Thinking about: Frank Castle and Bob Floyd

You had spent so much time living with someone during college that sharing expenses had become your way of surviving. It was the only way to make your money stretch—working just enough while studying so you wouldn’t fall behind. The harsh reality was that rent in Metropolis was expensive, far too much for someone who was just starting out. That’s why, the moment the Daily Planet accepted you, your first concern was finding a place to live.

You tried with Cat, and you still remembered that moment. You walked behind her through the newsroom hallway, a little nervous but hopeful.

“I’m a good cook,” you said with a wide smile, trying to sound convincing. “I can make sure we have delicious meals on a small budget. We wouldn’t spend that much.”

She stopped, looked at you with those sparkling eyes, and a playful laugh escaped her lips. She shook her head, her blonde hair swaying gracefully.

“No, queen,” she replied, her tone affectionate but firm. “It’s not that I don’t like you, but what would become of me when I bring a guy home? Do you really want to hear everything that happens?”

Her words made you blush, though you managed to shake your head quickly.

“No, of course not.”

Before you could say anything else, Cat threw a mischievous glance at Jimmy, who was sitting not far away.

“Don’t even think of him as an option,” she added, amused. “Living with Jimmy would be like having a live porno theater every day, with a different person each week. And you might even end up falling for him too.”

You laughed, unable to hold it back. Jimmy had that undeniable magnetism: charming, flirtatious, always surrounded by people. But for you, there was no real interest beyond the jokes you made whenever you saw him with a new conquest.

Later, you thought about Lois. The idea lingered for a couple of days, but you dismissed it almost instantly. Lois Lane was the best in the newsroom, the Daily Planet’s star reporter, and although her face was often framed by a friendly smile, there was a natural seriousness about her that commanded respect. You felt intimidated approaching her, as if an invisible wall of prestige and self-assurance surrounded her.

So you didn’t dare even to ask.

“Still haven’t found a room to stay in?”

Jimmy’s voice jolted you from your thoughts. You lifted your gaze from the printer, still blinking with the last pages of the report you were reviewing. Standing at the doorway were Jimmy and Clark.

Jimmy stepped in first, as always with his quick and confident stride, holding a messy stack of papers he could barely keep together. Behind him, Clark walked more calmly, carrying his notebook, his shoulders a little hunched as if he wanted to go unnoticed. His eyes were lowered, and yet, when he realized you were looking at him, he lifted his gaze and offered you a shy smile. His cheeks flushed red, but he didn’t look away.

You had grown used to his presence. Since you had arrived at the Daily Planet, Clark had been unusually kind to you. His warmth had calmed the anxiety you felt during those first days. With him nearby, things seemed a little less overwhelming.

“Yes,” you sighed dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “Most likely, I’ll end up sleeping on a park bench, under the moonlight, with a stray dog as my honor guard.”

Jimmy’s laughter filled the room, and to your surprise, you also heard Clark’s soft laugh, which he tried to cover with a cough, as if he didn’t want to draw attention.

“Relax,” Jimmy teased, raising the papers as though they were an improvised microphone. “You could probably make more money as a bum than working in this newsroom.”

You rolled your eyes, though an inevitable smile slipped onto your lips.

“Thanks for the support, Jimmy. Always so encouraging.”

He winked at you and adjusted the straps of his camera.

“That’s what I’m here for. If you want, I can get you a big cardboard box tomorrow. Luxury brand, so you can sleep in style.”

You laughed, shaking your head. Clark smiled too, though he limited himself to simply watching you both in silence, in that way of his where he listened more than he spoke.

You stayed chatting for a few minutes, Jimmy tossing jokes and you responding with light sarcasm. Until finally, he announced that he had to finish printing some photos and organize files on his laptop.

“I’ll leave you two,” he said, pointing his thumb toward the door. “Don’t get into trouble… or do, but let me know so I can take pictures.”

Jimmy left laughing, and the office grew quiet. Only the low hum of the printer remained.

Clark, who had been leaning against the doorframe, shifted slightly. He looked as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. He glanced sideways, fiddled with his notebook, and you noticed. You had learned to read those signs in him: when his foot tapped nervously, when he adjusted his glasses for no reason, when his voice got caught in his throat.

