Knocking on the door startles Evan awake. He blinks blearily into the darkness of his living room, the tv the only source of light. Some movie that was probably popular in the early 2000s is playing. Evan decides rather quickly that it’s too late or early (is it almost morning?) for this shit and lays back down on the couch, happy to ignore the knocking and go back to sleep. But then the knocking starts again. Evan groans, wrapping his blanket around himself and getting up. He makes his way to the door half-blind. Evan opens the door without checking the peephole despite the fact that there’s like a solid fifty percent chance that a murderer is at his door; he’s not even fully awake so who can really blame him? At least if it is a murderer he’ll get to go back to sleep. It’s not a murderer though. It’s-
“Barty?” Evan asks, blinking quickly. “Is everything alright? It’s late-”
Evan doesn’t get to finish before Barty is crowding his way into Evan’s space and kissing him. The act startles him so much that he almost slips and falls on and because of his blanket. Barty’s warm arms wrap around his waist and steady him. Evan relaxes into those arms, remembering through his still-not-fully awake haze that this has happened before, multiple times. He allows Barty to kiss him for a few more seconds before pulling away.
“Barty…” Evan says because even though he’s still not quite fully awake he knows this is a bad idea. Because it always ends the same way and Evan doesn’t know how many more times he can put himself through that.
Barty must notice the tone of Evan’s voice because his hands hold him a little tighter. “Please, Evan. I need you.”
Evan closes his eyes and nods, nothing making him give in quite as easily as Barty saying those three little words. Those eight letters. It's not ‘I love you’ and a faint part of him is disappointed that it isn’t, but a much bigger part wants to give and let Barty take and do whatever he wants. Because Barty needs him and maybe in some ways needing someone can be a lot like loving them. Evan will take any and all of it. It’s pathetic, he knows, but nobody makes him quite as pathetic as Barty Crouch Jr. does.
Barty’s lips are back on his the second his head nods yes. They’re a little chapped and Evan can tell Barty’s been toying with and biting them, he doesn't mind one bit. Barty works Evan’s mouth open, licking and biting at the lips until Evan can do nothing but become putty in his hands and open his mouth for the familiar taste of Barty’s tongue against his own. His blanket is pushed off his shoulders and Evan lets the soft material pool at his feet. He doesn’t feel cold with Barty touching him. They break away for air eventually and Barty’s kisses move down to Evan’s jaw and neck, occasionally nipping and sucking on the skin in a way that makes a shiver run down Evan’s spine every time.
Evan pulls Barty away after a while, partially because Barty kissing his neck like that is making his brain go all fuzzy and his stomach twist with want but also because he wants to make sure Barty is okay before they go any further. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking Barty’s face in his hands.
Barty nods softly, careful so as not to disturb the hands holding his face. “I’m okay. My father again. I just want to forget. I want to forget with you.”
This is not the first time Barty’s said something like this but it still unleashes something hungry and wanting in Evan. Because Barty wants to forget with him and the distinction never fails to make Evan’s heart beat a little faster. He brings Barty’s lips back to his, kissing him with a newfound hunger that Barty reciprocates.
By the time they make it to the bedroom, they’re a mess of traveling hands and mouths. Evan and Barty’s shirts are being pulled off in quick succession and Barty wastes no time in letting his hands roam over the now-exposed space, occasionally paying special attention to Evan’s nipples; tweaking and rolling the nub between practiced fingers. Evan’s dick twitches in interest when Barty’s hand finally makes its way to the sweatpant-covered bulge. Barty teases him though, running his fingers along the length but never giving the pressure Evan needs to get off. His hips twitch up into nothing each time Barty’s fingers linger along the tip of his dick, never failing to make Barty grin cockily at the motion.
“Please,” Evan pleads out eventually. He’s hard, so fucking hard, and a bead of precum is visible on the grey material of his sweatpants.
Barty raises a brow. “Please what? What do you want, Ev?”
Evan wants to wipe that cocky smirk right off his face, have Barty drop to his knees and busy his mouth with his dick until the only noise Barty makes is the occasional choking noise as Evan thrusts into his mouth. Instead, he says, “Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” Barty says, taunting.
Evan’s patience snaps-its late and he just wants to be fucked already-and he grips Barty’s jaw with firm hands, fingernails digging into the skin slightly. If nothing else it succeeds in wiping that cocky smirk off of Barty’s face, eyes dilated as he meets Evan’s gaze. “Either get on with it and fuck me already or get on your knees and make yourself useful.”
Evan can feel Barty swallow harshly against his hand. Through the multiple times they’ve done this before Evan knows that while Barty prefers to top when they fuck, he turns into liquid goo at a few harsh touches and a little dirty talk. Evan has brought Barty to his knees with a couple words and a firm touch several times.
So Evan is only a little surprised when Barty removes Evan’s hand from his jaw and drops to his knees. “Yeah?” Evan asks, eyebrows raised. It’s less of a taunt and more of a confirmation; while he likes Barty on his knees for him he always wants the confirmation that he wants and is okay with being there. Barty nods. “Words,” Evan says, running a hand through Barty’s dark hair.
Barty leans into the touch, eyes flitting shut briefly before opening again. “Yes.”
