"Umm, nah-uh. Hell to the no." She's standing in front of him, her foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, her arms folded across her chest, and he has the distinct impression of being a kid scolded by an adult.
He replaces the wine-colored T-shirt on his bed and turns back around to face her, clearly expecting an explanation as to why he shouldn't wear it.
"Barry, we're going with Cisco to his family's celebration of Cinco De Mayo. You could at least wear a nice shirt."
"Fine," he mumbles, and now she's the one who feels like they're an adult and a child fighting.
"Oh don't be so grumpy. We're just doing it once so that Cisco's mum stops nagging him to date me."
"Remind me again where she got that idea from," he asks as he gets a white shirt from his closet, one with thin vertical blue stripes, and shows it to her. She nods her approval.
"When I would sometimes go with him to family events so that he wouldn't be alone as he hears all about his failures and Dante's accomplishments."
"Right," Barry acknowledges as he winces slightly. Cisco's relationship with his brother had always been complicated, and so they usually steered away from talking about it, which made it easier for him to ignore but harder for them to help him when he needed.
"So we'll basically be fake dating for the day. Then you can wear whatever you want."
"Fake dating, you say? Why can't we just start dating for real?"
She halts her movements, hand freezing midway to her ear, now unable to brush back the strand of hair dangling in her face. "What?" she chokes out, and the widening of her eyes would be an accomplishment in any other situation.
His previous sluggish and care-free attitude has disappeared and been replaced by the purest look of seriousness and hopefulness to have ever graced his face. "Caitlin Snow, would you like to go on a date with me?"
"I..." She falls silent as words fail her, before she sighs and rubs her face with her hands.
"Come on," he prods when it's clear that she doesn't know what to say. "It's not like there is no attraction between us." She removes her hands to look at him and he takes it as a sign to keep going. "Do you still remember the way we used to feel? Sitting every Friday night on the rooftop of the S.T.A.R. Labs storage unit on the edge of the city, away from light pollution and sound pollution and well, all kinds of pollution. We never felt like that when Cisco was with us. When it was just you and me, you'd lean into me, rest your head on my shoulder, and look out over the city, and I'd hear the way your breath would become even and slow, and a smile would creep into your lips. You'd be the most peaceful you ever were, and that alone would get me to relax, and I'd feel as if, no matter what would happen next, everything would be OK.
And then one time on the roof, the day you beat that metahuman all on your own, we had this huge fight, and it was stupid, so stupid that I don't remember the details of it, but it was something about you doing the mission alone, and I stormed off. And I remember the hurt look on your face as I was leaving, like I had just slapped you, and I kept seeing that in my mind as I walked away, that sadness, that pain, and I felt so guilty because I knew I was being completely unreasonable. So I stopped walking, I took a deep breath and turned on my heels and I ran back to you. And do you remember what you said the moment you saw me?"
She smiles and nods, "You came back."
He smiles too. "Yeah, you said, 'You came back' and there was this sort of bewilderment in your tone so I said 'Of course I did. I never could leave you'," he says, recalling all the times he got stuck in her gravity, and she pulled him back in effortlessly, gracefully, with a shy smile or a furtive look. His reminiscing expression turns to one tinged with sadness. "You looked so happy, so capable that I just... I thought you didn't need me anymore."
She takes his hands in hers and laces their fingers together. "I always need you."
Maybe it's the words spoken that encourage him to do it, maybe it's the way her thumbs unconsciously trace random patterns on the back of his hands, but the result is the same. He leans in to kiss her, slowly, giving her a chance to walk away, but she doesn't. She doesn't lean forward either, yet she closes her eyes, so he does the same as he kisses her lips, one of his hands leaving hers to rest on her cheek.
He pulls away slowly, and when he opens his eyes, hers are still closed, her mouth slightly agape, and her free hand is hanging somewhere between them, as if she had forgotten what to do with it when they kissed. But soon enough, that hand is the only thing moving in the room as it reaches up to meet the ghost of his lips on hers.
Abruptly, her expression becomes pained, and she turns around before opening her eyes, refusing to look at him. She starts walking away, but he grabs her wrist, gently yet firmly. Before he has a chance to speak, she chokes out, "We can't be together."
He lets go of her, as if her skin suddenly burnt him. "Don't say it." He shakes his head repeatedly, fervently, as if the mere act can block the words from being true. "Not like that."
"I'm sorry, is there another way you'd like me to say it?" Her voice is dripping sarcasm and he knows it's because she's hurt, but he can't help but take it personally. He bites his tongue to stop himself from making things worse.
"Why? Give me one good reason why we can't be together, and I'll drop it."
"We just can't," she whispers as she makes her way towards the door.
