[ It may not be the sweet comfort of a kind voice and the consoling touch of a hand, but Clark appreciates the warning all the same. He voices a quiet 'okay' like his opinion matters, and he takes in a deep breath that's firm as it comes and shivery as it goes, and nods his head once like this is enough to steel himself.

Well, whether it is or not, it's got to be.

He doesn't get to answer the young man's question immediately, not when the touch of the gauze brings an entirely new sensation. Clark blinks tears in the corners of his eyes, his lips pressed together tight, and there're a few more attempts to breathe through his nose and then breathe it all down. ]

Um, I was-- [ He lets out another slow exhale, the circle of his lips forming a wooshing sound, and while his first instinct is to look away...

Clark tries looking at the young man's face, instead. He's so calm, so collected. So experienced and cool. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from him. Maybe looking at something calm will help him calm, too. ]

I was a f-father. [ A beat, until he realises what 'do' typically means. ] And a journalist. I worked for-- I was with the Daily P-Planet.

[ When this next round of cleaning is done, Clark lets out a relieved little sigh, gaze still on the man even if it loses focus for a second. But he tries to recover, tries to be brave.

And he manages a shaky smile, murmuring, ] Can I ask what you did in your home?