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“Pucker up, Black.”
“Oh, I’m going to kill Dorcas.”
Barty doesn’t bother concealing his delight, boisterous laughter filling the small room to the brim. Very unbecoming, Regulus thinks. There is absolutely nothing amusing about the situation they’re in.
They sit with their legs crossed inside The Rosiers’ closet, which is barely big enough to fit the two of them. And while Regulus doesn’t mind the constant bumping of knees, the floor they sit on is dusty and he has to actively stop his eyes from wandering to the concerningly spider-less spiderweb hanging over their heads.
Like some divine punishment, the only other distraction available in the room is an insufferable weasel who has decided that making him miserable is the best way to spend this already torturous seven minutes.
But, then again, it’s Barty so why is he even surprised?
After an eternal minute of attempting to suppress his senses and reach a monk-like state of mind in order to endure Barty’s god-awful rendition of the same part of the chorus of “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer, he finally gives up.
“Oh my God. SHUT UP!” he snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you really not care that we’re about to be prostituted—”
Barty’s loud crackle cuts him off, and Regulus imagines strangling him and watching his eyes pop out of their sockets. Unfortunately, he knows Barty would probably enjoy that a little too much. He settles for an angry shove.
“It is not funny,” he hisses. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had just let Dorcas call literally anyone else other than McKinnon.”
Barty quirks an eyebrow, amusement still overwhelmingly evident on his face. “See, I don’t think you were that concerned because I vividly recall you laughing so hard I had to put my hand over your mouth so you didn’t ruin the prank—”
“—yeah, with your disgusting Cheeto fingers—”
“—And ALSO, you were the one that called her the knockoff version of Joe Goldberg.”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t have to breathe so creepily into the phone.”
“And I totally agree she should be put on a list!” Barty snickers for a moment but his smile falls when he notices Regulus is not amused in the slightest. “Come on, Reg! I know you’re not actually angry right now.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, baby, you think you can fool me? Adorable.”
“You know, we might have ruined her chances with McKinnon.”
“Please,” Barty scoffs. “She practically drops her panties every time Dorcas passes her by.”
“Don’t talk about her panties, Barty,” Regulus chastises.
Barty groans. “Fuck, you’re such a prude.”
“And you’re a whore,” Regulus retorts.
“You know what they say: inside every prude, there’s a whore.”
“Absolutely no one says that.”
“Pretty sure I heard your mother—”
A yell from outside the door cuts him off. “ARE YOU GUYS MAKING OUT YET?”
There are some unintelligible whispers and childish snickers afterward which Regulus struggles not to roll his eyes at. His gaze meets Barty’s, and he can’t help but be coaxed into a smile as well. This situation is ridiculous, he is well aware. But at least they’re in it together.
That thought lasts about a second before Barty inevitably hits him with the dumbest take anyone’s ever had.
“I bet you pissed her off on purpose just so you could have a piece of this.” Barty flashes him a smirk, gesturing to his sprawled-out body.
Regulus has to gag. “In your dreams.”
“Like you’ve never thought about it.”
“Surprisingly, I’m not a big fan of gonorrhea.”
“Oh fuck off,” Barty laughs, then rolls his shoulders, leaning back on his palms. “It’s just a little smooch,” he says like it’s no big deal.
“Yeah, well…” Regulus frowns fiddling with a loose thread on Barty’s jeans.
Barty lets out a put-upon sigh:
“Reg…”
“What now?”
“You know we don’t actually have to do it, right…?”
“I’m sorry,” Regulus chuckles humorlessly. “Have you met our friends? Does the ‘rules are the rules’ bullshit sound familiar to you? I can practically hear Pandora’s never-ending sigh.”
“You want to kiss me over a disappointed sigh?”
“I don’t want to kiss you at all!”
“It’s a stupid game and you,” he points at him emphatically, making Regulus’ lips purse, “are being stupid.”
“Dorcas did this because she—”
“—Because she is an asshole.” Barty shrugs. “And we love her for it.”
Regulus rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue further. It’s not like he thinks one kiss is the end of the world but just the thought of it makes his insides twist uncomfortably.
Just one little, tiny kiss, he tells himself.
Barty reaches forward and flicks his forehead, right where his skin creases with a frown. “Hey!” Regulus protests, retaliating by painfully poking his ribs in the exact spot he knows will make him—
An eruption of giggles escapes Barty’s throat at the sharp touch.
“Say that I’m right, Barty! Say we’re doomed!” He mercilessly tickles him as Barty tries his hardest to keep the giggles at bay.
“Get your bony ass fingers—” Another eruption of laughter and Regulus fails miserably at keeping quiet too, loud laughter unfurling around them, leaving twin grins glued to their faces even after Barty manages to bat Regulus’ hands away.
Once he’s finally caught his breath, Barty manages to say: “You know,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “they’re going to think you’re a lousy kisser.”
Regulus snorts, catching his meaning. “Trust me, if we kissed, the only one laughing would be me.”
“You sound very confident for someone who has zero kissing experience.”
That sobers Regulus up real fast, face blanching and voice pitched high. “That’s not true. What the hell?”
Barty snorts. “Please.”
If this were a caricature, the look Regulus gives him would make his head explode into a tiny million pieces.
