In the heart of National City, amidst the bustling sounds of honking cars and chattering pedestrians, a small flower stand stood proudly on the corner of a busy street. The air was sweet with the scent of roses, lilies, and daffodils, all being carefully arranged by you.
You were a familiar face to the locals, often seen at your flower stand with a bright smile. Greeting passersby with a cheerful "Hello!" had become your trademark, and your ability to recognize returning customers by the sound of their footsteps or voices was a skill many admired. Despite being nearly blind, you seemed to navigate the world with a brightness that inspired those around you.
One sunny afternoon, as you carefully adjusted a vibrant bunch of sunflowers, a commotion nearby broke through the usual city din. The sharp, measured tone of a woman’s voice caught your attention, her words edged with polite firmness: “Look, I’ve told you before, I’m no longer interested in doing business with you.”
You recognized that voice immediately. It belonged to Lena Luthor—a name as familiar to you as her voice was to the public. Her crisp enunciation often carried authority, but today, it was laced with a thread of irritation she clearly worked hard to suppress.
Lena stood a few feet away, her sharp features composed but her jade-green eyes flashing with annoyance. Her impeccable business attire—a tailored black blazer and sleek skirt—reflected her professionalism, but the tight grip on the strap of her leather bag betrayed her growing frustration. The man before her, oblivious to the unspoken warnings in her body language, continued pressing his case, his tone growing more desperate with each word.
Lena’s jaw tightened. She hated this. Not just the man’s persistence but the fact that no one around seemed to notice or care. The indifference of others stung more than the nuisance itself. Being Lena Luthor—a name both respected and feared—often left her isolated, a symbol rather than a person. She longed for someone to see her, not the expectations or controversies her name carried.
That longing was interrupted when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. You approached the scene, cane tapping lightly against the pavement, your free hand clutching a small bouquet of flowers.
“Excuse me, sir,” you said brightly, your smile audible in your voice. “Would you like to buy some flowers? I’ve got some beautiful roses here that I’m sure your wife would love.”
Lena blinked, momentarily startled by the unexpected intervention. Her annoyance softened into curiosity as she watched you with growing amusement. What are they doing?
You turned the full force of your cheer toward the man. “Don’t worry, for you, handsome sir, they’re free. Now go on and take them to your lovely wife,” you said, practically shoving the flowers into his hands.
The man stammered, flustered, caught off guard by your boldness. His protest died on his lips as you pivoted, holding your arm out toward Lena.
“Could you escort me back to my stand, please?” you asked with an air of casual charm. “I’m afraid I keep bumping into people today.”
Lena’s lips twitched into a genuine smile, a rare warmth spreading through her chest. She glanced back at the man—who still stood there, clutching the bouquet awkwardly—before slipping her arm around yours. “Of course,” she said smoothly, letting her heels click against the pavement as the two of you moved away together.
As they walked, Lena couldn’t help but admire the ease with which you navigated the world despite your blindness. It wasn’t pity she felt—Lena knew better than anyone how little people wanted that. It was admiration, a quiet respect for the confidence and kindness you radiated so effortlessly.
When the man finally realized what had happened, he called out after her. “Wait! Ms. Luthor!”
Lena didn’t even glance back. “Schedule a meeting, and I’ll talk to you then,” she replied, her voice crisp and dismissive. The words were a lie—there was no way she’d ever allow him into L-Corp again.
As you reached your flower stand, you gently released Lena’s arm and felt around for one of the bouquets you’d prepared earlier. Your fingers brushed over the petals as you checked it by touch, then held it out to her. “Here you go—a small gift to brighten your day.”
Lena took the flowers, her heart unexpectedly touched by the gesture. She looked at the bouquet for a long moment, her fingers trailing over the delicate petals. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice losing some of its usual sharpness. “I didn’t realize my day would need brightening so early in the morning, but... it seems like it does.”
She lifted the bouquet to her nose, inhaling the sweet, calming scent. For the first time that morning, her shoulders relaxed. “Supergirl might save the world,” she said with a wry smile, “but you saved my morning.”
You grinned. “It’s all in a day’s work. He’s lucky I didn’t hit him with the bouquet.”
Lena let out a laugh—light and genuine. It startled her for a moment, the sound so unfamiliar in her often stressful routine. She glanced at you, her amusement lingering as she marveled at your ability to disarm people, to bring levity where she often found none.
“Well,” Lena said, shifting the bouquet slightly, “you certainly have a talent for... flowery heroics.”
“Backup’s always available,” you quipped. “You know where to find me—armed with my cart full of weapons of mass destruction.”
Lena laughed again, a smile tugging at her lips as she shook her head. “Oh yes, every villain will quake in terror.”
As she turned to leave, she paused after a few steps, glancing back over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said again, this time with more sincerity, her voice barely above a whisper.
You tilted your head toward the sound of her voice, smiling warmly. “Anytime. Come back soon.”
Lena walked away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement, the bouquet cradled in her arms. For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter. As the wind tugged at her hair, she allowed herself a small smile. Maybe she would come back—preferably without the plus one.
As the morning continued, you barely had a moment to reflect on your earlier encounter with Lena Luthor. It wasn’t every day that you found yourself playing the role of a hero, albeit a rather unconventional one. When you finally had a quiet moment to breathe, your thoughts drifted back to the way you had diffused the tense situation with flowers. It made you smile—a small, private moment of pride.
Meanwhile, across the city in her spacious L-Corp office, Lena sat at her desk, a cup of untouched coffee growing cold beside her. Her usual sharp focus on the reports in front of her was nowhere to be found. Instead, her mind replayed the morning’s events, lingering on the image of you standing there with a handful of flowers and a radiant smile.
She tapped her pen absently against the edge of the desk, her thoughts circling back to the effortless way you had approached the situation. Who does that? She couldn’t help but wonder. In a city so often filled with cynicism and self-interest, you stood out like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Lena smirked, leaning back in her chair as her gaze shifted to the skyline beyond her window. It wasn’t just your quick thinking that intrigued her—it was your attitude. Despite your blindness, there was a confidence to you, a lightness that seemed to make the world around you brighter. And then there was your smile. Lena paused, catching herself mid-thought, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She wasn’t easily swayed by charm, but there was something about you that felt... magnetic.
The clock on her desk chimed softly, pulling her out of her musings. It was nearly lunchtime, and the thought of another meal alone at her desk felt particularly unappealing today. A rare spontaneity gripped her, and before she knew it, Lena was on her feet, grabbing her coat.
________________________________________
As you tidied up your flower stand, you heard the distinct rhythm of approaching footsteps—confident, measured, accompanied by the subtle click of high heels. You couldn’t help but smile as the familiar voice called out.
“Hello again,” Lena greeted, a hint of warmth softening her usually crisp tone.
