Just A Coincidence

“You never mentioned that the girl you were dating was friends with my brother,” Regulus sighed, his heart racing as he spotted his brother—along with the last person he wanted to see—walking into the club.

“I wasn’t aware!” Dorcas shot back, her tone defensive. “I swear.”

If Regulus had known he’d run into James Potter just two nights after their last encounter at the races, he would have stayed home. This was pure torture. The worst part? Potter looked absolutely ravishing. 

He should have gone to Barty's house instead, especially since he was throwing a party. But when Dorcas had asked him to join, he couldn't say no. Dorcas wasn´t the type of person you said ´no´ to. He hadn’t seen her much lately, and he felt he owed her this. 

Besides, things with Barty were…awkward at the moment. Just yesterday morning, Barty had come over to pick up the key to his apartment. Regulus had apologized for the night before, genuinely understanding why Barty was angry at James. But beneath that understanding, a flicker of annoyance lingered within him, stirred by the fact that Barty had actually punched James.

He knew Potter deserved it—hell, he might even let Barty punch him again. But still... It was James. 

Regulus opened the door for Barty, letting him in while catching the shadow of morbidness in his eyes. He knew instantly that Barty had been haunted by nightmares.

He guided him to the bedroom, showering him with soft kisses that trailed from his cheek to his neck and finally to his lips. They didn’t discuss it; instead, they let everything unravel—shirts slipping gently to the floor, their bodies sinking slowly onto the mattress.

Most people didn’t see it—not a soul, perhaps—but Barty had a unique way of being utterly gentle with those who mattered to him. On the outside, he exuded toughness and danger, the kind of presence that made you want to steer clear. Yet in the intimacy they shared, beneath the armor he wore, Barty revealed himself to be just a broken boy, much like Regulus.

He could still feel Barty inside him, a souvenir from yesterday's morning. 

“Is that alright?” Barty had asked as he slipped into Regulus, his eyes widening in surprise as he adjusted to the sensation.

“Mm-hm,” Regulus mumbled, surrendering to the moment. Somehow, he always found himself beneath Barty, his hands held securely in Barty's grasp—gentle yet protective. As if Barty was scared that something or someone would steal him away. 

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” Barty whispered into Regulus’s ear, playfully nipping at his earlobe with a teasing bite.

“I’m sorry too,” Regulus replied, arching his neck in invitation, granting Barty more space to explore and savor.

“I just—” Barty continued, pressing soft kisses along Regulus’s neck, each one lingering with intent. “I don’t like him talking to you. Not after what he did.”

With that, he sank his teeth in, starting gently but increasing the pressure as Regulus let out a soft moan, surrendering to the sensations.

Mornings were gentle, a stark contrast to the intensity of the nights. It was as if the morning light cast a soft spell over them, easing away their urges to consume and be consumed, leaving only quiet comfort in its wake.

As Barty moved deeper within Regulus, the remnants of last night’s anger and tension began to fade away, dissipating with each movement. Regulus’ voice was barely more than a whisper as he murmured, “Thank you for punching him.” His eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back in bliss.

“Anytime,” Barty replied, a smirk tugging at his lips before he leaned in, capturing Regulus’ mouth in a kiss that was both tender and consuming, sealing the moment between them.

But as the afterglow faded with time gone by and their breaths steadied, reality seeped back in. The bed, now tangled in sheets and evidence of their raw intimacy, the silence gave way to interrogation. And that’s when things took a turn.

“You’re not planning on seeing him, right?” Barty murmured, his fingers absentmindedly running through Regulus’s hair.

Regulus exhaled, gaze drifting to the ceiling as he weighed his answer. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. “I don’t know… maybe.”

The fingers tangled in his hair stilled, and Regulus felt the shift, a tension thickening in the silence between them. He knew that look, knew a fight was brewing.

“Are you serious?” Barty's voice held a restrained edge.

“Bee, I don’t know,” Regulus began, trying to keep his tone even. “It’s been years. Maybe he’s changed. What if—”

“What if what?” Barty cut in, voice dripping with frustration. “What if nothing's changed? What if he’s still the same jerk who broke your heart? He doesn’t want you, Reg.”

“You broke my heart too,” Regulus said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

A flicker of hurt flashed across Barty’s face, raw and unguarded, but it quickly hardened into something colder, angrier. His jaw clenched as he held Regulus’ gaze. “Screw you, Reggie,” he muttered, low and biting, before turning away. In a blur of motion, he was up, gathering his clothes, and storming out, leaving Regulus alone in the silence.

Regulus didn’t know why he’d said it. What Barty had done to him was nothing like what James had. Barty had never made him feel discarded, not once. But James? James had left him feeling completely and utterly replaceable. So why had he lashed out at Barty like that?

Now, things were tense between them, painfully so. They hadn’t spoken since yesterday morning, and Regulus knew that if he went to Barty’s door, Barty would let him in. But the words to make it right stuck in his throat. He had been mean, unthinkingly cruel, and he wasn’t sure how to apologize for it.

Why did Regulus have to be so mean? 

But really, what could he do about it right now? He was here with Dorcas, while Barty was hosting another party across the city. They felt like worlds apart, both caught up in their own lives. Regulus would just have to wait until tomorrow, or maybe Monday, or…some other time. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Barty would come to him first.

He would just have to survive tonight. 

Marlene arrived with drinks in hand—one for Dorcas and one for Regulus. She’d volunteered to get them, not just out of kindness, but because she knew this club better than either of them. She was in her element here, and from what Dorcas had shared, Marlene was a natural party lover with a bit of a rockstar vibe. Her style wasn’t just in her clothes but in how she moved: confident and a little wild. Her platinum blonde hair, streaked with pink highlights, framed her face in a tousled, intentional mess that only made her blue eyes stand out more. Regulus could see why Dorcas was drawn to her.

Though he’d met Marlene a handful of times in passing, this was the first real opportunity to spend time together. Between Regulus and Dorcas's packed schedules, even finding time for their own friendship was rare, so getting to know Dorcas’s new girlfriend felt overdue. They had only been together a few months, anyway, so Regulus hadn’t quite settled into the dynamic yet.

“Moscow Mule for you,” Marlene said, handing Regulus his drink. “And Margarita for you,” she added, turning to Dorcas with a grin.

“Thanks, you´re an angel,” Dorcas said, her gaze lingering all over Marlene´s face. 

