Wally had been running for hours.

Central City was restless that night—too many alarms, too many near-misses, the kind of chaos that never quite turned into disaster but demanded his attention anyway. His suit hummed softly as he slowed on a rooftop, hands on his knees, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

That was when his comm buzzed.

Your name lit up the display.

His tiredness vanished instantly.

He tapped it on, smile already tugging at his mouth as your voice filled his ear. Soft. Familiar. A little quieter than usual.

You told him you were lonely.

Just that. Simple words, but they hit him harder than any punch he’d taken that night. He leaned back against a water tower, staring out at the city lights, imagining you miles away in Metropolis, alone in a place that wasn’t home yet.

Then you added—casually, like it didn’t mean anything—that you were wearing the nightdress he liked.

The one that clung just enough. The one you pretended not to notice his reaction to. The one that always made him forget how to think.

Wally swallowed.

He glanced down at the city, then at the glowing Speed Force lightning crawling along his gloves. His lips twitched into a grin that was equal parts fond and dangerous.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice low, warm, just for you.

You didn’t say much after that. You didn’t have to. The image was already there, vivid and distracting, settling into his mind like a challenge the universe had personally issued.

He didn’t even hesitate.

In less than a heartbeat, he was moving—red lightning tearing through the streets, skipping rooftops, crossing state lines like they were suggestions rather than boundaries. The world blurred into streaks of color and sound, his thoughts narrowing to one thing only.

You.

Metropolis rose up around him faster than it should have. He slowed just enough to be careful, to be quiet, to make sure he didn’t rattle the windows or set off alarms when he stopped outside your building. A moment later, he was inside, vibrating with barely contained energy and anticipation.

He knocked once—mostly for politeness.

The door opened, and there you were.

Exactly as promised.

Wally forgot how to breathe.

Loneliness drained from your expression the second you saw him, surprise blooming into something softer, brighter. He didn’t give you time to say anything—didn’t trust himself to wait—just stepped forward, hands gentle as they found your waist, forehead pressing to yours as if grounding himself.

“You know,” he said quietly, voice full of affection and amusement, “I crossed three cities because you missed me.”

He smiled when your arms came up around him, when the world finally slowed down again.

Worth it.

Every time.