Questions
A week and a half had gone by. Not once had Evan knocked on Barty’s door—not even to complain about the unbearable noise of the weekend parties. Instead, it was Barty who came knocking.
Evan answered with a spoon in his mouth, the metallic clink against his teeth the only sound before his ice-blue eyes flicked to Barty. His gaze darkened instantly, narrowing in that particular way that could turn disdain into an art form.
“What do you want?” he muttered, his voice muffled by the melting ice cream.
“Are you mad at me?” Barty asked, stepping inside before the words even settled. He didn’t wait for permission, brushing past Evan with a restless energy, his movements sharp, almost curt, as though being here was as much a burden for him as it was an intrusion for Evan.
Evan sighed, pulling the spoon from his lips with a dull scrape. He turned, his plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips and a plain hoodie hanging loose over his thin frame. His posture was slouched, the picture of indifference, though the slight arch of his brow betrayed his irritation.
“You can’t keep barging into my apartment whenever you feel like it,” he pointed out, leaning against the doorframe. His tone was flat, but his stare was unrelenting, a quiet challenge.
Barty stopped in the center of the room, his shoulders tense, his jaw working like he was biting back words he wasn’t sure he wanted to say. His hands, usually so quick to gesture, hung awkwardly at his sides. “You haven’t been coming to my parties,” he said finally, the words heavier than they should have been.
Evan shrugged, an almost dismissive motion, though he avoided looking at Barty. Instead, he busied himself with wiping the spoon against his sleeve, his movements deliberate, almost slow. “Didn’t think you’d notice,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, like he wasn’t sure how much truth he wanted to reveal. “I only go to talk you into shutting the party down.”
Barty’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers curling slightly against the nape as he glanced away. “Yeah, well... of course I notice,” he muttered, his usual confidence replaced by something closer to frustration. He glanced at Evan, then quickly looked away again, his gaze landing somewhere near the corner of the room. “You’re the only one who ever does that. It’s noticeable.”
Evan tilted his head slightly, studying Barty for a moment before scoffing softly. He crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as though trying to anchor himself. “You sound upset,” he said, a faint edge of sarcasm coloring his words.
Barty tensed, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose. “I’m not upset,” he snapped, too quickly. The flicker of irritation in his voice seemed to startle even him, and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. His fingers lingered there for a moment, gripping the roots like he could steady himself that way.
Evan blinked, his expression faltering for a split second before he shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Right,” he said, dragging the word out as he looked anywhere but at Barty.
“So, what’s this about?” Evan pressed, his voice sharp, eyes narrowing as he leaned slightly against the counter, arms crossed.
Barty shifted uncomfortably, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. “Well, I get bored—” he began, but the explanation sounded thin, even to him. He shrugged, his gaze darting to the floor. “And you’re my neighbor, so…”
Evan’s eyebrows shot up, his lips curling into a dry, humorless smile. “So, I’m supposed to entertain you whenever you’re bored?” he shot back, his tone rising with an edge of anger. “What am I, some kind of personal toy?”
Barty’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in alarm. “What? No—” he blurted, hands coming up as though to shield himself from the accusation. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he added quickly, his voice lower, almost pleading.
Evan tilted his head, his stare unrelenting as if daring Barty to dig himself out of the hole he’d just created. “Sure sounds like it,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as he pushed off the counter.
“I just—” Barty cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his fingers lingering as he struggled to find the right words. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, okay? I just… You’re the only person who’s—”
“Who’s what?” Evan interrupted, his tone biting. “Convenient?”
Barty flinched at the word, his shoulders slumping slightly as he exhaled, the fight draining out of him. “No,” he said quietly, his voice almost cracking. “It’s not like that.”
Evan stared at him for a moment, his anger simmering but not quite boiling over. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he finally broke eye contact, shaking his head. “Jesus, Crouch, you’re impossible to decode,” Evan snapped, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. His glare was sharp enough to cut. “You can’t just treat me like shit and then expect me to be your friend whenever you’re bored.”
Barty blinked, taken aback. “You think we’re friends?” he asked, incredulous, the disbelief dripping from his tone.
Evan’s mouth fell open slightly, his eyebrows shooting up in pure offense. “Oh, you’re a real charm, aren’t you?” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he stepped back, the movement stiff and bristling with annoyance.
“Wait—no, that’s not what I meant,” Barty blurted, his hands shooting up in a placating gesture. His voice wavered slightly, unsteady with urgency. “I’m sorry. I just—I’m not... I’m not one to have friends.”
Evan stopped mid-retort, his lips pressed into a tight line as he regarded Barty with a mixture of anger and hesitation. “Yeah, well,” he muttered after a moment, his voice quieter but still edged with bitterness. “You’re not exactly selling yourself as friend material.”