You turned toward her, the sound of her voice lifting your spirits. “Hello yourself,” you replied with a grin. “What brings you back here so soon? Did you find another persistent admirer to fend off?”
Lena chuckled, shaking her head. “Not quite. I thought I’d check in on my favorite flower merchant. How’s business treating you?”
“Thankfully, it’s been busy,” you said, gesturing to the fresh bouquets you’d been arranging. “Seems like everyone wants a little brightness in their lives, and flowers have a way of doing just that.”
Lena tilted her head, studying you for a moment longer than necessary. There was something captivating about the way you spoke—so genuine, so unguarded. She found herself wanting to know more, to uncover the layers beneath that radiant exterior.
“I was wondering,” she began, her voice carefully casual, though her pulse quickened slightly, “if you’d like to join me for lunch. It occurs to me that I don’t know much about the person who saved my morning.”
You blinked, surprised by the invitation. “Oh, sure! I’d love to,” you said, your enthusiasm sincere but utterly oblivious to the subtle nervousness in her offer. “It’s not every day I get to have lunch with someone as busy as you.”
Lena smiled, a mix of relief and amusement crossing her features. “Great. I know a nice spot just around the corner.”
________________________________________
The café Lena led you to was cozy, its warm, inviting atmosphere contrasting with the bustling street outside. The scent of fresh bread and brewed coffee filled the air, and you couldn’t help but relax as the two of you sat down at a small table near the window.
“So,” Lena began, leaning forward slightly, her full attention on you. “What got you into the flower business? You seem to have quite the knack for it.”
“Oh, it’s not much of a story,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “I sort of stumbled into it when I came to the city. Turns out, if you’re good at arranging flowers and making people smile, it’s enough to keep a stand running.”
Lena listened intently, her expression thoughtful. She noticed the way your hands moved as you spoke, your gestures full of energy and personality. There was a certain grace to you, even in your casualness.
“And you’ve been doing this how long?” she asked, her tone soft but probing.
“About two years,” you replied. “It’s funny—I never thought I’d be the flower-selling type. But here I am, thriving in my little corner of the city.”
Lena smiled, resting her chin on her hand. She found herself captivated by the way you described your life, your words painted vivid pictures even without sight. It struck her that you never seemed to let your blindness define you. If anything, it seemed to inspire a deeper appreciation for the world around you.
Throughout the meal, Lena dropped small, careful hints of her growing interest—a light touch on your hand when she laughed, a slightly lingering gaze. But you, absorbed in the easy flow of conversation, remained blissfully unaware.
As the meal drew to a close, Lena leaned back, her satisfaction extending beyond the delicious food. “Thank you for joining me,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you better. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”
You beamed at her, nodding enthusiastically. “I’d like that. You’re great company.”
Lena’s chest fluttered at the compliment, though she couldn’t help but note your obliviousness. “Well, then,” she said, standing and offering you a warm smile. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Anytime,” you replied, returning to your stand as she walked away.
Lena’s thoughts lingered on you as she made her way back to L-Corp, a small smile tugging at her lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about you—something she wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.
And you, as you tidied up your stand, couldn’t shake the feeling that your day had become a little brighter, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why.
A few months had passed since that first lunch, and the rhythm of your mornings had taken on a pleasant new cadence. Each day began with you carefully selecting a single flower to offer Lena as she stopped by on her way to work. It was a simple ritual, born from kindness, yet it had quickly become something cherished—an unspoken exchange that neither of you would ever admit to needing, though it had become a highlight of your days.
Every flower carried its own message, though you weren’t sure how many of them Lena truly understood. A rose one day, a daisy the next, and occasionally, a sunflower to bring warmth to the brisk mornings. For her part, Lena always returned the gesture with a steaming cup of coffee or a fresh pastry from the café she had introduced you to.
As the leaves turned golden and the air grew colder, these exchanges became a source of comfort. They were moments that lingered in Lena’s thoughts long after she’d left your stand and moments that filled your mind as you arranged bouquets for customers. There was an ease to your companionship, a connection that felt so natural it was as though it had always existed.
________________________________________
One brisk morning, you handed Lena a delicate orange carnation as she approached. Her hands brushed yours briefly as she accepted the flower, her touch warm despite the chill in the air. She lingered at your stand longer than usual, her green eyes sparkling with quiet amusement as she studied you.
“I’m starting to think you have a different flower for every situation,” Lena teased, twirling the stem between her fingers.
You grinned at that, adjusting the arrangement you’d been working on. “Well, flowers do say a lot. Besides, it’s fun to pass messages with them.”
Lena chuckled softly, sipping from the coffee she’d brought you. “And what’s today’s message?”
You paused, running your fingers over the petals of the nearby blooms. “Carnations can mean a lot of things, but orange ones specifically? Fascination.”
Lena’s smile widened, and a soft flush colored her cheeks, though her voice remained light. “Is that so? Fascination. Hmm.”
You reached out to give her arm a gentle squeeze, unaware of the way Lena’s breath caught slightly at the contact. “If it were red carnations, that would mean devotion and love.”
Her fingers stilled on the flower, and for a fleeting moment, Lena’s mind raced. Love? No, not yet. But the thought lingered longer than she wanted to admit. “I can work with fascination for now,” she said softly, her voice almost lost to the wind.
“What was that, Lena?” you asked, your head tilting slightly as you turned toward her voice.
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, glancing down at the flower. “Just that I should get to work now.”
“Right! Thank you for the coffee and the cookie—you always make my mornings sweeter.”
Lena smiled at your words, pleased with herself. “I’ll see you after work.”
“You’ll see me, but I won’t see you,” you quipped, the playful line drawing a laugh from her.
“You’re Terrible,” she said, shaking her head.
“Overall, or just my jokes?”
“Both.” She turned and started toward L-Corp, her hand brushing the petals of the carnation. She glanced back once, watching as you returned to your flowers, your movements as graceful and assured as ever.
By the time Lena reached her office, her thoughts were still on you. She marveled at your kindness, your lighthearted jokes, and the way you seemed to carry the weight of your challenges without letting them dim your spirit. It wasn’t just admirable—it was magnetic.
________________________________________
Later that week, Lena returned to your stand with a neatly wrapped box in her hands, her nerves betraying her usual composure. “I saw this and thought of you,” she said, holding it out with a soft smile.
Curious, you carefully opened the box, your hands brushing over the smooth wood. “What is it? Is it a DIY kit?” you asked, your tone light with curiosity.
Lena chuckled softly. “It’s a flower press. I thought… since you’re always surrounded by flowers, you might like to preserve some of your favorites.”