“Clark…” you said at last, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “Say it. Whatever’s on your mind. You look like you’re about to confess you found a poster in the city calling me a wanted murderer and that you just uncovered my secret.”

The sound of his laughter filled the room. A soft, somewhat awkward laugh.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he replied quickly, raising his hands as if to clear away any misunderstanding. “Sorry if I made you think something weird… it’s just, well…” He paused, hesitated, adjusted his glasses, and lowered his voice. “I don’t know how to say this, but… if you’d like, you can stay with me.”

Your hands froze over the papers. You stared at him in surprise, making sure you had understood correctly.

“Are you serious?” you asked, stepping toward him. “Clark, are you really saying that? Or is this a joke? Do you mean I can stay only for tonight and tomorrow I’m out the door? Or are you actually proposing I be your roommate?”

Your voice brimmed with emotion, impossible to hide.

He smiled, with that sweetness that always seemed as genuine as it was clumsy.

“I think you’d make a good roommate,” he admitted, a deeper blush rising to his cheeks.

You didn’t think twice. You let the papers fall onto the desk and threw yourself into his arms.

Clark stiffened instantly, caught off guard by your reaction. He hadn’t expected it, and the redness in his face deepened. But slowly, his arms lifted, wrapping around you carefully, returning the embrace.

“God, Clark,” you said with nervous laughter, holding him a little tighter. “You have no idea how you just saved my life. You don’t know what it means not to spend another sleepless night wondering what would become of me in this city without a roof over my head.”

Clark swallowed hard, his hands trembling faintly against your back.

And with those words, it was decided. All your belongings, which had remained in your old apartment, were soon moved into Clark’s. Even the clothes you had left for a few days at Cat’s place were now neatly folded in the room he had given you—just across from his. From the very beginning, he had said with his shy smile:

“I want you to feel comfortable… that will be your room. It’s close to mine, in case you ever need anything.”

Hearing him say that, you felt the weight in your chest ease, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. And though you were sharing more than you had expected, life suddenly felt better than you had imagined.

For Clark, it was a change too. He didn’t say it often, but you knew that offering you a place to live meant more than it seemed. That big, quiet, perfectly tidy apartment was also a reflection of his loneliness. Ever since he had moved from Smallville, weekends stretched endlessly; it wasn’t unusual for him to spend hours reading or working at the newsroom, just to avoid feeling so alone. Now, even though it wasn’t as if you were together every second, at least there was someone there—someone to share a cup of coffee in the kitchen with, or a few words before sleep. And for him, that was enough.

With time, the routine became so natural that you barely noticed how everything had changed. Every evening when Clark came home from work, you were there. Sometimes much earlier, sometimes even later, depending on your shifts and errands. But you always found each other in that shared space that was slowly transforming.

The living room, once a minimalist, silent place, soon became common ground. You decided to set up two small desks on opposite ends. Clark’s was immaculate: books aligned by color and size, papers perfectly stacked, not a single stain on the surface. Yours, on the other hand, had a personality of its own. Books piled in uneven stacks, newspapers folded open in random corners, pencils scattered as if they had come alive. Yet somehow, the chaos never spilled into his space; that was your golden rule—to never give a bad impression that might cost you your place.

One afternoon, while you frowned over a stack of articles, Clark walked over with a glass of water.

“Your desk looks like a battlefield,” he said with a soft laugh, setting the glass in front of you.

“And yours looks like the museum of perfection,” you replied with a smile, not lifting your eyes. “I don’t know how you manage to keep everything… so orderly.”

Clark shrugged.

“I guess it’s habit. My parents taught me that if you keep things organized, it’s easier to think clearly.”

“Then I must be a disaster at thinking,” you said with a laugh.

He shook his head, holding your gaze for a second longer than usual.

“No. You just think differently. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Those words left you silent, warmer than the untouched water in front of you.

And as the evening light spilled gently through the windows, you realized that the apartment no longer felt like just walls and furniture—it had become a place where two lives, once solitary, had begun to weave themselves together into something quietly extraordinary.

Over time, you both started splitting the rent and expenses. The two of you would sit at the kitchen table, scribbling down numbers to keep track. You usually filled the fridge with the basics, though it wasn’t unusual for you to end up snacking on something that technically belonged to him.

