your darkmode can't save you from me

Monday, August 10

Feet on the Ground/Head in the Clouds

Parallel Lives

"Seriously, stop. We wear masks for a reason."

Tuesday, August 11

Only for You

Medieval

"Hal could do it. Sorry! It just came out!"

Wednesday, August 12

Internalized Homophobia

Undercover

"Yellow. My one weakness."

Thursday, August 13

Confession

Road Trip

"My best friend. My ally, who's saved my life more times than I can count. And I shatter him as recklessly as I shatter our friendship."

Friday, August 14

Another Time, Another Place

Who did this to you?

"I don't know if I was ever truly innocent... but hanging out with the Flash sure made me feel that way."

Saturday August 15

In Your Dreams

Childhood Friends

"Of course he's going to get all the attention. He's the prettiest."

Sunday, August 16

But over time, it started to feel different.

★ ★ ★

Barry Allen didn’t notice the implications at first. Not when Hal dropped by the lab unannounced, propping his combat boots up on the counter, his cocky grin settling on his face. Hal would lean in to see what he was doing, just a little too close for comfort, but that was just Hal. There was always a fluttery feeling in Barry’s chest when the smell of jet fuel and that distinct hair gel lingered in the air after Hal had gone. And yet, Barry Allen didn’t notice the implications one bit.

Hal started showing up more often. At first it was because he was "in the neighborhood". Then it was because he "needed a break". And then he stopped making up excuses entirely and started coming into Barry's apartment through the sliding balcony door like he owned the place. Like it was normal.

Barry didn’t stop him.

Maybe he should have. Maybe that would have saved them both some trouble.

They fell into a routine eventually. Late nights where Hal plopped down on Barry's couch with one arm thrown over his eyes, telling stories about stars that died before Earth had a language. Barry would sit at his desk, looking at samples of rocks Hal brought him from space.

And at some point, between Hal's stories and his little off-world gifts, Barry realized something was wrong.

This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

The first time Barry feels it, really feels it, is during a mission. Hal is hurt. Not too badly, not life-threatening, but just enough so that the ring flickers slightly.

Barry is by his side before the thought to move even finishes forming. One second there’s chaos, and the next second he's there, holding Hal's face like he might disappear if Barry lets go.

"Hey," Hal says, softer than Barry's every heard, voice dulled and quieted by pain. "I'm okay." Barry nods, but he doesn’t let go.

And that's the problem. He doesn’t let go.

After that, everything seems to shift. Barry notices the way Hal looks at him when Barry isn’t paying attention, and there's something there. He notices the way Hal always, always comes back. The universe could be burning and Hal Jordan would still detour through Central City like it was an instinct.

And Barry, who measures life in fractions of seconds, who outruns grief and death and time itself, starts slowing down. Not a lot, just enough to exist in the same space as Hal longer than necessary. Just enough to draw out their goodbyes when Hal is called to the stars. Just enough for Barry to realize that he’s falling in love.

You see, falling in love with someone like Hal Jordan is like falling in love with a shooting star. It's beautiful, it's rare, and it's not meant to stay. He's the kind of man that dies young. He is made of millions of tiny, exploding stars that shine bright while they live, but burn out and fall from glory fast. He isn’t made for the world. Not for the long run, at least.

And Barry knows that.

So he doesn’t act on these feelings. He buries them. Deep. Fast. Gone. The same way he buries everything.

"Allen," Hal says one night, voice quieter than usual. Barry is looking at a particularly interesting purple rock that Hal brought him.

“Yeah?”

Hal hesitates. Which is terrifying. Hal never hesitates. “You ever think about slowing down?”

Barry laughs nervously. “That’s kind of the opposite of my whole thing.”

“No, I mean-” Hal cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Staying. Somewhere. With someone.”

“Nah,” Barry says lightly. “Wouldn’t suit me.” It’s a lie. It’s such an obvious lie. Hal considers Barry’s words for a second, looking down at the ring on his hand. He just nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.” And Barry is pretty sure that isn’t a lie.

That's when Barry knows. Not that Hal doesn’t feel the connection they have. Not that he's oblivious to Barry’s feelings for him. Not even that he doesn’t feel the same way. No, it's not that Hal Jordan doesn’t feel it. It's that he wouldn't choose it.

So Barry does when he does best. He runs. Not physically, but emotionally. He retracts from Hal like he's been burned. He puts up the defenses that had just started to drop, reinforcing them the best he can. Hal notices. Of course he does. He's reckless, not stupid.

The visits to Barry's apartment get shorter and less frequent. The couch stays empty longer. The apartment gets colder and quieter. And one day, Hal doesn't come back. There is no small thud of him landing on the balcony. There is no shuffling around in pockets or the quiet click of a cigarette lighter. There is no anticipation as Barry listens to Hal finish his cigarette before coming through the sliding door like he lives there.

Barry knows very well that Hal has an apartment of his own, but he also knows that Hal is hardly ever home. So even if he made the terrible decision of going there to confess his love, Hal would probably be somewhere among the stars, fighting in the Milky Way, meeting beings Barry couldn't even comprehend, making connections. Doing things. Always moving. Never staying in one place longer than he needed to.

