Chapter 1: Strangers in the Making
Chapter Text
13/11/2021
In hindsight, fumbling for his lighter in his pocket while he trotted down the stairs was not a great decision, but Evan’s urge to flick it open was far more important than sense in that moment. Missing his footing, Evan tumbled forward and hit the bottom of the steps in a pile of his own limbs. Lovely, great start. He didn’t bother checking if anyone had been around to notice, only stood and scurried out the doors to feel the cool November air hit his face. This time, he succeeded in grabbing his silver lighter, flicking it open and lighting the cigarette that had been dangling between his lips since the moment he stepped out of his apartment. Frankly, it was a miracle he hadn’t swallowed it in his stumble.
This is the prime time to be applying for scholarships, do you know how expensive a decent education is? His father’s words echoed around him, but he shoved his headphones over his head to silence them immediately. He hardly knew where he was going, busy trying to silence his mind and warm his icy cold hands in his hoodie sleeves. His feet however, they seemed to know, fast steps leading him across streets, through alleys, and up steps, until he finally looked up and found himself nearing what should not have been his favourite area, and yet.
Pandora Avenue was far from a warm welcome, with more tents than housing and a lower sanitation budget than Skidrow, it would seem. It presented an alarmingly easy market for anything Evan could not yet buy for himself, but with all the price gouging, he really should invest in a fake ID. He had long finished his cigarette and gone through two more by the time he arrived, finding his spot on the third floor to sit and ponder. He often wondered if he did too much pondering.
The building -a half-finished apartment complex was his best guess- had luckily yet to be discovered by most of the youth in the area, so it was a rare escape from the noise. Upon first finding it, Evan had spent a few days meandering his way through it. The concrete foundation of the building had been completed all the way up to the sixth floor, but only the first two floors had drywall separating different spaces, and about half of the first floor was blessed with windows. As a result, the first and second floors were littered with needles, cigarette butts, bottles, and all manner of spray paint. The third floor, to his delight, was not actually accessible by the stairs, and the elevator shafts had been abandoned before a cabin could actually be placed in any of them, so all the floors above the second were typically empty save for a few raccoons and stray cats. It had taken him a week to find the loophole. On the second floor, the western elevator shaft had an opening for the operator’s stairs, not easily noticeable unless one was to nearly drop their phone into the abyss that he assumed would have become a basement. Each time, he made sure to carefully cover his tracks. So many of his favourite spots had been overrun by high schoolers in search of a makeout spot; he’d be damned if they took this one too.
With his back against a pillar, Evan sat and finally pulled his phone out of his pocket. Several texts from his mother, a handful from Dora, and one from his father. Hardly a text really, it was a link to an application, from the looks of it, an application to UVic. He didn’t bother clicking it.
“It’s rude to ignore your texts, you know.”
Evan jumped when he heard the sudden, albeit familiar, voice. He brought his headphones down around his neck as he replied. “Did you follow me here?” He asked, watching the boy climb out of the elevator shaft -there really was no dignified way of doing that, not even for Barty- and take a seat a few feet away from him.
Barty gave him a wide grin, waving the question off. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve been coming here for years.”
“It’s only been here for a month, Barty,” Evan reminded him, rolling his eyes as he reached for his pack of Playfares. He made a face when he realized he only had two left, but nonetheless fished one out and brought it to his lips.
“Ooh one for me too?” Barty asked, making grabby hands at him, but Evan shook his head.
“Sorry, s’my last one,” he replied around it, lighting it and dropping his lighter down by his foot.
“You’re awfully selfish,” Barty remarked, but didn’t argue otherwise. Instead, he busied his hands by reaching into his hoodie pocket and produced a worn out, plastic belt. Evan knew it had once been covered in bright pink sequins, but now it was simply an ugly, faded grey. He watched Barty do it, but turned away a moment later.
“They say that stuff is bad for you, you know,” Evan murmured, tilting his head back against the cold cement pillar.
“Says the guy with the cancer stick in his mouth,” Barty scoffed, tightening the belt around his bicep. “It’s a shame really, such a pretty mouth, soon it’ll be all shrivelled up from the chemo, your youthful lips will lose all their allure once the radiation takes over.”
This did earn a laugh from Evan, and he finally turned to look over at Barty. “Has anyone ever told you you’re fucking dramatic?” He asked, watching Barty remove the belt and bring his sleeve back down. He scooted closer then, sitting down next to Barty just in time for his head to fall to the side onto Evan’s shoulder.
“Yes but we both know you love it,” Barty replied, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
Evan turned his head towards him, watching the way every muscle in his face turn to jelly as he leaned further into Evan. Not that he minded, truthfully; Barty was always uncharacteristically warm. He was the one person that Evan didn’t mind being close to.
They sat in silence, and after a while he got so lost in it that he almost jumped when Barty spoke again.
“You never texted me back about that concert.” His voice was soft, hardly an accusation, more of a question if anything.
“Sorry, my dad took my phone,” Evan replied, eyes still fixed on Barty’s, though the latter’s were shut lightly.
“You have it back now though, I can feel it buzzing,” Barty replied, shifting his weight slightly so that he could reach a warm hand into Evan’s pocket and pull it out.
“Barty… my dad’s been…a lot, about you, you know?’ Evan said, voice softer than it had been before.
A pause followed this, as though Barty was considering it carefully. Evan knew the words hadn’t upset him, hardly anything could when he was like this, so he simply let him take his time to put together a response. He didn’t think Barty really considered things all that thoroughly before they came out of his mouth, it was more that it took a little longer to piece together a sentence.
“I could sneak you out? It’s not until next week anyway, so he’ll have time to cool off?” Barty looked up at him with a small smile, and immediately Evan knew he would eventually find himself at that concert, so he chuckled a little, grabbing his phone back from his friend.
Evan laughed a little, shoving Barty a bit, though he did not object when Barty immediately leaned back into him, somehow even closer than he had been before. “Alright fine, but if I get caught I’m telling him you seduced me with your devil-worshipping ways.”
Barty’s face immediately split into another grin. “And where would be the lie in that?”
This time, Evan shoved him harder, laughing as he stood up. “Come on, I’ve never gone past this floor,” he said, heading back towards the elevator shaft. He craned his neck upwards, shining his phone flashlight in search of an easy way up. The opening for the fourth floor could be made out as he inspected it, but just barely, and his flashlight range didn’t reach any further to reveal more.
“If you make me climb that I’m guaranteed to fall on my ass,” Barty protested, on his toes to peer up over Evan’s shoulder. “There isn’t even a chain or anything.”
Evan chewed on his lower lip while he considered it. It didn’t appear that the operator’s stairs had been completed past the third floor, only a thick bar a couple feet below the fourth floor opening. If he could just get to that…
“Give me your belt.”
Barty blinked, processing the question slowly before he arched an eyebrow in response. “Not even gonna wine and dine me first?”
Evan looked back at him with his best ‘unimpressed’ face. “You know what I’m talking about, I think I can get up to that ledge,” he did his best to explain, pointing out the spot to Barty as he did.
Barty made a face, looking between Evan and the bar a few times. “Ok Spiderman, but what makes you think I even have it? I resent the implication,” he finally decided, eyes twinkling with mischief behind his indignant expression.
“You used it ten minutes ago, dumbass,” Evan replied, reaching into Barty’s hoodie pocket to grab it himself, not that the latter seemed to care.
It took a few tries to even loop the belt over the bar, and Evan nearly fell into the elevator shaft twice during the process. He grinned victoriously once he caught hold of the other end of the plastic though, yanking on it a few times.
“Will that even hold your weight?”
Evan shrugged, looping the ends of the belt around each of his palms as he did. “If it doesn’t, you’ll catch me,” he declared simply.
With that, he bounded off the floor towards the adjacent wall, getting his foot in a nook it had, and after a bit of sliding, he was able to stabilize the grip on his shoes. He didn’t need to look down to know what Barty’s expression looked like, but he did anyway. Face familiarly flushed, hands shoved in his jean pockets, and dark eyes fixated on Evan; he couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin that came over him at this.
It was only at this point that he questioned what came next. One foot lodged in a small hole in the wall, the other pressed stiff against the adjacent wall -the same wall the bar was on, just two feet above him now. Twisting his body, he looked downwards, at the dark vertical tunnel below him. I guess there are worse ways to die. He didn’t like how Barty seemed to read his thoughts.
“If you fall I’m telling the press that you lit up a room and planned to follow your father’s footsteps into business!” Barty taunted, and despite his carefree attitude, Evan could see the way his eyes followed each and every movement.
“It’s cute that you care,” he replied with a breathless laugh. He barely had time to register Barty making a face at him before he turned back to his task and started to slowly shuffle his feet up the wall, staying in the corner and using the belt to haul himself up to the bar.
Finally, finally, he was just beside it, and from there, getting one foot onto it was easy. A few large, unsteady steps later, and he was on the fourth floor, peering down into the elevator shaft. Catching his breath, he grinned, watching Barty poke his head out and up to look at him. “Not that that wasn’t impressive, you still need to get me up there.”
Evan scoffed playfully. “Wow, presumptuous much? I’m perfectly happy to leave you down there,” he declared, though they both knew it was far from true. He turned away from the elevator shaft, finally looking around to register the new space he’d unlocked.
Unsure what he was expecting, the fourth floor was laid out just the same as the third. A large, echoey space, concrete floors and pillars as its foundation, littered with just a few piles of wood. The only difference was the warmth. The adjacent building was only three stories, so this new floor eclipsed it and, almost as a reward, was bathed in sunlight. He couldn’t help but grin a little at this; if he had thought the third floor was private, this was even more so.
“Evvvvaaaannnnn!” Came Barty’s whine from the elevator shaft, and it took him a moment to remember his task. His eyes swept the floor around him before he spotted it. Thank fuck for lazy construction guys, he thought to himself as he brought the long, albeit scratchy rope back to the elevator space.
“I’m gonna tie this up here, so you can climb it. Nice and easy, you won’t even break a nail,” Evan explained, securing one end of the rope to the nearest pillar and tossing the rest of the rope down. He watched intently, hearing Barty grumble about something, but was satisfied once he felt the rope become taut. He sat near the edge, watching Barty come up and offering him a hand once he got closer, finally helping haul his body weight onto the new floor.
“You’re lucky you’re cute, Rosier,” Barty murmured, flipping him off and laying on the floor to emphasize his disdain. Evan just smiled as he stood, no stranger to Barty’s dramatics, and grabbed his hand to hoist him to his feet.
Dragging a deceptively willing Barty along with him, he finally reached the sunny spot he had first noticed and cleared a spot. Evan sat with his back against a pillar and reached up to tug on Barty’s sleeve, and a smile crept onto his face when Barty took his seat directly beside him.
Barty did smile this time, pink lips spreading into a proper, crooked grin that made it all the way up his eyes. Evan mentally stopped himself before he could notice the colour of his eyes in the sunlight. “Worth it?”
After pretending to consider it for a moment, Barty smirked and lunged into Evan’s pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes stashed there. “Ha! I knew you were holding out on me!” He accused, grabbing the last stick out of the packet and bringing it to his lips to light.
Evan didn’t protest, just snickered a little and held the lighter up for him, watching him take a slow inhale immediately. Once Barty plucked it away from his lips with two fingers, Evan smiled, pulled him close by the front of his shirt, and kissed him.
Through the bitter tobacco and Barty’s wicked grin, Evan melted into the soft touch of his lips. He felt a hand creep up into his hair -better not be the one with the cigarette you fucker- and brought his own up to his cheek, letting his body relax and feel the warmth. Warm sunlight, warm bodies, warm breath, warm lips. It wasn’t until he blindly found the cigarette between Barty’s fingers that he pulled away, turning his head to bring that to his lips instead.
Barty didn’t try to hide the grin on his face, just let Evan take it from him and watched the smoke creep up over their heads.
Chapter 2: Soft Lips, Sharp Tongue
Summary:
Brief warnings for this one, just in case but based on the rating nothing major, just read the tags
Implied sexual content (nothing explicit, but discussed)
Toxic parents (?)
LanguagePlease enjoy :)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
17/11/2021
“Jesus Christ I’m gonna start calling you Hoover,” Barty murmured, his head falling back onto the pillows with a happy sigh.
Evan rolled his eyes, but he laughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, rolling to lay on his side next to Barty. It really is hard not to admire him like this, with his face flushed, lazy smile, and his hair splayed carelessly across the pillow. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”
“It literally just got me into your pants.”
Suppressing a laugh, Evan reached over and wacked Barty’s face with the nearest pillow. “I’ll have you know the only reason I suck your dick is because it’s the only time you actually shut up.”
“That’s such a fucking lie,” came the reply, muffled by the pillow that Barty hadn’t bothered to remove. Evan could hear his smile even through it though. “You love it. Face it, you love me.”
The only appropriate response to this was a theatrical gag, which earned him a face from Barty that only reminded him of how red and sinful those lips were. Evan rolled his eyes in response, sitting up and leaning off the edge of the bed to scoop up his pants. He yelped when Barty took the opportunity to grab him again. “Fuck offfff you’re fucking insatiable.”
Barty snickered, but after giving Evan’s butt one more quick squeeze, he scooted backwards and retrieved his limbs from the tangled mess in the sheets to lean against the headboard. Evan could still feel those eyes on him, but he was able to pull his sweatpants up over his hips and stand up straight.
“Damn. I was hoping I’d have that view a bit longer.”
“Fuck off, just because you have absolutely no shame about being naked,” Evan retorted, rolling his eyes. He picked up Barty’s pants, tossing them at him, but he knew what the response would be before the other even opened his mouth.
“What the fuck is this?!” Barty demanded, tossing the jeans back at Evan with -if you asked him- far too much indignation. Instead, he stood up on the bed, stalked across the mess of blankets, and dropped to the floor with a shameless thud. He went straight for Evan’s drawer, opening it up and digging through to find what he was looking for, eventually emerging victorious with a thick pair of Evan’s sweatpants.
“You can wear your own clothes, you know. That’s allowed,” Evan told him, but honestly delighted in the sight of Barty leaning over to pull on the cozy garment. He watched the boy lift each leg slowly -smug glint in his eyes as he noticed how shaky those legs were- and slide them into the large pants. He brought them up, frowning a bit when they were hardly held up by his narrow hips.
“Ugh, come here,” Evan grumbled, but didn’t wait for a response before he grabbed Barty’s arm and pulled him close. He tried to ignore the way Barty’s eyes flashed at this, layers of green filling with delight, and leaned down to do up the drawstring for him and roll the waistband a couple of times. They still hung low on his hips, but Evan stood up straight anyway, satisfied. He was immediately met with Barty’s face inches away from his, a soft smile plastered over it.
He tried not to, but he loved that smile. Loved the way it was reserved for Evan and Evan alone, the way it only really came about in quiet moments like these. He paused a little, remembering that he needed to breathe even in Barty’s presence, his hand still resting on the crook of his elbow.
He watched Barty’s eyes meet his own, then drift downwards to Evan’s half-dressed state. He still didn’t have a shirt on, so the hickeys on his chest -blossoming slowly into pink love bites- were standing out in a stark contrast to his pale skin. He almost shuddered under his gaze, but remained in control, awaiting anxiously as Barty’s eyes came back up, heartbeat speeding up with each moment, and finally stopped at his lips.
He watched Barty lick his lips, then saw the familiar, impish grin take over his face.
“Thank you daddy.”
This fucking weirdo.
Evan nearly punched him, he really did, but instead settled for giving him a glare that he didn’t feel was mean enough. “You’re a piece of work, Crouch,” he scolded, ignoring Barty’s devious laughter. He stepped forward quickly, scooped him up by his knee and his waist, then proceeded to chuck him onto the bed. There were better ways he could have handled that -he knew this would just turn Barty on more- but nobody could push his buttons quite like Barty Crouch Jr.
Fifteen minutes and another round later -during which Barty was far more needy- Evan’s hunger finally won him over and he grabbed the nearest shirts for the two of them and led him upstairs. Usually, in the middle of a weekday, nobody was home; this was the main reason they spent so much time here. But instead of the quiet kitchen -which he used to pretend he and Barty were out, living on their own, out- he was greeted by low grumbles and shitty trap music.
Fuck.
“Oh, Gerry, my man, Ev didn’t mention that you were home!” Barty looked friendly, even patted Evan’s dad on the shoulder when he walked past, but everyone in the room could read the malice behind the gesture.
“Shouldn’t you be in school right now?” Gerry turned to Evan, blatantly ignoring Barty heading for the kitchen. To Evan, it was clear Barty was giving him space but also definitely listening, and he appreciated that more than he could express.
“We have a spare until lunch,” Evan lied, giving his dad a quick shrug that he hoped wouldn’t be questioned. If only he could be so lucky.
“Isn’t that two spares, Evan?” Came the immediate response from his dad.
“I slept in. Shouldn’t you be at work?” He turned and gestured to the TV that was playing his dad’s horrific music taste.
“I hurt my foot,” Gerry replied with ease, but he was still watching Evan with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Ohhhh I don’t know dad, sounds pretty soft of you don’t you think? It’s important not to flake out on things.” Evan knew throwing his own words at him would antagonize his dad, but frankly he was already annoyed at him for being in what was supposed to be his space. His and Barty’s.
It seemed Gerry really was tired, because he stared at his son for several moments before turning his music up, and waving towards the kitchen none too gently. “I know I told you, I don’t want you bringing him around.”
It took a physical effort not to roll his eyes at this, particularly at the transparent attempt to stop Barty from overhearing -like the guy didn’t have the ears of a prey animal. To his utter dismay, his dad wasn’t done talking.
As he continued, Gerry seemed to go through a mental list he’d been putting together. Maybe he wasn’t as different from his father as he’d like to think. “You need to be focusing, have you applied to UVic yet? UBC? Those scholarships I sent you? Your mother and I can help you with the first couple of semesters Evan but you need to get funding for the rest, especially if you end up at UBC. Do you have any idea how expensive Vancouver is? I know it seems that food and water and electricity just appear at your feet but that will not be the case once you’re an adult. And no son of mine will be taking out loans, there is no worse way to start your adult career than with hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt to the government.”
Evan groaned, hands coming up to rub at his eyes. This was far too much for so early in the morning -ignoring the fact that it was nearly 11am. He was about to respond when he heard the voice of an angel come to his rescue; definitely not the raspy snark of the meanest boy he knew about, to get him into even more shit.
“Oh that would be my fault Gerry, ‘ve had this one naked in bed with me for the past six hours. Promise I’ll nag him to fill out those forms,” Barty offered apologetically. Anyone who didn’t know them could almost assume it was genuine. Almost.
Evan really couldn’t help the way his face flamed somewhat at Barty’s words, cringing internally at the ease with which he said it. It didn’t escape his notice though that Barty had on an apron and was holding a spatula; startling to see on him, and yet it only sold the taunt further. He knew Barty was trying to irritate his dad.
It was working.
Gerry’s face had grown far more red than his son’s, though pretty clearly born of rage rather than discomfort. He stood immediately, and Evan tensed. Geraint Rosier wasn’t a small man, and seeing as Evan was always told his scowls could kill unicorns -what the fuck does that mean-…well he had to get it from somewhere.
Barty, ever-defiant, didn’t react in any way, besides twirling the spatula -Evan could see now there was butter on it, he must have really been cooking- between his fingers, hardly paying Gerry any attention at all. Instead, he was looking at Evan, grabbing his jaw to bring him down for a brief kiss. “You should really get to those applications Ev, wouldn’t want to end up a deadbeat like me, right sweetie?”
Evan knew the affection was entirely to provoke his dad, and that just made it all the better, all the more meaningful. He did his best not to laugh, but Gerry must have seen the amusement in his expression.
“Jesus fucking Christ Evan do you choose your friends based on how much I’ll hate it?” Gerry demanded, stalking closer to them and grabbing Evan’s arm so he’d look at him. “You need to get serious about your future! I am looking out for you, you ungrateful shit.”
Now he was starting to get worried, panic twisting and tightening in his chest. He did look at his dad, poured all his strength into making it a look of annoyance -he’d always had a good poker face- but the dilation of his eyes must have given him away. For a moment, Gerry looked satisfied in himself; his son was not completely gone, he could still be turned into a presentable citizen.
It only took six words from Barty to banish that brief satisfaction.
“He’s always awfully grateful to me,” he mused, just as he reached around and grabbed a firm handful of Evan’s ass. He’s a maniac, and he’s gonna get me fucking killed, Evan thought to himself, but accepted Barty’s forceful kiss after he’d yanked his head away from Gerry once again. It was hardly a makeout, more just Evan bordering on a panic attack while Barty attacked his mouth, but it was still the best thing that could have happened. Any excuse to have Barty against his chest was worth it, he decided.
When Barty pulled away from him, he had a smirk on his lips and a deviousness in his eyes that did, admittedly, have Evan a little weak in the knees. His dad was an intimidating man, and not someone who should be angered, anyone with a brain could see that. And here was his boyfriend, manhandling Geraint’s son with a steely malice…He really shouldn’t have found it as hot as he did.
“Hm, but he’s right dear, my dad says the cost of living is only going up and up. I don’t like to listen to him, but I guess he would know, huh?” Barty considered. Of course he wasn’t done. “He’s working with the premier to fix it, but I don’t know…”
Barty may have hated his dad with all the might of a desperate army, but he wasn’t above dropping his name when it served him. And it did. The quick reminder of who exactly his dad was -as much as Barty hated to think about it- was enough to smother any impulse Gerry may have had.
The man took a step back, viscous scowl painted on his face, and grabbed his car keys. “I’m going to the store. Don’t burn this shit down.” His dad’s hand on the doorknob, work boots already on, for some reason, Evan finally relaxed a bit.
Gerry was almost out the door when Barty piped up.“Oh can you pick me up some condoms? Preferably the super-pack, I seem to have finished up my whole supply! Crazy, huh?”
The man’s expression was downright murderous, but with the son of a well-known government official, not even he was rash enough to respond as he wanted. He left.
Evan had to hand it to him; only the ingenuity (and sardonicism) of Barty Crouch Jr. could kick a man like Gerry out of his own house.
“He’s going to punch you one of these days, you know that right?”
Barty scoffed, flipping the pancake that he had cleverly made into what Evan could only assume was supposed to look like a dick. “Let him try.”
Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the absurdity of the conversation, but Evan burst into cackles, and his boyfriend quickly followed.
Notes:
If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! Again, updates won't be consistent so I appreciate it all :)
Chapter 3: Old Patterns in Strange Fabrics
Notes:
Pay attention to the date stamps from here on out, we are jumping from past to present! Also I'm Canadian, so this is DD/MM/YYYY
Nothing I can really thing of for this chapter, besides alcohol and implied sexual content, nothing explicit.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter Text
18/8/2024
“I swear this is the sixth phone charger I’ve found.”
Evan looked up to see her waving the white wire at him, but he shrugged a bit and turned back to the box in his lap. “Always good to have a backup,” he replied, as if that was why he had so many.
He didn’t need to look up to know Pandora was rolling her eyes, but he did anyway. It was nice to see her smile, he’d missed it.
“In that case, I’m stealing at least two,” she declared with a grin, tossing the most recent find into the corner of stuff she had decided Evan needed to part with. Apparently it now included things she intended to commandeer. “Also I don’t think you’ll physically have enough space for twelve hundred books.”
“I have 221, and if they don’t all fit I’m moving out,” he declared, only half kidding. Even now as he looked around, the room felt considerably less barren than it had two hours ago. They’d set up his bed, in the corner of the room despite Pandora’s protests, and the bigger of his bookshelves was set up against another wall. Despite her theatrical insistence, he knew all his books would fit, and even as he demonstrated it by unpacking them all, his sister was adamant.
It took another hour, but as he placed the last book on the shelf, he turned back to Pandora with a smug look. “I guess you owe me McDonald’s.”
“Technically, you didn’t take that bet, but I’ll allow it because you’re already better than my last roommate,” she replied from where she sat on his bed. By now, her long blond hair was twisted into a bun at the top of her head, and she’d shed her dress in favour of gym shorts and a t-shirt she could have stolen from a sumo wrestler, based on the size of it.
With a victorious grin, Evan went over to sit beside her. “I’ll order if you make the bed for me?” He offered, raising his eyebrows toward her, which only earned him a laugh.
“You’re so fucking lazy. It’s a fitted sheet, it’s not gonna bite you,” Pandora replied with another roll of her eyes. Regardless, she stood up and started to set up his bedsheets.
“It might.” Evan fiddled with the delivery app on his phone, putting her card information in and ordering.
“So, have you told anyone else you’re back?” She asked after a moment, and he knew the look in her eyes immediately. Concern. But of course if he complained about this, he came off as childish and ungrateful.
Despite this, he only shrugged. “Who would I tell besides you?”
“Well, I still haven’t told mom and dad so you’re welcome for that. But like, I don’t know, Regulus?”
Evan paused at this. He hadn’t actually considered it until now, but maybe he should have texted Reg. “Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to him. You said he goes to school here too right?”
She nodded, smiling, but Evan knew there was more.
“Spit it out.”
“What about Barty?” He hated the caution in her tone, the way she eyed him for a reaction she knew he would try to hide. Not like I’m a fucking time bomb.
“Why would I talk to Barty?” He didn’t mean for his words to come out as vicious as they did.
“I mean…-”
“I’m not gonna talk to Barty.” He felt bad for interrupting her, but it was necessary. He’d already made a promise to himself, maybe repeating it out loud would reinforce it.
He didn’t need to look up to know the way she was looking at him. When she spoke, the edge in her voice only confirmed it.
“Evan…why did you? Run away like that?” She asked. He really should have been grateful she’d waited this long to do it. Pandora’s patience didn’t typically last that long.
“Just needed a change.” Evan stood up, gathered up a pair of sweats and some socks, and left for the bathroom. “Gonna go test out the shower.”
It wasn’t fair to her, he knew that. She’s just looking out for you, no need to be a dick.
But if he wasn’t, Evan wasn’t sure how she would take his reply. How was he supposed to answer that? It was impossible and she knew it and she’d asked anyway. Fucking Dora and her psychoanalysis. Her concern. If anything, it wasn’t fair of her to ask for a reason from him.
By the time he’d finished his shower, Evan felt properly guilty about the way he’d snapped at Dora. It had just never sat right with him, her softness. Patience, kindness, gentleness. Wow, how pathetic. This is why it worked with me and Bar-
He ruffled the towel almost violently over his hair in an attempt to ground himself a little more. Those thoughts were not allowed. Truthfully, he debated hopping right back into the shower, though this thought was not entertained for long, considering he had to now pay the fucking water bill.
Once he’d gotten dressed in some comfy sweatpants and a loose tee, he knocked on Pandora’s door, and was met with it swinging open.
“Come to apologize?” She didn’t look angry, in fact she raised an eyebrow and gave him a smile as she waited patiently for him to give in.
“You almost make me regret it, but yeah,” Evan replied, sighing. “I didn’t mean to be such a dick to you.”
Her smile brightened, and she gestured for him to enter her room. “I know you didn’t. Someone’s gotta keep you humble though.”
This earned another eye roll from him, but Evan nodded a bit and entered the room. The space was as bright and airy as Pandora herself, with plants, posters, and fairy lights scattered all around. Her bed was mostly made, but a couple pillows had been tossed carelessly on top of it all. Even the scent was welcoming, a familiar tang of coconut and jasmine wafting all around him; it brought a real smile to his face, realizing just now how safe her apartment felt. Their apartment, now.
With a sigh, he sat on her bed, leaning back and watching the way her crystals cast shimmering reflections all across her ceiling. She sat by him, back against the wall and eyes fixed on his hands.
“So biochem, huh?” She asked, peering over at her brother.
Tension leaving his shoulders, Evan nodded, still watching the lights. “Mhm, luckily a decent amount of my credits transferred over, so don’t need to start from scratch.”
“Very fancy. Does this mean I’ll have lab coats all over the apartment?” She accused, raising an eyebrow at him.
Evan only snickered, and shook his head. “I solemnly swear to keep all lab stuff in my own room.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Pandora decided, waving a finger at him, and poking his shoulder. “Now get out, I have to get ready for the party tonight!”
He stood without protest, heading for her door, and only turned once he was in the doorway with one hand on the doorframe. “Wait, what party?”
She smirked and gave him a wave, shutting the door behind him.
Aw fuck.
---
The party, as he discovered soon enough, could certainly have been worse. Two years ago, Evan would have scoffed at claims made about college parties. Maybe in the States, sure but here? He was quickly proven wrong.
In every direction he looked, he found stereotypes. A handful of grinning boys huddled around a computer, no doubt arranging the playlist that admittedly was not horrible. A group immersed at the table with an intricate array of playing cards and shot glasses spread out around them. Outside on the deck, a quieter crowd still chuckling, smoke wafting around them and creeping into the house through the open windows. In the kitchen, he could hear cheers and laughter, and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was standing on the counter with the all-too-captivated audience.
