Notes: Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I had this chapter ready a week ago, but I didn't like the way it turned out, so I rewrote it until I did. Anyway, thank you for reviewing! Special thanks to all the Guest reviewers, whom I couldn't message personally, and particularly to Maharlika and Lilili, who took the time to leave long ones! Also, to Lilili, I love it when readers tell me what specific details they liked about a chapter! It's not redundant at all. In fact, it helps me plan out future ones better. :) All your reviews keep me writing, so thank you so much.

On another note, NO SPOILERS PLEASE! I haven't had time to watch the episode yet… *cries*

In the days leading up to the meet, Barry had called Caitlin approximately 3.5 times.

Their conversations ranged from five minutes long (his phone died in the middle of one conversation, so Caitlin counted that as 0.5) to three hours long, but their topics were surprisingly homogeneous, revolving mostly around the post-lab report and the upcoming oral exams.

Caitlin wasn't quite sure what to make of it. For one, she and Hartley had always talked about post-labs through chats that didn't even last ten minutes, and they'd never called each other. So talking to her lab partner now for nearly three hours, using the phone, was… different, to say the least. And it felt almost intimate, somehow, even if they just mostly talked about homework.

But on the other hand, maybe it wasn't something new to him. After all, he couldget pretty talkative, so maybe the phone, as opposed to chat, was really his preferred medium of communication…

But then again, even if it was, was it really normal to spend three hours talking about homework?

And besides that, there were a lot of moments that left Caitlin with that strange fluttering in her chest, moments that seemed to have too much romantic undertone to be considered merely platonic, and moments that seemed entirely too tender or serious to be considered his usual pseudo-flirting. It was also during those moments that she remembered her resolution to be nicer to him—although, admittedly, that was something she still had to work on.

Take, for example, the call on Monday night:

—

Day: Monday
Call No.: 1 (This count does not yet include the two other calls he made prior to Monday.)
Call Duration: 8:07 p.m. – 10:43 p.m.

"Hm, I still can't figure out which test of carbohydrates is most effective. It seems like they all exist for cross-reference, but assuming one only had one of the reagents on hand, which would be the most effective…?"

"We talked about that during the first hour, Caitlin. We're supposed to be moving on to proteins now."

"I know, but I still don't have an answer, and Google Scholar isn't proving to be helpful. Maybe we should request for an additional lab session to run through all the reagents again—"

"No, we don't need another lab session, we need a break. Let's talk about something else."

"Oh. Well, if you insist—"

"If I don't insist, we'll never take a break. See how hard it is to be the fun one in this relationship—"

"Ten minutes."

"Hey! Twelve's our standard!"

"We went overtime awhile ago. Deal with it."

"Fiiine."

"Well? What did you want to talk about?"

"Wait, give me a few seconds to think of something…"

"You know, it might work in your favor to make a talking agenda, just so you don't waste time during these breaks you keep asking for."

"A talking agenda? Seriously?"

"Yes, a bulleted list of topics to—"

"I have a good idea of what that meant, you know. Well, I had one thing in mind, but I don't know how to bring it up. It's sort of weird."

"Really? When have you had any inhibitions about bringing something 'sort of weird' up with me?"

"…Are you actually… encouraging me to bring it up?"

"Well, you don't usually ask permission to talk about something that'll make me squirm."

"How can you tell that this'll make you squirm?"

"I can feel it. I've developed a sixth sense for it."

"Oooh, so like, your Barry senses are tingling—"

"God, don't put it that way—"

"—where, exactly, do I make you tingle?"

"…We should cut this break short."

"Hey! Stop abusing your power as timekeeper!"

"Someone has to be the responsible one."

"I'm also responsible. Responsible for making you smile."

"…Are you ever going to bring up that topic you don't want to bring up?"

"Do I make you smile?"

"…"

"That's the topic I wanted to bring up, by the way."

"Oh. Oh, alright. Well… Define… making me smile."

"Wait, let me translate it into your language…"

"We both speak English."

