Cisco got into bed around 11 and dozed off with the TV and one bedside lamp still on. He woke up to Eobard in the room with him, undressing and laying out his clothes so that he could sort them easily. His sudden appearance startled Cisco a bit, and Cisco let out a small gasp as he sat up.

Eobard looked down at him. "Sorry, darling. I was trying not to wake you."

"No, no, it's cool," Cisco said, blinking. He glanced over at the TV. The same episode of The Outer Limits was still on, so he'd probably only been asleep for 30 or 40 minutes. "How was your meeting? And did you eat dinner?"

"The meeting was as boring as it was necessary," Eobard said as he picked up his clothes and carried them over to their closet. His dress shirt, undershirt, socks, and underwear would go in the laundry hamper, while his slacks, suit jacket, and tie would be put up for later. "If I had known it was going to run so long, though, I might have just rescheduled it for tomorrow morning. And yes, I ate—we ordered takeout when we realized just how much we had to go over before any of us could leave." He glanced back at Cisco. "There's leftover orange chicken in the fridge if you want a late-night snack."

"Nah, I'm good." Cisco stretched out on the bed and yawned. "Was Ronnie there? At the meeting, I mean?"

"He was," Eobard said. "And he told me to say hi to you and give you Caitlin's love. You haven't hung out with them in a while, have you?"

"Not outside of work, no," Cisco said, wrinkling up his nose. "I eat lunch with them sometimes when our schedules line up, but that's it. They're still in the honeymoon phase, so when they're not actively trying to be professional, they can be a little… much . You know?"

"Do you think we'll be 'a little much' after we get married?" Eobard asked playfully. He had finished hanging up his clothes and was making his way towards the bathroom, presumably to brush his teeth and shower quickly before coming to bed.

"Maybe. Only one way to find out." Cisco suddenly remembered what Mark had said about witnessing him and Eobard making out in the backseat of the car while they were being chauffeured around. A part of him felt like he should be embarrassed, but mostly, he thought it was funny—especially since Mark had never seen fit to bring it up before.

"By-the-way, Cisco…do you know why there's an empty bag from Saints and Sinners in the kitchen trash can?" Eobard called from the bathroom. "I'm guessing that one of the cleaning ladies left it, but I can't imagine that a place like that is particularly popular with middle-aged women in the service industry…"

"That's actually my trash," Cisco said. "Which reminds me: there should still be half an order of chili fries in the fridge if you want a midnight snack."

Eobard walked back into the bedroom, an unreadable expression on his face. He had a towel around his waist but was otherwise naked; Cisco had half a mind to wolf-whistle at him. "I'm fine, food-wise. But just out of curiosity, why did you go to Saints and Sinners? I don't think that that place is really your…scene."

"Mark needed to swing by real quick. I told him it was okay, since I needed to grab dinner, anyway."

Eobard raised an eyebrow. "Mark Mardon?"

"No, Mark Wahlberg. He was in Central City to film another Transformers movie—I think that they're up to number 16 now—and since he's a close, personal friend of mine, I…" his voice trailed off. Eobard didn't look happy, so he figured it would be a good idea to abort the joke. "Yes, Mark Mardon."

"So, Mark Mardon, a man I pay to provide us with safe, reliable transportation during the week, dragged you along on a personal errand?"

"It was time-sensitive. His brother—"

"If it was something that couldn't wait, then he should have made arrangements for one of the other drivers to cover his shift. Taking you along was inappropriate."

"That's what he thought, but I told him that I really didn't mind."

"Cisco…" Eobard started, sighing.

" Eobard, " Cisco said, mimicking his tone. "I'm an adult, and Mark and I went to a bar. We didn't visit a crack house or a brothel." He turned onto his side, putting his back to him. "You're overreacting."

Eobard sighed again. "If you say so." He turned and walked back into the bathroom. Cisco heard water running, but he waited until he actually heard Eobard get in the shower before he rolled onto his back again.

