Chapter 3
The next few days passed in a haze of broken thoughts and aching hands. I couldn't get Evan out of my head. It was fucking annoying, to be honest. I hadn’t even gotten the tattoo yet, but I could already feel myself sinking into this mess of desire and frustration. The worst part? I fucking liked it.
I pulled out my phone one morning after work, scrolling through the usual texts, nothing too exciting until I saw his name. Evan had sent me a text the night before, a simple message about finalizing the design for the tattoo. But I was in no mood to talk about art.
Evan: I’ve finished the design. Come by as soon as possible to check if it’s what you envisioned :)
Barty: Hey, Rosie. You free today or what? Got a few more questions.
I chuckled to myself, knowing I was being a little shit, but I couldn’t resist. I’d started calling him Rosie in my head, and once the thought stuck, it felt right. It had a nice ring to it. A bit of an edge. Plus, it would be fun watching him squirm every time I said it.
It took a minute for him to reply, which only fueled my impatience. Maybe he was busy. Or maybe he was overthinking what the hell I meant. Good. He should.
Evan: "Rosie," huh? Is that what we're doing now?
Barty: I mean, I figured it had a bit more charm than Evan. You do look like a Rosie. Something about you just screams it, ya know?
I half expected him to roll his eyes when he read it, but what I didn’t expect was him actually playing along.
Evan: You’re crazy.
Barty: Told ya.
I tossed my phone onto the couch, grinning like an idiot. There was something about calling him that, it wasn’t just about pissing him off. I wanted to see how far I could push. He was like a puzzle, and I wanted to figure him out, piece by piece.
A few hours later, I was in my garage, staring at the same goddamn engine I had been working on for the last few weeks. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t get my mind off Rosie, so I decided to text my friend Dorcas. She was the type who would get it, she knew all my shit, and I wasn’t afraid to ask her for advice.
Barty: So, uh, I’ve got this... situation. This guy. Evan Rosier. The tattoo guy. He’s got me thinking. Any ideas on how I can ask him out without making it all weird or obvious?
I stared at the screen, waiting for a response. Part of me hated asking for advice, especially when it came to my feelings. But Dorcas always had a way of cutting through the bullshit. Besides, I needed something to distract me from the slow burn of wanting Evan. It didn’t take long for her reply.
Dorcas: OMG. YOU’RE INTO HIM. MARLENE LITERALLY CALLED IT!!
Barty: What? No. I’m just trying to figure out how to not fuck this up.
Dorcas: Same thing, you idiot. Okay, let me think…
A couple of minutes passed before she sent her next text.
Dorcas: First of all, stop calling him Rosie. It’s cute, but you’re gonna make him think you’re just messing with him. You want him to see you as serious. Well, semi-serious, since it’s you.
Barty: I’m not calling him anything else. Rosie’s perfect.
Dorcas: Fine, but here’s the deal: You’re getting a tattoo from him, right? Use that. Make it about the tattoo and then work your way in. Talk about how it’s a big deal, how you’ve been thinking about it for a while. Then just casually say something like, “If you’re free after, we could grab a drink. Or whatever.”
Barty: A drink? I’m not that lame.
Dorcas: Whatever. You don’t need to be all formal and shit. You just need to put the idea in his head that it’s not just about the tattoo.
Barty: So you’re saying I should act like I’m not trying to get in his pants, but actually be trying to get in his pants?
Dorcas: Precisely. You’re welcome. I’m a genius.
Barty: Fuck you, Meadowes
Dorcas: Don’t you want to fuck Evan :3
I snorted at her text, knowing she was probably right. I had to be subtle, but I wasn’t about to make it obvious that I was into him. That’d just make me look desperate. And I was anything but that. I wasn’t sure what the hell was happening between me and Rosie, but I was going to figure it out.
Later that day, I found myself back in front of the tattoo shop, gathering my thoughts. My phone buzzed with a text from Evan.
Evan: You want to start this tattoo today or are we doing this tomorrow?
I didn't want to come off too eager, but the idea of seeing him again had me on edge.
Barty: You know what? Let’s do it today. Might as well start this shit now.
A minute passed, and then his reply came in.
Evan: Alright. I’ll be ready in 20. You still want to get it started right now?
Barty: Yeah. Let’s fucking do this. I’m ready to turn my back into a masterpiece.
I grinned, trying to act cool as hell. But deep down, my chest was pounding. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I knew I wanted to be near him. Even if it was just for the tattoo.
When I walked into the shop, Evan was standing there, his sleeves rolled up, a tattoo machine in his hand. His face broke into that familiar smile when he saw me.
“Ready to make your back look like a canvas?” he asked, that damn smirk already on his lips.
“Hell yeah,” I replied, trying to sound confident. “You think you can handle it, Rosie?”
He raised an eyebrow at the nickname. “I told you, you can’t call me that.”
