I want your midnights
Evan Rosier hates his job, but he loves money. Therefore he puts on a faux smile every time a customer comes up to the counter.
“That’ll be five,” Evan says, eyes fixated on the computer screen lighting up with the little girl’s total. She can’t be more than thirteen, and since dumping the pants on the free space before Evan, she’s barely uttered more than three words. Even now, she stays mute, carefully handing over the banknote as if she already knew the price.
The young customers always do, Evan has realised over time. They care so much about the amount of money they spend, and whenever they pay, they always look so nervous that Evan’s afraid they’ll faint from worrying too much.
Evan accepts the money, carelessly stuffing it into the cash box with a sigh. One would think the secondhand shop would be filled with people on a Friday afternoon, and there are definitely more than usual, but the truth is that this particular shop is slowly going down. Fewer and fewer people donate clothes, and fewer and fewer buy them in return. If Evan has to be honest, he doesn’t think it’ll live much longer. He’ll have to find a new job soon enough.
Evan takes the hanger off the pants and folds them before pushing them across the table to the waiting girl.
“Have a good day.” Evan doesn’t mean a single word.
“You too,” she whispers, already halfway to the door.
Five words, Evan notes. At least it’s more pleasant than those grandmas who’ll tell him their whole life story and then start over with their newest grandson’s.
Don’t get Evan wrong, he loves the concept of secondhand clothing. His closet consists of around seventy-five percent reused items; even the pants he’s wearing at the moment are thrifted. There’re just two very important things he doesn’t like: people and working. Every week, hours and hours he could’ve spent more wisely are wasted, just so he can receive a bunch of money that’ll be gone by the end of the week. And then the vicious circle starts again.
Thus, Evan mopes at work whenever he can get away with it. And today is no exception. Managing the counter isn’t very distracting or consuming in any way. It’s easy work. Scanning clothes and reading the price out loud usually isn’t anything Evan has to think too hard about. He can serve a customer while being absorbed by his own thoughts. Not to mention that Evan’s lucky if he gets an inquiry every ten minutes. The other nine minutes, Evan can simply stare at the ceiling or look at his phone if he’s careful and hides it under the counter.
Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue. Sure, it’s boring, but he’d rather do nothing than have to chit-chat with customers who can’t distinguish an “I don’t care” face from an “Oh, that’s interesting, tell me more” face.
However, today Evan gazes helplessly at every face in the shop in the hope that one of them will turn around and walk up to the counter with a question written in their eyes. Today, Evan wants to be busy, wants to not be left alone to his thoughts.
It’s been his escape from reality those past days. Being occupied twenty-four hours a day keeps the overthinking at bay, so every day he’s been working out, and every night he has been out getting hammered. Evan has come to the realisation that the hangovers the next day actually aren’t half-bad. It kept him in bed for a few hours after waking up, but it also makes it impossible to think too hard about life complications such as falling in love with your best friend. Meaning Evan is somewhat good to go.
In the last week, he hasn’t thought about Barty, and though he has the time now, Evan won’t break his streak. Barty can kindly fuck off out of Evan’s head. Evan doesn’t want to talk to him. Not even if he's just a made-up version of the real Barty that only exists in Evan’s mind.
Fuck you.
Mental Barty smiles in return, just as insane as the original.
A few metres from Evan, an elderly man fumbles with a hanger, the shirt on it falling to the ground. Quickly, he looks around to see if anyone notices, and as his eyes land on Evan, he lifts his hand in apology and acknowledgement before picking up the shirt and putting it back on its hanger. Evan sighs to himself, plopping his chin down on his palm. He really doesn’t give a shit.
Somewhere in the maze of booths, Dorcas is walking around, ensuring the tried-on clothes get returned to where they belong, and Evan considers finding her and asking if they can switch tasks. He can’t leave the counter, though, so he’ll have to wait for her to return before he can even ask. Getting her to agree to it is a completely different problem.
The doorbell chimes as a new customer walks in, and Evan lazily lets his eyes dart to the door, ready to judge another human being by their exterior.
For a split second, Evan thinks he’s going to collapse. His legs feel wobbly, his heart fails him, and the world narrows down to one moment as Evan catches sight of the familiar boy who just stepped inside.
No, Evan’s mind protests helplessly. No.
He could hide, Evan thinks. Duck beneath the counter, maybe even crawl under it, and pretend like he doesn’t exist.
Always pretend, pretend, pretend.
Perhaps if he’s fast enough, he can even make it to the window and throw himself out of it head-first. He’s willing to take the risk.
Why? Why is he here?
Evan told him he didn’t want to see him, so why is he here? Why?
Evan’s head is spinning. The whole world is spinning, and Evan only has a few seconds to decide what to do before Barty will turn around and see Evan, and then it’ll be too late. Evan can’t face Barty. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
He’ll start crying, and Evan can’t start crying at work. It’s been a week, and Evan hasn’t thought about Barty once. He hasn’t cried over him, and he’s already established that he won’t start today.
Barty and Evan’s feelings for him belong to the past and don’t deserve any more attention than they’ve already got. It’s pathetic, and Evan’s done being pathetic.
