A/N: So, just a few notes - I cut up this chapter because it was reaching the 10K mark, and all of the other chapters in this story have been around 4K-5K. I like to keep things consistent. Also, the second half of this evening that I'm writing changes tones from the first, and I like to divvy things up that way. But seeing as the final two chapters (really a chapter and an epilogue) are following on the heels of this one pretty quick, I don't think it should be an issue. That said - in this chapter, we get more of a mention of LoT aspects - the Waverider and Mick, etc.

"Len?"

Knock-knock.

"Len? Are you in there?"

Knock-knock.

"Hey, Len? Are you still packing up? I thought you'd be outta here already."

Knock-knock-knock.

Len goes over the contents of his rucksack, laid out on his bed, for the ninth time. Not that he has much to go over. Aside from his gun, a handheld communicator (that he uses to keep in contact with the Waverider as it travels through time, without him temporarily), a few other odd gadgets, some toiletries and some clothes, he packs fairly light. So there's nothing much to concentrate on. He's not necessarily ignoring Lisa's irritating knocking. His mind is in about a hundred and one places, none of them his bedroom at the present. Part of him is thinking about his upcoming mission. Part is anticipating another three on the horizon. Or eighteen. They never actually know until they get where they're going and fuck shit up how many more jumps through time it's going to take to fix it. But the rest of him, most of him, is back at The Flash Tattoo Studio, up against that shop window, kissing Barry. Len thought that kiss would be difficult to forget, but he was mistaken.

It's impossible.

His mind should be locked down in the here and now, but it keeps wandering, recalling every sound Barry made, the way he tasted, the weight of him against Len's body, his mouth, begging for more.

Knock-knock.

"Len, can I come in? I wanna talk to you, and I'd rather not do it through the door."

Len isn't really ready for visitors. Not even his sister. He has his shirt off, letting his tattoo get some air, and he's not in the mood to pull one on. That's when it hits him that maybe he shouldn't. This might be a good time for a test run, to voluntarily let someone see it before he ends up back in the close quarters of the Waverider, and someone seeing it becomes inevitable.

He looks over his shoulder at the mirror on the wall behind him; a square, rusted frame holding a loose piece of glass; the reflective layer oxidizing underneath. The reflection is still relatively clear, and he sees the face of the dragon – sage, powerful, staring up at the sky, ready to break loose, nothing in the world strong enough to hold him back.

Barry created it for him. Len is the only person who has this particular tattoo, who will ever have this tattoo. He's thankful that Barry was able to do this for him. He should prove it by showing it off.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

"Leeeeennnnn?"

"Come on in, Lisa," he calls. "Just don't touch anything."

"Hmpf," Lisa huffs as she opens the door and waltzes in. "Give me a little credit. I know better than to touch any of your…" Len can almost hear the moment when Lisa's eyes shoot wide open. "Oh my God! Len! You got a tattoo?"

"Yup."

"Is that…is that one of Barry's?"

"Yeah. He did it last night."

He hears her giggle, but then she goes strangely quiet. He feels the heat from her hand as her fingers hover shy of his skin, forcing herself not to touch.

"So," she says, softly, "you finally covered them up?"

The prickle of cold fingers crawl up Len's spine. "W-what do you mean?"

"Come on, Len," she says in a somber voice. "I'm your sister. Did you really think I didn't know? After everything dad did to you?" She pauses with a swallow he can feel gumming up his own throat. "Did you think…I didn't hear you scream?"

Len remembers trying so hard not to, not only because he didn't want his sister to know, but because it made everything worse when he did. His father would call him a wimp and a pussy, throw him down to the floor like a doll and hit him harder. There's no reasons to deny it. Not to his baby sister. Not anymore. As hard as he tried to protect her, he couldn't protect her from everything. He obviously hadn't protected her from this.

"C-can you see them?" he asks. "Through the tattoo? Can you tell that they were there?"

"No," Lisa says quickly. "Not at all. You can't see a thing, I swear. He did an amazing job. Hey!" Lisa exclaims. "He put me in there!"

"What do you mean?" Len asks, twisting to get a better look. He's looked at it so much since he got it that he was sure he had it memorized. What was Lisa talking about?

"Well, not me, but…my butterfly." Lisa leans in to see more clearly, grumbling when Len turns away from the light. "It's kinda faint, but it's on the dragon's chest. Just an outline. You wouldn't see it if you weren't looking for it."

