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ittybittypbandj · 6 years

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The Internship - Chapter 1

Trying my hand at a multi-chapter Bittyparse fic! 5 chapters, weekly updates. Also on ao3. <3

Summary:

Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start. This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.

Kent Parson loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career. He had friends, the world's greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.

He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.

Bitty frowned hard at the red bowtie. He twisted away from the mirror, tugging it off as he reached for the lavender one. Lordy, lavender was just as bad. How had all his favorite ties had become gauche overnight?

His mama had reassured him over Skype last night, "Don't worry, Dicky. You'll do great. You'll charm the socks off 'em. Before you know it, they'll be movin' you over to that food magazine you love so much." And he was gonna prove her right. He just needed to put in a little time, show them what he could do.

But how could he do it in a tie that screamed I don't know what I'm doing and by the way I’m bad with animals?

Okay fine, maybe it wasn't the tie's fault. If this were Jack’s first game of the season, Bitty would be reminding him to breathe right about now. He would be alright. He was Eric Richard Bittle. He could land a double Axel with his eyes closed and bake a flourless chocolate cake in Georgia in July. He could do this.

Bitty had moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago, eager to start his new internship in Manhattan. For the next three months he would be a Social Media Associate for Fancy Feline cat food. The job paid a stipend - not much, but enough to finance his matchbook-sized bedroom and name-brand butter - and there was a possibility at the end to extend his contract. It wasn't exactly his dream job, but what was a boy supposed to do? A year out of college, a degree in American Studies, and no experience? Employers weren't exactly banging down his door with offers.

A year ago, Bitty thought Jack was his future. At graduation, he had plans of moving in with Jack, finding a job in Providence, and settling down into their shared life.

After Bitty moved to Providence, he’d sent resume after resume to employers but couldn’t find a job. Jack was out of town frequently and Bitty didn’t have any local friends – Lardo and Shitty and Holster and Ransom were all in Boston, which was just far enough away to be logistically difficult – and he found himself more isolated than he expected.

Bitty also realized that he’d only experienced Jack’s intensity and anxiety through the rosy lens of infatuation. They both struggled with the shift in their living situation, lord knows it was as hard on Jack as it was on him. In April when Jack’s playoff run ended abruptly from a wrist injury and an eight-week recovery, Bitty’d been ready to poke out his own eye rather than face another day of both of them at home, dancing around the fact that this just wasn’t working.

And so, after they’d finally talked and cried and shared a joint session with Jack’s therapist, Bitty and Jack called it quits and Bitty tearfully phoned Lardo to break the news. He’d stayed on her and Shitty’s lumpy couch in Boston for two months while Shitty called in a family favor and helped him land this internship.

Even after everything, Bitty was feeling hopeful. All he needed was a few months' experience and a job on his resume more substantial than ‘running a baking vlog’. He took a deep breath and released it, checked his hair one last time, queued up Queen Bey on his headphones, and headed for the subway.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty’s first day at the office was a whirlwind of new faces and information. Meesha, Bitty’s fellow intern and apparently the person in charge, led him on a brisk tour through the office and he practically skip-jogged to keep up with her. While they walked, she peppered him with information about the department.

"You’ll coordinate the images and story for all the social media platforms, and you’ll directly manage the endorsement relationships." Meesha glanced over her shoulder to check that he was keeping up. "I do all the site and ad placement, and Tito runs the admin side. We're all a hot mess this week prepping for Kit, but don’t worry - we'll get you settled in just fine."

"Kit?" Bitty asked.

"Oh yeah, Kit Purrson. She's launching as the face of Fancy Feline in, like, three weeks. Totes adorbs and has a crazy-ass following. We've got, like, a zillion things to do to get ready. I'm sure you'll jump right in. You've used Visio, right?"

By lunch, Bitty’s head was swirling with acronyms and spreadsheets. It felt a little like in figure skating when he’d come out of a scratch spin too fast - the world was wobbly and the colors were spinning, but he was confident it would right itself if he grinned and skated through it.

"Heeeey, how's our new boy doin'?" someone yelled as they passed his and Meesha’s cubicle. Bitty spied styled black hair over the cubicle wall.

"Hey Tito!” Meesha called back. “He's great!"

Tito appeared from around the corner, eight coffees in two to-go containers balanced masterfully on one arm. He read the lids and carefully passed one to Meesha. "You guys ready for our guest today? I’m totally having him sign something.”

Meesha rolled her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant coffee. “You are seriously the lamest. Sports are a consumerist construct and the guy is basically, like, Kit’s chaperone. She’s the real star.”

Tito laughed and offered a cup to Bitty, “Hey Eric, I wasn’t sure what to get you. How’s a vanilla sugar oat milk latte? It’s the special across the street.”

Bitty grinned. “Thanks, hon!” His first day was turning out pretty great.

Meesha steered Bitty into a large conference room. Tito ran to his desk for a hat and marker before joining the people assembling around the conference table. Lordy, he hadn’t been lying about an autograph. Who was this guy?

A dozen folks chatted quietly around the table. Their guest was apparently running late, and Meesha took the opportunity to fill Bitty in on launch plans. As she was explaining the finer points of multi-platform synchronization, Bitty heard a man’s laughter down the hall. His ears perked up. Did he know that voice? Surely it couldn’t be –

Bitty’s head jerked up as an effortlessly well-dressed man in a royal blue snapback stepped into the room. Their eyes locked.

Oh lord. Kent Parson.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent scowled at Kit, his chin resting on his hands on the cold hardwood.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got to eat it.”

Kit sniffed the dish daintily, nonplussed.

“I know, princess,” he wheedled, “but daddy’s going to make you the most famous li’l furbaby on the internet. You’ll pass grumpy cat like he forgot how to frown. All you have to do is eat the gross food.”

Kit mrowled in disapproval and Kent rearranged his awkward limbs. So this is what his adulthood had come to, he mused. Two condos, three sports cars, a slew of hockey awards, and apparently a cat too picky to eat the goddamn food she was paid a shitload of money to represent.

Tonight’s standoff had lasted an hour, and Kent would be damned if he let Kit win again.

He scratched his nose. He probably should be doing the prep work the Fancy Feline team needed before Kit’s photo shoot. At the meeting today, they’d given him a to-do list that rivaled his off-season training goals. He was supposed to check with Eric Bittle if he had any questions.

Speaking of which, why had Eric Blast-from-the-Past Bittle even been there today? Kent would have appreciated a goddamn heads-up, that’s for sure.

Eric looked good, he thought. A little taller and sharper than he remembered. His hair game was on point. Kent had only seen him a couple times in the four years since the Samwell party where they first met, and of course Eric had grown up, but seriously – he was hot now.

But why the hell was he in New York City? And was this related to the charming, old-man text messages Jack had started to send Kent out of the blue a month ago?

Kent debated texting Jack to ask, but it was a horrible idea. Either Jack and Eric were still together and Jack would send awkward Canadian nonsense about how great Eric was, or they weren’t together and Jack would get pissed and shut Kent out of his life again.

Kent sighed and climbed to his feet, heading to the refrigerator for Kit’s specialty wet food and a glass of white wine to wash down the bitter taste of defeat. He would fight the cat food battle another day. As Kit scarfed down hand-seared filet mignon, Kent sipped his wine and fiddled with his phone.

Kent: hey dude what’s up? I saw your boy today.

Jack: Hey Kent.

Jack: What?

Well shitballs, this was already turning out to be a terrible idea. No turning back now, Kent reasoned.

Kent: Eric was at a business meeting today. all suited up and shit.

Kent: what’s he doing in NYC? u guys ok?

Jack: Oh.

Jack: We broke up in April.

Kent: shit Zimms, that really blows. he seemed like a cool guy

Jack: Yeah.

Kent: sometimes it just doesn’t work out, y’know? i’m sure you’ll find somebody great

Jack: How was the meeting?

Kent: oh

Kent: it was good. boring as watching ice melt but productive I guess

Kent: eric looks good, I mean not in a weird creepy way but he looks like he’s doing ok?

[Jack is typing…]

[Last message received 8:54pm]

Kent: hey, did you see the new netflix show where ordinary people recreate fancy cakes and that crazy lady yells at everybody?

Kent: it’s the tits

Jack: No, but I’ll check it out.

Kent: dooo iiit

Jack: What’s the name?

Kent: fuck if I know. it’s the one with the previews of nasty looking cakes and ppl getting screamed at. you can’t miss it. it’s a goddamn gem.

Jack: Sounds like it.

Jack: And, thanks Parse. I’m glad he’s doing OK.

Kent: no problem man

Kent: any time

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty paced all eight feet of his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.

He was supposed to be starting a new life! In a city of eight million people, how had he stumbled upon the one person connected to his life with Jack? And how was he supposed to be professional and work with said person, when everyone (well, maybe just Bitty) knew that he was secretly a manipulative asshole?

Good gracious, he might be freaking out just a little. He needed reassurance. Who could he talk to that knew the situation and would be supportive and not weird?

Bitty: LARDOOOOO

Lardo: BITTTYYYY

Lardo: Why the yelling, Bits?

