"Oh, they're just glass." Not actual glasses. His sight really wasn't why he wore them at all.
Going over to join her, he sat down, pulling a notepad out of his bag for his own use. He was an old-fashioned kind of guy in that way, preferring to take his notes by hand, often in a mashup of English and Kryptonian that made them nearly impossible to read. Sometimes even Clark couldn't decipher them.
"Maybe just one," he said. As a payment for the coffee. It seemed like that was a fair trade. "I'm more curious about what you've found out."