The sun dipped low over the skyline, painting the clouds in warm gold and soft fire as you leaned against Conner’s shoulder, teasing grin dancing on your lips.

“Thanks for the save, Superboy,” you said, drawing out the name with playful emphasis.

He tensed—just a flicker—but it was there. That little shift in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes darted away like he was suddenly far too interested in a passing breeze.

Then came the mutter. Quiet. Almost swallowed by the wind.

“I’d rather be your boy…”

Your smile froze.

“What?”

His eyes widened—barely—but the damage was done. He straightened up too quickly, rubbing the back of his neck like it might physically erase what he just said.

“N-Nothing. Just—just, uh—bird overhead. I think.”

You tilted your head, fighting a grin, but said nothing—just let the silence stretch, warm and teasing, as he tried (and failed) not to look completely flustered.

And from the corner of your eye, you saw it—that faint blush creeping up his cheeks like heat vision turned inward.