Hogwarts, 1976
Barty had other things to concentrate on than Evan Rosier. His shitty life, for example. The fact that his father kept threatening to throw him out, or the fact that his teachers kept cornering him to make plans for his future, or the not-yet-healed bruises on his torso. Maybe also the fact that he hadn’t really slept in three days, or the fact that he couldn’t forgive his mother for never intervening when his father beat the shit out of him. It was a lot.
He thought about Evan anyways.
He thought about his sun-bleached hair, the tattoo on his shoulder blade, the necklaces around his neck.
The other day, Evan had caught him staring. Meeting eyes with him had felt like a heart attack. Like the good kind, where you can’t breathe for a second and then the air rushes back into your lungs, and then you want to feel like that again, because you’re already addicted to it. Evan had smiled his apocalyptic smile, the sort of smile where only the left corner of his mouth quirked up, and had raised his eyebrow ever so slightly.
Barty had looked away, embarrassingly flustered. Evan’s smile was dangerous. He was dangerous on all levels ever to exist. Barty used to think he was casual; casual-everything. Cool with being in school, content with drunken nights in the dorms, unfazed by the unfairness of life. Two days after he’d first talked to him, Barty had seen that unnerving smile for the first time and it had dawned on him how wrong he’d gotten the storm that was Evan Rosier.
Evan Rosier liked to smash things, and he also liked to collect things, and those two tendencies existed side by side inside his chest, and it baffled Barty. Barty would watch Evan collect random stones and use them to smash the window of their dorm the next day. He’d repair cars one day and steer them off the road the next. He was in a desperate hunt for the in-between but never seemed to get it quite right, and Barty sensed his frustration edged into his soul, even though it was hidden behind dangerous smiles and jagged tattoos.
And, most importantly, Evan Rosier was restless. It was as though something inside of him was always begging him to be somewhere else. He couldn’t sit still. When they (Dorcas, really) were studying in the library, he’d get up and wander off without explanation, and re-appear in the middle of the night, when Barty, pretending to be asleep, would watch him take off his shirt and climb into bed. He was sure Evan knew Barty wasn’t sleeping, and always waited for him to return, but even after months, neither of them ever brought it up.
No one ever knew where he was, except that he was never in class, never where he was supposed to be, like there’d be a tiny crack in the time-space-continuum if he ever showed up somewhere he didn’t want to be.
It was a thrill to feel Evan’s gaze linger on his body. It was alarming, bone-jarring. It was like a wake-up call that put Barty’s body into fight-or-flight mode. It was pure adrenaline.
And Barty felt high on the knowledge that the boy the entire school tip-toed around had a crush on him. It was exhilarating. It made him feel a quiet sense of power. Evan had chosen him, Barty Crouch Junior, even though he cared about no one, ever.
It didn’t matter that his father wished he’d never been born, then. Because Evan made him believe he was worthy of something. That Barty had something, anything inside of him that made him worthy of love. That there was something his father hadn’t beaten out of him. That there was something of him left, something besides his aimless drifting, the frantic search for something, the crookedness of his smile. A sliver of the old Barty, if there had ever been one, still somewhere underneath all that self-sabotage.
Barty felt like he’d started his life out trying to get as far away from his father as possible. He’d been six when he had realized he needed to keep as much distance between him and that lunatic man if he didn’t want turn twenty-one and hate his life with a burning passion.
He’d been fourteen when he’d realize he’d fail.
Now, he was sixteen, and he still hadn’t gotten away from him. Instead, he had ended up with no purpose. He was crashing at his friend’s apartments, sleeping on their couches during the winter breaks, he was avoiding calls, he was disappearing from the face of the earth the moment he caught as much of a glimpse of his father. The years he had spent in that house haunted him still, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outrun them. It was as though by trying to get away from his parents, he had thrown himself into chaos, and he hadn’t recovered from it. His life was a shitshow. The only reason he was attending school was because his school fees were covered, and he didn’t know where else to go and what else to do. His friends were here. If he left school, he didn’t know if he’d ever see them again. He liked being around them, so he stayed, because he had nothing better to do.
Evan Rosier was fascinating because he had an aim. He had a purpose. It was so strong that he always needed to be somewhere else. Barty told himself it was the only reason why he liked studying Evan. What if he was simply jealous? What if this wasn’t about Evan’s bleached hair, or his unbuttoned shirt, or the golden pendants resting on his chest? What if he just wanted to snatch Evan’s purpose away, steal it for himself, and finally be happy? He just needed someone to show him how to not waste his life, how to not rot in his room all day, every day.
That’s what he told himself when Evan woke him up in the middle of the night by throwing his shoe at him, and told him he was going to jump of the big cliff into the water, from the spot that that guy had jumped from three years ago.
“You wanna come, Crouch?” Evan asked, standing to meters away from Barty’s bed, a dark silhouette against the window.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Rosier,” Barty just said after a pause, running a hand through his hair, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
Evan was putting on his combat boots. He was wearing his black jacket, the one that made Barty’s mouth run dry. It made the entire night so much more dangerous. “I can go on my own,” Evan said, shrugging nonchalantly.
Barty stared at him, watching him straighten and raising an eyebrow at him in a you-coming-or-not-way. “Fine,” he said a moment later. “I’ll come with you.” He got out of bed, keenly aware of Evan’s interested gaze on the strip of skin between his waistband and the oversized t-shirt when he lifted his arms to put on a sweater. “You’re bat-shit crazy. You’re actually mental, Rosier,” he said, shaking his head, ignoring how pleased he was that Evan took a little too long to tear his gaze away.
Evan smirked lazily. “You’re actually grinning, Crouch.”
“’m not.” He was.
“Shut up and hurry up. I’m not gonna get caught by Gonagall again.”
Sneaking out of the school with Evan didn’t feel like sneaking out. It felt like walking straight out of the front door, because that’s exactly what they did. Evan had buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket, completely unbothered as he shouldered the door open. They stepped outside and cold night air made Barty suck in his breath. The sky was clear, littered with stars. They walked for about fifteen minutes, then entered the Forbidden Forest. They didn’t talk on the way. Evan was a taciturn person, and Barty was still woozy from his lack of sleep. A few minutes later, Evan pulled a large green cover off a very battered looking car. Its left headlight was smashed in and there were dents all over the passenger door.
“You really know how to impress a girl, Rosier,” Barty commented dryly, looking at the car.
“For our next date, I’ll steal a Chevrolet Camaro for you, Crouch,” Evan said, throwing the blanket on the ground and ripping the door open.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Barty said, following him to the car, ignoring how strongly his body reacted to the word “date” coming from Evan’s lips. Was this Evan’s twisted idea of a date? Evan didn’t do things the normal way, so it wouldn’t be that far-fetched. Barty tried to read his face.
Evan just looked at him, then shook his head as though he was giving up. “Get in.”
Barty eyed the car with a raised eyebrow, not quite sure if the jalopy would even get them anywhere, but ended up shrugging to himself. Did it matter? Whatever was going to happen, it still beat lying in bed feeling sorry for himself and making plans to somehow make his father pay for what he had done, to revenge all the versions of him he had not become. He sat on the leather seat and pulled the door shut, while Evan got in at the other side. The door creaked when he pulled it shut.
“Where’d you get it from?” Barty asked, contemplating for a second if he wanted to put the seatbelt on. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see them. It was two or three in the morning.
Evan had crouched forward and was fiddling with something underneath the steering wheel, his jacket obscuring Barty’s view.
Barty huffed, a smirk on his face. “Oh. Got it.” He shook his head, but found that he couldn’t care less. Evan was a collector. He collected things. He wasn’t fazed if those things belonged to somebody else. There were no rules in Evan’s world.
