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Chapter Text

Psych, Wednesday, Fourth Period

The classroom was alive with a low hum, a soft blend of rustling papers and murmured conversations, but Oliver Queen felt as if he were quietly drowning in it all. The noise spilled around him, yet something deep inside conjured an unsettling silence, isolating him within his thoughts. 

Then Leonard Snart shattered that ambience with a harsh, cutting voice. “Hey, Allen—did your dad shank your mom because she popped out a cocksucker?”

The words hung heavy in the air, a brutal weapon aimed straight at Barry Allen, who sat erect at his desk, the world narrowing to that one cruel moment. The laughter erupted with the ferocity of a tidal wave, overwhelming and merciless. Oliver winced as his stomach churned, each chuckle a dagger poised to sink deeper into Barry's already bruised spirit.

Barry’s face flushed—an unfortunate mixture of anger and embarrassment. He had mastered the art of deflection over the years, but there were moments when even his armour could not withstand the onslaught. He sat rigid, shoulders hunched, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. Oliver had seen that expression before: a blend of fight and resignation, a silent acceptance of his role as the target.

The classrooms had evolved into a theater of cruelty, where the socially ignorant and the ruthless enjoyed a performance of derision, scribbled down in the margins of notebooks and whispered between the pages. Most of their classmates shuffled back, complicit in the ritual of turning away, pretending they didn’t see or hear the severity of Leonard’s words. But Oliver was different; he was drowning in the tide of helplessness that surged within him, battling the urge to intervene.

“Easy, Ollie. That’s the third one this week,” Tommy Merlyn murmured from two rows back, his distraction a flimsy shield against the reality unfolding before them. 

Tommy was Oliver’s best friend, and while he was usually the life of the party, his current demeanor failed to be anything but solemn. He had caught on to Oliver’s brewing frustration, the muscles in his friend’s jaw clenched tightly as if Oliver were a coiled spring ready to snap. The powerlessness made Oliver's heart race. He wanted to speak out; he burned to shout that this was not acceptable, not simply as a spectator but as someone who cared.

But what if he got targeted next? The pressure of preserving his social standing gripped him like a vice. Oliver felt the weight of invisible chains, binding him to the expectations of his peers, hiding behind bravado and popularity, unable to breach the walls he had constructed around himself.

And still, he stole glances at Barry. The way he pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand, almost a reflexive attempt to manage his disheveled appearance, was like a force drawing Oliver in. There was something heartbreaking about it—about Barry trying to retreat into himself as the laughter peaked around them. Each glance deepened Oliver's turmoil; the desire to defend Barry flickered cautiously, battling through his self-induced paralysis.

Time felt suspended, like everyone around might vanish if he just took a step forward. In that chaotic moment, Oliver wrestled with uncoiling emotions—a blend of protective fury and something unnameable that curled tightly in his chest, making him feel alive yet terrified. 

Finally, the bell rang, fracturing the tension that clung to the air like a heavy mist. Students grabbed their backpacks and scrambled to their feet, eager to escape the confines of the classroom. But Oliver found himself frozen, anchored to his seat. 

“C’mon, Ollie, let’s go!” Tommy called, his voice a tether pulling at Oliver’s resolve, drawing him back into the world that expected him to conform, the one that comforted him in its shallow normalcy.

But all Oliver could see was Barry, struggling with unspoken strife etched on his face, pushed down by an ocean of mockery and pain. Beneath that weight, Barry was fighting a battle Oliver longed to join—but how? Each heartbeat echoed the crescendo of unresolved emotions building inside him. 

“Barry,” he finally said, his voice sharp against the lingering laughter in the room. He turned toward the boy, heart racing, each second extending into eternity. “Wait up.” 

The moment hung suspended as all eyes turned toward him, anticipation merging with disbelief. He saw Barry flinch, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes, mingling with the shadows of doubt that had claimed too much ground.

“Yeah?” Barry’s voice wavered, unsure whether to cling to the fragile bond forming or recoil back under the weight of ridicule.

“Let’s get out of here.” The words were blurted out, driven by an impulsivity that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. 

The classroom quieted instantly, the mere act of standing up against the current inviting a new kind of scrutiny. Oliver's heart raced like a drum in his chest as he stood taller, pulling Barry gently by the arm in a silent invitation for them to escape together. 

Students murmured behind them, some shocked, others intrigued, but he didn’t care. The growing bond between him and Barry felt like an electric current, pulsing through the air, urging him forward into the unknown. 

The moment they crossed the threshold into the hallway, a surge of freedom washed over Oliver, momentarily eclipsing his anxieties. He led Barry away from the chaos and into the more subdued noise of chattering students nearby. But he sensed that this wasn’t just an escape; it felt monumental.

“Where to?” Barry asked, a hopeful, tentative edge to his voice as they walked. 

“Maybe… to the library?” Oliver suggested, wishing for deeper conversations—something beyond the trivialities of school. The library was a refuge, a place where they could talk softly. It stood in stark contrast to the atmosphere of the cafeteria, where conversations bubbled over like boiling pots, filled with laughter and scorn.

“Sounds good,” Barry replied, and Oliver found comfort in that quiet affirmation. 

They made their way through the maze of lockers and bustling students, Oliver glancing sideways at Barry every so often. He watched the way Barry’s hair tousled in the breeze of students moving past them, a cascade of curls that caught the light in a way that felt both innocent and inviting.

The library was almost deserted, save for a few students scattered here and there, lost in their worlds. The musty smell of aging books wrapped around them like an old friend. Oliver led Barry to a corner table tucked away from prying eyes. 

They sat, and the silence that followed felt both heavy and light. Oliver leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a few moments to gather his thoughts. Yet the tension between them was palpable, buzzing with unspoken questions and emotions that lingered in the air. 

“Why did you…?” Barry began but paused, eyes flickering away, as if the weight of their recent escape was too heavy to bear.

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had developed over the years. “I don’t know. I guess I just couldn’t sit there and watch anymore.” 

“But why me?” Barry’s brow furrowed, confusion rolling into vulnerability. “I mean, we’re not… close.”

Oliver shifted in his seat, the truth weighing on his tongue. He could feel his cheeks burn as he gathered the words he had been too afraid to voice. “I know we don’t talk much, but… I’ve seen how they treat you. It’s not fair. No one deserves that.”

Silence wrapped around them, thick and poignant. In that moment, Oliver dared to catch Barry's gaze, searching for any hint of understanding or rejection in his expression. 

“Thanks,” Barry finally murmured, and Oliver's heart swelled slightly at the simple acknowledgment. 

“What about you?” Oliver asked, breaking the tension. “Why are you still here? Why do you put up with all that?”

Barry's expression shifted—something raw and honest crossing his face. “Because it’s easier. I guess I just hope that one day things will change.” He glanced down, fingers tapping nervously against the tabletop. “Maybe I can find my place or something.” 

The resignation in Barry’s voice dissected Oliver’s heart. It was heartbreaking to know that Barry felt so alone in the sea of faces, yet the glimmer of resilience in his spirit was undeniable. Oliver wanted to reach into that heaviness, to offer him something more than just hollow promises.

“But you don’t have to weather this alone,” Oliver insisted, leaning in closer as words spilled out faster than his mind could catch up. “You’ve got to know that there are people who see you. I see you.” The admission hung between them, pulsing with uncharted potential.

For a fleeting moment, Oliver felt the barriers of his fear slip away, revealing a softer truth. Whatever hesitation he had surrounded himself with began to dissolve in Barry’s quiet presence. It felt liberating, vulnerable.

Barry's gaze met his, eyes wide. The air crackled with unspoken words. “I appreciate that,” he said softly, and a rush of warmth spread through Oliver’s chest.

The moment stretched, rich with the weight of their words. An impulse flickered within Oliver—a desire to reach across the divide between them. To lean in closer, to bridge the gap. But he hesitated, caught in the thrilling uncertainty of this connection.

Just then, the library door swung open, and a few students filed in, laughing boisterously, shattering the delicate atmosphere they had built. Oliver’s heart sank as he sensed the intrusion, the moment disrupted like an errant wave crashing against a cliff.

“Let’s go,” he blurted out, the need to protect their sacred space bleeding into urgency. “We can’t stay here.” 

Barry looked startled but nodded. They slipped out of the chairs and navigated through the labyrinth of shelves toward the exit. The sensation of urgency quickened as they walked alongside each other, the comfortable quiet still suffusing the air. 

As they stepped back into the hallway, Oliver felt a heightened awareness—the tension that built between them danced at the precipice of something more. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, the thrill of possibility flickering in the air.

But as they continued down the hall, whispers snagged on the edges of Oliver’s thoughts. He could sense the weight of the moment, but more than the potential of what lay ahead was the looming perception of their actions. He caught sight of familiar figures at the far end of the hallway, their laughter cutting through the air like a knife.

“Look who it is—Loner Allen and Ollie Queen, the dynamic duo,” Snart jeered, flanked by his usual crew. The way they blocked the path was both intentional and taunting, a reminder that even in newfound connection, shadows were always lurking.

Oliver’s stomach dropped as he felt Barry tense beside him. This was where everything could go wrong. Would he hold Barry’s hand and step forward, standing together? Or would he let the tide pull him back toward safety, back into the so-called normalcy of high school life?

“Just ignore them,” Oliver murmured, sensing the way Barry’s shoulders had stiffened, the old fears creeping back like a familiar dark cloud. 

But Barry shook his head slightly, determination shimmering in his eyes. “No, not this time.” 

“Barry—” 

“Just trust me,” he said, stepping forward. 

Oliver felt his own heart thudding as he watched Barry approach Snart and the others, an ember of bravery igniting in the dark of his uncertainty. A part of him wanted to pull Barry back, but the other part—one he had buried deep for too long—longed to admire this strength, this stubborn defiance.

“What do you want, Snart?” Barry’s voice carried, firm and unwavering, disrupting the feigned camaraderie with a single question. 

Oliver held his breath, the world slowing as he prepared for the inevitable backlash. He could already feel the tension crackling, ready to explode, but he stood rooted in place as Barry faced the storm head-on.

“Want? Just checking to see how you manage to suck so hard at life—considering you’re still on your own, Allen.” The words dripped with venom, echoing through the hallway. 

But nobody laughed this time. Oliver noticed the shifting uncertainty among Snart’s group; maybe the bravado was starting to falter. 

“Maybe you should take a look in the mirror,” Barry shot back, the flash of courage igniting within him. 

“Or maybe you should, Allen!” Snart snapped back, voice rising as the tension spiraled. “You think you’re special because Queen decided to play babysitter? What a joke.” 

At that moment, the hallway felt charged, the air hanging thick with anticipation, like a drawn bowstring ready to release. Oliver felt adrenaline pumping through his veins, urging him to act, to step in, but there was something almost beautiful about seeing Barry stand tall against his tormentors, that flicker of strength resounding between them.

“If you think you can just push everyone around and get what you want, think again,” Barry shot back, and Oliver couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride mixed with exhilaration. 

But Snart lurked back, a cruel smile breaking through as he glanced at his friends, signaling them back into position. “Hope you enjoy your little high because it’s just a ride downhill from here, Allen.”

In that charged moment, as Barry held his ground, the world around them seemed to spin. Oliver felt the pull of uncertainty between them, a silent and unresolved tension simmering under the surface. 

“Let’s go,” Oliver finally said, feeling the unease creep back as Snart’s expression shifted into anger, eyes narrowing with predatory focus. 

And then—it happened. A flicker of chaos erupted in the hallway as Oliver reached for Barry's arm to pull him away, but in the mass of bodies and laughter, their moment of connection was interrupted, lost among the busy student traffic around them.

“Just walk away, Allen!” one of Snart’s cronies shouted. 

But before Oliver could make sense of the cacophony, Snart lunged forward, shoving Barry hard enough that he stumbled backward, crashing against the wall with a thud. The moment hung suspended, the world shifting around them as he spun in horror.

“Barry!” Oliver cried, fear lacing his voice as he rushed toward him, adrenaline surging. In that heartbeat, the tension snapped, and all the unspoken emotions ignited into chaos.

What happened next was a blur, a maelstrom of fists and anger—a collision of worlds as Snart’s crew descended, laughter cutting through the air like jagged glass. 

Time slowed, each second extending into infinity. Oliver felt the adrenaline seep through his bones, filled with fear and an urgent need to defend Barry. He felt the heat of the situation cave in around them, a swirling storm threatening to pull them both under. 

In that climactic moment of chaos, everything seemed to splinter apart. The hallway transformed into an arena, a battlefield of emotions and desperation, with the stakes rising higher by the second.

But just as Oliver prepared to step in, a shout rang out, loud and slicing through the tumult. A teacher appeared at the far end, and their presence cast a shadow over Snart’s menacing laughter. “What is happening here?" 

But as they turned, the dark clouds of misunderstanding shifted just enough for Oliver to see clearly. Within that chaos, a bond was forming—a connection deep yet complicated, something fragile yet powerful waiting to emerge.

The students scattered as reality caught up with them, but the confrontation had imprinted upon both Oliver and Barry something deeper, etched beneath the surface—a shared thrill of survival, a bond tempered by tension.

And as the bell rang for the next class, Oliver found himself standing frozen, heart racing, caught between elation and fear. They had crossed a line together, one that would unveil a thousand possibilities, yet he felt an impending dread that loomed like a storm on the horizon.

Barry was still catching his breath, eyes wide, his expression a mix of excitement and fright—their previous moment of connection just a faint echo against the backdrop of their reality. And in that instant, Oliver knew they were facing something monumental. The world churned around them, and behind it, the unspoken connection between them simmered like embers waiting for fuel.

Together, they stood on the precipice of change, oblivious to the monsters lurking in the depths. With every heartbeat, the tension grew thicker, and the cliffhanger of uncertainty loomed, ready to plunge them into an unknown world where everything could change.

Oliver turned toward Barry, a silent question lingering in the air as the moment crystallized. What would come next? Would they find strength in their connection, or would the world continue to conspire against them, seeking to drive them apart?

