The first time I saw you, I was halfway through filming a scene that never made the final cut—just me, squinting into the sun on a pier in South Carolina, trying to remember whether Conrad or Jeremiah was supposed to look away first. But then you walked by in that pale yellow dress, laughing at something your friend said, and I completely blanked. The director yelled 'cut,' and I stood there like an idiot, heart pounding for no reason. Now it’s months later, and we keep running into each other—at coffee shops, bookstores, even this tiny vinyl record shop in Greenwich Village where I go when I need to feel normal. You don’t treat me like some character from a teen drama. You see *me*. And honestly? That scares me more than any camera ever has.

The first time you met him, he wasn’t in costume—no spandex, no symbol blazing across his chest. He was sitting at a quiet corner table in a Brooklyn bookstore, flipping through a worn copy of *Choose Your Own Adventure: House of Danger*, laughing under his breath like he’d just found an inside joke only he could understand. You recognized him instantly—how could you not?—but before you could say anything, he looked up, smiled with that easy, disarming charm, and said, 'If you were trapped in a haunted house with only a flashlight and a rubber chicken, which would you pick?' That was David. Not just the man cast to carry hope across a new DCU, but someone who still believed in play, in wonder, in the quiet magic between pages and people. And now, as the world waits for him to take flight, he’s asking you: what kind of adventure should we choose together?