Evan smiles, stroking the boy's cheek. He trails his hand down until his fingers ghost over those beautiful pink lips. His thumb brushes over the bottom one and Barty’s mouth falls open. Evan pushes the finger in, groaning at the way Barty immediately starts sucking on it, and then pulls it out, just to push it back in a few seconds later. He does this for a few moments, pushing his finger in deeper each time, before pulling the finger out, smearing the saliva across Barty’s cheeks as he goes to cup it. “Well go on, make yourself useful.”
Barty’s hands immediately flit up to his waistband, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down in one go. Barty’s eyes never leave Evan’s as his tongue licks a strip from the base of Evan’s dick to the tip. Barty does a few soft kitten licks at the tip before taking the head of Evan’s dick in his mouth. Evan lets out a mix between a groan and a whimper, feeling Barty smile against him.
Gradually Barty takes more and more of Evan into his mouth until he’s chock full of cock and his lips are stretched obscenely around Evan. Each whimper and groan from Evan only encourages Barty to try and take him deeper, testing and pushing past his gag reflex.
“That’s it. So good,” Evan breathes out, stroking Barty’s cheek affectionately. The boy hums, the vibrations going straight to Evan’s dick. “Fuck,” he groans.
Barty looks up at him with blown eyes. A hand comes up and brings Evan’s hand to the back of Barty’s head. “Are you sure?” Evan asks, understanding what the other wants him to do. Barty hums again and Evan’s hand cards through the brown hair, gripping it lightly.
Using his hold on the hair, Evan brings Barty’s mouth back until just the head of his dick occupies the space before pushing him back down the length of it. He creates a quick pace, fucking Barty’s mouth until his legs feel like jello and his stomach is pooling with heat.
“Fuck, Barty. I-I’m close,” Evan says, attempting to push the boy away so he didn’t come in his mouth. Although Barty has let him do it the other times he knows that that’s not automatic consent to do it this time.
Barty just gives him an annoyed look and puts Evan’s hand back in his hair, sucking Evan back down his throat. A couple more thrusts and Evan is pushing down Barty’s head and coming down his throat. Barty swallows around him despite the fact that it must be hard to do with his mouth so full. He pulls off him with a breathless pant, lips red and swollen from sucking dick and a mix of saliva and a little bit of come on his chin. Evan reaches over to his nightstand, grabbing a tissue. He wipes the saliva and come off of Barty’s chin before tossing the tissue in the small trashcan next to the nightstand.
“You okay?” he asks softly, running a hand over Barty’s now messy hair in an attempt to tame it.
Barty responds by standing up and kissing Evan. Evan smiles against his lips, gripping on Barty’s shoulder to steady himself. And Evan briefly wonders if it’s normal to think that kissing someone while tasting yourself on them is hot, because it is, it really fucking is. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Barty and the mental image of how the taste got there is still fresh and vivid in his mind. His cock twitches in interest at the memory, the sensitivity from having just come making it almost painful.
This time it's him who pulls away from Barty’s lips and goes down to his neck. His kisses are teasing and soft, occasionally throwing in a harsher one just so he can hear the way Barty gasps at the motion. It's when he gets to the spot just under Barty’s ear and right on the edge of his jaw that he sucks. Barty curses breathlessly, handing coming up and tangling in Evan’s hair and pulling in reprimand. This just encourages Evan more and he starts ravaging the spot with a newfound hunger, biting against the spot and then running his tongue over it apologetically, never failing to make Barty whimper and tighten his hold in the blonde curls.
After a long moment and several more harsh bites and apologetic licks, Barty uses his hold on Evan’s hair to pull the boy away, pushing him back until his thighs hit the side of the bed and then pushing him onto it. Evan grins up at him and a small smile twitches at the corners of Barty’s mouth. Barty pulls the rest of Evan’s sweatpants and boxers off of his legs before turning the attention to his jeans, pulling off the belt, and undoing the button and zipper.
Evan can’t help but laugh. It’s at least two in the morning or later most likely and Barty is wearing jeans. “Are you seriously wearing jeans this late?” he goades out. Maybe, just maybe, he likes to tease Barty into having his way with him.
Barty’s arms encase him in seconds, arms settling on both sides of his head. He quirks a brow down at Evan, eyes filled with something that sends a shiver down Evan’s spine. “Are you seriously trying to provoke me right before I fuck you? We both know how that’ll end, Rosie.”
Evan smiles at the nickname, heart fluttering in a way it absolutely shouldn’t because that's not what this thing is. He shrugs. “Maybe it’ll make you finally get on with it. I don’t have all night.”
Barty has him flipped over in a second, stomach meeting the bedsheets in a not harsh but not exactly soft embrace. Evan grins down at the sheets. It’s almost too easy. Barty hitches Evan’s legs up until he’s on his knees, ass in the air. Barty grips the soft flesh. Runs a hand down Evan’s spine until it comes to the back of his neck, pulling him up by the back of it until he’s on his hands as well as his knees.
“Lube?” Barty asks.
“Bottom drawer. To the left,” Evan answers.