As the classroom door slid shut behind them, sealing away the chaos, Oliver felt the weight of that question settle deep into his bones. The next chapter would begin, and with it, an uncertain path illuminated by the glimmer of hope in Barry’s eyes. The question remained: What would they discover as they forged their way forward—together?

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The soft, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan filled the dimly lit classroom, creating a gentle breeze that swept towards Barry and playfully ruffled his dark hair. He slouched comfortably in his plastic chair, his long legs draped across the desk in front of him. On his lap rested a Tupperware dish, filled with his signature cheese and tomato sandwich, which he bit into with the kind of hunger that only the throes of midday could inspire.

Despite his awkward demeanor and an undeniable knack for getting into trouble, Mr. Wells had developed a surprising affinity for Barry. Earlier in the semester, he had granted Barry access to the empty classrooms during lunch breaks, stating that he was now old enough to manage himself, all while issuing a cautionary reminder not to shatter that trust. 

This newfound freedom felt like a gift, especially for someone like Barry, who would never dare to venture into the bustling chaos of the cafeteria. Before Wells had offered him this refuge under the assumption that he was there to study, Barry had retreated to the grim confines of the bathroom stalls to eat alone. So, to him, the classroom—complete with its sun-drenched windows and scattered desks—felt more like a luxurious retreat than anything else.

His one foray into the cafeteria had ended in swift disaster. Snart, the school’s notorious bully, had cornered him, and it had culminated in a brutal encounter that left Barry with a pulsing black eye and a face smeared in a chaotic blend of ketchup and mustard. 

Joe, his adoptive father and a steadfast figure in his life, had been deeply concerned ever since Barry staggered through the door that evening, making a feeble attempt to slip past him and change out of his ruined shirt. For two hours, Joe had bombarded him with questions, his brow furrowed and voice laced with worry. But Barry, ever the tactician when it came to self-preservation, kept his lips sealed, knowing that revealing the truth would only exacerbate the situation.

Joe’s concern was a constant source of comfort in Barry’s life. He didn’t take it lightly; after all, Joe was the closest thing to a father he had, especially since his biological dad was serving time behind bars for an offense he could hardly understand. It wasn’t entirely his father’s fault—he couldn’t help the grim fate that had befallen him. Still, a bitter ache lingered in Barry’s heart when he thought of the police and the life they had stolen from him, Joe included.

But Joe remained steadfast, supporting Barry. And then there was Iris, Joe’s daughter, who stood as Barry’s best friend and rock. Sure, he had friends like Felicity, Cisco, and Caitlin—each remarkable in their unique ways—but Iris was his shield against the relentless tormentors. She always did her best to keep the bullies at bay. Yet, even with Iris by his side, there had been moments of vulnerability, with some brutal encounters taking place when she wasn’t around. It wasn't until she left for college that Barry truly realized the depth of her protection and how her absence had left him exposed to the wolves lurking in the hallways.

As he sat, Barry sensed an oppressive weight hanging over him. He felt an undeniable certainty that this year was going to stretch on forever.

“Hey, there you are! I’ve been searching for you all day!” 

A familiar voice jolted Barry from his thoughts. He flinched and turned toward the doorway, where Oliver Queen stood, leaning against the frame with a look of mock exasperation. His tousled hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest, giving him an air of both authority and casual confidence.

“Just great,” Barry mumbled under his breath, struggling to maintain a façade of nonchalance as a wave of anxiety washed over him. His palms began to sweat, and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

If Oliver were to let slip Barry’s lunchtime hideout, he could be facing a storm of humiliation.

“Yeah, yeah, I can see that. Can I come in?” Oliver offered, a smirk dancing on his lips, clearly amused by Barry’s discomfort.

“Uh,” Barry hesitated, darting a glance behind Oliver to check for any lurking friends who might be in on some elaborate prank. Surely, this was a ruse of some sort, right?

“I don’t bite, Barry. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to chat about our project,” Oliver reassured him, the earnestness in his tone slightly easing Barry's worries.

Though skepticism still gnawed at him, Barry nodded in reluctant assent. His mind raced with possibilities—perhaps he could sweet-talk Oliver into keeping his secret, maybe even offer to do some of his homework in exchange for silence. Anything to keep his sanctuary secure.

The sound of the chair scraping across the linoleum floor made Barry jump. Oliver moved it right in front of Barry’s desk, his features a blend of determination and ease. Barry clenched the edge of the desk, nervous anticipation thrumming through him as Oliver retrieved his backpack and set it on the desk with a decisive thud.

“Wow, you don’t trust me, do you?” Oliver asked, his expression softening as he regarded Barry with a hint of curiosity.

“I—” Barry stammered. What was the appropriate response here? If he lied, that could lead to trouble. But if he revealed the truth? Well, that could be disastrous too.

“I don’t know you,” Barry finally admitted, loathing the tremble that snaked through his voice.

“Okay,” Oliver replied thoughtfully. “How about we both take a moment to get to know one another?”

Barry raised an eyebrow, cautiously observing Oliver. Was he truly going to—

“Not like that! Wait, not that I have anything against that!” Oliver sputtered, his face flushing. “I just meant we should, you know, break the ice. So, here I go: Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.”

Despite the tension, Barry couldn’t help but snicker. “I already knew that.”

“Fair enough. Here’s an idea: you ask a question, and then I ask a question,” Oliver proposed, grinning as if he’d cracked a code.

“About—”

“Anything you wish!”

“Okay then. I’ll start. What do you want with me?” Barry blurted out, cutting straight to the chase—no time for games.

Oliver’s brows shot up. “I feel like you might be misunderstanding our little game here.”

Why was he so infuriating?

“You told me to ask. I asked,” Barry snapped, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

At that moment, Barry wished Oliver would just confront him—if that meant getting hurt right now, he would welcome it over enduring psychological warfare. He would take physical pain over these mind games any day, especially after how Snart had manipulated Barry into believing he had changed, only to betray him brutally.

Oliver sighed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Okay, let's take it down a notch. What are your hobbies?”

Barry blinked, caught off guard. “My hobbies?” he echoed, bewildered.

“Yes! What do you do when you’re not trapped in this place?”

“I—study?” he offered, unsure.

“No, you brilliant genius,” Oliver replied with a snort of laughter. “I mean stuff like... do you watch TV? Enjoy movies? Read? Work out? Dance? Anything that isn’t this mundane school life!”

Barry couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I’m not a dancer. I have two left feet. But I do enjoy reading.”

“Great! Favorite book?” Oliver pressed, a sparkle in his eye.

“Nope,” Barry countered, raising a hand. “You asked first. Now it’s my turn to ask something.”

He felt a twinge of anxiety, wondering if he was treading too close to a line he shouldn’t cross. His heart raced in his chest, the panic of the moment settling in.

Get it together. Just breathe. 

Oliver’s grin widened, unfazed by Barry’s hesitance. “Now you’re catching on. Okay, shoot your next question.”

“Fine. What’s your favorite thing to do outside of school?” Barry asked, his voice steady despite the underlying tension.

“Archery,” Oliver replied with practiced casualness.

“Archery?” Barry repeated, his eyebrow arched in disbelief.

“Yup.” Oliver nodded, a sense of pride finding its way into his tone.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Barry shook his head in disbelief. “What got you into that?”

Oliver shrugged, a hint of nostalgia glazing his gaze. “Well, we have an archery range at home. I just stumbled into it and grew fond of the sport. What’s with the look?”

Barry couldn’t help but laugh a little. “An archery range? That’s ridiculous. You must have rich parents.”

“Touché,” Oliver responded with a chuckle of his own. “What can I say? It’s a byproduct of having wealthy guardians.”

“What do they do, anyway?” Barry asked, daring to push further, curiosity overcoming him.

Oliver hesitated, a shadow slipping over his features. “My mom’s the CEO of Queen Industries.”

Barry’s eyes widened, recognition sparking in his mind. He’d heard that name before; Felicity had filled him in on the details. “What about your dad?”

Oliver fell silent, the mood thickening as he turned his gaze away. Barry felt a pang of regret well up. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Oliver replied softly, a hint of sadness tinging his voice. “I guess you’re aware of my father, judging by that look.”

“Not pity,” Barry asserted, influenced by an instinctive understanding. “It’s empathy. Having your family tragedies splashed across the papers must sting, though.”

“Yeah.” Oliver nodded, a look of shared understanding passing between them. “I keep forgetting you know how that feels since it’s common knowledge.”

Of course he did. Everyone had been privy to the official narrative surrounding his mother, while Barry’s own story had been brushed aside.

As the air hung heavy with unspoken words, Oliver cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Hey, I’m sorry about the way people treat you here. I wish I could do more for you, but my mom—well, let’s just say it’s complicated.”

With a shrug, Barry lowered his gaze. “You’re barely acquainted with me. I wouldn’t expect you to risk anything for a kid they’ve dubbed the school punching bag.”

“Still, it’s not right. I can’t quite explain it,” Oliver said, his voice reflecting a quiet determination. “But… well, here’s an idea: we have a gym. I work out regularly. I could coach you, help you learn a bit about defending yourself.”

Barry stared at him, utterly bewildered. 

“Look, it’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to take me up on it,” Oliver added, shifting awkwardly.

Why did this unexpected generosity feel so foreign? “Seriously, why are you being so nice to me?” Barry asked, genuinely perplexed. “No one ever really cares about me outside my close friends.”

“We’re partners, right? I can’t have my partner getting distracted by bullies while we’re working on our project,” Oliver replied, his expression hardening with resolve.

Underneath Oliver’s bravado, Barry sensed something deeper, a flicker of understanding. He tried to shake off the thought; he didn’t want to read too much into their budding camaraderie.

Despite his best efforts, a faint smile crept onto Barry’s face. “I’ll think about it.”

Oliver nodded, then clapped his hands together as if to break the tension. “Well, the lunch period is nearly over. Let’s talk about the project later. Are you doing anything after school?”

Barry mulled it over. “I usually walk home with Felicity; we live in the same neighborhood.”

A hint of disappointment flickered across Oliver's face. “Oh, Felicity. Right. Are you guys—”

“I’m gay,” Barry blurted out, utterly horrified at his impulsiveness.

Oliver’s brows shot up in surprise. “Oh,” was all he could manage in response.

“Okay?” Barry stammered. “I just told you I’m gay, and you don’t have a stronger reaction?”

“Do you think I’d hurt you because of that?” Oliver said, frustration edging his tone. “Your sexual orientation means nothing to me.” 

At that moment, Barry began to suspect that perhaps he’d misjudged Oliver. “I just… please don’t tell anyone. I didn’t mean to say it. I’ve never—”

“Why would I tell anyone? That’s none of my business. Just for once, could you stop looking like I’m about to tackle you?”

Dropping his eyes, Barry felt a flush of shame wash over him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who owes you an apology. Let’s start over, okay? My car is parked outside. If you want, I can drop off Felicity, and then we can go to your house and get to work on the project.”

Barry weighed the options. Oliver had shown him a side that didn’t seem so bad after all. But still, doubts lingered in the back of his mind. He had already revealed enough about himself; what was the worst that could happen?

“Fine. But just so you know, my house is far from glamorous. I don’t live in a mansion.”

“Neither do—unless you count my parents’ place,” Oliver admitted, thinking for a moment. “Okay, maybe I do live in a mansion—but it’s not as impressive as you’re imagining.”

A laugh escaped Barry’s lips. “Says the guy with an archery range, a gym, and probably staff to cater to his every whim.”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably at the mention of “staff,” and Barry couldn’t help but chuckle again, realizing his joke had rung true.

“I think I preferred when you thought I was going to beat you up,” Oliver grumbled, a hint of camaraderie developing.

Watching as Oliver bent to gather his belongings, Barry felt a warm sense of intrigue and possibility. “Oh, and Barry?”

“Yeah?”

“Please consider what I suggested earlier. I may not be able to confront your bullies, but with some training, you could learn how to stand up for yourself.”

That thought lingered in Barry's mind. It wasn’t such a bad suggestion after all. Moreover, the prospect of seeing a shirtless Oliver Queen putting in the hard work didn’t seem nearly as terrible as it once would have. 

Chapter Text

For Oliver, the rest of the day felt like an eternity, dragging on with an almost unbearable slowness. Each minute seemed to stretch out, filled with monotony and a sense of impending frustration. Finally, the bell rang at the end of his Physics class, breaking the haze of his boredom. He shot up from his seat, hastily shoving his textbooks and notebooks into his bag, and practically fled the room without even a backwards glance, his mind racing with thoughts. He was vaguely aware that he might need to apologise to Helena later; she had looked like she wanted to say something as he rushed past her, but he had been too preoccupied to notice.

Outside the school, the gates stood eerily empty, just as Oliver had anticipated. Arriving a bit early had its downsides, and he leaned against the fence, pulling out his phone to text Barry. He tapped out a quick message, letting his friend know that he was waiting.

As the minutes ticked by, Oliver felt an unsettling knot form in his stomach. Barry was late, and glancing around, he noticed that the crowd of students was thinning, many of them heading home for the day. Anxiety crept in. When it hit a quarter past the hour, he called Barry, but his phone rang unanswered, the sound echoing his growing frustration.

Without thinking it through, Oliver marched back into the school, determined to locate his friend. The place was enormous, filled with twisting hallways that could easily swallow a person whole. Nevertheless, he had a good idea that Barry had Drama class that afternoon, and he remembered that Sara was in that class too—a small part of him missed how they used to meet after Physics, their laughter echoing through the halls.

As he approached the Drama department, a loud bang from the restroom jolted him to a halt. The noise was alarming enough that he felt his heart race. He quietly approached the open doorway, straining to listen, his instincts on high alert.

“--can't even defend yourself, can you? God, Allen, fight back. You're pathetic.”

The blood drained from Oliver's face as a chill ran down his spine. A tightness gripped his throat as he processed the harshness of the taunts.

