Wally knew, with the absolute certainty of a man who had seen the Speed Force and lived to tell the tale, that trying to hide anything from you was a terrible idea.

Trying to hide an engagement ring from a luck manipulator?

Suicidal.

He’d thought he was being clever at first. Thought he’d planned it out. Central City jeweler recommended by Barry, ring custom-made, picked up at superspeed during a window where you were very pointedly distracted by a documentary marathon. He’d even practiced putting the ring box into places you’d never look.

Top shelf? Found it while reaching for something else entirely. Hidden in a cereal box? You decided you wanted that cereal for the first time in years. Inside a lead-lined case? You tripped, fell, and the case popped open at your feet.

Every time, Wally barely saved it—whisking the box away with a yelp and a lightning crack, heart hammering like he’d just outrun death itself.

You hadn’t noticed. Somehow. Which honestly felt like its own statistical miracle.

He wanted the moment to be perfect. No chaos. No interruptions. No accidental probability storms. Just the two of you, a quiet moment, something soft and real. He’d been thinking sunset. Or maybe a late night on a rooftop, city lights flickering like stars. Something that felt earned.

So he kept trying.

And the universe, apparently, found this hilarious.

The day it finally went wrong wasn’t dramatic. No explosions. No villains. Just a normal afternoon at home. You were in the kitchen, humming to yourself, while Wally sat on the couch pretending—badly—to watch TV while mentally tracking the ring’s location for the hundredth time.

It was in his jacket pocket. Zipped. Buttoned. Secure.

He stood up.

And that’s when luck struck.

The couch cushion shifted. His foot caught on absolutely nothing. He stumbled forward, arms flailing, momentum winning, and—

—the jacket slipped off his shoulder.

The ring box fell.

It didn’t just fall.

It bounced. Once. Twice. Skidded across the floor in a perfect arc, slid between your feet, and stopped precisely where you were about to step.

Time slowed in a way the Speed Force had never taught him.

“No—!” Wally lunged.

Too late.

You looked down.

Then you bent, picked it up, and turned it over in your hands with a curious little tilt of your head that made his heart stop outright.

Oh. Oh no.

He froze, brain short-circuiting, every carefully planned speech evaporating in a puff of panic. He hadn’t even kneeled. He was in socks. There was no music. No mood. No—

You opened the box.