"it's pesto! you like pesto." she doesn't especially understand why, but she's having a generous portion, too: if chloe senses reluctance, lana risks losing the whole battle. she read all the parenting books during her babysitting-obsessed phase in junior high: she knows about picky eaters.

" i like regular pesto. uncompromised pesto. " she corrects, resting the bowl on bent knees as she closely inspects the noodles further – it's totally the texture. the guess as to what veggie tales cast member got dropped in it was exactly that : a guess. an educated one. & the fact that she was insanely close to pinpointing the correct suspect does bring a hint of pride to the twitch of her lips. not that she's about to give lana the satisfaction of validating her suspicion right out of the gate – she literally just snuck a healthy enemy past the delicious border & what was that about the comments ?? if she weren't still adamant on appearing offended, she'd be howling with laughter at the mere thought of having driven lana to looking up ways to sneak vegetables into meals. & it's only this funny because the situation really isn't this dire. for all her grimaces & eughs, she's a firm believer that there's always a time & place for vegetables. what the time & place is depends solely on her mood, though – no wonder a certain cute brunette decided to remove choice out of the equation. she's a lot of work. " what gave it away is, my taste buds are well trained ninjas & no surprise ingredient gets past them. " even if that were true, it wouldn't matter – the dish is a big hit.

[ TXT ] : guess i'll just sit in bed. alone. by myself.

Clark's gaze follows Chloe's head, spotting the barely visible wire glistening in the dim room. How had he missed that? How could he not be paying closer attention? But there's no time to dwell — the ticking is definitely getting louder. He quickly scans over the room again, but this time looking through the immediate surroundings. That's when he spots it — a pile of explosives behind the far wall, attached to a clock rapidly ticking downward...

it all happens in a blur – she's pretty sure her life should be flashing before her eyes, but the truth is, her head is decidedly at full capacity with panicked gibberish. that tends to happen when you're zero point two seconds away from becoming the pile of goo formerly known as chloe anne sullivan, right ? there's nothing deep & retrospective about your very last moments on earth in the aftermath of a major screw-up. those milliseconds can only be used for an unprecedented freak-out ! sure, you may also throw out a prayer to a god you don't necessarily believe in, just for kicks, but mostly ? you freak out. chloe's survival instincts do kick into gear, though – clark doesn't have to tell her twice, she's already running as far as her currently extremely inconvenient short legs can take her. at least she didn't miss out on any track star callings – click – but she might miss out on her first pulitzer. her first love. the rest of her life. she can no longer get enough air inside her lungs, welling up despite herself when the exit ahead of them still feels miles away. unreachable. & there's no more time.

"i ⸺ i know." of course chloe wouldn't kick her out: whatever they have, it's unconditional. that much has been clear for years. she'd understand, though, if she weren't the first person she wanted to see, especially while dealing with ⸺ what is she dealing with, exactly? why hadn't she called her? lana smiles, grateful and a little embarrassed, like she should have the answers to all these questions. "i miss you," she offers. "i haven't really been sleeping." which is normal, all things considered: the major life changes, the relentless collective trauma. she'd be surprised if any of them were doing much better. it's practically ⸺ god, are things so bad that she's making small talk? no. she can't let that happen. instead, tracking chloe's gaze, she unwraps the bandage, lets her survey the damage.

" i miss you, too. " sincerity takes over, painting the upturn of her lips just for a moment. there's something sad there, too, without a doubt – the weight of everything that's been going on, one mind boggling event after another, is becoming alarmingly suffocating & the air is in desperate need of being cleared. not talking to one of your best friends feels like self-flagellation. add that on top of literally everything else & well, what comes out of lana's mouth next could be considered the only result of that equation. still, the boogeyman that won't let chloe sleep is the embodiment of anxious memories & an awful, painful, embarrassing cherry on top that she hasn't been able to tell one soul about since they wrapped up dark thursday. she has a feeling lana's boogeyman is far scarier & worthy of his own big budget horror movie. her eyes soften & right on cue, the bandage comes off, reminding her of the hell she went through, causing one deep crease right between her eyebrows. " lana... " two syllables have never sounded more regretful & concerned. there's quiet anger when the decibels of her voice lower. " if there's such thing as alien overlord hell, i hope zod's enjoying unlimited access to the fiery pit as we speak. "

❝ clueless? wh – me? ❞ her keys are hanging off of his thumb now, hands splayed in mock surrender. he turns his head toward the sight of them, feigning surprise. ❝  well, wouldja look at that? how did those get there, huh? ❞