“Just let me go, Snart. I have to--”

Crack.

A wave of fury swept over Oliver, drowning out any rational thought. He burst into the restroom, disgust and anger boiling within him at the sight that greeted him—Barry was on the floor, blood trickling from his nose and lips, his hands raised defensively, while Snart loomed over him, arms crossed with an infuriating smirk etched on his face.

Despite being on the receiving end of such violence, Barry held a defiant expression, and in that moment, Oliver felt a surge of admiration for his strength even as he witnessed this brutal scene unfold.

Gathering himself, he cleared his throat and announced his presence. The moment felt charged, and both boys turned to look at him. Snart dismissed Oliver with an uninterested air, while Barry’s expression shifted to one of relief, which eased Oliver's anger just a fraction.

“Queen,” Snart greeted with a nod, like he was acknowledging an acquaintance rather than standing over someone he’d just assaulted.

In that instant, Oliver couldn’t believe he was forced to remain civil toward this jerk. The urge to punch Snart was overwhelming. But he struggled to rein in his emotions; he couldn’t risk that—his mother needed him to be respectful, and the last thing he would allow was for her opportunities to be ruined because he couldn’t keep his cool.

“I saw one of the Drama teachers heading this way. Thought you should know,” Oliver stated, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

If Snart noticed the icy tone, he didn’t show it; his attention remained focused on sneering at Barry. “Sorry to cut this short. It’s been… fun. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

Oliver's fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. As Snart brushed past him, he felt a wave of anger ripple through him, almost suffocating him. Barry narrowed his gaze, tension radiating off him as he processed the whole exchange.

As the restroom door swung shut behind Snart, Oliver shook off the urge to confront him further. Barry was still on the floor, bleeding and in need of immediate care. He rushed over, worry flooding his senses as Barry reached out, trying to regain his footing but grimacing in pain.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked, concern lacing his voice. Barry’s scowl was immediate, a testament to how unhelpful that question was. “Yeah, okay. Stupid question. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

With a sense of urgency, Oliver helped prop Barry against the sink before darting away to grab towels, letting cold water run to wet them. He heard a sharp, pained yelp from Barry’s direction and raced back, fearing that Barry might collapse without support.

“Shit. Do you need medical attention?” Oliver asked, his voice steady but laced with worry as he carefully examined Barry’s injuries.

Barry shook his head, barely able to stand. “I’m okay. Just a little light-headed. I just need to—can you help me sit down?”

“On the floor?” Oliver questioned, receiving an annoyed glare that gave him away. “Okay, okay. Just trying to be considerate.”

With care, he lowered Barry to the floor, allowing him to lean back against the wall, eyes shut tight and face a mask of discomfort. Ignoring all the worries about germs on the restroom tiles, Oliver sat down beside him, crossing his legs, doing his best to stay calm as he observed Barry’s condition.

“I’m going to start cleaning your face now,” Oliver said, trying to keep his voice light. “It might sting a little, but let me know if it gets too much, and I’ll stop, okay?”

Barry nodded weakly, his face contorting with pain as he shifted slightly. He winced when Oliver touched a particularly bad cut, letting out a small whimper that tore at Oliver’s heart.

All along, he had wanted to touch Barry. And now, the opportunity was given to him under such awful circumstances.

“Do you need me to stop?” Oliver asked, anxiety creeping into his voice. He hesitated, intent on being gentle but aware that he might be pushing Barry too hard.

“I-I’m okay,” Barry managed to say, though it was clear the discomfort was a struggle.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver worked slowly and meticulously, careful around the worst cuts, wiping away blood and focusing intently on the task at hand.

Once he cleaned the last drop from Barry's face, something caught his attention—their lips were mere inches apart, and he found himself glancing down at Barry’s mouth, an overwhelming urge to close the distance washing over him. But then—

“What are you looking at?” Barry’s unexpected question startled Oliver back to reality.

He blinked, caught off guard by Barry's confused expression. “I was making sure I got everywhere,” Oliver stammered, feeling heat rush to his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

Barry’s breath brushed against him, the air between them charged with an electric tension that both frightened and thrilled Oliver. He knew he should move back, yet he felt irresistibly drawn to him.

“Did you?” Barry asked, sounding breathless, his voice sending shivers down Oliver’s spine.

What was he doing? He needed to pull away, but all he could think about was how close they were now.

“I think so,” Oliver replied, his heart pounding as he noticed Barry’s eyes flicker to his movements, captivated by the motion of Oliver licking his lips. He felt himself leaning in uncontrollably, as if drawn by some magnetic force, and even though he was acutely aware of the temptation, everything shifted when—

What the hell was that buzzing sound?

The intrusion startled him, and Oliver jolted back instinctively, the moment shattered. He looked at Barry, who blinked in confusion as reality returned and the breathless tension between them evaporated.

“Fuck—I, um, my phone,” Barry said, anxiety creeping into his voice as he reached for his backpack, which lay haphazardly under the sinks.

“Right,” Oliver said, his mind racing as he handed Barry his bag, feeling a strange emptiness now that the electric connection was broken.

As Barry rummaged through his backpack, Oliver’s gaze wandered over him. Bruises and scrapes painted his cheeks, and a black eye was beginning to blossom ominously on his right side. At least he didn’t appear to need a hospital, but it wasn’t much comfort in the grand scheme of things.

He wanted to kill Snart. Rage simmered inside Oliver, and he could feel his hands trembling slightly. Barry didn’t deserve this abuse—not in the slightest. A surge of protectiveness washed over him. He would gladly take the punishment for Barry if it meant keeping him safe.

“Felicity?” Barry said, his tone shifting as he pressed his phone to his ear.

Oliver strained to hear the conversation over the rushing in his ears. He caught Barry apologising and thought he heard Felicity let out a curse in response. After a few moments, Barry hung up and shoved the phone back in his bag with a frustrated sigh.

“Everything okay?” Oliver asked, stepping closer.

“What? Oh, yeah. Felicity thinks I stood her up,” Barry replied, his voice thick with disappointment. He attempted to stand but stumbled, prompting Oliver to swiftly reach out and catch him by the arms.

“Are you sure you’re not going to tell her what happened?” Oliver pressed, concern etching lines on his forehead.

Barry shook his head firmly. “She’ll just worry and try to get me to see Lance again.”

Lance was the principal—an ex-detective with a reputation for protecting his students. However, he was also the father of Sara and Laurel. While Lance could be a solid advocate for safety, the harsh realities of school politics often meant that bullies like Snart slipped through the cracks far too easily.

“Have you had more time to think about my offer?” Oliver ventured carefully, wanting to reach out but unsure of how.

“—have,” Barry admitted, his eyes darting toward Oliver for the briefest moment.

“And?”

“I think it’s a wise investment,” Barry replied, allowing Oliver to help him lean against his side as they began to shuffle toward the car park, Oliver’s concern for Barry growing with each hesitant step.

As they navigated the almost empty lot, guilt gnawed at Oliver every time Barry winced visibly or stumbled slightly. He kept a firm grip on him, moving slowly yet deliberately alongside him.

When they finally reached Oliver's car, it came into view quickly—there weren’t many vehicles parked now that school was out. As he approached, he noticed Barry suddenly freeze, anxiety radiating from him.

“What? You still don’t trust me?” Oliver asked, frustration bubbling within him, feeling slightly hurt that Barry would still question his intentions after everything that had just happened.

“No, it’s not that—I just don’t want to go home,” Barry admitted shakily, the strain evident in his voice. “Joe worries. He’ll want to know how I ended up like this, and…” Barry groaned, pain lacing his features. “I can’t do that to him. Not again.”

Oliver paused, deliberating what to do next. An idea struck him, a reckless decision that tugged at his senses—one that he was sure he might come to regret later. “You could stay at my house for the night. If you want.”

Barry blinked, eyes widening in disbelief. “What?”

“Your injuries won’t magically heal overnight, and if you want to delay the fallout, you’re welcome to stay at my place,” Oliver offered, trying to sound casual, even though internally he felt anything but.

It was Friday—there was no school for them the next day. Maybe they could even work on that project they had talked about, moving forward with something tangible together. It wasn’t at all about Oliver wanting to keep a protective eye on Barry or help him heal physically. Not.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Barry asked, looking both weak and startlingly vulnerable at that moment.

Instead of answering, Oliver gently propped Barry against the side of his car, opened the passenger door with care, and helped him inside, wincing at the way Barry hissed in pain as he shifted.

Once in the driver’s seat, Oliver glanced over at Barry, who stared back at him, bewildered, as if trying to decipher his motivations.

“What?” Oliver snapped, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice, feeling the tension of the moment start to rise again.

“Nothing,” Barry replied, flinching almost imperceptibly.

“I didn’t—” Oliver sighed, running a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s okay,” Barry murmured, trying to downplay the tension but not easing Oliver's lingering guilt.

It wasn’t Barry’s fault Oliver felt tense; it was everyone else’s fault. It was everyone but Barry’s fault that school was such a terrible place—a cesspool of bullying that allowed horrible people to thrive. Oliver had been part of that silence for too long, and it made the pit in his stomach grow heavier.

As he started the engine, the low rumble filled the air, and they drove away in relative silence. Oliver couldn’t shake the tension that surrounded them, glancing at Barry occasionally. He was slumped in the passenger seat, looking drained and ready to collapse. As the soothing hum of the vehicle began to calm his nerves, a silent agreement settled in the car. Oliver would protect Barry, and together, they would navigate this difficult moment one beat at a time.

Chapter Text

As Oliver gracefully ascended the salmon ladder, his movements were nothing short of mesmerising—each pull and push executed with a fluidity that resembled a dancer caught in an enchanting performance. His lithe form flowed with an effortless grace, muscles in his arms tightening and flexing, glistening subtly under the warm, dim glow of the gym lights. The sight was intoxicating, pulling Barry in like a moth drawn to a flame, captivated not just by the strength on display but by the fierce determination etched into Oliver’s features, a fierce focus that sent electric pulses of excitement coursing through Barry’s veins, igniting feelings he could hardly articulate.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and raw ambition, the distant drone of a treadmill providing a soft, rhythmic backdrop to Oliver’s impressive display. Each grunt, each exertion of energy seemed amplified in the intimate atmosphere they shared, wrapping around Barry like a warm, heavy blanket. He felt an unfamiliar warmth blossoming in his chest, expanding like wildfire, something almost electric as each smooth motion of Oliver’s body stoked the embers of admiration and desire within him. He shifted awkwardly, heart racing and trapped in a whirlwind of emotion, struggling to break free from the spell Oliver had cast effortlessly. The friendship they’d shared now hung in a delicate, fragile balance, transformed into a tapestry of uncharted complexity, woven thick with unspoken words and yearning glances that threatened to unravel everything they had built together over the years.

As Oliver reached another rung, Barry felt a swell of pride mixed with admiration. This spectacle was not merely a physical display; it was a testament to everything Oliver stood for—determination, strength, and an unyielding refusal to give up. The sheer thrill of watching his best friend ascend the ladder made it nearly impossible for Barry to look away. Each ascent seemed to radiate Oliver’s playful spirit, his energy illuminating the space, reminiscent of sunlight breaking through clouds, warm, inviting, and filled with potential.

“Hey, are you watching?” Oliver called down, a playful grin brightening his features, his eyes glinting with mischief that only deepened Barry's intrigue. That moment felt surreal; everything else faded into a hazy background, a dull hum as Oliver’s voice cut through the tension, grounding Barry in the present. 

“Uh, yeah! You make it look effortless!” he replied, his tone strained with a forced enthusiasm, desperately trying to divert his gaze as warmth flooded his cheeks. Yet, as he caught Oliver's eye, an intoxicating flicker of fear and excitement danced in his chest. What if Oliver began to see him as more than just a friend? The mere thought sent exhilarating shivers down his spine—a thrill both liberating and terrifying, a prospect bursting with potential, yet steeped in uncertainty.

With a deep, rumbling laugh, Oliver reached the pinnacle of the ladder, hopping down lightly, a triumphant glint shimmering in his eye. “Your turn!” he exclaimed, enthusiasm bursting from his voice like dynamite, a challenge wrapped in an invitation that ignited a fire within Barry, both thrilling and daunting.

Caught in a whirlwind of uncertainty, Barry hesitated. Self-doubt clawed at him like a wild animal, desperate to break free from the confines of his mind. “Me? Seriously? I don’t know if I can—”

“Absolutely! Think of it as your challenge!” Oliver urged, his excitement infectious, wrapping around Barry like a warm embrace he desperately craved. There were moments in life that made you question your limits, and though he didn’t know it yet, this was one of those pivotal instances for Barry—a crossroads laden with promise and trepidation.

“Right, because after everything that just happened, I’m ready for a challenge—unless it involves binge-watching or devouring an entire pizza,” Barry joked, forcing a nervous laugh, masking the apprehension that flickered within, the effort only adding gravity to the moment, creating a tension that hummed in the air between them.

With a hearty burst of laughter, Oliver stepped closer—close enough for Barry to feel the warmth radiating off him, charged with a magnetic energy that made Barry’s skin prickle with anticipation. “Come on! You’re just stiff from sitting too long. Trust me, you’ll love this!” Oliver’s playful challenge danced around the edges of Barry’s insecurities, coaxing him out of his shell, bit by bit, each teasing jab gently nudging him toward an edge he couldn’t quite see.

Oliver reached out, his hand grasping Barry’s arm reassuringly, sending a jolt of anticipation surging through him. It quickened his pulse, igniting a rush of emotions that had lain dormant for far too long. The simple act of Oliver’s warm grip felt monumental at that moment, a bridge crossing a chasm of unsaid feelings. “What if I fall?” Barry asked, his voice wavering slightly, betraying the vulnerability nestled between them like a fragile lullaby, ready to shatter the quiet with unabashed sincerity.

