The rain beat a steady, relentless rhythm against the windowpane of your small apartment, match for the heavy silence sitting between you and Conner.
He sat on the edge of the worn sofa, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. The tight-fitting leather jacket he usually wore was tossed aside, leaving him in just a black t-shirt that showed every tense line of his shoulders. Conner rarely looked fragileâhe was a half-Kryptonian powerhouse built to shatter steelâbut right now, under the dim amber glow of the corner lamp, he looked ready to break into pieces.
"Conner," you said softly, setting a mug of warm tea on the coffee table in front of him. "Talk to me. Youâve barely said two words since you got back from the Watchtower."
He didn't move. "I shouldn't be here, Y/N."
"I shouldn't be here," he repeated, his voice raspy, scraped down to the raw edges. He finally looked up, and the sight sent a pang through your chest. His bright blue eyes were red-rimmed, heavy with a weight no twenty-something should have to carry. "I had another evaluation today. They ran diagnostic scans on my cellular degradation, checked my neural pathways. Every single report is just a reminder of what I am. A science experiment. A half-baked clone made in a lab to replace a god."
"You aren't a replacement for anyone," you said firmly, sitting beside him on the couch. You reached out to place a hand on his knee, but the moment your fingers made contact, he flinched away, pulling back as if your touch physically pained him.
The rejection hit like a cold splash of water. You pulled your hand back into your lap, swallowed hard, and waited.
"Don't do that," Conner muttered, staring at the space between you. "Don't look at me like I'm something sweet that needs saving. I'm a weapon, Y/N. Lex Luthorâs design, wrapped up in Supermanâs DNA. I have a temper I can barely control. Half the time I feel like I'm one bad day away from losing my mind."
"You're not Lex, and you're not Superman," you told him, keeping your tone as grounded as possible despite the lump forming in your throat. "You are Conner."
"And who is that?" He stood up abruptly, pacing toward the window. The force of his movement made the floorboards groan. "Conner is a liability! I can't give you a normal life. I don't age like a regular human, I don't process emotions like one, and every time I hold your hand, I have to consciously calculate my own strength so I don't accidentally shatter your wrist!"
He turned back to you, tears finally glinting in his eyesâtears he hated showing, tears he thought made him look weak.
"I look at you," Conner whispered, his voice cracking, "and all I see is someone who deserves a real future. Someone who doesn't have to worry about alien politics, or secret labs, or whether their boyfriend is going to snap. I love you so much it feels like it's burning a hole through my chest, Y/N. And that's why I need to leave. Before I ruin you."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The sheer, unadulterated angst in his voice made your own eyes sting. He genuinely believed he was a curse. He genuinely believed that loving you was a flaw in his programming.
You stood up from the couch. You didn't yell. You didn't run to him. You just walked slowly, deliberately, until you were standing directly in front of him. He tried to look away, but you reached up, placing both hands gently against his jaw.
He froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid as steel, terrified that moving would hurt you.
"Look at me," you commanded softly.
Reluctantly, his gaze shifted down to meet yours.
"You think you're broken," you said, thumb gently tracing the line of his cheekbone. "You think you're just DNA in a jacket. But I know who you are, Conner Kent. I know the guy who spent three hours last Tuesday trying to tune an old motorcycle engine because you liked the sound of it. I know the guy who secretly buys the cheap strawberry milk because it reminds you of your first week at the farmhouse. I know the guy who stays up late reading comic books with a flashlight so you don't wake me up."
Conner let out a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for any sign of lie or hesitation. Finding none, his shoulders dropped half an inch.
"You aren't a weapon to me," you continued, letting your hands slide down to wrap around his wrists, pulling his large, calloused hands into yours. "You're my person. I don't want a 'normal' life with someone else. I want *this* life. With you. The anger, the confusion, the alien biology, the whole mess. I choose you. Every single day."
A tear slipped down Connerâs cheek, catching the dim light. "You're crazy," he breathed, a tiny, fractured sound.
"Maybe," you smiled gently. "Or maybe I just love a guy named Conner."
The last reserve of his composure crumbled. Conner let out a long, shuddering exhale and pulled you against him. He didn't hold back out of fear this time; he leaned into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck. He held you tight enough that you could feel the massive, steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ribsâa heart that was entirely, undeniably human in all the ways that mattered.
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin against his soft dark hair, swaying gently with him in the quiet room. You felt the precise moment the tension left his frame, replaced by a deep, bone-weary relief.
After a long while, the heavy storm outside seemed to fade into simple background noise. Conner pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still a bit glossy, but the dark cloud above his head had cleared.
"My tea is probably cold," he muttered, a sheepish, faint grin trying to pull at the corner of his mouth.
"Definitely cold," you laughed softly, bopping his nose with your finger. "Guess you'll have to make us hot chocolate instead."
Conner let out a soft, genuine laughâa sound so rare and light it instantly warmed the room. "Yeah. Okay. I can do that."
Five minutes later, the heavy angst of the evening had completely melted away. You were wrapped in a thick, oversized fleece blanket on the couch, tucked directly under Connerâs arm. He was sitting back, looking considerably more comfortable, holding a giant mug of hot chocolate topped with an utterly ridiculous mountain of miniature marshmallows.
"You put too many marshmallows," you teased, nudging his side.
"There's no such thing as too many marshmallows," he replied with supreme confidence, using a spoon to scoop a massive pile of them into his mouth. He grinned, a tiny bit of chocolate smudging near his lip. "It's scientifically proven."
"Oh, scientific proof from Cadmus?"
"Hey, don't disrespect the marshmallow science," Conner chuckled, leaning down to press a warm, soft kiss against the crown of your head. He rested his chin there, his arm wrapping securely around your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer.
You leaned into his chest, listening to the calm, steady rhythm of his heart. Outside, the rain continued to fall, but inside, wrapped up in the warmth of the blanket and each other, everything was finally quiet, safe, and soft.