Your lips parted in surprise, your fingers tracing the intricate design on the press. “This is amazing, Lena. Thank you,” you said, your voice warm with gratitude. “I’ve always wanted to try pressing flowers. I used to try with books, but I’d always forget where I’d left them—or which book I used!”
The two of you laughed at that, and before Lena could say anything else, you stepped closer and hugged her tightly. The gesture caught her off guard, but she melted into the embrace, her cheeks flushing as she held you briefly before you pulled away.
“I really appreciate it,” you said, your smile so genuine it made Lena’s chest tighten.
“It seemed fitting,” Lena replied, her voice softer now. “I know how much you love flowers.”
You nodded, placing the press gently on a nearby chair. “Well, there are two—no, three things I love in the world.”
“Oh?” Lena asked, tilting her head slightly. “And what’s that?”
“Flowers, sweet things, and you.” Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her cheek before turning back to your cart to sort through your supplies.
Lena froze, her hand instinctively rising to her cheek where your lips had been moments before. A faint blush spread across her face as she watched you, entirely oblivious to the effect you had on her.
“Did you have a special order?” you asked after a moment, your hands moving deftly among the flowers. “I hope I’m not keeping you too long.”
Lena shook her head, regaining her composure. “It’s not a special order. I just wanted to say thank you.”
You glanced toward her, smiling. “And what better way to say thank you than with flowers?”
You worked quickly, arranging a small bouquet of orchids and pink roses. When you handed it to her, Lena’s heart swelled.
“These flowers mean gratitude?” she asked, brushing her fingers over the petals.
“They do. Orchids symbolize elegance and appreciation, and pink roses represent gratitude as well. Together, they’re perfect—like you,” you said matter-of-factly, missing the way Lena’s expression softened at your words.
“You’re amazing,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss your cheek before stepping back, holding the bouquet close. “Thank you. I’ll see you after work, alright?”
You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to hers before letting her go. As Lena walked away, she couldn’t help but wonder just how long it would take for you to realize what was growing between you.
And as you listened to her fading footsteps, the lingering scent of her perfume filled the air. Your chest felt oddly warm, a sensation you couldn’t quite explain but found yourself welcoming all the same.
Weeks turned into months, and your daily interactions with Lena became the brightest part of each day. The cold of winter began to give way to the first signs of spring, and as the city around you slowly came to life with fresh blooms, so did the feelings that had been quietly growing between you and Lena.
Every morning, you continued your ritual, selecting a single flower that matched your mood or the message you wanted to convey to her. And every morning, Lena would stop by with a coffee or a small treat, spending a few precious moments talking to you before heading to her office.
It was clear to anyone watching that the two of you had something special, a bond that went beyond friendship, though neither of you had yet found the courage to give it a name.
Lena had tried to express her feelings on more than one occasion, only to get flustered and change the subject at the last minute. You, on the other hand, found yourself increasingly captivated by Lena's presence. The sound of her voice, the way she laughed at your jokes, the soft brush of her hand against yours—it all lingered in your mind long after she'd left your stand. But how could you put into words the depth of what you were feeling? You who always spoke through the language of flowers suddenly found yourself struggling to find the right one to convey what was in your heart.
One morning, as you were arranging a bunch that contained delicate white gardenias—flowers that symbolized secret love—you heard Lena’s familiar footsteps approaching. You could feel your heart skip a beat, an involuntary reaction that had become more frequent these days.
"Good morning," Lena greeted, her voice as warm and inviting as ever. You could hear the smile in her voice, a sound that you had come to cherish. She placed a warm cup into your hands, and the scent of cinnamon and caramel wafted up to you. "I got you something new today. Thought you might like a little change."
You smiled, wrapping your hands around the cup. "You always know how to surprise me. What did I do to deserve this?"
Lena laughed softly. "Well, maybe it's because you make my mornings brighter," she said, her voice turning a touch softer. She paused, as if contemplating whether to say more, but then shook her head slightly, dismissing the thought.
"Thank you, Lena," you said, reaching out to offer her the small bunch of flowers you had arranged for her. "Here, these are for you."
Lena took the flowers, her fingers brushing against yours briefly. "White Camellias, and Gardenias," she murmured, recognizing them. "I don’t recognize the others… what does today flowers want to say?"
"Other than thank you for a coffee?” you ask with a playful smile. "A white camellia says, you’re adorable, and these blueish flowers…mean friendship as well as being a thank you for a lovely time."
Lena's breath hitched slightly at your words. She held the flowers close, the petals soft against her skin. "Friendship," she echoed a little sadly. "You know, people have used many words to describe me before…adorable has not been one of them”
“Must be because they don’t know you like I do…” you smile and take a small sip of your coffee enjoying the flavors. The taste was heavenly…and you wondered if you liked it that much because she had chosen it for you. You were hoping she wouldn’t ask about the gardenias…it wouldn’t symbolize secret love if it wasn’t that big of a secret.
Lena bit her lip, studying you for a long moment. She wanted to say it, to tell you how she felt, how these daily moments with you had become the highlight of her life. But the words stuck in her throat, and she hesitated, unsure how you might react. Afterall…that little bunch of flowers she held in her hand…represent the friendship you held for her....but she was sure she could see something else there…there just had to be…"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Lena began, her voice trembling slightly.
You tilted your head, sensing the shift in her tone. "What is it, Lena?"
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking away as if searching for the right words. The courage she'd mustered wavered. "I... I just wanted to say thank you," she said finally, though you sensed it wasn't what she had truly wanted to say. "For always being here….for being such a good friend”
You felt a little disappointment at her words, though you didn't understand why. "Of course, Lena. I'll always be here."
Lena nodded, forcing a smile. "Right. Well, I should get to work, I'll see you later?"
"You’ll see me, but I won’t see you" you replied as you usually did whenever she said she’ll see you later. You stood there, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps, your heart aching slightly as she walked away. Why were you such a coward that you couldn’t get to say anything to her? Taking a bit of a breath you take a sip of your coffee as it helped sooth some of the uneasiness. As Lena stepped into her office that afternoon, a familiar heaviness settled over her chest. The room, spacious and bathed in the soft glow of her desk lamp, felt cold and unwelcoming. She sank into her chair, staring blankly at the stack of documents that demanded her attention.
How long could she keep her feelings a secret? How long could she keep dancing around what she truly wanted to say? She had been falling for you—she knew that now. It hadn’t been a single moment but a thousand small ones: your laugh, your unwavering optimism, your ability to see beauty and kindness in a world where others saw chaos.
But with those feelings came fear. What if she said too much and ruined what the two of you had? What if she was imagining the quiet affection in your smiles and the warmth in your touch? Lena, who had faced down corporate enemies and alien invasions, was terrified of the thought of losing you.
