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"I knew this would never work!" Lois finds herself muttering as she snatched the plates off the table, marching into the kitchen to deposit them into the sink.
She could feel Clark freeze behind her.
"What does that mean?" he sounded taken aback, wounded even.
"Lois..." He was walking towards her, not willing to let it go "What does that mean?"
"Nothing." She said bitterly "I just...told you I wasn't good at relationships." She let that hang between them, heart hammering in her ribs and couldn’t bring herself to turn around, not with the weight of whatever hurt expression he was wearing pressing against her back.
Hopefully that did it. Maybe she could still flee before things got out of her hand. Maybe he'll leave and they could break off whatever this was. It would be easy. No-It would be easier than hurting him. She'd done this before. She could walk away, before it was too late -
She was spiraling so hard that she barely noticed him moving closer. Gentle hands eased her tight grip on the plate. Familiar warm arms wrapped her into his comforting embrace, wordlessly, effortlessly and with a tenderness she wasn't sure she deserved. His chin rested lightly atop her head.
Her body froze at first, every instinct urging her to pull away, to escape before feeling too much. But his warmth was steady, unyielding, and her body relaxed into him before she could stop herself.
She stayed still, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rise and fall of him beneath her. Each heartbeat was a quiet tether, anchoring her when the chaos inside her threatened to take over. The tight coil of panic in her stomach loosened fractionally, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself breathe without bracing for impact.
Clark’s arms didn’t shift, didn’t tighten or pry her open. He simply held her, the kind of hold that didn’t demand anything, didn’t ask her to explain or fix herself. It was enough that she existed, right here, in the space he offered without judgment.
Her fingers twitched against his shirt before resting, finally giving up the futile grip on control. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t speak. She simply let herself be held, letting the quiet of his presence seep into her. Time seemed suspended. The apartment hummed softly around them, the clink of the plates forgotten, the world beyond the kitchen reduced to nothing more than warmth and the sound of his heartbeat. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the storm inside her eased. Not gone, not fixed—but quieter. Manageable. Tethered.