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Love comes in the most unexpected ways.
It starts with Kori— an alien princess who crash-landed on Earth in an attempt to flee from her own sister. Dick doesn't remember if he fell in love the moment their eyes locked or when their lips touched, but nevertheless, he loved her.
Fully, brightly, the way he, Dick Grayson, loves— with his whole body, with trust that bordered on recklessness, with the certainty that if love asked him to leap, he would never look back down at the ground.
Kori burned like a star. She was warmth and wonder and hands that fit his own without hesitation. With her, Dick learned that love could be loud and easy and unapologetic. That it could feel like flying without a net and somehow never falling.
But stars don’t stay.
They burn. They move on. They belong to skies too wide to be held.
When they break up, it’s gentle. There are tears, apologies, foreheads pressed together in quiet understanding. They promise each other happiness, even if it won't be together. Dick means it. He always does.
He never really found love after that.
But Barbara—
Barbara is safe.
Barbara is history and shared glances and a language built from years of almosts. She is knowing where Dick keeps his spare key and how he takes his coffee without asking. She is comfort wrapped in familiarity, hands steady on his shoulders when the world tilts too hard.
He loves her.
Just not in the way love once set him on fire.
With Barbara, love is careful. It’s practiced. It’s something he tends to, not something that consumes him. He wants to give her everything she deserves, and some days he almost convinces himself that this is enough— that wanting peace instead of heat is growth, not absence.
But sometimes— late at night, when Barbara falls asleep with her hand curled into his shirt— Dick stares up at the ceiling and feels the quiet ache of something unnamed.
Something… missing.
He tells himself that relationships tend to lose their edge. That wanting less doesn't mean loving less. That love doesn't always have to feel like falling.
And maybe that would have been true.
If Wally West hadn't laughed his way back into Dick’s life like a lightning strike.
Wally doesn't arrive gently. He never does. He bursts in with stories half-finished, energy crackling under his skin, joy bright enough to fill every room he enters. He talks with his hands, with his whole body, with a sincerity that feels almost dangerous.
Dick has known Wally since they were teens— desperate to prove themselves to their mentors, when the idea of stepping away from their shadows felt unreal. He knows Wally the way he knows his own heartbeat.
Which is why it takes him far too long to realise what’s happening.
At first, it’s nothing. Just a warmth when Wally’s near. A lightness in his chest when he hears his laugh. The way he finds himself turning automatically toward Wally’s voice in a crowded room.
Friendship, he tells himself.
But then Barbara starts noticing.
Not accusing. Never that. Just quiet questions. The way her eyes linger when Wally touches him, as if trying to gauge Dick’s reaction. As if she’s trying to read him.
“Do you ever miss… how it felt with Kori?” Barbara asks one night, voice gentle, curious.
Dick hesitates.
“I miss how easy it was,” he admits. “How… certain.”
Barbara nods like she already knew the answer.
They don’t break up right away.
They try. They always try.
But love shouldn't feel like choosing the wrong answer over and over again, and eventually, Barbara kisses his cheek goodbye with a sad smile and says, “You deserve to feel it again.”
Dick doesn't tell her that he already does.
Because by then, the truth has settled in his chest like something inevitable.
He’s in love with Wally West.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically.
But completely.
And that’s when Linda enters the picture.
She’s kind. She’s sharp. She laughs at Wally’s stupid jokes and calls him out when he’s being reckless. She fits into his life like she was always meant to be there.
Dick watches it happen from the sidelines, smiling like a good friend while something inside him caves in.
Because he was too late.
He memorises the way Wally looks at her.
Dick has already learned how to let go of stars.
And lightning, it turns out, burns just as brightly.
Then, there are moments— cruel, accidental moments— that almost break him.
Like when Wally grabs Dick’s wrist mid-mission, panic sharp in his voice. “Don’t do that. Don’t scare me like that again.”
Or when Wally collapses into Dick’s space after a bad day, forehead pressed to Dick’s shoulder, breathing him in like safety.
Or when Wally laughs, bright and unguarded, and says, “God, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dick learns how to hold perfectly still.
He learns how to be the place Wally rests without ever asking to stay.
