Ice skating
Evan hates his best friend. He hates how he constantly flirts with Evan, how he’s always so loud and obnoxious, and specifically how he’s somehow always good at everything.
Including ice skating, apparently.
Evan didn’t even know Barty knew how to do that.
From where he stands, behind the fence to the ice, Evan watches as Barty makes flawless spin after flawless spin. The worst part is that he’s yapping the whole time, more focused on his facial expressions and his story than the way his feet twist and turn on the ice. Evan, no longer pretending to listen, can’t help hoping that the other will trip himself up.
He won’t admit it, but Evan’s jealous. He wishes it were him with the talent, wishes he could be the one with the power for once, wishes he could be the one making Barty bite the dust. Instead, Evan’s the one biting his tongue to avoid saying something snarky or flippant.
On the ice, Barty’s completely unaffected by Evan’s existential crisis, his blue scarf blowing in the wind and dancing with his deliberate movements.
Evan wants to punch him.
“-used to have those gloves, and like, they were fingerless so you could use your hands without getting cold, and I really liked them, but- Evan?”
Evan hums, gaze returning to Barty’s face.
“Are you coming out on the ice?” Barty asks, stopping in front of him and crossing his arms. The corners of his mouth curve into a sly smile, as if he’s finally catching on to Evan’s hesitation and slight annoyance.
Oh, how Evan hates that smile.
Barty seems to have forgotten whatever he was ranting about before, now closing the distance between them and offering a hand to Evan. It’s definitely a trap, but Evan still takes it, refusing to be a coward.
He can do it. If Barty can, he can too.
Evan sucks in a breath, and then Barty carefully guides him onto the ice, pulling slightly whenever Evan starts to slow. The skates alone already makes him feel unstable. The ice is a whole different issue, and although Evan expected it to be slippery, it’s even worse than he imagined. As soon as his first skate connects with the ice, Evan knows he’s going to fall, twist his ankle, and earn himself a concussion.
“Barty,” Evan warns. He sounds breathless already, and Barty, the asshole he is, does nothing but snicker.
Evan hates, hates, hates him.
“Shut up,” Evan snaps, legs wobbly with exhaustion.
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Almost mockingly, a young girl - ten years at most - skates by without a hint of uncertainty in her moves. She doesn’t even glance their way, but Evan still feels the humiliation burn bright red in his cheeks.
“Evan, you have to get both feet on the ice or else it doesn't count as ice skating.”
“If you don't watch out, Crouch, you won't be able to ice skate again.”
Barty grins full-on now, holding onto Evan as he starts walking backwards, away from Evan’s only safety: the fence.
Why the fuck is he doing this? Or better yet; Why is he letting Barty do this?
“Uh, kinky,” Barty laughs lightheartedly at Evan’s threat. Once again, he tugs on Evan's hand, and despite being careful, Evan slips, momentarily losing balance before catching himself on Barty's shoulders at the last second.
It does nothing to cease Barty’s grinning.
Evan’s going to kill him. He really, really fucking hates him.
“Fuck you,” Evan mutters into Barty's shirt. His other foot has slid onto the ice too, meaning he's now fully on ice with nothing to stabilise himself with but Barty - a very unsolid rock. However, one thing is for sure, though: if Evan's falling, Barty's going down with him. Evan will make sure of that.
“Would you look at that?” Barty mocks with a laugh. “You're basically ice skating!”
“And you’re basically dead,” Evan replies without missing a beat. Barty ignores his threat, slowly skating backwards with Evan’s hands in his.
“Just hold your ankles stiff,” he comments, eyes never leaving Evan’s skates. It’s nerve-wracking to have Barty judge him like that, but at the same time, it also feels like a form of security. If Evan falls, Barty will be ready to catch him.
“Just do it correctly,” Evan mimics with his best Barty-voice. It causes the other to look up and meet Evan’s gaze with a raised eyebrow and a scheming smirk on his face.
Oh, really? he silently asks with his eyes. They’re dangerously green, and Evan feels his stomach twist.
“Fine,” Barty says, “if you don’t want my help, then sure.” Dropping Evan’s hands, Barty moves out of reach just as Evan reaches for him again, grasping nothing but air. “You know, now I kind of hope you do fall”
“Barty!” Evan bursts out, fighting to keep his balance. How dare he leave Evan like that. “No! Fuck. Don’t fucking go.” A few metres away, Barty shrugs, not even bothering to hide his sly smirk. Leisurely, he skates around Evan’s shaky figure, hands tucked neatly behind his back.