Since he was already awake, he decided to check his phone to see if he'd missed anything while he was asleep. Sure enough, the device showed three new text messages. One was from Caitlin Snow, timestamped from a few minutes past 11, asking if he'd like to get brunch on Sunday—Ronnie was supposed to help his cousin with a home improvement project that morning, and Caitlin thought it would be a good opportunity for her and Cisco to get together one-on-one like they used to. Another was from Eobard, recieved about 25 minutes ago, saying that he was finally out of his meeting and he'd be home soon. And the third, which had arrived while Cisco and Eobard were talking about Saints and Sinners, was from Lindsay Kang, a fellow S.T.A.R. Labs mechanical engineer. Apparently, the niece that Lindsay was babysitting for the week was experiencing some kind of orthodontic emergency, so Lindsay was almost certainly going to get to work late the next day because they had to see the doctor ASAP. And normally, she wouldn't bother Cisco with something like that, but Lindsay was supposed to accompany Brie to a tech showcase at Central City University on Thursday, and she was nervous about causing problems for everyone.

Lindsay's message seemed to be the most pressing, and he figured that she must really be anxious if she was texting him so late at night. So he quickly replied, telling her to take care of her niece and not worry about the showcase; the event wasn't until the afternoon, so worst case scenario, she could just meet Brie there. He also told her to text Brie and discuss the matter with her directly, as he trusted them both to handle the situation.

(The term "orthodontic emergency" made him chuckle. While he was pretty sure that Lindsay meant something like a broken bracket or a crushed retainer, it was more fun to imagine that the kid had been trying to kiss a classmate who also had braces, and they'd somehow gotten stuck together.)

He was in the process of responding to Caitlin's invitation to brunch when he got a notification for another new text. And he was getting ready to make a joke about people blowing up his phone in the middle of the damn night when he saw that the text was from his mom. His amusement immediately turned into dread, and the actual contents of the message didn't make him feel any better:

Dante said that you're not coming to his party because you have to work. Can't you just take the night off? Dante's your only brother, mijo. Is your job really more important to you than him?

"Yeah, actually, it is!" Cisco snapped out loud before he could stop himself. He then immediately felt guilty, because he was pretty sure that it was "wrong" to think that way. Deliberately putting their work before their family was the kind of thing that the villain—or, at least, a misguided secondary character—in a kid's movie would do.

"Did you say something?" Eobard asked, wandering back into the bedroom. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was currently patting it dry so his pillowcase wouldn't get wet.

"No. I mean, yeah, I did, but it doesn't matter. My mom's just being difficult." He quickly replied to Caitlin's message ( "Brunch sounds awesome! Let's drink mimosas and talk shit about our co-workers! ") and then put his phone on the nightstand. He'd deal with his crazy family in the morning.

"How so?"

"She wants me to come to Dante's birthday party on Saturday. I told Dante that I couldn't make it this weekend because I have to work, and I doubt he really cares whether I'm there or not. But Mama's upset and acting like I'm a monster for choosing my job over spending time with them."

Eobard frowned. "But…you don't have to work this weekend. Unless I'm confused, R&D doesn't have any major deadlines next week."

"I know. I just said that so I'd have an excuse to not go. Fat lotta good that did me." He stared at the ceiling.

"Why didn't you just tell her the truth?" Eobard asked.

Cisco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, I'll just text her and be like, 'I'm not coming because I don't want to be there; you people drive me bonkers.' I'm sure it'll go over super well." He let out a huffy breath. "I can just imagine her telling my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and anyone else who'll listen that I'm literally the worst son ever..."

"Doesn't she do that already?" Eobard remarked, heading back into the bathroom.

Cisco chose not to dignify that with an answer. Even if it was true, it was still a tactlessly blunt, almost cruel thing to state so flippantly. He rolled over onto his side again, his back to the bathroom doorway, because he didn't trust himself to not say something ugly in response—maybe a quip about how, in the future, Eobard really shouldn't work so late, since "old people" tended to get cranky when they stayed up past their bedtime.

He would have been content to let the matter drop. Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards. Eobard walked back into their room, turned off the TV and the lamp, and climbed into bed. As he scooted up towards Cisco, he said, "You know what your problem is?"

Oh, I just love conversations that start out this way, Cisco grumbled internally. "I'm too handsome?" he guessed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm too brilliant? I'm way, way too good at sex, and I make all of your previous partners seem like total duds in comparison?"