Barty flinched at the words, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders hunching slightly as though bracing himself for more. “I know,” he said, his voice barely audible.
Evan sighed, his chest tightening at the sight before him. He wasn’t used to this version of Barty—sad, stripped down to something raw and vulnerable, a shadow of the brash confidence he usually carried. It was unsettling, and Evan couldn’t decide if this was who Barty truly was or if someone had broken him into this fragile state. Either way, it was a side of him Evan didn’t like to see.
Some people wore their personalities plainly, easy to read and predictable. But not Barty. He was a puzzle with two distinct sides: one that was loud, selfish, the life of every party, brimming with spontaneity and charm, and another that was quiet, withdrawn, full of shame and wounds he refused to show.
It drove Evan mad, this duality. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a clear picture of Barty. The walls Barty kept around himself were too high, his secrets too tightly guarded. And the worst part? Barty didn’t seem to want to let him in. It was like trying to solve a riddle where the answer kept shifting—infuriating, exhausting, and, despite it all, impossible to walk away from.
“Do you want breakfast?” Evan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. Even he was caught off guard by the offer, his tone softer now, though the lingering edge of irritation still simmered beneath.
Barty blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?” he asked, his voice uncertain, as though the idea was too foreign to comprehend. He frowned slightly, searching Evan’s face for some hint of sarcasm or ulterior motive.
“Bread, eggs, bacon... butter, fruit,” Evan listed casually, a hint of amusement curling his lips. “I’m sure you’ve had breakfast before.”
Barty’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing slightly. “I know what breakfast is,” he said, his tone defensive. “I just—well, why are you offering?” His voice softened at the end, tinged with genuine confusion as his eyes darted to Evan’s face, trying to read his intentions.
“Look, honestly, you’re one of the rudest people I’ve ever met, and your life is a complete disaster,” Evan said, moving to the counter with purpose. He pulled plates from the cupboard, setting them down with a soft clink, then grabbed toast and a handful of ingredients from the fridge. “And don’t even get me started on the whole situation with Regulus,” he added, shooting Barty a pointed look over his shoulder.
Barty opened his mouth to retort, but Evan didn’t give him the chance. “That said,” Evan continued, his voice softening slightly, “there’s something beneath the surface, something you keep locked away. I don’t know what it is, or why you are the way you are, but I know you’re not all bad.” He paused, slicing into an orange with steady hands, his movements deliberate. “You’re an enigma, Crouch. One I haven’t quite figured out… yet.”
Barty leaned against the doorframe, a flicker of amusement breaking through the confusion on his face. A smirk tugged at his lips, lazy and half-teasing. “Still studying me, Rosier?” he asked, his tone laced with playful deflection.
“Maybe,” Evan admitted, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as they flicked toward Barty. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Are you still studying me?”
“Of course I am,” Barty replied without hesitation, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, knowing smirk. He moved to the counter and slid onto a stool, resting his elbows on the surface. His gaze lingered on Evan, as if sizing him up yet again.
“Scrambled eggs?” Evan asked, his voice steady, though a flicker of nerves rippled beneath his calm facade at Barty’s unexpected confession.
“Yeah,” Barty said with a casual shrug, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Hit me with your best shot.”
Evan couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Without another word, he turned back to the stove, focusing on the task at hand.
In one pan, the bacon sizzled and crackled, releasing its savory aroma into the air. In another, Evan expertly swirled the eggs, their edges beginning to set into soft, golden folds. He glanced at the toaster, its timer ticking down as the bread browned to perfection. The kitchen filled with the comforting hum of breakfast being made, grounding him even as he felt Barty’s eyes lingering on his back.
“How’s your—” Barty began, then hesitated, his words faltering as he struggled to find the right way to ask. “How’s your, um—your comic. How’s it coming along?”
Evan let out a sharp, bitter scoff, his eyes briefly narrowing as he stirred the eggs. “It’s like a baby trying to run before it can even walk,” he muttered, the frustration clear in his tone.
Barty leaned back, crossing his arms with a playful grin tugging at his lips. “That bad, huh?” he teased, the smirk almost reaching his eyes.
“I don’t know why I can’t create anything,” Evan admitted, his voice softer now, as if the weight of his frustration had finally slipped out unbidden. He carefully placed the toast, eggs, and bacon onto two plates—one for himself, the other for Barty. As he slid into the seat next to Barty, the weight of his words lingered in the air between them.
“Up until nineteen, I could write non-stop, draw all night long. And now?” Evan let out a breath, a faint bitterness creeping into his tone. “Now? Nothing.” He took a bite of his toast, but his mind clearly wasn’t on the food.