The engine came to life and Evan sat up, turning on the headlight. The moon light was barely enough to illuminate his shit-eating grin, but after focusing all his academic drive on studying Evan, Barty knew it was there without having to actually see it. Evan grabbed the steering wheel, his other hand on the gear stick. “You better put on that seatbelt, Crouch.”
“What, so that I don’t get out in time if you set this car on fire?”
“It’s the seatbelt or your brain on the windscreen,” Evan said, turning in his seat, his hand on Barty’s backrest, dangerously close to Barty’s neck.
“My confidence in you is increasing with every word, Rosier,” Barty said. He buckled up just in time before Evan stepped on the accelerator and they shot backwards, the car rumbling over the uneven ground.
Branches hit the rear window; then, they were on the open field and Evan stomped on the break so hard Barty hit his elbow on the door. “Ouch,” he complained, cradling his arm, but his complaint drowned in the sound of the engine once Evan stomped his boot on the gas pedal and the car started with a jolt, pressing both of them deep into the seats. “Jesus, Rosier, do you even have a fucking drivers licence?”
“I’m fucking seventeen, how the fuck do you expect me to get my hands on a drivers licence, Crouch?” Evan said, rising his voice to be heard over the hum of the engine.
“Legally, preferably,” Barty said dryly.
“Your full of shit, Crouch,” Evan said with a quick side glance and a shake of his head.
“Back to you, Rosier,” Barty said. “Jesus, Evan, don’t-“ he started but broke off when Evan didn’t slow down before ripping the steering wheel around once they reached the road. Gravel shot up and the car slid, but Evan quickly regained control and sped up again.
“Don’t what?” Evan said in that tone that told Barty Evan knew exactly what Barty had wanted to say, and was amused by it. The way the corners of his mouth quirked was dangerous.
“How about don’t wreck the fucking car!”
“I was gonna get a better one anyways. Turns out certain girls have standards.” He held his gaze for a second, and Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes, biting back a grin.
“Fuck you, Evan. Honestly. Did you seriously expect me to be impressed by this jalopy? Like, have you seen this thing?” He made a vague gesture.
“Not in daylight yet, no,” Evan said. With one hand on the steering wheel and half an eye on the road, Evan leaned over ever so slightly to fiddle with the radio. Barty tried not to be too obvious about how the sudden proximity of Evan’s hand to his thigh sent a sudden shock down his spine. He couldn’t take his eyes off the long, nimble fingers. He wondered how all those rings would feel on his neck.
Evan cursed under his breath. “I got it working yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Barty asked, raising his eyebrow. “You mean yesterday as in the day we didn’t have time for anything because we had an mandatory assembly after school?”
“We did?” Evan asked in a flat voice, sounding like he couldn’t care less and blatantly skipping assemblies wasn’t a much more interesting topic than the weather.
Barty felt a sudden tug at his heart. He’d attended because, really, there hadn’t been any other place for him to be. Evan hadn’t been there because he’d had more important things to do, or at least things in general, something. Something he considered important. Sometimes, Evan’s presence made Barty hate himself even more for spending his life locked up in a mental cage. “Where’d you go?” he asked, trying to make it sound casual.
Evan squinted at the road, his face suddenly a bit more closed off. Barty wasn’t sure if his jawline just looked sharper because of the wandering shadows in the car or because Evan was clenching his teeth. “Somewhere. Anywhere,” he said darkly. He paused as he effortlessly steered the car around a turn in the road. They were driving upwards now, and the street was getting narrower. The trees were closing in from both sides. “Sometimes, Crouch,” he said, “I just really, really need to get out of there. Like, get somewhere. Get away from this fucking place.” He had stopped fiddling with the radio.
Barty studied his side profile for a second but didn’t say anything.
“Oh, shut up, Crouch,” Evan said with a shake of his head, seemingly already regretting his words. “See, this is why I don’t-“
“So where’d you go?” Barty asked again before Evan would shut him out completely.
Evan was silent for a full minute and Barty already thought it hadn’t worked, but eventually, Evan did answer. “Doesn’t matter. It never does. I just…I can’t fucking keep staying here. I’ve been here for the past two years, Crouch. I never stay that long. I just don’t. It’s driving me insane.”
“Bold of you to assume you were sane in the first place,” Barty scoffed.
There it was again, the smile. God, if it was up to him, he could play this game forever. “Fuck off, Crouch.”
“You fuck off, Rosier,” Barty said. “So what, you’re gonna drop out of school?”
“I wanted to drop out the moment I got here. Didn’t you?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Barty asked with a raised eyebrow.
Evan huffed. “Guess so. I’ve been wanting to, anyways. Every fucking day when I’m locked into the same fucking classroom with the same fucking people, I’m thinking about just getting up and packing my shit and leaving. No one can possibly expect me to stay here for another few years. I can’t fucking do that.” He slowed down a bit, then nodded to himself and steered of the road. They were on a bumpy field again.
Something in Barty clicked into place and a heavy feeling spread in his belly. “So what is this, then? A fucking goodbye?” Maybe the frustration bled a little through his words, because Evan gave him a sharp look.
“Jesus, Crouch, I wasn’t gonna leave tomorrow,” Evan said.
“Then when?”
“Dunno,” Evan said after a pause, narrowing his eyes. “Someday soon.” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it.
Barty wanted to ask him from what was holding him back, but didn’t want to know the answer. What if he didn’t say you? What if it wasn’t him? What if he’d read the signs wrong? It didn’t matter, anyways, because they wouldn’t ever do anything about it. Having Evan crush on him was dangerous. Letting it get somewhere was suicidal. And Barty’s life was shitty, but still worth living, so he wasn’t ready to risk it all for a brazen boy.
Evan finally stepped on the break and killed the engine. Next Barty knew, Evan had already climbed out of the car. For a moment, Barty eyed Evan’s back through the window. His hair was silvery in the moonlight. Then, Evan turned around, his hands buried in his unzipped jacket.
“You fucking coming, Crouch, or do you need help opening that door?”
Barty flipped him off, unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked the door open. “What happened to being a fucking gentleman, Rosier?” he asked as he got out.
“You don’t want me to be one, Crouch,” Evan said as though he was merely stating fact, raising his eyebrow, his gaze suddenly traveling over Barty before meeting Barty’s eyes again to gauge his reaction.
Barty’s stomach gave a funny little tug. He was glad that it was so dark, because otherwise, Evan would have seen how flustered he was. The heat was throbbing in his cheeks.
Oh, who was he kidding? Evan knew anyway.
Evan didn’t wait for him to catch up and made his way over the dark field, and Barty lingered behind, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The green grass underneath his feet was wet and his jeans were soon soaked, cold and damp against his ankles. Barty wasn’t shivering, though, the air was warm enough.
Five minutes later, they stood at the edge of a cliff. Barty stopped five feet from where the ground just broke off, leaving behind a sharp, jagged line. Beyond that, it was just dark water, and then, the vague line between the lake and the stars, a void littered with tiny little blinking stars. Evan stood closer to the edge, the tips of his boots merely a foot away from the edge. He seemed perfectly at ease.
They were quiet for a second.
Barty eyed Evan, wondering what he was thinking about.
“So what are we doing here?” he asked. His voice sounded like it was packed in cotton.
Evan turned around to him. The wind tugged at his hair. “You wanna jump?”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
Evan stepped even closer to the edge, gazing down as though he was trying to guess how far the jump would be. “Yeah. Me neither,” he said after a moment. And just like that, he’d changed his mind. That was the Evan way of doing things. You couldn’t trust a thing that came out of his mouth. Maybe he’d wanted to jump in the first place, maybe he hadn’t.
