s the only answer he was expecting. Clark lets go of your belt loops, his hands now trailing up from your hips to your waist, as he tilts his head to the side to kiss you even deeper. “We’re gonna get caught.” You whisper, but you’re already lifting your arms to wrap around his neck.

“Then let’s change locations.”

“You would-” But he’s already breaking the kiss, just to pull you into one of the study rooms with him.

Fortunately, no one caught you.

Unfortunately, though, the bouquet got squished. But its still salvageable. According to Clark.

“Still going on a date with me?”

“Yeah, even more.”

　All her attention has been on you ever since she made it back to your apartment. She successfully dodged the little party her co-workers kept inviting her to since the beginning of the week. It was the end of the month, and everyone wanted to let loose. But Grace’s idea of letting loose was in bed with you.

　“I get it. It’s also raining pretty hard, so I’m glad you're here with me.” You smile against her hair, hugging her waist tighter. Grace sighs and finally gives up on pretending, closing her laptop shut.

　She turns around to face you, and you let her, arms moving to wrap around her neck while hers settle around your waist. Grace buries her face against your stomach, earning a laugh from you. Your hands try to pry her away out of instinct, and she looks up at you in return.

　“You know I’ll always choose to be where you are.”

　You can't exactly disagree with her. You love spending time with Grace too. Whether it was a lazy night in like this, or working side by side on your own laptops.

　It was peaceful. And, somehow, just being in each other’s presence took some weight off of your shoulders.

　“Well, you're not the only one.” You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before cupping her face. Grace returns your smile, coyly, and leans against your palm.

　“I know.” She mumbles, face down on your lap, because it’s apparently the most comfortable place to be in for Grace.

　You let your hands comb through her hair a couple more times, before laying down on the bed from resting against the headboard.

　Keyboard typing and occasional thrumming of fingers, you realize you're waking up from a slumber you never even knew about. And you can't feel Grace beside you, in her place is a pillow and you’ve apparently moved to face your right.

　However, you’re quick to spot your girlfriend, hunched on her chair with one foot up. Her laptop’s illuminating light infront of her face, but somehow the sight of her at her desk—focused on work—makes you feel some type of way.

　Grace is smart, intelligent in a way that impressed most her colleagues, but made some envy her. Despite this, she keeps to herself. And doesn't like bringing attention to herself, preferring to apologize for something she didn't even do just to avoid conflict. Most people tend to underestimate her because of it.

　But for you, it’s endearing.

　Grace doesn't notice you waking up, nor propping yourself on your elbow, by your side, to stare at her.

　She’d tucked you in earlier, when she woke up first early in the morning. Since then, she’d had two cups of coffees and two remaining reports to work on.

　She was clearly in a flow state, and you’re content just watching her quietly from the side.

　However, just like the rain, it didn't last. Grace picks up her mug, only to notice that she had emptied it. She pushes herself away from her desk, noticing you propped up from her peripheral. Grace quickly turns her chair to look at you.

　“You're awake.” She says, a surprised lilt in her voice.

　You smile, giving her a playful shrug. Which she responds to with a similar smile.

　“You want me to get you coffee?”

　“No, thanks. How much have you had?” You ask, eyes on her tapping foot. Grace quickly stops it. But it’s too late and she gets all bashful.

　“You’re addicted.”

　“I’m not!” She swiftly defends herself, placing her mug down on her desk and making you think she’s given up on it. But you know she’s still thinking about it.

　“Grace Ashcroft, this is a serious obsession.” You start sitting up, teasing her. You’re aware she hasn't had coffee since the beginning of this week, but it’s fun. Grace lets out a small scoff, leaning back on her chair.

　You stare at each other for a while, seeing who breaks first. But you know she always loses this.

　“Come here.” Her voice comes out small, completely given up, and you stand to walk over to her. Grace’s hand reaches out to you, shaking it a little, desperate for you to take it. You let out a laugh when you do, kissing your way up to her lips.

　This time, Grace is the one to laugh while kissing you, her hand moving up to the back of your head. You let out a sigh against her mouth and her own breath catches.

　“You're a distraction.” She whispers when you pull away. And all you can think about is how beautiful she looks after getting kissed.

　“Only because you allow me to be.”

　“.. You’re not wrong.” Grace gets all pouty and you get the urge to hold her face. Her cheeks squish against your palms, and you think you’re getting cuteness aggression.

　Grace then raises a brow when you suddenly hug her. And yet she hugs you back, not complaining when her face is all pressed up against your chest. This might just be another version of heaven for her.

　“Don’t let me see you like this ever again, please.”

　“What?”

　“You’re adorable.” You feel the vibrations of Grace’s laugh against your chest. And you don't let her go until after you’ve kissed her forehead.

　She’s all red and flustered when you pull away, which is just another beautiful sight for you. Her hands around you remain, as she looks up.

　“I think I don't need another cup of coffee.”

　“Good. But I don't think you’ll be getting any work with me here.”

　Grace smiles. You're right, of course. She did say you’re a distraction, a pretty convincing one at that.

　But if there's anything she’d learned ever since getting with you. It’s that she’d always prefer you over her work.

　“That’s the point. So, stay for a little while. I need the rest.”