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Leonard Snart doesn't trust what people say easily.
The exact same words can mean so many different things. Depending on the time they are said. The body language that goes with it making it clear to him what hasn't been said, just as meaningful by omission. The tone of voice another layer so easily applied as a persuasion, a distraction from a person's actual actions. The best lies incorporate the truth – it's what they leave out that twists it into almost believable, and that he is always on the look out for.
He's been told before - not enough probably - that people love him. Hard to believe when some of those people hadn't done a thing to stop the train-wreck of much of his life. When some of those people went on to cause it...
The words 'I love you' aren't enough for him to put his faith in people. What they do, that is telling. That sways him little by little.
Every now and then he feels the deja-vu of Barry's earnest eyes boring into his, searching for a light that might not exist anymore. He doesn't have the heart to tell Barry otherwise. He wishes it was there for Barry to find and can't quite let go of that hope. Barry stopped saying 'I care about you' a while back, frustrated it didn't get the response he was hoping for. These days, they let the notion sit uncomfortably between them, understood but unsaid because Barry's learned it didn't help anyone to do so. The words only ever triggered Len's instinct to pull back once more, an undesirable reaction to Barry's perfectly normal feeling. Instead, Barry puns. Tells truly awful jokes. Tries so hard to tease a smile from Len's lips. It passes the time. The time he's lucky to have again. It's something.
And Iris, she asks questions. Knows when not to, as well. She's developed an uncanny knack for figuring out when he can bear to answer some of the things those two are so dying to know. Only asking as much as he can take – as if they keep spiralling back to being in the world's longest interview where she will slowly unravel his secrets. It must try her patience, but she has it for him somehow, where she wouldn't with others. When she looks at him, he feels exposed in a whole new way not even Barry can manage to inspire.
'We love you' isn't said lightly, he knows. It isn't said often either, not worn out. That way it keeps its impact, rationed to suit its audience. The chosen moment carefully timed so it connects. He looks to Iris, to Barry, their easy going sprawl on the couch around him as the credits roll for the film they've finished watching. His choice, indulged. But it was his turn to choose, not indulged so much that he won't accept it.
There's tenseness sprung upon them in the aftermath of Iris' words, but it's not fear of him, so long gone he should never doubt it. It's fear of his reaction. Shown in the twitch of Barry's hand resting on his shoulder, that he knows the man wants to curl tighter to cling to him but doesn't, poised for his expected retreat. Len doesn't move an inch. Surprises himself as much as Barry probably.
Iris doesn't look to him then, avoiding asking too much with her gaze. Instead focusing too much on the names of the near endless CGI artists as if they hold the key to some important question that isn't how he feels.
“I know,” is all he says.
Len slides his eyes over to Iris, who is finally allowing herself look back at him. Her stare is silent and intense, as if waiting for something more from him to solidify this new answer they have. He blinks slow and tilts his head a touch in a subtle submission to her scrutiny, willing her closer without words. He hopes she gets this is as much as he can say right now.
And then the tension in the room breaks just as suddenly as his answer came to them.
“Are you Han Solo-ing us?” Barry asks, a relieved disbelief spreading across his face with an open-mouthed grin following it.
Iris has a small shy smile forming, so different from the happiness he is used to seeing on her features, and if he's not mistaken she's looking a touch tearful too. He almost regrets inspiring that mood, her hesitancy to show her happiness to him because of the fear he will react badly yet again. But he can't quite regret it, far too enamored with being the cause of any of her happiness.
“Come here,” he says, shifting up closer to Barry to make room for Iris.
It's not a demand. More like an acknowledgment he'll let them get closer. That he wants them closer, and not merely in an easily admitted lustful sense. He can let himself want them because he finally believes what they say. He can accept now that they do want him in return.
As Iris slips in beside him, Barry takes his pressing up against him as an invitation to snuggle up further, winding his arms around Len's shoulder and waist. The speedster's heat is getting to be comfortingly familiar.
He turns to Barry without a sound. The best expression of how he feels that he can manage is to press a small kiss to the man's lips. A kiss chased with several more peppered along his jawline and almost down to Barry's neck, a soft sigh escaping Barry's lips at the attention. For once these kisses aren't rushed, or pressed hard to avoid being tender, because Len no longer feels like he's stealing moments that don't belong to him.
Iris puts her arm around his shoulders too, reaching out to Barry on his other side. Her remaining hand tightens around Len's where it rests on his thigh, fingers entwining and her thumb tracing a lazy pattern on his skin. He sits back, a little out of breath, wedged between Barry and Iris and realizes there isn't anywhere else he'd rather be.
Len simply closes his eyes, slowly taking in the moment with his senses to avoid overthinking it. Trusting in them, he relaxes into their embrace in a way he hasn't ever before.