Barry Allen's been fast. He's ran miles and miles with the grace of a gazelle and the speed of a cheetah. His feet has been relentless, his spirit buzzing with unconfined energy.
He's never been one to go slow, go steady or go still.
He's never been in place.
So it's a total surprise when Barry Allen—THE Barry Allen—doesn't make a single move, and just simply wonders why the pretty brunette across the room is staring daggers at him.
Actually, he does know, but it's not a single moment—it's a catastrophic sequence of events that has led to him staying still and her drenched in stinky, watered-down beer.
His eyes shutter close, briefly, remembering the chain of events that happened.
8:17 PM
Barry Allen just wants to go home.
It's a startling realisation for him, as he stands on the second step of his fraternity house, a place so common to him it feels like he's been living and eating in the commons for decades instead of years, but Barry Allen knows his real feelings—unmasked and uncoated, and admits to himself that there's nothing he wants more than to drive home to his family's home in Central City and abandon all his worries.
Knowing the impossibility of the situation, he just sighs and steps another step forward, about to enter the fraternity house. The number of people congesting the small entryway makes it hard for him, and as people mingle and grind against each other in drunken bliss, Barry waits until there's enough space for him to sneak himself in.
Another step up, he sees his fraternity brothers' current girlfriend and ex-conquest, Iris West. Her arm looped with another girl's, she abandons her friend and runs into the arms of Eddie, her arms tightening around his neck as they share a passionate embrace, as if they haven't seen each other in five years instead of five hours. Barry averts his gaze, not wanting to be a voyeur, when he sees the girl Iris abandoned heaving breaths and dropping shades too pale for her complexion. He hurriedly steps up and stands behind the girl, the initial mill of the party ignored.
She's having a panic attack, Barry thinks, and despite his knowledge in science, he's unsure what he can possibly do to pacify the anxiety that runs through her. There must be something terrible that happened in the past for her to suffer the trauma that arose when Iris left her. Her breath hitches and, from Barry's viewpoint, her shoulders are visibly shaking. Suddenly, she missteps and stumbles back, and Barry's able to catch her.
Her elbows are in his hands, soft against the callused skin of his hands, and his lips are millimetres away from her ear. "Easy there," he whispers to her, and he feels the tension going off of her ebbing, the initial shock going through her body easing away. She straightens her spine and cranes her neck to look at him, and Barry places a soft smile on his lips, ready to talk to her, until Iris whisks her away, inside the frat house.
Barry feels the loss of her in his hands, and he shoves them in his navy blue pocket trousers, walking inside the frat house. Delta Lambda's known for hosting the craziest parties in Midwestern U, and they're only able to make up for the nasty parties with their excellence in academics and extracurricular activities. Barry sees another frat brother of his, Tommy Merlyn, chugging beer from his red cup like no one's business, and he's only slightly worried, as Tommy has his semi-finals in the archery competition tomorrow. Frankly, he knows that Oliver and Tommy can ace all the awards away—with their pairing, Delta Lambda and Midwestern U's chances of winning are more than a hundred.
Barry looks around the frat house, the once spotless blue couches littered with girls in cutoffs and his own frat brothers, either chugging their own beers or playing a ridiculous version of a game with an alcoholic twist. Oliver Queen walks up to him and claps him on the back, an action which Barry returns.
"'Sup, Bar. Been looking for you everywhere," Oliver says with a smile.
"I've been a little busy," Barry answers with one of his own, and accepts the cup that Oliver thrusts in his hands. He takes a sniff; it's never too bad to be cautious, and deems it drinkable.
"Well, hope you're not too busy. That Linda chick's been looking for you," Oliver's eyes widen and stare straight into Barry's half-lidded ones, and he forces himself to crack a smile. He once thought girls and booze and speed could cure him of the restlessness that nestled inside him, waiting for him to spring into action, but he realises later that it's an innate part of him, and that he doesn't need to chase it away. Before Barry could answer—and he doubts he could formulate one that doesn't make him look too much of a nice guy in Oliver's eyes—his buddy gets called by Roy Harper in a game of darts, and Barry nods off to Roy, choosing to keep in his corner.
Barry decides that he's only going to loiter for at least half an hour, an hour tops, before he rests in his own room. He'll think of his reprieve later, but right now he has to get past the hour of socialising and resisting girls. More than five girls have caught up to him, one being particularly touchy and gluing her sides to his, but Barry's adamant and respectfully replaces her hands to her sides, telling her politely that he's not looking for that kind of company tonight.
Or any other night, but they don't need to know that.
The weariness in his bones starts to settle, and he heaves a sigh, nodding at his frat brothers. Roy Harper swaggers towards him, with Oliver following him, his arms fashioned tightly around his girlfriend Felicity's middle. Oliver swoops Felicity in for a kiss, and both he and Roy roll their eyes at the romance seeping out of the couple. Felicity pushes back Oliver away, "You know I don't like you when you're sweaty and you reek of cheap beer," to which Oliver replies with a growl. "You like me sweaty," and they proceed to kiss again, this one much longer than the first. Barry and Roy walk away, and he and Roy manages to talk about the upcoming Midwestern University Olympics.