In front of him, Barty turns his head as he most likely scans the room for any signs of Evan, who desperately tells himself to duck. His mind screams at him to bend his knees and press himself against the counter until Barty leaves again, but Evan doesn’t move. He can’t move. Not when his eyes have attached themselves to the bouquet of roses clutched in Barty’s right hand and his heart refuses to return to normal speed.
Abruptly, Barty comes to a halt, and Evan reluctantly tears his gaze away from the flowers and back to Barty face and eyes, now trained on Evan. Evan shouldn’t be fond of him, shouldn’t feel himself relax at the mere sight of Barty, but as Barty stands there, looking almost exposed in some way, Evan can’t help it. There’s just always been something hypnotising about Barty’s green gaze, drawing Evan in without even trying to, and Evan’s just always been a lost cause whenever Barty’s around.
It’s not really fair. It wasn’t a year ago, and it isn’t now.
Clenching his hand into a tight ball, Evan forces his gaze away and slips on his neutral mask so Barty can’t possibly see the chaos storm unfolding in his head. He’s already decided, Evan reminds himself. He’s not doing this.
It takes more than Evan would like to admit to keep his gaze on the counter as Barty makes his way towards Evan, shamelessly ogling him like it’s been years and not days since they last saw each other. Get a grip, man, Evan silently comments, trying to find it in himself to be mad and annoyed with Barty. A completely unnecessary voice in his head, however, finds pleasure in pinpointing that he himself currently is having trouble fighting the urge to stare back.
Evan quickly shuts the voice up, refusing to acknowledge it, and diverts his attention to the very interesting, bare counter surface before him.
“Evan.”
“No.”
Barty stops on the other side of the counter as if he’s just another tiresome customer looking to buy something. He’s not, though. He’s very much not here for clothes, which he also very much shows by following along the counter as Evan moves, pretending to be busy with something else.
“Evan, just-”
“No.”
Swiftly, Evan grabs a few hangers from a bigger pile before suddenly changing direction again and heading back to where the cash till stands. It doesn’t Barty, who stubbornly refuses to get the hint, quickly catching up with him again.
“Evan, you can’t just say no.”
“Watch me.”
With that, Evan squats down and pulls out a box from underneath the counter. Above him, Barty sighs, and Evan deliberately wastes as much time as possible on separately stuffing each hanger into the already half-filled box. He knows he can’t postpone the conversation they’ll need to have much longer, but Evan’s grateful for every second he can get.
“Evan,” Barty tries again after a few seconds.
“Fuck off. I’m working.”
“And I need to talk to you. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”
“Two things,” Evan says, shoving the box away with rougher movements than necessary. In a sudden, he’s back on both feet, looking Barty directly in the eyes as he slams both palms down on the counter, hoping to somehow scare Barty off. “First of all, I’m working. I don’t have five minutes. I have to work.”
Barty doesn’t even blink, head tilted slightly to the left in a bored demeanour and eyes silently asking, “are you done yet?”
Evan almost wants to laugh at it. It’s so typically Barty; being the one who needs to hand out apologises, yet only offering attitude and arrogance. Constantly acting so much better than everyone else, and then being confused when people don’t like him.
“And second of all,” Evan continues, almost growling. “Even if I had the time, I don’t want to talk to you. I was very clear about not wanting to see you or talk to you, so-”
“Well, dear Rosie, you don’t have to talk to me. As long as you listen to what I’ve got to say, I’ll be satisfied.” Barty shrugs as if it really can’t be easier and Evan just needs to open his eyes.
“Leave me alone, Barty. I’m not listening to anything you might want to say to me, because guess what?” Evan throws his arms up into the air, silently giving Barty a “go ahead” signal. However, before Barty can actually guess, Evan answers his own question. “There’s nothing you can say that’ll get me to go out with you. I don’t want to be a victim of one of your harmless jokes that go far beyond the line of respect. So fuck off.”
“Evan, It’s not a joke, I swear-”
“Oh, it’s not?” Evan mocks, feeling his blood boiling underneath his skin. If Evan doesn’t get Barty out of the shop soon enough, they’ll attract attention from actual customers, and Evan – unlike Barty – really doesn’t want to create unnecessary drama. “You mean to tell me you’re sincere? That you’ve suddenly come to the deep realisation that you’re actually madly in love with me after using me as your own wingman and shoulder to cry on for years, barely acknowledging me?”
Barty opens his mouth, but no sound makes it past his lips. He looks lost, like Evan really just took the thoughts right out of his chaotic head and formed them into a single sentence. Evan doesn’t have it in himself to feel bad for Barty. Not anymore.
“You know what, Barty?” Evan asks. “I actually prefer the old you who’d whine about Regulus all day long to this new one. At least he didn’t break my heart to make me cry on purpose.”
It should be satisfying to watch Barty stumble backwards as the blow lands, but it isn’t. It hurts, and Evan envies Barty’s ability to hurt without hurting himself in the process. How can he be so effortlessly cruel towards Evan, when Evan can’t even insult Barty without feeling bad?
For a second, Barty looks like he can’t breathe, and he does a double-take as he tries to gather himself and fails. It’s painful to look at, knowing Barty will do anything in his power to appear unfazed and collected. Knowing that Evan’s words hit so hard, Barty physically can’t hide his pained expression. Evan can feel his own heart unravelling, but still, he refuses to look away, ensuring Barty notes the scowl on his face.
