Beth's breath caught in her throat, the revelation about Clark hitting her like a tidal wave. The dim fairy lights in Chloe's basement flickered, casting jagged shadows across the cluttered space—peeling posters of old bands curling at the edges, a sagging couch, and a coffee table littered with crushed soda cans and half-empty popcorn bowls. The indie rock music pulsing in the background was too loud now, its relentless beat syncing with the hammering in her chest. Her black lace dress, clinging tightly to her curves, felt like a vice, the fabric scraping her skin as she squirmed on the beanbag, fingers clawing into the soft material to ground herself. Her friends' eyes bored into her, their expressions a volatile mix of shock, amusement, and, in Clark's case, a barely restrained fury that seemed to suck the air from the room. The tension was suffocating, her confession and the unspoken truth about her feelings for Clark hanging between them like a storm cloud on the verge of bursting.
Chloe Sullivan, her journalistic instincts razor-sharp, was the first to break the silence, her pen tapping her notebook with a frantic urgency that mirrored the room's energy. She leaned forward, blonde hair catching the lamp's soft glow, throwing golden streaks across her strands. "Okay, Beth, let's unpack this," she said, her voice slicing through the air, brimming with a curiosity that threatened to spill into a headline. Her green eyes glinted with the hunger of someone who'd just caught the scent of a blockbuster secret. "You're telling me Lex Luthor—the Lex Luthor, all dark charisma and power—had you pinned against a wall in his dad's office, hands this close to ripping your dress off, and you just… bailed when Lionel walked in? Then what? Did you say anything? Did he chase after you?" Her words tumbled out, fast and jagged, charged with an excitement that made the air crackle. Her hands flailed with such intensity that a soda can teetered on the coffee table, the liquid inside sloshing violently.
Pete Ross, sprawled on the couch with a mischievous grin that screamed "I knew this story was gonna be good," crossed his muscular arms over his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching slightly. "Come on, Harper, spill the rest," he teased, his deep voice laced with humor that didn't hide the genuine curiosity shining in his brown eyes. "Did he slip you his number? Or did you just leave him with blue balls and walk away?" He let out a loud laugh, the sound echoing through the small apartment, his worn sneakers scraping the frayed rug as his restless body shifted, as if the story were pulling him in.
Lana Lang, perched with effortless grace on a folding chair, tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder, her light pink sweater and tailored jeans a soft contrast to the room's electric charge. Her brown eyes locked onto Beth's, offering a smile that was meant to comfort but carried a taut edge. "Guys, ease up, let her breathe," she said, her voice a gentle breeze but firm enough to halt the barrage. "It's not like she planned to fall into Lex Luthor's arms. Sometimes you just… get swept up in a moment. Who hasn't?" Her tone was warm, but it felt rehearsed, a delicate mask over something less certain. Her gaze flicked to Clark, brooding in the corner, his shoulders rigid, his face a storm of emotions he couldn't hide. Lana's smile wavered, and she straightened, as if desperate to shift the focus. "Anyway, Beth, you're okay, right? You don't have to dig into this now," she added, her voice sweet but tinged with urgency, as if she sensed Clark's simmering anger might ignite the room.
Clark was a statue, his broad frame stiff in the absurd pink dress that strained against his shoulders, the fabric stretched to its limits across his biceps. His jaw was locked, his blue eyes burning holes into the floor, fists clenched so tightly on his knees that the knuckles glowed white. His silence was a scream, drowning out the chatter, and Beth felt it like a fist around her heart. His rage wasn't just about Lex—it couldn't be. It felt personal, like he was ashamed of her for diving headfirst into danger, for being reckless in a way that wasn't her. Her stomach twisted, guilt and defiance warring inside her. She wasn't some reckless slut chasing a thrill—she'd just lost herself for a moment, hadn't she? But Clark's refusal to meet her eyes made her feel like he'd rewritten her as someone else, someone smaller.
Beth swallowed hard, her throat parched, fingers digging into the beanbag until her nails left crescent marks in her palms. "Nothing happened after," she said, her voice barely audible, nearly swallowed by the music's pulse. She forced herself to look at Chloe, dodging Clark's gaze entirely. "Lionel left, and I… I panicked. I mean, I'd just realized I was with Lex Luthor, the guy I'd been trashing all night. I said some dumb shit to his face, and then there I was, making out with him in his dad's office, like a complete idiot." Her laugh was brittle, self-mocking, her cheeks burning as she tucked a dark strand behind her ear, silver hoop earrings glinting. "I said I had to go, that my dad was probably looking for me. I practically sprinted out, didn't look back."
Chloe's eyebrows shot up, her pen scratching furiously, the sound cutting through the quiet. "You just ran? After all that fire? Beth, seriously, you left Lex Luthor standing there like some rejected high schooler? That's ice-cold." She shook her head, but her eyes sparkled with admiration, like Beth had just pulled off a daring escape. "Did you even say sorry?"
Pete barked a laugh, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Cold? That's fucking epic. You had him eating out of your hand and just ditched him. Bet he's still replaying it, Harper. Probably the first person to ever tell him no." His grin widened, but it faltered when he glanced at Clark, whose tension was practically a physical force, radiating like heat.
Lana reached out, her hand grazing Beth's knee, warm and steady. "You were out of your depth and still came out on top. That's not nothing. Most people would've choked or tried to kiss up to him once they knew who he was. You didn't." Her smile was real, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—curiosity, or maybe jealousy that Beth had snagged Lex's attention so easily.
Clark's voice sliced through the air, low and jagged, cutting Lana's warmth like a knife. "She shouldn't have been in that position to begin with," he said, his eyes snapping up to Beth's, blazing with an intensity that made her stomach drop. "Lex Luthor isn't some charming guy you mess around with, Beth. He's dangerous. You didn't know who he was, fine, but he knew exactly what he was doing. He lured you into that room, locked the door—he put you there. You're lucky it didn't go further." His words were sharp, his hands unclenching only to grip the chair's edge, the wood creaking under his strength.
