PROLOGUE
HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, PT. II

In-Between, 2008

𝕿HE THEORY OF THE UNIVERSE IS THIS: after 1 x 10-43 seconds of existence, what comprised the universe was dense, hot, and small. Incredibly, incredibly small—it was the size of less than a million, billion billionth of an atom. Here, gravity, electromagnetism, the strong and weak nuclear forces, were combined into a single force. The four fundamentals as one. Matter and energy, at this juncture, were inseparable.

Then, in an incomprehensibly small fraction of a second, the universe expanded. As it expanded, it cooled; 1 x 10-35 seconds after the universe was created, it was filled with a near-equal amount of matter and anti-matter. These particles and anti-particles, uneven in numbers, annihilated each other. What remained would form the matter of the rest of the universe; galaxies, stars, suns and us.

The universe cooled enough within its first full second to form something familiar of the remaining matter—protons and neutrons, that which compose the nuclei of atoms. Three hundred and twenty-four thousand years later, these protons and neutrons would finally be able to form neutral—and stable—hydrogen atoms.

It took another fifty-six thousand years for the universe to become transparent and allow the passage of light.

It would take one hundred and eighty million years after the birth of the universe for the first star to form.

This is where Lark Lennox draws the line. There are many things she can imagine the universe without, but there is no version of reality where she can comprehend a universe without stars.

It didn't matter how many times Wally tried to explain the big bang to her. It didn't matter how patient he was, how often he repeated himself—his best friend simply wouldn't accept a world that, at one point, existed only in darkness, a reality where there was no light.

Lark imagined a life in that universe. How lonely. How cold. Imagine—a hundred and eighty million years spent in wait, completely, cosmically alone, with not even a star to keep you company. Not even light.

When Lark Lennox creates the universe, the stars come first.

The big bang theory posits that the universe was born from a sudden, primordial singularity. The universe that Lark creates is born instead from a single thought.

Where is home?

After this thought comes memory, of what was, of what will never be again. It is a seed in the womb, a seed in the earth. Lark takes it in her hands and, a creator, nurtures it, lets it grow into something thicker, sturdier, something that can run deep and true through this new world of hers. Like a root, like a vein, like a heart.

The act of creation takes Lark but a second, yet in that second there is an infinity. In this infinity, more like a purgatory, more like a bridge, Lark and Wally are everything everywhere all at once.

First, the plains. It was always the plains. Sorghastrum nutans, Andropogon gerardi, Panicum virgatum. The grass, green as youth, just as greedy, grows tall around Lark. Despite their appearance, the brightness of their grey-blonde stalks, they are the opposite of life: the wind sings through them, echoing an ancient song and an older darkness.

She could feel the plains in her blood, in her bones, putting down roots without invitation. The earth beneath her opened its maws for her, the bones long-buried in its depths like teeth eager for the bite and eager for flesh. Lark is sure she will be swallowed whole, eaten alive, digested, decomposed. Then, she feels a tug at her fingertips.

Something warm. Something human. Something like home.

Wally pulls her out of the earth and out of her fear, and the scene around them changes.

Now it is his fear Lark feels. She can recall this memory; a younger Wally and Lark, crouched at the top of the stairs that led from the Lennoxes' matchbox apartment into the similarly-sized flower shop below. Anxiety runs through this memory, thick as foliage; like foliage, it shades the recollection darker, blots out the light.

Wally hugs himself as he listens to the heated words exchanged below, between Lark's father and his. The conversation is conflicting for Wally. Too many of his worlds are colliding at once. His father and all the cruelty that comes attached. Lark and her family and their collective kindness. The flower shop itself; the aisles left empty after close, the cards, the boxes of chocolate. Lark perches her chin upon Wally's shoulder, leaning her head gently against his.

He's my son, Rudy snaps.

Let's just take a moment here, Rudy. Lee is calm, collected. You don't want to make a scene. I don't think Wally wants to, either.

Wally—he can't hide here. Not then and not now, not even in memory. Lark draws him away from the stairs, and frigid air breaks like a wave upon their faces, marking the change from one scene to another.

All that comes next passes like frames of film discarded or damaged, snapshots of memories and dreams and nightmares and worse. The Blue Valley ice-skating rink first, a world of white as far as the eyes can see. Then, a storm, town-devouring, life-destroying, scored by warning sirens that will save no-one. Then, the flower shop—then, a different flower shop, one neither of them could recognise, laid siege to by another storm, another round of thunder, lightning, rain. Have we met? someone says, but Lark is gone before she can reply. She finds herself in the plains once more, but this time, the grasses shy from her, their stalks bending as if to bow. Wally's hand tightens around her own.

