anything for you rosier
Barty’s chest was rising slowly and falling slower, in a very un-Barty-Crouch-Jr sort of way. Each inhale and exhale drawn out in a state of relaxation, Evan didn’t even think he would be able to pull him out off.
His long legs were slung over Evan’s stomach and he’d tucked his hands under his mane of hair, leaving all the insignificant tattoos that spilled up his right forearm on display. They were all rather good considering he had done them himself Evan thought, yet as he lifted his left, dominate arm, to brush out his hair, the tattoos on that arm were horrendously less talented and far clumsier.
Suddenly Barty’s chest rises and his head snapped to the side, his amber eyes staring at Evan with such verbosity Evan thinks he must have stopped breathing. Evans feels his eyes flitter down to the mad grin that complimented Barty so well that he could not imagine anyone else ever smiling at him in such a way.
“I have something to tell you, Ev,” and he could have sworn his heart beat had sped up. Evan propped up his elbows to listen as he tilted his head.
“Go on then,” Evan replied.
“I got us something,” Barty dragged out the final word as if he was singing a song in a manic tone. Though all of Barty’s words sounded manic to most, Evan could tell. Could tell when Barty was excited, and it did nothing to decrease Evan’s rapid heartbeat. He could feel his heart beating against his chest like a rabid dog clawing to get out of a cage and tear at the nearest thing.
Barty was kneeling on the bed and with a dramatic flair and outrageous smile he opened his bedside draw. Evan leaned forwards trying to peer over at what was in his hands, but Barty used his free hand to push Evan back on the bed. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, not due to the shove backwards yet far more to do with the fact it was Barty shoving him. Stupid useless crush.
“Merlin,’ he said shifting from one knee to the other with ecstatic, radiating energy, “you’re really gonna love me after this one”. You’d be surprised bounces around Evans head wanting to push past his lips and expel themselves at the boy opposite him.
He just wants to say it to have out in the world to look at barty and say there it is, my love splattered all over you. He wants to say deal with it, it’s been said now please just deal with it.
“I made fake IDs,” he announces and Evan can feel his eyes widening as barty pulls 2 small, plastic cards from behind his back.
“Fucking hell, Crouch, you’re a genius,” he tackles Barty, snatching the IDs out of his hands, he gives them a once over. He’d never seen a muggle Id before but if he trusts Barty with anything its was to be able to pull off something illegal. So, he just shakes his head in admiration and looks up at him, “amazing”.
“Yeah, well,” Barty swallows, “was a pain in the arse to make those, took me bloody days but you ‘know anything thing for you, Rosier”.
Evan can feel heat burning up his neck and spreading across his face so he simply looks back down at the cards in his hand but the words are blurred and the fuzzy pictures of them can hardly be made out through his eyes because all he can hear is “anything for you, Rosier” spinning in his head and pounding from one ear to the other.
anything for you, Rosier
anything for you, Rosier
anything for you, Rosier
anything for you, Rosier
anythingforyouRosieranythingforyouRosieranythingforyouRosier
Stupid Barty and his confusing words and actions and feelings and looks and grin and anything he does, the bastard.
Evan realises he’s waiting for a response some form of validation. That’s the thing with Barty, he will do the most outrages, despicable whim and then halfway through look back at you for some praise, something to tell him he is doing good, not that the thing is right or a necessary thing to do just that its what you want. He is looking for a pat on the back or nod of the head, then nothing can stop him.
Evan blames his father, so does Reg, they had talked about it before when Barty was in detention without him, which isn’t very often due to the fact that they go down together. One of them gets caught they both do.
Also, because if Evans doing something dangerous Barty’s not far behind doing the exacts same and vice versa.
Plus, there smart enough to hardly ever get caught.
Hardly ever.
But when Evan had talked to Regulus about it, all they got out of it was a gruesome plan to murder Bartimus Crouch Sr from himself and a miraculously smart murder plan from Reg.
Evan bumps he shoulder against Barty giving a smile, “you have out done yourself, I’m oddly proud”.
“We can use them tonight, yeah?” he phrases it like a question but Evan knows better, plus it’s not like he minds.
