[ Prime's about to argue that gangsters might shoot back at you, but they won't give you a slow and painful pulmonary disease, yet he thinks better of it and just shrugs. Everyone has their vices and ways to unwind when they need comfort. For him it's comics, for Jason it's little cancer sticks. ]

Fair enough. Cigars do smell better than some thugs as well.

[ Since the offer of tea gets brushed aside, he expects to be further ignored or told to leave again. That's how 99% of the superhero community reacts to him, with Lois Lane —bless her— being the exception.

But there goes Jason, surprising him again and allowing him in his space. No matter if it's because he doesn't want to attract unwanted attention to his apartment or he truly does not mind Prime's presence, the result is the same. Which is to have the Kryptonian beaming at him once more, and following him inside like a floating puppy. He makes sure to get in there carefully and not to break anything, his feet finally touching the floor. Prime snickers at the 'Christ' complaint. ]

Name's Clark, actually. Not like many people call me that. [ Both because the original Superman is the one 'Clark Kent' people know best and because calling him 'Prime', like the designation of his original world, is another way to recognize him as an outsider. It's still his name, though, and he sometimes misses hearing it. He misses feeling like a person. ]

You could, if you wanted. [ He places the cup on the nearest surface he sees but still nudges it towards Jason. ] How's your hand?