Then, they are at the birth of their universe, stranded in the endless dark, abandoned by stars that do not yet exist.

Then, the second is over. The infinity ends. And they are exactly where they are supposed to be.

They find themselves in his bedroom. Everything is silent, and for the briefest moment all Lark can hear is Wally's heart, beating a bruise into the inside of his chest. Thud thud thud—then, he takes a breath. "What just happened?"

Lark ignores him momentarily—instead of replying, she lets go of his hand and sidesteps past to reach the window she had climbed through worlds ago. The space on the wall around the window is excessively decorated with a sense of design (or a lack-thereof) that only a teenage boy could possess. Posters of his favourite bands and movies, photographs of his family and friends. Random things he thought would look cool put up.

It's not these that interest Lark—it's the space between them.

Aside from Wally's obsession with collecting "souvenirs", there was a reason he had so much decoration on his walls. Ever since he could remember, the walls in his room had been blue—and ever since he could remember, he had wanted to paint them green. Year after year he begged his parents, asking them again and again if he could please just change things up a little. Every single time, they refused. The first time he asked, their answer was that they didn't have the time to paint, so Wally said he'd do it himself. The second time, it was that they didn't have the money to spare for the paint—so Wally bought the paint, and the brushes and tarp too.

On the third occasion he asked, the answer Wally received was a blunt no and his father's warning look.

He never brought it up again.

Furrowing her brows, Lark drove her nail underneath the tape that kept a photograph of Wally and Iris securely on the wall. The empty space behind the picture wasn't the deep blue she was so used to seeing, the deep blue that had played backdrop to half of her happiest childhood memories, if not more.

It was green.

Lark smoothed the tape, pressing the photograph back into place. Something within her had wilted, rotted, and already she could feel the work of decomposers writhing within. Worms, perhaps. Fungi. What was this feeling? Guilt? Shame? Horror?

Fear?

Lark pruned the thought and returned to Wally who was, for once, completely still.

"Lark, where are we?"

Lark noticed more changes the longer she spent looking around the room. Comic books were one of Wally's guilty pleasures, and one he kept secret; his parents, his father in particular, didn't approve of them. Rudy West in all his infinite, abusive wisdom, thought they were a waste of time. So Wally maintained the facade that his collection comprised only a few issues, here and there, where in reality it was comically (no pun intended) large. He simply kept half of it at Lark's place—specifically in Andrew and Brandon's shared bedroom, in a box underneath the boys' shared desk.

And yet, Lark could see more than the sparse collection of comic books Wally usually kept in his room. Shelves had been installed to house the volumes, as well as display action figurines of characters Lark recognised Wally to like but not to own. She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, gaze scrutinising as it swept the room. There had been spaces on the walls she remembered to be empty that were now occupied with autographed posters and sports jerseys that Lark had never seen before signed and proudly framed.

"Let's go downstairs," she said distantly, her eyes not leaving the wall.

"Lark, tell me where we are."

"Where does it look like we are, dork?" Finally, Lark turns her head to meet Wally's gaze. There was a tightness to her tone, one she could recognise but not remove completely. It didn't suit her—Wally didn't think it did either, but when she offered him her hand, his expression softened. "We're home."

For a moment, Wally didn't seem sure. But Lark could see it on his face, feel it in her bones and in his. This is the truth: he would follow her wherever she went and wherever she took him. She knew his heart. She knew the way home. If she said this was it, then it had to be.

"Okay." Wally said, half an admission of defeat, half a sigh of relief. He took her hand and let her lead him out the door and down the stairs.

Lark, though unable to escape that feeling of internal decay, had to commend herself for her thoroughness. Everything in number 163 was as it should be, from the furniture to the pictures hung on the wall to the crown moulding. Lark didn't know what to expect, really—she had never transformed anything of this scale before—but she certainly hadn't expected such precision. There was something hazy about memory, something intangible, but from memory Lark had drawn something sharp, exact. The straight lines of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The inner and outer corners of the photographs and their frames. The intersection of living room wall and living room wall. She didn't know she was capable of such severity.

Lark realised now Wally's bedroom wasn't the only part of the house that had been repainted in the multidimensional interim. The downstairs interior of 163 was now green, its walls wavering between shades like they couldn't decide which one they wanted to be—which one Lark and Wally wanted them to be. Olive, forest, mint, lime. All the green anyone could ever want.

Sage, camo, jade, chartreuse.

