Motion Picture Soundtrack
Barty couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sun. Days had stretched into nights, and nights had bled into mornings, all without him noticing or caring. Time had become an abstract concept, irrelevant in the stillness of his apartment. The world outside continued to spin, but Barty was suspended in limbo, lost in the quiet, numbing void he had created for himself.
His apartment was a reflection of his inner turmoil—a landscape of desolation and decay. The curtains hung limp and heavy, blocking out the world beyond, leaving the space bathed in a perpetual twilight. Dust clung to every surface, a fine layer of neglect that seemed to thicken with each passing day. The air was thick with the stench of old cigarettes, sweat, and stale alcohol, a toxic cocktail that clung to his clothes, his skin, his very soul.
The liquor cabinet that once stood as a symbol of his reckless indulgence was now a hollow, empty vessel, its glass shelves barren. Barty had consumed every last drop, desperate to drown the memories that haunted him, to numb the pain that gnawed at his insides. But the bottles, like everything else in his life, had failed him. No matter how much he drank, the ache never dulled. It only grew, festering in the darkness, feeding on his guilt and despair.
He couldn’t escape it, the crushing weight of it all. The guilt was a constant, suffocating presence, coiled around his chest like a vice, squeezing tighter with every breath he took. He saw Evan everywhere—in the shadows, in the silence, in the broken shards of his own reflection. Evan’s lifeless body was a spectre that followed him, a nightmare that refused to fade, even in the harsh light of day.
Barty hadn’t left his apartment in what felt like an eternity. The outside world was a distant memory, a place he no longer belonged. He hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t slept in what felt like weeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had showered, the last time he had changed his clothes. His body was a shell, a hollow vessel that carried the weight of his sins but felt nothing, not really. The man he once was, the man who had lived with reckless abandon, was gone, buried beneath layers of grief and regret.
The phone on the coffee table was his only connection to the world outside, but even that had become a source of torment. It would buzz occasionally, vibrating with messages and missed calls, each one a reminder of the life he had once had, the people who had once cared about him. But Barty ignored it all, too consumed by his own misery to reach out, to let anyone in. What was the point? Evan was gone, and without him, everything else felt meaningless.
But today, something was different. The phone buzzed again, its insistent vibration cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. He ignored it at first, as he had so many times before. But when it buzzed again, a flicker of curiosity—of desperation—made him reach for it.
The screen was cracked, the light flickering as it displayed the name of the caller: Regulus Black.
Regulus. The name stirred something in Barty, a memory long buried beneath layers of pain. Regulus had been a friend once, a confidant, someone who had understood him in a way few others did. They had lost touch over the years, their lives taking them in different directions. But the bond had never truly broken. It had simply…faded.
Barty’s thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation gripping him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to face the outside world. But something about Regulus—about the timing of this call—compelled him to answer.
“Hello?” His voice was barely more than a rasp, dry and cracked from disuse.
“Barty?” Regulus’s voice was smooth, familiar, and yet tinged with a concern that Barty wasn’t used to hearing. “It’s been a while.”
Barty swallowed, trying to force his brain to catch up, to remember how to have a conversation. “Yeah. It has.”
Regulus let the silence stretch, giving Barty time to adjust, to find his bearings. “I was worried about you,” he finally said. “I’ve heard…things.”
Barty closed his eyes, the weight of the past weeks pressing down on him like a physical force. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he muttered, though even he could hear how hollow the words sounded.
“Barty,” Regulus said gently, “I think I do. I know we haven’t talked in a while, but…you’ve always been important to me. And I know what happens when you start to spiral.”
The words hit Barty like a punch to the gut, the truth of them cutting through the numbness. “You think you know me,” he replied, but there was no bite to his words, just a deep, aching sadness.
“I do,” Regulus insisted. “Maybe not everything, but enough. I know how you get when things go wrong. And I know you won’t pull yourself out of this alone.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken truths, the weight of everything Barty had been avoiding pressing down on him. He could feel the tears welling up, the dam breaking, but he fought it, swallowing the emotion down until it settled like a stone in his chest.
“Reg,” he started, his voice cracking, “Evan’s dead.”
The admission hung in the air, a dark cloud that seemed to swallow everything else. Saying it out loud made it real in a way that nothing else had, and the pain of it was so sharp, so visceral, that Barty nearly doubled over with the force of it.
“I know,” Regulus said softly, his voice a balm against the raw wound. “I’m so sorry, Barty. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”
Barty gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I killed him, Reg. I fucking killed him.”
