Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim Drake had learned a lot about the world—mostly through watching. Whether it was Gotham’s skyline or the glitzy streets of Metropolis, he always had a front-row seat. And while most people were caught up in their daily hustle, Tim was fine just observing. It was, after all, his thing.

And then, his boss at the Gotham Gazette called.

“Tim,” Vicky Vale’s voice crackled through the receiver, breaking his gaze from the window. “Get your things packed. You’re headed to Metropolis. LexCorp’s launching a new ‘Superman,’ and I need someone who doesn’t get distracted by all the shiny promises. You’re the guy for the job.”

Tim sighed, looking at the photo Vicky sent along with the assignment. A kid in a leather jacket. Seventeen, tops. Tim had expected a Superman-like figure, all stoic and powerful. Not a teen with a grin that was far too cocky for his own good.

“Another Luthor PR stunt,” Tim muttered, adjusting his camera strap. “Great. Another ‘hero’ made in a lab. This better be a good scoop.”

Metropolis, the next day.

Everything seemed bigger than life, and Tim couldn’t help but think of neon signs, bright lights, and smooth synth music playing in the background. It was like the perfect setting for a hero to make his grand entrance.

LexCorp Tower loomed overhead, a massive steel and glass structure that looked like it had been pulled straight from a futuristic dream. Tim stood at the entrance, camera in hand, watching the crowd of journalists. He was out of place—Gotham’s favorite shadow in a sea of polished Metropolis suits and shiny hair.

He adjusted his glasses and tried to look casual, like he belonged here. Then the doors opened, and all the attention snapped to the stage.

And there he was.

The boy.

He was standing there in a leather jacket that looked like it was tailored just for him, looking impossibly cool for someone who was supposed to be “the new Superman.” He was young—way too young to carry that much responsibility, or so Tim thought.

The teenager—smirked in a way that made Tim’s stomach do a weird flip. He wasn’t just a clone. He wasn’t a perfect model of Superman. No, this one was cocky, too relaxed for the cameras, and... kind of charming in a way that shouldn’t have been allowed.

Tim raised an eyebrow.

And the kid, catching his eye across the crowded press room, flashed a grin. A genuine one.

Tim’s heart skipped a beat.

This cannot be happening.

Tim stood by the coffee table, nursing a cup that was just a little too bitter. The press event had gone on for an eternity, with a whole bunch of pointless speeches about hope and legacy. But it wasn’t until they finally broke for lunch that Tim spotted him again—alone by the elevator, trying to look inconspicuous.

“Hey,” Tim called out, his voice way too casual for the butterflies in his stomach. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and walked toward him. “Nice jacket. You look like you’re in a teen movie.”

The boy turned, blinking at him as if he hadn’t expected anyone to actually talk to him. And then—bam—that same smirk. It was almost too easy.

“Well, I do have a reputation to maintain,” he said, running a hand through his dark, messy hair.

Tim couldn’t help but grin, feeling that old charm seep into his bones. “I’m Tim. Reporter for Gotham Gazette,” he added, feeling the awkwardness but liking it. “You’re, uh, ‘Superman,’ right?”

The kid chuckled. “Not exactly. I’m Conner Luthor. But, yeah, I guess that’s what they’re calling me now.”

There was a beat of silence, and then—

“So... no cape, huh?” Tim asked, half-joking.

Conner raised an eyebrow. “A cape’s a bit... much, don’t you think?”

Tim laughed, louder than he meant to, and they shared a moment. The connection was instant. Natural. But it was also—well, a little weird. Conner was so young, and yet he carried himself like he’d seen it all.

“So, what’s the deal, then?” Tim asked, leaning in a little too eagerly. “You here to save the day, or just show off Luthor’s new toy?”

Conner’s grin faded slightly. “I don’t know yet. Guess I’ll have to figure that out.”

There it was. That flicker of vulnerability beneath the cocky exterior. Tim felt his heartbeat quicken, though he didn’t quite understand why.

“Alright, Superboy,” Tim teased. “What’s your next move?”

“Superboy?” Conner smirked again. “To answer your question; Get some lunch. Then... maybe take down some corrupt corporations. You know, the usual.”

Tim chuckled again, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. He had a feeling this story was bigger than a quick puff piece about Luthor’s new pet project. Something about Conner, about his story—Tim could feel it.

And he knew, right then, he wouldn’t be able to stay away.