He hadn’t seen Sirius for years, and he looked different, yet somehow the same. He held a funnel to his mouth, while a guy that looked eerily familiar poured two cans he held down into it. After chugging for an impressive amount of time -maybe alcoholism runs in the family- he only pulled away for his victory twirl after the guy had crumpled both cans in his palms. As he hopped off the counter, taking a moment to reclaim his balance, Sirius grinned and locked eyes with him. Ah fuck.
“Evan! You’re here!” He pronounced, far too loudly for Evan’s comfort, as he slung an arm across his shoulders. “James! James, this is my cousin! The one who ran away!” He declared, getting the attention of the guy who’d just tossed the empty beer cans into the sink -apparently James.
“Thought you were the cousin who ran away,” James countered with a snicker, coming over to join them. Immediately, he offered up a winning smile. “Hey Evan, I’m James, good to have you! Do you want a drink or something?”
“Ugh, sure actually. Frankly I could use a shot, I just got here,” Evan replied, relaxing a little bit at how at ease both James and Sirius seemed. At least he knew a couple of people here -Dora had promptly ditched him to dance with her friends as soon as they’d arrived.
His cousin’s eyes lit up, and he grinned immediately. Evan remembered that grin, and frankly couldn’t help but smile a little to himself. It had gotten him into absurd amounts of mischief as a kid, after all, and he was trying to embrace the fond memories. “Yes! James, get the tequila!”
James, it seemed, didn’t need to be told; he’d already snatched up three plastic shot glasses and poured what Evan was certain was more than a shot. He grinned though, taking the cup and downing the shot with the two of them. Their ease, combined with the welcome burn sliding down his throat, was a bit of a relief.
“I didn’t know you were back in town!” Sirius accused with a wide grin, seemingly incapable of saying anything at a normal volume. The music was pretty loud, he supposed, excusing it.
“Yeah, I transferred over, starting school here,” Evan found himself explaining, already reaching for a hard seltzer he found in the fridge. “I moved in with Dora.”
“Oh shit Dora! I haven’t said hi to her yet, is she here? We have to do our shot!” Sirius exclaimed happily. Evan briefly wondered if he was doing a shot with every new person he encountered. It might explain the theatrics. Then again, that could just be Sirius. “That’s cool that you’re back! Reggie didn’t mention it.”
“Right ugh- I actually haven’t told him yet.” Evan did his best not to let the guilt come through with his words, but he had a feeling it seeped through despite his efforts. “Is he here?”
This made Sirius laugh harder than anything thus far. He sure does laugh a whole fucking lot. “You did not just ask me if my brother is at a party.”
In hindsight, it was a stupid question. “Yeah I guess not, I’ll text him later,” Evan corrected himself, but put in the effort to give Sirius a smile.
“Good because he might rip out at least one kidney if he doesn’t hear it from you!” Sirius informed him, grinning. “Go mingle! There’s lots of beautiful, beautiful men here!” With that, he turned and inserted himself into a group of people talking, somehow welcomed there immediately.
Evan couldn’t help but laugh, despite the hint of envy in his chest. Sirius always had been the- well extrovert didn’t quite cover it. Center of attention? Perpetual emcee? Human exclamation point? Regardless, it did put him a bit more at ease to know these strangers all seemed to be friends of his.
James, who appeared again, now with a slice of pizza in his hand, laughed at his friend. “He’s drunk, in case you couldn’t tell,” he offered to Evan with a friendly grin.
“Honestly he’s kinda always been like that, even sober,” he replied, but tried his best to smile back. Now that he could eye him more closely, James did look very familiar -he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that he’d been at several of their high school parties as well. He definitely wasn’t bad-looking. Intentionally unruly curls, deep brown eyes, caramel skin, and full lips. Beautiful is right, Sirius.
James threw his head back at this, laughing. He did it almost as much as Sirius did. “I think you need to catch up,” he pointed out, and Evan wasn’t sure how to tell him he’d already gotten halfway through his second drink. He offered a grin though, and raised the can in his hand towards James before he leaned back and downed the rest of it. He winced, once he was done, crushing it in his palm and shaking his head to dispel the strange, carbonated feeling he always got from beer.
James gave a loud whoop in approval, grinning and wrapping an arm around him. “Oh I know I’m going to like you,” he decided, a goofy smile lighting up his face.
---
Don’t ask him how it happened, but it was hardly an hour later that Evan was thoroughly drunk, chest warm, fingertips tingling, and lips pressed fiercely against those of James Potter. He hardly had time to breathe between the needy kisses, hands fumbling behind him to close the door of James’ bedroom. He didn’t look around, just found himself stumbling forwards until he lay on a large, far too comfortable bed, laughing.
James was giggling along with him, shifting onto his side to look at Evan. His lips were wet and swollen, cheeks flushed and eyes dark, but he gave him a lazy smile. How he looked so relaxed, Evan would never know. He didn’t have time to wonder, because James’ next comment took him by surprise.
“You know, out of all the Black cousins I’ve kissed, you’re definitely the roughest.”
"What?!"
James laughed more, turning to lay back on his bed with a happy sigh. “Not that I’m collecting you, I’m just saying.”
Evan couldn’t help but laugh, and he scooted closer to shove James briefly. “I bet I can be your favourite,” he offered, his mouth moving before he had the chance to consider his words. What the fuck. He leaned over, draping an arm over James’ waist, and attached his lips to the spot on his collar where his t-shirt ended. He laughed a little when he felt a rumble in James’ chest in response.
“I can be convinced,” James replied, voice deeper now.
Their bodies moved in a blur of panting, sighing, kissing, touching. Evan felt James slide a hand into his pants and made no move to stop him. In fact, he found his mouth again and kissed him hard, immediately letting his tongue prod against James; Evan couldn’t help but smirk at the soft moan that this drew from the guy beneath him.
He let James move to climb on top of him, let him bring down his pants in a slow -and somewhat clumsy- motion. He whined a little when his mouth left Evan’s, but instantly forgave him when he felt it travel lower instead. Hot, wet, desperate kisses, no real emotion behind them. No love, no feelings, no connection, just raw touch, and it felt fucking incredible.
Evan wound his fingers into dark curls, one of his arms coming up to cover his mouth. He may have been caught up in the moment, but he still had the presence of mind to ensure they wouldn’t get discovered. Not that he was ashamed. Far from it. James was gorgeous, he was popular, and frankly, was far too good at what he was doing for this to be his first time with a guy. He had hardly come apart at James’ touch before he moved to return the favour, swap their positions, bring down the cargo pants that by now hung long on James’ hips, and did little to conceal how much he’d enjoyed that.
Evan smirked, taking delight in teasing him for a while before giving him what he wanted, and he couldn’t help but moan when he felt James explode in response to his touch.
Afterwards, he rolled over onto his back, turning to give James a breathless grin, which was promptly returned.
“Welcome home, Evan,” James offered, before they both burst into laughter. The alcohol, along with James’ easy presence and the post-sex bliss, did a lot to smooth the knots in Evan’s chest, and he found himself completely relaxed. They both lay on the bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and catching their breaths, before Evan spoke.
“I should probably go back downstairs before Dora sends out an Amber alert,” he lamented, sitting up and searching for his shirt.
“Dora?” James watched him with a lazy smile, but made no move to get dressed with him.
“My sister,” Evan clarified, realizing properly that he didn’t really know James. He found his shirt eventually on a bookshelf in the corner -fuck knows how it had gotten there- and pulled it on over his head.
“Ohhhhhhh.” James fell back against the bed again, then started to giggle. “Well then just call me Swiper.”
It took a moment for the joke to make sense, but when it clicked, Evan rolled his eyes immediately. He picked James’ pants up off the floor and tossed them at him with a dry laugh. “Put those on, dumbass. I’ll see you back downstairs.”
He didn’t wait for a response before he turned and closed the door behind him to rejoin the party.
Chapter 4: Fragments in Forward Motion
Summary:
Evan starts to put together the bits of his life he'd left behind, and we get our first official Regulus appearance!
Notes:
Nothing I can think of besides the archive warnings, so just mind the tags.
Mentions of not good relationships
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
14/9/2024
It really should not have taken him four tries to get his outfit right to reunite with his cousin, and yet. Even walking into the cafe that Reg had suggested, he started to wonder if he was dressed too casual. Too formal? What does one wear to apologize for dropping off the face of the planet for two years? Evan looked down, plucking at the sweatshirt he’d ended up in. Good as it’s gonna get.
The place was nice. Immediately his senses were hit with the earthy aroma of coffee and matcha, the soft pseudo-indie music, and the general bustle of ongoing conversations. Immediately, his gaze narrowed in on the dark-haired guy in the far corner.
Regulus looked almost exactly as Evan had assumed he would. His hair was longer, still curling around his sharp features -sharper now than before- and settling in thick ringlets just below his jaw. He looked up once the door opened, and a look of recognition came over his pale features. He didn’t smile, but Evan knew he was happy to see him regardless.
He went over and sat across from him, but Reg shook his head and stood. “Nah if you’re gonna pull a prodigal son, you at least owe me a coffee,” he declared, gesturing to the counter.
Evan laughed a little, but he nodded and followed, getting in line with him. The menu was abundant with options, but he knew what Reg would get before they even reached the till, demonstrating that by speaking to the barista with a small smile. “Hey ugh, can I get a large mocha and a large iced triple-shot soy vanilla latte?”
This did make Reg smile, and he peered up at Evan with a curious look. “How do you know my order hasn’t changed?”
Evan just shrugged, paying and taking their drinks from the guy at the counter. “You’re a creature of habit,” he replied, heading back to their table and sitting down. “So ugh….I don’t know where to start.”
“Dude, I’m not your mother. Now that you bought me this,” he raised his cup that he was already sipping at, “we’re good.”
This, frankly, was surprising, and Evan faltered before he responded. “Wait so, you’re not mad? Why…why not?”
“Quite the ego on you, huh?” Reg replied, raising an eyebrow, but he offered a small smirk. “Dude, it’s fine. I know you had some shit going on with Trent, I know you’re back now, so I assume that’s done?”
Trying not to flinch at the name, Evan nodded. “Yeah, totally done,” he assured, licking his lips while he watched Reg curiously.
“Great, so I’m happy for you, glad you’re back in town, and yeah. We’re good.”
It took a moment, until finally Evan started to laugh, at which Reg looked briefly confused, almost alarmed. This in itself was an accomplishment, frankly.
Evan had to take a minute to gather himself before he spoke, taking another sip of his sweet drink. “Shit, why did I think you’d be as mad at me as everyone else?”
“Because you made the mistake of assuming my actions?”
“You’re a dick.”
Reg laughed, but he looked up and gave Evan half a smile. “I promise, we’re good.”
The sigh of relief that left him when Reg repeated that…well he hadn’t realized he’d been so nervous about it. “Fuck, that…that feels really good to hear, thanks.” It didn’t sound as sincere as he’d meant for it too, but he hoped Regulus would understand.
His cousin was quiet for a bit, mixing some of the whipped cream into his drink with his straw. “Have people been giving you shit?”
“Sort of? Dora was nice about it, but she definitely chewed me out. Sirius punched me but then he hugged me so I guess equal measures? I haven’t told my parents and honestly if I can avoid it, I never will.”
Regulus’ nose wrinkled pensively, still staring into his drink. “Now I am a little pissed. Why am I the last one to know?”
He was about to lie, honestly he was. ‘I lost your number’, ‘I didn’t want to see you’, ‘I’ve been busy’. He second-guessed it though; Reg would see right through it. “You were the only one I was scared to tell.”
“The great Evan Rosier, admitting he was scared. And of a five-foot-six twink no less,” Regulus remarked, making no effort to hide the smirk painted on his face. “I’m flattered, didn’t think that was possible.”
“Oh fuck off, you know you’re scary. Plus I-...” Evan paused, chewing on his lower lip and then recalling again that he was trying a new honesty approach. “I was worried you’d give me the ‘I told you so’ speech and I probably would have hit you for it.”
“Oh please, you could never take me in a fight,” Reg replied, but he gave him a small grin. “So did you decide I wouldn’t give you the speech, or…?”
“I decided it was worth getting hit,” Evan interrupted, shrugging a bit. “I…I missed you Reg, and I really am sorry for leaving like that.”
Regulus nodded, carefully licking some of the whipped cream from his lid. “I’m not gonna say this again Evan, but it’s okay, we’re good.”
We’re good.
He didn’t realize he’d gone quiet until Reg spoke again. “So are you swapping schools or just dropping out?” he asked, and most people would have assumed the tone was judgmental, but Evan knew better.
“Switched over to UVic, so I might see you around. Or, you know not, if you’re holed up in your auditoriums.” He made the attempt at a joke, watching Reg curiously.
“Hm well I promise I’ll leave my practice room if I hear you exploded in a lab incident.”
As he continued to chat with Reg, Evan found himself leaning back in his chair, the tension leaving his body. Maybe this would be ok.
---
The sun was setting by the time he left the cafe, his third coffee in his hand. He waved at Reg, who headed to his car in the opposite direction down the street, and let out a deep sigh. As with old times, his conversation with Regulus had been both eviscerating and illuminating. Reg was like fire, somehow cleansing him and burning him simultaneously. That fucker.
Dude, I think you’re a lot more angry at yourself than I am at you. Reg’s voice echoed in his mind, and the music coming through his headphones couldn’t seem to mute it.
He was right, really, and Evan knew that. He was angry at himself. Angry, frustrated, disappointed, annoyed, and yet not surprised. He should have been, ideally. In reality, he was starting to realize he’d left knowing, in some hidden corner of his mind, that he would fail. As much as he’d wanted it to be permanent, the voice in his head -sounding eerily familiar- continued to plant those doubts, infiltrate any hopes he’d held onto.
He almost closed his eyes as he recalled Trent’s words. You don’t need them baby, we can make a life together. That’s what it was supposed to be, after all. A new start, a new chance. Away from the expectations, the familiar faces, the same eyes that had watched every excruciating experience of his life. He needed away. He’d left and when Trent offered that freedom… right, well he should know by now not to trust men.
He reached into his pocket, instinctively reaching for his Playfares and a lighter, bringing them both up to face level. His gaze stayed fixed on the spark for just a moment, until it caught and his eyes drifted to the streets around him.
It was too far of a walk, even Dora had pestered him to just take the bus, but these days, it felt like ridiculously long walks were all that grounded him to stay here.
In some twisted way, he wished Reg had been angry. Anger meant he cared, meant he knew Evan had made a mistake, anger meant something had been broken. What kind of life had he lived that two years away from it impacted nothing? The more he contemplated it, the more he realized, the only thing he’d really escaped from, was time. How cruel it was to escape time.
He hadn’t meant to leave so much of himself behind. Whether pieces had been left in Victoria or Toronto or some inconsequential truck stop in between, he’d likely never know. All he knew was that this was not the town he’d grown up in, which was strange, because Victoria never changed. Old streets, new buildings, same ocean, different atmosphere. Despite all the startling differences, everything was familiar to the point of suffocation. Every face he saw knew too much and yet nobody really saw him at all. Fuck. This wasn’t meant to happen. He wasn’t meant to come back. It was supposed to be different. Things weren’t meant to change. Fuck fuck FUCK.
Lighting what must have been his third cigarette, Evan reached to turn his music up higher, only to find that he had maxed out the volume. It wasn’t loud enough. Nothing was. Nothing was loud enough to drown out Trent’s words, the roar of the engine, the thundering of the rain, the noise the songs the streets the voicesthecriesthepromisesthecarsthewasher…
It’s one fucking load of dishes it isn’t hard!
What do you mean go back?!
Don’t fucking talk to me like that.
You’re fucking delusional, finish the fucking assignment and come to bed.
Evan.
Evan!
EVAN!
Everything was far too loud and he couldn’t hear a thing.
Evan cursed under his breath, flicking his lighter open and shut again, the small fire mirroring the tightening he felt in his chest. Trent. The relationship he’d clung to like a lifeline, what had started miraculous having twisted into something he barely recognized -all too familiar. It wasn’t meant to be this way. He hadn’t run away. That would be cowardly. He’d left, he’d come back, he’d turned his back on what was supposed to be his salvation, his change, his truth. He hadn’t meant for it all to go so….wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
“Fuck!” The sole of his shoe came crashing down on the empty bottle strewn on the ground -typical fashion for Pandora Avenue, and he watched the shards of glass scatter and slide across the thankfully-empty sidewalk. Wait. Pandora Avenue? Wonderful. Only a ninety minute walk from where he was supposed to be, somehow in the opposite direction. Annoying, he decided, despite having made it here on his own two feet. Nobody had bothered to let his mind know the plan.
With a mournful groan, Evan ducked into the nearest dispensary he saw, spending way too much money on some hipster flavour haze when all he needed was to be gone.
He held onto the cartridge in his pocket until he got back -after all, he was nothing if not considerate of his sister. It was only once he burst into the apartment, over an hour later, that he headed straight for the balcony, gesturing for Dora to follow when he saw her lounging on the couch. She knew better than to question.
They smoked in silence for a while, Evan sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, while Dora searched his face for any sort of answer. She should have known better by now, really. He’d gotten a lot better at concealing his emotions in the past while.
“I think Reg was an oracle in a past life.”
Somehow, Pandora’s delicate laugh helped.
“You know he wouldn’t get to you so badly if you had even a concept of self-reflection,” she pointed out, taking another hit off of the second joint they’d pulled from the cartridge.
“That’s such a therapist fucking answer, and you know it.”
She just smiled, shrugging. “I don’t know what you want me to say? He’s probably right, whatever he said.”
He groaned more, hands coming up to rub at his face. “You don’t think I know that? I just…” he trailed off for a moment, honestly unsure of what it was he wanted. To forget? To restart? To burn the goddamn city down? “I just want it to be normal, like it was.”
She nodded a little bit, and the look in her eyes told him that there was something else, something she wasn’t saying, and this made him frown. Dora never held back, not with him.
“You can say it.” He’d regret that in a moment.
“It’ll never be how it was Evan. It’s different now. You left, and like, I know that sucks to hear but you did, and even though you’re back now, you still left. I think you need to….you need to realize time didn’t stop here just because you were gone.”
Call him a narcissist, but honestly it was not something he’d considered until that moment. Of course he saw it; Sirius had grown older, Regulus had moved out at least partially, Dora had moved out, come out, and gotten with her girlfriend -July? Jill? Lucy? He knew there was an L in the name. Everyone he knew was different, and it was only fair; he was different too.
“I guess it was too much to ask for you guys to wait for me, huh?”
Far, far too much.
It was a couple hours later when he finally came inside to sleep, his mind pleasantly fuzzy with the effects of the weed. Foolishly, he hoped that this would help ease his thoughts and let sleep come quickly. No such luck. The quiet in his room was an echo chamber of everything he’d been narrowly avoiding all day. Nothing moved, lights and shadows perfectly still on his walls, breaths slow and shallow beneath his sheets. So why was he jittery with adrenaline?
Nothing made sense, not now. How could he have known everything he needed to at eighteen, yet here he lay two years later, trying to remember if there was anything he’d ever known for certain? The people around him felt….complete. Better, grown, evolved. Here remains Evan Rosier, unchanged. Where he could see the pieces of his friends fit together as they always should have, it hurt that they’d done it all without him.
Unchanged. That was a load of shit.
He was changed, shifted. Twisted and mangled and disfigured into a wrung out shell. How fucking cliched. It was almost pathetic, the way he’d changed, yet never grown. He’d been cracked open and sewn carelessly back together, with frayed edges that still caught on everything he touched, unravelling. Always unravelling. A ragdoll that had been played with far too roughly, with strings coming off of him in every which way, fingers tugging at each imperfection until he was a spool of yarn. He’d learned a long time ago, nothing was ever really fixed. It was just mended. Sewn. Taped. Glued. Temporary. The foundations were never the same. Earthquake damage could never be undone. Only redone.
Somewhere between thoughts of broken bricks and slabs of meat, Evan rolled over, and his eyes gave away to the room one last time before he drifted off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
Notes:
Thanks so much for reading! I am entering busy season for school in the next couple weeks (exams are gross) but gonna do my best to keep updating and release a chapter every friday!
Chapter 5: Warmth Worth the Wreckage
Summary:
A look into Evan and Barty, senior year
Notes:
Posting this a day early because I can and rules are fake :)
I was worried about this chapter and I struggled with it a lot, so I hope it turned out alright
Mild sexual content here, and some fire/destruction, references to explosives. Nothing crazy though
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
28/10/2021
“I’m telling you Ev, this is injustice at its finest!” Barty declared, waving what was likely his third consecutive cigarette around as he spoke in wild gestures. “The guy has it out for me!”
“I mean…it was a fair assumption, it does sound like something you’d do,” Evan replied without looking up, laying back on his bed while he messed with a Rubik’s Cube. Barty had been going on for close to an hour, but he’d learned long ago that his ramblings should never be interrupted. Not to mention, he really didn’t mind listening.
“Are you kidding?! No it fucking doesn’t! This was so stupid, childish, literally feels like grade six kids trying to prank their teacher,” Barty protested, glaring over at Evan for a moment with a steely gaze.
“Right, my bad, sorry. I forgot you weren’t stupid, childish, or petty.” Evan had an impish smirk on his lips when he did look up at his boyfriend this time. His expression changed though, a little gentler and more genuine when he added, “Bee I think you just need to take this one.”
The bed shifted with Barty’s weight on it, and Evan peered up to find him sitting beside him. Those piercing green eyes held the same bitter intensity he’d seen in him so many times. “Evan, I’m tired of just taking this shit from people.”
Now, if anyone else had said it, Evan would have made fun of them for it for at least an hour. But it was Barty and…. Well Barty had taken a lot of shit. He was silent for a while as he thought, but Barty seemed to accept this as contemplating a possible, savage revenge. He watched his boyfriend for a while, then bit his bottom lip before starting to speak. “Okay….what do you have in mind?”
Barty’s face split into a maniacal grin -that should not have been as pretty as it was- and Evan braced himself while he launched into a surprisingly well thought out plan.
That was how Evan found himself several hours later, making his way through their high school parking lot in the dead of night. “So…which door did you mean?”
Barty just gestured for him to follow, weaving his way past the dumpsters until he found a door that Evan had never even known existed, if he was honest. It was closed, with no door handle or anything, but Barty didn’t seem deterred in the slightest. He pulled a card from his jacket pocket —a gift card to McDonalds?— and started to swipe it up through the crack in the door, the side opposite the hinges.
“What are you–?”
“Cleaners never lock this properly, they use it for their smoke breaks,” Barty told him, though offered no explanation as to how he knew that. Evan, though, had learned long ago not to question Barty’s methods.
It took several tries, and a couple creative curses from Barty, but he was able to get the door open just enough to grab the side, and before they knew it, they were inside the school. It took him a moment to realize they were in the basement, a spot near Evan’s locker in fact. “How the fuck did you know this was here?”
Barty turned back to him, and the grin on his face was immediately recognizable; the look he got when he had succeeded at something he shouldn’t have attempted in the first place. He leaned forward and kissed Evan quickly, then tapped his chest twice. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. Come on, I want to find his office.”
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but was secretly grateful for the darkness; he could feel his cheeks heating up against his will.
The only source of light came from Barty’s phone, and this caused the eerie shadows around them to elongate and shorten with every step. It was like everything was watching them, moving in response, and Evan swallowed hard, feeling his stomach churn. He still didn’t know what Barty’s plan actually was. Frankly, he was a little afraid to ask. As long as he was oblivious to the actual intention, he could hang on to the hope that it was something small. Something innocent, mild. It took real effort to stifle his snort at that. Barty Crouch Jr: Small, innocent, and mild.
Mr. Dippet wasn’t a bad principal per se, nor was he particularly unfair or vindictive towards students. That being said, Evan was nothing if not unquestionably loyal to Barty, so when asked by anyone else, he agreed vehemently that the man was a malicious bastard who existed solely to torture innocent high school students. In truth, Dippet had been quick to blame Barty for whatever ruckus had been caused at the pep rally. Neither of them had been there —they’d been smoking and making out in the parking lot, which Barty was quick to inform Dippet of— but seeing as he was so often behind such commotions, Barty was the one to take the blame in the end.
Now this was unfair, which was why Evan had no moral dilemma as he helped set out several small tubes that Barty continued to produce from his backpack.
“I thought you said it was a couple?” Evan muttered, though mostly to himself as he propped one of them up against the office chair.
“I got carried away, they’re actually really fun to make and I was watching a show. Besides, there’s a process,” Barty replied easily, still grinning widely as he launched into an explanation. “The one under his seat will go off as soon as he sits down, pressure from the chair will release the switch. Then the magic starts. Everything he does to avoid them will set off another one, until his whole office is a glittery fucking mess.” As he spoke, Barty carefully lifted a much larger package from his backpack and placed it carefully on the desk. “Now…to find the right place for this…”
“Tell me that’s not–”
“It’s a bomb, a real one,” Barty confirmed, smirking as he looked back up to him. His eyes were practically glowing with devilish thrill, and Evan felt his breath hitch once they settled on him.
Something about that look in his eyes ignites something in him, and quickly Evan can feel the nervous energy coursing through him turn into something else entirely. Adrenaline? Excitement? Delight? He dismissed the thought, because all that mattered now was the way his muscles shook with need and his fingertips twitched with the rush of energy. The prospect…how could he say no to that?
It’s always been this way. Barty was a spark, an energy, an idea. The look in his eyes was a trigger, whereas Evan was the kindling. Despite what it may look like to outsiders, Evan held the real rage here, the real crazy. All it took was one look from Barty to spur it on, and the flames could never be stopped. Flames could be warm, yes, but they could also be very, very destructive. Barty had joked before that Evan was his attack dog, and…well it wasn’t the worst possible fate.
Which was why Evan took the device gingerly from Barty and left the office with a clear destination in mind. He walked with purpose, despite the eerily silent corridors and the delicate explosive device in his hands, and he was grinning. He heard Barty follow him, all the way to the display case near the front entrance. Glass pane standing in front of all the students the school wanted to show off. Valedictorians, star athletes, math prodigies. Among them, of course, was Barty Crouch Sr., or as Barty knew him, evil incarnate.
It was ironic, the way Barty was so vehemently against that legacy that he fought against, and yet he was better than his father in every way. Nobody who looked at Barty would assume he was very smart, at least not academically. Nobody would assume he could do calculus in his head and memorize hundreds upon hundreds of useless facts and processes. And certainly nobody would assume he had the highest grades in the school, much to the chagrin of their teachers. It could have been Barty in half of these pictures, had he not been so enthusiastic about disqualifying himself. Before this year, no amount of detentions or suspensions could disqualify someone from the honour roll, but Barty had a nasty habit of leaving his mark on everything he touched.
Evan smirked a little, carefully jiggling open the lock on the glass with the pick in his pocket, and turned back to look at Barty. Dark hair, green eyes, pale skin, and an air of chaos that he could never contain…it was hot. Who was he to deny that?
He was careful as he placed the delicate device in the display case, lower down and in the far left corner. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be spotted here until it was too late. He barely had time to turn back to Barty before he felt a pair of soft lips smash against his own, and his hands were around Barty before he could register what was happening. Pressing into his chest, Evan could feel both their hearts pounding in sync, fast and eager, both crazed with the rush.
“That’s the best part!” Barty pulled away, practically bouncing with excitement as he gestured back towards the office. “The one under his chair will go off as soon as he sits on it, and it’ll set off all the other ones. This one,” he gestured to the black box they’d placed in the display case as if it was a priceless artifact, “has a detonator.” His lips were red, spread into a wide grin that remained as he spoke. His movements were faster with each word, and Evan couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“You’re cute, you know that?”
Barty turned to flip him off immediately, but his scowl wasn’t able to hide the glee in his expression. “Shut it, Romeo, or I’ll plant the next one in your bed.”
Evan laughed happily, reaching up and bringing his hood down from over his head, letting blond hair spring free of the garment. “So are we getting out of here? Or was there something else on your itinerary?"
“Oh I’m far from done, Goldilocks.”
---
After nearly an hour of wandering and ranting through all the different classrooms, Barty brought them to the chemistry laboratory on the third floor, starting to look through the cabinets. Unsure what he was searching for, but wanting to help regardless, Evan stood behind him and peered over his shoulder, one hand slipping around Barty’s waist, which the latter didn’t seem to mind at all.
After trying a few different cupboards, Barty jumped up victoriously. “I knew they had it!”
Evan raised an eyebrow, but broke into a huge grin when he recognized the label on the tube. Benzene. Pure benzene. “Holy shit YES!” He whooped, grabbing it from Barty excitedly and looking over it, wanting to see how much they had to work with.