Bitty: I am coordinating a photo shoot at Kent Parson’s house next week. KENT PARSON’S HOUSE

Lardo: That’s sick bro.

Lardo: They’re giving you a lot of responsibility right away. Nice.

Bitty: -_-;

Bitty: I think you’re missing the point

Bitty: KENT PARSON KENT PARSON KENT PARSON

Lardo: Lol Bitty cool your jets. He’s been pretty chill lately, hasn’t he?

Bitty: If you mean ‘not making my boyfriend have any more panic attacks’, then yes he’s been chill

Bitty: But I’d say that’s a VERY low bar to hurdle

Lardo: Have you met him yet? How was it?

Lardo: Does he know you and Jack broke up?

Bitty: I’m pretty sure he didn’t know who I WAS

Bitty: Period.

Lardo: No way, dude. You’ve meet him multiple times, right?

Bitty: twice, 3 times if you count the disaster at the Haus

Lardo: He totally remembers you, dude. You’re unforgettable.

Lardo: You’re like a delightful minor superhero.

Lardo: You’re Antman.

Bitty: Ugggghhh this is the worst

Bitty: and Antman, seriously? We are SO gonna talk about that later

Lardo: Bitty, bro of my heart, it’s truth time. You sitting down?

Bitty: *sits*

Lardo: Good.

Lardo: Here’s the thing. Kent Parson is just a dude. A dude with some fucked-up history respective to one JLZ, but still just a dude.

Bitty: I know, but…

Lardo: Hush, Padawan.

Bitty: -_- *hushes*

Lardo: He’s probs not an evil person. You’ve only ever seen him in relation to J, and they went thru some messed up shit as kids. When he’s not dealing with that, he’s probably a boring-ass adult with a job and a cat. You can’t judge him forever based on the 3 times you’ve met.

Lardo: Was he awful the other times?

Bitty: Well no, mostly just at Epikegster

Bitty: But he was Really Bad that time

Lardo: I get it Bits, but if that’s his only awful moment, then the dude already has like a 67% not-awful rate.

Bitty: So you’re saying I’m all worked up over nothin?

Lardo: Maybe? Give him a chance.

Lardo: You don’t have to be BFFs. Just be professional and friendly until he gives you a reason not to be. If it turns out he’s a dickhead, you have my blessing to fuck up his shit.

Bitty: Thanks Lards. Mind if I snap you outfit choices later?

Lardo: Do it. Matching polish?

Bitty: Yes’m but toes only. I miss your help with fingers. It gets all smudgy when I do it

Lardo: I miss you, bro.

Bitty: You too :-*

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent pressed the center button on his phone again…8:51am. This was officially the longest morning in the history of time.

So far he’d gone for a run, made a smoothie, showered, arranged the throw pillows, hidden the dopey photo of him and his sis at Disneyland, brushed Kit. Now he was sitting on the couch, running shoes bouncing on the marble coffee table as he waited for the Fancy Feline team to arrive. Maybe he should make coffee? He hopped up, re-fluffed the pillows, and headed to the kitchen.

The crew arrived promptly at nine, accepting the hot mugs of coffee Kent passed around. Eric shook his hand and started up a pleasant and professional stream of small talk as the photographer set up tripods and the assistant unfolded white umbrellas.

Unfortunately, Kit decided this was her party and she could hide if she wanted to. She spent the first hour perched on the bookcase, refusing to budge for treats or catnip.

Kent couldn’t blame her. Usually it was just her and him in the apartment, and even when he had people over, she generally ignored them and slept in the bedroom on the Monsieur Taco pillow he won her at Coney Island. Having a half-dozen strangers in her space, hovering over her with cameras and lights? He’d probably peace out too, if he were her.

After thirty minutes and no success, Kent relinquished the catnip to the assistant and excused himself to start a fresh pot of coffee. From the kitchen counter, he found himself watching Eric.

Eric was frowning as the drama unfolded, his lean torso hunched in concentration. His right foot tapped impatiently on the rug. It wasn’t Eric’s job to get Kit to participate. Eric had explained this to Kent while they were setting up, that his role today was to make sure they got all the shots they needed for the campaign.

As Kent watched him now, Eric nodded to himself like he’d made a decision and marched over to the bookcase. He began talking animatedly with the photographer and gesturing rapidly, taking charge of the situation like a tiny major general. Kent was impressed. Hell, even Kit watched him with interest.

Kent felt a little like a jerk – he’d always thought Eric was childish and annoying, based on their past brief interactions and Eric’s animated Twitter feed (not that he’d internet stalked him, pssh). But maybe Kent had it wrong. This version of Eric seemed full-to-bursting with charisma and natural leadership. Hell, even Queen Kit respected it.

As Eric directed the strategy to coax Kit off her perch and over to the windowsill, Kent couldn’t help but stare. Eric glowed warm and golden, like Southern sunlight was radiating from his pores. He looked good in control.

Kent’s stomach did a pleasant swoop as he thought about Eric taking control in other ways. Or what it would take to convince Eric to give up that control, to go soft and pliant and let Kent – or someone, whatever – do the controlling.

His chest tingled warmly. This probably wasn’t the best train of thought for a professional gathering; nothing like sporting a quarter chub at ten a.m. with people here to photograph your cat. He sighed, rearranged his junk, and headed back into the living room with the coffee pot.

The rest of the shoot ran smoothly. Kit, once she felt comfortable, totally hammed it up for the camera. Eric took behind-the-scenes videos and sent the best ones to Kent. They all shared high-fives when a video Kent tweeted of himself ineptly juggling cat toys got retweeted by George Takei. In celebration of their good social media fortune, Kent poured everyone mimosas.

Before Kent knew it, it was late afternoon and the photographer’s assistant started to disassemble the equipment. Eric herded everyone to the sofa where he handed out packets of instructions and debriefed them on next steps, and then the crew shook hands and headed out one by one.

As Kent shut the door after the last person, he wandered into the kitchen to find Eric still in the apartment, loading the dishwasher.

“Dude, you really don’t need to do that. I can do it after you go.”

“Kent Parson,” Eric scolded, “my mama would never forgive me if I left a host with a mess to clean up. It’s nothin’, really.”

“Thanks, man,” Kent replied. It was cool of Eric to offer and, if Kent was being honest, he probably would have left it a mess until his housecleaner came tomorrow. He started to consolidate cardboard containers of Chinese food.

They worked in silence in the spacious kitchen, making quick work of the cleanup. Kent caught Eric humming to himself. He recognized the tune – All For You by Janet Jackson – and sang along to Eric’s humming.

Eric let out a surprised huff, his cheeks pink. “Oh lordy! Was I singing that out loud?”

Kent just laughed and pulled out his phone, and one of his favorite pop mixes began playing from hidden speakers. Eric bopped his head to Janelle Monae as he dried the glasses. Kent lip-synced into a bottle of soy sauce like it was a microphone.

As Kent reached around Eric’s shoulder to place the wine glasses on a high shelf, their eyes met and Kent winked. He’d enjoyed a few mimosas and Eric was cute, so sue him. He just thought it’d be fun to make Eric blush, and his efforts were thoroughly rewarded. Eric’s blush spread from his face down his neck, reddening the soft skin at the base of his throat.

Kent felt the warm tingly feelings in his chest again. Shit, Eric was cute.

Abruptly, Eric turned and said, “I really should get going. We’ve got the kitchen under control and I need to upload these videos before tomorrow.”

Kent felt oddly deflated, although of course Eric was going to leave when they finished cleaning. He should probably apologize in case his wink had made Eric uncomfortable. Kent spent his days around gross hockey players, maybe he’d just committed some corporate sexual harassment shit and he didn’t even know it. Kent fished around for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a creeper.

He smiled and tried, “Kit really enjoyed having you here today. You’re good with cats.”

“Ha, thanks.” Bitty twisted the dishtowel in his hands. “I’m not really a cat person, but Kit’s great. Y’all’ve got a really special bond.”

“Maybe you could come over and get some more candid shots sometime?” Kent made a face. For Christ’s sake, he sounded ridiculous. “I mean, the ones today were really good.”

Eric’s face did something complicated. Kent watched him bite his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Eric replied finally, “but no. I should go.”

“Oh,” Kent exhaled, “Yeah, of course. Sure thing, man.”

Kent helped Eric retrieve his things and walked him to the entryway. As Kent shut the door behind him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

#bittyparse #eric bittle #kent parson #kit purrson #omgcp #omgcp fanfic #omgcp fic #kent plays for the rangers #and kit purrson is queen of the world #well queen of my heart #hope you like it!#this is my first time posting tumblr fic #pls tell me if I'm doing it wrong!