I just grinned, leaning on the counter. “I’ll call you whatever I want, Rosie.”
“Alright, alright,” he said, setting the machine down. “You’re lucky you’re getting a tattoo from me or I’d be charging you extra for the attitude.”
I snorted. “You love it.”
Evan chuckled, shaking his head, and motioned toward the back. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I’m sure you’ll be complaining in about twenty minutes, so let’s make it worth your while.”
The tattoo was fucking painful, but I enjoyed it as I usually did. I was trying to focus on anything but Evan and more on the needle instead that felt like it was digging into my skin. The room was quiet except for the hum of the machine and the soft shuffle of Evan moving around, checking the design every now and then.
“So,” I said, trying to distract myself. “What do you do when you’re not busy giving people tattoos?”
Evan looked up at me, his eyes catching mine, a small smile on his lips. “I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one who’s here every day, acting like you’re not dying to see me.”
I blinked. The words stung in a way I wasn’t expecting.
“I’m not dying to see you, Rosie. Just trying to get this tattoo done.”
Evan grinned, clearly not buying it. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I tried to ignore the weird twist in my stomach at his teasing.
“So,” I pressed on, my voice quieter now. “When you’re not tattooing people, do you go out or what? Or are you one of those ‘no fun’ guys?”
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering the question. “I go out sometimes,” he said, setting the machine down for a second to stretch. “But I don’t usually make a habit of it.”
“Sounds boring,” I said with a grin, leaning forward. “Maybe I can change that. Take you out for a drink when we’re done here.”
Evan’s eyes flicked to mine, and there was a moment of silence before he replied.
“You just want an excuse to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, don’t you?”
I felt a grin tug at my lips. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”
He shook his head, clearly entertained. “You’re trouble, Barty. But, sure. Let’s grab a drink. After this, of course. I’ll need some time to recover from your shit.”
I was about to say something else, but the tattoo machine came to life again, and I couldn’t stop the flinch that followed.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
“Yeah, I thought you’d be like this,” Evan said, his smirk wide. “But keep it up, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
The club was a massive, sprawling space, full of bodies moving, lights flashing, and the bass of the music thumping so loud it almost rattled your bones. The air was thick with a combination of sweat, perfume, and the sharp scent of alcohol, but none of that mattered once you were in the thick of it. People shouted over the music, laughter echoing as everyone tried to make their way through the crowd. The lights were blinding, casting flashes of neon reds, blues, and greens across the room, almost disorienting in their intensity. But that didn’t seem to bother anyone.
Sirius, ever the life of the party, was already leading the charge. His laugh cut through the noise, a mix of cockiness and carefree attitude. He grabbed Remus by the hand, practically dragging him through the mass of people, looking for their spot on the dance floor. Remus, as usual, followed with his arms crossed and a fond but exasperated expression on his face. “I swear, Sirius, we’re going to be here five minutes and you’re already starting trouble,” he mumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. It was a routine by now.
James and Regulus had already disappeared into the crowd, probably too busy fighting over something pointless to notice the chaos around them. Behind them, Dorcas and Marlene were already weaving through the crowd, practically glued to each other’s sides, their laughter infectious. Lily and Mary were chatting near the entrance, scanning the crowd, while Pandora, Evan’s sister, had her eyes wide, drinking it all in, trying to take it all in. She wasn’t exactly used to these sorts of nights, but she was clearly having fun.
But I was just focused on one person: Evan.
He was cool, calm, collected as always, but there was something about the way the strobe lights hit his dark skin, that glow on his face, and the way his white hair seemed to shimmer that made my chest tighten. I was too far gone to pretend I wasn’t looking at him. The crowd parted just enough to let me through, and I was right beside him in a second, nudging him with my shoulder. “Not a single word, Rosie, I’m coming to join you.”
He shot me that look, one of those silent, exasperated glances he gave me so often, but this time, there was something else in it. A small smile tugged at his lips as he reached for a drink. “I swear, Barty, you really know how to make an entrance.”
“Not the first time I’ve done this, and it won’t be the last.” I shrugged, flashing him a grin. There was no way I was letting him off that easily. The tension between us was palpable, but neither of us was acknowledging it directly.
We finally made it to the bar, the atmosphere here just as chaotic as the rest of the club. People were shouting orders at the bartender, waving their money around like it would get them served faster. But Evan and I had found a rare moment of peace, standing side by side at the counter, with the music pounding in the background and the thrum of life everywhere.
"So, Rosie," I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, "what’s your excuse for hiding in the shadows all night? Are you actually having fun, or are you just pretending?"
Evan turned to me, eyebrow raised, his lips curling into the slightest smirk. "You’re one to talk, Barty. You’ve barely left the bar and you’ve already had what? Ten drinks?" He said it with a quiet, amused tone, but I could see the slight warning in his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter,” I slurred slightly, despite only having five drinks. "I’m here for a good time, not to babysit you or anyone else. You might want to loosen up."