“Heyyy! That’s mine!” Barty protested, his whine exaggerated when he tried to jump up to grab it back. He was laughing, and his efforts were futile as Evan held it above his head.
“Shut up munchkin I’m trying to read this,” he muttered, bringing it up to the dim lights on the ceiling to figure out the concentration. The higher, the better, frankly. His investigation was interrupted when he felt Barty’s weight suddenly at his back, pulling him down and snatching the bottle away from him. It was all he could do not to fall on his ass, but he turned and sighed, laughing and letting Barty take it. In the meantime, he pulled out his lighter.
“Bee, on the floor, we can make it into a shape,” he realized suddenly, eyes lighting up. Yes, yes, YES! They could draw it out, they could leave a message! This was perfect! The display case was one thing, but too subtle, too vague, but this? This was perfect. This was what he–
“Evan! Help me find a dropper, I’m not in the mood to get chemical burns!” Barty demanded, whacking Evan on the head.
The contact only spurred Evan on more, and he laughed, doing as asked.
It took a while —along with a great deal of effort and tricks with light— but they were able to disperse the chemical across the floor of the laboratory the way they wanted. Evan was just reaching for his lighter when Barty grabbed his arm harshly.
“Wait! We want them to see it!” Barty’s eyes were wide and his lips were red and parted slightly. Tempting. So tempting that…
Evan grabbed him immediately, arm looping around his waist to drag him close and kiss him fiercely. Barty responded immediately with a low growl, his hands digging into Evan’s biceps while his mouth moved in sync.
It wasn’t long before Barty’s movements got rougher, needy, fiery. Evan felt his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, and moaned softly when he tasted blood that they continued to trade between their mouths. Fuck…
The thing about kissing Barty…it was never the same. It was short and sweet, it was playful and teasing, it was long and drawn out, soft and sensual, deep and messy and harsh and painful and intense. It was fucking amazing.
He felt his gut squirm in response to hands winding into his hair, relentless tugs drawing another deep sound he felt rise from the center of his chest. At this, Barty’s breaths turned into whiny pants, and he reached around to claw at Evan’s back, beneath his hoodie and through his t-shirt. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but almost, and Evan started to feel his hips press closer to Barty’s when–
“Someone in here?” A loud voice came from the hallway. Far away, but bouncing down along the walls to reach them in the northeast corner of the building.
“Shit!” Barty practically spoke into his mouth, breaking the kiss abruptly —and leaving Evan someone dazed for a moment in its wake. It lasted less than a second though, because he followed Barty to duck beneath the counter, wondering who the fuck was in the school at this hour and how they could have the absolute fucking nerve to interrupt his time with Barty.
He sat tense, huddled beneath the desk in a horribly uncomfortable position, limbs entangled with Barty’s. The only upside.
He strained his ears, silencing his breaths and searching for the source of the voice, the person. Where were they? Who were th– Oh….
Barty’s lips had attached themselves to his neck, the juncture right below his ear that made his knees weak. He should scold him, this was horrible fucking timing and Barty was insane. He had just opened his mouth to tell him as much when he clamped it shut to stop the noise that threatened to slip out. He could see Barty’s smirk, eyes practically glowing with terrifying delight, while he felt his boyfriend’s hand press down and roll across the crotch of his jeans.
Yep. Certifiably insane. But who was Evan to stop him?
Whoever the voice belonged to, it seemed to die down slowly, gradually. Of course, Evan didn’t notice this. He was far too busy rolling his head back and squeezing his eyes shut in an effort not to make a sound while Barty’s hand stroked around him. Fast.
“I- fuck…Barty…” The whine was barely audible, more of a sharp breath than anything else, but it spooked him regardless. Despite Barty’s devilish ministrations, he still had the knowledge in the back of his head; they couldn’t get caught. If they did…well the thought of Barty Crouch Sr. finding out was very nearly a boner killer.
He didn’t last long. He never did with Barty. In fact, he could still hear the intruder’s footsteps pacing around the opposite end of the third floor when he kissed Barty harshly, biting on his bottom lip when he exploded onto his hand. And his jeans. Lovely.
He didn’t come down from it, how could he? The pure rush of it all was still pumping through him, and he started to laugh. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, only laughed. Hard. He could feel Barty staring at him, but it took him several minutes before he was able to stop and catch his breath. When he did, he grabbed Barty again, dragging him close and kissing him deeply. Slower this time, trying to tell him, to show him. Fuck…he was wrecked for this man.
When he finally pulled away, he gave Barty a sheepish grin. “Where were we?”
Barty snickered, watching him still with amusement and adoration in his eyes. “Spilling benzene and cum on the floor?”
That was the wrong thing to say, because Evan burst into belly laughs again, and Barty followed this time, though still smacked Evan for laughing. In retort, he lunged for Barty and pressed him down into the floor, feeling his chest shake with each laugh that spilled from him.
“Shut uuuupppppp,” Evan murmured in his ear, though was struggling to regain his breath while he said so. He clamped a hand over his mouth, hoping it would stop, or at the very least, muffle the sound.
Bad idea. He yelped and recoiled his hand when Barty bit him. “Oh you little fucker–”
Barty cut him off with another kiss, this time stifling both their giggles. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark, dilated, eager. “Fire, Evan. Fire.”
And Evan understood immediately.
They stood up, hurried, a mess of limbs as they fell and wheezed. The stairs were right next to the lab, if they just got to the stairwell…they were homefree. Right? As free as the dark streets of downtown could be, that was.
He let Barty snatch the lighter from his hand, watched him flick it open and stare at the tiny flame for just a moment. It was beautiful, the way the warmth lit up just bits of Barty’s face, light passing past his hair to make it…golden. He was just golden. Then he turned to look at Evan with a wicked grin, and he could have fainted. Barty was…too much. He knew what they meant really, when the devil was described as a fallen angel. Fallen, burned, broken and tortured. But fucking breathtaking.
He nodded, and watched as Barty tossed the lighter down into the massive spread of benzene —and acetone, they’d run out and had to improvise— and suddenly the whole room was bathed in horrible, warm light.
And Evan was… well, pyromaniac was far too cliched of a word. It didn’t reach. Didn’t fully encompass what he felt as he watched the glowing embers race across the lab floor, latching onto every drop of the chemicals and erupting into dancing flames, leaping and dancing in every direction. It spread. It roared. It shook the room and sucked the life out of the hollow room. Sucked the– oh fuck, not life; oxygen.
He grabbed Barty’s arm, yanking him into the hallway and down the staircase in record speed. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could half-register Barty’s frantic footsteps behind him.
And they broke free. The cold night air had never felt so good on his face as it did now, faint lights glowing in the distance. But that didn’t matter. He turned, finding the window immediately, and grinned. How could he not?
He watched the flames spread, grow, flourish, until the room was consumed by the beautiful destruction, the golden halo that lit up around it. Suddenly, he was immensely grateful at Barty’s having disabled the fire systems.
He turned to his boyfriend, and saw that his eyes were glowing nearly as much as the flames, not that he would admit it.
“And you didn’t want to help,” Barty taunted, noticing Evan’s eyes on him. This earned him a punch, but Evan kissed him immediately after. How could he not? It was Barty.
Notes:
Thanks for reading guys :) Gonna try to keep up a chapter every friday, but it could come early like today If I'm feeling like it :)
Chapter 6: Poisoned Remedies
Summary:
Back in college, first proper Barty appearance :)
Chapter Text
7/11/2024
Only Canadians would take so much pleasure in a spectator sport that required you to be cold, Evan mused to himself. Maybe if he set himself on fire he’d have an excuse to miss all future hockey games, no matter how viciously he was enticed. It was only fair, really, after he’d arrived to the lab twenty minutes late Evan had promised anything to his partner to make it up to them; really it should have scared him the way Dorcas seemed far too thrilled at this. He could have skipped it, really, regardless of the fact that it may have cost him his lab grade. Evan had almost intended to skip it, until he mentioned it to Dora. The surprise in her tone was evident —Evan? At a hockey game?! Immediately, he knew he heeded to go, no matter how much it pained him.
Spite really was a hell of a motivator.
Of course, now, with the embers at the end of his cigarette being quite literally his only source of warmth, Evan began to hate his past self for that contempt. Who knew there was karmic justice for being a dick.
From the building behind him, the faint echo of cheers erupted. Someone had scored, surely. Did he care who? Absolutely not, but hopefully this meant the game would end sooner. He tugged his corduroy tightly around his shoulders, cursing himself for not having worn a real jacket, and let the warm smoke glide its way down his throat and into his lungs. If only the burn was literal. He lit another as soon as it was gone.
Aside from the way it was only marginally warmer inside the stadium, Evan’s reluctance to rejoin the crowd had more to do with the sound that had sent a shiver down his spine. Truly, he’d recognize that voice anywhere. No matter how much it was buried among the swears and jeers of his schoolmates, Barty’s unmistakeable bitching at the ref halted Evan’s thoughts in an instant. It was all he could do not to light his cigarette before he’d left the building. Stupid fucking fire codes.
It wasn’t that he was avoiding Barty; he wasn’t a coward. Just knew the way Barty’s presence would feel. He knew the way he’d look at Evan, the way his hands would twitch to reach for him, the warmth that would fill his chest the moment he saw Barty. And to be completely honest, a part of Evan expected to come away from the encounter with at least one bone broken. He’d deserve it too.
For a while, he was so wrapped up envisioning the dreaded —yet admittedly, inevitable— reunion; the clunk of the door shutting and footsteps approaching him went unheard.
“Oh thank fuck I was starting to think nobody had a light.”
Evan’s blood suddenly ran as cold as the tips of his fingers, and his lungs felt tight as he sucked in a gasp. This was a mistake, because he inhaled nearly half his cigarette in one go, and the sputtering and coughing that followed was humiliating. It took him a moment, but finally he dropped the spent Playfare and ground the sole of his shoe into it, far too aggressively.
Barty didn’t seem the least bit fazed; in fact, he looked a bit amused, the terror in Evan’s eyes clearly meaningless as a deterrent.
Shit. He’d forgotten how fucking heartless Barty could be.
It was no shock that Barty looked older; the surprise was that Barty looked healthy. He’d filled out somewhat, finally the right size for the clothes he’d been wearing for years, it would seem. His shoulders were broader, and draped over them was now a brown hoodie that looked impossibly soft, yet certainly not warm enough for the bitter air around them. Dragging his gaze upwards, Evan saw just a bit of black ink peeking out above the collar of his sweatshirt, and startlingly dark stubble above that. It crept from the top of his neck, over his jawline, and almost, but not quite, connected with the hair coming down in front of his ears. His dark eyebrows were fuller than ever, and a horrifyingly tempting lip ring sat curved around the bottom of his mouth. His dark hair was longer than Evan had last seen it, yet unexpectedly shorter than he’d been picturing —not that he’d been imagining it frequently. Really, the only thing that had not changed was that look in his eyes. Signature smirk, smug, confident, taunting even. His gaze held the same freakish observance, along with the slightly crazed look, but now it seemed his eyes were also rimmed with black eyeliner. Shocking.
“I don’t,” Evan replied immediately. Maybe the lie would have been more convincing had he not been holding his silver lighter directly in Barty’s eyeline. He turned his back to him, wincing a bit as the frigid wind now hit him head-on. The cold was a shock to his face, and helped to tame the way he had felt momentarily warmer; he never thought he’d wish for that chill to come back to him.
Strangely enough, his demeanour seemed to quake Barty’s zeal, because he settled his weight away from Evan and shoved his hands deeper into his front pocket. Probably just the cold. He felt that steely gaze on the back of his head, and felt the shift of the air when Barty opened his mouth to speak. The nerve.
Evan interrupted before his voice gave out on him. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.” He sounded harsher than he intended. Or maybe not nearly harsh enough. It was hard to tell when it came to Barty. His thumb slipped again on his lighter. Fuck this fucking cold.
Barty was silent for several moments, and when he did speak, his voice was quieter than Evan had ever heard it. Timid, almost. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
No shit, asshole.
“I forgot you went to school here,” Evan lied, simply because he knew it would hurt Barty more than to know he didn’t want to see him. He was right; Barty had always been good at hiding what he wanted to, but Evan didn’t miss the twitch of his eyebrow, the way his gaze dropped briefly to his scuffed up sneakers.
“Harsh Rosie, you wound me.” He looked back up now, eyes settled on Evan’s hands, which were still struggling to get a decent grip on his lighter. “Let me?”
Evan didn’t look at him, but he shook his head, trying a few more times and blistering his thumb in the process. “Fuck this shi–” He cut himself off when Barty was suddenly plucking the lighter out of his hands. “Hey!”
It took exactly one try for Barty to have the small flame springing to life, but only because his hands weren’t nearly as cold as Evan’s; far more nimble. He watched for a moment, always entranced by the spark and the glow that followed, and it was only then that he spotted the assortment of rings adorning Barty’s fingers. Thick bands, sparkling twists, tarnished skulls, interlinked chains. All silver, except for one. A black ring on his index finger, scales engraved into the rounded band, along with bits of shimmering green interspersed with the black. Between the jewellery and the flame, Evan didn’t register what Barty said next. Not that it mattered, the guy would take any opportunity to listen to his own voice.
“I said c’mere,” Barty insisted, gesturing to the stick between Evan’s lips while he held the button down with his thumb.
Only because he needed a cigarette more than ever, Evan complied and leaned in, taking a breath in to let the flame catch. It was very deliberate that he did not look at Barty as he did this.
“Hmm, so now you owe me one, I think,” Barty decided, still holding it down. Shithead’s gonna empty it.
Evan scowled in response, reaching to snatch his lighter back. “Fuck off Barty.”
“Oh so you do know my name, huh? I was starting to think you’d wiped my existence clean out of your memory.” Barty was still watching him with that same intense gaze, eyes refusing to look away from him. It was a little unnerving; that malice in his stare had never been directed at Evan before. It was more vicious than he recalled.
“I don’t need this,” he muttered, taking another puff of the cigarette. The sooner he finished it the sooner he could escape back into the hockey game. There’s something I never thought I’d say.
“Right but I feel like I at least deserve some kind of explanation.” Barty’s tone was still steady, but growing increasingly hostile, and his gaze was unbreakable. Evan, in a different way than two years ago, had a difficult time avoiding those fierce eyes.
“I told you, I needed a change,” Evan muttered in response, doing his best not to meet Barty’s attitude with venom of his own. “Just leave it.”
“What the fuck does that mean?! ‘I love you Barty’. ‘Let’s be together forever Barty.’ ‘I’ll never leave you Barty.’” His tone was bitter and cruel, the malice rolling off his tongue so naturally it was a bit alarming. He definitely didn’t find it hot. “Did you make that all up or just change your fucking mind? You didn’t even tell me you applied.”
Evan was silent for a moment, shaking his head at him and taking the last, deep puff from his cigarette before he stamped it out with his foot. “I’m going back inside,” he muttered, chest tight.
“Right, I forgot you were so invested in a hockey game.”
At this, he couldn’t help but wince. He knew that was Barty’s intention, so he tried not to make his discomfort visible. It was a weak attempt really. Barty knew, he always did, just how to get to him. He opened his mouth to give some sort of retort, tried to muster the strength to tell Barty off for approaching him, for cornering him, for touching him. It just wasn’t fair of him…
Instead, he admitted defeat and turned his back on the glare he was receiving, stepping back into the crowded stadium and leaving Barty in the bitter cold.
He was beyond grateful when he was able to slide back into his seat with no quippy remark from Dorcas. He simply stuffed his pack of cigarettes back in his pocket and reached for- Oh fuck. That fucker had stolen his lighter.
Now, he did look properly angry, and he couldn’t fault Dorcas for shooting him a questioning glance. Mercifully, it was too loud around them for any real conversation, but his luck didn’t last, because it was only moments later that the second period ended and conversations broke out all around them.
“It doesn’t count as ‘going to a hockey game’ if you’re outside torturing your lungs for half of it.” Dorcas turned to him, looking truthfully unimpressed.
Evan bit his lip, feeling caught, and just decided to go with the truth. “I know, sorry. I needed air and then I got caught up ‘cause…well I ran into my ex.”
Now this seemed to pique their interest, because Dorcas turned their body properly towards him and took another sip of the cheap beer they’d purchased at concessions -despite Evan’s insistence that they could get better drinks elsewhere for a much better price. “Your ex? Oh shit do tell, wait please don’t tell me you hooked up with them.”
Evan’s laugh was colder than he’d intended, but he just shook his head. “No. No way. If I ever were to do that, please punch me,” he assured, a little relieved by the response truthfully. “We just…we ended on really bad terms right before I moved away, so he sorta tried to confront me about it.” He paused at this, questioning himself. He hadn’t explicitly told Dorcas he was gay, now that he thought about it. But he knew they were non-binary, so surely they wouldn’t have an issue with it?
Dorcas, it would seem, did have an issue. Not with Evan’s sexuality per se, but with his taste in men. “Dude, are you serious? What a dick. Do you need me to punch him for you? Just point him out, I’ll do it I swear.”
Somehow, Evan had no doubt that this was true, but he shook his head. “No…it’s fine. If anyone was gonna punch him, it would be me, believe me. But no I…I think I just want to forget about him.” It felt strange talking to Dorcas. He wasn’t entirely sure when they’d crossed the line from ‘randomly assigned lab partners’ to ‘friends who committed acts of violence for each other’. Maybe he should have questioned that before finding himself at their roommate’s hockey game. Not that he was complaining; it was nice. Dorcas was real, brutal, and had no reservations about sharing what they really thought. It was somewhat refreshing, and Evan found that it made it a lot easier to tell them about himself; he knew that if they were judging him, they’d make it known right away.
As it were, Dorcas simply nodded, though still watched him with a curious look in their dark eyes. “Alright…but make sure you put some distance there, okay? Whatever weirdo that was, he doesn’t deserve you.”
Evan couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d known Dorcas for all of two months, and already they were jumping over themself to defend him. It was sweet, and he found himself reciprocating that protective instinct. “Yeah, I know. I swear, I’ve been avoiding him, but I’ll keep you updated.”
They seemed satisfied at this, and turned back towards the ice just in time for the buzzer to go off and the puck to be dropped for the third period. Why were hockey games so long?
---
It was only on the walk back to his apartment that the guilt started to gnaw at Evan. Really, he should have been grateful it had waited this long.
For once, he walked in silence, no music coming through his headphones to distract from the beastly voices, nothing to drown out the accusations bouncing around his skull like bullets wreaking havoc. All he could do was listen to his own shoes slamming far too aggressively against the pavement, along with the roaring of traffic lo beside him. But it wasn’t loud enough, nothing ever was.
He’d replayed the scene in his mind a hundred times, maybe a thousand. Endlessly observing, watching, feeling, remembering, but regardless of which new angle he tried to view it from, the ending never changed. Why couldn’t the ending change? Slowly, the sound of traffic around him dissolved into the slow chugging of the dishwasher; his frantic footsteps into a slow, dripping tap, and all at once he was pulled back to it. Back to Toronto.
“Baby, it really sounds like you needed an out, you made the right choice coming here. I’m so proud of you.” Trent’s deep voice made Evan look up to him through tears. He tried to respond, tried to defend his home, his life, but it must have been evident on his face, because his boyfriend shook his head gently and brought Evan’s head closer to his chest.
“It sort of freaks me out though….leaving like that. What kind of asshole am I? I didn’t even tell my sister.” ‘Or my boyfriend’ was the part he didn’t say out loud, but he couldn’t. Not now, not ever. He’d never told Trent about Barty, despite it adding a whole layer to his near-monthly crises about leaving Victoria. Somehow…it felt too rotten, too pure. Far too sacred and sacrilegious to share with his new life. Barty was gone. Past. Last season. Please, please, please be gone…
“You weren’t happy there, were you?” Trent reasoned gently, his hands still running slowly along Evan’s back. “You’ve told me that. They didn’t treat you right, they wanted so much from you…Sunshine, sometimes it’s important to do something for yourself.”
Evan swallowed, feeling smaller with each word that he spoke, but he shook his head a little. “But what if…what if it could’ve been different? Maybe I could’ve tried harder or….or done something different. What if it really wasn’t unreasonable what they were asking of me? What if I just-”
“Evan! Listen to me. You made the right choice, okay? Think about it. If you’d stayed, you would’ve never met me, right?”
This was true, he realized, he never would have crossed paths with Trent had he not felt so lost in a new city, a new province, a new life. His eyes wandered to the glass of wine on the counter and the empty bottle sitting next to it, its contents already weighing down Evan’s bloodstream. He needed more wine.
“Evan? Are you listening to me?”
He didn’t respond, preoccupied with grabbing the bottle and shaking it to confirm its emptiness, just in case. Disappointed, he turned away from Trent, reaching up into the cabinet behind him. No alcohol. What the fuck.
“Evan!? Baby can you fucking listen? I’m trying to talk to you.”
The cabinet next to it had nothing of use either, full of cereal and way too many types of protein powder. Stupid fucking gym bros.
“Evan fucking pay attention to me! What is going on with you?”
He turned towards the pantry, flinging the door open and scanning the shelves as quickly as he could, despite his vision already swimming with the endless labels and boxes and cans. Why did they have so many cans? Did they need seventeen different shapes of pasta?
“Evan I swear to god, you need to get it together. It’s done, it’s over. You’re here, with me. Isn’t that enough? Evan!?”
In a last ditch hope, he stood on his toes to search the cupboard above the fridge. They kept medicine there, usually. Things they didn’t need to access on the daily. And there it was; no bottle of cabernet had ever looked so glorious as this one did now. He grabbed it immediately, thanking whatever deities were throwing him one at the moment that it was a screw on cap. Before he knew it, he’d filled his glass nearly to its brim -yes, he knew that was not a proper pour. He couldn’t be fucked. He tipped his head back to get the dark liquid into his mouth, his throat, into his stomach and hopefully, flowing through his veins, as quickly as possible.
“Evan, fucking look at me!” This time he did hear Trent, felt a hand close around his bicep and whip him around to face the taller man. “Shit you never fucking listen to me! All you’re doing is getting drunk!”
Evan knew this was true. He registered the warm feeling in his chest and the tingling in his lips just as well as he registered the death grip on his arm and the body suddenly pressing him forcefully into the counter. “I’m sorry I just need–”
“I don’t fucking care what you need okay?! I spend every night over here just comforting you. Okay, fine, you’re my boyfriend. But can’t I at least get something in return once in a while? Do you realize we haven’t had sex in almost a week?”
He hadn’t. Not really. Sex wasn’t something that was at the forefront of his mind these days. No, it was somewhere near the back, tucked neatly behind guilt and shame and regret. Just between pain and anxiety, a little to the left of ever-growing fear. Fear he’d made a mistake. Fear he was in over his head. Fear he was drinking way, way too much. Fear of–
“EVAN!”
Fear.
He was turning the key to their door before he finally came back to himself. Fuck. His free hand came down to his side, somehow still able to feel the ever-present bruise he’d had there for nearly two years. “You are mine. Don’t ever fucking forget that.”
He winced a little, shrugging his jacket off and trying —failing— to dispel the memory. He got into his room, eternally grateful that Dora seemed to be out, and tugged off the sweatshirt he had on so he could stare at himself in the mirror. Floor length, because Reg had insisted on a housewarming gift, and Evan didn’t know how to say no to nice gestures.
The scar on his hip didn’t stand out as much as he felt it did, but then, that would be pretty difficult. He knew that when other people looked at it, they saw a small, raised line of skin. ‘Probably from a childhood injury.’ They didn’t see the crimson river that had flown from it when he’d pulled out the knife. They didn’t see the shock or the horror or the pain. They certainly didn’t see pale hands cleaning the knife, tucking it right back into the block. They didn’t see every bad decision, every regret, every painful mistake. They didn’t see anything, really. Because what did a mirror show, besides a facade that dwindled behind closed doors and thick sheets?
Chapter 7: The Price of Going Forward
Notes:
Posting a bonus time because I can and I'm procrastinating on school
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
24/11/2024
Looking around him, Evan was starting to regret agreeing to this at all. Pandora had insisted he ‘get out there’, whatever that meant, so now he found himself in a huge classroom with a ton of people he didn’t know or want to know, somehow expected to socialize. Great.
Frankly, he was pretty happy with his friends. Even if it was only two. Well, three if he counted Dorcas, which he would, because he decided that if they’d invited him to their roommate’s game, then that was a pretty sure sign of something beyond assigned lab partners, right? Shit. He turned to ask Dora about it, only to find that she’d ditched him before they’d even passed the door frame, off to find her friends no doubt. Traitor. He sighed and stepped back to lean against the wall while he surveyed his situation.
The room itself didn’t look bad per se, just…phony. The hum of semi-awkward chatter filled the space, echoing off the faded posters of past events that were plastered to the walls. The club was set up with a handful of tables spread around the room, each with a group of people seated around —they had to be faking that level of enthusiasm, right? Nobody could be that into Scrabble.
He could see a longer table set up against the wall, multi-coloured boxes of board games piled haphazardly on top. Some Jenga enthusiast took this too far. He spotted Pandora after a moment, chatting happily with her friends in a group towards the back. He couldn’t quite make out their faces, and was squinting his eyes to do so when he saw his sister gesturing to him, beckoning him over with the fervour she was known for.
“Fuck,” he muttered out loud to himself, but brought his hands out from his pockets and resigned himself to head across the room to her.
Once he got closer, he recognized Dora’s girlfriend —what was her name?— with an arm around her. She was pretty, he could admit that much, with fiery red hair that tumbled over her shoulders and eyes that nearly blinded him with green. She smiled when she saw him, and made room in their little circle of conversation.
“Evan! Hey I’m glad Panda convinced you to come, I promise it’s more fun than it seems,” she spoke to him directly, gesturing to the club around them. Suddenly he felt somewhat bad he couldn’t remember her name, but in his defence, he’d only really met her once.
Dora must have sensed this struggle, because she gave her brother a smile and spoke up. “Lily does all the campaigning for us, so it’s quite literally her job to say that, but she isn’t wrong.”
The redhead —Lily— made a face at her girlfriend, but laughed along with the joke regardless. Hm, she seemed nice. Time would tell if she was good enough for Dora though —not many people were.
“Yeah? I’ve never been much into board games honestly, but Dora threatened to cut up all my socks unless I made an appearance, so…” He let the sentence trail off, shrugging a little. To his surprise, everyone around them laughed. Wasn’t a joke but ok.
For a bit, Lily went around the circle to introduce everyone to him, and he retained maybe two of the names he heard. There was a Mary, and a Xeno somewhere. He only remembered that second one because of how delightfully quirky it was. With a sister named Pandora though…well he couldn’t really talk.
Then, because she must have sensed his disinterest, Dora turned to LIly. “You said Remus was coming too, right?”
Lily immediately nodded, and she looked around. “Yeah but he isn’t here yet, I’m gonna call to make sure he hasn’t bailed,” she decided, stepping aside and beginning to tap something into her phone.
“Remus is Lily’s best friend, I think you two will get along,” Dora said, in a tone much too mysterious for his comfort. What was his sister scheming up now?
“I can’t believe my twin sister needs to set me up to make friends,” he replied, but gave her a dry smile.
Pandora simply shrugged vaguely, but he could see the way she was smirking. Right, so there was no getting out of this.
Moments later, he watched Lily step back over with a triumphant grin. “He’s hiding in the hallway like a coward, so I’m gonna go get him,” she declared before circling back to the doorway. Intrigued, Evan watched as she returned with a lanky brunette in tow, who immediately piqued his interest.
Evan was tall, but Remus was tall. Tall enough for it to look almost comical the way Lily practically dragged him towards the group. He had dark, tousled hair that settled in loose waves over his head, and brown eyes that somehow looked both warm and disinviting, holding a depth that practically dared you to look closer. His face was the same; angular and long and stiff, yet with soft cheeks and pink lips set into a terribly neutral line. Once he was closer, Evan could make out a handful of lightened scars littering his face, only adding to the rugged appearance. He wore one of those giant knit sweaters that existed in abundance in thrift stores across the country —but it suited him somehow, both framing him and softening his sharpness— and dark jeans that Evan could see were ripped in some spots, cuffed over a pair of Doc Martens that had certainly seen better days. He walked fast, too. Evan was hardly done checking him out before they were upon them in the group.
“Evan, meet Remus! Remus, this is Evan, Panda’s twin I told you about.” He should have known Lily would immediately take the role of introductions upon herself. Wait, she talked about him? To Remus? His thoughts were interrupted when the guy, Remus, spoke up.
“Hey, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, a slight smile on his lips as he offered a hand out to Evan. It was adorned with a couple of thin, silver rings that glowed against his bronzed skin. The other hand was wrapped around a slender black cane that he hadn’t noticed upon first glance. Interestingly, it only intensified the casual strength with which he carried himself, and Evan didn’t even attempt to hide the once-over he gave the guy.