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eccacia · 6 years

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wonderful you came by [part 16]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Notes: I know it’s been five months, but… Look! An update! Sorry I’ve been gone awhile. This chapter was tough, life’s been tough, being newly unemployed is tough, etc. etc. Anyway, I miss you all. This is more of a friendship chapter, since I want to wrap up all the loose ends and lay the groundwork for the last plot point. After this, I’m estimating we have 1-2 more chapters to go and then an epilogue (AAAAH! Can you believe it?!) so I hope you’ll stick around. :)

Some shout-outs: To Gaby, as always, for the encouragement, and in celebration of our three-year long friendship on this site. To @panalegs27, for the unwavering enthusiastic support and the messages that make me smile. To @purpleyin, who, to my great surprise and delight, left a review on all my stories and on every chapter in this fic (!!!). To Random Lurker, for leaving such a sweet review; it made my terrible day better. And, last but not the least, to Of Pencils and Penguins (formerly The Pickle System), who beta-read this chapter in a flash (pun fully intended)—he fixed all the pesky grammatical errors, cleaned up my dialogue, and pointed out the scenes that needed tweaking or rewriting. I can’t thank you enough. This chapter won’t be what it is without your help. :)

Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own The Flash.

Barry parted ways with her outside of her dorm, and as she moved from the open, starry night to the closed, fluorescent-lit hallways of the building to her dark, unoccupied room, unease replaced the earlier sense of lightness she’d felt. She’d been harboring this sense of unease since her fight with Felicity yesterday, but her anxiety about the orals and about Barry had dominated such a large portion of her emotional landscape that this unease had receded into the background.

But now, faced with a Felicity-less room, which had been voided of the sounds of their easy companionship—the scrape of the wheels of her chair against the floor, the quick, light tapping of her fingers on her laptop, the rip of Swiss Miss packets at the end of a long day—Caitlin felt the unease return with a vengeance.

She slumped into her chair. How was it that she managed to push two people who were important to her away in the space of a week? For someone who’d always thought of herself as self-sufficient and fiercely independent, she was realizing how emotionally affected she could be when the relationships in her life went awry.

Well, at least she knew Felicity better than she did Barry. She knew, for instance, that her friend dealt with her hurt by avoiding its cause, and that while she was in this avoidance phase, it was best to give her space. But she also knew that approaching her first was already winning half the battle. So it boiled down to timing—intuiting when enough time had passed since the avoidance started, and intuiting when the best time was to approach her.

It was, she supposed, the same way Felicity would tiptoe around her when she was deep in work mode, hazarding guesses at the best time to disturb her. She had guessed wrong yesterday—had prodded her at the wrong time, in the wrong way—and much to her shame, she had exploded.

She grimaced. She could call Oliver right now to ask if he’d seen her, but she was already so tired. There’d been more emotions packed into this day than she’d had in her entire twenty-something years of existence, and even if some of those emotions were pleasant, she still felt incredibly drained.

Tomorrow, then, she thought, crawling into her bed. She’d apologize tomorrow.

The next day, Caitlin set about to look for her friend in all her usual haunts, but as expected, she couldn’t find her in any of them. She texted Cisco on the off-chance that he’d seen her, but he merely replied with, “? u can call her? and aren’t u roommates” and, a few seconds later, “OH wait r u fighting :( idk where she is bt i hope u make up soon”.

So she had no choice but to give Oliver a call, which, in the first place, had been the most logical thing to do.

…But also the most awkward, because she and Oliver weren’t exactly on calling terms. There was also the fact that she had been staunchly against them when Felicity had really started liking him. Sure, she’d been the one to dare her to talk to him, but she’d done it because she’d believed that her friend had more common sense than to fall for the shallowest rich boy on campus, and because she didn’t think that Felicity was Oliver’s type.

Needless to say, Felicity did not have as much common sense as she’d expected, and Oliver turned out to be decent under his party-boy exterior. While she was right in guessing that Felicity wasn’t his type, she hadn’t guessed that he’d fall for her anyway. He’d liked Felicity so much that, upon sensing Caitlin’s unspoken antagonism, sought to prove all her previous notions of him wrong—he cleaned up his act, stopped flirting with every leggy girl he came across, and stopped hanging out with the shadier cliques in the popular crowd—until she finally came to accept them together.

Still, that didn’t mean they would be besties, or that they’d take to each other the same way Felicity had taken to Digg and Barry and Tommy and the rest of Oliver’s friends. They were content to regard each other with civility.

Which brought her back to her current dilemma: She and Oliver were civil, but not on calling terms.

She sighed. Well, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. They would have to be on calling terms now if they both cared about Felicity.

Having decided on her course of action, she sent him a short text to ask when he was free to take a call. His answer was immediate: “Now is good.” He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey. You’re looking for Felicity?” he said.

Well, if there was one thing Caitlin respected him for, it was his propensity for cutting right to the chase.

“Yes,” she said. “Did she stay over at your place?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But she left for class this morning, and she hasn’t been back yet. I thought she’d headed to the dorm.”

Caitlin frowned. “Well… she’s definitely not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “She’s… been really down the past few days,” he ventured tentatively. “Said something about this being a replay of sophomore year, but didn’t go into the specifics.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Care to elaborate?” His tone was careful. “I mean, when my girlfriend and one of my best friends share a bottle of Smirnoff from my bar because of the same person, I feel like I deserve an explanation from the said person.”

Caitlin winced. “Can said person just buy you another bottle of Smirnoff instead?”

“Nice try,” he said wryly. “Spare me the details with Barry, I know way too much already. I just want to hear about the whole… sophomore year thing. If… that’s okay. She—she usually tells me everything, and I can’t—I don’t know how to talk to her if she doesn’t—talk. To me.”

When he said those last two sentences, Oliver sounded as if he was having a nail extracted for every word he spoke. She could almost see his grimace deepening the more he talked. Strangely enough, it comforted her, because this was something she could identify with. He was nearly as emotionally stunted as she was, stripped of that glamorous façade, and she imagined that she had the same expression that he had now whenever she talked about her feelings. Granted, this was the same reason they couldn’t be friends, and were instead friends with people like Felicity and Barry who were so open about their feelings that they were practically begging to be taken advantage of, but still. This kind of kinship was also comforting. Painfully awkward, but comforting.

So Caitlin took a deep breath and proceeded to tell him about sophomore year—the year they had their first real fight as friends.

It happened towards the end of their first term as sophomores. She’d been swamped with so many requirements and had been putting so much pressure on herself that she’d turned down all of Felicity’s invitations to parties, dinners, and even their hallowed Sunday lunches. Sometimes she didn’t even bother to acknowledge her in the room, because she didn’t want a break in her concentration. This went on for a month, until Felicity gave up trying to talk to her altogether. She avoided all their usual haunts and materialized in their room only to sleep. It was a miserable few months for both of them (and for Cisco, who’d shuttled back and forth between them), and it went on for as long as it did because, ironically, it had been easier to keep snubbing each other than to break their deadlock.

“Eventually, I just swallowed my pride and just went up to her during lunch. And even before I said anything, she burst out crying and hugged me,” Caitlin said.

He chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she said. She decided to leave out the embarrassingly sappy things they told each other that time, like when Felicity told her, in between hiccups, You know, real talk—I’d get over a breakup with a guy faster than a breakup with you. Like, a friend break-up. Because guys are so… replaceable, you know? And there’s only one of you, and… where’ll I ever find another Caitlin Snow?

She didn’t think Oliver would respond favorably to that.

After their tearful reunion, though, they’d implicitly agreed never to talk about that time again. It seemed they both knew that the smooth continuation of their friendship hinged on completely burying that hatchet. So Felicity continued to tiptoe around her when she was busy, and continued to clam up when she was hurt. Maybe that was why she thought that her recent blow-up was an echo of sophomore year.

“She’s in Jitters, by the way,” Oliver said. “She told me not to tell you, but I don’t like seeing her miserable, and I don’t think I’m the person to cheer her up.”

“Oh,” she said. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… go talk to her. And make sure that she doesn’t steal too many drinks from my bar.”

Her lips lifted into a small smile. “The former, I can promise. The latter, not so much.”

. . .

In a way, it made sense that Felicity was at Jitters. Since she knew that Caitlin was avoiding Barry, and that Barry frequented Jitters, then she must have thought that there was a good chance that Caitlin would also avoid Jitters.

It didn’t take long to spot Felicity’s messy high ponytail in the crowd, and she was so deeply absorbed in her work that she didn’t even feel her approach.

“Hey,” Caitlin said, touching her shoulder, and Felicity immediately startled in her seat.

“Oh my God! Don’t scare me like th—”

When she saw it was her, though, she schooled her expression into a neutral one. The change was so dramatic that it unnerved her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” God, she was terrible at this. “Can I… Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

This was agonizing. Any dim hope she’d harbored of this being like their first make-up was quashed.

“Felicity,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Silence. And then, “Okay.”

“Okay as in…?”

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

It was decidedly not fine. Felicity was not as adept at hiding her emotions as she thought, because Caitlin could see her trying to hide them. “Felicity…”

Silence. And then, softly, “I’ve been tiptoeing around you for years, did you know that?” she said. “No, wait—you probably never noticed, but I’ve been doing it since we started rooming together. Since our first year. When things would get busy—for both of us, not just for you—you would transform into this ticking time bomb. One wrong move on my part, and you’d explode.”

