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barry allen has to live. sometimes he thinks how much better personal things in his life would be if he just .. didn't exist. he knows he can't die, he protects the ones he loves and the city he has grown up in. he lives for his family, for his lover, for his city, but not for himself. the only thing he does for himself is hidden behind closed doors, he hopes it forever stays that way, but one day he's not so lucky.
leonard snart is not dumb. he knows barry is hurting, he always offers his love and support but he never says a word when he gets a peek at the scarlet marks that line his lover's wrists. barry wonders why no one says anything. he feels like he was always meant to suffer alone, no one cares till the marks get deep and the flash stops flashing around the city, no one cares even when barry breaks down in front of everyone out of the blue, no one cares. the speedster is always alone, even when he's surround by the ones he loves so dearly.
deeply, he knows people care. that's why he's still here. that's why the marks never hit deep, that's why he's still flashing around the city, but moments like these when he's sitting on the edge of his bed, his paintbrush in hand,he doesn't think. instead he paints a picture on arm. sometimes he gets enthralled in his artwork. he wishes he heard the door open and the cold gun clatter to the floor. he wishes he could go back in time and unsee his lover's cocky, neutral expression twisted into one of pain.
"len-" barry starts, the tears already streaking down his face, he's shut down. as the paintbrush is slowly taken from him barry can only stand frozen as he's softly cradled. he must look pathetic right now, he can't believe he hurt his one and only, he's such a- "sh." len speaks. "slow down, barry. stop thinking for once." the speedster breathes, loudly, and then he cries. he lets his lover hold him as he lets the thoughts out through his eyes.