It took a moment for him to realize he was waiting for an answer. “Oh, yeah, you too,” he agreed, shaking his hand. It was warm, calloused, and purposeful, and that made Evan bite his lip; he needed that hand around his throat. “I hear you wanted to come here about as much as I did.”
Remus’ half-smile grew to spread over the rest of his face, and his dark eyes twinkled. “That obvious, is it?”
“Well that, and Lily totally gave you away,” Evan replied, hiding a smirk once he realized the two of them had drifted a few steps away from the group.
“Hm, treacherous. Still, I guess I should thank her,” Remus mused, and Evan felt his eyes look over him as well. Suddenly he wished he’d chosen a different outfit. His tone was clear; he wanted Evan to ask. Which was exactly why he wouldn’t.
Instead, he just raised an eyebrow, letting his hands slide halfway into his jeans pockets and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Remus fully laughed this time, and the warmth of the sound was nice. “Stubborn, fair enough. So, you’re the twin that just moved back into town, right?” He guessed, raising a thick eyebrow in his direction.
Is that all I’ll ever be known for? Evan nodded though, hand coming up to touch his hair. “Yeah, I’ve been here a couple months now though, and before that I grew up here, so I’m definitely familiar.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe you’ll need to show me around a little. I’ve also only been here a couple months now, and to be honest I’ve stepped foot off campus maybe five times.”
Evan chuckled, and he couldn’t help but grin and nod in response. “It would be my pleasure,” he replied with a coy smile. “I can show you all of this city’s secrets.”
---
In some conversation that Evan truly couldn’t remember, he’d asked Remus out, and had received an enthusiastic agreement, with a caveat.
“You’ll need to impress me,” he’d said, as if it wouldn’t send Evan into a spiral.
He’d wracked his brain for days. Googling, scouring his memory, asking his friends. But nothing seemed quite right. He could tell Remus was someone not easily impressed, especially not by ‘pretty blond boys with filthy mouths’, as he’d put it. So the date location was important.
Truthfully, he wasn’t too sure why it was so important to him to be able to take Remus on a real date. Maybe it was an attempt at changing his routine, his life, everything around him. His approach to dating had to come along with that, right? Because he’d never really dated. He’d had flings with boys in school, sure, nothing that lasted more than a couple months, until Barty.
Even with him, it hadn’t gone the way first romances should go —at least, how he was told they should go. They’d fallen into each other, two storms raging over open waters, and when they’d met, the tempest that ensued couldn’t be weathered by anyone. Certainly not by Evan.
It was an irreversible fucking reaction, double replacement. Barty had taken the dead gloom in his life and tossed it into oblivion, but when he’d left….he’d taken far more than that bliss with him, and the empty space he’d left behind was somehow worse than the one he’d started off with. Unchanged, my ass.
With a deep sigh, he turned to stare into the mirror. Deep brown eyes stared back at him, and he let them fall down to contemplate his outfit. Really why was he bothering? It would be covered soon anyway. But if it went well…maybe there would be more, dinner or something, he reasoned.
His phone chimed on the bed, and he leaned over to read Remus’ text. ‘Your dress code instructions were really vague. Can I have a hint?’
Evan couldn’t help but laugh, but he picked up the phone and pointed the camera into the mirror. Sending a photo of his outfit would do more than explaining, right?
“Oh, cute. Okay, I’ll come by to pick you up in 20.’
It shouldn’t have brought those butterflies to his stomach, and the fact that it did made Evan want to smash his forehead into that very mirror. Every part of him protested, but…it was nice.
It was nice the way Remus’ gruff sarcasm softened into the playful flirting. It was nice the way he looked over Evan, properly checked him out, and yet hadn’t even tried to touch him up to that point. It was nice how his rough hands were ever so soft when they brushed his arm. And for fuck’s sake, Evan liked nice. He deserved nice for a change… didn’t he?
Two hours later, he found himself in Remus’ decade-old car, sweating and laughing like he was with an old friend.
“I’ll give you this, nobody has ever taken me paintballing for a first date,” Remus remarked, and he was smiling over flushed cheeks in a way that made Evan’s hands twitch.
“Well what can I say? I wanted to leave my mark on you,” Evan replied very intentionally, running his fingers through his hair slowly. To his relief, it was a little tousled, but not horrible. Maybe Remus could mess it up a little more.
“Oh, a mark huh?” Remus quipped, hands resting on the wheel but not driving anywhere. “I feel like I’m entitled to at least a snack after that, don’t you think?”
Evan noted the implication —at least— but he just grinned and nodded. “We could…get some dinner? Something casual?”
“Casual sounds fantastic,” Remus agreed, and he started the car to head back into town.
Casual was right. Remus brought him to a lively diner that hadn’t been renovated since the 80’s, and he immediately knew he would like this place. It was clear upon entry that the joint existed outside of time, a junction for night owls and early risers alike, where the coffee never stopped flowing. A handful of regulars were scattered around the place in spots unofficially assigned to them, along with a waitress with a tired smile and a busy pace as she hustled around the scuffed linoleum floor. Despite the less-than-ideal music —scratchy radio oldies drifting in and out of tune— Evan decided he would definitely be back.
“What happened to me showing you around town?” Evan remarked as he slid into the faded, vinyl booth.
Remus smirked a little, waving him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s still plenty of secrets you can share with me.”
Evan laughed a little more, looking down to pore over the menu. He liked Remus, honestly. He was a little rough around the edges, and was honest about what he wanted, and what he thought. Not only that, but Remus had Evan feeling more at ease than he had in weeks, especially after all the woefully polite introductions he’d been enduring in his classes. He was gruff where Dora wasn’t, frisky where Reg couldn’t be, and most importantly, he was calm, the way Barty could never manage.
He was on his second refill of coffee and starting on his second pancake when Remus cleared his throat.
“So, I gotta ask, Lily mentioned you had some shitty ex that goes here? I don’t want to pry but like, out of curiosity?”
Evan bit his lip, doing his best not to visibly tense. Figures Lily would have told him. “Ugh, yeah. My ex goes here, I ran into him once, but I'm pretty much avoiding him,” he explained, hoping he could leave it at that. “We’re definitely over, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Remus shrugged a bit in response, stirring his coffee while he listened. “Not really. Honestly don’t really care where this goes, just kinda going with the flow, you know?”
Evan nodded, though his mood had soured as he began to think about Barty. “Yeah, no that’s fair, me too really,” he agreed. “Hey ugh, do you smoke?”
Remus’ eyes lit up, and he stood up from their table to follow Evan outside.
It wasn’t until he’d taken several puffs of the cigarette that he felt his nerves settle somewhat. “I don’t want to talk about Barty, and I don’t want to think about him. If that’s an issue then, that’s fine but Barty’s in the past.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended, but he didn’t regret it. The neon sign buzzing behind him was starting to grate on his nerves, reflecting off the wet sidewalk, flickers of red and blue were far too loud. He scowled, putting out the cigarette when it was done and grabbing another.
He didn’t realize Remus was looking at him, not at first. That only became clear when the guy stepped closer and spoke. “That’s more than okay, Evan.”
Evan could feel his eyes on him, and he looked up at the words to find Remus’ gaze fixed on his face, drifting between his eyes and his lips.
“So ugh, are you completely against a sidewalk makeout?” Remus had half a smirk on his face as he asked, watching Evan with eyes full of curiosity.
Evan didn’t respond. He swatted the cigarette from between Remus’ lips —lips he was about to claim— and tossed both of theirs down to the damp ground. He stepped closer, and smirked when he found that he had to tip his head up to kiss Remus.
His lips were softer than they looked, though he felt stubble brush against his cheeks as he moved them against his. He felt Remus groan against him, and that only spurred him on as he reached up to wind fingers in those dark waves —they were just as impossibly soft as they looked. He tasted of smoke and syrup and coffee, but most importantly, not Barty.
Notes:
Nervy about this one but life's short so
Chapter 8: The Cost of Looking Back
Notes:
Ok I'm really excited about this chapter and it was so much fun to write even though I literally stared at it for hours trying to figure it out at first :)
Explicit sexual content, but not super detailed
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
27/11/2024
“You slept with him?!”
Evan groaned a little, giving Pandora a deadpan before he turned back to meticulously preparing his coffee. He’d forgotten how dramatic she could be sometimes.
“No, no, there’s no getting out of this, tell me everything!” She was far too excited for this early in the morning —10am, still early, he decided.
“There isn’t really much to tell? It was a nice date, then we started kissing and stuff, so I brought him back here,” he replied with a shrug, staring warily into his mug to ensure all the chocolate powder had properly dissolved. “And before you ask, he lives with his parents, so no, we couldn’t have gone to his.”
She didn’t seem bothered by this, coming over and hoisting herself up to sit on the counter right beside him. He knew it was a method to trap him, so he just looked up at her while he continued to stir his drink.
“I don’t really care if you bring guys home, for future reference,” she offered with a shrug, but was still watching him with eyes full of expectant glee. “But I will need a detailed debrief afterwards.”
“A debrief?”
“Yes, Evan, a debrief.”
“Right so, when two people love each other very much–”
“The date, stupid!” Dora folded her arms across her chest and shot him her best attempt at looking unimpressed, but Evan smirked. She’d never been able to keep the amusement out of her eyes, and he knew he was amusing to her.
“Ugh, we went paintballing, he took me to this diner, which was kinda cool by the way we should go sometime,” he mused, tapping his spoon on the rim of his mug and licking it clean. “Then we came back here. Seriously, there isn’t much to tell.”
“You didn’t even tell me it was a date in the first place,” Dora accused, but she took over the fancy-looking espresso machine once he stepped back to make her own. Evan watched closely as she used it —it had taken him an hour to teach her how to use it, but it just had to replace her dingy old coffee pot, because his luxurious coffees were a staple to get through the days and he refused to give that up.
“Heyyy, you remembered to tamper it,” he pointed out, somewhat impressed.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Wow, nothing gets past you huh?”
She turned to give him another look over her shoulder, and he finally sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you, honestly in case it went horribly. Or in case we hooked up once and then never spoke again. Happy?”
“Yes. Well, no, not that you tried to hide what would have been an unhealthy coping mechanism from me. But yes, I’m happy you told me, I like knowing what’s going on in your life,” she replied, her tone so sweet that he almost felt guilty for not having told her before. Almost.
“Ok mom.”
“Don’t even. I’m keeping you nice and hidden, you fucking stowaway, so the least you could do is let me care about my brother,” she replied, this time her tone less gentle as she looked over at him. “Do you think you’ll keep seeing him?”
“Honestly? Yeah, I should text him today. It’s…it’s casual with him, and easy, so why not?” As the words came out of his mouth was the first time Evan had considered this, but he knew it was true once they’d left his lips and tumbled into the cramped kitchen.
After considering this for a moment, Dora gave him a nod and a knowing smile, turning back to her coffee. “Okay. I approve.”
“You approve?” Evan arched an eyebrow in her direction, turning away from the fridge he’d been searching.
“Yes, I do,” she replied, grinning because she knew it bugged him.
“Riiight, so you know I don’t need your approval for the guys I date, right?” It wasn’t an accusation really; Pandora was a lot smarter than him, especially when it came to people. If she thought someone was bad news, she was usually right.
“Hm, I also approve of how you said ‘guys you date’ and not ‘guys you sleep with’,” Dora continued, smirking when she met his gaze this time.
“Okay, you’re starting to piss me off,” Evan threatened. It wasn’t easy to look threatening while licking whipped cream off your coffee, but he gave it his best shot. Not that it mattered, Dora could never be intimidated by him anyway.
“Whatever you say, go sulk somewhere else, you’re positively butchering my vibe,” she told him in a singsong voice, still grinning as she stirred up her eggs.
With a roll of his eyes, Evan complied, bringing his phone out to text Remus.
---
When the different reactions and molecules started to float their way across his vision, Evan decided it was time for a break. When he looked at the clock he groaned immediately and rubbed his palms over his face. Unfortunately when he checked again, it still read 12:34am. He’d been here five hours now, and felt no more caught up than he had coming into this painfully long study session.
He both felt and heard his back crackle and pop as he stood and stretched, grabbing his long-empty water bottle and his wallet to head downstairs.
The library was dark, lights only on wherever there were people —he’d seen maybe two? His footsteps thumped and echoed more than usual, and even his breathing felt too loud, disturbing the silent air around him. It was weirdly cold too, though that was probably a good thing; kept him from falling asleep. Strange though, how similar libraries were to graveyards; he felt as though any sudden move would awaken whatever it was haunting the space.
What does that even mean? He scoffed aloud at himself, bringing a hand up to wind through his hair and turning the corner towards the water fountain —he’d hit the overnight cafe afterwards, probably. Once he’d filled his bottle with the icy cold water —the only valid kind really— he turned and–
Thud!
“Fuck,” he stammered immediately, then hissed when he felt cold water seep through his shirt and plaster it to his chest. His breath hitched at the sudden chill, but he managed to steady the bottle in his hand so no more would spill, and immediately looked up to speak, but his apology caught in his throat and he froze.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Barty’s tone sounded genuine, and based on the sheepish look in his eyes, he was just as surprised as Evan. But surprise wasn’t good enough, and Evan’s scowl was nearly instinctive at this point at the sight of him. “Clearly.”
He immediately busied himself, both trying to unstick the cold wet fabric from his stomach with a shudder and to walk away from Barty as fast as possible.
“No, wait, I really am sorry, shit–” Barty jogged right after him, grabbing at Evan’s sleeve.
“Fuck off Barty,” he muttered, still busied with his shirt. He had a hoodie in his bag, he could just change into that. Of course, the solution didn’t make him any less unreasonably pissed at Barty.
“No, here,” Barty mumbled, rummaging through his bag as he walked.
When he emerged victorious, Evan should have known better than to look up at his outstretched hand, and he froze mid-step.
He recognized the offered sweatshirt immediately. Dark green, so dark it was almost black, and impossibly soft from years of overuse. The cuffs and the hem were somewhat frayed, with tiny fringes coming off the ends, and the rich hue of it was slightly faded at the elbows from constant friction. He knew that garment. Knew the tiny hole near the left hip where Barty had snagged it on a fence. Knew the stitching coming slightly undone at the collar from the years of wrestling matches. He recognized the way the left cuff was significantly more stretched out than the right, as was the case with most of Barty’s sweatshirts. He knew the small white stain on the shoulder, from a not-so-quickie in the gym locker rooms, and he knew those sleeves. Sleeves that had wiped away so many of Evan’s tears. Fuck. He also knew right away that Barty’s cologne would be lingering on it, and —horrifyingly— that made it impossibly tempting.
His shock must have been evident, because Barty took the opportunity to step closer and wave his arm around somewhat —as if he thought Evan wasn’t already in shock from it? Still, Evan hesitated and shook his head, remembering that he wanted nothing to do with this man or his cozy offerings. He started to resume his escape, only to visibly wince when it made the cold shirt cling to his chest and his nipples.
Fuck it.
“Gimme that,” he muttered finally, not bothering to look around before he tugged his shirt off over his head and grabbed the sweatshirt. There was nobody around, he’d already known that, and even if there was well, their treat.
Once he pulled it over his head, Evan breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow not because of the warmth. Because it was more than a sweatshirt. It was comfort, and it was Barty.
When he brought his eyes back up, Barty’s smirk almost made him regret the choice, but the shudder that ran through him from the newfound warmth managed to counteract that. Damn, maybe he would fall asleep after all.
“Hey ugh, were you going downstairs? I was gonna get a coffee,” Barty finally said into the empty air between them.
Evan debated lying, but the possibility of getting a free coffee right now was too tempting, so he nodded a little. “You definitely owe me a hot drink now,” he pointed out, though his tone was still bitter and stiff, painfully sharp as it came off his tongue.
Barty’s eyes lit up the way they always had when Evan agreed to something, and he nodded immediately while he pushed the elevator button. The sheer innocence in that joyful look had Evan’s stomach twisting inexplicably with guilt, but he did his best to instead stare at the ascending numbers lit up above the elevator doors.
They didn’t speak on the way down. Didn’t speak until they each ordered from the tired-eyed barista at the counter, and sat in silence while they waited for their drinks immediately after.
It was only once their drinks were slid across the counter to them that Barty spoke up. “You still get a mocha.”
It wasn’t a question, Evan knew that even as he watched Barty lean over the counter to grab the whipped cream and offer it to Evan, just as he grabbed the sugar shaker to his right and handed it to Barty. It was needlessly awkward for a moment, as he realized they’d both that without discussing it, but he certainly didn’t want to linger on it, so he just added the topping to his drink and stepped back again.
Predictably, Barty followed him back towards the stairwell; Evan didn’t even protest it this time.
He followed him all the way up to the fifth floor, through the corridors, and even into the study room he’d left his stuff in. It was only then that he whipped around to confront him.
“You need to stop following me places.” His voice was as steady as he could make it, but even for all his efforts, Barty’s expression told him it wasn’t effective.
“What if I just need a study spot? You focus better with another body around anyway,” Barty countered, already setting his bag down on the chair opposite Evan.
It wasn’t true; the library was practically empty so Barty had dozens of tables to choose from. The second part…well that was true, but he wasn’t sure it would have the same effect if that other body was Barty’s. Regardless, he sighed and sat down, which Barty took as permission to sit across from him and start pulling stuff out of his backpack. Evan decided to blame his lack of willpower on his exhaustion, and nothing else.
The most irritating part was that he did focus a lot better with Barty working a few feet away, and he managed to fly through the worksheet he’d been struggling for hours with beforehand. He sipped at his mocha, crossing that assignment off his list and paused to look up before he opened another tab.
It was strange, watching Barty properly study. He’d never needed to before, which was absolutely infuriating because Evan only did well if he actually spent at least a little time on his schoolwork. But now, he could see the random numbers and formulas Barty was scribbling into his notebook —at least his chicken scratch hadn’t changed— along with a whirlwind of numbers reflected in pools of green. He looked closer into his eyes, trying to make sense of the math, but froze when he felt more than saw them travel up and meet his own gaze.
Evan swallowed then, feeling caught and suddenly hoping his cheeks weren’t red.
Against all odds, Barty’s smile was genuine, and he brought his headphones down to his shoulders to hear him. “Something on my face?”
Yeah, a piercing I need to feel against my dick. But he didn’t say that, or at least he hoped he didn’t; he was far too tired to distinguish speech from thought at the moment.
Luckily, Barty’s expectant gaze told him he’d kept that particular thought to himself, and Evan shrugged a bit in response. “Weird to see you study, is all.”
“Oh, yeah.” The surprise was clear in his tone as Barty looked down at his setup, but shrugged lightly as he looked back up. “I told you, I wanted to be bad at something. This worked.”
He hadn’t remembered that until just now, and it sounded just as weird now as it did two years ago. ‘I want to be bad at something Evan, I want to work for something,’ he recalled his words as they sat years ago, hunched over their college applications. He knew Barty had been considering architecture, but had decided against it in the end, for something that sounded even more absurdly hard to Evan.
“You stuck with engineering, then?” He guessed, gesturing to the complex equations scattered on his page.
He was rewarded with a grin. “Aerospace, baby,” Barty confirmed, spinning his laptop around to show Evan the absolute mindfuck he was apparently learning about. He saw what looked like a wing, maybe a rotor, and way too many unfamiliar words and symbols annotated around it.
“Wow.”
It was the wrong thing to say, because it only fed Barty’s grin —and his ego, no doubt. But there was no response, so they stayed in silence until Barty spoke again, slowly and tentatively, very unlike him.
“You got a new tattoo.”
Evan’s brows furrowed and he looked up from his screen, confused for a moment. How did he- oh right, his shirt. “I knew you were checking me out.”
This brought a full laugh from Barty, a real one, but he leaned back in his chair when he responded. “You know I always am.”
He didn’t, not really, and had to do his best not to blush when he was told so. Instead, he just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You promised to study and not talk.”
“Aw, but you know I’m so much prettier with my mouth open,” Barty mused, but he sighed and turned back to his computer reluctantly.
Evan did as well, but found himself chewing on his lower lip while he did, trying to focus, but it seemed impossible. Not only was Barty right across from him, strangely focused on his own studies, but his scent was all around him, enveloping him in a warmth that was somehow so familiar and completely new. He started to realize that was the worst part.
Even the thought of Barty was a bitter ache, a poignant mix of comfort and estrangement. He felt like a favourite record that hadn’t been played in years; scratchy, atrophied, with new grooves etched all over, but beneath it all every note was beautifully familiar. There was a strange warmth in the curve of his smile and the lines of his jaw, but the unfamiliar sharpness of those eyes and the way he carried himself was startling despite that. Disorienting, was the only word he could think to describe it, and it brought up a sickly pain as he tried to reconcile the attraction to the guy sitting across from him, while quietly mourning the boy he’d known those years ago. He’d never properly grieved Barty, not really. Why would he have had to? He was the one who left, after all. But feelings didn’t typically follow such logic, and words couldn’t properly describe the jarring nature of it all, so he tried his best to sum it up, somehow.
“You got a lot more new tattoos.”
Barty smiled again, bringing his headphones back down. “Yeah, I really like them,” he agreed, standing and, to Evan’s horror, starting to take his hoodie off. “And my dad hates them, so y’know, win-win.” He shifted his shirt somewhat, looking down at his arms and letting Evan see the extent of his tattoos for the first time.
The snake winding at his shoulder and coming up the side of his neck, this one he recognized; he’d seen it peeking out of his hoodie at the hockey game, and he knew Barty was a snake enthusiast anyway. Everything else however was new and, unfortunately, absolutely mouthwatering.
His arms were a canvas of eclectic designs, a blend of stark black lines and delicate shading within them. A jagged lightning bolt sliced from his thumb outward to his wrist, branching out to circle his arm. Above it, a mess of thorns coiled around his arm all the way up his bicep; the scales and eyes impossibly detailed, he realized upon closer inspection. Smaller, intricate patterns and stars were scattered across both of his arms, peeking out from under his t-shirt. A spider spreading over one elbow. A cluster of stars on the side of his thumb, a bat bursting from his shoulder. The tattoos looked as though they were chosen on a whim, yet they worked. Interspersed with each other like memories, chaotic and bold and very fitting. It wasn’t until Barty let out a laugh that Evan realized he was staring.
“Ah, shit, sorry,” he muttered, tearing his eyes away and coming back down to fiddle with his sleeve. Barty’s sleeve.
“You don’t need to apologize Ev, this has always been yours to stare at.”
The statement took him aback, and the ease with which it was said, even more so. He paused, looking back up at Barty’s face to speak. “It hasn’t been mine for years Barty, you know that.”
“Do I?” It was a challenge, and they both knew it. So Evan didn’t look away, didn’t move. The urge to reach up and trace those tattoos grew stronger with every passing moment.
“Barty…” He said slowly, hearing how tight his voice sounded even as he tried to tame it.
“Rosie?”
That was it. Evan was not in control of his body, couldn’t be. Because his body had lunged forward over the table and grabbed Barty’s face to pull him into a desperate kiss.
It was….everything.
Kissing Barty was nothing like kissing Trent. Or James. Or Remus. Nobody kissed with the intensity that Barty was grasping his face with. Nothing had ever been as important as the tilt of the world as their lips met finally. Finally.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was desperate, words and time and confessions and years packed into the electric tension between them, frantically tasting everything they’d been missing. Everything they had lost. The earth rattled each time he felt Barty open his mouth into his, lips soft but ever so insistent, hunger and relief and everything falling apart onto the floor between them. That lip ring —oh that lip ring— caught on his tongue and sent shivers up his back.
He didn’t know when he’d done it, but his hands were wound in Barty’s hair, fingers tugging at the dark locks while his nails dug into his scalp, scratching, biting, needing. Just as suddenly, Barty’s shirt had come off, and Evan pulled away from those sweet, torturous lips to trace each and every tattoo scattered on that pale skin. Tongue and teeth and lips and time blurred into one, and he might have knocked their computers onto the floor in his haste to lay Barty on the table, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. In fact, Evan was fairly sure nothing in his life would ever matter as much as this.
He followed the familiar route down to Barty’s hips, nosing his way along the happy trail of coarse hair that framed his favourite treat. He didn’t ask before he ripped open the leather belt and yanked his jeans down, didn’t pause when he was met with even more tattoos coming down from his hips to his thighs, didn’t hesitate to tug down the elastic of his boxers with his teeth. But then, then, he froze.
Barty’s smirk was impossibly loud, and Evan could feel it on him as he panted somewhat and stared. If the piercing on his lip had been tempting, the triple frenum before him was sinful. He wasn’t sure if he was drooling —he probably was, right?— but he must have been, because Barty slid so easily into his mouth, down his throat, until he could bury his nose in those dark curls and moan softly.
It was fast. Nails dug into plush thighs, fingers yanking at his hair, moans and curses and his name spilling from Barty’s red lips. Always his name. Religions were born of the whining and hitching that accompanied his name falling from his mouth; no other name could ever replace it. He practically growled at the thought, and felt Barty yelp when he squeezed with his teeth and dragged them down him before he swallowed again. And again. And again. And suddenly Barty was spilling atrocities as he came apart on Evan’s tongue. The only place he ever could.
He must have blacked out immediately after, because once he was able to breathe, he opened his eyes to see the top of Barty’s mess of hair at his hips, and his own pants came down within seconds. He should have been embarrassed, at how little he lasted, but he couldn’t manage to care. The warmth of Barty’s mouth was coming home, greeted by teeth and tongues and that fucking piercing…
Barty’s name was the only coherent word that he managed when he exploded, knees buckling and thighs trembling, and he slowly was brought back to earth. He shuddered, watching Barty wipe his mouth and shoot him a toothy grin, full of satisfaction and bliss and sin, and slowly his heart tore back into his chest and gripped him with panic.
“Fuck…fuck I- I shouldn’t have- shit…” Evan yanked his pants back up his legs, limbs flying as he scrambled to pack up his shit —his computer had indeed fallen, but was by some miracle unharmed.
He might have stammered an apology, may have cursed him out, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he’d scooped his bag over his shoulder and absolutely bolted for the stairwell. If he looked back, his mind didn’t register it, leaving Barty with his pants around his ankles, his eyes full of tears, and his mouth full of Evan.
Notes:
I'm quite proud of this chapter, and it's sort of a pivotal moment in the story, so pls lmk what you think :) Thanks for reading
Chapter 9: Tender Eyes, Bitter Smiles
Summary:
Immediately following chapter 5 with the fires in the school
Notes:
Implied drug use/possession, along with language and shitty parenting, transphobia (misgendering) and implied sexual content
This makes it sound very intense but it's not really imo
Also context for anyone who doesn't follow hockey, 'the Habs' is a nickname for the Montreal Canadiens team
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
28/10/2021
Evan knew they should have run sooner, been quicker. This area of town wasn’t the greatest in the daylight, and the invincible feeling the fires had given him was wearing off faster than he would have liked. But Barty wanted to meet with his dealer, of course he did. His head had begun to ache from rolling his eyes so frequently.
“Barty, really not liking this, can’t you come meet him tomorrow?” He hissed, eyes darting back and forth along the staircase they had stopped in. It smelled rancid; blood, urine, vomit, and general filth, clearly all several days old, and smothered beneath the suffocating density of whatever disinfectant the city had doused the area with. He’d had the collar of his hoodie pulled up over his nose the moment they’d stepped into the spiral stairs —it wasn’t helping.
“Shut up, he’s already on his way,” Barty replied, the annoyance clear in his tone. “Relax, okay? I’ve done this hundreds of times.”
“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.” His voice shook with the chill in the air, but the harshness of it still came through loud and clear; he could feel Barty’s tension even from four feet away.
He wasn’t sure how long they waited, huddled into their jackets, seeking shelter from the bits of cold air that whirled past the concrete walls. It was just as his jeans started to feel prickly against his thighs that he turned to tell Barty he was leaving, with or without him. At that moment, Barty jumped to his feet and shot an expectant look to the bottom of the staircase.
Evan wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. The guy was shorter and scrawnier than him, with his hood pulled over his head and his hand shoved into pockets. Far from intimidating; the guy closer resembled a rat than anything else, and Evan found himself turning his nose up without even knowing it. Yep, the guy blended perfectly with this disgusting alleyway.
The exchange was fast, and it was only a moment later that Barty grabbed onto Evan’s sleeve and tugged him back towards the street. “There, see? Not so hard, was it?”
“You’re a dick, you know that?” Evan replied, eyes narrowed at him despite the darkness. His hands were still shoved deep in his jacket pockets —they probably shouldn’t have been, but it was fucking cold, okay?!
Barty laughed a little more, reaching over and yanking Evan’s hood off his head. “What’s that they say about being what you eat?” He mused, as if he were a lecturer waiting for a response that would never come.
