Notes: Well, that finale was… something. Or at least the last ten minutes were. I won't spoil it, but for those who've watched, what did you think? Can't believe we have to wait four more months for the next season… Anyway, sorry for the wait! I got sidetracked by writing other fics, haha. Once again, I'm really grateful for your patience and support. Sometimes when I'm stuck I reread reviews to haul my ass back into writing. You'll never know how happy they make me. Thank you so much! (By the way, special thanks to Gaby, who helped me straighten out the kinks, so to speak, in this chapter. :P) I don't know what parties or socials are like from where you're from, but I'm writing from what I know. If you're interested, the OS for the latter half is "Something Just Like This" by The Chainsmokers and Coldplay. Enjoy!
(To guest reviewer ShanouNash: Thank you for always dropping by to leave thoughtful reviews across my fics! I love hearing what you think about them and the ship and the show, too. To reply to your review in the previous chapter: Words are usually poor consolation, but I am so, so sorry for your loss. As someone who's experienced loss as well and who wrote from that experience, my heart goes out to you… I hope you're beginning to heal in your own way.)
There was something that Cisco had always said to Caitlin and Felicity back in high school as the be all and end all explanation for their friendship. "Guys—uh, girls—it's simple, really, why this works," he'd said, grinning. "It's because our collective level of sanity is lower than that of the normal population's." Over time, they'd come to accept this as they would any other scientific fact, and this ritual reaffirmation of their collective insanity had become a vital part of their friendship, just as how going to parties every weekend was a vital part of other people's friendships.
Now, however, as Caitlin sat in front of her desk an hour after her shower, cringing away from the curling iron that Jax was holding to her hair and the make-up brush that Felicity was holding to her face, Caitlin considered Cisco's words again and wondered whether she had unwittingly crossed over to the Zone of Sanity, leaving all her friends deep in the Zone of Collective Insanity. What else was she supposed to think when Felicity had pushed a waist-high stack of books to block the door in a surprising display of physical strength that Caitlin had never witnessed in her before? What else was she supposed to think when Jax had climbed in from the window, brandishing a curling iron and a straightening iron from the back pocket of his jeans like a cowboy brandishing guns from their holsters?
"You're not going to like this, Cait," Felicity had said, "but we're doing this for your own good."
"Think of it as an investment for your future," Jax had added. "Like how we study all this shit in college so we have a better shot at getting jobs."
"What's supposed to be an investment?" Caitlin had asked, quite stupidly, because she'd already known the answer—the curling iron and straightening iron were dead giveaways. In retrospect, instead of asking that dumb question she should've just flung herself out the window.
"Remember, the less you resist, the sooner you can get back to working on your thesis," Felicity had continued blithely, pulling her make-up kit from one of her drawers and setting them down on Caitlin's desk with an ominous and final thud. It was a thud that would brook no arguments. It was a thud that announced Felicity had the last word, no questions asked.
So, there she was, trapped in her own room by her so-called friends, too stunned by their ambush to put up any more resistance than the occasional squirm or wince. On one hand, she was quite touched to have friends that cared so much about her 'future,' as Jax put it, no matter how twisted their care was. On the other hand, she was convinced that they were all insane. Right now she was feeling a mix of affection for and fear of them. She didn't think those two emotions could even occur together.
It wasn't like she would've put up a fight in the first place. She wasn't vehemently opposed to having her hair and make-up done. After all, she did comb her hair and put on make-up when she had to go to interviews or conferences. (Although this was debatable—Felicity would say, "Hastily slapping on some BB cream and lip gloss don't count as proper make-up putting," and Caitlin would say, "I'm applying for jobs where I'll be handling hazardous chemicals, and if those react with my make-up I could die," and even if Caitlin usually made more sense, it still never stopped Felicity from bringing it up, just to annoy her.) So, Caitlin felt that if her friends had asked her nicely, she would have acquiesced. The conversation could have gone something like this:
"Hey, Cait, want us to do your hair and make-up for Helix?"
"I have a twenty-minute break before my next Pomodoro, so if you can do it within that time, I guess I'll be fine with it."
Caitlin feared that the scenario they imagined went something like this:
"Hey, Cait, want us to do your hair and make-up for Helix?"
"Are you INSANE? Do I LOOK like I have TIME for such frivolity as MAKE-UP? How DARE you even SUGGEST that I have IDLE TIME in my DAY!"
(Why she imagined that they'd imagine her in her mother's caps-lock chat syntax, she didn't know.)
In any case, she wasn't about to tell them that she wouldn't've put up much of a fight. She knew that what fueled them while they were gleefully planning for this ambush was the prospect of her violent resistance, so if she told them that their efforts had been unnecessary, they would be severely disheartened. Felicity, especially. She was sure that Felicity had orchestrated the entire thing.
Caitlin couldn't believe it. Here she was, coerced into having a makeover, and yet she was being nice enough to think about how not to inadvertently hurt her coercers' feelings. Maybe she was still in the Zone of Collective Insanity, after all.
Suddenly she shot up in her chair. Something had been bothering her since all this happened, but it wasn't until she'd circled back to Cisco's remark that she realized what it was.
"Where's Cisco?"
There was a long, pregnant pause.
"Guys."
"He's practicing his script for Helix," Felicity said quickly. "They got him as a last-minute emcee, since their original emcee was sick. I forgot the guy's name. It was something weird, like… M… Mark?"
"Mark isn't a weird name."
"It sounds like Mark," she said, blending the liquid foundation into her skin perhaps a little too forcefully. "Something like… Dark?"
"Darth," Jax said.
"Darth," Felicity confirmed.
"As in Darth Vader, Darth?" Caitlin said skeptically.
"Uh. Yeah…?"
"You guys are terrible liars."
"You're one to talk," Felicity said. "Hey, Jax, is the curling iron hot enough yet? Don't let it get too hot."
"I think it's good," he said. "Alright, try not to move too much. It's been awhile since I last used this thing."
Caitlin narrowed her eyes at him. "Why, exactly, do you have curling and straightening irons?"
"One of my exes left them in my room. It was a bad break-up," he said, as if that fully explained why the curling and straightening irons were still in his possession. Jax went on, while experimentally wrapping a strand of her hair around the curling iron, "Hey, don't give me that look. I had to break up with her, man. She made me watch hair tutorials. Sure, I also made her watch football videos, but I never made her play football with me. Not even virtually."
"So you broke up with her because she made you watch hair tutorials?"
"I broke up with her because she made me watch hair tutorials and then try them on her hair. Don't get me wrong. I was cool with it. It was actually pretty fun sometimes. Anyway, I accidentally burned off a chunk of her hair, and she went berserk on me—"
"You accidentally burned off a chunk of her hair?"