“So once again. Fuck off.”
Evan turns around to walk back the pile of used hangers. However, before he can manage to take a single step, a hand wraps around his wrist, preventing him from leaving.
“No, Evan, wait.”
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Immediately Evan rips his arm away, and Barty pulls back with both hands lifted above his head.
“Sorry,” Barty grits out, sounding anything but sorry. His eyes are still swimming with agony. “Just don’t go. Please. You need to hear me out.”
“No. No, I don’t,” Evan insists, which in theory is true. He’s just uncertain Barty will give a fuck. Once he puts his mind to something, absolutely no one can stop him in any way. “I’m working. So if you aren’t looking to buy anything, you’re going to have to get out. Now.”
“Fine,” Barty grits out. “I'll buy something then. Is that what you want?” Throwing his arms up into the air, it’s Barty’s turn to give Evan a “go ahead” gesture. Evan knows that if he says yes, Barty won’t hesitate to grab the nearest piece of secondhand clothing, pay for it, and repeat until Evan finally accommodates his wish.
“Can’t you just leave me alone?” Evan suddenly exclaims, a feeling of despair washing over him. Had they been anywhere else, Evan could’ve left, could’ve run away like he’s done before, but here there is nowhere to go. He’s stuck, unable to get Barty to leave, and the fear that a customer might come over and interrupt them to buy something is growing in him. It can’t happen. Evan needs to get the situation under control as fast as possible, and get Barty out of here before he can cause chaos elsewhere besides Evan’s head. “You’re acting like you’re fucking obsessed.
“Have you ever considered that maybe I am? Because I have. You’ve been living on my mind for the past year, Evan, and I can’t fucking get you out.”Standing with both arms lifted and head tilted to the right, Evan thinks Barty might look a bit insane. His green eyes stare Evan down, emanating madness and his brows are furrowed. Perhaps it should be scary, but Evan can’t help but think he’s more enthralling than ever before.
Barty’s never been the prince on the white horse. However, Evan’s also never really been a damsel in distress, so they fit in that way.
Maybe the two of them have just never been destined to have picture-perfect storybooks written about them. Maybe they’ve just always lived in the dark bewitched forests, cursed to experience a different type of love than princes and princesses do. A crazy and obsessive kind, too scary to depict in adventure books meant for kids.
Which would mean they’re on their own. There are no guidelines on how to handle this, no right or wrong. It’s just the two of them, all alone and a narrow gravel path covered in plants because it’s been ages since someone tried walking in this direction.
“It sounds like a joke, Evan, I’m fully aware. But I don’t think I realised I was in love with you because being around you has always been too easy. I suppose there’s a part of me that just always felt like I don't deserve you because I’ve done nothing to earn your love in the first place.”
Evan’s staring again. Can’t really help it. But who can blame him when Barty’s looking at him like Evan’s the only reason to breathe. Who can blame him when Barty’s clutching a bouquet of roses, shook due to making too many hand movements whenever he talks.
Roses for my Rosie. Evan can practically hear him utter the words. Despite his rough exterior, Barty Crouch jr. is more sappy than one would think, and perhaps Evan is too because his cheeks warm up at the mere image his mind creates.
Swiftly, Evan shakes his head and forces his eyes away from Barty. He’s not accepting roses from Barty – or anyone else, for that matter. And he’s not going to set himself up for heartbreak one more time. Evan is done with all that.
“No, you haven’t earned anything, because that’s not how love works.” But I can show you how it works. “Now, you got your wish granted. I’ve listened. And now, I’m asking you to get out.”
Evan doesn’t look up from the counter surface, but he also doesn’t have to. He can easily imagine Barty’s disappointed face as he starts stuttering. Behind his back, Evan’s writhing his finger, taking his nerves out on his poor ring.
“I- What? No. No, no, no. Don’t- I’ve got more to say. I’m not finished. You can’t throw me out.” Barty’s voice is fragile, and Evan thinks he might have been wrong about his prior conclusion. No one can get Barty to do something he doesn’t want to, but maybe Evan can. Despite insisting he won’t leave, Barty sounds like he’s manifesting or praying. Like Evan has already closed the door in his face and there’s nothing left to do but beg.
“You need to leave, Barty.” Evan gulps. He wants to walk away, pretend to be busy again, but his feet refuse to move and his heart isn’t sure it can take more separation, physical or emotional.
“No. No,” Barty struggles, shaking his head violently. “I already told you. You have to hear me out. For fuck’s sake, I’ll buy something if that’s what you want.”
You can’t buy me, Barty.
“What I want, Barty, is for you to leave. I actually have to work, it’s not a joke.”
Evan digs his nails into his palms, using the pain to ground himself. They don’t have any more time. Evan’s already caught far too many customers sending them suspicious glances out of the corner of their eyes. It’s too late. And it’s been too late since Evan for the first time realised what he actually felt for Barty.
The reason authors don’t write love stories about people like Evan and Barty is because it never ends well. There’s a reason the road is dark and overgrown. No one makes it to the end and back in one piece. At least, not with their love intact.
“No.”
