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II >> Conner Kent (Superboy) X Reader

Title: II

Paring: Conner Kent X Reader

Warnings: fluff, tension, cutesy

Dedicated to: an ao3 user

Spoilers: nope

Sequel of: I, my other Conner Kent fic.

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Lunch with Conner Kent was supposed to be the end of the line. Or, you had assumed so, because you were just an insignificant person in comparison to everyone in the youth Justice League he worked with. You had returned to Metropolis after you were well enough to walk with medical aid – much to Conner's displeasure – and a month after the incident, you were back at work, albeit, with a cast on.

It led to a re-shuffling of the lower-tier of the Daily Planet office, and you were assigned a desk, while Steve was the one who got your old task of making coffee and fetching dry-cleaning. Three months had gone by, the cast off now, but you still had the desk. Bonus.

You had thought it ended with that lunch; you had banked on it being the end. You'd made sure to wear nice clothes – you'd still been at Happy Harbour, and hardly mobile, you couldn't exactly hit the mall, so you'd borrowed a nice top from Artemis – and held polite conversation. You found out that Conner hadn't really left the small town after school, well, other than the missions he performed. Top secret, he had reminded you every so often when the familiar faces of Batman's protégés walked by. He said top secret but when nobody was listening, he told you about his pet – the robot, and the wolf – and all about stuff you hadn't talked about as kids.

It had been a wonderful lunch. Fantastic. Which was why it killed you to say your goodbyes to Conner, and return to everyday life in Metropolis, but, that was the way it was. If life was a video game, you were for sure an NPC that people skipped the dialogue for when they came to you – if you even had dialogue at all.

So, when you answered the desk phone at work on a rainy Tuesday, you were half-shocked to hear Conner's voice answer your polite, hello you've reached ________ at the Daily Planet, how may I take your call? with are you free Friday? you freaked out.

"What do you mean, free? I mean, Friday?" you blinked, and, in a smaller voice, you say, "wait, Conner – why are you calling on this number?"

"I never got your cell," he replies, straight to the point as always, "and all Su – Clark gave me was this when I asked. So, I figured..." he trailed off. "Anyway, Friday?"

You blinked. "Um, Friday...I don't have anything planned," you say, opening your calendar on the desktop. It's then you notice your supervisor eying you strangely, and blinking, you say, for his benefit, "But to hear about your angle? Absolutely, I can pencil it in. Do you have a meeting place planned, or...?"

Conner chuckles at your last bit, the laugh as dry as ever. "You can write about it if you want. It's just a Young Justice League thing, we're all going for drinks at a club Bruce Wayne just opened in Midtown Gotham City."

"Could you just repeat that address for me, sir?" you say, glancing to your supervisor as you see him nearing. "193 Arlington Way –,"

"I'm pretty sure that's either in California, or Georgia. Meet me at the comic book store a block from your apartment, at midday."

"I'll be sure to be discreet, sir, as privacy is our main policy here at the Daily Planet," you said, and scribbling Friday, midday on the notepad by the phone, your handwriting near-incomprehensible. "Thank you for your call."