"Yeah, but that was once in like, a hundred times," he said defensively. "That's a 99% success rate. That's practically Elite-Four-level hairstyling. And I can do barrel curls like a pro."
For the first time in the past half-hour, Felicity looked apologetic. "He volunteered for it."
"Oh, God."
Caitlin figured it was far too optimistic to hope for "Elite-Four-level hairstyling," but she supposed it was reasonable enough to hope that she got out of this with every chunk of hair still firmly attached to her scalp.
. . .
When Jax was halfway done curling her hair—thankfully no casualties had occurred, although it was too soon to announce something like that or she might jinx it—Cisco climbed in through the window and caused such a commotion with all his grunting and tumbling down that Caitlin's first instinct was to turn around to see what was going on, but having the curling iron so close to her scalp had prevented her from doing so.
"What's all that noise?" she said instead.
"Hola, amigos!" Cisco said. Caitlin heard him dust himself off and approach the cluster around her desk-turned-vanity. "What's up? Oh, nice work, man. Your hair looks awesome, Cait."
"Thanks, bro. I told you I was good at this."
"You also told us that you burned your ex's hair off."
"Chill, chica. It was one time," Cisco said. "And it was one clump."
"Thanks, bro."
"Oh, God," Caitlin said again.
"So!" Cisco said, clapping his hands. "Are you ready to seduce the socks of Barry Allen?"
"No."
"She's getting there," Jax said at the same time. "I've been giving her tips."
"Grab a seat," Felicity said to Cisco. "We're getting her to bat her lashes."
"Oh, this'll be fun," Cisco said, pulling up a chair behind Caitlin and peeking at her through the mirror on her desk. It was such a small mirror that all she could see was her floating head and part of Jax's torso, and now the upper half of Cisco's face.
"Okay, so, to recap," Jax said. "One of the principles of seduction is smiling and making frequent eye contact. This signals to the other person that you dig them."
"I still don't understand how eye-batting is subsumed under this principle. Eye contact requires my eyes to be open."
Jax gave a warning tug on her hair. "Remember, your hair is in my hands. I could make you a goddess, but I could also give you a bad hair day. What's it going to be, Caitlin? A goddess or a bad hair day?"
"That's not fair. And I really don't think seduction would work. Barry and I sort of, well, held hands—"
"WHAT!"
Caitlin winced as she felt a slight tug on her hair and pressure on her right eyelid, which Felicity had been applying eyeshadow primer on.
"The hell you did!"
"How is this not the first thing you told us?"
"You let him hold your hand? For real? Or was it like, air-hand-holding?"
"I think it's reasonably real," Caitlin said, before proceeding to give them a summary of what happened the day before, a telling made much longer by their reactions. They were all especially in awe of the bone-naming. Cisco called it "a genius flirting technique." Jax called it "the first time I'm impressed by nerdy flirting." Felicity called it "sooo romantic."
"He is so into you," Felicity concluded at the end of the story.
"I don't get it, though. Why hasn't admitted it yet?" Cisco said.
"Not explicitly," Felicity said, "but how can hand-holding not be an admission? I mean, people can make out and deny that they like each other, but hand-holding?"
Jax said, "That was smart of him. If Caitlin didn't want him to hold her hand, he'd say, I'm not holding it, I was just gonna show you something, and if she didn't say anything, he also still gets to hold her hand."
"Sneaky," Cisco said.
"I would appreciate it if you don't talk too much while curling my hair," Caitlin said, noticing how he'd been curling a particular chunk of hair for a few seconds too long.
"Don't worry. I can multi-task. I'm a beast at multi-tasking."
"That's… not something to be proud of—"
"So my guess is," Jax continued, gesturing forcefully now, so that with every movement of his Caitlin felt a slight tug on her hair, "he's scared of scaring you off. It's a good thing because he likes you enough to take it slow. But that also means you gotta show him you're ready to take it to the next level."
"But I'm not ready to take it to the next level," Caitlin said.
"But you've already held hands," Cisco said. "You guys just did, like, the romantic equivalent of skipping a grade."
"The ball's in your court now," Jax said. "Which is why you need to seduce him."
"No," Caitlin said, but as usual they blithely ignored her and carried on with discussion what manner of seduction she could pull off without looking like an awkward turtle. She wasn't even an awkward human being—she was an awkward turtle.
Caitlin sighed. She was well past any point of resistance.
. . .
Caitlin had known from a young age that while she had gotten her keen scientific mind from her mother, she would never get her fashion sense.
Her mother had long been trying to get Caitlin to delight in fashion the same way she did to no avail. Still, for Caitlin's birthday every year, she would pick out one dress for her, and the kind of dress she'd pick depended on her mood. Usually she was in a good mood, so she sent Caitlin summery floral dresses and pleated pink dresses and geometrically-patterned dresses in such daring color combinations that it seemed like someone had crushed a box of Crayola all over them.
But, on her most recent birthday, in place of the usual assault of pattern and color, Caitlin had received a simple, long-sleeved black dress instead. Naturally, she was puzzled. It still wasn't to her taste—it sparkled, for one—but her mother only ever indulged in blacks and neutrals when she had a deadline. So right after she'd gotten the dress, she'd called her mother to ask about how her most recent paper was doing.
"Oh, darling, I don't have any deadlines!" she'd said exuberantly. "The next one is months away. Months! Isn't that wonderful?"
"Really?" Caitlin had replied, dubious. "But the dress you sent me—it's just… well, black."
"Ahhh, that. Well, I suppose I got tired of sending you dresses that you weren't going to wear anyway," she'd said, heaving a sigh. "Do you like it? You'll wear this one, won't you?"
Caitlin had held the dress at eye level and winced when the harsh fluorescent lights reflected off the sequins. "Mother, it's too sparkly—"
"Too sparkly! Nonsense!" she'd huffed. "You should have seen the one I chose for myse—" She'd been abruptly cut off by a garbled noise in the background, and then a voice speaking through an amplifier. "Oh, sorry, darling, it's time for me to board. I'm off to Brazil in a bit, did I tell you?"
"…Just now, actually—"
"Oh, I didn't? Must've slipped my mind, silly me. Anyway, happy birthday, darling. Do wear the dress for me, I'm afraid I'm confined to wearing those dreadful pink volunteer shirts for this trip. Ciao!"
Caitlin had hung up then, still feeling puzzled. But, despite her mother's request, she never did wear that dress.
Not until today, that is.
It turned out that Cisco had been gone for the first half-hour of her makeover because, having no make-up or hairstyling skills, he'd been tasked to pick up her dress from the dry cleaners'. How Felicity had managed to unearth it from her wardrobe without her noticing anything out of place was beyond her. Felicity was scary like that sometimes.