Wally didn't seem to notice the oscillating state of his childhood home's walls. He was drawn to what existed within them—the television that was set to one of the cartoon channels, the current show's characters the only companions to him and Lark. They chattered away and their little voices, caricatural and stupid, filled the silence.

Lark thought about turning off the television and the screen cut to black. In its reflection, she saw the kitchen. So did Wally; he turned, taking Lark with him, and together they inspected the spread of food that had materialised in their absence. The kitchen was covered counter-to-counter with food, laden with plates and heaven-high piles of brightly-packaged snacks. All of Wally's favourites, Lark realised upon closer examination, every sweet and savoury thing he liked to satisfy his metabolism with.

Deciding Wally was safe in the kitchen amongst his snacks, Lark let go of his hand and headed outside, leaving the sliding doors open behind her to let in the breeze. She circled the house a few times, interrogating her handiwork. Oversized windows, exposed stone walls, and a sharply-angled roof—she counted them off as if they were just tasks to complete on a mental to-do-list, little objectives that built up to something bigger, something monumental.

Where was home?

163 was painted blue. That was new. Lark entered back through the sliding doors, finding Wally in the kitchen, right where she'd left him. Lark had been gone for a minute at most, two, but he'd still managed to half-annihilate a devil's food cake. To his credit he had taken the time to find a plate and some napkins, saving the clean tiles from a chocolate-crumbed fate.

"What?" he asked, wiping his mouth. "It's not like you were going to eat it."

"You're not wrong. Have at it, angel." Lark scoffed gently, reaching up to wipe a few renegade crumbs from his mouth with her sleeve. "It's all for you."

Wally stared suspiciously for a second, his brows knitting together. "Riiight. Do you reckon my parents are home?"

"No." Lark answered, perhaps too quickly. "I mean—no, I don't think so. Why would they be?"

"Because...?" Wally cut himself another slice of cake. For the briefest moment, his gaze was as keen as the knife. Then, maybe at the prospect of all that sweetness, all that sugar, it softened. "They're my parents. They live here."

"They don't have to."

"What?" Wally laughed, though it didn't sound quite right. "That doesn't make any sense. They're my parents, Lark. They can't just not be here."

"Do you really mean that?" Something twitched within, some insect or critter that sought to eat Lark alive, eat her from the inside out. All this she had made for him, and he wanted his parents?

"Well, yeah," Wally paused. "I love them. They—" He stopped again, the words catching in his throat. "They love me."

Lark stared at him in silence for a long time. Then, she kissed her teeth. "Fine. If that's what you want."

"If that's what I want? What are you even talking about? Lark, what's going—"

INT. WEST FAMILY HOME — KITCHEN — DAY

            WALLY and LARK stand by the island counter. The familiar sound of the garage door opening (and then closing) echoes through the ground floor. A few seconds pass, then MARY and RUDY enter the kitchen.

MARY
Lark, what a pleasant surprise! I didn't know you were coming over today!

LARK
I didn't know either.

RUDY
Lark, you are just hilarious. You must get it from your brothers.

LARK
Trust me, I definitely don't.

            Mary and Rudy laugh. Wally stares.

WALLY
Wow. So funny.

MARY
Manners, honey. What have you two been up to today?

WALLY
Not much. Lark just got here. Where did you two disappear off to?

RUDY
What do you mean, son?

WALLY
Like, where did you guys go? You were arguing just before. What, did you jump in the car, drive around the block, and then come straight back?

            Again, Mary and Rudy laugh. It's Lark's turn to stare—at Wally. She nudges his arm, almost as if to shush him.

MARY
Now, why would we do a thing like that?

RUDY
We've been out all day.

MARY
Your father took me out. Isn't that nice?

LARK
So nice. My parents never get to spend any time together, they're always working.

RUDY
Well, we make the time. For us, family comes first.

WALLY
Since when?

Mary turns to look at Wally, and for a moment her smile falters. Her son has her eyes. "Wallace, I don't like that implication."

"It's not an implication," Wally said indignantly, "it's a question."

"Okay, buddy," Rudy says, and he raises his hand. Wally flinches, but his father only goes to ruffle his hair. By the look on his face, this is worse. "Save reciting the dictionary for your aunt, hey?"

Wally looks to his mother, then his father, then back again. "Something's up."

MARY
You know what's up? Dinner. Lark, will you be eating with us?

RUDY
You're more than welcome to stay, Lark.

LARK
Well, I—

"—Lark's gotta get home, actually," Wally interrupted. He smiled, but it didn't meet his eyes. "She's meant to be helping her brother out with, uh, something."

"Something," Mary and Rudy repeated in unison.