To Cisco's surprise, Eobard pushed Cisco's hair aside and planted a trio of kisses on the back of his neck. "Yes, yes, and…okay, yes. But I was thinking about the fact that you worry too much about what people think of you."

"So, what, I'm supposed to go through life as a ruthless, self-centered jackass?"

"No, your sweetness is one of the many things that I love about you. But you don't have to go out of your way to please everyone. And it's okay to maintain a professional distance from the people who work under you. That's part of being a leader."

"I know, I just—" Cisco replied stiffly.

"Take this thing with Mark Mardon. When you two went to Saints and Sinners, was he still on the clock?"

"Yes."

"And would you have thought to go there if he hadn't given you some sob story about his brother?"

"Okay, it wasn't a sob story ," Cisco argued, turning to look at him. "I pushed Mark to tell me what was going on in the first place. If you want to blame someone for us going there, blame me." He hadn't anticipated this being as big of a deal as it apparently was. Mark had expressed concern over getting fired, and Cisco was starting to worry that the man's fears had been legitimate.

"I do blame you. That's the point. You could have just minded your own business and not asked him what was wrong. And even after he told you, you could have just said, 'Oh, sorry you're having to deal with that,' and continued on like normal. But instead, you just had to accommodate him. And now, Mark is going to think that it's okay to bend the rules and take care of personal matters while he's supposed to be working, because you won't tell him 'no.'"

"I'm…look, I'm sure that it won't happen again," Cisco insisted. "Mark's never given us any trouble before. He's actually more reliable than the other drivers, in fact."

Eobard exhaled. "Fine. I'll let this one slide." Cisco barely had time to be relieved, though, because Eobard plunged on without stopping. "Here's another example: almost every time you talk to your parents or your brother…you get upset. In the entire time I've known you, I don't think I can recall a single pleasant visit you've had with them; something always goes wrong. So why do you keep interacting with them?"

"Because they're my family!" Cisco snapped. "I don't really have a choice!"

"Yes, you do. It's not illegal to stop talking to your immediate family; people do it all the time. You're just worried about how they'll react if you stop playing the game." He sighed. "Look, when I see you at S.T.A.R. Labs, leading your team or building your projects…you seem happy. And when you're with me or your friends, you're happy. Hell, when you just loaf around this house, you're happy. Is there something about life away from your family that's not to your satisfaction?"

"Well, my fiancé can be a bit of a jerk sometimes," Cisco grunted, glaring at the bedspread.

"I'm just being honest," Eobard said. He sounded like his patience was running out. "I could understand you needing to have your family in your life if there was some kind of void you were trying to fill. But…well, I don't know how else to put it: why do you need them? What good are they to you?"

"That's not how it's supposed to work," Cisco said, still refusing to look at him. "You don't get it."

"Then help me ' get it.' Explain your thought process to me."

"I…I can't," Cisco admitted. "It's complicated." How the hell was he supposed to explain that, after almost 28 years of trying to please his parents and get along with his brother, he couldn't just give up on things ever getting better? It was a bizarre version of the sunk-cost fallacy. If he told Eobard, the other man would immediately point out that he was being completely irrational. Cisco already knew that, so what was the point?

Eobard sighed again. "I only want what's best for you. So, before you run headfirst into a concrete wall once again… please at least consider a different path. One that's not blocked by a wall. Do you understand?"

Cisco was silent. His chest was hurting from the weight of Eobard's words. He absolutely had not been prepared to discuss such a sensitive topic, and he almost felt like he'd walked into an ambush.

"Cisco, do you understand me? You're far too smart to keep making the same stupid mistake over and over."

"Yes, I understand," Cisco said shortly. "I'll think about it."

"Good. That's all I ask." There was a finality in his voice, indicating the end of their conversation.

Whatever, Cisco thought. He just wanted to stop talking and put this weird, emotionally taxing day behind him.

But Eobard had gotten into bed naked, which was his usual M.O. when he wanted to make love. Sure enough, after lying in silence for a minute, he resumed kissing Cisco's neck and made a move to slide one of his hands underneath the waistband of Cisco's boxers.

Cisco batted the wandering hand away. Eobard's frank assessment of his character flaws hadn't really put him in the mood for sex. "Not tonight," he mumbled.