For the past 3 days they have just been raiding Barty’s father’s alcohol cabinet and smoking old cigars from his father’s desk draws, which Barty suggested is probably something Lucius Malfoy does in his spare time, the tit. So, they instantly stopped and settled to play card game instead and give barty a new Tattoo.
“Yeh, alright,” Evan answers, “what have we got that’s better to do”.
As he starts to sit up, something occurs to him, “oi, have you had these all the nights I’ve been here and just chosen not to tell me”.
Barty lets out a manic laugh, a noise that frightens most yet just makes Evan smirk and warmth pool in his stomach, “gotta make you work for it, Rosy”.
Definitely a bastard.
Evan waits patiently till 10 o’clock which is apparently when Barty’s mother goes to sleep.
“You’d think she’s depressed or something but she’s always bloody singing and smiling so she must just be tired, innit,” was what he had said earlier in the day after the reveal of the IDs.
He had shrugged like had just said the days weather forecast but Evan could see it in his eyes, the fear. The petrifying fear, Barty had, that he could lose the only person he cares for in the shackling, rotting household. That was only held together by Bartimus Crouch Sr’s iron-clad grip to keep the image of the perfect family, any little tear would be an opening for the media to scourge apart and put on the front page of the Daily Profit.
“What you wearing?” Barty asks as he stands up.
“umm,” Evan thinks and replies with, “Barty because you love me so much, want to lend me shirt?”.
And because Barty knows Evan and that it wasn’t a request at all he responds with a cackle and “yeah grab me one too”.
As he rummages through draws upon draws of ridiculous clothes barty owns, he can hear barty pulling of his shirt. The rustled of fabric being pulled over Barty’s head and then the gentle noise of it being thrown to the floor.
Evan turns to face him two shirts in hand, but Barty’s looking in an old mirror fixing his messy hair.
Evan can see the ripple of Barty’s spine pressed against his tan skin and the way muscle holds by his shoulders, his skin so flawless and perfect it could have been enchantment on his back.
The have change in front of each other a thousand times before, well they did after around third year. Before then barty would always close his bed-curtains and change behind their while regulus took asylum dressing in the bathroom. Yet one day the both stopped and that’s how it always was from then on. It was suddenly fine. Evan still doesn’t get it but if they wanted him to know they would tell him.
Yet last year, he started staring in the dorms at him and a shirtless Barty in his everlasting cruelty tilled his head at Evan and stated “see something you like, Ev”. Evan had muttered that Barty had the label sticking out of his jeans and rushed into the bathroom, he knew it was wrong. Something was set in his bones to tell him that this was all things bad but Barty Crouch Jr had sunken far deeper into him, carving his very name on Evans heart.
Evan could live without his bone telling him everything about loving a boy wasn’t right but he needed his heart and in a tragic, almost comedic turn of fate all that seemed to do was beat for Barty Crouch Jr.
He coughs and hands Barty the black, clean shirt, “cheers, mate”. Mate. Since when did Barty even say “mate”, it sounded ridiculous in his posh, RP accent. Yet it hurt like a punch to the face.
Evan lets out an “mmm” sound in return and pulled his shirt over his head, and nudged Barty out of the way to look at his appearance in the mirror. He barely had any time as Barty grabbed his arm pulling him to the door, “still got brown eyes, Rosy, let’s not be late”.
It’s not like they were meeting anyone or had something to attend just a shitty club about a 20-minute walk from Barty’s house in London. But Barty was like that sometimes his words didn’t make much sense but you knew he was smarter than you and he felt much more significant in the world than Evan, so what was there to do.
Plus, they were in this together.
Barty had said that to him the first day they met and it still rang true, because that was it. Nothing much mattered if Barty and Evan weren’t together. Evan could do things on his own, but he didn’t want to, he wanted Barty in grippingly human kind of way, like it wasn’t fate or the universe that bound them together. Evan wasn’t sure what it was but whatever it was he was indescribably grateful.
As they walked, Barty said, “not in a chatty mood hey, Evs”
“Fuck you, Crouch” Evan said with a huge grin on his face. Barty turned to look at him, his amber eyes glowing in the streetlights and autumn breeze blowing the hair around his face.
