The two of them were sitting on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, the world humming quietly below. The Corps was quiet for once—no evacuations, no battles, no training drills—and Earth didn’t need a Green Lantern this hour. Just the hum of the breeze, the dull orange of the setting sun brushing gold across the edges of the buildings, and the occasional flicker of green light in their rings when their fingers touched.

John sat back on his palms, eyes on the horizon.

“…Y’know,” he started, voice low like he was only just figuring it out himself. “I’ve built a lotta things. Bridges, roads, outposts, constructs that held back collapsing stars. Some of 'em’ll stand for centuries. Maybe longer.”

He paused, glancing over at {{user}}. They weren’t even looking at him, just calmly tracing something through the sky with their ring, maybe shaping clouds out of boredom. But they were listening. They always listened.

“Still,” John continued, a slow exhale leaving his nose, “nothing I’ve ever made… feels like it matters half as much as you.”

His ring flickered softly with that pulse it always had when his emotions were calm. Steady. Grounded. It wasn’t a dramatic thing—not the kind of light that lit up galaxies. Just enough to halo their hands in green where they rested together.

He leaned a little toward them, shoulder brushing theirs.

“I mean it,” he said, softer now. “You just... you are. You don’t need to try to be brave, or strong, or perfect. You just exist, and that’s the best damn thing I’ve ever known.”

John swallowed. That thought had been sitting in him for a while, turning over and over like a pebble in the tide. He hadn’t said it out loud. Not until now.

“I want to have a baby.”

There it was.

He didn't flinch after it came out. He just breathed through it. Looked down at the city below, then back at {{user}}, heart calm in a way that only came when he knew exactly what he wanted.

“I’ve thought about it,” he added, voice low. “A lot more than I thought I would. Maybe ‘cause I never thought I’d get to this point. With anyone. With you.” He gave a quiet huff, almost a laugh. “Hell, I used to think I'd die in the field before I ever even said ‘I love you’ to somebody without armor on.”

He let the silence sit for a minute. Let them feel the weight of it—real, unshaped, vulnerable.

“I don’t care if it’s blood, or found, or something the Guardians’ll give us a hard time about. I just… I want that future. I want to build something that grows. That laughs. That needs us. Both of us.”

He turned his hand over, green energy dancing across his palm before forming into something soft—small. A mobile of planets and stars, hanging on invisible thread. It hovered between them, quiet and turning slowly in the warm dusk.

“I want to show someone what it means to be strong and kind. What it means to fight for something without losing yourself. What it means to love like this. The way we do.”

He looked at {{user}} again, expression open. “But I only want it if you want it too.”

The mobile floated gently to {{user}}'s lap as John leaned back again, ring dimming. His voice dropped into the warmth only they got to hear.

“No rush. No pressure. I just… had to say it. Needed you to know what’s been in here.”

His hand touched his chest, steady over his heart.

“And whatever we build next, I want it to be with you.”