Bruce gives him a look, one of many in his broad language of unspoken moments, and this one is serious - as usual - but compelling. Affectionate, even. He likes the idea of learning the language with Clark, and furthermore, the idea of seeing more of how quick the other man's mind adapts and understands complexities. A thing he's noticed, yes, and a thing that's hard for him to find anything but attractive.

"Yeah. This way. Plenty of room for bunk beds."

And privacy, and so on. On their way back out Bruce hops through a burned window to pass through to the other wing, noting a scarred walled in a small maybe-library with the skeleton of a grandfather clock. Next time, he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at it, and if Clark bothers to x-ray peek, he will see some shit, underground.

Presumably they pack lunch at least for the North Pole. Coinflip if Bruce stubbornly brings a batjet or if Clark talks him into a romantic flight shoved into a thermal sleeping bag like the world's worst luggage.