Maybe it would have been better if there was some sort of final goodbye. A fight. Anything other than the fizziling out and the oppressive silence that came after. Anything other than the realization that Barry let himself fall in love with someone that was always going to leave. And it's not like they never see each other. They're both still in The League. Sure, they don't whisper and laugh during meetings like they used to, but at least Barry can still see him. Even if it feels like it's from afar.

He tells himself it's fine. He's the Flash. No one can keep up with him either. And he's used to things slipping through his fingers. Time. People. Happiness. He's handled this before. What's one more heartbreak in a world of them?

But sometimes, on his loneliest nights, Barry swears he can hear Hal's laughter echoing through the apartment. He sees a flicker of green that isn't there. He feels the ghost of a hand closing a small gift in his own. And god, it's not like they ever even kissed. They never put a label on what they had. Maybe Barry was imagining it all along.

The worst part is that, if the door slid open right now and Hal Jordan walked in, smelling like smoke and ozone like no time at all had passed, Barry would let him. He would still be in love with him. He would still worship Hal's subtle dimples, the way his ears stick out just slightly, the way his hair looks a tiny bit auburn in the sun, the premature greys at his temple. He would still watch with an unwavering intensity as Hal's eyes glow green when his emotions are running high.

No matter how fast Barry Allen runs, there are some things he will never escape.

Tonight, it's late. Much too late for visitors and much too late for anything good to come of the thud of feet landing on Barry's third-story balcony. A body falls against the door and it takes a few tries for clumsy hands to work open the handle.

Barry always leaves the door unlocked these days. He tells himself it's a habit. He tells himself it's just in case. He tells himself it's for Clark, who had never once come to Barry's apartment. He tells himself a lot of things. Barry stands up, body tensing.

He watches as the door slides open. Hal Jordan is halfway through when his knees give out and he falls hard. His ring is hardly glowing. There is no cocky grin, just blood, pooling relentlessly. Barry is across the room just as Hal hits the ground. He catches his head and cradles it in his hands.

Hal is cold, Barry realizes. "Hey, hey. No, no no, Hal?" His voice breaks when he says his name. Hal's eyes flicker open, unfocused and blurry, almost like he had to fight his way back to the conscious world just for the purpose of seeing Barry.

"...knew it," he slurs. A weaker version of his usual smile makes its way onto his paleing face. "Knew you'd... be here."

"I'm always here," Barry says, too fast, too honest. "You know that. You know that." He combs hair away from Hal's face. The ring is dim. Not empty, but close. He has never seen Hal like this. No bravado, no dramatics. Just here. In pain. Laying on Barry's floor because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

Barry starts moving. Collecting supplies from all corners of his apartment. He's precise in the way he wraps up Hal's wounds, holding him gently like he might break. He cleans the blood, sterilizes the wounds, stops the bleeding. Hal lets him, laying on the couch, not joking, not flirting, not deflecting. He's just in his underwear now, a sheen of sweat coating his pale skin. Barry has to look away.

"Why didn't you call?" Barry demands quietly, packing up all of his supplies. "I would've..." The words trail off. Barry doesn't know what to say. I would've done anything to prevent you from getting this hurt? I would've run across the world to get you out of danger?

Hal huffs something that was definitely supposed to be a laugh, but he cuts it off with a wince. "Didn't... need the Flash," he murmurs. Barry freezes. "...needed you."

And with that, something inside Barry cracks open. Something that had been held under lock and key for months. It all comes flooding back at once and it takes everything in Barry not to shake. "Don't," Barry whispers, like if Hal keeps talking, Barry might actually fall apart, "Don't say things like that unless you mean them."

"Barry," Hal laughs again. It's breathy, but more full than before, "I crossed half the damn universe bleeding out," his voice is rough in a way that makes Barry's heart hurt, "the only place I could think of was here."

Barry can't help himself now. His hands begin to shake. This is everything he wasn't letting himself have, everything he buried. In that sentence, everything that Barry had slowly been trying to convince himself wasn't real hit him like a tidal wave.

"You left," Barry whispers, gathering the courage to look at Hal again. His voice comes out painfully small.

"Yeah, I did," Hal says quietly. "Seemed like you wanted me to." Barry feels it then. The prickling in his eyes, the lump in his throat. Hal reaches for him. He's weak, shaking just as badly as Barry.

"I'm here now. If you'll let me be." Hal's words are so soft and weak, but the truth behind them is unmistakable. Barry takes Hal's hand gently and leans in, pressing their foreheads together.

"I want you here," Barry whispers. "Stay."

"Let me."

Barry exhales shakily. He nods. "Please." Hal's smile is weak when he responds.

"Thank god."

The worst of it isn't over. Hal is still hurt and breathing heavily, but he's stable. And for someone like Hal, that's something. Barry guides him to his bed, careful and gentle and slow. "Easy," Barry murmurs. "I've got you." Hal huffs, half laugh, half exhaustion, and he lets himself be led.