Caitlin sat very still. “I… never knew,” she said. “It’s just…”

She trailed off. She was about to say that it was a bad habit she’d picked up from her father, who’d regarded disturbances—a category which even his young, too-inquisitive daughter and his flaky wife fell into—with murderous intent, so everyone had always adjusted to him without question or complaint. But this sounded like an excuse, and in a rare flash of human insight, Caitlin saw that an excuse wouldn’t save their friendship.

So she held her tongue.

Felicity continued, “Every time you get like that, I have to worry about how to get you to eat and function like a normal human being without risking our friendship. Do you know how tiring that gets?”

Caitlin exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I never meant you to feel like…” She paused to gather the right words. “Like I’d only be friends with you if you never made me mad.”

“Yeah, but that’s how you come off sometimes,” Felicity said. “Would it hurt to say, ‘Hey, Felicity, I’m really stressed and I don’t want to talk about it now’? It’s not hard. I mean, I let you know when I’m about to binge-code so you’d know better than to expect me to clean my part of the room for the rest of the week.”

“Or shower, for that matter,” Caitlin couldn’t help saying. When she realized her misstep she quickly amended it with, “Sorry—”

“God, not relevant, Cait,” Felicity said.

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. She’d unknowingly slipped back into their usual easy banter at the worst possible time. “Sorry.”

Her friend’s expression was now shuttered, and Caitlin had the sinking feeling that she’d blown her attempt at reconciliation.

The silence stretched between them.

“Felicity,” she finally said, unable to bear it, “I’m sorry, I really am. Please don’t shut me out.”

“Oh, you mean like what you do to me?”

Caitlin winced. The accusation rang so true that it hurt. The silence grew more and more tense the longer those words hung in the air, and she frantically reached for something appropriate to say.

“I… It… was wrong of me… to do that to you,” she said quietly. “You didn’t deserve any of it.” A pause. “I’ve been an asshole friend. I’m sorry.”

Felicity fiddled with the keys of her laptop. She gave no indication of having heard her.

A crazy sense of desperation seized her. She felt like she would do anything—anything—to get Felicity to talk to her, anything to draw her out of that damning silence… It made her more painfully aware that this was the same emotional distress she put Felicity (and Barry, for that matter) through whenever she gave her the cold shoulder. She would never do this again, she thought vehemently. She would never make her friends—her best friend—feel this shitty ever again, if said best friend would still care to talk to her. No wonder Felicity had burst out crying last time the moment she approached… Any move to break this kind of silence would have brought on waves of delirious relief.

Felicity continued fiddling with her keys. She uncrossed her legs. She leaned back against her chair. She let out a breath, and since it was so quiet between them, Caitlin could tell that this breath was a beat longer than was normal.

Felicity seemed to be on the verge of speaking. Caitlin braced herself.

“You’re not an asshole friend,” she finally said. She still wasn’t looking at her, but at least she was talking to her. She was talking to her. “You just… revert to assholic behavior when stressed.”

Caitlin held her breath. That was it. That was Felicity’s olive branch. She would have sagged in her seat from sheer relief, but she had to play this right.

“Assholic behavior,” she said carefully.

“What, you’re not used to Feliciticisms yet?” her friend said, finally looking at her. A small smile stretched across her face.

Caitlin blinked. She smiled. Definitely a good sign. Definitely a sign to play along, to ease back into the usual banter of their friendship. “I still can’t figure out how you say that,” she said. “Felicisms would have been a lot easier on the tongue.”

“Yes, but I’m a Felicity, not a Felici,” she said. “Although, come to think of it, Felici sounds a lot chicer.”

“True.” Caitlin paused and took a risk. “Probably why it doesn’t suit you.”

“Hey. You were the one who proposed Felicism.”

She tried to contain her smile. “Because it would be easier to pronounce, not because you look like a Felici.”

“Same banana.”

“No, they’re not. And for the record, there are more than 1,000 discovered varieties of bananas in the world.”

“Okay, just, no,” Felicity said. “How do you even know stuff like that?”

“The same way you know who invented ramen.”

“Technically, Momofuku Ando invented instant noodles, not…” She trailed off. “…Right. Point taken.”

Caitlin nodded. “The internet is a dark place.”

“Ah, yes. Two young, impressionable women frequenting websites with lurid pictures of bananas and noodles—positively scandalous.”

They shared a smile.

“Just… give me that heads-up, okay?” Felicity said, sobering. “So I know how to help you. Like how you fix my bed and buy me takeout when I’m binge-coding, or how you let me interrupt you to whine about how hard troubleshooting a faulty segment is. Even if you have zero idea of what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said. She would’ve agreed to anything at this point. “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to do it, but I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

“You better,” Felicity said, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost seven years. I’d say it merits some amount of trying.”

“Well, seven years is only slightly longer than some marriages, after all. I can manage more than some amount of trying.”

Felicity’s smile softened. “So. Friends?”

“Friends,” she affirmed. “Seven years and counting.” She paused. “I think we’re supposed to hug at this point, but can I just give you a mental hug? I’ve reached my sappiness limit for the day.”

Felicity laughed. “Mental hug accepted. I knew there was something weird about you today.”

“Well, I was apologizing to you. I had to summon the appropriate amount of sappiness.”

“Have you been manipulating me with sappiness?”

“I wouldn’t call it manipulation,” Caitlin said primly. “It’s more like scheduling sappiness usage for a rainy day.”

“By scheduling sappiness,” Felicity said, her smile turning wicked, “do you also mean the Saturday night you spent with a certain Bartholomew Henry Allen under the stars?”

“That was an unscheduled and unintentional leakage of sappiness,” Caitlin said. “And how much do you already know, anyway?”

“Only that you kissed,” Felicity said with feigned nonchalance. “No big deal. It was only your first kiss, after all, which you kept a secret for almost a week from your best friend, your companion since girlhood, the sister of your heart—”

“Are you done with the melodramatics?” she said dryly.

“—oh, wait, I’ll have to call Cisco and Jax,” Felicity said, pulling her phone out. “They need to hear this. It’s more time-efficient, too, since you’ll only have to tell the story once.”

“Time-efficient,” Caitlin repeated. “You’re talking to me about time efficiency.”

“Yeah. What, think I haven’t learned a thing or two about your reasoning after seven years of being the foremost Caitlin Snow scholar? Although,” she mused, “it looks like I’ll soon have to relinquish that title soon, since a certain Barry Allen is proving to be a quick study—”

“Felicity, you’re rambling,” Caitlin said.

“That was hardly—oh, fine, calling them…”

“Can you tell them that we’ll meet in front of the library instead?” Caitlin said, casting a furtive glance around them. “Jitters is kind of—”

“His turf, right,” Felicity said. “Got it.” She tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, and slipped her laptop into her bag. “Hey Cisco, any chance you’re free now…?”

. . .

“Ola, ladies,” Cisco said, making his way to their table with his usual grin. Even from afar, they heard him coming by the tinkle of the many keychains he’d hung all over his backpack. “Glad to see you two have reconciled. I thought I’d have to be your messenger again or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Felicity said. “Signs of maturity, I guess.”

“Boring,” Cisco said. “In a good way, I mean. No one needs drama all the time, am I right?”

“You sure? Because Caitlin has a lot of drama to tell.”

“Oooh, saucy. You sure are getting a lot of drama lately, come to think of it,” Cisco said. “Where was all this in high school? And in the last, I don’t know, two years in college—”

“I don’t know, Cisco, I don’t think one can space out the dramatic events in one’s life—”

“Rhetorical question, chica,” he said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m sure you know what that is—”

“What’s up, guys?” Jax said, sliding into the seat beside Cisco. He pocketed his phone and dropped his duffel bag to the ground. “Is this an update on Barry or what?”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “somewhat.”

“I am so excited,” Felicity said. “I can’t wait to hear your version of the kiss.”

“THE KISS?!” Cisco gaped. “Whoa, okay, slow down, this is too much—”

“I… haven’t even started yet…”

“Her version?” Jax interjected, looking at Felicity. “What other version is there?”

“Dude,” Cisco said. “I can’t believe that’s what you fixated on.”

“I heard it first from Barry,” Felicity said, waving a hand. “Anyway, long story, and not exactly relevant—”

“Not exactly rele—Felicity, what was his version?” Caitlin said suddenly. “What did he tell you?”

“Oh, pretty vague stuff,” she said. “Mostly it was about you breaking his heart.”

Cisco blinked. “Is it just me, or are things moving way too fast?”

“Last I heard you weren’t even sure if he liked you,” Jax said, also confused, “and now you already broke up? And if you”—he gestured to Felicity—“and Barry’re tight, why didn’t you just ask him for advice, instead of asking us?”

“Well,” Felicity mused, “a little Smirnoff goes a long way in solidifying friendships…”

“She and Barry shared a bottle of vodka between them the other night,” Caitlin clarified. “Well, technically, it was Oliver’s vodka, but anyway.”

“Dang,” Jax said. “Any chance I can get an invite to one of those in the future?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to hang out at Oliver’s pad again,” Cisco said wistfully. “That sound system is to die for…”

“Wait,” Felicity said suddenly, turning to her, “that’s how you knew where to find me—you called Oliver and Oliver told you, that traitor—”

“Yes?” Caitlin said. “You thought I just guessed?”

