Dysfunctional functional unhinged trio
I am wealthy.
I am handsome.
I am rich.
I am the best.
I am the smartest.
I am the strongest.
I reach all my goals.
I reach all my dreams.
What I want is mine, is mi-
“OOOOOOOO YES HARDER!”
Aaaaaand goodbye peace of mind for Evan. Fucking Barty, couldn’t he, for once, not bring someone over? Especially when it’s six in the morning, Evan has to leave in two hours, and he only wants to do some stupid fucking manifestation? Not that it works, but one can only hope.
With a sigh, Evan gets up. Dressed only in his underwear, he goes to the kitchen to grab some coffee. Everything is amazing, potentially, if not for the sight of a brunette girl with Barty, both naked, in the kitchen, in a rather impressive acrobatic position. Evan is positive he never saw that position depicted in the Kamasutra, and he memorized most of the illustrations out of boredom when he was fifteen.
“Don’t mind me, just getting coffee.”
“Want to join?” Of course Barty would ask.
“Need my energy later today.”
“I like it when you watch.”
At this point, Evan might as well. He grabs his coffee – a very long hot americano with a lot of honey, sue him, who cares – takes a comfortable seat on the couch facing the table, and watches. Evan has the urge to be annoying though.
He sips loudly from his cup. The screams of the girl are louder.
He claps his hands to a random rhythm. Barty follows it.
He deliberately devours with his eyes every curve of the girl’s body. She touches her tits purposely.
He stands up and gets closer. Barty holds his gaze.
Evan dives into the black hole of Barty’s gaze, glad to drown within the depth of the universe’s void; being and not being, in every and no timeline, succumbing in a daze of nothingness.
“You should put your hand on her throat.” Barty follows the instruction, holding eye contact.
“Slow down and adjust your angle.” Barty complies, piercing Evan’s soul with his eyes.
“Half of her screams are fake; she should touch her clit.” The girl reaches for her clit, and her stupid shouting is replaced by loud, elated moans.
“Bend over her and pick up your pace, but do not kiss nor touch her anymore.” Barty’s rhythm becomes frantic, punishing, never looking away from Evan’s gaze.
Evan feels Barty’s build-up, the shivers and pulses feeding into the fire of his orgasm. They are transported to another dimension, made of colors and flavors, where there is no matter nor shapes, only Barty’s eyes sucking Evan’s soul. It is captivating. It is transcendental.
It doesn’t take long for Barty to come. Maybe the girl does as well, but Evan doesn’t care. As soon as they’re finished, she gets dressed, writes something on a post-it, sends a flying kiss to Evan, smacks Barty’s ass, and leaves.
Evan has not moved from where he has been standing until now. He’s not sure if he is hard, or if he came, or maybe he never bent at all. That’s unimportant. Because if this is the closest he can get to having sex, he’ll take it.
It’s not like Evan never tried to fuck. He did. Multiple times. But it never felt good. It was always too much touching, too much kissing, too much of body against body, skin over skin, and Evan felt revulsed.
It’s not like Evan never tried with boys, girls, and everything in between. He did. Multiple times. But he never enjoyed it. He even studied sex. Who the fuck researches sex? In the end, Evan memorized the Kamasutra, among other things. If he wanted a career change, he could become a fucking sexologist. However, the knowledge was useless.
Evan never understood why he was unable to fuck and orgasm. To feel what he just felt with Barty. What did he do wrong? Why, as soon as it came to having someone naked over him, or under him, did repulsion take over attraction?
Barty has gotten himself comfortable on the couch, stealing the coffee Evan made himself earlier. It must be cold. It has an insane amount of honey. It should be disgusting for anyone but Evan. And, apparently, Barty, who’s sitting there like he isn’t naked, freshly fucked to oblivion, disheveled hair and scratches on his torso.
Evan makes two other cups of hot, long americano, sweetened with honey, because Barty’s coffee is cold, and coffee must be drunk hot and calm. Technically, Barty’s nonna mantra was calmo, caldo, corto, but Evan and Barty prefer they coffee long in the morning.
