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When she finds Barry he’s made his way out onto the rooftop patio overlooking the entire downtown of Central City. She’s wanted to see it so she goes out there happily enough, though it’s not like him to make her hunt for him.
She spots him standing alone, which is unusual. This is her mentor throwing a party with writers and journalists and no one he has much in common with, but one of the things Iris loves most about Barry is his fascination with people. He’s awkward, no doubt, but he gets along with people well. He’s always interested in them, and that usually draws people to him.
But he’s standing alone now, and he’s staring out at something, and the look on his face makes her footsteps slow and her chest thump hard.
Whatever he’s looking at, he’s enthralled by. His eyes are wide and hyper-focused in that way he gets, and his mouth is hanging open a little. His body leans forward, one of his tells when he’s really interested in something. This, Iris thinks with something like jealousy, is how he looks at her.
Since Iris isn’t a jealous person, and he’s never given her any reason to be (not ever, not in the lifetime that they’ve known each other), she approaches him with simple curiosity.
“You were supposed to bring me a drink ten minutes ago,” she says as she approaches.
He blinks, drawing back from his tilted stance, and the way he instantly points himself at her instead, and focuses on her face, and smiles like he’s watching the approach of some dignitary, reminds her full well why she’s never going to be jealous of how he looks at anyone else.
He smiles weakly and holds up his hand, and there’s her forgotten glass of wine. She takes it and slides in close to him, and his arm comes around her waist and they fit themselves together the way they always do, the way they were made to fit.
“Sorry,” he says into her ear, “but look.”
She follows his gaze, and blinks in surprise. “Oh.”
She’d thought the music she’s been hearing quietly piping through the conversations around them was some kind of recording. But no, there’s a tiny staging area set up among the bright lights weaving through the couches and tables set out to overlook the city. And a crowd of people are sitting around, listening.
The man in the middle - it’s not really a stage, just a cleared space surrounded by equipment - is sitting in a chair and playing a guitar. Simple as that, really.
But Iris watches him, and she forgets her wine, and her mouth goes a little slack.
He’s sitting casually, one leg hiked up, guitar balanced on his thigh. He’s leaning over it, playing, and the tune is quick and smooth but as she watches his fingers are flying, up and down the frets, plucking at the strings with precision that belies the easy sound. He’s singing, too, but it takes her a few seconds to hear it. He sings to himself, almost, under the guitar, as if he’s practicing in his own living room and not performing for a crowd of Picture News reporters and Mason’s rich writer friends.
He’s in jeans and a blue polo shirt, more casual than anyone attending the party, and he’s got long dark hair worn loose, hanging in his face like he can’t be bothered to push it out of the way.
Iris has read people being described as being in a world of their own, but the closest she’s come to seeing that before this is when she walks in on Barry while he’s working. Even then it doesn’t last long, because Barry is as tuned to her as she is to him.
This guy, though, he is his own universe. What he’s doing takes up every bit of his focus. He plays for himself, he’s either forgotten there’s a party happening around him or it rates so low in his mind he just can’t be bothered acknowledging it. Iris can sniff pretentious bullshit in a second flat, and this isn’t that. This is a guy who plays like he was born with a guitar in his hand, and gets lost in it like it’s the sole reason he was born in the first place.
Iris stands beside Barry, listening to the bluesy, intricate song the performer’s playing, and she doesn’t realize that she’s staring until the notes trail off and the few people who have stopped mingling enough to sit and listen all break into applause.
Iris looks over at Barry, sees the thrill in his eyes, and knows hers must match. “He’s good.”
“He’s amazing,” Barry murmurs back. “Hang on, he might…”
She glanced back towards the guy, and it’s timed perfectly: he looks up right as she looks over, and his eyes scan the group around him. He’s young, younger than she thought, with a dark growth of beard over light brown skin, and his eyes are...stunning. Piercing and rich liquid brown.
He looks around, and his eyes pass over Iris and Barry and come back for a quick stutter of a moment that makes her unconsciously straighten a bit. But he only finishes his gaze and bends over his guitar again and strums a few rehearsal bars before going into another song.
Barry draws Iris close to his side, and she curls in against the wind and draws in a breath, listening to the music - a slower, more thoughtful song this time - and enjoying the moment.
“He’s not bad, right?”
Mason’s voice is like ice on her back, and she jumps and looks back at him with a glare. “Excuse me, he’s playing.”
