[Third Person Pov]
Clark and Komi continued working on their homework together, the atmosphere around them slowly settling into something tranquil—almost serene. The earlier awkwardness of two people sharing a quiet room faded bit by bit, replaced by a sense of comfort neither of them fully acknowledged but both undeniably felt.
Clark had his head resting on his folded arm, half-leaning over the worksheet in front of him. For a while he genuinely tried to focus on the math problems, but eventually his eyes drifted upward on their own. Before he even realized it, his attention had shifted entirely to Komi.
She sat perfectly upright in that pristine, poised manner that seemed second nature to her. Her brows were slightly knitted together in deep concentration as she examined the problem on her paper. Every now and then she tapped her pen lightly against her lips, lingering there for a moment as she thought. Then she would write something with a graceful, precise motion.
His gaze unconsciously followed the pen… then lingered on her lips. He didn't even realize he'd stopped writing until he found himself completely zoning out, staring blankly at her in a daze.
Komi lifted her eyes just in time to catch him. She froze, blinking once, clearly confused at why he had suddenly become silent and statue-like. Slowly, she tilted her head, her expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. Then she waved her hand in front of his eyes, snapping him out of it.
"Huh? Oh—sorry," Clark said quickly, sitting up and shaking his head. "I was thinking about something."
'Was I seriously staring at her lips?' he groaned inwardly. 'I blame Lois. Damn her. This is her fault.'
Komi motioned towards him asking whether he was thinking about the same thing he'd mentioned earlier.
Clark shook his head, then let it drop forward for a moment as he exhaled. When he looked back up, his tone was casual and that alone made Komi stiffen with anticipation.
"I was thinking about your voice," he said.
Komi blinked twice. Then she pointed at herself again—but this time in a startled, almost frightened manner, like she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.
"It's nothing bad," Clark added immediately, rolling his eyes as she immediately thought of the worst. "On the contrary…"
He sat up straighter, letting out a small sigh before continuing. "Okay, so—you remember when I told you I don't like hanging out with people because I think they're too loud?"
Komi thought back to their conversation when they first started to talk and become friends and gave a small, slow nod.
"Well," Clark said, leaning forward slightly with his arms crossed, "I wasn't exaggerating. I'm kind of sensitive to sound. I pick up on voices really well. Tone, pitch, rhythm—music too. I can tell a lot from how someone sounds."
Then he looked her directly in the eyes, a faint, sincere grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"And whether you realize it or not… you have a beautiful voice."
Komi froze instantly—completely. Then, in a panicked blur of motion, she lifted her book straight up like a defensive wall, hiding her entire face behind it. Her shoulders tensed, and the tips of her ears turned pink as she tried desperately to mask the rising wave of fluster that had hit her like a truck.
Clark couldn't help it—he laughed. Not loudly, but warmly, amused by just how dramatic her reaction was. He reached out to gently lower the book, but Komi swatted his hand away without hesitation, forcing him to lean over the table laughing.
"Alright, alright—relax," he said, still chuckling as he rubbed the back of his hand. "I didn't say it to embarrass you. I'm being honest. You don't have to be scared of speaking or worried about how you sound. You really do have a lovely voice."
Clark rested his head back on his arms, his voice softer now. "You should take more pride in your voice. It's unique. There's literally no one else who sounds like you."
Komi stared down at her hands, her fingers beginning to fidget with each other anxiously. She couldn't bring herself to look up—not right now. She didn't even know what expression she was making, only that it was undoubtedly something she wouldn't want Clark to see.
Her lips pressed tightly together as her face grew warmer. She opened her mouth once… twice… three times, trying to form a word—any word.
But nothing came out.
All she could do was sit there silently, hopelessly flustered, wishing her heart would stop pounding so loudly in her chest.
She slowly set her hands back on the table, her gaze falling toward her lap. Disappointment flooded her features—not directed at Clark, but at herself. At her own stubborn silence. At the words she could feel inside her chest but could never push past her lips. She bit down on her lower lip, frustration bubbling up… until she felt something warm gently wrap around her hand.
Her breath hitched.
She looked down and saw Clark's hand holding hers, his thumb resting lightly across her knuckles. She blinked, startled, her heart skipping at the unexpected contact. Before she could lift her head, his voice reached her from behind the raised book.
"I didn't mean to make it sound like I'm forcing you to speak," he said, his tone softer than she'd ever heard it. "You've come a long way since we first met. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."
Komi's reaction was immediate and frantic. She shoved the book down onto the table and tightened her grip on his hand, shaking her head rapidly. The motion was almost wild, desperate—enough to leave her slightly out of breath. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The familiar block rose up again, shutting her voice away. She exhaled shakily, staring down at their joined hands.
Then she pulled his hand closer, slipping her smaller one on top his palm, and began writing slow, deliberate strokes in Kanji.
'Don't apologize.'
She paused, swallowed, then continued writing with her fingertip, each motion gentle and trembling.
'You didn't do anything wrong. Your words… made me incredibly happy. So please don't apologize.'
Her strokes softened as her fingers brushed over the lines of his palm. She wrote again:
'You weren't forcing me. It was me. I tried to force myself to speak… but I couldn't.'
Her hand trembled, her bangs sliding forward to shadow her eyes. She looked ready to pull away—ready to blame herself again—but Clark closed his fingers over hers just as she began to move.
"Komi," he said quietly, lifting his head to look at her. "You don't have to force yourself if you're not ready. That's nothing to apologize for. Like I said—you've already made so much progress."
She stared fixedly at their hands, her cheeks bright pink, unable to meet his gaze even though the warmth of his touch anchored her in place.
"Right—" Clark murmured, beginning to withdraw his hand.
Their fingers slid apart, slowly, reluctantly.
But before his hand could leave completely, Komi reached forward with sudden resolve. She took hold of his hand again—firmer this time—and pulled it back toward her.
Despite her embarrassment, she didn't let go. Her cheeks were on fire as she traced more Kanji into his palm.
'Thank you… for everything.'
Her strokes were soft, lingering, almost reverent.
Clark didn't say anything. He simply released a small grunt of acknowledgment, keeping his hand still for her, letting her move at her own pace. Komi studied it closely, tracing the lines, the shape, the breadth of it.
Then she wrote:
'Your hands… they're much bigger than mine.'
"They are…" Clark replied, glancing at their intertwined fingertips, both of them subconsciously shifting around the table—closer, closer still.
Her finger moved again.
'They're also rough…'
"Does that make you uncomfortable?" he asked, not looking at her, but at where their hands met—his large, calloused palms against her delicate ones.
Komi shook her head immediately.
She wrote:
'It's warm… a nice warm.'
At some point, without realizing it, they had both leaned and shifted enough that their shoulders brushed. Then their arms. Then their bodies. They were no longer sitting across from each other—they had gradually drifted to the side of the table, shoulder-to-shoulder.
They both let out a small sound of surprise, then laughed softly together.
Their hands moved again, unintentionally overlapping—then settling. Fingers weaving slowly, hesitantly, until they interlocked fully, curling into a single, shared fist of warmth between them.
They stared at their joined hands for what felt like a long moment. Then they turned to each other, eyes wide… only for both of them to slowly divert their gazes away, cheeks burning.
'How the hell is this more intimate than a kiss?!' Clark screamed internally. 'How is that even possible!? I didn't act like this even when kissing Lois!'
And yet… he didn't want let go.
Neither of them did.
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