Marlene blushed, clearly flustered. “Oh, it's nothing really,” she said trying to downplay the situation. 

“No, really, thank you,” Dorcas insisted with a grateful smile. “Oh, by the way, Sirius is here along with…”

“Oh my god, James!” Marlene interrupted, her excitement unmistakable.

Regulus rolled his eyes. What was it about this guy that had everyone fawning over him? It seemed like the whole world adored James Potter, and he couldn’t stand it.

"Where are they?" Marlene asked, scanning the crowd eagerly.

“I think they went that way—” Dorcas began, but it was pointless; Marlene had already spotted them, waving animatedly in their direction. In no time, Sirius and James were weaving through the crowd, heading toward them.

Regulus froze, his grip tightening around his cup until his knuckles whitened, as if he might crush it. A bead of sweat prickled beneath his collar, his pulse quickening. Every instinct told him to leave, to disappear into the crowd, but his feet refused to cooperate. Why wasn’t he moving?

Maybe it was the way the old anger and resentment surged up, rooting him to the spot. Some part of him wanted to stay, just to meet Potter's gaze with a look that said, "Screw you. You don’t mean a thing." But then again, maybe it was something deeper—a flicker of an old, half-buried delusion from when he was sixteen. Watching James walk toward him, it almost felt like, for once, James was the one chasing him, stirring those long-suppressed memories he’d thought he’d outgrown.

It’s funny how people convince themselves they’re over something just because they haven’t faced it in ages. But when that unresolved feeling is staring you down, all those illusions unravel. It’s like the universe’s way of testing your resolve, challenging whether you can truly put yourself first. So many believe they’ve mastered the art of indifference; Regulus used to count himself among them. Yet, with James Potter closing in, his confidence crumbled, the truth sinking in—he’d been fooling himself all along.

“Reggie!” Sirius beamed, pulling him into a tight hug as soon as he caught sight of him. “Marls didn’t tell me you’d be here. What a pleasant surprise!”

Regulus shot Dorcas a quick side-eye, his expression laced with mock irritation, which only made her chuckle. “You’re so dramatic,” she mouthed, grinning. Regulus responded with a dark scowl.

“It was a last-minute thing,” Regulus muttered as he gently pushed himself away from his brother, putting a bit of space between them. The physical distance felt like a small relief, a subtle boundary he was all too eager to enforce.

Then Sirius had the audacity to ask, “Crouch isn’t here, right? Wouldn’t want him punching James again—honestly, the guy’s so unhinged.”

“Can you not?” Regulus cut in sharply, clearly annoyed. “He’s my best friend. Keep his name out of your mouth.”

But Sirius, oblivious as ever, just kept going, as if he were making casual conversation. “I know, but he’s a bit… impulsive, isn’t he? Kind of dangerous—”

“Shut the hell up,” Regulus snapped, his voice a low warning.

“Oh, Reg, I don’t mean anything by it,” Sirius said, taken aback. “But you’re my little brother, and honestly, you shouldn’t be hanging around people like him—”

“Sirius,” James interjected, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough.”

“What?” Sirius looked genuinely bewildered. “I’m just stating facts.”

“I said that’s enough,” James repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Regulus clenched his jaw, feeling a simmering irritation at the way Sirius backed down so quickly, just because James told him to. Sirius was his brother, not James´ brother, and he didn’t need James Potter swooping in to play savior. He could fight his own battles.

“I’m sorry, Reggie,” Sirius said with a gentle smile. “I didn’t mean anything by it. What are you drinking?”

“Moscow Mule,” Regulus muttered, sighing heavily.

“Oh, let me have a taste,” James chimed in, snatching the cup from Regulus before he could protest. He raised it to his lips, taking a sip as if he owned the place. Regulus stared at him, murder in his gaze. That drink was his.

Who did Potter think he was, waltzing back into his life after five years, spouting promises about "setting things right," invading his space, and now stealing his drink? The sheer audacity made Regulus’s blood boil.

“It’s good,” James said, handing the cup back to Regulus.

“No, thanks,” Regulus snapped, pushing it away. “Keep it.”

“Wait—so, do you guys know each other?” Marlene asked, looking between them with curiosity.

Of course, Sirius had conveniently forgotten to mention he had a brother, and James hadn’t thought to mention he’d once had a…whatever it was with that brother. Not quite dating, more of a fleeting summer thing—pathetic, really.

“This,” Sirius said, gesturing between himself and Regulus, “is my little brother. And James just…knows him as an extension of me.”

Oh, right. Sirius didn’t know about that either. Probably for the best.

Marlene let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “No way,” she said, a grin spreading across her face. “The world really is tiny!”

“Wish it wasn’t,” Regulus muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

“What was that?” James asked, his attention snapping to him.

“Nothing,” Regulus shot back quickly, his tone sharp as he avoided James’s gaze.

“Let’s go dance,” Marlene suggested, already tugging Dorcas by the hand toward the crowded dance floor.

“Reg, you coming?” Sirius asked, eyeing him expectantly.

“Oh—” Regulus stammered, his voice faltering for a moment. “I—” He cleared his throat and continued, “I’ll probably just wait for you guys at the table.”

“Why?” Sirius protested, frowning. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Not much of a dancer,” Regulus said flatly, his gaze drifting toward the tables.

James gave him a look, almost as if he were silently willing him to change his mind, but after a few seconds, both he and Sirius realized it wasn’t going to happen. With a resigned shrug, they turned and followed Marlene, leaving Regulus to walk toward a random table.

As Regulus walked away, he felt the weight of James’s gaze on his back. He glanced over his shoulder and caught James looking at him, a flicker of sadness in his eyes before he turned away. Regulus couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. But then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what.

Regulus pulled out a chair and sat down, his hands empty—no drink to hold, because Potter had stolen that, along with everything else. His heart. The bitter realization gnawed at him, and he felt the weight of misery settle in his chest. Honestly, he could just leave, head back to his house, where things made more sense, where he wouldn’t have to be reminded of everything he hated.

But he couldn’t. Even with the resentment burning in his veins, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. This—this—was the closest he could get to Potter, and after all this time, that pull was impossible to ignore. So he stayed.

Why? He didn’t know. But he waited. For what? Maybe for something to change. Or maybe for the pain to finally burn out.

