Sweat clings to the Kryptonian fibers of Superman’s supersuit as he glides down and into the open window of his apartment, cape fluttering behind him in the wind. It has been a long day, full of useless fighting and fruitless interviews.

In poor attempts of a graceful landing, Clark’s feet slide out from under him. He careens forward, sending himself and the “I’m sorry” cake he’d brought over as an olive branch flying.

“Shoot!” He yelps, his slender hands reaching out to catch the box.