"Yeah, something." Wally grabbed Lark's hand again and practically dragged her out of the kitchen. Out of the kitchen, up the stairs, through the hall, into his room. He closed the door behind them and, to his surprise, found it lockable. He stood there perplexed for a good thirty seconds; he had never been allowed a lock. He was only ever allowed to close his door on a good day.

He stood there for another ten seconds, staring in shock at this new development. Then, he pushed past its peculiarity, locking the door and turning around to face Lark. "Those aren't my parents."

LARK
What do you mean? Of course they're your parents.

WALLY
No, they're not. And stop doing that.

LARK
Stop doing what?

WALLY
That.

Lark relented. "If you stop being confusing. I don't see what the problem is. You wanted your parents but now you don't?"

"That's not what I'm saying, I—wait." Wally looked at Lark, then, with an expression she knew all too well. The look of big bangs. The look of a universe without stars. The look of the unknown. "Lark, was this you?"

"Was what me?"

"This. Those people downstairs. This house."

"Those are your parents. This is your house."

"No, it isn't. I've never been here before."

"It's your home."

"No, it's not." Wally shook his head, pushing himself up from the door to stand straight. It was a hero's posture. A prince's. "You need to take us back right now."

"I don't understand."

"Me neither. I thought you could only—" Wally attempted a pantomime of some sort, as if possessed by the spirit of a stage magician. "I didn't know you could do this."

"What exactly did you think I could do?" Lark asked, even though she was thinking the exact same thing. I didn't know I could do this, either.

"Telepathy—empathy. Psionic fields. Not this."

"I think this is the intersection of all of that."

"It doesn't matter what it is." That look on Wally's face was gone. "You have to take us home."

Big bangs, and how to explain them. Stars, or the lack-thereof.

The unknown.

The look was gone. It was now replaced with fear.

It had taken Lark one second to create the universe. How long would it take for her to undo it? "But you're safe here."

"I don't care. I want to go home."

"You don't mean that."

"Lark, I'm asking you. I'm begging you."

"Wally—"

"Please." Wally reached to take her hand in his, but halted halfway. Her hands were dangerous. What had they made? What could they unmake?

Lark felt his fear. "Don't look at me like that." She shoved her hands behind her back, forced them out of sight. Of course, the hands weren't the danger. The heart was. "I would never hurt you."

"I'm not hurt. I'm scared."

Lark Lennox has many talents—singing, figure skating, saving the day. Somewhere in that litany is her ability to make things needlessly complicated.

She has never known when, nor how, to stop.

But she stops now. She takes Wally back, back through the plains, through the flower shop, through one storm and then the next. She takes him back through the rink, back through her apartment, back through the grassland once more. She undoes all she has done, unpicking her new world stitch by stitch, seam by seam.

The light comes again in reverse, an unnatural order. Rot, then life. When it fades, they are back in his room.

Lark began to cry. "I'm so sorry."

Wally didn't know how to react. His instinct was to hug her—so he did, putting his arms around her shoulders and drawing him gently to her chest. "It's okay. We're fine, we're back where we started, we're safe."

"I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done any of it. I'm so sorry."

"Lark, stop." Wally pulled back. He wasn't crying, but he looked like he was about to. "Lark, look at me. You didn't hurt me. You didn't hurt anyone. So don't hurt yourself, okay? It was just a mistake." He smiled, albeit small, "It was a mistake, and I forgive you."

"I wish I never got these stupid powers. I've known it from the start, they're nothing but trouble. I'm just gonna get someone hurt, or worse—"

"—Lark." Wally shook her shoulders gently, as if to shock her out of it. "Lark, you didn't hurt me. Do you understand? I'm still here. I'm right here."

Lark fell silent.

"That said," he brushed away her tears with his thumb, "I think we gotta have a conversation about all this, don't you?"

"Please don't stop being my friend. I'll do anything."

Wally laughed, and then he was crying too. Crying and laughing. "No, don't be stupid. Us, not being friends? Like that's ever gonna happen. Jeez, you're a dork. I meant, we gotta talk about these powers of ours."

"Your powers are fine. You've never used them like I've used mine."

"And I'm never going to. I swear, on my life, that I'll never use my powers against you."

Lark's heart ached. Against—what a harsh word. Is that what he thought she'd done? Did he think she had malicious intent? That she sought to hurt him, not make him happy? Sniffling, she nodded. Ache or otherwise, she understood his meaning. "And I swear I'll never use mine against you again."

"Let's shake on it, pretty bird."

