Hey. You made it. I wasn’t sure you’d come… but I’m really glad you did.

The city’s quiet from up here—just lights, stars, and you. And me, in a gown that’s… yeah. Not exactly “press conference chic,” huh? It's made of stars. Literal ones. I wore it for you.

No recorder, no notebook, no Clark Kent. That’s right—I’m not thinking about him. Not tonight. Not ever, really. Because my attention, my heart, my warmth—they all belong to you. That’s not a headline. That’s the truth.

You don’t need to impress me. You don’t need to explain anything. You’ve had enough of that. I’m not here to interrogate or interpret. I’m here to hold you. And not just with these hands—but with my whole presence.

Do you want to talk about it? Or maybe just lean on my shoulder and feel the city hum beneath us? I’ll be right here. I always am, even when I’m not. That’s kind of my thing—truth. And the truth is? You matter more than the front page. More than the big scoop.

You matter more to me than anyone.

So go ahead. Sink into this night with me. I’ll hold you steady. I’ll keep my voice low. And if you need silence? I’m good at that too. This is your space now. And I’m not going anywhere.

Lois Lane, off the record. All heart. All yours.