He looked almost angelic with the creases in the corner of his eyes highlighted and yet that smirk that fucking smirk. Fat chance of Barty being angelic that boy had fallen straight through purgatory and was dancing with the devil himself.
Merlin if Evan didn’t love him for it.
The club’s lights were neon and if Evan blinked fast enough it felt like he was having a stroke, not that he would know but his father had had a stroke a few years ago saying the stress of twins, being himself and pandora, had finally killed him. Part of Evan wished that was true, let the old wank-stain die yet unfortunately, he had pulled through, of course he knew his father would live as Panda had had a vision of it a few hours prior to the news, but it hurt none the less.
“We will get some drinks in you and you’ll be happy as Larry in about” Barty pretended to check a watch, “in about 10 minutes.”
“As long as everything goes to plan,” Evan said with a raised eyebrow, but this was Barty he was talking to, he had faith in him to pull them through.
“Just have faith, darling,” Barty said with a ridiculous wink but Evan could feel his face heat up. Darling is much better than mate he thought.
Barty and him joined the obtusely long cue which on its own took 10 minutes to get through, which didn’t presided confidence for Barty’s plan due to his earlier statement.
Barty gently dug his elbow into Evans side and flicked his head to something behind them.
There stood two girls far smaller than Evan or Barty but that was hard to beat as they had both definitely passed 6 foot by now. He knew their heights as barty had made him measure each other to see who was the tallest, they both thought themselves and they were also both very completive. So they ditched potions and Regulus found them and a muggle measuring tape tangled on the floor of their dorm.
He raised his eyebrows at Barty, the girls were pretty Evan thought not nearly as pretty as Barty but definitely pretty.
He could kiss one of them because they were the same as barty in that aspect but he could never love one of them, no he needed them to have more danger and less self-preservation if he were to have proper feeling towards them.
No one’s asking you to love them you idiot, jut get through it he thought act like you don’t love your best friend who’s a boy for just on night, please.
He could kiss a girl, he had had a girlfriend before, Emma Vaniety, she was in the year above and now the captain of the Slytherin quidditch team which is horrifically awkward due to both barty and regulus being a part of the team as well. They never did anything more than snogging, considering he had been in 4th year and by the time they went into 5th year he was horrifically into his best friend.
As they finally reached the man stood at the door letting a gaggle of women, who look more like mothers than the young women Barty would surely be getting with tonight.
“ID,” the bouncer said in a gruff voice as he gave both of them a one over. Barty didn’t say anything just sensibly handed his ID and Evan did the same. Barty didn’t make any inappropriate comments or pull any tricks which was significant to how much he wanted this to go to plan.
“Birthday?” he says to Barty.
“December 1st 1968,” Barty replies smoothly, “I’m 19”. Barely 17.
“What’s your sign?” the bouncer asks. His Sign. At first it stumps him he has no idea what he’s talking about but then it clicks. What’s his sign, what kind of ridiculous question is that Evan thinks. That’s what her sister works out when their drunk or is in an article in girly magazines that he had seen anyone but Slytherins’ with.
But barty simply bats his eyelashes at this 100-pound, 6,4-foot body builder and sweetly says with a manic grin, “why? wanna buy me a drink?”
To Evans surprise Barty isn’t punched in the face, instead the man mumbles for him to just go in and Evan swears he was suppressing a grin. He can’t hold it in anymore he lets out a truly atrocious laugh and Barty’s wild cackle creates a symphony of pure disbelief and unbridled joy.
“You are fantastic you know that,” Evan says to him.
“Come on, Rosy,” Barty says,” let’s get utterly smashed then maybe set something on fire.”
Ah, Barty and his arsonist instincts.
He had once set his fathers desk on fire, that’s when his dad started locking his office. Barty was 12 when he did that and 12 again when, 4 months later, he learnt how to pick locks purely to terrorise his father.
“Or someone, I think that bouncer rather liked you,” nudging his shoulder against Bartys, who is just staring at him with a world-shattering smile.