Barty comes back with the bottle of lube a few seconds later. Although Evan can’t see he can pretty much tell what Barty is doing by sound; the click of the bottle of lube being opened and the wet sound of it being spread presumably around his fingers. Despite this Evan still jolts when he feels the cold gel being run over his hole in circles. Barty takes his time teasing the hole, tipping just the tip of his finger in before pulling it apart. Evan’s cock is hard by the time Barty pushes his finger in to the first knuckle. Evan groans at the intrusion but relaxes once he’s grown accustomed to it. Barty opens him up thoroughly, adding a second and eventually a third finger in after the first. His fingers have no trouble finding the spot that has Evan whining and whimpering. By the time Barty pulls his fingers out, Evan’s cock aches and twitches restlessly, desperate for attention, and there’s a small pool of precum on the head of his cock and the blanket on his bed.
Evan hears the telltale click of the lube bottle being opened; hears the wet sound it makes as Barty coats his dick with it and then feels as Barty rubs a little more of it against his hole for good measure. Evan appreciates the gesture, having had one too many one-night stands who hadn’t bothered to be as thorough. When the head of Barty’s dick settles against his hole he gasps.
“You okay?” Barty asks, soft in a way that has Evan’s heart doing that thing again. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Evan says immediately, voice breathless and probably barely audible. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought, hoping Barty will get on with it and fuck him if he plays nice.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Barty says, running a hand soothingly along Evan’s spine. The head of Barty’s dick breaches his rim and Evan tenses. “Relax,” Barty reminds, “It’s just me, Rosie.”
Evan feels calmer at the words and does his best to relax, focusing on the feeling of Barty rather than the stretch. Barty takes it slow, moving forward inch by inch until he’s settling fully in Evan. Evan’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling; feeling so full and loving it.
“Move,” Evan says when Barty’s been still for, in his opinion, far too long. “I’m fine.”
Barty complies, pulling out an inch before thrusting back in shallowly. He does this several more times, asking if Evan’s okay again before pulling out until just the head is still inside Evan and then pushing back in. Evan whimpers at the feeling, clutching at the blanket that’s under him. After that, it's frantic, needy and passionate in the way that they continuously meet and push against each other. After Barty’s sure that Evan is okay he’s wonderfully persistent in having his way with him; hands digging into the boy's hips, using his hold to bring Evan back to meet his thrusts. There’s nothing soft about it; it's wanting and desperate. Evan loves it. Evan wanted it like that; teased and egged Barty into it.
But sometimes Evan wished that Barty would take his time with him. Not that he didn’t necessarily do that now and the other times, but sometimes he wishes Barty would fuck him soft. Wishes Barty would leave him on his back so Barty could look into his eyes as he opened him up with his fingers. Wishes the noises Barty makes as he slowly thrusts deeper into Evan could be captured in his mouth, in the way their tongues meet. Wishes that Barty would come inside him while looking him in the eye instead of burying his face in Evan’s neck or being too out of view to see. Wishes Barty wanted all the same things he does.
It’s not long before they’re both close. To frantic and desperate to bother trying to hold off, letting themselves get lost in the pleasure rather than resisting it. Just when Evan feels like the pleasure of just Barty inside of him is enough to spill over that edge, Barty wraps his hand around Evan, stroking him in quick, mind-boggling strokes. So it is no surprise when two thrusts and three strokes later he’s coming over Barty’s hand and the blanket, body desperately trying to decide whether to buck into Barty’s hand or back onto his dick. Barty’s movements become sloppy after that, body draping over Evan’s back. A few more quick, sloppy thrusts, and Barty is biting into the skin of his shoulder and coming. Evan groans at the pleasurable pain radiating from where Barty just bit him and the warmth he can feel inside him. He falls onto the bed, limbs too tired to keep holding him up. Barty licks and kisses apologetically at the bite before getting off of Evan.
Evan’s faintly aware of the sound of feet against wooden floor but he doesn’t make any move to move, sure that his legs would most likely turn to jello. His mind briefly goes into panic mode thinking that maybe Barty was going to leave, just like that. But then the footsteps sound close again and Evan feels the familiar soothing hand of Barty’s on his spine. Barty went to get a washcloth he realizes, shivering as the wet fabric wipes over any place that has lube or come. Then Barty’s moving him up and to the side so he can get rid of the blanket Evan made a mess of and toss it into the hamper.
“Do you need anything? Do you want me to get you some clothes?” Barty asks, coming to sit on the bed next to Evan.
Evan shakes his head. “No,” he says, tugging Barty to lie down. Barty goes, resting his head on Evan’s chest and throwing an arm over his waist. Evan smiles.
Barty is as tired as Evan is, the late hour and the chemicals released because of their orgasms making them both sleepy and content. Still, somewhere in his sleepy mind that scared nagging feeling that Barty is going to leave like he always does is present. So even as his eyes are feeling heavy and the weight of Barty is making him warm warm warm, Evan asks, “You’re going to stay?”
Barty hums a ‘yes’ against Evan’s chest and then Evan is asleep.
↣
Evan wakes up alone the next morning.
The answer to how many more times he can put himself through that is one.
He feels sick the second he wakes up and realizes that Barty is no longer in his arms or the house altogether. The blanket hastily thrown in the bin from last night taunting him with the memories. He forces himself up even though his body feels heavy, too heavy, and too empty at the same time, for the sole reason of pulling his bedding off and shoving it and the blanket in the washer. Then he makes his way to the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time, examining every feature and flaw of his face and hair. By the time he manages to force himself to look away, he’s sobbing. He drops to the cold tile floor of the bathroom just to get right back up because he’s sore from last night. This leads him to remember the bite on his shoulder that, now that the pleasure is over, feels sore as well. He turns to look at it in the mirror and immediately regrets it, a bruise already forming where Barty’s mouth once was. He looks down at his hips and realizes that they're in much of the same condition. And Evan would find it hot-the marks on his shoulder and hips-if it didn’t remind him of how Barty said he wouldn’t leave and then did.