“Shit. You’re about to be shit,” Evan decided, ripping his hands from his pockets and taking off in a sprint down the street. He could hear Barty curse and scramble to follow, but he just laughed into the cold air, letting his legs carry him the familiar route through downtown.
Despite being shorter, Barty was the sprinter between the two of them, so it wasn’t long before Evan felt a strong arm grab around his shoulders and the weight of him land on his back with a force that nearly knocked him off his feet. Barty’s leg was around his hips, effectively tripping him until they both fell to the ground in a mess of limbs. Barty ended up on top of him, of course. Fucking high school wrestling.
“It’s cute that you think you can outrun me, Rosier,” Barty mused, running his fingertip along Evan’s throat.
He would have scrambled out of his grasp, but he’d been pinned by Barty’s full weight, so instead he sagged to the ground and looked up at him with irritation. “No shit. You run like you think you can catch your daddy’s approval.” It was mean, and he knew it. But frankly his hands and nose were numb from the cold, and Barty was really pushing it tonight, so he needed them on even ground.
It worked, because the amusement left Barty’s eyes immediately and he scowled. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Evan’s face, shoved it into the pavement, and used his knee on Evan’s chest to stand —rather forcefully— and continued to walk away.
Evan laughed, feeling the scrape on his face start to sting when he stood up to face the cold wind. “You deserved that and you know it!” He called in front of him, hands cupped around his face to amplify it. He smirked, because even from here he could see Barty’s shoulders roll, and before he knew it, he was back on him, pressing Evan’s back against the wall so hard he felt the breath leave his lungs.
“You’re getting too cocky, need to learn when to shut the fuck up.” Barty’s eyes were dark, his face set with bitterness. Despite himself, Evan laughed a little more. He let his head fall back to hit the wall with a thunk, though his eyes were still trained on his boyfriend in front of him.
He was about to respond when he felt Barty’s fist thrust straight into his gut, effectively knocking any quip he had right out of him. He curled forward into himself instinctively at the blow, but Barty’s hand was in his hair before he could register, and his head was slammed back against the cold brick once again. Immediately, he felt warm lips at his throat, followed by teeth nipping and scraping at the skin around his neck. A deep groan left him, and he squirmed against the wall, but who could blame him?
“Fuck…” his voice came out higher than he liked, but it was immediately silenced when Barty kissed him harshly, though only for a moment. The position had him completely at his mercy, head still held back and hips pinned to the building by Barty’s hip. He could already feel his pants tightening.
“You’re a piece of shit,” Barty growled as he continued, bringing his teeth down on Evan’s exposed collar, hard. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he felt blood gather into a bead and slide down his chest; another moan left him at the thought.
With one last rough kiss —accompanied by a knee launched straight into his stomach— Barty finally pulled back, meeting his eyes with a vile smirk. “Ready to go home now?”
This made Evan huff, and he stuck his tongue out past swollen lips. “Was ready to go home an hour ago, dickhead.” There was no malice behind this, and Barty grinned before he let him go and went right back to the sidewalk.
Evan laughed some more, rubbing at his throat before he followed. What did he ever do to deserve this man?
---
It wasn’t until a few days later that Evan was reminded of consequences.
They made a point of showing up to school on time the next morning, beyond excited for the discovery and reaction their little ‘prank’ would procure. Barty called it a prank, that was. Evan knew it settled closer to arson on the scale, but semantics were just that.
He could feel the way Barty was further energized with every mention of it. Rumours flew through the student body; whispers and theories and suspicions and all else, and each time they overheard its mention, Barty’s eyes glowed further with that satisfaction. It was almost as scary as it was hot, though he couldn’t deny the thrill it sent through him as well. Knowing that he’d been responsible for such a statement? It was an unparalleled feeling.
Predictably, they didn’t even make it to lunch before suspicion was thrown on Barty, despite their uber-cautious approach. He followed his summons to the office —the vice principal’s seeing as the principal’s was out of commission— with the same gleeful smirk that he’d been sporting all day, and he returned a half hour later looking just the same. Evan couldn’t help but laugh.
“Guess who’s not a criminal?” Barty declared, plopping himself down on the ground beside Evan. He’d found him in the theatre storage room, not much of a feat considering it was where they usually were. Not because either of them were actually in theatre, Evan always made sure to clarify, but because nobody ever came here, and some of the props were comfortable.
Evan shook his head with a laugh. “Whatever you say Bee,” he murmured in response, grinning and munching through his bag of chips. Party-sized, because life was short. Shorter, probably, if you hung out with Barty.
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Barty reminded through a mouthful of chips.
He reached right away for another handful, but Evan swatted his hand away with a scolding glare. “Get your own, criminal.”
Barty’s pout was decidedly exaggerated, but he didn’t protest, instead bringing a cigarette to his lips and lighting it —he made a point of ignoring Evan’s look. “Hm, my parents are out tonight, wine tasting or some shit, won’t be back until Sunday.”
“Does that mean hot tub sex?”
Barty smirked in response, plucking the cigarette from between his lips and blowing the smoke into Evan’s hair. “Hot tub sex.”
Evan laughed, shoving him away and leaning back onto the ragged old couch. “Has anyone ever called you a pyromaniac?” He mused, a smug accusation.
“Oh please, as if I didn’t see the absolute lust on your face when that benzene popped,” Barty retorted immediately, reaching down to re-tie his laces. They hadn’t come undone, were probably just too loose. “You don’t even look at me like that.”
“That’s because you’re pathetic.”
He probably had a come back, a clever one that would both amuse and offend Evan, but he just stuck his tongue out. They laughed as they fell back into the couch together.
---
‘Parents left, come over.’
The text buzzed in his pocket halfway through a rare family dinner at the Rosier household. When Evan looked down to read it, he grinned immediately, despite feeling Gerry’s scowl boring into him from across the table.
“I thought we’d said no phones,” he said slowly, looking at his food as if the comment wasn’t targeted. He was clearly working hard to contain it, to remain civilized, knowing his wife sat beside him and hated the yelling. If only she stood up to him once in a while.
“Habs are playing tonight, up by two,” Dora immediately chimed in beside him. “Is that what you were checking?”
She’d given him an out, an easy explanation to smooth the issue with their parents and move on. An out that he should have taken, but alas Evan Rosier was built from adrenaline and spite, so he looked up to meet his father’s eyes directly. “No, I was texting Barty.”
He felt the tension in the room rising, watched the vein in Gerry’s neck tense and pulse with ill-contained anger, and Evan almost smirked a little, knowing exactly what was next. “You’re not to talk to him, I’ve told you that already. He is holding you back, and you need to be doing more.” His volume rose with every word, knuckles turning white where they held his fork, slice forgotten halfway between his plate and his mouth. He should have been scared, really. Had he been alone with his father, he would have been fighting to maintain his stubborn facade, but Dora was here, and his mother was here, and if Gerry had one weakness, it was them. As long as they were here, he could channel Barty and prod at Gerry’s buttons; challenge, sass, fight. Thank fuck for his misogyny.
“Yep, I remember,” Evan mused finally, looking back to his food to shovel the rest into his mouth; the faster he finished it, the faster he could escape. He felt only slightly bad, knowing how much Dora hated the tension at the table, but this was quickly replaced with rage again when Gerry continued his tirade.
“Both of you need to be focusing on school, Charlie’s had to quit choir, the least you can do is stop seeing that lowlife.”
“That’s not her name,” he muttered, eyes coming back up. “If you’re gonna be a dick to me least you could do is have some fucking respect for your golden child.” His words were full of poison, and he could feel everyone at the table adjust their seating; his mother had started to look between the two of them, with apparently no intention of intervening.
“Evan…” Dora bumped her knee against hers under the table, warning him far too gently, compassion that could only come from Pandora.
He ignored her, of course.
“Pandora can be your perfect little college student, so you could leave Barty the fuck out of it. He’s mine,” he snarled. Mine, mine, mine. Gerry couldn’t touch him, couldn’t taint Barty by saying his name. All he did was dirty and defile these beautiful names when he dared to speak them.
There was no response, thankfully; Evan was getting dangerously close to throwing his peas at his father and that would have been far more embarrassing than satisfying. Better not to give him any more reason to call him childish.
By the time he escaped, he was still brimmed with pent up anger, anger that was starting to dissolve into a pathetic sort of sadness. Didn’t matter, Barty could get rid of that for him, he always did somehow. He shot him a quick text, and began his trek to the bus stop. Why did he have to live so far away?
It didn’t matter, apparently.
‘Don’t get on the bus’. Evan frowned and stopped in his tracks as he read it, bringing his phone up to respond when he heard the revving of an engine to his left. He didn’t….
As it turns out, he did.
The convertible was incredibly impractical for November in Canada, but Barty didn’t seem to mind much, judging by the smug grin he was sporting. No, the look was filled with far more self-satisfaction, buzzing with electric euphoria. It was contagious, enough for Evan to mirror his expression, and stop in his tracks, grinning deliriously.
The Miata was bright red, poised under the late evening sun so that its rays set it afire, shimmering like a dream. The soft hum of the engine was smooth, a deep rumble that he felt in his bones once the car pulled up next to him on the sidewalk, once he lay his hand on the hood to feel the fierce warmth emanating from it. The car looked somewhat out of place, on the lower middle class street, but then, he couldn’t remember a time Barty hadn't stood out. This though... this was something else.
Evan laughed, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Are you serious? He’s gonna fucking murder you,” he realized, ignoring the door entirely and instead bracing his hand on the door panel. A steady vault over it, and he settled into the plush leather seat next to Barty.
“Oh yeah, skin me alive and make a smoothie out of my entrails, but Ruby here is worth it, don’t you think?” Barty smirked, watching him with darkened eyes as he ran his hand over the steering wheel.
This earned an eye-roll, and Evan shoved him while Barty pulled away from the sidewalk. “You named the car Ruby?” Incredulously. He didn’t have to ask to know Barty was heading for the highway.
“Was gonna go with Rosie, but she isn’t quite that pretty,” Barty said with a wink, intentionally letting his eyes sweep up and down Evan, slowly enough that Evan felt the urge to jerk his head back towards the road.
“You’re so fucking predictable,” he muttered despite his laugh, catching the side mirror in his gaze to look back at his neighbourhood disappearing behind them. He shifted back when he felt the engine roaring beneath him, the houses on either side of them starting to disappear faster and faster.
“Just listen to her purr,” Barty crooned, grabbing Evan’s jaw in his hand and jerking it towards him. A shudder made its way up his spine, his eyes following every movement of those pink lips.“That, Rosie, is the sweet, sweet sound of my dear father absolutely writhing in misery at the thought of his most prized possession getting stolen for a joyride by his greatest failure.” He let out a loud whoop, hair starting to fly around his head as they hit the highway.
Evan, try as he might, couldn’t disagree. A raucous laugh left him too, and he leaned back to let the icy breeze comb through his hair. Nothing tasted better than that bitter, free wind after the shackles that was Rosier family dinner. Something about the music Barty had blasting, the way they weaved through traffic with no issues, and the air growing colder until he was shivering; it tasted like sweet release.
Barty’s teeth were starting to chatter too, but that didn’t manage to wipe the jagged smile off his now-rosy cheeks. That was when he turned to Evan with sparkling eyes. “You want a turn?”
The look on his face must have been enough, because Barty jerked the wheel and pulled the car to the shoulder. He didn’t bother getting out, just scooted over the centre console and settled on Evan’s lap, giving him a look when he didn’t move. With an exasperated sigh, Evan wriggled out from beneath him and climbed into the seat of power, planting his foot down on the gas pedal immediately.
Ruby roared to life, her growl resonating all the way to his chest as soon as he had the car going. Going, going, going, the raw energy had his fingertips twitching as they sped up more and more until all he could see was the blur of the other cars whizzing past, the stretch of road leading due east to the ocean, the tremble of the air around them. He could hear Barty cackling beside him —more from pure, feral glee than anything else. The whizzing and humming of the car beneath him, the forgotten music playing from the car’s speakers, the occasional honk from a miserable commuter in a beat-up minivan, the wind, the road, the birds. It was a feeling of defiance like no other, power and speed and timeless delight. It was with a great deal of reluctance that he finally returned to the Crouch house, and he was nearly panting as he rolled the car into the garage. It never ceased to amuse him how much of a contrast the house was to Barty.
The Crouch home stood tall and orderly, with gleaming windows and a perfectly manicured lawn. It exuded a polished confidence that demanded admiration, and drove property taxes up for the whole street. It was everything that Barty was not; structured, pristine, carefully curated, and bland. Where the house gleamed with its sleek, deliberate design, Barty strolled in a whirlwind of chaos. His clunky boots slapped on the polished marble floors, chains on his jeans clinking together with every movement, even his crazed smile was louder than the painful emptiness that greeted them with beige walls and clean lines. Yet for all its unblemished refinement, the house had less character than Barty —messy and raw and woefully unrestrained— held in his pinky toe. It shouldn’t have been able to contain him, to silence him, to survive him...
The thought made him grab Barty and yank him into a kiss, relaxing once he felt him giggle into Evan’s mouth.
Barty pulled away with a pop, smirking while he met his eyes. “Does my parents’ house turn you on?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows up at Evan.
This earned him a shove, but they both laughed while they tried not to slip —soft socks on vinyl floors made for limited friction— and bounded up the stairs to Barty’s bedroom.
Try as he might, Evan had never been able to convince Barty to properly decorate his room. He knew it must have had something to do with not feeling at home, a borrowed space, because he knew that was certainly the case, though a part of him assumed that the chance to spite his father would be enough for Barty to decorate the hell out of the space.
Instead, it was nearly as flavourless as the rest of the house. Beige walls, dark hardwood floors, minimalist furniture and windows letting in beams of sunlight —but it wasn’t completely absent of Barty. The bed was tucked in a corner against two walls, piled high with blankets and clothing. There was a soft rug beneath their feet, and an enormous bean bag chair in the near corner, by the desk that Evan was sure hadn’t been used in years. Not for studying, at least. The scent surrounding them was incense, struggling to cover up the much headier smell of weed that settled almost permanently in the room. There was a reason they preferred spending time in Evan’s bedroom.
Barty went straight for his bed, laying on it with a heavy sigh. Evan followed, first shucking off his jeans in favour of loose boxers though. He smiled a bit as he watched Barty, half buried in the blankets with his face buried within them. For a moment, he resisted touching him, then realized there was no reason to, and reached over to fix a wrinkle in his shirt, lay his hand on his back, feel the warmth from his body.
“There’s a pen in my drawer,” Barty murmured after a while, turning his head away from the pillows so that Evan could understand.
“Sure I won’t find anything else in your drawer?” Evan teased, grinning when he felt Barty reach out to punch his leg.
“Why would I need to jerk off? I have you,” he replied, somehow managing to wink despite half his face being mashed into the pillow.
Evan’s whole body relaxed again once he took the first hit, back pressed against the wall while his legs remained tangled in the blankets. One thing about Barty, he had good taste in weed.
Between giggling and shoving and kissing and smoking, Evan wasn’t sure when they fell asleep. But he was made acutely aware of when they were awakened.
The first thing he registered was a voice. Sharp, cutting through his foggy sleep like a knife through silk.
“Barty what the fuck is this?”
Evan’s eyes shot open, the dark bedroom slowly settling into focus. He blinked hard as his eyes adjusted, and immediately registered his throat bone-dry, tongue painfully stiff and useless in his mouth. Slowly, he recognized whose voice it was, and the realization had him sitting up in a hurry and rubbing at his face with uncomfortably warm hands.
Crouch Sr. sounded far too calm for someone who’d just slammed open the bedroom door —Evan wasn’t even sure how that was possible— so hard that the jolt of it reached them on the opposite wall. He stood in the doorway, hands clasped together in front of him like a fucking Bond villain. Dark eyes —darker than Barty’s— were trained on him beneath thick brows, with a thunderous scowl set in his stony face.
“Of course. You.” He spat the word out like venom, gaze settling on Evan. Lovely.
Much as he would rather let him sleep, he swatted at Barty, whose face remained stubbornly buried in Evan’s neck. Knowing it would only be worse if he ignored it, and frankly trying not to shrivel up under Crouch’s searing gaze, Evan jabbed his elbow into his boyfriend’s side and felt him stir.
“Fuck off Ev…” It came out as more of a groan than anything else.
“Bee, your da-”
“I need an answer Junior,” Crouch continued in that militant voice, his steady tone eerie and unsettling. Why couldn’t he just yell like Gerry did?
It was painful, feeling the way Barty’s entire body tensed at the words, the realization, the adjustment to the waking world. He pushed himself up to his knees and slid off the side of the bed, all in one practiced motion. Evan stretched a hand out when he saw Barty sway on his feet, grabbing his hip in an effort to steady him. Fuck, he needed water…
“Explain yourself.” It wasn’t a question.
“Seriously? You were gone? You woke me up to ask why I was taking a nap in my own fucking bed?” It sent a shudder down Evan’s back, the defiance in those words, and he made a conscious effort not to cower under Crouch’s withering stare.
“Oh, a nap, right. Definitely not the drugs I can smell on you, definitely not with that boy, definitely not after setting your school on fire.”
Oh.
“So they did blame it on me then?” Barty’s tone was full of fire, always digging himself even further in when confronted directly. “Funny, I thought there was an amendment about that or something.”
“You stop being smart with me. Do you really expect me to believe it wasn’t you?” Crouch’s voice was icy, controlled, cracking like a whip through the tension in the room —Evan was always a little shocked at Barty’s unflinching scowl.
He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, every instinct in his body telling him to freeze, not to engage, to wait it out. His anger would dissipate, he just needed to wait. Of course Barty didn’t, taking several steps towards his father before stopping in the center of his room. His back was to Evan, but he could see that tension in his shoulders, could feel the restraint built up inside him, threatening to crack and let loose everything it contained. Evan couldn’t let that happen…
“It was me.” He stammered to his feet, immediately feeling two sets of green eyes turn on him. Crouch’s, fury coming off him in cold waves along with alarm and satisfaction. And Barty’s, glimmering with an entirely different kind of anger. How dare you try to fight my battles?
More than a little impressed with himself for standing his ground under both of their gazes, Evan took another step forward so he was closer to Barty. “I set those fires. In the lab, I used benzene, and acetone, last night.” His words weren’t clear, nor did they sound overly convincing, but despite that they hung in the air for several moments before Crouch looked back towards his son —Evan internally grimaced at the implication that he wasn’t worth paying attention to.
“I want him gone. You are not to have people here, do you understand?”
Please just say yes and let him leave….. Evan found himself desperately hoping. He just wanted this fuckwad gone. He was threatening Barty, his Barty, he was trying to take him away…
To his horror, Barty laughed. It was cold, nearly a snarl, with nothing behind it besides malice. Loathing, deepset, malice.
Evan had no idea what sort of mind games father and son were playing, but Crouch Sr. left without another word, and he felt himself collapse back on Barty’s bed.
“You’re a fucking maniac….” He managed, reaching blindly for the water he knew was on Barty’s nightstand.
The response he got was a laugh, softer than the one Crouch had received, with a proper smile accompanying it. “Now who’s being dramatic?” Barty asked, closing his bedroom door behind his father.
It took him a moment to reply as Evan resisted the urge to moan at the sweet, glorious feeling of cold water sliding down his throat. He’d chugged nearly half the glass before setting it down to respond, and once he did his voice was much tamer than he typically allowed. “Barty, I’m serious. Why do you antagonize him like that?”
Barty scowled at this, turning away from him. “Seriously? That’s your fucking issue?”
Evan tried his hardest not to flinch, to meet Barty’s words with equal strength. “My issue is that you’re knowingly making shit harder for yourself,” he replied, starting to get pissed off. Always, it was always the same. There were times he wondered whether or not their relationship was just another scheme to defy Crouch Sr.
“Fuck off, you don’t know shit about that,” Barty spat back, lunging at him and pushing Evan flat onto his back in a moment. “Now are you going to fuck me or not?”
With a sneer, Evan yanked down Barty’s jeans. “You’re an ass.”
All he got was more of Barty’s musical laughter, muffled into a deep kiss.
Notes:
Thanks for reading guys :)
Chapter 10: The Dog that No One Claims
Notes:
Sorry this is a day late, finals were crazy busy but done now so hopefully I'll be writing obsessively :)
Mentions of past sexual encounters, mostly in passing
Chapter Text
5/12/2024
“Rise and shine, glowstick!” Dora’s clear voice filled his ears as she tore open his curtains and let the late morning sun stream into his otherwise dark room.
He practically hissed at the light hitting him head on, dragging the comforter up over his face. “Fuck off, I thought we’d retired that nickname,” he groaned, shaking his head further into his pillow.
“Yeah well you thought wrong, we have shit to do today! Waffles are almost ready. I expect you to be up and dressed in five minutes,” Dora declared in a singsong voice, practically twirling her way out of the room. She paused in his doorway, looking around the room and wrinkling her nose. “Make that fifteen, take a shower, okay?”
Evan made sure to stick his arm out from the tangle of blankets to flip her off as she left. After a few minutes though, he realized his sleep was properly ruined, and he sat up to rub his eyes.
“Fucking Dora,” he murmured, reaching for his water bottle to quench the sandpaper that was his throat right now. He snatched his phone up from the floor. 11:41. Practically dawn.
Regardless, his love for his sister —along with his need for food— won over his sloth, and he was out of the shower and dressed fifteen minutes later. He wandered to the kitchen with still-damp hair, immediately making for the espresso machine. Once he’d gone through the process, he sat down with his mocha and met his sister’s eyes. “So…what exactly are we doing that you needed to drag me out of bed for?”
Pandora smiled immediately, clearly she was waiting for this question. “We are going to get you a friend!” She declared, far too excited for what she’d just said.
“A what?” He blinked at her, reaching for a waffle.
“A friend, Evan. Well, sort of.” She slid the butter and maple syrup over to him, as well as a plate. Smart, seeing as he would definitely have chosen to eat it like plain toast over having to reach across the table. “Regulus volunteers at a shelter some weekends, and he’s said it’s really fun and therapeutic. Sooooo, we thought it might be nice to go. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a bond there.”
Well, at least it’s less pathetic than my sister setting me up with actual friends.
“That…actually doesn’t sound bad, okay,” Evan agreed, though the words surprised him somehow.
“Okay?” Dora asked, looking optimistic but confused. “Wow I thought that would take more convincing, I was ready to bribe you.”
He laughed a little, shrugging. “I like animals, and I’ve got nothing better to do today. It sounds fun,” he expanded, grabbing a second waffle.
“Huh.” She smiled, and Evan was again reminded that she was really quite pretty. Of course she was, identical twins after all. “You know you’ve grown up.”
Evan snorted, arching an eyebrow. “That’s typically what happens as time goes on,” he replied, coating his waffle in a generous amount of Nutella.
Dora smiled, overlooking his sarcasm and waving her hand in his general direction. “No I mean, matured, I guess. Two years ago you would have yelled at me for ‘trying to therapize you’ or something.”
“I wouldn’t have yelled at you,” he protested immediately, making a face.
“Oh don’t lie you totally fucking would have. I can hear it now. ‘Dora stop trying to fix me, I’m perfectly happy hanging out with my drug dealer boyfriend everyday’.” She dropped her voice far too much and gave him her best scowl as she spoke, then snickered at the look on Evan’s face.
“Okay first of all, he wasn’t a drug dealer, just an addict,” Evan stuck his tongue out at her, snatching a waffle off her plate to eat it. “And secondly, you’re fucking dramatic.”
“Oh good come back,” she snickered, hiding her gleeful smile behind her coffee mug.
“Ohhh-kayy I’m going back to bed.” He declared, standing and bringing his coffee with him.
“Okay fine I’ll buy you food afterwards,” Dora finally let up, though he could tell from her voice that she was still smiling. Didn’t matter, food was worth it.
“That’s more like it,” he agreed, shoving the rest of his waffle into his mouth without a care in the world for how Pandora rolled her eyes.
The shelter was a lot cleaner than he’d expected, which was strange; had he expected it to be disgusting? Realistically, he knew Reg would not be caught dead there if it was.
No, instead the shelter was bright and welcoming, soft pop music and the scent of fresh linen wafting through the air as soon as he stepped inside. It was warm, comfortable with murals and photos of a myriad of animals. Dora squealed happily as she spun a little to take it all in, smiling at the faint sounds of dogs, barking, playing, everything. Evan smiled a little bit as he looked around; this was certainly not Dora’s worst idea.
They spotted Regulus when he came around to the front, wearing clothing that looked startlingly casual on him, though was pretty standard for anyone else. “Was starting to worry you were being stubborn again,” Reg remarked, giving them both a little smile.
“Again?” He accused, sounding just as offended as he was, but Dora seemed to have moved on immediately.
“Come on Reggie, let's see some puppies!” He couldn’t say he disagreed with her urging.
Watching Regulus play with puppies was a bit of a mindfuck, in all honesty. He instructed Evan and Pandora to sit on the floor, closing the door they’d come through before opening another door on the opposite wall. Enter a wiggling mass of dogs, joyful chaos of fur and paws and noses quickly overtaking them. Evan laughed when he felt a cold nose against his cheek, petting and gently scratching at any fur he could reach. To his left, he could hear Dora giggling with delight, and frankly he couldn’t blame her; nothing like a dozen pups to brighten a day.
Once the two newcomers had been thoroughly investigated, the energy died down into a comfortably playful disorder. Evan turned and saw Dora, two tiny white dogs in her lap, soaking up all the attention as she spoke to them and pet them affectionately. On his other side, he spotted Regulus laying on his back, a small mess of black fur sitting on his chest delivering puppy kisses all over his face. Surprisingly, Reg didn’t seem to mind, in fact he continued to give it soft scratches all over, an uncharacteristic warmth to his demeanour.
For a moment, Evan realized he didn’t have any of the puppies right on him and was momentarily offended. How rude of them. A doorway caught his eye though, and he stood up slowly without another thought. Through the hall, he found a series of large kennels, each occupied by a different furry bundle, all of which starting to yip and bark once he entered. He smiled a little bit, wandering through the corridors and greeting all the dogs briefly, until he paused by one of the kennels.
Most of the dogs had greeted him in one of two ways; eager joyful whines for affection right up at the bars, or deep warning barks and a firm stance several feet back. Kennel number 31 was different.
The dog had stood just a few inches back from the fence separating them, staring up at Evan with such deep curiosity that it brought him to a halt. It looked…hideously cute? Beautifully ugly?
This dog was a mishmash of features that did not fit together in the slightest; its legs disproportionately long and gnarly, with paws that seemed almost too big for them, and an oddly short barrel-shaped body, bordering somewhere between ‘sleek’ and ‘lumpy’. Its fur was a patchwork of colours that clashed just enough to look accidental, with longer tufts around the neck and ears despite the overall short hair. What got him was the dog’s head. One ear upright, the other folded over itself, with dark eyes —slightly mismatched in size— that stared right up at Evan with bewilderment and a kind of playfulness that he was immediately drawn to.
He squatted down right by the kennel wall, offering his hand out slowly and watching with growing excitement as the dog stepped closer, closer, until he was licking curiously at Evan’s palm. Looking up, he spotted the lock of the kennel door, and upon realizing it was a simple latch, made a decision.
He slipped inside carefully and brought the door back closed, even managing to lock it again through the bars. He’d figure out how to get back out later. Once he turned back, he saw that the dog was sitting and staring up at him, tail wagging so fast he could hardly register it.
“You’re clever, aren’t you?” Evan found himself saying, slowly sitting cross-legged on the ground and simply watching the dog. He seemed to agree, because he crept closer to Evan until he was nuzzling at his knee, cold nose pressed into the rip in his jeans. “Do you have a name?” He wondered to himself, looking around the kennel until a poster caught his eye:
‘My name is Moose, and I’m a 7 month old male mutt. I am shy, but playful with a lot of energy, and I can’t wait to find my forever home!’
“Moose, huh?” He mused, gently ruffling his ears and letting his hand linger on the warm fur. Then for whatever reason, he continued talking, words slow and calm so as not to startle the puppy. “I’m Evan. My sister Dora dragged me here, but you know, I’m actually thinking this was a good idea.”
Soon he was recounting his whole life’s story, right down to the lab he’d been procrastinating for days. By the time he heard footsteps, Moose was already curled up in Evan’s lap, delivering slobbery kisses all over his arm.
“You found him then, huh?” Regulus asked, arms crossed as he stared at Evan from the hall, amused disbelief all over his face.
Evan looked up and grinned, not the least bit apologetic for having broken into the kennel. “Meet Moose.”
---
The process of signing forms was far from Evan’s favourite, along with the handful of fees and purchases he had to make. Finally though, he left the shelter with Moose comfortably settled in a carrier —he’d wanted to let him walk, but the establishment had rules, apparently. You’d think they would just do anything to get rid of this surplus of dogs, but whatever.