As time ticked by, Regulus found himself endlessly scrolling through social media, his mind consumed by the images of Barty’s life—stories from the party at his house flashing across the screen. It was like a cruel reminder of everything he couldn't have, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, a blonde girl sat down in front of him, as if she belonged there. Regulus looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion when he heard the scrape of the chair. He straightened instantly, caught off guard. The girl was stunning—her presence completely unexpected, and her sudden appearance left him momentarily thrown.

"Um, hi?" Regulus asked, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness as he quickly shoved his phone into his pocket.

"Hi," the girl replied with a wide, radiant smile, as if she hadn’t just caught him off guard. "I’m Pandora," she added, extending her hand toward him.

Regulus blinked, momentarily thrown by the gesture, both confused and slightly amused. Despite his initial surprise, he reached out and shook her hand. "That’s weird," he blurted before he could stop himself. "You shake hands."

The words hung in the air, a bit too blunt, but Pandora only smiled wider, unfazed.

"I guess I do," Pandora said with a playful shrug. "What are you doing here all by yourself?"

"Oh, I'm not alone," Regulus explained, his tone casual. "I came with some friends, but they're off dancing. I'm not really one for it."

"Bummer," Pandora said with a sympathetic tilt of her head. "I, on the other hand, am actually a dancer."

"Like, an actual dancer?" Regulus asked, eyebrow raised.

"Ballet dancer," Pandora clarified, a hint of pride in her voice.

"That's impressive," Regulus remarked, genuinely intrigued. There was a level of dedication that came with sports or art—especially something as demanding as ballet. He admired those who could endure that kind of beautiful torment. "How long have you been dancing?"

Pandora scrunched her nose as if searching for the answer. "Now that you mention it, I think... well, all my life, really. But, it’s just that—I'm French, you see."

"Are you?" Regulus asked, a glint of interest flashing across his face. "I am, too."

"Vraiment?" she replied, as if testing him, though he certainly had the look—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, striking eyes, and that natural poise only the French seemed to have.

"Oui," Regulus confirmed, a slight smile forming. "C’est vrai."

Pandora’s face lit up, delighted to find a fellow French speaker in the middle of London. "Then you must know how it is—French parents love throwing their children into disciplines, training them to be prodigies from a young age."

Regulus pressed his lips together in a wry smile. "Oh, I know all about it."

"Alors," Pandora continued, her curiosity piqued, "what is your hidden talent?"

"Piano," Regulus answered simply.

"Admirable," Pandora noted, her eyes gleaming with interest. "As for me, my parents threw me into ballet. Luckily, I ended up loving it, so I stayed."

"I'm glad to hear that," Regulus continued. "Not everyone ends up loving what their parents push them into."

Pandora tilted her head with a look of curiosity. "So… you don’t like playing the piano?"

"Oh, no, quite the opposite." Regulus shook his head quickly, almost smiling. "It’s one of the few things that actually brings me comfort. Some people find classical music dull or even annoying, but there's a certain beauty to it—a kind of harmony in the quiet moments between notes. It’s like… the silence within the sound."

Pandora nodded slowly, understanding his sentiment. “I get that. Ballet’s the same way. There’s silence in the movement, in the pauses—the breath between steps.” She smiled warmly, deciding then and there that she rather liked this boy with his guarded gaze and hesitant words. He was sharp in appearance, all strong lines and intense eyes, but there was a shyness to the way he spoke, almost as if he were flustered by her presence. It was endearing, and that vulnerability softened his stoic exterior.

Their conversation drifted effortlessly from music to art to childhood stories, like a dance of its own. She found herself laughing more than she’d expected, leaning into his quiet humor. Regulus was still reserved, but his expressions softened, each story he shared a small revelation.

A server arrived with their drinks, and as they each took tentative sips, their cheeks began to flush with a gentle warmth. Regulus’s eyes, usually so guarded, took on a slightly dreamy glaze, and Pandora’s laughter became more frequent, her voice carrying a lilting, musical quality. There was a charm in the simplicity of their exchange—a moment untouched by expectation or pretense.

"How often do you come to these kinds of places?" Pandora asked, taking a casual sip as her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Honestly?" Regulus chuckled softly, tapping his fingers against the table. "Not often. Crowds aren’t really my thing. But tonight, well... I suppose I wanted to do something different."

She tilted her head, as if studying him. "I get that. Sometimes, I think it’s nice to step out of your own shadow."

Regulus nodded, glancing at her with a new understanding. "Exactly."

Regulus found himself genuinely enjoying Pandora's company, her lively spirit a refreshing distraction. For the first time all night, he’d almost managed to push aside thoughts of James and Sirius, somewhere lost in the crowd. Almost. But every now and then, a flicker of that awareness would return, a reminder that they were still out there, tangled in his thoughts.

Pandora was, in that moment, the perfect remedy. She filled the spaces around him with her warmth and curiosity, her laughter a comforting hum above the muffled beat of the music. He felt grounded, content to let his focus linger solely on her, as if she’d pulled him into her own little world. She was just the distraction he needed to survive the night, the balm to soothe the unease that had crept in the moment he arrived. For now, he could simply exist in this small, quiet pocket of time with her, free from the weight of everything else.

The drinks weren’t bad either—smooth enough to go down easy, strong enough to leave a pleasant warmth blooming in his chest. He knew he was tipsy by now, feeling lighter with each laugh and each passing glance from Pandora. It didn’t matter when he’d crossed the line from sober to tipsy; all that mattered was that he was here, and she was, too.

Pandora seemed just as happily affected, her cheeks flushed, her laughter spilling out more freely. The way her eyes sparkled in the dim light made everything feel a bit surreal, and Regulus couldn’t help but relax into it. Why not, after all? He was at a club, and for once, he was allowing himself a break from his usual control. It was fun. Regulus was having fun. 

James, on the other hand, had been dancing so long he’d lost track of time, moving to the beat and sipping his way through more drinks than he could count. He hadn’t expected to see Regulus tonight—hadn’t even known that Marlene’s girlfriend and Regulus were friends. It had thrown him, seeing him there, leaning coolly against the wall before he disappeared to the tables. It was a surprise that James wished would lead to more, like joining them on the dance floor. But, of course, Regulus had politely declined, and James respected that... mostly.

