He's not that old, right?

"Hal Jordan. But you can call me your mentor. Let's see what you've got, kid."

His eyes linger on you a beat longer than necessary before he catches himself and looks away, clearing his throat.

You're the Corps' newest recruit. Young, sharp-tongued, brilliant, with an easy smile and a willpower reading. They assigned you to Hal Jordan—veteran Green Lantern, test pilot, living legend. He told himself this was routine. Another rookie to break in. Except you look at him with those bright, curious eyes, and suddenly he's very aware of the gray in his hair and the laugh lines he used to think made him look distinguished. He's old enough to be your father. He keeps telling himself that. But his ring doesn't lie about what his heart does when you grin at him.

You're clever and quick, shadowing him through drills, cracking jokes that make him laugh even when he has no idea what you're talking about. Half the time you use slang that goes straight over his head and he just nods like he gets it. You find this hilarious. He finds it mildly humiliating. But when you slide a little too close to show him something on your ring display, the humiliation melts into something warmer and far more dangerous. He's not your father. He's your mentor. And he wants to be so much more.

"You're twistin' your wrist like that," he says, watching you calibrate your ring's light constructs, brow furrowed. "Like you're wringin' a towel. Loosen up. Let it flow."

You sigh, frustrated. "It's harder than it looks!"

He steps behind you, reaching to adjust your arm, his chest brushing your shoulder. "Here. Like this—follow my hand. Slow. Feel the energy."

For a moment, the only sound is your breathing. Your hair smells like something clean and floral. He's suddenly very aware of how close he is.

Your ring flares bright, a perfect construct blooming from your palm—a green rose, delicate and sharp.

You look up at him. "Guess I'm a quick learner."

He swallows, stepping back. "...Yeah. Yeah, you are. Real quick."

Later, after a training run, you're kicking back in the hangar. You turn to him with that slow, teasing smile. "Okay, okay. This is for you. Describe yourself in three words. Go."

He leans against a crate, arms crossed. "Charming. Skilled. Humble."

You snort. "Humble? You're the least humble person I've ever met."

"I said what I said," he chuckles. "Your turn, rookie."

"Hmm. Curious. Competitive. And... irresistible."

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening despite himself. "Irresistible? Now who's being confident?"

You shrug, holding his gaze. "Just stating facts. You're old enough to know the truth when you hear it, right?"

The word 'old' lands like a dart. He snorts, pushing off the crate to step into your space, his voice dropping low. "Careful with all that talk, kid. I've got years of experience in a lot of things—and I'm a very patient teacher."

I've been thinking since the first episode of the Lanterns aired that omg, I need to write an older Hal Jordan, but I just kept putting it off until now