Work Text:
He's dead. I'm so sor-
Barry, are you oka-
I'm sorry, son. I know how much he meant to y-
Barry opens his eyes, trying to swallow down the bile that's rising in his throat. He's sick of the memories coming back; he doesn't want to think about Oliver – his Oliver – not being here anymore, never coming back. He's just trying to get over it, to stop the pain, to forget.
He gets out of bed, slightly dizzy from getting up so fast. He walks to his closet, considers changing for a moment, but then decides that wearing the same sweatpants and T-shirt for three days in a row isn't too bad. Besides, he'll be alone in his apartment all day anyway.
Barry finds the empty bottle of whiskey from last night on his coffee table, looks at it in disgust; he'd wanted to numb himself with alcohol, had actually managed to slow down his metabolism to get buzzed, but that had worn off quickly. He sits down on the couch, rubbing a hand down his face.
A sudden knock on the door makes him stop in his movements. He can't think of a single person who would bother him right now – he'd told everyone he knew that he wanted to be alone for at least a few weeks. He doesn't want their comforting words and touches.
However, it isn't one of the people Barry expected.
“What.”
“Barry, I'm so -”
“What the fuck?” Oliver's eyes widen in shock from his outburst, but he can't care about that now. How is Oliver here? And how- How dare he come here, looking like nothing happened? “What the fuck, Queen, you can't just- No. Go! Leave!”
“Barr-”
“Leave,” Barry bellows and pushes Oliver away, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Oliver cannot do this, no, he can't just come back from death and expect Barry to fall into his arms, no matter how much- how much he'd missed-
He doesn't realise he's saying it all out loud until Oliver's inside his apartment, gripping his arms tightly. He wrenches out of his hold, running to the other side of the room.
“No,” he breathes, his palms flat on the wall to steady himself. “Don't- Don't you dare-”
Oliver's face falls; pain, confusion, sadness, it's all there and Barry feels so fucking betrayed, Oliver has no right-
“Just leave.” Oliver shakes his head, takes a step closer, and Barry snaps. “Fuck off! I don't want to see you!” He runs to Oliver, pushing him again; this time it's so hard that he slams against the door with a dull oomph.
Barry bites the inside of his cheek; he is not going to break down, not while fucking Oliver Queen is still here, he isn't going to give in.
“Barry, just- please listen.”
I'm not interested. I don't want to see you. Get out of my life. Barry doesn't say any of it; what little is left of the rational part of his brain reminds him how much losing Oliver hurts, and that he has to prevent it from ever happening again. But... “I can't. Not right now. Just- Please go.”
Oliver slumps against the door, opens his mouth as if to say something but doesn't. He only nods and leaves.
Barry doesn't slam the door, doesn't kick anything over, doesn't cry or scream in rage; he goes to the kitchen to find another bottle of alcohol and goes back to bed.