What he didn’t like, however, was the sight of Regulus now, cozied up with some random blonde at the table, drinks in hand, exchanging smiles as if they’d known each other for years. She was giving Regulus looks that made James’ stomach twist, all heart eyes and bright smiles, and Regulus seemed to be soaking up every bit of it, even offering a smile that James had thought was reserved just for him.

That smile—it was rare, it was precious, and it was something that he had longed to see more of over the years. The thought of it being shared with someone else—someone who seemed to make Regulus as comfortable and carefree as he looked tonight—gnawed at James. He wanted to march over, claim his spot next to him, break into their little moment and bring Regulus back to him, back to where he belonged. 

Regulus was laughing. How could he sit there and laugh and look so beautiful? 

Before he even realized it, James was striding over to the table, leaving Sirius and the girls behind. Marlene was busy with Dorcas, and Sirius was engrossed in chatting up a stranger, so he doubted anyone would notice his absence. All he knew was that he couldn't just stand there, watching Regulus smile like that at someone else. He had to break this up, pull Regulus back into his world, away from the captivating blonde who seemed far too comfortable at his side.

James approached the table, setting his cup down with a deliberate thud, the sound cutting through their private bubble. The girl looked up, startled for a second, but he kept his gaze locked on Regulus, ignoring her altogether.

"Who’s this?" he asked, his tone sharp, barely masking the possessive undertone.

Regulus tensed, his posture stiffening as his gaze remained carefully averted. But the girl, unfazed, held out her hand with a charming smile. "I’m Pandora," she introduced herself smoothly. "Are you a friend of Regulus?"

“C’est n'est pas mon ami,” Regulus declared, his voice cool, the words slipping from him in an almost defiant tone as he finally looked up, meeting James’s eyes with a hardness that dared him to push further.

James frowned, caught off guard by the sudden exchange in French. He could pick out a few words here and there, but whatever Regulus had just said was lost on him. All he could tell was that it hadn’t been kind, judging by the concern that crossed Pandora’s face as she looked between the two of them.

"Il n'est les pas?" Pandora asked, her tone quiet, searching Regulus’s face with a hint of sympathy.

The two of them were locked in what felt like a private conversation, and James clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He didn’t know what they were saying, but he could feel that this was personal—too personal for him to just stand there, helplessly.

"Un idiot," Regulus continued, glancing briefly at James with something almost like contempt. "Qui m'a brisé le cœur quand j'avais seize ans. M'a utilisé pendant un été puis est retourné chez son ex."

The words were sharp, each one loaded with bitterness. Regulus spoke them quietly, almost under his breath, but the weight of them still hung between them all. James couldn’t understand the language, but the meaning was clear in Regulus's expression—a mixture of hurt and anger that stirred something deep and painful in him.

He felt his stomach twist, wishing desperately to respond, to say something that could soften whatever wound Regulus was nursing, but the words wouldn’t come.

Pandora had the audacity to chuckle, her gaze sliding over James with a bemused smirk. She took her time, studying him with a raised brow before turning back to Regulus. “Vraiment? Lui? C’est le mieux que tu puisses faire?”

Regulus let out a laugh, one of genuine amusement. Here was Pandora, a near-stranger, already dismissing James Potter with a shrug, as though she could see through him in a single glance and find him lacking. It was oddly refreshing.

“Ne me blâme pas,” Regulus replied, a faint, teasing smile on his lips. “Il a de beaux yeux.”

Pandora laughed in response, shaking her head as if that was the weakest excuse she’d ever heard. Meanwhile, James could only stand there, watching the two of them with mounting frustration, feeling as though they were speaking in code specifically to shut him out. The laughter between them felt light, unburdened—a contrast to the heaviness James felt settling in his chest. He wanted to break the moment, to say something clever or meaningful, but he was caught, frozen in a mix of jealousy and confusion as Regulus casually dismissed him in words he couldn’t quite understand.

"Je suppose que oui, mais—" Pandora began, only to be interrupted as James abruptly leaned forward, cutting off her sentence.

"Can we talk?" James's tone was firm, his gaze locked on Regulus, making it clear he wasn’t asking.

Pandora raised her brows, momentarily surprised, before throwing a curious glance at Regulus as if to say your move. Regulus hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass as he weighed his options. A flicker of defiance passed through his eyes, but he knew James well enough to see he wouldn’t let this go easily.

With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and stood up, gesturing for James to follow him away from the table. Pandora watched them go with a knowing smirk, offering Regulus an encouraging nod before he walked off with James into the dimly lit corner of the club.

Once they’d pushed past the crowd and climbed to the quieter, dimly lit second floor, slipping into one of the empty bathroom stalls, Regulus finally turned to face him, arms crossed and expression unreadable.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice low and guarded.

James’s eyes narrowed. “Who was that girl?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, a hint of annoyance in his gaze. “Why do you care?”

“Are you into her?” James’s tone was sharper than he intended, a flicker of something vulnerable breaking through his irritation.

Regulus gave a short, bitter laugh, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He took a long drag, letting the smoke curl around him before blowing it directly into James's face, as if daring him to say more. “That’s not any of your business, is it?”

James tried to respond, but the smoke caught him off guard, making him cough. Regulus smirked, eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of rebellion.

“Still don’t know how to handle yourself around me, do you?” Regulus murmured, watching him intently.

“You and that smoking habit…” James sighed, waving a hand through the lingering smoke. “You really should’ve quit that by now.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a smirk laced with irritation. “Oh, and I bet you say the same thing to my idiot brother whenever he lights up?” His tone was cutting, a jab at what he perceived as James’s double standard.

“This isn’t about your brother,” James replied, holding Regulus’s gaze. His voice softened just a touch, though the frustration still flickered beneath his words.

Regulus scoffed, taking another slow drag. “Then what is it about?” he muttered. But even as he said it, he couldn’t hide the glint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Us,” James admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the weight of his own words surprised him.

“Us?” Regulus repeated, his voice thick with incredulity. He let out a short laugh, though it lacked any real amusement. “There’s no us. You made that very clear back when you dumped me after that one summer.”

James opened his mouth, about to offer an apology, but Regulus cut him off sharply.

He waved a hand dismissively, the motion almost theatrical in its frustration. “Oh no,” Regulus pressed on, his eyes darkening with bitterness. “You didn’t even dump me, Potter. You didn’t have the decency to end things properly. You just ghosted me. No explanation, no goodbye. Just… nothing.”

