Chapter Text
The first time Hal Jordan sees Bruce Wayne in person, it's at some charity event that Barry and Iris have dragged him to. Iris is there to report, and she probably was the only one actually invited, based on Barry's unyielding enthusiasm.
It's all rich snobs in designer suits and dresses probably worth more than his apartment. They mill around, flirting, the women bursting with peals of fake laughter and everyone surely has a double meaning to everything they say tonight. An undertone that reeks of malice. And there are people like Barry, who gets passionately in over his head talking about sciences.
They're sitting at a round table, creamy cloth draped over. Hal's in his best suit- which is, admittedly, not that good at all. But he flashes a smile to everyone who looks his way, winning him a few admiring glasses from some of the ladies. Although they quickly dissipate when his reputation is whispered around- dishonorably discharged, estranged from his family, a former soldier who wasted his life.
And of course the couple he's with care but they don't care too much. And now Barry is bragging endlessly about the highest contact he has.
"I'm telling you, Iris, it's true," Barry whines (sometimes it's hard to believe he's the Flash.) "Bruce Wayne and I are friends. If I called him up right now, he could answer. There's, like, a forty percent chance."
"Who the hell is Bruce Wayne?" Hal inquires around a mouthful of fancy food.
"Jesus, Hal, we went over this," he replies. "Biggest influencer in Gotham City? Probably for several cities? Number one media conglomerate in the east coast? Owns Wayne Enterprises? Billionaire playboy?"
"How could you, a forensics scientist nerd who's only ever been able to get one girl in his lifetime, be friends with billionaire playboy Brucie?" Iris sips her wine. "Makes no sense. I just can't believe it."
Barry leans back, crossing his arms and huffing. "Just wait 'till he shows up. We'll exchange a few words."
"He's coming?" Hal swallows the food. "When-"
Just then, something in the room changes, and everyone seems to be whispering about one thing. Heads turn and glances are exchanged, lips pursed or curled up in an anticipating smirk. Two girls closest to their table, some blonde Hal recognizes as a supermodel and another that started a brand makeup line, actually take out pocket mirrors to check themselves.
"Do I look okay?" Barry asks, and Hal turns to laugh, but his expression is serious.
Then Bruce Wayne enters, and chaos reigns.
"I'm going to get a few words out of him," says Iris, disappearing into the crowd without anything else, and Barry starts to follow, but then sits back down. "I'm going to be strong and wait until he comes to me," he says.
"If he ever does come," Hal mutters. Almost everyone there greets Wayne with words of welcome, and reporters are clamoring to get a quote. Camera flashes explode around the entire room. He hears words, mostly Brucie- missed you- handsome- can we talk later- and he can't even see the guy, not really. Women practically seem to be throwing themselves at him.
Then after like ten minutes the buzz finally starts to fizzle down and Hal becomes momentarily distracted by a server holding a plate of delicious looking finger foods. Iris returns to their table, sitting down and beaming, a distant look in her eyes.
"Did you get your quote?" Barry asks.
"Damn right I got my quote," Iris says. "He is so dreamy in person. He smiled and called me darling." She props her hand up on her chin while looking over her notepad.
"I guess I should just leave, if you've found yourself a new man," Barry scoffs, then leans in. "Hey, did he say anything about me? I'm-"
"Barry Allen!" A raspy voice says from behind Hal. He turns around and tries not to spit out his food.
The man's gorgeous. A flawless face with impeccably cut cheekbones, an achingly sharp jawline, and jet black hair tousled to the point of perfection. His eyes are blue- but wait, they could be more gray- ringed with thick lashes- and Hal knows entire poems could be written about his eyes; in fact, they probably have been already. His suit is a precise match of the darkest black and lightest white, pressed, golden cufflinks shining, looking like more than Hal's apartment and car and yearly taxes put together.
Hal knows he's probably getting hard underneath the table, but he's too occupied to really tell.
"It's been ages since I heard a fast talker," Bruce grins, but it's more of a smirk, lazy and unrefined yet incredibly sexy and suave at the same time. It's most definitely the only smile he ever displays. And something in the curve of that mouth, the glint in his eyes (they scream he knows something you don't) stir a sense of familiarity in Hal.
"Hey, Bruce! What's up, my man?" Barry hastily stands to shake Bruce's hand.
"Nothing at all my friend," he says before turning to Iris. "And you- you're a clever one." Iris blushes. "And who might you be?" He looks directly at Hal. The white of his teeth are blinding.
"Hal Jordan," Hal says. His worries about Bruce Wayne being an airheaded douchebag fly out the door for the moment, because, come on, who could resist this much hotness? The dude has to be at least six feet. "Barry's best friend."
"Very nice to meet you," Bruce says with the air of someone who's said it a thousand times, and a girl somewhere in the distance squeals, "Brucie, come dance with me!"
"Duty calls," Bruce says. "It was nice to see you, Allen." He winks at Hal. And then he melts back into the crowd, although it's a mystery how a man like that could blend in anywhere.
"You- you too," stutters Barry, long after he's gone, and Hal sits back, stunned. The three all share a moment of silence before launching into a heated discussion about the only thing that seems to matter that night.