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Lois trudged sleepily around her apartment, towel in hand, drying her hair after her shower, doing her nightly routine of locking the door and turning off the lights.
She made her way to her bedroom, guided only by the city lights spilling in through the windows and the dim glow of the lamp on her nightstand.
At her bedroom doorway, she stopped in her tracks. The towel slipped from her fingers to the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Clark lay sprawled across the middle of her bed, in full Superman suit, today’s edition of the paper in his hands. He glanced over the top of the paper, eyes sweeping appreciatively over her body.
She looked down at herself, idly thinking that if she’d known he would be returning this evening, she might have chosen something a little sexier than threadbare shorts and her old MET U shirt.
Although, she thought somewhat smugly, judging by the heat in his eyes, sexier pajamas were unnecessary.
She's a little surprised to see him here, given their earlier conflict — their first real fight, and a big one at that. The way he’d stormed out, she hadn’t expected him back in her bed an hour later.
"Clark?"
He tore his eyes away from her legs and cleared his throat, eyes meeting hers. “I felt bad about leaving.” He folded the newspaper and set it aside.
“I see.”
He patted the space beside him on the bed, silently encouraging her to join him.
Lois crossed the room and sat beside him. He slid closer, gently guiding her to turn away from him. She hesitated, but did, crossing her legs on the bed. His fingers combed delicately through her damp hair, gathering it in his hands. A gentle warmth spread across her head and shoulders, and she realized what he was doing.
“Wow, you come in handy,” she breathed, unable to hide the awe in her voice.
“Keep still. Don’t wanna singe your hair.”
“Clark!”
He laughed as she frantically checked her hair.
“Kidding!” He leaned back against the pillows and smirked. She was tempted to punch him but knew she’d only hurt herself.
Instead, she shifted to face him.
“Why did you come back?”
One of his legs twitched, and he sat up a little straighter.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“Oh?” Lois continued to toy with her hair.
He fidgeted with the edge of his cape, and just as she was about to tell him to spit it out, he finally said, “I wanted to tell you that you are good at relationships.”
Lois tried to hide her surprise at his words by laughing and yanking a pillow from behind his back to hit him with.
“What? I’m not joking.” He ducked her next blow, grinning. “You are. You’re thoughtful. Like—” he gestured vaguely, “—you always remember to get me that full-fat milk I like with dinner.”
Lois stared at him, incredulous. “You think I’m good at relationships because I pick up an extra carton of your fatty milk when I go to the market?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his expression dead serious. “Thoughtful and considerate. Two very important relationship qualities right there.”
Lois lay down beside him, tucking the pillow under her head as she digested this.
“This is serious, Clark,” she said carefully, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I’m really not good at—”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips.
“Did you just shush me?” Lois arched an eyebrow.
He ducked his head, then looked back up at her with a crooked smile. “Yes. But only so I can tell you more things you’re good at.”
“Agh… go on then.” She feigned exasperation, rolling her eyes as he got comfortable facing her. She hated that her body automatically tilted toward his.
“Your window.” He pointed behind her.
“What?” She turned to look at it, the curtains stirring in the light breeze from the open window.
“It’s open.”
“I always leave it open.”
“Exactly. You leave it open for me. Even though I tell you not to, even though you know how dangerous the city is, you still leave it open every night.”
He looked so smug she couldn’t decide whether to slap him or kiss him.
She kissed him. Just a quick press of lips. “It just saves me from getting up to answer the door when you roll in at three a.m. looking for some—”
His mouth covered hers before she could finish. The kiss lingered, and when he finally pulled back, he asked softly, “Looking for some…?”
“Leaving the window open doesn’t mean I’m good at relationships. It means I’m open for a booty call.”
Clark actually cringed, and Lois instantly regretted the words.
He shifted onto his back, staring at the ceiling, hands behind his head.
“Hey, I was kidding.” She touched his shoulder.
For a long moment, he said nothing, and guilt twisted in her stomach, until he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You leave the window open because you know I need you.”
Her throat tightened. “What?”
He turned his head toward her. “Bad things happen, Lois. You’ve seen me after them. You know when I need you. That’s why you keep it open.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently. “That’s how I know you’re good at relationships.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say, looking down between them, watching as their fingers laced together.
Fires, floods, earthquakes—Lois knew Clark had seen them all. And the horrible things people did to each other. More than once, she’d found him sitting on her fire escape, physically and emotionally wrecked. In the beginning, he never intruded unless she welcomed him in. After the third or fourth time, she’d started leaving the window open for him, secretly thrilled whenever he let himself in—for comfort… or for other reasons.
“You’re good at this, Lois.” His arms tightened around her, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her back.
“I want to be,” she whispered.
His lips brushed her forehead. “Trust me.”
She tilted her head, playful again. “What else am I good at?”
He grinned. “That’s pretty much it—the milk thing and the window.”
Lois shoved him.
He whispered in her ear. “Now you tell me what I’m good at.”
She rolled away from him. “I’m going to need time to think.”
He grunted in mock annoyance, shifting on the bed behind her.
Lois giggled despite herself. “I’ll tell you what you’re not good at—taking your boots off before you get onto my bed.”
“I flew here, didn’t touch any surfaces.”
His boots hit the carpet with a thud.
“And before that?”
“I dusted them off at home.”
“Liar.”
“Superman doesn't lie…” The bed rustled and shifted. She rolled over just as he pulled the sheets up to his hips, his suit presumably on the floor now too.
Her hand brushed across his bare chest. “You can leave pajamas here, you know.”
“That seems like a big step, Lois. Could lead to me leaving more stuff here. Next thing you know, you’re tripping over my boots and washing my cape.”
“I can’t promise that,” Lois said, her body feeling heavy and relaxed now that the tension of their fight and uncertainty had melted away. “But it might be nice. You being here more. You and your fatty milk.”
“Hm.” He leaned closer, kissing her forehead while his hand slipped under her sweater, warm against her bare skin. “I think we should definitely talk about this tomorrow.”
Another kiss, this time to her lips, both of them moaning as it grew more intense.
Lois smiled against his lips. "Tomorrow."