Notes: Companion piece to 'Definir'.
It's the nerves - or the overabundance of them - that always catch you off guard.
The frantic energy dancing in your veins is a familiar feeling by now; seeing glimpses of her, however, amplifies the sensation tenfold until your very skin - your very breath - buzzes with it.
go to her go to her go to her go to her
You tell yourself that you know her (but what if she doesn't know you?), you tell yourself you have history together (but what if she doesn't remember you?), you tell herself that she is Iris and you are Barry and that in whatever world you are in, she will always be Iris, your Iris--
(but what if she isn't?)
You have a hundred and million opportunities to talk to her, and you waste them all because nerves.
Three months is not a long time, you rationalize. You have waited much, much longer, you remember.
But three months is also forever, you realize. Especially if you think about, what if--
She smiles at you and you think you are an idiot, you shouldn't have-- you shouldn't have--
You're very cute, you know that?
No, you think immediately, because what you are is an idiot who rambles on and on about getting her drunk, what the fuck was that even about--
But she's smiling again at the face of your slow decay (fuck you and your runaway mouth, Barry Allen) and replies with, quite simply, yes.
You curb the urge to do something, anything, to extinguish the sudden whirl of energy coursing through your blood.
There is time for that, later.
You talk to her and you think about Iris, your Iris, and look for traces of her in an identical face.
Strangely, I know what you mean.
And you think of course she understands because she's Iris and you're Barry and in all and every infinite Earths out there, the two of you are just meant to be together in life.
Even if you need to take the necessary steps to ensure it.
It escapes definition, you tell her, and for once your mouth and your mind are in perfect synchrony because yes, exactly, yes.
Because what you feel for her, that which transcends time and space and worlds, that which remains whole and true and fills your chest to bursting, well--
--how can anyone define that?
I'm sorry about all this.
Goodbye, goodbye, I'm sorry, I love you.