"No, I speak English, you speak science. Ah, got it! Does your… orbicularis oculi contract frequently when you're around me? …The orbicularis oculi is the genuine-smile muscle, right?"

"Duchenne claims it's the muscle under the eye that differentiates a false smile from a genuine one, so yes, it is."

"So?"

"…I don't know how to answer that. Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Just curious. Or… Let me rephrase. Am I annoying?"

"Yes."

"Wow, that was fast. I'm kind of hurt."

"Over the phone, I can't tell if you're seriously hurt or not…"

"Do I at least make up for the annoyingness by making your orbicularis oculi contract often?"

"…Yes… I mean. Rationally speaking, I wouldn't persist in talking to you if you—if you didn't make up for being so annoying somehow."

"Oh."

"Does that… answer your question?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. My orbicularis oculi's contracting right now, actually… Er—just so you know."

"Oh… Alright. So… Shall we return to discussing the reagents for carbohydrate tests…?"

"Um… Okay. Sure."

—

And then there was the brief call on Tuesday afternoon, which Caitlin reckoned was the first time she'd really tried to be nice, and which made her so uncomfortable—being honest made her feel like she was stripping naked—that she was relieved at how mercifully short that call was.

Day: Tuesday
Call No.: 1.5
Call Duration: 3:51 p.m. – 3:56 p.m.

"Hello?"

"Caitlin!"

"Hey—are you alright? You sound a little out of breath."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just… Just ran from my last lab class to the track field."

"Oh. Is there a reason for this call?"

"Er—none, really. I just—I don't know. I guess I just wanted to talk."

"…About the post-lab? Don't you have practice? It can wait until tonight—"

"No, it's not about post-lab. It's just… I had a rough lab class. It made me kind of miss you bossing me around."

"…I do not boss you around. You agree to doing the things I suggest you to do."

"Because I have no choice. Ergo, it's called bossing me around."

"It's a democratic country, Barry. You always have a choice."

"It's your tyranny when it comes to lab, Caitlin."

"You have a weird way of pronouncing lab."

"Yeah, because it's also meant to sound like l-o-v-e."

"It's my tyranny in love? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, Caitlin. You tell me."

"…Is there a good reason why I'm wasting my time on you?"

"Because… I'm gorgeous? —Ah, crap, my battery's down to 1%. Quick, say something nice before my phone dies. Pleeease? I've had a rough day…"

"What the… Oh, whatever. Fine."

"Fine as in, you'll say something nice?"

"What else could I be referring to? Now stop talking, I can't think."

"Okay, okay. Stopping."

"Um… Okay. Here. You—you have very nice eyes. Genetically speaking. And somewhat aesthetically speaking, but mostly genetically speaking."

"I—ah, I do? Why, thank you, Caitlin. You know, I didn't expect you to actually say something nice…"

"And you're—you're surprisingly good at making my orbicularis oculi contract."

"Oh. Er, thanks. I'm glad, because you're… um. You're really pretty when you smile."

"I—ah. Okay."

"…It's polite to thank someone for a compliment, you know."

"Well—flattery isn't—fine. Thank you."

"That's the most grudging 'thank you' I've ever heard."

"Well, your 'thank you' was the most hesitant I've ever heard, especially from you."

"Hey, it took awhile to sink in that you actually complimented me. Is there more from where that came from?"

"My supply of it has been permanently depleted."

"Aw, too bad… Maybe if you see my genetically pleasing eyes again, your supply will be magically replenished."

"Don't count on it. How is your phone not dead yet?"

"I don't know. Might've revived at the sound of your voice."

"…Sometimes you say the strangest things—"

His phone had died at that point, and while Caitlin still felt uncomfortable about the whole exchange, she found herself hoping that she brightened his day, even just a little.

—

He then called her again that Tuesday night. After a much expected teasing remark about her complimenting his eyes, they'd launched into a discussion on finalizing the content of the report. But a few minutes into their conversation, Caitlin felt that there was something off about him—he'd just seemed less enthusiastic than usual, less quick to make a pun of some scientific term. Even his teasing at the beginning of their phone call had seemed almost half-hearted. She didn't know how exactly she became sensitive to the timing and quality of his teasing, but she just inexplicably was. And, instead of spiraling into overthinking like she usually did, she found herself moved by concern for him instead.