One night, you opened the fridge and, without thinking, grabbed a yogurt you spotted in the corner, convinced it was yours. You had already taken a spoonful when Clark appeared at the doorway, drying his hair with a towel after his shower.

"That’s mine," he said calmly, though his lips held a mischievous smile.

You froze, spoon still in midair.

"Sorry! I thought it was—… Well, I must’ve gotten confused, I swear."

Clark let out a quiet laugh and leaned against the kitchen frame.

"It’s fine. Just buy another one later."

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

"I promise I’ll replace it tomorrow. And it’s not like you’re kicking me out over a yogurt, right? Because if that’s the case, I’ll start packing my bags right now."

Clark shook his head immediately, walking over to toss the towel on a chair.

"Of course not. I’d never kick you out over a yogurt."

"Then what would you kick me out for?" you asked playfully, finishing the last bite.

Clark paused, thoughtful, as if he were genuinely considering it.

"Maybe… if one day you showed up with Jimmy and told me he was moving in too," he finally replied, arching his brows with amusement.

You burst into laughter, shaking your head.

"Please, I’d rather live in the park with my luxury cardboard box."

Both of you laughed.

But let’s be honest: sharing space with someone like Clark was, in some way, a privilege you weren’t prepared to handle. His blue eyes were so clear they sometimes unsettled you with how much they seemed to reveal. His height—imposing, nearly 6’4—made him stand out anywhere. And that dark, curly hair, sometimes neatly in place and other times a mess, became a routine sight too perfect to resist each morning.

Seeing him with a wrinkled shirt, the first buttons undone after a long day, left you staring longer than you should. Of course, you never meant to make him uncomfortable, but that silent habit of yours quickly became the first broken rule: falling in love with your roommate.

And yes, you did. You fell completely.

He was too kind, too much of a farm boy not to be polite in everything he did. He smiled when you spoke, sat down to watch movies with you, and if you stayed up late working in the living room, he mysteriously “also had work” and stayed with you, as if he didn’t want you to be alone.

In the end, you both grew used to each other’s presence… but you more to him. And Clark seemed not to notice.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because he truly seemed oblivious. In the mornings, you’d see him rushing about, his white shirt half tucked into pajama pants, hair tousled, glasses crooked. All normal. Yet sometimes you’d hear strange noises—a sudden thud, a rush of air leaving the window wide open. By the time you went to check, he was gone. No sign on the fire escape, no sound at the door. Just silence in his room.

And although you never dared to enter, you wondered if you were imagining things. Did he leave to avoid you? Did he not want to bother you, or were you the bother? That insecurity had taken root ever since you admitted you were in love with him.

But how do you catch the attention of a man who seems simply kind, without noticing what you feel?

What if he didn’t want love? What if he only wanted the comfort of having you as a roommate?

That question followed you even as you cooked.

That night you decided to take a small risk. You were in the kitchen preparing something simple: an omelet. You’d overheard from Jimmy that Clark loved breakfast at night, his favorite indulgence, and you confirmed it after some quiet investigating. So you tried: eggs, cheese, ham, vegetables. Nothing extraordinary, but with the hope he’d like it.

When Clark came in, exhausted and loosening his tie, you barely managed to say:

"I made dinner… I thought you might like it."

He looked up, and for the first time in days, his eyes lit up with a genuine smile.

"Really?" he asked, setting his briefcase on the table at once. "For me?"

"Well, for both of us," you corrected, suddenly shy, lowering your gaze to the pan. "It’s nothing special."

Clark chuckled softly and nearly rushed into the kitchen, his excitement so sincere it made you blush.

"It’s more than enough! No one’s cooked for me since… well, since I lived in Smallville. Thank you, really."

Your heart skipped. That was the famous “Clark charm.” Jimmy always teased about it in the newsroom, saying his coworker was so innocent and sweet he couldn’t help but win people over. You used to brush it off with a smile… but now you saw it.

Clark took the first bite with such delight it made you laugh.

"This is amazing," he said with his mouth still full, immediately covering it like he’d committed some unforgivable sin. "Sorry… I shouldn’t talk like that. But seriously, it’s perfect."