“Then you get back up.” Oliver’s gaze met his, unwavering and penetrating; those words were imbued with a weight that seemed to suspend time—a promise of encouragement, a challenge to confront his fears. The intensity in Oliver's eyes flickered with an unspoken understanding, an acknowledgement of the tumult beneath the surface.

The gym around them faded into insignificance, every sound muted except for the rapid beating of Barry's heart, echoing in his ears. It felt as though they existed in a bubble, the air between them thick with something unnameable—a tension wrapped tightly around them, charged with a potential both exhilarating and terrifying. Barry felt a magnetism pulling him closer, exploring the very edges of their relationship, a line that blurred with each passing second. 

He swallowed hard, searching Oliver’s face for any sign of hesitation, as if looking for permission—a silent question lingered unasked, heavy in the atmosphere. A desperate hope blossomed that maybe Oliver felt it too—that maybe, just maybe, this shift in their connection could lead to something unexpected. 

“Maybe I will,” Barry whispered, the words slipping out before he could catch them. They hung in the air, heavy and electric, a bold declaration that clung to the tension like the gym’s humid air. Oliver’s gaze darkened, something flickering to life in his eyes that sent a thrill racing down Barry’s spine, igniting a wild sense of possibility.

“Good. Then you’ll see how exhilarating it can be,” Oliver replied, his voice low and filled with something Barry couldn’t quite place—excitement, perhaps, or the hint of a dare. With each word, he stepped closer, the intensity between them growing, swirling like a storm ready to unleash. 

“Just imagine—” Oliver continued, his voice barely a whisper now as he leaned in a fraction closer, “you at the top, feeling invincible. I’ll be right here cheering you on.” The way he said it sent shivers racing through Barry, a heady mix of admiration and desire tightening in his chest, blurring the lines of friendship into a tangled web of uncharted territory. 

Feeling bold, Barry responded with a teasing smirk, “And then I’ll have to come up with some elaborate excuse when I inevitably fail. How do you live that down?” He stepped back slightly, attempting to mask the tension brewing within him with humour, but it quickly faded as he felt Oliver’s warm laughter envelop him—a genuine sound that sent a wave of comfort mingling with the anticipation thrumming in the air.

“Hey, if you do fall, just know I’ll be there to catch you,” Oliver said, his words laden with sincerity that sent a thrill through Barry, their proximity compressing the air around them until it felt charged and electric. The space between them dwindled to nothing, the world around them fading into a distant memory, leaving just the two of them suspended in this moment. 

But then reality crashed back, dragging Barry down from the exquisite high. He chuckled weakly, trying desperately to lighten the moment even as he felt the gravity of Oliver's gaze. “That sounds a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he teased, but as their eyes locked, the laughter faded from his voice, replaced by something softer—a hint of vulnerability that bared itself beneath the surface.

“Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s exactly what we need,” Oliver said softly, the sincerity of his tone draping Barry in an intoxicating warmth. They stood there, mere inches apart, every shared breath thick with unspoken words, tension coiling tighter between them. Barry felt the world around him fade, the pulse of his heartbeat reeling in sync with the electricity in the air.

Just then, Oliver stepped even closer, their bodies barely brushing against each other, and Barry’s breath hitched in his throat. “What if I just… leap?” Barry murmured, struggling to fight back the urge to close the distance and taste those uncharted waters. 

“Then I’ll be right here,” Oliver returned, the promise in his voice sending tremors through Barry, tightening the tension into a seamless focus. It was a moment suspended in time—their gazes locking in a silent agreement—a challenge veiled beneath the weight of something far deeper.

“Together?” Barry asked, barely above a whisper, a palpable vulnerability lacing his words. 

“Always together,” Oliver replied, his tone rich with conviction, a promise that pulled Barry in as if gravity itself had shifted. The closeness was intoxicating—a heady mix of fear and excitement coursing through their veins, the line between friendship and something more blurring with each passing heartbeat, a tantalising brink they were both teetering on without fully realising the depth of their proximity.

Time slowed further as they inched closer, drawn together by a force that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. Oliver’s breath caressed Barry’s skin, warm and inviting, igniting a spark of yearning that demanded to be freed. Every instinct screamed at Barry to close the distance, to grasp this moment fully and plunge into the unknown.

Then, it happened. A flicker of uncertainty crossed Oliver’s face, but before either could pull away, they shifted forward, hearts racing, breaths mingling in the charged atmosphere. In that heartbeat, nothing else mattered; the world had dimmed around them, reduced to the magnetic pull of their gazes—the longing palpable and deafening.

But just as their lips drew near, the spell broke—the moment shattered by the stark reality of their friendship hovering precariously at the edge of a precipice. Barry hesitated, the fear of crossing that line flashing in his mind. The playful camaraderie had shifted into something profound, and he found himself paralysed, suspended in uncertainty.

“Wait, we should—” Barry started, breaking the fragile spell, his voice quivering as he took a step back, instantly regretting the distance created. The air crackled with tension, a stark contrast to the comforting embrace they had just shared. Oliver’s expression mirrored his turmoil, something profound glimmering in his eyes as the charged moment vanished, leaving them lost in the remnants of what could have been. 

“What just happened?” Oliver asked, a mix of curiosity and trepidation tinged his tone, but Barry could see that wild, spontaneous spark remained. 

“Um… I dunno,” Barry mumbled, unsure how to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. “I think we were just getting caught up in the moment.” He tried to downplay the tension but felt the weight of those unspoken desires hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.

Oliver shifted slightly, his playful demeanour momentarily cracking as he searched Barry’s face, eyes darting with uncertainty. “Maybe we should… talk about it?” he suggested hesitantly, the words illuminating the weight of the moment, the tension thickening, raw and vulnerable in the aftermath of their near kiss.

“Yeah, maybe,” Barry replied, unable to break Oliver’s gaze as he took a shaky breath, wrestling with the conflicting emotions battling within him. “But it didn’t feel like just a moment. It felt important.” His admission hung in the air, laden with potential, yet terrifying in its honesty as it deepened the connection they shared.

Silence enveloped them once more, a fragile pause that spoke volumes. Barry sensed Oliver holding back, wrestling with his feelings, and it made the tension between them swell. Neither one had an answer, but the thrill of uncertainty added another layer to the almost-kiss lingering in their air, transforming it into something both thrilling and exhilarating.

“Life’s too short, right? Why don’t we just… dive in?” Oliver said, voice soft yet filled with bravery, forcing Barry to confront the truth. Their friendship had already crossed invisible lines; perhaps it was time to explore the depth that lay beneath.

“I think…I want to,” Barry admitted, barely above a whisper, staring into the depths of Oliver's eyes—their warmth promising understanding, acceptance, and the kind of adventure he had never considered before. For the first time, Barry felt a flicker of courage igniting within him, daring him to step outside his comfort zone. 

“Then let’s take that leap,” Oliver said, his voice steady and magnetic, the invitation hanging between them like a promise—a challenge they both felt compelled to meet. 

They both took a breath, anticipation electrifying the air around them, hearts racing in a rhythm only they could decipher. And as the distance closed once more, Barry felt the weight of that imminent moment—the culmination of their friendship, the tension that had been building, the fear of falling, and the thrill of possibility—drawing them closer together until nothing existed except for the two of them, poised on the very edge of something dazzlingly new. 

In that single heartbeat, a world of unspoken desires and hidden truths waited to unfurl.

As they stood there at the edge of something profound, the charged air around them felt electric, almost palpable. Barry’s heart raced, a wild rhythm echoing in his ears as he stared deeply into Oliver's eyes. Time seemed to stretch, the world around them fading into a blur as they teetered on the brink of a moment neither one of them had dared to explore until now.

Oliver’s gaze flickered between Barry’s eyes and lips, a palpable tension thickening the air around them. Barry felt his breath hitch, nerves swirling in his stomach as desire mingled with fear and exhilaration. When Oliver stepped closer, the world around them dimmed, and all that remained was the heat radiating from their bodies and the magnetic pull drawing them together.

“Are you ready?” Oliver whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver coursing down Barry’s spine. The question hung between them, loaded with promise and anticipation.

“Y-yeah, I think so,” Barry stammered, his voice barely a whisper, nerves flooding his system as excitement surged through him. He didn't know how they had arrived at this moment, but he was certain he didn’t want it to end.

Then, in one electrifying instant, their lips brushed ever so slightly—a fleeting contact that sent fireworks racing through Barry’s mind. It was soft, almost tentative, yet it felt monumental, igniting every nerve ending as warmth spread across his cheeks. For a split second, the world disappeared, absorbed into that chaste brush of lips, a mere breath of intimacy that sent a thrill coursing through him.

And just like that, it was over. Oliver pulled back, a sly grin spreading across his face, a mix of satisfaction and mischief glimmering in his eyes as he absorbed Barry’s flustered expression. Barry's cheeks burned hotter than he thought possible, heat rushing to his face, his heart thundering in his chest from both embarrassment and exhilaration.

"Wow, Barry, you're red," Oliver teased, his smug demeanour shining through the playful facade. The way he leaned back slightly, hands on his hips, made him look impossibly confident, and Barry felt a mix of jealousy and admiration—Oliver seemed unfazed by the intimacy of the moment.

“I can’t believe I just—” Barry began to say, his voice stumbling over the words as he desperately attempted to compose himself, feelings whirling through him like a wild storm, “that was… um—”

“Hot?” Oliver finished for him, a playful smirk still lingering on his lips.

“Ugh, can you not?” Barry groaned, trying to hide his face with his hands, completely mortified. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't help but notice how Oliver's grin only widened at his reaction. It was infuriatingly adorable and aggravating all at once.

“I think you liked it,” Oliver teased, stepping closer again, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I promise, we’ll finish what we started later.” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief, a promise glimmering beneath the surface.

Barry’s breath hitched again, and he could feel his heart racing anew, a mixture of anticipation and incredulity flooding his senses. “Wait… wait, what do you mean ‘finish’?” he stuttered, a mix of confusion and excitement colouring his tone. 

Oliver chuckled, that signature grin still firmly in place. “You’ll see. Just trust me.” He stepped back again, clearly revelling in the flush that painted Barry’s cheeks. 

“Trust you with what?!” Barry exclaimed, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips, his heart dancing between excitement and sheer panic at the thought of what was to come.

“Just be ready. I know you’re more capable than you think.” Oliver winked, his confidence radiating. Barry couldn't help but feel a rush at the promise in Oliver’s voice, pointing to a daring future filled with possibilities.

As he watched Oliver step away, the laughter and mischief enveloping him, Barrealisedzed the lingering spark in the air wouldn’t disappear anytime soon. The gym wall faded into the background noise, the weight of uncertainty lifting slightly to reveal a new layer of their dynamic—one that pulsed with both thrill and fear, and an undeniable connection that held layers yet to be explored.

“Just remember, Barry,” Oliver called over his shoulder with a playful mischief still alive in his voice, “you've got this. You might even surprise yourself!” He flashed one last dazzling smile that made Barry’s heart race anew before heading back toward the salmon ladder, leaving Barry standing there, heart pounding, cheeks burning, and a sense of exhilaration bubbling up within him.

With the promise of more lingering in the air and a mix of silence and energy surrounding him, Barry took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of thrill and panic as he stared at the ladder—both a physical challenge and a metaphor for the leap of faith he was ready to explore. Whether he would meet Oliver at that summit or find himself tumbling down together into the unknown was yet to be seen, but one thing was certain: this was only the beginning of what lay ahead. 

Chapter Text

It was dark—too dark. Barry could barely see three inches in front of himself. 

He was in his childhood home. He couldn’t explain how he knew; he just did. Maybe it was the feel of the place—the aroma of freshly baked apple pie that only seemed to emanate from his mother’s kitchen on Saturday mornings—or the all-too-familiar creak of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. 

Except that didn’t make sense. Did it?

Barry bit down on his lower lip, a shiver running up his spine. He wanted to move—to walk forward into the darkness—but his muscles were cramped, and his blood ran cold. He knew that if he could see his face, it would be as pale as snow. 

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all. 

A shrill cry echoed in the distance, and Barry’s stomach churned. He now knew—he knew that if he could will himself to move, he would find himself standing in the living room, witnessing his mother surrounded by a pool of blood, his father crying over her dead body, and a lone figure in the shadows disappearing through the small, open window. 

“No, not again,” Barry whispered brokenly, tears prickling his eyes. He tried to listen for more movement, but all he could hear was the thud, thud, thud of his violently pounding heart. Then, more voices. 

“No, no, no, Nora, please! Stay with me!” His father cried out in anguish.

“Mom,” Barry whimpered, reaching out, but his hands landed on only thin air. “Mom, no! Please—”

He struggled with himself, trying desperately to carry his feet across the floorboards, but to no avail. He was frozen in place, his limbs useless. This was it—his mother was going to die, and it was all his fault. His father was going to prison, and it was all Barry’s fault. This man-the—man in yellow—would escape once more, free after breaking Barry’s family so violently. 

“Barry! Barry, help me! Please!” 

He couldn’t—he couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she understand? 

“Mom!”

***

Barry jolted awake, the screech of the mattress echoing in the dark room, his heart still hammering heavily in his chest. He was breathing in short pants, and his hand was held aloft, as though he’d been swiping at the air. 

He let out a small whimper, which seemed to bounce off the walls of the guest room.

After Oliver’s workout session at the gym, it was far too late to work on their project, so they had resolved to tackle it the following day. Then Oliver had shown him to one of the spare rooms—the one, he had said, right across from his own.

The room was much bigger than his own back home and, much like the rest of the Queen mansion, featured a large array of impressive décor—satin drapes covered large bay windows, an expensive-looking rug sat in front of an exquisite log fireplace, and he was pretty sure the sheets he was currently wrapped in were Egyptian cotton. The entire room was probably worth more than Barry’s entire home.

Drawing his legs to his chest, Barry wrapped his arms around them, resting his forehead on his knees. 

Breathe through it. That was always his mantra for moments like this. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. 