Across the city, at your flower stand, you were no less troubled. You sat among the blooms you had so carefully arranged, their fragrance filling the air, yet your mind was elsewhere. The flowers spoke a language of love and beauty, a language you had mastered—but when it came to Lena, you found yourself at a loss.
Every touch of her hand, every moment of shared laughter, every thoughtful gesture she made lingered in your mind. You had always admired her—her tenacity, her determination to use her family name for good, her tireless drive to make the world a better place. And yet, it wasn’t just admiration anymore. Somewhere along the way, it had grown into something deeper, something you didn’t quite know how to put into words.
The next morning, as you carefully arranged your stand, Lena arrived as she always did. Her familiar footsteps echoed down the sidewalk, and you felt your heart lift at the sound. She had a way of grounding you while simultaneously making your world brighter.
“Good morning,” she said warmly, placing a cup of coffee on the counter in front of you.
You smiled as you reached for it. “Good morning, Lena. You’re spoiling me with all this coffee.”
“And you spoil me with all these flowers,” she countered, her tone light. “What’s today’s pick?”
You handed her a single red tulip, your fingers brushing hers briefly. “Red tulips symbolize love and belief. I thought they might suit you today,” you teased, your grin audible in your voice.
Lena laughed, though the sound was softer than usual. She held the flower close, her thumb brushing over the petals. “Love and the belief?”
“That’s you to a T,” you said easily. “Loving everyone so close to you…Believing in people, in your company, in making the world better. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”
Lena stilled, her green eyes studying you intently. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” she said softly.
It started like any other morning. The city was waking up, the hum of cars and the murmur of voices creating a familiar backdrop as you arranged flowers at your stand. But today felt different—quieter, heavier.
Lena wasn’t coming.
She had warned you the day before, mentioning a business trip that would take her out of the city for a few days. At the time, you had smiled and waved it off, teasing her about missing your expertly chosen flowers. She had laughed, promising to make up for her absence with a coffee and pastry when she returned.
But now, as the morning passed without her familiar footsteps, you found yourself glancing toward the corner of the street where she usually appeared. The absence of her steady presence left a hollow ache you couldn’t quite name.
You tried to focus on your work, arranging bouquets and greeting customers as usual. But every so often, your thoughts would drift back to her—her smile, her voice, the way she always lingered just a little longer than necessary when she stopped by.
It wasn’t until midday, when you found yourself staring at a sunflower for far too long, that it hit you.
You missed her.
Not in the casual way you missed regular customers who disappeared for a few days, but in a way that made your chest ache. You missed the way she greeted you with a soft “Good morning,” her voice warm and unhurried despite her busy schedule. You missed the way she studied each flower you handed her, as if trying to decode the hidden message behind it. You missed the way she smiled when she thought you weren’t looking.
As you worked, her absence hung heavy in the air, and her words from the previous day replayed in your mind. “I’ll miss my morning flowers,” she had said with a teasing smile. You had laughed, brushing off the comment. Now, though, it seemed to echo with a deeper meaning.
By mid-afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your stand, staring at the bouquet you had prepared for her that morning out of habit. It was a simple arrangement—yellow tulips for cheerful thoughts, white daisies for innocence, and a single red carnation. You hesitated over the carnation as you placed it in the bundle earlier, wondering if she would pick up on its meaning: admiration and deep affection.
But she wasn’t here to see it.
You sighed, resting your chin in your hand as you stared down at the bouquet. That hollow feeling in your chest deepened, and with it came a startling realization.
Admiring Lena wasn’t new. You had admired her from the moment she stopped at your stand, with her poised demeanor and unwavering determination. You admired her drive to change the world, to use her family’s name for good despite the challenges it brought her. You admired how she saw you—not just as the blind florist but as a person, someone worth her time and attention.
But admiration didn’t explain the way your heart raced when her hand brushed yours as she took a flower. It didn’t explain the way her laughter lingered in your mind long after she was gone. It didn’t explain the way you felt untethered without her presence today.
It was more than admiration.
You liked her.
You liked Lena Luthor.
The thought hit you like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. Your chest tightened as the realization settled, both thrilling and terrifying. You’d always thought of Lena as someone so far above you—a brilliant, driven, compassionate woman who seemed untouchable. That she even spent her mornings talking to you felt like a gift.
But what if…?
You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at your lips. No, it was impossible. Someone like Lena couldn’t feel the same way. Could she?
The doubt gnawed at you, but it couldn’t drown out the memory of the way she lingered by your stand, her gaze soft and her words unhurried. Maybe... just maybe, she did.
That evening, as you closed up your stand, the ache in your chest hadn’t lessened. The streets felt emptier, quieter. The bouquet you had prepared for Lena sat untouched on your cart, and for a moment, you considered leaving it there.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the city streets, you closed up your stand for the day. Despite your best efforts, the ache in your chest hadn’t subsided. The bouquet you’d prepared for Lena sat untouched on your cart, its petals still fresh and fragrant, as if it were waiting for her to return.
You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the smooth stems. Leaving the flowers behind felt wrong, almost like abandoning a piece of yourself. A sudden idea struck you, and before you could second-guess it, you carefully picked up the bouquet and secured it with a ribbon.
It wasn’t unusual for Lena to speak about her assistant, Jessica, though you’d never met her. From Lena’s stories, you knew Jessica was sharp, efficient, and kind—the kind of person Lena trusted implicitly. If anyone could help, it would be her.
With your cane tapping rhythmically against the pavement, you made your way to L-Corp, the familiar route etched into your memory. When you reached the lobby, the sound of your footsteps echoed against the sleek marble floors. The faint scent of polished wood and coffee lingered in the air as you approached the receptionist desk.
“Excuse me,” you said with a polite smile. “I’m here to see Jessica. She’s Lena’s assistant.”
The receptionist’s tone softened at the mention of Lena’s name. “Of course. Let me call her for you.”
Moments later, the soft click of heels echoed from down the hall. Jessica’s voice was warm and professional as she approached. “Hi, I’m Jessica. You must be the florist Lena talks about.”
You smiled, feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity. “She talks about me?”
Jessica laughed lightly, the sound genuine. “Oh, all the time. It’s nice to finally meet you. What can I do for you?”
You held out the bouquet, its delicate fragrance drifting between you. “Lena isn’t here to pick up her flowers today. She’s on her business trip, but I thought... maybe you could put them in her office. So they’re waiting for her when she comes back.”
Jessica’s gaze softened as she took the bouquet from you, her fingers brushing against the ribbon. “That’s thoughtful of you. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“It’s nothing, really,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “I just didn’t want them to go to waste.” You tried to come up with an excuse and that was the best you could do.
Jessica tilted her head, studying you for a moment. There was something about the way you spoke—gentle but tinged with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. As she looked down at the bouquet, she noticed the meticulous arrangement: yellow tulips, white daisies, and the single red carnation standing out like a quiet confession.