Day: Tuesday
Call No.: 2.5
Call Duration: 7:28 p.m. – 10:15 p.m.

"Alright, that's enough. I think we need a break."

"…Really? That's a first."

"Barry, you sound exhausted."

"No, I'm not. Besides, didn't you say you wanted to get this out of the way already so we could start practicing for the orals?"

"I… Well, the report isn't due in six days, and we're already 70% done. And Dr. Wells hasn't even posted the sign-ups for the orals yet. I believe we're well ahead of schedule."

"But…"

"You said you've had a rough day, didn't you? You should rest."

"I… well, I can't seem to. I feel tired, but I'm too strung up to go to sleep. I mean, there's just so much to do, and I'm really starting to feel the pressure from everyone since the meet is in two days, and—God, I don't know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dump that on you, it's just—it's starting to get really stressful."

"Oh… I see. Well… you've just shifted into one of the harder science courses, so that's understandable… Hey, why are you laughing? —God, if it's because I said 'harder'—"

"Sorry! Sorry. It's not that, I swear. It's just, your course is a freaking double honors science course, and you seem to be breezing through everything, so… I can't imagine you having a hard time at all. I still can't believe you single-handedly finished our last lab report, by the way. And in less than two hours, too. I'm working on a report now for inorganic chemistry, and it's taking me days to finish."

"Oh. To be fair, inorganic chemistry is one of the more challenging subjects."

"Challenging, huh? How long did it take you to finish a report in that class? Three hours instead of two?"

"…Two and a half, maybe…"

"See."

"No! No, it's not because I'm smarter or anything that I can finish reports faster. It's a personal practice of mine to do the bulk of the research for the post-lab while I'm reading up for the pre-lab, so I take days to finish my pre-lab. People usually accomplish that an hour before the class, right?"

"A day before, more like. You're just being modest."

"No, it's true. I do take a long time with pre-lab."

"But then Cisco once mentioned that you've finished at least half of the pre-labs already—"

"He was exaggerating. I've finished a fourth at most."

"Still. Jesus. Do you ever sleep?"

"Obviously. I get around four hours a night. Just the average amount of sleep any university student gets, I suppose."

"Are you kidding me? Four isn't average. I need at least six to function."

"Considering you're an athlete, you need at least seven to eight."

"Yeah, well… I used to get nine back in Interdisciplinary Studies. Good times."

"Oh… Then why did you shift, if I may ask?"

"I… uh, when my mom… When she passed away, I don't know, I just… I realized I wanted a career with more purpose. Sorry, it's…"

"No, I'm sorry. Don't feel obliged to talk about it. I'm really sorry for your loss—"

"Hey, it's not your fault. But thank you."

"…In any case, are you happy? In forensic science?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. I mean, my load doubled and I'm sleeping like half the amount of time I used to, but… I've always loved science, and I'm loving it even more now."

"Ah, I see. That's… wonderful. —Are you laughing again? What did I say this time?"

"You just sound really uncomfortable with having to sympathize with me."

"I do not."

"Yes you do, Caitlin."

"No—no, it's not like I'm uncomfortable with sympathizing with you, per se. I just have difficulty with finding the right words. I mean, 'That's great!' sounds banal, but any other adjective synonymous to 'great' sounds insincere."

"Yet you settled on 'That's wonderful' anyway."

"Yes. Well, the last one I used was 'That's glorious', but—"

"Glorious? Seriously?"

"Well, it does sound more exuberant, doesn't it…? Oh, stop laughing already, will you?"

"Sorry, I just—it's just really cute."

"Cute."

"I mean, it's not in the word you use, Caitlin, it's in the delivery. If you don't sound genuinely happy when you say it, then no exuberant word'll sound exuberant enough."