But the worst night comes after Linda and Wally’s first real fight.
Wally showed up at Dick’s apartment, rain-soaked and shaking, words tumbling out too fast. Dick lets him in without a question, towels him off, listens while Wally spirals.
“I fucked up,” Wally says, pacing. “I don’t think— I don’t think I can face her again after this.”
Dick sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“You’ll fix it,” he reassures. “You always do.”
Wally stops pacing.
“You really think so?”
Dick looks at him. Really looks.
And for half a second— just half— he almost says it.
Almost says I love you, almost says choose me, almost says you already come to me when everything falls apart— doesn't that mean something?
Instead, he smiles.
Soft. Encouraging. Self-destructive.
“Yeah,” Dick says painfully. “She loves you.”
Wally’s shoulders sag in relief. He steps forward and hugs Dick hard, face pressed into his neck.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Dick closes his eyes.
He doesn't hug back.
Because if he does, he might not let go.
“Hey, Dick?”
Dick blinks.
He turns to Wally, a concerned look on his face. “You okay? You zoned out there for a bit.”
“Yes,” Dick says automatically.
The word comes out before he has time to check it, smooth and easy, the way lies always are when he’s had years of practice. He straightens, rolls his shoulders once like he’s shaking off stiffness instead of a lifetime of memories.
“Yeah,” he adds, softer. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
Wally studies him for a second longer, green eyes searching in that earnest way that’s always made Dick feel seen and somehow missed at the same time. Then Wally smiles, bright and relieved, and the moment passes.
“Sorry for dragging you out on your off-day,” Wally says, sincerely. “I just needed support.”
They’re standing in the middle of a jewellery store— white lights, glass cases, everything too clean and too sharp. Dick hadn't even registered how they’d gotten here. One minute they’d been grabbing coffee, the next Wally tugged him down the street, excited and buzzing with that barely contained energy.
“You know I don't mind, Walls,” he assures. “It’s your special day. I’m glad I’m here.”
Wally’s smile grows bigger, hand squeezing Dick’s. “C’mon,” he says, tugging him along towards the ring section. “I need your opinion too.”
Dick follows. Of course he does.
His hand burns where Wally held it.
Wally leans over the glass, pointing at the small, velvet tray the clerk slides forward. Two rings rest there, simple yet elegant. One with a thin gold band, modest and warm, while the other platinum, the diamond sharp and beautiful, catching the light just enough to hurt.
“I know it’s not supposed to matter,” Wally says, rubbing the back of his neck, nervous in a way Dick doesn't see often. “But it does. To me, I mean. To her.”
Dick’s chest tightens.
“She’ll love whatever you pick,” he says, because it’s true. Linda will love it because it comes from Wally, because Wally loves her, because that has always been enough.
“Still,” Wally says. He glances at Dick, hopeful. “Which one?”
Dick looks down at the rings, the gold one specifically.
For a split second, his brain betrays him. He imagines Wally’s hands shaking from excitement and nerves, laughing as he slides a ring onto Dick’s finger. Imagines the weight of it there, solid and real, proof of something chosen, in a universe Dick is allowed to want things.
He swallows.
“That one,” Dick says, pointing to the one that will ruin him forever.
It’s simple. It’ll suit both of them.
Linda and Wally.
Wally’s face lights up. “Yeah?” He beams, the grin so familiar it aches. “I thought so too. Who knew the Dick Grayson would have an exquisite taste in rings?”
Dick smiles back, though it didn't reach his eyes.
The clerk excuses herself to fetch paperwork. Wally exhales, long and shaky, then laughs under his breath.
“God,” he says. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
Dick hums. “You’ll do great.”
Wally bumps his shoulder lightly, affectionate, unaware. “Couldn't have done it without you, you know.”
Dick’s breath catches.
He says nothing.
Because this— this is the shape of his love now. Standing a step to the side. Offering reassurance. Picking out rings that will never be his.
When the clerk returns, Dick excuses himself to the restrooms, locking himself in it and throws up quietly.
Then he wipes his mouth, fixes his smile, and goes back out.
The proposal happens three weeks later.
