After an anxiety-fueled dream that Len waves away as time travel sickness, he opts instead to think ahead to what his and Barry's eventual future may be.

But could that dream be a more accurate indicator of what's in store for the two of them?

Notes: So, I wrote this for Valentine's Day, based off of a 'Yuri on Ice' fanart I saw on Instagram. It gives hints on what's to come in the upcoming Cover Up sequel, which I hope to have done and uploaded before summer.

"Bare … Barry?"

Len's footsteps echo within the confines of his anxiety-riddled brain as he tries to walk in a direction that feels like forward, but only because that's the way he's headed. A field of absolute darkness stretches out ahead of him and he struggles to walk straight, tunneled in this direction by a perception of safety that he has no solid evidence exists. If he was safe, he wouldn't be alone.

Barry would be with him.

"Barry? Are you … are you there?"

Fine filaments of red light flash in the corner of his eye – combustion bright and so blinding, he has to physically turn away from it to keep it from searing his retinas. But when he turns his head, the light changes course, zipping in front of his face as if it's trying to get his attention.

"Barry?"

The light bounces closer and closer, carrying with it a sharp, zapping noise like a laser …

… or Barry's tattoo gun.

"Barry?" The light stops its sporadic jumping and swirls around him. It dries out the air, causing his eyes and sinuses to burn, making the hair on his arms stand on end. The ink on his body, put there by Barry, begins to sting; the cover up concealing the scars on his spine aching so powerfully, it bows his back.

It almost brings him to his knees.

"Barry? Where … where are you, Barry?"

"Here," a voice crackling from within the cyclone replies. "I'm here."

Len doesn't answer. He assumes that this electrical phantom is a meta of some sort and it's taunting him. It can probably read his mind, knows what's important to him, and it's using that to bait him into submission.

Playing him like a cat with a mouse.

He clears his mind, refuses to give it any more ammunition than it already has.

But the next, "Len … I'm right here," sounds sincere.

It sounds sad.

It sounds like Barry. His Barry, not some copycat.

Len has had metas trick him before, but he's never met one this good. There's always something underneath the deception that manages to give them away – a tone, a sneer, a thread of malice. But Len doesn't hear that in this voice. His head knows, and his heart knows, that this is Barry Allen.

"Barry?" Len reaches out a cautious hand to try and touch the red lightning, worried that Barry might be trapped inside. An arc springs out from the mass and winds around his finger. Len's first instinct is to leap back, but that would launch him into the bulk of the electrical field that's built up around him. More tendrils of electricity reach out to touch him. They form together and take his hand. Len shivers at the touch, at the heat surging through his skin and up his arm.

At how familiar it feels.

"B-Barry?"

"Len?"

"Barry?" As the cyclone tightens, the light glows a brilliant crimson, like a lost desert sun. Len squints into it, his head pounding as he searches for signs of his missing boyfriend. "Barry? Where are you?"

The light gathers in a single knot … and a face leaps out at him. "Len! I'm right here!"

Len screams, scrambling backward straight into the swirling vortex. The electricity grabs his arm and shakes him. With each nudge, the grip on his bicep feels softer, more corporal, bones and skin palpable underneath. The eyes staring into his are no longer full of red forks, but are the concerned, human eyes of Barry Allen leading Len out of the dark.

Len blinks and the electricity dissipates, dissolves into the cool room around them, chased by floating lights - the remnants of a dream that felt so real, the skin on Len's arms still prickles with its static. But it wasn't real. It was just a nightmare - the dark tunnel simply Barry's bedroom; the electricity - the tripping bulb in the street lamp outside that stutters and pops as night transforms into day, hours before preparing to switch off.

"Len …" Barry relinquishes his hold on sleep when it becomes clear how much his boyfriend needs him "… are you all right?"

"Ye-yeah." Len breathes in deep and pauses before he answers again, taking a moment to make sure he's not lying. "Yeah, I'm all right."

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yeah." Len turns his face away, running the back of his hand over his cheeks to banish a few obnoxious tears. "I guess I did. But it's over now."

Barry scoots up a few inches, trying to sit up. "You haven't had one of those in a while."

"I know. It's all right. Just some residual time travel sickness. Nothing major."

"Do you … want to talk about it?"

Len smiles - a weak smile at best. "Nah. It's not worth it." He puts a trembling hand on Barry's shoulder and pushes him gently down the mattress, then tucks him in under the blankets. He doesn't mind discussing his nightmares with Barry when they're easy, about the things Barry already knows – his father's abuse; his fears over leaving his sister alone and vulnerable for long periods of time and what that might be doing to her mentally; the idea that he may never truly be able to leave his past behind him; that without the Waverider, he might fall back into old habits and become an even worse criminal than he was before.

That he might lose everything he's fought hard for, that he's come to hold dear … Barry included.

"Are you sure?" Barry asks, slipping obediently underneath the blankets, but only so he can get closer to his boyfriend. "Should we contact your team? Like Dr. Stein? Maybe he can …"

"I'll be seeing my team sooner than I want," Len interrupts, running his fingers over Barry's scalp and through his hair, knowing it's a surefire way to get him snoozing again. "Go back to sleep. We only have the one more day together, and I need you all good and rested for what I have planned."

"Hmmm …" Barry mutters, heavy eyelids drifting closed with little persuasion necessary. "Sounds fun. Athletic."

"You know it. I need to work off all that pizza we've been eating." Len leans over and kisses Barry on the temple, pressing his lips down his cheek to his neck until he hears the soft whisper of Barry's breath as he begins to sleep again. Len nuzzles the line of Barry's jaw with his nose and sighs. He looks Barry over, from his disheveled hair to his naked shoulders, his muscular body wrapped in the thick, red comforter on his bed. Nearly his entire body is covered by the thing except for his head, his neck, and his left hand. On that hand, balled slightly, he wears a single ring.

The pinkie ring Len gave him.

Barry wears it on his index finger. Funny that a ring that fits Len's pinkie fits Barry's forefinger, but Barry's fingers are so thin compared to Len's. Aside from that, it was almost as if the ring stretched to fit Barry's finger. Len couldn't explain it. Then again, when it comes to Barry, he's stopped trying to explain anything. That vibrating habit of Barry's? It still bugs Len, but mostly for what it might mean for Barry's future, the implications if a meta, Rip, or any other Time Master finds out. But as long as Len is a part of that future, he's going to make sure that nothing bad happens to Barry; that Barry lives a long, safe, and happy life.

Even if it's in exchange for his own.

But there's more than one way which that may go, and the one that Len's thinking, the one that could ensure everyone's happiness all the way around, requires that ring to be on a very different finger.

Calling back on his skills as a second-rate pickpocket, Len grasps the ring with his fingertips and tugs it up Barry's finger. The ring takes its sweet time sliding off, resisting like it doesn't want to go, but Len manages to slip it off without waking Barry. Len looks at the ring in the dim, sputtering light from outside. As far as rings go, it's nothing special – just a plain old silver band. But Barry wears it incessantly, like it means the world to him.

Fitting since Barry means the world, and several timelines, to Len.

Len switches the band to Barry's ring finger. Again, there's no way it should fit, but it does, sliding down easily over his knuckle and resting at the base.

'There,' Len thinks, curling around Barry's body, his left hand over Barry's, his thumb resting against the ring. 'That looks better.'

In his sleep, Barry smiles.