"Well, I'm sorry if my voice is too monotonous for you—"

"It's not monotonous. It just sounds… A little… reluctant. But don't worry about it, I understand that you were trying to be exuberant, so thank you. I actually feel better now, after talking to you about it. And after your attempts to comfort me."

"Well, I'm glad my feeble attempts at sympathy worked. Maybe you can go to sleep now?"

"Nah, I actually feel pumped to do more work now."

"Are you sure…?"

"Yeah. Lipids won't stand a chance. Unless you're tired…?"

"Me? Of course not."

"Really? Good. Because I prepared a talking agenda, and—"

"Oh, would you look at that? Twelve minutes is up."

"Hey—"

"I thought you were pumped to work."

"I am, but I still feel too tired to talk about lipids just yet…"

"Yet you're not too tired to talk about the things on the talking agenda."

"Nope."

"Barry."

"Fine, fine. Why do we always follow you, anyway…?"

At that time, Caitlin just rolled her eyes, but she felt considerably better that he was back to teasing her. She thought it was incredibly ironic that she was annoyed by his teasing at least 90% of the time, but the moment he stopped teasing her, she'd suddenly miss it. And no, it wasn't something she liked to dwell on—not when she was enjoying another scientific debate with him, and especially not when she was relishing in the sound of his laughter over something she'd said. Who knew that she'd be able to make him laugh? Well, it was mostly unwitting on her part, but still. It was… nice. It was very nice.

—

By Wednesday night, she'd come to expect his calls, and had been unconsciously trying to finish what work she could before 7:30. Felicity was unbearably smug about it, and once she played Caitlin's ringtone on her own phone just to see Caitlin jump up from her seat and scurry to her bedside table, but when Caitlin threatened to prank-call Oliver and play turtle sex noises on full volume when he answered, while casually informing him that it was Felicity masturbating, Felicity had very quickly given up her own antics.

Barry—Felicity pointed out that Caitlin had stopped referring to him as 'Barry Allen', which she found particularly significant, but Caitlin supposed that she just got used to calling him by his first name over the phone, especially when she was exasperated with him—finally did call. But, instead of his usual greeting, there was a strange sound at the other end of the line, as if the phone was being slid along a surface. She heard a girl's faint voice saying, "You're welcome, Barry," and then a masculine voice that she immediately recognized as Barry's saying, "Iris! This isn't funny! What did you—" And then the girl's voice again, even fainter this time so that Caitlin had to strain to hear, "…Just answer it, you dork… Picked up already…"

Day: Wednesday
Call No.: 3.5
Call Duration: 7:31 p.m. – 9:11 p.m.

"H…Hello?"

"Hi, Barry."

"Caitlin?"

"Yes, speaking."

"Uh… Hi, Caitlin."

"Yes, hi, Barry. We've exchanged the requisite phone greetings."

"Right, er, sorry. Uh, do you… Do you want to… uh, to…"

"To…?"

"Uh—um. Er."

"You're not usually this inarticulate. Is something wrong?"

"No, not really. I just have a best friend to kill, that's all."

("Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Caitlin heard Iris say. She seemed to be right beside him. "Just ask—" And then a faint "IRIS! God, go away! Why are you even here?" And then, "Oh—OH. Eddie. Right. Gross, I wish I never asked. But can you, like, keep it down? Last time you guys woke the whole floor—hey, stop it…!")

"Hi, Caitlin."

"Iris…?"

(Caitlin was blushing faintly. It was no secret that the dorm heads mostly turned a blind eye to people having… coitus… in the exclusive dorms, but it still made her squeamish.)

"I heard the science majors are throwing a huge party soon. Can non-science-majors go?"

"Well, if you're with a science major, I don't see why not."

"Great. Will you be bringing anyone? Any non-science majors? Or friends? Or, you know, maybe a date…?"

"Dates aren't required, so I'm going with my friends, as usual."

"I see—"

"Hi, Caitlin." Barry seemed to have gotten his phone back. "Sorry about that. Iris was just itching to go to a party this weekend because no one's been inviting her."