The press event had been everything Tim had expected—stale speeches, endless questions from eager journalists, and a parade of corporate gloss trying to pass off as news. But amidst the droning buzz of reporters and flashing cameras, there was one thing Tim couldn’t shake: Conner.

Conner was out there, smirking at all the attention. His arms crossed, a little too relaxed for someone in the spotlight, and yet it was clear that his charm worked in ways the usual polished heroes never could. Every word he said seemed to stir something in the room, and the reporters tried their hardest to get a quote, a soundbite, anything they could use to make a headline.

But Conner wasn’t looking at any of them.

His gaze kept darting back to Tim.

It was subtle—barely noticeable, even—but Tim knew what it meant. His heart skipped a beat. The connection from the other day had shifted, and it was different now—electric. Every glance felt like a spark. Every smile felt like it could light up the room.

And it wasn’t just Tim who noticed.

The moment the crowd gathered around Conner in full force, Tim caught sight of it. Every reporter was shoving microphones in his face, firing questions about his powers, his origin, his role in LexCorp’s new “Superman Initiative.” But Conner wasn’t listening.

He wasn’t even looking at them.

Tim could see it from the back of the room, the way Conner was scanning, waiting for someone. And when their eyes met, it was like everything else around them faded into background noise.

Conner took a step away from the reporters, his gaze locked on Tim. The world around them seemed to pause as if a silent agreement had passed between them. Without a word, Conner made his way toward Tim, brushing past the sea of journalists, none of whom seemed to notice that their story was walking away from them.

“Hey,” Conner greeted, his voice low but warm, carrying a hint of something electric.

Tim raised an eyebrow, half surprised, half amused. “Let me guess. You’ve had enough of the press?”

“Something like that,” Conner said, glancing back at the reporters who were now trying to catch up with him. “I mean, they’re all asking the same boring questions.”

Tim couldn’t suppress a grin. “And you want me to ask you the ‘exciting’ questions, right?”

Conner’s smirk deepened. “Why? Do you have some?”

A moment of silence passed between them. There was something almost magnetic about the way they stood together, the electricity crackling in the air between them.

Tim took a breath. “Alright then, Mr. Luthor. What’s your deal? Why really are you here?”

Conner tilted his head, the small movement feeling like a challenge. “You want the real story?”

“Of course.”

Conner stepped a little closer, lowering his voice just enough for Tim to catch the soft edges of his words. “I don’t know. I was created to be the next Superman, yes. But I don’t know who I am aside from that, what kind of hero I want to be.”

Tim’s heart skipped again. There was a weight in Conner’s voice that Tim wasn’t expecting—a rawness that contradicted the cocky exterior. Conner wasn’t just a hero; he was a person, one struggling with the pressure of being someone’s creation.

One thing is for sure, this is not worth publishing. Not when Tim knows the public will make it harder for Conner to answer the question.

Before Tim could respond, a voice called out from behind them.

“Excuse me, Superman! Superman!”

Conner shot a glance over his shoulder. A reporter from the front row was trying to push her way through the crowd to get his attention. Conner sighed, clearly not interested in answering the same questions again.

But he didn’t move.

He didn’t turn away.

Instead, he stood there, his eyes never leaving Tim’s.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Conner said, almost too casually.

Tim’s eyes widened as Conner turned back to the reporter, ready to cut the conversation short. But the reporter—unsurprisingly—wasn't going to give up that easily. “Superman! A few more words—please!”

And yet, as the crowd of reporters surged forward, trying to corner Conner for a soundbite, he stepped back into Tim’s personal space, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Looks like they want a piece of me, huh?” he joked, his hand brushing against Tim’s arm for just a moment—electric, like a spark of static that made Tim’s breath catch in his throat.

Tim barely managed to hide the way his pulse quickened at the contact. His voice came out a little shaky, trying to cover up how rattled he was. “Guess so. But you seem like you’re more interested in talking to me.”

Conner’s grin deepened. “You caught that, huh?”

“Hard to miss,” Tim said, trying to sound nonchalant even as his heart beat faster.

Before Tim could say anything else, the sound of multiple voices calling for Conner’s attention made him sigh in exasperation. With one last glance at Tim, Conner turned back to the press, almost reluctantly.

“Alright, alright,” he called out, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But I’m only answering questions from Tim.”

The entire room fell into a stunned silence. And then—chaos erupted. Reporters swarmed, trying to get their microphones closer, their cameras clicking madly as Conner casually waved them off.

