Fight For Me

Evan is giving Barty the cold shoulder and he does not appreciate it in the slightest.

Look, Barty would be the first to admit that he's an attention whore. He always has to be the brightest presence in the room, the one people's eyes draw to. He doesn't care what type of attention he generates, simply thrives off being more interesting than everyone else. Perhaps this stems from his father's lack of affection throughout his childhood and he took to acting out, to being as indecent as he is, to being - as Regulus frequently calls him - chaos personified.

Oh, well. Doesn't matter. Barty's an attention whore, plain and simple. But it's Evan's attention specifically that he craves more than anything else. He loves the way Evan can pick him out in a room full of people easily, loves how he can't go more than two minutes without glancing back, like he was some kind of drug Evan kept coming back for. He loved Evan's hands on him, how they were always touching in one way or another, whether it be a hand on his hip or in his back pocket, an arm around his shoulders, their legs intertwined under the table. Barty loved the bruises they left behind, how the possessive part of Evan's brain was so desperate to claim.

So the fact that Evan was giving him nothing? It was hell.

The worst part is that Barty can usually tell when and how he angers his boyfriend. Evan usually confronts him, directly and bluntly, so they can get the conversation over with, find a solution and go right back to being how they always are; the resident chaos couple that your parents tell you to stay away from, the exact opposite of the average parental expectation. But, this time, Barty doesn't know what he did. He doesn't even have the slightest inkling as to what the fuck tipped Evan off and the fucker won't talk to him. He's been the way he's always been, just plain old Barty and Evan just- won't interact with him. At all. No touching, to lingering gazes, no texts- nothing. He won't even sit next to him anymore and Barty wants to fucking scream.

Earlier during the year, Barty had been secretly laughing at Sirius and Remus when their relationship had hit a rocky patch. Remus had been ignoring the older Black and he, from the safety of his then-perfect relationship, had snickered at their struggles because that could never be him and Evan.

Karma's a fucking bitch.

And here's the biggest difference between Barty and Evan: Barty doesn't do feelings. Yeah, sure, Evan's shit at the whole emotions thing, he's certainly no James Potter(...okay, in light of recent events, that may not be the best example but whatever) but he's a whole lot better than Barty. Usually. When Barty gets pissed, or annoyed at someone he cares about, he lets it fester and grow, dropping hints in the form of stiff conversations and snide comments. Sometimes, it reaches the point where he can't even have a civil conversation, stoking that person's own simmering anger until they're on the same level and screaming at each other for some stupid, petty reason.

Which is exactly how he's been handling this situation. To say that everyone is fed up with the both of them is an understatement, especially with Tech Week just around the corner. He's been told by Regulus several times to "work this shit out or I swear to whatever higher deity is listening that I will lock you both in a closet until you become normal again." Dorcas had taken to ignoring the situation entirely, too busy wrapped up in McKinnon and the musical to really give enough of a shit. From Evan's increase in sulking, Barty could guess that Pandora has taken dominion over the attic until they go back to normal. Everyone else has wisely decided to stay out of the situation.

Right now, Barty is so alight with jealousy, he's quite surprised he hasn't bursted into flames. They've just got their costumes in, they get mics in a day or two and they're about to run through the entire musical. Everyone is backstage, waiting for McGonagall to get started, and Remus is practically drooling over Sirius as he twirls around in his skirt, Regulus looks like he might jump James right here and now, Dorcas keeps chanting "not now, not now, not now, not now," under her breath, Mary and Lily have had a whole blown photoshoot already and Evan - stupid, fucking, hot, annoying, attractive, fuckable, shithead Evan - won't fucking look at him.

He's standing next to Frank, tugging on his Westerburg bomber jacket and talking about only god knows what. It's not important. He should be with Barty, caging him against the wall with a hand beside his head. He should be analyzing every part of him that he could see and heavily debate bunking off rehearsals to drag him to a free bathroom. Instead, Barty stood alone, glaring daggers across the room and about three seconds away from committing a homicide.

