you exhale and tuck yourself into a corner of the bullpen, balancing a paper plate of gingerbread cookies and mentally preparing for battle. you like christmas, you truly do but crowds make your shoulders inch up toward your ears. you just wanted cookies, a quiet wall, and maybe to watch clark kent exist from a safe distance like the walking emotional comfort blanket he is. also: he promised he’d meet you here tonight.

but you don’t see him yet, mentally cursing yourself for being so into him. it’s fine! totally fine! you think as your brain immediately shoots back to the tray of cookies in your hands. before you can even take a bite of your sugar cookie, letting the vanilla and cinnamon hit your tongue someone steps directly into your line of vision. "wow!" the guy says, smiling like he’s been waiting his whole life to be annoying. "you must be new! i would’ve remembered someone like you."

he beams as he looks you once over, you want to frown but you fake it til you make it. 'great, a pick-up line wrapped in cologne that arrived three seconds before he did.' you think as you come up with a reply on the spot. "uh." you say politely, "i work in features." you even smile a little friendly, approachable eve because you’re not rude. he steps closer. way too close. "features."

he repeats, like the word owes him money. "guess i should read that more often." and you take a tiny step back but he takes a even bigger step forward. 'annoying, the nerve of this guy.' your brain screams. not dangerous, but annoying enough to spark a brilliant, terrible idea in your head. use him as clark-bait.

you school your face into a perfect 'oh no i’m trapped' expression, widening your eyes just enough to look helpless. you tilt your chin up at the guy, like you’re cornered. but in your head, you’re chanting: 'okay clark, please. now would be a great time to look over here. come on. come save me, pretty boy!'

you glance around subtly, pretending to scan for an exit. what you don’t see: someone across the room freezing mid-conversation. what you don’t feel: the shift in air. but clark sees you. and clark sees him leaning over you and that’s when clark kent ever the farmboy, sweetheart, softest human alive completely stops pretending he’s unaffected and goes very, very still.

lois elbows him in the ribs. "kent? your glasses are fogging...breathe." he inhales through his nose. it doesn’t help, not when you smell like vanilla again that warm, sweet scent he memorized without meaning to. "should i go over there?" he asks, voice too tight. lois raises a brow. "do you want to?" he doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to. because the guy leans one hand against the wall beside your head, and clark is already moving.

a quiet, determined glide through the crowd, all six feet of him locked onto you like you’re the only thing keeping the earth on its axis. "so," the man says, leaning closer, "you busy after this? we could—" he's cut off swiftly by clark's charming, "hey." his warm voice cuts in, deep and honey-sweet. you exhale in dramatic relief, partly real, partly the performance of the century.

as clark steps beside you, sleeves rolled, tie crooked, flannel peeking under his coat. "i’ve been looking for you." he says, like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. you blink up at him, playing innocent. "oh, you have?" clark nods. well... yeah. i saved you a mug of the good hot chocolate before jimmy added… whatever he added." he blinked baffled, the guy clears his throat. "we were talking."

clark doesn’t look threatening. he never does, he kind of just smiles kindly. with absolutely nothing behind it except a silent promise of: walk away. "oh, sorry were you?" clark asks softly. the guy stutters something that might have been yes, or sorry, or goodbye, and nearly trips over a decorative candy cane on his way out.

you wait three beats, just long enough for the guy to fully retreat — then let your shoulders slump in exaggerated exhaustion. "thank you." you whisper. "i thought he’d never leave." clark frowns, not angryily or concerned but focused. protective in that way that melts your bones a little. "was he bothering you?" clark asks, guiding you away from the crowd with a gentle hand on your back. "you looked… uncomfortable."

you bite your lip, eyes big, playing up the helpless act. "yeah..." you say softly. "i didn’t know how to get out of it." clark’s eyes darken behind his glasses. "well, you can always call me." he murmurs. "you don’t have to handle that alone." and your chest flips, it feels warm. "i know." you say, voice small and with a smile, "that’s why i kept looking around. i just… hoped you’d see."

clark stops walking. "you were looking for me?" he nearly chokes, you simply nod, your heart thundering under your chest at the admitance. "i always do." and if clark wasn't already jealous, protective and tense. boy, he sure is now. his voice drops low, "sweetheart, if ever someone makes you uncomfortable. i'm not going to let that slide. never." your breath catches at this new side of him.

