They have been doing this too-intimate thing for a while, now, and still, Clark manages to find all these ways to catch him off-guard. It's perfect, he says, and it sounds so sincere. Bruce looks at him, and then looks back at the schematics. Yes, well. It's just a lamp. He ends up pulling the box of donuts over and peering within, selecting something with the least explosive topping.

"I'm sure there'll be a learning curve, even if it works right," he hedges. Pointlessly catastrophizing on a small scale. He haggles with himself, internally, and ends up adding: "I hope so. That it is."

Perfect.

Getting better at this optimistic thing, in stops and starts. He still feels it, but old habits die hard, and happiness is an ill-fitting suit, no matter that he bought it on purpose. What is this, chocolate with— "What flavor is pink supposed to be?"