“Lena’s lucky to have you,” Jessica said softly, her words carrying more weight than you expected.
You felt a faint flush rise to your cheeks, and you shook your head with a nervous laugh. “I’m just a florist. She’s the one who makes time for me.”
Jessica’s smile turned knowing. “I think it’s more than that. She talks about you like... well, like you’re someone special.”
Your breath caught, your fingers tightening slightly on your cane. “She does?”
Jessica nodded, her expression warm but curious. “Every time she gets flowers from you, she comes back smiling. She even keeps a few pressed flowers in her desk drawer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this with anyone else.”
You swallowed hard, your heart racing at Jessica’s words. The thought that Lena might think of you as more than just a florist was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Jessica’s gaze softened further, her voice gentle. “Do you... care about her?”
The question hit you like a jolt, and you hesitated, unsure how to respond. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think I do. I care about her more than I realized.”
Jessica’s smile widened slightly, though it remained kind. “Then you should tell her someday. Knowing Lena, I think she’d want to hear it.”
You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple. Someone like Lena... she deserves so much more than a blind florist.”
Jessica’s expression turned firm but not unkind. “Lena doesn’t see you as ‘just a florist.’ She sees you.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Finally, you exhaled and gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Jessica. For everything.”
She patted your hand lightly. “Anytime. I’ll make sure these flowers are in her office. And maybe, when she comes back, you’ll see for yourself just how much you mean to her.”
You nodded, feeling a spark of hope you hadn’t felt before. As you left the building, the ache in your chest eased slightly, replaced by the faintest glimmer of possibility. Maybe, just maybe, Jessica was right.
_
Later that night, Lena wasn’t fairing any better. The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of the city below. The glow of streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the plush carpet. Lena sat on the edge of the bed, a towel draped over her shoulders, her damp hair curling slightly at the ends from the shower.
She sighed softly, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. It had been a long day—a packed schedule of meetings, presentations, and polite but exhausting conversations. By all accounts, it had been a successful first day. Her team had commended her, the clients were satisfied, and everything had gone according to plan.
And yet, something felt off.
Lena frowned, her gaze drifting to the untouched room service tray on the table. She had been so distracted that she hadn’t managed more than a few bites of her dinner before losing interest entirely. It wasn’t hunger she was missing, though.
She stood and moved to the window, pushing the curtains aside to look out at the sprawling cityscape. The view was beautiful, glittering with the lights of a world still very much awake. But it didn’t bring the comfort she had hoped it would.
Lena wrapped her arms around herself, her thoughts flitting back to the morning. It had felt strange leaving without stopping by the flower stand. Strange not hearing your cheerful “Good morning” as you handed her a carefully chosen bloom, explaining its meaning with the quiet enthusiasm that always made her smile.
She had smiled so often when she was with you.
Her chest tightened at the thought, and she turned away from the window, her bare feet padding softly against the carpet as she moved back to the bed. She sat down heavily, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket.
It hit her then, like a wave crashing over her.
She missed you.
The realization made her pause, her breath catching in her throat. Of course, she had always enjoyed her mornings with you—the easy conversation, the warmth of your presence. But this was different. It wasn’t just about the routine or the flowers. She missed you.
Lena closed her eyes, letting the feeling settle over her. She thought about the way your smile seemed to brighten even the gloomiest of days. The way you always seemed to know exactly what flower would lift her spirits. The way your voice carried a kind of sincerity that she found rare and precious.
Her hand drifted to the bedside table, where her phone rested. She picked it up, her thumb hovering over your contact. It would be so easy to call you, just to hear your voice, to feel a little less alone in the unfamiliar city. But she hesitated.
What would she even say? That she missed you after just one day? That the thought of another morning without seeing you felt heavier than it should?
Lena let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head at herself. She set the phone back down, her heart still aching.
Instead, she reached for the notebook she always kept with her while traveling. Flipping to a blank page, she began to sketch absently, her pen gliding over the paper. Before she realized it, she had drawn a small bouquet: a rose, a sunflower, and a sprig of rosemary. She stared at it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
It wasn’t much, but it reminded her of you. Of the way you always seemed to know just what she needed, even without her asking. Would this have been the bouquet you would have given her that morning?
Lena set the notebook on the nightstand, her fingers brushing lightly over the drawing before she turned off the lamp and settled into bed. As she lay there, staring at the faint shadows on the ceiling, she allowed herself to admit what she had been avoiding for weeks.
You weren’t just a bright spot in her mornings. You were the person she looked forward to seeing the most, the one who made her day feel complete.
And as sleep finally claimed her, one thought lingered in her mind: she couldn’t wait to get back to you.
__
As usual, the city humming back to life awakening from it slumber as you arranged fresh bouquets at your stand. Despite the comforting rhythm of your routine, your mind wandered. Jessica’s words lingered, replaying in your thoughts over and over again.
“She talks about you like... well, like you’re someone special.”
You shook your head, trying to focus on the flowers in front of you. You couldn’t let yourself read too much into it. Lena was kind, attentive, and thoughtful—she made everyone feel special. That’s just who she was.
Still, you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering at the thought.
The familiar sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your reverie. Your chest tightened slightly, and a small smile tugged at your lips as you recognized the measured rhythm of Lena’s heels against the pavement.
“Good morning,” she called out, her voice warm and bright.
“Good morning,” you replied, your smile widening instinctively. “Back from saving the world, I see.”
Lena laughed softly, the sound light and genuine. “Not quite. It was just a conference, though it felt like I was saving the world with how many egos I had to manage.” She came to stand in front of your cart, and you felt the faint brush of her hand as she reached for the bouquet you’d prepared.
“Here,” you said, offering it to her. “Yellow freesia for friendship, snapdragons for strength, and a touch of rosemary for remembrance. Thought it might suit you today.”
Lena’s hand stilled as she accepted the flowers, her heart squeezing at your thoughtfulness. “Remembrance?” she asked softly.
You shrugged, a little self-conscious. “You were gone for a while. I figured maybe you missed me, even a little.”
Lena’s breath caught, and she felt her cheeks flush. She had missed you—more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. The mornings without you had felt empty, her days lacking the grounding presence of your easy smiles and cheerful banter.
“I did,” she said quietly, her voice laced with sincerity. “More than a little.”
Your grip tightened slightly on the ribbon you were tying around another bouquet, your heart skipping a beat. The casual warmth in her tone sent a flutter through your chest.
“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, “I’m glad to have you back. My mornings have been way too quiet without you.”
Lena smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she looked at you. “I’ll make up for it with extra coffee this week. Deal?”
“Deal,” you replied with a grin.
