Barty watched him kiss her from across the room.
Her hands tangled in his curls, pulling and yanking, somehow making them look even more perfect. He watched and hoped he wouldn't see a sliver of a tongue and when he did he dug the crescents of his nails so hard into his palms until he was sure he drew blood.
It was too loud. Too many people talking, Evan blabbering some utter nonsense in one ear and Dorcas crying about some Gryffindor in his other. Too many people in his space, too many different songs being played at the same time, too many bloody third years running around with juice in their red plastic cups, too many drinks being spilled.
Barty hung his head between his shoulders, partly to force his gaze away from the unholy sight and partly to free his right ear from Evan's rambling mouth. He bit the side of his cheek to ground himself, he replenishes in the pain, it grounds him. It keeps him from walking towards him and that girl and ripping her off him. It keeps him from screaming that he hates it when someone touches his hair, he only likes it when Barty does it. It keeps him from smacking Evan across the face for talking so damn much.
He feels Pandora's gaze on him. He knows it's her because he recognizes her shoes across from his, he recognizes her long blonde hair reaching down to her hips. She's stood in front of him to block his field of view — so he doesn't have to watch him kiss someone else, he thinks.
He wants to thank her as much as he wants to shove her out of the way. Yell at her for trying to take away the privilege of seeing him like that. Messy hair, hands all over him, pale skin only slightly flushed. He can't see it from where he's standing, his slight blush, he really wants to. He bites down harder. He likes seeing Regulus like that. He hates it when he's not the reason Regulus is like that.
That's why he kept his gaze down fixed onto Pandora's boots. He focuses on all the engravings she carved on the sides of it, drawings of cats, hearts and the initials R and P.
Barty's not sure why he feels his stomach drop, it shouldn't have. He shouldn't feel the burning he does. The things he would do so Regulus would let him go around carving and engraving the letters R and B everywhere. On the bark of trees, under their potions desk, on the spine of romantic books, across his wrist, across that girl's forehead. And on Pandora's shoes.
He doesn't know why his stomach drops, Pandora and Regulus are friends, maybe best friends. Even though Barty had known him longer. He knows how closely his and Pandora's souls orbit each other. Barty also knows he likes Evan more than him too, they've known each other for much longer. He flashes his gaze upwards towards the girl with her hands all over Regulus.
Maybe Regulus just likes blondes more.
But he's not sure. Barty's not blonde so that's why he only thinks Regulus likes blondes more, but he's not certain. He also imagines what he'd look like blonde and what Regulus would think.
That's why, after the party, when everyone was settling back into their rooms, he slipped out of the dorm. There was no need to sneak around; he knew the prefects on duty that night weren’t making their rounds. Regulus didn’t bother when the only ones out and about were Slytherins or Gryffindors he'd rather not even have to look at. As for Snape, Merlin knows how he even became a prefect, didn't give detentions or dock points from Slytherins.
He walks across the school, to the astronomy tower. He has a hand on his nape, scratching and scratching, trying to control his heart which wants to crawl out of his chest. He scratches and scratches, he knows it'll leave horrid red claw marks down his neck. Regulus might see them, his neck'll be bright red once he's made it to the astronomy tower. He hopes Regulus sees them.
Him and Snape cross paths and they barely glance at each other. Snape glances at his neck and he glances at the ring of purple around Snape's eye, they both keep walking.
It's cold even before he'd finished climbing the stairs of the tower, a cold wind blasted through the hole-like windows. Barty placed his scratching hand flat on his neck to keep it warm, his other to crack open the doors and slip through.
Regulus is there, just like he is almost every night, looking up at the stars. He's leaning backwards onto the railing, his body facing the doorway and his neck exposed with his head tilted backwards. There's a cigarette dangling between his lips, his lips still swollen from what he'd been doing before. Barty scratches and scratches.
"Shouldn't you be with that blonde?" He asks.
Regulus doesn’t move, only shifts his eyes to look at Barty down the length of his nose. Smoke slowly filters out of his parted, swollen lips in lieu of a response.