Dick isn't there when it happens— he's busy patrolling in Blüdhaven when the call comes. He lets it go to voicemail on purpose.
Later that night, alone, he listens.
Dick sits on the edge of his bed, the city humming quietly below him. The voicemail sits in his phone like a tiny bomb. Wally’s voice, full of laughter and relief, cuts through the silence.
“It happened, Dick. She said yes. Oh my God— can you believe it? She said yes! God, I wish you were here to see it.”
Dick’s chest tightens. He doesn't breathe. Doesn't move. He just lets the words settle, each one heavier than the last.
He had imagined this day countless times in stolen moments— Wally happy, radiant, but always with Dick by his side. Grinning, teasing, holding him close. Always in the memory of what could have been.
Not this.
Dick presses his forehead into his palm. He can still see Wally’s grin, still hear the breathless way he asks someone else to marry him. His stomach twists, a familiar ache that never seems to fully leave him.
He listens again, to catch the waver in Wally’s voice, hoping for some sign that there’s a crack in the perfection of it.
There isn’t.
The room feels smaller suddenly. Blüdhaven’s skyline beyond the window doesn't matter. The night sounds don't matter. Nothing matters except that Wally has chosen someone to spend his life with completely, blissfully, and Dick was not the person chosen.
He sets the phone down gently, like it could shatter if handled roughly.
A part of him— the stubborn, unrelenting part— wants to call back, to wish Wally well, to pretend he’s okay.
He doesn't.
A sob escapes him instead.
And for the first time in a long time, he doesn't fight it.
He just lets it hurt.
The party is loud. Too loud. Glasses clink, laughter bounces off the walls, music hums through the floor, but none of it reaches Dick.
He leans against the far wall, drink in hand, pretending he isn't hurting himself by imagining it was him instead. Wally moves through the room like he owns it— bright, charming, radiant in a way that twists something tight in Dick’s chest. He laughs at something Linda says, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and Dick’s stomach knots.
Everyone else seems to dissolve around them. Guests' conversations fade to a dull roar. He can’t stop noticing the tilt of Wally’s head, the way he smiles, the little crinkle in his eyes when he laughs genuinely.
He swallows the lump forming in his throat and sips his drink, pretending it isn't shaking slightly.
Across the room, Donna gives him a knowing look, eyebrows raised slightly, and Dick looks away immediately before she could read him, distracting himself with a conversation with Barry, but his mind is elsewhere.
It’s on Wally. Always on Wally.
Wally’s hand brushes Linda’s briefly as they move toward the dessert table. His laugh carries across the room, light and effortless, and Dick can feel it in his chest like a jolt of electricity he will never be allowed to touch.
He nods mindlessly to Barry’s words, taking a slow sip of his drink and tasting the sharp sting of whiskey he didn't really want. He knows he should leave, maybe step outside to clear his head, but he can’t. Not yet.
Because Wally is here, glowing, and he’s so close to the center of everything, so alive, that moving away would feel like abandonment— like letting himself disappear entirely.
He watches Wally and Linda talk, watches the easy intimacy he’ll never share, and a quiet ache settles heavier in his chest than any battle would ever could.
He tells himself it’s okay. He rehearses the words over and over— it’s okay. He’s happy. That’s enough.
But every laugh, every glance Wally throws her way, every casual brush of their hands reminds him of what he’s lost— or maybe what he will never have.
And still, Wally doesn't know.
Not yet.
And Dick isn't sure if he wants him to.
“Did you really accept it?”
He nods without looking up at Donna.
“You can't do this,” she says, frustrated. “You’re just gonna hurt yourself again. Until when are you gonna let yourself suffer, Dick?”
Dick swallows and stares down at his hands.
“I already said yes.”
Donna exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Dick.”
He finally looks up at her then. Really looks. Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, jaw set, eyes sharp with concern, expression tight with something that’s half anger, half grief— like she’s already mourning him.
“He asked me to be his best man,” Dick says, voice even, practiced. “What am I supposed to do? Say no? He’ll ask why. And if he asks, I either lie to his face or tell him the truth and ruin everything. Linda. The wedding. Him.”