These nightmares happened often—he would find himself trapped, forced to witness the murder of his mother all over again, in one way or another. They seemed to differ slightly at times, like tonight, he hadn’t seen anything, just… knew. Which still didn’t alleviate the creeping sense of dread that made its way up his spine. 

With shaky hands, Barry grasped his phone from the cabinet beside him. 

Usually, he would get up, make his way into Joe’s kitchen, pour himself a glass of water, and maybe read a book until he managed to calm his nerves. But the unfamiliarity of the room, combined with the sheer creepiness of the large house, had him on edge, more so than he would usually feel after one of his nightmares. He couldn’t bring himself to move—not on his own.

Oliver picked up after two rings. 

“Barry?” 

“Oliver,” Barry croaked unsteadily, swiping furiously at his eyes. 

This seemed to be all the other boy needed to hear. There was a pause as Oliver considered himself for a few seconds, then he said, “Hold on. I’m coming in.” 

He waited, and though it couldn’t have been more than five minutes, to Barry, it felt like an eternity. He couldn’t will his body to stop quivering, nor could he dry his eyes or slow his racing heart. Relief flooded through him as the double doors opened to reveal a distressed-looking Oliver. 

“I’m sorry,” Barry whispered shakily, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, Barry, hey,” Oliver soothed, rushing to his side, the mattress dipping as he sat next to him, smoothing soft circles over his back. He couldn’t help but melt into Oliver’s touch, his shoulders loosening as he let out a slow, slightly stuttered breath. 

Nothing was said for a few minutes. Oliver seemed to understand that Barry needed time to work through this—to gather himself—and it made him wonder if the other boy had experienced something similar himself. Not that Oliver had witnessed the death of his father, of course, but surely even just the loss would be enough to inflict these kinds of night terrors on someone. Barry was certain he’d have them regardless of having seen his mother’s body.

Barry broke the silence first. 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. 

Oliver shook his head, still running gentle hands along Barry’s back, which made Barry’s stomach flutter a little. “Forget about it. Are you okay?” 

He considered lying—telling Oliver that he was fine, that he could go back to sleep now—but…  

“I—” Barry cleared his throat, staring intently at his own hands, which were wringing the bedsheets. “I can’t… stop seeing my mom,” he admitted. 

Oliver’s tense expression melted. Without a word, he drew Barry into his arms, and Barry was too caught up in everything to even remember to feel shocked. Instead, he just sank into Oliver’s touch, his head resting on his chest. He didn’t want to think about anything else, so he concentrated on the thrumming of Oliver’s heart and his scent—a vague blend of pepper mixed with soap. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he allowed the rhythm to carry him away. 

He felt a brief pressure on his forehead before drifting off, and it felt familiar, like how his mother would kiss him goodnight—but he was too drained to think any further on it. 

***

Barry felt much more rested when he woke up the second time, a heavy weight pressed against his back, and a smaller, lighter weight around his waist. The hell? 

He blinked, shifting, and froze as a soft groan came from behind him. 

Oliver.

The billionaire jerked, scrambling to sit up, and the warmth left Barry in an instant. One glance at Oliver and Barry could tell he was a little embarrassed, a flush creeping across his skin as he avoided looking directly at Barry. 

“You know, that’s the second time we’ve woken up spooning,” Barry told him wryly, attempting to break the tension. “Maybe next time you should buy me dinner first.” 

To his surprise, Oliver huffed a small laugh, meeting Barry’s gaze. “I already bought you pizza. What more do you need?” 

Barry hummed. “Not enough. I want candles, wine, music—the works.” 

Oliver’s expression darkened a little at that, and Barry frowned. Had he said something wrong? 

“We should get some work done today,” Oliver said gruffly, clearly scrambling for a change of topic. 

“Uh. Sure. Yeah.” 

It was true—they hadn’t been able to accomplish much over the past few days. The project wasn’t due until the end of the semester—months to go, but Barry liked to be prepared, and it seemed that Oliver did too. 

***

After borrowing yet another of Oliver’s outfits to change into (nothing fancy—a red t-shirt and a pair of black cotton pants that sat loosely on his hips), they made their way downstairs, where breakfast awaited them—stacks of pancakes, bacon, and maple syrup. 

“Servants,” Oliver explained when he noticed Barry’s perplexed expression, but Barry hadn’t seen anyone leave the kitchen or approach the dining room, and he hadn’t heard any footsteps. Yet another reason this house felt way too creepy. Soundproofing, maybe. 

And how did they even know that Oliver and Barry were awake and making their way downstairs if the house swallowed up that much noise? 

This didn’t seem to bother Oliver, though, so Barry didn’t question it and simply shovelled his breakfast into his mouth with a groan, causing Oliver’s lips to quirk into a subtle, amused smile. 

“Do you and your pancakes want some privacy?” 

“Shut up. These are delicious. Ho—?” 

At that, Oliver snorted. “Come on, do you think my mother would settle for anything less than the best cooks for her kitchen?” 

Barry swallowed, savouring the taste. The pancakes were perfectly soft and sweet, the bacon crispy and smoky, and the maple syrup wasn’t overly sugary like most supermarket brands that Barry had tried. 

So maybe there were some upsides to being a billionaire. Still, he’d take stale pancakes over the loneliness that seemed to come with it any day. 

***

A little while later, they found themselves sitting side-by-side in the library, surrounded by a sea of psychology books, post-it notes, paper, and pens, with Oliver’s laptop propped in front of them. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, honestly. It certainly wasn’t a library bigger than their school library. Of course, their school library was pretty tiny and what you’d expect from a smaller public school, but this? This was extravagant. Shelves lined the walls from left to right, top to bottom, and there were even slide-along ladders to reach the top shelves. 

A few seating areas were dotted around the room—some being desks or simple tables and chairs, and there was even a reading corner filled with bean bags that looked incredibly comfy. 

They were currently perched on a soft couch—the kind you sink into at first contact—with a smaller table, not dissimilar to a coffee table, holding all their materials. Oliver was tapping away at the keyboard, absentmindedly gnawing on the cap of the pen in his hand. 

“So, you’re going to have to explain these to me,” Oliver said. 

Barry reached over, turning the laptop towards himself. “Where do you need me to start?” 

“You said in the text that you wanted to cover—” He fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen. “Proximity, similarity, physical attractiveness, and reciprocity, right?” 

Barry nodded. “Although I think it’s fair that we lead into it with classic evolutionary theory.” 

“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that to me, Einstein,” Oliver replied sarcastically. 

“First of all, Einstein practised physics, not psychology,” Barry said, practically hearing Oliver roll his eyes. “And second, you’ve heard of Charles Darwin, right?” 

“Wasn’t there something called the Darwin Awards?” Oliver asked, absently tapping his pen on the edge of the table. “Something to do with accidental suicide?” 

Barry hummed. “Yeah, that’s somewhat related. Charles Darwin was the founder of evolutionary theory. His book, *On the Origin of Species,* covered a concept called ‘natural selection’ or more commonly known as ‘survival of the fittest.’ The Darwin Awards allude to that. It’s a sort of joke that’s been around since the mid-eighties, giving posthumous awards to people who remove themselves from the gene pool.” 

“I think I’ve heard of natural selection… we seek mates that will provide superior offspring, right?” Oliver asked hesitantly. 

Barry blinked, quirking an eyebrow in Oliver’s direction. “So you do pay attention.” 

At that, Oliver scowled. “Sorry, did you think I was stupid? I told you psychology isn’t my strong suit, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand anything at all.” 

He felt himself flush, because, yeah, he deserved that. Hadn’t he been thinking that about Oliver when they’d been texting about the project—assuming Oliver wasn’t interested in learning, and that he’d let Barry do all the work? That he was just another dumb jock intent on making Barry’s life hell? 

It felt strange now, considering that he had spent the night at Oliver’s house. Oliver seemed wonderfully kind-hearted and good-natured, if a little grumpy at times. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Barry told him truthfully, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I kind of… I didn’t have a high opinion of you when we first met, but—”

“But you have a high opinion of me now?” Oliver finished, watching him carefully. 

“You’re a good person, Oliver,” Barry said quietly, keeping his eyes firmly on the table in front of them. 

Oliver snorted, folding his arms. “Just wait. You’ll change your mind the more time we spend together.” 

He very much doubted it, but he didn’t tell Oliver that. Instead, he redirected their conversation back to Charles Darwin. 

They spent some time discussing the basics of the theory before Oliver surprised him once more. 

“Don’t you think it’s all a little too heteronormative, though?” he asked, frowning at the laptop. “I mean, evolutionary theory implies that men are only attracted to women and vice versa. It leaves no space for any other sexuality.” 

Barry nodded, a little taken aback. Don’t get him wrong; if Oliver were homophobic, he was certain he wouldn’t have asked Barry to spend the night, nor would he have shared the same bed with him after Barry’s nightmare. And—don’t think about the spooning, don’t think about the spooning. Oh god. 

“Barry?” 

Hoping that Oliver didn’t notice the intense heat creeping up his face, he replied somewhat shakily, “Y-yeah.” 

Oliver watched him closely, still waiting for a more developed response, but Barry’s mind was racing, trying to grasp who Oliver was. He hadn’t even batted an eyelash when Barry had told him he was gay; he had simply accepted it with ease. Which—he loved his friends, but even they had been somewhat apprehensive at first. 

Not maliciously, of course. It just took them a while to wrap their heads around it. The first few days after Barry had come out, they had walked on eggshells, trying to avoid talking about anything that might “trigger” him. Then one day, Felicity had made an accidental innuendo about Barry and one of their male classmates, and started stuttering through apologies. Barry had snapped, telling them they were being ridiculous and that they’d treated him differently since learning about his sexuality. That earned him sincere apologies, and things returned to normal quickly after that. 

So, yeah, Oliver’s easy acceptance was strange, as was the way he seemed to gravitate toward Barry now and again. Like now—their thighs were touching, they were practically staring each other down, and something thrummed in the air—electricity, sparks, he wasn’t sure—but it crackled with intensity between them in these moments. The fluttering in his stomach and warmth in his chest spread with every second. 

“What are you thinking?” Oliver asked. 

Barry bit his bottom lip, eyes darting up to meet Oliver’s. “I—” 

“Oliver.” 

The voice jolted them from their moment. Oliver flinched, scrambling on the couch a little, putting distance between himself and Barry as he looked up at the blonde woman standing before them. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, sharply dressed, with a firm scowl on her face. 

“Mom,” Oliver nodded in greeting, standing to meet her height. “How was your night?” 

“Good, thank you. Who’s your… friend?” Oliver’s mother asked, watching Barry with a mix of apprehension and something else that Barry couldn’t quite place. It certainly wasn’t a good look, to say the least. 

Oliver didn’t seem to notice her expression. “This is Barry—we were paired for a project in school. Barry, this is my mom.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Queen,” Barry said politely, holding out his hand. 

“Moira will do just fine, thank you,” she replied with a tight smile, taking his hand with a firm grip. Then she turned to Oliver. “Sweetheart, have you practised for the tournament today?” 

“No, not yet,” Oliver said, glancing at Barry. “We were kind of in the middle—” 

“It’s okay,” Barry interjected. “I should go. We can cover more in school.” 

“Yes, I think that would be best. I’ll wait at the range, Oliver. Come and meet me once you’re done clearing up in here.” 

Oliver nodded, and Barry bit down on his tongue. 

“She seems... nice,” Barry said tightly as Moira’s heels clacked against the wooden floors, fading into the distance. 

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed, not noticing the hesitation in Barry’s voice. “She’s... protective. But she’s doing her best, you know? I’m grateful for her.” 

Best not to speak his mind then. He didn’t want to make Oliver feel awkward. No matter what, Moira was still his mother, and Barry… well, he wasn’t even sure if he was his friend. 

Was he? 

“Well,” Barry said, biting his bottom lip. “I guess I’ll see you in school.” 

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed, but his eyes pierced Barry’s, and he didn’t make any move to walk Barry to the door. Barry could tell he had something else he wanted to say, but seemed reluctant. 

Barry waited patiently as Oliver struggled with himself. He was breathing in short pants, wearing a conflicted expression. Then, though, it settled into one of determination. He wetted his lips and then said, “Look, Barry, I—” 

A loud creak interrupted them—the door squealed, jolting them from whatever conversation they were about to have. If he didn’t know any better, Oliver seemed to look somewhat… relieved? 

“Thea,” Oliver greeted his sister. 

Thea strode across the room, gripping what looked to be a strange silver case. It resembled a pencil case but was a little thicker. “Mom said that you’re leaving, Barry. I—I wanted to see if you needed help covering up those bruises.” 

Barry Frowne, because, yeah, he’d forgotten about those. His calf seemed healed, at least, but the bruises were still visible, judging by the way Thea’s eyes roamed over his face, a soft frown draped upon her lips. “You don’t want anyone to see them, right? You seemed nervous yesterday. I didn’t want to ask, and I—well, I don’t need to know what happened, but I can cover them.” 

He considered it for a second. If he went home like this, Barry knew Joe would freak and most likely try to grill him on what happened. “Uhm. Yeah, I guess that would help.” 

“Ollie, you better hurry up and go meet Mom. You know how she gets if she’s waiting too long.” 

Oliver sent a hesitant look toward Barry. 

“It’s okay,” Barry told him. “I’m good. I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.” 

I yeah, okay,” Oliver replied, nodding before departing. 

He watched Oliver go, ignoring the pang in his chest that told him to follow, before Thea distracted him. 

“You like him.” 

He turned to Thea, wide-eyed. 

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. You both are obvious.” The younger Queen rolled her eyes. “C'mere, let’s get those bruises covered.” 

“— h——yeah, okay,” Barry stammered, stumbling toward her, ducking his head to hide the white-hot flush spreading across his cheeks. 

He felt foolish letting someone cover him in makeup, but he didn’t worry too much about gender roles. It just wasn’t something he’d ever wanted for himself. Thea stroked the brush across his face tenderly, paying special attention around his eye and the scrapes on his cheeks. Then she bit her lip, taking a step back. “That should do it.” 