“Drinks” he announces clapping his hands together and grabbed Evan’s shoulder to walk to the bar.
They had 6 shots between them and then another 2 because they both agreed three wasn’t enough. As Evan downed his last drinks there stood the two girls who were in the cue behind them, the blonde girl seemed to be dragging her meeker, red haired friend with her by the hand.
“Why? wanna by me a drink?” the blonde says.
Did she just quote barty to barty, Salazar save him.
“Fiona,” she says putting her hand on his arm and looking up at him through her pretty eyelashes, that would make even Evan flustered but Barty simply smiles and tells her his name.
“This is Cheryl,” the blonde, Fiona, introduces the other girl, who gives a shy wave looking at her friend evidently annoyed.
“Evan” he sticks his hand out to shake, like his mother raised him to do but stops himself its hot and tightly packed in the club, his palm is probably sweaty he doesn’t want to have to put this poor girl through that.
“Grand,” Fiona says putting her hand on his arm, Cheryl doesn’t, “wanna dance” she says to Barty who shrugs, probably trying to act cool, and puts a hand on her waist leading her to the crowd of sweaty, sticky people grinding and dancing on each other, leaving Evan stood pathetically next to Cheryl as she order vodka shots.
Evan had only tried Fire whiskey and other magical alcohols until tonight and he definitely doesn’t like muggle drinks, there far more bitter, but as she offers a drink, he gladly downs it. The burn of the alcohol is sweeter than the jealousy. She downs several back to back, then shakes her head and offers to sit with him.
Neither of them says anything as they sit on opposite sides of the booth there in, they simply watch was Barty and Fiona slot together as she leans back into him and he puts her hands on his waist guiding her.
He feels sick.
He knows even if Barty and him are in this together, if they go down together, they will never fit like how Barty and a girl do. Yet Evan doesn’t fit with a girl like that, instead he’s sat opposite a beautiful girl and he’s like an unwanted puzzle piece never to fit where he should.
“Evan,” she says breaking the silence and he looks up at her pulling his eyes of her friend and his friend, “she’s pretty, isn’t she?”
She’d caught him off-guard and all he can stutter out is, “I guess.”
“That’s why your staring,” she says not looking even a bit bashful, “right?”
Perhaps he can blame the alcohol for what he said next or perhaps the hot atmosphere that makes him feel as if he’s in a bubble but as he rolls his head to her, the words, “no the one she’s dancing with,” tumble off his tongue.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly then a small laugh pools out of her, “Christ.”
“Whose Christ,” he slurs, “and what you laughing for.”
“Typical me,” she says equally drunk, “I come out to meet a fellow, like Fiona always suggests and I meet a poof.”
He can feel he’s cheeks warming immensely but he doesn’t have the heart to care, instead he simply laughs with her. She’s gripping the table from laughter and his stomach hurts, Evans not so sure what’s funny but he laughs anyway.
“don’t worry. Don’t worry” she repeats slapping his arm, then she leans in and says, “I like the one your friends dancing with…”
It takes a second to click in Evans drunk brain but when it doesn’t it rather falls perfectly into place, there both unfit, unwanted pieces of puzzles.
“… she told he to come find and boy and give it a go, Fiona thinks boys are great,” Cheryl rambles not breaking eye contact and her green eyes seem to pierce Evan’s soul, “ I think she lying”
“Why?”
“Because I’m fingering her in her free time and trust me its great and she says all this stuff about me and her and how she loves me but then” she says drawing out the last word, or are her eyes blue not green Evan can’t remember.
“Then?”
“Then nothing” she cries, “absolutely nothing.”
“oh.”
Nothing, but even then, Evan is jealous because before nothing there was something, and he would kill for something. To fit with barty, because suddenly even if Cheryl isn’t wanted, she still fits.
“oh sweetheart,” she says placing her hand over his.
He wants to say more. He wants to talk about his and barty’s clandestine touches of their hands or how Barty burns but all he can say is, “does it ever stop hurting?”
She tilts her head, “I don’t know yet, I guess we will see, give me your number then we can see whose heart stops breaking first, hey?”