“Well, I didn’t really—okay, never mind, we’re getting way off topic. So, Cait, tell us what happened last Saturday.”

“We all saw the sing-off,” Cisco said smugly. “And boy, you owe me big time for that—”

“It would’ve been better if you’d given me more drinks,” she muttered. “No chance kissing him if I’d passed out.”

Cisco ignored her. “—and we saw you slow-dancing to that weird Despacito remix,” he said. “Well, Felicity and I did. Jax probably didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, to fill you in, they slow-danced to a Despacito remix.”

He gave Cisco a withering look. “Yeah, I grasped the concept, thanks.”

“You’re caught up, then,” Caitlin said, pleased. “So after the slow-dancing, we went up to the balcony—”

“The one for VIPs?” Jax said.

“Yes, the one for VIPs,” she said. “Anyway, I was slightly tipsy. As a result of faulty judgment, I leaned in to kiss him. I quickly realized it was a mistake, so I left and ignored him for a week. But we made up again just yesterday, so everything’s fine now.”

Silence.

“You know, you gotta brush up on your storytelling skills,” Cisco said.

“For a moment there I thought I was listening to a weather report,” Jax said.

“Well,” Caitlin bristled, “it’s not exactly something I want to recount in detail, so—”

“How did it happen? How did you let it happen? What did you feel?” Cisco insisted, accompanying his words with hand gestures. “What did he do? What did he say? What did you say? What were you thinking?”

“As I’ve already mentioned, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Okay, I think we’re overwhelming her,” Felicity said. “Cisco, ask her something again, only one question at a time.”

“Oh! Oh! I’ll start with this one,” Cisco said. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but I am way curious, so here goes.” He took a deep breath. “Was there tongue?”

Caitlin squirmed. “Oh my God—”

“OH MY GOD,” Cisco said. “OH MY GOD, THERE WAS, WASN’T THERE?”

“OH MY GOD,” Felicity said. “THERE WAS, CISCO, THERE WAS—”

“…The hell is going on?” Jax said. “She hasn’t answered the question yet—”

“If you’re fluent in Caitlin,” Felicity explained, “you’d know that if it isn’t a direct no, then it’s a definite yes.”

“Huh,” Jax said.

“Damn,” Cisco said to Caitlin admiringly. “So you’ve finally lost your tongue-ginity. Welcome to the club.”

Jax scrunched his brow. “I never signed up for that.”

“Did we ever make that a thing?” Felicity said. “I don’t think we ever made that a thing…”

“We totally did. We made it a thing in high school, when I was with Kendra, remember? After we made out in the—”

“Okay, stop,” Felicity said. “I vaguely remember you breaking down that make-out scene, and I don’t want to remember more.”

“I second the motion,” Caitlin said.

“Third,” Jax piped up.

“Fine, this is Caitlin’s show anyway,” Cisco said good-naturedly. “It’s your turn to give us details.”

“No.”

They were all unfazed. “Did he lean in first?” Felicity said. “Or did you?”

Caitlin paused to consider it. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think we—it was done at the same time.”

“And it lasted for some time,” Cisco prompted, “since there was tongue.”

“Well, it wasn’t unpleasant,” she hedged, “so we were there for some time, but I was the one who put an end to it.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jax said. “You guys made out and you were really into it, but for some reason, you walked away and ignored him after that.”

“…It doesn’t sound very nice if you put it that way, but yes, basically…”

“What made you ignore him?” Felicity said. Caitlin recognized this voice—it was the one her friend used when she wanted to steer the discussion into a more serious direction. “I’d always assumed that he said something stupid, but…”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “he mentioned that we’ve only known each other two weeks.”

“Which is true,” Cisco said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Still, I lost it. I just didn’t think that it was possible—for me, at least—to like someone in such a short time. I was scared of it, of myself, so… I ran away. Ignored him. Pretended like ignoring him could reset me to before I met him.”

There was a pause as the statement hung in the air. It was perhaps the most honest she’d been since last week’s debacle, and they seemed to feel it, too.

“Okay, since things are getting serious,” Cisco said, standing up, “anyone want some food? Nachos, maybe?”

“Dude,” Jax said. “Way to ruin a moment—”

“No, I’m pretty sure Cait doesn’t want to talk about her feelings on an empty stomach,” he said, grinning at her. “Just like how you won’t study chemistry on an empty stomach.”

Caitlin smiled. “It’s fine, Jax. Nachos with beef and bacon bits please.”

“And extra cheese,” Felicity piped in.

“And Diet Coke with no ice,” Caitlin said.

“Same, but with ice and no straw for me,” Felicity said. “Save the environment and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Cisco said. “Hey, man, how about you?”

Jax looked at them. “You guys are hella weird.”

“But?” Cisco prompted cheekily.

He shrugged. “You’re not bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Barry does this thing where I’m not sure if he’s complimenting or insulting me,” Caitlin said. “Is that an athlete thing?”

“Way to stereotype us,” Jax said. “And I’m pretty sure that’s called a backhanded compliment.”

Caitlin snapped her fingers. “I knew there was a word for it…”

Cisco went to buy their snacks, and when he came back, the conversation—even with nachos and the best of intentions (particularly Felicity’s)—didn’t quite stay on track. It was, as usual, one-part insight and three-parts insanity, but Caitlin didn’t mind. It was good to be in their company again.

When Monday came around, Caitlin had the uncanny feeling, as she walked out of her dorm, that she was being stared at.

It wasn’t something she realized right away. After all, she’d spent most of her formative years in a state of near-invisibility. The only exception to that was when teachers announced the highest score in class (which, in science subjects, would almost invariably be her) and she would, for a few minutes, be the spotlight of the everyone’s awe and envy. But after class, she drew no more stares, elicited no more whispers. Smart wasn’t as valuable a currency as pretty or sporty was in high school, and she was perfectly content with that, as she never had to expend energy with the sort of self-conscious thinking that came with assuming that her peers were interested in her.

But today, something strange happened. As she walked down the near-deserted hallway of her dorm—it was still early, and the lone souls who were already awake walked around like zombies in their bubbles of half-sleep—she registered the sound of voices in the early morning hush. Out of idle curiosity, she looked around until she found the source of the whisperings—a group of five freshmen, two of whom quickly turned away when her gaze settled on them.

She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it, and then concluded that she must have. Freshmen, she thought, were especially prone to sticking in groups like that and over-sharing noisily, in hopes that it might translate into friendship.

But then it happened again. When she passed by two more groups of girls outside the dorm and sensed the tickle of whispers in her wake, she wondered if maybe her intuition was right. It was disturbing to suspect that one was the topic of someone else’s conversation without knowing what, exactly, was being said, and without having the means to confront them about it.

So it was when, upon reaching the foyer and seeing Eliza and Bette deep in conversation before abruptly falling quiet when she approached, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Not you, too.”

Bette raised a brow. “Hi, Caitlin.”

Eliza said, “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Caitlin sighed and took her seat across them. With a cursory look, she ascertained that three of the boys from her block were there—no sign of Hartley yet—along with two other people from Applied Chemistry (or was it Chemical Engineering? She could never really keep track). Most of them were half-asleep, using their backpacks to pillow their faces from the cool granite surface of the tables.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’ve been having this strange sensation this morning that people have been talking about me. Paranoid, I know—”

Eliza and Bette exchanged glances. Like she and Felicity, the two had been friends for so long that they seemed to be able to communicate just by looking at each other.

Caitlin was immediately suspicious. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Eliza said innocently.

“That look you just shared. It’s suspicious.”

Bette, who was usually quiet and stoic—even more than she was, probably because she was always with the animated Eliza—said, amused, “Aren’t we allowed to look at each other?”

“I think we’re allowed to a few secrets,” Eliza added with a sly smile, “since you’ve obviously been keeping yours.”

Caitlin paused. She knew that these girls meant well—they had a pleasant relationship formed on the basis of their being stranded together in a testosterone-dominated course—but she wasn’t comfortable divulging her feelings to them in the way she had with Felicity, Cisco, and Jax. They were the kind of friends she’d complain on coursework with, not the ones she’d have a heart-to-heart with.

She said cautiously, “If this was about the sing-off…”

“Oh, the sing-off was last week’s news,” Eliza said.

“It’s already been dissected to death while you weren’t around,” Bette said, with an apologetic smile. “It’s common knowledge now that you’re Barry Allen’s new girl.”

Caitlin blinked, feeling strangely violated—or rather erased—by the term. “Okay, no,” she said. “First of all, I am not ‘Barry Allen’s new girl.’ I’m me. I’m still the same Caitlin Snow majoring in Molecular Biology with you.”

“Right, of course,” Eliza said, smiling at her while propping her face up in cupped hands. “But it’s already pretty obvious to everyone that you two are a thing.”

“We’re not…” Caitlin trailed off when she realized she didn’t have anything to say to that, because what were they? They hadn’t gone out on a date yet, so they weren’t dating, but they weren’t a thing, either. Or… were they? In the first place, why in the world did people invent a term as vague as ‘a thing’ anyway? What spectrum of togetherness did ‘a thing’ encompass? And why was it that even before she and Barry had defined what they were to themselves, other people were already clamoring to define their relationship with nosy collective authority? Couldn’t they just mind their own business and leave a budding romantic relationship unlabeled?