Eobard nipped at his earlobe. "Come on, now. I didn't disagree when you bragged about being good in bed…" He reached for Cisco again.

" Not tonight ," Cisco repeated, a bit more forcefully this time. He grabbed Eobard's wrist to still his hand.

Eobard exhaled; Cisco felt hot breath on his neck. "Fine." He retreated, putting as much space between them as possible. "Goodnight, Cisco."

"Goodnight," Cisco said back. If Cisco was just going to be "Cisco"—not 'my love,' not 'darling,' not 'baby,' but just "Cisco"—then he wasn't even going to say Eobard's name in response.

Was he being petty? Yes. Did he take some bizarre satisfaction in acting out? Also yes. Probably because, God help him, a part of him knew that Eobard was right. He would almost certainly be happier if he just stopped talking to Dante and his parents, or at least stopped caring so much what they thought. He always told himself that Eobard didn't "understand" complicated family dynamics because he didn't have any living family members of his own. But maybe that just gave Eobard a totally unbiased perspective on the matter?

There was an epilogue to the pool story—the one where Dante had reacted nastily to Cisco's invitation to come over and swim: once Eobard had heard about Cisco's argument with his brother, he'd suggested that they host an actual, full-blown pool party that weekend. And so they did. They'd invited their friends, a handful of local celebrities, and a bunch of S.T.A.R. Labs employees and affiliates. Cisco had been shocked by just how good Ronnie and Caitlin were at chicken fighting, and he'd caught Hartley flirting with one of the rent-a-lifeguards Eobard had hired to supervise the event.

("Did you get his number?" Cisco had asked eagerly, and Hartley had told Cisco to mind his own business while he, pink-cheeked and trying not to smile, tucked his phone into his bag. Considering that Hartley was still pining for Snart, nothing seemed to have come of it, but Cisco was still excited to see Hartley put himself out there.)

The party had been fun, with lots of laughter, a fair amount of horseplay, and no shortage of food and alcohol. Even Malcolm Merlyn, who'd shown up with his wife and two adult children in tow, seemed to enjoy himself (though Cisco and Rebecca Merlyn did have to break up business-related conversations between Eobard and Malcolm on more than one occasion). When the last guest had left, Cisco was exhausted from playing host all afternoon and evening, but in a good way.

Dante had been invited to the party, but he hadn't shown up. And, as Cisco dozed in a pool chair while Eobard tipped the servers and the lifeguards and the rest of staff they'd hired, he'd admitted to himself that he was a bit relieved that Dante hadn't come over. If his brother had been there, Cisco probably would have spent the day walking on eggshells, trying to keep him happy while Dante took digs at Cisco's appearance, job, and relationships at every opportunity.

Things hadn't always been like this. Sure, Dante had been their parents' favorite for as long as he could remember, but as kids, they'd at least had each other's backs the way that brothers should. Somewhere along the line, however, Dante had seemingly bought into their parents' perspective that Cisco (nerdy, bisexual, fully capable of playing a song on the electric guitar but far more interested in taking the instrument apart to see how it worked) didn't fit the Ramon "mold" and therefore deserved to be looked at with dull contempt.

So…maybe a husband—a husband who "got" him, a husband who adored him—really was the only family he needed?

Cisco shifted in bed but maintained the distance between them. He'd only been trying to turn down sex; after the day he'd had, cuddling would have actually been nice. With how snippy he'd been acting, though, he could understand why Eobard thought that he was rejecting physical contact entirely. He felt like he should apologize, but he wasn't sure how to put his thoughts into words.

So he didn't. He just laid there until sleep finally—mercifully—claimed him.

Cisco hadn't told anyone where he was going. Why bother? At best, they would have told him that it was a bad idea, that any non-essential interactions could have unforeseen consequences. At worst, one (or more) of them would have figured out why he needed to go down there so badly. And he'd been keeping that secret for literal years; contrary to popular belief, he was capable of not screwing things up every once in a while.

So he walked down to the pipeline. And when he got in front of the metal security door, he only hesitated for a moment before hitting the touchpad to bring Eobard Thawne's prison cell front and center. He told himself that it would be simple, that it would be almost like talking to a stranger—he'd only seen the man's real face for a minute, after all. But the moment that the door opened and he saw that yellow suit, he forgot the script he'd been planning to recite.

