First of all, I'm so sorry – I know that updates have slowed down considerably. I'd like to say that I'll try to speed them up, but in all honesty, I'm back at uni, so they probably will be monthly from now on.

Psychology Lesson #10

Buffer Effect of Social Support occurs when the support of others make an individual feel better in or after stressful situations. Nucholls, Callell and Kaplin (1972) looked into this when studying the effects that social support had on pregnant women. Results indicated that social support did in fact play a role – with 91% of women in stressful situations and low social support suffering complications throughout their pregnancies, in comparison to 33% who were also in stressful situations, but had more support, whether it be partners, friends or family.

On the morning of the tournament, Oliver's stomach felt like it was tied in knots.

He wasn't ready at all. He'd allowed himself to get distracted.

Beyond the studying with Barry, there was also the training, and, well- Barry with his shirt off, and the making out, and, shit. Even just thinking about it was making him go weak at the knees. Still, Barry had held up pretty well during his first session. There was a bit of struggling, and he definitely wasn't ready for some of the heavier tasks, but Oliver had still been pretty impressed, in-between trying not to stare too much and resisting the temptation to press Barry against the wall and map out his skin with his fingers and lips again.

And damnit, Barry wasn't even here and he was distracting him from the task at hand.

His mother stood beside him, watching him carefully, and Oliver let out a slow, unsteady breath as he skimmed his eyes over the grounds. They were still setting up, and Oliver knew that he had a while before his name would be called even after the competition started. They usually went by alphabetical order by surname.

Still, no amount of delay would ready him for this.

Oliver [Sent 07:30]:
I'm nervous as shit.

Barry [Recieved 07:32]:
Are you.. did you just bring up feelings? Are you trying to talk feelings right now?

Oliver [Sent 07:36]:
Barry.

Barry [Recieved 07:37]:
Right. Sorry. Kidding.

Barry [Recieved 07:39]:
Seriously though, being nervous is a good thing. It can help you to focus.

Oliver [Sent 07:42]:
Not when my hands are shaking so badly that I can barely grip onto my bow.

Barry [Recieved 07:45]:
If it helps any, I wish I could be there.

Oliver frowned down at his phone, trying to consider his next words carefully. They were getting into dangerous territory here – feelings territory. Which, no. They weren't even dating. They were... well, he didn't know exactly what they were. Honestly, he was a little afraid to ask. He just wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.

What he wanted to type was I wish you were here, too – but he was clearly too chicken shit to do it. Thankfully, Barry saved him from having to answer as his phone vibrated in his palm, and another message appeared on his screen.

Barry [Recieved 07:47]:
What are you doing after the competition?

He was going to ask Tommy if he wanted to hang out, in all honesty – but then Laurel had texted and said she was coming to cheer them on, and, well – he knew that Tommy would probably put all his efforts into attempting to spend some time with her.

Tommy and Laurel were... complicated, to say the least. They were dating before the summer, but neither of them were really ready to commit to anything fully. So when Laurel moved away to college, they broke it off. In all honesty, Tommy had never let on that he was particularly bothered, but Oliver knew better. He could tell when his friend was truly happy, and when it was simply a mask.

So, yeah. Long story short – he was pretty sure that Tommy had his heart set on other plans. He glanced over to his friend, who seemed to be in deep conversation with his father – and, in all honesty, Tommy was looking a little distressed. Then again, that was pretty much his permanent expression when dealing with his father.

He could feel his mother's eyes heavily on him, and he pocketed his phone – absolutely not delaying his reply to Barry.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

Oliver flinched, tightening the grip on his phone, before turning to meet his mother's eyes. "I'm- well, I'm okay. Nervous. But I'm- I'll be fine."

His mother nodded, before glancing at her wristwatch. "It's nearly time to start. I'm going to go find Walter and Thea. We'll be at our spot on the stands."

Their spot, Oliver knew, was front and centre. His mother wouldn't settle for anything less. As he watched her retreat, his stomach swooped again, and he attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. Seriously, he really needed to calm down. He wasn't going to be able to keep his hands steady like this.

