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“Oh. My. GOD,” Iris furiously hisses at Barry when she catches him alone. It’s not an easy feat this evening, Barry will grant her that: Len’s been practically superglued to his side ever since they arrived, throwing angry glares at everyone who even dared to look at Barry. (He still feels kinda bad for Patty, who smiled at him and told him that he looked great in that tux. Len’s face indicated he would either have a stroke or lunge at her with a knife in the next second, so Barry hastily thanked her and pulled the maniac ‘Captain Cold’ away before he could hurt anyone – or himself.)
“I know,” he tells his sister and sighs – it comes out a lot more dreamy and a lot less exasperated than he intended.
“How did that happen?!” Iris asks and follows Barry’s gaze to Len, who’s currently being a gentleman and getting them both some punch. Barry’s not sure he wants to risk drinking anything that’s been openly available to everyone in the room, since he has a feeling more than one flask of vodka has made it into that bowl… but he thought he could use this moment to collect his thoughts and try to make sense of this thing that’s been on his mind for a week. Well, that was before Iris came over and asked him for answers Barry doesn’t really have.
“Um. He asked?” he shrugs, because that’s the naked truth of it: Iris rolls her eyes and snorts.
“Duh. I know it wasn’t you. What I meant was – why did you say ‘yes’?”
“In what universe would I say ‘no’ to the captain of the hockey team?” Barry raises and eyebrow and Iris gives him A Look.
“In a universe in which you’ve never shown any interest in any boys before?”
Barry can only shrug to that. He can’t deny that he’s been quite surprised by his apparent move up the Kinsey scale, but he can’t deny the attraction is there. He dropped his books in surprise when Len ambushed him after school by the lockers… but even if Leonard Snart could be intense as all hell sometimes, Barry never knew him to be a bully, so he couldn’t say he was afraid, not really. Len looked a little manic, but then he started talking, and blushing, and… yeah.
“He’s hot. And… I swear to god, Iris, if you ever repeat this to anyone-“
“Relax,” she interrupts and rolls her eyes again – rightfully so, because she’s never spilled any of Barry’s secrets to anyone. But Barry still feels he has to make it perfectly clear he doesn’t want this getting out… not so much because he’d be afraid of Len’s anger, but because it might actually screw up his chances with the guy. And even if Barry never would’ve guessed that he would want a chance with Len, now that he’s seen the hot senior in a tux and being all gentlemanly and adorable, he kinda does want it. A lot.
“He said he’s had a crush on me since forever. And that he didn’t want to leave high school without knowing if I would’ve said yes.”
“Oh my god, that’s so sweet,” Iris chuckles and pats his shoulder. Len’s walking towards them now, an unreadable expression on his face, like he can’t help it even if knows it would be ridiculous to be jealous of his date talking to his foster sister (though less ridiculous if Len knew about the awful crush Barry had on Iris all through grades four to eight. He makes a mental note never to mention that in his lifetime).
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. I’ve got some condoms if you find yourself in need of one… or two,” Iris winks and waves her tiny, glittery purse. Barry pales and she walks away laughing – he’s barely got five seconds before Len’s at his side, offering him a plastic cup. All things considered, a thrice-spiked punch is starting to look really inviting, so Barry accepts and takes a tentative sip.
“What was so funny?” Len asks, and Barry can see that he’s still looking over the crowd to where Iris has just hooked her arm over Eddie’s elbow, smiling at him like he lights up her world. Barry used to be so jealous of them when they started dating… though if he were to be honest, that was what made him realize his crush on Iris was dissipating and his jealousy was twisting towards ‘I want what they have’ as opposed to ‘I want her.’
“Nothing,” he shakes his head and smiles at Len. For a second, his heart fills of regret that Len didn’t ask sooner, that all they have is a couple of months before Len goes away to college… or… does whatever he’s gonna do after high school. They haven’t talked much since Len asked him to prom: the guy was busy with hockey practice and, as Barry discovered, taking care of his little sister who came down with a nasty case of stomach bug. So Barry doesn’t really know if Len’s leaving: Central’s not a small city, so maybe he won’t be going too far away, after all.