This time, Barty’s voice lacks any uncertainty, and Evan helplessly lifts his gaze, only to be met with a pair of determined green eyes. They’re enchanting all on their own, and Evan suspects he might do whatever Barty asks of him if he keeps looking at Evan like that.
It’s not fair, but Evan doesn’t think Barty really cares.
“I’m not going, Evan. You can’t force me.” There’s no need for him to say it out loud, because Evan’s already painfully aware. “You’re going to have to listen to me and I don’t care who interrupts, I’ll personally make them to shut the fuck up, even if it’s you.”
“Barty,” Evan tries, but Barty’s clearly not finished.
“You’re supposed to be working. I get it, and I really don’t give a fuck. You can work once I’m done talking to you. It’s as simple as that.” Slamming his hands down on the counter, Barty captures Evan’s eyes with his own, silently daring him to protest. And Evan wants to, opens his mouth to do that exact thing. However, nothing comes out. Evan does absolutely nothing but stare, mouth hanging open, mind cursing him for being so head over heels for such an inconsiderate asshole.
“You listening? Good. I love you, Evan. I don’t know what else to tell you. I love you – always have and always will. Maybe I’m oblivious and stupid for not realising what those feelings could mean before, but that doesn’t mean my feelings aren’t valid. You can’t even deny it, because I’ve always shown it.” Evan mentally winces, wishing he had it in himself to pause Barty’s flow. Yes, Barty’s always been the type to show emotion through touch, but he’s also too thick-headed to realise what some actions could ignite. He’s probably still too dense to realise exactly how many problems he has created by simply showing his love through touch.
“You can’t be mad at me because I’m blind to my own feelings.” Oh, yes, I can. “Evan, I used to cuddle you and intertwine our fucking fingers. Like, come on, how gay is that?”
At this point, the reason Evan is staring, mouth partly agape, isn’t because he’s captivated but because he’s stunned. Evan knows he was correct when he called Barty oblivious. But he didn’t know he was this much correct.
How did you ever pass an exam? His mind asks, astonished by Barty’s ability to lie to and confuse himself.
Sighing to himself, Evan tears his gaze away and forces himself into action again. It doesn’t matter that Evan’s fallen for an idiot, and it doesn’t matter that Barty’s rambling on about his new discoveries. Evan needs him to get out of the shop in one way or another, and as it is, there’s only one thing Evan can think of that’ll get him to move.
He’s not supposed to leave the counter unattended, but Evan is far beyond caring.
“No, wait. Evan!” Barty hurries to follow as Evan makes his way around the counter. Desperation has sneaked into his tone again, and Evan has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. “Fuck, don’t go, don’t go. I’m not leaving. You can’t make me leave. Evan!”
“Would you stop yelling?” Evan asks, whipping around to stop Barty tagging along. Sometimes, Evan thinks, Barty’s the equivalent to a lost puppy. Has abandonment issues and is loyal as fuck, not to mention drools and is annoyingly loud. “I’ll be back in a second, geez. Just wait here.”
Barty looks like he wants to protest, but a raised eyebrow from Evan keeps him from it. Quickly, before Barty can change his mind or do something stupid, Evan turns on his heels and disappears into the maze of booths filled with rows and rows of secondhand clothing. He doesn’t look back, yet Evan can feel Barty’s eyes drill holes in his back, and the feeling lingers even after Evan turns a corner.
The first thought that hits Evan when he’s alone is that he could run. Secretly make his way to the door and run and hide like a coward, afraid to admit his feelings. The second is that Evan can’t keep running forever. Reality will catch up with him eventually, and Evan doesn’t want to lose his job because he’s got a pathetic crush.
Barty’s also proved it won’t work out, showing up whenever Evan least expects him to. Though Evan could take a flight back to France and stay there till the day he dies, he doesn’t want to. Not to mention that Barty probably would follow the second he learned about it. The two of them will have to get it all out soon, most preferably now, so Evan doesn’t break his finger from nervously twirling his ring.
Dorcas is to be found with both hands on a dress that clearly refuses to stay on its hanger due to its small straps. At first, she doesn’t notice Evan, but once she does, the furrow between her eyes increases in a silent question. Before she can ask, Evan quickly speaks.
“I have a problem.”
Dorcas hums as if to tell him to elaborate, not quite giving up on the dress yet.
“And it’s called Barty. And I can’t get rid of it.”
Evan hasn’t deliberately told her about his and Barty’s latest issues. However, Dorcas is even more observant than both Regulus and Lily combined, so Evan doesn’t doubt she already knows every detail there is to know. She’s got eyes and ears everywhere and a sixth sense for intercepting bullshit.
“And that involves me, how, exactly?”
Evan gulps.
“Can you cover for me?” Dorcas raises a single dark eyebrow, looking completely indifferent. “Please. I’ve got half an hour left-”
“Thirty seven minutes.”
“-I’ll pay you back. All you have to do is watch the counter for me while I take Barty with me somewhere else. I’ll do anything, just, please, Cas.” Evan’s begging, and Dorcas just stares at him, lips pressed into a tight line as if she really can’t be bothered to help Evan. After all, it’s Evan’s problem, not hers.