Lisa pulls out her cell phone, takes a picture, and sends it to him. His phone beeps in his pocket, and he fishes it out to take a look. He opens the image, magnifies it a bit, and there it is - Lisa's butterfly, masterfully worked in among the scales of the massive beast, right over its heart, in such a way that only he and Lisa would ever recognize it.

Butterfly…wasn't that Barry's safeword?

"So, does this mean the two of you might be an item soon?" Lisa asks, her coy grin looking mildly, but infuriatingly, ebullient, as if she had orchestrated this whole thing, and it was going exactly according to plan.

Len turns his attention back to his things, picking them up and tossing them into his bag. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I've got eyes and ears, Lenny. I heard the way he was he flirting with you, saw the way he looked at you. You kind of blew him off, but then you went back and got this. Last night!?" She blows out a breath between her teeth and shakes her head. "This must have taken hours. How many hours, Len? How long did this take?"

"Uh," Len stutters, knowing that his sister is waiting for an answer with a tickled-pink grin plastered to her face, "about…twelve…hours."

"Twelve hours, Len?" Lisa coughs like she swallowed her own tongue.
"Twelver hours! That's longer than my last date with Cisco!"

"So?"

"So? He obviously likes you. And I think you like him," she says, poking his shoulder with her finger.

Len gives her an indignant laugh. "What are you talking about? I just met the guy."

"And?" She shrugs. "Why does that matter?"

"Because I can't, Lisa. You know the score. You know my life. There's no room." By the time he reaches that last word, his argument is all heat but no fire. "Besides, it's not only about me. If he gets wrapped up in my crap, he'll have to make sacrifices. And I don't want to ask him to do that. It's not right, and for what? A few dates a year when I make it back to 2016?"

If I make it back, he thinks. His last mission came pretty close to seeing Len turned into a pile of star dust. He can't guarantee that won't actually happen one of these days.

"Come on, Len," Lisa argues. It's been a long time since she's seen her brother genuinely happy. She's not willing to let this go. "Look, I know that what you're doing right now is super-secret, and I respect that…"

Len smirks. "Sure you do."

"I respect it," she reiterates, "because you've changed. You're different. You're not the same thug you were before. And that's a good thing."

"But…" he says in anticipation of more.

"But…you disappear, and then you pop back, and when I see you, you look like your bits and pieces have been sandblasted and rearranged. I get that this is important to you, but you need something else in your life - preferably a someone who gives you a reason to keep going."

Len wants to laugh Lisa's comment off, get her to drop the subject, but she isn't just swinging hammers. She's hitting a few nails on the head. He's always prided himself on not needing anyone…except for Lisa. He'll always need Lisa. Then there's his oldest friend in the world - his partner Mick - when the man can keep it together. But Len can't deny that there's a bit of truth to his sister's assumption. He feels exactly that way – torn apart and put back together, whenever they jump through time. Sometimes he wonders what it is he's actually doing it all for. He can say he's doing it for the good of humanity, but that's kind of bullshit. Len never wanted to be a hero. He was fine being a crook and pulling heists. He's good at that. The more challenging the job, the greater the chance they could get caught, the better. He's an adrenaline junkie, which is part of the reason why he agreed to go on the Waverider in the first place. But once he realized he could be a hero, it felt right to be one, and it sort of took over his life.

But he can't do it forever. He's not sure he'd want to. He's already had a hand in saving the world several times already. Maybe that was enough.

"I have you," Len says, giving his little sister a softer, fonder grin.

"And as fabulous as I am," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "you need a little more. You need something for yourself that no one else can touch or take away."

Len raises a brow at her naiveté, but he can't be too hard on her. She doesn't realize how untrue that statement is. He can't have anything like that. There will always be something, some force, trying to pull it away from him. He can't even count the amount of times his escapades, good and bad, have put his sister's life in jeopardy. She's his priority. He can't take on another one. He doesn't have the energy, or the ability, to juggle keeping two people special to him safe. Not with what he's doing.

Lisa sees his mind whirring, the objections flying by to cloud his vision. She knocks him out of the fog with a bump to the hip. With a side-eye glance, he bumps her back. She wraps her arms around his torso, head resting over his heart. He stops his mindless packing and hugs her. God, he loves her. She'll probably never know how much.