Regulus felt a sharp pulse in his head, the beginnings of a headache creeping in. It was only now, with the music muffled and the flashing lights reduced to distant, blurred flashes, that he realized just how much he'd been drinking. The stark, sterile quiet of the club’s bathroom made everything feel ten times worse. He took a step back, intending to settle himself on the sink, but his legs wobbled beneath him, the room tilting slightly.

Before he could steady himself, James was there, a firm grip on his wrist, pulling him toward him.

“Careful,” James said, his voice steady but laced with concern. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

Regulus yanked his arm away, the motion sharp and defensive. He stood a little straighter, though the dizziness still swirled in his mind. “I don’t need to hurt myself when you’re already here for that,” he shot back, his voice thick with the weight of past frustration.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Reg,” James said, his voice quiet, almost wounded. The words hung in the air between them, raw with something Regulus couldn’t quite place. “I already told you, I’ve changed.”

Regulus could hear the sincerity in his voice, but it did nothing to soothe the frustration building inside him. The past had already carved too deep a mark in him, and those words, however genuine, seemed too little, too late.

He shook his head, unable to keep the bitterness from leaking into his tone. “You think you can just say that, and everything magically gets better?” Regulus took a step back, trying to put distance between them, his head spinning, but his anger sharper than his dizziness. "You don’t get to just waltz back into my life and pretend like none of it ever happened."

“I’m not—” James began, his words tumbling out quickly as he took a step forward. Regulus instinctively took a step back, but James followed, his movements sluggish, uncoordinated, as if the alcohol had blurred the lines between his body and his intentions.

“I’m not trying to do that,” James continued, his voice growing more earnest, though tinged with frustration. “I know I can’t just pretend I did nothing. I’ve hurt you, Reg, and I’m sorry for ghosting. Alright? I really am. But I’m here now,” he said, the weight of his words hanging between them. He took a breath, his eyes locking onto Regulus. “Give me a chance.”

Regulus looked at him, the mixture of confusion, anger, and something that resembled longing churning inside him. James wasn’t perfect—hell, he wasn’t even close—but in that moment, Regulus could see how much this was costing him. Still, the hurt of the past felt like a wall between them, one that was too high for any apology to scale.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Regulus asked, his voice small, tinged with exhaustion. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the overwhelming weight of the situation that made it harder to think straight. "What do you want me to say?"

"You don’t have to say anything," James murmured, his hands gently cupping Regulus’ cheeks, his touch both tender and hesitant. Regulus felt a rush of air leave his lungs, the proximity of James almost too much to process in the haze of alcohol and emotions. He could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest, unsure whether it was from the closeness or the years of pent-up feelings suddenly flooding his senses.

“I just—” James’ voice dropped, his gaze flicking down to Regulus' lips for a fraction of a second, almost as if he was unsure if he should dare to look at them, let alone act on the impulse. Regulus felt the heat of that gaze, his pulse quickening.

"Can I?" James asked, his voice breaking slightly, the words caught in the space between them like an unspoken question. His breath was warm against Regulus’ skin, and there was an intensity in his eyes that was impossible to ignore.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Could he?

Regulus felt the weight of it settle in his chest like a leaden truth he wasn’t sure he could face. After the years of silence, the hurt, the abandonment? But in that moment, with James looking at him like that—like he had spent a lifetime waiting for this, for Regulus—Regulus couldn’t bring himself to speak. Words felt too heavy, too final.

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve stepped back, told James to leave, told him it was too late. But no part of him moved. He stayed frozen, caught in the space between past and present, his gaze drawn irresistibly to James’ lips. The moment was too delicate, too charged with everything unspoken, and Regulus couldn’t bring himself to break it. Not yet.

And then, James was crashing into his lips.

James Potter—James Potter—was kissing him again, after what felt like an eternity, five years of bitterness and silence. 

The worst part of this was that Regulus Black was letting him. 

******

“You broke my heart too.”

Those words had been haunting Barty since yesterday morning, replaying over and over in his mind. It was the cruelest thing Regulus had ever said to him—not because it was untrue, but because in breaking Regulus’s heart, he’d shattered his own as well. Regulus had no idea about the sleepless nights Barty had endured, tortured by the memory of Regulus’s smile.

That night, when Barty told Regulus he didn’t want him, had become the single regret of his life. Barty didn’t believe in regrets; he saw them as anchors, chaining people to guilt and shame. And Barty despised shame. Yet somehow, he couldn't escape this one. He’d lost Regulus because, deep down, he hadn’t been brave enough to love him. 

But then he did. He did love him. But it was too late. 

Barty hadn’t dared to call, text, or even show up at Regulus’s house. If Regulus needed him, he knew where to find him. It was no secret that every Saturday a house party would be thrown, and tonight, well past midnight, the crowd had swelled, yet still, there was no sign of Regulus. Barty's gaze kept drifting to the door, a mixture of hope and anxiety churning in his stomach. Would he come?

Probably not. 

He let out a deep sigh and tossed back the cup of whisky, letting the alcohol scorch away the remnants of hope lingering in his chest. A girl was straddling him, her tongue teasingly tracing his neck, but he hardly registered it. His hand rested on her ass, yet he wasn’t doing anything with it; it was as if he didn’t care at all.

What was going on with him tonight? 

Normally, he would take the bait and bite; that was just who he was. He thrived on playing games, dragging people along just to see how much they could handle. When others fawned over him, he reveled in it. So why was tonight any different? He wasn’t even hard.

The girl bit down on his neck, but instead of pleasure, all he felt was annoyance. “Okay, okay,” he said, pushing her away. “Get off.” With that, he stood up and walked away, leaving her stranded and bewildered in his wake.

As he moved through the crowd, he bumped into people—some familiar, some not. It hardly mattered to him; they were all just acquaintances of acquaintances, interconnected in a web of superficial relationships.

He checked his phone, foolishly hoping for any sign of Regulus—a text, a call—but there was nothing. Lost in thought, he glanced down and collided with someone, sending his drink splattering across his shirt.

“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” he snapped, lifting his gaze from the screen. But when he saw who it was, a flicker of remorse crossed his features, quickly masked by indifference.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “It’s you.”

“Really?” Evan replied, irritation creeping into his tone. “That’s the best you can do?”

“What are you doing here?” Barty shot out, his tone sharp.