"If you want, I can make it more often," you replied, crossing your arms and trying to sound casual, though your voice betrayed a nervous edge.

Clark looked up at you, surprised.

"Do you mean it? Because… I could cook sometimes too. I can make soups, stews… and pancakes, though I always burn the first batch."

You laughed, settling into the chair across from him.

"Clark…" you called after a moment, your voice trembling. You weren’t even sure why you wanted his attention, but hearing your name in his voice always calmed you.

He looked up from the glass of water he had just poured, and when his eyes met yours, he smiled.

"Yes?"

You traced the rim of the table absentmindedly and drew in a breath.

"Could you… give me some advice?"

Clark raised a curious brow.

"About what? Is it for an article? Trouble with your editor?"

You shook your head quickly.

"No, nothing like that. It’s more… personal."

The word made Clark straighten in his seat, resting his elbows on the table.

"All right. Tell me."

You bit your lip, hesitating, but finally blurted it out:

"It’s just… I like someone."

Clark blinked, caught off guard.

"Someone… from the Planet?"

"Uh… no." You shook your head nervously. "Well, he lives in this building."

The silence grew heavier. Clark lowered his gaze to his glass, as if the words had stuck in his throat.

"I see…" he murmured. Then, swallowing hard, he looked up again. "And who is it?"

You faltered, eyes dropping to the crumpled napkin in your hand.

"I don’t know him that well. I’ve only seen him a few times… but he caught my attention."

Clark tilted his head, thoughtful.

"Could it be the guy from 4B? The one always carrying flowers. I’ve seen him a few times."

Your heart raced. You swallowed and nodded slowly, as if that were true.

"Yeah… maybe."

Clark stayed quiet for a moment. His smile was brief, just an attempt to look cheerful.

"Well… he seems like a good guy. You should talk to him."

"I don’t know…" you muttered, lowering your voice. "What if he’s not interested? What if he thinks I’m ridiculous?"

Clark leaned in slightly.

"You’re not ridiculous. Not at all. Just… be yourself. You’re amazing the way you are."

You looked up in surprise, but he had already averted his gaze, as if unaware of what he’d just said.

"Do you really think so?"

Clark adjusted his glasses and shrugged.

"Of course. If I were him… I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you out."

Your cheeks burned, and for a moment you thought he was closer to uncovering the truth. But his tone was so calm, so neutral, it felt like nothing more than kindness.

"Thanks, Clark," you said, though your voice came out faint. You stood slowly, picking up your glass.

"Are you leaving already?"

"Yeah, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been a long day."

Clark opened his mouth, as if to say more, but only managed a nod.

"All right… sleep well."

You walked toward your room, feeling his eyes burning into your back. And even though your heart wanted to scream that he was the one you liked, you swallowed the words. Better to leave it that way.

Once in your room, you calmly put on your pajamas, trying to sort out your head after the conversation in the kitchen. The soft fabric made you feel a little lighter, but the weight in your chest remained. You turned off the light and collapsed onto the bed. The silence of the apartment was usually comforting, though tonight it felt strangely unsettling.

Suddenly, soft knocks echoed against the door.

Curious, you got up and cracked it open, peeking outside.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, surprised to see Clark’s silhouette.

The faint light from the kitchen spilled weakly down the hallway, barely illuminating his features. His glasses caught a glint, but his gaze was steady on you, serious.

“Why him?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You blinked in confusion.

“Him? Who?”

And then you remembered. The conversation earlier in the kitchen. Your clumsy lie. The boy from 4B. You bit your lip and looked down slightly.

“Ah… well, it seems he just… caught my attention.”

Clark nodded slowly, as if he suddenly understood what you had really meant.

An awkward silence stretched between you. The air felt heavier than ever. Then, Clark lowered his voice even more.

“I like someone too.”

Your eyes shot up to him, searching, but you could barely make out his blurred reflection. The hallway was too dark, the kitchen light too dim to reveal much of his face.

A lump formed in your throat.

“Oh… lucky her,” you tried to smile, though your words sounded fragile, sadder than you intended.

Clark, however, smiled faintly, almost melancholic.

“But it’s complicated.”

The silence in the hallway grew heavier. Goosebumps ran across your skin with every second he lingered at your door, wearing that unreadable expression.