"That's not a reason, Cait," he yells after her. "Cait. Cait!" But she's already out of the house.
Barry steps out of the bus and walks the remaining distance to Cisco's house. He took his time on the way there, trying to process what had transpired a few hours earlier. All of his phone calls to Caitlin remained unanswered, and he didn't know what to do, but he wasn't going to leave Cisco alone when he needed him, which is how he found himself knocking on his door.
Cisco opens it a second later, and relief is etched on his face. "Oh thank God," he says, throwing his head back in his usual over-dramatic manner. "Come in."
He grabs Barry by the arm and pulls him inside, as if he can't get there fast enough on his own. "By the way, what's going on between you and Cait? She came here early, and without you, and then just directly made her way to the drinks area. And let me tell you, when I went to her to ask her what's wrong - her answer was Barry, by the way - she wasn't drinking orange juice or tea."
"Great," Barry sighed, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. "I'll talk to her in a sec."
"You better. My plan doesn't work if you two don't fake date."
"I'm glad you want us to make up for totally unselfish reasons," he says sarcastically, and his accusing tone holds no weight as a small smile forms on the corner of his lips.
"Yup," Cisco nods, and a few strands of hair escape his bun, which he pushes behind his ears. "Most altruistic person in the room," he declares, pointing to himself.
Barry throws him a look that says Of course you are then tells him he'll go check on Caitlin, and as he's leaving, Cisco grabs his wrist to stop him. "Just don't... don't hurt her," he says in this tone he barely uses, the tone he reserves for the rare occasions he's being completely serious, especially when Caitlin's heart is involved. Barry doesn't say anything because although he knows he'd never mean to hurt her, he can't promise him he won't do it unintentionally. Cisco lets go of him, so Barry retreats to fight for his happy ending.
A flash of brown hair in his peripheral vision propels him to the adjacent room. It's weird how he can so easily recognize her with so little sensory information, but it also isn't because it's Caitlin. He wouldn't be surprised if he could actually feel her.
"Hey you," he says softly as not to disturb her.
She doesn't move and continues staring at her glass. The only sign that she heard him comes in the form of a weary verbalization. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugs, more out of habit than to convey his message. "Cisco invited me."
"I mean," she turns to face him and he can see, on her face, the tiredness that was present in her tone, "here, with me."
He takes a seat next to her, and she turns back around, refocuses her attention on her drink as he stares right ahead, onto the large mirror occupying most of the wall in front of them. It's easier that way, not looking directly at each other as they speak, but seeing each other nonetheless through their reflections. "I just wanted to see you."
"Mhm," she hums noncommittally.
"So... what's good to drink here?" He finds it easier to talk about trivial things, common things before he tackles what will trap him in awkwardness. It's how he can ease himself into the conversation, guiding it slowly and carefully in the direction of the things they need to address.
"Everything I already drank." To accentuate her response, she holds her glass up above her head level and in his general direction in a "cheers" sort of way, before she brings it to her lips, tilts her head back and gulps all the remaining liquid down. She puts the empty glass on the counter, next to three others - an amount that has fallen short of Barry's expectations and made him proud that she's sort of pacing herself (sort of) - and takes a hold of a fourth filled one that was waiting for her, though she makes no attempt to drink from it.
"Are you drunk?" he asks next. She's still not looking at him, but he turns to do so. She lifts her hand, holding up her thumb and index finger a couple of centimetres apart, and the side of his mouth pulls up in a half smile. "So why are you a bit drunk?"
She points to the empty glasses. "Because I drank those three."
"And why did you drink all of those?"
She sighs, clearly not amused by the conversation, but she knows what he's doing, knows his endgame and oddly finds herself glad that he's trying to talk things out. "'Cause I'm trying to forget."
"What are you trying to forget about?"
Her eyes focus on the liquid she's swirling in her hands, watching the way it adheres on the glass for a split second before it splashes back down. She's debating whether to tell him or not, but with the alcohol limiting her inhibitions, it's more a question of when and how than a question of if. Then, after a final shot of liquid courage, she tightens her hold on her glass and her voice trembles as she measures her words, enunciates them as if a single wrong one can obliterate what they have. "The taste of your lips on mine, how soft and careful they were. The way they were both eager and gentle. How kissing you felt like an eternity and not long enough." She's silent for a moment or two, then, "I tried to stop thinking about you."
"And how did that work out for you?" he says when she takes a moment to collect her thoughts.
She wants to snap at him for being so smug at a time when she's pouring her heart out, but when her eyes look up in anger, they meet his earnest ones, and she knows he's feverishly anticipating the answer. "You want the truth?" He nods, not blinking, holding his breath and she can almost hear his heart picking up speed as it beats in his chest. She's glad she has the same effect on him as he has on her. "It didn't work. Not one bit."