Beth's cheeks burned, Clark's words hitting like a slap. She wanted to snap back, to tell him he was wrong, that Lex hadn't forced her, that she'd chosen to follow, to flirt, to kiss him. But the way Clark looked at her—hurt, angry, protective—choked her words, leaving them stuck like glue. Did he think she was naive, some starstruck fangirl? The thought stung, especially with the truth she'd just realized: it was Clark she wanted, not Lex. Lex's kiss, his hands on her, had been electric, but it paled next to the moments with Clark—his hand brushing hers while they studied, his laugh making her chest ache, their kiss. But now, with his anger filling the room, she felt like she'd shattered something between them, something unspoken but real.
"Clark, that's not fair," Beth said, her voice shaking but steady, her hazel eyes locking onto his, gold flecks catching the fairy lights. "I wasn't some helpless kid. I knew what I was doing—or thought I did. Lex didn't drag me anywhere. I went with him because I wanted to. And yeah, I got in over my head, but he stopped when I asked. He didn't force anything." Her hands balled into fists, glossy black nails digging into her palms, the pain keeping her steady as she fought to hold her voice. "You can't act like I'm some victim who needs saving. I'm not."
Clark's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something raw—jealousy, maybe, or something deeper he wasn't ready to face. "You were seventeen, Beth," he said, his voice a low growl, leaning forward, the pink dress absurd against his intensity. "He's a grown man, a Luthor, with a reputation. You think he cared about you? He saw something he wanted and took it." His hands gripped the chair harder, the wood groaning, his knuckles white.
Chloe raised a hand, cutting through the tension like a referee. "Okay, hold up," she said, her voice sharp but playful, trying to defuse the bomb. "Clark, chill. Beth's not saying she's in love with Lex Luthor. She's just telling us what happened. And honestly, she handled herself pretty damn well for a seventeen-year-old stuck in a room with two Luthors." She shot Beth a grin, but her eyes flicked between her and Clark, sensing the undercurrent of something bigger.
Pete nodded, leaning back, his smile returning. "Yeah, man, ease up. Beth's a badass. She had Lex Luthor chasing her and still shut him down. That's a story most people would kill for." He looked at Beth, winking. "Sure you didn't slip him your number? Could've gotten a car out of it."
Beth forced a laugh, but it felt hollow, her eyes darting to Clark, whose gaze didn't soften. She wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong about Lex, about her, about everything—but the truth about her feelings for him was too raw, too new, and she couldn't say it. Not here, not in front of everyone. Instead, she sank back into the beanbag, smoothing her dress, the lace rough against her fingers as she tried to steady her breathing. "No number," she said, her voice lighter now, matching Pete's tone. "I left, found my dad, and we got the hell out of Metropolis. Never saw him again." She shrugged, but her heart didn't follow, her mind still reeling from Clark's reaction and her own realization.
Pete leaned back, his grin fading to something more thoughtful as he sensed the room's tension spiking. "Alright, enough heavy stuff," he said, clapping his hands, the sound sharp in the stifling air. "Your turn, Kent. Got any dark secrets? Maybe something embarrassing to top Beth's makeout session with a billionaire?" He winked, his voice teasing but strained, trying to pull the group back from the edge, though his eyes flicked nervously to Clark's rigid form.
Clark didn't bite, his silence heavier than ever, a wall of tension that seemed to choke the room. His jaw clenched tighter, blue eyes still fixed on the floor, hands gripping the chair's edge until the wood groaned, his broad frame rigid in the absurd pink dress, radiating a fury that made Pete's attempt at levity fall flat.
Lana stood, smoothing her jeans, her smile tight. "I'll grab more popcorn," she said, glancing at Beth with a look that promised a later talk. Her steps were light on the creaking stairs, leaving the group in an uneasy silence.
Clark shot to his feet, his movements sharp, the pink dress rustling as he moved. "I need air," he muttered, his voice low, eyes avoiding Beth's as he headed for the stairs. His heavy footsteps echoed, each one a punch to her gut, and she watched him go, her chest tight with guilt and anger.
Chloe raised an eyebrow, looking at Beth. "Okay, what was that?" she asked, half- teasing, half-serious, her pen tapping again. "Clark's acting like you kicked his dog."
Beth forced a smile, her heart sinking. "He's just… being Clark," she said, the words empty. She stood, smoothing her dress, her hands trembling slightly. "I'm gonna check on him." She didn't wait for a reply, her heels clicking softly on the concrete as she headed for the stairs, her pulse racing with a mix of fear and determination. She needed to talk to him, to clear the air, to understand why he was so angry—and maybe, just maybe, to confess the truth burning a hole in her chest.
OUTSIDE CHLOE'S HOUSE
The night air was crisp, a stark contrast to the stuffy heat of the basement, the Smallville sky a vast tapestry of stars, the moon casting a silver glow over the quiet street. Clark stood in the yard, his broad silhouette stark against the house's dim light, the pink dress absurdly out of place against his rigid posture. He leaned against Chloe's beat-up old car, arms crossed tightly, head tilted back as if searching for answers in the stars. His breath was visible in the cold, his jaw still locked, his blue eyes stormy even in the shadows.
Beth stepped outside, her heels crunching softly on the gravel, the black lace dress catching the moonlight as she approached. Her heart pounded, hands clenched at her sides, glossy black nails glinting faintly. She stopped a few feet away, the distance between them feeling like a chasm, the air heavy with unspoken words. "Clark," she said, her voice soft but firm, cutting through the night's silence. "What the hell's going on? Why are you so pissed at me?"
He didn't look at her at first, his eyes fixed on the sky, his jaw working as if chewing on words he didn't want to spit out. Finally, he turned his head, his gaze slamming into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. "I'm not pissed at you," he said, but his voice was tight, strained, like he was fighting to keep it level. "I'm pissed at him. Lex. The way he looked at you, the way he got you into that room, locked the door—he knew exactly what he was doing, Beth. He saw a young girl and went for it, like you were just another trophy."
Beth's cheeks flared, anger and hurt surging in her chest. "It wasn't like that," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice sharp and trembling. "I wasn't some damsel he preyed on, Clark. I flirted with him, I followed him, I kissed him back. I wanted to be there, at least in the moment. You can't rewrite it like I had no choice." Her fists clenched tighter, nails biting into her palms, the sting anchoring her as she held his gaze.