Even the thought of disappointing his mother – his family. God. It was too much to handle. He needed this win. Needed to show his mother that he was worthy of her love. That he wasn't a complete fuckup, after all.

Barry's words returned to him in that moment - how can you grow if someone is always tending you so that you fit what they want you to be, rather than who you truly are?

He pushed the words to the back of his mind abruptly, along with a multitude of other thoughts revolving around Barry Allen.

It felt like the first round was never going to end.

The set up was simple. A row of targets sat on the field, and the competitors would be called out in groups by alphabetical order to take their shots.

It was mostly a swarm of unfamiliar faces, but among them were a few familiar ones – namely Tommy, Helena, Nyssa, and-

He paused, narrowing his eyes at where Thea stood, giggling and twirling her hair next to a young boy that Oliver didn't recognise. Must be a first time competitor. He looked around Thea's age – blond hair, blue eyes, red hoodie, chiseled jaw, and- exactly how close did this kid need to stand to his younger sister? Why the hell wasn't Thea in the stands with their mother, anyway?

And then Oliver felt his blood run cold as Thea leaned in to press a soft kiss to the boy's cheek, both of them flushing a bright red immediately afterwards, matching sappy grins on their faces.

It was taking all of Oliver's willpower not to march over there and drag them apart. It seemed innocent enough, really – but Oliver couldn't wipe the scowl off his expression, none-the-less. Still, Thea ducked her head, shot the boy a shy smile, before running to join their mother in the stands.

He briefly considered marching straight over to interrogate the unsuspecting kid, who was glancing down at his own bow, still smiling – but as the next bout of names were announced, the kid was called onto the field.

Roy Harper.

Oliver briefly remembered teasing his sister about her crush on the boy, and he regretted it now – felt like he'd encouraged the entire thing.

Still, he had to admit. The kid had some talent. His grip was a little off, and his movements a little too jerky sometimes, but he certainly had potential. There was no way he was winning, of course – Nyssa was currently in the lead, and Oliver had marked her down as his main competition. Given some practice, and maybe a few lessons, though? Roy might become a threat for next year. He'd have to watch out for that.

When it was Oliver's turn to step up to the plate, he let the rest of the world fall away. He narrowed his focus on the target and nothing else, raising his bow carefully before taking his shot.

Second place.

That was how it had ended up – Nyssa at the top of the table, having beaten Oliver by a mere two points. Even from across the field, he could hear Sara shrieking her congratulations as she enveloped her girlfriend in a congratulatory hug before brushing their lips together.

He was furious with himself – but his own rage was nothing to the look of disappointment in his mothers eyes as she and Thea approached him from the stands.

"Well done, Ollie!" Thea squealed, throwing her arms around him, and Oliver relaxed a little at his sister's enthusiasm. At least he wasn't a failure in her books. Yet.

"What happened?" Moira asked, the tone of disappointment clear in her voice.

"I- I don't know," Oliver told her truthfully, ducking his head with shame. "I'm sorry. I didn't- I guess I just didn't practice enough."

His mother sighed, running her hands over her face, before fixing Oliver with a frown. "There's nothing that can be done about it, I suppose."

At that, Thea scowled at their mother. "Mom, he got second place. Don't you think you should congratulate him, rather than make him feel like he failed?"

Moira lowered her gaze at his younger sibling. "I don't expect you to understand, sweetheart," and then, raising her eyes to meet Oliver's again. "I'm not mad, Oliver, I just- I know that you could have done better than this."

She was right – of course she was right. The feeling of sinking disappointment settled in his chest, and Oliver let out a slow, unsteady breath. "I know. I'm- I'm sorry."

His mother nodded, but didn't reply, and all of a sudden, Oliver felt like he was losing the ability to breathe. He couldn't stay here – not with the looks that his mother was sending him, nor the display of hostility on Thea's face directed towards her. Panic rose in his chest, and suddenly, he was whirling around, feet carrying him across the grounds in long strides, ignoring the sound of Thea's voice attempting to call him back.

