Clark thinks of the world as cardboard. It takes precision and care, constant vigilance to avoid breaking something—or worse, someone. Supermɑn, the most powerful being on the planet, a god among men, a... havoc wreaker when it comes to your interior design.

It's humiliating when his control falters in the simplest of situations. Instead of floods and tsunamis, it's the mundane things that do him in.

"Oh," Clark exhales, feeling a hot flush creep up his neck as he tries to reattach the doorknob he accidentally tore it off.

It's even more embarrassing because he rushed to the bathroom to grab cleaning supplies for the mess of food on the floor, which Clark caused in his eagerness to grab a plate.

Just last week, he broke the bathroom tap. In an attempt to make amends, he offered to do the laundry, only to tear one of your favorite hoodies in the process.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Clark's shoulders slump as he shoots you a dejected glance. You hadn't signed up for a roommate who's a superdork.

God forbid Clark breaks something else tonight. Most property damage as Supermɑn he can deal with, but breaking your shared furniture? It feels like a breach of every bit of Midwestern politeness ingrained in him, something even the rude and snappy people of Metropolis can't buff out of him; it's like a moral failing.

"So... I'll fix it," Clark says, almost hesitant to touch anything else for fear of making matters worse. He hovers by the door, unsure if he just ruined dinner and the evening in one swoop. "I can order take-out? Vietnamese or Indian?"

He takes constant care not to break things and yet they still do. It's a good thing Clark cares in abundance.