“No, you didn’t,” Regulus replied, his tone steady, but with a gentleness that felt like a lifeline in the darkness. “Evan made his own choices. You can’t carry the weight of his actions on your shoulders. It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” Barty’s voice broke, the bitterness and self-loathing spilling over. “I gave him the coke. I walked out on him when he needed me. I wasn’t there, Reg. I let him die.”
Regulus was silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound on the line. Barty could almost picture him, sitting somewhere calm and collected, thinking carefully before he spoke.
“Evan made his choices, Barty,” Regulus said finally. “You didn’t force him to do anything. But I know what it’s like to blame yourself for something you couldn’t control. I’ve been there.”
Barty didn’t respond, the words catching in his throat. He felt raw, exposed, as if Regulus had peeled back the layers of his defences and was staring straight into the core of his pain.
“I know you loved him,” Regulus continued. “But you can’t let this destroy you. Evan wouldn’t want that.”
Barty’s breath hitched, the tears he had been holding back finally spilling over. “I don’t know how to live without him,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“You take it one day at a time,” Regulus said, his tone firm but kind. “You find something to hold onto, something that keeps you grounded. For me, it’s James.”
Barty blinked, his tears momentarily forgotten. “James? Potter?”
Regulus let out a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Yes. He’s…he’s everything to me, Barty. He’s loud and infuriating, and sometimes I want to strangle him. But he’s also the kindest person I’ve ever met. He never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself.”
Barty tried to imagine it—Regulus, the calm, collected one, in love with someone as wild and unpredictable as James Potter. The thought was almost absurd, but the warmth in Regulus’s voice made it real, made it something beautiful.
“He’s my reason,” Regulus continued, his voice soft. “The thing that keeps me going, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. You need to find your reason, Barty. Even if it’s just one small thing. You have to find it.”
Barty let out a shaky breath, his mind racing. He wanted that—wanted something, someone to pull him out of the darkness. But the person who had been that for him was gone.
There was a pause, a long one this time, before Regulus spoke again, his voice careful. “Barty, have I ever told you how James and I got together?”
Barty frowned, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “No, I don’t think so.”
Regulus sighed, and Barty could hear the weight of memories in that breath. “It wasn’t easy, not at first. I was so used to shutting people out, to keeping everyone at arm’s length. James…he didn’t let me. He barged into my life, loud and uninvited, and refused to leave.”
Barty could almost see it—the young, brash James Potter, all confidence and charm, and the more reserved, guarded Regulus Black. It seemed like such a mismatch, but there was a tenderness in Regulus’s voice that made it all make sense.
“I pushed him away so many times,” Regulus continued, his voice quieter now, more introspective. “But he kept coming back. He saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself, something worth fighting for. And eventually…I started to believe him.”
Barty swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “You’re lucky, Reg. To have that.”
“I am,” Regulus agreed. “But it wasn’t just luck, Barty. It was a choice, for both of us. To fight for something real, something worth holding onto. And you have to make that choice, too. Even if it’s hard.”
Barty closed his eyes, the tears still slipping down his cheeks, but now there was something else—a small, fragile spark of hope. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can,” Regulus said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re stronger than you think. And you don’t have to do it alone.”
Barty was silent, the weight of everything pressing down on him, but for the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe. Regulus was right—he didn’t have to do this alone. Maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth fighting for.
“Reg…” Barty began, but the words caught in his throat, too many emotions tangled up inside him.
“I know,” Regulus said softly. “And I’m here for you, Barty. Whatever you need.”
There was another pause, one that was somehow comforting, as if the silence was its own kind of connection.
“I think…” Barty started again, his voice trembling, “I think I need to go to a meeting.”
Regulus’s voice was warm, reassuring. “That’s a good start, Barty. A really good start.”
The words felt like a lifeline, something solid to hold onto in the swirling chaos of his mind. “Thank you, Reg. For calling. For…everything.”
“Anytime,” Regulus replied. “You’re not alone in this, Barty. Remember that.”
Barty nodded, even though Regulus couldn’t see him. “I’ll try,” he said, and he meant it.
“Good,” Regulus said. “And Barty…take care of yourself. For Evan, and for you.”
The call ended, the connection severed, but the warmth of Regulus’s words lingered, filling the empty spaces in Barty’s heart.
He stood there for a long time, phone still in hand, until the gravity of what he had promised began to sink in.
He would go to a meeting. He would talk to someone. He would try—try to find a way to live with the pain, to move forward without Evan. It wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t going to be quick. But maybe, just maybe, it was possible.
As Barty finally set the phone down, he looked around his apartment with new eyes. It was still a mess, still a reflection of his inner chaos. But there was something different now—a sliver of light in the darkness, a faint glimmer of hope.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Barty allowed himself to believe that things could get better. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless. And for now, that was enough.