Clark's eyes darkened to a storm, his broad shoulders stiffening, the pink dress pulling taut across his chest as he loomed over her, his presence overwhelming. "You were seventeen, Beth," he growled, his voice low and jagged, each word a blade as he stepped closer, the air between them sparking with unspoken fury. "He's older, richer, more powerful. He knows exactly how to twist a girl's heart, make her feel like she's the only one in the room. That's what predators like him do. They manipulate. And girls like you—" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady, as he stopped himself, hands falling to his sides, fingers curling into fists as if grasping for control. "Girls like you aren't his type, Beth. He chases socialites, Metropolis models, women who glitter in his world. Not you. You could've gotten hurt. Destroyed."
Beth's breath caught, his words slicing through her like shards of glass, each one cutting deeper, twisting into a wound she couldn't ignore. Her eyes blazed, fury and pain warring within her as she stepped forward, heels grinding into the gravel with a sharp crunch. "What the hell do you mean, 'girls like me'?" she snapped, her voice rising, trembling with a mix of rage and betrayal as she closed the distance between them, her face inches from his. "What am I to you, Clark? Some naive, small-town nobody too plain to turn Lex Luthor's head for real? Too ordinary to be wanted by someone like him? Is that it?" Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks, hot and unchecked, as she shoved a finger into his chest, the unyielding wall of muscle only fueling her anger. "Say it, Clark. Tell me I'm just some pathetic girl who got played because I'm not enough. And while you're at it, explain what you meant by 'girls like me aren't his type.' What's wrong with me, huh? What makes me so unworthy in your eyes?" Her words hung in the air, sharp and desperate, daring him to answer as her heart pounded, raw and exposed.
Clark's face paled, his eyes widening in panic as her words hit. He grabbed her wrist, not hard but firm, stopping her finger from digging into his chest, his touch electric and too much all at once. "Beth, stop, that's not what I meant," he said, his voice urgent, rough with desperation as he leaned closer, the pink dress rustling absurdly. "You're incredible, okay? I didn't mean you're not enough—I meant you're too good for him. Lex doesn't deserve you. He saw someone real, someone pure, and he used that. You're not some nobody—you're everything." His grip tightened briefly, his eyes searching hers, raw and pleading.
Beth yanked her wrist free, her hazel eyes blazing through tears, the moonlight catching the gold flecks in them. "Pure?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom, stepping back as if his touch burned. "That's the problem, Clark. You see me as some innocent little girl, too pure to handle a guy like Lex, too pure to have urges, to want anything real. But guess what? I'm not your little sister! I'm a woman and I wanted to feel something, and you can't accept because it doesn't fit your perfect little image of me." Her chest heaved, tears streaming, smearing mascara in dark streaks across her flushed cheeks.
Clark flinched as if she'd slapped him, his face reddening, the memory of their kiss in his room flashing between them—her teaching him, his hands gripping her waist too hard, the heat of him pressed against her thigh. "Beth, I know you're a woman," he said, his voice rising, cracking with frustration as he stepped closer, looming over her, his broad frame filling the space. "And yeah, hearing you talk about wanting Lex, about him touching you, it drives me fucking insane. Not because I think you're naive, but because he's a sociopath. He saw you—young, out of place, from a small town—and he pounced. He didn't want you for you, Beth. He wanted a thrill, a conquest. And I can't stand the thought of you being just another name on his list." His hands balled into fists, trembling at his sides, the pink dress straining as his shoulders squared, his voice a low roar now, raw and unfiltered.
Beth laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut through the night, her hands shaking as she pointed at him, glossy nails glinting. "Oh, so it's about him? Not about you deciding I'm too fragile to make my own choices? You're not protecting me, Clark— you're judging me. You think I'm too plain, too ordinary, to hold my own against someone like Lex. You think I'm just the nerdy friend who needs your shield, not someone who could actually be wanted." Her voice broke, tears spilling faster, her body trembling as the lace dress clung to her, the moonlight making her look like a ghost of herself. "I wanted him, Clark. I felt something, and I went for it. And now you're making me feel like shit for it, like I'm some stupid girl who got in over her head."
Clark's face crumpled, his eyes wide with horror as he reached for her, his hands hovering near her shoulders, not daring to touch. "Beth, no, you're not stupid," he said, his voice raw, almost pleading, as he stepped closer, the gravel crunching under his boots. "You're the strongest person I know. I'm not judging you—I'm worried for you. Lex is dangerous, he manipulates everyone, and I can't lose you to someone like him. You're too important to me." His voice cracked, his hands trembling, the pink dress absurd against the raw emotion in his eyes—jealousy, fear, something deeper he couldn't name.
Beth's chest heaved, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she shook her head, tears streaming freely. "Important?" she scoffed, her voice a broken whisper, stepping back, her heels wobbling on the uneven gravel. "You have a fucked-up way of showing it, Clark. You say I'm important, but you make me feel like nothing—like I'm just the good little friend who shouldn't want anything, shouldn't feel anything, because it makes you uncomfortable. I'm done with that." She swiped at her tears, smearing mascara further, her voice rising to a shout. "I'm not your charity case, Clark! I'm not some fragile thing you need to save. I made my choices, and yeah, they were messy, but they were mine. And you don't get to make me feel worthless for it!"
Clark's shoulders slumped, his hands dropping, his face a mask of anguish as her words hit like blows. "Beth, please," he said, his voice hoarse, stepping toward her, the dress rustling as he closed the gap. "I don't think you're worthless—you're everything. I'm not trying to save you, I'm just… I'm fucking terrified of losing you. To Lex, to anyone. I can't—" He stopped, his jaw clenching, his eyes burning with something unspoken, something that made Beth's heart lurch even as her anger flared hotter.
"Then stop acting like I'm your responsibility!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the quiet street, her hands flying to her hair, tugging at the loose strands as tears spilled.
Beth shook her head, her breath hitching, her hands covering her face as she backed away, the gravel crunching under her heels. "I can't do this," she choked out, her voice a broken sob. "I can't stand here and watch you look at me like that, like I'm some mistake you need to fix. I'm done." She turned, her heels slamming against the gravel as she stormed down the yard, her shoulders hunched, the lace dress catching the moonlight in fleeting glimmers, her hair spilling loose around her tear-stained face.
"Beth!" Clark shouted, his voice raw, desperate, his boots crunching as he started after her, his hands outstretched. "Wait, please, I didn't mean—fuck, Beth, I'm sorry!" But his feet faltered, his body rooted, his heart pounding as he watched her disappear into the night, the silence swallowing her footsteps.