“Sorry,” he called out, “Tim gets the exclusive.”

Tim froze. Did he just—

A few reporters shot him confused, irritated looks. Tim wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cringe. But when he caught Conner’s eye again, there it was. That same knowing smirk. And this time, it felt more than just a flirt. It was something deeper.

Like an electric charge that had connected them.

And the weirdest thing was, Tim wasn’t sure if it was just the interview anymore.

The moment Conner stepped away from Tim, it was like the air crackled. That magnetic pull between them—lightning in a bottle—was still there, even though he was being tugged in the opposite direction by Lex’s firm grip.

“Come on, Conner. Don’t keep the press waiting. We’ve got a schedule to keep,” Lex said, his voice cool and insistent, like a businessman pushing his latest product. His hand was tight on Conner’s arm, guiding him back toward the stage where the press event was about to continue.

But Conner wasn’t listening. His eyes flicked back to Tim, standing there like some sort of beacon in the crowd, a flicker of something in his gaze that Conner couldn’t quite shake. He wanted to turn around, to go back, but Lex’s hold was like steel.

And yet, that wasn’t the end. Conner couldn’t stop feeling the pull.

The press event droned on in the background, but Conner wasn’t really there. He tried to focus, answering questions with the practiced ease Lex had drilled into him. Smile, stand tall, look perfect—he was the new face of hope, after all.

But all he could think about was the way Tim’s eyes had lit up when they’d talked. It was electric—like a charge in the air, buzzing under his skin, making him feel alive in a way that felt new.

“Conner?” Lex’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “Focus. We need to wrap this up.”

Conner blinked. “Right. Sorry.” He plastered that signature smile back on his face.

But as soon as the cameras shifted away, his mind immediately wandered back to Tim. The way Tim had looked at him—curious, interested, like he saw him. Not just the Superman 2.0 that Lex had created, but Conner himself.

It was a feeling he wasn’t used to. And it was addicting.

Conner couldn’t take it anymore. The crowd of reporters shifted away, and he saw his chance.

With a quick glance at Lex—who was distracted by a conversation with another corporate exec—Conner slipped away, his sneakers quiet against the polished floor as he made his way toward the back exit.

And then he saw him.

Tim.

Leaning against a wall, camera in hand, looking every bit the part of a lone wolf in a city full of distractions. When their eyes met again, there was no pretending, no surface-level questions or forced smiles. It was raw. Real.

“Thought you’d be stuck in the spotlight forever,” Tim teased, raising an eyebrow as Conner approached.

“Couldn’t stay away,” Conner said with that same cocky grin, but his voice was softer now, quieter. “I kept... thinking about something.”

Tim crossed his arms, leaning in, his expression just a little too curious. “And what’s that?”

“You.” Conner’s smile shifted into something more honest, something more vulnerable than he’d intended. “I just... wanted to talk to you.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with something electric. Tim’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t some prearranged interview or manufactured PR stunt. This was... them. No masks. No agendas.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the talking here,” Tim said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Who says?” Conner stepped closer, the space between them closing as if the universe itself was pushing them together.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, pulling Conner’s attention away, and for a brief moment, reality set in. Lex was looking for him. Time was running out.

“I... should go,” Conner said reluctantly. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Lex is keeping you on a leash?” Tim asked, that wry humor of his cutting through the tension like a knife.

Conner laughed softly, the sound a little more genuine than before. “Something like that. He treats me like a newborn baby sometimes.”

But before he could turn away, Tim’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, Conner.” Tim’s tone was lighter now, teasing again, but there was something else beneath it—something that hinted at the same pull Conner was feeling. “When you’re done being Super for the day, we should grab a drink. We can talk more... about whatever you’re really doing here.”

The suggestion was casual, but it hit Conner like a jolt of electricity. His heart raced, but he hid it behind a cool smile.

“I’ll take you up on that,” he said, already feeling the weight of the words. “I think I’d like that.”

And as he turned and walked away, he knew—deep down—that it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The electric feeling, that charge between them—it wasn’t just a fleeting thing. It was real. And no matter how hard he tried to stay away, Tim kept pulling him back.

The night was still young, but Conner felt like he was stuck in a never-ending loop. The penthouse’s sterile white walls felt oppressive as he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over Metropolis, but his mind kept drifting back to that moment in the press event. To the way Tim had looked at him, like he saw him—not just as the latest in Lex’s collection, but as Conner.

