Barty Crouch Jr. had become accustomed to the incessant droning of Regulus’ alarm, two hours too early to be properly considered morning. Years of overexposure, exhaustion, and adjustment meant that, typically, he was able to sleep through his lover’s awakening and departure.
Today, however, was different. Perhaps it was due to the recent and inexplicable shift in Barty’s sleeping habits, the irrevocable ache that kept him teetering relentlessly on the edge of true rest with gnawing teeth, or perhaps it was simply his mind and body choosing to torture him further. The root of the problem didn’t matter to him, really; knowing what had changed wouldn’t do anything to soften the maddening blare of his boyfriend’s alarm in his sleep-sensitive ears.
The groan that slipped from his throat was one of unadulterated vexation, no louder than a harsh breath. He turned his head, buried his face into the soft pillow beneath his cheek, and waited for Regulus to silence the assault. He felt the moment that the sound roused Regulus from sleep, the warm breath fanning against the back of his neck shifting to the pattern that he had long ago memorized. Had exhaustion not held him in such a tight grip, he might have complained when Regulus’ hand left his waist just long enough to flick his fingers in silent command, returning their bed to blissful stillness. Barty’s relieved sigh was imperceptible as his body relaxed into the comfortable familiarity of his lover’s embrace.
Regulus had told him once, after twenty minutes of Barty’s incessant insistence, that extracting himself from bed in the mornings without waking him was an art form that he had mastered out of love. He intentionally set his alarm five minutes before he needed to begin getting ready because he preferred a few stolen moments of comfort with Barty to the opportunity for an inconsequential bit of extra sleep. When the time came for him to get up, he withdrew as slowly and carefully as he could to ensure that he didn’t suffer exhaustion as a result of Regulus’ necessary early mornings, for he knew how difficult it had become for Barty to fall asleep without his presence beside him. (It was something that Barty was attempting to become better at, for a small, bruised part of him was revolted by this newfound dependence on his partner for something as simple as sleeping. To his exasperation and dismay, it was proving much more difficult than he would have liked.) He made up for every accidental nudge with a soft kiss to his neck which, according to him, soothed Barty with such ease that heat clawed its way to his cheeks as Regulus spoke about it. It was a routine that he had years to perfect, motivated solely by the wellbeing of the boy whose rest he cared about more than his own.
Barty dozed easily through the five minutes of peace that Regulus alloted himself, warm in the arms and against the chest of his lover. He knew even before Regulus began moving that their time together had ended, the quiet sigh that tickled the back of his neck enough to alert him of its premature demise. Despite the weariness buzzing through his body, he was just conscious enough to know that he should let Regulus go. It was the considerate thing to do, after all, to allow his boyfriend to carry out his responsibilities without the burden of knowing that he had left Barty awake and alone. It was the thing that he would have done under normal circumstances, that he had done time and time again.
And yet.
It was as though with every inch that Regulus retracted from him, something palpable and bitter and dark crept in to take his place. As the pleasant warmth that had consumed him only moments prior was relinquished, the ache in his gut only seemed to grow, clawing its way through him like a rabid dog in desperate search of something to sink its teeth into. He was seventeen years old, only a handful of months out from his graduation, and he had grown up in a house whose walls bled hatred and whose shadows stretched to swallow the hollow boy who unrelentingly walked its halls in search of something .
Somehow, the thought of being left alone on this unremarkable January morning had become the most terrifying thought to have ever seeped through his skull.
The rational part of him knew that he was being childish, that he should let Regulus go and piece the trivial fragments of himself back together as he had countless times before. However, the part of him that recognized pure, undeserved devotion on Regulus’ face whenever he caught him staring also recognized that this was something that he could not deal with alone. At the very least, the press of Regulus’ gentle hands against every old, unhealed wound in him would not rip them back open, no matter how much the affliction that he kept caged in his chest feared that they would.
He knew that he should let him go, but he could not stomach the thought of isolation.
The silent prayer that he sent up was more habit than hope; pleading forgiveness for his indiscretions before they were committed, a compulsion that his father had beaten into him from the moment he could hold himself up to kneel, irreparably embedded into every deplorable fiber of his being. He knew that no amount of begging could ever fill an irrevocably empty sky, but the practiced plea spilled from him regardless.
Regulus had barely made it halfway out of bed when Barty abruptly turned around. He swung his leg across both of Regulus’ to pin them to the mattress, arms an immovable vise around his middle and face buried into the crook of his partner’s neck, such a perfect fit that he could’ve sworn it was carved specifically for this purpose. “Stay,” he croaked, and he hoped that the buffer of sensitive skin disguised the desperation that leaked from the folds of each letter.
Regulus’ laugh was quiet and fond as he brought his hand up to Barty’s hair, fingers carding gently through unruly strands. “I have Quidditch practice, love. You know I can’t.” His voice was soft but his kiss was softer, lips a soothing press against the mole that Regulus had discovered a few months prior, just beyond his hairline.