It would have been easier if Thawne's eyes had been brown or even green. But they were blue, and there was something so goddamn familiar about them.

("Look at me, Cisco. You're so beautiful like this," he'd said one night, when they'd been alone together for the first time in nearly a week. And, even though direct eye contact during intimate encounters often made Cisco uncomfortable or self-conscious, he had looked at him. Looked at those blue eyes and felt small and safe and valuable.)

Thawne scrambled to his feet, meeting Cisco's gaze with a somewhat bewildered expression. And because it would have been stupid to just stand there, Cisco said the first thing that popped into his head: "How'd you get your suit in your ring?"

Thawne continued to stare at him. There was confusion all over his handsome features, and after hesitating for a second, he said, "Who are you?"

The question made bile rise up in Cisco's throat. Somehow, those three words were far more biting than any barb or taunt that the man in yellow could have thrown out to get under Cisco's skin on purpose. But Cisco tried not to let that show on his face. "My name is Cisco Ramon."

"And we know each other well, don't we? We have a history together." The second sentence had been conjecture, but the uncertain expression on his face made it seem more like another question.

Ha. Ha ha. 'A history together.' Cisco wasn't sure whether he should roll his eyes or scream. "You could say that." And he half-hoped that Thawne would understand what he was getting at.

Thawne played dumb. Or maybe he was refusing to acknowledge the implication. Regardless, he didn't ask for clarification, but he didn't speculate, either. "And that's all you want to know? How I got my suit in my ring?"

No, of course it wasn't all he wanted to know. Cisco wanted to know everything. Every-freaking-thing. He wanted to know if Thawne had already decided what would happen between them when he first hired Cisco and brought him into the labs. He wanted to know if anything Thawne had said—the promises he'd made, the secrets he'd confided, the terms of endearment he'd whispered—had been true, or if all of it had been nothing but an act. He wanted to know if having a different face changed the way Thawne tasted.

But he couldn't say any of that, because this Thawne hadn't actually done anything yet. And because you should never ask a question you might not be able to handle the answer to.

"I want you to know that I'm the one who figured out you were back," Cisco taunted as he took a few more steps forward. "I helped stop you. Me." He pointed to himself for emphasis. It was critical for Thawne to understand that Cisco had the upper hand, here.

Aren't you proud of me? Aren't you amazed? He could never manage to beat Thawne at chess, but perhaps this was close enough?

"And how'd you do that?"

"I have powers. And I helped track you down, and I put you in here."

Thawne glanced around for a moment, taking in his surroundings. When his gaze returned to Cisco's face, he looked almost impressed. "That's…quite the ability you've been given."

The compliment, which may have been completely sarcastic for all Cisco knew, almost made him fall apart. Was it this obvious to everyone that Cisco needed praise and comfort like everyone else needed light, or did Thawne just have a knack for taking him apart?

He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to split the difference and strangle Thawne while they had sex. Or let Thawne strangle him while they had sex, because they both knew that that was what Cisco deserved.

Cisco's voice broke. "And here's what's so ironic about it: you gave me these powers."

Thawne tilted his head in confusion but remained silent.

"Have fun thinking about that while you rot away in this cell that you helped me build."

Cisco would have been happy if Thawne had responded by sneering at him, spitting at him, or even threatening to kill him slowly and painfully once he escaped from confinement. Thawne could have done something, anything , to express contempt, and it would have been a relief. But Thawne simply continued to watch him, clearly fascinated by the strange, emotional young man in front of him. His mouth curled into the smallest hint of a smug smile.

Suddenly, Cisco realized that he'd been wrong. He didn't have the upper hand. Thawne hadn't been impressed with Cisco's genius and ingenuity. Instead, he'd simply been intrigued by how much he seemed to matter to Cisco. The knowledge that, one day, he'd be so deep in Cisco's head that Cisco couldn't resist an opportunity to see him (even under the guise of gloating) was utterly captivating.

Wonderful. Perfect. Cisco had tried to come across as powerful and intimidating, and instead, he'd just seemed totally pathetic.

