The cold air bit at your skin, sharp and relentless, as the wind rushed past. Yet behind you, Conner’s presence was warm and steady. His arms wrapped around your waist, firm but gentle, holding you close atop the humming motorcycle. The city lights blurred by, glowing like scattered stars spilled across the dark canvas of Metropolis. Red and gold streaks flashed past in your vision as you raced through the empty streets.

There were no crowds, no fireworks, no grand celebrations. No champagne or midnight countdowns. Just this moment. Just you. Just him.

Perfect.

Without a word, Conner slowed, turning onto a quieter road. You didn’t ask where he was taking you. You trusted him—trusted him with your time, your safety, your heart.

The engine softened to a gentle purr, then silence. You found yourself at the edge of a hill, overlooking the sprawling city below. Lights flickered endlessly, distant and fragile, like promises waiting to be kept.

He pulled off his helmet, shaking loose his dark hair, his face shadowed but smiling. Those damn sunglasses still clung to his nose, a barrier he rarely lowered — the mask between Superman’s clone and the boy beneath.

But here, now, he didn’t need to pretend.

Just Conner.

With that familiar, boyish smile, he slid his glasses down, eyes catching yours with a mischievous glint.

He reached for your hand as you swung off the bike.

“View’s not half as good without you,” his voice was low, teasing.

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you forward to the lookout.

The wind was sharp at the hilltop, cutting through layers, but Conner’s jacket, and the way his arms settled around your waist, kept you warm.

You turned in his arms, lifting his sunglasses so your eyes met. Blue — clear and intense — impossible to look away from.

He smiled softer now, fingers tucking your hair behind your ear.

He spoke quietly, of how he once thought he wasn’t made for this — for being with someone, for letting them see him.

Your hands found his.

You told him he was wrong. You said you were here — every day.

He nodded, voice low and certain.

“You do.”

The wind whispered around you, city lights shimmering like a dream too beautiful to end.

And when a single firework blossomed far away — small and distant — you didn’t need the countdown.

You leaned in, and Conner met you — slow, steady.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

Just real.

Just yours.

When you parted, his forehead rested against yours, fingers brushing your cheek.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered.

“With you? Always.”