“You could write about me,” Barty suggested, his voice light but tinged with a playful challenge.
Evan’s lips curled into an amused grin. “About you?” he echoed, laughter bubbling in his chest. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”
Barty shrugged, unfazed. “I mean, why not?” he pressed. “Isn’t art supposed to be about what you know? If you try to create something you don’t understand, you’ll just get lost in it.”
Evan considered this, leaning back slightly in his chair, his expression turning thoughtful. “Yeah, but…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing. “I don’t really know you.”
Barty met Evan’s gaze without hesitation, a small, unreadable spark flickering in his eyes. “So… what do you want to know?”
The question caught Evan off guard, throwing him off balance for a moment. Was Barty actually giving him a chance to understand him? He couldn’t quite believe it, but the unexpected opportunity wasn’t something he was about to pass up.
“What’s the deal with Barney?” he asked, the name slipping out before he could second-guess himself.
Barty blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “Oh,” he said, his voice a little softer. “Starting strong, huh?” He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sorry,” Evan said quickly, his voice tinged with regret. “That was rude of me to ask.”
“No, no…” Barty interrupted, shaking his head. “I set myself up for that one.”
There was a brief, heavy silence between them, and Barty’s thoughts swirled with uneasy memories. His head buzzed with the noise of past regrets, but he found himself oddly rooted in the moment. Should he say it? He wasn’t sure, but it was just Rosier, wasn’t it? Who else would he tell? It didn’t matter anyway—Evan wasn’t the kind of person who’d share anything he said.
“You ever had something taken away from you?” Barty asked, but it was rhetorical. He paused, suddenly feeling exposed, but pressed on. “I mean… when I was little—well, not that little—I had this teddy bear. Told you about it before, right? But like… I don’t know. It was supposed to be one of those stupid baby things, and I just… kept it. I couldn’t get rid of it. I didn’t know how to.”
“And my father…” Barty’s voice faltered slightly, but he pressed on, the words slipping out in a rush. “He was so mad at me for it. Thought there was something wrong with me. Said kids my age were supposed to be… I don’t know… over that kind of thing, I guess.” He took a shaky breath, his fingers clenching around the edge of his plate. “One night… I remember it like it was yesterday. It was all dark, and the house was so quiet. Made my skin crawl,” he admitted, his eyes drifting to the floor. “I didn’t want to leave my room, but then there was this loud thud… from the kitchen. Over and over. Like something… crashing into bones.”
His voice trailed off, the tension in his shoulders rising as he relived the moment. The image still haunted him.
Barty’s voice grew quieter, more distant as the memory took over. “I remember the raw meat, the blood. The knife... chopping into it, up and down, slicing through it so harshly. It was like it was alive. The sound of it... I couldn’t shake it.” His eyes darkened as he continued, his hands trembling slightly. “Then my father… he shoved me. Pushed me away like I was nothing. And he grabbed Barney—my teddy bear. He yanked it right out of my hands, set it on the counter… right there, in the middle of the blood. And then…” He paused, swallowing hard. “Then he took the knife and decapitated its head. Right in front of me.”
By the time Barty finished recounting the story, something like a storm of rage was building inside Evan. His chest felt tight with a mixture of anger and sympathy, a suffocating weight pressing down on him. Even if it had just been a teddy bear, he knew how much it meant to Barty—he was only six years old, for God’s sake.
Evan’s voice came out low but fierce, the words almost slipping out before he could stop them. “Your father’s an asshole.” The bluntness of it caught him off guard, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Barty let out a quiet, half-amused yet sad scoff, his gaze lowering as if the memory weighed him down.
Evan, sensing the shift, asked gently, “What about Barney?”
Barty exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to find the right words. “Nothing, it just—” he paused, swallowing thickly, as if pushing back the lump in his throat. “It just… died that night. I couldn’t do anything to save it.” His voice wavered slightly. “I buried it in the backyard. Right under the old oak tree. Thought it was the least I could do for it.”
The sadness in his voice was sharp, like he was still carrying the weight of that night with him.
“But it’s whatever,” Barty pressed on, attempting to shrug it off, but the edge of his voice betrayed him. He shot a dismissive wave, trying to mask the sadness with a thin layer of humor. “My father was right, though. I mean, who even has a teddy bear at six years old, right?” His forced smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the strain in his face evident. The attempt at a joke felt hollow, like a fragile mask barely holding back something deeper.
“Barty—” Evan began, but Barty cut him off sharply.
“Stop. No,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “Don’t do that. Don’t pity me.”
