Something
Evan isn’t even sure how he ended up being stuck in Reg’s apartment with Barty of all people on Christmas eve. However, he’s certain it’s all Reg’s scheming - perhaps, his sister too, but Evan decides to blame it all on Reg since he’d rather be mad at him than his own sister.
At the moment, Barty sits across the table, head demonstratively turned away from Evan as he stares the wall down with an indifferent and bored demeanour.
Another reason why Evan hates Reg is because Reg basically confiscated both their phones. The second Evan came in through the door, Reg glared up at him with piercing blue eyes and stretched his palm out before him.
“What?” Evan snapped, and despite being taller than Reg, he didn’t really stand a chance against that infamous Regulus Black Death Glare.
“You phone.”
Evan furrowed his brows, considering turning around and leaving without a word. He didn’t even want to be here, let alone without his phone.
Even now, Evan wishes he had just done it. That he had told Reg to hell with his shitty attempts at fixing everything and having an enjoyable evening.
“ Evan, ” Reg repeated, leaving no space for debate and Evan rolled his eyes, pushing his phone into Reg’s open palm. Since then, he hasn’t seen it. Just like Barty hasn’t seen his either, which means that they were then left in silence by Reg’s table, refusing to talk and having no phone to hide behind.
To make matters worse, Reg’s own phone had started ringing after only five minutes, resulting in Reg slamming the front door behind him another five minutes later. Evan hadn’t heard the conversation, but Sirius was mentioned several times, so he supposed it was family issues. Those always happened to appear right around Christmas.
Fast forward to now, where Evan and Barty sit on their respective sides of the table, both admiring the incredibly fascinating white walls. They haven’t even said hi to each other.
It bothers Evan more than he wants to admit. Why would Barty agree to show up just to ignore Evan? Is he really that much of a dick?
Evan can answer that question just fine on his own.
“I’m not your fucking property or something!” Evan screamed, throwing his arms wildly around him. He hated how close he was to crying and most of all he hated that Barty probably could see it on him. “If you don’t want me seeing someone else, then say it, Barty. Stop making up excuses left and right, because you’re too much of a coward to admit that this whole thing isn’t nothing. Because it’s not. And I’m done pretending it isn’t.”
Barty looked away, like he always did when Evan tried bringing it up. But Evan refused to let it slide this time. This time he’d finish it - one way or the other. He was done playing into Barty’s ideas of them being friendly .
“I’m just being reasonable, Evan.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re not fucking listening.”
“No, you aren’t listening to me , Barty.”
“If you’re looking for a hook-up Evan, you don’t need to turn to the first random stranger you find.” Turns out he hadn’t been a fan of the blonde Anita-girl. “I’m right fucking here. That’s what this whole friends with benefits thing is for,” Barty explained.
He wasn’t meeting Evan’s gaze anymore, and he had stopped listening before the conversation even began.
“I’m done, Barty.”
“What?”
“This thing. Us. Done.”
That made him turn his head, made him start listening again.
“What do you mean, Evan? You aren’t making any se-”
“I’m done,” he repeated, feeling something heavy being lifted off his shoulders. Inside him something cracked now that the weight wasn’t there to hold it together anymore. “I’m done, because this isn’t about being smart or reasonable, and you know. You know just as well as I do.”
Barty didn’t have an answer to that. Just like he didn’t have an answer to Evan storming out and leaving him for good.
Now Barty won’t even look at him, which - in Evan’s opinion - is completely wrong. Evan should be the one refusing to look at him . Barty should be trying to apologise, should be begging Evan on his knees to stop ignoring him because Barty finally realised he missed Evan.
He doesn’t though, and it hurts. It makes him wonder if he was wrong. Maybe Barty truly didn’t see them as anything but fuck-buddies. Maybe Evan read the situation wrong and robbed himself of that one thing he truly didn’t want to lose. Maybe it’s solely his own fault that his poor heart now aches for something it never fully had.
Tears sting in the corners of his eyes, and Evan gives himself two seconds to take in Barty’s side profile to hopefully find something - anything to keep himself from shattering. Then he pushes the chair back and stands up, turning his back to the table before Barty can catch the pain on his face.
To hell with his phone, Evan’s going home. He was a fool for even coming here in the first place.
“Evan?”
Evan wishes he could say Barty’s voice doesn’t affect him. He really fucking wishes. But he’s also fucking naive, and Evan stops, forcing himself to take a deep breath.
