Alright, Clark has passed the correcting his Kryptonese vocabulary test. At least he's not going into shock, and the cutlery is not a sacrifice he feels particularly moved to mourn. "Sit down," he says, shooing him out of the small kitchen towards the apartment's main area. Bruce gets his phone out and calls, leaving it wedged between his ear and shoulder while he cleans the counter off. 'Cleans' may be generous; he just scrapes everything (wrappers and utensils included) into the pan that was going to be used and shoves it in its entirety onto a shelf on the fridge.

Worth noting: at no point does he move into a position where Clark is entirely out of a corner of his field of vision. If he sneaks out of here, he's a dead man, gut-wrenching conversations of weaknesses be damned. Perhaps there is actually a God out there despite Bruce's persistent disbelief, because he does not say So my point is, stop talking about your abilities to people you don't know.

When he's done he sets his phone on the counter, and walks the few feet away into the rest of the flat, looking at Clark impassively. Hopefully he's not curled into a fetal position or something.