His words were rough, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability, as if the very idea of being pitied felt like an insult to everything he’d built up around himself.
“I have a sister,” Evan blurted out, the words tumbling out before he could think. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it.”
“A sister?” Barty echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. “I mean, maybe... I don’t recall. Sorry.”
There was an awkward pause, the silence hanging heavy between them, as Barty’s tone seemed to soften, almost apologetic.
“It’s fine,” Evan pressed on, his voice steady but soft. “She’s my twin, and she’s lovely. Don’t get me wrong, I love her more than anything. But, you know, we’re twins…” he trailed off, gathering his thoughts. “And as kids, we got compared all the time. Not by our parents, but by everyone else. At school, mostly…”
He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Barty before continuing. “The thing was, she always fit right in, and I didn’t. She was adored, everyone loved her. And I was... quieter. Shyer, I guess.” Evan let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “People thought I was weird. Fine, whatever. I guess I can be, but no one really knew me.”
He paused, pushing the thoughts away as he focused on his words. “That’s why I started doing comics, you know? It was an escape. I could lose myself in a different world, where people like me could fit in, or at least feel like they did.” He looked down for a moment before meeting Barty’s eyes again. “And I don’t know... I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know what it feels like to be pushed down to rock bottom.”
“You’re not weird,” Barty said, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something almost tender behind it. “You’re perfectly fine.”
Evan blinked, the unexpected reassurance throwing him off. He shifted slightly, his voice softer, almost uncertain. “You think so?”
Barty gave a slight shrug, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, not really. Any other neighbor would’ve either sued my ass or moved by now.” He paused, meeting Evan’s gaze with a glint of something more genuine. “But not you. You stick around. That makes you special... which, honestly, is way better than fitting in.”
“That was surprisingly nice,” Evan said, blinking in surprise, a half-amused scuff escaping his lips.
“Yeah,” Barty muttered, rolling his eyes with a slight smirk. “Don’t get used to it.”
“What’s your favorite movie?” Evan asked, watching as Barty shot him a confused look.
“What? You didn’t think I’d ask more than one question and just shut up, did you?” Evan raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing.
“You’re a real pain,” Barty muttered, rolling his eyes. “But alright, I’ll play along.”
“Live. Die. Repeat. That’s my go-to action movie,” Barty began. “Hereditary if I’m in the mood for horror,” he continued. “Donnie Darko’s probably my top one, though. Hunger Games for dystopian vibes, We’re the Millers for comedy, and Fast & Furious—the whole saga—for always. And Bones and All... that’s for Regulus.”
“Hm,” Evan sighed. “Regulus…”
“Sorry,” Barty said quickly, his voice tinged with guilt. “You probably don’t want to hear about him.”
“No, I—” Evan began, but trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to navigate this. He couldn’t tell Barty how to feel about Regulus, especially when Regulus had been in his life far longer than Evan had. He barely knew the guy, only a month and change. It wasn’t his place.
“He’s cool,” Evan finally admitted, his voice softening. “I talked to him at the race last week. He’s alright. I get why you like him...he’s got really pretty eyes...and a nice face.”
Barty chuckled, a low, almost wistful sound. “Yeah, he is pretty,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “But it’s not just that. He’s got this... morbid mind, like mine. The difference is, his darkness is buried deep beneath the surface, whereas I wear mine on my sleeve.” He paused, his gaze drifting. “I’m explosive, you know? I let the chaos out. But Regulus? He bottles it all up. Still, he gets it. He’s walked through hell with me, and that kind of understanding? It’s not easy to come by.”
“But you guys aren’t—” Evan started, his voice trailing off, uncertainty creeping in. “You guys aren't together?”
Barty raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Rosier, we’ve literally slept together twice,” he said, the words almost sharp in their simplicity. “If I was with Reggie, I wouldn’t do that to him. Not ever.”
“But why?” Evan asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “It’s clear you two revolve around each other.”
Barty sighed, a heavy, almost defeated sound. “It’s complicated,” he said, his gaze shifting to the counter as if the words were harder to say than he’d anticipated. He didn’t have the courage to admit that he had broken Regulus’ heart, too afraid to love him in the way he deserved.
“But do you—”
“Hey, Rosier,” Barty cut him off, his voice sharp but soft, as if guarding something fragile. “I don’t want to talk about Reggie right now.”
The words felt heavier than he’d intended, and he instantly regretted saying them. Talking about Regulus was a rabbit hole Barty couldn’t afford to fall into. If they kept pushing it, he might end up confessing how much of a screw-up he was. Regulus had been the best thing he’d ever had, and he’d ruined it. He could admit that to himself, but not to Evan. Not yet. A small, selfish part of him didn’t want to risk scaring Evan away. Not yet. Let him keep Evan Rosier for a little longer.