"It's too sparkly," Caitlin said, regarding herself in their murky full-length mirror. "And it's too short. I can't sit down without revealing my underwear to everyone. And the neckline's too low—"
"So that's The Dress," Jax said, glancing up. "I see it deserves the article The."
"Relax, Cait," Felicity said. She had taken over her desk and was currently having her hair curled by Jax. "It's fine. You look amazing. Barry won't be able to take his eyes off you."
"Because she's a human disco ball?" Cisco said.
Felicity gave him a warning glare. "Because she's gorgeous."
"Her hair's pretty dope," Jax said.
"It is," Caitlin had to admit. It was possibly the best part of her makeover. That, and Felicity's smoky eyeshadow look. She now understood what Felicity meant when she said smoky eyes made her feel 'fierce.' Not that Caitlin would ever use 'fierce' to describe herself, but really, who knew that a streak of color over one's eyelids could give one a confidence boost?
"Do you guys want to listen to my script?" Cisco said.
Caitlin tugged on the hem of her skirt as she sat on her bed. "Does it contain a lot of science puns?"
"Of course it contains a lot of science puns. What else would it contain?"
The three of them exchanged glances.
"What? What's wrong with science puns?"
"Nothing," Caitlin said quickly. "Let's hear it, then."
Two hours and two dozen bad science puns later, the four of them finally made their way to Verdant, the club a little outside the University Town owned by Oliver. The party hadn't even officially started yet and already there were more people milling about than there were when the party was in full swing in the previous years. Cisco looked at the crowd and gulped.
"Don't worry, man," Jax said, clasping Cisco on the shoulder. "We'll laugh at all your jokes."
"I downloaded some canned laughter just in case," Felicity added. "I can always hack the system to play it."
"You'll be fine," Caitlin said. "Just don't use the jokes we slashed off your script."
"Can I keep the one about the favorite game of DNA—"
"No," they said simultaneously.
"Geez. Fine, fine." Cisco took a deep breath. "Thanks, guys. Whew. Wish me luck."
When Cisco disappeared among people putting the final touches on the set-up, Caitlin discreetly turned her attention back to the crowd. It made her apprehensive, as well, but for a completely different reason. She already disliked crowds in general—she could never understand what was so appealing about being stranded in the midst of smelly, sweaty, gyrating bodies—but now she was even more on edge because she knew that Barry would be somewhere in that crowd.
Now, she found herself in a strange predicament. On one hand, she wanted to see him, and she wanted to be seen by him. But, on the other hand, she dreaded being seen by him, if only because she felt her appearance gave too much away. Would he be able to suspect her feelings from how she looked? Could he guess that the makeover was done with him in mind? Sure, the makeover had been "forced" on her, but she wouldn't have given in so easily if she really didn't want it to happen.
In retrospect, Felicity might have known that she would never have asked for a makeover even if she wanted one, so she must've taken it upon herself to carry it out…
Felicity suddenly grabbed her arm. "There's Barry!"
"Who? What? Where?"
She grinned. "Just kidding."
Caitlin huffed, trying not to reveal how much of a heart attack she had just suffered. "Not funny, Felicity."
"Way funny, Cait. You should have seen your face. Anyway, Oliver told me he'd text me when—"
"Caitlin? Caitlin Snow, is that you?"
Both girls startled when Eliza appeared before them. She was holding a clipboard to her chest and was eyeing Caitlin with barely concealed wonder. "Okay, wow. Who are you and what have you done with Caitlin Snow?"
"She was kidnapped and stuffed into a dank basement," Caitlin said. "What you're seeing now is a solid holographic image."
Eliza gave her a wry look. "Okay, fine. You're still Caitlin. But seriously. You never dress like this. And your hair and make-up are so on point. I'm impressed."
"Thank you," Felicity grinned.
"You did her hair and make-up?"
"Just the make-up. Jax did her hair."
"That explains a lot. I didn't think Caitlin knew how to hold a curling iron."
"She doesn't," Felicity agreed.
Go ahead and bond over my incompetence in feminine grooming, why don't you, Caitlin thought, a bit nastily. It wasn't that she didn't like Eliza. It was just that, in that moment, having small talk with anyone was intolerable; it only exacerbated her restlessness. It seemed like the only thing that could quell it was Barry Allen's appearance. How was it that he'd completely reduced her to this mass of irritable, nervous energy? And why, for the love of God, was he always late? She just wanted the torment to end already.
"—something that rhymes with Parry Mallen?"
Caitlin snapped back to attention, and saw that Eliza and Felicity were exchanging sly smiles.
"He's across the room, darling," Eliza drawled. "Near the 3D DNA displays."
"I wasn't looking for anyone—"
"Thank you, Eliza. You're an angel, Eliza. Why, you're welcome, Caitlin," she said, looking insufferably smug. "I gotta run. Have fun, guys."
"Great job organizing this," Felicity said amiably. "Good luck for the rest of the night…"
Felicity then proceeded to say something about going off to find Oliver and strangling him because why hadn't he called her, they were supposed to meet earlier, and didn't he own the club? Weren't club owners supposed to be, you know, early and responsible? But Caitlin couldn't quite focus on her rambling, because she had finally spotted Barry in the crowd.
He looked good. He looked too good, as usual. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans, a charcoal grey crew-neck top, and a maroon bomber jacket thrown over it. He was ringed by small crowd. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but his face was lit with laughter—the same way it was when he was with her, she thought, feeling a stab of betrayal for a reason she couldn't name—and he seemed like he was in the middle of telling them a story, from the way he made animated gestures. Even from afar, he was practically vibrating with energy; he held people in rapt attention with his effortless charm, and she knew very well that they couldn't help gravitating to him any more than the planets gravitate to the sun.
Suddenly, she felt like the entire scene had taken on a sheen of unreality. She felt like an observer of her experience. The movements around her slowed; the sounds hollowed. Why would someone like him be interested in her? She was an incredibly private person, reserved and cautious and overly analytical; he was an open book, exuberant and carefree and completely trusting of people. She couldn't charm anyone if she tried; he only had to smile at someone to beguile them. The only reason she had friends was because they got used to having her around; he made friends anywhere he went. She had a dry sense of humor on the best of days, and even then her humor was often "too smart" for most people—instead of endearing her to them, her intellect repelled them. Barry was the exact opposite: He had that uncanny knack for making anyone share his nerdy love for science; he couldn't repel people if he tried.