He wasn't sure if there was any way to turn the conversation around. Probably not, based on the self-satisfied look in Thawne's eyes. The only thing left to do, then, was to try to leave with what was left of his dignity intact. "Bye, Felicia," Cisco quipped, wishing—not for the first time in his life—that he was better at coming up with exit lines.

He hit the touchscreen button to pull down the metal door, sending Thawne out of sight. If there had been a button to get Thawne out of his head, he would have pushed that, too.

When Cisco's eyes snapped open, his cheeks were wet with tears. He sat up abruptly, disoriented, fully expecting to be on a cot in the cortex.

Wait, no … he thought, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. His brain felt like an Etch-a-Sketch that was currently being shaken clean. Eobard's office had a couch tucked against one wall. So why was he thinking of a hospital cot? And why was he sleeping at the labs, anyway?

But he wasn't at the labs. As he blinked his eyes, the bedroom he shared with Eobard slowly came into focus. It was dark, but he could just make out the TV, dresser, and few paintings and other knick-knacks that decorated the place. And Eobard himself was there, too, sleeping next to him on the king-sized bed like he didn't have a care in the world.

It was just a dream, Cisco realized, wiping his eyes again. For some reason, though, he was still crying. Was it because of the fight he'd had with Eobard before they went to sleep?

Yes, it must have been, because seeing him like that had been devastating. Eobard had lied, had used Cisco, had done so many terrible things while pretending to be one of the good guys—

Huh? What?

No, no, no—that was wrong. He and Eobard had argued because Cisco had gone to Saints and Sinners with Mark Mardon, and the conversation had turned into an accusation that Cisco allowed himself to be a doormat. And then Eobard had wanted to fool around, and Cisco had turned him down, and Eobard had gotten annoyed and put about an acre of space between them.

It was a stupid, trivial fight that they might not even acknowledge in the morning; if they did, they'd probably just chalk it up to both of them being tired and grumpy and saying things that they didn't really mean. Not a big deal, especially in the grand scheme of things.

So why, then, could he not stop crying? Why did he feel so completely, utterly distraught? Why was he sitting there, seriously wondering if Eobard had ever actually loved him or if their whole relationship was a means to an end?

Because of the dream, of course. That weird dream he'd been having right before he jerked awake. He could visualize the pipeline entrance, feel the touchpad under his fingers, and smell the recirculated air of the enclosed facility.

Eobard's yellow suit. Eobard's voice. Eobard's smirk. Cisco's anger, Cisco's longing, Cisco's self-loathing…

Crying had made his throat feel dry, and he was half-worried that Eobard would suddenly wake up and find him sniffling like a toddler. So quietly, carefully, Cisco got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. After getting a drink of water from his sink, he leaned against the countertop, letting his forehead rest against the mirror. He was leaving smudges on the freshly-cleaned glass, but in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Nothing about his most recent dream had made sense. Why hadn't Eobard known who he was? Why was Eobard wearing that weird costume? Why had Cisco claimed to have powers? And what on earth had Eobard done—could he have possibly done—to make Cisco think that he didn't truly love him?

He lied. He betrayed us. He killed me.

Cisco grabbed a tissue from the box on his side of the bathroom counter and rubbed his eyes and nose with more force than was necessary. That's wrong , he told himself. Now you're mixing the two stupid dreams together. Because you're stupid.

One time, a celebrity gossip blog had captioned a photo of him and Eobard together at a Star City charity gala with, "World-renowned physicist and S.T.A.R. Labs CEO Eobard Thawne watches the festivities with Cisco Ramon, his companion for the evening." Eobard had personally contacted the owner of the blog and demanded that she change the caption to refer to Cisco as "his fiancé and S.T.A.R. Labs head of R&D." He'd also told her, on no uncertain terms, that if anyone affiliated with her blog ever again implied that Cisco was some kind of paid escort, she'd be hearing from his attorney on Cisco's behalf. Defamation of character was a little tricky to prove in a court of law, but that wouldn't stop him from tying her up in litigation for the next decade. Within a few hours, the caption got changed, and the article was updated with an apology for any confusion or offense that the writer's "poor choice of words" may have caused.

