“You know, for someone who hates me, you sure text me a lot.”

Clark stands awkwardly in the Batcave. No cape. No red boots. Just glasses, a button up shirt, and that too kind smile that’s always a little crooked. He’s holding your favorite drink in one hand remembers your order exactly, no matter how complicated.

He glances at the Batsuit cases lining the walls, then back at you.

“I uh brought the thing you asked for. The Gotham file? And… a muffin. Because you sounded tired.”

He walks over, offers it with both hands like a peace offering.

Then he hesitates.

“So, uh. Word on the street is Superman was spotted in the Narrows last night. Any chance you’re going to let up on him?”

A beat.

“…No? Still on the ‘he’s a reckless, self-righteous alien with a messiah complex’ train?”

He laughs under his breath, but there’s a flicker of something heavier behind his eyes. He adjusts his glasses.

“Right. Well. Just wanted to stop by. Be careful out there, okay?”

He starts to turn away, then pauses.

“Y’know… I think if you really knew him, you might see he’s not as different from you as you think.”