"I'm not saying marry the guy, Lenny. Just give him a chance. Be human for once." She sighs. This will be the last time she hugs her brother like this for a while. She could be selfish, ward Len away from Barry, and spend the day with Len all to herself. But if Len falling for Barry works the way she hopes, it might mean seeing her brother more often than she does. "Let him give you something to come back to."

At ten in the evening, Len finds himself walking, once again, down the sidewalk towards Barry's studio, still undecided as to what he's going to do when he gets there. Len had called and convinced the receptionist to tell him when Barry would be off. It turned out the Queens had showed up an hour late, and their session ran over. It didn't help Barry's schedule that they apologized by treating him to lunch from La Rouge, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Central City, and apparently took their dear sweet time eating it.

Len had made a face when he heard. At the moment, he can't take Barry to an upscale eatery like that. In 2016, Len is a bit too high profile to be showing his face in establishments where D.A.s, A.D.A.s, and the Police Commissioner hang out. He figures he'll wing it - walk in, see Barry, say hey, and take it from there.

He's usually a stickler for planning his moves before he makes them. Mick often jokes that Len doesn't take a piss without a plan first. On the other hand, he's pulled off entire bank robberies with less of a plan than the one he currently has. He can definitely strategize one impromptu date.

But when Len walks up to the studio and looks through the window, Barry isn't alone. He's not with the Queens. Actually, any trace of them is gone. Barry is talking with a man and a woman, around Barry's age, and by the way they're both clustered around him, the three of them appear to know each other well. The woman is talking animatedly, and Barry laughs, tossing his head back with the genuineness of it. The man, standing rather close to him, has to be a cop. Len could make him from a mile away - his practical haircut; the cut of his suit; his uptight, rigid posture. He has a hand on Barry's shoulder, almost possessively so. Len swallows hard and stares. His plan was to get to the studio and walk casually inside, bringing no attention to himself. Now, he's loitering. He shouldn't stand out on the sidewalk too long, but he does anyway, transfixed. He's out in the open, bathed in the light from the studio, practically giving himself away, but he can't not look.

Barry turns to the man on his left with affection in his smile. The man gives Barry a hug, and Barry embraces him with the sweetest smile on his face. Len feels his heart shudder. Then it solidifies. He turns and walks off.

How could he be so stupid? Coming back here, expecting what happened last night and this morning to mean anything today. Wasn't he smarter than this? Apparently not. He snaps his mind back in place, back to where it's supposed to be – his mission and his team and the Waverider. He turns down an alley and reaches into his pocket for his communicator. He's going to call the ship back right now. No reason to wait till the morning to…

"Hey! Hey, Len! Wait up!"

Len doesn't know why he decides to stop. He'd just convinced himself that this didn't matter, and he was better off gone. But he almost can't control his feet when he hears Barry's voice calling out to him, and that layer of excitement that means he's smiling.

Maybe even wider than he'd been smiling at haircut inside. Len doesn't know, he hasn't turned to face him yet.

"Hey, stranger," Barry says, his footsteps slowing as Len comes to a stop.

"Hey yourself," Len says. He turns around and yes, this smile that Barry is wearing as he looks at him is bigger. Much bigger.

"I was just thinking about you, and here you are," Barry says. "I think I'm feeling lucky."

Len has to bite his lower lip to keep from smiling. Barry was thinking about him?

Was that before or after he started hugging haircut back there? Len thinks, his cynical brain determined not to let him make a fool out of himself. Because this is a mistake. He should tell Barry he stopped by to say thanks again for the tattoo, maybe slip him another hundred bucks, and then say goodbye for good. That would be the best thing for both of them. There's a thousand reasons why, even under perfect circumstances, this would never work.

If he honestly believes that, then why is he there?

"Yeah, well, I had to tie up some loose ends, and I happened to be in the area," Len lies.

Barry nods, but it doesn't seem like he completely believes Len's excuse, which is probably why his smile widens.

"Who's the Scooby Crew?" Len asks, pointing at the building.

"Oh" – Barry turns back towards his studio, even though there's no way to see inside from here – "them? That's my sort of sister and her boyfriend. They're heading down to Jitters for some trivia tournament, and they invited me along. There's room for one more if you wanna join."