Mason smirks, of course, and sidles up to them. He’s flushed, half-drunk, grinning with the energy of his lavish party going so well. “I found him playing outside the library a few weeks back. Dirty busker, can you believe it? He’s making more money being here than he would in a month on a street corner.”
She knows he’s a prick, it’s one of his defining characteristics, and frankly she’s learning to appreciate that side of him. But his voice is careless and carrying, and she’s strangely horrified at the idea of that gorgeous genius on the guitar hearing him.
“I had no idea you were a patron of musicians,” she says, deliberately pitching her voice soft and hoping he’ll match her. It’s a trick she’s learned from her dad.
He does get a bit quieter, but not much. His eyes are on Barry, who is tense at her side. “I’m a nice guy. Right, Allen? Hey, when are you two getting married? I’ll find you one of those guys who plays drums on plastic buckets to entertain.”
Barry smiled at him, small and tight, and his arm slipped around Iris’s shoulder. “I promise, when we set a date you’ll be the third or four hundredth person we’ll tell.”
“Ha, this guy.” Mason grins at Iris, eyes glossy. He looks happy, which is nice. She respects him, they’re getting along well these day, and she needs him. That’s the reason they’re at this party at all. He’s a jerk, but he’s good. And he never crosses any lines with her.
He doesn’t now, though he smirks like he wants to say something else. He just leans over and pats her on the arm and grins. “Glad you two could make it. Always a mountain of laughs. Allen.”
“Bridge.”
Mason saunters off, crossing in front of the stage and saying something to the guitar player that lifts those dark brown eyes. The player’s gaze darts over to Barry and Iris in response to whatever it is Mason says. He regards them for a moment.
And god, his gaze is like a physical thing. Iris feels herself flushing warm, scared to guess what Mason said. She looks over at Barry and sees his red-coated cheeks, and wonders exactly what’s happening here.
The guitarist goes back to his song.
Barry glances at Iris a moment later, like a spell is broken when that dark gaze leaves them. He pulls her in close again so they can get back to their listening.
She takes a moment to watch Mason, to make sure he gets to the next group of friends without falling over or hurting himself. “I suppose passive aggressive sniping at each other is the best I’ll be able to hope for where you two are concerned.”
Barry looks back at her, and then over at Mason. His eyes go back to the guitarist, but he answers her softly. “You know the second time I met him, before we got engaged, he pulled me aside and pointed at you and said that any smart guy who had all that should put a ring on it before it moves on.”
She rolls her eyes, but it sounds like Mason.
“I told him if that was a threat he ought to know that you would never leave me for someone who refers to you as ‘that’, and I think we reached an understanding right then: I’ll never be jealous of him, he’ll never have a chance with you, and we’ll never really get along.”
“Fair enough.” She smiles as she leans into him, warming herself against his chest.
He wraps his arms around her, and they listen to the music.
After only a few moments, the musician looks up again. This time his eyes go right to them, and only them. His song doesn’t miss a note, but he smiles. It’s a young, bright smile, at odds with the serious artist persona he’s working.
Iris feels it like she feels the hum of Barry’s breath through his chest, the beat of his heart. It hits her and sinks into her skin and warms her up.
Barry’s grip tightens around her at the same time.
They don’t talk about it, but Barry goes to get them drinks and comes right back this time, and Iris finds a boxy white loveseat under the stars to sit at, and they ignore the party around them every moment the guitar player is playing.
They talk some between songs, but for the most part they sit and listen and it’s quiet and comfortable. It always is. One of the things Iris likes best about falling in love with her best friend is that the silences are peaceful. There’s no awkwardness in the spaces between words.
Iris doesn’t know most of what he plays, they might even be original songs, but twice he does a cover of some old tune that she recognizes, and she and Barry sing along quietly both times. The best one is a jazz cover of an old boyband song she used to make Barry sing with her when they were kids. The minute they recognize it they beam at each other and their fingers slide together and they sing along happily.
When he takes a break finally it seems almost arbitrary. He pauses between songs, looks around, strums a few notes, then suddenly stands up and stretches, rolling his shoulders as he pulls the guitar strap off and sets the instrument down on a stand.
Iris holds her breath as he leaves his gear behind, and is disheartened when he heads off towards the inside of the party without a look in their direction.