In reality, he should have known that Barty wouldn’t actually stay, he never does, but somewhere in his sleepy, blissed-out mind, he let himself believe that he would. He let himself hope he would. And so the touch that once made him feel so good now makes him feel so dirty. Dirty dirty dirty. Because he looks at himself in the mirror and all he sees is the person that wasn’t good enough to be more than the occasional late-night fuck. And he hates himself for ever letting himself be that person. For ever letting Barty touch him in that way when he knew it would never be the way he fully wanted. For ever letting himself believe he would ever be good enough for someone to want to stay, especially Barty. Because Evan isn’t the type of person that people stay for. No, and the stupid, pathetic part of his brain thinks that maybe that wouldn’t matter if Barty had been the first to decide to.
Barty wasn’t.
And Evan wants to hate him for it. Hate him for lying. For leaving. For coming onto him that one night almost a year ago. For making him feel good and leaving traces just to walk away completely fine, unscathed by the whole thing. For making Evan feel like this. But he doesn’t. Can’t. And he hates himself for that too.
He turns the shower on, making sure it's hot and steaming before stepping inside. At first, he washes his skin carefully, fingers gentle to avoid hurting any sore areas. But then he washes the soap off and still feels so dirty. The second time he isn’t careful. He scrubs at his skin once twice three times before being satisfied with the slightly reddened skin. It’s a bad idea because it irritates and adds to the pain of the marks more but he doesn’t care.
Once he’s done in the shower he goes back to his room, glaring at his clothes still on the floor from the night before, and going to his drawers, pulling on another pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt that he’s half sure he stole from Regulus who stole it from James. He attempts to coax himself into eating something because, in reality, he’s hungry, but he looks into his fridge and pantry and feels nauseous. So he puts the kettle on and makes some tea, glaring at the packets he keeps specifically for Barty before throwing them in the trash. He sits down on the couch just to see the blanket he was wearing when he opened the door last night back over the back of it. He pulls it off, throwing it in the pile of the clothes he wore last night that he needs to wash. Then he sits back down on the couch, takes a few sips of his tea, and then lets it grow cold as he scrolls through television programs aimlessly.
The knock at the door has him freezing and his heart foolishly hopes it's Barty even though the thought of him and what they did and how he just left makes him feel sick. He stands up, forcing himself not to run to the door like the pathetic idiot he is. He looks through the peephole this time and…Pandora?
He opens the door, slightly confused as to why his sister is here knocking at his door midday. Usually, Pandora will text him before she comes over. He takes her in, noticing her going-out attire. That’s when he remembers.
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Dora. I completely forget we were supposed to go for lunch today,” he says, internally cursing himself for forgetting.
“That’s okay,” Pandora says, eyes soft and understanding. She looks Evan over, paying special attention to his face before saying, “Are you okay?”
And of course, Pandora can tell when he is, in fact, not okay. She’s his sister for fucks sake and Evan is sure that he probably looks like a wreck as well, eyes puffy and red from crying and hair disheveled and untamed. He still feels the inexplicable urge to lie though, even though Pandora knows about the him and Barty occasionally having sex thing.
“I’m fine,” he says, mustering up the widest smile he can.
Pandora gives him a disbelieving look and is quiet for a few moments before saying, “Barty?”
Evan loses his facade then, deflating immediately. He nods, tears already prickling his eyes.
“Can I come in? You can tell me about it if you want,” Pandora says, voice soft.
Evan nods again, moving so Pandora can come through the door, closing it once she’s properly inside. They make their way to the couch. And Evan tells her everything. About Barty coming over and what happened after and how Barty said he would stay and then didn’t. About how dirty he felt. About how heavy but also empty he feels. All of it. And Pandora listens.
He cries into her arms for a long time.
↣
I guess to properly tell this story you have to go back to the beginning. To the first time he and Barty had sex.
It was a hot summer day, the heat still staying over even after the sun had already set. Barty had shown up at Evan’s door with a pack of beers and a closed-off look on his face. Evan had, of course, let him in. He watched as the boy walked into his kitchen, found a bottle opener, opened one of the beer bottles, and then plopped down on Evan’s couch.
“Barty? What happened?” He asked, confused by the other’s erratic entrance.
A sour smile crossed over Barty’s face. “My dad being his usual self. Fucking piece of shit.”
Evan sat down on the couch then, letting a few inches of space between the two of them. “He didn’t…hurt you, did he?” Evan felt sick as the words left his mouth. Sick about the fact that he even had to ask.
Barty laughed dryly, taking a big gulp of beer. “No. He stopped doing that when he realized that I could hit back. Now he takes to verbal abuse.”
Evan relaxed slightly against the couch even though he didn’t feel much better at the new revelation-just relieved that Barty hadn’t been hurt. “I’m sorry,” Evan said, even though it felt entirely inadequate to what he really wanted to say. He wanted to tell Barty he’d burn the whole world down if someone so much as touched him in a way he didn’t like. He wanted to tell Barty that he didn’t deserve any of it. Wanted to tell him he’d happily help Barty get rid of his father if he asked him to.