But Evan just shook his head, the smile still tugging at his lips, though he didn’t say anything else. He downed his drink, and before I could stop myself, I nudged him again, this time a little harder. “You’re too fucking pretty to hide in the background, Rosie.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t looking at me the way I expected. His eyes, usually calm and collected, were a little more intense as they met mine. “You’re drunker than I thought,” he said quietly, but there was a softness in his voice now, like a quiet understanding of just how much I was starting to let loose.
The music was growing louder, the beat more insistent, pulling at us like an unseen force. I didn’t give him time to respond. “Come on,” I said, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the dance floor. “Let’s have some real fun.”
The crowd was wild, people grinding against each other, hands raised in the air, everyone moving to the same pulse of the music. The lights flickered in all directions, and the heat was unbearable. But in the middle of it all, it was just me and Evan, and for some insane reason, it felt like everything else faded away.
I moved in closer, my body and hips swaying with the rhythm as I locked eyes with him. The look on his face was unreadable, but I could see the tension in the way he stood, like he was trying to stay in control of everything around him. And I wasn’t making that easy.
"Come on, Rosie, don’t be shy," I teased, twirling him around, getting closer than I should’ve. My hand brushed against his waist, and I swear the entire room might’ve stopped for a second. His body was hard against mine, the slight press of his chest sending a spark straight through me.
He didn’t back away. If anything, he leaned into me for just a second, like he couldn’t help himself. And in that moment, I wanted to get closer, closer than was probably safe. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the smell of his cigarette brand scent mixing with the scent of sweat and alcohol. He looked at me again, the edge of a smirk forming at his lips. "Don’t get too cocky, Barty. I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing."
I didn’t care. The music, the crowd, everything was just background noise now. The only thing that mattered was Evan, his tanned, glowing skin, the silver shine of his hair, and how perfect his body looked under the lights. I couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at him as we danced, the way his movements seemed effortless, fluid, like he was born for this.
We were moving in sync now, each beat a reminder of how much I couldn’t stop staring at him. His eyes flicked to mine every now and then, almost challenging me to say something, but I couldn’t. There was too much tension in the air, something unspoken, something we both knew was there but never fully acknowledged.
At some point, I lost track of how many drinks I had. Everything was starting to feel hazy, a bit blurry around the edges. My limbs were heavy, my steps uncoordinated as the alcohol started to take over. The crowd, the lights, everything felt like it was spinning in slow motion. I leaned on Evan for support, my head spinning as I tried to keep myself upright.
You good, Barty?” Evan’s voice was faint in the noise, but I could hear the concern in it, the way he was scanning me. But I just laughed, shaking my head as I waved him off.
“I’m fine,” I slurred. “Just living my best life, Rosie.”
But Evan wasn’t convinced. He grabbed my arm, steadying me before I could fall. “Come on,” he muttered, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “We’re getting out of here.”
“No,” I protested, slurring the words. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re too drunk to stay here any longer, Barty.” His tone was firm, but there was no real anger in it. More like care.
And I hated that. I didn’t need anyone looking after me. Not when I was having fun. But Evan wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“I’m going home with you,” he said softly but firmly, pulling me towards the exit despite my protests.
It felt like I was in a haze, everything around me spinning, my steps unsure as Evan guided me out of the club and into the cool night air. The sounds of the club slowly faded behind me, but all I could hear now was the soft rhythm of Evan’s breath and the feeling of his hand on my arm.
“Fine, fine,” I muttered as I let him help me to a cab. “But I’ll make you regret this.”
Evan didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He just helped me into the car and guided me back to my place, the world spinning around us.
The ride to my apartment felt like a dream. Or maybe more like a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. The car was spinning around me, the music in my ears too loud, and everything else was just fuzzy. I could barely keep my eyes open, and I wasn’t sure if I was about to pass out or if I was still holding on to some shred of control. Evan was there, though. He was like a fucking lifeline, his hand firm against my back as he practically carried me from the car into my building.
I didn’t know if I was grateful or annoyed. Probably both.
By the time we reached the door to my apartment, I felt like I could barely breathe. I was swaying on my feet, my head spinning like a carnival ride that wouldn’t stop, and everything felt too close, too much. But Evan was steady, so steady, like he didn’t even break a sweat as he helped me into the living room and sat me down on the couch. I collapsed into the cushions like they were the only thing holding me up, my body loose and heavy, my limbs too tired to even think about moving.
Evan didn’t waste any time. He went straight to the kitchen, and all I could do was watch the way he moved. His back was so fucking solid, his confidence in everything he did made me feel small. It wasn’t like a bad thing, but it was like he was everything I wasn’t. I hated how I couldn’t seem to get enough of watching him.