And—this seemed the most important to her, the crystallization of all their opposing qualities—Barry was a looker, and she just… wasn't. She didn't even have the saving grace of other average-looking girls, who knew how to put on make-up and wear trendy clothes to look pretty enough for a decent Instagram post. Well, right now she did have make-up and the trendy clothes, but she was already feeling incredibly foolish in them. She felt like she was wearing a costume. She was trying to get Barry to like her by trying to be someone she wasn't, and she was overcome by such shame that she just wanted to escape the party, to crawl out of her own skin—
But it was too late. It was already starting, and some people from her block had spotted her and were now making a beeline towards her, giving her the same look that Eliza had given her moments ago. They were going to tease her, no doubt. They were going to want explanations. It was going to be unbearable, but it was better than watching Barry from a distance, wishing-not-wishing that he would notice her.
So she tore her gaze from him and steeled herself with a deep breath. She would force herself to function, even while that strange, foreign feeling was gnawing a hole in her chest. She wasn't going to let that, whatever it was, get the best of her.
. . .
"Goooood evening, everyone! Welcome to Helix, the nucleus of all that's cool in school! Ah, I see you've followed the dress code—a lot of you are wearing genes…"
"Oh, stop grimacing," Caitlin said to Hartley, who'd appeared beside her on the bar moments ago while her blockmates had been swarming around her. He was a crowd repellent, so they'd slowly dispersed when he'd arrived. Caitlin had merely raised a brow at him. He generally considered parties to be a mind-numbing waste of time, but it didn't take a scientist to deduce why he was here now. "It was funny."
"His jokes are terrible."
"You find them endearing."
"Don't make me laugh, Frosty."
"Wasn't trying to. Cisco was."
He downed a shot in silence. Strangely enough, his presence wasn't quite as intolerable as that of others. Hartley, at least, didn't say anything when he saw her, aside from his usual curt nod in lieu of a greeting. That and she didn't have to expend energy to be nice to him, either.
"Let me introduce myself. My name's Ramon. Cisco Ramon. Third year in Mechanical Engineering. I'm going to be your host for tonight. Before I introduce the distinguished alumni here with us, and before we can all hit the dance floor and get wasteeed—oops, sorry Dr. McGee, I mean hit the dance floor and drink responsibly, right, guys?—we're holding the mandatory initiation rites for the freshmen, and anyone who just shifted in this year. You've all heard the rumors, right?"
"They still do this?" Hartley said, incredulous.
"Mmm-hmm."
He scoffed. "How juvenile."
"Yes, I heard someone say it—yes, our fearsome initiation rite is KARAOKE! As I like to say, karaoke is the central dogma of friendship. So without further ado, volunteer a newbie in your course! Drag them onstage if you must! First two people here beside me get two shots of liquid courage on the house—"
There was some jostling and raucous laughter towards the front, and then there he was onstage, looking bewildered and disheveled, but smiling sheepishly as his block cheered him on. Someone that Caitlin recognized as a newbie in Applied Chemistry climbed up after him, although he wasn't received with the same level of applause as Barry.
Hartley glanced at her. She refused to meet his gaze.
"Wonderful, wonderful! Ah, but we're not just having our usual one-on-one karaoke. No, as the DNA is double-stranded, so should our representatives have a… uh… partner strand! So before I hand you your promised shots, gentlemen, you're going to have to choose your partners onstage. Choose well, gentlemen, choose well…"
Again, near the stage, the crowd of people Barry had emerged from began chanting. It wasn't until the chanting had reached a certain volume that Caitlin realized what they were chanting.
"Pa-tty! Pa-tty! Pa-tty!"
The gnawing in her chest returned.
She might have imagined it, but she could have sworn that Cisco looked right at her from the front, his gaze worried and apologetic.
She had a vague recollection of Barry mentioning that name. She knew that this Patty was one of the people he could make science jokes with, and she also had a memory of a pretty blonde girl with a dimpled smile who'd come to watch one of his meets. And apparently she was so perfect for him that their entire block was shipping them.
"Alright, so Clarence has made his pick! Come up here, Daisy of Applied Chemistry! What about you, Barry? You can choose from your own course, of course, but you can also choose someone from another course—"
Barry said something into his microphone, but it seemed that it was broken.
"Sorry about that. Uh, can we have some help with Barry's mic? Thanks. Anyway, Barry, who did you want to call up onstage?"
Caitlin felt like her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth. The chanting was getting louder now. She was sure it was Patty. Her suspicions from the beginning of the party had been right all along—he probably wasn't into her. He hadn't even sought her out the moment he arrived, whereas he seemed to be the only one in her field of vision.
She should start accepting that fact. It was unrequited. No big deal.
No big deal, she repeated hollowly.
Against her resolution for the night, she downed the shot that'd been prepared for Hartley.
"—what's that? Can you repeat your question? …Is Caitlin Snow here?"
The din in the room fell to a hush.
Caitlin's heart leapt to her throat.
Hartley glanced at her again, smirking over the rim of his glass.
"Yes! Yes, Caitlin Snow is definitely here!"Cisco said, swiveling around and shooting a huge grin in her direction. Barry craned his neck. "Come on up here, Caitlin of Molecular Biology! You have been summoned for a vocal-chord duel!"
When she finally registered Cisco's words—Barry chose her! Her!—she was flooded with a relief so palpable that she sagged against the table. But then murmurs suddenly rippled through the crowd—variations of "Who the hell is Caitlin?" and "He didn't choose Patty? I thought they were a thing!"—and the people within the vicinity that did know her gave her incredulous looks.
The relief quickly mutated into anxiety.
Sure, it was partly because Barry Allen had just called her onstage in front of a room of over a hundred people, but it was mostly because he'd called onstage for a sing-off, and she just remembered that she was tone-deaf as fuck.
. . .
As she made her way through the crowd, the din began to increase again, but there was a marked decrease in commotion near the stage, where Barry's blockmates were. When she neared the group, she caught a glimpse of the pretty blonde girl in profile—her smile looked bravely forced, and her body language spelled disappointment—and Caitlin couldn't help but feel partly responsible for that disappointment.
Barry threw an apologetic look to his blockmates, but once he saw her, he beamed at her. It was enough to make her feel even more self-conscious than she already was.
When she climbed up the stage, feeling exposed under the lights and without the crowd to hide her, she caught Barry's eyes rove up her bare legs, pausing to linger at the daring neckline of her dress, and then sliding them up to her face. When his eyes finally met hers, they were a shade darker.
"You look amazing," he said as she neared him, and then blushed furiously when the crowd burst into hooting and catcalls.
He looked confused for a moment before he realized that they had already fixed the microphone.
"Oh, sorry, I said it out loud," he said sheepishly to the crowd, and there was a ripple of laughter before he covered the mic with a hand. He turned to look at her again, still grinning, with a blush creeping up the back of his neck. "Sorry. I thought it was still, uh, broken. You, uh. You look really amazing."
"I heard it well enough the first time," she said, surprised at how even her voice sounded. She was already spontaneously combusting from the inside. "I'm going to kill you, you know."