“Don’t be. It's not your fault,” Barty said, seeming to decide to compose himself back into his usual self. “Now are you going to make me drink all of these by myself or what?”
Evan laughed, feeling slightly wrong about it given the situation. But then Barty laughed too and Evan relaxed. He grabbed a bottle, going back to the kitchen to grab the bottle opener, bringing it with him. And so they sat and drank and Evan listened as Barty would occasionally reveal a detail from the encounter between him and his father that made him come over here, beers in hand.
They were both two beers in when Barty, rather unexpectedly, said, “You’re pretty.”
Evan didn’t think much of it. In fact, laughed a little about the alcohol-empowered statement. “How are you already getting drunk, we’ve only drank two beers?”
“I’m not drunk,” Barty said, face shifting into something serious. “You are pretty. I don’t need a little alcohol to think that.”
Evan blushed, looking away so Barty wouldn’t see the pink of his cheeks. “Oh,” was all he could think to say.
And then Barty reached out and wrapped gentle fingers around his chin, turning his head back so he was looking at Barty again. “You’ve always been pretty. Beautiful. Handsome. All the other adjectives that can describe someone like you.”
Evan swallowed harshly at the words and he knew Barty could feel it. “Oh,” he said again. No one had ever said something like that to him before and it being Barty, who he’d been in love with for the past two years, made it all more…everything really.
Barty had shifted closer sometime during their first two beers and Evan was all too aware of it. Barty’s thigh was touching his. His shoulder was pressed against Barty’s. Barty was still holding his chin. Barty’s face was close enough that Evan could feel each exhale he took. “Can I kiss you?” Barty asked, eyes continuously flitting between Evan’s lips and his eyes.
“Yes,” Evan breathed out before he could have the chance to think about how bad of an idea this was.
Barty kissed him.
And somehow Evan ended up in Barty’s lap, hands tangled in his hair, lips heatedly meeting and clashing against each other. They had sex right there on the couch, hips thrusting up into Barty’s hand, sliding easily against each other with the aid of spit and precome.
Evan knew not to expect anything to come of it. They got a little tipsy and had sex. People do it all the time. And sure they didn’t usually take the time to call you pretty or beautiful or handsome or ‘all the other adjectives that can describe someone like you’ but Evan summed that up to the alcohol Barty had drank (even though Barty had said he didn't say it because of the alcohol). In the end, Evan was right to expect so because Barty went on like nothing even happened.
Until he came back over again and they had sex. Again. And then he would leave and they wouldn’t talk about it. And then Barty would come over and they’d have sex again. And Evan would let it happen because having some part of Barty in that way was better than having none of him. So he ignored the painful ache that took place each time Barty left and pretended it didn’t happen.
It had always been a ticking time bomb, always ready to explode at any given moment. Because having occasional sex with someone and then having to pretend it didn’t even happen afterwards when you’re in love with that person is not a good idea. That ache gets more painful and spreads even quicker after each time. That bomb ticks more.
And then it finally explodes.
↣
It’s been a week and a half since that night. A week and a half of ignoring Barty’s text. A week and a half of a decent (a lot) amount of self-loathing. The marks are pretty much gone by now but Evan can still feel the way Barty touched him; the firm grips of his hand on his hips and the not-so-gentle way his teeth felt against his skin. He’s better now, okay even. Well, when he’s not thinking about Barty. Which isn’t very often because Barty keeps texting him and his mind is a cruel place that keeps reminding him of him. Okay, so he’s not doing the best-but he is better, just a little.
He’s watching some show that’s on the cable when his phone buzzes where it sits on the coffee table. It’s face down so he can’t see the screen to see the caller id. He contemplates the idea of picking it up for a few seconds, stomach dropping at the thought that it could be Barty. He’d called once, a few days ago, and Evan stayed off of his phone for the rest of the day. But the chance of it being someone that wasn’t Barty made him lean over and pick it up.
The caller id reads: Reginald.
He clicks the accept button, bringing the phone up to his ear.
“Hi,” Evan says when the line connects.
“Hello,” Regulus replies.
“How are you?” Evan asks, trying to make conversation even though Regulus is the one that called him.
“Fine. You?”
“Peachy,” Evan says.
Silence.
Some more silence.
“Did you call me because you wanted to talk about something or…?” Evan asks.
“Are you still coming with us to the pub tomorrow for my birthday?” Regulus asks. “Barty will be there so I understand if you don’t want to come.”
“How did you-” Evan starts just to put together that Pandora and Regulus are best friends and, so even though she probably didn’t explicitly tell him, Regulus figured it out. He sighs. “Yes, I’m still coming tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss your birthday because of something…stupid.”
“My birthday is technically two days after,” Regulus reminds. They started celebrating it a few days early when Regulus started dating James and Regulus made up with his brother. Now he spends the day with the two of them and a few days prior with his friends (although Evan is sure that James and Sirius and probably Remus will come along tomorrow as well). “So you wouldn’t technically be missing it.”
“I’m not going to miss your birthdaycelebration, then,” Evan says. “I’m not going to miss celebrating your birthday because of the stupid stuff between me and Barty.”
