Coldwestallen, Relationship Negotiations
The idle background chatter of friends and colleagues talking, baristas taking orders, espresso beans grinding, milk steaming, swallows Barry’s words as he hunches over his coffee mug and turns the most adorable shade of bright pink Iris has ever seen.
“And then he, um, he left,” Barry stammers. He fidgets nervously with his mug, rubs his thumbs against the too-hot ceramic as he cradles it between his palms.
Iris chuckles despite herself, and Barry finally snaps his head up to meet her eyes. “Barry, you’re freaking out,” she says.
“Of course I’m freaking out,” Barry exclaims, a high, sharp whisper. “You’re my friend and I–” he takes a surreptitious glance around, checking for eavesdroppers, especially with the precinct right around the corner. “I slept with your husband!”
“With my permission,” Iris reminds him with a roll of her eyes.
“And now we’re talking about it over coffee like it’s this totally normal thing,” Barry continues, like she hadn’t spoken at all. “I feel like my entire life has become one of those this is the future liberals want memes.”
Iris shrugs and takes a sip of her latte. More open-mindedness about sexuality and relationships wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“You’re really okay with this?” Barry asks, quiet and unsure, after Iris sets her mug down. “I mean, it’s one thing to agree to something before it happens, but if, once it’s real, it’s too hard, I don’t want you to lie to me. I never want you to be hurt by something I did and then for me not to know about it.”
“Barry,” Iris says, reaching out across the table and placing her hand gently over his where it twitches with nerves. He looks up at her, skittish and unsure, and Iris sighs. “I am one hundred percent fine. Are you?”
Barry nods, sharp and curt, lips pursed, brow furrowed. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I am. I just– I guess I just thought so much about how I would feel while it was happening that I didn’t think about what we’d do after. You know, how things would go back to being the same.”
Iris isn’t sure what Barry means, what exactly he’s struggling with, until he clears his throat and hesitantly says, “I’m guessing this was a one time thing.”
There’s so much hope and anxiety and dread in that one simple statement, Iris’ heart thuds in her chest. “Did you not want it to be?” she asks, her voice quiet and breathy.
Iris doesn’t move her hand, but Barry quickly pulls his from under her touch. “Iris, I would never try and steal Len from you,” he says, nearly pleads, for her to understand. “You have to know that. I couldn’t do that to you. I lo– I love you.”
Iris’ breath hitches in her throat. She and Barry have loved one another since their days in grade school. They tell each other all the time. But the way Barry stumbles over the words now, the pain in his eyes, speaks to the way this admission is different.
Without thinking, Iris rises from her chair. The legs scrape noisily against the floor and Barry flinches, knows he’s been caught out and won’t meet her eyes as he waits for her to walk away.
But Iris doesn’t. She rounds the table and slides into the booth at Barry’s side. He glances over at her and Iris doesn’t hesitate to cup her hand around his jaw and pull him in for a deep, toe-curling kiss. Barry’s hand falls to her waist and drags her in closer as years of repressed emotions pass between the press of their mouths.
“Iris?” Barry pants her name like a question as they pull apart, like she holds all the secrets of the universe in her beautiful, brilliant mind. Iris runs her fingers through the front of Barry’s hair and holds his wide, uncertain eyes with a warm, steadfast stare.
“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing,” Iris says. “I love you, Barry Allen.”
Barry lets out a shuddered breath and kisses her again. They both have tears in their eyes as they separate, in the middle of Jitters on a Tuesday morning, their lives tilting on their axes as the rest of the world continues to spin on like nothighing’s changed.
“You know that Len is always going to be a part of my life, too, right?” Iris checks, gentle but firm. Barry nods, but still, she adds, “I’m not leaving him for you. If you want this to work, it’s something we need to be in together.”
“I would never ask you to,” Barry assures her. Then, he pauses, furrows his brow and bites his lip, a hint of guilt colouring his expression. “Is Len gonna be okay with this? I mean, we didn’t talk about–”
“We did,” Iris interrupts with a sheepish smile. Barry’s eyes sparkle, like it’s the best news he’s heard all day.
“You already thought about this?” he asks, a hint of wonder in his voice.
Iris chuckles. “Why do you think we offered to see if you and Len were compatible?”
A brilliant smile takes over Barry’s face, lights up his eyes and crinkles his laugh lines. “Do you guys want to go to dinner with me on Friday?” he asks.
“Why, Barry.”
The new voice catches Barry off guard, and he jumps in his seat and pulls his hand by reflex from Iris’ waist, but Iris keeps her hand splayed against his chest.
Len watches them, a to-go cup of steaming coffee held in one hand, with a raised eyebrow and the smile of a cat who’s just gotten the cream. A pleased shiver runs up Barry’s spine, and Iris feels it in the tips of her fingers down to her toes.
“We thought you’d never ask.”