Evan sat down, letting his feet dangle over the edge, squinting at water as though he was trying to figure out the exact line where the sky started. He was perfectly at ease.
“Oh, you’re so fucking mental, Rosier,” Barty sighed, then sat down next to him, one leg drawn to his chest, the other dangling.
Evan’s mouth quirked up at the side as looked at him from the side. “You’re gonna miss me so much when I’m gone.”
“I’m gonna cry every day,” Barty said dryly, but didn’t look at Evan.
“You’re already doing that, Crouch,” Evan said.
“Yeah, having to be around you does that to people.” It was the easier banter that it always was, the one where neither of them had to cross any line, but it didn’t feel like it. Barty kept thinking about how he’d wake up to an empty bed next to his. How Evan was out somewhere finding his purpose and he was still here, stuck, and how the frustration was growing every day, like an infestation in his body.
As though Evan had sensed something was off, he didn’t immediately say something, turning to look at the darkness stretching out before them. Barty tried his hardest not to stare at Evan’s hands fiddling with a stone he’d picked up. There was something about these nimble fingers that made his stomach flip.
Then, Evan broke the silence. “Listen, Crouch, I’m trying very hard not to get in that fucking car right now and just drive off. Get away from here.”
“No one’s stopping you,” Barty said.
The glance Evan threw at him said everything Barty ever needed to know, and his heart grazed his ribs like the wings of a bird.
He held Evan’s gaze. He’d never really noticed it before, because he didn’t often dare to look into his eyes that unapologetically, but Evan’s eyes were melted amber. The dangerous kind that nearly had the colour of raging fire.
“No one’s fucking stopping you,” Barty repeated, feeling brazen all of a sudden. What did he have to lose? His father had already taken everything from him. If there was something left, it wasn’t worth holding into it.
“You fucking asshole,” Evan said, slowly shaking his head.
Barty just held his gaze, unflinching. The anger was like simmering lava in his bones.
Evan threw the stone with so much force it must have flown a hundred feet. Neither of them could tell, it was swallowed by the darkness the moment it left Evan’s hands. In a swift movement, Evan got on his feet, already walking towards the door before Barty had even registered what was happening. His jacket billowed in the wind. Barty could tell from the tense line of his shoulders that this was the kind of Evan teachers barely had under control, the one students avoided in the hallways. He was heading back towards the car.
He couldn’t stay in one place for even one fucking moment, could he? What was the point of coming here in the first place?
Barty sprang to his feet, coming after him. “I can’t fucking go with you, Evan. You fucking know that,” he said sharply, raising his voice so the wind wouldn’t snatch his words away.
Evan replied something Barty didn’t understand.
“I can’t fucking hear you,” Barty shouted.
Evan whirled around to him. “I said, I can’t fucking stay here until you’ve made up your fucking mind.” His voice was hard. “So you don’t get to be angry about this.”
“I’m not angry about it,” Barty said, raising his arms and letting them fall to his side.
Evan had stopped walking, his eyes ablaze. “Oh yeah? You sure about that? You are literally making this place so much more unbearable than it already is, Crouch! You make me want to get away from here because you’re so fucking angry at me all the time!”
Barty startled, caught off-guard by Evan’s words. “What?” he asked dumbly. “What are you-“
“You’re so fucking angry,” Evan said, shaking his head, “and you don’t even know it.” He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head and turned around, walking towards the car.
Barty was too stunned to move at first, but once Evan slammed the door shut, his body jerked out of its paralysis. He walked towards the car, his thoughts all over the place, his head spinning. When he ripped the door open, Evan was already hot-wiring the car again, his jaw set. He didn’t look at Barty when he climbed in.
“I’m not angry,” Barty said, his voice sounding strange even to himself.
Evan gave him a dark are-you-fucking-kidding-me-look, but shook his head and concentrated on the cables again.
Barty just sat there, trying to find a single moment in his day when he didn’t completely hate everyone and everything around him.
He came up with nothing.
He just knew he was cursing his father with every breath he took, and that he blamed him for all the shittiness in his life, and he knew that school and his friends just felt like a bad, makeshift distraction that wasn’t even making him forget the fact that he’d eventually have to go home again. He had been thinking about him this whole time he’d been with Evan.
Okay, so maybe he was angry. Like, a lot. Maybe he’d been angry for a long, long time and he hadn’t even realized it. And maybe, just maybe he was angry at Evan for pointing it out. Maybe he was angry because Evan didn’t have to right to force him to acknowledge that no matter how much he had distanced himself from his father, his father’s anger was etched into his blood.
The car came to life, and Evan turned the headlights on, buckling his seatbelt. He didn’t step on the gas pedal.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Barty asked.
“For you to put your fucking seatbelt on,” Evan said, stoically looking ahead.
Barty clenched his jaw, swallowing down a are-you-fucking-serious-right-now-Rosier, and buckled his seatbelt.
Evan checked it with a quick glance, then put the car in reverse and turned the steering wheel. He stopped again, steered the other way, changed gears, and then they were off towards the street.
“Rosier-“
“Just because you’re repressing it, doesn’t mean it’s not there, Crouch. Like, you do realize that it’s not normal to hate every fucking moment of your day? I thought I was a miserable person until I met you. The teachers are scared of you.”
Barty shook his head. “The teachers are scared of my father.”
Evan changed gears. “They’re scared you’re gonna burn this place down.”
“The fuck are you even talking about,” Barty breathed. His head was starting to hurt. There was a pounding behind his eyes he knew would soon turn into a headache.
“I’m talking about how people are scared of you in the same way they’re scared of me, just for different reasons. I’m unpredictable. I don’t care about this place or anyone in it. I don’t care that it’s going to give me a future. I don’t want that future anyways. You,” he said, “you’re living with this simmering anger every day of your life, and everyone’s just waiting for you to blow.”
Evan took a sharp turn and they were on the street again.
Barty felt strangely calm all of a sudden, as though all emotions had been sucked out of him. He stared at the gravel before them. Was that really true? Did everyone see this anger in him and he hadn’t even registered it? Nobody had ever said anything. Dorcas had glanced at him worryingly, sure, and teachers rarely addressed him, but could it really be he had walked the hallways of Hogwarts all this time, not realizing Evan and him were interchangeable in their eyes? Made up of the same explosive material? If Evan was gasoline, what did that make him?
“That’s not who I am,” he said.
Evan didn’t say anything.
“So you’re gonna blame it on me that you’re leaving?”
“No.”
“How is you being like this okay but me being like this not?”
“Because in case you haven’t noticed, Crouch,” Evan said, his jaw set, “I’ve never once taken anything out on you.”
Oh.
There was heavy silence between them. The gravel crunched underneath the wheel; Evan was steering too sharply.
“So you want me to apologize? For being angry?” Barty asked, the edge in his voice making it obvious he was not going to.
Evan huffed. “I don’t fucking care if you’re sorry or not.”
And then, they didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. They got out of the car silently, and after Evan had hidden the car underneath the blanket and thrown some branches over it, they headed back to Hogwarts. When they arrived in the dorm room, Evan just wordlessly grabbed something from his nightstand and walked straight out of the room again, disappearing as though it wasn’t 3am and they had classes in a few hours.
Hogwarts, 1976
Three days later, Barty woke up from a pillow hitting his head. He cursed, grabbing the pillow, easing himself up on his elbows. For fuck’s sake, this needed to stop. When his eyes focused, he realized Evan was towering over him. His sturdy frame was hidden under a sweater and a leather jacket. His smile was lazy. Barty fell back into bed with a huff, rubbing his face.
“What. The fuck, Evan,” he groaned.
“You wanna learn how to drive?”