“What?” he snaps, not bothering to turn around
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Rosier. No need to bite at me like that. I was just asking.” Barty laughs, but it’s humourless and bitter. Evan bites his lower lip hard enough to taste blood. If he could, he’d fist his hands too, but Barty’s eyes are drilling into his back and Evan doesn’t want to give him any indication that Evan is not fine.
Which he isn’t. He’s completely fine. Never been better, actually.
“Stop asking, then,” he responds, voice cold and indifferent.
“Whatever.”
Evan can practically hear the following eyeroll. However he chooses to ignore it, beginning to walk towards the entryway again in lieu of a snarky reply.
Barty doesn’t allow him to disappear right away though.
“So you’re just going to go?” he asks, and this time Evan can’t stop himself from turning around and facing him. Barty has propped his feet on top of the table, and Evan doubts Reg would let it slide if he were here to see it happen. “Really? Even though you came all this way?”
Evan doesn’t like where Barty’s going with his question.
“Pardon me, I’m just not following,” Barty says, tilting his head and furrowing his brows in a manner that’s far too innocent to actually be innocent. “It’s just that you must have decided to give this a shot since you’ve actually shown up here. And now - the second it doesn’t go smoothly - you’re just going to leave? Give it all up for…well, nothing.” Barty shrugs, eyes fixated on the tablecloth he’s fidgeting with.
“I guess I’m just confused. Not really sure I see the logic behind your actions and choices.”
“The logic behind my actions and choices are none of your concern, Crouch,” Evan shoots back.
“Always so secretive,” Barty mutters under his breath, seemingly unbothered with Evan’s unwillingness to have a conversation.
“As if you’re open about shit ,” Evan spits after him although Barty’s words probably weren’t even meant for him.
“Never said I was.”
When Barty looks up, his gaze is hard and dark, causing shivers to go down Evan’s spine. It leaves him feeling quite uneasy and Evan swallows around a lump in his throat, wanting to break the bone-chilling eye contact, but not wanting to be the loser.
“I came here for Reg,” he says after a moment of intense silence. He hopes it hits hard, hopes it hurts . “He’s not here anymore, so I no longer have a reason to stay.”
“And you feel the need to tell me that, why?” Barty asks, as if he can see right through him and read his deepest thoughts. As if he knows exactly why Evan actually came and why he’s leaving now. It wouldn’t even surprise Evan if he did.
“Wouldn’t want to give you false hope, now would I?”
Wouldn’t want to tell you the truth. Because in reality it all hurts. You hurt.
Barty snorts in disbelief, then hits home as he says, “I think you’re a liar, Rosie.”
Rosie. Evan hates him. Hates that stupid nickname.
“You can think whatever you want,” Evan gets out between gritted teeth, not bothering to correct Barty with the name. His eyes have started watering again, which Evan knows that’s his cue to leave if he doesn’t want to cry in front of Barty. “I told you. I’m done.”
The words land, brings something back that Barty clearly doesn’t want to think about, because momentarily Barty is too stunned to try to hide the something that flashes across his eyes. The hurt. Good , Evan thinks, biting down on his tongue to not say something that’ll reveal just how hurt he is himself. Then he turns around and heads for the entryway again.
It was stupid to show up here. Stupid to dress up nicely in the hopes that Barty would appreciate it and come crawling back. Stupid to think Barty would ever change. He’s always been too stubborn.
“Evan,” Barty says for the second time this evening - except two things are different now. Evan doesn’t halt, and Barty doesn’t sound unaffected. His voice is shaky - shaky , wobbly like Evan feels. On the floor in front of him the maroon rug is blurring and yet he refuses to stop, refuses to let Barty see how much he fucking cares. How much he always fucking cared.
“Evan.” He thinks he hears Barty stand up.
“ No .” It’s stifled. Barty has to hear it. There’s no way he doesn’t.
“ Evan . Wait.”
It’s then Barty makes the mistake of grabbing Evan by the wrist instead of just letting him go. And Evan can only say it was deserved and Barty’s own damn fault when Evan spins around and smacks him in the face with his free hand. The hit resonates through the apartment, a better statement than any words.
“What is it that you don’t get?” Evan blurts out, voice breaking drastically. Barty seems frozen in place, gaze fixated on the floor as his cheek goes red. Still, he doesn’t let go of Evan’s wrist.