“Why?” you dared to whisper.

He gave a small, resigned smile.

“Because… she likes someone else.”

Your lips parted, words failing you. Names instantly filled your mind: Cat with her overwhelming confidence, Lois, the newsroom’s star… even other girls at the Planet you had seen laughing with him in the hallways. Your stomach twisted, yet you managed a slow nod.

“You should tell her,” you murmured, forcing calm into your tone.

Clark immediately shook his head, lowering his gaze.

“No… it would be awkward.”

You frowned, confused.

“Awkward? Why awkward?”

He swallowed hard, inhaled deeply, and for a moment seemed torn between silence and confession. Finally, his voice came out low, almost breaking:

“Because… she’s my roommate.”

Your heart stopped. You literally felt a blow in your chest, the air escaping all at once. You stared at him, needing to be sure you had heard right.

Clark looked back up, and even in the dim light, you saw the flush on his cheeks, his hands fidgeting nervously against the doorframe.

“I don’t stand a chance,” he said at last, with a nervous laugh, as if confessing something too heavy to bear.

Your breath quickened. You stared at him, searching for a lie, but everything about him was so painfully honest.

Your hands trembled against the doorframe, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure Clark could hear it.

“Clark…” you stammered, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Stop joking, okay? It’s not funny.”

He frowned, stepping closer.

“Why do you think I’m joking?” His voice was serious, almost wounded. “Is it because… you like the other guy?”

Your eyes widened and you shook your hands quickly, clumsily.

“No! No, it’s not that…” you stuttered, biting your lip. Heat rushed to your cheeks until they burned. You shut your eyes for a moment and, before you could regret it, you said it:

“It’s because… I like you, Clark.”

The hallway fell silent. Only the distant hum of the fridge accompanied your words. You opened your eyes slowly and looked at him, expecting confusion or disappointment. Instead, you found his blue eyes locked on you, so bright even in the dim light.

Clark froze, as if the entire world had stopped spinning. His lips parted, soundless for a moment.

“Me?” he finally whispered, almost in disbelief.

You nodded, your hands still trembling.

“Yes. You. For a long time. And I’m sorry if that complicates everything… but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. The blush on his face was so clear you could hardly believe this was the same Clark who always looked so composed at the newsroom.

“I thought… it was impossible,” he confessed with a sigh. “That you would never… that you only saw me as your clumsy roommate.”

Your lips curved into a trembling smile. Before you could answer, Clark lowered his gaze, adjusted his glasses with shaking hands, then slipped them off, letting them hang from his shirt. When he looked back at you, there was no more doubt—only nerves and overwhelming tenderness.

His breathing was unsteady, just like yours. He stepped closer, so slowly you could feel the air between you thicken, charged with electricity. His broad chest brushed yours as he leaned in, and the entire hallway seemed to vanish.

Clark lifted one of his large hands and cupped your cheek with such gentleness it made you shiver.

His thumb brushed your skin in a clumsy, uncertain stroke, but it was real—so real it left you trembling. His other hand pressed against the doorframe, caging you in a world where only the two of you existed.

When his lips finally grazed yours, your heart stopped altogether. The first contact was timid, soft, almost a question. His lips were warm, moving slowly, as if he feared breaking you. You answered with the same delicacy, closing your eyes and letting go.

Then Clark dared a little more. He deepened the kiss with gentle pressure, tilting his head to fit better against yours. His breath mingled with yours, his body heat overwhelming and perfect at once. You felt his fingers slide to your nape, pulling you closer, while your hand, almost unconsciously, clutched the wrinkled fabric of his shirt.

It was a kiss both awkward and nervous, yet filled with everything left unsaid. Sweet, slow, and at the same time so intense it left your knees weak.

When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his lips still brushing yours, you felt the vibration of his voice as he whispered:

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════

You weren’t distrustful. That is, you never doubted Clark. He had proven to you time and again that he loved you. He walked you home every night, his hand entwined with yours, always keeping you on the safe side of the street, while patiently listening to everything you had to tell him. He sent you good morning messages with words that never failed to make you smile, invited you to lunch whenever he could slip away from work, and never let you feel alone.