'sweetheart.' he didn't even notice he had said that. "i just... didn't think he was flirting." your lie rolls off smoothly, because the bit isn't over yet for you. "i thought he was just being nice." you shrugged but clark just stares at you like the sky suddenly turned green.

"you... you didn't notice?" his exhale is harsh, he looks away and looks back. "notice what?" your soft playing coy and unattentive. "that he was flirting with you." he flatly says "hard." your eyebrows shoot up. "oh, really??"clark looks personally offended by your confusion. "yes." he huffs out shaking his head.

“but… why?” the expression he makes is somewhere between heartbroken and absolutely in love with you. "sweetheart..." he murmurs his voice softening. "have you seen yourself?" you swallow as you try to calm your reply, "i… didn’t know you noticed." he smiles, it's small, shy, devastating. "i notice everything you do." your knees nearly give out.

clark’s confession is quiet, unassuming, earth-shaking and just hangs between you like a pulled thread. you’re afraid to breathe in case it snaps. "you… notice everything?" you echo, voice tinier than intended to come out. clark swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. "i mean..." he rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed to his bones. "i try not to stare. but you, um… make that difficult." he says shyly as your brain immediately begins to overheat and reboot like a computer system.

"me!?" your voice squeaks out, clark huffs out a soft laugh. he glances down at you through his dark lases with that impossible combination of gentleness and desperation he doesn't even know he leaks. "yes, you." voice gentle and soft like those early city mornings. the words wrap around you like the big red scarf still draped over his arm.

the one he wore here but hasn’t had the heart to put back on since he gave it to you the second you stepped into the cold hallway. you tug the edge of the scarf around your shoulders. "clark, i… i didn’t mean to worry you." he stops walking again, his breath fogging in the air. snow drifting in lazy spirals outside the glass windows.

"you didn’t." he says instantly. "you couldn’t." you raise an eyebrow at his confession. "i couldn’t?" clark looks shy suddenly. "i mean—i always want to be there, for you! even if you aren't uncomfortable. even if you’re just… bored. or lost. or pretending someone is bothering you so i’ll come over.”

your stomach drops. how— how did he know? "wh—what makes you think i was pretending?" you ask, trying not to crack. clark tilts his head, gives you that reporter stare he usually reserves for corrupt billionaires and suspiciously cheap apartment landlords. "you’re a terrible actress." he says softly and you open your mouth. then close it. open it again.

"i—excuse me??" you sputter. "i just gave the performance of a lifetime! oscar worthy!" clark’s lip twitches, a smile that threatens to actually break through the fluster. "sweetheart… you looked like a cartoon character holding up a sign that said ‘please save me clark!" your hands fly to your face, mortified and somehow warm all over. "i hate you." you huff feigning annoyance.

he laughs under his breath. "no, you don’t." you glare up at him through mascara coated lashes. "i might!" you huff out. "no..." he repeats, smiling now, eyes soft as winter light. "no, you don’t." the worst part is he’s right. you don’t... not even a little. you both step into the elevator, the doors gliding shut, trapping the warmth between you. clark presses the button for the lobby and then leans just slightly against the wall, sleeves rolled up enough to show his forearms, tie crooked, hair perfect in that 'just shoved his hands through it' way.

you try not to stare but you fail miserably. of course clark notices the exact moment your eyes drop to his mouth and immediately clears his throat, flustered down to the marrow. "so..." he says, voice an octave lower than normal, "why’d you do it?" you blink, confused "do what?" he gives you the look, the one that undresses you in kindness, not heat. "pretend you needed me." your heartbeat stutters. "i didn’t pretend that..." you say quietly. "i did need you." that stops him cold.

