Thunderstorms
Barty
Barty loved books.
Getting lost through the pages of a good story had always been a great way to forget about reality, even if only for a brief time. Time spent folded between the pages of his favourite novel always helped him relax, leaving all of his problems aside. Lately, he’d given up reading narrative in order to focus on his magical studies. The kind of magic that had never been allowed at Hogwarts was the one that interested him the most, which meant he’d had to start practising it on his own during his last school years. He’d never stopped studying ever since, buying volumes over volumes of History and Mastery of Dark Arts, old spells, deadly curses, names of powerful mages that had used it during their reigns of terror.
It fascinated him so much he couldn’t get enough of it: there was always more to uncover, questions to answer, details to acknowledge, techniques to learn.
Barty studied during every minute of free time he had, when he wasn’t spending it in Regulus and Evan’s company. It was late in the evening when he sat on the couch, bringing his knees to his chest, a book about dark artefacts in hand, a novel lying beside him. He’d found it in an old second hand bookshop. It was probably nothing but a sappy love story, though he genuinely thought they weren’t so bad. He kind of liked them, to be honest. Evan used to make fun of him for that during their first years at Hogwarts, though he’d started buying books for him briefly after they’d become a couple. He still did, every now and then, when they had the time to go out for a walk and wander around the neighbourhood’s hidden bookstores, the cosy and quiet ones tourists seemed to love so much.
Barty liked those tales, though his way of perceiving them had changed a lot over time, mostly because he didn’t dream of living similar love stories anymore, not now that he had Evan. He was everything he’d ever wished for.
Barty glanced over at the novel, then back on the magical manual, now resting on his legs. He had just one chapter left to read before he could switch to the romance. Evan had forgotten to turn the TV off, some sort of documentary was still playing on the screen, as its dim bluish light filled the room. Barty left it as it was: background noise helped him to concentrate.
He licked his lips, holding up his pencil above the chapter’s first line, ready to take notes on the page’s margins.
Finally, a moment just for himself.
Regulus had headed upstairs straight after dinner, and was now probably sleeping. Things were still pretty bad, though he’d started eating again. Really little amounts of food at every meal, the bare necessary to keep himself alive. Watching him look down on the plate with such indecipherable eyes, then eating nothing but a few mouthfuls was heartbreaking. Barty wished he could do something to help him feel better, though Regulus tended to avoid every question linked to the food matter during their conversations, always changing subjects or distracting them. It hurt to know he wasn’t happy at all, though that little change allowed hope to find a good soil to settle down and hopefully bloom. Regulus was still alive, and that was all that mattered.
Barty started underlining some keywords, wondering where Evan had gone, when his lover’s voice distracted him from the text. “Barty”.
Barty lifted his gaze from the page and glanced over at him, standing at the end of the stairway.
“Yeah?”.
“Are you still studying?”. Barty nodded. “It’s pretty late, you should come to bed. You can study tomorrow morning” Evan said.
“I just need to finish the last chapter, it won’t take me long. How’s Reg?”.
“Peacefully sleeping. He ate a bit more tonight”.
“I told you, Evan. He just needs some time”. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and was now making an effort at helping himself. Perhaps he was just deluding them.
Barty pushed that thought in the back of his mind as Evan nodded. “Yeah. Remember to turn the TV off”. He crossed the room, steps light on the wooden tiles, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, fingers dipping through his hair. Barty pulled him in for a kiss, then another one, then Evan inched back. “Goodnight, babe”.
Barty followed him with his gaze as he left the room, then focused back on the book. Only twenty pages left and then he could finally start his new novel. Yeah, he’d told Evan he would go to bed right after finishing studying, though he’d checked out the first chapter before sitting down, and it wasn’t longer than five pages.
However, he didn’t manage to accomplish his mission.
His eyelids started getting heavier after the first ten pages. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to concentrate, barely keeping himself awake. The constant ticking of the rain on the windowsill outside, accompanied by the monotonous voice of the journalist on TV were like a lull in Barty’s ears. He barely had the time to flip one last page before his eyes closed, head resting against the couch’s backrest, giving in to sleep’s appealing embrace.
⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅
When he woke up, the clock on the wall above the kitchen’s sink said it was half past two in the morning, exactly four and a half hours after he’d fallen asleep. Barty straightened his back and stretched his arms, then massaged his sore neck. His hands were two pieces of ice, the tips of his fingers had grown cold. He rubbed his palms together to generate some heat, though it barely changed anything. His book had fallen from his knees and was now lying on the floor before the couch. He picked it up, long with the pencil that had rolled beside it, grimacing at the sight of a fold on the page. He straightened it with his palm as much as he could, then closed the book and placed it on top of the small wooden table in the centre of the room, between the couch and the TV, still on. He didn’t even bother to turn it off as he laid down, resting his head on his arm. He was too tired to get up and head upstairs, his eyes felt too heavy. Light chills covered his skin, making him wish he had a blanket with him, though he decided not to pay too much attention to them. He was just about to drift back to sleep when a loud noise startled him. Barty’s eyes snapped open, he held his breath, fearing someone had used some kind of spell to try and break in. He’d forgotten his wand upstairs, therefore had no ways of defending himself. His heart raced as he sat up, guard high. Then, the same noise rumbled again. He let out a small sigh of relief: it had been nothing but thunder. Yeah, thunder…
A louder one echoed right outside of the window and he flinched. Fucking storms… he’d always hated them. They felt menacing. Their rumbles settled in his ears, making him feel uncomfortable. It seemed as if the whole sky was just about to crumble down, or to crash over him with all of its rage. Had it happened, he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself in any way, insignificant compared to such a calamity. The feeling of impotence that came with the awareness of being unable to change the sorts of the future in that case was almost worse than the fear itself. Barty simply loathed when things were bigger than him, impossible for him to control. Another roar. He shut his eyes, his nails sunk in the palm of his hand.
Perhaps it would be better to go back to his room and find refuge under the covers. He was just about to get up when someone spoke: “What are you doing here?”.
“Shit” he cursed, resting a hand on his chest. It was just Evan. “You fucking scared me!” Barty reproached, turning to him.
“What are you doing here so late?” Evan repeated the question.
“I fell asleep while reading” he gestured towards the books on the table. “What about you?”.
“Thunders woke me up, I went to check on you and didn’t find you in your bed, so I came here”. Evan was the only one who knew about that stupid fear of his. He’d never told anyone else, not without Barty’s open consent. He smiled, reminiscing the times Evan used to just slide under the covers of his bed in the Slytherin’s dorm and hold him in his arms until the storm was over. He’d never stopped doing that. Now that they lived in the same house, they spent most of the nights together, either sleeping, making out, reading in silence while appreciating the other’s company, having sex, having some deep talks about the future, admiring the stars outside of the window. During thunderstorms, Evan always made sure Barty was alright.
“I’m fine, Evan. Thunders don’t bother me that much anymore, I’m no longer a kid”. Evan knew he was lying. Barty always did, even if aware he’d never judged him for that fear and never would.
“I guess I’ll just go back upstairs then. Have a good night”.
He could do it. He wasn’t a child who hid in his mother’s arms while shaking with fear anymore. He had to rationalise those fears.
Boom. Another rumble, this time even closer. Barty shot a glance towards the window, then held a hand out to Evan. “Wait…”.
He stopped. “Yes?”.
“Could you… I mean…” he didn’t even know how to phrase that request. He didn’t need to. Evan instantly understood. He closed the distance between them in a few steps, grabbed the remote control and turned the TV off. Darkness fell over the living room. Now that there was no background noise Barty could clearly hear all of the sky’s wrath. He reached for Evan’s arm, clutching his fingers around the fabric of his grey shirt.
“You know, this scene reminds me of the first time you ever came to me, declaring your fear. We were both twelve. It’s been six years”.
“Oh, shut up Rosier”.
Evan placed his fingers on Barty’s. “You’re freezing” he ascertained.
“I’m fine”.
“You’re wearing nothing but a shirt”.
“I said I’m fine”.
“Great. Then there’s no need for me to lend you one of my sweaters”.
“I’m cold”.
Evan’s lips curled up in a smile as he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Let’s go to bed now, shall we?”.
Barty nodded, savouring the warmth of Evan’s body against his as they climbed up the stairs. They walked before Regulus’ room as silently as they could, then Evan guided him in his room with a hand on his back. Lying on his bed was the wool sweater he’d put on before dinner. Barty reached for it and wore it, breathing in Evan’s familiar scent of cinnamon, nutmeg and green tea.
It suited him perfectly, warming up his cold skin. Evan’s eyes trailed down his chest, then locked with his. “You can keep it”.
“You always say so when you see me wearing your clothes”.