Biting down on his tongue, Evan swallows his words. You can’t make Dorcas do you a favour by persuasion. The only one who’ll make the decision is her, and if Evan tries to force her to do something, she’ll refuse out of spite. In her own unique way, Dorcas is as stubborn and headstrong as Barty, but while Barty’s childish about it, Dorcas isn’t. To Evan, she’s always been the definition of mature.
“On two conditions,” Dorcas says after giving up on the hanger and simply folding the dress and leaving it on the nearest shelf instead. Evan nods eagerly, though Dorcas doesn’t spare him another glance. “You’ll owe me. Big time.”
“Sure. Of course,” Evan agrees desperately. It tingles intensely in his legs to get back to Barty. They’ve been separated long enough that Evan’s starting to worry Barty might have set fire to the counter out of boredom. He’s burned bigger things down in less time, so at least the fear isn’t completely unreasonable.
“And after today, I want the two of you to get your shit together.”
“Of course, we’ll- What?” Suddenly, the meaning of her words dawn on him and Evan opens and closes his mouth a few times in confusion. Still, Dorcas doesn’t divert her attention to him.
I want the two of you to get your shit together.
“No more arguments. No more running away to France. And most importantly, no more pathetically crying over each other. The two of you are splitting the friend group in two by being idiots. So, if you want my help, this has to be the last time anything like this happens. Finish it today, Evan.”
With that, Dorcas moves down the row of clothing, reaching for the next item that ruins the perfect order she so hopelessly likes to maintain. Evan’s left staring, almost feeling violated in some fucked-up way. Nonetheless, he can’t help but think; damn, she’s good. Precise and cunning.
“Cas, I want it to all be over too,” Evan insists, forcing himself to follow before she leaves him alone for good. “It’s why I need your help, but I can’t just choose when he’ll drop it.”
“Stop pretending like you aren’t at least half to blame for this whole thing not ending earlier.” Again, her words hit a bit harder than Evan would like to admit. “Look, Evan. Neither of you deserves to hurt each other any more than you already have. So do what you have to do and put an end to the suffering.”
Evan opens his mouth to object, but Dorcas waves him off, continuing before he can interrupt.
“I’ll cover for you, but if you want it to be worth having to owe me something unknown – there’s thirty-two minus left of your shift – you better get your own ass and Barty’s out of here now.” Swiftly, Dorcas shoos him away, and Evan reluctantly backs. “I’ll go stand by the counter in a second, I just need to fix this row. Don’t worry about it anymore, It’s my business now. Go.”
Though Evan wants to at least say thank you or voice a few of his objections, Dorcas doesn’t allow him too. She waves him off a last time and then her full attention is once again on the clothes that don't hang perfectly.
Because she’s already given him what he wants and he’s scared she’ll take it back if he tries to tell her he can’t comply with her second demand, Evan turns around and heads back to the counter. If Evan knew how to, he’d end his and Barty’s endless arguing today. The problem, however, lies in the fact that Evan doesn’t think it’s as easy as Dorcas wants it to be.
Fortunately, Barty hasn’t burned anything down once Evan returns. Unfortunately, a woman stands next to the counter, clearly waiting for someone to scan her items and read the price out loud. Evan mentally curses himself.
“Evan,” Barty exclaims the moment his eyes land on him. Evan doesn’t acknowledge him, though, mindlessly grabbing him by the sleeve to tug him along.
“Excuse me,” Evan says, gaining the woman’s attention. “I apologise for the wait. There will be someone to help you in a second, I swear. We’re just having a minor…problem.”
“Oh, it’s completely fine. I know what it’s like to be young,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes Evan realise she’s got way too much time to offer. Evan doesn’t, so quickly, before she can tell him about when she was young, Evan nods exaggeratedly, pretending to give a fuck, and starts to pull Barty with him towards the exit.
Once the door closes behind them and they’re finally all alone on the street, Evan feels his shoulders sag with relief. He can’t promise Dorcas they’ll get their shit together after this, but he can promise that he’ll try, and now that they’re all alone, he’s already one step closer. Out here, no one will disturb them.
“Since when was I given the title minorproblem?”
“Do you prefer majorproblem?”
“You know what? Yes, I actually do. Nothing about me has ever been minor.”
Evan scoffs, and though he doesn’t respond to Barty in any other way, Barty surprisingly lets him lead them into an empty alleyway just to be on the safeside. The small walk also gives Evan an opportunity to come up with something to say.
At some point, Evan lets go of Barty’s arm, and once they stop inside a narrow passage, ground made of cobblestones, Evan makes sure there’s enough space between them. He wants to get his words out correctly, and he’s not sure they will if Barty stands pressed up against him. It’s dangerous.
Barty’s looking at him with confusion shining in his eyes, still Evan doesn’t address it, his gaze focused on his hands fidgeting in front of him. He’s nervous. Again.
“Barty,” he begins carefully. “If I told you we could be just friends, would you still want more?”
Evan asks even though he’s aware it won’t work out, that he’ll want more and that the two of them will end up in a situation similar to what happened at the party last week. He asks because he selfishly wants Barty’s answer, so he can hide it in his heart no matter the results of their conversation.
“I,” Barty stutters, looking thrown off by the question. “What?”
“Friends, Barty. If I told you we could be just friends, would you want more?”
