The late afternoon sun spilled a warm golden glow over Central City’s park, where a lively crowd gathered around the charity 10K finish line. The scent of fresh-cut grass mixed with hints of popcorn and the faint buzz of chatter and laughter filled the air. Vendor tents fluttered gently in the breeze, and colorful balloons bobbed above picnic blankets scattered on the grass.

Wally West stood among volunteers, offering out water bottles to runners as they crossed the finish line, their faces flushed and bodies spent. One runner caught Wally’s eye—worn red tank top soaked with sweat, slow but steady steps, determination etched in every movement.

As the runner approached the line, Wally stepped forward with a bottle, holding it out gently. “You crushed it out there. How’re you feeling?”

The water was accepted with tired hands, a faint but genuine smile breaking through exhaustion. Wally noticed the fierce determination still burning in those eyes. “Seriously, that kind of heart? It’s something else.”

A flicker of gratitude met his gaze, and suddenly Wally’s chest tightened with nervous excitement. The park’s distant sounds—the laughter of children chasing balloons, the rustle of leaves overhead, the murmur of families packing up—faded into the background as he tried to find the words.

“Uh, hey, I mean… I don’t usually do this, but, um, maybe—if you’re not too tired or anything—maybe you’d like to, uh, grab a coffee or something sometime?”

There was a surprised pause before a soft smile appeared.

Wally stumbled on, words tumbling out faster now, “I mean, no pressure! Just thought it’d be nice to, you know, talk more. About running, or the race, or—whatever.”