"I know," he said. "I figured it was worth the risk."
"Barry. I'm tone-deaf."
His eyebrows shot up. "For real?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You are so going to kill me, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Can you, uh, postpone the killing until after we get off the stage?"
"Sure, if you don't want witnesses."
He winced. "Are you mad?" (She wasn't, but she'd rather make him think she was mad than relieved.) "Like, you're going to abandon me now mad?"
"Probably."
"But we're blood buddies."
"Not at this moment we aren't—"
"So yesterday we definitely were?"
"Not in any moment we aren't." She glared at him. "A true blood buddy wouldn't have called me up onstage without notifying me first."
His grin at her use of the term nearly split his face. "Sorry, it was a spur in the moment thing," he said. In the background, Cisco was interviewing Clarence on why he'd chosen Daisy. Apparently she was a good singer. "I was trying to call you, but the signal's weird in this place. Oliver couldn't reach Felicity, either."
He'd tried to call her? Caitlin felt herself mellow.
"So I figured, Hey, since I can't find her, why not call her up onstage?"
Well, okay, not that mellow. "You could have tried looking for me in the crowd like a normal person—"
"But it takes so long, and I don't like waiting," he said. "It's so much faster this way. And a lot more fun. Well, minus the fact that you're tone-deaf."
"And I don't like being in front of crowds," she said.
"Right. Minus that too."
"That basically takes all the fun out of it."
"But then you have fun with me," he said, grinning. "And I think karaoke is fun, so by transitive property, you're going to have fun."
"That makes absolutely no sense—"
She stopped herself when Cisco suddenly called their names, his smile huge and his eyes glittering. "Now, let's hear from Barry and Caitlin! Can we give them a round of applause?"
Caitlin felt faint when she faced the audience again. She could have sworn her legs trembled during their thunderous applause.
"So, Barry," Cisco was saying, "what's your relationship with Caitlin?"
At that she tore her gaze from the crowd and shot him a glare. She was going to kill this boy.
"Lab partners," Barry said into his mic, seemingly unfazed by the way Cisco had phrased the question. "She was the first friend I made in Science & Tech when I'd shifted in."
"I see, I see," Cisco nodded. "Which lab?"
"Cell and Molecular Biology," he said. "Under Dr. Wells."
There was a collective gasp from the audience, and Barry smiled sheepishly. "I know, right? I mean, it's pretty challenging, but I manage. Even if I'm picking up on Caitlin's slack, I manage."
The audience laughed, and Caitlin rolled her eyes.
"The lady doth protest!" Cisco said. "What say you to that, Caitlin?"
"All I can say is that I wasn't the one who spilled the specimen on my lab partner, giving said partner a horrible rash afterwards."
There was scattered laughter, and Cisco, barely able to contain his grin, said, "Oh, burn! What say you, Barry?"
"All I can say is, the beaker… suddenly… moved away from my hand—"
"Moved away from your hand? Beakers don't move on their own—"
"Fine, the specimen inside the beaker moved the beaker—"
"The specimen was a plant—"
"Whoa, okay," Cisco said, putting his hands up in front of them, as if to calm them down, "we have a very spirited pair over here. What do you think your chances of winning are, on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest?"
"Ten."
"Zero."
"Zero? Seriously? That's not even on the scale!"
"Exactly."
"O…kay. So your final answer is?"
"Wait, can you give us a second? We have to discuss this," Barry said, covering the mic with his hand. "Come on. I don't like losing."
"I don't, either, but I. Can't. Sing," she said through gritted teeth. "Zero is realistic. At least we won't have overestimated ourselves."
"But I can sing."
"You can sing?"
"Yeah. Sexy baritone, remember?"
She gave him a dubious look.
"Anyway, I'd say eight."
"Five."
"Seven."
"Five."
"Definitely eleven," Barry said into the microphone. "Get ready, Clarence and Daisy. We're going to beat you."
"Oh, God," Caitlin muttered. She and Cisco exchanged glances.
"Just lip sync," Cisco whispered to her, as Clarence responded to Barry. "If you sing all that seduction training you went through will be for nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not to discourage you or anything."
"Thanks," she said dryly.
"Anyway, gotta get back to hosting," he said. "Good luck. I'm not supposed to be biased but I'm gonna be so biased and cheer for you anyway." He grinned at her, and then turned back to the crowd.
"Alright, contestants! Take your shots, and let's get this sing-off started!"
. . .
In retrospect, she really shouldn't have taken those shots.
She'd already taken one before they made their way to Verdant, and she'd taken another while with Hartley. By the time she'd downed the third one, she was lightheaded; by the fourth, she felt like she could conquer the world. Those last two were particularly nasty, but once she'd gulped them down, a pleasant warmth had started to spread throughout her, which made up for the weird paint-thinner taste in her mouth.
"Barry Allen!" she said into the microphone when the strains of the first song came on. "We are going to bring this place DOWN!"
Barry looked amused. "You're not much of a drinker, are you?"
"Not much of a—psh, what are you talking about? Don't you believe in me?"
"I do, but—"
"SUMMER LOVIN', had me a BLAST!" she began, bobbing to the song. She felt like she was flying. She felt the music coursing through her body, the bass thrumming in time with her heartbeat. She was feeling the song. She was one with the song. They were so going to win this. "SUMMER LOVIN', happened so FAST!"
From the corner of her eye, she saw Cisco shaking his head. He was supposed to be cheering for them! Why wasn't he cheering for them?
"I met a girl, crazy for me," Barry continued, grinning at her.
She smiled back at him. "Met a boy, CUTE as can BE!" He was so cute, wasn't he? And bleeding hell, did he have an amazing voice. No wonder everyone liked him. No wonder she liked him. It was impossible not to. She can't remember why it'd taken her so long to admit this. Why was she so uptight, anyway? She should drink more often. She'd forgotten how fun it was to drink. There was a reason she didn't want to, of course, but reasons, shmeasons! She can't bring herself to give a rat's ass about shmeasons now. Especially when she could be sneaking glances at Barry's ass. Now that gave her shmeasons a run for their money.
Now, together, they sang, "Summer days drifting away to oh, the summer nights oh well oh well oh…"
The lights streaking her vision. The music flowing through her. Barry's smile and Barry's eyes and the way he looked at her under these bright lights, like she was pretty and funny and a-fucking-mazing. But really. Her hair was in Elite-Four-level barrel curls and her eyeshadow game is so on point and her dress clung to her like second skin. Barry should know. He kept looking at her. He also kept looking at her legs.
She decided to tease him about it.