Barty wordlessly blinked up at him – after Evan had disappeared from the surface of the earth, this is what he said when he came back? – and put the pillow away. “What the actual fuck, Evan? No, I don’t fucking-“
Fifteen minutes later, Barty was sitting in the driver seat of Evan’s (stolen) car. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said, still not quite over the fact that Evan had managed to persuade him with just a smile and his dangerous eyes. “This is actively destroying my grades. I need to get some fucking sleep once in a while, Rosier.”
“You’re too smart to get bad grades,” Evan said, shutting his door.
Barty shoot him a strange look, but Evan didn’t seem to notice. “You need to start it first.”
“With what car key, exactly?” Barty deadpanned.
“Bartemius Crouch Junior, have you never hotwired a car?”
Barty resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You know I haven’t,” he said, looking at Evan reproachfully. It was so cold in the car their breaths formed little clouds. Barty already regretted getting out of his bed. Not only was he freezing his ass off, Evan also seemed to have no inclination of talking about their argument. He just pretended as though it hadn’t happened. Which pissed Barty of even more.
Evan rolled his eyes and before Barty knew what was happening, Evan had leaned over and grabbed Barty’s legs, pushing them towards the car door to make place. Barty bit his lip hard to keep an embarrassing sound from escaping. His nerves were tingling, his skin suddenly hot. Jesus, just how long were Evan’s fingers?
Evan removed the plastic cover on the steering column and drew out some cables. His head was level with Barty’s chest, his shoulder hovering inches away from Barty’s belly, and Barty tried to breathe as flatly as possible, while also praying that Evan couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating. He pressed himself into the seat, trying not to watch Evan’s nimble fingers at work but unable to tear his gaze away. With Evan’s hair this close, Barty could smell the cigarette smoke and night air in it.
Just when Barty was sure he was going to pass out from not getting enough air, the car came to life and Evan put the plastic cover back. He smiled his apocalyptic smile. “You’re welcome.”
Barty forced himself to relax. “Friendly reminder that I’m here because of you, so don’t expect a thank you, Rosier,” he said.
Evan just huffed.
“I don’t even know where to…“ Barty began, frowning at the three pedals.
It was a mistake, because Evan leaned in again, and this time, their faces were at the same level. Even if Evan didn’t look at him, there were mere inches between their cheeks. If both turned, their lips would meet. Which was a thought Barty immediately banned from his mind. “This one’s the brake,” Evan said, pointing at the pedal in the middle. “That’s the clutch, and that’s the accelerator.”
When Barty didn’t immediately put his feet on the right pedals (to his defence, he was running on three hours of sleep), Evan tapped his knee. “This,” he said, “there. This one, there.”
Barty followed his instructions, very much distracted by Evan’s touch. He bit his lip, sternly telling himself to keep it together. “Now what.”
“Now you step on the clutch, and your hand goes here,” Evan said, placing Barty’s hand on the gear stick. “Put the car into first gear.” Evan released the handbrake. “Lift your foot slowly from the clutch and step down on the right pedal.”
Barty did as he was told, and the car made a jump, and Barty immediately took his foot off the accelerator, but Evan’s hand was on his knee in an instant and stopped him. He grabbed the steering wheel to make sure Barty wouldn’t steer into a tree.
“Slowly,” Evan growled, keeping his hand where it was, and Barty didn’t dare to move his foot even an inch. He avoided looking at Evan while he slowly steered out of the forest and onto the field.
“Now step on the clutch and change into second gear,” Evan told him, finally removing his hand as he was confident Barty had gotten the hang of it.
Barty did as he was told and accelerated again, then immediately switched into the third gear. A breathless laugh escaped his chest, and when he looked over at Evan, he was smiling his wolfish grin, and Barty shook his head in disbelief, still laughing.
Evan rolled down the windows and cold night air rushed in, tugging at their hair. It was a shock, but the good kind.
“The road,” Evan said, pointing at the narrow road they had followed just a few days ago.
Barty steered towards it, his movements still unsure and jerky. The field was so bumpy they were constantly thrown against the doors.
“Seatbelt,” Evan growled suddenly, as though he had only just noticed Barty hadn’t put his on, and before Barty knew what was happening, Evan’s arm was pressed against his chest as he reached for Barty’s seatbelt and fastened it. It was so uncharacteristic of Evan to care about road safety that Barty snorted, but he was way too high on actually driving a car right now to question it. What he did question, though, was how often Evan’s hands had been on him in the last ten minutes. He was acutely aware of all the patches of skin Evan had touched, and wondered if Evan was doing it on purpose.
When would he lean in, plant his hand on Barty’s chest, and kiss him? How many more chances would Evan ignore? Barty was tired of this teasing.
A minute later, they were on the gravel road again. It felt like a déjà vu.
“Where do you wanna go?”
Evan seemed unable to tear his eyes away from Barty. “Let’s see how far we get.”
“Before what happens?”
“Before you crash this fucking car,” Evan laughed.
“Fuck off, I’m already driving better than you ever have,” Barty huffed.
“You wish,” Evan said.
“You’re full of shit,” Barty snorted, shaking his head. He switched into fourth gear. The engine roared as he stomped down on the accelerator. His heart was pounding in his chest. If he were in the car with anyone else, they would have told him to slow down, but Evan just smiled proudly and leaned his head out of the window, and the wind tugged at his hair and the collar of his jacket. His golden jewellery glinted in the dim light.
Barty thought, I would set the world on fire for him.
And then: He’s gonna leave me.
The truth was that Evan had wanted to leave that night. He’d packed up all his belongings – it wasn’t much – into a duffel bag and had thrown it onto the backseat of his car. He’d sat behind the steering wheel, fully intending leave without a goodbye, but then he’d hesitated.
What about Barty? Fuck, what about Barty?
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just leave him like this. He didn’t do goodbyes, but things were different with Barty. He didn’t know what it was about that scrawny boy with the crazy hair, but his mind had been rewired the moment he’d caught Barty staring all that time ago. He had gotten under his skin. No one else ever had, no boy ever before him.
So he’d walked back to Hogwarts and had woken Barty up, who, of course, had promptly gotten out of bed to follow him down. Sometimes, Evan wasn’t sure which one of them was in power. Maybe both, maybe neither of them. Maybe it changed with every second, with every snarky remark and dark gaze, so fast neither of them could keep up.
And now Barty was driving his car, and Evan was riding shotgun, and the duffel bag in the backseat was a ticking time bomb. Evan wondered how much longer the universe would allow him to delay the inevitable. He was going to have to leave. He was going to leave. It had never been hard before.
But when he looked at Barty now, he realized that Barty was already angry. He was always angry. It wasn’t obvious. It was hidden in the way he was gripping the steering wheel, and the way he grew quiet sometimes, and the way he tensed up when he was frustrated. Like he had to use all his willpower not to lash out, the way he had learned from his father. Sometimes Evan thought the only thing Barty inherited from his father was his anger.
And he didn’t even know. Because Barty was also crooked smiles, and mischief, and craziness. He was tousled hair, and oversized jackets, and long fingers. He was cigarettes, and black coffee, and kindness.
Right now, he was all of that at the same time. Evan half-expected him to burst from the turmoil of contradictions. He wondered how long anger like that could simmer until it exploded. He knew he’d be right at the centre of it, but he wasn’t afraid. Evan was never afraid. Which came in handy, because he couldn’t be afraid of Barty if it was Barty he had decided to worship.
Barty’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I’m fucking starving,” he complained.
Evan was silent for a second. “This way.” They had reached the outskirts of the next city. Evan had been here before, of course. He always skipped Latin. That language was dead, and Evan wasn’t.
Barty followed his directions. A little while later, Evan told him to stop the car and they came to a halt in the empty parking lot of diner.