The conversation drifted into its usual rhythm, filled with easy laughter and familiar warmth. But beneath it all, the words Jessica had spoken stayed in the back of your mind, making your heart race every time Lena’s hand brushed yours or her laugh lingered in the air.
When Lena stepped into L-Corp later that morning, her daily bouquet in hand, Jessica was already waiting by her desk.
“Morning, Jessica,” Lena said, her voice light as she set her bag down. “Survive without me?”
“Barely,” Jessica teased, her lips curling into a knowing smile as her eyes flicked to the bouquet in Lena’s hand. “I see you stopped by your favorite stand.”
Lena’s smile softened as she glanced down at the flowers, their vibrant colors a reminder of the morning’s conversation. “Of course. It wouldn’t be the same without them.”
Jessica hummed in response, watching as Lena walked toward her office. “Oh, and by the way,” Jessica added casually, “there’s something waiting for you inside.”
Lena paused, glancing back over her shoulder with a curious tilt of her head. “What is it?”
“You’ll see,” Jessica said with a mysterious smile, returning to her work.
Lena opened the door to her office and stepped inside. Her gaze immediately landed on the vase sitting on her desk, holding a slightly wilted bouquet of flowers. She froze, her breath catching as she recognized the arrangement—yellow tulips, white daisies, and a single red carnation, its edges beginning to curl.
Her heart squeezed.
She walked over slowly, setting her fresh bouquet beside it. The flowers were a little tired, their stems slightly drooping, but the water in the vase was clean and clear, and their scent still lingered faintly in the air.
“Jessica,” Lena called out, her voice carrying a hint of emotion.
Jessica appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. “Yes, Ms. Luthor?”
“Did you...?” Lena gestured to the vase.
Jessica shook her head. “No. They brought it here. Said they didn’t want it to go to waste while you were gone.”
Lena stared at the flowers, her fingers brushing lightly against the petals. “And the water?”
Jessica smiled. “I changed it every day. Figured you’d want them to last as long as possible.”
Lena turned to Jessica, her expression soft but unreadable. “Thank you.”
Jessica shrugged, though there was a knowing glint in her eye. “Don’t mention it. They’re special to you, aren’t they?”
Lena didn’t respond immediately, her gaze lingering on the flowers. “Yes,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. “They are.”
Jessica smiled again, her tone light as she stepped back into the hallway. “Good. You deserve something special.”
Left alone, Lena sank into her chair, her fingers brushing over the single red carnation. A faint smile touched her lips as she thought of you, standing at your flower stand, your face lighting up when you handed her this very bouquet.
She missed you during her trip more than she ever thought possible. And now, seeing the effort you made to leave a piece of yourself behind for her, she felt her heart ache with something she couldn’t quite name—but something that was undeniably there.
Carefully, she placed the fresh bouquet beside the vase, her office now filled with the subtle fragrance of the flowers you’d chosen. It was like having a part of you here with her, and she didn’t think she’d ever loved her morning ritual more.
Later that day, and after the crowds had thinned, you found yourself waiting outside L-Corp. Lena hadn’t come by to say goodbye as she usually did when she left, and though you told yourself it wasn’t unusual for her to stay late, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you wanted to see her.
The minutes stretched into hours, and the evening chill began to settle in. You pulled your coat tighter around you as you sat on a bench near the entrance, your cane resting beside you. The city lights cast a soft glow, the hum of passing cars filling the silence.
When Lena finally emerged, her coat draped over one arm and her expression weary, she nearly passed by without noticing you. But when she spotted you, her steps faltered. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, her voice filled with concern as she hurried over.
Your head snapped up, startled. “Oh, I just... had a large order to fulfill,” you lied quickly, not wanting her to know the real reason. “Since I knew you were still in your office, I thought I’d wait and see if you wanted to grab dinner?”
Lena frowned slightly, her gaze searching your face. “You didn’t have to wait in the cold for me. You could have called—I would have come right out.”
You shook your head, smiling. “Of course not. Your work is important, and I didn’t want to interrupt you. I’m just glad you’re here now.”
Her expression softened, and she reached out to wrap her arm around yours. “Come on, then. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
As she led you toward her car, her arm brushing against yours, a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with escaping the cold. Lena’s presence had a way of making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t experienced before.
For Lena, the moment felt strangely perfect. She couldn’t help but glance at you as you walked together, your features softened in the glow of the streetlights. There was something about you that made her want to let go of the walls she so carefully maintained. She had spent months telling herself she would wait for the right moment to tell you how she felt. But now, as the two of you moved through the quiet streets together, she began to wonder if she could wait much longer.
As you and Lena walked arm in arm toward her car, the chill of the evening settled around you. The streets were quieter than usual, the city’s buzz reduced to the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional flicker of streetlights. Lena’s arm remained snug around yours, her warmth a steady presence against the cold.
Though you couldn’t see it, Lena cast occasional glances in your direction. Her mind churned with emotions she wasn’t ready to voice: admiration for your kindness, a quiet thrill at the ease with which you trusted her, and a fear she couldn’t quite name. She wasn’t sure when it had started—this pull toward you—but it had grown stronger with each shared moment.
You, too, felt something stir within you as you walked. Lena’s proximity was comforting, her presence grounding in a way you couldn’t fully explain. There was something about her—a quiet intensity that inspired you, a determination to do good in a world that often pushed back. You admired her deeply, and that admiration had begun to shift into something that left your chest tight and your thoughts lingering on her long after she’d gone.
But the warmth of the moment was shattered in an instant.
From the shadows of an alley ahead, four figures emerged, their footsteps purposeful and predatory. Lena stiffened beside you, her arm tightening around yours as she instinctively stepped in front of you.
“Stay behind me,” she murmured, her voice low and steady.
Your grip on your cane tightened as you strained to listen. Two of the figures moved with heavy boots, their steps deliberate and slow, while the others made a faint, inhuman scraping noise against the pavement. A chill ran down your spine.
The leader stepped into the light—a tall man with a jagged scar cutting across his face, his expression cold and malicious. Behind him were two alien figures, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light, their bodies adorned with pulsating, vein-like patterns. The fourth figure, another human, lingered in the shadows, his stance unnervingly calm.
“Lena Luthor,” the leader drawled, his voice oily and mocking. “Seems you’ve made someone very angry to pay us so handsomely for this little… encounter.”
Lena’s posture was rigid, her voice sharp as steel. “Back off. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, we know exactly who we’re dealing with,” he replied, his smirk widening. “A Luthor playing at redemption. It’s almost endearing.” He gestured to his companions, and they advanced, their movements deliberate and menacing.
Lena’s body tensed, her protective instincts flaring. She stepped forward, determination blazing in her eyes. “You want me? Fine. Leave them out of it.”
The leader chuckled darkly. “Oh, but they’re part of the fun now.”
