"I say that this place needs a total makeover," Barry announced as he came into our shared apartment. I raised an eyebrow at the bags that were in his hands. "Paint," he said, dropping them on the ground. He pulled the paint cans out of the paper bags, the names of all sorts of colors printed on the labels.
"No no no, Barry," I said, shaking my head. I appreciated the chic look of our apartment. The monochromatic scheme of our apartment, the shades of white, black, and gray, were able to create a beautiful design. And here Barry was, with purple, with blue, with green, with red colored paint cans.
"Caitlin," he said, coming over to the couch I was comfortably lying on, flipping through a magazine. He put his hand in mine, crouching down so that he was looking straight at me. I sat up, bringing my knees to my chest, giving him room to sit down next to me on the couch. He intertwined his fingers with mine, our arms pressed together.
"But Barry—" I started to say.
"Caitlin. Colors. In the dictionary, it says that colors are properties of an object that produce different sensations on the eye depending on the way the object reflects light," he looked into my eyes. I raised an eyebrow.
"What does this have anything to do with ruining our apartment?" I asked him. He smiled, shaking his head.
"You are so many colors to me. You are so many colors that are exposed by the good within you, and that good is the light," he said, leaning his head on my shoulder. Yeah. I was still drowning in confusion. "Caitlin, you are white like the frosting on the birthday cake we shared on our first, our second, and our third anniversary," his fingers played with my own, and I smiled at the action and at the memory. "Caitlin, you're black like the dress you wore on our first date, you are gray like the sky on the day we moved into this apartment together." I smiled at the thought of the memories he brought up. I could remember the dress that he adored, the one that still sat in my closet. I could remember the sky the day we moved in together, I remembered how we both worried of thunderstorms that never came.
"Is that all?" I asked him. "Because our apartment is indeed, white, black, and gray," I gave him a smug smile. He took his head off of my shoulder, shoving my side lightly, drawing a giggle from my lips.
"You are blue like the ocean we went to during the summer, where you screamed every time a fish grazed your ankle. You are green like the grass in the park where we shared our first picnic together," he went on and on. I smiled at the thought; they were my favorite memories, after all.
"Barry Allen," I said, a grin stuck on my face. "Barry Allen, you are orange, you are brown, like the leaves in the fall, the laves that we always rake up together and jump in when we're done,"
"Caitlin Snow, you're clear like the tears you shed when we watched the Notebook together late at night," he rubbed his thumb on my knuckle, making me shake my head at the thought of the time we watched the Notebook together.
"You are yellow, because you are the sunshine of my life," I whispered, looking directly at him. He smiled, and he put his forehead against mine.
"You are pink, the color of love. You are pink because I love you so," he said, beating my attempt at being more romantic than he. I could feel small tears forming in my eyes, his words were too cute, it was as if they were from a book, or from a movie. Who knew that guys like him actually existed?
"And Caitlin, I want to be with you for all of my life. I'm so lucky to have looked your way, I'm so lucky to have seen the rainbow that is you," he took his hand away from mine. I furrowed my brow, trying to grab his hand again. He used his other hand to stop me, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a velvet box, and I knew exactly what he was going to say.
"You know, Mr. Allen, I wanted this done the conventional way," I teased, the once small tears falling down my face in fat teardrops. He shook his head, and he got down on one knee in front of the couch. I looked into his eyes, and they were glazed over with tears as well. He opened the box, and inside, I saw a ring.
"Caitlin, I want you to know that I love you so. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. This ring doesn't just represent our love; it represents you. Caitlin, I want you to know that I didn't get you a diamond ring because I wanted to be cliché. When a diamond is hit with light, it reflects all sorts of colors. I want you to know that you are a diamond. You are precious, and I want you to marry me. What do you say?" he asked me. My tears were now racing down my face, and I nodded. I nodded over and over.
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes!" I cried, getting down on the floor in order to give him a hug. He took the ring out of its place, and he slid it onto my finger. "Wrong hand Barry," I laughed, giving him my left hand, taking my right hand out of his grasp. He laughed, putting the ring on the correct hand. I leaned over to him, giving him a kiss.
"You realize that if I'm really that many colors, I'd just be a disgusting shade of brown, right?" I laughed.
"I was trying to be romantic," he whined. I gave him another kiss.
"I know. Now please tell me that you don't actually want to paint the house in those wild colors and you just wanted to give me that cute speech."
My first story on the site, thanks so much for stopping by! Please leave a review, it would mean the world to me!
~ j.m.