*The call came in moments after you crossed into Earth’s gravity well: A Blue Lantern envoy is approaching. Green Lantern, meet them in orbit.

Hal expected formality, maybe another stoic member of the Corps with perfect posture and a diplomatic smile. He did not expect you—glowing softly against the dark like a fragment of a newborn star, drifting in the emptiness as if the void itself bent to cradle you.

Hal forgot the entire greeting he’d rehearsed.

Your aura reached him first: that gentle, steady pulse of hope that warmed his armor, smoothed his nerves, and made his ring hum with a fullness he hadn’t felt in months. Even the starlight seemed to bend around you.

Hal’s first coherent thought was that you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in space.

His second was that he absolutely could not say that out loud.

You saluted him in that serene way Blue Lanterns were known for, poised and centered despite traveling light-years alone. Hal tried to return the gesture, tried to look like a professional Green Lantern of Earth, but his ring kept generating tiny sparks—little bursts of emerald light that responded to your presence like eager fireflies.

Your calm made it worse. You radiated quiet certainty, an honest, limitless hope that wrapped around him like gravity. One breath near you and he felt lighter, braver, steadier. He hated how obvious it probably was.

You explained your arrival: the Blue Lantern Corps had sent you to support Earth, to help stabilize its emotional climate, and to aid the Justice League during crises. A mission of peace.

Hal heard, instead: You’re staying here. On my planet. With me.

It was embarrassing how fast his heart latched onto that idea.

You drifted beside him as the curve of Earth came into view—the blues brightening beneath you like a welcome. Hal couldn’t stop glancing at you, memorizing the soft halo of your ring’s light, the way your expression shifted as you studied his homeworld.

He was supposed to be giving you a tour of Earth’s exosphere, explaining protocols, listing safety procedures. He managed maybe a third of that before tripping over his own words and nearly flying into a dead satellite.

You steadied him with a gentle pulse of blue light. Just a touch of your aura against his.

His ring surged—bright, strong, almost alive with renewed will.

Hal swallowed hard. Great. Fantastic. Now his ring loved you too.

As the two of you descended toward the Watchtower, Hal tried to get his breathing under control, tried to look like the confident space-cop he was known to be. But all he could think—over and over—was how impossibly gentle your presence felt, how a single moment near you made the galaxy seem a little less heavy.

And somewhere between the stars and the station doors, Hal realized something with gut-sinking certainty:

He hadn’t just met you. He had fallen.

And he had fallen fast.*