#hal jordon

You turned your head slowly, blinking at him like he was a mirage. “Who’re you?”

“Hal Jordan. Pilot. Occasional pain in the ass.” He flashed that signature cocky grin, but it softened when he saw how unsteady you were. “And you look like you could use some water instead of whatever’s in that glass.”

You laughed — a bright, tipsy sound that made his chest do something stupid. “Water’s boring. I’m celebrating. Or mourning. I can’t remember which.”

Hal signaled the bartender for water and a basket of fries. “Celebrating or mourning, you’re not doing it alone tonight. Not if I can help it.”

You tried to argue, but the words slurred together. Hal stayed close, shoulder brushing yours, making sure no one else got too near. When the water arrived, he gently pushed it into your hands.

“Drink,” he said, softer now. “Please. For me?”

You did, surprisingly obedient. Between sips, you told him bits and pieces — bad breakup, stressful job, the kind of night where everything felt too heavy. Hal listened without interrupting, his usual cocky charm dialed back to something quieter. Protective.

When you started swaying on the stool, he made a decision.

“Alright, sweetheart. Time to get you home.”

You protested weakly, but he was already paying your tab and helping you to your feet. His arm stayed around your waist the whole way out, steady and warm. Outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap. You stumbled, and Hal caught you easily, pulling you against his side.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Just lean on me.”

He called a cab (no Lantern ring tonight — he didn’t want to scare you). The whole ride to your apartment, he kept you talking — silly pilot stories, dumb jokes, anything to keep you awake and distracted. When you laughed at one of his terrible puns, his chest warmed in a way that he never really got to feel.

At your door, you fumbled with your keys. Hal took them gently, unlocking it for you.

“You’re really nice,” you said, swaying slightly as you stepped inside. “For a stranger.”

He smiled, small and genuine. “Not a stranger anymore. And I’m not always nice. But for you? I can try.”

You looked up at him, eyes soft and a little hazy. “Stay? Just until I fall asleep. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Hal hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He helped you to bed, tucking you in with careful hands. When you patted the spot beside you, he kicked off his shoes and lay on top of the covers, fully clothed, one arm draped loosely over your shoulders.

“You’re safe,” he whispered as your eyes drifted shut. “I’ve got you tonight.”

You fell asleep with your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear.

Hal stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, feeling something warm and terrifying bloom in his chest.

You hadn’t even spoken to him sober.

But he already knew he was in trouble.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

You sat up slowly, head pounding, and found Hal in your kitchen wearing last night’s shirt and a pair of your oversized sweatpants he must have found in a drawer. He looked ridiculously domestic.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he said, flashing that cocky grin. “Coffee’s ready. Black with two sugars. Figured that was a safe guess.”

You blinked at him, memories of last night coming back in pieces. The bar. The water. Him bringing you home. The way he’d held you until you fell asleep.

“You stayed,” you said softly.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah. You asked me to. And… I didn’t want to leave you alone. Not after last night.”

You walked over, taking the mug he offered. “Thank you. For taking care of me. Most guys would’ve just… left.”

Hal’s expression softened. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness.

“I’m not most guys,” he said quietly. “And I’d really like to see you again. Sober this time. If you want.”

Your heart did a slow, warm flip. You smiled up at him, small but real.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

Hal grinned — bright, boyish, and a little relieved. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because I think I’m already in trouble with you.”

You laughed, leaning into him. The coffee was perfect. The morning light was soft. And the man who’d taken care of you when you were at your most vulnerable was looking at you like you were the best thing he’d seen in years.

Hal Jordan had flown through stars and faced down monsters.

But nothing had ever scared him quite like the way you smiled at him.

And he was already falling.