“Keep the engine running,” Evan told him and kicked the door open. It creaked violently. Evan got out, his jacket billowing in the wind. “I’ll get you something.” He could feel Barty’s gaze on his back the entire time it took to cross the parking lot. Evan had developed a sixth sense just for that. Barty tended to stare at him quite a lot. Maybe that was why he was failing all his classes (not that he cared much).
The fluorescent lights flickered as he pushed the door open. Warm, greasy air enveloped him and he walked up to the counter. Two tired-looking men were sitting in a corner. The door to the restroom fell shut. There was a paper-package with food to go and two paper cups. A woman appeared. She eyed him quietly, taking in his oversized jacket and his worn-out boots.
“Can I have a two burgers, please?” Evan asked. He was using his polite voice, the one Dorcas always made fun of, because no one who ever took one look at Evan believed he was well-behaved. It always amused Evan how people grew wary around him, reaching for their stuff, watching him out of the corners of their eyes. Most of the time, he did nothing to counteract it.
She nodded and disappeared into a back room.
Evan tapped on the counter, waiting for half a minute. Then, he grabbed the paper bag and the cups and a handful of straws, and bolted. He heard the women shout something, but he was already out of the door and halfway across the parking lot. The door swung open behind him as she came after him.
Evan tore the car door open and jumped in, his hands sticky from the spilt drinks.
Barty stared at him with wide eyes. “I can’t believe you just fucking-“
“Drive,” Evan interrupted him. “Drive, drive, drive!”
Barty started laughing, but he did as he was told. He stepped on the accelerator, stalled the engine twice, cursed, and tried again. The engine roared, and they were back on the street, the silhouette of the women growing smaller in the rearview mirror. Evan held the drinks up to make sure they didn’t spill over when they skidded around a corner. They chased down the street that led out of the town. All the while, Barty started laughing every time he looked at Evan, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I can’t believe you just stole me a burger,” he snorted.
“Flattered?” Evan asked.
“I thought you had money, dumbass! I thought you were gonna pay for it!”, he said, gesturing, steering around a corner with one hand. He was driving in the middle of the road. “And you became a fucking criminal just because I was hungry!”
Evan shrugged. “The lengths I would go to for you, Crouch,” he said vaguely, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Barty looked at him and laughed again. “You just made me your getaway driver, Rosier.”
“I knew you had it in you,” Evan said.
That exact second, Barty drove through a red light.
There was a moment of heavy silence.
Then, Barty burst out laughing, and Evan felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of it.
He drunk in the sight of Barty. He was gonna miss him. Shit, he was gonna miss him.
Ten minutes later, they had parked the car in an empty parking lot. They shared what was left of their drinks – which wasn’t much. Most of it was in the parking lot of the diner. Barty devoured his burger as though he hadn’t eaten in days. He always ate like that. Nobody knew where he put all that food. When he was done, Evan was only halfway through his burger, and he put it away. He wasn’t that hungry. The car smelt of grease and onions, but neither of them minded.
Barty grabbed the cup Evan had put between his thighs. He drank and leaned back. “You’re fucking insane, Rosier.”
Evan smirks. “You like your boys insane,” he said, because he couldn’t help it. He was going to leave and this was his last chance.
Barty stilled, looking at him. A smile danced on his lips. “I do,” he said more softly than before.
There was a loaded moment between them, full of possibilities.
Then, the smile died on Barty’s lips and he shook his head. “Jesus,” he said. “Evan…Jesus.” He put the cup on the dashboard, kicked the door open, and got out of the car, the cold air streaming in. Evan could see Barty through the window as he was running his hand through his hair, making it even messier than before.
Evan cursed under his breath, steeled himself, got out of the car and walked around. Barty was leaning against the hood, both of his hands braced on the metal. He was staring darkly across the parking lot, his eyes narrow and his jaw set.
Helplessly, Evan buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was new at this. For fuck’s sake, he was new at this and he had no idea what he was doing.
“Barty…” he began, no clue what he was going to say.
Barty closed his eyes. “Rosier, fuck off. Seriously, fuck off.”
There it was. The anger. The rage.
Barty turned around to him, his dark eyes dangerously ablaze. “You have no right to put me through this. Do you know how fucking selfish you are? Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting me?”
Evan knew he was selfish. He wasn’t stupid. He was sorry, too. But there was no regret. “I do,” he said tersely.
“Then why are you doing it anyway?”, Barty asked, frustration mixing with the anger.
Evan didn’t know what to answer. There was no right answer to this.
Barty waited. “You can’t give me an answer, can you?”
Evan held his gaze unflinchingly. “You already know the answer.”
Barty stared at him, then ran a hand over his face. “Fuck you, Rosier. Honestly, fuck you. I was going to fucking kiss you.”
Evan felt his shoulders tense. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have let you if you did.”
“To protect me? To protect me because you’re leaving?” Barty asked incredulously.
No, because I don’t want to kiss you, Evan thought. I just really don’t want to. I want to touch that spot on your neck, and I want to sink my hands into your hair, and I want to trace the line of your nose, but I don’t want to kiss you. But he didn’t say any of that. It wasn’t the right moment.
Barty huffed. “Seriously? How is being rejected and abandoned less worse than this?”
“It’s not,” Evan said simply.
“The duffel bag on the backseat,” Barty began and Evan’s heart sank, dread choking him, “it’s full of your stuff, isn’t it? You were going to leave tonight. I think I knew the entire drive, I just refused to believe it. I thought maybe you’d change your mind. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? You were going to leave tonight, no matter what. And you decided to be selfish and have a few more hours of this. Of us. I’m right, am I?”
“I couldn’t leave,” Evan said, shaking his head. “I wanted to.”
“Great,” Barty snapped. “You know what? You can’t end it, but I can. Whatever this is, it stops right here. You don’t care anyways.”
Evan hadn’t wanted it to be this way, but it was always going to be some version of this. There was no alternative universe in which Barty didn’t walk away hurting. “Okay,” Evan said.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Barty said tonelessly. Evan hadn’t realized Barty had still hoped Evan would put things right. He’d given Evan one last chance, and Evan hadn’t taken it. He couldn’t.
“We’ll call you a taxi,” Evan said, remaining stoic.
Hurt flashed over Barty’s face. “You’re not even gonna drive me back?”
It was no good. It was only going to make things worse. Evan couldn’t sit in the car with Barty simmering with anger. “No.”
“Fuck you, Rosier.”
“I’m sorry. Barty, I’m sorry.”
That night, Evan disappeared. That was the thing about Evan. He disappears like he never existed at all. And Barty thought he was never going to forgive him for it.
Sometime in 1976
Barty woke up in the middle of the night from hushed voices coming from the adjacent room. He frowned, blinking against the light of the streetlamp that illuminated the room. The clock on the nightstand told him it was three in the morning. He rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, but his curiosity got the better of him. Three a.m. Dorcas and Marlene were unhinged, and Barty liked not being the only nutcase in the room for once.
He got up and opened the door to the living room.
The world stilled.
The front door was open and Evan stood in the doorframe, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The same jacket he had worn the last time Barty had seen him, just more worn out.
Memories came rushing back in all of a sudden and Barty could do nothing but stare, trying to match the Evan in front of him with the Evan from his memory.
His hair was a bit longer. A tattoo was visible above his collar (Barty had only ever caught glimpses of the one on his shoulder). He still wore the same boots, even though they must have been six years old at this point. Gold jewellery reflected the dim light. He looked dangerous, brazen, cocky.
And happier.
So much more happier than ever before.
Barty felt a sharp pang of jealousy.
