"Barry. BAAARRY! Get the door!"
Barry is on the edge of his seat as the horror movie they're watching —Halloween, apparently a must-see classic as far as horror movies go, which Iris had insisted on watching in the spirit of it actually being Halloween night—reaches a particularly suspenseful point, clearly leading up to a jump-scare as the music builds and something monstrous lies in wait, when Iris's voice cuts through his horrified concentration. He jumps at least a foot in the air, spilling popcorn all over himself in the process, barely containing the frightened yelp he's been holding in.
"Iris! Oh my God, do you really need to yell? I am literally sitting right next to you."
Iris straightens up from her current position, cheek against his shoulder as she casually leans against him, and turns so that she's facing him. She cups his face in her hands and grins wickedly at him.
"I know," she says, struggling not to laugh, "I just knew you would freak out. How is it possible that you face actual, real-life super-villains on like a weekly basis and stuff like this still scares you?"
Barry scrunches up his nose and sticks his tongue out at her, cursing her extensive knowledge of his movie-watching history and the poor-tolerance for scary movies that he's never quite grown out of.
"Real mature, Barry," she snickers, and lobs a stray popcorn kernel at his head.
He's about to retaliate when the doorbell rings again, and Iris smiles mischievously before opening her mouth, clearly preparing to yell in his face again.
He covers her mouth before she can, muffling her voice, and shakes his head in exasperation.
"Alright, alright! Be quiet already, I'll get it!"
He can feel the curve of her lips against his palm, and realizes too late what she's about to do. Somehow the fastest man alive doesn't manage to pull his hand away in time before Iris licks it.
"Ew, Iris! And you say I'm the immature one. Yeah, right," he laughs, prying himself off the couch and wiping his hand on his pant-leg. Iris just bats her eyelashes innocently, flashing him an angelic smile in response.
Barry assumes that it'll be trick-or-treaters on their doorstep, and scoops up the bowl of candy they have positioned by the front door. They don't get too much in this neighborhood—a sad fact that had been much to the lament of their younger selves, when they had been part of the small handful of kids going from door-to-door on Halloween night. Most of their neighbors hadn't even bothered to hand out candy back then, much less answer the door when they knocked.
Still, they always had fun together, often spending most of the night coordinating their costumes than actually trick-or-treating, and sometimes their parents (before his were out of the picture) would take them into more lively areas to hunt for candy. Even after he moved in with the Wests, Joe would sometimes still drop them off in nearby neighborhoods to do their thing, and it wasn't until high school that they actually stopped getting dressed up and going out.
The Halloween of their freshman year, with Joe's help they had decorated the house with fake cobwebs and strands of orange lights, and (much to Barry's dismay) popped a scary movie into the DVD player, cuddling up on the couch to watch it, an industrial-sized bag of candy open in front of them. They've been doing the same ritual ever since, and even though he's always had a weak stomach for horror, Barry is never quite as scared when Iris is there with him
He smiles to himself, remembering, and pulls open the door with his free hand, balancing the bowl of candy in the other, and directs his gaze downward. There's a rag-tag group of little kids standing before him, a little boy dressed as a pirate, and another as a Jedi, but what really catches his eye is the little girl hiding in the back, with her hands cupped before her, beaming up at him.
Her face looks vaguely familiar, almost as though he knows her from somewhere, but he can't quite put his finger on it. Her costume is evidently homemade—she's decked-out head-to-foot in red, wearing a red jacket with the hood up, what was clearly once a plain white mask that's just been painted red on her face, and red shoes and gloves, too. And she's got a little cut-out, hand-drawn paper lightning bolt taped to her chest. Barry nearly drops the bowl of candy in shock.
"Treat-or-Treat!" the kids yell in unison, and Barry covers his delighted grin behind his hand.
"Take as many pieces as you'd like," he says brightly, voice muffled somewhat beneath his fingertips.
The two little boys eagerly fish out a couple of Kit-Kat bars, Reeses, and a Twix from the bowl (Iris refuses to buy anything other than chocolate—she swears up and down that it'd be going against her morals), and the little girl shyly waits until they've skittered away and aren't crowding around the door anymore to pick her own piece of candy.
Barry's allows his hand to drop from his mouth, and his smile is still so wide it's hurting his cheeks.
"I really like your costume," he offers kindly, hoping he doesn't look too overly-excited (which he is, but he doesn't want to scare the girl away).