“Yes.” Barty nods, yet his brows are pulled together. “If it’s all you want, I won’t hesitate to go back and pretend like this whole thing never happened.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” Evan shakes his head, as if to reinforce his words. Barty looks like he could need it, mouth opening and closing repeatedly.
For a moment, the two of them just stare at each other, Evan’s gaze hard and Barty’s soft, Evan stern and Barty vulnerable.
“If I told you we could be just friends, Barty, would you still want more?”
“I- I don’t understand, Evan. I just answered.”
“No, you didn’t,” Evan insists, feeling his face distort with irritation. He knew Barty was oblivious, but he had hoped something had at least changed by now. Regulus had changed, so why hadn’t Barty? Why are he and Evan still stuck where they were before? “I’m not asking if you’d want to go back, I’m asking if you’d be okay with being just friends or if you’d want more?”
Again, Barty looks lost. Again, he opens his mouth, giving Evan hope that he might have realised what he’s supposed to say. And again, nothing makes it past Barty’s lips.
They’re going in circles, Evan realises. He sends out hints left and right that Barty doesn’t pick up on. Evan begs for an answer, but Barty doesn’t know it. Always, they come so close to the perfect ending they both secretly long for, and always, they misstep and end up alone.
Why do they have to complicate everything so much? Why can’t they just make it work? Why can’t they be normal?
“You don’t see a difference, do you?” Evan asks, already knowing the response he’ll get.
“Am I supposed to?”
“Barty, we were never fucking friends!” Evan shouts. His chest heaves uncontrollably, and he feels slightly out of breath, like he’s just been running. Evan’s done running from his feelings, though. If this is going to be the last time they argue about this – whether they sort it out or not – Evan wants all the cards on the table.
Barty tries to hide it, but Evan sees him stumble a small step backwards. Evan’s words hit, and remorse shines in Barty’s eyes, as if he deep down actually understands what Evan’s saying. Nonetheless, he chooses to continue lying to himself.
“What?” he exclaims, more hurt than angry. “What do you mean? Evan, you were my best friend – you still are!”
“Do you seriously want to call what we had before you slept with Regulus for friendly?” Evan asks in disbelief.
“Yes!”
It’s enough to hurt Evan all over again. To know Barty never saw them as anything else, never intended for his actions to come across as anything else. Never once did he think what he did could be misleading, never once did he think to ask Evan what he was feeling or if he was okay.
“Barty, we were practically dating!” Evan bursts out. If Barty won’t figure it out on his own, Evan will just have to straight-up tell him. He’s done waiting. “Telling your best friend his eyes are pretty isn’t friendly. Cuddling with him even though you have a girlfriend isn’t friendly. And you know what? It hurts when you’re on the receiving end. Knowing it’s never intended as anything beyond friendly hurts, Barty.”
How Barty has never realised will always be a mystery to Evan.
When Barty and Regulus slept together, Evan was mad at both of them, not only Regulus. Both broke his trust: Regulus because he knew about Evan’s feelings beforehand, and Barty because he – somehow subconsciously – led Evan on with sweet smiles and light touches.
Doesn’t Barty ever think about that?
While he never explicitly said anything about liking Evan as more than friend – only ever whined about Regulus – Evan let himself believe Barty’s body language spoke for him. By hugging him, squeezing his hand, and bumping their knees or shoulders together, Evan believed he was silently saying, One day. One day, I’ll wake up and I’ll see you. Just wait for me, will you, my rose?
So Evan did. He tolerated Barty’s insensitive comments about how the two of them were such good friends. He was respectful, helped Barty with Regulus whenever he could, and locked his own longing heart in a locked box to prevent any further trouble, all in the hope that Barty would find the key Evan had left for him.
Barty crushed that dream, though. He didn’t even realise, but he trampled right on it. The day when barty was supposed to confess he secretly loved Evan never came. In the end, the prison Evan had created for his heart broke, and in panic, he offered his heart to Barty, only for it to be dropped onto the floor.
Now, a year later, Barty claims to have realised his past mistakes. He claims to love Evan, says he’s finally woken up, and that his eyes are now glued to Evan and Evan only. But how can Evan trust his words when it seems he’s just as oblivious to Evan’s feelings as he was a year ago?
“So no, I’m not asking if you want to go back, Barty,” Evan bites, desperately trying to get him to understand. “I’d never want that. I’m asking if you would want more if we tried being justfriends!”
“I mean everything I’ve ever told you, Evan, I've never lied. I think you’re pretty. I think you’re so incredibly lovely, it kills me sometimes.” It’s pathetic. It’s really fucking pathetic, because he has changed. Unlike last year, he’s actively trying. Still, it’s not what Evan needs him to say. Still, he’s stumbling and messing up his words despite his best intentions. He deserves credit, he really, really does, but Evan also deserves to not get hurt anymore.
“But telling me my future boyfriend is a lucky guy, when I want him to be you, isn’t fun, Barty,” Evan emphasises. “I’m going to ask one last time: Friends, Barty. Would you want to be justfriends? No cuddling, no flirting, just friends.”
It stops Barty for a moment, and the contemplating expression appearing on his face makes Evan want to throw his hands in the air in success. Finally, Barty’s listening. Finally, he’s trying.
Understand it, Evan begs silently, understand me.