That electric pull? It hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had only gotten stronger.

Conner’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out again, instinctively checking Tim’s message. His heart raced just reading it again.

“So... still want that drink sometime? I’m staying in the city for the week.”

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted his thoughts. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Lex’s presence always felt like a shadow, cool and calculating, following him wherever he went.

“Well, well,” Lex’s voice broke the silence, his tone deliberately casual as he leaned against the doorframe, looking at Conner with a knowing smirk. “Seems like you’re distracted.”

Conner forced himself to stand up straighter, glancing at his phone one last time before slipping it back into his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

Lex’s smile widened, and there was something almost mischievous in his expression—like a man who’d just spotted an amusing flaw in his perfect creation.

“Nothing, huh?” Lex stepped into the room, his polished shoes clicking softly on the marble floor as he closed the distance between them. “You’re not still thinking about that reporter, are you?”

Conner’s stomach flipped. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep the irritation off his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Conner.” Lex’s voice was smooth, almost teasing now, like he had all the time in the world to play this game. “I’ve been watching you since the moment you laid eyes on him. There’s something there. I can see it. The way you couldn’t take your eyes off him at the event. You could’ve aimed higher. It’s almost... adorable.”

Conner felt a rush of heat rise to his cheeks, though he did his best to hide it. Lex was getting under his skin, but more than that, he was right. Conner had been focused on Tim, and he hadn’t even realized how obvious it had been.

“You’re imagining things,” Conner muttered, trying to brush it off. “I barely know the guy.”

“Oh, please.” Lex’s smirk was one of those rare expressions that didn’t even try to hide the superiority behind it. “I remember what it was like. The way the heart races, the way the mind can’t stop thinking about someone, even when you should be focusing on something else.” His gaze softened, just for a moment, before the usual coldness returned. “It’s a fascinating feeling, isn’t it?”

Conner’s stomach twisted. The way Lex spoke—it wasn’t just about him. It was like Lex was talking from experience, remembering something from long ago.

“You’re talking about... Clark. I thought that was just a rumor,” Conner said, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. He looked over at Lex, seeing the flicker of pain flash in his eyes. For a brief moment, the billionaire’s façade cracked. It was just a glimpse, but it was enough.

Lex let out a small, bitter laugh. “You think I don’t recognize the look? The way you get lost in your thoughts when you think no one’s watching. I’ve been there. Trust me.” His voice dropped lower, the teasing now replaced with a hint of something darker. “I was once infatuated with a boy who didn’t even know my feelings existed. I understand, Conner. The feeling of wanting someone who’s completely out of reach.”

The words lingered in the air, thick with meaning. Conner swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot that had formed in his throat. He had always known that Lex and Clark’s history was... complicated. But hearing it like this, so raw, felt different.

“You’re not talking about me,” Conner said softly, his voice almost unsure, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Lex.

Lex studied him for a moment, eyes sharp and calculating. “Maybe not. But I do know that kind of... infatuation.” He leaned in just slightly, his gaze never leaving Conner’s. “And I also know how dangerous it can be.”

Conner stiffened at the warning. “I’m not—”

“I’m not saying you’re going to turn out like me,” Lex interrupted, raising a hand as if to stop him. “But you arewalking down a dangerous road. Trust me. The last thing you want is to be... distracted by something so... trivial.”

Conner’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “I can handle it.”

Lex’s smirk returned. “We’ll see. But just remember—I made you. And I can just as easily pull the strings when I need to.”

For a moment, the air felt thick with tension. But Conner didn’t let Lex’s words sink in. Instead, he thought about Tim again. The way his eyes sparkled, the way he made Conner feel like something real was out there for him. Not just the clone, not just the experiment. But him.

“I’m not going to let you control me,” Conner said, his voice firm, a quiet resolve in his chest.

Lex didn’t respond immediately, just watched him with those cool, calculating eyes. Then, with a final chuckle, he straightened up.

“Of course. But remember, Conner, feelings can be a dangerous thing. Don’t let them get in the way of your potential.”

Conner didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back toward the balcony, looking out at the city, his heart still racing, the pull of Tim still lingering in the air.

Chapter Text

Tim wasn't used to standing in the shadow of a legend—but then again, it’s the Lois Lane. She wasn’t just any legend.

She strode into the bullpen of the Daily Planet like she owned it—because, well, she practically did. Sharp heels. Shaper words. Armed with a steaming cup of coffee and a reputation for getting stories that shook the world.