The corner of Evan’s mouth quirked up once his eyes fell on Barty, as though he hadn’t broken Barty’s heart all those years ago.
Dorcas and Marlene’s gaze darted form Barty to Evan and back, unsure what do to. Neither of them knew the exact details, but both of them had been there all these awful months after Evan had left. Marlene’s whole body was tensed up, as though ready to grab Barty if he tried to lunge at Evan, eyeing him warily.
Evan seemed unfazed, as always, even though he knew better than anyone what he deserved.
“Barty…” Dorcas warned in a low voice.
Barty forced his feet to comply. He walked into the living room and stopped. “Evan, you fucker. You fucking asshole,” he said, but his tone wasn’t hostile. Before he knew it, he was grinning. Evan was thrown off for a second, unsure, but then gave a tentative smile.
Marlene relaxed ever so slightly, but threw a confused look at Dorcas, who just shrugged.
Evan ran a hand through his hair. “Well. We should talk.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “It’s literally three in the morning, Rosier.” Realizing they weren’t going to be at each other’s throat anytime soon, she crossed her arms. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Seriously, guys, what the fuck.” She stalked off.
Dorcas, dressed in an oversized grey t-shirt and shorts, gave them both a stern look. “Be civil, I swear to god. The neighbours already hate me,” she warned them. “Also, nice seeing you again. We’ll have a little talk later, so don’t you dare run off,” she said to Evan, and then followed Marlene into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and bottles clinked. Insomniacs unite, Barty thought.
He nodded at the stairs leading up to the front door. “Let’s talk outside. I need a smoke.” He grabbed the cigarettes from the table and Evan sat down at the steps. Barty sat down next to him. The air was cool, but Barty didn’t feel it. He lit up his cigarette, not looking at Evan. If he didn’t want to stumble over his words, he couldn’t be looking at him. Evan’s handsomeness still affected Barty after all those years; his heart skipped a beat every time he sensed Evan looking at him.
“Are you gonna apologize?” Barty asked, blowing out smoke.
“I think it’s a little late for that,” Evan said. He was studying Barty’s face, trying to determine whether or not Barty was going to blow up anytime soon. Barty liked that Evan had no chance of knowing, and he liked that it made him wary.
He gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, you think? Jesus. Then why the fuck are you here?”
Evan shrugged. “I wanted to-“
Barty’s head snapped around to him. “Say you wanted to see me and I’ll break your nose,” he warned.
Evan fell silent.
Barty took a pull on his cigarette and slowly blew out the smoke. “So, where have you been?”
Evan wasn’t happy about the sudden topic change, but indulged him. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket, resting his boots on an even lower stair. Barty had forgotten how long Evan’s legs seemed in those heavy boots. “Spain. Thailand. Germany,” he said with a shrug. “It’s been five years, Crouch, what do you wanna hear?”
Barty didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Maybe a reason why Evan hadn’t tracked him down sooner. Why he’d been able to stay away for that long. “Did you do something stupid?”
Once Evan saw the sly grin on Barty’s face, he grinned. “I always do stupid things, Barty.”
Barty handed him the cigarette and watched Evan’s lips touch the place his lips had been just mere seconds before. “I stole a lot of cars,” Evan said, smiling dangerously. “I wrecked most of them.”
“You still don’t have your driver’s license?”
“Fuck no,” Evan said, shaking his head and handing the cigarette back. He’d never been much of a smoker. There was no anger in him that needed to be suffocated with cigarette smoke. “Sometimes when I steal a wallet, I find one with a picture of a guy that looks like me. And I use it for a while. I once found one that looked like you and I wanted to send it to you, but I never ended up doing it.”
Barty huffed, nudging Evan’s boot. “New rule: Don’t sent me your stolen goods. Don’t make me your accomplice, Rosier.”
Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “You already are. You’re my getaway driver, remember?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, shithead.”
They fell silent for a moment.
Barty noticed that Evan was already growing restless again, even though he did his best to hide it. He was already bored of the street, already longing to find something else, to find something new and exciting and better. Barty still felt a pang of annoyance, like every time he realized he wasn’t enough of a reason for Evan to stay.
“Why are you really here, Rosier?” he broke the silence. He wanted to get it over with, rip the bandage off.
Evan drew in a breath. “I thought that this is what we could do.”
“What?”
“This. Me dropping in like that. From time to time, I mean.”
Barty looked at him. “You’re not fucking serious,” he said tonelessly.
Anger flashed over Evan’s face. “It’s better than nothing. It’s better than not-“
“Not seeing you?” Barty asked. “Fuck you, Rosier. You think I can’t handle not seeing you? I fucking can.” He huffed. “It’s not like you gave me a fucking choice there, did you? You just walked out of my life, just like that. I learned not to need you. You can’t just-”
“It’s not my fault you’re not over me,” Evan said darky before he could stop himself. The power balance tipped.
Barty stood up. “You showed up here.”
Evan stood up, too. He had six inches on Barty, frowning down at him. It was infuriating. “It’s been four years. I thought you wouldn’t be angry anymore. I thought we could do this.”
Barty closed his eyes, feeling the all-too-familiar anger boiling in his chest. Every day, he had to make a choice not to be like his father. It was wearing him down, tugging at his edges. “We can’t. Because I can’t fucking move on like this. You can’t just keep showing up and ruining things, because it’s making it impossible for me to move on. I can’t do that for the rest of my life.”
Evan swallowed. It was the first time Barty had ever glimpsed behind the aura of gasoline that Evan kept up at all times. Evan seemed uncomfortable, but endured it with clenched teeth. He looked around the street before looking at Barty again. “What if we promise it’ll never be more than this,” he said. “I’ll show up and we’ll talk and I’ll leave again. Nothing more is ever going to happen. Between us, I mean.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t hold you back from falling in love with someone else. Whatever it was that we had, it ended.”
Hearing those words from Evan shattered something fragile in Barty, but he ignored it. Growing up with his father had taught him that skill, and in moments like these, it came in handy. He narrowed his eyes at Evan. “It’s easy for you,” he said, almost reproachful.
Evan shook his head. “It’s not,” he said firmly.
Somehow, Barty believed him. It was the truth. He stared at Evan, and Evan stared back, his eyes ablaze, his lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw set. There was a long moment of silence.
“Fine,” Barty said then, knowing fully well it was going to destroy him, but knowing it was worse not to have anything to look forward to ever again in his life. What’s the worst that could happen to a boy that was already hurt?
Evan eyed him warily, searching for a sign of hidden anger. He only slowly relaxed. “Really?”
“Yeah, you absolute shithead. Really,” Barty said, rolling his eyes.
Evan smiled.
Barty definitely wasn’t a light sleeper. He could fall asleep anywhere, at any given time, and he was not easy to wake up – which meant that Evan almost had to knock down the front door of Dorcas’ apartment until Barty slowly, slowly came to his senses. Grumbling to himself, Barty rolled around on his makeshift bed, glaring at the door, daring the perturbator to knock one more goddamn time and get his life ended brutally.
There was a second of silence and Barty almost relaxed back into bed.
Then, a voice. “Barty, I swear to God, open the fucking door already!”
Barty jolted up in bed, breathless all of a sudden like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Evan. Evan Rosier. Barty scrambled to his feet, almost knocking over the empty bottle on the couch table as he clumsily crossed the room, his mind not quite fully awake and protesting against the overstimulation. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it, then, giving up, he ripped the door open.
Evan Rosier stood outside on the stairs, wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt, his blond hair in short tangled curls, looking absolutely deranged. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans and smiled crookedly. “Nice outfit, Crouch.”
Barty huffed. “Says the one in a Hawaiian shirt,” he said dryly.
“Says the one in a kimono,” Evan shot back.