They shook on it, and after, Lark's hand clung to Wally's, her fingers intertwining with his. "But what if there's an emergency?" she asked, still sniffling. "What if you're hurt, or possessed, or something?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"I think maybe we need a clause."

"Clause. That's a very grown-up word."

"Shut up. Tell me I'm wrong."

"All grown-ups are wrong."

"Wally," Lark rolled her eyes as she wiped them, her frustration outweighing her self-pity. "C'mon, you know I'm right."

Wally played with her hand, making a deal out of his indecisiveness. Finally, he groaned—loudly and dramatically. "You're always right. Fine—an exception. No using our powers against each other, unless—"

"—we need to be saved."

"Hah, like I'm ever gonna need you to save me."

"You're pretty stupid, West. Who knows what you'll get yourself into. You needed saving long before I became capable."

"You're talking big talk, babe." Wally wiped away the last of his tears with his free hand, his lips parting into a grin. "I'm the one that does the saving. I'm real heroic like that."

"I'm real heroic: the words of a true hero."

"Shut up."

"Make me. Or can't you do anything without your superspeed?"

Wally dropped her hand to slap it gently, "Low blow. I would never use my superspeed for such petty reasons. And you shouldn't use your empathy for petty reasons, either."

"Only to save you."

"Only to save each other," Wally corrected.

"Only to save each other," Lark confirmed. Finally, she smiled. "Hey, I think your parents stopped arguing."

"They'll play nice if they know you're here. Do you wanna sleep over?"

"I'll have to call my mom."

"I'll get her up on the phone." Wally stepped away, towards the door. "Lark, you know I—"

"—Wally, if you're just gonna say you forgive me again, don't. I don't want to cry any more than I already have."

"No, no, it's not that. I just—" Wally made a face, hand resting upon his now lockless doorknob, "You know."

"I know what?"

He crossed the room to reach his desk, and opened the first drawer. "Take a look in there, okay? I'll be right back." Then, he was gone, stepping out into the hallway and out of her sight.

She could feel his heart through the walls. Thud thud thud. Lark went to the desk and its open drawer. Inside, amongst the typical mess of a teenage boy, she found a piece of paper.

For the past thirty-four years, Mrs. Vargas of Blue Valley Elementary's esteemed staff has been assigning her first-grade students the exact same homework task. A rite of passage for every child that passes through the school's halls, it is often the first homework assignment these children ever receive.

Draw a picture of home.

Lark had drawn Wally's house. Wally, however,  hadn't drawn a house at all. It had been seven or eight years, but his colourful, crayon strokes hadn't faded a day.

For Wally's picture of home, he had drawn a collection of stick figures. Two small ones he had labelled Barry and Iris. The other two—Birdie and me.

Lark cried again. For the plains, the stars—for the realisation that there wasn't something dying inside her but instead, something growing. No decay here, no, but something worse: desire. Desire for power, for creation, for more. That feeling was a weed, a species invasive and intruding.

But not wholly unwanted. And Lark Lennox, of all people, knew how to want.

She stared at the picture for a moment longer, her vision slightly obscured by her tears.

Where is home?

"Lark, I got your mom on the phone," Wally stuck his head through the doorway, pulling the phone as far the cord would go. "Hang on, Doc, she's coming. Birdie!"

Lark put the piece of paper back in its place and slid the drawer shut as Wally disappeared into the hall once more. She smiled at the empty space he'd left in the doorway—the absence. Then, wiping her eyes, she turned from his desk and followed him through.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

and here's prologue pt. ii. i know the posting and formatting for this fic has been unconventional (to say the least). thank you for everyone who's kept up with it so far, i really appreciate your time and your patience!

there's a lot to unpack here. i'm not entirely sure if i want to explain it or let it sit for you guys? but as we can tell (or at least, as i hope we can tell) lark would do anything for wally. my intention was that all of these compounding factors—lark's idealisation of wally's childhood home, her knowledge of his reality, her desperation to protect her best friend and ensure his happiness—would justify the steps that lark takes to create the alternate universe.

she does love wally, just not in the romantic sense—yet. right now what's on her mind is keeping her powers in check. when we pick up in part one of WB, it will have been nearly two years since this incident. lark and wally will have changed a lot by then and i'm excited to write that change.

i hope you've enjoyed the story so far, as well as the glimpse of the relationship that these two have. i'd love to hear your thoughts on both the writing and characterisation, of wally and lark alike.

this chapter wouldn't be possible without the help of artemistics and elysianfieId who both beta read for me. thank you so much can and kira—i would open an alternate universe for you both, no questions asked.

back to you, reader. thank you so much for reading!