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She's sprawled on his sofa when he comes home, twisted in a tangle of limbs that shouldn't have been comfortable to anyone, not even them - but, Clark supposes as he slides his window shut, he has been wrong before.
Kara is face down in the cushions. She's snoring. There's even drool. She never had been too worried about appearances.
She is, however, in her costume. She's actually been wearing it. That's nice, he thinks.
Less nice is the state of her cape: intact, but messy, somehow caught around arms and legs alike. It's a mercy it's not choking her.
Clark picks up her boots - thankfully removed before crashing on his couch (if otherwise discarded on the rug) and neatens them into a standing pair for her to retrieve later.
There's no way of untangling her from her cape, and while he can't honestly claim she's comfortable, he decides against waking her: if she's here and this bone-tired, she no doubt needs the rest.
So he does the next best thing and unclips his own cape and drapes it over her. It's longer than hers and longer than her, made for broader shoulders too, so it covers her completely. He gives it a little tuck around her, just because.
Kara snores on. Clark looks at her fondly and gives her shoulder a squeeze. Then, stifling a yawn of his own, he sets out in search of the ingredients for pancakes.