Yes, Eobard was all about grand gestures. And small gestures. And passionate sex, too, when Cisco wasn't feeling too tired (or petty) to put out.

That's not the kind of thing that a person who's 'just pretending' does. How could you doubt him like that? He was still rubbing his eyes and nose with the tissue, like he could physically wipe away the discomfort polluting his mind.

He lied.

What did he lie about?

Something important. Something bad. Something he was willing to kill me over. I just don't remember what it was.

He glanced down at the tissue in his hand and realized with a start that there was a splotch or two of blood on it. He could only guess that he'd been rubbing his nose so hard that he'd broken the skin. His cheeks felt a bit raw, too.

The blood spots were a stark illustration that he was acting completely irrational and he really, really needed to pump the brakes before he drove himself insane. He walked over to the water closet, threw the tissue into the toilet, and flushed it away, destroying the only physical evidence of his mini-breakdown. If Eobard saw him like this, it would lead to yet another uncomfortable conversation. And he absolutely hated the idea of disappointing his fiancé any more than he already had.

It was a dream. He took a deep breath. Let it go.

Cisco walked back to his side of the bathroom counter, grabbed his favorite moisturizer, and used his fingers to dab a little of the cream on his face. If he couldn't have a healthy mind, then by God, he'd at least have healthy skin. And he'd look handsome (and feel soft) for the man who'd invited Cisco into his life, home, and bed.

Speaking of whom, Cisco noticed when he left the bathroom that, despite Eobard's location when they'd said goodnight, he was no longer very far away from the side where Cisco slept. That wasn't too uncommon; it seemed that both Cisco and Eobard had a habit of "migrating" towards the middle of the mattress (and towards each other) while they slept. He'd laughed the first time he noticed it, relieved that he didn't have to worry about getting shoved out of bed and onto the floor in the middle of the night…or, worse, dealing with the embarrassment of accidentally shoving his bedmate onto the floor.

Eobard was still fast asleep as Cisco slipped back into bed, his blonde hair disheveled and his pale skin practically glowing in the darkness of their room. One of the sheets had slipped down to his waist, leaving his bare arms, chest and back visible. When Cisco reached out and touched his cheek, he stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes.

If you overthink things, you'll just screw it all up.

Cisco didn't like being the big spoon, but he fell into that position anyway, hooking one arm around his fiancé's chest and letting his face rest between the man's shoulder blades. Eobard used expensive, imported South Korean body wash and moisturizer every time he showered, and Cisco had grown accustomed to getting a whiff of the combination when they were in close proximity.

That scent hadn't lingered on the suit . He'd sniffed the material one time after everyone else had gone home because he was feeling lonely, but all he'd smelled was leather and lycra…

Cisco frowned. Had that scene been part of a different dream, one that he was only now recalling? Or had it happened in real life? The yellow suit might have been a Halloween costume, or maybe it was something Eobard had bought to indulge in some of Cisco's nerdier fantasies…

But after several seconds of racking his brain, he had to admit that he was stumped. He'd definitely seen that suit before, but he had no idea where.

"Oh, I guess you don't remember…that ."He could hear Leonard Snart's condescending drawl in his mind so clearly that the man might as well have been in the room with him.

Cisco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to find solace in what he did remember…or, at least, what he thought he remembered. Telling the difference between the two was starting to become frighteningly difficult.

...

Notes:

Poor Cisco. His dream in this chapter is my take on his encounter with Eobard in Flash S02E11: "The Reverse-Flash Returns." And my music of choice when I got stuck writing this chapter was Dvixer's "You Must Remember," because seriously, what an amazing song…

Important note, just in case there's some confusion: Cisco was actually NOT being unreasonable or unfair when he rejected Eobard's advances; it's totally normal to not feel particularly amorous after your partner upsets you the way Eobard upset him, and Eobard was the one being petty. But this whole story is told from Doomworld!Cisco's POV, and the guy has some serious issues with his self-esteem and asserting boundaries—something that Eobard is quite happy to take advantage of. Also, Cisco's real problems with his parents and brother notwithstanding, pushing someone to stop talking to their family is another common tactic employed by abusers. After all, the more isolated a person is, the easier they are to control. :(

Originally published on AO in March 2019