"So," Iris begins casually, unable to suppress the smile on her cheeks or keep the glee from her voice: "What was the inspiration behind these?"
By these, she's referring to the flower wreaths the two of them divided between them on their walk home after the happiest night Iris can remember in months. She feels a kind of elation that she's never experienced before, along with an assurance that nothing could possibly bring her down after this, and most overwhelmingly, a vast love for Barry that makes her wonder if there's enough of her heart for anyone else.
Iris had requested to take a stroll back instead of make use of Barry's speed to go home, wanting to prolong the magic of the evening, wanting him by her side for as long as possible. She's aware of how peculiar they must appear in the eyes of passerby's, in light of her clutching a blossomed "I" and "S" to her chest, half of Barry's gift to her this evening.
Barry admittedly looks more bizarre than she does: in addition to carrying the rest of the flowered letters that compose her name, he insisted on being the one to haul the massive heart-shaped wreath he also had made for her. It's currently crossed over his torso, clashing with the propriety of his suit and slipping down his thin frame like a hoola-hoop might, causing him to stumble. Barry seems unperturbed by this display of clumsiness and the blatant stares being thrown his way, especially, it seems, after eliciting an affectionate chuckle from Iris. He beams at her before adjusting the wreath so that it hangs off his shoulder instead and continues on, as though it were as normal to wander the streets of Central City with a giant flower arrangement swinging from your body as it were a backpack.
Tonight, both of them are too consumed with joy, too red-faced with bashfulness, too intrigued by the novelty of their relationship, too lost in each other to care what anyone anywhere might think of them.
"Well," Barry considers thoughtfully. "I had a bit of an advantage where other guys typically don't."
He smirks at her, and that's when Iris understands what his intentions with this might be.
"Oh?" Iris plays along. "And what's that?"
"I'm fortunate enough to already know the girl I'm dating pretty well," he humors her, a twinkle in his eye. "So well, in fact, that I remember her complaints about guys being unoriginal on their first dates with her. Something about always bringing her irises."
"Okay, I did not COMPLAIN to you," she says in her defense, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. "I appreciated each and every iris bouquet I ever received, especially considering how pricey they are. It just became repetitive, that's all!"
He shakes his head at her fondly before continuing. "So I made a note that if I was ever so lucky as to have a first date with her…"
His voice trails off and before Iris knows it, he's slowing his pace.
"Barry?" she prompts, suddenly concerned. She shifts the "S" she's carrying from one arm to the other to free a hand to place on his elbow. "Are you okay?"
He turns toward her, his pupils shining with such blatant adoration, looking down at her as though he truly can't believe his luck. Despite his ridiculous, decorated image, the expression is pensive in a way that makes her breath catch and her heart flutter, almost makes her forget that they're in the midst of a bustling street.
The reverence in his face is brief however, promptly replaced with amusement that better matches the absurdity of the flowers around him.
"If I was ever so lucky as to have a first date with her," he continues, "I'd make sure not to give her an iris, but to still give her an iris. So this is my own form of teasing you and outdoing those suckers," he winks at her.