And yet, there you were, with that little thorn in your chest. You wondered if Clark truly felt comfortable in the relationship. Maybe it was ridiculous, because he seemed fine, seemed in love. The problem wasn’t him, and you knew it. It was your fear, your insecurity. You didn’t understand why the way he kissed you affected you so much.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them: you cherished every one of his kisses. Soft breaths against your forehead, tender brushes at the corner of your lips, short and sweet pecks that made you feel cared for. Even his “long” kisses didn’t last more than a few seconds—six at most. Everything was chaste, proper, restrained. You loved his tenderness, but you couldn’t help thinking that maybe he didn’t dare go further because he didn’t want to, because deep down something in you didn’t attract him. And that thought, though you tried to ignore it, lingered silently within you. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Least of all now, when your life was finally finding direction thanks to him.

“Ready,” you heard Clark’s voice from the kitchen.

You had gone to visit him at his apartment that afternoon. While you helped set the table, he was focused on dinner. Life with him was that simple, and that was what you loved most: with Clark everything seemed brighter. He was your sun after believing life had no meaning. And that light was something you didn’t want to lose.

“Did you really manage it?” you asked with surprise, standing up to peek toward the slightly open oven.

Clark turned with a calm smile, his eyes shining behind his glasses.

“I told you your boyfriend has more than one talent,” he replied in that playful tone that always made you roll your eyes.

“I don’t doubt you…” you said, folding your arms as you stepped back toward the table. “But I saw so many comments on that video of people failing at their first pizza… and you nailed it on the first try.”

You handed him the oven mitts so he wouldn’t burn himself, and he accepted them gently, fully aware that, although you didn’t know it, he didn’t actually need them. Clark hid many things, but seeing how much you cared for him made him think, more and more, that sooner or later he would have to tell you his secret.

Meanwhile, you focused on serving the salad and setting the sauces on the small table. Clark pulled the pizza from the oven and placed it in the center. With careful precision, he took the cutter you had bought especially for the occasion and divided the pizza into eight exact slices. Your eyes sparkled at his accuracy. Clark blushed, pushing his glasses up nervously, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You both sat down, face to face. Clark placed a slice on your plate and then one on his.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching for some ketchup.

He watched you softly, resting one elbow on the table.

“Go ahead, I want you to be the first to try it,” he said, with that shy smile that always disarmed you.

You took a bite, and the flavor surprised you so much your eyes lit up with genuine joy.

“Wow!” you exclaimed with your mouth still full, covering it with your hand as you chewed.

Clark let out a soft laugh, watching you with pride and tenderness.

“Is it really that good?”

“It’s really good, Clark. Seriously.” You returned his smile.

Clark smiled back as he watched you, saying nothing more. You had no idea he had spent several nights reading recipes, watching videos, and jotting down tips to make sure everything turned out right. Nor did you know that, in secret, he had used his senses to listen to the bubbling of the dough and smell the exact moment the pizza was ready. For him, all that effort was worth it if it meant seeing you smile and hearing your praise.

Clark wasn’t a man who needed to be showered with compliments; on the contrary, he got nervous when he was praised too much. But when it was you who looked at him with admiration, his heart pounded and a warmth he had never known spread through him. That feeling was something he adored.

“So you’ll be working on Christmas too?” Clark asked, breaking the silence after you had talked about your shift.

You told him that you’d probably have to stay extra hours at the restaurant where you worked.

“Yes… well, I’ll get home around ten,” you said, smiling tiredly at him. “Are you going to your parents’?”

Clark slowly shook his head, lowering his gaze to his plate.

“No… actually they’ll be spending it at the farm with the neighbors. Out there everyone knows each other, it’s like one big family,” he said calmly. Then he lifted his gaze toward you, a spark of hope in his eyes. “I thought we could spend it together. I’ll cook dinner while you’re on your way home, and then I can walk you back to your apartment.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile and you nodded, though inside the doubt bit at you again. It was such a beautiful gesture on his part, and yet… that same sweetness made you feel guilty about your thoughts. Why couldn’t you stop wondering if he loved you the same way?

Clark leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture that always calmed you and, at the same time, reinforced your insecurity. Why only on the forehead? Why always so proper?