“No,” Barty exhales, shaking his head as if trying to get rid of whatever mental image is stuck on his retina. Based on his mortified expression, it can’t be anything good. “No, you can’t do that to me, Evan. That’s not fair, I-”
“Don’t,” Evan interrupts, his voice quivering faintly, “teach me about being fair, Barty. You were never fucking fair to me.”
Barty grimaces, face twisting in regret, and Evan reluctantly stands his ground as Barty comes closer, both hands lifted in surrender.
“Now, answer,” Evan urges, refusing to meet Barty’s gaze, not when he keeps on looking so exposed and pitiful. “If I told you we could be just friends, would you want more?”
Say yes, say yes, say yes.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Evan,” Barty admits with a sigh. “I just want to be able to hold you, to tell you you’re beautiful because you don’t deserve to ever doubt that.”
“Then you wouldn’t be fine with being just friends, Barty,” Evan answers for him. It’s not satisfying in the way Evan wishes it were, though. He doesn’t want to put words in Barty’s mouth. He wants him to say it himself, but when has Barty ever done things the way Evan would’ve?
He’s always been his completely own person. That's one of the main reasons Evan likes him – because he’s not like everyone else, predictable and boring. Barty has always been a mystery, and Evan wants to sit and study his mind because he doesn’t understand him. He’s fascinating – odd, and it has always scratched some part of Evan’s brain just right. Despite fitting so seemingly perfect with Evan, he’s so, so different, and Evan wants to know why and how. He wants to know everything there is to know about Barty, because if Evan’s honest with himself, Barty's the only person he thinks he’ll never get bored off. Barty never fails to surprise him, revealing yet another side of himself when Evan thinks he might understand something.
He’s the puzzle Evan can’t quite solve.
“Evan, I want us to be friends like we were before.”
“Is that it?” Evan asks, feeling his own heart ache. It won’t take much for Barty to break it again, and Evan fears it’ll any time now. “Is that all you won’t? To go back to being friends?” Pretending to be okay when he’s actually hurting? Misleading touches and secret longing stares? Not quite friends and not quite together? Unrequited love and ignorance?
Evan will do a whole lot for Barty, but not that. He’s done pretending.
“No,” Barty rapidly exclaims. His hands swiftly curl and uncurl in frustration, and he takes a few forced deep breaths before continuing. “I want so much more than what we were before, I realise now. But if you feel like you can’t trust me or something like that, then I’d just want to go back to what we were before. Evan, I need you to understand that I can’t be just friends with you, as you call it. What we were before is the least I can accept because deep down I want more. I want so much more.”
“What more?” Another test that Evan needs Barty to pass.
“I- I don’t understand.” And again, Evan’s heart shatters a bit more. Nothing. Once again, Evan receives nothing because Barty once again doesn’t know the answer. One would think it would stop hurting after so many years, but it never really does.
“What more is there to want beyond what we were before? What’s the difference between what we were before and being actual boyfriends?” Evan elaborates. Despite knowing he’ll only hurt himself more, Evan can’t stop asking. He doesn’t want Barty to fail or make another mistake. He wants Barty to get it, to understand when he does and he doesn’t tread wrong, to learn to be careful when he’s holding Evan’s fragile heart in his bare hands.
And if he bothers to learn it for Evan, Evan will cherish Barty’s heart in return, just like he’s always dreamed about. If only.
“That it’s official.”
It’s sudden, and it takes Evan completely off guard. A determined glint has taken over in Barty’s eyes and there’s not time for Evan to say anything before Barty speaks up again, looking like he’s finally figured Evan out.
“I’d be yours, and you’d be mine. I can still call you pretty, but I’d do it as your boyfriend. That’s a huge fucking difference for once. The only fucking reason I’d ever consider settling for what we were back then is because I had some parts of you, and that’ll always be better than having nothing.”
The way he talks about it should make Evan mad. The way he expresses it like he’s entitled to single-handedly choose whatever they’re going to be after this should make Evan want to hit him. But the truth is that it doesn’t. If Evan’s honest, all it really does is make him want Barty even more, cheeks warming up and head feeling a bit dizzy.
“It was always easy, Evan. I never had to pretend to be someone else to get you to look at me; you were already looking, and it made me feel safe. You made me feel safe. I should’ve realised what I was feeling back then, I can admit that, but I didn’t, and I can’t change that now.”
He does look sorry, Evan thinks. He looks like he regrets everything that has led Evan to being mad at him, looks like he’ll do anything to make it up to Evan again.
Little does he know, it won't take very much. No matter how pathetic it sounds, Evan’s always been easy when it comes to Barty.
“Evan, I don’t know what you want to call it, I’ve got no fucking idea, but I want to be able to tell you you’re pretty, I want to cuddle with you, slow dance at parties with you, do everything and nothing as long as it’s with you. That whole fucking sappy package, give it to me. Let me hold your hand and kiss you for the sake of kissing you and nothing more.”
Evan thinks his legs might break underneath him. He wants to open his mouth and say something – anything – but for once, Barty’s the one who has left Evan speechless.