“Thanks, Curious George.” Barty takes the new cup eagerly, smelling the aroma of hot coffee while Evan grabs a blanket and throws it over him and Barty as he lays on the couch. He ignores the nickname given to him and tucks his feet under Barty’s tights because Evan always has cold feet, and Barty is a furnace.
They stay silent for a while, both going through their phones. Evan is enjoying the bullshit that people post on Twitter until he stumbles across the news about Pegasus.
“What do you think of Pegasus’ car for the season?” he asks.
Barty doesn’t bother looking at Evan when answering. “The car is not important.”
“Okay.”
“Worried?”
“No.” Evan is afraid that if he voices his thoughts to the universe, they will come true, and he doesn’t want anything negative to be true. Fucking Pie, she has irrevocably brainwashed him.
Barty is now narrowing his eyes at Evan. He shrugs. “Fine, but they got nothing on you.”
Evan is glad Barty can read him that easily. He continues scrolling through Twitter and notices his page is full of gossip about the Pegasus event in Florence.
“Holy shit, they pulled out a fucking hide-and-seek in the first soirée… and listen to this, Barty, that’s hilarious, the second night ended after the fucking ambulance had to step in.”
“What are you saying?”
“Look!” Barty grabs Evan’s phone and sees an extract of a video depicting a very drunk James Potter talking nonsense to an ambulance worker.
Barty suddenly looks dead serious. “You know what, Evan? I could do Potter.”
Evan mimics his expression. “I’m more of a Black’s stan.”
They burst out laughing. They were joking, of course, although both know there’s a grain of truth in those statements. It takes a couple of minutes to calm down, given the absurdity of what was just said.
“How do you expect baby Black to be?” Barty asks thoughtfully.
Evan isn’t sure how to answer. He hadn’t really thought about it. It’s not so important. His priorities are making sure he and Barty finish their races on top, but not too much on top, so they don’t raise the ire of Riddle, Bellatrix, Snape, and baby Black.
It’s a fragile line Barty and Evan are walking on. They must be great; however, they must protect the team’s interests, including Star-Racing, and by extension, the interests of PitSnake. Besides, Evan wants to stay away from Riddle’s attentions; the guy creeps him out. Bellatrix is crazy, so he’s not planning to be in her line of sight. Snape, at least, has some brains, and baby Black is, well, a surprise.
“I don’t know, Barty, I guess we’ll know when we meet him next week… I still can’t figure out how they were able to hide him all this time,” is the answer Evan settles for.
“Money can do anything.”
After staying in each other’s company for about an hour, Evan has to get ready.
“What are you doing today?” Barty is washing the cups in the kitchen sink.
“The fam is visiting.” Evan feels slightly guilty that he has a family that loves him and supports him. Not that Barty’s father doesn’t support his son’s career, but there’s a difference between believing in your son and obsessing over his every step. “Want to come by?” Evan’s mother would be delighted to see Barty, and his sister always teases him, saying Barty’s his favorite brother.
“Should probably sleep, but say hi to them and tell Panda to come by more often.” Barty heads to Evan’s bedroom.
“Barty, that’s my bedroom.”
“Your bed is better to sleep in. Goodnight, Evy.” As much as Evan says he hates it when Barty uses the nickname his sister calls him, Barty knows Evan doesn’t mind. Because Evan is weak and secretly likes it that only Pie and Barty, the two most special people in his world, call him that.
To be fair, there are two and a half people Evan considers very special in his life. The other half person is Alan White, but the guy seems to always hold back. It’s like he controls every small expression, and that bothers Evan. He doesn’t like secrets, and Alan White is a secret.
Evan and Barty met Alan on the racetrack, but it’s unclear the exact moment in which they became a trio. Probably after that one race in which Alan had to win to secure the championship, and Barty and Evan protected Alan’s rear.
They crossed the finish line side by side, Alan first by mere milliseconds, Barty to his right coming second, and Evan to the left, merely one inch behind Barty. It was beautiful, them running the victory lap in formation.