A shitty quality paper cup appeared in the corner of his vision and Barty glanced over. James raised an eyebrow, one hand tucked into his trench coat pocket and the other waving a 7-11 slushie in front of his face(because Potter has decided that the best way to spend his family fortune is to bring in actual slushies for both the entirety of Tech Week but also for the performances).

"What do you want?" Barty snapped.

"I'm offering you my slushie. I will need at least the cup back, though."

Barty narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"For the show."

"Fucking hell, you're dense. Why are you giving me your slushie?"

James shrugged. "You look like you need it."

Barty scowled and crossed his arms. "I don't need your pity."

"Never said you did."

For whatever reason, James' bland, deadpan way of offering comfort - something he would've never have expected from the almighty James Potter, who was supposedly supposed to be the king of assurance - made him angry. He shouldn't need James' shitty attempt at consoling him. Evan should be over here. "Fuck you, Potter."

James's blank expression gained a displeased edge. "A simple 'no' would've sufficed but whatever. Wallow in your self-pity."

James pushed himself off the wall but before he could walk out of reach, Barty snatched the slushie from his grip. When he turned to give him a questioning look, Barty look an obnoxiously loud slurp. "I never said no."

James' lip quirked, a small smile, which seemed to be the most anybody who wasn't Regulus could drag out of him lately, gracing his face. "Remember to give it back to me."

Barty gave a dismissive hum and then James was walking away, immediately getting dragged into a conversation by Peter.

Barty had two minutes of, as Potter had so expertly put it, "wallowing" before McGonagall demanded all of their attention to begin the run through.

It was absolute shit.

All first run throughs were certainly terrible but this was a completely different level, a new degree of steaming, rotten, rancid garbage.

Barty would rather dive through the dumpsters at the back of the school in search of a week old, dry, bland, flavourless bullshit that is the burgers sold in the cafeteria - the kind that you need to pile a mountainous amount of condiments on before it even remotely tastes acceptable - and then eat it after its been festering in rotting food and half-finished energy drinks(because no one at Hogwarts Secondary School seems to understand what a recycling bin is) rather than have to suffer through another second of that performance.

Had Barty possibly played a very large role in why it was so bad? Maybe. But if Evan would just talk to him, acknowledge him, look at him, than maybe Barty wouldn't have botched all their scenes because he's a petty bitch.

The amount of pain on McGonagall's face when they had finished was almost enough to make Barty slightly guilty. Almost.

She sighed and pulled off her spectacles. She dragged a hand over her face, put her glasses back on and rested her chin on her interlinked hands. "Mr. Crouch, Mr. Rosier. Care to explain?"

Evan crossed his arms and looked everywhere but Barty.

Barty scoffed, shaking his head. Even now, he couldn't bare to look at him. Some boyfriend he was. "An interaction typically involves at least two active participants and when someone is determined to be a stubborn, insufferable assholewho refuses to use his communication skills, it becomes a little difficult."

Evan's jaw ticked. His chest heaved with the effort of keeping his anger concealed and the grip he held on his own biceps was knuckle-white. But still, he didn't break.

McGonagall closed her eyes and counted to ten under her breath. "By next week, we have to present this show. I am not going to let your childish squabbles ruin the months of work this entire cast has put in so, for all that is good, get it together. I don't want either of you on this stage until you can act civil with each other and I better see you here tomorrow, do you understand?"

Evan huffed. "It's not that simple-"

She slammed her hands down on the table she set up in front of the stage. "Then make it."

"If it was that easy, I would have done so already." Barty snapped. "If somebody would-"

Evan growled a collection of curses under his breath. He stomped across the stage, gripped Barty by the wrist, dragged him out of the theatre and outside.

"Oh so now you care enough to acknowledge my existence?" Barty couldn't help but shout when Evan let go of him, shoving him forward a few steps.

"It's not like I have much choice." Evan muttered and, despite everything, still refused to even so much at glance in Barty's direction.

