Romance isn’t about sentimentality. It isn’t about trite clichés.

It’s about subtlety.

Privacy.

Embracing imperfections.

Love in spite of the mundane.

It’s about the little things that become charged and acquire passion because of their ordinariness.

Snapshot I

“Jeez, Lex, how long does it take to pick out a melon?” Clark implores, leaning one arm on the handle of the grocery cart.

Lex cocks his head, stares meaningfully at the display in front of them.

“Melon picking is an exact science, Clark, and must be approached with consideration.” Lex smiles. He picks up another one, holding it to his ear and thumping carefully.

Clark considers this for a moment and then brightens, his eyes popping wide. “You know, I was thinking. If we took a couple of blueberries and stuck them on as eyes, maybe got a strand of cherry Twizzler to use for the mou…”

Lex turns sharply. “I’m going to throw this melon at your head if you finish that sentence.”

“What? It’s almost even the same shape.” Clark blinks innocently.

Lex nudges Clark aside with his hip, and places the melon in the cart, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You aren’t allowed to push anymore,” Lex declares, grabbing the handle and striding down the aisle.

Clark trails after him.

“…the fluorescent lighting in here really brings out the shimmer in your eyes…”

Snapshot II

Clark’s standing at the sink, the cuffs on his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms are immersed in the sudsy water, sloshing around.

He’s humming.

Lex watches the rise and fall of Clark’s shoulders as he breathes, the way the muscles on his back move underneath the shirt as he rinses the plate and places it in the drying rack.

He tilts his head at a particularly messy pan, then attacks it with the scouring pad. His hips sway a bit as he scrubs, long lean legs shifting a bit for better balance.

Power. Strength.

Beauty.

Lex resists walking over and wrapping his arms around Clark's waist.

He wants to watch a little while longer.

Snapshot III

“Did you eat the last one?”

Clark looks up, guiltily.

“No?” he ventures.

“You ate the last one, Clark.” Lex glares.

“C’mon, Lex, there were at least two left,” Clark protests, holding up two fingers emphatically.

Lex twists the empty bag in his hands. Shakes it for emphasis.

Clark sighs. “Is it my turn?” he asks.

Lex nods, reaches in his pocket and throws Clark the car keys.

“Oh, get some milk, too. You drank the last of it as well.”

Clark grimaces. “Skim?”

Lex pauses. “I’ll compromise and say one percent.”

“Okay,” Clark nods. “Oreos and milk, be back before you can miss me.”

At the doorway, Clark pauses and turns around.

Lex tries to hide a smile. "Yeah, go ahead and get some chocolate sauce."

Clark's gone before Lex can catch the stupid grin he knows is on Clark's face.

Snapshot IV

There’s water all over the bathroom floor, like always, but Lex has stopped complaining about it.

He watches as Clark gets out of the shower and shakes himself off like a big wet dog. He smiles to himself, because it’s kind of cute.

“Morning,” Clark grins, pecking him on the lips.

Wet nose and big green eyes fresh from the shower, and Lex inhales soap and shampoo.

So what if the bathroom becomes a danger zone every morning. If Lex slips, Clark will catch him, and he’ll get to cop a feel.

Snapshot V

Late night moon peeks in the window.

Clark yawns, throws the late-edition newspaper on the floor beside the bed. He flops back into the pillows, rubbing his fingers on the sheets, leaving streaks of newsprint on the white cotton.

It’s okay, though, because Clark’s *there* and he doesn’t say anything about Lex watching Cartoon Network at one in the morning.

In fact, he just rolls over, mumbles “Power Puff” into Lex’s stomach before closing his eyes, and lets Lex play with his hair as he falls asleep.

Lex barely notices Clark drooling, and he pulls the covers up around Clark’s shoulders, even though he knows Clark really won’t get cold.

Later, Lex flicks off the television, and spends the rest of the night fighting for his half of the bedsheets.

Romance is unromantic.

Because it’s really love.