“Aw, shucks,” Clark mutters, holding the somehow still intact handle of the melted saucepan in his hand. Your soup hadn’t been cooking fast enough, so he tried to speed it up with his heat vision. It backfired horribly on him. He looks at you sheepishly and raises the handle with an awkward grin, saying, “I think I’ll, um, just order us some takeout instead.”

You’re sick, and he just wanted to do something to help you feel better. He’s not exactly the best nurse in the world, though, is he?