In the middle of the song, she said, "My eyes are up here, Mr. Allen," and she smiled slyly as a dark shade of red crawled up his neck and his face. He spluttered an apology and avoided looking at her legs for the rest of that song, which made her kind of regret teasing him in the first place. It was nice to have her legs appreciated. And she'd just shaved them, too! They were like so silky now, like baby dolphins. She loved baby dolphins. She usually loved them more than her legs, but tonight she loved them equally.
They were on the second song now, and the audience was laughing uproariously. Clarence and that flower girl sang well but they were so boring. At least she and Barry were funny. Well, Barry knew how to sing, but he was also funny.
With the soaring of the music she spread her arms wide and surrendered herself to the blur of faces in the dark. Go ahead and laugh, she thought. We'll give you one hell of a show.
It had gone as terribly as one would imagine it to go. Which is to say, from that point onward, Caitlin had no respectable reputation to speak of, although everyone did seem less intimidated by her. Had she been herself she would say that it was possibly the most catastrophic thing that had ever happened to her, but since she wasn't herself yet, she just thought that she was having a lot of fun.
The alcohol was starting to wear off, though. After all, they'd been kept onstage for four more rounds, facing off against different pairs, and they'd won in the end based on audience impact. But Cisco had refused to give her extra shots as their supposed reward. He'd given her water instead. Buzzkill.
"You know," Barry said, as they were making their way down the stage, "I find it really cute that you can't sing at all. I've never met anyone so terrible at it."
He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and she leaned into him. He smelled nice. He always smelled nice. If only men could smell this nice, the world would be a better place. "You're doing that thing again where I don't know if you're complimenting me or insulting me," she said. "We should categorize that. Compliminsult? Insultiment?"
"It's a compliment," he said, smiling. "Careful, you might trip. Who knew you were such a lightweight?"
"I am not a lightweight. That's ridiculous. I'm fine. I'm not even slurring."
"You can hardly stand by yourself." They finally reached the bottom of the stage. People were already dispersing—majority were hitting the bars, some were on the dance floor, and a select few were seen mingling with the alumni.
"I can stand fine," she said. "I bet I can even dance fine."
"Really."
"Really."
"Are you asking me to dance?"
"No. It was a figure of speech. Are you?"
"Guess I am now," he said, with a sheepish shrug. "Do you want to dance?"
"Not really." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'll let you in on a secret. My dancing's worse than my singing."
He laughed. "No way."
"It's true. I have absolutely zero coordination. The only dance moves I can properly execute are bobbing and drunken swaying." She gave him an accusing look. "Don't tell me you can dance, too."
"Let's just say that I can dance well enough for the both of us," he said, grinning and taking her hand to lead her to the dance floor. His hand was large and warm and calloused, and he was threading his fingers through hers.
She stared for a moment at their joined hands.
This was nice. This was very nice.
He led them to the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the dense mass of writhing bodies in the middle. It was also a spot that wasn't so close to the speakers, so while they did have to raise their voices, at least they didn't have to yell.
"Okay, Caitlin," he said, "a little Dancing 101: When you're dancing with someone else, close physical contact is kind of mandatory—"
"Oh, come on. I know that." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't make fun of me."
He flashed her a wicked grin. "Don't make it so easy for me to."
"Huh. That was a good comeback," she said. They stepped apart for a moment to let a few people stumble in between them, and then she turned to face him again. "Why do you have such good comebacks all the time? It makes me feel kind of… dumb. Kind of awed, don't get me wrong, but also kind of dumb."
He stepped closer to her, and his hands slowly snaked around her waist. She slid her hands up his chest—fudge it all, she won't deny it anymore, it was a very gropable chest—and settled them lightly on his shoulders. She felt him shudder against her. "Caitlin," he said, his eyes darkening. He tilted his head down and put his mouth right over the shell of her ear, his breath hot on her sensitive skin. "You're many things, but dumb is never one of them."
The gritty huskiness of his voice, the way his hands tightened around her waist when he said that, sent a flood of heat to her face. She felt a familiar dryness in her throat. She wanted to look away from him, but she'd just probably end up burying her face in his very well-muscled chest, which wasn't going to help abate this—whatever it was—at all.
"We're not dancing to the beat," she said instead. It was true. It did disturb her. They were the only two people swaying, and everyone else was jumping and pumping their fists in the air. She didn't know how to dance, but even her body knew that there was something asynchronous about the thumping beat of the music and their slow, gliding movements.
He arched a brow. "And whose fault is that?"
"Well, whose fault is it that we're dancing in the first place?" She had to move her lips closer to his ear to be heard above the bass, and his body curved around hers to hear her better. "You should have known better than to ask me to dance. I'm not in full possession of my rational faculties. This was a bad decision."
"If you can still say things like 'in full possession of my rational faculties,' then you probably still have them."
"Oh, shut up—crap—I just stepped on something—was that your foot?"
"Yeah," he said, wincing. "It's fine. You've been stepping on my feet since we started, anyway."
"What? You should've said something."
"Ow. Hey, I'm already the victim here. You really should stop hitting me when you're annoyed."
"Well, you should stop being annoying."
"Huh, look at that. You still have enough rational faculty to insult me."
"In the first place, it doesn't take much rational faculty to insult you."
He grinned at her.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing," he said. One of his hands moves to clasp her hand on his shoulder, and he held it in between them. "Care for a twirl?"
"This isn't exactly twirl-y music."
"It's not swaying music, either, yet here we are. You also owe me for stepping on my feet."
"You're blackmailing me."
"Man, my feet are so sore now, I don't think I'll be able to run on my next meet—"
"Okay, fine. Fine," Caitlin said, and he grinned again.
He stepped back from her and held her hand, giving her a mock-gallant bow. "Milady."
Caitlin tried to hide her smile. She feigned a haughty air and dipped into a curtsy. "Milord."
He spun her around once, and then she spun herself around for a second time. She liked the way the lights floated and blurred around her, the way her hair flared and settled on her shoulders. She closed her eyes to savor the moment. There was a refrain in the music that resembled a whirling movement, so Barry spun her around for a third time, a fourth time; and when she opened her eyes, he pulled her close to him again, hands running up the length of her arms before cupping the curve of her hips.
He touched his forehead to hers, and he was looking at her like there was nobody else in the room. "Hi."
"Hi." She placed her hands on his shoulders again, steadying herself. The room was still spinning.
"You okay?"
"Just a little dizzy," she said. "Remind me next time that alcohol and dancing are never a good combination. Alcohol and dancing and this—this evil dress." She put a hand to her back, touching the line of the zipper, and the motion had her inadvertently brushing her chest against his, but she wasn't able to catch the way Barry's breathing quickened, or the way he dug his fingers into her hips in an effort to steel himself. "It's a bit tight. If I drank a drop more I wouldn't be able to breathe. Do you think it's too tight?"
