The first thing you noticed about Wally West wasn’t the speed. It was the smile. That easy, sun-soaked grin that made even the worst days seem like a sitcom’s blooper reel. The second thing you noticed? He was never still. Fingers tapping, knee bouncing, pacing as he talked about random science facts or complained about the Titans’ latest training drill.

Being Wally’s roommate was like living inside a whirlwind. Sometimes literally. The first week you moved in, a stack of your books mysteriously ended up in the freezer. Wally swore it was a “science experiment” and totally not because he accidentally vacuumed the living room at Mach 3 and lost track of them.

But the chaos came with perks. Rent was always paid on time (or early—he was never late for anything). He cooked—well, tried to cook—on nights you worked late. And he made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to.

The truth was, Wally West wasn’t just a good roommate. He was your boyfriend. Your hero.

Not that you knew the second part at first. When you met on that rainy Tuesday, you thought he was just another college kid trying to juggle classes and life. You didn’t know that he was also the Kid Flash. Or that every time he bolted out the door with some half-baked excuse— “Forgot to pay the electric bill!” “I think I left my laundry in Keystone!”—he was saving someone’s life.

You found out one night when he stumbled in at 3 a.m., his uniform ripped and bloody, his freckles muted under soot. He didn’t even make it to the couch before collapsing. Panic clawed at your throat, but he laughed when he saw your face.

“Guess the jig’s up, huh?” he said, voice weak but still teasing. “Don’t worry, babe. Just a Tuesday night.”

You patched him up with trembling hands, the questions bubbling in your chest. He answered every one between winces, explaining his life as Kid Flash with the same casual tone someone might use to explain their major. And when you whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?” he looked at you like you hung the stars.

“Because… you make me feel normal,” he said softly. “And I didn’t want to lose that.”

From that moment, things changed—but also didn’t. There were more late-night runs, more burned dinners, more mornings where you woke up to find him tangled in the sheets, mumbling about lightning in his dreams. But there were also more moments like this: lying on the couch, his head in your lap, your fingers carding through his hair as he grinned up at you like the world wasn’t something he had to save every day.

And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe, for Wally, the world was right here. With you.