It was odd, how years of your life can be put into a box and pushed under your bed. Eventually, you forget about these things, only reminiscing on old yearbooks and summertime crafts dedicated to your favorite camp counselor when you tear apart your room to find something more important.
In a way, it applied to people too. That’s what Barty believed, at least. He hadn’t heard from his father, let alone thought of him, in years when the call came in three weeks ago. They hadn’t spoken since his mother's funeral back when he was nineteen.
Not that there was any reason for them to communicate. The split between them was a clean kill, no stinging nerves or regrets. It was a long time coming, both of them knew that it would happen the second Barty was out of school.
Even if it didn’t hurt, or he didn’t wish for some other outcome, it still unnerved Barty for a few days. His home life disappearing in seconds, the screaming and crying that haunted his memories as long as he could remember being squashed into silence. Evan referred to it as a business transaction once, citing that the two of them acted more like business partners rather than father and son.
It made Barty laugh because it was right.
The Crouch family estate manager had been the one who called, not a family member or anyone remotely familiar. It was quick, despite the matter at hand. There was nothing to discuss, not really, just that Barty would need to come and sign some paperwork. To attend a will reading with whatever other relatives were still kicking.
(Barty didn’t want anything from his father. Well, nothing that he’d be able to give him now. Nothing physical.)
Barty went to the funeral alone.
He shouldn’t have.
The moment he stepped into the church and laid eyes on the open casket, his stomach churned at the idea of being alone with this. With him.
Of course, there were a few people who introduced themselves as ‘friends of the family’ but they didn’t know Barty’s name, so it didn’t really count. His relatives were there, but the water was rough between them. It had never been smooth in the first place, but apparently splitting ties with the Crouch name after turning eighteen and dating a boy caused them to be immensely more petty and freakish. Whatever.
Barty didn’t even really need to be there, but he was. Always looking to please, nagged in the back of his mind.
It was fine. He was fine. He could make it through this, it wasn't like he had to attend all the extra crap that happened after this.
────
Five hours passed and he, in fact, was not fine.
It was obvious, even to those around him. They started avoiding him half an hour ago, eyes drifting over to the blown-up picture of his father he stood near everytime he jerked his head back up from his chest.
Barty sniffed harshly, his eyes burning at the act, and stared into the glass of whiskey he held in his hand. The ice melted long ago, accelerated by the fact that his hands were burning with emotion and that it was surely close seven thousand degrees inside of the small ballroom.
He didn’t even know why he was still there. He meant to leave hours ago, to sneak out when nobody would notice, to not actually go to everything that came after the visitation. Yet, there he was, silently crying into a glass of watered down whiskey, drunk and alone.
Someone he didn’t know the name of passed by him to get to the bin, shoulder brushing against his and making him stumble back. It felt like 5th year all over again, unable to handle alcohol, drunk anyway, and emotional over his father.
“Sorry,” He muttered, finding his balance once more. They glanced at him out of the corner of their eye, lips tilting downwards into a look of pity. Barty couldn’t decide if that made him want to claw his skin off, cry harder, or punch them.
He should probably leave.
His car keys weighed heavily in his pocket, reminding him that he’d been stupid enough to drive here with the only car available. Evan worked close enough to their flat that he insisted a second car wasn’t necessary, but Barty sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to drive himself home right now.
“Fuck this,” He set the glass down on a nearby table and made his way towards the door, doing his best to not stumble. People's eyes burnt into his back on the way.
It was raining when he stepped outside. Of course it was raining. It always rains when people die in the movies, and this seemed stupid enough to be scripted, so it fit. Barty snorted at the idea, fumbling to grab the keys and sound the car alarm so he could find it.
He wasn’t going to drive, but he needed to get somewhere dry to figure out where the nearest train was and when it’d come by next. They weren’t that far from downtown London, so it probably wouldn’t be that long of a wait. Maybe he could just walk back. Clear his head, or something.
He’d need to call Evan, too.
The car was thankfully a short walk away from the front of the building, but he was still soaking wet by the time that he clambered into the backseat. The raindrops mixed in with the still-falling tears, ones that refused to stay in even though Barty didn't think he was all that sad anymore.
With a sigh, he dug his hand into his suit jacket and tugged out his phone, trying to blink all of the messages into focus. It didn’t work.
“Hey Siri,” Barty laughed to himself, amused by relying on the little bot within his phone. “Call Evan.”
His phone called the number obediently, ringing loudly in the otherwise silent space.
“B? I’ve been texting. Where are you?”
“‘M at my Dads thing still.”
“Oh. Safe?”
“Yeah.”
“Everything okay?”
Barty sniffled again, wiping his nose along his sleeve. “I’m drunk.”
There was some shuffling on the other side of the line, something that sounded like sheets and blankets moving. Was it already that late?
“I’m sorry,” Was all that Evan said, sounding sincere. Barty didn’t understand how he could do that so easily. Apologize for things that weren’t his fault, and feel like they actually were.
“Not your fault,” Barty coughed on a sob that came out of nowhere. He didn’t want to do this shit right now, not again.
“Love, can you send me your location?”
“I want to come home,” He begged, ignoring Evan’s words completely.
“I’m on my way, B. Are you able to send me the address?” More shuffling sounded, the distinct jingling of Evan picking up his set of house keys leaking through.