“We should’ve never let it go on for this long. It was bound to end badly. And I knew it would, Barty, because it was never just fucking around in my eyes. I liked you. From the beginning and even now. But I can’t do it anymore.” It feels good to get it out. Somehow it feels good to tear himself apart with the truths that have burned inside for way too long now. And somehow the fire just keeps coming
“It was a mistake to show up here, just like it was a mistake when you kissed me that first night in the bar. All of it, Barty, a big fucking mistake, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided it was a good idea to come here. I don’t know what I was imagining, but I know I can’t look at you right now. Or be in the same room as you right now. Or even think about you. Because It hurts .”
Evan doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore. Doesn’t think he knows how to anymore.
“It’s my own fault, I know. I should’ve ended this way earlier, but I didn’t because I was selfish. Because I was tired of longing for you when you were right fucking next to me. I didn’t realise exactly how much worse the pain was when I knew what I was missing out on.” Evan sniffles, wiping away the tears. It’s a wonder he’s still able to create coherent sentences, considering the way his throat is constricting.
At some point Evan must have lowered his gaze and at some point Barty must have looked up again, but Evan isn’t sure when any of it happened. All he now knows is that now Barty’s eyes are fixated on his teary face and that his own eyes are locked on the spot where Barty’s fingers curl around his wrist. His grip is neither too tight nor painful in any way. Still, it’s a clear sign that Barty doesn’t want him to pull away - a naive request, that Evan can’t allow himself to listen to if he has any ounce of self-respect left.
“So I’m going to go now,” he finishes with a pent-up sigh. The silence is ringing in his head, intensifying the emptiness inside him.
Despite Evan’s direct announcement, Barty makes no move to uncurl his fingers, and it only causes Evan to feel even more helpless, because how is he supposed to do the right thing when Barty is asking him to be selfish. How is he supposed to pull away when the pain is so, so bittersweet?
“Barty,” Evan tries.
“ Please .”
It’s soft.
It’s pleading.
It catches him off guard, because it’s Barty .
Slowly, Evan looks up, finding that Barty is no longer staring at him. His face is distorted in pain and fear, eyes sealed shut as if he’s scared of what he might see if he opens his eyes.
“Just,” he fights to get it out, “give me a moment. Please. ”
His cheek is completely red now, making him look even more pitiful than he already is.
“I just need a moment.”
Evan isn’t sure what makes him say “okay” but distantly he hears his own voice come through clearly. It doesn’t shake, doesn’t sound mad or annoyed or anything at all. Actually, he just sounds bored.
For a few seconds nothing happens, and Evan can’t decide whether the throbbing in his head is a good or a bad sign. With every thump his eyes blur and unblur, keeping his head empty and distracted. Then Barty takes a deep breath, drawing Evan’s attention back to him.
“Don’t go,” he whispers.
Evan is about to tell him that he’s already made his decision when Barty continues.
“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even know what I’m doing, but please don’t go.” His voice is trembling. “I don’t think I’ll survive if you go.”
A few beats of silence.
Then,” Are you trying to guilt trip me into staying?”
Barty laughs. However, it’s short-lived. “If that’s what it takes to make you stay, then yes.”
“It’s not.” That brings an end to both the joke and Barty’s careful smile. “You can’t make me stay. I’m going.”
Evan makes move to pull away, but Barty tightens his grip.
“Wait,” he says, back to sounding erratic. “I told you I’m not good at this. You need to let me talk.” Barty takes another deep breath, and had it been anyone else, they’d have probably just left him anyway, but Evan knows Barty. Knows how hard it is for him to admit that he’s not good at something. “I asked Reg to invite you tonight.”
Evan freezes, a gasp stuck halfway up his throat.
“He wanted to take me out to get hammered because he said I was being depressive, but I refused and asked for a big favour instead. To invite you to this Christmas-dinner-thing because I didn’t know what else to do.” Barty shrugs, gulping. “I needed to see you, but I didn’t think you’d let me in if I just showed up at your house.”
Evan doesn’t tell him that the door stood open this whole time, that Evan stood in the doorway, hoping that everyone who walked down the street was Barty.
“And,” Barty exhales,” there’s more, just wait.”
If only he dares to open his eyes and look up, he’ll see there’s no reason to ask Evan to stay. He’s already rooted to the spot, mouth hanging slightly open in shock.
“Fuck, I don’t know how to say this. You know how you can lose people, right? And there’s some people you can survive losing and then there are those people you can’t survive losing. You’re one of those people I can’t lose, Evan. So even though I wanted to take a risk and gamble everything to be with you, I couldn’t afford losing you.”
