Chapter Text
“Hey.”
Wally leans against the thick wooden pillar next to the pool table, arms crossed as casually as he can make them. He can’t pretend that his shoulders aren’t tense and his heart isn’t racing and his mouth isn’t dry, but he can pretend that reason he’s on the brink of a breakdown isn’t the man standing in front of him.
Dick Grayson looks up from his pool shot, sending two striped balls into different sockets without batting an eyelash, meeting Wally’s gaze.
But he’s not Dick Grayson. Not really.
“Hey yourself.”
It’s not the lack of hair, or the baggy clothes. It’s not the scar on the side of his head that makes him different. Wally couldn’t care less what Dick wears or what he does with his hair (but god does he already miss that silky black hair). It’s the empty look in his eyes. The recognition that should be there but isn’t. The years of friendship, love, devotion – it just isn’t there. And Wally’s not sure he can do this.
“This a one player game? Or you up for some competition?”
There’s a smirk of mischief that’s almost right, but not quite. It’s arrogant – sly. It’s not unfriendly, but it’s not kind either. It’s not Dick.
“You think you can handle it?”
A pool cue is being thrown his way, and Wally catches it with ease. It’s far too familiar an action, and it sends Wally’s heart hurtling into his throat. He doesn’t show it.
“Guess you’ll find out.”
The game is easy. Not that Dick makes it easy – he never does. But it’s practised. He must have some kind of muscle memory – Dick’s body knows Wally’s, somehow, deep down. They step around the table, dancing around each other without realizing. It doesn’t stop them brushing up against each other, and Wally wonders if Dick is doing that on purpose. He has to stop himself multiple times from reaching out to touch Dick’s hip or hook an arm around his waist.
Wally can’t touch him. Can’t hold him without scaring him away. And that might hurt worse than Dick not knowing him at all.
No.
Nothing could hurt more than that.
“Well, isn’t that a surprise.”
Wally glances up from his final shot, sinking the eight ball in the left corner pocket, just like he called it. “What?”
“No one in this bar has managed to beat me in a game yet. You’re the first.”
“Guess I’m just lucky.”
“You might just be…”
Wally knows he shouldn’t do it. He knows he shouldn’t melt into Dick’s touch when he gets far too close for two ‘strangers’ to stay strange for very long. He shouldn’t let Dick press him up against that wooden pillar and latch onto his neck and slip fingers under the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t sink into his arms like a long lost lover and get taken over by the oh-so-familiar scent of the fiancé who doesn’t know he’s his fiancé.
All of a sudden there’s too much touching for him to handle, when he’s been preparing to never have that feeling again.
But when has Wally West ever been able to say no to Dick Grayson?
“Didn’t- hah…- didn’t catch your name.”
“Didn’t give it.”
“Oh, so that’s how this is gonna go.”
“…Rick.”
“Hm. West.”
“Nice to meet’cha.”
“Likewise.”
“My place?”
“Sure.”
It’s not Dick’s place. Wally knows that. Dick’s ‘place’ is their apartment. It’s their bed, their kitchen, their living room with that old beat up couch and the single goldfish that they can only just about take care of. This is not his place, and Wally wonders how the hell he got in here, but he doesn’t comment.
Not when ‘Rick’ is pushing him against the front door and his hands are roaming and there’s so much familiarity in this stranger that Wally’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
Because this isn’t a stranger, but he might as well be, and the fact that there’s nothing behind the kisses – nothing but lust behind it all – is tearing him up inside.
Wally’s never considered himself a masochist before.
When morning comes, Wally plans to leave before ‘Rick’ wakes up. To leave before this could hurt any more than it already does.
But Dick’s always been one step ahead of him.
He’s also always been a nosy bastard, so when Wally wakes up to his wallet being thrown in his face, he really shouldn’t be so surprised.
The photos follow their friendship in stages. From the first day Dick told him his identity, to the day they moved in together, to the engagement photos from six months ago. Wally wonders how he could have forgotten them.
Rick stands stoic and cold in the doorway. He doesn’t have to ask who Wally is to him. The photos speak volumes to their relationship without a word between them, so Wally sits at the edge of the bed with the sheets pooled at his waist, waiting for Dick to talk first.
He doesn’t.
He just shoves Wally down on the bed again and slots their mouths together so roughly that they both taste copper. Wally doesn’t fight it. He wonders where this is going to lead, what this means. So, he doesn’t fight it. He tries to tell himself that this is for Dick – for his memory. For whatever Dick needs right now.
But he knows that’s not true.
When Dick leaves without a word, Wally lets himself believe that’s the end of it. He got his last chance and he blew it. At least he got those few moments with the love of his life before he left his life forever.
Until Dick finds him, this time.
And it happens again.
Wally’s not sure what it all means. What Dick – ‘Rick’ – wants, but he’s not going to say no. Not in those desperate moments between them when he can feel Dick trying – wanting in a way that he doesn’t seem to in regard to any other reminder of his past. For some reason, Wally is different, and he clings to that thought.
Because when they’re together like this, Wally can pretend.
Wally can hope.
And for now, that’s enough.