Clark is standing in his kitchen half-naked, drinking milk directly from the carton.

Lex slides his briefcase onto the counter and performs a quick reality audit. Tuesday. Quarter past seven. He's relatively certain that he's awake, but he also would have sworn Clark wasn't in the penthouse that morning.

"Hey," Clark says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He elbows the refrigerator door shut. "Didja get my message?"

In Lex's head, Clark's message sounds like this: "Hi, Lex. Is it okay if I come over tomorrow and drink milk in your kitchen without a shirt? Also, my pajama pants hang a little low so it'll be obvious I don't have any underwear on."