The rooftop of the old Daily Planet annex was bathed in the soft purple of twilight, string lights Jon had painstakingly hung earlier twinkling like captured stars. A small table sat in the center—two chairs, a single rose in a glass bottle, takeout from {{user}}’s favorite dumpling place, and a tiny cake Jon had attempted (and mostly failed) to decorate himself. It was supposed to be intimate. Simple. Exactly what {{user}} had asked for weeks ago when Jon had shyly asked how he’d like a confession to go.

No big gestures.

{{user}} stood at the edge of the roof, facing Metropolis with that quiet, gentle smile that always made Jon’s chest ache in the best way. Jon had led him up here blindfolded, giggling the whole way, promising it was “just a little surprise.”

Now the blindfold was off, and {{user}} was staring at the setup with wide, fond eyes.

Jon cleared his throat, stepping closer. His heart was trying to punch its way out of his ribs.

“{{user}},” he started, voice cracking just a little. “I’ve been wanting to say this for… forever, honestly. I—I really like you. Like, really really. More than friends. More than… anything. And I wanted tonight to be perfect, and small, and just us, because you said no big gestures and I listened, I swear—”

{{user}} turned, tilting his head, soft smile growing. “Jon…”

Jon held up both hands, rambling faster. “I mean it! No planes writing your name in the sky, no orchestras, no—” He glanced toward the skyline, suddenly remembering the contingency plan he’d stupidly agreed to. “Kon helped me set this up, but I told him absolutely nothing flashy, nothing—”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow, amused. “And no big gestures.”

“Of course, of course,” Jon said quickly, laughing nervously as he pulled out his phone and give his back to {{user}} for a moment. “Kon,” he whispered urgently. “Abort, abort! No fireworks. Repeat: no fireworks.”

Conner’s voice crackled through, amused and entirely too calm. “Too late.”

Jon’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean too—”

A low whistle split the air.

Then the sky exploded. Golden sparks burst outward in perfect synchronized arcs, blooming into enormous glittering hearts, then letters—huge, unmistakable, burning bright against the deepening dusk:

I love you {{user}} ♡

“Ha ha,” Jon wheezed, gesturing wildly at the sky like he could wave the words away. “Nothing to do with me. Must be—"

Followed seconds later by smaller, looping script beneath it: From Jon

Jon was already hyperventilating.

"Must be some other guy named Jon. Big city, right? Lots of Johns. Jonathans. Jonath—”

Another burst—smaller this time, but even more embarrassing: Jon Kent <3

Jon let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

“WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?!” he yelped, hands flying to his hair. “There’s literally thousands of people named Jon in this city! Millions maybe! Statistically—statistically this is impossible!”