Just something I had dashed off the other day while listening to this song and taking a break from studying. It's kinda angsty and maybe a bit sad, but here it is. One shot for now. Probably not going to change. Still, reviews are love and if you guys want me to continue, I'll consider it.

The song is G.I.N.A.S.F.S. by Fall Out Boy. In case you're wondering, it stands for "Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty." Video is here .com/watch?v=a6EZvuyYpzk if you want to listen to the song. (Oh, and the stuff in italics is the song lyrics. Just in case you didn't get that.)

Hope you enjoy! I'll be back at the end of this week (hopefully) with some more stuff.

I've loved everything about you that hurts, so let me see your moves,let me see your moves.

Wally really had loved Dick, had loved everything. The scars, the smirk, the way he got a little bit (ok, a lot a bit) cocky sometimes. He had especially loved the way Dick had moved when he fought, all grace and fluid, athletic motion. He'd loved his good and his bad, even the parts of him that had ended up hurting Wally.

Lips pressed close to mine, true blue.

If he concentrated, he could feel the pressure of the smaller boy's lips against his own. It felt so good after not having actually felt it for the longest time. When he closed his own eyes, he could see Dick's beautiful blue eyes, so intense and focused, staring back at him. Wally loved those eyes.

But the prince of any failing empire knows that everybody wants (everybody wants) to drive on through the night, if it's the drive back home.

Towards the end, Wally (the prince of failed relationships) noticed that Dick was getting bored with their relationship. Dick needed excitement and daring, romance as exciting as his acrobatic moves. Wally had wanted to do this right, going slower and working hard to preserve it. Wally could tell Dick was bored but was too kind to say anything.

So, as much as it had killed him, Wally had broken up with Dick.

Things aren't the same anymore, some nights it gets so bad I almost pick up the phone. Trade baby blues, for wide-eyed browns. I sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house in your shoes. I know it's strange. It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you. I'm supposed to love you…

Things had changed quickly. He started seeing less and less of Dick until it was now at the point where he didn't see him almost at all. And when he did it was normally for a few hours for a mission.

Each time, Dick seemed to have a new girl (or guy) that he was dating. It'd made Wally ache inside. So he'd finally rebounded to Megann the next time she asked. Megann and her huge brown eyes, her soft hair, her comforting curves…

I've already given up on myself twice, third time is the charm (third time is the charm). Threw caution to the wind but I've got a lousy arm.

Wally had only really liked 2 people. Sure, he'd dated (at last count) almost 20 people, but he'd only really loved 2 of them: the third girl he'd gone out with him (who had cheated on him) had been his first; Dick had been his second and it had felt so much more intense than before. He'd given up on both those relationships, ignoring how much it made his heart hurt. He figured maybe he could love Megann, make her his third love and maybe get it right this time.

Third time's the charm, right?

And I've traced your shadows on the wall now I kiss them whenever I'm down (whenever I'm down). Kind of figured on not figuring myself out.

God, he missed the feel of Dick against him, in his arms. Whenever he couldn't sleep or he was feeling extremely sentimental, he'd close his eyes and remember all the good times they'd had together. The intensity of his imagination scared him sometimes, but he loved being able to put himself back into those situations where Dick was still his, where he could still kiss and hold him. But eventually it would all fade away and he'd be left with Megann and his memories.

And he still wasn't sure how he felt about that…

Things aren't the same anymore, some nights it gets so bad I almost pick up the phone. Trade baby blues, for wide-eyed browns. I sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house in your shoes. I know it's strange. It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you. I'm supposed to love you…

He still had a few things of Dick's left over from nights they'd spent together. He'd wear one the Dick's shirts around the house when he felt really lonely. And sometimes (though he's never tell), he'd wear one of them when he was with Megann, pretending that it was the boy he was with instead of her. He felt like he was cheating on her (in a way), but she had never complained about his performance at these times. In fact, she had praised him more than normal. So he didn't really see a problem.

Much…

Born under a bad sign, but you saved my life that night on the roof of your hotel.

He and Dick had gotten their palms read once. Dick's future had looked fine, filled with success and riches (of course), but Wally's had looked darker. The lady had said Wally would never find love. Well, he'd never find a true love, one that would return his feelings. Dick had almost punched her.

To prove her wrong, Dick had taken Wally up onto a roof top overlooking all of Gotham and told Wally that he loved him. Said he meant it, too. And Wally had believed him and dismissed the psychic fraud. They spent the night together, talking (and not talking) on the top of that roof. It was one of Wally's best memories.

Cross my heart and hope to die. Splinter from your headboard in my eye. I photo-proofed kisses I remember so well.

Wally still had a box of mementos from their time together, tucked in a box underneath porn magazines that he never used because the things underneath were better. He had pictures of them, kissing, holding hands, cuddling, just being. He also had mementos, things that only meant something to him: a plastic ring, the remainder of the Ring Pops they had given each other as "promise rings;" the piece of Dick's shredded shirt that Wally had ripped off the first time they'd done it; the piece of headboard that Wally had vibrated off when Dick had handcuffed him to the bed; postcards; love notes; other small mementos of their "never-ending" love for one another.

Trade baby blues, for wide-eyed browns. I sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house in your shoes. I know it's strange. It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you. I'm supposed to love you…

Wally was tired of pretending. All he wanted to do (had wanted for so many nights now) was to pick up his phone, call Dick, and get back together. He was still in love with him, god damn it! But Dick had moved on and didn't want him anymore. Maybe the old bat in the psychic shop was right—maybe he was just supposed to love Dick for the rest of his life without having his love in return.

He sighed, pulling the collar of his shirt (Dick's, really) up to wipe the sweat (he refused to believe it was tears) from his face. The box with all of his mementos was sitting on his lap, open and holding what felt like a life time of good memories. He sighed, picking up one of the pictures of him and Dick looking into each other's eyes, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

God he missed those days…

Now press repeat…