Caitlin resisted the urge to press a hand to her temple. She couldn’t deal with this. It was too early in the morning to puzzle out the confusing semantics of human romantic entanglements.

Instead, she said, “Never mind. Second of all, last week’s news? Was there news this week involving him and me that I, of all people, wouldn’t know of?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know this,” Eliza said, giving her an enigmatic look. Caitlin felt like that look was her cue to spill what she apparently knew, but since she didn’t know anything, she remained quiet.

“If you’ll remember,” Eliza went on, when her pause became awkward, “there was a commotion last night at the dorm. Specifically, outside our wing.”

“What commotion?” Caitlin said, furrowing her brow.

Now, Eliza and Bette exchanged looks that were as bewildered as hers.

“You mean you really didn’t hear the commotion?” Bette said.

“No,” Caitlin said. “Should I have?”

“Oh my God, she has no idea,” Eliza said. “One of the hottest guys on campus is courting her—”

“Courting—of all the sheer nonsense—”

“—and she doesn’t have a clue,” Eliza finished.

“That is ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t know what commotion you’re talking about, but he’s not courting me. All I know is that he left a note on my window with ‘Good morning’ written on it.”

That was the abbreviated version. The full version was as follows:

Good morning :) I know, I know, when I walked you back, you said one week of no texts or calls or voicemails, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t say anything about sticky notes on windows. I’m kind of a pain in the ass, as you can see, aside from being a mildly annoying campus cutie and an insatiable hug monster (only for your hugs, though). Just so you know what you might be getting into. Anyway, I lost my main point for this note sometime after the smiley. I think I was supposed to write a poem, but I got sidetracked, and now I don’t have enough space. Well, I’ll find my main point tomorrow. In the meantime, ‘I miss you’ is probably enough. Can’t wait for Saturday. – Barry

“Mmm,” Bette said. “So you’re telling me that clambering up two floors of the girls’ dorms in the middle of the night, with a bouquet of flowers, a gift, and a note in hand, doesn’t qualify as courting?”

“A bouquet of flowers? How is that even—”

“At first I thought it was Cisco,” Eliza said, “because he visits your room sometimes, right, and he always makes so much noise. But when I opened my window to tell him to tone it down, guess who I saw instead?”

“Oh, by the way, here you go,” Bette said, pulling a single, long-stemmed rose from her backpack and handing it to a dazed Caitlin. “Half of the flowers were crushed during his climb,” she added, by way of explanation. “The others that weren’t crushed lost too many petals. This was the only proper rose left.” She pushed a box towards her. “Also, a gift from him. Said it was fragile.”

“He was supposed to sneak the stuff into your room,” Eliza said, “but he didn’t know that your window would be locked. Obviously he didn’t think things through.”

“Yeah, he also wrote his note on the wrong side of the post-it. We had to give him tape so he could stick the written portion against the glass facing your bed,” Bette said.

“Oh, and to clarify, we”—Eliza said, gesturing to the two of them—“weren’t the ones who gave him tape. Someone from the room below did.”

“It became a sort of group effort,” Bette said.

“Although his best friend—can’t remember her name, the one who wrote that article about sexism on campus—”

“Iris West,” Bette said.

“Right, her. She clearly didn’t support it,” Eliza said. “Stormed out of the dorm when she caught wind of what was happening just to tell him that he was an idiot.”

“She wasn’t yelling, but it was so quiet out there that people could hear what she was saying, anyway.”

“Good thing our dorm mom sleeps like a log.”

“Yeah, and good thing everyone loves Barry, so no one’ll tell on him…”

“It’s really strange that you didn’t hear anything,” Bette said, looking puzzled. “He made so much noise.”

It wasn’t all that strange. She and Felicity slept through the commotion courtesy of the remaining contents of the Smirnoff that she’d brought back from her drinking session with Barry.

“Hello, ladies,” came a voice that Caitlin knew all too well. “Finally got to interrogate her, huh? Do I finally get my—is that a rose? Why the hell do you have a rose?”

“Language, Hartley,” Bette said. “As you can see, the subject is still in shock.”

“The rose is from Allen, isn’t it?” Hartley said, scoffing. “Jesus, how predictable. Even I can tell you aren’t the roses kind.”

“Thank you for your valuable input, Hartley,” Eliza said. “Why don’t you run along now and compare notes with Barry, since you’re such an expert on Caitlin’s botanical preferences?”

“Dial down the bitchiness, sweetheart,” Hartley said. “It’s not even nine yet.”

“The rose isn’t the worst of it, really,” Bette said.

“Oh?” Hartley said gleefully, smirking and pulling up a chair from the other table, seeing as Caitlin’s backpack was still occupying the space beside her. “Do tell. Does the worst of it have something to do with this box?”

Caitlin finally snapped out of the daze she was in. She was having difficulty processing all… this. She needed another coffee. Maybe three. “I’m having difficulty imagining how he moved from the staircase to the window holding all this…”

“He had the bouquet in his mouth,” Eliza said.

Hartley’s brows shot up. “What,” he said, “the fuck?”

“What he said,” Caitlin muttered.

“She was kidding,” Bette said, giving Eliza a stern look. “He had a canvas bag.”

Eliza laughed. “Fine, but you have to admit you can totally imagine it.”

Hartley rolled his eyes. “I actually find it more unlikely that he had the foresight to bring a bag.”

“Well, are you going to open it?” Eliza said, gesturing to the box. “Bette and I have been dying to see what’s inside.”

Caitlin gave them a look, and Eliza said, “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve been safekeeping it for the last seven hours.”

“This really is beneath me,” Hartley said casually, “but I am curious to see what sort of disgustingly sentimental gift he got you. Gifts are a reflection of the giver, as someone once said. Can’t remember who it was, though…”

“You know, you can admit you’re curious without having to insult anyone,” Caitlin said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked. “Well? Are you opening it or not? We don’t have all day, Frosty.”

Caitlin sighed and relented, if only out of weariness. She opened the box without ceremony—there was no wrapper so she simply had to lift the flap—and peered inside. Three other heads neared to peer in, too.

It was a cactus.

On the flap, it said, I already got the roses when I saw this, but this is way better. You’re more of a cactus person, I think. ;) – Barry

Hartley barked a laugh. “I take it back. Allen is a fucking genius.”

“I don’t know,” Bette said dubiously. “It sounds like an insult.”

“It’s definitely an insult,” Eliza said. “You’re more of a cactus person—does that mean you have the qualities of a cactus?”

“He’s not wrong,” Hartley said. “Caitlin’s botanical identity aside, though,” he added, “everyone still owes me money, because she obviously accepted his advances…”

Caitlin, on her part, had already tuned them out. Barry Allen was a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot, and he also possibly had a screw or two loose, but he meant well, and he really and truly seemed to like her, and he was…

He was hers to like back.

Still, he had to stop climbing walls in the middle of the night to give her… whatever else he was planning on giving her. She had no clue about what courtship entailed, but she was sure that it didn’t have to be as life-threatening as he made it seem.

Caitlin didn’t think to approach him right away about this, though, because she didn’t think he’d be sending any more gifts her way. She thought he would have desisted with the flowers and the cacti, opting to leave only sticky notes instead.

She was wrong.

Well, not exactly. The next day, she did receive another note on her window, but she also received a heart-shaped box of chocolates and another cactus (both delivered by Cisco). This was puzzling, because she had no use whatsoever for a heart-shaped box, and she had no strong feelings about chocolates. Not that she didn’t like chocolates, per se; she’d just never particularly craved for them or sought them out. She didn’t want them to go to waste, though, so she ate two or three pieces before welcoming Cisco and Jax to finish up the rest.

This, surely, she thought, would be the end of it. Surely he knew that giving her gifts every single day until Saturday, for no particular reason and with no particular occasion, was an absurd and costly enterprise.

But she was wrong again. On Wednesday, she received the requisite note on her window and a teddy bear named Beary—See what I did there? ;) he’d said in his note—sporting a cactus pin. (She must’ve forgotten to lock her window last night after Cisco and Jax had left, so he was able to slip them onto her bedside table.) Now, if the chocolates were mildly puzzling, the teddy bear was downright bewildering, because she had given up stuffed animals altogether at the age of five, when her father had introduced her to illustrated encyclopedias. If she had no use for a teddy bear back at five years old, she had even less use of it now at twenty-one. She was aware that it was common for other couples to give each other stuffed animals, but that was other couples. For some reason, other couples found it cute to give their significant others a reminder of a more infantile period in their lives. Or perhaps the intention was for the recipient to endow the inanimate object with some of the partner’s qualities, so that it could serve as a reminder of the partner when he or she was away…

This was all just conjecture, of course. She’d never quite understood it. Even now that she herself was the recipient of a stuffed animal, she still didn’t understand what she was supposed to do with it.

To be fair, Barry didn’t know that she didn’t particularly care for chocolates or for stuffed animals. But perhaps that was the point—he didn’t know what she liked, and had simply assumed she would enjoy this standard romantic fanfare.

