Chapter Text
Cisco Ramon had always been the heart of the team. The joker, the genius, the one who lightened the tension even when the world was ending for the hundredth time.
He cracked jokes, made movie references, and grinned like he had never known pain. And no one ever questioned it. No one ever looked past the easy smiles, the snarky comebacks, the way his laughter sometimes sounded just a little too forced.
Because Cisco was the happy one. The one who kept everyone else together.
No one noticed the nights he spent alone in his lab, staring at his reflection in the darkened computer screens, wondering when he had started hating the person looking back at him. No one noticed the way his hands shook sometimes, the way exhaustion clung to his bones, how his eyes never quite held the same spark they used to.
No one noticed the sleeves.
Long sleeves in the middle of summer, jackets worn too often, hands stuffed into pockets when the fabric rode up too high.
Because no one ever looked too closely.
Cisco sat at his workstation, fingers hovering over the keyboard, his mind drowning in static. He should have been working—should have been analyzing some new meta threat, or tweaking some upgrade to Barry’s suit—but instead, all he could do was stare at the faint, red lines peeking from under his sleeve.
His secret. His shame. His punishment.
He hated himself.
For not being strong enough. For never being enough. For smiling when he wanted to scream. For laughing when all he wanted to do was break apart.
His breath hitched as his fingers curled into fists, pressing against his thighs to stop the trembling. He swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing it down with all the other things he never let escape.
He could hear the others in the next room—Barry and Caitlin talking, Joe’s deep voice rumbling through the hallway. They were *right there*. But he couldn't reach for them. He *wouldn’t*. Because what would he even say?
“Hey guys, surprise! Turns out Cisco Ramon isn’t actually as happy as you all think.”
He laughed under his breath—humorless, hollow.
They wouldn’t understand.
They never saw him, not really. They saw the jokes, the sarcasm, the vibrant t-shirts and the pop culture references. They saw what he wanted them to see. And he *needed* them to see that version of him.
Because if they saw the real him—
The broken, exhausted, self-loathing him—
They might not want him anymore.
A sharp sting snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he exhaled shakily, fingers brushing over the fresh cut hidden beneath his sleeve. It wasn’t deep. It never was. Just enough to remind himself he was still here. Still *something*.
Still suffering in silence.
A knock at the door startled him, and he scrambled to pull his sleeve down, shoving his hands beneath the desk.
Barry peeked in, smiling. “Hey, man. You coming? We were gonna grab some food.”
Cisco hesitated. The instinct was there—to say yes, to be the person they expected, to plaster on a grin and pretend everything was fine.
But he was so tired.
He forced a smile anyway. “Yeah, just finishing up. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
Barry grinned. “Cool. Don’t take too long.”
As soon as the door closed, the mask cracked. The smile vanished, replaced by the blank stare he only let himself have when no one was watching.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.
But as long as they believed the lie—
As long as they never saw what was underneath—
He could keep pretending.
Because Cisco Ramon was the funny one.
And no one ever worried about the funny one.