"Well, you're better at it." Cooking. Bruce is decidedly not great, a terrible clash of his willingness to suffer through anything no matter how revolting as long as it's nutritionally sufficient, and being raised with sickening privilege. But he gets by. These days, he makes enough eggs and toast in the morning ('morning') to even keep Alfred's nitpicking at bay.

And so, little things: he moves around Clark, fishing out appropriate utensils, finding the ancient egg timer, still in use simply out of habit. The numbers are faded, but it's pristine, despite long turns sitting near the stove. A taupe and faded yellow square, an uninteresting Wayne Manor relic.

"And you hadn't worked on it?" A look. For shame, Mr Kent.