Barty slammed his head back against the headrest. He groaned pitifully, muttering. “I can take the train or walk or something.”
Evan made some sort of noise. “We can take the train or walk or something.”
“‘M okay,” Barty lied, tapping around on his phone to find out where the hell he was. He’d forgotten the name of the place as soon as he pulled into the lot, but the name was still in his recents. “It’s called Stonebridge.”
“Okay. I’m getting into an Uber right now. It says I’ll be there in thirteen minutes. I’ll stay on the line, yeah?”
“‘M okay,” Barty repeated, the tears rising again. He wasn’t aware of what he was crying over at this point, just that his body felt weird and hollow and cold.
“I believe you,” Evan responded, clearly lying as well. Barty didn’t mind.
Their call went silent for a bit, only the sound of breathing and sniffing passing through both sides.
He rubbed at his chest absentmindedly, the cold from being still wet sinking into his bones. Turning on the car seemed like too much of a chore, so this would have to do for now. “I dunno what I expected.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was stupid. I’m stupid for even coming here. I should’ve just had them fax the paperwork over. How the fuck does faxing even work?” He wailed the last part, dropping the phone onto the floor of the car to scrub at his face.
“You’re not stupid. He was your dad, sweetheart. You’re grieving,” Evan said softly, rational as ever. “Why don’t you look it up?”
“Look what up?” Barty hiccuped, laying down to smush his face into the fabric bench seats. He’d given up on the chest rubbing, instead deciding to ball up into himself. It worked a little better, if he convinced his mind he was laying beneath a blanket.
“How faxing works.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me how it works.”
The quiet hitches of Barty’s breath were the only thing that filled the air for the next few minutes, his hand fumbling for the phone along the floor before lifting it up to his face. He could still hardly see the screen, vision blurry from a mix of exhaustion, tears, and alcohol.
“Reddit says it works like a phone call,” Barty spoke quietly, hand wiping at his face once more while he scrunched his brow. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Evan spoke at the same time as him, repeating exactly what he said.
“It scans a document, converts it into a data signal, like a phone call, and then the other machine answers that call,” He rolled onto his back, stuffing the spare bag they kept back there beneath his head. It was a bit easier to breathe now, thankfully, and it seemed like the tears had slowed down a touch as well. “I don’t know how a phone call works.”
“Me neither. Unlock the car.” A fist collided with the window three times when the end-of-call tone rang out, jolting Barty back into a sitting position. Evan was hardly visible through the rain and night sky, but his silhouette waved once before pointing at the lock of the car.
Barty scrambled to find the keys, yanking them out from under the drivers side seat and unlocking the door.
Evan ducked into the backseat with him, collapsing his umbrella (of course he had an umbrella, he’s Evan) and shutting the door behind him in one fluid movement.
Without a word, his arms flung around Barty, gathering him up close like he wasn’t the larger of the two. Barty shivered before settling into his touch, maneuvering his face to sit in the crook of Evans neck.
“You’re freezing,” Evan commented, rubbing one hand up and down his back while the other rested at the nape of his neck.
Barty nodded in response, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to speak anymore, let alone move or think.
“I had the Uber wait outside,” Evan gave it a few minutes before speaking. His voice was low and soft, the hot breaths warm against Barty’s skin. “You still want to go home? I can have them leave. We can stay here, or walk, or take the train, or call another when you’re ready. I don’t mind.”
“But the car,” Barty whispered, folding himself to be smaller so he could shimmy closer into the warmth that still enveloped him.
“Neither of us are in the shape to be driving,” Was all that Evan said. Barty quirked a brow, silently trying to deduce if Evan had been drinking as well or if this was him being sweet. He didn’t care either way, he was just glad that he was there with him. “We can just get it tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” Evan shifted, speaking into the side of Barty’s head before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Barty’s shoulders lurched forward with another poorly timed hiccup, head running into Evan’s chin, a semblance of a smile forming across his face when Evan grunted. He took a deep breath through his nose, the familiar pine scent of his boyfriends cologne wafting in and working to settle the remainder of his nerves.
“I’ll be okay,” Barty said, the words coming out much more confident than he actually felt. He could feel Evan’s shoulders scrunch like he was going to say something cheesy along the lines of ‘you don’t have to be okay right now’, but the tension dissipated when Barty lightly squeezed his arm. “We can go.”
“Are you sure? We can stay here, if you want to.”
“Place is freaky,” He muttered and shook his head, referencing the fact it was a funeral home and there were literal dead bodies inside.
Evan laughed lightly. His hands slid to Barty’s face, pulling his head back so they were looking at each other. Barty stayed still while hazel eyes scanned across his face, sinking into the warm touch when thumbs swiped beneath his eyes.
“Do we need to call another?” Barty looked towards the rest of the parking lot for the Uber, not seeing any headlights on.
Evan glanced over his shoulder. “Nope, I tipped him enough that he should stay here for an eternity.”
“Evan.”
“Barty.”
Barty huffed, grabbing everything that’d tumbled out of his pockets or otherwise made its way onto the floor and shoving it all into the inside of his coat.
Evan leant into him, quick as lightning, placing a peck against his lips before pulling back and opening the car door (once again with incredible umbrella coordination). “Let’s go home.”