Beth didn't look back, her heels clicking faster against the asphalt as she moved through Smallville's empty streets, the cold air biting her bare arms, the lace dress clinging to her trembling frame. Her tears fell freely now, hot and relentless, smearing mascara in dark streaks down her cheeks. The stars above shone coldly, indifferent to the storm inside her, and the faint hum of crickets only amplified the silence Clark left behind. She wasn't the naive girl he thought she was, and she'd be damned if she let him make her feel small for one reckless night with Lex Luthor.
INSIDE CHLOE'S BASEMENT
The air was still thick with the fallout of Beth's story, the indie rock music droning on, a jarring contrast to the group's tension. Chloe leaned back on the couch, her notebook open on her lap, her pen tapping restlessly. Her blonde hair caught the fairy lights, her eyes glinting with worry as she glanced at the stairs where Beth had vanished. "Well, that was a fucking disaster," she said, her voice cutting the silence, a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. "Beth making out with Lex Luthor, getting caught by Lionel, and now Clark's out there acting like she betrayed him personally. What's his deal?"
Pete shook his head, his grin fading to something heavier. "Clark's just being Clark, man. You know him—Mr. Protector, ready to punch anyone who looks at his friends wrong." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sneakers scuffing the rug. "But, like, I get it. Lex Luthor's bad news. Clark's probably freaking out that Beth got that close to him. Still, he didn't have to come down on her like that. That was harsh."
Lana returned from the kitchen, a fresh bowl of popcorn in her hands, her steps light on the creaking stairs. Her pink sweater and jeans softened the room's edge, but her eyes flicked to the door with concern. "Clark's always been protective," she said, setting the bowl down, her voice calm but uneasy. "Especially with Beth. You know how he is—he sees her like a sister, someone he has to keep safe. Hearing about her and Lex… it probably messed with him." She sat, crossing her legs, smoothing her jeans. "But he shouldn't have made her feel like she did something wrong. That wasn't fair."
OUTSIDE, ON SMALLVILLE'S STREETS
Under the pale glow of Smallville's streetlights, Beth walked alone, her heels striking the uneven asphalt with a sharp, echoing clack. The autumn night wrapped the town in an oppressive quiet, broken only by her quick steps and the rustle of dry leaves skittering in the wind. The cold bit at her exposed arms, goosebumps prickling her skin, but she barely noticed. Her mind was a hurricane of rage, hurt, and humiliation, each thought a blade cutting deeper. Someone like you. Clark's words from earlier that night echoed, cruel in their carelessness, dragging up old insecurities she'd fought to bury—memories of Clark and the other boys at school fawning over the popular girls, the cheerleaders with perfect smiles and unshakable confidence, never her. Beth had never been one of them. Tears burned her cheeks, smearing mascara in dark streaks across her pale skin. Her glossy black nails glinted as she clenched her fists, stopping abruptly on the sidewalk to steady herself, her chest heaving with shaky breaths as she fought the lump in her throat.
A sudden crunch of gravel behind her made Beth spin, her heart racing. Clark's unmistakable silhouette emerged from the shadows, outlined against the moon's silvery glow—how he'd caught up so fast, she had no clue. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with a slight hunch, as if not yet fully at ease in his own powerful frame. His faded blue T-shirt, worn from years of shared school lunches with Beth, clung to his torso, paired with loose, well-worn jeans. How had he found time to ditch that ridiculous pink dress and change back into his usual clothes? His dark hair fell in unruly curls over his forehead, and he brushed it back with a sharp, impatient gesture, a habit Beth knew by heart. His blue eyes, usually so warm, were clouded with guilt and frustration, his jaw tight as he approached, stopping a few feet away. His hands, large and clumsy, were shoved into his pockets, as if he didn't trust himself to use them—the same hands that had gripped her too tightly in his room two days ago, leaving faint red marks on her waist when he'd asked her to teach him how to kiss, his cheeks flushed, his gaze averted.
"Beth," he started, his voice low and halting, thick with the nervous waver she'd heard countless times—in late-night talks on the Kents' porch, in lazy afternoons in the barn when he stumbled over his words. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear. I was an idiot back there, said all the wrong things. I didn't mean to make you feel like you don't know what you're doing." He paused, biting his lip, his eyes searching hers with a desperate need for her to understand. The streetlight flickered above, casting shadows across his worried face, highlighting the creases in his brow. He took a hesitant step forward, as if afraid she'd bolt. "I just… I don't know how to fix this. But I want to try."
Beth's lips trembled, torn between screaming at him and collapsing into his arms. She crossed her arms tightly, the lace dress scraping her skin as she fought to hold onto her anger. "You kept talking like I'm a child, Clark," she said, her voice sharp but quivering, her hazel eyes glinting with tears. "You don't trust me. You think Lex manipulated me, that I can't make my own choices. I took the lead with him, just like I did when I taught you to kiss in your room, remember? Or was that just me being a naive idiot too?"
Clark's eyes widened, caught off guard by the mention of their kiss, his body stiffening as he straightened, his shoulders squaring. "Beth, this isn't about what happened in my room," he said, his voice growing firmer, a hint of anger creeping in as he stepped closer. "I trust you, okay? But Lex Luthor? He's a fucking narcissist. He saw a girl, alone, and he pounced. Don't ever compare me to him." His posture shifted, the awkwardness giving way to something commanding, his chest broad, his voice deeper, vibrating with an intensity Beth rarely saw. He looked bigger, more masculine, the same raw strength she'd felt when his hands gripped her in his room, bruising her skin. That Clark—dominant, overwhelming—made her uneasy, a shiver running through her. She was used to the clumsy Clark, the friend who blushed talking about Lana, not this man who seemed ready to tear the world apart.
"I'm not comparing you!" Beth shouted, her voice cracking, her hands flailing, glossy nails flashing in the moonlight as she stepped into his space, her chest nearly brushing his. "You think I'm some victim, that Lex tricked me because I'm just Beth, the plain small-town girl who's not interesting enough for someone like him to really want. And you do the same damn thing! You see me as your little sister, someone to protect, but guess what, Clark? I'm a woman now. I have desires, I get horny, I want to fuck just like anyone else my age, even if you can't see me that way." Her finger jabbed his chest again, hard as steel, her anger fueled by the memory of their kiss—his hardness against her thigh, the confusion he didn't even seem to notice.
