All things considered, Wally is a pretty patient person.
A lot of people don’t realize that; they think of his jittery legs or fast-paced conversations, but don’t they get it. They don’t perceive the world the same way as him. They think in seconds, minutes, hours, while Wally counts time in milli- and nanoseconds, and even those can feel like forever.
It hasn’t always been like this. He used to actually enjoy life. You know, stop to smell the flowers and all that jazz. Even when he first got his powers, he would use them to stretch moments out, enjoy the things that usually flew by in a blink of an eye.
Wally clearly remembers the first day he had his speed. Running around Central City, to Keystone, and all the way back to Blue Valley. He had stopped to marvel at how slow everything was. He never realized how much he missed , when it all came down to it. So many tiny details that had escaped him for so long. The individual flaps of a bird’s wings, the waveforms dancing along a violin strong, the individual droplets of a waterfall.
But Wally soon grew bored. A shame, really. So many new things he can see, can appreciate, can experience that most people can’t . He used to always dream of meeting the Flash, of becoming like him. His younger self had imagined endless possibilities for a man who could break the sound barrier.
Even trying to talk to people, they’re all so slow.
The curse of being a speedster, he supposes.
But there’s one person he loves listening to, if only to stretch time, make it paper thin and then stretch it some more. His best friend, Dick Grayson. The way his lips upturn with certain vowels, or how the corners of his eyebrows shift with every slight movement. Even with his eyes closed, Wally loves hearing Dick just talk. He still maintains a bit of a Romani accent, English not being his first language, and if Wally could make him talk for just a little longer? Well, you’re damn right he’s gonna do that.
Like right now. Him and Dick are sitting in Titan’s Tower (well, Wally is sitting, Dick is performing a series of complex acrobatic feats in the space beside him.) They are in a vacant corner, surrounded by windows. Wally rests his back against it, feeling the chilled air press along the sore muscles in his shoulders. It’s nice, kind of like a giant ice pack.
Meanwhile, Dick was talking to him, mostly about Damian. How far he had come, how happy he is that him and Jon have been getting along. Wally’s an only child, but if he had an older brother like Dick… well, Damian is very lucky.
He continues to listen to his friend, tapping into the speed force to enjoy it just a little more. Dick, with his beautiful hair, always messy but oh-so-perfectly so. Dick, with his defined muscles, covered only by the thin fabric of his suit. Dick, whose eyes were normally covered by the lens on his mask, but it was now off, laying on the metallic window sill. Wally loves those eyes, loves how the skin around them crinkles when he’s happy, or how his eyelashes cast gentle shadows across the curve of his cheekbones.
Wally must’ve gotten lost in his own thoughts - in Dick - because someone is nudging his shoulder, calling his name, a million miles away.
“Hm?” He replies, mind still dazed.
Dick peers down at him. Wally had been so caught up in the sight of his friend, in his own thoughts about him, he hadn’t even noticed the other man move . “Wally? Are you alright?”
Wally looks at Dick’s hand, still on his shoulder. It tingles, and he should probably shrug it off, but can’t bring himself to. “Yeah, dude. You know me.” He tries gesturing with his other hand, attempting to convey the intended meaning.
Dick seems to think that’s a stable enough explanation, patting his hand a few times where it laid on Wally’s upper arm before pulling away. “So, do you?”
“Do I what?” Wally stares, open eyed, at his best friend. He slowly stood up, using the window to prop his back against.
“Do you wanna go check on Donna?” Dick smiles at him, and it’s as if he’s staring at the sun. Bright, welcoming, warm. There are butterflies dancing in his stomach, threatening to emerge from his chest any second.
Wally feels the familiar crackle of electricity in his spine as he taps into the speedforce, selfishly using it to draw out this moment, if only for a little longer. He wants to stare at Dick’s smile all day, wants to wake up to it beaming at him, so lively that it puts rainbows and hummingbirds to shame. He wants to stand by Dick in the middle of the night, the stars all but a distant memory in comparison.
All of it.
Wally wants everything .
“Sure,” he replies, returning Dick’s smile as he grounds himself back to reality.
But some things in life are impossible. Wally may adore his grace, his optimism, his leadership, and so, so much more, but he would rather not take that chance. Instead, he extends each moment they spend together, prolonging each crinkle beside Dick’s eye, each involuntary twitch of a smile formed from Wally cracking a bad joke.
Wally is in love with his best friend, but some things are just too unattainable, even for the fastest man alive.