The girl eyes him suspiciously, as though she doesn't really believe him, as if she expects him to burst out into laughter at her any second. He knows the feeling.
"Really, I do! It's really creative. I used to make my own costumes, too."
He watches as the apprehension drains away from the little girl's eyes and as her face lights up in excitement.
"Thanks! I made it myself. I saw him—The Flash. He—he saved me last year. Me and my mom, from a fire. He's my hero," the little girl beams, and Barry's feels his heart well up with emotion as he finally realizes where he recognizes the girl from, from one of his very first forays with Cisco into using his powers to help people. He only very narrowly restrains himself from bursting out with 'I remember you!' and blowing his cover.
Before he can respond, the little girl throws a glance over her shoulder, where her friends are waiting for her on the sidewalk.
She looks back at Barry, deflated, and frowns. "They think it's stupid. They told me girls couldn't be superheroes, and they made fun of me for wanting to dress up like one."
Barry's heart breaks for her, and he kneels down so that he's at eye-level with her when he responds.
"Hey, don't listen to them. That's not true at all—my girlfriend is the biggest superhero I know; she's saved my life more times than I can count. And she has the power to bring hope to a lot of people."
It's definitely true, in more ways than one, and Barry can't help but smile again as he says it. He'll also never really be over being able to call Iris his girlfriend—which is actually a way over-simplified term for what she is to him, and 'boyfriend and girlfriend' honestly doesn't even come close to describing their relationship, but it'd be too complicated to try to explain exactly how much he loves Iris West to a little kid.
The girl's eyes light up again, and he knows he's said the right thing.
"Really?" she asks, sounding hopeful, and giving him a tentative smile.
He nods seriously, and as if on cue Iris comes up behind him, leans down and wraps her arms around his middle, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Barr, what's taking so long?" she asks, before she catches sight of the little girl standing before them, and suddenly she's grinning like mad.
"No way. Oh, my God, Barry, that is so cute."
The little girl's eyes dart between the two of them, and something seems to register there when her gaze finally lands on Iris. She rocks back and forth on her feet, biting her lip nervously, before running forward and surprising Iris with a hug, latching tightly onto her legs.
"I can't believe it. I'm looking at a real-life superhero! Can I please have your autograph, miss?" she mumbles into Iris's jeans, and in response to Iris's raised eyebrow and questioning gaze, Barry just shrugs and holds his hands up as if to say 'you got me,' but he's grinning far too wide for it to be entirely innocent.
She shakes her head fondly and just goes with it, smiling brightly at the little girl.
"Of course you can, sweetheart," she says, pulling out the remnants of whatever is in her pocket and hoping to find something she can write on—which happens to be a crumpled receipt and a tube of liquid black eyeliner. She scribbles her name on the receipt with the eyeliner and places it into the little girl's eager hands, and she and Barry watch as the girl skips away happily, with a huge smile plastered across her face, clutching the tiny piece of paper to her chest as though it's something sacred.
"What exactly did you tell her?" Iris laughs, her arm looped around Barry's, as soon as the little girl is out of earshot.
"Just that you basically save me, like, all the time, from myself and from a lot of other things, and that you bring people hope. Both of which are true, Miss West, ace-reporter and love of my life."
It's so cheesy, and Iris can't help shaking her head at him in disbelief, but as she studies his face, so completely serious and open and genuine, she knows he's not just saying it, she knows that he really means it. She's feels her heart swell as she pulls him into a tight hug, and he wraps his arms around her in response. They are both really, really lucky people.
"Yeah, I know. What would you ever do without me?" she laughs, her breath tickling his neck.
"I probably wouldn't survive."
"Probably?" she repeats, pulling away from their embrace and lifting an eyebrow at him, teasing.
"I meant absolutely. I absolutely wouldn't survive," he grins back at her, before casting another glance down the street, at the steadily retreating figures and the little blob of red he can still just make out in the distance.
"Can you believe it?" he muses, "Someone actually wanted to dress up like me for Halloween. That's so cool—I feel like I'm famous or something."
Iris laughs at his thrilled expression and punches him lightly on the shoulder, still grinning from ear-to-ear. He's adorable when he's excited.
"You are such a dork, Barry."
"Yeah, but I'm your dork," he smirks in response, and Iris can't really argue with that, so she just stands on her tip-toes and kisses him, smiling against his lips.
"Yeah, you are."
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If I end up writing more for the other days of Westallen Week I might just make this a multi-chapter thing and post them here!