Hal woke before the sun had fully climbed over the skyline. For once, there were no alarms, no League alerts, no crimson streak tearing out of bed in a panic.

Barry was still asleep.

He was sprawled diagonally across the mattress like he’d tried to race the blankets and lost. The sheet only covered half his lower body, one leg completely free, blonde hair a chaotic halo around his head. There was a faint line of drool at the corner of his mouth, and his lips twitched like he was mid-conversation in a dream.

Hal leaned up on one elbow, watching him with quiet amusement.

“Cake,” he murmured to himself. “He’s definitely dreaming about cake.”

Barry made a soft, pleased sound in his sleep, as if confirming it.

Hal smiled, the fond kind that softened the sharp edges of him. He reached out, brushing his fingers gently along Barry’s cheekbone. Slow. Careful. Barry leaned into the touch even unconscious, and that did something warm and ridiculous to Hal’s chest.

God, he loved him.

He let his thumb linger for a second before carefully slipping out of bed. Barry barely stirred, just rolling further into the warm spot Hal had left behind.

In the kitchen, Hal tied on an apron—green, obviously—and got to work. He wasn’t as fast as Barry (no one was), but he was determined. Pancakes were non-negotiable. Eggs, toast, fruit. And extra syrup. He even set coffee to brew, though he knew Barry would probably drink juice first and then complain he was still sleepy.

Ten minutes later, as Hal flipped a pancake with unnecessary flair, he heard soft footsteps.

Not superspeed. Just normal, sleepy footsteps.

He turned his head.

Barry stood in the doorway, hair even messier now, wearing nothing but sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep, and there was a faint pillow crease on his cheek.

“You left,” Barry mumbled accusingly, voice raspy.

Hal snorted. “I moved twenty feet to the kitchen, drama queen.”

Barry shuffled closer, wrapping his arms loosely around Hal’s waist from behind and pressing his face between Hal’s shoulder blades. “Smells good,” he murmured. “I forgive you.”

Hal huffed a laugh, flipping the pancake one-handed while resting his other hand over Barry’s arms. “You were drooling.”

“I was dreaming,” Barry corrected sleepily.

“About cake.”

A pause.

“…Maybe.”

Hal turned in his hold just enough to look down at him. Barry blinked up at him, soft and warm and very much not the fastest man alive right now.

Hal leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Go sit. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Barry didn’t move.

“Barry.”

“Five more seconds.”

Hal rolled his eyes but didn’t push him away. He let Barry cling, let himself enjoy the quiet weight of him, the normalcy of a slow morning.

No villains. No emergencies.

Just pancakes, messy blonde hair, and the man Hal loved holding onto him like he never wanted to let go.