“It’s from a very talented designer.” Jesus, Barty couldn’t remember Evan ever wearing anything but black, various shades of grey, or very muted colours. Seeing Evan like this was a shock to his system. He tried to act nonchalantly, but couldn’t stop staring.
Evan, meanwhile, eyed Barty’s kimono, seemingly undecisive if it was the ugliest piece of clothing he had ever laid eyes on, or a piece of art. “Did Dorcas make it?”
“Did I stutter?” Barty stepped away from the door. “You wanna come in or not?”
“I love being invited into Dorcas’ apartment by you,” Evan said with an amused smile, taking off his sunglasses and putting them on his head. “Is she not here?”
“She’s in New York right now,” Barty said, “being hot. You wouldn’t know.” Evan had gotten quite a tan. He wasn’t nearly as pale as he’d been a few months (half a year?) ago and Barty wondered where the fuck he had been all this time, while Barty had spent his days smoking, gambling, rotting from the inside out.
Sometimes Barty wished he would take him with him.
Evan, not noticing Barty’s dark thoughts, walked past him and slumped onto a chair, deflating, kicking off his shoes and stretching his arms.
Barty slowly followed him into the living room, ignoring the patch of bronze skin above Evan’s waistband. “You want something to drink?”
Evan had caught sight of the empty bottle on the couch table and nodded at it, quirking an eyebrow at Barty. “Yes. That.”
“Jesus, Evan. Something that won’t make your liver cry,” Barty said dryly.
Evan raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously, Crouch? Concerned about my health?” he asked.
Not for the first time Barty had to admit that Evan was looking better than ever. His restlessness used to be a dark, twisted thing, but now that nobody forced him to stay anywhere anymore, things were different. Whatever crazy adventures he was going on, it was putting his mind at ease. He had changed so much that sometimes Barty didn’t recognize him anymore. Sometimes, he felt like Evan had taken on a new role in a play Barty hadn’t read the script to. He had been left behind, and he tried his best to ignore how much it stung.
Wordlessly, Barty filled a glass with tap water and thrust it in Evan’s hands, who took it but didn’t drink. “Well, one of us has to be,” he said and sat down on the sofa, drawing his legs up and resting his elbows on his knees. “And you’re doing a miserable job at it.”
“Eye circles are in, Crouch.”
“I genuinely thought they were bruises for a second, Rosier.”
Evan smiled his charismatic smile. It tugged at the scar on his eyebrow. Then, he leaned forward, putting the glass on the table in front of him. “Crouch, announcement.”
Barty raised an eyebrow. “You did not come over here to tell me something you could have easily said on the phone, right?”
“Dramatics matter,” Evan said, unfazed.
“They don’t. Go for it, shithead. Please.”
Evan held his gaze with his dangerous eyes. “I met someone.”
Barty raised his eyebrow at him. He did not want to hear this. In fact, this was absolutely going in the wrong direction. Despite their agreement, he rather didn’t know about any of Evan Rosier’s new lovers. He was ready to burn the world to the ground for Evan Rosier, and vice versa, but he was not going to sit and listen to him talking about that.
“We agreed weren’t going talk about any of our lovers,” Barty said, a sharp undertone in his voice.
“Jesus Christ, Barty, It’s not about that,” Evan said, rolling his eyes.
Barty just raised his eyebrows, still wary.
Evan leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. Barty watched his necklaces dangle in front of his chest. It was a shame Evan had put on a t-shirt. Barty hadn’t seen the pendants rest on his solid chest since Hogwarts, and his memory of it was starting to blur.
“I met this guy,” he began again, “who likes David Bowie. The singer, Bowie.” When Barty gave no sign that he knew who Evan was talking about, Evan just huffed. “Forgot you have a shitty taste in music. At any rate, Bowie gave an interview and he mentioned something, and the guy I met told me what it meant.” Evan paused, staring at Barty for a moment. “I’m asexual, Crouch.”
Barty frowned at him, puzzled. He shook his head. “I have no idea what that means.”
Evan held his gaze as not to miss any of Barty’s reactions. Barty felt a rush at being looked at like that. “It means that I don’t feel sexual attraction to anyone.”
Oh. There it was, the lightbulb moment. Barty stared at Evan until he had slowly wrapped his mind around the idea, then, he gave an incredulous huff. “Rosier, seriously, only you can show up after three months of radio silence and-“ he broke off. “It actually makes a lot of sense.” Barty’s tiredness had waned completely now; he hadn’t felt so awake in a while.
Maybe this was why Evan had never made a move on him, maybe this was why they’d never kissed, let alone slept together. Barty had always been confused by it – they were both daring, brazen, a little insane, it would have made more sense if they had, at some point during their car rides, ended up on the backseat. At least, before Barty had realized Evan was going to leave, when he hadn’t known about how he would still hurt him all those years after.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Evan grinned. There was a tinge of relief on his face, an expression Barty had only seen once, when Evan had realized Barty wasn’t mad at him for what he’d done.
Barty immediately grew uncomfortable – he hated it when things got sappy –, so he left himself no time to linger on it. A grin spread on his lips. “It makes sense,” he repeated, “because everyone wants to fuck me, and you nev-“
Evan silenced him with just one dangerous gaze, and Barty easily hid the quiet thrill that coursed through his body. Being looked at by Evan still felt like bungee-jumping of a high cliff.
Barty held up his hands. “Fine. Not gonna say it,” he said. He leaned back. “So does that mean I can go back to sleep now?”
“I show up after three months and you shithead want to go back to sleep?” Evan said incredulously.
“Fine. Let’s go steal something from my father.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “You’re insane.”
“You like your boys insane,” Barty smiled.
Evan returned his smile. “I do.”
Evan and Barty walked aimlessly through the streets of the city. Back at the airport, Barty had sensed the last thing Evan wanted was to be locked into a hotel room for the rest of the night, so without talking about it, they had left their friends. Barty liked hotel rooms, liked them because of their soullessness, liked them because they erased his identity when he stepped into one. He could forget his father that way, because in hotels, there was no past, just infinite present.
But for Evan’s sake, they were outside. It was getting dark, but it wasn’t cold. The wind kept tugging on Barty’s hair and his clothes. They didn’t talk much – Evan had his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. He seemed absent-minded. The line of his jaw was sharp in the light of the street lanterns.
Barty was just relieved he was somewhere else for once, not locked up in Dorcas’ apartment. It made him wonder if this was what his life was supposed to be like – doing things, going places. He hadn’t been doing any of that for years, had been rotting in hotel rooms or his friends’ flats. Missing out on everything his life could have been, and worst of all, missing out on being a part of Evan’s life.
Barty was jerked out of his reverie when Evan suddenly stopped, gripping the banister and staring down onto the river. Barty frowned – Evan didn’t linger, ever – but stood next to him, his elbows on the cold metal of the banister.
“It’s the same fucking water we’ve been walking along for the past thirty minutes, Rosier.” Barty wasn’t even looking down at the dark water, but used it as an excuse to study Evan’s side profile. It made him want to touch the new scar on Evan’s eyebrow, and he shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket to stop him from doing something stupid.
“Shut up, Crouch.”
“You shut up, Rosier.”
Evan fell silent, frowning down at the water. The wind was tugging at his messy hair, the light from the lanterns tainting his skin almost bronze. When he hadn’t said anything after a full minute, Barty grew impatient.
“Rosier, I’m freezing my arse of, can we-“
Evan covered Barty’s mouth with his hand. “Crouch, let me think for one fucking minute, alright?” he growled.