Barty grumbled something incomprehensible and tightened his grip until he was sure any more would bruise a lung. Regulus’ sigh was nearly imperceptible, but it was still enough to foster a flinch that Barty had to fight to conceal. He was moments away from extracting himself completely and apologizing for keeping him, throat tight with the fear that his transgressions would drive him away, that he would once again be left with nothing, just as the rotten part of him always knew he would. However, before he could recoil and plead, Regulus’ unoccupied hand found a home tucked into the small of his back and held him firmly in place. Barty’s relieved breath and Regulus’ unyielding adoration cleared his mind enough to recognize his huff as one of affection rather than abhorrence.
“I didn’t even know you were awake,” he murmured into Barty’s hair. His fingers massaged his scalp in the way that he knew he loved.
Barty attempted a shrug and arched into the slender fingers working tenderly in his hair. How much he loved and was loved in return was an ongoing, eye-opening experience that he wasn’t sure he would ever become properly accustomed to. He had spent eleven years of his life convinced that he was doomed to be dreadfully, irrevocably alone. That he experienced such inconceivable devotion and care from someone as exquisite as Regulus Black was something that he would likely spend the rest of his life trying to reconcile with, searching incessantly for why he of all people had been permitted something so irrefutably good .
“The alarm woke me,” he muttered sleepily. He could feel himself starting to sink, returning to the state of comfort in which he had been submerged prior to Regulus’ attempt to get up for his morning practice.
Regulus slipped his hand beneath Barty’s jumper, frigid fingers tracing indistinguishable shapes onto sensitive skin. He fought not to shiver from the feeling. “I’m sorry. I do try not to wake you.”
Barty answered with a soft kiss to the hollow of his lover’s throat. “You don’t have to apologize. You don’t have to try so hard, either. I know it’s an inconvenience. It’s all right.”
He didn’t have to see Regulus’ face to know that he was rolling his eyes. “Of course I do. I am not letting you endure exhaustion simply because I don’t want to take the extra care not to wake you up. I love you far too much to include you in my suffering.”
Barty didn’t know how to respond to that, so he kissed the hinge of his jaw in lieu of one.
He was only afforded a handful of minutes of reprieve from the rot within him before Regulus hesitantly began to shift again. He could feel his hand slowly falling still against his back, and he knew that he had stolen as much of Regulus’ time as he was allowed to take.
“I really have to start getting ready,” he whispered. They both heard the apology that went unsaid, and Barty knew that it was time to stop acting like a clingy child and stop distracting his boyfriend from his responsibilities, an everyday task that was more important and impactful than anything Barty would likely ever do. He knew that he needed to let him go. He knew .
And yet .
He burrowed his face into his shoulder as far as it could possibly go and shook his head. “Stay.” He knew that his desperation was becoming too palpable, too pathetic, and yet he could not manage to let go of the only thing keeping his skin from sloughing off and revealing the decomposition that lived underneath.
He could’ve sworn that this sigh was more agitated. “Barty—”
“ Please .” His voice cracked halfway through the word and Regulus went still. Barty had half a mind to retreat as quickly and irreparably as possible, to lock away that dreadful, sorrowful piece of himself and throw away the key. He knew that it was a ridiculously dramatic response to such a seemingly inconsequential thing, however, he could not stop himself from feeling as though he had revealed too much to someone whom he would rather die than scare away with the despair that lived inside of him. He knew that Regulus had already seen it, that he had been by his side and loved him through his most awful moments. That did not mean that he didn’t fear the day that Regulus would bear witness to one too many repugnant, ugly parts of him and come to the same conclusion as his father: he was an unlovable mess who would never amount to anything more than the worst pieces of himself. It was an improbable, idiotic fear that he could never quite manage to bury deep enough.
Tender fingers on either side of his jaw brought him back from the depths of his dread. Regulus gently coaxed his face up until their eyes met, grey searching brown as though there was anything remarkable to be found. There was a small crease between his brows that Barty wanted nothing more than to smooth away with gentle fingers and soft reassurances that he was nothing to be worried about. He hated seeing it, that overtly insignificant piece of his expression that he knew to stem from the agony that Barty had put there, the sickness that Barty’s own sorrow had embedded into him, just as he had done to his mother.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was impossibly tender, a boy speaking to a cornered animal whose fundamental instinct was to bite.
The fact that he didn’t need to ask whether anything was wrong at all made Barty cringe. For all that he was suffering, he had always assumed himself to be better at hiding it. Though, when he thought about it, it was no surprise that Regulus could see right through the weak walls that kept his misery from the prying eyes of those around him; he was his boyfriend, the altar at which he practiced his most reverent worship, half of his soul and more of his heart, who knew him better than Barty knew himself. Really, he was a bit surprised it had taken him this long to see the rot that lingered beneath the surface.