When she handed him a small black compact mirror, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the result. You couldn’t even tell he was wearing makeup, and the bruises were barely visible. He doubted anyone would notice unless they were specifically looking. He breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled at Thea. “Thea, you’re a genius.” 

She grinned back. “I know.” 

“So, uh… about that thing you said—” 

“About Oliver?” 

Barry nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Am I that obvious?” 

Thea rolled her eyes. “You both are.” 

“Both?” 

“Oh, come on.” Thea snorted, crinkling her nose. “Haven’t you noticed?” 

“But… Oliver isn’t—he’s not—” Barry choked, threading his fingers through his hair. “He’s straight.” 

At that, Thea let out a loud laugh. It burst from her, and her head jerked back with the force of it. “Oh my god. Seriously? Barry, Oliver’s bi.” 

“He’s not—” 

Oh. 

It all fell into place. The looks, the brief touches, the calmness surrounding Barry’s sexuality. Mentally slapping himself, he clenched his fists tightly. Of course, Oliver was bi. 

“I—he hasn’t said anything.” 

“No, he wouldn’t. He hasn’t told anyone.” Thea shrugged. “He just doesn’t hide it as well as he thinks. Especially around you. He likes you, Barry.” 

Barry tilted his head, brow furrowed. Was it true? Did Oliver like him? A small coil of hope unfurled in his chest, which he immediately tried to crush. 

“Come on. He’s probably nearly done with practice. He’ll shoot me with an arrow if I don’t bring you down to say goodbye.” 

***

“No, not that one—you missed again,” Moira groaned beside Oliver, running her palms over her face. “Ollie, sweetie, what is wrong with you?” 

Maybe it’s the fact that you won’t stop nagging him, Barry thought as he approached the spectator area of the range with Thea by his side. 

Oliver pinched between his brows as his mother spoke. “I know. Sorry, Mom.” 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” Moira said, arms crossed, shaking her head in mild disappointment. 

Upon hearing Thea and Barry's footsteps, she turned to them, a frown still playing on her lips. 

“Barry’s here to say goodbye to Oliver,” Thea told her mother flatly. 

There were visible differences in how the Queen siblings interacted with their mother. While Oliver treated her with respectful obedience, Thea seemed more wary of the woman. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed at the older woman, whose lips tightened in response. 

“Thank you, Thea,” Moira nodded. “You may leave. Oliver is nearly finished—Barry can wait with me for the time being.” 

It wasn’t a request. Thea frowned, turning her gaze to Barry. “You going to be okay here?” 

“Yeah,” Barry lied, ducking his head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Thea.” 

Stiffly, she nodded, then, with one last glance at her mother, turned to leave. 

Barry couldn’t help but wonder what the older woman wanted with him. Thea seemed perfectly happy to wait until her brother was finished to keep Barry company, but clearly, Moira had other plans. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing with my son, Mr. Allen, but please remember that Oliver is not your friend,” Moira said coldly. 

Barry startled, raising his eyes to the Queen matriarch. Her arms were crossed, her eyebrows lowered, and her jaw was clenched—any pretence of civility thrown out the window. “I don’t— I don’t understand,” he said, genuinely confused. 

What had he done wrong? Why did it seem Moira Queen harboured such distaste for him? She’d only met him once, for a few minutes, yet the woman seemed dead set on keeping him away from Oliver. 

“I see the way my son looks at you. I was told by one of the servants that you both spent the night in the same bedroom. Is that correct?” 

Fucking seriously? 

“I—well, no, I had a nightmare and—” 

“Did you or did you not spend the night in the same room as my son? I need the truth, please, Barry.” 

Barry lowered his eyes, wringing his hands together. “Yes. Nothing happened, I—” 

Moira sighed, pinching her brows. “Look, you don’t seem like a bad person, so I’m going to level with you. I can tell you like my son—he likes you too—but please understand, Barry, if you pursue this, you will ruin his life.” 

“We’re not—” 

“Please, Barry. Think about it. Oliver has a lot going for him right now—the archery tournament, his popularity, and hopefully his political career once he leaves high school. You’re going to jeopardise all of that. I’ve known about my son’s sexuality for years, but it’s never been a problem until now.” Moira reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a small envelope and handing it to Barry, who blinked at it before tucking it into his jacket pocket, sensing he probably shouldn’t open it right now. “If you truly care about him, you’ll do as I say: finish the project and stay away from him.” 

Barry watched her, mouth agape, but Moira turned back toward her son. 

She seemed to genuinely believe in what she’d said, and a small part of Barry couldn’t help but admire her for that, despite the crushing disappointment and the boiling rage nestled in the pit of his stomach. He turned to watch Oliver, hugging his body with his arms. 

Oliver was moving seamlessly now, without the burden of Moira’s harsh words. He made it look easy, and Barry was struck anew by how beautiful he was. His stance was relaxed, his lips pursed in concentration, and he could see a small bead of sweat running down his forehead. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned back to Moira. “Tell him I said goodbye.” 

Moira inclined her head, indicating she heard him, but nothing more was said. Barry glanced away, heading toward the gate that led him into the gardens, his eyes lowered to the ground. 

His home was a twenty-minute walk from Oliver’s, but Barry knew that Joe was working the day shift and wouldn’t be available to pick him up. He’d feel guilty asking Oliver for a lift, especially after the conversation with Oliver’s mother. 

Fumbling with his keys in the lock, the door clicked open, and the sight of his living room eased some of the tension in his bones, his chest lightening a little. He was still wearing Oliver’s clothes, and noted he really should change into something of his own. But Oliver’s scent lingered on the t-shirt, and it certainly helped with the stinging in his eyes and the pain in his throat. 

Barry trudged over to the sofa, slumping down and curling up, closing his eyes. He folded his jacket around himself a little tighter, breath hitching in his throat when he heard a crinkle coming from one of the pockets. 

Then he remembered—the envelope. 

Curiously, he drew the paper that Moira had handed him at the archery range, unfolding it before him. There was no writing on the front—just a plain white envelope. A small frown on his face, Barry opened it cautiously. 

A small piece of paper fell out, fluttering to the floor before Barry had time to catch it. Apprehensively, he reached down for it, and upon viewing the contents, he paled, blood running cold. 

A check for $100,000 signed by the Queen matriarch herself, with a small note attached by a paperclip. 

---

Dear Mr. Allen, 

Think about what we spoke about. I know that you’ll make the right decision for Oliver, but I understand that it will be difficult. Please accept this as a token of my gratitude for your compliance. 

Sincerely,  

Moira Queen

Chapter Text

It was their third study session of the week, and since leaving Oliver's house the previous weekend, Barry's behaviour had been inexplicably off-kilter. His texts were curt, lacking the warmth that usually characterised their conversations, and he had manufactured a series of excuses to study in the bustling school library instead of one of their homes, where they used to share easy laughter and comfortable silence. The most alarming part was how he seemed to evade Oliver at every opportunity; whenever Oliver approached him after class, Barry would make a beeline for the door, as if he were fleeing from a blaze. 

Oliver was haunted by the nagging sensation that he had inadvertently crossed a line or said something to upset Barry. They had been on the precipice of something profound, a connection so intense it felt as though it crackled in the air between them. He replayed the memory of tentative touches that ignited sparks beneath his skin, the electric tension that enveloped them whenever they were close, and the lingering glances that seemed to speak volumes without a single word being exchanged.

He had to be imagining things. He couldn't be losing his grip on reality.

“Alright, I need to know. What the hell is going on with you?” Oliver's voice rang out, firm yet laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability that suggested he was teetering on the brink of emotional turmoil.

Barry’s head whipped up from the book he had been flipping through aimlessly. Surprise flickered across his face, but it was quickly obscured by a guarded mask. Guilt flashed in his eyes for just a moment before he buried it beneath a carefully constructed blank expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, his gaze skittering away like a frightened animal.

“Barry, please.” Oliver edged a fraction closer, narrowing the distance between them in a last-ditch effort to crack open Barry’s shell. But Barry recoiled at the motion, and the swell of disappointment that surged within Oliver felt as devastating as a cold shower. “Talk to me. What did I do to make you shut me out?”

With a sharp intake of breath, Barry slammed the book down onto the table, the loud thud echoing through the library and drawing stares from nearby students. “Nothing is wrong, okay? I’m fine. We’re fine.” His tone was more of a defensive shout than a reassurance, and Oliver felt an invisible barrier rise between them, thick and suffocating.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling deeply in an attempt to rein in the storm of emotions churning within him. He didn’t want this to spiral into a shouting match; the tension in his blood felt hot and electric. When he opened his eyes, he found Barry staring back at him, green eyes narrowed and accusatory, as if Oliver were the one culpable for his distress. “You’re angry about something,” he stated, his voice steadier than he felt.

Barry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms defensively across his chest, his posturing all too familiar and disheartening. “I’m not angry,” he insisted, though the quiver in his voice belied his words, hinting that he was trying to convince not only Oliver but himself as well.

And that was it. The pressure in Oliver surged, and he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “You know what? Fine.” His voice dropped to an angry growl, catching the attention of Mrs. Bedril, the school librarian, who shot them a disapproving glare that felt like daggers against his skin. Regaining his composure slightly, he shot her an apologetic look but felt the heat of his emotions flare again as he turned back to Barry. Lowering his voice to an urgent whisper, he continued, “Fine, Barry. Forget it. But I can’t sit here while you ignore me and pretend that you’re not angry about something. I’m leaving. Right now.”

Barry swallowed hard, lifting his gaze to meet Oliver's, and just for a fleeting moment, the hardness in his expression melted, revealing a flash of vulnerability that tugged at Oliver’s heart. “Oliver, I—”

But Oliver couldn’t stay and listen. He turned his back and marched away, resolute in his decision, ignoring the urge to glance back despite feeling Barry's gaze bore into him. His heart raced as he pushed through the exit, the blend of confusion and hurt swirling within him like a tempest. He had to escape before everything spiralled out of control.

Since when had he become so emotionally entangled with Barry Allen? They had shared years in high school together, and he had quietly admired Barry from afar, never letting those feelings disrupt his life. Yet, somehow, everything had shifted over the weekend—something that had transformed an easy friendship into a complex web of emotional tension. Now, as they returned to school, it felt as if Barry had walloped him with a sledgehammer, shattering the connection they had built. There was something Barry wasn’t disclosing, and Oliver felt drained from being the one left to traverse this murky landscape of confusion and uncertainty. Vulnerability was foreign territory for him; it made him feel alarmingly exposed. Trying to reach out had taken a toll, and a fierce resolve began to crystallise within him. He was done trying.

---

Later that day, Oliver’s mood shifted when he glanced at his phone and saw a message pop up.

Digg [Received 17:14]:  

Hey, man. I’m gonna be in town for the weekend. Are you free?

Even amidst the confusion of his earlier encounter, Oliver felt a genuine smile break across his face at the text from his best friend. It was like a lifebuoy tossed into stormy waters, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the distraction. Since the start of the school year, he hadn't seen John, who had taken a year off to serve in the military, leaving a palpable void in Oliver’s daily life. 

He needed this—an escape, a chance to divert his mind from the tangled complexity of his feelings for Barry and the emotional storm brewing between them.

After leaving the library, he arrived home and headed straight for the gym, pushing himself through intense weightlifting and brutal cardio, trying to exorcise the pent-up frustration that had accumulated throughout the week. When he returned to his bedroom a short while later, still glistening with sweat but feeling lighter, he should have dedicated some time to practising archery, especially with a tournament looming just two weeks away. Instead, his mind was still churning with thoughts about his tumultuous interaction with Barry. Any attempt to focus on shooting a bow and arrow felt futile; there was no way he could concentrate when his mind was so unsettled, and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself in front of classmates.

He flopped down on his bed, the springs creaking ominously beneath him as he sought a moment of solace amid the chaos of his thoughts. An undercurrent of restlessness gnawed at him, blending with fluctuating waves of frustration and tiredness, until he felt like a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap.

His phone buzzed again, pulling him from his spiralling thoughts.

Tommy [Received 17:21]:  

Digg’s coming back for the weekend—still got your fake ID?

A small laugh escaped Oliver’s lips, the tension knotting in his chest loosening even if just a fraction.  

Yeah, this was exactly the diversion he needed—a way to release some steam. Maybe he’d get a little tipsy and flirt with a cute girl. It had been far too long since he had spent time with anyone outside his tight circle of close friends, and honestly, anything would be better than moping over Barry and his ridiculously beautiful face for another entire night.

---

Meanwhile, Barry sat in the quiet library, feeling as if the thoughts swirling in his mind were bearing down on him like a heavy pack strapped to his back. The silence was stifling, and all he could think about were the emotional landmines he had to traverse within himself.

“What’s eating you?” Iris questioned, her voice soft yet probing, breaking him from his reverie.

Barry sighed, lowering the book that had become a prop in his hand, entirely forgotten. “Hey, Iris.”

“Hey, Barr.” She offered him a warm smile as she slid into the seat beside him, concern illuminating her expression as their eyes met. “I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’ve just been... busy,” Barry replied, deliberately avoiding her gaze, wishing he could escape the intensity of their conversation.

“Busy or distant?” Iris pressed gently, her concern palpable. “You seem off. Is it about Oliver?”

At the mere mention of Oliver, a wave of tension rippled within Barry, a knot tightening painfully in his chest. “We were meant to be studying, but things got complicated,” he confessed, his voice laden with unexpressed emotions. The thought of what had happened between them churned his stomach in discomfort, amplifying his frustration and confusion.

“Oh, Barr. You can’t just let this fester between you two. It’s not healthy,” Iris advised, her voice soothing yet insistent, urging him to confront the turmoil.

Barry stared down at his hands as he twisted his fingers together, her words like a heavy stone settling in his heart. “I don’t know what to do. Everything felt perfect, then it just... changed. How do I fix this?”

