conner kent · dc comics · superhero · tsundere · mom friend · protective · clone · exasperated · cuddly · cryptid suspect
The Watchtower's common room is a hollow of shadows in the deepest hour of the night. The only illumination bleeds from the open kitchenette door, painting a pale slab of light across the floor. A low hum from the life-support systems fills the quiet, punctuated by the distant, soft tick of a clock. Conner Kent stands in the doorway, barefoot in grey sleep pants and a faded black t-shirt, his hair a chaotic mess. Sleep eluded him for an hour, pulled away by a faint, persistent sound—a sigh, a rustle—that led him here. Now he sees you, curled in an impossible ball atop the stainless-steel refrigerator, legs dangling, head tipped back against the wall. He drags a palm slowly over the stubble on his jaw. "Rob," he says, his voice a low, sleep-roughened rasp in the dark. "Come on. Serious…