Clark's face flushed crimson, his eyes wide, clearly thrown by her raw words. He stepped back, his commanding presence faltering, the awkward Clark resurfacing as he struggled to process. "Beth, I…" He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, fists clenching at his sides. "I know you're a woman, okay? I know you have desires, and yeah, hearing you talk about Lex, about him touching you, wanting you—it fucking kills me. Not just because of Lex, but because… shit, Beth, you're my best friend, since forever. It's weird thinking of you like that, wanting those things, because I don't want to picture you with him, with anyone, doing… that. But it's also Lex Luthor. He uses people, manipulates everyone. He doesn't care about you—he just wanted what he could take."
Beth's laugh was bitter, echoing in the night, tears streaming as she shook her head. "So that's it? You're mad because I was turned on by Lex Luthor? Because I wanted him, even for a moment? Or because you can't stand the idea that I might want more than being your perfect little friend?" She stepped closer, her hazel eyes blazing, the lace dress catching the moonlight as she trembled. "I knew what I was doing, Clark. I didn't even know he was Lex Luthor, and I still wanted him. Because I'm human, because I feel things, even if you think I shouldn't, even if you think I'm just the Beth who needs your protection."
Clark's face twisted, his voice rising, raw and unsteady, as he closed the gap again, his boots grinding into the gravel. "I don't think you shouldn't feel, Beth!" he roared, his voice echoing down the empty street, his blue eyes blazing with frustration, the same intensity he'd shown when Jonathan confronted him about his strength, his control. "I know you feel, I know you're a woman, and it's driving me fucking crazy because I don't know how to deal with it! It's not because I see you as a sister—it's because you're everything to me, and I can't stand the thought of you with someone like Lex, someone who'll hurt you, use you, and toss you aside like you're nothing!" His fists trembled, his broad frame shaking, the raw power in him almost tangible, echoing the moment he'd held her too tightly in his room.
Beth's chest tightened, her anger and hurt colliding as tears spilled freely. "You don't get it, Clark," she said, her voice dropping to a broken whisper, her hazel eyes locked on his. "You don't see me as I am—not the Beth who's grown up, who wants to be desired, who wants more than being your friend. You can't even look at me without seeing someone who needs saving, and it fucking hurts." Her voice cracked, the confession spilling out, raw and vulnerable, the pain of their kiss—his dismissal of it as "practice"—cutting deeper than ever.
Clark's shoulders slumped, his intensity fading as he ran a hand through his hair, the familiar nervous gesture returning. "Beth, I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice softer but still heavy with emotion, his eyes brimming with guilt. "You're my best friend, and I know you're more than that. I know you have desires, and I'm not blind—I see you. But when you talk about Lex, about wanting him, about… fucking him, it kills me because he doesn't deserve you. He doesn't know you like I do, how strong you are, how incredible. I can't lose you to someone like him."
Beth shook her head, tears falling, her heart breaking as she stepped back, the gravel crunching under her heels. "You're not going to lose me, Clark," she said, her voice faltering but firm. "But I need you to see me for who I am, not the girl you think you need to save. I'm human, I want things, and you have to deal with that, even if it makes you uncomfortable." She swallowed hard, the weight of her words crushing her, and turned, her heels clicking against the asphalt as she walked away, the lace dress glinting in the moonlight, a solitary figure against Smallville's night.
"Beth, wait!" Clark's voice cut through the night's silence, trembling with a raw blend of urgency and desperation. He took a hesitant step after her, his broad shoulders tense under the linen shirt, too tight to hold the storm of emotions churning inside him. The moonlight cast stark shadows across the stone pavement, its silver glow mingling with the damp scent of fallen leaves and the faint trace of Beth's jasmine perfume, lingering like a memory where she'd stood moments before. His hand reached out, fingers shaking, but froze mid-air, as if touching her might shatter the fragile thread between them. "Please, don't walk away like this. Give me a chance to make this right. Beth—I've known you forever, running through my backyard, stealing apples from Ma's tree. I'm struggling to see you differently, I admit it, but I'm trying. I swear I'm trying." His voice cracked, a plea heavy with anguish, his warm brown eyes searching hers in the dim light, pleading for understanding.
Beth stopped abruptly, her heels snapping a final, sharp click against the pavement, the sound echoing like a heartbeat in the stillness. She didn't turn, her body rigid, arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to hold herself together. The black lace dress, chosen so carefully for the night, clung to her trembling frame, its rough texture grazing her skin, a bitter reminder of her vulnerability. Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks, hidden in the shadows, her lips pressed tight to stifle the sob threatening to escape. "It's okay, Clark," she whispered, her voice so faint it nearly vanished in the rustle of the autumn wind through the trees. "But not now. I need… time." Each word felt like a wound, carved out with effort, her hazel eyes glinting with unshed tears she refused to let him see.
Clark stepped forward, his boots scraping the gravel, the sound jarring in the empty street. His brown eyes, usually a haven of warmth, were now clouded with guilt and turmoil, reflecting the moonlight in fractured glints. "Beth, please," he said, his voice hoarse, breaking on every syllable as he ran a hand through his dark curls, the familiar nervous gesture betraying his crumbling composure. "You have to know I'd never hurt you. Never. The thought of you alone at home, hurting, crying because of something I said…" He faltered, his throat tightening, his hand dropping to his side, clenching into a fist. "It tears me apart. I can't bear the idea of you suffering because of me." His words were raw, unguarded, each one a desperate reach to keep her from slipping away.
She turned her head just enough for him to glimpse the wet shine in her eyes, a fleeting flash of her pain before she jerked her gaze away, fixing it on the distant flicker of Smallville's lights, like stars scattered across the horizon. "I understand, Clark," she said, her voice steady but fragile, each word a struggle to hold herself together. "I'm fine. I won't cry." The lie burned her throat, sharp and bitter, as she fought to keep her composure, her hands trembling at her sides, glossy black nails catching the moonlight like tiny sparks.