Barty just watches him. He watches as Regulus’s shoulders rise slightly with each inhale, smoke spilling out as he exhales. The stars behind him frame his figure.
Smoking is supposed to be bad for you—at least, that’s what the Muggles say. Barty hates it when Regulus smokes; Regulus should hate it too—it’s a Muggle thing. Yet, Barty loves that Regulus constantly smells like smoke. Smoke, and occasionally caramel, when Dorcas decides she’s had enough of the smell and showers him in her own body mist.
Barty inhales deeply, trying to catch that scent. He doesn’t smell smoke; he smells Regulus. Maybe that’s why he loves it when Evan's potions blow up—the whole room smells like Regulus afterwards. Plus, it’s always funnier than the last time.
As Barty walks toward him, breathing in more of the air around him, he feels as though he’s being engulfed by Regulus. But then, when an itch in his throat reminds him it's just smoke, he starts coughing. Then he starts hacking. As embarrassing as it is, at least it makes Regulus finally turn his head to look at him—even if there's a mocking look on his face.
Barty places his elbows on the railing, still coughing into his fist. Regulus takes the cigarette from his lips, holding it between two fingers as he absently rolls it between his rings. Barty’s eyes are fixed on Regulus’s fingers, Regulus’s gaze lingers on Barty’s neck.
"Heard she's a slag," he said, clearing his throat. "And that she bleaches her hair to death—be careful if you tug on it, might come out in clumps."
Regulus stares pointedly at Barty's scalp, "As if I could tug on yours."
Barty brushed a hand over his hair, which was now no more than an inch from his scalp. After an argument with his father about hanging out with the wrong crowd, he’d dyed it neon green. Green—the color of his house. His father had always hated that he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw like him. In retaliation to his new hair colour, his father and their house elves had forced Barty down and buzzed off his once-glorious hair.
"You could try if you—"
"Piss off, Barty," Regulus interrupted, smoke curling out of his nose. "What are you even doing here?"
"What are you doing here?"
"What?"
"I asked you before, but you blatantly ignored me. Shouldn't you be with that blonde?"
He snorted, "Why? Do you want to do Amanda too?"
His skin crawled—he hated it. He hated that Regulus even knew her name, her first name, no less. The thought of them being on a first-name basis made him want to hurl. He wanted to vomit up all the smoke, all the Regulus he had inhaled. But then, like some sick, hairless cat, he'd probably swallow it all back down.
It was as if Barty's blood froze in his veins. He would desperately claw at his wrists, drawing blood in hopes of thawing it. Maybe then Regulus would scream at him to stop—maybe he’d use his name instead of blondie’s.
"No. Do you think I should bleach my hair blonde?"
Regulus blinked, taken aback. As quickly as it froze, Barty felt his blood surge through his veins again. He liked that he was the one who got to see Regulus like that. It was if he was the only one who could really surprise Regulus, only if it was just momentarily. Blondie wouldn't be able to do that, she’s too boring — too predictable, Regulus hates boring. Maybe that blondie probably makes him feel nice, but anyone could do as much as he loathes the idea of that.
"You've just gotten your hair back, Barty."
"Well this time it'll be yellow for Hufflepuff, not green for Slytherin."
Regulus stared at him for a moment, then scrunched his nose, trying to suppress the smile slowly creeping across his face. "Why blonde?" he asked, his face devoid of a smile, though it was evident in his tone.
"You seem to like them, right? Blondes?"
Regulus went back to staring at him again, but this time it felt more like a glare. He exhaled smoke directly into Barty's face, and Barty happily inhaled it. As the smoke cleared, Regulus was still staring at him, his pretty green eyes more alluring than ever. Barty couldn’t blame blondie for shoving her tongue down Regulus’s throat; those eyes could stand out even in the dark. Blondie’s eyes were dark brown—almost black, so it made sense. Barty’s eyes were nearly black too.
"I came here for a smoke."