Barty immediately shut up, trying not to let on how much he was taken off-guard by the sudden contact. One or two years ago, he would have given everything to have Evan’s fingers anywhere near his mouth. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but it was still somehow electrifying, and a jolt ran through his nerves, down his spine to his stomach. It took him way too long to shake Evan’s hand off, and the smirk on his face told him that Evan had noticed.
Barty shoved him a little, but Evan was too sturdy, and just smiled in his apocalyptic way. Evan’s mouth was like a weapon, and every time the corners quirked up, Barty was already ready to surrender.
“Minute’s over. Can we go now?” he asked, letting annoyance bleed into his tone to mask just how much it had affected him.
When Evan didn’t immediately respond, Barty turned away and started walking, but Evan grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, tugging at him until his back touched the banister. He held him there, his flat hand planted on Barty’s chest.
“Crouch, we need to talk about this.”
Barty took one look at his face and realized something. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Evan wasn’t unfazed. His restlessness and his impatience were always right there, but underneath a layer of calm, a watch-me-not-give-a-fuck-attitude, and a dangerous smile. Now, something was bothering Evan, and Barty hadn’t even noticed, because he’d been too busy memorising every tiny detail of Evan’s face before he’d be gone again.
“Talk about what?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. His heart was pounding in his chest. Underneath his open jacket, he was just wearing a t-shirt. He could feel the warmth of Evan’s hand through the thin fabric.
Evan let go of him, seemingly unsure of himself. Even after years, and a lot of boys that Evan must have been with – Barty knew relationships didn’t need to involve sex –, he had always let their relationship be dictated by how far Barty allowed him to go. Barty always got to drew the line, which Evan always respected. And this was definitely about that line.
Barty’s heart skipped a beat as the realization sunk in. “What the fuck are you trying to say, Rosier? We said we weren’t gonna do this.”
Evan’s jaw was set and he avoided Barty’s gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets again and stoically looking at the river again. “I know we did. I fucking suggested it.”
Anger rose in his throat. “You said you weren’t gonna do it. You can’t keep playing with my heart. Why the fuck-“
“Because,” Evan said, turning around to him and glaring at him, “you are the only one who knows how to love me.”
Barty was at a loss. He had no idea what to say. A small knot had dissolved somewhere in his chest, but he kept the relief it brought with it at bay. “What are you doing, Rosier?” He glared at him. “What the fuck is this?”
“This is me telling you that it’s not working. The whole staying away from each other thing.”
“So?”
“So,” Evan said, his shoulder tensed, showing just how much he hated being at a loss, “I thought we should talk about it.”
“But you’re not talking about it. You’re just saying everything besides what you need to say,” Barty replied, sharply.
For a moment, he thought Evan would just shut the whole thing down, walk away, never bring it up again. Barty could see that he was considering it. But, he stayed and seemed to call upon all his willpower. “Okay. Fine. I’ll fucking talk about it.” He took a deep breath. “Two problems,” he began. “I don’t want to sleep with you. And, I don’t want to spent my entire life locked up in some apartment with you.”
Barty ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to keep breathing. He pushed the anger down; reminding himself that that was his father’s response, and he wasn’t his father. Sometimes, he needed to deescalate his stupid mind. “Evan, I don’t need you to sleep with me.”
“But you want me to.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
“Seriously, Rosier, no. There are other ways. We could work around that. I don’t need-”
“But you were going to kiss me in the car.”
Barty rolled his eyes. “Because I didn’t know. If I had known, I wouldn’t have made it into such a problem, for fuck’s sake. What do you think I am? A sex addict?” Barty huffed. “There were some boys, Evan, when you went away. I had sex with them. It was fine. But I can be happy without it. I’m serious.”
Evan eyed him, warily. His gaze was dark and unreadable. “I’m not gonna change my mind about it,” he warned. “I won’t sleep with you.”
“Jesus Christ, Rosier, please tell me that wasn’t the only reason why things didn’t work out between us,” Barty said, exasperated. He knew fully well it wasn’t. Things had been so complicated back then, with his father, his anger, his purposelessness. No matter how brazen Evan had been, it was Barty who hadn’t been ready to move on. They had always been going into different directions, Barty couldn’t let go of the past, Evan couldn’t even bear the present.
But Evan had sensed that things had shifted and had seen that maybe, just maybe, things had become possible now. A second chance. Or maybe he’d just been fed up with fighting against the invisible string that was tying them together, tugging at them every second of their life.
Evan still didn’t seem sure if he believed Barty, but let it go. “Problem two: I need you to come with me, Barty. Everywhere. I can’t settle down. I’ve tried, and I can’t fucking do it. I’ll lose my mind.”
“I know,” Barty said calmly. He hesitated, conflicted. “Jesus, I know.” He paused again. “We can…I mean, we can try…I can come with you.”
Evan seemed surprised. “You can? You sure?”
“How should I fucking know?” he asked, shrugging darkly. “Maybe I can, maybe I can’t, I dunno. You’ve sort of sprung it on me, Evan. What did you expect? That I’d say yes without thinking about it? I was done thinking of us that way.”
Evan shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “You just…fuck, you just never wanted to fucking leave with me. You told me you couldn’t. I was sort of waiting for you to-“
Anger, on. “What the fuck, Rosier? I told you four years ago that I couldn’t leave with you, and then you were gone. And when you showed up again, I was over you. We agreed we wouldn’t start anything. You never once asked me again, I didn’t fucking know you had a problem with our deal. You suggested it in the first place.”
“Yeah, well, it was a stupid idea.” The muscles in Evan’s jaw were working. “I’m asking you now.”
Barty stared at him, carefully pushing the anger down, again. He was not his father. This was not his rage. He couldn’t be angry at both of them for the years they had wasted. The anger couldn’t bring them back, either. He took a deep breath. “Rosier, you’re full of shit.”
For some reason, that caught Evan so off-guard that he smiled, just a little. He quirked his eyebrow at him. “You’re full of shit, Crouch.” He retrieved a cigarette box from his pocket and lit it, shielding it from the wind with his hand.
Before he could take a drag, Barty had snatched it out of his hand and brought it to his lips. Evan watched him, amused, a glint of gasoline in his eyes. He held out his hand and Barty handed it back, watched Evan take it between his nimble fingers. The tip glowed orange in the night.
“Fine. I’ll follow you. One condition, though,” Barty finally said, keenly aware that if Evan refused, Barty would accept it. “I still get to see you shirtless from time to time.”
Evan huffed. “I do change my clothes, Barty,” he said sarcastically.
“That’s not enough. I need at least twenty minutes a day.”
“Horny,” Evan commented.
Barty took his cigarette again. “Says the guy who literally kept undressing me with his eyes during in class.”
“I can still think people are aesthetically pleasing. I just don’t wanna fuck them.”
“Well, I find you very aesthetically pleasing, so do me a favour and flash me your abs from time to time.” Barty took a drag, and Evan watched him.
There was a moment of silence. “You’re really gonna leave with me?” Evan asked, then.
“Yeah,” Barty said, in the most nonchalant way possible. In reality, his heart was fluttering in his chest, a wild euphoria had seized him. All the knots in his stomach had loosened. He hadn’t felt like this in a while, had been so used to being underwater, unable to breathe, that he had forgotten how he used to feel.
The warm feeling might not have been happiness, but maybe it was peace. It was the next best thing. Maybe, it was even enough.
And now, looking at Evan, with his messy hair, his devilish smile, his sturdy frame, something inside of him clicked into place, and a realization dawned on him.
He didn’t need a purpose. Maybe nobody even had one, maybe that was the secret that everyone in the world carried around with them. And that might just be okay. So what if he had nothing figured out yet? Evan was here, with him, in Russia.
They were going to be okay. All Barty had ever wanted, without knowing it, was to simply be at peace. And he was with Evan.