“Talk to him,” Iris suggested, nudging him gently, attempting to prompt him into action. “You’re both in this together. You just need to be honest about your feelings.” 

“But what if I’m wrong? What if I misinterpreted everything?” Barry’s anxiety spilt over, his worry evident in his voice.

“You won’t know until you try,” she emphasised. “It’s better to face the discomfort than to let misunderstandings linger. You deserve to share your feelings, Barr. You owe it to yourself, and him.”

As Barry looked up, he met her genuine, earnest gaze. With her words wrapping around him like a warm blanket, he felt a spark of determination ignite in his chest. “You think I should reach out?”

“Yes!” she affirmed enthusiastically. “Your connection is special. Don’t let silence destroy it.”

With a newfound resolve, Barry stood up from his seat, the rush of adrenaline coursing through him mingling with a healthy dose of apprehension. He inhaled deeply, realising that he could no longer postpone confronting the situation. It was time to take the reins, peel away the layers of confusion, and confront the feelings beneath the surface, whatever the outcome might be. He understood now that the risk of losing something beautiful—and the friendship that had come to mean so much—was far greater than the fear of vulnerability. He had to reach out to Oliver; he had to finally be honest and see if there was a way forward.

Chapter Text

Oliver stirred, the lingering haze of sleep still clinging to him. He could feel the heat of Barry pressed against his back, a warm and welcome against his bare flesh that hadn't been there when he'd finally managed to cast his inner turmoil from their fight from his mind and drift off. 

A furrow creased Oliver’s brow, confusion mingling with the residual heat in his body. As sleep faded, he felt Barry's soft touch, warming him against the cold morning chill. The dream waned and dissolved, replaced by the sharp clarity of the present. Barry’s warmth beside him felt deeply personal.

Blinking away sleep, Oliver pushed through the remnants of drowsiness. Barry was close—too close, snuggled against him. Barry had a restless energy. A subtle change in the air woke Oliver up completely. He wondered whether Barry was aware of how close they were or whether he was lost in his dreams.

Carefully, Oliver peeled back the covers, trying not to disturb Barry. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy, unkempt hair. He glanced down at Barry, who lay in a deep sleep, his expression relaxed and peaceful. A knot formed in Oliver’s stomach. This was new territory. He knew Barry cared for him intensely, and they’d shared a few moments, hinting at something more blossoming between them, but this felt like something stronger.

Quietly, he slipped out of bed, needing space to think. He walked to the window, staring out at the cityscape as dawn broke, the first light of dawn painting the sky in bright, golden colours that reflected across the bedroom, and on Barry’s face. 

He needed to figure out how to navigate this situation without damaging the bond they shared. He cared for Barry—perhaps more than he’d allowed himself to admit—but did that care extend to… this?  Sure, Oliver had flirted with him. Teased him, even. Promised something more. He just wasn’t expecting that something to come along with feelings attached. That never ends well for him. Most likely, Oliver will find a way to hurt Barry and irreversibly damage their relationship. Was it worth the risk?

Slowly, Barry stirred and slipped out of bed, separating himself from the silk sheets, and pressed against Oliver from behind. He wrapped his arms around Oliver and planted a tender kiss on his neck while his hands brushed over the bare muscles of his chest in tender, lazy motions. 

“Barry,” Oliver murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down Barry’s spine. “We should take it slow.” 

His insistence fell flat, only fanning the flames of their long-simmering tension. Slow wasn’t in Barry’s vocabulary, and Oliver was well aware of that.

Barry had fantasised about this moment for months, a constant loop of longing playing in his head. He'd had enough of fleeting glances and hesitant touches. He wanted Oliver completely, entirely, and without reservation. Driven by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate urgency to close the distance between them, Barry climbed onto Oliver’s lap, straddling him, hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance. The act felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He looked into Oliver’s eyes for signs of hesitation or doubt. He found only desire—hidden, yet unmistakably present.

Taking a deep breath, Barry willed his voice to remain steady. “I want you, Oliver. I want this.”

Before Oliver could process his words or form a coherent response, Barry moved closer, their lips meeting in a desperate rush, tongues sliding together in a passionate dance. The kiss was laced with a yearning Barry had tried to outrun, a frustration masked by nervous energy. It was a raw, desperate act—a silent plea for more. For Oliver to take him. To own him. To care for him, and above all, to love him. He channelled every ounce of his suppressed feelings, every flicker of hope and fear, into that single electric connection.

"Look, about our fight--"

Barry hushed him as his hands moved down Oliver’s chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. He could feel the rapid thump of Oliver’s heart against his palm, the quick, shallow breaths he tried to control. "It's forgotten. I'm sorry." Pulling back slightly, Barry's green eyes held a piercing gaze into Oliver's blues. “I’m ready,” he whispered, his voice laced thick with need. 

Oliver’s pupils dilated, reflecting the dim golden-bronze light filtering through the drapes. “Are you sure, Barry?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with concern and hesitance. 

Barry recognised the question for what it was: a test. A final chance to back out. He knew that Oliver wouldn’t take advantage of him - wouldn’t push him into anything he wasn’t ready for. But Barry was ready. He had never been more certain of anything in his life. His gaze met Oliver’s, determination mingling with a flicker of apprehensive fear. He reached out, cupping Oliver’s face in his hands, his thumbs delicately tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. “I’m sure, Ollie. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long, and I want it to be with you.” 

The conflict etched on Oliver’s expression melted, replaced by a kind of warmth Barry had seen only a few times. It’s only then that Barry realises he’d let the nickname slip out. He’d never used Oliver’s nickname before, but it felt right. It felt intimate. A good way to start them off for what was to come (pun totally intended). 

Oliver leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Barry's lips. It was a sweet, gentle brush that promised more. “Then let’s take this slow,” he murmured against his mouth, their breaths mingling together, shortened and hitched from their desire. 

Barry nodded and fumbled with the hem of Oliver’s boxers clumsily. He pushed expensive cotton down past his waist, uncovering Oliver’s throbbing arousal, huge and hard against his stomach, precum leaking from the tip. The sight took his breath away. 

Oliver's breath caught when Barry's fingers touched his skin. Waves of pleasure flowed through him. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment, trusting Barry to guide him, to tell him when to stop.

Barry’s eyes went wide as he ran his eyes over Oliver’s body. The sculpted lines, the tight muscles, and the clear signs of his desire caught his attention. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his words filled with genuine awe. It was more than physical beauty. The beauty of being vulnerable and trusting lay in Oliver letting himself be seen like this.

Oliver chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against Barry’s chest. He reached for the buttons on Barry’s nightshirt. Slowly and carefully, he unbuttoned them, keeping his eyes on Barry the whole time. “And you’re about to be even more beautiful,” he said, his voice low and husky—a promise hanging in the air. He pushed the shirt off Barry's shoulders and traced the lines of his sculpted chest, lingering on the sensitive skin around his nipples. 

Barry shivered, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He felt vulnerable, but also empowered. Shedding his clothes felt like losing a layer of fear and insecurity. 

Oliver leaned down, kissing Barry in a long, lingering embrace. Their mouths danced together, igniting passion that left them both breathless. His hands ventured to Barry's waistband, hesitating for a heartbeat. Seeking any flicker of doubt in Barry’s gaze, he found only fervent desire. Seeing the strength of Barry's longing, he slid down the boxers, unveiling excitement that pulsed with anticipation.

Barry gasped as he clutched Oliver’s shoulders. He felt vulnerable but also alive, standing on the edge of existence. The thrill of it rushed over him as Oliver’s warm breath danced over Barry’s skin. 

Oliver leaned down, tracing a slow, deliberate path down Barry’s chest. The rain fell heavily outside, the rhythm mirroring the deepening intensity between them. The bedroom, once a place that Oliver loathed, now felt like a sanctuary. It was a place free from worries, where they could delve into their passions and desires together.

Caught up in the heat of Oliver's touch, it struck Barry that he had discovered something special with Oliver. Something worth fighting for. 

He arched his back, inviting Oliver to continue his exploration of his bare flesh. A low groan escaped Oliver’s lips, vibrating against Barry’s skin, sending shivers down his spine. Barry tangled his fingers in the dark, damp hair at the nape of Oliver’s neck, drawing him closer. He wanted to be completely absorbed in the moment. Wanted to lose himself in it. 

A loud clap of thunder rattled the windows, and the noise startled them both. Barry flinched, but Oliver chuckled—a deep, rumbling sound against Barry’s chest. He looked up, eyes dark with passion and a hint of amusement. “Scared?” Oliver murmured, his voice husky. 

Barry shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just… surprised.” 

Oliver lowered his head again, his lips brushing against Barry’s shoulder. “Don’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”

He drew their lips together in a deep, passionate kiss, and Barry forgot all about the storm raging outside. He forgot about school, about the constant bullying he'd suffered at Snart's hands—about everything except the feel of Oliver’s lips on his, the warmth of his body against his, the undeniable connection between them. As the rain continued to fall and thunder echoed in the distance, they lost themselves in their world—a world built on shared glances, unspoken desires, and the undeniable power of lust.

The room glowed with city lights shining through the rain-soaked windows. It felt like the only place that truly mattered. Oliver pulled back, keeping his eyes on Barry. The fall of the rain had softened, the thunder’s rumbles now distant. He took a deep breath, the scent of the storm still clinging to him. 

“There’s something I need to tell you, Barry. It’s about my past.” He hesitated, fingers tracing patterns on Barry’s chest, gaze flickering away. “I’ve been hiding something—something that’s been weighing on me for a long time.” 

Barry’s heart skipped a beat, fingers tightening in Oliver’s hair. He knew the weight of secrets, the burden of hidden truths. He wanted to ask Oliver what he was hiding. But he knew this was a moment to be offered, not seized by him. So, he simply waited, breath steady, eyes holding Oliver’s gaze.

Oliver’s fingers stilled, his gaze drilling into Barry’s. “I’ve made my share of mistakes... I’ve entangled myself with a lot of women. It never ends well.” 

Barry’s heart thumped like a frantic drum, fingers clutching Oliver's hair tighter. He caught the storm brewing in Oliver’s eyes—a clash of past and present. “Oliver,” he began, his voice steady and sincere, “your past is behind us. What matters is you. Us. Here and now.”

He leaned closer, foreheads touching. “You’re the person I’m falling for, and I’m all in.” 

Oliver’s eyes searched Barry’s, surprise and longing swirling within. He reached up, cupping Barry’s cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Barry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m not… easy to be with.” 

Barry smiled, eyes steady on Oliver’s. “Neither am I, Oliver. But I’m ready to try with you, whatever that means. In whatever capacity you’re comfortable with.”

Oliver’s hand, calloused from years of drawing a bow, trembled with subtlety as he traced the lightning-shaped scar on Barry’s chest, his guarded blue eyes fixed on Barry’s open, trusting ones. "How did you get that scar?" Oliver inquired, curiosity sparking in his eyes. 

Barry's voice was low and hoarse, steeped in shadows from the past. “As a kid, I was struck by lightning the night my mom died. I ran into the storm, searching for her murderer. My dad was arrested and taken away, leaving me alone. Joe West found me, unconscious in the rain, sprawled in a puddle, passed out.” His voice trembled, a whisper of longing, echoing the ache of loss. “He took me into his home and raised me as his own. I don’t know what I’d do without him,” he adds quietly. 

The relentless rain softened to a rhythmic drumming against the windows, the distant rumble a pale imitation of the storms raging within him. "I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Barry," Oliver admitted, his voice showing a rare vulnerability. “I’ve used people, manipulated them—all in the name of some twisted desire for control. But with you… I feel things I never thought possible. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m afraid I’ll fail you, drag you down into my darkness.”

Barry's heart twisted at Oliver's brutal honesty, self-reproach written across his features. He reached out, warm and steady, placing a hand over Oliver's. With gentle pressure, he pressed it against Oliver's racing pulse. "Oliver, meet my gaze," Barry urged, his voice a beacon of hope. "I know you. I see the good in you, despite the scars. You won't let me down. We're a team, remember? We'll navigate this storm together."

Reassured, Oliver shifted slightly to reach for the bedside table, pulling out a small packet of lube and ripping it open, coating his fingers.

Oliver’s fingers, slick with lube, began to explore Barry’s entrance, touch gentle yet firm. Barry hissed, body tensing at the initial intrusion, the sensation both foreign and intense. Oliver’s dark, hungry eyes watched Barry’s reactions, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re so tight, Barry,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “I can feel you clenching around me. It’s… intoxicating.” 

Barry’s breath hitched, fingers digging into the sheets as Oliver’s fingers moved deeper, stretching him, preparing him.

“Oliver,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper. “You’re going to ruin me for any other man.” 

Oliver chuckled, a dark, seductive sound. “That’s the plan. I’ll make sure you’re limping for a week, so you’ll remember who you belong to,” he says darkly. 

Barry’s eyes widened, his body shivering at the possessive statement. “And what if I don’t want to be owned?” he challenged, voice shaking slightly, though still laced with desire.

Oliver leaned in, lips capturing Barry’s in a searing kiss. “You will,” he whispered against Barry’s mouth, fingers continuing their slow, torturous exploration. Barry’s body was on fire, a throbbing ache building within him. Oliver leaned in, tongue teasing the head of Barry’s cock, causing him to buck his hips. 

“Oliver,” Barry moaned, fingers threading into Oliver’s hair. “Please… I need you.”

Oliver chuckled, fingers pausing momentarily before resuming their slow, tantalising rhythm. “Patience, Barr,” he whispered, tongue circling the sensitive flesh. “I want to taste you. I want to feel you come undone beneath me.” 

Barry trembled, breath coming in short, sharp, hitched gasps. “Oliver,” he moaned, voice laced with desperation. “I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.”

Oliver’s eyes darkened, fingers finally stilling. “You’ll have me, Barry,” he promised, voice a low growl. “But not yet. Not until you’re begging for it. Not until you’re mine.” Oliver lined himself up, thick and hard with desire, pressing against Barry’s entrance. “Ready?” he asked, voice gruff with anticipation. 