Barty's fists shook. "Care to share with the class what the fuck is happening?"

Evan scoffed. "Figure it out."

Barty picked up a rock and chucked it at the nearby bike rack as hard as he could. A sharp ting pierced their ears and a dent was left in the middle. "I'm not a fucking mind reader Rosier, what else do you want from me?"

"Use your context clues, Crouch," Evan spat. "I know you've always been slower than everyone else but you'll get there."

"Are you bored? Is that it?" Barty let out a manic cackle when a vein in Evan's neck throbbed. "It is, isn't it? Am I not enough to please you anymore? You want a more willing subject? Someone to dissect in that attic of yours? Or, even better, someone to trap for a vivisection? Because if we're done here, if you've had your fun, there's a line up of people who would love to take your place. I'm sure they could-"

Barty didn't get to finish. Before he could even blink, Evan had him pinned up against the rough bricks of the school, a hand clasped tight around his neck. Barty couldn't care less because he finally had that gaze pinned on him again. Eyes blue as sapphires, alight with pure, undeniable rage. They shined in the flicker of angered flames, the sharp glint of a blade's edge. They made Barty feel like he was under an operating table, peeling back layers of inferno with scalpel precision until they saw nothing but the person lost within. A weight had been lifted off Barty's chest and, even with Evan's hand at his throat, he felt like he could properly breath.

"'Am I not enough to please you anymore?'" Evan mocked in a dangerous hiss, eyes narrowing to slits and his hand squeezing a fraction tighter. Barty couldn't help but shiver. "I should be asking you that. It doesn't take a genius to see how much of a fucking slut you are and you love it, don't you? You thrive off the attention, knowing that everyone's aware of your reputation. You like being a flirt, the resident slag, and nobody understands."

He shifted his thumb out of the way and dipped down to bite a bleeding mark to the sensitive spot on Barty's neck, leaving behind two rows of perfectly indented teeth carved into his skin. Barty moaned, the pain so pleasurable he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"You love it." Barty managed to wheeze.

Evan tugged him into a violent kiss, all teeth, blood and fury. Barty was left gasping but Evan didn't even look the slightest bit affected. "I do, when you're not toying with mindless whores who think they actually have a chance."

"I don't understand the issue." Barty rasped.

"You are mine," Evan growled, forcing his knee between Barty's thighs, who instantly started rolling his hips. Strangled moans fell from his lips and his head slammed into the wall when he through it back, too wrapped up the plethora of sensations to really care. "And they don't know that, or don't care. You tempt them with a good time, with sweet words and dirty promises but only I get to see you like that. I get to mark you, get to break you, get to hear those pretty little noises and they don't realize that they'll never compare. I am sick of it."

Evan looked down at him expectantly, the hand around his throat tightening slightly for every second he lets the silence drag on. Barty scrambled to collect the shattered, floating fragments of his mind. What did Evan want him to say? Had he asked a question? He both subconciously knew and couldn't remember for the life of him. What had Evan been so mad about? Something about whores and slags and- oh.

"I'll stop," he managed eventually and Evan released his throat, gesturing for him to continue. "I'll stop flirting."

"With people who don't understand you're joking around," Evan clarifed. "Why?"

Barty didn't answer, mind blanking now that Evan raised his leg higher and the pressure was inescapeable. A hand came down to pin his hips to the bricks. Without the threat of temporary suffocation, Barty began to thrash, fighting from some sliver of control. A pointless, fruitless battle as Barty wouldn't take any power given to him unless Evan wanted to switch roles but, well, Barty was still Barty. And besides, this was more fun.

His act of rebellion was quickly put to rest when Evan gave his skin a matching bite mark on the opposite side of his neck.

"Say it." Evan demanded, teeth scraping a new patch of soon to be marked skin in warning.

"Because I'm yours. Yours, yours, yours. Always yours."

Evan bit him anyways and leaned back. Blood coated his teeth as he grinned, a dangerous thing as his eyes sparkled with unholy mischief. "Good slut."