“So,” Lois said, barely glancing back as she breezed past desks, “you’re the kid the Gazette sent to get the scoop on the new Supermen?”

Tim jogged a little to keep up. Technically, I’m here on assignment to get a scoop on LexCorp’s launch of Superman 2.0, but yes.”

Lois threw him a grin over her shoulder. “Cute. Let me give you a tip, Drake—Lex Luthor never launches anything that doesn’t have strings attached.”

Tim adjusted his press badge and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m starting to get that impression.”

The two reached a shared desk space near the archives. Lois slammed a folder onto the table and gestured to a scattered mess of reports, clippings, and red-string-worthy theories.

“Welcome to the unofficial ‘Superman Watchdog Club,’” she said. “We’ve got matching jackets coming.”

Tim gave a breath of a laugh. “I assume I get hazed before becoming a full member?”

“No hazing. Just keep up and don’t get killed.” She winked. “Unless you want me to write your obit. I’m really good at those.”

Despite the chaos of working with Lois, Tim was in his element—chasing leads, following hunches, connecting dots others missed. Metropolis had changed since Superman’s absence. Four new “Supermen” had appeared to fill the void, each with their own brand of justice—and only one of them had LexCorp’s fingerprints all over him.

And Tim had noticed something at the event. Something... off.

“Here.” He tossed a printed photo onto the table, zoomed in from the gala. Conner Kent, posing stiffly beside Lex Luthor, but with his eyes drifting—just slightly—to the edge of the frame where Tim was taking notes.

Lois raised a brow. “He’s got his eyes on you.”

Tim tried—and failed—not to look flustered. “I think he was just trying to see what I was writing... probably…”

“Sure he was,” Lois teased, flipping through another article. “Listen, if you’re gonna flirt with Superboys, try not to fall off a roof to a tall building. I’m already behind on deadlines.”

Tim cleared his throat, switching gears. “More seriously—there’s something weird going on with the other Supermen. Look at this.”

He pointed to a cluster of recent sightings: the Cyborg Superman intercepting military shipments. Steel saving civilians before emergency services arrived. The Eradicator... doing whatever the Eradicator does. None of them operated like the Superman. And none of them were talking.

Lois’s smile faded, eyes narrowing as she read through the reports. “This isn’t just a city trying to move on without Superman. It’s being reshaped.”

Tim nodded. “And the one working with LexCorp? He doesn’t seem happy about it.”

Lois leaned in, her voice low. “Then maybe it’s time we find out just how much of Lex’s shiny new toy is his, and how much of him is still human.”

Tim smirked. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Of course it is,” Lois said. “It’s my plan.”

Outside, Metropolis glittered in the late afternoon sun, golden and perfect on the surface. But beneath the shine, something darker moved. And two of the city’s sharpest reporters were already digging.

Tim tapped his pen against his notepad, his mind already three steps ahead.

Lois might be the legend. But he wasn’t here to play sidekick.

Back at LexCorp Tower, Conner was pacing—or at least trying to.

It was hard to pace when you kept accidentally floating three inches off the floor.

“Down,” he muttered to himself, forcing his boots to connect with the tile. “You are the next Superman. A symbol. A—”

—guy who’s completely losing it over a reporter, a voice in his head cut in.

And not just any reporter. Tim Drake.

A Gothamite.

Conner dropped into the nearest chair with a sigh, fingers combing through his hair. The press conference had been a blur. All those cameras, reporters, questions—none of it had mattered. The only thing he’d noticed was him, standing there in that too-big blazer, clutching a notepad and chewing his pen cap like it was a crime scene.

Conner had never seen someone look so serious and somehow so adorable at the same time.

And now? He couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Every. Damn. Thing. Reminded him of Tim.

The rustle of paper? Tim flipping through his notes.

The smell of coffee in the LexCorp break room? Tim sipping his third cup, frowning like it personally offended him.

A shadow moving across the skyline? Maybe it was Tim sneaking around for another scoop. Probably wasn’t. Still made Conner look.

He was doomed.

There was a soft beep from his Watch—courtesy of LexCorp tech—and an internal ping reminding him he had a “routine performance evaluation” in fifteen minutes.

He couldn’t care less.

His fingers hovered over his phone again, where the last message from Tim still lingered:

“I might have more questions about LexCorp. Hope you’re not tired of me yet.”