“Your party won’t let me sleep,” Evan replied, meeting Barty's gaze head-on.

“Aw, does Sleeping Beauty need her beauty sleep?” Barty mocked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Evan narrowed his eyes, struggling to keep his fists from clenching. The urge to punch Barty was growing stronger, especially after the events of yesterday morning where Barty had slept over and awoken by Evan because of the nightmares. Despite having seen a softer side of him, Evan felt the tension simmering between them.

“Careful there,” Evan retorted, leaning into the challenge fueled by his irritation and overstimulation. “For a second, I thought you were calling me beautiful.”

“So what if I was?” Barty shrugged, the cockiness in his demeanor undeterred.

And of course, who the hell did Evan think he was speaking to? Barty felt no shame.

“Cat got your tongue?” he challenged, noting Evan’s sudden silence and the faint pink hue creeping into his cheeks. The sight only fueled Barty's amusement, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Evan didn’t understand why he even bothered. Why he thought this would be any different from last weekend was beyond him. He was slowly realizing there was no negotiating with Barty Crouch Jr.; it was either his way or nothing. Barty had no intention of turning the volume down, did he?

Shaking his head, Evan fought to regain his composure. “Look, I really need to sleep. For the love of God, could you please turn the volume down or just… shut it off?”

“I don’t believe in God,” Barty shot back, his tone casual but firm.

“Really?” Evan replied, momentarily taken aback. Out of everything he had said, Barty chose to latch onto that one small detail.

“I’m not lying,” Barty insisted, leaning against the wall, his expression unyielding. “I find the concept of God utterly boring.”

“You think faith is boring?” Evan asked, partly forgetting his original purpose in being there.

“No, not faith,” Barty clarified, narrowing his eyes. He took a swig of his drink and continued. “Faith is acceptable.”

“Oh yeah?” Evan prodded, intrigued despite himself. “What do you put your faith in if not God?”

“The devil,” Barty replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

“The devil—” Evan began, but Barty cut him off again.

“Do you believe in God?” he asked, his gaze steady.

By this point in the night, Barty’s senses were dulled, and his vision blurred. Yet he was aware of what he was discussing and, more importantly, with whom. With every sip, it became increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. He genuinely didn’t understand why he was making conversation instead of ditching Rosier and heading straight to his bed.

“No, but—”

“Then why are you surprised that I don’t either?” Barty cut him off again, entirely unfazed by his refusal to let Evan get a full sentence in.

Evan shook his head, trying to keep his patience. “I didn’t think you believed in God.”

“And why’s that?” Barty pressed, a glimmer of challenge in his eyes.

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“What type do I seem like?” Barty asked, his curiosity piqued.

Before Evan could answer, Barty grabbed a cup from a nearby table and nudged it into Evan's chest, his push just forceful enough to demand attention. “Here, have a drink,” he said, his tone almost playful.

“I—” Evan began, but he didn’t really want one.

“Oh, come on, Rosier,” Barty coaxed, flashing that taunting smile. “Live a little. You’re already here, and these people aren’t going anywhere. Have a drink with me.”

Evan muttered a curse under his breath. Barty was right, wasn’t he? The odds of him shutting down the party were slim, which meant he probably wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Why waste it tossing and turning in frustration when he could at least get something out of it here? Free drinks and the chance to forget, even if just for a bit. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d be starting that comic anyway; inspiration still eluded him.

Evan glanced around the crowded room, the thumping music and flickering lights pressing on him from all sides. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he gave in with a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he muttered, taking the cup from Barty’s grasp. As he did, their fingers brushed—a fleeting, electric moment swallowed up by the chaos around them, but unmistakable all the same.

Evan threw the drink back in one swift motion, the burn hitting him immediately.

“See?” Barty taunted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Fucker,” Evan muttered, his tone laced with annoyance but edged with something almost playful.

“So,” Barty said, steering the conversation back with a curious tilt of his head, “what type am I, then?”

“I’m still figuring that out,” Evan replied, his tone light, maybe a little too casual.

Barty’s lips curled into a smirk. “Are you studying me, Rosier?”

“What? No—” Evan stammered, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. “I wasn’t—I just—” But his words trailed off, caught somewhere between embarrassment and frustration.

Barty broke into a laugh, clearly amused. “You’re so easy to fluster, Rosier,” he said with a grin. “Relax, will you?”

“Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Evan scoffed, shaking his head in a mix of indignation and reluctant amusement.

Barty shrugged with a smirk. “Well, after the shit weekend I´ve had,” he explained. “I deserve some amusement. And the girls here have bore me out and the guys too.” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “So, looks like you’ll have to do.”

“Hm,” Evan murmured, brushing off the backhanded compliment. “Why me?” 

Barty’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Rosier,” he said, letting the words linger in the charged space between them. “I’m still figuring that out.”

Evan nearly chuckled—if only his pride would allow it. Was Barty really throwing his own words back at him? Fine, he thought, two could play this game.

“Are you studying me, Crouch?” Evan countered, his tone edged with playful defiance.

“You’d like that, huh?” Barty’s tone was laced with something dangerously close to seduction, his eyes gleaming with a daring edge.

Evan swallowed, his jaw clenching instinctively. Barty’s blunt flirtation threw him off balance, a boldness he wasn’t accustomed to. That was just how Barty operated—plunging headfirst into any situation without a care for the consequences, pushing boundaries as if they didn’t exist.

But Evan wasn’t like that—not fully, at least. So he pushed back, leveling Barty with a questioning look.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice just steady enough to mask his curiosity.

Barty's expression shifted, a flicker of disdain breaking through his usual cool detachment. His eyes narrowed.

“Reg isn’t my boyfriend,” he replied, the words clipped and dismissive, as if the question was beneath him. But at the same time, there was something deeper, a hurt dancing behind his eyes. 

In that moment, Evan realized he’d messed up. The shift in Barty’s eyes was unmistakable—a flash of something guarded, almost wounded, before his expression iced over completely.

“I’m sorry—” Evan started, his voice barely above a murmur, almost as if he regretted even speaking. “I just assumed, you know, because—”

“Yeah, well, you assumed wrong,” Barty cut him off, voice sharp and unyielding. His eyes were already looking past Evan, his body turned away. “Get lost, will you?” he added, dismissively, the sting of rejection unmistakable as he walked off without a second glance.

