it's so awful
swing low,
sweet cherry, you’re so awful
it’s your life,
it’s your party, it’s so awful
Walking was a daily activity. It was to be savoured, to be enjoyed to the full extent, to be made the most of, basically. Barty hated it. For the first 16 years of his life, Barty went on so many walks, accompanying either his dying grandfather or his father, whose brain was as empty as a leftover pringles tube. Mostly, except for a few pieces at the very bottom, which have become so stale that it’s perplexing how they’re still solid. This basically resulted in him developing a sense of utmost hatred for walking.
Surprisingly, Barty was excited for the walk today. (He very much enjoyed feeling excited; it gave him thrills.) This was the day Evan came back from his supposedly educational - but Barty considered it quite self-indulgent - trip to France. Barty had opposed strongly to this trip, but Evan had insisted, so off he went on an ostentatious white thing, spiralling forwards and upwards and forwards and upwards until he was well out of Barty’s reach. Well, maybe not entirely, but as he watched it fly, so did his happiness, his joy, his glee… you get the point. (Not that he was normally a very ‘gleeful’ person. Just a very dramatic one. Demonstrated very clearly as a day passed, and he was declared fine. His sagging shoulders straightened up again, and the foreign, forlorn look in his eyes were no longer there. His friends considered that evidence enough, and after a forceful club experience, so did he.)
Now, as he was walking (walking!) to the airport, every step he took was bouncy, floaty, dreamy; he basically floated, as Garfield did when he smelt food. Justified, in his mind, because Evan was so sweet, so sugary, and not at all the grouchy front he puts up. (Barty often dreamed of Evan as a red velvet cake, despite not having had any. He’s just a hopeless romantic with a soft spot for roses, and hey, sweet and pretty is exactly what Evan is.) In fact, Barty even thinks the fact that he plays rhythm guitar is fluffy, because, as he had declared to Pandora in a flurry of emotions, “supporting someone isn’t easy; think of the birthday cakes! Layers and layers of sponge yet all people think about are the icing and decorations and shape and colour and not the cake itself!” (Yes, he was very drunk.)
Barty’s head was still up there when he finally reached the airport. He walked onwards, into the arrivals, onwards, into the international section, sat down, onwards, to get to gate C, then sat down and waited for Evan.
—
“Someone’s excited. You’re here early.”
“Finally, do you know how long I had been waiting?”
“Well, not my fault the plane was delayed,” muttered Evan, “and hello to you too, I’ve been great; thanks a bunch for being so considerate and asking.”
(It’s been a minute and Barty’s gleeful.)
“C’mon, let’s go,” he replied, “I wanna get back as soon as possible. The house’s so lonely without you.”
Evan’s response, however, popped that gleeful balloon currently going by the name of Barty’s Brain and seemingly smiled as it slowly sunk into nothingness.
“Hold on, Regulus’s getting our luggage.”
(At this moment, confusion took over the gleeful balloon. After a minute of the glee cells breaking down into logical brain cells, Barty formed a question.)
“No you hold on, ‘cause who the hell is Regulus?”
–
After a hot minute of consistent grilling, Barty got a few facts from Evan’s mouth and into his balloon of confusion. Apparently, Evan made himself a new best friend on the flight to Paris, who also happened to be on an educational trip to become a successful musician. (Barty both mentally and physically scoffed at that.) And this Regulus got himself disowned via a text (a text!) during that time, and is now homeless. And of course sweet sweet Evan would offer him a place to stay, and of course that ungrateful undeserving rat would take it up. (His balloon of a brain just heated up rapidly. Now it’s zooming angrily above his head.) Then, something else happened to his balloon. No, someone. Regulus was here.
He was a gloomy man, all gloom, except for the bouquet of scarlet roses in the crook of his elbow and a pair of blue eyes shining with a satin like sheen. His shirt was grey and his waistcoat of a charcoal coloured velvet. Seeing Barty he raised a gloved hand in greeting and under them his eyes peered. Above, his streaky eyebrows defined his eyes as much as it accessorised them. He had a narrow chin, a small but pointed nose, and smooth pale skin.
