#wallywest

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The room was alive with laughter, but none of it touched you.

M’gann had somehow managed to hang fairy lights in impossible places; Conner stood at the food table, pretending to understand human snacks; Artemis was rolling her eyes at Dick’s bad jokes. Everyone was happy — glowing after the mission.

Everyone except you.

You stood by the far wall, your back pressed to it, pretending to scroll through your phone. You didn’t need to look up to know he was watching you. You could feel him. The air changed when he entered — warmer, lighter, always moving.

Wally West.

And tonight, you already knew.

He’d told you before the mission. Quietly. Just the two of you in the hallway outside the mission room. He’d smiled that soft, apologetic smile and said, “Artemis and I… we’re thinking about leaving the hero gig. For a while.”

You hadn’t said much then. Just nodded, said “cool,” walked off like your lungs weren’t collapsing.

Now he was here — laughing with Dick, but looking at you.

You hated that look. It was soft. Too soft. Like the goodbye had already started.

You looked away.

Then the song changed.

It’s like you disappeared into the dark…

It was faint at first, just a low hum beneath the laughter. Then it grew — the familiar dreamy echo, the same one from years ago.

You froze.

Wally did too.

“I'm a flash. You were blinded by the love I had”

Your heart dropped because you both knew this song. That song.

Halloween, years ago. You’d both been sixteen. You were supposed to go with someone else, but your date had decided to show up with another girl. You’d been sitting at the edge of the gym floor in your costume — black dress, too much glitter — pretending you didn’t care.

Wally had shown up late, hair still a mess from patrol, claiming he “forgot” his mask. No date. Just him. You’d rolled your eyes, said, “Don’t you have better things to do than crash my misery?”

He’d grinned. “Nope. You look too good to sit alone.”

And then — this song started playing.

He’d offered you a hand. You’d said, “I hate you.”

He’d said, “I know.”

You danced anyway.

You remembered laughing at the irony back then — a song called Flash. You’d spun, he’d smiled, and neither of you noticed that the whole world had slowed down.

You’d told yourself it was just a dance.

He’d told himself it wasn’t.

And now, years later, in the same base where everything started and ended, it played again.

“And I know that you love me, I know you don’t care…”

You felt him before you saw him — the familiar warmth at your side, the brush of air that made the fairy lights flicker.

He stood beside you, quiet for once.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, softly —

“Déjà vu, huh?”

Your throat tightened. “You remember.”

“How could I forget?” he said, eyes flicking toward the center of the room. “That song… that dance…” He paused. “You were mad at me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You said you hated me.”

You swallowed hard. “I lied.”

He smiled, soft and sad. “Yeah. Me too.”

The words hovered between you — heavier than any mission, sharper than any wound.

Then he said it, gentle: “Dance with me?”

You shook your head, eyes already stinging. “Don’t do this, Wally.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what comes next.”

He stepped closer, his voice barely above the music. “Then let’s make this part good.”

“The light could only get in through the cracks”

His hand brushed yours. You didn’t pull away. He guided you to the open space near the lights, his touch trembling.

You moved together like you were trying not to wake the world. His hand rested at your waist, your fingers looping loosely behind his neck.

He smiled faintly. “Remember what I said at the dance?”

You nodded. “You said I looked too good to sit alone.”

“Still true,” he whispered.

Your chest ached. “Don’t say things like that if you’re leaving.”

His grip tightened. “If I don’t say them now, I never will.”

“Tell me everything you want, tell me everything you need…”

You stared at him — that stupid, beautiful boy who talked too much, ate too fast, loved too deeply. You wanted to say stay. You wanted to ask why now? why her? why leave me like this?

Instead, you just said, “You’re really doing it, aren’t you?”

He didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.

But his eyes — they answered.

That was worse than any goodbye.

You looked away, but he caught your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“I know.”

“And a voice in my head's causing suicide searching for any way To remember them”

Your voice shook. “You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“You told me before the mission,” you said, blinking fast. “And I thought — maybe you’d change your mind. Maybe you’d stay for the team. For… me? But you didn’t.”

He exhaled, forehead resting against yours. “If I stay, I break the promise I made to her. If I go, I break the one I never said to you.”

“When they crash the helicopters in my heart it ripped”

You bit your lip, tears spilling over. “Coward.”

He smiled, soft and broken. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

He pulled you closer, holding you like he was trying to memorize your shape.

Neither of you spoke again until the song began to fade.

You are my flash, my lightning strike… I see you in everything, even when you’re gone…

He kissed your forehead — not like a friend, not like a goodbye, but like both.

And then he whispered, just for you:

“For the best.”

⸻

the next morning

The halls were too quiet.

Artemis’s laughter was gone.

His energy — that constant, rushing heartbeat — gone too.

You walked into the common room. The lights were still dim, the empty cups and streamers from last night untouched. The radio was still on.

And there it was — the same song.

Only this time, it was the end of it.

The lyric you’d never really noticed before, humming through the speakers like an echo straight to your chest:

And you had to do the right thing. Do the right thing baby

Your knees almost gave out.

Because he had.

And you hated that he had.

You stood there, letting the song play out, wishing you could rewind time to that first Halloween dance — when Flash was a love song, not a goodbye. When you still had a 50–50 chance.

Now? It was zero.

But as the song faded into silence, you whispered it anyway —

“for the best.”

⸻