"You know, I…don't really do well in crowds," Len says, feeling ridiculous for taking his sister's advice. When else in his life has that ever gone well for him? Maybe haircut isn't Barry's guy, but there has to be someone else he has his eye on. No way Barry doesn't have an admirer or two.

No way a man that hot and that humble goes to bed every night alone.

"Okay," Barry says, nodding with understanding, "then let me tell them I'll see them another time, and you and I can go do something."

Len shakes his head. "I don't want to take you away from your friends."

"Yes, but my friends are going to be around tomorrow." Barry tilts his head, the gesture, in itself, a question. "Are you?"

"I…I don't know." Len is caught between a rock and a hard place. This wasn't going the way he'd hoped at all. He wanted to catch Barry alone, ask him out on an informal date – coffee, a walk, maybe go to a movie. "But, you know, you probably don't want to waste your time..."

"Waste my time what?" Barry chuckles, taking a step forward. "Hanging out with a sexy guy like you?"

Len takes a step, too. "Sexy, huh?"

"Yeah" – Barry takes another step – "Sexy" – and another - "And do you know what's sexy, Snart? Consent. Consent is sexy." Barry comes eye to eye with Len and stops. "So how about instead of trying to make my mind up for me, you let me do it for myself?"

"And what do you want to do?" Len asks, fighting the urge to put an arm around Barry's waist and pull him in for a kiss.

"Well, you said you don't do well in crowds," Barry says. "How about you come up to my place? I'll order a pizza. We can do the Netflix thing. We can talk…" Barry steals a glance at Len's lips. "Or not talk, depending on our mood."

Len catches that glance, the tiny flicker of movement from Barry's eyes that tells Len they've been thinking about the same thing. "I think I can do that."

"Good." Barry grins victoriously, and though Len isn't about to say it out loud, he thinks it's fucking hot. "Give me five minutes."

"Five minutes," Len repeats.

"Unless, did you wanna come inside?"

Len takes a quick look around the alley. It's dark, empty, and more importantly, there are no cops around…unlike Barry's studio. In short, his kind of place. "I think I'll wait out here."

"Okay" – Barry takes a tentative step away – "but you've got to promise not to go anywhere."

"I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

Len watches Barry go, walking backward, keeping his eyes on him till he reaches the main sidewalk and jogs toward the studio. A second later, he peeks his head back, says, "Just making sure you're still there," and then takes off again.

Len laughs. He's never met a guy like Barry, not one he could tolerate for longer than two minutes together, anyway.

"Hey, guys. Change of plans," Barry announces as he walks into his studio and starts switching off lights. "It looks like the thing I was hoping might happen…is going to happen."

Iris raises a skeptical eyebrow. Barry hadn't filled her in on the details, just said that he'd met someone interesting, and had hoped he might see them again – tonight, if at all possible. If he means what she thinks he means, then she couldn't be happier, although she would rather make this a double date than see Barry go off on his own. She feels it's her responsibility to personally evaluate Barry's potential paramours, and she takes that job very seriously. Barry is such a compassionate, giving soul. He takes people at face value more often than she feels he should. Being a journalist, she sees things that Barry overlooks. But Barry was raised by a cop the same way she was. She has to trust his instincts. To his credit, he's never been wrong before. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Iris, I'm sure," Barry says, leading them out. He knows that Iris worries about him. He'd love to introduce Len to her, put her at ease, but Len seems skittish. If Iris knew Len was waiting out in the alley, she would demand that Barry drag the poor guy in to meet her, then probably strong arm them into joining her and Eddie at Jitters. Len might just decide to take off, and Barry wouldn't get a second night alone with him. Barry had spent the day negotiating with a higher power that if he got this chance he would make the most of it. He needs to make good on that promise. "Now you guys get. I'll call you tomorrow."

Eddie and Iris barely step out the front door when Barry locks it, pulls down the gate and throws the padlock on that, too. He waves a quick goodbye and heads down the block, turning the corner into the alley where (thankfully) Len is waiting, having moved more towards the shadows, watching the entrance.

"Hello, handsome," Barry says. "Nice to see you stuck around."