This brought to mind something Hartley had said the other day, about gifts being a reflection of the giver. Irritating as he was, she had to agree with his assessment: These gifts were less a reflection of her than they were a reflection of Barry. They conveyed the sincerity of his intentions well enough, but they also conveyed a startling lack of knowledge of who she was.

Well, not exactly. She did enjoy the sticky notes, and the cactus symbolized an inside joke that only the two of them shared and understood. Everything else, though, puzzled her.

She didn’t want to discard them, because that would mean discarding Barry’s feelings, too. (And, on an aside, Beary seemed to grow cuter the longer she looked at it [him?], which made her more reluctant to discard it [him?]. She made a mental note to Google the evolutionary value of cuteness even in lifeless objects.) But at the same time, the sole function of the rose, the chocolates, and the bear was to convey Barry’s intentions, which had been fulfilled the moment she’d received the gifts. Ergo, she no longer had any use for them. Was she obliged to keep these things around as relics of his affection for her? Then again, she knew that he liked her anyway, so why did she need all these things to remind her of it?

She frowned. She was trapped in a symbolic deadlock. Clearly when she confessed to him she didn’t foresee that things would become this complicated—and this when they weren’t even ‘a thing’ yet…

She sat back to view the gifts on her now-crowded bedside table and considered her situation. The most obvious course of action was to tell him to stop giving her gifts, but she could already tell that it would hurt him. But she also couldn’t think of a nice way to say it. The truth—“Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless” was too harsh, while a white lie like “I don’t have space to put them anymore” was too unconvincing. She could give him a list of what she liked, but she didn’t want to make it seem like she was asking for more gifts. Then again, she could inform him that she simply didn’t make a fuss about gifts, but clearly he made a fuss about gifts, so…

Great, she was back to her earlier deadlock.

Maybe it was time to call a friend. Felicity might know what to do. And, even if she didn’t, she might know how to soften a sentence like “Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless.”

Right, talk to Felicity it was, then.

. . .

On her way out of her room, though, something unusual happened: She bumped into Iris West.

The fact that Iris was here on her floor was already unusual in itself. Iris lived two or three floors above her, and she didn’t seem to have close friends residing on the second floor, so Caitlin had never actually seen her in this hallway.

The second unusual thing was that Iris was alone. Caitlin may have only glimpsed her on campus a few times, but she had no recollection of Iris being alone—she was always either surrounded by her friends from the school paper, or she was with a tall, clean-looking guy—her boyfriend, presumably.

The third unusual thing was that Iris was walking towards her now. Caitlin resisted the urge to look behind her to see if Iris was walking towards someone else, and instead she pasted on a tentative smile, the sort she reserved for people with whom she knew only vaguely, and so wasn’t sure if she should greet or not. If the person noticed the smile and greeted her, she’d return the greeting with relief. But if the person didn’t notice the smile, then she’d look like an idiot, but not as big an idiot as she would have had she uttered an ignored ‘Hi’.

Iris, as it turned out, returned her smile. “Hi, Caitlin,” she said, slowing when she reached her.

A greeting and a slowing down. Clearly she was about to engage her in conversation, but what did Iris have to talk with her about? Did Barry send her to deliver a package, or to do some reconnaissance? But if she was going to do reconnaissance, wouldn’t it be wiser to approach someone closer to her, like Felicity?

“Hi?” Caitlin said.

“I’m glad I caught you on your way out,” she said. “I would’ve messaged you first, but Facebook says you haven’t been online in three days, so…”

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. “I don’t go online often.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” she said. “I mean, I’m the one asking for your time. Not because I’m spying on you for Barry or anything,” she added hastily. “I just wanted to talk, that’s all. If you’re busy, though, I could—”

“I’m not,” Caitlin said. Her curiosity was sufficiently peaked. “My next class is in two hours. What did you want to talk about?”

“Great,” Iris said. “Could we… talk somewhere more private, like your room? Or my room’s fine, too. Gossip spreads pretty fast around here.”

“My room’s nearer,” Caitlin said. “It’s a bit of a mess, though. Well, Felicity’s side is a bit of a mess, so we could stay on my side…”

They both headed back to her room, and while Caitlin felt like the silence was awkward, Iris seemed completely at ease. She did look out of place in the shabby dorm room—with her red chiffon top, black leather skirt, and knee-high black boots, she looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue rather than a classroom—but she carried herself with the relaxed confidence of a person who made and followed her own rules.

“I know this is weird,” Iris said, “but Barry has also been acting weird lately, so I felt like I had to do something.”

“Weird, how?” Caitlin said, silently asking Felicity’s permission to borrow her chair. She pulled it up beside hers in front of her desk. She gestured for Iris to sit. “I haven’t known him long, but this”—she pointed to the items on her bedside table—“doesn’t seem too uncharacteristic of him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s true,” Iris said, sitting. From the direction of her gaze, Caitlin noticed the way Iris catalogued details carefully with her gaze: She scanned the usual school supplies on Caitlin’s desk (a plain white mug for writing materials, another one for highlighters, and a tray for bond paper), glanced at the stack of printed journal articles with notes and post-its, and lingered on the books on her shelf—The Double Helix by James Watson, Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA by Brenda Maddox, What Is Life? by Erwin Schrödinger, Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman, and The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks—all with yellowed pages. Those books were the only memorabilia she kept on her desk.

“Why do I feel,” Caitlin ventured when Iris reached the end of her quick survey, “that you’re already mentally writing profile of me?”

She was aiming to sound amused, and she supposed it succeeded, because Iris gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “Guilty as charged. Had to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing, and after seeing this”—she gestured to her Spartan desk and the books on display—“and that”—she gestured to her cluttered bedside table—“I’m pretty convinced. I’m guessing—no, I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re not the romantic type.”

“Not at all,” Caitlin said. And then, upon realizing that Iris might report all this to Barry, she added, “I do appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Right,” Iris said, “but not the gifts.”

“Well…”

“Here’s the thing,” Iris said, sensing her hesitation. “I thought about talking to you back when he pulled that crazy stunt in the middle of the night, but for once, I stopped myself from meddling. Which is difficult for me, since I meddle in other people’s business for a living,” she added with a self-deprecating smile. “But I managed. ‘How bad can it be?’ I thought. ‘Who knows, maybe she likes flowers.’ When he gave you the chocolates, I thought, ‘Okay, fine, maybe she likes chocolates, too. Flowers are tricky, but chocolates are pretty safe. A lot of people are nuts for chocolates.’”

Caitlin was about to say that was nuts for neither flowers nor chocolates, but Iris seemed to be on a roll, so she let her continue.

“But when he gave you that teddy bear”—she gave the poor innocent Beary a dirty look—“and named it after him, that was the last straw. I said to him”—she made the phone gesture with her hand and brought it to her ear—“‘You gave her a teddy bear? Are you crazy? Do you even know if she likes teddy bears?’ and he was like, ‘But teddy bears are cute! Who doesn’t like teddy bears?’ and I was like, ‘Barry, if Eddie’—Eddie’s my boyfriend—‘gave me a teddy bear, I’d either donate it to charity or tell him to return it to the fricking store. Honestly, how old do you think she is? Five?’”

At this, Caitlin couldn’t help smiling. She was starting to like Iris. Iris made sense. “My sentiments, exactly.”

“Shit, I knew it,” Iris sighed. “I should’ve stopped him earlier, but it’s too late now. There’s no stopping him once he gets into planning. Although if it’s any consolation, he hasn’t gone this all-out since… Well, since. And there isn’t even any occasion. Can you imagine what sort of production number he’ll come up with if there is an occasion?”

“I’d really rather not,” Caitlin said, wincing. “If it’s going to involve a grand public display of affection, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Not a fan of PDA, huh?” Iris said. “This must be really uncomfortable for you. I mean, people have been talking nonstop about what he’s doing. I’ve lost count of how many times someone came up to me to ask about”—here she made quotation marks in the air—“‘Barry’s new girl.’”

Caitlin must have made a face, because Iris nodded sympathetically and said, “Yeah, I know. I was ‘Eddie’s new girl’ for some time, too, although for some reason he was never ‘Iris’s new guy.’ Ingrained sexism, that’s what it is. Really subtle, too, and harder to root out, but since women empowerment is having a moment—right, I’m ranting. Sorry. Bad habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m used to ramblers.”

“Ranters,” Iris corrected with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to be lumped in the same category as Barry. At least I don’t lose my main point while talking.”

Caitlin smiled. “He is prone to that.”

“Don’t I know it. Sometimes I just tune out until like, three hundred words later, when he finds it again. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have tuned him out when he was spouting all those nonsense ideas… I might’ve been able to stop him from doing all this…”

“Is there really no way to ask him to stop with the gifts?” Caitlin said tentatively. “The sticky notes are okay, just not… this production number, as you called it.”

Iris paused. “I could try to talk to him again,” she said. “And anyway, isn’t he supposed to be giving you space?”

“Yes, well. Obviously he failed. I even have less literal space in my room now.”