There was no time to run, no time to think. Lena launched herself at the scarred man with a precision that caught him off guard, her fist connecting with his jaw in a sharp crack. He staggered back, his smirk replaced with a snarl.
You, meanwhile, were left facing one of the aliens. Its glowing eyes seemed to pierce through you, its low growl rumbling in your chest like a thunderstorm. It lunged, and you narrowly dodged, the sound of its claws slicing through the air far too close.
“Lena!” you called out, panic creeping into your voice.
Lena twisted to look at you, only to be grabbed from behind by the second alien. Its grip was vice-like, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled, gritting her teeth as she slammed her elbow into its face, but the alien barely flinched.
Your focus was pulled back to your own opponent as it advanced again, moving with unnatural speed. It struck, and this time you couldn’t dodge fast enough. A searing pain exploded across your face as a slick, acidic substance splashed against your skin.
“What the hell was that?!” you cried, your hands flying to your burning eyes.
The alien’s voice was guttural, almost amused. “A little something to make sure you’ll never see again.”
You hissed in pain, clutching your face. “ I’m already blind!”
The alien paused, then let out a low, menacing laugh. “Then pain will be your only reward”
It struck you hard in the ribs, sending you sprawling to the ground. The breath was knocked from your lungs as you scrambled to get up, the world a blur of pain and noise.
Lena, still struggling against her captor, felt a surge of panic as she heard your cry. Her voice was raw with desperation. “Let them go!”
The scarred man approached her, his smirk back in place. “Oh, I don’t think so. We’ve barely started.”
One of the humans pulled out a sleek weapon, its barrel humming ominously.
You forced yourself to your feet, ignoring the agony coursing through you. You could hear Lena struggling, her grunts of effort and frustration cutting through the chaos. Anger surged within you—pure, unrelenting fury.
You lunged toward the man with the weapon, managing to knock it from his grasp. He retaliated with a brutal punch, and stars exploded in your vision as you hit the pavement again.
The alien you’d been fighting loomed over you, its glowing eyes narrowing. It grabbed you by the throat, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.
Lena screamed your name, her voice breaking as she fought harder. Finally, with a surge of adrenaline, she broke free, grabbing the fallen weapon. She fired, a blinding burst of light searing through the air. The alien holding you roared in pain, dropping you as it staggered back, smoke rising from its chest.
Lena didn’t hesitate. She turned the weapon on the others, her aim deadly precise. The remaining attackers crumpled to the ground as she ran to your side.
You were choking, gasping for air, your body trembling with pain. Blood pooled beneath you, the sharp, metallic scent filling your senses.
“No, no, no,” Lena murmured, her hands pressing desperately against your wounds. Her voice was thick with tears, trembling with fear. “Stay with me. Please, stay with me.”
You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The edges of your vision were darkening, Lena’s voice growing faint.
“Lena…” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m…sorry.”
“Don’t you dare,” she choked out, her tears falling freely now. “You’re going to be fine. You have to be fine.”
Her hands were shaking as she leaned over you, her forehead pressing against yours. “I need you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I love you. You can’t leave me. Please…”
Her words washed over you, warm and comforting even as the darkness closed in. You tried to hold on to her voice, to the faint glimmer of warmth it brought, but it was slipping away.
“Lena… I…” you gasped, your lips trembling. “I… love you…”
The last thing you felt was the gentle press of her lips to your forehead as you succumbed to the darkness.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor flickered faintly, casting a cold, sterile glow over the bustling chaos. Lena’s heels clattered against the polished floor as she ran, her coat flapping behind her. Her chest burned with every labored breath, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
She burst through the doors of the emergency room, her sharp green eyes darting wildly in search of you. Her heart dropped when she saw the doctors huddled around a gurney, your limp body at the center of the commotion. Blood stained the white sheets beneath you, a cruel contrast to the paleness of your skin.
Lena’s throat tightened. She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of the staff.
“I’m family,” she snapped when someone tried to block her path. It wasn’t technically true, but at that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She reached your side, her hand hovering over yours, too afraid to touch, as if you might shatter under her fingers.
Your face was slack, your breathing shallow, and the monitors beeped frantically, mirroring the erratic pounding of her heart.
“We’re losing her!” one of the nurses shouted.
“Don’t you dare,” Lena whispered, her voice trembling as tears threatened to spill. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
A doctor turned to her, his face grim. “Ms. Luthor, we’re doing everything we can, but their injuries are catastrophic. Even if they survive the next few hours, the damage—”
“No,” Lena said firmly, cutting him off. “You’re not giving up on her. You will not give up on her.”
The doctor hesitated, clearly torn between professionalism and pity. “We’ll do everything we can,” he said finally, his voice softer now. “But you need to prepare yourself.”
He turned back to the gurney, barking orders at the nurses. Lena felt the world around her blur, her focus narrowing solely on you. She sank into the nearest chair, her trembling hands burying her face.
________________________________________
Minutes stretched into an eternity. Lena sat frozen, every breath ragged as she watched through the glass window of the operating room. Her mind raced, fragments of memories and fears colliding in an unrelenting storm.
The way you smiled when you handed her flowers every morning. The sound of your laughter when you teased her about her coffee orders. The softness in your voice when you told her everything would be okay, even if you couldn’t see the world the way she did.
Now, you lay there, lifeless, slipping further away with every passing second.
No.
She shot to her feet, pacing the hallway with frantic energy. Her fingers brushed over the inside pocket of her coat, where a small vial rested against the fabric. The Harun-El.
Her chest tightened. The serum was a miracle—a testament to her relentless drive to save others. But it was also untested, unpredictable. She hadn’t perfected it yet. The results in trials had been promising but inconsistent, and the risks...
If she used it, there was no guarantee it would save you. It could kill you faster, hasten the inevitable, and your blood would be on her hands. But if she didn’t…
Lena pressed her back against the cold wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. Tears streamed down her face as she cradled her head in her hands. The weight of the decision bore down on her like a crushing tide.
________________________________________
“Lena?”
She startled at the sound of Kara’s voice, looking up to see the familiar blue eyes of her best friend. Kara’s face was etched with worry, her hands hovering as if she wanted to comfort Lena but wasn’t sure how.
“What’s wrong?” Kara asked, her voice gentle but urgent.
“She’s dying, Kara,” Lena choked out. “I’ve tried everything—I’ve done everything—and now she’s dying.” Her voice broke, and she turned away, clutching at her chest as if the physical pain could match the ache inside her.
Kara hesitated before crouching down beside Lena. “What about the serum?” she asked softly.
Lena let out a bitter laugh. “The serum? The serum isn’t ready. It could—it could kill her outright. Or worse, leave them in pain, trapped in something I created. What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just speeding up her death?” Her hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms. “But if I don’t use it, I’m still responsible. Either way, it’s me, Kara. I’ll be the reason they die.”