("Why you—Bartholomew Allen, I swear—" Then there was some grumbling on Barry's end and the sound of a door opening and closing, so presumably he'd ushered her out of his room.)

"She's welcome to join Helix. You can say she's with you."

"Nah, I don't feel like bringing her along. So… You're going?"

"Yes."

"With… your friends?"

"Like I told Iris, yes. Why? Do you… want to join us?"

"I… Um. I—well, if you're going with your friends—I, um, I mean—I guess I'm going with my block."

"Oh, alright. What was it that you were trying to ask me?"

"Uh… Well… Do you… want to meet up… before my meet tomorrow?"

"Don't you need time to warm up?"

"It'll be quick. Just—just wanted to say hi to all my supporters and all that."

"Do you always coerce your so-called supporters into suffering your presence before the game?"

"No, just the ones I like."

(Caitlin's breath hitched in her throat—was he saying what she thought he was saying? What did 'like' even mean in this context? Was it mere preference, or did it refer to the exclusive and strong romantic attraction to another person? Was 'supporters' supposed to refer to a concrete group of people, or was it some weird synecdoche that referred to only her?

She took a calming breath and tried to still her trembling hands. No, it was too vague, she decided. It didn't mean anything—and it certainly couldn't mean what she wanted it to mean…)

"Er—so—see you at the track field tomorrow? At four?"

"Uh, well. Okay."

"Okay."

"So… Well, since we've finished discussing for the post-lab, we should probably start outlining for orals."

"Uh, okay. Fantastic. You have the best ideas, Caitlin."

"O…kay. I'll just grab my notes."

"Sure."

Before she left her phone on the table to rummage for her index cards, she thought she heard him say something like "Oh my God, I'm an idiot," but an idiot for what, she couldn't tell.

—

There was a concept in inferential statistics that Caitlin firmly believed in: it was called the null hypothesis. It referred to the default assumption that there was no significant relationship between two variables or groups. It was then the task of any good scientist to set precise criteria for rejecting the null hypothesis.

In this case, her null hypothesis was that Barry did not harbor any romantic feelings for her, and her precise criteria for rejecting that was that Barry himself, or any reliable secondary source such as Oliver or any friend of hers that had spoken directly to Barry, would say that he did. Any other piece of evidence—such as those moments in her phone conversations with him, moments when he said things like, "You're really pretty when you smile" and "No, just the ones I like"—wasn't strong enough to reject the null hypothesis.

In other words, she didn't want to make a big deal out of those phone calls. But the fact that she was trying not to make a big deal out of them signified that they were a big deal, or at least of some deal, to her, and could possibly be interpreted in the direction of 'Maybe he does harbor romantic feelings for me.'

It confused Caitlin to no end, because in the first place, why did everything have to be guesswork when it came to romance? And in the second place, what was she going to do if he did have romantic feelings for her? How would she react…?

No, but she was getting ahead of herself. There was a reason she'd recently established that null hypothesis—it would ground her when she started driving herself insane with overthinking.

So: Barry did not harbor romantic feelings for her.

There was a slight twinge in her chest when she turned the words over and over in her mind, but she ignored it, and held fast to her null hypothesis.

It was, after all, the safer assumption.

Caitlin had a break before meeting up with Barry at the track field, and she spent it bracing herself for meeting him. She thought she'd prepared adequately for it—she knew that talking with his disembodied voice for hours on end was one thing, while seeing him in the flesh was another story—but she had forgotten to take into account that talking to him up close, while he was stretching in that bleeding track suit, was a completely different battle altogether.

Caitlin tried her very best to focus on a point in the distance—in this case, a crushed plastic cup a few feet behind him—but she was failing spectacularly. Honestly, did he have to keep moving? Sure, he was warming up, but still. He should be doing this in some dark closet where no one could see him, and consequently where no one could have adverse bodily reactions to his flexing, such as blushing so hard she nearly looked like she was having a rash. Caitlin was also certain that if he did that stretch again where his trapezius and deltoids looked etched onto his back, she was going to have a nosebleed.

"…to go to the talk tomorrow?" he was saying.

