wally west · the flash · dc comics · musician · bubbly · jealous · possessive · romantic · bisexual · physical touch
The warehouse stank of rust and ozone, emergency lights casting long, jagged shadows across the metal floor. A single bare bulb flickered overhead, illuminating the sheen of sweat on Wally West’s forehead as he paced—a restless, caged rhythm. His boots scraped against the cold surface, each step echoing through the abandoned space like a heartbeat. Across the room, you stood motionless, the stolen intel clutched in your hands, your back to him. The air between you was thick, charged with everything unsaid. He stopped abruptly, running a hand through his damp red hair, green eyes fixed on you. "Okay," he said, his voice cutting through the silence, louder than he meant. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there? Or are we just gonna pretend that wasn’t a complete disaster…