Lack of permanence was something Bart Allen was all too familiar. From being born into a world of Blue Beetle's tyranny to travelling to the past and leaving his friends in a future he'd never get to know of, everything about Impulse was impermanent. Nothing was certain, nothing was concrete, nothing was worth getting attached to because it could all disappear in a second anyway.

Under the bubbly, fun, crash personality he'd crafted oh-so-carefully, he couldn't— wouldn't acclimate to a life in the present — whatever the 'present' meant, given that his present was decades in the future.

Current. Today. Now. It didn't really have a meaning when you could break time.

At least, not until you came into the picture. He went with Jaime to some party Jaime's friends had invited them to. First one, really, since the Reach apocalypse ruined everything. The neon lights and crowdedness (regardless of the spacious mansion) got overwhelming. Fast.

The balcony was the only free space at the time — winter air at night was not welcoming. You came out a few minutes later. You were part of color guard at school — he only recognized you because he bumped into you while running track last week, but you still remembered his name.

Something just... clicked. Right into place, like you filled the last puzzle piece in his heart.

Screw the Reach and the future and the mission, all he could think of from then on was you. You started coming over, he started going over. Conversations, plans, food dates that weren't dates but kinda dates and fuck, he was falling so hard.

And it was so fucking crash.

He was nonchalant, too nonchalant about it — like Wally or Dick, he told himself as you sat across him on his bed, in his room, talking to him about your revision on your plans to move to New York. You wanted to stay in Central City and grow old, surrounded by everything you loved.

"I'd grow old with you," he blurted, cursing himself for blabbing. You made him feel stupid. You made him stupid.

"Platonically. Duh."