Doesn’t mean he’ll want to actually date Barry. Maybe he’ll realize Barry’s a huge nerd and that Len would be better off with someone like him, someone hot. All in all, this night may be all that Barry has: and while he’s not so sure he’ll be taking Iris up on her (horrifying) offer, he’s gonna enjoy it all he can.
“Dance with me,” he says to Len and his heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the sheer audacity of the request. But Len only smiles a little, like he’s pleased that Barry’s taking some initiative, and sips from his punch.
“I’m not a very good dancer, though.”
“Me neither,” Barry sniggers. He’s an awful dancer, but from what he’s seeing on the dance floor, they won’t be the only ones; so he sets the punch down (by the heat spreading from his stomach outwards, it was definitely spiked) and curls his fingers into Len’s. “Let’s look stupid together.”
It might be the most awful, sappy, cheesy line he’s ever heard, but the smile Len gives him is more blinding than the colorful lights flashing from the ceiling, so it must’ve struck the right chord anyway.
Of course, of course the music changes just as Barry pulls Len to the dance floor and they find a spot where they’re least likely to get elbowed in the kidneys. It gets slow and sweet and Barry wants to laugh it off, embarrassed and awkward, but as he opens his mouth, there are suddenly warm hands on his waist. All he can do is put his arms around Len’s neck while blushing furiously up to the roots of his hair.
Then he recognizes the song. Enrique Iglesias croons ‘would you dance if I asked you to dance’ and Len smirks at Barry as they sway to the slow melody. It’s cheesy and silly and so absolutely perfect Barry wants this night to never end. Len leans closer at ‘I can be your hero’ and stops, just inches away; his eyes flicker, dark blue and burning in the dimmed light. Barry briefly wonders how come he’s always been an absolute cowardly mess around people he’s liked before, but with Len, this impossible, unexpected rush of bravery is surging up at all times: and then he meets Len halfway and they’re kissing, slow and sweet and careful, like they’re both afraid to break the other, to break them. Barry shivers and Len’s hand slides up to his back, as if to hold him steady. He’s not sure where the rest of that song has gone: all he knows that by the time they separate (just enough to breathe, not even an inch further), people around them are dancing to a quicker beat of some song that’s already halfway through. Len looks at Barry the way he’s seen Eddie look at Iris, and his breath catches in his chest.
And then, there’s an explosion and people start yelling: Barry’s first instinct of a kid raised by a cop is to look for danger. Turns out it was the punchbowl – and the screams came from people who are now soaked in the spiked drink.
Barry sighs. His eyes meet Len’s, and they both mouth ‘Axel’ at each other.
“I should go find him,” Barry shrugs, giving Len an apologetic smile. He expects resistance, or at least a frown, but Len simply nods.
“I’ll go talk to Mick then. Get him to come around.”
Barry blinks: he’s noticed that Len can be scarily observant, but he didn’t think Len would care enough about the matters of Axel’s crazy obsessive heart. It just makes Barry’s heart grow all that much fonder, and he would be freaking out about how deep he’s sinking into this if he wasn’t still riding the kissing high hard.
“You think it’ll work?” he asks, and Len shrugs:
“It might. Mick’s actually fond of the brat… though I fail to see why.”
Barry brightens at that: Len’s been best friends with Mick Rory since they were in kindergarten or something, so if he says Axel’s got a chance there, then Barry will have to try extra hard to make Axel see the (rational) light.
“I’ll try to make it quick,” he promises, half for Len’s benefit and half because he really, really wants to get back to Len and maybe continue that kissing thing they got going… but Barry’s a good guy and good guys care about their friends even if 99% of their brain is busy thinking about how soft Len’s lips are.
Axel’s predictably hidden away, cackling in private where nobody can bust him, but Barry’s known the kid since third grade so he knows all his usual spots by now.
“Why did you think that was a good idea?” he asks as he joins Axel in the deserted changing rooms and sits down on the bench next to the kid. Axel shrugs.
“It was funny, come on.”
“Mm-hm. Or you’re still upset about Mick.”
Axel’s face crumples a little, which only means that his manic grin turns down at the corners and his eyes narrow, lending him a look worth of a comic book villain.