“Don’t go?” he repeats, feigning innocence. “Why? I thought you didn’t need any help.”
Evan clenches his fists, nails digging harshly into his palms. In his head, he imagines sinking those same nails into Barty and ripping him to sheds.
“God, fuck you,” Evan groans.
“Geez, no need to tarnish God like that,” Barty replies like he didn’t know exactly what Evan meant. And then, just to taunt, he comes just a tad bit closer, staying just out of reach.
“No, fuck you, Barty. Not God. Fuck you,” Evan scowls, lifting his head so he glare daggers at Barty from his wary position. He’s probably bending too much forward, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to stand straight.
“As it is, you can barely stand on your own, Evan. I don’t think you should be thinking about fucking anyone anytime soon,” Barty concludes with a shrug and a slight smile.
Evan hates it. Hates that smirk beyond reason. Because why the fuck does it have to look so good on him? He’s taunting Evan, and all Evan can think is: Smash.
So yeah, Evan absolutely despises it. It makes him see red all over.
Suddenly, Evan lunges for Barty. However, he misjudges the distance, because his fingertips just barely graze Barty’s pants before closing around empty air, and then, it’s too late. Whatever balance he possessed before is lost, and Evan falls forward, helpless against the skates strapped to his feet.
The ice is freezing against his palms, and sharp jabs of pain shoot through his forearms as he lands on all four. His right knee takes the worst of the hit, and Evan immediately knows a bruise is forming. The throbbing is enough proof on its own.
“Shit!”
Evan’s gaze flies up just in time to see Barty’s flailing figure lose balance before he too crashes down - right on top of Evan. The impact knocks the air out of his lungs, forcing him down onto his stomach, and the cold immediately seeps right through his jacket, hea, the cold seeping through his clothing, going straight to his skin and bones.
“Fuck. I’m sorry Evan. Are you okay?” Barty asks, rapidly rolling off him. Immediately Evan takes the opportunity to suck in a deep breath, coughing as he does so.
“Yeah,” he manages to get out.
“If you weren’t, it’d be your own fault,” Barty comments, all concern suddenly gone from his voice.
“How the fuck was that my fault?” Evan bursts out, whipping his head around to glare at Barty. “You’re the one who left me on the ice. And then you fell on top of me.”
“Yeah, but you know why I left you. Also, I was two fucking steps away, so relax. And the reason I fell was because I was trying to save you, asshole.”
Barty glares back, clearly not realising what just admitted. Evan raises an eyebrow, his expression challenging. It earns him an arched eyebrow in return.
“What?” Barty snaps.
“You tried to save me.” It’s not a question. Barty looks away, seemingly thinking for a second, before realisation dawns his face. Evan can’t help but find him adorable. Such a big brute who, despite saying he hopes Evan will fall, nonetheless tried to save him.
“I did not,” Barty denies, but it’s hopeless. Evan can see it on him. The affection is vivid.
“You so did,” Evan laughs, sitting up so he can tap Barty’s shoulder. He doesn’t trust his skates, so he just slides closer to him on his ass. It can’t be elegant, but Evan doesn’t really care.
“Shut up,” Barty says, waving him off dismissively. However, he doesn’t move away when Evan comes closer, and that alone says more than enough.
“It’s okay,” Evan grins, guiding Barty’s face towards him with a hand on his cheek. His skin is warm under Evan’s palm, and his green eyes shine softly in an oddly intimate way. “It’s really cute.”
“Fucking dickhead,” Barty mutters, turning away as Evan hides his laugh in Barty’s shoulder. Though Evan can’t see it, he hears the smirk in Barty’s voice when he speaks again, and in his head, Evan can’t help but picture it. The way the corners of his mouth curl slightly upwards, most likely against his will, and those deep green eyes that glint with both mischief and fondness at the same time.
“Next time,” Barty says, “I’m going to push you.”
He doesn’t mean it, and Evan knows. It’s about the same as when Evan says he hates Barty. Barty knows the truth, too.
Because, oh, Evan doesn’t hate him. He never did, despite maybe wanting to.
What he feels for Barty is something far more gentle and sweet.
Something far more exposing and intricate.
Something far more like love.