“I used to fantasise about waking up next to you because I thought it’d be nice. It wasn’t sexual in any way, just unnecessary skin-to-skin contact and mumbled good mornings. Last year when you left, I contemplated buying a whole fucking plane and flying it directly to France just so I could see you. What I’d say to you, I didn’t know. I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”
They’re standing dangerously close to each other, but as it is, Evan can’t move – doesn’t want to move. Up this close, Evan can look Barty directly in the eyes, can stare as much as he wants to because Barty’s doing the exact same thing.
He’s beautiful, Evan thinks. It’s not a new observation, but it’s different when Evan can let himself shamelessly study Barty’s features like this. He’s more than just beautiful.
“You’re so very lovely i think I might fucking die sometimes,” Barty whispers, the sincerity making Evan weak in the knees. “I’m fucked in the head, Evan. I’ve got no perception of what love actually feels like, how it emerges, or how you earn it.”
I’ll teach you, Evan’s heart helplessly offers. It’s hammering against Evan’s ribcage so hard he suspects it’s trying to get to Barty, suspects it can feel his closeness and longs to eliminate the space between them.
“But,” Barty adds, his eyes momentarily flickering to Evan’s lips. Please, Evan soundlessly begs, hoping the need shows on his face. “I’m also mental about you, Evan, and I’ve been for a long fucking time.”
He’s still scared, Evan realises. Scared that he has miscalculated and that Barty will screw him over again. But then again, if it wasn’t love in the first place, Evan wouldn’t have to be afraid at all.
Love is to take risks, to open yourself up and invite a stranger inside. Only once you’ve put yourself in danger you will realise if you’ve set yourself up for rejection or bliss. There are no shortcuts or safe routes; Evan will have to take a risk for once. And though he’s got so much to lose, he’s also got so much to win.
“I love you. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. I love you, and if you asked five years ago or if you ask five years into the future, I’d still say the same thing. I have always and will always love you, Evan.”
The second after the words leave Barty’s mouth, Evan’s hand fists in the front of his shirt, pulling him in those last few centimetres. Evan's lips meet Barty’s, and though it has got to be startling, Barty wastes no time wrapping an arm around Evan’s waist and bringing his other hand to Evan’s cheek.
The kiss is searing. It’s passionate and in no way slow. It’s tongues dancing with each other as they try to find their rhythm and bodies pressed up against each other. it’s everything their first kiss wasn’t. No one pushes anyone away, and Barty’s mouth is so very incredibly skilled.
Evan’s heart, which had been previously hammering against his ribcage, now slows down. It stops pounding because there’s no need to anymore. It’s no longer on a mission to get to Barty because he’s already here, and there’s not a single centimetre of space between them.
Evan throws his free arm around Barty’s neck, practically wrapping himself around him, and uses it to pull Barty impossibly closer. Humming in content, Barty tilts Evan’s head with the hand on Evan’s chin.
It’s maddening. Every touch of tongue feels like dying, and every bite to his bottom lip feels like being resurrected. With every second, Evan only wants more, and Evan’s starting to wonder if this is a bad idea. How will he ever be able to stop kissing Barty when he can’t get enough? When the way Barty’s smiling into their kiss is addicting in a way Evan didn’t know it could be.
They have to break apart eventually, and though Evan doesn’t know for how long they kiss, he knows it’s not enough. Knows he’ll need to kiss Barty again. And that soon. He’ll go insane.
The relieved expression on Barty’s face makes it worth halting the kiss, though. It’s sweet, so sweet that Evan can’t resist leaning in for another small peck. Kisses for the sake of kissing, as Barty phrased it.
Barty’s hand on his cheek is gentle, carefully brushing over his cheekbone and alternating between following Evan’s movements and making Evan follow his. In the end, he uses it to tilt Evan’s head so they can rest their foreheads against each other as they breathe in tandem.
It’s so incredibly intimate and sappy, in a way Evan’s certain he’s sworn off at some point. He’s not romantic and neither is Barty, but as they stand there like that, Evan concludes that he really doesn’t mind it. That he’d bump his forehead with Barty’s at any given moment. On the other hand, though, there’s not a single thing he wouldn’t do for Barty.
It might be stupid and naive, but Evan’s always been a lost cause whenever he’s around Barty. He’ll get his heart broken and it’ll only be his fault because he refused to retract even when he knew it would end badly.
Currently, it’s a possibility too. Barty could mess up again, might already have done it, and Evan might get hurt so bad he won’t get up again. They could be making the biggest mistake of their lives at the moment, and they wouldn’t even know. Not before it’s too late, at least.
However, there’s also a possibility that they don’t. Perhaps Barty made the best decision ever by showing up at Evan’s workplace, and perhaps Evan just got everything his heart has ever longed for by giving him a chance. They can’t know.
But Evan’s got a good feeling.
“Be mine?” Barty whispers it like it’s a secret meant for Evan only. He’s holding the roses in the hand that sneaked around Evan’s waist, and just being able to feel them through his shirt is enough to make Evan to snicker.
Barty bought him flowers. How pathetic – romantic – is that?
“You’re so oblivious sometimes.” Then, because Evan can’t really control himself with Barty in his arms, he plants another sweet kiss on Barty’s lips. He doesn’t get to pull away again as Barty quickly reciprocates. He’s got a dazed, almost insane look in his eyes and the corners of his mouth refuse to go down. Evan’s got a feeling he looks no better.
“I’ve always been yours.”