"No," he said, voice rough and eyes dark. "You look—amazing. But you also look amazing without i—ah, crap, that came out wrong"—in the dim light, she could barely make out the color creeping up his neck—"I mean, not without it, without it—I wasn't imagining you naked or anything—ah, not really—it's not like it's a bad image, but you know—"
She tried to hide her amusement. "Barry, are you drunk?"
She could feel, rather than see, his sheepish smile. "Unfortunately not. My tolerance is legendary. It kind of sucks." He paused. "Can I try to redeem myself?"
"Are you sure you want to?"
"Can't get any worse, right?" he said. He put his lips again to the shell of her ear. "You look amazing in this dress"—at this his hands slid up her body and skimmed her curves, supposedly to refer to the dress, but instead Caitlin felt a sudden heat shooting down, down in her core, and just, God, what was he doing to her—"but you also look amazing even if you're in a sweater and jeans, bullying me to get to work after my talking limit expires."
Something swelled and fluttered inside her chest, like a hummingbird ricocheting back and forth, ready to burst through the first fissure it sees. He thought she was amazing, she thought dully, the words echoing in her mind. He thought she looked amazing even in a sweater and jeans. He thought she was amazing even if she pestered him constantly with the details of their reports and deadlines…
She couldn't bear to look him in the eye. She was already burning up from the inside, and the way he was looking at her right now would just add fuel to that fire.
"I need to step out for a bit," she said abruptly, taking a step back from him. "I think I need some air."
She regretted the words almost as soon as she'd said them, because Barry's face had fallen, and she keenly felt the loss of his warmth.
"Oh, uh, okay," he said, still looking bewildered, but he promptly made some distance between them. His hands lingered a moment longer on her waist before falling back to his sides. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she said. "Still a little dizzy, that's all." This time, she suspected it had more to do with her proximity to him than the twirling or the evil dress or the vestiges of alcohol in her bloodstream. That, and the fact that if he kept up… whatever it was he was doing, she'd probably do something stupid, like kiss him. Her iron self-control was already slipping away, and she knew she couldn't even blame it on the alcohol. Cisco had made sure of that.
"Mind if I come with you?" he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had on that earnest half-smile, the one she couldn't refuse even if she had been mad at him, let alone when she was feeling vulnerable, disarmed by the sincerity of his compliment. His words were still drumming in the back of her mind as insistently as the bass was thrumming through her body.
"If you want to," she said. "You'll miss out on the party, though."
"Nah," he said. "I'd miss out on a lot more if I stayed, anyway." He grinned. "Like discovering what other talents the great Caitlin Snow is hiding."
"Oh, shut up," she said, but a smile was already lifting her lips, and he was already taking her hand in his and walking away from the dance floor.
. . .
After a brief discussion, they found themselves standing on the empty balcony of the second floor of Verdant, open only to those who had V.I.P. access. Barry had it by virtue of his association with Oliver, and Caitlin by virtue of her association with Felicity and her association with Oliver.
"You really are such a lightweight," Barry teased. "When was the last time you got drunk, anyway?"
He bumped his shoulder to hers, and she thought that she immediately needed to put some distance between them, but she was lightheaded enough to be honest about her own duplicity—she wanted to be nearer to him again, not farther.
She was really starting to regret her spur-of-the-moment decision to leave the dance floor.
"A few years back," she said, belatedly realizing that his question required an answer. "If you're to be my friend, you'll never ask about it."
"That bad, huh?" he said, leaning back against the railing. "So since then this is the only time you've ever loosened up and had fun?"
"I don't think parties are fun," she said. What happened with him today, actually, was a stellar example of why parties weren't so much fun as they were fertile ground for bad decisions, but she didn't say that. Instead she said, "Everything's just too noisy and crowded and sweaty. No offense. I know you're a party veteran or something."
"Well… not so much," he said. "Only sort of. Close to retiring, really. My definition of fun is more like sleeping in on weekends and watching Netflix." He smiled, but there was something behind that smile—a sliver of vulnerability that hinted this wasn't something he normally said to other people, especially not to his circle of athlete friends—that made her soften, that briefly pulled her out of the regret and longing clotting inside of her.
"And when was the last time you had fun?" she said. "In the sleeping in and Netflix way."
"Hmm," he said. "I guess yesterday was the first time in a while." He faced her too, one elbow propping him up on the rail. "When we were at the Observatory."
Her breath caught in her throat. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said. "It's not sleeping in or Netflix, but it's close. Better, actually. Definitely one of my most memorable memories." His expression turned puzzled. "What's up with that look? You're judging me, aren't you? It's not that bad, I really did have fun…"
It's not that bad, I really did have fun… His last sentence echoed in her mind.
But it was bad, she found herself thinking. It was bad because he was stretching himself thin, and he was bound to burn out soon, and she was worried for him already. But it was also bad because, apparently, yesterday held as much meaning for him as it did for her. Images from their time at the Observatory flooded her mind. She could still remember the warmth of the dying sun, the colors it bled into the sky; she could still remember the cool breeze on her skin, the rustling dry grass under her feet, the way she reached for his hand and the way he'd clasped it back like it was his lifeline; she could still remember, most of all, the complete silence in her mind: it was just the sun and the wind and the grass and Barry beside her, vulnerable before her, opening himself up to her. Those moments were so singular that they seemed separate from the flow of time, like glistening crystals in its murky waters; and she knew she'd always look back on them with an ache, knowing that there was never going to be moments like those again. She'd relived those moments repeatedly that morning, before her friends came over, and she'd found herself thinking, When I'm with him, I never want the moment to end.
And this, this between them now, was another one of those moments. The night sky was flung with stars, and echoes from the music inside were still pulsing through her; she could still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist, pulling her close; his lips on her ear; his breath on her skin; his bright, bright eyes, fixed on her in the dark, like she was the only real thing in that amorphous mass of light and sound and shadowed bodies. She wanted something just like this, she thought, her mind latching on to the lyrics of the song playing; she wanted an endless array of moments like this, with him. She wanted to stand with him under all kinds of night skies, watch with him all kinds of sunsets; she wanted the banter, the aimless talks over the phone, the undercurrent of tenderness beneath it all.
She hadn't been aware of it, but as these thoughts raced through her mind, she had drawn closer to him, as surely gravity draws all things to the earth's center.
"It's pretty bad," she said, her voice quiet. She was finding it difficult to speak; the words were forced, rushed breaths from her mouth. "It's pretty bad when your definition of fun is being with someone who can't sing or dance and who thinks parties are lame."
He let out a laugh. His tone was teasing but subdued. "And who'll never admit my jokes are funny, and who thinks I talk too much and work too little."
"Mmm," she said. Her longing was swelling inside her, cresting like a wave; her eyes flickered to his, and she thought dimly how wrong Jax was about eye contact and seduction, because at this moment she felt like she was the one being drawn into his pull. "That person sounds awful. Wouldn't want to be her."