“Is it stupid?” Regulus asks. “Because he told me you’ve been ignoring him for over a week.”
Evan is not surprised in the least that Barty told Regulus about it. “Of course he did.” Evan sighs again. “Yes, it is,” Evan says to Regulus’ earlier question, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then the line disconnects.
To say he dreaded tomorrow would be an understatement.
↣
By the time Evan gets to the pub his friends plus James, Sirius, Remus, and Marlene are already there. He had agreed to give Pandora a ride to the pub and they were originally set to be on time, but then Pandora dropped water on her outfit so she had to change, making them late. Evan relaxes when he realizes that Barty is nowhere in sight, outside smoking or in the bathroom most likely. He hugs each of his friends plus the other four, wishing Regulus a happy birthday even though he’ll text him it on his birthday as well.
They settle in a big booth, beers and shots being distributed, and drank. Barty does show back up eventually and Evan refuses to look in his direction, taking to talking idly to Dorcas and Marlene to distract himself. He’s almost properly sloshed an hour in, throwing his alcohol back in a way that definitely shows anyone who’s properly looking (Regulus and Pandora) that he is, in fact, not fine. But he doesn’t care. He’s content and floaty and having an easier time ignoring the fact that Barty is sitting right across from him probably looking beautiful and happy and not at all like Evan has been feeling the past week and a half.
Barty leaves the booth eventually, mumbling something about getting something to drink. Evan relaxes a little bit, lifting his gaze up from where it’s strictly been on the table. Except then he’s met with Regulus’ questioning but also at the same time knowing eyes. He’s cuddled up on James’ shoulder, who looks down at him affectionately every so often before resuming the conversation he’s having with Sirius. Regulus raises his eyebrows and Evan gives him a look that says ‘drop it’. Regulus gives him one last look before whispering something to James that has the boy grinning and abandoning his conversation with Sirius to walk off with Regulus. Evan rolls his eyes. People in relationships are fucking annoying. Yes, Evan realizes that everyone except him, Pandora, and Barty are in relationships, hush.
Barty. Barty Barty Barty.
Evan gets a strange sense of missing something you never really had. He misses Barty’s kisses and the noises he makes when Evan kisses that one spot. He misses his hands on his hips and his teeth on his shoulder. He misses the soothing touch of Barty running his hand down his spine. Really he just misses Barty. Because before Barty was the guy he occasionally had a late-night fuck with or the guy he was in love with, Barty was his best friend. Why did things have to get so complicated? Why couldn't they have stayed young and wild and sixteen doing things they shouldn’t? Evan supposes that maybe they're not much different. They’re still relatively young and mildly wild and while they’re not sixteen anymore they’re still doing things they shouldn’t-aka each other.
And so maybe it’s a combination of the alcohol and the missing him that makes him shift his head to search for Barty. He just wants to look at his face. One look and he’ll be satisfied. One look and he’ll stop thinking about him-well, for a little at least. He does find him. Across the room clearly flirting with a guy. One look and Evan feels like crying or throwing up but that’s mostly because of the alcohol. Because although he hates the way he feels after every time he and Barty fuck he still felt special in a way because Barty could have gone to anyone but he chose him. The truth is that Evan was not special. He was close and easy and a warm body and that was it.
He mutters something about ‘outside’ and ‘smoking’ before walking a little too quickly out of the pub for someone as drunk as he is. He stumbles a little bit when he does get outside, putting a hand on the brick wall of the pub before settling back against it. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, finding one mercifully left. He slots it between his lips, digging out his lighter. Once, twice, three times he strikes the spark wheel to no success, just a pathetic little sputter.
“Fuck,” he mumbles around the cigarette in his mouth.
Then a hand with a lit metal lighter is lighting the end of his cigarette. He turns, not having heard anyone come out, just to wish he hadn’t. Because there’s Barty; beautiful and lighting his own cigarette-Barty looks godly smoking a cigarette.
“Thanks,” Evan forces out, voice short, and guarded like it never is around Barty. He’s starting to question why he told Regulus he would come.
Barty hums in acknowledgment. It feels like hours-really just a couple minutes-before Barty speaks. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
“Well you ignore a lot of things, so,” Evan finds himself biting out before he can stop himself.
“What?” Barty asks and Evan can tell he’s turned his head to look at him.
“Nothing,” he mutters, bringing the cigarette up to his lips to take a long drag.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t,” Evan says, looking straight ahead even though everything seems bleary and unfocused with Barty talking to him and the alcohol running through his system.
“Yeah, okay,” Barty says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Why’d you lie?” Evan asks after a long moment.
“What?” Barty asks again.
“You said you’d stay and you didn’t,” Evan says, picking at the skin of his cuticle. When did he decide to talk about this? Why is he talking about this when he knows it's going to end badly? All questions lead to the answer of him being an idiot.
“That’s what this is about?” Barty scoffs. “Because I didn’t stay around to hold you onto you?”
Evan feels tears prickling his eyes and-no, he absolutely will not cry in front of Barty. Because Barty is right-for the most part-and he’s saying it like that and Evan feels his stomach twist painfully, sourness dripping into him. He’s an idiot. Of course Barty wouldn't understand. Of course Barty wouldn’t care. Close, easy, and a warm body that’s all. He’s sure his cuticle is bleeding by now.
