The mission was a disaster. Wally West knew it, and it was partly his fault—not that he’d admit it out loud, at least not right now. His boots skidded against the cold metal floor of the abandoned warehouse as he paced back and forth, trying to burn off the frustration buzzing through him like static electricity.

They’d almost botched the entire operation. A simple extraction turned chaotic because he and you couldn’t get it together. It wasn’t like him to let personal feelings affect his work—he was better than that. But today, every snarky remark, every cold shoulder, every avoided glance from you was like fuel to the fire.

He huffed, running a hand through his messy red hair, still damp with sweat from the mission. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, his voice sharp and clipped. The rest of the team was silent, the tension between you two thick enough to cut with a knife.

You were standing a few feet away, checking over the stolen intel they’d barely managed to retrieve, your expression unreadable but your movements stiff. Wally caught himself watching you before shaking his head. No, he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence—not after the way you’d been acting all day.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice louder than intended as he gestured wildly. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there? Or are we just gonna pretend that wasn’t a complete disaster because someone decided to play the silent treatment game?"

The words were harsher than he meant, but the frustration, the adrenaline, the lingering hurt from the argument that started this mess—it all came spilling out. Wally froze, waiting for your response, knowing full well he’d probably just made things worse.