Apart from all this, to describe Regulus and the effect he somehow has on people would be a hard task, especially if you were easily overwhelmed like Barty. You see, he had a very ambiguous look that only made others think of definitive features that weren’t definitive at all. For example, this was the thought Barty was overheating about that particular moment - cute. Cute, in a I-wonder-what-he-would-look-like-pinned-against-my-arm-and-the-wall way, but somehow also in a who-let-their-Spaniel-loose-then-transform-into-a-human way. Together, these ‘intense’ emotions combined, slicing Barty’s balloon of glee-turned-confusion clean in half, while simultaneously causing a brain freeze so bad he completely short circuits. Luckily, he saves himself with a downloaded hard-drive and only beep-boops the way home without doing anything embarrassing, such as telling this ‘Regulus’ he thinks he knows him from somewhere. Wait, what?
—
Regulus was very open as the three of them walked to Evan and Barty’s house. He answered all the pointless questions from Barty without hesitation, all the while stroking a rose petal. Inside Barty’s mind, he noted down the important ones: one, he was from France, somewhere North. Two, he’s loaded with bitches for parents, three, he really really liked flowers (especially roses), and finally, he has some real juicy lips (that would look so much better mashed together with his own.)
They walked away from the airport through a series of little stringy roads with dingy apartment complexes built on either side. There were people out on front porches here and there, but mostly, everyone seemed content to stay inside. The sun beat down on them comfortably, with no wind, and clouds the size of swimming pools floating pass. It was beautiful.
—
“Okay, so here’s the kitchen, the bathroom, and then our room... you’ll have to just crash on the couch for now until we can get the guest room ready. It’s just a little bit untidy right now,” Evan began, “Sorry about that.”
“Other than that, Barty’s a morning person, that psycho, but I’m not, so if you want coffee or breakfast or stuff like that help yourself or ask him.”
There was a moment of silence. It was very rudely disrupted by Barty’s idiotic balloon.
“Please ask me.” (In a pathetically whiny voice.)
Now there was another moment of silence where Evan stared at Barty, Barty stared at Regulus, and Regulus stared at the coffee machine.
“I’ll be fine,” He said. Then, “Thank you,” as he walked towards the windowsill to place the flowers he brought. Evan soon followed, and left Barty to himself, who just started at the window anyway.
Ah, so pretty. Blue skies, red roses, blue eyes, red lips, dark curls…wait, what am I looking at again?
—
That evening, as he saw actual dinner on an actual table, Barty finally came to terms that Evan was here again. He also felt something inside of him change, something deep and unexplainable. It just continued until by the time they had sat down to eat Barty was convinced he was this close to just jumping into Evan’s lap. (And the food was sooooo good? Double whoopee.)
Nothing much happened over the course of dinner. Barty talked the entire way through, mostly asking/interrogating Evan about where he visited, where he liked, did he actually get any work done, and how many hours he spent perfecting his handwriting. The sun was setting, and night slowly enveloped them through the open window. Last rays of sunlight exploded from the frames, desperate, as if it’s trying its hardest to illuminate the whole room. Instead, it was illustrated by lamps, bubbly conversation, and Regulus’ many inquiries about the local coffee shops.
“No yeah, I love the one Dora works at, it’s really great and has pretty tables and everything,”
“You just like it because Dora works there,” said Barty.
“... yeah that and the pretty chairs,” replied Evan, “oooh, they also have pretty flowers, you should go check them out, Reg.”
“I will. Thanks,” Regulus said. “And who’s Dora again?”
“Evan’s twin. It’s funny the way they actually can’t function without each other,” Barty started, “she’s also part of us. Our bass, reliable, amazing, responsible, and a lot more. For our wannabe pop rock band, I mean. It’s not really functioning, but we’re trying and Dora’s also acting as a sort of manager. I say sort of because we don’t really have anything to manage.”
The room went silent for a while after that outburst, and it stayed silent, until Barty excused himself and left for the bedroom.
—
After a while, Evan joined him. He found Barty on the floor, with sheets of paper strewn across the floor.
“Violet? Who the hell’s that? Did you meet someone while I was gone?”
“Nah, that's not a person,” Barty replied. “But anyway, on this topic of meeting someone new; would you happen to know this Regulus’s last name?”
“What, you know him?”
Barty remained silent. He was contemplating whether to tell Evan about his mysterious, almost déjà vu feeling. Nah, he’ll keep it to himself for the time being.
“No,” he said, “just curious.”
“Well, I don’t even know, but I’m sure you can just ask him?”
“Wow. Thanks for nothing.”
“Not my fault you developed a crush for a complete stranger,” Evan muttered.
Barty was silenced.
“W-what? What do you mean?”
Sighing, Evan turned around and walked away.