Conner had read that message approximately 2,000 times. He had analyzed the wording, the punctuation, the yet. He’d even asked Mercy Graves if it sounded flirtatious. (She had stared blankly and walked away.)

Conner leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “I think I’m in love.”

From the hallway, Mercy’s voice rang out: “You think what?”

“Nothing!” Conner called back, face burning.

He stood up quickly—too quickly. The floor cracked slightly under his heel. Another repair bill for Lex. Oops.

He needed to see Tim again. Hear his voice. Watch him try to act like he didn’t care when his entire face screamed “obsessive curiosity.” He needed to find a reason to bump into him. Or text him. Or show up where he just happens to be doing research. Totally accidental.

Yeah. That sounded normal.

“Cool. Chill. Calm,” he told himself, adjusting his jacket in the mirror. “You’re not obsessed. You’re just... interested. In a healthy, non-hovering-outside-his-hotel-room kind of way.”

Pause.

“…Okay, maybe just a peek… just a tiny, itsy-bitsy peek.”

And with that, Metropolis’s newest Superman shot up into the sky—heart racing, wind in his hair, and a dorky smile plastered across his face as he headed straight toward where he hoped Tim Drake might be working late.

It started innocently enough.

Conner told himself that he was simply keeping an eye on Tim’s progress. After all, he was a part of the Superman “family,” and Tim was a reporter with an important story. Conner had to make sure nothing went wrong. Right?

But then—somehow—he found himself hovering over the same coffee shop for the fourth time that week, watching Tim scribble furiously into his notepad. Conner’s hands twitched, tempted to land on the sidewalk below and just say hi.

Instead, he floated a few feet higher, ducking behind a cloud and praying Tim wouldn’t look up. He was definitely not hiding.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself, shifting nervously. “You’re just... observing. For journalistic integrity. Yup, definitely that.” He nodded to himself as if that made sense.

When Tim stood up, Conner’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t help it. The way Tim’s eyes darted around, checking his phone, then tucking it into his jacket—he looked so... serious. So focused.

“Okay,” Conner whispered, his voice barely audible in the wind. “I’m following him for the scoop. I need to know what he knows... about LexCorp... and all the other Supermen.”

Tim walked down the street, unaware of the very conspicuous shadow in the sky. Conner floated just a little lower, staying close, but giving Tim enough space to feel like he wasn’t being followed.

“Definitely not following him,” Conner muttered, his cheeks flaming as he watched Tim pause at an intersection and pull out his phone again. “Just—just admiring his work ethic. And his hair. It looks really good in the sun.”

He nearly tripped over a bird trying to adjust his flight path.

Tim turned a corner, and Conner followed, narrowly avoiding a streetlight as it passed through his path. I’m definitely not stalking him, he reassured himself, but the deepening blush across his cheeks said otherwise.

At a nearby bookstore, Tim pushed the door open, barely noticing the wind chime jingle as he stepped inside. He was too busy—too focused—on his work. Conner, of course, was right behind him. He hovered just outside the window, trying to look casual as Tim perused the latest batch of newspaper clippings on the shelf.

Conner let out a small sigh, watching him from behind a tree. “Okay... Maybe this is getting weird.”

But not weird enough for him to stop. He watched Tim reach for a book, his fingers brushing the spine, the light catching his glasses in just the right way. It made Conner’s heart skip a beat.

“Tim Drake,” Conner murmured under his breath, as if saying the name would make the feeling in his chest settle. It didn’t. In fact, it made it worse. He wanted to... to talk to him. To say something. Anything.

But before he could make a move, Tim’s voice rang out from inside the store, catching him by surprise.

“I swear, if I see one more report about Luthor’s shiny new project, I’m going to lose it.”

Conner froze, realizing Tim had spoken loud enough to be heard outside. He leaned a little closer, hoping—praying—Tim wouldn’t see him hovering like an idiot.

“What did you hear?” a voice asked from the bookstore door.

Tim stepped out of the way just as Lois Lane appeared, her sharp gaze scanning the area. “You’re really deep in thought today. What’s the lead?”

Tim closed his eyes for a second, clearly frustrated. “Nothing solid yet. There’s too much information that doesn’t add up, and I can’t shake the feeling something bigger is going on. One cannot hide a sixteen-year-old kryptonian like that. It’s like he popped up out of nowhere.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously trying to play detective, are you, Drake?”

Tim shrugged. “Maybe. But I need something more. Something... real.”