"oh?" clark breathes. "i, i thought—" you softly sigh, "no." you shake your head. "i mean, yeah, the guy wasn’t that bad but i wanted you. not because i needed rescuing, but because…" you bite your lip, letting the truth hover just out of reach. "…because i like being around you." clark’s breath catches and his hand resting by his side, curls slightly. like he’s fighting every instinct in him not to reach for you. "i like being around you too." he says softly, before adding onto his actual confession. "a lot."

the elevator dings breaking the tension a bit. you walk out into the lobby, warm city lights reflecting off the marble floor. snow dusts the windows, settling against the glass like a soft knock. clark adjusts the scarf around your shoulders again. gentle, careful, like you’re made of something fragile and precious. "hold still." he murmurs, his tongue sweeps over his lips. you look up at him, "you always fuss over me." you chuckle and he lies, "i do not fuss."

you raise your brows signalling a warning look. he sighs, "okay, i fuss a little." you shake your head "a little?" he smiles sheepishly. okay then, a lot." when you step outside, the cold hits immediately and the kind that settles on your skin like a clingy ghost. clark steps closer, one hand hovering at the small of your back.

"are you warm enough?" he asks, his hand still there. "i am wearing half your scarf." you admit with a giggle. clarks words hit you like a train. "you can have all of it if you want." you shake your head laughing loudly.

"you’ll freeze." he shrugs a bit "i run warm." oh, you do not need that information especially not right now. not with the image that immediately flashes in your mind. you shove it away and continue walking, snow crunching under your boots. clark keeps pace with you easily and then, slowly, tentatively, the back of his hand brushes yours.

you hold your breath. clark hesitates and then hesitates again and then like it costs him everything, he threads his fingers through yours. your heart does a full somersault. "is this okay?" he asks softly. you squeeze his hand. "yeah. yeah, it is." clark exhales like someone let him breathe for the first time all night.

you walk the next block in silence, hand-in-hand, snowflakes catching in your hair. clark keeps looking over at you like he’s memorizing every second. finally, he says, "can i ask you something?" you nod, smiling softly. "why me?" your breath fogs in front of you. "what do you mean?" clark looks down at your joined hands, then back at you — shy, earnest, unsure. "if someone flirts with you… why do you look for me? why do you want me to come over?"

you laugh gently. "clark. who else would i want?" his eyebrows lift, like he wasn’t expecting that answer at all. you continue, stepping closer as the snow falls heavier. "i like you. i feel safe with you. i trust you, and." you swallow, cheeks warm. "—i like how you look when you get… protective."

you don’t look at him when you say it but you feel the change. clark stops. completely. your joined hands stay connected, but he pulls you gently to a halt, turning toward you. snow flakes catch in his lashes. his breath fogs between you. his eyes soft blue, crackling with something he’s been holding back for months. his eyes search your face like he’s trying to read every secret you’ve ever had. "sweetheart." clark murmurs, voice low and warm enough to melt ice, "you can’t just say something like that."

your breath quickens. "why not?" he steps closer barely but enough that you feel the heat rolling off him. "because." he says, almost a whisper. "i don’t know how to pretend around you anymore."

your heart stops, completely. "clark…" you whisper. he shakes his head gently, looking at you like you hung the stars. "i get jealous and i try not to but when someone leans close to you, when someone who isn’t me tries to get your attention…" he swallows hard. "…it makes me want to step in. every time."

"clark…" you mumble but his voice cuts you short, "and not because i think you need rescuing." he adds, softer. "but because i want you to look at me the way you looked at me tonight." you blink, stunned. "how did i look at you?" you quip as clark smiles, small and heartbreakingly tender. "like i was the only one you wanted."