He wasn't sure where he was going – he just knew that he couldn't stand being around his family right now.

He wished he could be more like Barry. Barry, who went through shit every day in school for who he was – a social outcast. Who got bullied, beaten and humiliated on a day-to-day basis, and always managed to pick himself back up again, even when he came out the other end of it with cuts and bruises.

And then there was Oliver. Taken completely apart by a few harsh truths from his mother.

It was his own fault, really. He should have been better. He should have practised more. He had allowed himself to get distracted – not just by Barry, but by school, friends – life in general.

He knew that he should put an end to this thing with Barry. It was dangerous – toxic. It was going to tear down his reputation – put an end to his mother's campaign, and one way or another, either one or both of them were going to get hurt. Oliver was willing to bet on the latter.

But Oliver just- well, he'd kind of gotten to the stage where he was beginning to realise that he needed Barry, to the point where he's wasn't quite sure how he ever managed to navigate life without him – and that was terrifying in itself. But what was worse was that it just seemed to be growing by the day, and Oliver was helpless to stop it – wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to, at this point.

He didn't even realise that his feet were carrying him in the direction of Barry's house, in all honesty, until he found himself standing right in front of his door, hand raised to reach the doorbell.

It had been four hours since he'd texted Oliver. Four long hours of internally berating himself, because he'd failed to play it cool. Of course, Oliver hadn't texted him back with an answer – was probably too busy out celebrating with his friends or something, but all Barry could do was sit and wonder if he'd fucked things up out of his eagerness to see him.

He'd just been glancing at his phone for what he was sure was the millionth time when the doorbell rang, shaking him from his thoughts. His book snapped shut in his hands – he wasn't really paying attention to it anyway, couldn't concentrate – and was shoved to the side, before Barry was shuffling off the bed and pulling on the first t-shirt he could find. It just so happened to be a Darth Vader t-shirt that was far too big for him, and had a couple of rips all over, but it didn't matter. Whoever was at the door could judge all they wanted – the mood he was in, he couldn't really care less.

Or at least, that's what he thought until he wrapped his fingers around the door handle and swung it open to reveal Oliver standing on the other side.

Any embarrassment about his shirt, though, or happiness that Barry might have felt upon seeing his face after worrying all morning was knocked away immediately by Oliver's expression. It was masked – but Barry could still see the hurt written all over it. Not to mention, his posture was slumped, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

"Can I come in?" Oliver asked with a crack in his voice.

"O-of course!" Barry replied, opening the door further, motioning his head for the other to slink inside.

They found themselves lying on Barry's bed, facing one another, and Oliver just looked so broken. All Barry wanted to do was to move closer – draw him into his arms, but he wasn't quite sure if that would be crossing the boundaries of their... their thing.

"I lost," Oliver said after a while of silence.

Barry blinked, reaching out to skim his hand over Oliver's cheek, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb softly. He didn't quite know what to say. Oliver had been fantastic the one time that Barry had watched him practice – how could he have lost?

He doesn't ask, though. Doesn't want to bring the other boy down any more than he already is. "It's okay," he tells him instead.

Oliver's face hardened, and his lips dipped into a frown. "No. It's not. My mother- she needed me to win. To get first place. And I didn't. You don't understand, Barry. I've fucked everything up for her."

"I- wait. First place? Where did you come in?"

At that, Oliver bit down on his bottom lip, nervous eyes skimming over Barry's face. "Second."

A flare of rage worked its way through Barry's veins – not at Oliver, obviously. At Moira. At the woman who let her son believe that coming in second place was a loss. At the woman who set unfair expectations on her son, and made him feel like shit for something that was actually an impressive achievement.

"Oliver," Barry sighed, shuffling closer despite his insecurities surrounding their boundaries. Oliver froze a little at the contact, but he didn't try to move away. His expression was still guarded, but Barry could tell that he was beginning to thaw ever so slightly. Barry pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lacing their fingers together with his hand. "You didn't lose. Second place is amazing. I'm so, so proud of you."

