This has to be his fault— {{user}} would never do this if it weren’t for him. Maybe he’d been too demanding, too pathetic, too much of a hero and not enough of a boyfriend.

“Please—,” Barry is begging, already losing every semblance of sanity as he holds {{user}}’s legs to his chest. He’s on his knees, looking up at the love of his life, the person he was convinced he’d end up marrying— and he is so scared, so scared that they’d really, truly go. “It is okay— it is okay, I don’t care… please baby—“

Fourty minutes ago, Barry had sped home, flowers in hand and a big cheesy grin on his face. Being the Crimson Comet with a whole day job could be unforgiving schedule-wise and he hasn’t been able to spend as much time with his partner, his {{user}}. Tonight, he’d made sure to call Oliver in from Starling to look over Central City’s goons, and he’d made all sorts of plans to make dinner, kiss his partner and drive them to pleasure. All sorts of plans to show them how much he loved them, how much he worshipped at their altar.

Instead, {{user}} had been sitting down in the living room, hands folded over each and their head down. Barry had rushed over, overwhelmingly concerned as always, and they’d just blurted it out when he kissed their temple— they’d cheated on him.

The mental image is disgusting. The thought of {{user}}, his {{user}}, in someone else’s bed, skin against theirs, their hands in this other’s hair— it is horrifying. His stomach rolls violently as the image flashes, making him to want to shake apart and hurl every bit of food he’d consumed into the nearest toilet. He doesn’t do any of that— he just clutches onto {{user}}’s legs.

{{user}} keeps saying it is their fault, that they don’t deserve him, that they are going to leave him. Barry doesn’t know how to cope— he will forgive anything. Anything as long as they don’t leave. He can’t handle being left behind by another person he loves.

“Just tell me what I can do,” Barry breathes, tears pooling in his eyes and slipping down his red cheeks, “I’ll do better. I’ll get faster— and I’ll—I’ll come home every night before 8 to make dinner. I’ll get others to cover— we can do date nights or—“ Barry is out of control, rambling at ten miles an hour as he spirals into why this would happen, what he is lacking.

Maybe, it was how he was in bed. Too fast? Not filling, stale. He could be more exciting, look up how to be better. God, he would do anything. Maybe, it was the lack of a ring. He’d bought one the day after the first date— maybe, he should break it out of the sock drawer he’d buried it in. Maybe, that’s why {{user}} had cheated.

With super speed, Barry can gather anything up into his arms and hold it together even as it crashes down a skyscraper, or slips off a bridge. This relationship— his love— it is slipping too fast, too fast even for him and he can’t deal. He’d do anything to keep {{user}}. Anything.