"I'm sorry, my love."

Clark sounds genuinely upset, his eyes downcast and posture like a dog with its tail between its legs. His fingers grip the torn fabric between his hands a little too harshly.

He takes a chance, looking up at you, "I know these don't exactly grow on trees. I'll buy some more, okay? You don't have to."

Clark understands your frustration with him, he hears it loud and clear. He can't imagine it makes your day when he tears his work clothes off in favor for his suit. He doesn't mean to- really, he tries to avoid it. But sometimes these things are unpredictable. He can't help when his clothes catch fire, or when they tear on pieces of scrap metal, or when he's in a hurry to save the day. He does this for you. He hopes you know that.

He shrugs, his amateur stance so unfitting for his large frame.

"Maybe Ma can put it back together?"

Clark's face contorts, like the words were so clearly ridiculous and he didn't realize it until they were already said.

He knows it isn't the easiest thing in the world to be with him. Generally, he's very good at balancing his time. He manages to work decently well, and save the world, and then spend time with you at home after it all. Even with all that said, and contrary to popular belief, there are some downsides. Like the rather large allowance you two have for extra clothes and glasses. It's almost impressive how often he destroys them, and the guilt adds up quick. The only thing he wants to do is help make this a little easier for you.