Chapter Text
You huff in annoyance as you tap your favorite pen on your desk, staring at the blank cursor blinking on your laptop. It had been a graduation gift from your parents before you moved to Central City to pursue yours dreams of being a novelist. So far, you were having a bit of trouble getting the vibrant ideas out of your mind and onto the document.
Your father knew someone in the city, which was part of the reason he and your mother let you move from your hometown. His name is Joe West and was friends with someone who worked for Central City Publishing, your dream job. He had put in a good word for you, and the head of the fiction department was willing to hear a pitch within the next week.
You hadn’t come up with a pitch yet. You wanted something with a hero, a villain, and an amazing plot that would have every reader sitting on the edge of their seat.
You had everything planned but the words that were supposed to flow easily from your mind to your laptop. You want to write about a hero, but you wanted to understand a hero first. What their motivations were, why they chose that lifestyle, things like that.
You have been in this position for hours and your back is aching. You stretch, and let out a noise of satisfaction at the sound of your protesting back cracking. Shifting your gaze to the window that lay beside you, you stand from your desk and walk towards your balcony.
Having saved every cent you could from college, you were proud to say you could pay for your first apartment without the help of your parents. You were independent. You had found a cute two bedroom apartment overlooking the city’s skyline, bright and busy. You had moved in just last week, and still had a few boxes that needed to be unpacked.
You skirt around the offending boxes as you unlock the door and let yourself out in the chill air. Folding your arms together for warmth, you lean against the wall with your elbows and take in the city.
“Why won’t the words come?” You ask aloud. This has been one of your best tactics for getting work done when you couldn’t focus. You found years ago that spoken words made for your best thinking. “I know what I want.”
You scan the city, trying to think of things that could help your musings. Bright lights twinkle, reminding you of the time you went to New York with your parents. Plenty of heroes had been written about there.
In Central City, the had The Flash. You didn’t know much about him, but you knew he was a hero.
“The Flash could probably answer my questions,” you giggle to yourself. “He would know all about what a hero’s motivations are. He could practically write the book.”
You chuckle at your pun, and move your left hand to cup your cheek. A smile lingers on your lips at the thought of an actual hero—
“Hello.”
An undignified shriek escapes your lips as you propel yourself backwards, away from the intruding voice. You land on the chair that sat beside you and still try to move away from the other side of your balcony which is now inhabited by a stranger.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” the voice said. It’s a guy, and he’s wearing an all red suit that obscures his face. His voice is weird, too, like it’s being vibrated. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Well, you did,” you snap, embarrassed at your scream.
“I’m sorry, I just had to wonder why a pretty woman was talking to herself about talking to me,” he chuckles.
A light blush dusts your cheeks as you realize the man in front of you is The Flash and he just admitted he thinks you’re pretty. He seems to recognize your realization and shrugs good-naturedly.
“Why were you talking aloud about heroes?” The Flash asks, tilting his head to the side.
“I’m a writer,” you say nervously. He was a hero, sure, but you were wary about being alone with someone so much stronger—not to mention faster—than you. Your father had raised you to be cautious. “I have to write a pitch, and I’m struggling with a bit of writer’s block.”
“I have a friend who’s a writer,” he says, leaning against the side of the balcony. He seems to notice how wary you are, and maintains a distance that makes you comfortable. “She struggles with that sometimes.”
“I know what I want to write about, but I want to understand the archetype of that character so I can make it the best work I’ve ever written.” You blush again as you realize you may have said too much. Why would The Flash care about your musings?
“What archetype are you focusing on?”
You’re surprised that he asks you and almost immediately reply, “A hero.”
“I don’t know if I can help with that archetype,” he says humbly.
“You’re kidding, right?” You smile in slight shock. “You’re the reining hero of this city.
People talk about how you’ve saved so many people from so many different dangers. You put yourself in danger at the expense of this city so that its people can live in peace and safety. You risk your life every day for them without asking for anything in return! How can that not fit the archetype of a hero?”
Your passionate outburst leaves the speechless, as surprised as you were with the confidence and care you put into your words.
He is quiet for a minute before nodding. “When you put it like that, I sound like one. I guess I can try to answer any questions you have and help.”
You search your mind for a minute and try to think of what you could ask him. You hold up a finger, signaling you’d only be a minute, and run inside to grab your laptop. When you come back out, The Flash hasn’t moved a muscle.