“Oh yeah, yeah…” Evan stammered, quickly moving on. “So, like, what’s your—”
Barty interrupted him again, much like the first time they met. Classic Barty, always talking over Evan. “I don’t think it’s fair that I keep answering questions while you haven’t answered any of mine.”
Evan frowned, confusion settling on his face. “You haven’t asked.”
“Let me ask,” Barty replied, his tone casual but insistent.
“Why? I’m literally so boring,” Evan muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t do shit with my life.”
“Humor me,” Barty said, shrugging as though it was the simplest request in the world.
“Fine,” Evan replied, his voice flat but intrigued. “Shoot.”
Barty tilted his head, eyes narrowing with mild amusement. “Favorite color?”
“Electric blue,” Evan answered without hesitation.
Barty raised an eyebrow. “Like your eyes.”
Evan blinked, taken aback by the comment, his lips parting to respond. But before he could, Barty swiftly changed the topic, keeping the moment from lingering too long. “Pizza or hamburgers?”
“Pizza,” Evan said, the answer coming easy. “Because I didn’t eat it much as a kid.”
“No pizza in France?” Barty teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Evan shrugged. “Plenty of pizza there, but my family’s not big on greasy food,” he admitted. “Or anything processed, now that I think of it.”
Barty let out a low laugh, clearly entertained by the idea. “If your mom saw your Monster Energy drink collection in your fridge, would she have a heart attack?”
Evan grimaced, glancing at the fridge with a mix of amusement and mild guilt. “She probably would.”
“Why do you drink them so much, anyway?” Barty asked, raising an eyebrow.
Evan shrugged nonchalantly. “My sleep schedule is pretty bad, so I need them to survive throughout the day.”
Barty chuckled dryly. “It’s probably messed up because you drink so much of them.”
Evan nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, probably.”
"Favorite artist?" Barty asked, continuing with his barrage of questions.
"Eminem," Evan replied, nodding as if the answer pleased him.
Barty recoiled dramatically. "Ugh, that's awful."
"Awful?!" Evan exclaimed, visibly offended. "He's amazing. What are you on about? I bet you listen to, like, punk or something."
"Yeah, what gave me away?" Barty said, a sly grin forming.
Evan paused for a moment, then gestured from head to toe, as if inspecting Barty. "Literally everything."
“Well, Eminem—” Barty began, rolling his eyes. “Can you even keep up with his songs?”
“I can—” Evan replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. “I can talk fast.”
“Oh really?” Barty’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Well, go on. Prove it.”
Evan froze, his heart leaping in his chest. “Oh no,” he muttered, the realization sinking in. Barty wanted him to rap one of Eminem's songs. “I just do that in the shower—” Why had he admitted that? His face flushed with embarrassment. His palms suddenly felt clammy.
But Barty only seemed to enjoy the sudden nervousness that radiated off him, his grin widening.
“Stop it with that—”
“With what?” Barty interrupted, feigning innocence.
“With that fucking wolf-like smirk,” Evan clarified, his gaze darting away, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. “It’s like you’re ready to pounce on me at any second.”
“I could pound you,” Barty said, his voice low, laced with an unbothered confidence. “If you want.”
Evan’s throat tightened, a nervous gulp escaping his lips. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. It wasn’t just the room—it was his skin, burning under Barty’s gaze. His thoughts were a blur, a mix of heat and tension, and the need to crawl out of his own skin.
“What?” Barty teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Do I make you nervous?” He reached out, catching Evan’s chin gently but firmly, forcing him to meet his eyes.
Evan’s breath hitched. The world seemed to slow, and in that moment, all he could do was stare back at Barty, caught somewhere between fear and arousal.
“Come on, Rosier,” Barty pressed, his voice dropping into something dangerously soft as his thumb grazed along Evan’s bottom lip. The touch sent a ripple of tension down Evan’s spine, leaving him momentarily breathless. “Why don’t you tell me something real?”
“Something—” Evan stammered, his voice barely audible, the word almost swallowed by the thick air between them. “Like what?”
Barty tilted his head, a smirk ghosting his lips. “Like, who are you when no one’s watching?”
Evan blinked, trying to ground himself. “I’m just… me,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. It felt like the safest answer, and he hated how unsteady he sounded.
Barty chuckled, shaking his head in quiet amusement. “That’s too easy,” he said, his eyes narrowing with challenge. “Alright, then. Who are you when everyone’s watching?”