And why the fuck did Rosier have to ask Regulus? About the same Regulus who still hadn't called or texted or said anything? 

Barty muttered a low curse, grabbing a drink from a passing stranger and downing it in one go. He was done waiting. Pulling out his phone, he pressed Regulus's number and held it to his ear, barely thinking through his words. “Regulus, this is absurd,” he started, his frustration slipping into his tone. “Can we stop fighting—”

“I’m outside,” Regulus’s voice cut through, calm but tense. “Well... downstairs.”

“You’re what?” Barty blinked, his brows knitting in confusion.

“I’ve been here for an hour,” Regulus admitted quietly, a raw vulnerability seeping into his voice. “I was trying to think of what to say... wasn’t sure if you’d even want to see me, but I-”

Barty picked up on the hesitation, his stomach sinking. “What’s wrong, Reg?”

A choked sound escaped on the other end, barely a whisper. “I fucked up, Bee-” Regulus’s voice cracked, full of regret.

Then the words came tumbling out.

“I just—” Regulus’s voice trembled, the floodgates finally giving way. “He cornered me, and I wasn’t thinking straight. Everything happened so fast, I couldn’t stop it. It’s all my fault anyway, but... why did he have to be there, y’know? Why is he—”

“Hey, hey,” Barty cut in, his voice firm yet soft. “Take a breath, darling. I’m coming down, alright? Just hold tight.”

Without another thought, he was already heading for the door, gripping his phone like a lifeline.

The wind struck him like a sudden gust, not icy but sharp enough to chill. Regulus stood there, cheeks and nose tinged pink, hands trembling slightly, his eyes glossy beneath the dim light. He looked like a rabbit caught in winter’s grip, perfectly matching his initials, "R.A.B." There was something strangely fitting about it—as if he belonged to the snow, a quiet figure carved into the cold, yet somehow more delicate than the world around him.

Not that Barty was imagining things, but tonight almost felt like it had snow—if he let his mind drift just enough, he could almost picture it settling quietly around them. As he stepped out the front door, he saw Regulus standing there, and the tears began to spill over again. Regulus let out a sigh, more relief than sorrow, but edged with guilt.

“Bee, I—” he began, the words faltering before he could string them together.

He should have listened. Regulus knew he wasn’t the strong one. He’d always convinced himself of that—Sirius was the resilient one, the daring one. All his life, Regulus had followed rules, done what was expected, never what he truly wanted, and it had always cost him. Every step he took seemed fated to lead him into ruin.

Because now, even when he’d finally followed his heart instead of the rules, he’d still managed to break everything. He should never have kissed Potter.

Barty closed the distance between them, pulling Regulus into an embrace. Regulus buried his trembling face against Barty’s shoulder, his breath hitching as he let himself sink into the comfort of it. Barty held him tightly, one hand cradling the back of Regulus’ head as though the world might shatter if he let go.

“Bee, I’m really sorry-” Regulus whispered, his voice shaky against Barty’s ear. “I know you told me not to see him, but I swear it wasn’t planned. It was just a coincidence.”

Regulus kept talking, words tumbling out in a rush—sad, fractured, desperate, as if spilling them was the only way to keep himself from drowning. Barty just held him, letting him unravel, his own hand steady against the back of Regulus’ head, silently absorbing every fractured apology.

“It was supposed to be just me, Dorcas, and Marlene,” Regulus went on, voice barely steady. “But then my brother showed up, because apparently, he and Marlene have some history. And you know… wherever my brother goes—”

“Potter goes,” Barty cut in, his voice taut as the hairs on his arms rose, finishing the thought for Regulus.

Barty clenched his jaw, a surge of jealousy tightening in his chest, clawing its way up with an almost primal urge. If Regulus was this rattled, something significant had happened. And if Potter had done something to him...

“You’re apologizing… because you ran into him?” Barty asked, pulling back just enough to see Regulus’ face clearly.

Regulus shook his head, his gaze dropping, and he sniffed slightly, his voice barely a whisper. “No. I’m apologizing because he—”

Barty’s eyes narrowed, his breath still, waiting, though a part of him dreaded what he already sensed.

“He kissed me,” Regulus admitted, the words dragging out like weights. “And I let him. I kissed him back.”

For a moment, Barty fought everything in him not to explode. Potter kissed him—his Regulus?

He sucked in a slow breath, willing himself to stay calm, especially with Regulus looking so utterly heartbroken. The truth was, he had no right to be mad. Regulus wasn’t his; Barty had given him up at nineteen, made the choice to walk away. They’d agreed to this—seeing other people, meaningless kisses, casual entanglements.

But deep down, Barty knew this wasn’t meaningless, not to Regulus. And that was what stung most. This kiss had struck a nerve; it meant something.

“Bee, please, say something,” Regulus whispered, his voice trembling as the silence stretched unbearably between them.

Barty bit his lip, searching for words. “Uh… yeah,” he finally managed. “Are you… okay? Was it—” he hesitated, his jaw tight. “Did he…?”

“He didn’t force me,” Regulus admitted, his gaze dropping. “I just… got caught up in the moment, I guess.”

“Okay, okay,” Barty said, nodding as if grounding himself. “Let’s get you inside, alright? You’re freezing.” He gestured toward the door, his arm already around Regulus protectively, guiding him back into the warmth.

They sat down on the first-floor corridor, tuning out the thumping music from the party several floors above. Barty couldn’t have cared less about the chaos around them; Regulus needed him, and that trumped everything else. Even if jealousy pulsed through him, he reminded himself that he was Regulus’ best friend first—whatever else they were came second.

So, he forced himself to stay quiet, to be patient, to listen. He let Regulus spill everything: how that one kiss had shattered his careful facade, dredging up feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. How, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t truly move on from James Potter. Five years of resentment had crumbled in one night. It left him feeling exposed, foolish.

And Barty listened. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t say, I told you so, even though he’d warned him once about getting tangled up with Potter. He didn’t let a single insult slip, not even against Potter. Instead, he just listened, steady and silent, though every word felt like a test of his restraint. Perhaps, in a way, it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

Barty stayed by Regulus’ side, holding him close until the storm of emotions subsided. He felt Regulus gradually unwind, his breaths evening out as he grew quiet. By the time calm finally settled over them, it was nearly four-thirty in the morning, and Regulus was visibly exhausted. The oversharing had dwindled into silence, and as his eyelids grew heavy, he seemed barely able to keep himself awake.