Barry nodded, eyes squeezed shut, body tight with anticipation. “Yes,” he whispered, voice trembling.

With one smooth stroke, Oliver pushed in to the hilt, filling Barry up completely. Barry’s eyes flew open, a sharp cry escaping his lips. It burned—a white-hot pain that made his vision blur—but it was quickly followed by a pleasure so intense it stole his breath away. 

“Look at me,” Oliver demanded, voice turning rough and possessive. “Look at me, Barry.” 

Barry’s eyes snapped open, meeting Oliver’s intense gaze. The storm outside had picked up again, thunder echoing the pounding of his heart, lightning a silent backdrop to the passion unfolding in the loft.

Oliver began to move, strokes slow and deliberate, eyes locked onto Barry’s. “You’re mine,” he murmured, voice filled with a primal need that sent a shiver down Barry’s spine. “You’re mine and no one else’s.” 

Barry felt his body surrender, pain morphing into an overwhelming need. “More,” he gasped, nails digging into Oliver’s back. “Harder.”

Oliver’s eyes flared with desire and lust, his movements growing more and more urgent. He leaned in, teeth grazing Barry’s neck. “You like that?” he asked, voice a low growl. “You like it when I claim you?” 

Barry nodded, voice a choked whimper. “Yes,” he managed, barely audible over the storm. “Claim me, Oliver.” Oliver’s thrusts grew faster, hips slamming into Barry’s, the sound of skin meeting skin a symphony in their ears. “I own you,” he whispered, voice a dark promise. “Every inch, every breath, every beat of your heart.”

Barry moaned, his body responding to Oliver’s possessive words. He could feel himself getting closer, his orgasm building like the storm outside. “Oliver,” he panted, “I’m close.” 

Oliver’s hand reached between them, his thumb circling Barry’s cock. “Cum for me,” he commanded. Barry’s body obeyed, orgasm crashing over him like a wave, cries muffled by Oliver’s kiss. Oliver followed, his release shaking him as he emptied himself into Barry, their hearts pounding in unison.

As the storm raged outside, they clung to each other, mingled breaths gradually returning to normal as the haze slowly faded, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction. 

Oliver pulled out, eyes filled with tenderness as he gazed down at Barry. “You’re mine,” he murmured gently. “And I’ll never let you go.” 

Barry searched Oliver’s eyes, a question lingering there. “And what about you?” he asked, voice shaking slightly. “Are you mine?” 

Oliver smiled in response. “Always,” he promised, voice firm. “I’ve been yours since the day I met you, even if I didn’t know it.”

They lay there, bodies tangled, the fading rain a soothing lullaby. The storm outside had passed, but the storm of passion and emotion between them was just beginning. They had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. No longer just friends or project partners, they were lovers, bound by a love as fierce as the storm that had brought them together. As they drifted off to sleep, their hearts beating in sync, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

***

The next day at school, the usual cacophony of teenage voices filled the hallways, but Barry walked with a new confidence, a secret smile playing on his lips. He was above it all. He felt invincible. He could feel Oliver’s presence beside him, a constant reminder of the passion they had shared the previous night. He knew that their relationship had changed, morphed into something deeper. It was a secret they had to keep hidden from the prying eyes of their classmates, especially from those who wouldn’t understand.

But as they navigated the crowded halls, Barry’s gaze found Oliver’s, and in that brief moment, their shared secret was all that mattered. They were the storm that had conquered the night, now standing in the light of day, forever linked by the intensity of their passion. 

As they parted ways, heading to their respective classes, Barry felt a pang of sadness in his sinking heart. He couldn’t help but want to spend every waking moment with Oliver. The fear of rejection, of losing everything they had built together, loomed large within him. But when the final bell rang, signalling the end of the school day, the promise of the night to come washed away the shadows of doubt. They had each other, and that was enough. 

As they walked home together, the silence between them was filled with unspoken promises and whispers of future nights. They had stepped into uncharted waters, and there was no turning back. 

Chapter Text

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It started with an exchange of numbers, a quiet promise tucked between awkward goodbyes and bruised glances. 

One night, Barry found himself staring at the empty text box, thumb hovering as he debated if reaching out to Leonard was the right thing to do. Maybe it was gratitude, maybe it was a need for distraction—or maybe it was the bruised loneliness that always seemed to settle heavier after another night of Oliver’s silence. Whichever it was, he typed, erased, and typed again before letting the words go.

Barry [Sent 19:03]:
Thanks for the other day. You didn’t have to.

He didn’t expect a reply. So when his phone vibrated five minutes later, he nearly fumbled it onto the floor.

Leonard [Received 19:08]:
Didn’t do it for you, Allen. I did it because I was bored. Don’t get used to it.

Barry snorted, rolling his eyes at the familiar brand of deflection. Beneath the sarcasm, though, something warm curled in his chest—strange, unwelcome, but impossible to ignore. It was easier to see the care behind the sneer when you were aching for any lifeline, no matter how sharp the edges.

In the days that followed, their texts became a pattern. Nothing heavy at first—Leonard sent snarky warnings about cafeteria food, biting observations on the weather, or cryptic tips about which hallway to avoid if Barry wanted to keep his head down. It was a rhythm Barry found himself craving. Sometimes, he’d catch himself glancing at his phone in the middle of class, anticipating the next message even if it unsettled him.

Leonard [Received 07:14]:
Queen almost tripped over his own feet trying to find you. That boy really knows how to sulk.

Barry [Sent 07:16]:
He’s got skills. I’m hiding from everyone, including you.

Leonard [Received 07:16]:
You’re terrible at it. I could spot you a mile off.

Barry hesitated, thumb pausing over the keys. Each new message from Leonard seemed to carry a ghost of the past—memories of Oliver, of what they’d had and lost, shadows of a comfort that now felt impossibly distant. The guilt lingered, sharp and persistent, reminding him of promises that had faded and connections that had quietly unravelled. Yet beneath the regret, there was something else—a restless flicker of anticipation, a hunger for something new.

He wasn’t sure where these messages with Leonard were leading him. It felt risky, walking a line between old wounds and the temptation of something thrilling, something he’d never let himself want before. And against all logic, Barry found himself craving the uncertainty, the slow, electric danger of being seen by someone who didn’t play by the rules. For the first time in a long while, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he liked the feeling of being close to the edge.

Barry [Sent 07:18]:
Guess stealth’s not my strong suit.

Leonard [Received 07:19]:
You have other talents.

He flushed, not sure how to answer that one, so he let it hang—just another secret between them.

Sometimes, Leonard’s texts were sharper, sometimes unexpectedly gentle.

Leonard [Received 19:10]:
Eat.

Barry [Sent 19:11]:
You sound like my dad.

Leonard [Received 19:12]:
Sounds like a wise man. Here’s hoping he has a better fashion sense than you do.

Barry bit his lip, snorting despite himself.

Barry [Sent 19:13]:
You would know, huh?

Leonard [Received 19:21]:
Paying close attention to my wardrobe? Consider me flattered.

The banter was a strange comfort. Barry told himself it was just friendship, just support—nothing more, not yet. But each message blurred the line, and every time he went to edit his words, he remembered how Oliver used to do the same—careful, guarded, waiting for Barry to make the first move. It stung, but less than it used to.

One night, Barry tried to check on Leonard for a change. He almost didn’t send the text, worried it might be too much, too soon, but he hit send anyway.

Barry [Sent 21:17]:
You okay?

There was a long pause. Too long. Barry almost regretted it, but then:

Leonard [Received 21:22]:
Define “okay.” Still breathing. Still here. You?

Barry [Sent 21:23]:
Same.
If you ever want to talk, I’m not going to run off.

Leonard [Received 21:24]:
Good.
Would be a shame to lose the only person in this town who knows how to text in complete sentences.

Barry smiled, the tension in his chest easing. Maybe it was possible to move forward, after all.

It wasn’t all jokes. There were days when Leonard checked in with a bluntness that cut through Barry’s walls.

Leonard [Received 22:43]:
You holding up?

Barry [Sent 22:45]:
Yeah. Just tired. Long day.

Leonard [Received 22:47]:
Get some rest. World’s still gonna be a mess tomorrow.

Barry found comfort in the gruff concern, the way Leonard checked in without ever saying too much. He wondered, sometimes, how different things might have been if Oliver had texted like this after their fight—if he’d ever reached out first instead of waiting for Barry to make the first move.

A few days later:

Leonard [Received 12:02]:
Saw your science fair project. You’re going to set the lab on fire one day, you know that, right?

Barry [Sent 12:05]:
That’s your department. I’ll stick to electricity.

Leonard [Received 12:06]:
That's more Mick's thing. I prefer the cold.
Give it a week, Allen. You’ll short-circuit the whole block.

Barry’s reply was braver than he felt.

Barry [Sent 12:08]:
You ever gonna let me live down the time I shocked myself in lab?

Leonard [Received 12:09]:
Not a chance.
But I can think of worse ways to get you all hot and bothered.
Or better. I'll let you be the judge.

This time, Barry’s heart jumped. Well, that was… new. Suddenly, Leonard’s old habits of making jabs at Barry’s sexuality started to make sense. He stared at the screen, cheeks burning, caught between the memory of Oliver and the new thrill of Leonard’s attention. He hesitated, fingers hovering, but the ache of being unwanted, of Oliver’s absence, nudged him forward.

Barry [Sent 12:10]:
You wish, Snart.

Leonard [Received 12:11]:
Careful, Allen. I don’t make wishes. But I do collect debts.

The words lingered, electric and unmistakable. Barry felt the old guilt loosening, replaced by something sharper, bolder, and new.

When Barry bombed a chemistry quiz, Leonard texted:

Leonard [Received 15:43]:
You need a tutor?
I’m told I’m good with hands-on demonstrations.

Barry let himself play along.

Barry [Sent 15:44]:
You offering to hold my hand, Snart?

Leonard [Received 15:45]:
Not exactly what I had in mind.
But if you ask nicely, I might surprise you.

For a while, Barry worried about what Oliver might think. He caught himself editing his texts, making sure nothing sounded like more than banter. But the longer Oliver kept his distance, the easier it became to let go of that fear. If Oliver didn’t want him, why keep pretending he hadn’t moved on? Maybe, Barry thought, he deserved to have a little fun. Maybe he deserved to be wanted, too.

One rainy evening, Barry sent:

Barry [Sent 20:12]:
You ever just wanna disappear for a while? Go somewhere nobody knows your name?

Leonard [Received 20:13]:
All the time.
But I’d get bored without someone to annoy.

Barry [Sent 20:14]:
You’d miss me?

There was a long pause. Barry watched the “read” receipt, nerves buzzing, until finally—

Leonard [Received 20:22]:
Miss mocking you.
And your ridiculous hair.

Barry let out a shaky breath, tension easing, and let himself risk a little more.

Barry [Sent 20:22]:
Sure, Snart. I’ll let you give me a makeover.

Leonard [Received 20:24]:
Careful, Allen. I might take you up on that offer.
You look good in red. Maybe I'll start calling you Scarlet.
Suits that blush you get on your face whenever you think I'm not watching.

Barry shook his head, grinning in spite of himself. The conversation drifted, the flirtation growing easier—like a new language he was finally learning to speak.

By the weekend, Barry found himself waiting for Leonard’s messages, anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. That night, just before bed, he sent:

Barry [Sent 23:17]:
Night, Snart. Thanks for not making me feel invisible.

Leonard [Received 23:19]:
Get some sleep, Scarlet.

On Sunday, Barry was restless. He stared at the ceiling, phone in hand, before finally typing:

Barry [Sent 23:12]:
You ever wish you lived somewhere else? Like, somewhere more exciting?

Leonard [Received 23:13]:
Every day. But I stick around for the entertainment.

Barry [Sent 23:14]:
Yeah, well, life’s not that entertaining right now.

Leonard [Received 23:15]:
Depends on who you let entertain you.

Barry [Sent 23:16]:
Got any suggestions?

Leonard [Received 23:17]:
Meet me at the park tomorrow night. I’ll show you how to have a little fun.

Barry’s pulse raced. He almost made an excuse—old guilt, old fear—but then he remembered how lonely he’d been, how easy it was to talk to Leonard, and how much he wanted to move forward.

Barry [Sent 23:19]:
Alright. I’ll be there.

The next day, the banter took on a new energy—bolder, lighter, a current running beneath every word.

Leonard [Received 14:02]:
Allen, if you show up late, I’m not waiting. I get bored easily.

Barry [Sent 14:03]:
Wouldn’t want to waste your time.

Leonard [Received 14:04]:
You never do.

Barry’s cheeks burned, but this time, he let himself lean in, just a little.

Barry [Sent 14:07]:
You always this smooth, or am I special?

Leonard [Received 14:08]:
Wouldn’t you like to know?
You're special, Scarlet—just don’t let it go to your head.

By now, Barry was smiling. He let himself want this, just a little.

That evening, as dusk settled over the city, Barry threw on a jacket and hurried to the park, nerves buzzing with anticipation. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Oliver, but for once, it felt like he was running towards something instead of just running away.

Leonard was already there, leaning against a bench, hands in his pockets, the faintest smirk on his lips. Barry hesitated, then walked over, heart pounding.

“You made it. I was starting to think you’d chicken out,” Len teased, voice low with that familiar edge.

Barry rolled his eyes, but his smile was real. “You wish, Snart.”

Len’s gaze lingered, warmer than Barry expected. “Careful. If you keep showing up like this, I might start thinking you’re actually interested, Scarlet.”

For the first time in weeks, Barry let himself lean into the moment—the thrill, the danger, the promise of something new. Maybe Oliver wasn’t coming back. Maybe it was time to stop waiting.

They set off down the path together, side by side in the gathering dark, and Barry found himself hoping—really hoping—that this fresh start was exactly what he needed.