It’s bizarre, she can’t help but realize as she watches him go. This isn’t like her. She’s sitting with the love of her life, she’s wearing his ring, and she’s never been unhappy with him in the slightest. She has actively said prayers and thanked God that she and Barry are together, that it was always meant to be, that she never had to deal with mystery and dating and horrible relationships and idiot men who don’t treat her the way she deserves.
She loves Barry. It’s there in every inch of her, through every part of her life it’s woven through. And she doesn’t doubt for a second that it’s the same with him. He adores her, every second of every day.
And despite those feelings being as normal as breathing, she doesn’t lose sight of it. She doesn’t take it for granted. It doesn’t get old. She’ll suddenly realize Barry’s watching her and see something in his face that sparks an entire, brand-new, intense rush of want, or desire, of love.
They have known each other all their lives, but she hasn’t gotten used to him yet. She doesn’t think she ever will. He will always surprise her, take her breath away, and she will always do that to him, and there’s nothing in the entire world that she’s ever seen that can compare to how happy they are.
But she understands herself and doesn’t bother with self-deception in any way, so it’s clear to her, and she admits it easily enough: she is attracted to the guy on the guitar. Crazy attracted. She’s passed gorgeous men before and given them appreciative looks and gone about her life happily, but this. This is in her toes, in her chest, warming her skin.
She’s never had that strong a rush towards anyone but Barry.
It’s disconcerting. She curls in against Barry on the loveseat and she tells herself she’s glad the guitarist didn’t come over. Talking to him would just ruin things anyway. He’s probably some artsy jerk who just wants praise.
She turns her eyes to Barry and leans up, brushing her lips against his jaw lightly. “I love you, Bar.”
He blinks - he always has a moment, he’s told her before, of thinking ‘no way’ when she says things like that - and grins, pulling her in close. “Love you too.”
She smiles, because it’s so easy and perfect and good, and so it doesn’t matter if she’s got some strange attraction to a nameless man on a guitar, because she’s still where she belongs either way.
“He was right.”
She looks up at the sudden voice, and draws in a breath in surprise. It’s him. Holding a beer, standing a few feet away and regarding them. His eyes are worse up close, god.
She sits up without thinking. “Sorry, what?”
The guitarist nods back towards the house. “Mr. Bridge. He said if I ever need inspiration to write love songs I should look at you two.” He smiles. The same bright, sweet smile from before.
Iris returns the smile instantly, helpless not to. “That doesn’t sound very much like Mason.”
The guy chuckles. “Okay, he said if I ever want to write love songs so sappy and over the top that the only people who will ever take them seriously are ten year old girls…”
Iris laughs. “Yeah, there he is.”
“You’re really good.” Barry’s using his blurt voice, which makes Iris glance back at him. His eyes are wide on the guy. “I mean I don’t know music, really, but I can tell. You’re so good I can’t even tell how good you are, that’s how good you are.”
Wide eyes, rambling, blurting.
Iris draws in a breath.
Barry’s attracted to the guy too.
“Hey, thanks.” The guy answers easily. like there’s not suddenly a soap opera-level drama happening inside Iris’s head. “He wants me to stick around another couple of hours, so. I’ll be here.”
“We’ll be here too. I mean, if you need any love. Love song. Inspiration. I mean.”
The guy grins and starts to turn. But he hesitates, approaches them instead. He pushes his hair back out of his face and holds out a hand. “Cisco.”
Iris is closest, and apparently the most coherent of the two of them, so she leans in and reaches out, takes his hand in hers. Warm, calloused fingers. She smiles too widely. “I’m Iris, this is Barry. My fiance. We’re engaged. Me and Barry. Barry and I.”
Cisco smiles easily. “Congratulations.”
He nods at Barry, and heads back to his instruments.
Iris groans and slides back against Barry. “Oh my god, what is wrong with us?”
“Wasn’t that bad.”
There’s a note in Barry’s voice that draws Iris’s attention. She sits up and looks back at him, and knows instantly. He’s completely aware of what’s happening here, same as her. He knows she’s drawn to the guitarist, to Cisco, and he feels something to, and it’s completely unprecedented for them.
He searches her gaze, looking worried for a split second. But whatever’s on her face must be familiar enough to let him relax, because he smiles.
Music starts, the light lilting of a guitar, and Iris sinks back against Barry. They listen to Cisco play.