The touch to his face has a strange sort of effect. 'Calming' is perhaps the closest thing to it, even if Clark was sleepily serene prior, but calm like thoughts quieting, a physical stillness save for how his mouth parts just a little when Bruce touches it. Closes it when he leaves, wonders only then what exactly it is that Bruce thinks he sees.

Remembers what he was doing when the bathroom door closes. Coffee. Right.

A quick detour to his room for proper pants before bounding downstairs, into the kitchen, kissing his mom on the cheek with a merry Christmas, ma, turning her around with momentum as he sets about arranging coffee. Clark is quiet, pointed. Mom is the same, back.

Handing him cream and cinnamon for his own coffee, and then not letting go when he goes to take it: don't you have something to tell me?

And a happy new year?

Clark Joseph--

Later, I promise. Please stop looking so worried.

But I didn't know that--

Me neither, trust me. C'mere.

A quick bear hug, and a tolerant sigh. Well, hell, he's a charmer.

Laughing: A common misconception.

But he is, maybe in ways Bruce does not consider charming, that most people might not, that Clark can't help but like. Half-whispered conversation in the kitchen over in moments, and he feels like he's dodged-- well, bullets as analogy don't work for him. He just feels like he's dodged too much of a close investigation into his love life from his mom before he's figured out what to say about it, which is what he imagines dodging bullets is like.

Clark charges two coffee cups -- good black coffee, and his own preferred concoction of cream and cinnamon -- and moves to meet Bruce with it.