You finished dinner, cleaned the kitchen together, and as always, Clark picked up your bag in one hand before leaving the apartment. He never allowed you to walk home alone. It was his habit, his silent promise: always seeing you safely to your building’s door.

That night, however, something changed on the way. He noticed it instantly.

Normally, you filled the walk with words. You pointed at store windows, recalled a memory, laughed at little things, and he simply listened, happy with every gesture of yours. But now you walked in silence, eyes fixed on the ground, your hands clasped in front of you.

Clark pressed his lips together. He didn’t like that stillness in you.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked softly, tilting his head to glance at you from the side.

“Yes… I’m fine,” you answered quickly—too quickly.

Clark held your gaze for a moment longer, as if he wanted to ask again. But in the end, he nodded slowly and said nothing more, though in his eyes there was a silent glimmer that made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced.

The walk to your building grew quiet—too quiet. Each step echoed in your ears with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Here we are,” Clark murmured once you stood at your door.

You unlocked it and nodded, forcing yourself to smile.

“Get home safely, okay?” you whispered. “It’s so late… why don’t you take a cab?”

Clark shook his head gently, his tone certain.

“It’s just a few blocks. I’ll be fine.” He paused, then added with a faint smile, “Rest well. I promise I’ll come on Tuesday.”

You noticed the slight blush coloring his cheeks when he leaned closer.

He came forward to say goodbye, and you hesitated a second before responding to his kiss. It was brief, barely two seconds, as chaste as always. He pulled back quickly, and you searched his face for some sign. His eyes were soft, tender—everything seemed normal.

Was it your mouth? No… you had chewed a mint before leaving his apartment.

Clark, as if he hadn’t noticed your hesitation, tilted his head and pressed one last kiss to your forehead. You gave him a half-smile, though you felt a pang in your chest.

He turned and began walking down the hallway. You closed the door behind you.

For a moment, your heart beat slowly, almost hesitantly. The silence of your apartment fell over you like a heavy blanket. You set your things down in the living room and sighed, standing still in the middle of the space. It was cozy, warm… but empty without him.

You wondered, with a mix of fear and tenderness, if Clark was truly happy with you… or if there was something you didn’t dare to see.

“Does he not like me that much?” you whispered, staring at your fingers as you fidgeted nervously with them. “I should’ve eaten more delicately, not stuffed my mouth…” You caressed your stomach as if you could hide the shame there. “I should always carry toothpaste…” you murmured, jotting it quickly in a notebook.

You shook your head with a sigh.

“I’m so foolish…” you told yourself softly. “I should just ask him if he likes me. What if he only kisses me out of pity?” Your gaze fell on your small fish tank, watching your pet swim in circles. “No… I don’t want to lose him. But I can’t force him either, can I?” You bit your lip, following the calm swaying of the little creature. “He must keep his kisses short because I disgust him…”

The doorbell rang, and you jumped slightly. You blinked in surprise. Mrs. Wilson? She had told you over the phone she’d deliver the package she had received by mistake tomorrow. Maybe she had changed her mind and brought it now. You walked to the door, ready to apologize, convinced the poor woman had come back just for you.

“Mrs. Wilson, that wasn’t neces—” You opened the door and your words died instantly. “Clark…”

He was standing there, in front of you, his face serious and his eyes shining with nerves.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, confused at seeing him so unsettled.

Clark took a deep breath, his hands clenching softly at his sides.

“I…” he began, hesitating. How could he tell you the truth? How could he explain that he had heard your words, that your insecure murmur had reached his ears and driven him to run back at full speed, careful not to let the cameras catch him? He couldn’t confess how he had arrived so quickly. But what he could do was make sure you didn’t hold onto that idea.

“Why do you think that?” he finally asked, his voice firm, though laced with such genuine concern it froze your blood.

You looked at him, confused.

“Think what?”

“That I don’t like you,” he said slowly, watching you as if he feared your response.

Your lips trembled.

“I… I didn’t say that…” you whispered awkwardly, looking away. How had he heard you if he wasn’t there when you said it? You forced an awkward smile. “I said I was fine.”

Clark didn’t believe you. He frowned and took a step closer.

“I know you. What’s wrong?” he asked, coming so close you instinctively stepped back. Calmly, he closed the door behind him, seeking privacy.