“And what about you?” Donna demands. “What about what this does to you?”
Dick looks back down at his hands. They’re steady. They always are. “I’ll manage. I’ve been for years.”
“Stop,” she snaps. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend this doesn't matter. It matters. He matters. And you—” Her voice softens despite herself. “You don't get medals for bleeding quietly.”
“I couldn't say no,” he repeats quietly.
“Dick,” Donna says, slower now, as if trying not to break something fragile. “You’re not just standing next to him at the altar. You’re holding the rings. You’re making a speech. You’re smiling in photos that are going to live forever. Do you understand what you’re signing yourself up for?”
He lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Almost.
“I know exactly what it is,” he says. “That's why I said yes.”
“That's not noble,” Donna snaps again. “That’s self-destruction disguised as loyalty.”
Dick’s fingers curl into the fabric of his sweatpants and he glances up at her. “Wally asked me,” he says simply. “Wally. How was I supposed to look at him— at the person I love— and tell him no when he was happy?”
Donna’s eyes widen just a fraction.
He hadn't meant to say that last part out loud— not because Donna doesn't know, no. It's because he has never admitted it out loud before.
The room goes quiet, heavy with it.
“Dick…” She breathes.
He keeps going, because stopping now would hurt worse.
“He looks so excited,” he continues. “So nervous. Like this was the biggest thing he’s ever done. And he trusted me with it. Trusted me to stand there with him. I couldn't be the reason that moment cracked.”
Donna’s voice trembles like she's feeling his pain for him. “So you’ll let yourself crack instead?”
He shrugs, small and helpless. “I’ve survived worse.”
Her hands ball into fists. “You’re allowed to want things,” she says, voice breaking. “You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes.”
Dick shakes his head. “He’ll never choose me, Dons,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I can’t give him the life and the love he deserves. I don’t have anything to offer him. I don't have anything he needs.”
Donna stares at him like he’s just handed her something fragile and already cracked.
“That’s not true,” she argues back immediately, fiercely. “You don't get to decide what he needs for him.”
A quiet, humourless laugh escapes him. “I already know,” he murmurs. “He needs stability. Normalcy. Someone who can stand still long enough to build a life without running off into danger every night. Someone who doesn't disappear, who doesn't come home bleeding and exhausted and pretending it doesn't hurt.”
He finally looks up at her again, eyes tired in a way Donna has seen too many times.
“He needs Linda.”
Donna swallows hard. “And what do you need?”
The question hangs there, sharp and unforgiving.
Dick opens his mouth— then closes it. His jaw tightens.
“I need him to be happy,” he mutters finally. “Even if that happiness has nothing to do with me.”
Donna lets out a shaky laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob. “You always do this,” she says, exasperated. “You turn love into a sacrifice and call it enough.”
“It is enough,” Dick insists, a little more firmly now, like he’s trying to convince himself instead. “I don’t need him to love me back. I just—” His voice falters, betraying him. He clears his throat. “I just need him to be okay.”
Silence stretches between them.
Donna steps closer, kneeling in front of him so he can’t look away this time. She takes his hands in hers— the feeling warm and grounding.
“And when he asks you to stand there,” she says quietly, “and look at him while he promises forever to someone else… what are you going to do then?”
Dick’s throat tightens. He stares at their joined hands, at how steady his are, how practiced.
“I’ll smile,” he replies. “I’ll make a joke. I’ll tell everyone how lucky they both are.”
“And when you’re done?” She presses.
“I’ll leave,” he admits. “I always leave before anyone notices.”
Donna squeezes his hands so hard like she’s trying to keep him tethered.
“You’re breaking your own hard for him,” she says softly. “And he doesn't even know.”
Dick closes his eyes.
“That’s the point,” he whispers.
She pulls him into a hug before he can brace himself. This time, he doesn't resist. His forehead presses into her shoulder, breath hitching once— just once— before he forces it back down.
Donna holds him like she understands exactly how much it costs him to let go like this.
“If he ever finds out,” she murmurs, “it’s going to destroy him.”
Dick swallows.
“He won’t,” he says. “I won’t let him.”
