That Clark has superanticipated another warm moving body ahead of him spares him momentary awkwardness. Well. Mostly. He still manages a second of it when he stops short upon realising that following Bruce directly into his bedroom would classify as weird, and an extra half-second recovering from the alien decorum of a man his senior being the deferential one in the social transaction.

Even if he suspects Alfred more playing at butler than being one. Manners kick in.

"No sir," he says, nonetheless. "But thanks, anyway. Sorry about the hour."

But, you know. Bats are nocturnal, says his crooked, pressed smile.