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“Let’s be alone together,” Caitlin says.
It's sort of a joke, but not, because she has been alone for years now, unless her friends are around. But Cisco is with Kamilla tonight. And Iris is with Eddie. Ralph with Sue. Wally's babysitting Jenna so Joe and Cecile can have a night off parenting. Leaving just her and Barry, both at a loose end. Of course, it's not a problem that it's just them, she's always happy to hang out with him, so it's really more of a worry that Barry will feel it's his duty to keep her company. But probably it will be pity combined with his own loneliness. She's seen how down he, the hopeless romantic of the team, gets at times like this with no one to share it with. She doesn't know why he hasn't tried to get back out there and date though. At least they'd be helping each other out, commiserating together.
Barry agrees to come over to hers and she hopes it's because he likes the sound of the film she already intended to watch. Mind you, almost anything that's a sort of musical is likely to sound good to him because half of the team are inclined to veto those for their movie nights. And the promise of all-you-can-eat popcorn to a speedster likely helps too. She keeps a full stock of flavors for movie marathons, including a horrendously calorific toffee version mainly for him because she and Cisco can only eat about 20% of a packet combined.
As they settle on the couch they're a respectful distance apart, but it's not too long before they gravitate closer, elbows bumping now and then as they share the bowl nestled between them. Occasionally, they reach for a handful at the same time and the unexpected grazing of fingers makes her heart flutter dangerously with no one else around to witness it. It's happened countless times before on team movie nights, in amongst the chaos of every person for themselves with snacks disappearing rapidly, but tonight it feels inexplicably different. Charged somehow, and she's not sure if that is literal or imagined, something only she's feeling. Fortunately, the darkness of the room hides her blush.
Once the popcorn is emptied, Barry gets up for drinks, and when he returns he sits closer still. He's so warm that it's not surprising she feels drawn to him, edging subtly closer without meaning to. She knows he runs hot, but she's never asked him if he overheats, so maybe that's why he leans into her, attracted to her relative coolness. It must be refreshing to him, something different, or perhaps because he's feeling a little touch-starved at the moment, because she's certain it's not about her. Whatever the reason, it's still a comfort to her.
When he laughs at the jokes it reverberates so hard she can't help but feel it in her bones too. It tickles something deep inside, some part of her that needed awakening, that needed to release her ever-present worries. Because he's fine for once. Not hurt, not in danger, just there, and so close to her, so much less than the usual arm's length away. Safe. Warm. Close enough to touch, to squeeze the hand of and have him squeeze back for reassurance.
She's only half watching the movie by now, tempted to glance over at him to see his reactions to the lines she already knows well, elated to see him smiling so widely. Watching him like that is almost as much of a guilty pleasure as the film itself. In a quiet moment, the aftermath of a serious scene, she looks to him at the same time he looks to her, returning his smile before looking away abashedly. She doesn't think much of it, but when she looks back at him a little later he's still looking at her, not at the movie.
His smile has dropped, but not into a frown, not into indifference or confusion. There's an unrecognizable expression on his face and that's a rarity since she thought she knew him so well he couldn't surprise her. The white light of the current scene from the movie illuminates him well enough she can see there's a tension held there, but it's not from anger or worry. His eyes flick down, to her lips she realizes, before he looks back up quickly and catches her eye again. Her breath catches too. Because even though her head says it's strange, impossible, something to question, her heart beats stronger, knowing it's a shared draw to one another. She understands the tension then, waiting for something more to happen, for one of them to close the remaining distance, waiting for the right moment.
Barry opens his mouth, but he apparently doesn't find any words. The movie's lines wash over them in the background. It would be so nice growing old with you. The sappy, happy romcom song plays out in full as Barry stares into her eyes silently and Cait tries to form a single thought that isn't about the myriad of colors in his irises or the strange feeling of floatiness that has overcome her with him looking so intensely at her. The feeling where she both can barely feel her body and yet knows exactly the pinpoints of where her fingers and thigh touch his.
The happy ending plays out on screen but she's not paying attention to it, except in the changes of the light across Barry's face. She's seen this film enough times she knows what is happening precisely, but in reality, she's not sure what's happening with them, why she can't seem to break from this spell they're under. There's a swoop of hope at the intimacy, at a step further than she can ever remember experiencing with Barry, but she can hardly bear to hope for more than this, even if it seems like a natural conclusion. Is this a happy ending? Almost painful until you know it's there. Some part of her thinks it knows, is certain Barry will lean in and close his lips to hers. That he won't want to break away and pretend it's nothing like she fears. That he will enjoy it as much as she expects she will. That he won't regret it. But the rest of her doubts every possible step left before it happens. Will continue to doubt until she finds out otherwise.
He does lean in, in fact. Does kiss her tenderly. Slow and sure, unlikely to be a mistake. Not letting it be something he could have taken back, had he wished. He kisses her again, deepens it still, and something inside her lets go finally, lets her enjoy the moment. The credits roll and the light fades in the room with the black of them, but they are still locked in that embrace. Their happy ending not yet over. What lines, what pleasantries or platitudes, will flow once their lips are free she doesn't know, but there's something to how they are now that makes her believe it will be alright. Despite the things they could say, the take-backs or the missteps still possible. A truth revealed that neither can ignore any longer, the convenience of denial forgotten for the sake of another, lighter, path to take. One less lonely, though that's not the reason to go there. What she needed to let go of the years of doubt was proof, certainty one way or the other after the hypothesis.