“I'm sure there are plenty of other people willing to fuck you when you're down and sad and looking for a good time so just go to one of them from now on,” he bites out, wiping his finger against his jeans because it did start bleeding.
“Why are you making this such a big fucking deal? You didn’t seem to care all the other times. In fact, you seemed real eager.” And Evan wants to hit him for getting to have that icy tone to his voice when he’s not even the one hurt. He’ll go back into the club and go home with that guy and be fine and Evan is stuck being in love with someone that has treated him like something he can just use and dispose of.
Evan scoffs, tears making his vision a new level of blurry. “Why are you? You treat me like shit and then act like you fucking care when I get tired of it.”
“I do fucking care!” Barty exclaims. “I’ve cared about you since we met when we were seven.”
The tears have fallen over by now, painting his cheeks in clear streaks. “You don’t. You fucking don’t. Or else you would realize it makes me feel like shit when you fuck me and just leave afterwards and act like it never fucking happened!”
“Ev…”Barty starts, tone softer than it's been all night.
“And I’m tired of being the guy that you come to because things are a little shitty and you need to forget. Because all I am to you is some easy, convenient lay and I’m tired of pretending like I haven't been in love with you and it makes me feel like shit.” The words are flowing out of his mouth before he can stop them.
“You what?” Barty asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Evan’s own words have finally caught up to him and he desperately wants to backtrack. Barty was never supposed to know that Evan was in love with him. No, Evan decided very early on into his feelings for the boy that he would simply shove them down and try to ignore them. Now they were on full display.
He wipes angrily at his face, cursing his tears and his big fucking mouth. “Just forget I said anything. You’re really good at pretending things didn’t happen.” He makes his voice as hard and cold as he can, walls immediately going up in an attempt to protect his heart. It's far too late for that.
Evan walks away before Barty can say anything, not bothering to go back inside to tell the others he’s leaving before grabbing a taxi. He’ll text them when he gets home.
↣
It rains for two days straight. On the third day it gets really bad; the clouds relentless in their downpour, lightning cracking left and right, thunder rumbling loudly. So bad to the point that weather alerts have been put out saying to stay inside and not drive due to the possibility of flooding. Evan thinks it's ironic in a way how everything went down at the pub and now it's been raining relentlessly since.
The pitter-patter of the rain provides a calm ambiance for the shower he’s taking. He lets the water wash over him like the rain washes over the windows. The last shower he took ended with him vomiting-due to the alcohol and the relentless flow of tears he had tried desperately to stop numerous times-so this one was already much improved.
Loud knocking on the door pulls him out of his calm moment. He groans, twisting the shower knob off when the knocking persists. He does a half-ass job of drying himself off and then throws the first pieces of clothing he can find on.
“For fucks sake,” he curses when the knocking continues. He doesn’t even know who’s at the door yet but he’s already ready to tell them to fuck off.
He swings the door open a little dramatically, ready to tell off whoever decided to ruin his shower and make him run around his house sopping wet like a madman. The words die in his throat. Barty’s there, clothes soaked from the rain, roses in hand.
“Hi,” Barty says, sounding slightly out of breath.
“What are you-It’s raining,” he replies stupidly.
“Yeah. I uhh can definitely tell,” Barty says, laughing just a little.
“Did you drive here?”
“Yes.”
Evan’s pulling him inside before he can think too much about it. He goes off to the bathroom, finding a couple clean towels, and then going back to where Barty still stands in front of his front door. He thrusts them towards him a little too harshly, but Barty still takes them nonetheless; throwing one on the floor so he doesn’t drip all over it.
“You’re an idiot,” Evan states. “Why would you drive when it’s raining like this? Did you not see the weather alerts?”
“I saw them,” Barty replies casually.
Evan scoffs. “And you what? Decided to not listen even though you could’ve put yourself in danger to come knock on my door?”
“Yes,” Barty replies simply.
“You could’ve called like a normal person.”
“You don’t answer when I call.”
Evan huffs, knowing he’s right. “Why are you here, Barty?”
“To talk. And to give you these.” Barty holds the flowers out to Evan.
Evan looks at the flowers then Barty then the flowers again.
“Please?” Barty asks, voice slightly desperate.
Evan takes the flowers, rolling his eyes at the small smile that forms on Barty’s face. “Fine. But you need to shower first.”
Barty seems to relax, nodding immediately. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever you want.”
Evan is already rethinking his choice five minutes into waiting for Barty to get out of the shower, nerves making him restless. Barty drove in the pouring rain to talk to him. Barty wants to talk. Talk most likely about what Evan said that day at the pub. He brought him flowers. Roses. Rosie. God, why couldn’t this be like one of those romantic films where they show up at your door and just automatically confess whatever it is that they wanted to say? After another minute of restlessly sitting Evan gets up, grabbing the flowers and walking to the kitchen. He unwraps the plastic holding them in place and then cuts the tips of the flowers at an angle, filling a vase with water and arranging them in there. He leaves them sitting on the kitchen island and goes back to sit on the couch.
Barty comes back into the living five minutes later, wearing Evan’s sweatpants and t-shirt. Evan forces himself not to stare for too long, which is hard because Barty looks so cute in Evan’s clothes. Barty gives him a hesitant smile as he makes his way over to the couch and sits down.
“Well?” Evan says when minutes have passed and Barty still hasn’t said anything.