“I guess I should ask why you do this,” you say, opening a new document and holding your fingers over the keys, waiting patiently .
“I have these…abilities to help people and prevent harm,” he says, obviously choosing his words very carefully. Even though his voice vibrated, perhaps disguising its actual baritone, his words were full of care. A small smile happens upon his face as he continues. “I don’t want people to feel pain.”
“So you’ve felt pain?” The question slips out, and you clap your hand over your mouth. Such an invasive question! You worry that he would simply run away, leaving you alone with your thoughts that weren’t helpful towards your pitch.
“Yes,” The Flash replies and then stiffens. It seems he didn’t mean to be so honest. “Everyone has, right?”
“True, but most people don’t try to save everyone they can because of the pain they face,” you muse. “You’re very brave to do so.”
You can see his smile under his mask. “What else do you want to know?”
The night continues as you ask more and more questions about his heroics, trying to understand why he does what he does. He answers more and more, adding more and more to his answers as the night passes. You fill pages and pages on your laptop, understanding The Flash with each word.
When the beginning of dawn begins to show its red streaks through the sky, you pause before asking your next question. The Flash smiles, seeming to read your mind.
“It’s a bit late,” he comments, a single dimple appearing in his grin.
“Early,” you correct, slowly shutting your laptop. “I really appreciate this, I can’t believe how much I’ve learned.”
“Helping is what I do,” he chuckles. “I can’t wait to read your book when it gets published.”
“You’d really read it?” You can’t help but smile broadly at the prospect of him sticking his superhuman nose between the pages of your book.
“Of course,” he says as if its obvious. “I liked talking to you. You’re easy to feel comfortable around.”
You blush for the third time being in his presence, and smile again. You thank him once more before standing, your legs protesting after sitting for so long.
“I should get back to work,” the Flash remarks hesitantly. “I’ll see you around. I wouldn’t
mind if you asked me more questions.”
With that, he disappears with a hint of lightening showing that he was ever there at all. You smile brightly and return inside your apartment, plugging in your laptop to charge before collapsing in your bed. You have a bit of a crush on the man you had spent the last couple hours getting to know.
But you didn’t really know him—you knew why he was a hero. You didn’t know his name, his favorite color, or what breakfast he prefers. Sighing, you close your eyes and wait for sleep to claim you.
It had been days since you had spoken to the hero, and your pitch was perfect. You couldn’t wait for your meeting with the editor, who Joe West had arranged the meeting with just the day before. To thank him for all of his help, you had called him and asked to take him out to coffee.
Joe had suggested Jitters, the coffeehouse where his daughter worked. It was less than two blocks from your apartment, so you were more than pleased with his idea. You walked down the street, wearing your (favorite color) blouse and black jeans.
When you reach the cafe, you are pleased to recognize Joe West sitting inside. But he’s not alone, he’s with a man with dark hair. His back is turned to you. You enter the cafe and walk to Joe’s table.
“Hello, (Name)!” Joe says, his face breaking into a grin. “It’s so good to see you; how long has it been?”
“I think you might have attended a birthday party when I was a kid,” you laugh, happy to see a familiar face. You turn to his companion to introduce yourself.
“Hello, I’m—”
You can’t finish your sentence. The man, quite possibly the most handsome person you’ve ever seen, is grinning at you, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than someone meeting a stranger for the first time. He smiles as if laughing at a funny joke.
“I’m Barry Allen,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it, and notice how warm his hands were. He holds your hand a bit longer than you expected, but you don’t want him to let go. His smile holds only one dimple—just like someone else you know.
No, it can’t be, you think to yourself.
“(Name) is a writer,” Joe says. “She’s going to give a pitch later today.”
“I bet you’re a great writer,” Barry says, the side of his mouth twitching at a smile. “What is it about? Something heroic?”
It is, you realize.
“Yes, and I was very fortunate to receive help from someone very special when I needed it,” you say, giving a twitch of your lips. “I wish I could thank him.”
Barry life his chin a bit, his eyes twinkling as they hold contact with yours.
Joe’s cell rings, causing you two to break away. He stands and gives a quiet apology before stepping out to take it. As he leaves, you take his seat. Feeling confident you knew who you were talking to, you inhale before speaking.
“How would a hero like to be thanked? What do you think?”
Barry smirks openly now, knowing that you know what his hints had meant. “I would very much like to take you on a date. You can show your thanks by answering any questions I have.”
You reach across the table, towards his hand. “I would like that very much.”