"You're still going to run track, right?"
"Yeah, you're competing for archery in singles, right?"
"Yep. Let Oliver handle Tommy. Can't take a duet on the field." Barry laughs at this, and Roy shakes his head. "You think we'll win baseball this year?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"I don't know, ever since Dig graduated, we've never had a really good game."
"Nah, I think we got this. Thawne's pretty good," Barry throws a nod Eddie's way, and Roy nods in agreement. "Guess so. Hey, you got the invitation?"
"To what?" Barry mimics Roy and takes a swig of his beer, swishing around the liquid in his mouth and swallowing it. It's nothing like the fourty-year old scotch their liquor cabinet holds, but then again, Barry's never been much of a fan of alcohol.
"The wedding," Roy pauses and manages to throw a skinny blonde his signature stare, and Barry only raises his eyebrows. "Dig's wedding."
"Ah," Barry remembers. John Diggle, once their president and close friend, now set to be wed to his girlfriend of five years Lyla Michaels, sent out their invitations individually last Tuesday and attached a note to the fridge to come or the supply of booze was going to be cut off. None of his friends were able to catch Dig, as they fondly called him, and they egged on him for being too whipped to arrange their wedding.
He can barely imagine what actually propelled Dig to drop on his knees and ask for a lifetime with his girlfriend when he's just twenty-five years old—plenty of time to get old and settle down yet—but they don't get an answer other than the cryptic, "You'll feel how I feel when you find the girl." Barry's equally perplexed, but they don't dwell on it. They're happy for Dig, but happier on their own.
"Yeah, I got it."
"Dig said to get a date to the wedding—and a decent one at that." Roy muses. "That'd be hard," he says, and eyes an exotic Latina that passes by him.
"Decent, and by that Dig means…." Barry trails off, and Roy answers for him.
"Probably someone with a 4.0 GPA. Doesn't dress in cutoffs. Doesn't drink on any day. And is a bore." Roy snorts and Barry can't help but laugh.
"Damn, we gotta get a date. Queen's all set there," Roy cranks his head to Oliver and Felicity and Barry nods. "Should be easy," Barry says, and Roy nods. "Plenty of girls in the Iota Mu house willing to drive away for the weekend and party it away."
"Yeah, but none of them are decent," Oliver walks up to them, Felicity surprisingly not beside him, and grabs Roy's cup mid-drink, and takes his own swig from it.
"Get your own, Queen."
"I would, but all they have is watered-down beer. That's good Scotch," he points to the red plastic cup, and Roy scowls as Oliver rats him out about stealing their scotch away, and Barry tunes out their conversation.
He still holds the cup as he walks around the room, a prop to him mostly, as he doesn't intend to drink from it. Girls flank him, and it's a sensation Barry knows all too well. He ignores them again, and chalks it up to the same tiredness he felt earlier. But if he were really being honest, it was a mix of the stress and the pressure of the university-wide olympics and the stress of finding a suitable date to Dig's wedding.
Had it been any other person, Barry wouldn't be worrying; he wouldn't be standing in this party bored as an eighty-year old. He would've been relaxed and called up one of the girls in his long list of acquaintances, and kicked back in his lounge chair. But it was John Andrew Diggle, and it isn't just respect that's holding him tied to his responsibility of showing up with a perfectly-perfect girl on his arm.
It's the weight of his words and the significance of them shocking him, making him realise that he may have hit the right buttons and thrown the right punches.
Barry heads off to the kitchen to get a drink, decidedly unhappy with the thoughts swirling around in his head, and he squats down the chrome refrigerator and eyes the bottle of sparkling water at the end of the tray. Reaching far, he doesn't succeed, and so he brings out the huge serving tray of pre-chilled drinks, all in red beer cups, and grabs his bottle of water.
Bringing the tray out for the next batch of party goers, Barry replaces the once-full tray with the new ones. So is as the honour of hospitability of the Delta Lambda brother, he thinks, and as he raises the tray high, his right hip bounces against a softer one, before his balancing skills get faulty and the tray of drinks tips over.
His reflexes are as quick as lightning and he jumps a good distance over the mess, and Barry doesn't realise that the mess has landed on a girl he's seen before, a brunette with a frozen expression and a quick and sharp wit.
Barry looks at the pool of beer, spreading quickly over the marble floor, and he rolls up his eyes, following the mess. Her black flats and skinny legs encased in jeans are wet with huge splotches, and her shirt is completely drenched.
Barry's eyes sharply rise, and it's a mistake he's glad to make, even though those beautiful eyes are piercing icy daggers at him.
Barry feels frozen, and he's not sure if it's humiliation or shame rooting him in his position. It's definitely something else—something he's been afraid of.
He's sure that he has more to be frightened about, as he stares at the mess he made and the brunette he made it to. He smiles at her, wanting to ease some of the tension, and as fast as he is, his view changes when he notices her leave his point of view.
Without a trace.
Wasting no minute, Barry speeds out the door and runs.