He swallowed and focused on the thumb and forefinger that cradled his chin as though he was something worthy of being held. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Regulus about the sickness that plagued him and the gnawing ache that accompanied it, but silence was all that spilled from his tongue. Irritation pooled in his gut as he tried and tried again to explain that he felt like he was fucking rotting , like the darkness that had lay dormant deep within him since birth was finally, frustratingly rearing its head.
Regulus’ worry was evident as he studied his lover, slack-jawed and distressed by the things that he couldn’t manage to articulate. “It’s all right,” he whispered, thumb shifting to the corner of Barty’s open mouth. Heat followed Regulus’ finger as it traced his lower lip, pressing gently into its center and coaxing his mouth closed.
His eyelids fluttered involuntarily, heat creeping leisurely to his cheeks. No matter what shape his mood had taken, such intimate attention from his partner never failed to make him feel as though he had been created solely to experience this .
“I,” he began quietly, because he knew that he owed Regulus an explanation, knew that he deserved to know every revolting, gruesome detail of the monster whose mangled hands he trusted to hold something as precious as his heart. However, even as he formed the words and forced them into his throat, he could not coerce them any further. He sucked in a ragged breath and tried not to be sick around the weight of them. “I can’t. I—”
“Barty,” Regulus murmured. Barty clenched his jaw and scarcely suppressed his instinctive flinch as gentle hands came up to cup his face. Regulus hesitated long enough to allow Barty the opportunity for disagreement before settling his palms against his cheeks. He drew Barty in until their gazes were inexorably intertwined, eyes steady and words solemn. “You do not have to make yourself sick trying to explain something that you cannot name.” He tucked an unruly strand of hair behind Barty’s ear, fingers tenderly tracing the shell of it. “Just promise me that we will talk about it later.”
His exhale was unsteady, his response scarcely steadier. “Later.” It was a promise that he knew he would hold himself to, even if it meant ripping himself open and digging the words from his flesh with voracious fingers.
Regulus’ smile was soft and Barty knew, somewhere distantly, that he could stare at it for decades and still never comprehend how it was possible that such a beautiful thing could belong to anything less than holy. His breath was warm against Barty’s lips and he had the sudden urge to close the small gap between them and swallow it until Regulus’ air was all that filled his lungs. Before he could act on it, Regulus leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Barty’s in a small, soft kiss that was meant only to express the overwhelming affection that he held for the boy whose soul was so deeply, irrevocably entwined with his own.
Something humiliatingly close to a whine escaped his throat when Regulus broke away, and Barty watched as he tried and failed to conceal the inescapable growth of his smile at the sound. Barty swatted gently at Regulus’ chest to distract from the heat that had finally clawed its way to his cheeks, though he knew that Regulus could likely feel it beneath his palms. The huff of laughter that fell from his nose told Barty that he was right.
Regulus’ hands fell from Barty’s cheeks and found a home around his waist, slowly shifting them until he was lying on his side with Barty tucked safely into the hollow that his body formed. The viselike grip that Barty had yet to relinquish loosened only slightly as he craned his neck to look at Regulus, brow furrowed with his inability to understand.
“You’re staying?” His voice was small, as though he was afraid that saying it too loudly would make it untrue. Through everything, part of him had assumed that their exchange would end with Regulus leaving to continue his morning, that Barty’s anguish would be buried alongside the other things that he deemed worthy of examination at a later date. The rational part of him knew that it was ridiculous, that Regulus would never brush Barty aside in such a cruel way, though that didn’t mean that the most rotten part of his mind couldn’t conjure up the belief.
Regulus’ left hand returned to Barty’s hair and it was as though no time at all had elapsed. “Of course I’m staying.” It was said with unadulterated conviction, as though the mere concept of any other outcome was incomprehensible. “I’ll just tell Selwyn that I wasn’t feeling well. I’ve missed two practices in as many years, I'm sure she won’t mind a third.” He kissed Barty’s temple and allowed his mouth to linger, engraving the words into his skull to sanctify their meaning. “I will always stay with you.”
Somehow, Barty believed him.
As they settled back into one another, Barty found that such a draining emotional exchange had only exacerbated his previous exhaustion. The grip that he held on his lover loosened of its own accord as his mind slipped into a drowsy haze, though he knew that, even in sleep, he would never withdraw completely. He would hold onto Regulus until the moment that he asked for release.
He planted a soft kiss on Regulus' neck, too tired to lift his head enough to give him a proper one. He murmured a sleepy, “I love you,” into the hollow of his clavicle, and he didn’t need to hear it to know that Regulus had responded with the same.
As sleep slowly tugged him into its grip, he could have sworn that the ache inside of him had become something scarcely more than a dull and occasional throb. Whether it was due to the accumulation of so many sleepless nights or the relief of having shared the burden of his sorrow, Barty could have sworn that he fell asleep feeling lighter than he had in days, chest warm and body lax in the familiar embrace of home.