They were seventeen, and they felt unstoppable.
But what is weird to Evan is that everything about Alan is a mystery. For all his victories, people would forget, as if they never happened. Alan never talks about himself, his family, or anything. He is quiet most of the time. Rarely gets drunk, but when he does, that is the most fun Barty and Evan have with him. The kid is unhinged in the best possible way. Even more than Barty.
He turns into a brilliant, mean minion. He provokes pure havoc just for the sake of it. And Evan loves it. From all calculated to carefree, in those moments, Evan is certain the true Alan is coming alive. A light is switched on.
However, most of the time, Alan is a closed shell. Holding back. Nonetheless, Evan appreciates him because he truly listens to him and Barty. Alan never once dismissed their feelings. Evan hopes that one day he will quit being a hermit crab and become something more… fun. Even a cat would do.
Evan meets his family at the train station. The Rosier family’s main residence is in Provence, a beautiful estate surrounded by infinite lavender fields and vineyards. His parents still live there, but Evan’s twin sister, Pandora, has recently moved to Switzerland to be closer to the purity of the mountains—or whatever that means.
As soon as Pandora sees Evan, she runs towards him and crashes into his arm for a hug. Evan can’t help the large smile spreading across his face.
He and his sister were never the kind of twins that had to do everything together. From a young age, they had very different interests, and that was okay, because despite their differences, Evan and Pandora understood each other effortlessly. They never considered themselves the same person, or each other’s other half; they preferred being two distinct individuals, because it meant more love to give to each other. And Evan thinks it’s beautiful.
“Evy, you look dashing.”
“Pie, you look marvelous,” says Evan, admiring his sister’s attire.
She used to wear her hair very long, but recently cut it into a bob, making her look ethereal and bold at the same time. In her white-blond locks, Evan notices what he assumes are hair jewels. Her big blue eyes are decorated by an abstract metallic green eyeliner pattern, and her mouth is painted with purple lipstick. She must have put some kind of purplish eyeshadow on her ears and fingers. She’s wearing a long forest green coat with silver boots.
Evan loves Pie. She is unapologetically herself, always reminding Evan that as long as you like yourself, nobody can judge you.
When they were little, at some point, Evan refused to eat anything that wasn’t a pie. So Evan’s poor mum had to turn every meal into a pie. It didn’t matter to Evan whether it was a sweet or savory pie—he just wanted pie. One day, Pandora asked him why he loved pies so much. She never used the word “obsessed,” because she knew it wasn’t an obsession, but rather something deeper. Evan told her it was because a pie can be anything and everything. It didn’t matter the shape or the filling—people always knew when a pie was a pie.
“A pie is magic. Every time I get to eat a pie, I know it will be different, but I’ll love it the same. Pies remind me I can be anything I want, and as long as I’m happy, that’s fine. Just like you do,” Evan had told his sister. Since then, Pandora had become Pie.
Catching up with their daughter, Evan’s parents take him into a big hug. Evan is happy, and Pie is beaming with energy. He has planned a whole day of fun activities with his parents, sure that showing them around Monaco will help them understand why it’s good for Evan to live in this city.
“Is Barty joining us today, mon ange?” asks Evan’s mom.
“No, but he sends his regards. Busy schedule, unfortunately.” Evan sees the disappointed look cross his mum’s face. He quickly texts Barty, telling him his mum misses him.
The first stop is, of course, the casino. But first, they stop in a café for breakfast. As wealthy as the Rosier family is, none of them are posh and they enjoy the simplicity of life. Therefore, they are happy to find a small café with a nice hidden terrace. The waitress is very nice, and although she recognizes Evan right away, she only smiles knowingly at him and that’s it.
Once breakfast is done and they’ve caught up a little bit—Pie is planning to continue with her under-the-table betting business in the upcoming season—they head to the casino. Evan makes sure to set an alarm, just to be sure they don’t lose track of time.