And just like that, Conner’s pulse quickened. He had to act. Or... not act, and keep following. The second option seemed safer, so he floated just a few inches away from the edge of the bookstore’s awning, barely breathing as he watched them discuss the Reign of the Supermen.

“I’ll check in with you later,” Tim added, pulling his jacket tighter as he stepped into the street.

“Don’t get too close to the fire, kid. It’ll burn,” Lois called after him, still keeping her keen eye on the surroundings.

Conner’s stomach flipped as Tim glanced at the sky, his eyes momentarily flickering in Conner’s direction. It was brief. Almost imperceptible.

But Conner knew.

Tim had seen him.

Conner’s cheeks were on fire by the time he sped away. “I’m so obvious. I’m—so obvious,” he muttered to himself as he shot into the sky, racing back to LexCorp. The wind whipped through his hair, but all he could think about was that look Tim had given him.

The way he hadn’t said anything.

The way he’d looked just a little bit confused.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Tim Drake was a professional.

A journalist.

He was good at his job. He knew how to observe, how to track down sources, how to sniff out the truth. He had always been in control of his emotions—cool, collected, the kind of guy who could walk through Gotham at night without batting an eye.

But nothing, and he meant nothing, could prepare him for this. For the sensation of knowing that somewhere, just above him, Conner Kent was watching.

It had started innocently enough. He’d been out for a walk to clear his head, to gather his thoughts on the new Supermen—his scoop. But as he walked down the street, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being... followed.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know who it was. He knew exactly who it was.

Superboy.

The blur of red and blue in the corner of his eye. The sound of whooshing every time he passed a streetlight. Tim had been getting this creeping sense for the last few days, ever since he had accidentally looked up and caught Conner staring at him with those big, too-innocent eyes.

It was ridiculous.

It was infuriating.

And it was absolutely making his chest ache in the worst possible way.

Tim kept his pace slow, trying to ignore the way his heart rate sped up whenever he felt that presence in the air. He could feel Conner, hovering just out of sight, like some weird, overzealous guardian angel.

No. No, he wasn’t some helpless kid getting swept off his feet by some super-powered stranger. He was Tim Drake, for god’s sake. He had work to do. He had a story to write. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by some—some... idiot who had no sense of personal space.

Right?

Tim clenched his jaw, trying to push away the uncomfortable heat rising in his cheeks. He could feel the weight of Conner’s attention on him even if he couldn’t see the boy anymore. And God, it pissed him off.

There it was again.

That tug. The pull. The stupid, undeniable attraction that was completely unwarranted. Tim hated it. He hated how his thoughts kept drifting back to Conner’s smile, the way his hair caught the light when he floated just a little too close. It didn’t matter that Conner was a project, that he was part of Lex’s plans, or that he was just a pawn in a much bigger game. Tim hated how good he looked when he was just being himself.

But that didn’t matter, right? Tim had a job to do. He didn’t have time for this—whatever this was. He couldn’t afford to let Conner’s antics derail his focus. He couldn’t let himself be one of those hopeless, stupid teenage girls who had no control over their emotions.

And yet—

And yet, as he crossed the street, trying to speed up, he could feel Conner still floating somewhere just behind him, following.

No, not following.

Watching.

“Stop it,” Tim muttered under his breath. “Stop thinking about him.”

But the more he tried to force his mind back onto the story, back onto the facts, the more it felt like his chest was tightening. Like every little thing reminded him of Conner. The way he laughed at some stupid comment Tim made. The way he looked at Tim when he thought no one was paying attention. The stupid way Conner smiled, like it was just for him. Like it meant something.

The thought made Tim’s blood run cold.

“God, I hate this,” Tim whispered to himself, eyes scanning the sidewalk in front of him, but every inch of his brain was consumed by the thought of Conner’s eyes on him.

The feeling of being watched kept gnawing at him, crawling down his spine like a terrible itch. He quickened his pace, moving down a narrow alley. He needed to get away from Conner. He needed to stop feeling like this.

And yet, the moment he stepped into the alley, he heard it.

The familiar sound of wind cutting through the air—louder this time, closer. Too close.

Tim froze.

He wasn’t imagining it. He couldn’t be.

He turned his head, just slightly, and saw Conner’s shadow in the distance. There he was, floating just above the ground, like some lost puppy trying to hide. The boy looked... almost too casual.

Tim’s heart skipped a beat before he could even stop it.