The room felt too quiet without the bass of the club, and for a second, all I could hear was the rushing in my ears, my pulse drumming against the sides of my skull. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, but it wasn’t working. The walls felt like they were closing in, my breathing coming out shallow and erratic.
When Evan came back with the glass of water, I barely noticed. He sat next to me, and I felt the heat of his presence before I even opened my eyes. His voice cut through the haze, the words a comfort even if they didn’t entirely make sense.
“You’re a real pain in the ass, Rosie,” I slurred, my words thick and lazy. I managed to grin a little, but it felt like I was on autopilot, the smile a lie, even if I meant it.
I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since we left the club. Evan didn’t smile like a normal person. His grin wasn’t bright or happy, it was a slow, knowing thing, like he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. It sent a shiver through me, but not the bad kind.
“And you’re a brat, Barty. But that’s why I’m here.”
His voice was calm. Too calm. Like he wasn’t even phased by the fact that I was a fucking mess, barely able to stay upright.
I don’t know why I didn’t fight it, why I didn’t push him away. Maybe it was because, for the first time in what felt like forever, someone was taking care of me and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to fight him when I could barely breathe, let alone string a sentence together.
But as Evan hovered close, making sure I had everything I needed, I felt something crack inside me. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the exhaustion, but I could feel something building up inside me, crawling up from my chest, tightening my throat. I hadn’t felt it in a while, too long, but when it hit, it hit hard.
I gasped for air, the room spinning again. My breath came in quick, panicked bursts, and I pressed my hands to my chest, trying to make the pressure stop. It was too much. Too loud. The walls were too close, too fucking tight.
The fear hit me like a fucking brick wall. It’s happening again.
I couldn’t stop it. The memories flooded back like a tidal wave, knocking me under. My father. His fists. The way he’d looked at me, the way he never fucking stopped, like he was determined to break me down, piece by piece. The sound of my mother screaming, of me begging for him to stop, and it was all too much. Too fucking much.
I wanted to scream, but all I could do was gasp for air, my chest tightening as I tried to keep it together. My vision blurred as I started to shake, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. I was going to fucking suffocate if I didn’t get it together. But I couldn’t. My hands gripped the couch like I was trying to hold onto something solid, like I could just stop everything from coming at me.
The sound of Evan’s voice broke through, cutting through the fog. “Barty,” he said softly, his hand on my shoulder, warm and steady. “Look at me. Just look at me, okay?”
I couldn’t focus on his face at first. My eyes were blurry, everything was blurry. But his hand, his hand was there, and I couldn’t pull away from it. His thumb brushed over the fabric of my shirt, grounding me. “Barty, you’re safe,” he said again, his voice low and soothing, like I was just some fucking fragile thing that needed protection.
But I couldn’t stop shaking. My skin felt too tight, my body too weak. I felt like I was falling, falling into something I couldn’t escape.
“Evan,” I choked, my voice rough, not even sure if I was saying his name to get his attention or to stop the damn panic from consuming me.
His fingers tightened on my shoulder, like he was trying to pull me back, back into my body. “Hey,” he said, his voice still soft but firm, “breathe with me, okay? We’ll breathe together.”
It didn’t make sense at first. How was breathing supposed to help anything? But something about his calm presence, his quiet insistence, made me try. I sucked in a breath, and for a second, it was like I couldn’t even do it. My chest felt like it was in a cell, too tight to expand.
“Barty,” Evan whispered, “breathe in, slowly. Then out. In and out. You’re fine. You’re not alone.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him to leave me the hell alone, that I didn’t need this shit, but the sound of his voice calmed me down somehow. It was the only thing I could focus on, the only thing that mattered.
I closed my eyes, breathing with him like he said. Slowly at first, and then a little easier. In. Out. In. Out.
The tension didn’t vanish, but it dulled, like someone turned the volume down. I felt his hand on my back now, rubbing slow circles, like he was trying to remove the panic out of me. And it worked. It fucking worked. I didn’t know how or why, but somehow, his presence was enough to pull me back from the edge.
And maybe that was the worst part of it all. How I let him in without a fight. How I needed him, how I let him take care of me when I knew I should’ve been the one to handle my shit.
“You’re okay,” Evan said quietly. “You’re gonna be fine, Barty. I’ve got you.”
For once, I didn’t even try to fight it. I just let him. Let him help me breathe, let him keep me grounded, and let him be the one thing that made it feel like maybe I could survive whatever the hell I was dealing with.
“Thank you,” I muttered, barely audible. But the words felt like they had weight to them, like I meant them for the first time in a long time.
Evan’s fingers didn’t stop moving, his hand still resting gently on my back. “You don’t need to thank me,” he replied softly, the warmth of his voice wrapping around me like a blanket.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, for the first time, I wasn’t alone in this. Not with him there.