The grin he offers her is the first genuine one she's seen in a while, and it has the power to elicit one from her as well. He grabs both her hands in his and squeezes them, as if transferring his excitement to her. "So go out with me," he says.
Her smile drops suddenly, reality clawing its way back to the forefront of her mind. She had foolishly forgotten that she wasn't in a fairy tale or a Hollywood movie. She had forgotten for a moment why she had so adamantly pushed away the thought of them being together. She snatches her hands from his, tries - and fails - to ignore the kicked puppy look he throws her way. She has to avert her eyes, focus on a point right next to his head because she doesn't think she can handle any more of this. "I already told you we can't."
"Yeah but you still haven't given me a reason why." He sounds worked up, but also desperate, lost, pleading. "We kissed, for God's sake, Cait!"
"The kiss...", she starts, takes a deep breath, looks down before finally continuing, "it means nothing."
It seems to pain her, to take a tremendous amount of effort out of her to say those words, but he's so hurt by her denial, by her refusal to explain, by her dismissive words that he doesn't notice that. "It means everything to me!" he shouts, and they're too busy focusing on each other that they don't notice the eyes they have attracted. "And I know it does to you too. Why can't you just admit it?! What are you afraid of?"
"Losing you!" she shouts right back, matching his tone, matching his heartbreak. "I'm afraid of losing you, you idiot!"
His gaze softens, and he nods, as if the whole world suddenly makes sense. "You're not going to."
"How do you know that? How can you be sure of it?"
He wants to tell her that they're meant to be, that they're soulmates, that nothing could happen to them as long as they knew that. But he's seen friendships turn to something more then crash and burn, he's seen love turn to hate, he's seen fairy tales end as tragedies, and he can't bring himself to tell her he has proof that what they have is something that will endure all hardships, even though he firmly believes that it's the truth. Caitlin is a bio-engineer, a scientist, and her whole life has been based on concrete evidence. He's struggling to articulate his feelings into words, his thoughts into answers when she speaks again, and she sounds defeated.
"Why are you still pushing this?!"
And he feels like she's finally asking the right question because suddenly, it all seems so simple. "Because I love you." She freezes because, really, she doesn't understand. All of these years of university and study and degrees and experience and she has no clue how they got here, to him confessing his feelings to her on a stuffy afternoon while she's half drunk. He reigns his emotional outburst back in, afraid he'll scare her off, and his face softens. His eyes look clearer even though his gentle smile is slightly pulling them back. "I love you," he repeats, quietly, so quietly that in the silence, she thinks he'll be able to hear her thoughts. And maybe he does, because he goes on, "I know you've lost so much, and I know you're afraid that one day, it might all blow up in our faces and you'll lose me too, you'll lose another person you care about, but I promise you I'm not going anywhere because God I'm so in love with you."
It's too much, it really is, and she has to look up and bite her lip to stop the tears pooling in her eyes from escaping. A moment, two, and then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them back to find kindness staring back at her.
"You're so afraid of things ending awry, but I mean honestly, at this point, what else could possibly go wrong?"
She lets out an unexpected chuckle, amused by the irony but also lightness of the statement, and the tears that were barely under her control go rogue. Her hand doesn't seem to want to obey orders either, and it, slowly, carefully, slightly trembling, reaches out and lays itself on his jaw, the thumb coming up to brush his cheek. Her eyes are soft, so soft as they look at him, and when she tilts her head, he's pretty sure his heart skips a beat, as cliché as that sounds. She stands up, so he does too, then she takes a step forward, her body heat reaching him, seeping into his every extremity, and he thinks that if she doesn't kiss him right now, all this warmth might cause him to spontaneously combust.
And then, mercifully, she stands on her tiptoes and leans forward, and his arms automatically wrap around her waist, pulling her in so that their chests are touching, but that still doesn't feel close enough. He forgets all about that when her lips are promptly on his, moving gently yet no less passionately, lightly yet no less surely. He immediately kisses her back, but he no longer believes in his inability to get drunk because right now he feels intoxicated, like he has no control over his arms holding her tighter, over his lips moving faster, over his mind rambling about how this is perfect, those lips are perfect, she is perfect.
"Does that mean that you'll go out with me?" he asks when they separate, because he still can't believe that this is truly happening, he can't process the fact that she just kissed him.
She laughs softly at him, and shakes her head with affection at his question. "Yeah," she lets out in a whisper, but it's loud enough to drown out any doubts screaming in his head.
And maybe he looks a bit dumb with heart eyes and a mouth that's still hanging slightly open, but it doesn't matter, not when Caitlin Snow is looking at him like that, having just agreed to go out with him.