Now that was a question. Evan felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, more profound than the first. Alone, people could be themselves—no mirrors, no spectators, just raw existence. But when the world was watching? That was where the masks came out. Where the performances began. Where everyone pulled some polished version of themselves out of nowhere, pretending like they weren’t secretly terrified of being seen for what they really were.
Evan swallowed hard, feeling like he was standing on a cliff, and Barty’s gaze was the wind daring him to jump.
“Tough,” Evan admitted after a long pause, his voice steady but introspective. Before Barty could cut in with some sharp quip, Evan leaned forward, cutting him off. “And you?” he asked, his gaze leveling with Barty’s. “Who are you when no one’s watching?”
He didn’t bother asking who Barty was in front of others—he already knew. Barty was unapologetically, almost brazenly, himself, a walking rebellion without a shred of shame. But alone? Evan needed to know who Barty became when the crowd faded and the chaos settled.
Barty’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk on his lips faltering. He looked as though Evan had peeled back the surface, leaving him exposed. Fair was fair, though. Evan had answered, so now it was his turn.
“Weak.”
******
“Again,” Lily commanded, her voice cutting sharply through the air of the small ballet studio.
The room wasn’t as grand as the academy where they usually practiced—no towering ceilings or elaborate barre setups—but it served its purpose. The hardwood floor gleamed faintly under the soft studio lights, mirrors lining the walls to reflect every movement.
Pandora braced herself, positioning her arms with practiced precision. She’d gone through this piece at least a dozen times by now, and Lily’s feedback was always the same: technique impeccable, emotion unattainable. The words lingered like an invisible weight, pressing down on Pandora’s shoulders as she prepared to begin once more.
She performed the piece again, and again…and again. Each attempt felt more hollow than the last. Frustration began to simmer beneath her flawless movements until it finally boiled over.
“This isn’t working,” Pandora blurted, dropping her arms with a sharp, exasperated motion. Her chest heaved as her breaths came quick and uneven, the strain of repetition and self-doubt weighing heavily on her.
“You know what? This was a terrible idea,” she snapped, pacing a few steps away as if to escape her own words. “I don’t even know why I thought learning from each other would help! Clearly, I’ll never get it right.”
Her voice wavered, betraying the storm of emotions she tried to keep buried beneath her practiced facade.
Lily rolled her eyes, her demeanor calm and unruffled. “You’re overthinking it,” she said matter-of-factly, leaning against the barre with an air of ease.
Pandora’s eyes flashed as she spun to face her. “I’m French,” she snapped, her tone dripping with exasperation. “Overthinking is practically in my DNA.”
“You told your brother to think as a reflex,” Lily began, her tone sharp and her gaze unwavering. “So, he gets to think instinctively, but you don’t? Don’t you deserve that same grace?”
“Evan’s better than me,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her own doubt. “If he really puts his mind to it, he can pull it off. I can’t.”
“Well, that’s just hypocritical nonsense and complete bullshit,” Lily shot back, her tone sharp but steady. “You two are twins. Your minds are practically wired together—you’re just as capable as he is.”
“No, I’m—” Pandora began, but Lily didn’t let her finish.
“Listen, Panda,” Lily interjected firmly but gently, stepping closer. “You’re just having a bad day. Everyone has them. You’ve been doing great these past weeks, and one rough patch doesn’t erase that progress. It’s just a hiccup.” She gave a reassuring smile. “Let’s take a break, okay? Clear your head.”
“I don’t want to take a break,” Pandora huffed, crossing her arms tightly. Frustration flickered in her eyes. “I want to get it right.”
“Sucks for you,” Lily shot back, her tone sharp but teasing. She straightened her posture, exuding authority. “Because right now, I’m your coach, and you do what the coach says.”
Pandora’s lips curled in defiance. “Who made you queen?”
“You did,” Lily said without missing a beat, arching an eyebrow. “The second you dragged me into this ridiculous plan.”
“It’s not ridiculous—” Pandora snapped, her voice rising. “You just need to be a better coach.”
“Don’t be a brat,” Lily retorted, rolling her eyes but softening just enough to keep things from spiraling. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, scrutinizing Pandora. “Look, coaching isn’t just about technique. It’s about getting inside someone’s head—tapping into emotions. That’s what you’re missing, right? So, here’s what we’re going to do.”
Pandora opened her mouth to protest, but Lily held up a hand.
“I’m not done,” she said firmly. “I’m not about to waste my time watching you spin your wheels when I know you’re better than this. But clearly, you’re stuck. So it’s time to shake things up.”
Lily’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “We’re going to the aquarium. Go change.”
Pandora blinked. Her brow furrowed in disbelief, and she opened her mouth again, but no words came out. She settled for glaring instead.
