There was a man standing on the grass, boots planted shoulder-width apart and gaze inclined down to where he could read the name emblazoned on the stone. Neither the sun shone nor the clouds poured, only a slight wind caught in his hair. His hair usually failed to be tamed by a comb, but now it stuck up at more odd angles than not, partially from the wind, partially from his sleepless nights, and part from the hands, his agitated hands, running through it at all times of day.
There was no one around to fuss about it. No one remained who cared enough to run quick a comb through, front to back, or straighten his jacket before he left or give him a brilliant smile and a 'see you later'. There was only one person who would have done that; he was standing just above.
Harrison Wells, now, knew the definition of many words. From complementarity to relativity to quark matter to duality. Vast was his vocabulary and scientific knowledge alike, but not one of the words he could rattle off at the labs had much of an impact on him. He could explain how the universe expanded, how to tell speed when given the time, why and what stars can collapse into black holes, and none of it would feel like anything more than the work he loved. He could define words by the dozen, but words were words. Words were tools, and tools didn't make him feel much of anything.
Only one made him think of anything more.
Together.
Together meant the bonding of atoms, an order to create molecules from simple water or complicated glucose. Together meant the dual nature of the universe, particles and waves working in tandem, making up all one could see (and all one could not). Together meant two people who just so happen to love each other enough to stand by each other's sides.
Together, like with atoms, also meant the possibility of breaking apart. Together served as a reminder of the darkness crashing through, the guilt, the regrets, and everything which had been eating him from the inside for the past decade. He lashed out because of this, still short-fused, cynical, and disgruntled in bedside manner. He held people at arms length, pretended they wouldn't mean more than a casual encounter on the side of the road, never expecting that through the dark he could be found. He thought, he was lost, for good.
There was a man standing several stories above the small island of Neith, boots settled shoulder-width apart and gaze set straight ahead. Although the truth seemed daunting at first, in retrospect it tumbled out so much easier than he could have anticipated. He could see a pair of brown eyes even now watching him. He could gather that, perhaps, shei and him were more alike than he first understood. Perhaps, of all those he could be caught with in the one place compelling him to tell the truth, she was far from the worst option.
Even the faintest glimmer of hope, to him, was rare. And yet, maybe, if he lifted his head and reached out a hand, whatever new things may be on the fray weren't nearly as bad as he initially would have concluded.