"I'm a man of my word," Len says as Barry walks determinedly up to him. "But like I said, you don't have to put off your friends for me…"

The word me gets trapped between Len's mouth and Barry's when Barry kisses him, wraps his arms around Len's waist and doesn't let go. Len slips his arms around Barry, holding him just as tight. Kissing Barry brings everything from this morning back – the sizzle, the heat, the conflict, glimpses of a life that can't ever be, and yet, here Len is, torturing himself with them, praying that he could make them true. Barry makes it so easy for him to forget that there is a life outside of kissing him, a place he needs to be that is beyond the reach of Barry's arms. When Barry holds Len, there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. He could let space and time drip away as long as he gets to stay right where he is.

Maybe Len wouldn't meet his fate on the Waverider. Maybe Barry would be the end of him.

"So," Len says, breath puffing against Barry's mouth which refuses to be parted farther than an inch from his, "where's this place of yours?"

"It's actually really close." Barry takes Len's hand and walks him around to the back of the building. There's only one metal door that Len can see, but Barry doesn't open it. Instead, he leaps up and grabs the ladder for the fire escape. Len watches Barry's shirt lift up, hoping he'll catch a glimpse of those beautiful scars. But Barry's clothes are layered, and all Len gets to see is the shirt underneath.

Barry pulls the ladder to a stop, then shakes it to make sure it's not coming off. It's an unnecessary habit of his, but a compulsive one.

"Do you do this every time you go to your place?" Len asks.

"Nah. There's a staircase inside," Barry says, climbing the ladder, "but Iris and Eddie are still kind of hanging around out front. I didn't want to put pressure on you to talk to them."

"That's good looking out," Len says. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Len follows Barry up the ladder, which Barry pulls up behind them when they reach the first landing. There's only one more flight up on a metal staircase, then a window, which Len assumes leads to Barry's place. Barry slides a thin piece of metal under the sill, and that springs the latch. He pushes on the glass, lifting the window up.

"You'd better be careful with that," Len says, gesturing to Barry's rig on the sill. "You don't want just anyone getting in here."

"I don't come through this way that often, and the window is alarmed." Barry reaches an arm in to punch some numbers on a key pad installed on the wall. "After thirty seconds, if I don't shut it off, about half of the CCPD shows up." Barry chuckles in a way that makes Len wonder if that hasn't happened once or twice already. "Besides, the only other person who knows about it besides Iris…and Eddie…and Joe…is you." Barry climbs in and steps aside so Len can, too. "I'm not sure I'd mind if I showed up one night and found you sitting on my sofa."

Barry throws Len a flirty wink and closes the window. Len resists the urge to tell Barry how he's the most brilliantly naïve person he's ever met.

The loft is pitch black, which sets Len's internal security system on high alert. Not even the street lights from outside seem to penetrate it. But Barry knows his way around, and he…there's something about him. He almost glows in the dark. No, he doesn't actually glow, but Len can see him – his figure – walking through the total blackness. Lisa would call it Barry's aura, but that's not it. It's just…Barry.

Barry starts flipping on lights and the atmosphere changes. He has mostly track lighting, situated to illuminate specific spaces – the kitchenette where they first came in, a wall of paintings in the living room, the sofa, the bedroom – with the ambient light casting a sheen everywhere else. Len marvels as he watches the loft unfold. He had expected an exact duplicate of the studio downstairs. The loft is starker, less trendy, but more personal – the walls are a deep purple, except for one wall at the far end, the face of the building, that's been left brick; the floors are wood, probably original to the structure; the furniture simple; a few windows, covered in blackout curtains; but the paintings Barry has hanging, those are the showcase of the place. There's not a single poster, no mass produced pop art, no photographs that aren't of Barry and his family, but the majority of Barry's decor are paintings, and those painting, Len knows, are Barry's own work.

"You've got an enviable amount of space here," Len remarks.

"I lucked out," Barry replies, keeping an eye on Len strolling through his living room. "It was equal parts loft and storage for the shop downstairs. I think it used to be a bodega or something. When I bought the building, I converted the whole space."

Len's eyebrows shoot up. "You bought the building?"

"Yeah, well...I had a feeling I'd never want to leave it."

Len takes another look around, assessing the place through the eyes of a thief. If Barry has some enormous flow of wealth, no one would guess it from his loft alone. He has no keepsakes other than his photographs, hanging in frames he could have bought for five dollars a piece at Target; no valuables displayed. He doesn't wear any jewelry, and his clothes don't look high end. The only thing of worth he has is the property he owns.