“I’m so over him.”
Barry can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Yeah, right. You’re so totally over him that you timed the explosion until he was near the punch bowl.”
“Whatever. It’s not like he would’ve given me a chance anyway.”
“Maybe he would’ve. If you actually asked.”
“I did ask!”
“Axel,” Barry says sternly and turns sideways on the bench so he can give Axel the disapproving frown full-force. “You put exploding confetti in his locker. It blew up in his face. That’s not asking.”
“There was a note!”
“Well how was he supposed to read it when he had to wear an eyepatch all week because of you?!”
There’s silence, and Barry just hopes the little moron is mulling it over. Axel can be super-smart… but also super-dumb and socially inept and Barry refuses to let him be unhappy just because he’s always sawing off the proverbial branch under his own ass with everyone.
“The… confetti might not have worked the way I wanted them to.”
“And?” Barry says, and he feels very much like a parent trying to make a four-year-old apologize for being rude. Heck, he’s too young for this.
“And the punch might’ve been in poor taste.”
“And?”
Axel frowns: “I didn’t do anything else, I swear.”
Barry raises an eyebrow, and Axel rolls his eyes.
“This week.”
“Not what I meant,” Barry shrugs. “Don’t you think you should say ‘sorry’?”
“Uh. Sorry?”
“Not to me,” Barry groans and punches Axel’s shoulder a bit. “Mick.”
“He’s gonna kill me.”
“He’s not. Len said he likes you.”
Axel snorts and it sounds a lot like ‘yeah sure’ but his eyes turn to Barry with as much insecurity as his fifteen-year-old face can muster.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. That’s why you should go out there, apologize, and ask him for real. After all… he didn’t bring anyone else tonight, did he?”
“I’m gonna die,” Axel whines, but he does get off the bench, so Barry counts that as a win.
“You won’t. Go.”
He pushes the kid out of the door and grins as he can see Axel trudge down the corridor, in his eye-wateringly awful patterned button-down and bright mustard-colored slacks. Mick’s standing to the side, his jacket gone and his shirt clinging to his body, half-transparent and kinda obscene. It’s just a matter of time before the teachers solve the whole mess and ask the wet students to go change or something… but Axel’s still got at least a couple of minutes before that can happen. Barry can almost see Axel tremble even from the distance. It’s a tense minute, watching them talk, but it ends with Mick giving a gruff nod and reaching out: Axel flinches, but Mick ends up running his hand (no doubt sticky with punch) through Axel’s hair, and they look pretty much lost in their own little world, for now.
“Blocking the exit in case of a trickster on the run?” Len breathes against Barry’s ear and Barry’s whole body gives an excited shudder as he turns, smiling at his- at the hockey captain.
“Something like that. But it seems we don’t have to worry about that, huh?”
“Nope.”
Len slips an arm around Barry’s waist and rests his chin on Barry’s shoulder. It’s so fucking perfect Barry thinks he’ll choke up in about two seconds from the overflow of everything in his heart.
“What did you say to Mick?” he wonders, trying to focus on anything else so he doesn’t blurt out something rash and stupid and off-putting, like ‘please be my boyfriend’ or ‘I’m imagining us picking out curtains in the future’.
“Just reminded him who burned Axel’s backpack a couple months ago,” Len smirks and Barry twists a little to stare at him.
“That was Mick?!”
Len chuckles – the warm puff of air heats up Barry’s cheek.
“Don’t tell him you know. He wasn’t happy when Shawna started sitting with Axel at lunch.”
“Oh my god. They’re both such idiots,” Barry groans. “They could’ve been dating all this time, can you imagine?”
There’s a moment of silence and Barry blinks at Len, who is looking half-amused and half-…something.
“Are you saying I’m an idiot too?” Len asks, and Barry realizes what he just said. He ducks his head down to hide his embarrassment and shrugs a little. It jostles Len off his shoulder, but he doesn’t let go of Barry: instead, he turns him around in his arms so that they’re facing each other again.
“Maybe,” Barry mutters, and then he doesn’t care about Mick or Axel or anyone else, because Len’s kissing him again and Barry really, really hopes they can keep doing that (a lot of that) in the future, too.