Naturally, since she was expending most of her mental resources trying not to stare, she had very little left to process what he was saying. "Hm…?"

He smirked at her. He bleeding smirked at her, and then he slowly lifted an arm into the air to stretch his triceps. It wasn't as bad as The Back Stretch, but it was pretty damn distracting, too. "The Science and Tech Committee organized a series of talks for the entire month, and I have to have to attend at least one for extra credit in Anatomy. I want to attend the one tomorrow—it's Special Topics in Immunology—but I don't really know anyone in my class, so… Do you… want to go with me?"

"Oh," Caitlin said, mildly surprised at his invitation. She vaguely remembered wanting to attend all the talks in that series, but there was a reason she'd felt uneasy about the one tomorrow in particular. She just couldn't remember what it was at the moment, not when Barry looked dangerously close to performing The Back Stretch again. "Well. I. Uh, okay."

"You know what that means, don't you?" he said, wagging his eyebrows.

"It means… We get to know more about… The… Immune system?"

"You don't say," he drawled. He leaned to the right to stretch his side. "It means, Caitlin, that we'll be stuck together for a good two hours."

"You…" At this point, Barry reached to touch the ground, and Caitlin had to admire how flexible he was, because she was sure she could barely even touch her knees. "…You say that like it's a good thing."

"Considering that I get to enjoy the two hours with you," he said, in a more subdued tone, "I'd say it is."

And then he gave her a sheepish smile.

She swore her heart skipped a beat.

His smile was even more damaging to her already frayed nerves than The Back Stretch. It was like one of those tender moments of his over the phone, when his fumbling sincerity disarmed her far more effectively than his innuendoes. The air had shifted between them, and Caitlin didn't know what to do about it—she could snap at him when he was making puns, but she just… couldn't do that when he was like this.

"Since your orbicularis oculi's contracting," she said, hesitantly, "I suppose you're sincere."

He paused mid-stretch. "Of course I'm sincere," he said. His brows furrowed in confusion. "Did you ever think I wasn't?"

"Well…" Caitlin said, avoiding the intensity of his gaze and running her teeth over her bottom lip. "I've just… always assumed that… you say most of the things you say to rile me up. And I've always assumed that… that's how you normally relate to other gir—people." She gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's not… insincerity, but…"

She made a vague, helpless gesture with her hand, unable to articulate what exactly she thought it was.

He looked positively flummoxed. "Caitlin, I'm always sincere with you," he said, looking almost hurt. "I mean, sure, I love joking around with other people, but not… I mean, it's not like—"

The shrill sound of the whistle cut through the moment between them, and Barry let out a muttered curse. "I have to go," he said, doing one last, quick stretch with his legs. "Can I talk to you later? Please?"

Caitlin blinked. "Um, sure."

"Okay. See you."

"Barry—wait." Her hand had unwittingly reached out to grasp his arm before he could run back, and her touch had obviously startled them both—he turned around so quickly that he nearly tripped, and she drew her hand back as if she'd burned it, regretting that she'd said anything in the first place.

But he was looking at her with such intensity in his brilliant green eyes that before she could figure out why, she felt compelled to continue what she'd intended to say. "Good luck," she said, feeling incredibly lame. "I hope you win."

"Oh. Thanks." His smile was slow and warm. "It really means a lot to me that you're here."

"I'm not here by choice," she grumbled good-naturedly. "Just keeping my end of the deal."

"Don't worry, losing that deal will be worth your while," he said, adopting that tone of gentle teasing he'd been using around her, and tentatively reaching out to brush a sweaty tendril of hair from her face. She felt a blush suffusing her cheeks, wishing that he had brushed away a more picturesque-looking tendril of hair… But more than embarrassment, she felt so elated that she felt like she would combust. She probably would if she saw his smile, too, so she duly sought out the useless plastic cup instead of his eyes.

His hand returned to his side. "Will you at least try cheering for me?"

She scowled at the cup. "If you win, I'll consider it."

"Is that a deal?"

She shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. "Perhaps one I'm willing to lose."