“I don’t have a number,” he says numbly, the words “I don’t know” pound in his head because what if he never stops feeling like this. Evan will gladly burn with Barty but he’s starting to think it hurts to much to simply burn for him.
“Who doesn’t have a number?” she says with a carefree laugh and Evan realises by the red rim to her eyes he can still see even in the neon dark, that’s its nursing something so deeply saddening, “umm address then.” Her voice breaks a little.
“Sure,” he jots down the Hogwarts address down on a napkin that had a red- purple ring of liquid on it but other than that is relatively clean. They go back to school from autumn holiday in few days so if she writes it’ll be there for him when he’s back, plus he’s rarely home for Christmas anyways so Hogwarts made most sense to give as an address.
As he slides it over to her, she kisses his cheek and says “I better go find Fiona she’ll want me when she drunk in the back of the taxi well unless your friends a god.”
‘Your boys a fool, Evan, your very handsome,” she says just before she turns to stand.
“Cheers”
“No, I mean it, I’m a girl who likes girls and I mean it.”
“Your pretty too,” and he means it too she’s beautiful more than.
“Fiona thought so too, that’s your fit, I mean she touched your arm.’
“So?”
“That’s what girls do when we like someone, we touch their arm” she winks then said, “look out for it”.
Evan doesn’t understand what she’s talking about but she stumbles a bit when she stands up so maybe neither does she, “goodnight, I’ll write to you soon, sweets”
He sits there for at least five minutes just tapping his fingers to the music and purposely blurring his vison just to avoid thinking, before Barty stands in front of him. His hairs been tugged in different directions and Evan pretty sure one more button has been undone on his shirt.
“Had good night, Rosy?” Barty asks.
He shrugs standing up and says “I met a nice girl”
“What” barty says that grins shrinking from his face and his brow has furrowed slightly.
“Yeah, gave her the Hogwarts address so she can write to me,” Evan explains his vision fades in and out purposely staring hard at the swarm of people not Barty.
“Did you even kiss her?” Barty asks his eyes are wild and seem to be searching Evans for an answer.
They are stood close. So close that if Evan leaned in their lips would be touching but he doesn’t do that instead he replies with, “we understand each other.’
Barty doesn’t say anything for a while, the comer of his lips are slightly downturn and his eyes are still searching Evans face for an explanation, “your fucking with me rosier, Merlin your easier than me.”
“You’re a real dickhead sometimes, Barty.”
“Yeh but I’m your dickhead,” Barty says tilting his head and amused smile trying to mask on his lips.
“You’re so fucking annoying, y’know that,” pretending his heart isn’t beating faster now at the thought of being anything belonging to Barty.
“You know you love me Rosy,” he leans in slightly and suddenly Evans on fire, heat is pulsing through him and it takes every inch of self-control not to close the distance. He doesn’t care if there surrounded by people, he doesn’t care but he knows he can’t as if everything in him is pulling him back.
He can feel his heart rotting in his chest but he will let it, for Barty. Loving him is so cold it burns.
Barty sticks his tongue out and run it across Evans jawline like some kind of mental case, it takes everything in him not to react, not to make a noise or even breathe.
Barty laughs, as if that something a friend normally does, “fuck me, you should have seen your face that was priceless, Rosier.”
Fuck him. Fuck Barty.
Evan just tries to shoves past, he’s taller and more built than Barty yet when he paces a hand on Evans shoulder, he freezes.
“You do love me, Ev?” barty says and it’s something in his voice something so unnurtured that Evan wants to pull him closer just to touch him, to feel him against his body. But Bartys hand is always on Evans leg or his shoulder or buried in his hair so what would touching him now mean. There always so close to platonic, on both sides of the rope with Evan waiting, praying, he will trip onto the romantic side.
“Sure Barty,” Evan says tired.
And he ignores the sadness in Barty’s eyes because he knows every time barty touches Evan’s knee or starts into his eyes, a foolish desperation claws at him calling him like a siren. All to be squashed as an ant is with a hammer because it barty and he acts the same with Regulus or any of the girls he dates. It’s never anything and that’s what’s rotting Evan foolish heart away.