He considers pulling back. Maybe it's almost there, unconsciously. It's not too late, Clark says, and Bruce watches some other world (maybe the same world where Bruce does not say anything, that day at the aquarium, does not tell Clark about being in love with him, even if it isn't any of his business) where he stands up straight and ends the conversation. It would be fine if he did, he thinks. Understandable. Both because it's so painful to Bruce, and because this is a lot to ask of Clark, honestly. He did not perhaps sign up for this particular brand of baggage, when he invited Bruce to Christmas some years ago, but here it is. Airport carousels full of it as far as the eye can see.

Not quite a collapse. Some form of unspooling. Melting into him, trusting Clark with his weight, physical and emotional. Arms around him, hands tucked up over the backs of his shoulders.

Surely there's a point where he gets better at this. (Surely there's a point where he realizes he already has.)

After a while - when did he close his eyes? Bruce isn't sure - he ventures, muffled, "We should visit your mom sometime."

See. This is funny. Parent angst. What if Martha also misses her kid. Let's go look at the fucking corn, Kent.