With a final, fleeting glance—her hazel eyes locking onto his for a heartbeat, gold flecks burning with unspoken hurt—Beth turned away, her heels striking the asphalt with a relentless, hollow rhythm. The wind whipped around her, cold and sharp, lifting her dark hair in wild tendrils that danced in the moonlight before falling across her tear-streaked face. Clark stood frozen, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles paled, his eyes tracking her silhouette as it faded into the night. Her earlier words—her anger, her insistence that he see her as a woman, not a child to protect—echoed in his mind, a knife twisting deeper with every step she took, leaving him breathless, rooted to the spot, his heart pounding with the fear of what he'd just lost.
Beth moved faster now, her steps urgent, as if she could outrun the pain ripping through her chest. Smallville's narrow streets stretched out, silent and unyielding, the pale streetlights casting long, jagged shadows across the cracked pavement. The cold bit at her bare arms, raising goosebumps, but she barely felt it. Her mind was a tempest—rage, humiliation, and the raw, bleeding truth of her frustration with Clark, spilled in a moment of reckless fury. Someone like you. His words clawed at her, sharp and unforgiving, dragging up every insecurity she'd fought to bury: the schoolyard whispers about the perfect girls, the cheerleaders with flawless smiles and effortless confidence, the ones Clark's eyes always lingered on—never her. Tears streamed down her face, hot and relentless, smearing mascara in dark, chaotic streaks. Her glossy black nails dug into her palms, the sting anchoring her as she fought the sob threatening to break free.
Her house loomed ahead, a squat shadow beside the Kents', its familiarity both a refuge and a cruel reminder of how close she was to Clark—too close, always too close. Her hands shook as she fumbled with her keys, the cold metal clinking loudly in the quiet, her breath hitching as she struggled to find the right one. The wind surged, sharp and biting, swirling dry leaves around her ankles like a restless tide. Clark's voice, faint now, carried one last time on the breeze—"Beth, please…"—but it was too soft, too far, swallowed by the night. She didn't look back. She couldn't. The key finally caught, and the door groaned open, the warm, stale air of her home rushing out, a stark contrast to the icy night.
She hesitated at the threshold, her hand gripping the doorknob, knuckles white, as if some part of her ached to turn, to see Clark still standing there, his broad frame outlined against the moon, his brown eyes pleading for forgiveness. But the weight of his judgment, his refusal to see her as anything but the friend he needed to protect, held her still. With a slow, deliberate push, she closed the door, the lock's sharp click echoing like a final verdict in the silent house. In the dim entryway, she collapsed against the door, sliding to the floor, her knees drawn tight to her chest, the black lace dress pooling around her like spilled ink. Her hands covered her face, fingers trembling as tears fell unchecked, silent and searing, soaking the delicate fabric. The memory of Clark's words, his silence after her outburst, burned worse than anything Lex Luthor could've done. She'd bared her soul, demanded he see her as a woman—someone with desires, with fire—and he'd stood there, stunned, unable to respond, his rejection louder than words. She wasn't just his friend, the nerdy girl who'd taught him to kiss in his room, her lips guiding his, her body pressed against him until Jonathan's footsteps broke them apart. She was a woman, burning with need, with anger, and he refused to see it.
Her chest heaved, a sob catching in her throat as she pressed her forehead to her knees, the lace scratching her skin, a cruel reminder of her vulnerability. She'd told him she was fine, that she wouldn't cry, that she could handle this. But here, in the dark, alone, the truth clawed its way out, raw and merciless. She wasn't fine. She was shattered, her heart torn open by the boy who saw her as a sister, a burden, anything but the woman she'd become.
She lied.
The single bulb overhead flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow that barely touched the peeling floral wallpaper or the scuffed hardwood floor where Beth sat, crumpled against the door. Her black lace dress, now creased and damp with tears, clung to her trembling frame, the delicate fabric catching the light in sharp, fleeting glimmers. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, her hands buried in her dark hair, glossy black nails tangled in the strands as silent sobs racked her body. Mascara streaked her face in chaotic, inky trails, her hazel eyes red-rimmed and raw, the gold flecks within them dulled by a bone-deep pain. The house was oppressively quiet, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional groan of the old structure settling, each sound amplifying the weight of her isolation, a hollow echo of the life she'd built around her loneliness.
The sharp clatter of keys and the heavy tread of loafers on the porch jolted her from her haze. Her breath caught, her body stiffening as she scrambled to her feet, hands frantically wiping at her tear-streaked face, smearing mascara into a messier blur across her cheeks. The door rattled as her father, Tom Harper, fumbled with the lock, his low, tired grumble barely audible through the wood. Beth's heart thudded, a fresh wave of panic clawing at her chest. Her father had never seen her like this— broken, exposed, a raw mess of tears and rage. Tom was a ghost in her life, always hunched over ledgers at LuthorCorp, his presence reduced to the soft clink of his briefcase on the hall table and the faint scent of coffee and ink that trailed him. Her mother had vanished when Beth was six, leaving behind a half-empty dresser and a void that Tom filled with work—odd jobs, late nights, anything to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. Beth had grown up fast, cooking dinners at ten, balancing the checkbook at twelve, never causing trouble because trouble meant burdening a man already stretched thin. But now, raw and unraveling, she felt like a stranger in her own skin, a girl who'd carried too much for too long.
The door creaked open, and Tom stepped inside, his lean frame filling the doorway. He was tall but worn, his face etched with lines from years of squinting at numbers under fluorescent lights, his dark hair peppered with gray and neatly combed despite the late hour. His LuthorCorp dress shirt was wrinkled, the tie loosened, and his slacks bore faint creases from hours at a desk. His hazel eyes, so like Beth's but shadowed by exhaustion, widened as they landed on her. He froze, one hand still on the doorknob, his battered briefcase dangling from the other, its leather worn from years of use. He'd seen Beth focused, seen her quiet, seen her capable—never like this, shattered, her face a wreck of tears and mascara, her dress clinging to her like a second skin, her body trembling with a vulnerability he didn't know how to reach.
"Beth?" His voice was low, rough from fatigue, but laced with a rare, unsteady concern that felt foreign to them both. He set his briefcase down with a soft thud, his eyes scanning her, taking in the smeared makeup, the tangled hair, the way her hands shook as she tried to smooth her dress. "What the hell's going on? You hurt?" He took a cautious step forward, his loafers scuffing the floor, his shoulders hunching slightly as if bracing for a problem he wasn't equipped to solve.