Immediately upon getting into the car, Evan let the dog out of his carrier, letting him sniff around the backseat of Dora’s car while he watched. It was fascinating really, discovering what the puppy considered a priority to explore, what he deemed important, what he deemed scary. More than a few times he caught himself smiling and talking to Moose, though he honestly wasn’t sure what he said; probably not much of anything. The mats on the floor were the most interesting, apparently, but the seatbelts? Those were suspicious, definitely not to be trusted.
By the time he turned back around to face the road, he’d expected to be almost back to their apartment. Instead, he frowned when the streets around them were heading in a completely different direction.
“I knew this was just a ploy to kidnap me,” Evan remarked, looking over at Pandora for an explanation.
She laughed at this, flipping him off but still clearly smiling. “It wasn’t, but for the record it would be ridiculously easy to kidnap you. You didn’t once question where we were going for like twenty minutes.”
He rolled his eyes at this. “I didn’t think I’d have to worry about my own little sister luring me away from my home.”
“Little?”
“Yes, little.”
Pandora sighed all too dramatically, but she pulled into a drive thru a moment later. “For your information, I was just going to get us food, but if you’re not hungry…”
Evan shrugged, but his attention was piqued. “Depends if you’re buying.”
She did, in fact, pay for the food. Looking back, that should have been his first clue.
After they’d obtained their food, she found a quiet spot at the far end of the parking lot and parked, then turned to him as she unwrapped her burger. “So, did you sleep with Barty?”
He nearly choked on his drink.
For a moment, Evan was sure he’d heard wrong; how could she have known that? He made sure to keep his expression neutral, besides somewhat confused. “What?”
“You heard me,” she replied, looking over at him with that look she had, like she knew the truth and was just waiting for him to admit it. He really hated that look, it reminded him of Barty’s dad, somehow.
“No, Dora, I didn’t fucking sleep with Barty, why the fuck would I do that? I’ve literally been avoiding him for months,” he replied, giving her a weird look. Why the fuck indeed. “What are you talking about?”
She didn’t back down though, eyes boring into his like she was searching him, peeking behind corners of lies and coverups. “Cut the shit Evan, I know you did. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He took advantage of the forced pause by taking an enormous bite, hopefully giving himself time to craft some kind of excuse, a lie, anything. He was already ashamed enough about the other night at the library, he really didn’t need Dora ripping him a new one over it. Maybe it was stupid, maybe he regretted it with every ounce of his being, but for fuck’s sake. If he wanted to hook up with his ex, who was she to say he couldn’t?
He’d come up with nothing by the time he ran out of food to chew. Not that it mattered, she’d likely see right through the lie anyway. “It was…a one time thing, okay?”
She gave a dry snicker from around her straw, looking straight at him with eyes that could have torn through kevlar. “Okay first of all, you’d make a shit spy.”
This caught him by surprise, and he gave her a face over the top of his burger.
“I had no proof, I just had a suspicion, but there you go confessing immediately,” Dora went on, waving her hand in his direction as if that explained everything. “Secondly, a one time thing? Really? You can’t possibly believe that.”
“Dora-” he groaned, sighing and waiting for the lecture he knew was coming.
“No, I’m not done,” she replied immediately, cutting him off with a severe look in his direction. “Shut up and listen, or I’ll peel the skin right off your dick.”
He cringed at even the imagery; why so vivid? But Dora was still talking.
“You have spent literally the last two years trying to get over Barty. I say ‘trying’ because I was never actually convinced you were over him, and apparently I was beyond right.” He started to interject, but the intensity of her glare shut him up pretty effectively. “You told me, and I quote, that he was a toxic, manipulative dick, and that you’d sooner go back to live with mom and dad than go back to Barty.”
“Pan-”
“I’m not fucking finished, Evan. What the fuck were you thinking?” She demanded, now seeming to be properly angry as she turned her eyes to him, clearly expecting an answer, an excuse, an explanation of some sort. Evan nearly flinched, because he really, truly had no excuse. He was still trying to figure out if he’d been in control of his own body that night. Sometimes with Barty, it felt like he definitely wasn’t.
“I-...” He swallowed, trying to find the words. What words? There were no words, nothing that could possibly justify this. “I know it was a mistake. If… if it makes you feel any better I sorta ran away from him like…right after.” He tried not to wince at the confession; somehow that was the most shameful part of the whole thing. He always had been a coward, especially when it came to Barty.
“It really doesn’t, honestly. Did you tell him that it would absolutely not happen again? Did you say anything to him? Because he fucking deserved a lot worse than whatever it was you might have said.”
“We… didn’t exactly talk afterwards. I didn’t really give him the chance…”
“As in, you did some dumb shit like kiss him again? Like promise him something? Like do anything but make it crystal fucking clear that it would never happen again?” She urged, though it was clearly rhetorical. Damn, she certainly knew how pathetic he was.
“As in… his mouth was sort of… still full when I left…” Evan said after a long pause, cringing internally. No matter the context of the conversation, it still felt fucking weird to admit that given the implications. Was it still implications if it was the obvious truth?
This stopped her monologue, and she made a face. “What the fuck Evan…” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as if he was giving her a headache —he usually was. “That’s…. shitty of you, even if it was Barty.”
“That- what?” Evan recoiled at this, staring at her for a moment, though as soon as her words hit him, he realized they were true. Wow. He’d really left him there, in the public fucking library on his knees with Evan’s cum in his mouth…
Jesus Christ…
It genuinely hadn’t occurred to him how much of a dick move that had been —he’d been far too busy chastizing himself for giving in, for letting Barty do that, for being so fucking weak. But somehow this… this was worse. Because Barty was…Barty was a lot of things, but there had never been any question about his love. He loved Evan. Nobody could possibly deny that. And Evan…. he’d loved Barty too. Once, hadn’t he?
He chewed at his lip, head falling as he stared at his lap. “I… yeah, I guess it was…”
“Wow, Evan.” Pandora’s tone had done a complete flip, and she was now watching him with a strange look, a gentler look, somehow. As if dehumanizing Barty that way was somehow less bad than hooking up with his ex-boyfriend. Was Barty even his ex? He’d never actually… broken up with him. Not really.
“I… look I know I fucked up, okay?” He said slowly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I… I’m not doing it again. Ever. I… it was just…”
“Did you want to?” Dora asked suddenly, startling him.
“Did I…want to?” Evan paused, scowling at the implication. “Dora he didn’t force me to do anything, Barty wouldn’t–”
“Right. Okay, just… why?” She asked. Her tone was gentler now. Not the rapid accusations, not the scolding, not even the shocked disappointment. It was more like her, which was a bit of a relief, in all honesty.
It was a long time before Evan responded, voice a lot smaller than he’d intended. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes softened further, and Pandora let her hands drop down from where they’d been gripping the steering wheel, despite the car being parked.
When she didn’t speak, he kept going, needing to fill that silence, that calmness, it was far too intense. “I just… I missed him Dora…” he managed quietly, cringing at the way his voice cracked at the words, at the way his eyes were watering against his will. “I miss him.”
She swallowed, watching him quietly for a long moment. “I know.”
Chapter 11: Love Beneath Reluctant Skin
Notes:
Soooo this was actually the second chapter I wrote for this fic, back before it had much of a plot of plan, so it has a special place in my heart :) pls share what you think!
Warnings for drug use, drinking, vomiting, but mostly mentioned in passing
Chapter Text
19/12/2021
Evan had come to a decision; if he ever found Barty Crouch Jr., he was going to strangle him.
His ears were ringing with the lousy music and rowdy voices, his shoes sticky with unidentified liquids, and his hands were clenched into fists deep in his jacket pockets. Each time he bumped into someone, he felt the burning knot of rage in his chest tighten, and the urge to shove whoever it was in the opposite direction was becoming more and more incessant. When an inebriated blonde girl stumbled past him, stepping on his shoes no less, Evan decided that was enough and ducked into the nearest doorway. Only once he had jammed the door shut did he groan and let out the breath he’d been holding since….well probably since he’d entered the house.
Stupid fucking Barty, so fucking typical. Evan yanked his phone out of his pocket, though he shouldn’t have been surprised to see no response to his texts. Classic Barty, gets into shit and now it’s up to me to save his ass.
It was only once he’d mentally expressed his frustration that he brought his head up to look around the room. He’d hoped it was a bedroom, a bathroom, really anywhere he could hide out for a few minutes, but just his luck, he watched the door on the other end of the den open and his whole body tensed.
“Sirius?” Evan’s shoulders dropped back down, though he still groaned and rubbed one of his palms over his face.
“Wowww, Evan Rosier? Sober at a party? Shit I knew I needed glasses.” Sirius’s voice was accompanied with a cocky grin, and he raised the drink he was holding towards him. An offer that it pained Evan to refuse.
“Have you seen Barty? He told me he was here,” he tried to explain, despite his hands twitching in his pockets. He needed out, out, out.
“Barty? Ugh, I saw him go downstairs with a few guys? I think they brought some acid or something, meant to go down there later,” Sirius rambled on, his free hand continuously coming up to run through his hair.
“Fucking asshole,” Evan muttered under his breath, bracing himself before he turned to open the door again. “Ugh, thanks.”
He didn’t stick around to hear Sirius’s response, if there even was one. Instead, he veered through the halls past people, a few of whom tried to get his attention, but once he spotted the basement stairs his legs sped up all on their own.
Even over the myriad of voices coming from downstairs, the ring of Barty’s laughter was unmistakable.
“I wanna tryyyy please me toooo!” Barty’s telltale, high-pitched slur was all he needed to know. Fucking alcoholic, he muttered, and Evan’s stomach turned on its own as he trotted his way down the stairs. There were a dozen or so people lounging on and around a handful of couches and beanbags, a few just cross-legged on the floor. It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the dim lighting, but once they did, they urgently scanned the room for–
“Rosie!” He should have known Barty would spot him immediately. He made his way over to the group, eyes drifting between Barty and the small box that was being passed around the room. “Rosie you’re here, come try some with me! It makes you feel good!”
Once the box reached Barty, Evan hardly had time to cross the room before he had taken the paper thin square into his mouth. Of course, he gave Evan the brightest smile as he watched it dissolve on his tongue.
“Come on Crouch, we’re going home,” Evan muttered, grabbing Barty’s arms and trying to get him onto his feet; the deadweight he received in response made it difficult.
“Please can we stay a little longer? Please?” It was hard to say no to those eyes, especially as he watched the brown diminish while his dark pupils grew. He wasn’t any less concerned, but he figured five minutes would hardly make much of a difference, and it would be easier to get Barty home once he was happier.
Instead of responding, he sat down, immediately feeling Barty’s head fall onto his shoulder, warmth emanating from his body. “Five minutes,” he murmured firmly into his ear, and relaxed a bit once he felt the smallest nod against his arm.
It pained him to refuse the offered tablets, but he knew he had to get Barty home safely, and his dad would skin him alive if he didn’t bring the truck home by midnight. He waited, just listening to the inebriated people around him mumbling and chatting, while he felt Barty’s fingertip tracing the seam of his jeans, along his knee, down his calf, then around the cuff. Honestly, it must have been far more than five minutes, because when Barty spoke next, it took substantial effort to understand.
“Your legs feel funny,” Barty remarked, eyes fixed on his own fingertip, tracing the laces on Evan’s tattered sneakers. “Like mountains.”
“Mountains?”
“Bumpy,” Barty replied quietly, as if that clarified anything. “And cold.”
It was all he could do not to roll his eyes, knowing all too well the way that would send Barty spiralling. “Maybe because you forced me outside in mid fucking December?”
“December isn’t warm like they say,” Barty slurred in response, his body becoming heavier on Evan’s shoulder with each passing moment. “It’s…prickly. It stings. But it’s….”
His sentence died off, replaced by a gasp. Dark eyes, brown now overpowered by the ever-growing black, came up to gawk at Evan’s face. An eerily warm hand came up, caressing the peach fuzz on Evan’s jaw. “You…you’re like snow.”
Evan was convinced anyone would have blushed under Barty’s ardent stare. He didn’t pull away though, letting feverish fingertips tickle his cheeks and trace his lips.
“Snow,” Barty repeated, his tone reverent in a way that had Evan struggling not to squirm. When his thumb brushed Evan’s earlobe, still numb from the December winds, he winced and drew his hand back, as though the contrast had hurt him. Then, Barty broke into a jubilant smile. “My Rosie is rosy!” He declared, practically squealing in delight.
Ok yeah that’s enough. Hiding his laugh behind a cough, Evan decided it had been well over five minutes, probably closer to thirty.
“Very funny, ok we’re going home now, come on I’ll get you a snack,” he said, standing and hooking his arms under Barty’s armpits to bring him up as well. It didn’t seem necessary at first; Barty got up without protest, it only became apparent when Barty stumbled as soon as he was on his feet, that he definitely needed it. “Come on, I gotchu,” he murmured, bringing Barty’s arm around his shoulders to help him up the stairs.
“Rosie, can we get fries?” Barty asked eagerly, voice still slurred as he followed his lead up the stairs, outside. In fact the minute they stepped foot outside, he let out a shriek. “It’s cold at home!”
Evan sighed, not responding as he unlocked the truck and practically heaved Barty into the passenger’s seat. After wrangling the seat belt around him with some difficulty, he got into the driver's seat and cranked the heater to full blast.
“Evan! We need music!” Barty declared, fumbling with the buttons on the dash before finally finding the volume knob. The radio came to life, and though Evan had no clue what the song was, it seemed to calm Barty, so that was enough.
Of course he stopped at McDonalds; he wasn’t a monster.
“Ugh can I get a large fries and some chicken nuggets?” He spoke into the machine, and once he’d paid, handed the fries over to Barty, whose eyes glimmered with delight.
“Thank you, I knew you loved me,” he slurred, already starting to shovel fries in his mouth.
“No, Barty– fuck, slow down you’re going to choke,” Evan muttered, grabbing half of the fries out of the idiot’s mouth, nearly swerving into another lane as he did. “Fuck.”
Barty only snickered at this. “You’re a bad driver,” he claimed, which made Evan roll his eyes.
“I’m a great driver when I’m not taking care of a 180 pound toddler,” he muttered in response, flipping Barty off and turning to focus. They were both quiet for a little while, Barty seeming thoroughly entranced by the string coming off the seam of his pants. At least he’s entertained. It was only once he stopped at a red light that Evan glanced over at him, and his stomach dropped once he saw how green in the face Barty had gotten. “Bee?”
“M’gon’ puke,” was the only reply he got, and fuck if Evan was going to risk not believing him. He pulled the car over into the nearest parking lot he saw, dashing over in record time to open up Barty’s door. Relief washed over him; Barty seemed like he had it under control. He should never have trusted what Barty seemed like.
Just as he had his hands around Barty’s biceps, helping him step down out of the truck, Barty’s eyes widened with panic. Evan hardly had time to wince before it happened.
One, two, three heavy retches from Barty, and it was all he could do to shut his eyes before Evan felt splatter and bile hit him head on. It took everything in him not to gag as he looked down at the contents of Barty’s stomach, now painted over his hoodie and his hands, unsettlingly warm. Almost immediately afterwards, he heard the ghastly sound of his friend giggling through tears.
“M’sorry Ev,” Barty managed, doing his best to wipe his mouth with his sleeve.
It took several deep breaths before he managed to respond. “It’s fine, it’s fine, ugh do you feel ok now? Do you need to puke more?”
Barty shook his head, and Evan shouldn’t have trusted that, but he did. With a nod, he looked down at himself. There was no point in removing the sweater now, not to mention the frigid air was starting to get to him even with it on. Deciding that was a problem for later, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and resumed the drive, holding Barty’s hand this time.
It was a few more minutes before either of them spoke again.
“Rosie I don’t wanna go home, I don’t wanna see him right now.” It was tough to make out the words, the cold and the alcohol limiting his enunciation. “Don’t take me home.”
Evan shook his head immediately. “No, we’re going to mine. Everyone’s asleep don’t worry,” he murmured, unsure if it was true really. With a glance at his dashboard, he saw the green numbers flash. 11:14. There was a decent chance his dad was awake, but mentioning that to Barty would be far from helpful.
There was no response to this, besides the faint murmuring he heard from the passenger’s seat. “Sleepover at Rosie’s…” Barty whispered, followed by a giddy smile. When he looked over at Evan, he frowned though. “Oh, but Ev, you should change, you’re all gross,” he pointed out, gesturing to the vomit-coated hoodie that was starting to stink up the whole cabin.
“I swear Barty,” Evan mumbled, rolling his eyes. “You owe me a hoodie.”
The only reply he got was more childish laughter.
Getting a drunken, giggly Barty into his backyard and through his bedroom window proved a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated, and in the end he settled for letting him tumble headfirst into Evan’s floor. Only a few feet, definitely deserves it.
“Fuck! Ros–” Evan dove in after him and clamped a hand over his mouth faster than he should have, sending them both tumbling further on his bedroom floor. He flashed a threatening look at Barty, jamming the window shut before he stood again.
“Get up,” was all he said before he brought Barty to his bathroom and retrieved a garbage bag from under the counter. “And gimme your clothes.”
“Rosie’s bathroom, in the nude,” Barty replied in a singsong voice, but he did as told and slipped out of his jeans, somewhat sticky with bile. It took a few tries, but he got his clothing into the garbage bag Evan held open, then very carefully stepped into the tub.
Bathing Barty proved far less intimate than he’d anticipated, mostly because the little shit wouldn’t stop squirming. In the end he resolved to sit behind him, legs on either side of Barty; he needed to get clean too, after all. All the while, he listened to the soft chatter from the other end of the tub, occasionally interrupted by a laugh. Briefly, he wondered if anyone had ever taught Barty the definition of ‘silence’, scoffing out loud at the thought.
“Any excuse to see me naked, isn’t that right Rosie?” Barty’s pupils were still blown, and his cheeks still flushed, but at least his sentences came out in the correct order. He wasn’t sure how much more of ‘but cold Rose water ouch sad’ he could take before he shoved his boyfriend’s head under the water pooling at their feet.
“If you’d rather I leave you in your puke-covered clothes I’m more than happy to put them back on you,” Evan replied, stubborn scowl still set. “But if you think I’m letting you sleep here without being clean you’re more fucked in the head than I thought.”
The pathetic pout that Barty responded with would have been cute, had he not immediately followed it with a concerning gag. At least he was in the tub now, contained. If only this asshole could be contained.
It took the better part of an hour, but finally he’d gotten Barty to a satisfactory level of cleanliness. He finally stopped, taking a breath, not surprised when Barty immediately shifted and leaned forward to rest his cheek on Evan’s knee.
“I am sorry… I know I was stupid,” came the muffled words. “I just….was feeling bad.”
Evan couldn’t help but sigh, a little annoyed at how easily his anger dissolved into tender affections. Tenderness that he didn’t like to admit was a part of him. “I know Bee, it’s okay.”
“I can see the words you’re saying, they’re pink.”
Evan scoffed. “Pink?”
He nodded, looking up slowly and brushing his thumb along Evan’s wrist. “Everything is yellow, when it’s cold. You’re pink. Rosie. Pink.”
He gave up trying to make sense of Barty’s words.
Once he felt satisfied that the two of them were clean and warm, Evan helped Barty out of the tub and into a pair of his pajamas. He let him try alone for a while, but eventually had to guide his arms through the sleeves carefully. Watching the boy climb into his bed with a weary look on his face, he pretended not to notice the way the sweatpants seemed to swallow Barty whole. Wordlessly, he slid into bed behind him, bringing the heavy blankets around the both of them. It was no surprise when the weight of Barty’s head found Evan’s shoulder, and his arm had come up to bring Barty closer before Evan was aware of its movement.
“Rosie? Why am I sad?” Barty’s voice made it through the layers of blankets, but just barely.
Evan’s response caught in his throat. “You–...I don’t know Bee…”
“Do you think….I’ll always?….Be sad?”
“No.” It really should have hurt to lie to him, Evan realized. It should have torn him up. Why didn’t it?
Silence surrounded them for several moments, and a part of him desperately hoped that Barty had finally fallen asleep. He always seemed more peaceful when unconscious, which, he realized, was the whole problem. That was until he heard his voice again, barely a whisper.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” Barty murmured again, his eyes closed.
“I’ll always take care of you.”
Evan wished that truth didn’t sting as much as it did.
Chapter 12: Barty's Interlude
Notes:
Skipped last week, been quite busy and honestly struggling to write more, updates may be less consistent as the new semester gets going for me
Thanks so much for all the sweet compliments! They mean the world :)
Now, I'm really excited about this chapter so without further ado...
Chapter Text
23/12/2021
Green eyes met his gaze in the mirror, and Barty contemplated briefly if it would be possible to strangle himself with his tie. He ran his fingertips over the patterned silk —red, because his mother insisted it brought out his eyes. Like a Christmas tree, maybe.
The dress pants he’d reluctantly chosen were far too tight for his liking, though he knew Evan would get a kick out of it, so he turned around in his mirror and snapped a picture. Regardless of how much he hated seeing himself like this, the inevitable stream of vastly inappropriate compliments from Evan was worth almost anything. That, and he didn’t exactly have another choice of bottoms.
He was just sliding the last of his rings onto his index finger when there was a knock at his door. He didn’t need to ask to know who; Crouch Sr. didn’t knock. “Come in.”
Bethany Crouch was, in every way possible, a delightful contrast to her husband —even the way she smiled as she slowly entered his room demonstrated this. “Oh Barty, you look nice,” she remarked, crossing the room and touching his chin as she looked him over.
They were the same height now, at eye level. It was unsettling every time.
“These were the only pants that fit, I think,” Barty said, gesturing vaguely to his legs. He smiled a little though, gaze coming back up to her. “You look nice too, fancy new dress?”
Beth laughed, and she nodded. “Do you really think it’s new or are you just taking your chances with that guess?”
This had him grinning. “Statistical probability, mom,” he replied, his smile spreading a bit at the way she laughed along with him.
A silence followed his words though, and he turned back to the mirror to adjust the silver watch on his wrist. It had been a gift from her, on his last birthday, and it matched surprisingly well with the glimmering rings that Evan had gifted him that same day. You’d almost think they’d coordinated it, but really, Barty was just remarkably easy to buy for.
“Everyone will be here soon, dinner is at six, okay?” Her voice was soft, and they both knew it wasn’t a question, wasn’t something he could argue against, but he nodded regardless.
One of her hands came up and settled on his shoulder, thumb running softly back and forth over the bone. “I like this sweater, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it though,” she mused, eyes darting back up to his with the unmistakable glow of amusement.
“Funny mom.” He smiled a little though. “You should be grateful, I even combed my hair for you.”
“Oh I noticed. Did anything crawl out of it when you did?”
“They always say your mother is your first bully.”
He was grinning as he turned back to the mirror though, as satisfied with his appearance as he would be tonight. Beth stood just behind him, kissing his temple and smiling along with him. He often had these moments, when he realized how much he looked like her. It was comforting, really; the more he resembled her, the less he resembled his dad. That was his reasoning, anyway.
Two sets of eyes gazed back at him from the reflection, hers a brighter, clearer shade than his own, opened wider without his heavy lids obscuring them. Green and gleaming with intelligence, all the same. The same sharp cheekbones settled under tawny complexions, same downturned, all-too-red lips, despite hers looking fuller —the wonders of makeup, ladies and gentlemen. The slope of his nose, his unruly baby hairs, even the dark brows that he stood behind; it was all her. Thank fuck.
Sometimes he was even convinced that they held the same tired weight in their eyes, the kind of deep set exhaustion that could only come from living with Barty Crouch Sr. He didn’t tell her that though.
Speaking of recurring arguments, he felt her eyes land on his septum piercing, matching with the single earring peeking out past dark, tamed waves. “I can’t take them out, mom.”
“Aren’t there clear plastic ones you can use? So they don’t heal up?” She asked, hand coming up to touch the black bead in his earlobe.
“There are, but I’m not wearing them. It’s this or nothing. Think he can live with that?” There was too much cruelty in his voice, and he knew it even as he spoke. Now there was something clearly inherited from his father.
“Barty… you know this is important to him, it’s important to us. I know you don’t like it, but in his line of work… It’s just as much about politics and connections as it is about skill. You know that, don’t you?” Her expression was pained, familiar lines creasing in her forehead as she watched him. It wasn’t fair to keep putting her in the middle of their war; how long before she was the one bleeding?
“Right, good thing too, otherwise how could he ever make up for that lack of skill, huh?” He spat out, pulling away from her to pull on his socks. And dress shoes, of course, because for some reason it was a requirement for a dinner party in his own damn house.
Barty didn’t hear it, but he could feel the sigh that came from across the room.
“Be downstairs in five minutes,” was all she said before turning and leaving his room. At least she remembered to close the door.
Look at you, the way you’re hurting your mother. How long until you run out of people to love you?
The party was admittedly, quite impressive, at least to anyone who might fall for the aggressive display of ornate festivity that the Crouch household was surely known for by now. It was, in every way, an assault of holiday cheer on the senses.
The dining room shimmered in the soft glow of candlelight, long mahogany table set with cleaning silverware and fine china edged in gold. A towering centerpiece of evergreen boughs and crimson holly berries loomed in the middle, flanked by crystal decanters filled with red wine, the true embodiment of gruesome elegance. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meats, mulled cider, and every variety of expensive cologne. The room was filled with practiced laughter, restrained mirth, and phony chatter from men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns. Barty was, easily, the youngest person in the room.
It felt like a Christmas card had thrown up in his house.
He fiddled with his cufflinks one more time —silver pieces, embedded with gleaming emerald— and lingered at the bottom of the stairway, trying to buy himself even a few more seconds of peace before he had to step into the fray.
“You’re going to have to come in eventually,” Beth’s voice said softly from behind him.
Barty turned, and there she was, the same deep green dress that made her look like someone who belonged in a room like this, only now accessorized with a shimmering scarf around her arms, and gold jewellery that clinked with her every move. She looked polished and perfect, but her smile was warm and her eyes crinkled at the edges as she looked at him.
“I’m here, right? That has to count for something,” he said slowly, finding that his voice came out a lot steadier than he’d expected.
“It does, but in the actual room might be even better?” He knew she was just trying to encourage him, but it scowled a bit all the same.
After watching her go past him to enter, Barty let out a sigh, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the ridiculously large dining room.
Nobody was sat at the table just yet, all standing around in small groups as champagne glasses and phony joy floated among them, each plastered with smiles designed to emanate sincerity.
“There he is!” The unmistakable voice beckoned him to a far end of the room, where his father was surrounded by a handful of men he could only assume were colleagues. He spotted at least four instances of botox injections and had to stifle his smirk —Evan would get a kick out of counting them with him. Fuck why wasn’t Evan here?
Bartemius Crouch Sr. was the sort of man who filled a room the moment he stepped into it —not because of charisma or personality, of which he had very limited doses, but because he had a presence. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and always impeccably dressed. His suits were tailored within an inch of their lives and his cufflinks polished to a mirror’s shine. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back with military precision, not a strand out of place, and the smile plastered on his ‘naturally handsome’ face was so carefully practiced it was almost eerie. If you keep doing that your face is gonna stay that way, Barty had told him once. Maybe it had been funnier in his head.
“Barty, come greet our guests,” Crouch Sr. gestured slowly for him, and Barty reluctantly followed the prompt. “This is Honourable Hector Podmore, Minister of Education, and here is Honourable Matthew Jenkins, Minister of Municipal Affairs —oh and Honourable Albert Runcorn, Minister of Public Safety.” He presented each of them with an open palm as he went around the circle, and a handful of other names were announced, none particularly memorable. “Everyone, this is my son, Barty Crouch Jr.”
Funny, Crouch Sr. had certainly missed his calling as an actor. If it had been anyone else, Barty would have been just as convinced as everyone around them of Crouch’s pride introducing his son. He continued to speak, heavy hand coming down to jostle Barty’s shoulder in a way intended to look affectionate, but the thumb digging into his shoulder blade said otherwise. He caught only the end of his father’s speech. “He will be graduating this spring!”
Right. Graduation.
The conversation flowed on around him for a while —tax plans, bipartisan negotiations, water utility regulations, fascinating stuff— until everyone began to take their pre-assigned seats at the ridiculously long table. When his father sat at the head, Barty’s eyes immediately fell to the chair on the opposite end, where he wouldn’t be able to hear a word his father said, probably. Beth caught his eyes though, and the look she shot him, albeit somewhat amused, had him opting to sit in his labelled spot near the man of the hour.
He ended up sandwiched between a man who introduced himself as ‘Mark, Financial Oversight’ and a woman wearing so many diamonds that Barty wondered how she held her head up. Jesus Christ, it was like a Christmas card had thrown up in his house.
