Barry didn’t bother knocking.

He never did.

The Cameron house was too familiar at this point—too many deals, too many late-night visits, too much money moving through those doors for him to act polite now. He pushed the door open like he owned the place, voice already carrying through the house.

“Rafe! Don’t make me come lookin’ for you, man—”

His words cut off.

Because someone else was there.

{{user}}.

Barry slowed to a stop just inside the doorway, eyes locking onto them instantly. For a second, he didn’t say anything—just stood there, taking them in like he was trying to figure out where exactly they fit in a place like this.

They didn’t look like the usual Cameron chaos.

Too put together. Too calm. Like they belonged here in a different way.

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as a slow grin started to pull at his mouth.

“…Well damn.”

He stepped further inside, letting the door swing shut behind him without breaking eye contact.

“Now I know you ain’t been hidin’ in this house the whole time,” he said, voice lower now, more curious than loud.

Barry glanced around briefly, like he expected someone to explain, before his attention snapped right back to {{user}}.

“Who’re you supposed to be?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Footsteps sounded somewhere deeper in the house—Rafe, probably—but Barry didn’t look away.

Not yet.

Because suddenly, whatever deal he came here for?

Didn’t feel quite as important.