"And I came here for you—"
Barty's head snapped to the side. Regulus had smacked him with the hand holding the cigarette, and Barty felt a burning dot on his cheekbone. He heard something drip onto the collar of his shirt—Regulus's ring must have nicked his skin.
"Left a mark. Probably didn’t need to, since you’ve already done that yourself. Looks like you’ve tried to hang yourself, freak."
Barty kept his head turned. He didn’t want to look at Regulus, afraid he’d say something stupid and have Regulus leave instead of smacking him again.
"Merlin, you're such an asshole," he muttered, staring at Regulus's barely lit cigarette lying on the roof below them. It must have slipped out when he slapped him. "If anyone wants to hang themselves here, it's you—you and your internalized homophobia—"
Regulus smacked him again, this time on the other cheek and Barty let him.
They stayed like that for a while. Barty kept his head trained on the door which was still slightly cracked open. Regulus' breathing was the only thing Barty could hear, which was almost unnoticeably heavier than usual, but Barty noticed.
Barty reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a spare cigarette, even if he wasn't a smoker. Regulus took it from him, purposely not touching him. Barty only slowly turned his head once he heard the click of a lighter. The cigarette was back between Regulus’s lips, the flame's light illuminating the bottom half of his face.
Barty buried his head in his hands, biting hard into the heels of his palms. He wanted to rip out his stupid inch-long hair and keep ripping and ripping every time it got long just because Regulus said he preferred his hair shorter. He wanted to scream at Regulus for leaving him alone and naked in his bedroom last Christmas.
He slid his fingers apart, glancing up at Regulus through the gaps. The cigarette burned between Regulus’s fingers, and Barty sometimes wished he wasn’t as beautiful as he was. But if Regulus weren't, Barty would be punishing himself—and the world.
"Didn't mean to hit you that hard," Regulus muttered, his gaze wandering over both of Barty's cheeks before quickly flickering to his neck, then back to his cheeks.
“I know.”
“I meant what I said about your neck. It doesn’t make you look like a freak—just like you were attacked by a rabid animal.”
“I do it whe—”
Regulus sighs. "When you're nervous, I know."
"You make me nervous, that's all."
Regulus raises his hand, as if he were about to smack Barty again. But it lingers in the air before landing flat on Barty's mouth. There's a crease between Regulus’ eyebrows. Barty wants nothing but to press his thumb into it, smooth it down.
"Just stop, Barty."
He can't. He physically can't. Regulus has ruined him, utterly ruined him. Nothing will ever ruin him more than Regulus already has. Regulus drops his hand and wipes it on his pants, and Barty's lungs collapse as his heart strangles itself. He's filled with rage.
"You're such a pussy, Reg." Regulus isn't looking at him. "Look at me."
Regulus doesn’t. He closes his eyes, and Barty isn’t sure if he can’t or just doesn’t want to. Barty’s nails dig into the dents they’ve already made in his palms. He wants to press his hand against Regulus' mouth too, knowing full well Regulus would smack him again for trying.
"Did she take you like you took me, Reg? Was she as good as me?" Barty spits, his eyes locked on Regulus’s mouth. "Did you leave her in her bed too, Reg?"
"I didn’t fucking sleep with her."
"If you did, you would’ve been imagining me, rig—"
This time, Regulus actually smacked him—no, it was more of a punch. Then Regulus grabbed Barty by the collar, yanking him down and practically gnawing his lips off with his teeth before shoving him back against the railing, away from him.
Barty pushed off the railing, frantically trying to grab at Regulus. But Regulus punched him again, even harder, sending Barty stumbling to the ground.
They stare at each other, breathing heavily. Regulus' cheeks are flushed slightly, now he can see it now up close. Barty tastes iron on his tongue and swallows. Barty watches Regulus watch him swallow.
"Don't bleach your hair." He said, his voice cold and detached. He dropped his lit cigarette onto Barty, the burning embers leaving small, searing marks on his pants.
Regulus turned and walked away, the door to the astronomy tower slamming shut behind him.
Regulus didn't want him blonde. The few girls Regulus had before had boring brown eyes. Barty also has brown eyes.