He tried to keep up with the surrounding conversations, he really did. But when the pattern of your silk napkin is more intriguing than anything being spoken about, it presents a challenge. Barty’s attention was quickly, and entirely, lost. The ebb and flow of discussion continued despite him, carefully sanitized stories and appropriately timed laughter, Beth skillfully steering away from any topics that may cause riction, as her husband called it. Anything worth discussing, is what that meant.
Barty sat there quietly, watching his mom’s wine glass empty slowly over the course of the evening, her smile remaining as bright as ever, even if he could see her growing tired of the performance too. The weight of his phone in his pocket was starting to feel heavier and heavier, the urge to just send that quick text. Sev could seemingly be anywhere within a half hour, after all, and the evening would be so much more bearable. Fuck, why hadn’t he stocked up?
Some time after the fourth golf anecdote, Barty excused himself and scurried to the bathroom, quickly texting Sev his address. It was all he needed, because a moment later, the reply he recieved was a thumbs up emoji. The sigh of relief was almost instinctive, and Barty sagged to the ground, letting his head fall back against the wooden door behind him, a soft thump. After waiting the appropriate amount of time, and firing off a quick few texts to Evan —who seemed to be just as miserable with his own ‘family time’— Barty returned to the dining room and resumed his seat, just as the second course was being cleared away.
With the knowledge of salvation on the way, the dinner became marginally easier to endure. He nodded along somewhat to a few jokes —it would have been funnier to rub sandpaper on his eyeball— and waited anxiously for that buzz in his pocket. Once it came, he knew whose ringtone it was immediately, so he once again pushed his chair out, disregarding the slight screech as it moved on the hardwood, and hurried downstairs with the excuse of retrieving a watch he wanted to show off.
Barty’s shoulders sagged with relief once he spotted the hooded figure outside, and he flung the back door open immediately. “You’re a fucking angel Sev,” he muttered, whipping cash out of his pocket and offering it up. “Tip for fast delivery.”
Severus raised an eyebrow, but he gave a small snort of laughter. “Family dinner?” He guessed.
“Family and half of the Parliament,” he murmured and took the small bag, resisting the urge to kiss it but fuck did he want to.
Once Sev was gone —he wasn’t much of a friend once he’d handed over the drugs— Barty went to work quickly. It was well-practiced, smooth by now, and once he slowly pushed the needle into the pit of his knee, the effect was immediate. He tugged his pants back down and washed his hands, steeling himself for Dinner Party, round two.
Luckily, he’d returned just in time for dessert, and with all the shuffling about as people refreshed their drinks, his absence seemed to have gone unnoticed. Until he made eye contact with his father, that was.
Crouch Sr.’s steely gaze betrayed his recognition. The plastered smile he’d refused to let go of was a stark contrast to the bitter accusation his eyes held. Not that it mattered, the look slid right off of Barty even when he was sober, and now he had the strength to simply turn away in favour of the luxurious-looking cake that had been set in front of him. Snobby parents sure had its upsides.
Really, Crouch should have let it go, should have known not to pick fights when he had so much to lose, when he had such a delicate audience.
Some people never learn.
“Barty, Hector here was just asking about your plans, you’ve been filling out university applications, haven’t you?”
Barty’s fork paused halfway between his plate and his mouth at the sound of his name, and it took a moment to even recognize that he’d been addressed. He recovered quickly though, bringing the bite past his lips, and gave off his most charming smile. “Haven’t filled a single one, no.” The words were too easy —albeit somewhat dulled by the food in his mouth. He swallowed his bite of cake, watching the microscopic twitch of Crouch’s left eyebrow. Always his giveaway, how pathetic.
Barty could feel his mother’s eyes on him, could taste the way everyone around had shifted and frozen, all eager to listen in on what was sure to be the talk of the office next week.
Crouch himself cleared his throat, taking a sip of his wine before he spoke again. “Sorry, I must not have heard you, did you say no?” The warning in his voice wasn’t subtle, everyone could feel it. Good.
“Oh no, your ears are still just as good as that hair transplant. I would’ve opened some, but I’ve been sorta busy, you know.” He was still chewing as he said it, turning his head back up to look back at his father. Now, it was clear Barty was the most relaxed person at the table, despite the shrewd, challenging eye contact he held with Crouch.
“Busy?” The word fell across the table and rattled the gold-plated candlesticks; Barty was sure that a couple of the flames closest to his father had died out entirely.
“Busy. You know, with Evan, devi-” Barty cut himself off when he caught his mother’s eye, the defiance wilting out of him and falling in pieces onto his plate. Would the flavour taint his cake?
“Glad to see you’ve rethought your words,” Crouch began, turning back to the dessert in front of him and taking an irritatingly miniscule bite. “As you were saying Hector, I do agree…”
More faded conversation, Barty picked at his cake with slightly shaky hands.
“–which is exactly why my son has elected to stay in-province for schooling.”
“Oh of course tha–”
“I what?” Barty’s eyes snapped open, and it took him a moment to focus them on his father. “Funny, nobody told me I’d made that decision.” He pointedly did not look at his mother, she would soften him. Weaken him. Looking right at Crouch though… that brought contempt to his chest like nothing else.
Crouch Sr., of course, had the audacity to look surprised, arching a perfectly waxed eyebrow in his son’s direction, a look that was still acceptable to his audience. Sorry, colleagues. “We’ve discussed this, Barty. In-province acceptance rates are higher, and here I can have some influence. Frankly, you need all the help you can get, and this way, you can stay close to home. Close to family.” It sounded more like a threat than reasoning.
“Right, yeah, so you can keep an eye on me,” Barty continued, nodding along as if this sounded perfectly reasonable to him. He had a small smile painted on, but his eyes… The Crouch men could convey far more with their eyes than most could manage with a soliloquy.
“If that is what you need, maybe, yes.” Crouch’s words adopted a tone of warning, the promise coming loud and clear across the table, despite his volume staying smooth and even. As if he was negotiating a business transaction.
“Oh I wouldn’t say I need it, in fact I’d love to be able to live somewhere else. Maybe then I could have sex with Evan as loud as I want.” He drew out the last four words, letting them roll off his tongue and cross the room, but not before they dispersed to the ears of all these bystanders. Poor, innocent government officials, really. Stuck in the crossfire of this petty, destructive, familial war.
Barty could spot the moment the words hit his father’s ears, because the darkness in his eyes expanded to corrupt his whole face, his whole upper body. He watched his shoulders tense up, square even further in his seat, and come off the back of the chair. His jaw twitched, lips pressing together in a tight line when it did. He would even have sworn he saw Crouch’s chin turn upwards, rising at the clear challenge.
“What did you say to me?” Crouch’s tone was eerily calm, but this wasn’t unusual. The man couldn’t have displayed a genuine emotion if he’d had a gun to his head.
“Sorry, does botox affect your hearing? Sex. With. Evan.” He was goading him and he knew it, the dangerous game that Evan hated him playing so much. But this… maybe it was the belt digging into his hips, or the scratch of his socks, or the gel in his hair. But this was enough.
Again, he pointedly avoided his mom’s eyes, knowing that his bravado would dissipate with her singular look of peaceful green. Interesting, how Barty’s eyes were green like poison, and Beth’s eyes were green like nature; genetics never lie.
“If you’re quite done, you should excuse yourself before you embarrass yourself any further.” Kudos to Crouch really, how steady he remained, but Barty knew it had nothing to do with him. No, it had to do with the dozens of uncertain eyes, drifting back and forth between the two of them, taking in the exchange with poorly hidden intrigue. What will this appalling teenager say next? I can’t wait to tell Brenda on Monday.
Needless to say, the audience only fueled the spark Crouch always managed to ignite in him.
“Oh don’t worry, I wasn’t finished.” Barty adjusted his posture this time, dropping his fork to his ostentatiously adorned dessert plate with a satisfying clang. “I don’t think I’m the one getting embarrassed here, father. What are all your buddies thinking, hm? Can’t even control your own kid? Should you take that belt off and teach him a lesson?” His vicious smile was slowly growing —he couldn’t help it. He could smell the discomfort that had settled over the table. Different degrees of course, but Crouch? He reeked of it.
When there came no reply, Barty’s eyes gleamed, all too satisfied. Nothing brought this out in his father quite like he could, a portrait of Crouch Sr. in all but composure. “Oh come on, don’t be rude, use your words.” He slammed his palms on the table and brought himself to his feet, delighting in the gasps and rattles that the motion sent out.
“Barty. A word.”
It was not a request, but Barty didn’t move, just took another leisurely sip of his peach cider. “Aww but I’m not done with my dessert.” He may have exaggerated the whine just a bit.
He could feel it now, the danger that Crouch’s eyes shot directly into his own. “Barty. You are dismissed. Excuse yourself.”
“Come on, you paid so much for the cake, at least let me enjoy this, nah?”
“Barty…” But he could feel his father’s control slipping, the slow realization.
“Problem is, dad, that you have a lot more to lose than I do, huh?” Barty raised his fork again, a heaping pile of chocolate goo settled on it. Without a second thought, he brought the fork back, then released, launching it. All eyes watched it fly right over the table, past gaudy centrepieces and decor, where it splattered across the face of… —Mike, Labour Division?
The room fell silent, so Barty’s cackle rang all the brighter. “My compliments to the chef, aerodynamic and delicious.”
Beth, bless her soul, stood up immediately. “Thank you all for coming tonight, we so enjoy the company,” she said, gracefully stepping back from her chair and gesturing broadly to the foyer.
Guests started to stand, to leave, likely out of fear of being the next target of the flying fudge cake, more so than desire to obey. Barty blinked, and the dining room was empty. It was only then that the reality of what he’d done sunk in, panic shriveling his lungs into taters and grasping at his airway.
Oh.
Oh he was dead.
It all faded out as the house quieted, and Barty tried desperately to catch the bits of fight that had left him and bring them back, gather them from the scattered fragments and clutch them close to his chest. After all, that fire was all he had…
Beth returned to the room and peered over at him, looking pathetically concerned and hopelessly gentle. The sadness in her eyes was palpable, mingled with pity and pain. Fuck her.
Fuck. Her.
Time didn’t pass after that, change marked only by the dancing candle lights centred on the table, by the bubbles popping in his cider, by the increasing warmth in the room. Warm, hot, boiling, fire, and then he was alone.
Silence.
Was there anything more harrowing?
Chapter 13: Beneath the Surface, It Trembles
Summary:
Simultaneously to Chapter 12, ft some of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black (whom I love)
Notes:
Recreational drug use, pretty mild though
I have been wrestling with this chapter for literally like four weeks so let me know what y'all think heh
Chapter Text
23/12/2021
Few things were as utterly soul-crushing as sitting in the backseat of your parents’ car, stiff clothes digging into your skin as cold air seeped through the windows.
Evan contemplated this while he sat across from Dora, phone deathly still in his lap. He knew the odds of Barty texting were slim —having heard horror stories of the Crouch family gatherings— but a guy could hope, couldn’t he?
With a glance over at Pandora, Evan tried his best to push down the envy that bubbled up. Somehow, defying genetics, she looked like she belonged in the elegance of her flowing back dress, the floral print dancing with her every move. It flowed and whirled everytime she moved, and it looked just the appropriate degree of fancy. When it came to his family, that was so damn hard to determine. Looking down at his own outfit… Well, case in point.
Evan was just resolving to stop picking at his sweater when the car pulled up to the house —read: estate. The driveway itself took up more space than their lot, he was sure, but Gerry brought the car around while he described the fascinating uniqueness of the garage door —’wooden, very heavy, specialized hinges’.
They parked the car and Evan steeled himself once more, exchanging a look with Dora. The only brightside, he had her there. Reg would be there, even if Sirius likely wouldn’t be. Having allies was crucial while venturing into enemy territory, or so he was told.
They stepped inside together, and immediately Evan wished he were away in an actual war. Anything would be better than the swarm of aunts that ambushed them at the door.
Dora was swept away, conversations about her dress and her hair, but frankly Evan didn’t have the heart to stop her; he knew how much it meant to his sister that the women in the family were accepting her. The least he could do was let her enjoy that, away from their asshole father. So he sighed, and resigned himself to semi-familiar relatives pinching at his cheeks and remarking on his height. ‘Yes I’ve grown’, ‘No I don’t have college plans yet’ ‘No I don’t want to talk politics’, the ever-repetitive brigade of questions reserved for anyone between ten and thirty years old. Evan endured it for half an hour before his patience started to crack.
Finally, he excused himself, evading Narcissa’s bubbling laughter and certain interrogation, and ducked into the kitchen —a rare moment of refuge in the chaos. Luckily, Walburga Black was nothing if not a traditionalist, so the kitchen was conveniently separate from the living spaces, and the echoes of chatter and music faded somewhat as he leaned back on the counter.
He was heavily considering whipping out a cigarette, even began reaching into his pocket, but when the familiar clicking of a door latching shut came from across the kitchen, Evan froze and whirled around. He shoved the lighter back in his pocket, already forming an excuse when he caught a glimpse of black curls and–
Regulus.
“Jesus Evan, I know I’m pale but I’m not a fucking ghost,” Reg accused with a snort of laughter. He came over, along with the bag of chips he’d retrieved from the walk-in pantry, and hopped out on the counter by him, seemingly undisturbed by Evan’s brief panic.
“Fuck off, I thought I’d run into your fucking mother. Or worse, that creepy butler of hers,” Evan retorted, sitting beside him and reaching into the bag for a handful of chips.
This earned him a smack on the back of the head. “No bad mouthing Kreach.”
“Kreach?! That’s what you fucking call him?!”
Reg did laugh at this, waving a chip, pinched between his fingers, around as he spoke. “Karlin Reacher. Kreach.” Right, as if that was the most natural association in the world.
“Man, I fucking hate rich people…”
“Thought your boyfriend was loaded?” Reg’s tone was teasing when he asked, but he still looked for an answer.
Evan rolled his eyes a little bit, but he reached for more chips. “How long do you think until they get drunk enough to not notice me leave?” He reached for his lighter again, nearly instinctively now, but paused once his fingers wrapped around it in his pocket.
He saw Regulus’ dark brow arch at this, but he was pretty sure he saw his lip twitch upwards too. “I have joints up in my room?”
Evan immediately grinned, and he nodded. “Oh god, please.”
With a laugh, Reg hopped off the counter and gestured for Evan to follow, though not before grabbing a few cans of soda from the fridge. Evan wasted no time, trailing at his heels. Smoking with Reg beat family affairs any day.
It had been a while since he’d been inside the Black family manor, but honestly, nothing had changed. Every surface in the house gleamed, adorned with just enough decor to look intentional. Family photos were replaced with towering, stoic portraits —painted, of course, because the Blacks were pretentious like that. Evan scoffed a little bit when he spotted one, a portrait of Regulus with his parents, taking up nearly an entire wall. Funny, he distinctly remembered a different painting having been there before —it was difficult not to notice a mural the size of a refrigerator— but featuring two children with their parents, several years younger. He should text Sirius sometime.
Once they finally reached Reg’s room, which was even bigger than Barty’s, Evan immediately headed over and plopped himself down on a vintage-looking armchair with a heavy sigh.
Regulus laughed, ruffling in a drawer for a moment before returning with a pre-rolled joint, offering it to Evan. Reg leaned over him to the window behind and flung it open before sitting on the floor just near him. “Is Pandora here?”
Evan nodded, tilting his head to light the joint as he held it between his lips. He took a careful puff of it, leaning towards the window to exhale. That lovely burn in his throat felt good, better than the panic-induced burning he’d been grappling with all day. “She’s downstairs, got cornered by Druella and a bunch of people,” he explained with a shrug, offering the joint back.
Regulus nodded a little, watching Evan pensively. “You know, your dad talks an awful lot of shit about you.”
This had Evan bursting into laughter, loud enough that in any other house he’d be worried about being overheard. Honestly though, he was fairly sure they’d covered a whole kilometre with all the halls and stairs and doors they’d walked through; nobody would hear a thing. Lucky Reg.
“What else is new? It’s been his favourite thing lately,” he told Reg, shaking his head with a lazy smile.
Regulus laughed a little, taking a long hit from the joint before he leaned back to exhale, drags of smoke curling out the window into the night. “Barty has his dad’s thing tonight, right?”
Evan groaned, and he leaned back in his chair until his head hung off the armrest. “Don’t fucking remind me, he’s been whining about it for weeks,” he recounted with a roll of his eyes.
Reg arched an eyebrow in his direction, a slight frown turning down his lips. “I mean, to be fair his dad fucking sucks.”
Right yeah, the guilt.
Evan sighed and leaned back dramatically, his arms coming up to cover his eyes. “He is yeah…” There was no denying that. Shitty as Gerry was, he didn’t quite compare to Crouch, not in any way that mattered at least. “He’s just… doing everything he can to fucking piss his dad off. Just making shit harder for himself on purpose.”
Regulus paused at this, and he got that look on his face that could only be described as philosophical. It was a long silence before he finally spoke again. “You guys doing okay?”
This, truthfully, caught Evan by surprise, and he nodded with a frown. “Yeah of course dude. We’re great, we’re good. Just… you know.” He reached for the joint, hoping he could get away with that instead of finishing his sentence.
Should have known Regulus would never allow that. He could sniff out secrets like a bloodhound.
“I don’t know, actually,” he replied, but at least he sat up and handed the joint over to Evan.
“I’m not high enough to spill my guts to you Reg.” Evan groaned and coughed as the burn hit his throat. You’d think a trust fund kid would be able to afford better weed, right? “Not yet at least.”
Regulus laughed, but he looked down at his phone when it chimed. “Dora says you abandoned her.” He held out the text for Evan to see.
“Fuck, well tell her to come up here. She might need a map to get through this place though.”
Reg rolled his eyes, but he did text Pandora. “Maybe she can help me pry that shit out of you,” he mused, smirking when he received a scowl. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it if you didn’t want to tell me.”
“You’d do great collecting intel for the CIA, you know that?”
“What so you being annoyed at Barty is a national security risk now?”
Before he had time to come up with a response —he blamed the delay on Reg’s D-list weed— Pandora knocked at the door and poked her head in. She smiled once she saw them and took a seat on the floor in between them, but not before plucking the joint from Evan’s fingers. “I never thought I would be so upset to have my makeup complimented half a dozen times.”
Evan snickered somewhat, reaching for another joint from the little can Reg had set on the window sill. “Sorry, I saw Cygnus coming over, couldn’t risk it.”
Dora rolled her eyes at this, but she smiled and peered over at Reg. “You see how he talks to me?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Evan was about to tell us all the drama between him and Barty,” Regulus replied, his smirk edged with betrayal while he looked back to Evan.
“Oh, there’s drama?” Dora exclaimed, bright eyes widening.
“There’s no fucking drama, oh my god!” Evan cut them both off, shaking his head and lighting this new joint all on his own. Those dicks could share the half-smoked one. “Barty and I are fine. In fact, we’re fucking chilling. Just peachy. Can we talk about that pretentious fucking painting you’ve got in the hall?”
Regulus must have noticed the subject changed, but he didn’t seem to mind, just flipping him off. “Gonna have to be more specific, Evan.”
Dora laughed some at this, her eyes sparkling a little more than usual now. “At least you acknowledge it,” she offered with a shrug, twirling a piece of Regulus’ rug between her fingers.
“No use arguing, Walburga likes what she likes.” Reg gave a half shrug, then frowned when he felt a text buzz in. “But, speak of the devil and she shall appear. Finish off those joints before she comes looking for us.” He stood up, methodically lighting a candle and starting to straighten out the room, somehow making it tidier than it already was.
Evan groaned, but he made a show of finishing it off before he put it out and reached for the water bottle on Reg’s floor. Suddenly the cool spread of the water down his throat was truly euphoric, meaning that the family dinner would be much more tolerable.
They made their way downstairs, and each gave their best attempts at a sober, pleasant performance. It was several hours later that they were finally released from the claws of the hostess, and Evan had, quite tragically, sobered up by the time he stepped out onto the driveway.
At this point his arms were full of lavishly wrapped gifts, and his jacket smelled faintly of Druella’s overpowering perfume, but at least it was done. He dumped the pile onto the living room couch and toed off his shoes, the utter exhaustion of the evening properly settling into his bones now.
Quickly, to avoid any parental interference, Evan trudged down the stairs. He paused at the bottom though, noticing right away that his door was open an inch or so. He hadn’t left it that way, had taken care to shut it, in fact. Otherwise, the heat from the rest of the house would quickly begin infiltrating his room. He was already nudging the door open further when he stopped.
Someone was in his bed.
The tension didn’t last long, however, when he squinted to make out the familiar mop of dark messy waves strewn across his pillows. Alarm turned into confusion turned into utter disbelief as he recognized the intruder.
“Barty?” His whisper felt loud in the dead chill.
The sleeping boy didn’t stir, sprawled across the bed like he owned the fucking place. He had one arm draped over his face, his sneakers kicked off in the corner, and his hoodie hooked carelessly over the bathroom doorknob. The domesticity of it didn’t escape Evan, but he pushed the thought aside in favour of stepping closer to his bed and sitting on it.
The drop of his weight did manage to wake Barty, and he groaned softly, rubbing fists over his eyes. “Hmm… Rosie?” The groggy tone and sleepy grin were far too endearing, frankly.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Merry Christmas Rosie,” Barty continued, his voice somewhat hoarse from sleep and -ah shit.
“Merry– are you high?” Evan tore the blanket off him, pressing a hand to Barty’s cheek. Warm, as expected. Too warm, so he scoffed a little. “Of course you are.”
Barty whined a little, hands coming up to swat Evan’s away. “Fugoff, ‘s waiting feryou.” The words came out all at once, but he’d long ago learned to decipher Barty’s various forms of gibberish.
“Uh huh, waiting for me.” Evan stood now, starting to yank off his formal attire. He pulled the knit sweater over his head, loose threads catching on his rings, and he certainly ripped a couple buttons in the process of undoing his shirt, not to mention ripping off his belt. It didn’t matter though; the offending clothing, along with the eye-watering patchouli it was still drowning in, was now on the floor, and just as quickly, he’d grabbed Barty’s discarded hoodie off the doorknob and tugged it over his head. The faint scent of it hit him immediately, and Evan realized it was a comfort he hadn’t realized he’d needed just now.
Of course, Barty was still watching him.
“Can I help you?” Okay, maybe a little too confrontational; he saw the moment of surprise cross over Barty’s expression. He could deal.
“Pretty,” Barty replied with a lazy shrug, his hand coming up to wave in Evan’s direction.
He was met with an eye roll, and Evan let his body tumble onto the bed and into Barty without a second thought.
“You smell like old lady.” When he looked over, Barty’s nose was wrinkled in disdain and he was swatting at Evan’s neck, locating the intruding aroma.
“Fucking Druella cornered me for like, ten minutes,” Evan groaned, shoving his face into the pillow —warm, but not uncomfortably so. “Reg had shit weed too, so my throat feels like i just got fucked with a cactus.”
Barty gave a snicker in response, so Evan’s hand came up blindly to smack him.
They lay in silence for several minutes, Evan’s exhaustion mimicking Barty’s foggy silence, and it wasn’t until the footsteps in the rest of the house had died down and disappeared that a voice was heard again.
“I yelled at my dad.”
Evan frowned, shifting to his side. “....okay?”
“In front of most of the Executive Council.”
Evan blinked. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that why you came here?”
Barty rolled over towards him now, his eyes dark and unfocused when he looked across the bed. “I think he may have kicked me out?”
A look of confusion crossed Evan’s face at this, and he stared for a long moment. “You’re… not sure?” He asked, a bit hastily. He normally would have taken more care to phrase that, but… well no, no he wouldn’t.
“Didn’t exactly talk it out,” was all Barty said, his shoulders falling somewhat. He scooted closer this time, his cold nose pressing into Evan’s collar, nuzzling just past the neck of the hoodie. “M’gon’eep.”
Evan snickered, pulling the blanket over the both of them as he shifted closer. “Goodnight asshole…”
“G’night Ev…”
Chapter 14: Death, Taxes, and Barty Crouch Jr.
Summary:
Christmas part at Sirius' place, back to where it began, in a way
Notes:
This chapter is late and I probably won't have another one this week, but it's a lot longer than the average chapter for this fic has been! I was struggling with it for a while but wanted to give it to you guys now :)
Warnings for drinking, and mentions of drug use
Chapter Text
21/12/2024
Receiving a pre-game invitation from Regulus Black wasn’t unheard of, not exactly. But it was strange enough for Evan to question it, just for a moment, though he shrugged it off just as quickly. He hadn’t gone drinking with Reg in years, and now that the semester was finally over and he’d put the nightmare that was dynamic calculus behind him, he was due for a night of letting loose.
Thus, he’d convinced Dora to drop him off, and now made his way around the winding path that circled Black Manor. It had taken him a bit by surprise when Reg instructed him to go straight out back to the pool house, but he chose not to question it, instead approaching the French doors and cupping his hands around his eyes to look through the glass window. He grinned when he spotted his cousin, rapping his knuckles on the glass until Regulus noticed him and came over to open the door.
“Marginally creepy,” Reg remarked, waving his right hand towards Evan, but stepped aside and let him into the place. It had been a while since he’d been here, and a lot of the furniture had been replaced, but the place itself remained the same as he remembered.
The pool house had once been just another monument of Walburga’s exhausting sense of grandeur; a pretentious blend of antique furniture and hopelessly sterile surfaces that perfectly matched the rest of the property. The Persian rug that once lay at the door, so out of place in a space meant for wet feet, had been replaced with a simple indoor-outdoor mat. The heavy velvet drapes were gone too, swapped for breezy green curtains, even letting in some sunlight, making the space feel almost cheerful. Well, cheerful-adjacent. For someone as uptight as Regulus, this was an accomplishment.
“Had to make sure I had the right house,” Evan said with a cheeky shrug, toeing his sneakers off and stepping inside to take it in properly. “Wow, doesn’t even look like vampires live here anymore.”
This earned him an eye roll, but he definitely heard a chuckle come along with it.
Evan stepped over to the fridge, swinging it open and selecting a drink from the wide assortment. “Since when are you a big drinker?”
“I’m not, not typically,” Regulus started, cracking open his own beer and taking a swig. “But it’s the end of the semester.” When Evan gave him a look, he continued, “plus, Sirius bribed me.”
“There it is,” Evan chimed, swallowing nearly half his beer and feeling his throat struggle to push it down. He paused when he heard rustling coming from the bathroom, maybe even the tap running. “Is someone else here?”
Reg gave him a blank look, arching an eyebrow. “No? Did you invite anyone else?”
“Wouldn’t dare,” Evan replied, grimacing at the idea of bringing an extra person to Black manor. “Just thought I heard something.” He dismissed it, instead hopping up to sit on the counter, and pointedly ignoring the glare Regulus shot him.
“Dora told me, you know,” Reg started, his words casual and drawn out, and Evan immediately recognized it as bait.
“Huh?”
“Pandora. She told me what happened.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh I’m sure.” Reg paused to sip his drink; far too slowly for someone trying to pregame a party thrown by his maniac older brother. Evan’s fingers twitched with the urge to rush him.
He paused though, waiting for Regulus to say more; not that he really expected the other to give in. He looked away from him, eyes veering across the room, taking in the small details and subtle elements that made up the space. Candles and lamps and a myriad of books, all in warm, dark tones. Perfectly Regulus, somehow.
Trying to stare him down would only make him look more pathetic —stubbornness was practically bred into Regulus— so Evan finally gave in, cautious. “I really don’t. What did she tell you?”
He regretted it immediately once he watched Reg’s smirk grow around the beer bottle. “I dunno Evan, what did she tell me?”
Jesus fucking Christ. Evan could feel his eyes growing darker with hostility, and he tugged it back into his shoulders immediately. The tension of it was starting to ache at his neck. “I feel like I’m talking to a sphinx right now.”
Regulus just snickered at this, and he tipped his head back to finish off his beer before reaching for another. “How sweet of you to say.”
Evan let out an exasperated groan; if he had been sure before, now he had no doubt as to what Pandora had told him. He should have known, the two of them just loved to team up and meddle with his life. He clearly didn't need meddling; Jackson Pollock would be proud of the mess Evan made of his life, all on his own. “Okay fine, so I slept with him, so what?”
Regulus cracked open his fresh beer, eyes glinting with feigned surprise. “Wait, who did you sleep with? Dora told me you’ve been training Moose.”
This little shit stain...
Evan’s fingers tightened around the can, but he forced himself to relax. Until he watched Regulus’ smirk grow, from the subtle satisfaction to the trademark smugness. Pale, but sharp and cutting as glass.
“Oh fuck you.” It spat out with more aggression than Evan had intended.
A laugh bubbled out of Reg, light and unbothered. He crossed the room, flicking on lamps as he passed, his movements infuriatingly slow. “Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use.”