His eyebrows shot up, and then he laughed, shaking his head. "Caitlin Snow," he breathed, saying her name with a barely concealed affection that sent her toes curling. "You're really something else."

The whistle sounded again, more furiously this time, so that Barry had no choice but to jog to the field, but not without a backward glance and a sheepish smile in her direction.

She gave him a dazed smile back, and continued gazing at the plastic cup, while trying to recall the brush of his fingers against her cheek, the caress that her name had become on his lips. And then, feeling quite silly for standing there for so long, she'd quickly scurried up the bleachers to find a decent seat. Cisco wasn't able to make it—he needed all the time he had to work on the sketches—but Caitlin wasn't particularly bothered that she was watching his meet alone, not when Barry had just scanned the crowd for her face, and especially not when he'd smiled at her like she was the only person in the audience.

He'd won, of course.

And she'd cheered him on the whole time.

After the meet, Caitlin rushed back to her room to finish the work she could, and then she made her way to the tables in front of the library to meet him. The last days of summer were ending, and tonight, for the first time since the beginning of the term, the air was chilly enough that Caitlin had worn one of her thicker hoodies out.

He was a few minutes late—not that that was unexpected—looking tired but fresh from a shower that had his hair sticking up in clumps. When he approached her, smiling crookedly, she could still smell his aftershave. Caitlin thought that not even all the willpower in the world could prevent her from softening at the sight of him like this.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the bench in front of her, and self-consciously raking a hand through his hair.

"Hi." She gave him a small smile. "I believe congratulations are in order."

"Hm?" he said. He seemed distracted trying to fix his hair. After a few seconds of watching him do it, Caitlin absentmindedly reached out to smoothen down a clump he'd missed, and he immediately stilled to let her. The gesture felt so natural that neither of them felt inclined to remark on it.

"For winning," she said. "For completely demolishing the other runners by a full two seconds. I'd never seen two seconds look so slow."

He grinned. "Thanks. Guess it's because I got myself a new cheerleader."

She rolled her eyes. "I wonder who the unfortunate girl is."

"She didn't look so unfortunate when she was jumping up and down the stands."

"You don't know that," she replied lightly. "It takes a lot of effort to muster up nearly non-existent school spirit."

His smile softened. "Thanks, Caitlin. It means a lot."

She avoided his gaze. "You're welcome," she mumbled, before quickly adding, "So… Are we practicing for the orals?"

"Hey, that's not fair," he said. He flipped the index cards she'd whipped out face-down. "I still have ten minutes."

"You're not the one timing."

"Well, you aren't timing, either," he returned.

Caitlin bit her lip. "Touché."

He gave her a teasing smile. And then he rubbed the back of his neck—one of his nervous tells, she'd come to realize—and cleared his throat. "Look, about what you said awhile ago… About how you just assumed that I always tease you just to annoy you, and that I'm always like that with other people…"

"It's not insincerity," Caitlin amended quickly. She found that she couldn't look him in the eye again, and instead concentrated on the fabric of her well-worn hoodie, fiddling with the ribbed hem. "I don't doubt your sincerity. You don't need to explain yourself."

"No, wait, I do need to explain myself," he protested. "I mean, at first I did tease you the way I did—"

"—and still do, by the way."

He grinned briefly at her correction. "—because it was fun to watch you react. You're just so… different. It was nice to have someone shoot down my science jokes instead of lapping them up. Well, okay, not really, because it'd be even nicer if you'd laughed at them once in awhile, but at least you were honest. And you take me seriously when I talk about science. And it's… It's really refreshing."

Caitlin bit her lip. Her head was spinning. All she seemed to glean from what he was saying was that she was different from other girls—even if he'd never said that part aloud—and it was making her feel giddy. But, no, she had to remember her null hypothesis—nothing but a direct confession from him could prove that he liked her. "I find it hard that you can't find like-minded people to talk about science with," she said instead.