“The aquarium?” she finally managed, her voice dripping with skepticism. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Lily’s expression softened as she leaned in just slightly, her tone quieter but brimming with certainty. “I want to show you something,” she said. “Maybe it’ll help you let go.”
Pandora had been ready to argue. She was going to insist she needed more practice, to fight Lily on this sudden change of plans. But then she hesitated. She wasn’t prideful—at least, not usually—and Lily had a point. This was her idea, her plan, and now she had to trust Lily, even if every part of her screamed that staying behind and pushing through the frustration would yield better results than wasting time at an aquarium.
And so, an hour later, they stood at the entrance gates of the aquarium, changed into fresh clothes and carrying a renewed, if slightly reluctant, energy.
The aquarium was massive. Pale blue light rippled through the dimly lit halls, bouncing off glass tanks and casting faint reflections on the tiled floors. Vibrant fish darted through coral reefs while jellyfish floated like glowing ghosts in the dark water. Everywhere, families wandered—young children pressing their noses to the glass, their laughter echoing through the corridors.
Pandora trailed behind Lily, but her thoughts drifted. Watching the families reminded her of her own parents.
The Rosiers weren’t like other French families. They weren’t cold or distant, nor were they overly indulgent. Instead, they existed in a strange middle ground—a blend of warmth and expectation. Her parents had always pushed her and Evan to be the best versions of themselves, but that didn’t mean their love was conditional. It was an odd balance, one that she and her brother had learned to make peace with over the years.
She missed them. But having Evan back in town softened that ache.
Evan—her twin, her mirror. They’d always dreamed of this as kids—growing up side by side, living in the same city, navigating adulthood together. And it had been perfect, at first.
But then Evan became a teenager, and something in him shifted. A sadness settled over him, one no one could quite explain. He fell in with the wrong crowd—people who fed that sadness instead of lifting him out of it. Pandora missed the boy he used to be, the one who made her laugh until her stomach hurt, who shared every thought and secret like it was sacred.
Of the two, Pandora had always been the more outgoing. Evan could be too, but only once he felt safe. He was reserved at first—shy, almost. But once he let people in, he became the life of the party, all charm and mischief.
Love had ruined him. But didn’t it do that to everyone?
Maybe that’s why she couldn’t stop worrying about the neighbor. Evan wasn’t good at controlling his feelings, and from what she’d heard, this neighbor was nothing but trouble. It wasn’t her place to interfere, but that didn’t make it any easier to stand by and watch. She just didn’t want him to get hurt again.
But maybe—just maybe—coming to London would be good for Evan. He needed a fresh start, a clean slate away from the shadows he’d left behind. And while Pandora had heard nothing but bad things about this neighbor, she couldn’t bring herself to believe anyone was entirely irredeemable. She’d always believed in the goodness of others, even when it seemed naïve.
So, despite her unease, she held onto hope—hope that this guy might have some good buried beneath the rough edges, hope that Evan would see through the noise and find something worthwhile.
At the very least, he was getting out of the house, meeting people, making memories. London could be a chance for him to grow. A chance to leave the past where it belonged.
And Pandora wanted to believe that was enough.
“Are you even listening to me?” Lily asked, waving a hand in front of Pandora’s face to snap her out of her daze.
“Huh?” Pandora blinked, her thoughts scattering as she looked up. “What?”
Lily let out a dramatic sigh, crossing her arms. “Honestly, Rosier. What’s gotten into you? In ballet, you’re all focus and precision, but the second we step out of the studio, it’s like your brain checks out.”
Pandora bristled, straightening her shoulders. “Yeah, well,” she said, a touch defensive. “Ballet isn’t everything.”
Lily arched a brow, smirking as if Pandora had just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. “That’s utter bollocks,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Ballet is everything—and you know it.”
“You dance with your heart, and you’re seriously telling me ballet is all that matters?” Pandora shot back, her voice edged with disbelief. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Lily countered, shrugging as if the answer was obvious. “I dance with my heart because ballet is everything. It’s how I make sense of the world—how I feel it. When I’m dancing, it’s like my existence finally clicks into place.” She paused, her gaze sharpening as she studied Pandora. “You, though…”
Pandora stiffened, already bracing herself for whatever Lily was about to say.
“Sometimes I wonder why you do ballet at all,” Lily finished, her tone quieter but no less pointed.
Pandora blinked. “What kind of question is that?” she asked, trying to sound dismissive, but the sudden tightness in her chest betrayed her.
Lily didn’t back down. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her voice gentler now but still insistent. “No, really, Rosier—why do you dance?”
“It’s what I’m good at,” Pandora said, her voice steady but lacking conviction. She glanced away, pretending to be distracted by the soft glow of the aquarium tanks, though she could feel Lily’s eyes boring into her.