Donna pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes shining.
“You can’t protect everyone forever,” she whispers.
Dick gives her a tired, familiar smile.
“I can try.”
And somehow, that hurts worse than if he’d admitted he was afraid.
“Why— why didn't you tell me?”
Dick frowns, leaning back against the counter, arms folding loosely over his chest like muscle memory. Defensive without meaning to be. “Tell you what?”
Wally turns to face him from where he’d been pacing around in Dick’s living room, an unreadable expression on his face. He looks tired. Not patrol-tired or planning-a-wedding-tired. Something deeper.
“Don’t,” he says softly, jaw tightening. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you don’t know.”
Dick’s brows furrows deeper. “I’ve got too many secrets.”
“Yeah. And that’s the problem,” Wally sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He then drags his hands down his face like he’s trying to wake himself up from something he doesn't want to be real.
Dick stays quiet. He isn't about to expose himself if this isn't what he thinks this is about.
Wally watches him for a long moment, chest rising and falling too fast, even for a speedster, like he’s bracing himself.
“Linda asked me something last night,” he says finally.
Dick’s breath hitches before he can stop it. Just once. Barely there. But Wally notices it.
“She asked,” Wally continues, voice careful, like each word has weight, “if I’d ever noticed the way you look at me.”
Dick closes his eyes.
So he found out.
“I told her no,” Wally says quickly. “I told her you’re just— you. That you’ve always been like that. That you’re my best friend.”
He laughs once, short and humourless. “She didn't argue. She just… looked sad.”
Dick pushes off the counter and turns away, busying himself with nothing— straightening a mug that doesn't need it, wiping a perfectly clean surface. Anything to keep his hands occupied.
“She said,” Wally goes on, oblivious to the Dick’s inner turmoil. Or maybe he knows. “That she didn't think you ever meant to fall in love with me.”
Silence.
“That you wouldn't have chosen it. That if you could've stopped it, you would have.
Dick swallows.
“And that’s when I realised,” Wally says quietly, “that I’d never actually asked myself why you never dated anyone seriously after Babs. Or why you never complained when I dragged you into wedding planning. Or why you looked off when we were picking out the rings.”
Dick’s jaw tightens.
“It was nothing,” he says, almost too casually. “Just nerves. For you.”
“Don’t,” Wally snaps, then immediately softens. “Please don’t lie to me now.”
Dick finally turns back to face him.
Wally’s eyes are red. Not crying— but close. Close in the way people get when they’re trying very hard not to shatter.
“I keep replaying things,” Wally mutters. “Moments. Stuff I brushed off because it was easier not to look too closely.”
He takes a step forward. Stops.
“You let me cry on your shoulder the night Linda and I fought,” he says. “You told me she loved me. You told me to go back to her.”
Dick nods once. “Because she does.”
“But you— you love me.”
“I did. I do,” Dick admits, voice low and surprisingly steady, as if saying out loud would shatter everything around them.
“Then why—”
“Did you expect me to ask you to stay?” Dick interrupts, not unkindly. “If I did, what would you have done, Wally? You love Linda— not me. You wouldn't have stayed if I asked you to.”
“You don't know that!” Wally snaps, voice cracking, frustration bleeding into it. “You’re just assuming I wouldn't—”
Dick holds up a hand, stopping him. “Would you, then? If I asked back then, if I’m asking right now— would you?”
Wally opens his mouth.
Closes it.
“Exactly,” Dick says softly. “And that uncertainty would've ruined everything.”
“For who?” Wally demands. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“And Linda?”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
Dick hesitates.
Wally sees it. His face crumples just a little.
“You never put yourself on that list,” Wally murmurs.
Dick exhales. “Someone had to make the choice you couldn't.”
“That wasn't your responsibility.”
“It was,” Dick says quietly. “The moment I realised you were happy.”
Wally steps closer. He looks at Dick like he’s seeing him clearly for the first time— and hating himself for how long it took.
“How long?” He asks.
Dick doesn't answer.
“How long have you loved me?”
Dick’s throat tightens. He forces the words out anyway. “Long enough that it stopped feeling like something I could fix.”