You lowered your gaze, unable to hold his eyes.

“Nothing… I don’t want…” you murmured. “It’s just silly, Clark. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head softly and leaned down, gently cupping your face in his hands, guiding your eyes back to his without harshness, as if he feared breaking you.

“I’m listening,” he whispered firmly.

Your eyes filled with tears. The knot in your throat broke, and for the first time, you let out what you had kept silent for so long.

“I feel like…” your voice trembled, “that maybe you don’t like me the way I like you. Your kisses are so short, so… as if you didn’t want to… as if something about me bothered you.”

Clark looked at you with a mixture of astonishment and pain, as if those words were the last thing he expected to hear. His thumb brushed against your cheek, drying the first tear before it fell.

“God… love… do you really believe that?”

Your silence was enough of an answer.

Clark exhaled heavily, lowering his forehead until it rested against yours.

“You don’t know how much I like you,” he murmured, his voice carrying a tremor he rarely let slip. “It’s the opposite… I hold back because I don’t want to rush anything. Because I want to respect you. I want you to know that being with you isn’t just about kisses or caresses. It’s… everything else.”

Your eyes searched his, incredulous, and he smiled shyly.

“I try to be a gentleman. To make sure you don’t feel like I’m only after that. But if what you want is a real kiss…” his cheeks flushed as his fingers intertwined with yours, “you just have to ask.”

You looked at him, embarrassed, your lashes lowering timidly while your cheeks burned. You didn’t know how to react; you could only blink every now and then, your breathing a little uneven. Clark, on the other hand, seemed perfectly aware of everything. His gaze lingered on your lips, then moved back to your eyes, only to fall again.

He knew how to restrain himself—God knew how much. He didn’t want to seem like a desperate man, much less someone who would pressure you. He endured it in silence, even though inside he was dying for it. He desired you, of course he did, but above all he wanted you to be the one to ask. He wanted to hear it from your own lips, because in his heart everything had to be built on respect.

“I only… have to ask?” you whispered, feeling the heat climb all the way to your ears.

Clark smiled, and the dimple on his cheek appeared like another caress.

“I can’t do anything you don’t ask me to…” he whispered, pressing his forehead slightly closer to yours. “But you have no idea how much I’ve held myself back.”

Your lips curved into a timid, embarrassed smile.

“Then… I want you to kiss me,” you finally whispered, lowering your voice as if the world shouldn’t hear it.

And he obeyed.

Clark leaned toward you, slowly, as if making sure you agreed. You felt his breath so close that you could barely focus on anything else. Your lips brushed against his, at first soft, as it had always been. But this time, he didn’t pull away.

The hand cupping your cheek guided your face gently as he kissed you deeper. His other hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer. You had to rise on your tiptoes to reach him better as the pressure of his mouth grew firmer.

The kiss became more intense. Your lips moved against his, feeling the warmth and dampness as they mingled. His tongue brushed yours and you responded, hesitant at first, but soon clutching at his chest to keep from losing balance.

Clark didn’t pull back, only slowed the pace so as not to overwhelm you. He held you firmly by the waist, caressing your back gently while the kiss went on.

When he finally broke away, he did it slowly, his lips still brushing yours. Your breath came out unsteady, and your nose bumped into his, still too close, as if neither of you wanted to let go.

“I like you…” he murmured in a husky voice, just like that first time he confessed his feelings. “I don’t ever want you to think you’re not enough again,” he whispered. “Because you’re everything to me.”

He wrapped you tightly against his chest, as if sealing those words with his warmth.

You didn’t answer immediately. You stayed there, in his arms, knowing he hadn’t heard that insecurity of yours when you were alone. To him, he had only noticed your silence on the way and that had brought him back. And though your confession had been born from fear, now, in his kiss and his embrace, you felt your confidence returning.

You understood that if you wanted to avoid feeling that doubt again, you had to be honest with him every time your thoughts clouded over. Clark deserved that… and you deserved the peace of knowing he loved you without hesitation.

You nestled closer against his chest and smiled faintly. Clark, still with flushed cheeks and a heart racing wildly, lowered his head to kiss you again—this time softer, slower, like an eternal promise.