“Fucking, huh!?” Evan groaned to himself; the conversational whiplash was more disorienting than the beer. There was no way he could be drunk already, right?
“Othello, you public school trash. I’m sure your boyfriend could have told you that.”
Evan flipped him off, flicking open another beer for good measure. “Not my boyfriend, thanks.”
Regulus settled into his chair, eyes trained firmly on Evan from across the room. His smirk softened into something more measured, but his silence was somehow worse than the smug commentary. It pressed against Evan, clawing and prodding, searching.
“What?” Evan finally snapped, hating the hardly-perceptible crack in his voice.
“I didn’t say anything.” Regulus shrugged, sipping his beer as though he had all the time in the world —who sips beer?!
When Evan gave him another accusatory scowl, Reg continued his pretense. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Your eyes are saying a lot,” Evan muttered, forcing his gaze to stay on his cousin. He tried his best to sound annoyed, but the nerves bled through. It wasn't fair; Regulus would outlast him every single time, prying and dragging things out of him until Evan crumbled under his own self-loathing.
“Don’t be silly Evan, eyes can’t talk.”
With an exasperated sigh, Evan dropped down onto the couch —still velvet, but much more comfortable than he remembered. Maybe his standards had lowered after a few years of Trent’s shitty furniture. “Really could we just skip to the lecture? I know I fucked up, not gonna happen again, what else do you want from me?”
Regulus shrugged a little bit, and for once dropped his expression and sat at the chair across from him. “Wasn’t really gonna lecture you, to be honest. I talked to Barty.”
For the first time all night, Evan was properly taken aback. “Wait… you what? Why?”
“Well first off, he’s sort of my friend too, Evan. And frankly, I couldn’t trust that you would do it yourself.”
It was all he could do not to chuck his beer across the room, so Evan just combed a hand through his hair and leaned further back into the velvet couch –-maybe if he got lucky, it would swallow him whole. “Fine, you talked to Barty, congratulations. What do you want, a medal?”
“Maybe a thank you?” Regulus replied, voice as dry as sandpaper. He set the empty beer bottle down on the side table with a soft clink —on a cork coaster, of course, because genetics could never be overcome, and setting a drink on raw hardwood was akin to treason in the House of Black. “You’ve been avoiding him for weeks. Someone had to clean up the mess.”
Evan froze mid-sip, the bitterness of the beer lingering on his tongue, but somehow no match for what he felt brewing now in his chest. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means,” Reg started, tilting his head with unnerving calmness, “you’ve both been regressing to old patterns. You’re reclusive, he’s spiralling, and you’re way too busy playing the martyr to notice.”
Evan’s jaw clenched. “‘Spiralling’ is being dramatic.”
Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Oh? So he’s always that manic and self-destructive, then? Good to know.” The sarcasm coming off of him was practically coating the walls, and Evan caught himself briefly recoiling. Briefly.
“I mean… kinda, yeah? Have you met him?” Confusion now, because it was true; Barty had always been that way. And Barty didn’t change. He existed outside of time, in a way. Death, taxes, and Barty Crouch Jr.
Regulus stared harder at him now, if that was possible, his eyes incredulous. “Are you serious? If that’s what you think, Evan, maybe you were the problem in that relationship. You know he fucking relapsed?”
“Relapsed? What are you fucking talking about Reg? Relapsed from what?” Irritation and confusion were now blurring into an unrecognizable mess, a knot in his chest that grew and pulsed. He took another swig in an effort to tame it.
Regulus stared at him for a long moment, grey eyes cloaked and unreadable. Years passed before he finally spoke. “He got clean, Evan. He’s been clean since the day you left. Well, until a few weeks ago, that is.”
Clean.
A piercing shatter. Shards of beer-coated glass ejecting in every direction. Cold, splashing across his legs.
Clean.
The knot dissipated, dropped, dissolved into pure ice, melted into waves that hit the floor.
Evan swallowed hard now, feeling his face pale and his hands shake, registering that he’d dropped what was left of his beer. Faintly, he caught the look of shock and regret from Reg —in another moment, he might have been delighted at this.
Barty had gotten clean…
Something about that sentence just didn’t compute. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it, no, he did. But the thought of Barty without heroin and heroin without Barty was just… wrong. Wrong. That wasn’t Barty, it couldn’t possible be Barty, it–
“Right so maybe I should have mentioned that after you put down your drink.” Reg’s voice pierced through his thoughts, and Evan realized his cousin had come over and cleaned up the spill. Wait, when had he had the time?
“That’s… that’s not fair,” Evan muttered, guilt seeping into his tone despite himself. “Barty he’s… he’s fine. He can take care of himself.”
“Right. Just like you can,” Regulus replied, his words like a knife dragging through the air. He leaned forward now —when had he sat back down?— and rested his elbows on his knees, closing the space between them. “When exactly do you plan to stop running?”
Evan’s breath hitched. He hated this. Hated him. Hated how Regulus could strip him bare with just a few words. He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out, no words could explain. His brain was working overtime, but somehow nothing was coming together. Nothing but the sight of Barty in that library. Barty on his knees, with his lips red and his pupils blown. Barty, whose eyes changed so quickly from adoration to betrayal.He hadn’t stayed to watch those eyes fill with pain, to watch the green melt away into pure hurt. He hadn’t needed to. He’d been seeing it every night as he slept…
“Yeah,” Reg said slowly, his voice quieter now. “That’s what I thought.”
Evan stood up with more force than he intended, teetering to his feet as they began to pace all on their own. “Okay, you’ve made your point, I fucked up. What exactly do you want me to do, Reg? Apologize? Beg for his forgiveness? Last I checked he’s never been burdened with that shit.” Poison started to creep into his words, feet hitting the hardwood in ever-quickening steps.
Regulus didn’t flinch, only leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want anything from you. But maybe you should figure out what exactly you want before you decide what happens next.”
A bitter laugh tumbled from Evan’s lips, and he whipped around to lean over the counter, towards Reg. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? Always swooping in like you’ve got all the fucking answers. You don’t. You don’t know shit.” Some part of him knew that his anger was misplaced, but he managed to suppress that maturity.
“I don’t have all the answers,” Regulus said simply, standing as well. Somehow, the way he didn’t flinch was maddening. “But I do know that you can’t keep running away from him. Where are you gonna go next time, huh? Toronto wasn’t enough, maybe Greenland? Russia?”
“Fuck you,” Evan snapped, his voice like a whip in the stiff air.
Regulus paused, studying him for a long moment. For once, his expression softened; not pitying, but something dangerously close to understanding. “I’m just saying… maybe think about what you’re actually afraid of?”
Evan didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. He stared at the coffee table, mind racing with everything he refused to confront.
To his credit, Regulus didn’t press any further, just grabbed another beer and headed towards the door. “Our car leaves in ten,” Reg called over his shoulder. “Try not to spend the whole night brooding, yeah? It’s exhausting to watch.”
And then he was gone, and Evan was left alone with nothing but the warm hum of the lamps and the sinking weight in his chest.
Clean.
---
Even before the car pulled off to the curb, the fanfare coming from the house was impossible to miss. The block was pulsing with the energy of No relief, a taut cord that finally released and sprung to life. It was hosted at Sirius’ place —not the Black Manor, but a sprawling, off-campus house that he shared with James and a girl whose name evaded him. It sported a slightly sagging porch and mismatched furniture, strings of colourful lights draped haphazardly across the living room, and subwoofers that would have put Vegas to shame.
He heard Reg thank the driver —Kreach— and stepped out of the car onto the crisp December lawn. A small part of him wondered why he even came, but once Regulus followed and stepped up to the door without hesitation, Evan did the same.
The front door swung open with very little prompting, and Evan jerked off his sneakers, doing his best to avoid the wet slush left by all the other shoes around the doorway. He snorted a bit as he caught a glimpse of the soaked mat; cold, snowy, but not a single winter boot in sight. It made him smile a little, though he wasn’t sure why.
Evan’s gaze passed over the open first floor until they drifted to the far corner of the living room, where he spotted Remus leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. His feet brought him closer to him before he told them to, and when he did, he found Remus immersed in conversation with a boisterous blonde girl who, by the looks of it, was telling a very dramatic story.
“-and Remus, you should’ve seen her! I swear to god she was flying on the turf and UBC’s goalie didn’t even know what hit her!”
Remus was nodding along, an expression of amusement on his face though he clearly did care. His eyes widened a little when he spotted Evan, and the girl paused her story at the interruption.
She gave Evan a quick once over before bumping her shoulder into Remus’ side. “New boy toy?” She guessed, smirking playfully.
Remus dismissed her by grabbing her face with his whole hand —huge hands, Evan hadn’t forgotten— and pushed her away despite her laughter. “Please ignore Marls, she’s just whiny because she doesn’t have the balls to talk to a girl.”
“She’s not just any girl Remus,” Marlene protested, taking another sip of her beer with a smile. By the looks of her, Evan assumed it wasn’t her first. Or her second.
Remus shot her a look, knowing eyes beneath a thick brow that Evan recognized immediately. He stepped a little closer without knowing it, leaning on the wall with him.
“Pete said she was coming tonight, so why don’t you go grab some more liquid courage?” Remus prompted.
Marlene considered this for a moment, then blew them both a kiss and turned on her heel towards the kitchen, where Sirius had appointed himself as the bartender —a fantastic way to ensure someone got alcohol poisoning.
Once she was gone, Remus shifted his weight, pressing his shoulder against the wall to instead loom over Evan. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” It returned immediately; the flirtatious spark that had Evan’s lips tingling.
Stupid, sultry, eyes.
“I wasn’t going to come, to be honest,” Evan explained, suddenly wishing he’d stopped to grab a drink; his hands had forgotten how to be empty, so he tucked them into the pockets of his jeans. Remus’ gaze followed them.
“Do I make you nervous?” He asked, gesturing to Evan’s jeans. “I thought we were all good?” For the first time, a trace of nerves came across Remus’ expression, and Evan jumped to clarify.
“No! No, no, we’re all good, sorry, I think I used up all my brain power last week,” Evan admitted, a chuckle that he hoped came off as self-deprecating rather than nervous, and then the words slipped out of his mouth without his consent. “But, I can think of a couple things that don’t require thinking…?”
Slowly, he watched the grin return to Remus’ features. Not the flirtatious smirk of a casanova, but rather the bashful smile of realization, which had self-satisfied warmth spreading through Evan’s chest. When Remus nodded, he grinned even more, and a laugh bubbled out of him easily, if a bit too loud.
Moments later, there were warm lips pressed against his, faint taste of beer and cigarette smoke passing between them. Tongues against teeth, lips against stubble, and then there was a large hand pressing warmth into Evan’s back. Beneath the smooth stretch of his sweatshirt, passing back and forth over the top of his jeans, and it had shudders rushing up his spine each time.
An uncharacteristic giggle, and Evan drew back when he realized it came from him. He shook his head, smiling coyly against the curve of Remus’ throat. “Think we can find a room?” He asked, finding himself leaning further towards the other —it was wildly attractive that Remus didn’t even blink at the added weight.
The hallway was quieter, though the thrum of the music and lively voices still vibrated faintly through the walls. Remus didn’t say a word as Evan tugged him through a doorway and into another deeply needy kiss. It was hot and messy, all teeth and urgency as hands flew and clothes came off; Evan barely had the sense to kick the door closed before he stumbled across the room with Remus, both laughing as they tumbled onto a sofa.
“You’re eager tonight,” Remus remarked, large hands guiding Evan’s hips.
“Fuck off, I’m drunk, you’re hot, and it’s been weeks.” Evan sunk his teeth into Remus’ collar to emphasize his frustration, and he practically squirmed at the noise it drew from him.
Remus had the grace to laugh, but it soon dissolved into raspy moans once Evan continued to mouth his way down his body. They hadn’t bothered turning on the lights, but he fumbled with the belt for only a minute before his pretentious, corduroy pants were strewn onto the floor.
Frantic hands and muffled noises, soft banter followed by breathless laughs. Their movements guided by the kind of desperation that could only come from the sheer playfulness of youth. Nothing about love, or trust, or intimacy, nothing but the cheap, indulgent, perfection they found within each other, if only for a little while. It wasn’t long before Evan lost himself in those musical sounds.
When they stumbled back into the party twenty minutes later, Evan’s hair was a mess, and Remus’ shirt was buttoned wrong; side effects of getting dressed in the dark. Nobody seemed to notice or care, and they drifted apart just as naturally as they’d come together.
Evan quickly located the makeshift bar, where he recognized Sirius pouring shots like the world was ending. His laughter carried over the music, bright and easy in a way that was strangely comforting, if a bit annoying. His cousin’s eyes lit up once he spotted him.
“Evan! You look way too sober, come get a drink!” He declared, waving him over and confidently mixing an intricate-looking drink into a red solo cup —where the hell had he learned that?
He was in no headspace to turn down a free, much-too-alcoholic drink, so Evan accepted it gratefully and downed nearly half of it in one go. It went down a lot smoother than it would have an hour ago; a good sign, his brain was losing volume even as he drank it.
“Tell me it wasn’t in my bedroom?” Sirius urged after a moment, his eyes passing over Evan’s disheveled state.
It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “Oh, ugh, no,” Evan assured, an easy laugh bubbling from him while he swirled his cup in his hand. “Found a lovely futon.” He wriggled his eyebrows as he said it, leaning further over the counter to reach for a pizza slice.
Sirius snickered, watching him with a wry grin and shaking his head. “Okay, futon is fine, that’s James’,” he declared, as if he would never be caught owning such a thing. “Okay then, who?”
Evan didn’t hesitate, practically giggling around his pizza —it took a few tries to aim it to his lips— as he responded. “Lily’s friend, Remus. Tall, little broody, dresses like a 19th century English professor.”
For a moment, he saw a strange look pass over Sirius, a little confused as he watched darkness cloud his stormy eyes. He didn’t stay to question it though, because his drink was delicious and he heard Dorcas calling him from across the dining room.
The rest of the evening passed in more or less a blur. Evan was handed drinks left and right, each room opening to a new game that just had his head spinning all the more. The buzz in his veins had turned into a full-blown haze by the time he slipped out of the kitchen —why was he in there?--- and nearly fell face first into deep pools of jade.
A laugh broke through the air, and it took a moment for Evan to locate its source; coming face to face with the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Fuck, Barty why’re you here?” Evan demanded, shaking his head to emphasize his displeasure. A mistake, because he stumbled a few steps to the left with the momentum.
Barty just snickered, his face already glowing with the alcohol, but there was no joy behind the sound. “Wow, nice to see you too,” he grunted, eyes dark even in the dim light of the party.
“It’s not, actually,” Evan corrected, eyes rolling at him. Why the hell was Barty here? The piece of shit. Always invading his spaces, talking to his friends, showing up where he wasn’t fucking wanted. He grabbed a shot glass off the counter and downed it without thinking, the burn in his throat matching the heat rising in his chest.
Barty’s eyes passed down over him, settling on the bottle in his other hand. “Still drinking like you’re trying to prove something?” His tone was deceivingly light, but his eyes razor sharp, boring into Evan’s soul with that familiar edge, the jab —Evan couldn’t tell how much he meant it.
He scowled, even more so when Barty had the gall to walk away.
“Th’fuck is that s’pposed to mean?” Evan staggered forward after him, tripping through the patio door. He managed to catch himself with an elbow on the railing, and settled there, as though it had been intentional. “Y’w’nna act like you’re better th’n me? Just ‘cause you got clean?” A snort, head tipping back with the force of it, and he struggled to stop the room from spinning. “That didn’t even last.” The words just continued to spur from his mouth, even as Barty whipped back around to face him.
It used to be hot, watching the darkness fill Barty’s eyes in real time. The way his jaw tightened and his brows lowered until predatory, simmering green was stalking beneath them. Now? It should have been scary, had Evan not been laughing. He opened his mouth to speak, but Evan beat him to it, stumbling over his words.
“S’that y’r scary face?” Tha’sooo cute, y’look j’st like a lil Cheshhhire cat!” Evan watched his hand reach out and pinch hard at Barty’s cheek, digging his nails in until a bead of blood spread on his fingertips. He gave a delirious laugh when Barty shoved him, and Evan could only register when his back hit the sharp edge of metal railing and he continued to fall, his drinks sloshing onto the slick wooden deck.
“Fuck off Evan, you’re drunk.” Barty’s sharp glare was leering over him, but even now Evan could spot the ache buried deep within rings of green; it was not restraint that stopped him from lunging at Evan.
“What, too sensitive t’talk ‘bout’it now? Y’show up here like y’ve got your sh’together, when ev’ryone knows the truth. Can’t blame your daddy issues forever!” Evan spat out, not bothering to get up off the ground.
“I said fuck off!” Barty’s snarl was accompanied by his foot coming down, heel crashing straight into Evan’s chest with a sickening thud.
Evan tried to grasp at the air that left his lungs, but it left him in a horrible, pathetic wheeze. He stared up at Barty —as much as he could with his eyes in full orbit— and a reckless grin took over him. “Thaz’all y've got?” His voice was breathless, almost teasing, and he felt Barty’s eyes glower down at him with a fire that couldn’t be all hostility.
“Shut up!” The words were punctuated with Barty’s knee falling into his stomach, and Evan yelped with the force of it. “You’re a fucking coward, running away from fucking everything and anything that you don’t fucking understand!” Each word came with another shove, another punch to his gut.
“And you’re a fucking parasite!” Evan sneered, watching the blood launch out of his mouth with the words and splatter across Barty’s pale face. “Y’latch onto people like they owe you s’m’thing! S’pathetic and draining and s’no wonder ev’ryone gets sick‘v’you!”
The last hit came harder, driven directly into Evan’s cheek, and then his eyes closed, they remained that way for several hours, on the cold patio floor.
Chapter 15: Trent
Summary:
Evan's life in Toronto, circa. 2023
Content warnings for toxic relationships, I think
Notes:
I know it's been months since the last update, but life has been crazy, and I'm back! Going to try to get back to a chapter per week, but no promises, enjoy!
Chapter Text
12/2/2023
The apartment was quiet when Evan stepped inside. The kind of quiet that felt intentional, cold, and far too still. The overhead light was on in the kitchen, throwing long shadows across the counter, and neither of the two candles was lit. Weird.
Trent was sitting at the table, one leg crossed over the other while he scrolled through his phone. He didn’t look up at the sound of the door.
Evan hesitated a moment before shutting the door behind him. He dropped his keys onto the counter, shrugging off his corduroy jacket and turning back to hang it up. Just act normal… “Hey.”
Trent didn’t respond immediately, just kept scrolling. The silence stretched long enough that Evan was shifting on his feet before Trent finally spoke. “You ate already.”
It wasn’t a question, just a statement, but somehow it had Evan’s stomach twisting.
“Ugh yeah. I grabbed something with Millie after work,” he said slowly, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt.
Trent hummed at his phone, lips twisting in odd directions. “Would’ve been nice to know.”
“Oh. I didn’t think–”
“Yeah. You don’t, do you?”
Evan paused, teeth digging into his lower lip without thinking. Trent finally looked at him then; a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t sharp by any means, certainly not cruel. But something about it still had Evan feeling like he’d make a mistake —even if he wasn’t sure what it was.
“It wasn’t a big deal, I just–”
“It’s fine,” Trent replied smoothly. “I just made dinner. That’s all.”
Evan glanced over at the stove. Sure enough, there was a plate left out, food half-warm, untouched. His stomach twisted tighter now, guilt choking his words. “You didn’t say–”
“I didn’t realize I had to schedule meals with you now.” His tone was still controlled, even, but something about it had changed. A little flatter maybe, a little too careful. Like Evan was being unreasonable for not just accepting the blame.
Was he?
“That’s not what I meant–”
“No, of course not. You never mean much of anything, do you? You just– what? Forget? Got distracted?” The word sounded like a slur coming from Trent’s pursed lips.
Evan exhaled slowly, pinching his fingers against the bridge of his nose. This couldn’t turn into a fight, not again. They were both tired… they didn’t need this. “I didn’t know you were making dinner.”
“Right. Because I didn’t text you a formal invitation. My mistake, clearly.” The sarcasm cut deep now. Trent had a way of doing that; of keeping his voice measure, words smooth, like he couldn’t possibly be the one overreacting. Evan could already feel it happening, that shifting of blame, that twisting of reality where suddenly he was the problem.
“I don’t get why this is a thing,” Evan said slowly, voice tight. “I just grabbed food with Milli–”
“Of course you did.”
Evan’s patience snapped now, and he threw his hands up to rub across his face. “Jesus, what does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Trent said lightly, looking back down to continue scrolling his phone. “It means nothing. Just how you like.”
But the way he said it, nothing had ever meant more.
“You’re acting like I did something wrong,” Evan muttered through clenched teeth, staring with a newfound hatred for the phone in Trent’s hand.
“Did I say that?”
“No, but you–”
“Then don’t twist this into something it’s not.” The words landed like a slap, even through Trent’s ever-steady voice.
Evan could feel the familiar frustration creeping in, that squeezing feeling in his chest; like no matter what he said, he’d be wrong. Everything was a trap. “I’m not twisting anything.”
Trent scoffed, standing up now in one swift motion. His phone hit the wooden table with a thump, and the chair creaked without his weight. “You always fucking do this, Evan. It’s always a problem with you. I make dinner, and somehow that’s an argument?!”
“I didn’t make this an argument!” Evan snapped back immediately, his hands coming down to fold in front of him now.
“Oh my god!” Trent laughed out loud, sharp and condescending. “Do you hear yourself!? You sound insane right now.”
Evan’s whole body went rigid. That laugh —that fucking laugh. He hated it. Hated how easily Trent maintained the calm role; the reasonable boyfriend. As though Evan had arrived with irrational claims and unfounded accusations.
“I’m insane?” He demanded, voice rising to match. “Are you fucking serious!?”
“Oh, here we go,” Trent said, turning around in a full circle to emphasize his exasperation. “Now you’re gonna yell at me. Classic.”
“Because you’re making me feel like shit over nothing!”
And just like that, they were both yelling.
Evan wasn’t even sure when it had shifted, when the ground completely fell away beneath them. Trent stood across from him; arms crossed, eyes sharp, wearing that same unreadable expressions he’d been perfecting lately. LIke he wasn’t angry. Like Evan was being dramatic.
Like Evan was the one who started this. Like he’d been the one to make this a fight.
It was getting harder and harder not to believe him.
---
Three days had passed, and Evan still wasn’t sure if they were still fighting.
They hadn’t spoken about it, not really. The night had ended with Trent quietly putting the leftovers away and Evan going straight to bed. And since then: polite silence. No apologies, no conversations, not even more arguments. Just the same cold rhythm they always seemed to fall back into, like nothing had happened at all.
Like nothing ever happened.
So when Millie’s text about the club lit up his phone, Evan said yes. Why? More than anything, he needed to remember how it felt to breathe.
The music got louder the closer they got to the entrance, and once the bouncer was finally looking over their IDs, Evan could practically feel his hands tingling with the energy of the club. They were ushered inside hastily —a perk of bringing a girl like Milicent Bulstrode with you to the clubs— and he practically had to reset his breathing once they did.
The bass was already thudding through the floor, light hitting the walls like a pulse, like a warning. Bodies were packed tightly in the hazy space, glowing wristbands and glittery eyeshadow and synthetic sweat clinging to air that smelled vaguely of vodka cranberries and fog machine smoke.
Millie shouted something excited towards him. Evan only half-heard it.
He grinned anyway, following her towards the bar.
“Two tequila sodas!” she shouted over the counter, patting Evan’s forearm with a knowing smile. “Trust me, you need this.”
Evan snickered a little, but he nodded hurriedly. Maybe if he said yes hard enough, the tightness in his chest would just dissipate.
It didn’t, of course. Nobody really came to clubs to relax, no matter how adamantly they insisted so.
By drink three, Millie was deep in a conversation with some guy from out of town, and Evan was nursing a vodka Red Bull that tasted of aspartame and regret. His phone rested in his palm, screen dim, with Trent’s name still at the top of his messages. A single, unopened text.
Trent: Don’t drink too much lol
That was all. Sent an hour ago.
Evan had stared at it so long, he’d begun to read it a million different ways, so much so, they didn’t feel like words at all anymore.
Was it supposed to be sarcastic? Genuine? Was the ‘lol’ meant to soften the blow, or was it a dig? Knowing Trent, it could have been a peace offering, a threat, a desperate plea.
He tipped his head back and downed the rest of the drink despite the sickening burn. Millie had had three, but truthfully Evan had lost count by now, making his way carefully up to the bar for another.
Maybe the text wasn’t anything but a genuine request made out of concern, out of love. Maybe it was just… a string of words and nothing more. Thrown together while the shower water warmed.
His head was starting to hurt, which wasn’t fair, because the hangover wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow.
It could have been two minutes or two hours later when Millie returned to him, her cheeks flushed with an enormous smile. “Evan! C’mere and meet Sammy, he’s got some– you’ve got to be kidding me.” The shift halfway through her sentence was dizzying, even more so when she reached out and snatched the phone from his hand.
Evan blinked, startled, and reached for it immediately. “What? Give it back–”
“No,” she said immediately, tucking the phone into her waistband —the lack of pockets was a curse. “You’ve been glued to this fucking screen all night! I thought we came out to have fun, not to feed your fucking anxiety spiral.”
Evan scowled properly now, reaching unsuccessfully for his phone. “I’m not spiralling,” he muttered, but even he didn’t quite sound convinced.
Millie didn’t answer right away. She just gave him a look, equal parts pity and exhaustion. “You should be having a good time Ev, you deserve to!”
He tried to smile now, plucking his phone back with frankly shocking coordination. “I know I’m just… tired.”
Don’t drink too much lol
He kept drinking, Millie kept dancing, and eventually Evan found himself on the dancefloor, nursing a drink he didn’t remember ordering. The lights were strobing harder than ever now, music making a valiant effort to rearrange his heartbeat, and he could already feel that half-drunken haze where things felt like they should be fun.
He downed the rest of his drink anyway.
Millie reappeared next to him just then, breathless and grinning. “You look lonely over here,” she shouted, linking her arm through his.
Evan let her pull him through the crowd as it swallowed them whole. It was hot —someone’s shoulder brushed his, perfume clung to the air, laughter cracked like glass a few feet away. He tried, really, to move to the beat, to smile. Was he smiling? Probably.
Don’t drink too much lol
He’d liked it at first. Liked that Trent had said anything at all. But now, several hours in, it just felt far too loaded.
He pulled his phone out, told himself he was checking the time. Still no more texts.
“Evan Rosier!” This time, Millie’s shrill voice lacked any of her earlier patience. “Where are you? You barely even looked up when I introduced you to that guy, who definitely wanted you, by the way.”
He swallowed, face setting itself into a stony expression. “Not really in the mood.”
“Okay, then what are we doing here?” She asked, loud over the pumping techno music. “Like, genuinely. Why’d you come out if you were just gonna stand in the corner staring at your messages like a ghost?”
If only it were ‘messages’ plural…
“I’m just… distracted.” He cringed at the way his words came out slurred, as if he was undecided, a weak answer.
Millie was quiet for a long time —or maybe she responded, it was hard to tell with the bass rumbling his bones. When she did speak, she grabbed him to speak into his ear, the only way to make herself heard. “You’re miserable. And you won’t talk about it, or do anything about it, and I’m trying to be patient here Evan but it’s getting old! What did he do this time?”
Evan shook his head immediately. Too quickly, maybe. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit!”
“Millie… just drop it, okay?” His own frustration was louder now, but the beads of sweat on his forehead were just adding to his confusion. Why were clubs so fucking loud!?
She stared back at him for a long, intense minute, before shaking her head. “Whatever. I’m going to dance. Get home safe.” Millie turned on her heel, weaving through the crowd to return to her group she’d found. Her fun group. Not including Evan, of course.
He didn’t make it to last call.
Stood by the bar for a while, nursing a drink that tasted of watered down cranberry, too bitter and too sweet. His limbs felt heavy now, weighed down with booze and guilt and an old ache that lodged itself deep in his chest.
He wanted to leave. He just didn’t want to go home.
Eventually, Evan pushed his way through the crowd —past lights, past noise, past a girl who gave him a onceover— to finally reach the door. Glowing dim red exit sign over a heavy black door; he shoved it open to step into the alleyway.
The cold night air hit him immediately, like a slap in the face, and for a moment, it helped.
Then the quiet set in.
Evan stood there for seconds or hours, but the smokers to his left never moved.
Finally, he fished his phone from his pocket, one last time.
Still just the one text, no follow-up, no question mark. He stared at Trent’s name until it stopped meaning anything, until the letters looked less like a word and more like a riddle. Shapes on a screen. Indecipherable.
Then he hit call.
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