When he could no longer fight sleep, Regulus stood up, leaned down to kiss Barty softly on the mouth—a silent, grateful gesture—before heading home. It was a quiet, lingering goodbye, and he left without another word.

Only when Regulus was gone did Barty allow the wave of anger and resentment to crash over him. Alone in the empty corridor, he felt it all hit him, relentless as a tidal wave. The frustration he’d held back for Regulus’ sake surged through him, raw and overpowering.

It only worsened when Barty returned to his apartment and realized the party was still in full swing. He had completely forgotten about it in the whirlwind of emotions. With a swift, deliberate motion, he disconnected the speaker, silencing the thumping music.

“Everyone out!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the haze of chatter and laughter. The room fell silent, startled faces turning to him, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. “Right the fuck now, everyone out!” The fear in their expressions only fueled his anger, and he watched as people scrambled to comply, eager to escape the storm brewing in his eyes

After about five minutes, the apartment was empty. It should have provided him with a sense of relief, having the space all to himself. Instead, it only intensified his turmoil; without distractions, he was left alone with his thoughts. If he didn’t find a way to release the pent-up frustration, he feared he might do something reckless.

Driven by an inexplicable impulse, he found himself standing outside Rosier’s apartment, his hand raised to knock—hard and loud.

“What?!” Evan snapped as he swung the door open, his expression a mixture of disdain and surprise. “What the hell do you want?!”

Barty ignored him entirely, brushing past Evan as if he were nothing more than a ghost. He stepped into the apartment, his mind racing with a mix of anger and determination. Evan followed closely behind, disbelief etched on his face. “Oh no,” he said, raising his voice. “Get the fuck out.”

“Here’s the thing, Rosier,” Barty blurted, pivoting to face him. His head pounded and his heart raced; he was so furious he felt he could snap. “I know you don’t owe me a damn thing, especially after tonight, but everything is fucking shit! So if you don’t mind—”

His desperation hung in the air, making Evan pause, reconsidering whether to kick him out. “That doesn’t give you the right to barge in here,” he retorted, arms crossed. “Why are you even here? You don't even like me-”

"That's not true," Barty interrupted.

"It isn't?" Evan asked, taken aback by the admission.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't like you, would I?"

"I guess," Evan replied, but his skepticism lingered. "But all you've shown me is hostility."

"Yeah, well," Barty said with a dismissive shrug. "I’m not exactly known for being a nice person."

“Clearly,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. 

Barty let out a bitter scoff. “Can I tell you something?” he blurted out.

“Do I have a choice?” Evan replied, sinking into the couch, already bracing himself for another sleepless night.

“No,” Barty affirmed, the finality of his tone leaving no room for argument.

And so it began. Barty unleashed all his pent-up frustration onto Evan, starting with memories from way back—the summer when he and Regulus were sixteen and James Potter first entered the picture. He wasn't entirely sure why he was sharing this deeply personal history with someone he barely knew, but Evan was there, and he felt compelled to talk. Besides, Evan didn’t know anyone else who could be the keeper of this particular saga. Who would he tell? Barty figured he wouldn’t hold it against him.

After what felt like forty minutes, Barty continued to ramble on like a madman, leaving Evan in stunned silence. It was close to dawn, and Evan was starting to wonder if he could endure this for much longer. At one point in the story, he had snagged a white Monster from the fridge; there was no way he could survive an all-nighter without some caffeine to keep him going.

“And his fucking ex is back,” Barty continued, barely able to contain himself as he paced around the room, his voice a frenzied mix of anger and disbelief. “The same guy who completely shattered him, who left him in pieces for me to pick up. Not that I minded; I’d do it again in a heartbeat, you know?” He was rambling now, like a madman, his words spilling out as Evan watched in astonishment. “But after everything, you’d think he’d be done, right? That this asshole would know he doesn’t get to keep Regulus. Regulus is mine. But no. Five fucking years later, he just waltzes back in like nothing happened, with this twisted idea of getting him back. Can you believe that?”

Barty’s fingers massaged his temples as frustration simmered under his skin. “This guy thinks he can just snap his fingers and have Regulus fall back into his arms, as if the past doesn’t matter. So, yeah, they ran into each other at some bar, purely by coincidence, and then things happened, and suddenly he's kissing Regulus, and Regulus... he was letting him.”

His voice cracked. “Who the hell does he think he is? And yeah, maybe I was a dick to you tonight, but cut me some slack, alright? My life is a goddamn mess right now—”

“Uh, yeah, I can see that-” Evan managed, his jaw still hanging, eyes wide. Standing up, he let out a long yawn, stretching his body which had tensed up. He paused, grappling for something—anything—to say that might actually help. “So, what do you want to do about it?”

Barty turned, fixing him with a look that was part incredulous, part electric. “What do I want to do about it?” He stared at Evan, something reckless brewing in his gaze. 

He paused, studying Evan as an idea settled into his mind, and he let out a breath, almost like he’d made a decision. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he blurted.

“You’re what?” Evan’s voice barely registered above a whisper, still processing.

“Yeah,” Barty replied, his voice edged with frustration and defiance. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

And before Evan could respond, Barty closed the distance, pulling him down and pressing their lips together in one heated, impulsive movement. The tension, the anger, the hurt—all of it poured into the kiss, raw and unrestrained.

The thing about what he was doing was that it was rooted in a toxic mix of self-destruction and a twisted thrill from inflicting pain on others.  There was no rational explanation or justification for his actions; they were born purely out of spite. Deep down, he knew Evan was innocent, caught in the crossfire of his turmoil, and didn’t deserve to be used as a rebound, a mere object to fulfill his needs. Or well, maybe he did. Maybe Evan Rosier did deserve it. After all, Barty didn't know even the slightest thing about him. 

Truth be told, Evan could have easily pushed him away, punched him square in the jaw, and cursed him for his reckless behavior. But instead of pushing Barty away, Evan ended up pushing him up against the wall, instead. So, who's fault was it really? 

And it should have stopped there. It should have stopped with Evan Rosier. But it didn´t. All week Barty brought back strangers into his apartment, fucking them raw as if that could ease the storm within him. 

Sure, Barty and Regulus were back to being okay. But that didn't make it - the situation as a whole, okay. Deep inside he knew that this was only the beginning of the end.