"No, she's not awful at all," he said. His lips lifted into a small smile. "She's someone who listens to me, believes in me, makes me laugh…"
He trailed off, and his eyes were a piercing, brilliant green as he searched hers—they drew her in, entranced her, cast a spell over her. She couldn't look away. Time ceased to exist. There was only that moment, stretching on to infinity.
And then something shifted in his eyes. Maybe he'd felt it, too—maybe he'd felt that pull of the moment, that teetering on the edge of a cliff, that breathless anticipation for the giddy, headlong rush of the fall.
He continued speaking, his voice low and lilting. "She's the smartest"—cautiously, he lifted a hand, his eyes still trained on hers—"most determined"—he brought his fingers to her face, and Caitlin couldn't breathe, not when the air between them was thrumming with anticipation—"most willful someone I know." His touch was so light, so feather-light on her skin; her fingers tightened around the rail, but she didn't dare speak or move; all words congealed in her throat, and her body was completely under the thrall of his touch.
"I think," he said, his fingers brushing her cheek, lingering over the delicate upward slope of the bone, "that anyone…"—his hand moved to graze the back of her neck, his callouses rough on the soft skin there—"…would want to be her…"—his breath ghosted her lashes, and through her half-lidded gaze she could see the flecks of gold in his warm green eyes—"…and anyone…"—he was so close now, so close that she could feel the touch of each whispered word on her lips—"…would want her."
And, in the next dizzying moment, he tilted his face down and kissed her full on the lips.
It was awkward at first. Caitlin had tiptoed up at the same time that he'd lowered to kiss her, so the result was a collision rather than a gentle touch of the lips. She had no idea what to do with her hands, so one was still white from clutching the rail, while the other hung limply on her side. She didn't even lean in any further, so aside from Barry's hand on the back of their neck, they weren't really touching.
Then, only a heartbeat later, Caitlin pulled away abruptly, as if she were pulling herself out of a dream to witness it before it dissolved and receded in her unconscious.
She felt dazed and her breathing was light and shallow, but Barry was still there, holding her face in his hands, looking at her with a question in his eyes.
So it wasn't a dream. She was fully awake, and they had just kissed.
They had just kissed.
"You have got to stop doing that," Barry said, his voice a strangled groan, tugging her lower lip free from her teeth with a swipe of his thumb. Still dazed, she duly released it, not even realizing what she was doing. "It drives me crazy," he said, his voice low and rough. His thumb hovered above her lip for a moment before grazing over it lightly to soothe the sting of her bite.
Her eyes flickered to his again, and the look he gave her drew her back into his thrall. She found herself leaning closer, closer, until her hands were resting tentatively on his chest, and he wasted no time in falling into her, cupping her face and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him; and then he was kissing her again, first a cautious peck, and then a lingering one; and when she responded by knotting her hands in his shirt, wanting more but not knowing what she wanted, he traced his tongue along her lower lip in silent entreaty; on instinct she parted her lips; his tongue slid in, splitting her mouth open to him—
She gasped into the kiss, overwhelmed. With each brush of his lips against hers she felt the rush of blood in her veins, the surge of fire in her stomach; she clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to her body, keeping her from being swept away by this whirlpool of sensations. It was a fevered kiss, it was a breathless kiss, and he only pulled away when they were both starved for air. Even then, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath skimming her cheeks; he kissed her lightly on the forehead, on the tip of her nose, on her already swollen lips; and she basked in his kisses like a sunflower turning its face to the sun.
"…sure this isn't going too fast?"
Caitlin blinked. Her eyes fluttered open, and Barry's face slowly came into focus. Their foreheads were still touching.
"Too fast?" she repeated, her mind hazy.
"I, uh, guess I got a little carried away?" he said, letting out a nervous laugh. "I was thinking I'd ask you out on a proper date first, and then maybe ten more after that, and then I could probably attempt to kiss you without getting slapped…"
"Ask… me out?"
"Yeah," he said. His smile was apprehensive. "Yeah. I… wasn't sure when to ask. I mean, we've only known each other for two weeks—"
Two weeks, Caitlin repeated numbly in her mind. It's only been two weeks—
The haze lifted. The spell shattered. The scales fell from her eyes.
She had only known Barry for two weeks, and already she wasn't acting like herself anymore. Even Barry knew that. He'd been expecting her to slap him for kissing her, and instead she'd surrendered herself to the kiss. She'd wanted to be kissed. They might have met halfway for it, but there was no doubt that she had leaned in first, no doubt that she had encouraged him to deepen it, no doubt that she, too, had been completely carried away.
What was happening to her? How had she gone from regarding romance with cool disinterest to tumbling right into it, like a car careening off a slippery road, hurtling towards a ravine? She thought she had approached the entire thing rationally, just as she would any scientific problem, but all rationality fled her when she needed it the most. She was supposed to have this under control. She was supposed to keep herself under control—
"—and, well, two weeks isn't a long time, and knowing you I didn't want to rush things—"
With shaky hands, she pushed herself away from him. His brow creased. His arm fell from her waist, but he didn't move away.
"Knowing me?" she finally said. "What does—what does that even mean?"
"I mean," he said, making a vague gesture, "you were so closed off and hard to get—"
Panic surged inside her, constricting her airways. "So now you think I'm easy—"
"What—no, of course not—"
The words rushed out of her mouth like a flood. "—you think I'm easy because we haven't gone on a date and because I—we—kissed—and I didn't—I didn't slap you—"
"No—Cait—please, listen to me"—he reached for her arm, but she shied away from his touch—"I didn't mean it that way, I'm an idiot, I say the most stupid things when I—"
But she couldn't listen to him anymore. Her throat was closing up. Her vision swam. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she did know that things were going too fast. Things were spiraling out of her control. Barry was right. They had only known each other for two weeks. They hadn't even gone out on a date. Yet here they were, in the aftermath of a heated kiss; here she was, in the aftermath of her first kiss, already head over heels in lo—
Her blood ran cold. No. No, she wasn't in love with him. She couldn't be. Two weeks was nothing. This thing between them was nothing.
"I have to go," she said, but as she turned away from him, he moved to block her path. Had she been looking at him closely, she would have seen in his eyes a panic that mirrored her own, but her eyes were firmly trained on the door.
"Cait, can we just… can we talk about this—"
"Barry. Please." Her voice was sharp with desperation. "I have to go."
He trailed off. Understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes.
He took a step back.
Without another glance at him, Caitlin swept past him and fled, the silence between them ringing in her ears.
Notes: Um… Don't kill me? On the upside, I plan on writing the next chapter from Barry's point of view. Thoughts?