Iris laughed. “That’s true.”

They fell into a brief, comfortable silence.

“Hey, Caitlin,” Iris eventually said, “thanks for being honest. I know it sounds like I’m selling my best friend out, but it’s just, he really likes you, and I don’t want him to screw himself over. He can be really eager, you know? When he’s excited he just jumps into things without thinking. Loses all sense of timing and subtlety, too.”

Iris paused as if debating whether or not to continue, but before Caitlin could come up with a response to fill in the silence, she went on. “His mom and dad were also really big on romance,” she said. “We grew up watching them trying to out-surprise each other on their anniversary and on Valentine’s Day. It was crazy, the things his dad did. Once, he decorated their whole house with flowers, because his mom absolutely adored flowers. This other time, he ordered chocolates from France, Sweden, Belgium—you know, places where those fancy chocolates come from—and made it look like a chocolate buffet from around the world. His mom was like that, too. She used to throw him these themed surprise parties. There was one party where she invited everyone—his former patients, his students, his colleagues from the hospital, his colleagues from whatever medical association he was part of—and she had someone from each group give him a toast. He was so teary-eyed at the end that he couldn’t give a proper thank-you speech.” Iris sighed. “His parents had something really special, you know? Even my dad thought so. Everyone who knew them thought so. The happiest couple in the world, people would call them.”

Caitlin absorbed all this in silence. “He does look like someone who grew up surrounded by that kind of love,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Iris said, smiling. “He was such a happy kid. Still is, actually. And I think—and this is pure speculation,” she added, “but I think that more than having a great career, more than being rich or famous or successful, more than anything, really, Barry wants what his parents had. I’m not telling you should fulfil that,” she added quickly. “I just want you to understand where he’s coming from.”

“I understand,” she said slowly. “This is a lot to take in, though. I’m the antithesis of that picture of his parents you just described, as you can see.”

Iris laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty clear to me. And honestly, I don’t think he’ll want you any other way. Just give him time to adjust.”

“Alright,” she said. “Thank you for… talking to me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how to proceed with all this.”

“Oh, no problem,” Iris said, waving a hand. “If you need help with Barry—or anything, really—you can message me any time.” She stood up. “Anyway, I should go. You have class, right?”

“In an hour, yes,” Caitlin said, accompanying her to the door.

“Hey, maybe in the future, we could do a double date or something,” Iris said. “You and Barry and me and Eddie. I’ll take you to all the best hole-in-the-wall places. A lot of the owners know me already, so I get discounts, too. It’ll be fun. What do you think?”

Caitlin blinked. “Okay,” she said.

“Great,” Iris smiled and squeezed her arm. Caitlin tried not to shy away from it. “I’ll go talk to Barry before he brews tomorrow’s disaster. See you around, Caitlin.”

When she left, Caitlin returned to her desk. Well. That was strange, but not entirely unwelcome, especially since Iris herself had offered to talk to Barry. She also found herself relieved that she could get along with Iris. She wasn’t exactly the friendliest of people, but Iris had enough friendly in her for the two of them.

“Now,” Caitlin muttered, staring at Beary’s placid smiling face, “what to do with you? You’re going to want to stick around, huh? A real nuisance you are, just like your namesake…”

She stopped abruptly when she realized that she was talking to an inanimate object, and then squinted warily at Beary. She was beginning to be gripped by this whole stuffed-animal craze, and she wasn’t sure what she felt about that…

. . .

“Cait? Hey Cait, bananas!”

Caitlin looked up from her laptop. “What? What’s happening?”

“Ha, got you to look!” Felicity grinned triumphantly. “You ready to sleep? I’m going to kill the lights now.”

Caitlin gave her friend an odd look, but, being used to such antics (or Felicitisms), she merely saved her file and slipped her laptop onto her table. “Yeah, sure.”

The lights went out. Felicity shuffled to her bed, and Caitlin heard her fold her glasses and place them on her bedside table with a soft thunk.

A few moments later, Caitlin ventured, “Hey. Are you sleepy?”

“No, not really.” Felicity turned to face her. Her face was blurry in the moonlight. “Are you?”

“No.” She paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

“Remember that story I told you, the one Iris told about Barry’s parents?”

“Mmm. What about it?”

“It bothers me.”

“Why?”

Caitlin curled further into her side. Had she been talking to Felicity during the day, with Cisco and Jax with them, she might not have said this out loud. But now, wrapped up in her blanket and enveloped by the warm, inviting darkness of their room, filled with the well-worn and well-loved things they had shared for over two years, Caitlin felt brave enough to be vulnerable.

“He wants a happy ending,” she said. “I’m clearly not his happy ending. He needs someone who can match his… exuberance, I guess. His generosity. Someone who’ll give him what his parents had. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Felicity said. “You haven’t even started dating yet.”

“I think that’s the point. We haven’t started dating yet and we’re already incompatible,” she said. “At first, I thought admitting my feelings was a bad idea because I didn’t want to get hurt, but now I think it’s a bad idea because I don’t want him to get hurt. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Ah,” Felicity said. “So you don’t think you’re good enough for him?”

“Well,” Caitlin exhaled, “more like I’m not right enough for him.”

“Yeah, I get that. I still feel that way with Oliver sometimes, you know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Well, we haven’t been together for long, but still. I was terrified, remember? And you were terrified for me, too. Told me that if I had any common sense, I’d walk away from him right this instant, before things got too serious.”

Caitlin smiled. “Fortunately for Oliver, you had zero common sense.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes, when I’m with him and I’m feeling really happy, I get hit by sheer panic. Like, I start thinking, It’s impossible for anyone to be this happy. He’s going to cheat on me one day, or else he’ll get bored with me and break up with me… Oh my God, if he does, I’ll never find someone like him again, I’ll never be this happy again… and so on.”

“You still think about that?” Caitlin said, incredulous. “Have you seen the way Oliver looks at you? When you’re in the room he literally cannot focus on anything else.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, with a modest shrug, “but I guess sometimes we sabotage our own happiness.”

Caitlin moved to lie on her back. “I think I’ve felt what you’ve felt with Oliver,” she said quietly. “I just feel… so light with Barry. Or happy, I suppose. I’m not sure. But I know that when I’m with him, I don’t want the moment to end. And when I saw him with Patty—I told you about that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When I saw him with Patty, I was devastated. But there was this small part of me that was almost… gleeful about it. It’s hard to explain, but that part of me seemed to be saying, You knew this would happen. You were right, he’ll never like you. Good thing you didn’t get too attached.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Felicity said. “Sometimes I hear that voice in my head, too.”

“Why does it do that?” Caitlin said, confusion and frustration seeping into her tone. “Why does our mind do that? Why is it that when we’re happy, our first instinct is to be skeptical of happiness?”

Felicity was quiet for a moment. “Maybe our mind is trying to protect us from getting hurt,” she said. “Maybe we only open a little part of ourselves up to happiness so that when it leaves, it doesn’t take all of us with it.”

Her words sank into the darkness of the room.

“Or, wait, no,” Felicity said. “If Oliver… breaks up with me, yeah, I’ll be devastated, and I’ll probably cry for days, and the part of me that was only me around him will be gone. But I don’t think that means I’m less of a person if he leaves. I won’t be left with like, only a few pieces of my heart or something. Pretty sure I’m stronger than that.”

“You definitely are.”

“Thanks,” her friend said, smiling. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is... we try to protect ourselves from that one painful moment we think we won’t be strong enough to withstand. For me it’s Oliver breaking up with me for whatever reason. For you it’s disappointing Barry. And we sort of obsess over it, that painful moment, because we want to do anything to prevent it. And when we do that we forget to enjoy whatever’s happening now. Or that even if that moment does happen, we can and will survive it.”

“Like having tunnel vision,” Caitlin murmured. “Being scared of the pain is like having tunnel vision. You stop seeing possibilities around you.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re saying that I should give this thing with Barry a real chance, aren’t you?”

Felicity grinned. “I’m saying that, or you are?”

“Touché.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said. “You guys have a lot to talk about. I mean, flowers and chocolates and teddy bears are sweet, but they’re just not your thing.”

“So I heard. Apparently it’s common knowledge for everyone besides him.”

“You’ll think of something,” Felicity said. “I think he’s just excited now so he can’t think straight, but he means well. He really wants to make you happy.”

“I suppose so.”

“And if he can’t see you behind all those romantic notions of his, believe me, I’ll be the first one to tell you to stop trying.”

Caitlin gave her friend a smile. “Thanks.”

There was a lull in the conversation.

“Think we should go to sleep now?”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Felicity said, pulling her blankets to her chin. “Oh, before I forget, Oliver says thanks for the Smirnoff.”

“Tell him he’s welcome.”

“You traitors,” Felicity yawned. “Scheming behind my back.”

“Good night to you too, Felicity.”

Her friend smiled and buried her face in her pillow. “Good night, Cait.”

#snowbarry #snowbarry fic #snowbarry fanfiction #barry x caitlin #wonderful you came by #my fic #barry allen #caitlin snow #felicity smoak #iris west #cisco ramon #hartley rathaway #jefferson jackson #oliver queen

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