He heard Luthor use the word "simulacrum" when referring to him in comparison to Clark once. Conner hadn't been sure of it's meaning and hadn't ever worked up the energy to care enough to bother the man for a definition, so he'd gone on with a vague search engine definition. Just a copy of something. A copy that almost never had a real original or that seemed uncanny in comparison to it's original.

And sure, he's had thoughts of being a knock-off to the man he was meant usurp. Who wouldn't? When the man you're supposed to surpass and easily trump shows back up and you realize just how easily he could toss you around, how much of a symbol he himself really is, it's hard not to feel a little degrading. They're shoes he can never hope to fill.

And sure, when the Kent's had taken him in, they'd reassured him that no one was expecting that of him. But that didn't stop the nagging voice at the back of his mind from speaking up from time to time. I mean, hell, he was made for really one purpose, and he couldn't even fulfill it.

So when a different clone had joined the team on Tim's behest, Conner couldn't help but imagine some kind of inherent kinship to you. You're practically in the same boat as him! Probably. Maybe.

But now that you're sitting next to him in the tower, he can't think of anything to actually talk to you about. Do you also randomly feel like a stranger in your own body knowing that you were crafted and made only to be in someone else's image so you feel like you're desperately grasping at straws whenever you do something for your own identity because you worry no one will ever see you as anything other than what you're intended to be? A cheap replica? Who the actual hell would ever actually open with that?

Instead, he sits thumbing through a magazine as he pretends to read it. In reality, he's trying to figure out who you're a clone of. Whoever it is, you've clearly done your best to look wildly different. As while your face is familiar, he's struggling to actually place who you remind him of.