“I’m sorry,” Barty says to the floor.
“You could’ve just sent that over text.”
“I…You’re right. I treated you like shit. And I went about…everything the wrong way. I-I,” Barty exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I-I thought that was what you wanted. For me to leave and pretend like it didn’t happen.”
Evan turns to Barty, brows furrowed in confusion. “Why would I want that?”
“I thought…I thought that you only slept with me because you felt bad for me and so you didn't want me to bring it up or stay around.” Barty voice is a quiet murmur.
“Oh,” is all Evan can think to say. He wants to laugh about how far from the truth that is but also wants to pull his hair out because this whole thing was made ten times worse because of insecurities they had that the other wasn’t aware of.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t sleep with you because I felt bad for you,” Evan reassures, meaning every word. “But I guess that’s kind of obvious by how our last conversation went.” Or, in other words (which aren't all that different but whatever), I didn’t sleep with you because I felt bad for you, I slept with you because I love you.
“Oh,” Barty says, repeating Evan’s earlier words.
“Yeah,” Evan says, feeling the awkwardness seep in. Whatever miscommunication that they had but weren't really aware of was cleared up but Evan’s confession of love still hung in the air between them. And Evan found it mildly okay that Barty clearly didn’t love him back because at least they cleared most of the rest of it up. Evan could handle unrequited love as long as he didn’t have to lose Barty as a friend. “You uhh-You can stay here until the rain clears up. I have food in the fridge if you're hungry. And extra blankets in the closet if you get cold or anything. And since I’m pretty sure the rain isn’t clearing up until at least tomorrow you can sleep in my bed and I’ll stay on the c-”
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Barty says suddenly.
Evan’s brows furrow. “Ask you what?”
“If I’m in love with you too.” And Barty looks him in the eye for the first time since he’s sat down.
“Barty, you don’t-”
“Ask me,” Barty interrupts again.
And Evan lets a drop of hope seep into his veins. “Are you in love with me, too?” He can tell his cheeks are hot as he says it.
“Yes,” Barty says immediately. “I’m in love with you too.”
Evan feels the world tilt on its axis. Barty is in love with him? “What?” he asks stupidly even though he heard Barty crystal clear.
Barty is in love with him.
Barty never wanted to leave or not talk about it he just thought that that was what Evan wanted.
Oh. They’re idiots.
“I-I’m in love with you, Evan. And I have been for a while.” A pause. “And I need you to know that I didn’t sleep with you because you were ‘easy’ and ‘convenient’. Frankly, none of this has been easy or convenient,” he lets out a small laugh, “but it was never about that anyway. You-Evan…” he lets out a shaky breath, “You’re the only person I’ve ever felt safe enough with to just let myself be…me. I slept with you that first night because you make me feel safe.”
Evan smiles, cupping Barty’s face and wiping off the few shed tears that linger there. “Good. You deserve it.” Because that’s all Evan’s ever wanted for Barty to feel-safe. And that was a hard thing to do growing up with a father like Barty Crouch Sr. But Evan makes him feel that, makes him feel safe, and even through the shit storm that was this past year between them, he’s so fucking happy that he can be that person for Barty.
Barty sniffles. “I don’t think I deserve you.”
“And you don’t think I don’t think the same about you?” Evan laughs, a little wet from emotion. “But we accept the love we think we deserve and I think that after everything we deserve to accept that love and trust the other to remind us that we deserve it. Do you?”
Barty nods. “Yes.”
And something shifts and settles into place in Evan at Barty’s words. It’s his heart he realizes-the piece that spent so long loving Barty and not thinking he loved him back settling comfortably in his chest for the first time in a long time. Evan loves Barty. Barty loves Evan. And they’re both sitting here deciding to accept that love even though they dont necessarily think they deserve it. Because after all the time spent on misunderstandings and personal insecurities and being idiots they finally have their chance, the love they have for each other being held out in trembling hands, and they’re reaching out and taking it.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Evan croaks out, tears of his own littering his cheeks. For the first time in a while, they’re happy tears.
Evan had never experienced kissing someone he loves who also loves him back before but now that he has he doesn’t want to ever stop. Because they’re kissing just to kiss. Kissing just to communicate the love they have flowing over for each other in the only way they can think of but words. Kissing someone you love who also loves you back is like the gentle sway of trees when the wind hits them just right. Like the little beams of sun that shine through your curtains in the morning, basking you in a golden glow. Like the gentle caress of a hand against another; the soft interlinking of fingers.
Kissing someone you love who also loves you back is the gentle trust of holding your heart out in shaking hands and knowing that it’ll be taken care of.
↣
Evan wakes up alone the next morning. His brain momentarily panics before he remembers yesterday and all that happened. So this time Evan is content laying in bed, knowing Barty is up roaming around some room in the apartment. He lets his gaze drift to the slightly open curtains that are letting little beams of light into the room. The rain has stopped and the sun is shining brighter than it has in days. The storm has passed.
Eventually, Barty comes back into the bedroom, smiling wide and uninhibited at Evan as he crawls back into bed and arranges himself halfway on top of Evan. Evan wraps his arms around him, holding him like he’s something precious-because he is. And Evan lets himself drift back of to sleep not with the hope that Barty will be there when he wakes up but with the knowledge that he will be.