Barry catches the parka and a faint scent rising from its body warm depths. Cologne, maybe? Trust Snart to gussy up for timehopping space crimes.

He tucks the coat beneath his arm and trudges onward across the sand, gaze tracking sideways to Snart in his black shirt. True to form, it goes to his wrists, and Barry shakes his head. "You're really on board with the mission here?" he asks. "What we're all meant to be doing?"