Lily crossed her arms, tilting her head with that familiar look of disapproval—the one that made Pandora feel like a misbehaving child. “That’s it?” she asked, her tone sharp but laced with curiosity.
Pandora shrugged, avoiding Lily’s gaze. “Yeah,” she said, forcing nonchalance. “What else is there?”
Lily exhaled slowly, her breath fogging up the glass of a nearby tank as she leaned against it. Behind the glass, jellyfish pulsed like floating stars, oblivious to the tension unfolding just feet away. “You can’t do something like ballet just because you’re good at it,” Lily said, her voice softening, but her eyes stayed sharp. “You have to want it. You have to like it.”
Pandora’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t have to do anything,” she snapped, turning to face Lily fully now. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, distorted by the water. “Life is what it is.”
Lily’s lips curled into a knowing smirk—confident, unbothered. “And ballet is what you can make of it,” she countered, her voice smooth, almost teasing.
Pandora narrowed her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she teased, though her words lacked heat.
Lily grinned wider, clearly satisfied with herself. “I don’t think—I know.”
“Why are we here, Evans?” Pandora asked, scrunching her nose as she tried to make sense of it all. The dim blue light of the aquarium reflected in her eyes, but her expression remained tight, skeptical.
Lily rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Open your eyes,” she said, gesturing toward the glass.
“They are open,” Pandora shot back, fixing Lily with a sharp look. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a clear sign she wasn’t in the mood for riddles.
“No, they’re not,” Lily said, stepping closer to the massive tank. She pressed a hand against the glass and pointed toward the seals. The creatures glided effortlessly, twisting and turning in the water with a kind of freedom that seemed almost otherworldly. Their sleek bodies danced through the currents as if gravity didn’t exist.
“What do you see?” Lily asked, her voice softer now, almost expectant.
“Seals,” Pandora replied flatly, though her gaze lingered on the animals longer than intended.
“Wrong.” Lily’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. She leaned closer to Pandora, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Look at how they move—gracefully, but without constraint. It’s instinctual, natural. They cut through the water as if there isn’t any water at all. It doesn’t weigh them down. It frees them.”
Pandora blinked, her defensive posture faltering just a little. She hated when Lily talked like this—so sure of herself, so confident in her metaphors.
Lily watched her closely, her sharp gaze softening as Pandora’s expression shifted. “They’re one of my favorite animals,” Lily said, her voice soft but certain. Her eyes followed the seals as they twisted and twirled through the water, unbothered by the glass walls that confined them. “People don’t pay them much attention, but I do. They help me dance.”
Pandora frowned, tilting her head. “How does—” She paused, her skepticism clear, but her gaze lingered on the seals. She could admit—if only to herself—that there was something mesmerizing about their fluid movements. Still, she struggled to see the connection.
“It’s just...” Lily interrupted, leaning her elbow on the glass as if she could get closer to the animals that fascinated her so much. “We’re creatures of the earth, right? Humans were born into freedom, but then society took that away. Tied us down with rules, routines, expectations.”
Pandora’s brows furrowed. She shifted her weight, crossing her arms as Lily’s words hit a little too close to home.
“But a few of us rebel,” Lily continued, her eyes never leaving the seals. “We fight it. We move, we create—we dance. I feel like seals are rebels in that way. They’re trapped in this aquarium, boxed in by walls they can’t escape, but look at them.” She pointed, her eyes lighting up. “They still move beautifully. Effortlessly. It’s ballet—but in water.”
Pandora swallowed, suddenly aware of the tightness in her chest. She wanted to brush off Lily’s words, to roll her eyes and scoff, but she couldn’t. Not when the seals spun in perfect harmony, unbothered by the glass, unaware of any boundaries.
Maybe that’s what Lily had been trying to tell her all along. Maybe it wasn’t about being good at ballet—it was about feeling it.
Pandora glanced at Lily, who was watching her now with that same sharpness, waiting for her to say something. Anything. But Pandora just looked back at the seals, letting herself take it in.
As Pandora watched the animals glide through the water, her arms loosened at her sides. The rhythmic sway of their movements—so natural, so unforced—began to pull her in. Her brows unfurrowed, the tension in her jaw easing without her even realizing it.
Lily, standing slightly behind her, didn’t miss a thing. She watched Pandora closely, the corners of her lips curling into a faint smile as she saw the shift—the softening, the quiet surrender.
The reflection of the water rippled faintly against Pandora’s face, highlighting the wonder that slowly bloomed in her eyes. She leaned in closer, her breath fogging the glass ever so slightly, but she didn’t move away.
Lily didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.