Barty has without realising tightened his grip on Evan’s wrist as if he somehow even subconsciously is scared Evan will slip away if he doesn’t hold on.
“And I thought that if I avoided committing to the whole thing, I couldn’t lose you, because you can’t lose something you don’t actually have,” Barty continues rambling on, not once stopping to breathe. “But I lost you anyway. We weren’t even a thing, and I lost you. And it hurt. And I don’t know how to go on now. It’s fucking pathetic, but I can’t lose you again, so I don’t care what it takes. You can’t walk out that door. You can’t leave, Evan.”
Finally, Barty looks up, green eyes filled with panic and pain and-
Love .
It would probably scare Barty to know it’s so vivid and strong. He’s always been that way, afraid of love, which Evan assumes has something to do with his father, but Barty’s fear changes nothing. It’s nonetheless there.
Choosing to keep it as his own little secret for now, Evan buries it inside him where he’ll keep it safe until Barty’s ready to take care of it.
“I’m probably not making any sense,” Barty says, voice still laced with fright. Gently, Evan pulls his hand free, turning his hand so he can intertwine their fingers instead.
“You are making sense,” he says.
“I- I am?” Barty asks, frowning. He’s breathing unevenly and Evan steps just a bit closer, trying to contain his smile.
“Somewhat.” Evan grimaces
“So you’ll stay?” The fact that Evan might actually be considering it makes Barty come closer too, a hopeful look spreading across his face. Evan thinks he looks like a puppy, still he puts on a serious face, needing Barty to understand that he’s serious.
“If I stay, Barty,” Evan says, scared he’ll regret it. One thing’s for sure: he can’t ever do just friends again. “Then it’s for good this time. No friends with benefits situations or open situationships or anything like that. It’ll be you and me. Boyfriends.”
Barty doesn’t like the word. Although he tries to hide it, Evan sees the way he flinches backwards.
“Okay,” he says, nodding as if he’s trying to convince himself.
“Barty,” Evan warns, because he can’t continue letting his heart be broken by the same boy over and over again.
“I mean it. I want you to stay. I want you to be here with me. I want us to be-” The word gets stuck in his throat, and Barty interrupts himself before Evan can. “I told you I’m bad at this. It’s a horrible excuse, I know, but I do want this. Us. You . I just…it scares me, Evan.”
There it is again. That look. Love.
It's impressive how oblivious he is to it. How he can be afraid of a word as silly as boyfriends when his eyes swim with emotions a hundred times stronger.
“You want me to stay,” Evan asks, knowing the answer before it comes.
“Yes,” Barty breathes, sounding beyond desperate.
“And if I stayed, we wouldn’t just continue like before?”
“We wouldn’t,” Barty agrees. “We’d be… boyfriends.”
It’s forced, and although Evan appreciates the effort, he still shakes his head.
“Just forget that for a second, would you. All I need to know is that we wouldn’t be just friends. Then we can call it wherever the fuck we want. As long as we’re something. And not nothing .”
Barty contemplates it for a second, then relief washes over his face. “ Something ,” he repeats, testing out the ring of it. “We’ll be something .”
“If you want,” Evan adds carefully.
“Not just friends.”
“Definitely not.”
“We’ll be together-together.”
Evan smiles, shrugging in response.
“If you want.”
A laugh falls from Barty’s lips. It’s wild, uncontrolled like he can’t believe what Evan’s insinuating.
“ Fuck , Rosie,” he blurts out, sounding only slightly manic. “That’s all I fucking want. All I ever fucking wanted.” His hand squeezes Evan’s, and the pure happiness, radiating off him, makes Evan break a smile too.
“So?” Evan tries, not wanting to shatter the fragile thing they’ve created.
“Yes,” Barty grins, hand going to Evan’s chin where it stays, cupping his face gently. “I’ll be yours, you’ll be mine, whatever. All that important, sappy and romantic word-shit. Can I kiss you now?”
Evan laughs, nodding, and then Barty surges forward, not allowing another second to go to waste.
So fuck it if Barty doesn’t like the word boyfriends ? Fuck it if he’s scared. Evan’s scared too. It’s just how it is, and it’s fine because they’re doing it anyway. They’re something , and for now that’s okay.
For now.
Evan will work on it.
However, when they finally part and Barty looks at him again, those green eyes shining with love, Evan doubts he’ll have to do very much work himself. He has a feeling Barty might just ease into it completely fine on his own.
After all, they’re something.
And not nothing.