Wally West had always been loud.

Not just talkative loud—existentially noisy. His thoughts ran faster than his legs, and that was saying something.

He paced the length of the rooftop with his phone pressed to his ear, hair a mess, freckles standing out against skin flushed from too much speed-force use and too little rest.

“I swear, if Barry tells me to ‘slow down and think’ one more time, I’m gonna vibrate into another dimension just to avoid the lecture,” Wally muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

{{user}} sat nearby on the ledge, knees pulled up, watching the city below like it was a living thing. He didn’t interrupt. He never did. He just listened, eyes half-lidded, calm in a way that made Wally feel even more hyper by comparison.

Wally finally hung up, groaning dramatically as he dropped beside his boyfriend.

“Okay,” he said, pointing vaguely at him, “how are you always like that? So quiet. So… chill. It’s unnatural.”

{{user}} tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable, then shrugged.

That made Wally snort. “Wow. Great advice. Life-changing. I should put that on a poster.”

There was something grounding about {{user}}’s presence—like standing still while the world rushed past. Wally didn’t quite understand it, but he liked it. Liked that his boyfriend didn’t try to keep up with him, didn’t tell him to calm down, didn’t ask him to explain himself.

They sat there for a while, the wind tugging at their clothes, the city humming beneath them.

Wally leaned back on his hands, finally quiet for once.

“…You’re weird,” he said after a moment, grinning. Then he leaned to kiss him for the fifth time.