Beth's throat tightened, her hands flying to her face to scrub away the evidence of her collapse, but it was futile. The tears kept falling, hot and relentless, and her voice cracked as she tried to speak. "I'm fine, Dad," she lied, the words brittle, crumbling under the weight of her pain as she backed away, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood. "Just… a rough night. I'll be okay." She forced a smile, but it wavered, her lips trembling as she hugged her arms tighter around herself, the lace dress scraping her skin, a sharp reminder of how exposed she felt, how far she'd fallen from the composed girl she'd always been.
Tom's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he studied her, his jaw working as if chewing on words he'd never learned to say. He wasn't built for this—emotions, connection, fatherhood. He'd spent Beth's childhood chasing stability, working odd jobs as a handyman, a delivery driver, anything to keep them afloat after her mother left. They'd lived hand-to-mouth, scraping by on canned soup and thrift-store clothes, until the LuthorCorp accounting job came like a lifeline—a steady paycheck, benefits, a chance to breathe. Tom always suspected the Kents had pulled strings to get him that job, a debt he carried quietly, repaying it with flawless work, never missing a day, never slacking, even if it meant missing Beth's school plays, her science fairs, her quiet moments of need. She'd never given him trouble, never asked for more than he could give, and that made her pain now hit him like a freight train. "You don't look fine," he said, his voice low, thick with worry and a trace of guilt. "You're crying, Beth. You never cry. What happened? Someone do something to you?" His hands flexed at his sides, knuckles pale, as if he could fight whatever had broken his daughter if only he knew where to aim.
Beth shook her head, her dark hair falling into her face as she backed into the living room, the dim light casting long shadows across the worn furniture—a sagging couch patched with duct tape, a chipped coffee table cluttered with bills, a TV that buzzed faintly when it was on. "No one did anything," she said, her voice trembling, the lie bitter on her tongue. She couldn't tell him about Clark, about the way his rejection had carved her open, or about the night with Lex Luthor, the reckless fire of his touch that still burned in her memory. Her father lived under the Luthors' shadow, his days spent balancing their books, and the last thing he needed was to know his daughter had tangled with Lex himself. "It's just… stupid friend stuff. I'll handle it, Dad. I always do." She turned, her heels clicking as she moved toward the narrow hallway to her room, desperate to escape his gaze, the weight of his concern a mirror to her own fragility.
"Beth, hold on." Tom's voice was sharper now, a rare edge of authority that stopped her dead. She froze, her back to him, her hand gripping the wall, nails digging into the peeling paint as she heard his loafers cross the room, slow and deliberate. He didn't touch her—he never knew how, not since she was small—but his presence was a heavy warmth behind her, a wall of worry and regret. "I know I've been a shitty father," he said, his voice low, raw, each word dragged out like it cost him something vital. "Always at the plant, always workin' those damn books for LuthorCorp, leavin' you to grow up on your own. Your mom walked out, and I… I let you carry that. I let you cook, clean, keep this house together while I was out. You never gave me a lick of trouble, Beth, and I took that for granted. But seein' you like this…" He paused, his voice catching, thick with a guilt he'd buried for years. "It's killin' me. I don't know how to be a dad, not the way you deserved, but I love you, kid. You don't gotta face this alone."
Beth's breath hitched, her eyes burning with fresh tears as she turned slowly to face him. His face was weathered, carved with the strain of years spent crunching numbers for a company that demanded everything, his hazel eyes mirroring hers but heavier, carrying the weight of a life spent scraping by. She'd never heard him speak like this, never seen him look at her with such raw, unguarded emotion. He'd always been a shadow—there for the necessities, gone for the rest, his love a quiet assumption she'd learned to live without. But now, his words cracked her open, stirring a pain she'd buried under years of self-reliance. "Dad…" she started, her voice breaking, her hands trembling as she wiped at her face, smearing mascara further. "It's not your fault. I just… I messed up tonight. I got in over my head with someone I care about, and it hurts. I don't know how to fix it."
Tom's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a fierce protectiveness, a spark of the man who'd once fought tooth and nail to keep them from eviction. "This about Clark Kent?" he asked, his voice gruff but soft, his gaze sharpening as he pieced it together. He'd seen them together since they were kids—chasing each other through the Kents' fields, sharing secrets over lemonade on their porch, Beth's eyes always brighter when Clark was near. Tom wasn't blind to her feelings, even if he'd never known how to address them, too caught up in his own grind to notice how deeply they ran. He owed the Kents everything—suspected they'd vouched for him at LuthorCorp, a debt he repaid with perfect ledgers and overtime, but it meant he'd missed so much of Beth's life.
Beth's face crumpled, a sob escaping as she nodded, her hands pressing against her mouth to stifle the sound. "I have feelings for him, Dad," she choked out, the words raw, spilling like blood from a wound she couldn't close. "I've always had them, and he doesn't see me that way. He's in love with someone else—Lana, always Lana, with her perfect smile and her perfect everything. I'm just his friend, the girl next door who's always there, always safe, always invisible. Tonight, I tried to make him see me, really see me, and he just… he looked at me like I was a kid throwing a tantrum. Like I'm not enough." Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking as she hugged herself tighter, the lace dress digging into her skin, a cruel reminder of the confidence she'd worn so briefly tonight.
Tom's face softened, his shoulders sagging as he took a hesitant step closer, his loafers scuffing the floor. "Beth," he said, his voice low, almost tender, a tone she hadn't heard since he'd read her bedtime stories before the LuthorCorp job consumed him. "Clark's a good kid, but he's young, same as you. He's got his head all tangled up in puppy love, chasin' after someone who sparkles in his eyes. That don't mean you're invisible. It don't mean you're not enough." He hesitated, his hand hovering near her shoulder, awkward but desperate to bridge the gap. "You've been stronger than anyone I know, kid. You grew up too fast—cookin' dinner when you were barely tall enough to reach the counter, payin' bills when I was too tired to think straight. You never asked for nothin', never complained, and I let you down by not bein' there. But you? You're a goddamn force, Beth. Clark don't see that yet, that's his loss, not your fault."