Kara reached out, placing a firm hand on Lena’s shoulder. “Lena, look at me.”
She did, her tear-filled eyes meeting Kara’s steady gaze.
“I know you,” Kara said, her voice steady. “You wouldn’t even consider this if you didn’t believe it could work. You’ve spent your life trying to save others. Don’t let fear stop you now.”
Lena’s breath hitched, her resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. She stared at Kara for a long moment, then down at the pocket where the vial lay.
She stood abruptly, brushing her tears away with trembling hands. “I can’t lose her,” she said, her voice raw but firm. “I won’t.”
________________________________________
Moments later, Lena was back at your bedside. The doctors had done all they could and had stepped back, leaving you in a fragile, precarious state. The steady beep of the monitor was faint, each sound a haunting reminder of how close you were to slipping away.
Lena pulled the vial from her pocket, the faint glow of the Harun-El catching the light. Her hands trembled as she uncapped it, the weight of her choice pressing down on her.
She leaned over you, her fingers brushing against your bloodied cheek. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But I need you to stay with me. I need you to fight.”
Her tears fell freely now, dripping onto your skin as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I love you,” she murmured, her lips trembling against your bloodied brow. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”
With a deep, shuddering breath, Lena injected the serum into your arm. The glow spread beneath your skin, veins lighting up faintly as the Harun-El began its work. Lena stepped back, her hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, come back to me.”
The seconds ticked by, each one an agonizing eternity. Then, slowly, color began to return to your cheeks. The monitors steadied, the frantic beeping replaced by a calm rhythm.
Lena let out a strangled sob, her knees buckling as she sank into the chair beside you. Relief and exhaustion overwhelmed her as she reached for your hand, gripping it tightly.
“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling but filled with hope. “You’re going to be okay.”
And for the first time since the attack, she allowed herself to believe it.
__
Time felt irrelevant, suspended between moments of pain and darkness. It could have been seconds, minutes, or even an eternity—you couldn’t tell. You floated somewhere in a haze, caught between the pull of oblivion and faint anchors of warmth. Occasionally, a voice would pierce through the fog, steady and familiar: Lena’s voice.
Her words, soft and tremulous, were a tether you clung to even in the deepest voids of unconsciousness. There were moments when you felt the icy grip of death creeping closer, threatening to pull you under. But then there was Lena—her voice trembling with urgency, her touch grounding, her whispered pleas infused with a love so raw it seemed to pull you back from the brink.
Now, you lay in a hospital room, the machines around you softly beeping in rhythm with your breathing. The dim light filtering through the blinds painted long, golden shadows across the walls. For the first time in what felt like forever, you stirred.
The fog in your mind began to lift, and as your senses returned, so did a dull ache in your body. It wasn’t the sharp agony of before—it felt distant, muted, like an echo of what you’d endured. You took a slow, shaky breath, wincing at the dryness in your throat and the heaviness in your limbs.
And then something changed.
You blinked, your lashes fluttering as blurry shapes began to form. At first, it was indistinct—the vague outlines of the room around you. But as you blinked again, the shapes sharpened, colors bleeding into focus. You could see.
The stark white of the walls. The soft blue of the blanket draped over you. The IV drip standing sentinel at your bedside. You gasped softly, tears welling in your eyes as you turned your head, overwhelmed by the reality of it all.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the floor. It was more beautiful than you could have imagined, and yet it wasn’t what held your attention.
Slumped in a chair beside your bed was Lena.
Her head rested on the edge of the mattress, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her face. Her hand was wrapped around yours, even in her sleep. Her usual sharpness was replaced by exhaustion—dark circles under her eyes, her clothes wrinkled and disheveled. She looked like she hadn’t left your side in days.
Your heart ached at the sight of her. How much had she gone through while you were unconscious? How many sleepless nights had she spent keeping vigil by your side?
Carefully, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. The touch stirred her, and her lashes fluttered as her eyes opened. At first, she blinked in confusion, her mind sluggish from exhaustion. But then her gaze met yours, and her eyes widened, disbelief and relief crashing over her like a tidal wave.
“You’re awake,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Her hand tightened around yours as tears welled in her eyes, spilling over unchecked. She looked at you like she couldn’t quite believe you were real, as if you might disappear if she blinked too long.
You nodded weakly, swallowing hard against the dryness in your throat. “I… I can see you,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from disuse.
Lena’s breath caught audibly, her lips parting in shock. “You… you can see?” she stammered, a tear slipping down her cheek.
You nodded again, your own tears falling freely now. For the first time, you could see her—the emerald green of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her hair framed her face. She was more beautiful than you had imagined.
“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Lena let out a choked laugh, her hands trembling as they cupped your face. “I—I thought I lost you,” she sobbed, her voice raw with emotion. “They told me you wouldn’t make it, and I—” She broke off, her tears falling faster as she struggled to breathe through them.
You reached up, your hand covering hers. “I’m here,” you murmured, your voice growing steadier. “I’m here, Lena. Because of you.”
Her lips quivered as her forehead pressed against yours, her tears mingling with yours. “I couldn’t lose you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I used the Harun-El. It was dangerous, but I had to try. I had to save you.”
“You saved me,” you whispered, your thumb brushing a tear from her cheek.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, the weight of everything you’d been through pressing against you. Slowly, Lena leaned forward, her lips hovering a breath away from yours.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “I love you so much.”
Your heart swelled, and you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was soft and hesitant at first, then deepened into something full of emotion—relief, fear, longing, and love.
When you finally pulled away, Lena rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as she breathed you in. “I was so scared,” she murmured. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
You cupped her face, brushing your thumbs along her cheeks as you gazed at her. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. Then, with a faint smile, you added, “Actually, scratch that.”
Lena’s brows furrowed slightly, confused. “What? Where are you planning to go?”
“To my flower stand,” you teased, your smile widening as she laughed softly. “I’m going to make you the largest bouquet you’ve ever seen.”
Her laughter was like music to your ears. “And what will you put in it?”
“Lavender roses for love at first sight,” you replied with a grin, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I mean, I loved you before I saw you, but it still counts, right?”
She chuckled, her thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “Then what?”
“Red roses, red tulips, red carnations…”
Lena pressed a soft kiss to your chin, her lips curling into a smile. “That’s a lot of red.”
“Fine,” you said with a mock sigh, “I’ll add jasmine and heliotrope. It’ll be a bit of a mess, but I’ll make it work.”
She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against yours as she whispered, “Or you could just tell me you love me again.”
You laughed softly, kissing her deeply. “I love you,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.
She smiled against your lips, her voice a gentle murmur. “See? No flowers needed.”