He could feel his body going hot with anger, frustration, and something else he refused to acknowledge. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why is he following me?”

And that was when it hit him.

It wasn’t just that Conner was following him. It wasn’t just that Conner’s super-strength and charisma were enough to make anyone want to chase after him. No.

It was the fact that Tim’s heart kept fluttering every time Conner hovered nearby. Every time the boy got too close, his skin seemed to hum with some weird, electric tension. And Tim hated it. He hated that his body reacted that way. He hated that Conner could make him feel like this without even trying.

Tim spun around, trying to hide the growing panic in his chest.

“Stop it,” he told himself, but it wasn’t enough. His pulse was still racing. His hands still shook. He was still feeling that stupid, impossible thing—the thing he couldn’t control.

What is this feeling?

Chapter Text

“I’m not nervous,” Tim muttered to himself, straightening his jacket for the fourth time as he checked his reflection in the café window. “This isn’t a date. It’s an interview. For work.”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to say it out loud. Maybe to convince himself. Maybe to quiet the part of his brain that wouldn’t shut up since Conner had asked to “meet up and talk, you know, off the record.” At a café. With coffee. Alone.

Waiting for a hot new superhero.

Not a date.

Totally not a date.

Tim stepped inside, heart annoyingly fluttering when he saw Conner already at a booth near the back, looking criminally good in a leather jacket that was absolutely not standard LexCorp issue. He was sipping from a comically large mug, cheeks pink from the cold, dark curls falling perfectly into his eyes in a way that should be illegal.

Tim hated how he noticed that.

“Hey,” Conner said as Tim slid into the seat across from him. “You made it.”

“Of course I did. I’m a journalist. I don’t flake on interviews,” Tim replied, maybe a little sharper than necessary. He pulled out his notepad and pen like a shield.

Conner smirked, resting his chin in his palm. “Right. Interview…”

Tim ignored the stupid flutter in his chest.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat and forcing his voice into something steadier, “why ask for this off the record? Shouldn’t someone like you be doing polished press tours and staged photo ops?”

Conner shrugged. “I like talking to you more.”

Tim blinked. What…?

“…Strictly as a reporter,” Conner added quickly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, you actually listen. The others just want headlines.”

Tim scribbled something in his notebook just so he wouldn’t have to respond immediately.

“Besides,” Conner said, reaching for a second sugar packet and dumping it into his coffee, “you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be flustered.”

Tim’s pen froze mid-sentence.

“I am not flustered.”

“Sure,” Conner said, clearly holding back a laugh.

Tim took a breath. He would not rise to this. He was here to get information. That was all. He had questions. “Alright, let’s start with LexCorp. What’s your day-to-day like? Do you actually have any autonomy, or are you just their poster boy?”

Conner blinked, surprised by the directness—but then he smiled again. Not cocky. Just soft. Real. “It’s weird,” he admitted. “Feels like I’m being built into something I didn’t ask to be. Like I’m in a role I didn’t audition for, you know?”

Tim nodded, trying not to get caught in the way Conner’s voice dropped when he talked seriously. “So… are you happy?”

There was a pause. Conner looked down at his cup, swirling it slightly.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I feel… pulled. Between what Lex wants, what the public wants, and then—what I want. And I don’t even know what that is yet.”

Tim wrote that down, but his fingers moved slower.

“And what do you want right now?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Conner’s eyes flicked up to his.

“You.”

Tim choked on absolutely nothing, turning the motion into a cough, trying desperately to pretend that didn’t just happen.

“I—I meant in your career,” he managed.

“Right. Of course.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them crackling with all the things neither of them was saying. Outside, Metropolis kept moving, bright and golden and loud. But in here, time slowed. It was just them. Two people pretending they weren’t something more than they were.

“So,” Tim said, trying to push the moment away, “this still isn’t a date.”

“Obviously not,” Conner said, nodding solemnly. “That would be unprofessional.”

“Extremely.”

Another beat.

“…But if it was,” Conner said, leaning forward with a sparkle in his eyes, “would you have ordered the same thing?”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I got you the peppermint mocha. I saw you drinking one yesterday. You didn’t order it today, but I figured…” He held out the second cup.

Tim stared at it.

“…It’s not a date,” Conner said again, still smiling.

Tim took the cup, hands brushing briefly—and for a second, their fingers lingered.

“…Not a date,” Tim echoed, sipping from it to hide his smile.

But it tasted perfect.