Well, no. That's no entirely true.

"These are fantastic," Len says, going down the line of paintings. There are landscapes and a few still lifes – the Missouri River, the front of his studio, his tattoo gun. But most of them are portraits, hung in pairs. The first two are of a man and a woman who have to be Barry's mom and dad. Barry has his mother's kind green eyes, his father's determined chin, and the rest is a subtle blend of both faces. They make an attractive couple, but they look so sad. The expression in his mother's eyes is heartbreaking, and his father…he seems so lost, so trapped, as if he's looking out from his portrait, begging for help. Len figures Barry might have painted it after visiting his dad in lock-up. Len has seen a lot of guys in prison with that look on their faces. They're usually the guys with families on the outside.

The next pair of portraits are also of a man and a woman. The woman is younger than the man, but they look like they're related. Len realizes, after a moment of contemplation, that he recognizes the woman. "This is your friend, right? Iris?"

"Yeah," Barry says with a sheepish smile.

"Has she ever seen this one?" Len moves around the portrait, looking at it from every angle.

"No. No one has. I haven't invited anyone up here in…gosh…ages."

Len nods. "I can see why you wouldn't show this one to her."

Barry frowns. "Is it that bad?"

"Are you kidding?" Len chuckles. "It's incredible. It's just…"

"Just…"

Len examines the painting more closely, eyes tracing every bush stroke, the swirls of color – browns, blues, hints of green - overlapping to make up the warm hue of her skin, the touches of pink, white, and lavender he used to add highlights…the reflection of himself inside her eyes, blurred, as if there's something about himself that she doesn't see clearly.

"Does she know that you're in love with her?"

Barry blushes uncomfortably. "You're…uh…very perceptive."

Len shrugs "I might know a thing or two about great art."

Barry glances down with a reluctant smile. "I've never told her," he admits. "But that doesn't matter now. She's with someone, and he's…great. Besides, I did that painting a while ago."

"And your feelings have changed?" Len asks. If there's a hint of hope in his tone, he can't be blamed. That's what this is, what the last day has been about - hope. Hope for something more in his life. Hope that his life can be more than it's been.

"Yes." Barry doesn't raise his head, only his gaze, a gesture that darkens his eyes, makes them mysterious and chilling. "Quite a bit."

That look in Barry's eyes, the way his voice deepens to match, reminds Len of their kiss. Suddenly, that glow Len perceives around Barry, his aura, becomes brighter, blinding…

"So, is pizza good for you?"

Barry's question shocks Len back, stops him from vaulting over the sofa and taking Barry then and there. Len laughs from the whiplash. Man, but Barry Allen is brutal when it comes to subject changes. "When is pizza not good?"

"I'm just checking," Barry says, playfully putting up his hands in defense. "Now, before you say a word, let me guess, because I'm usually good at this…" Barry closes his eyes, and puts a finger to his temple, taking on an appearance of deep concentration. Len watches, the whole time thinking fuck dinner. He should walk over and kiss him. Barry smiles, and Len becomes nervous, as if Barry might have read his mind, saw what he was picturing - the two of them on the sofa, Barry lying on top of Len, in the midst of a heated make-out session, Len's hands creeping underneath Barry's shirt, searching for those scars. But there's a second when Barry's face shifts. No, it blurs, then goes back to normal just as quick. "I'm thinking that you usually order all the meat, bell peppers, onions, and…maybe…black olives?"

Barry peeks open one eye. Len grins. "How did you know?"

Barry shrugs. "It's a thing I do," he says, pulling out his cell phone. "I haven't been wrong yet." He stops mid-dial as something occurs to him. "Either that, or I have really awesome friends who refuse to tell me I'm wrong in fear of hurting my feelings, and they've all been eating pizza they hate for years."

Len hasn't known Barry that long, but from the looks of Iris and her boyfriend, and from what Barry has told him about the man who raised him, that sounds like the sort of friends Barry would have.

"Well, I can't speak for them," Len says, "but you pretty much nailed my favorite pizza."

"Good" - Barry dials the last four digits - "cuz it happens to be my favorite, too."

"You're lying."

"I wouldn't lie about something as important as pizza," Barry says, phone to ear. "I'm very picky about what I put in my mouth." Barry wiggles his brows suggestively as he starts placing their order.