Wally’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He swallows hard, the air thick between them. He takes another step forward, stopping just short of Dick. His voice drops to something almost unrecognisable— ragged, vulnerable.
“You could've told me,” he whispers. “If I knew… I’d—” He cuts himself off. “...I’d have tried,” he finishes softly, almost under his breath, like saying it would break the fragile tension around them.
Dick lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
“Tried,” he repeats quietly. Not accusing. Not bitter. Just… careful. “That’s the problem.”
Wally looks up at him, eyes shining now, something raw and unguarded there.
“You don't try with love,” Dick continues. “You don't try with Linda. Or with something you’re already standing inside of. You either know— or you don’t.”
“I could've figured it out,” Wally says, desperation creeping in. “I could’ve—”
“And what if you didn't?” Dick asks gently. “What if you chose me for the wrong reasons? Guilt. Confusion. Because the idea of me was easier than admitting you were scared.”
Wally flinches.
Dick hates himself for it. Hates that he knows exactly where to press.
“I don’t want to be your almost,” Dick says, voice thin. “I don’t want to be the question mark you look back on in five years and wonder if you made the wrong choice.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and heavy.
Wally swallows. “You don’t think I could’ve loved you?”
Dick’s mouth opens. Closes.
“I think you do love me,” he says finally. “Just… not in the way that would survive the morning after.”
That seems to land.
Wally’s shoulders sag, like something finally gives way. He looks away, blinking hard, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.
“She told me,” he says. “Linda. Said that she could feel there was something I wasn’t seeing. That I kept orbiting you without understanding why.”
Dick’s chest tightens.
“She said she wouldn't marry me if I was still standing in two places at once.”
That makes Dick look up sharply.
“We still are,” Wally adds quickly. “I told her I chose her. I mean it.” He hesitates. “I just… needed to understand what I was leaving behind.”
Dick nods once. It hurts, but it makes sense. Somehow, that almost makes it worse.
“You don’t owe me closure,” he says softly.
“I know,” Wally replies quietly. “But I owe you honesty.”
He takes a step back, creating space where a moment ago there was almost none.
“I loved you,” Wally suddenly declares. “In a way I didn't have words for. In a way I thought I was safe because I didn’t name it.”
Dick closes his eyes.
“And I’m sorry,” Wally finishes. “For letting you carry it alone.”
When Dick opens his eyes again, he smiles— small, tired, real.
“Don’t be,” he says. “You’re happy. That matters.”
Wally looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself.
They stand there for a moment longer, two people balanced on the edge of something that could’ve been everything.
Then Wally turns toward the door.
“I still want you there,” he says quietly. “At the wedding. But if you can’t—”
“I can,” Dick says immediately.
Wally pauses, hand on the doorframe.
“Are you sure?”
Blue eyes meet green.
“I’ve loved you long enough to know the difference between wanting you… and wanting you happy.”
Wally nods, once.
When the door closes behind him, the apartment feels too quiet.
Dick sinks down against the counter, presses his knuckles to his mouth, and stares at nothing.
The wedding is beautiful.
Dick stands next to Wally at the altar, hands curled tightly around the velvet box— not the rings, just a small gesture of protocol, a silent anchor in a storm of his own making. Wally is beside him, radiant, nervous, grinning the way Dick has loved for years.
The ceremony moves forward in a blur. Vows exchanged, promises whispered, smiles shared. Dick applauds at the right moment, laughs lightly when everyone else does, even as his chest feels hollow. He can feel the weight of every “I do” pressing against him.
Wally glances at him once, then twice, eyes sharp and searching. There’s something there, fleeting and unreadable. Dick keeps his expression neutral, burying the ache in the hollow of his ribs.
The officiant pronounces them married. Wally lifts Linda’s hand, slides the ring onto her finger, beams like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.
Dick swallows the tight knot in his throat and smiles, genuinely, carefully, as though the motion alone can convince his heart to stop hurting.
Love comes in the most unexpected ways.
Sometimes, it stays.
Sometimes, it chooses someone else.
And sometimes—
It asks you to stand there, smiling, and love quietly enough that no one ever knows what it costs you.