It’s impressive how Pie manages to win every game. Sometimes, if Evan didn’t know better, he’d say his sister has some kind of magical sight. Most probably, she has sharp intuition, and that’s also one of the reasons she’s so successful in her betting business.
After the casino, Evan leads his family to a rooftop restaurant. The food is good there, but Evan is mostly excited to show his parents the outline of Monaco’s Grand Prix.
“Here you can see the tunnel, and there, by the pool, are turns 14 and 15… and if you look further away, it’s the starting grid,” Evan says excitedly, pointing to each spot. He doesn’t even notice when the waiter arrives with the appetizers.
Evan’s parents are looking lovingly at their son, and Pie is taking pictures with her vintage camera—Evan’s not sure when she took it out.
When lunch is over, they go on a yacht tour, mostly because Evan wants to show them the view of Monaco from the bay and catch the sunset over the sea. He knows Pie will love it.
Indeed, as the golden hour arrives, Pie is mesmerized by the colors over the sea. Evan’s parents are in a corner of the boat, his mum resting her head on his dad’s shoulder, who winks at Evan and whispers something in his mum’s ear. She giggles slightly, and Evan is happy to see they are still so much in love.
“First time I watched the sunset over the sea like this, it was Barty’s idea. He told me you would have loved it, and he was right,” Evan says, sitting by Pandora’s side. She leans into him.
“How are you, Evy?” Pandora asks, giving him a look that says, don’t bullshit me.
“I’m fine, mostly. But I’m confused about some stuff. I have to focus on the season and all, but it’s hard with the whole Regulus Black thing. I’ve never met him before, and I’m supposed to do what?”
“Maybe you never met him as Regulus Black,” Pandora hums thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, to be an F1 driver, you need to have records in official championships recognized by the FIA. So, Regulus has entered those championships, just no one knew.”
Evan is surprised that he never thought about it. It doesn’t solve the fact that he still has no idea what Regulus looks like, but it’s a start.
“How’s it going with the roommate situation?” Pandora continues.
“Surprisingly well, if not for Barty never sleeping in his own bed.” At that, Pie turns to Evan with a funny look on her face, so he adds, “He either sleeps on the couch or on my bed when I’m not there… well, just once or twice we kind of slept together because Barty was feeling down.” Pandora becomes pensive for a moment.
“That’s good, Evan. You’re there for each other. But please, don’t forget to be true to yourself.”
Evan isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he just stays quiet and admires the sunset. He wishes he could freeze the moment, so he tries to imprint the feeling in his memory.
As the day finishes, Evan accompanies his family to the train station. He is grateful for the day—it really was what he needed to feel recharged.
Evan’s mum pulls him into a strong hug and kisses his temple. It’s funny how, even though she’s so petite, she manages to reach Evan’s head. His dad smiles proudly at him, gives him a short hug, and tells him they’ll be there for the first race.
When it’s Pie’s turn, she pulls Evan a bit further away so their parents are out of earshot.
Pie narrows her eyes at him. “Are you still doing the manifestations?”
“Yes, Pie, I did it this morning like every other morning.”
“Mmm, that’s good. Keep it up. It’s important… Have you recently sent bad vibes to the universe, Evy?”
“I avoid negative thoughts.”
“Alright, Evy, be careful though. Your third eye is off. I’ll read your cards when I get home and be sure I cleanse your aura. Today, it was jumpy.” With that, Pandora crashes into Evan’s arms for a hug. He kisses her hair affectionately.
“Barty said you should come more often.”
“I will, Evy. Tell him I love him.”
They break the hug, and Evan’s family heads toward the train. Evan waves, but, as tradition, he and Pandora shout at the same time, “PIE TO EVY, EVY TO PIE, OH MY SHOOTING STAR, TAKE US TWIN ROSES.”
One week later, Evan is urging Barty to wake up. They fell asleep together on the couch last night, and Evan woke up with Barty wrapped around his middle. It’s been a stressful week for both of them: Barty can’t sleep unless it’s in Evan’s bed or on the couch with him, and Evan’s trying his best to get back to a decent sleeping schedule—because going to bed at 6 p.m. and waking up at 3 a.m. is simply not sustainable.