“That’s because they fit you better than they do me”.
“Admit that you love the sight of me in your sweaters”.
“I love the sight of you in general”.
“Cut it off with romanticism, you know I hate it”.
“You secretly love it”.
“I do not”.
“Your novels are full of underlined sappy romantic lines. Do I need to remind you of the ones you marked with a sticky note in that romcom you lended me last week?”.
Check mate. Barty fell silent, not knowing how to counter. Evan grinned in amusement. “You’re right. I love the sight of you wearing my stuff”. He leaned forward, his lips brushed against his earshell. “But if there’s something I like even more that’s taking those same clothes off you”.
“Shut-” Evan silenced him with a kiss. And suddenly, Barty wasn’t craving sleep that much anymore. He stopped Evan from stepping back, resting a hand on the back of his head. He allowed him to deepen the kiss right away, his hands slid beneath the fabric of his shirt, running over his cold skin. Barty had just reached for the rim of his shirt, when Evan stopped him. “Are you sure?...”.
“Yes”.
He didn’t add anything more. The back of Barty’s knees hit the mattress, he laid down, Evan propped himself up above him. He lowered his mouth to his once again. They could never seem to get enough of each other. Evan had become the whole centre of his existence. Barty fed on his smile, the way he looked at him, his familiar touch and loving words. Evan made him feel alive, and he just loved that.
“I love you” he whispered against his lips. Evan inched back, pointing his eyes in Barty’s.
He didn’t say that often, even if he felt the feeling grow with every day that passed by, every kiss, every date, every compliment, every time Evan was just there for him, giving him the advice he needed, every silly nickname he secretly loved, every moment spent in Evan’s company Barty knew would be treasured among his happiest memories for eternity. He wasn’t that good with words, he was better with practical demonstrations, like organising activities together, quality time, physical touch. Evan knew teasing him was simply one of Barty’s favourite ways of implying how much he liked him.
Evan told him he loved him way more than Barty did. Though, at times, he simply felt the need to speak those three simple words, to openly tell him how he felt. How much he mattered to him. Evan was the only person who genuinely understood him. He could truly be himself around him, open up to him. He could be vulnerable, show his weaknesses, because he knew Evan would never judge him, nor make fun of him. He was the most special part of his soul.
Those three words expressed that all.
“I love you” he repeated, a breath away from Evan’s face. A spark flickered in his eyes as his gaze softened.
“And you said you hated romanticism” Barty wished he could get drunk on his smile.
“Don’t ruin the moment”.
Four years. It had been four years since the beginning of their relationship. And yet, Barty still fell for him everyday. He couldn’t believe he’d been so lucky to find him.
He was just about to kiss him again when yet another thunder rumbled in the distance. He muttered a curse under his breath, Evan inched back.
“What are you doing?” Barty asked, propping himself up on his elbows as Evan slid under the covers and patted the portion of mattress beside him.
“Come here” he invited him.
“What about-”.
“We’ll have all the time tomorrow. It’s late now, you’re cold and there’s a storm raging outside, which I know you hate”.
“They just bother me a little. I’m not a kid anymore, I know how to rationalise my fears” Barty shut his eyes at another loud roar. “Why the fuck do storms have to be so freaking loud?”.
Evan’s fingers closed around his wrist, and pulled towards him. He held him close to his chest, resting his chin on top of his head. “Allow me to take care of you tonight”.
“Evan Rosier, you know you’re the king of my heart, don’t you?”.
Barty could feel him smile as he wrapped him in one of his comforting embraces.
“I do” he whispered, placing a kiss on top of his head. “Sleep now and worry about nothing. I’m here. I’ll fight your fears for you”.
“I don’t deserve you”.
“You do. You know you do”.
“Why did you choose me out of all people?”.
“Because you’re everything, Barty”.
And for a moment, he wondered how Regulus was feeling, alone in his room. If the storm had woken him up. If he wished someone had been there to hold him too, to whisper to him everything was going to be alright. Perhaps he did. Perhaps that someone was James.
He drew his head back to look up at Evan, in need of hearing reassurance from him.
“Promise me”.
“What?”.
“That you’ll never leave me, no matter what. Promise me you’ll always be by my side”.
“I promise” he answered with no hesitation.
And suddenly, the thunderstorm didn’t feel that frightening anymore. It didn’t take Barty long to fall asleep, lulled by Evan’s breathing and the beating of his heart.