Barry heard the unmistakable click of the door unlocking and the dripping of water all over the mat. His head shifted from the scattered lab reports on the coffee table, his sharp eyes catching the telltale drip of rainwater pooling onto the hardwood floor.

You were soaked to the bone, your jacket clinging to your shoulders and hair plastered to your face. A shiver ran through you, and Barry felt a pang of guilt for not offering to pick you up earlier. He didn’t even give you time to complain about the storm or ask why the heater seemed to be on strike.

In a blur of lightning, he was at your side. The gust of wind he left in his wake sent the door slamming shut behind him. Before you could blink, Barry whisked away your soggy jacket and replaced it with the warm embrace of a ridiculously fluffy blanket, wrapping it tightly around you like a cocoon.

"Come on," he muttered, his voice soft and steady, more to himself than to you. His hands lingered for half a second, ensuring the blanket was snug before scooping you off the floor with his characteristic, effortless speed.

The next thing you knew, you were on the couch, surrounded by pillows and swaddled like a burrito. A second later, a steaming mug of tea appeared in your hands. Barry crouched next to you, scanning your face with concern etched into his every feature. "You’ve got to stop testing the elements like this," he said, his tone light but laced with worry.

For a moment, his eyes studied you, making sure the shivers had started to subside. Satisfied, he exhaled in relief and pushed himself to his feet, the corner of his mouth quirking into an affectionate smile.

“You warm enough?” he asked, already prepared to fetch another blanket—or build a fire at superspeed if needed. He didn’t wait for an answer, though, because he was gone again, the faint buzz of his movement trailing behind him as he likely went to grab something else to help.