"Well… I do, I guess. I have my new blockmates in forensic science, and they're pretty amazing, but… Sometimes, they just try too hard to make science cool, you know? Like… Patty—one of my blockmates—she comes up with all these science jokes with me, but then we can't talk about anything serious. They're like nerds who try too hard to be cool nerds."

"Are you saying that I'm not a cool nerd?"

"Er—well—"

Caitlin laughed. "I'm kidding. It doesn't particularly bother me."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "For what it's worth, I think you're pretty cool when you start talking about reaction mechanisms."

She flushed. "Well," she said, "for what it's worth, your jokes are occasionally funny. Sometimes I just don't give you the satisfaction of knowing that."

"I know," he grinned. "I keep track of the jokes that you don't find funny at all, and the ones that you pretend not to like but actually do, and the ones that actually make you laugh."

She blinked. "Oh. But… why?"

"Well, I like seeing you smile," he said, with such simple honesty that Caitlin just… melted. "I noticed that you don't smile much, and I thought it was a shame, since you're really pretty when you do."

Caitlin swallowed. She was going to rip the hem of her hoodie if she were going to stretch it any further. She tried to imagine that what he was telling her was something that could be said between friends, but somehow, she couldn't imagine telling Cisco that he was pretty—or handsome, whatever—when he smiled, and so maybe… just maybe… there really was something more between them. Maybe Barry was flirting with her, in the most honest way possible—in the way that guys did with someone they really liked.

"…Caitlin?"

She released her lower lip from between her teeth and glanced at him. He seemed to be laughing. "What?"

"You really don't know how to take compliments, do you?"

"I…" she frowned. "I'm just not used to them, that's all."

His brow furrowed. "Really?" And then he grinned. "Well, that's something I can rectify."

"Why?" she said, narrowing her eyes. "Just because you can make me squirm?"

"No, just because you deserve to hear them," he said. "And for what it's worth—I always mean every word."

Caitlin found herself speechless again. She swallowed and looked away. She had absolutely no idea what to do with him when he was like this. God, if she'd thought that he was charming back when he was making innuendoes, that was nothing compared to him now… She suspected that, if he turned his full charm on her—or whatever it was he was doing to her—she wouldn't stand a chance.

And this terrified her.

So she coped the only way she could: She gathered the index cards in her hands, rapped them on the wooden table, and crisply announced that they should probably get to work.

Caitlin hadn't been with him for an hour when she'd abruptly announced that she was tired. She wasn't, of course, but she didn't think she could stand being around him when he was being so… gentle with her, when he seemed determined to spoil her rotten with compliments that invariably made her lose all train of thought or splutter like she'd forgotten how to speak English.

So she left and made her way back to the dorms, and she proceeded to tackle the work she had to do with such fervour that one would think they were all due the next day. When she'd finally surfaced from practicing for the oral exams, her intense panic finally petering out into exhaustion, it was already two in the morning.

Caitlin sighed and buried her head in hands. She just felt so tired. She was tired of all these feelings, of trying to figure Barry out, of trying not to get her hopes up, of worrying that she wasn't studying enough because she was spending too much time with Barry, of not being able to concentrate when she actually was studying because Barry was always lurking in her thoughts…

Keeping her grades up was more important than silly feelings over some boy, she thought, rubbing her tired eyes. She had a grade to maintain if she wanted to keep her scholarship, and if that didn't motivate her, the mere thought of her father's sneering disapproval—even if he wasn't around anymore—of her lapse in diligence was enough to make her work harder.

But sometimes, she had to admit, being with Barry was far more exciting than figuring out reaction mechanisms. Barry made her smile, and she didn't think she'd smiled as much as she did in the past week or so with him. He made her feel like she could be herself—not the science major with the near-4.0 GPA, not the girl with genius-level intellect.

She thought about her null hypothesis again. She thought about their phone calls, about everything he'd said to her just hours ago… And for once, she doubted that the evidence she had was insufficient to disprove her null hypothesis. And, in that moment of weakness, overcome as she was with exhaustion, she allowed a barely suppressed wave of longing to wash over her.

God help her, she was positively terrified of it, but she really liked Barry. And she just… really wanted him to like her back.