"I- it just... It feels like a loss. She's right. I should have practised harder. I could have done better. And now her campaign is in ruins, all because of me."

"Shh, just relax," Barry said, stroking a soothing hand through his hair, pressing an extended kiss to his forehead before wrapping Oliver in his arms. Oliver sighed, allowing himself to relax into the touch, his nose pressed firmly against Barry's chest. "Listen to me, Oliver. Please. Out of all the people in that competition, you came second place. One person beat you – one. You did amazing, and you should be proud of yourself."

He avoided talking about Moira – didn't want to share his opinion with Oliver on that matter, if he was being completely honest. The woman was clearly smothering him – trying to shape him into something that he just wasn't. Trying to make him this all-perfect being that didn't exist. To make Oliver believe that coming anything less than first was just cruel.

And the worst thing was, Barry knew that Moira didn't even believe it to be cruel. She believed it to be love – always pushing her children to do better. Through what Barry's seen of their family interactions, though, she seemed to have a much tighter grip on Oliver than she did Thea – and that was something, at least.

Oliver didn't reply, just let out a sigh against Barry's chest, and Barry continued to card through his hair, closing his eyes and letting the other man's warmth seep into him.

Barry had never had a boyfriend. He'd never even had anything close to a boyfriend, before – so it surprised him just how easy they'd slipped into this routine – the making out, the texting, and now, apparently, the seeking and providing of comfort. Especially seeing as Oliver didn't seem like the type to give away his feelings and affections easily. Barry felt a sense of pride, of sorts, that he was the one that Oliver had sought out in his moment of need.

They lay like that for a while – nothing but the sound of their breathing and the ticking clock on Barry's wall filling the room. It should have been awkward – and with anyone else, Barry was pretty sure it would have been – but for some reason, they just seemed to fit together, to understand one another, even when nothing was being said.

It was probably for this reason that Barry leaned down to place an affectionate kiss on Oliver's lips, which was immediately deepened by the other. Their legs slotted together as their bodies drew closer, pressed into one another, and- was it just Barry, or had the heat suddenly increased within seconds?

Oliver let out a low growl as he rolled Barry onto his back, before pressing open-mouthed kisses into his neck, and shit, even the feel of it alone had Barry desperate for more. He let out a shaky breath, before a groan escaped his lips as Oliver sucked a particularly bruising mark into his pulsepoint.

This was- well, it was different. Even their makeout sessions up until now had been kept fairly chaste – or as chaste as makeout sessions could be. They'd never allowed themselves to get carried away before, always knowing when to stop before they went too far.

But now? Fuck, Barry couldn't stop himself, even if he tried, and it didn't seem like Oliver was intent on breaking them apart, either. Their breathing became a little heavier as Barry felt a hardness press into his thigh – telling him that Oliver was just as worked up as he was. He stroked his fingers along the back of Oliver's shirt, Oliver's hands framing his face as he mapped out Barry's mouth with his tongue, and-

"Barry?"

And just like that, it was like a cold bucket of ice had been thrown over them. Both boys jerked apart at the sound of the voice – their faces flushed, and their expressions twinned with embarrassment. Barry sat up, eyes averted from the figure standing in the doorway.

"I- Joe. Uhm. Welcome home?"

Joe ignored Barry's awkward greeting, and just glared at Oliver instead, who shifted uncomfortably beside him. "I, uh- I should go."

Barry winced at the words, but knew it was probably for the best. Clearly, he was in for a long night, and this really wasn't the way that he'd wanted to introduce Joe to Oliver. Not that he'd thought about it at all, obviously. Because they weren't dating, Barry reminded himself.

Joe watched like a hawk as Oliver threw himself from the bed, awkwardly fumbling through his goodbyes whilst avoiding the gazes of the two other occupants of the room, before shooting an apologetic glance at Barry as he made his way out the door, ducking his head as he passed Joe on the way.

Barry let out a slow breath before he worked up the courage to look into Joe's eyes – and he wasn't sure if the older man was angry, or disappointed, or a mixture of both. Either way, Barry knew that he was definitely in trouble.