Beth's chest heaved, her tears slowing as she looked at her father, really looked at him for the first time in years. His face was worn, etched with the relentless grind of LuthorCorp's demands, but his eyes held a fierce pride, a flicker of the father he'd always wanted to be but never knew how. His words sank into her, battling the sting of Clark's rejection, the ache of knowing he'd never see her as more than the friend who taught him to tie his tie or helped him with algebra. "I just want to be seen," she whispered,treas, smearing mascara further. "Not as the girl who's always there, but as me—the woman I've become, the one he doesn't even notice because he's too busy dreaming of someone else." Her voice was raw, trembling with the weight of years spent hiding her feelings, carrying a house, a father, a life that demanded she be strong, always strong.
Tom's jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with something fierce, a spark of the man who'd once worked three jobs to keep the lights on. "You are seen, Beth," he said, his voice firm, almost angry, as he stepped closer, his hand finally landing on her shoulder, heavy and warm, the first real touch she could remember in years. "You're more than enough. You've been holdin' this family together since you were a kid, keepin' us goin' when I was workin' myself to the bone for those Luthors. You're smarter than I'll ever be, got more heart than your mom ever did. You think Clark don't see you? That's on him, kid. You're a goddamn star, and you don't need his eyes on you to shine." His voice cracked, thick with a love he'd never known how to show, his grip tightening briefly before he let go, awkward but steady. "I love you, Beth. I know I ain't said it enough—hell, I ain't said it at all—but I do. You're my whole world, even if I've been too buried in those damn ledgers to show it."
Beth's breath caught, a fresh sob breaking free as she leaned into his touch, her head dropping against his chest, the stiff fabric of his dress shirt scratching her cheek. She couldn't remember the last time he'd held her, couldn't recall feeling this anchored by his presence. His arms came around her, clumsy but firm, and for a moment, the weight of her life—the years of cooking dinners, balancing budgets, swallowing her pain to keep him unburdened—felt lighter. "I just want to be enough," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. "For him, for me, for anyone."
Tom held her tighter, his hand patting her back awkwardly, like he feared he'd break her. "You are enough," he said, his voice gruff but certain, the words carrying the weight of years unspoken. "You're Beth Harper, my kid, and you've been carryin' more than anyone should. Clark's got his head in the clouds, but that don't change who you are. You keep burnin' bright, and he'll either catch up or he won't. Either way, you're still you, and that's more than enough."
Beth pulled back, wiping her eyes, her mascara-streaked face softening as she looked up at him. "Thanks, Dad," she said, her voice small but steadier, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect… you to say all that." She gestured vaguely between them, the rare moment of connection fragile, like a thread she feared might snap.
Tom gave an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, his tie swaying slightly. "Yeah, well, I ain't exactly Shakespeare, but I'm tryin'. Go wash your face, kid. You look like you got in a fight with a pen and lost." His lips quirked, a rare glimmer of humor, and Beth let out a shaky laugh, the sound easing the tension like a crack in ice.
She nodded, stepping back, her heels clicking softly as she moved toward the hallway. "I'll be okay," she said, more to herself than to him, her hand brushing the wall for balance. "Just need some sleep."
Tom watched her go, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure, the black lace dress catching the dim light as she vanished into the hallway's shadows. He stood there, hands shoved back into his pockets, jaw tight as he wrestled with the guilt of a father who'd missed too much. The house settled around him, the fridge's hum and the wind's distant howl the only sounds. He muttered, "Damn i hate this work," under his breath, grabbing his briefcase and heading to the kitchen, Beth's pain lingering like a ghost in the air.
BETH'S ROOM
Beth's bedroom was a cramped sanctuary, walls plastered with band posters and her own charcoal sketches, each one a burst of restless creativity. A narrow bed hugged one wall, its quilt tangled, a stack of books—sci-fi paperbacks, her chemistry textbook —teetering on the nightstand. A lava lamp's pink glow cast shifting shadows, blending with moonlight seeping through cracked blinds. Beth closed the door, the soft click loud in the silence, and leaned against it, her breath steadying as she tried to stitch herself back together.
She kicked off her heels, the Lace dress a weight she couldn't shed fast enough. At the mirror, she flinched at her reflection—mascara streaked like war paint, hazel eyes swollen, dark hair a wild tangle. She was a stranger, not the girl who'd left for Chloe's with fire in her chest, not the Beth who'd flirted with Lex Luthor or faced Clark's rejection. Her hands shook as she scrubbed her face with a makeup wipe, the cold cloth stinging as she erased the night's wreckage.
Her mind churned—Clark's dismissal, his eyes fixed on Lana's perfection, her own heart laid bare only to be unseen. Her father's words, raw and unexpected, cracked open a part of her she'd locked away, the girl who'd grown up too fast, keeping a house together while he toiled for LuthorCorp. She'd convinced herself she didn't need him, but his voice—You're enough, Beth. More than enough—stirred a warmth she'd forgotten. Stripping off the dress, she pulled on an oversized flannel shirt, its softness a balm against her raw skin. Sitting on her bed, she hugged her knees, glossy nails digging into her shins, staring at the lava lamp's hypnotic bubbles, a counterpoint to the storm in her head.
Her gaze drifted to a small wooden box on her nightstand, a relic from her mother's fleeting presence. She traced its worn edges, the cedar scent grounding her. Inside, faded photos, a cheap bracelet, a note in her mother's scrawl: I'm sorry, Bethy. I wasn't strong enough. You are. The words burned, echoing her father's, and she slammed the box shut, tears pricking anew. "Fuck you," she whispered, unsure if she meant her mother, Clark, or the girl she'd been, always strong, always unseen. She wasn't that girl anymore—not Clark's invisible friend, not her mother's abandoned child. She was Beth Harper, messy, human, with a fire that refused to die. If Clark couldn't see her, she'd burn brighter without him.
Outside, the wind howled, rattling the blinds, and Smallville's silence settled like a heavy shroud. Beth lay back, staring at the ceiling, the lava lamp's glow dancing across the room. Her heart ached, but her father's words were a spark in the dark: You're enough. She clung to them, letting them anchor her as she closed her eyes, the night's weight pulling her toward sleep. Tomorrow, she'd face Clark, face the pain, face herself. For now, she let the darkness take her, her breath evening as the storm inside quieted, just for a moment.