As Evan tries to disentangle himself from Barty’s limbs, he suddenly notices the kitchen clock reading half past ten in the morning. In less than an hour, they have a meeting—an incredibly boring one, where Meteorace and Star-Racing will discuss the strategy and expectations for the upcoming year.
At least, Evan will finally meet Regulus Black.
“Come on, Barty, wake uuuup!” But Barty is the worst person to wake up. Evan has to throw a glass of cold water in his face for him to finally stir.
“We have to leave in thirty to be on time for the meeting,” Evan says as he heads to the shower.
Fortunately, Barty has had training from his psychotic father in getting ready as fast as possible, and they’re able to make it on time for the meeting. They’re even early—when they enter the room, no one’s there yet.
“Rosier, you’ll have to make it up to me for the rush,” Barty declares when it’s clear they’re not as late as Evan thought.
Evan doesn’t respond and picks a seat in front of Barty, where he can see the entrance to the room.
After about five minutes, in which Barty has come back to sleep on the table, Alan White enters the room. Evan raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t heard from him during the whole break, and suddenly he appears in a meeting he’s not supposed to be in. Without blinking an eye, as if he owns the place. Arrogant.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Alan? Better yet, explain why you cut contact and now you’re here,” Evan bursts out, his anger rising. This startles Barty, who suddenly becomes very awake and looks entertained by the situation.
Alan remains silent, just staring at Evan with a raised eyebrow, as if daring him to figure it out.
“Well?” Evan’s anger grows.
“But Rosier, I thought you were the smart one. Crouch here is putting it together faster than you,” Alan says, clearly enjoying the tension. Evan, still not understanding, turns to Barty, who seems to have caught on.
“First of all, rude,” Barty points at Alan before turning to Evan. “Second, Evan, it’s pretty clear what’s going on here.”
“Please, enlighten me,” Evan replies, growing more frustrated.
Barty clears his throat dramatically, adding to the tension, and says with an exaggerated, smug tone, “Alan White is Regulus Black, Evy.”
Evan is not in the mood for jokes and angrily laughs at Barty.
“Fuck, Barty, can you not turn everything into your personal sitcom?” Evan is about to stand and throw a punch or something at Barty when Alan interrupts.
“As much as I agree with you, Rosier, Crouch is right,” Alan says. He stands up dramatically, as if revealing some grand secret. “I’m not Alan ‘stupid’ White. Hate the alter-ego, if I’m honest. My name is…” He pauses for effect. “… Regulus Black.”
Regulus Black makes a little mock bow and extends his hand to Evan, as if he’s introducing himself.
“Traitor,” is the only word Evan manages to get out.
Fucking Alan White is Regulus fucking Black, and they’ve been friends for years. Years of lies. Years of not saying who he truly is.
Evan is furious. He feels betrayed. However, in the midst of his turmoil, Evan has a brief moment of clarity and realizes something important.
Regulus Black is a Black, and the Blacks are kind of crazy. He can’t exactly blame Alan—Regulus—for withholding this information for so long. So Evan makes a very mature decision in that moment. He has only two and a half people he cares about in this world, and maybe, just maybe, that half could become a whole today.
He looks straight into Regulus' eyes—the eyes of the Blacks—how did he never notice before?—and says, “I need honesty from now on.”
Regulus nods. Evan wants to ask him if he’s serious, but he doesn’t want Barty to make a lame joke.
“Okay,” Evan says, taking Regulus’ hand. “I’m Evan Rosier, and I’ll protect your left rear.”
Barty beams, excitedly standing up and moving to Regulus’ right. He smacks him on the shoulder and says, “I’m Barty Crouch, and I’ll protect your right rear.”
Regulus smiles—a genuine smile.
Perhaps, their dysfunctional, functional, unhinged trio was destined to die and rise from the ashes.