“Meaning what, exactly?” his voice is pure acid. It makes Barty’s eyes light up.
“Oh, you know,” Barty smirks, cheeky tongue peaking between his teeth. “Just you.”
Regulus leans into his space. “What does that mean?”
“It means, dear Reggie, that you have it written all over your face.” He leans in too, rhythmically tapping his forehead as he spells: “V, I, R, G, I, N—” He finishes by pressing his finger against his pursed mouth, “—lips.”
Regulus glowers and Barty takes back his finger just in time before he bites it off.
“What about you, huh? I have never heard someone bragging about having kissed The Barty Crouch Jr. Were you that bad?” Regulus mocks, making Barty chuckle.
“Wanna find out?”
“I’m going to need at least three references for that.”
“I’m sorry, am I applying for a job?”
“They need to be positive ones, too. No loopholes.”
“Does your brother count? Because I don’t think I’m gonna be able to reach him after I left him—Ouch!” Barty caresses the spot on his arm where Regulus just hit him. He mumbles: “You’re violent today. I don’t think I want this job anymore.”
“Good, because you’re fired.”
“How is that—?”
“I know. Shut up,” Regulus chastises which effectively silences the other boy.
The thing about time is it is all about perception. A minute can be as long as an hour or as short as a second, it can come and go like a restless tide. Regulus remembers being little and standing before the ocean, toes barely brushing the white foam of the most daring waves. Barty was there too, as he often is in his memories. He doesn’t think he remembers a time before Barty, a time without Barty. In this particular memory, he was already too deep into the sea. And Regulus was so scared for him, but he couldn’t get his feet to move.
And then a big wave came and dragged Barty down.
“No one,” Barty says out of nowhere.
“Excuse me?”
“I haven’t kissed anyone yet.” He shrugs as if it isn’t a confession that has just tilted Regulus’ perception of him on his axis.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“What – wait. What about Amelia?”
“Oh, her? Nah, I only hung out with her so she’d let me pet her taxidermized dog.”
Regulus cringes. “Please tell me that’s a euphemism.”
Barty’s boisterous laughter fills the room again. This time Regulus joins him.
“I do wonder what it’s like,” Barty confesses, laughter still fresh on his lips.
“What the hell, Barty?”
“Don’t you?”
Regulus searches his face for something mocking or cruel, but he finds nothing but curiosity there.
“Well…” He confesses: “Maybe sometimes?”
“Me too.”
“Really?” he exhales softly, something like a relieved laugh. “I never would have imagined you’d be interested.”
“Everyone does it,” Barty shrugs, “there’s got to be something to it.”
“I guess.”
Barty smiles at him and it’s comforting which isn’t strange per se, but it is rare enough that Regulus allows his walls to come down for a moment and give him a small smile in return.
“It has to be special; I think. For me,” Regulus admits, not without shame. Barty hums in acknowledgment, leaving him space to find his words. “I guess it has to be someone I care about in that… regard. Is it like that for you?”
“Not really. I haven’t kissed anyone because I haven’t felt like kissing anyone. I don’t really care about special.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No, because I would if I wanted to. Or if I had to.”
“Like this stupid game right now?”
“Sure.” He shrugs.
“You’d be fine with me being your first kiss?” he asks incredulously.
“I’d be fine with anyone, really. Although…”
“What?”
Barty ponders for a moment before finally saying: “It’d be better if it was you.”
And those words fall deep into Regulus’ gut, stirring something pleasant inside him. Because this isn’t Barty fooling around, talking about kissing just to fluster him. This is Barty, honest. Barty saying in other words how much he means to him.
Sincerity doesn’t come easy to them.
“You want to kiss me, Barty?” Regulus lightly teases.
“That is the opposite of what I just said.” It’s Barty’s turn to roll his eyes and Regulus’ to chuckle.
“Yeah, I know. You don’t want to kiss anyone,” he says with a smile. “But have you never ever gotten the urge to kiss someone?”
Barty scoffs and leans away from him, which might look like nothing to the untrained eye but signifies a huge admission of defeat to Regulus.
“Never?”
“Well. Fuck. Maybe this one time… It was so long ago, though.”
Regulus leans into his space, curiosity piqued. “Well, now you have to tell me.”
“I don’t have to do shit.”
“Fine,” Regulus snaps.
“Fine.”
A tense silence. They’re looking each other in the eye. He feels the waves kissing the soles of his feet.
“Was it me?” Regulus wants to ask. He doesn’t.
Instead, he says: “Kiss me.”
Barty comically cocks his head in confusion with a flabbergasted look in his eye. But to Regulus, everything is suddenly clear. Who else if not Barty?
“Kiss me,” he repeats, sure of himself. Sure he wouldn’t have dived into the ocean for anyone else.
Barty, rarely reliable, rarely obedient, is there in a heartbeat. Their lips press together as they meet in the middle. They keep their hands to themselves. The kiss is chaste because it can’t be anything else. When they part, Barty’s eyes are still closed, his hands clutched in his lap.
It suddenly occurs to Regulus that Barty wanted it to be special too.
He leans in again and Barty lets him. Lets him part his lips experimentally, try to brush them against his. It’s rough and awkward and suddenly, they are both laughing into the kiss. ‘What are we doing?’ And ‘I have no idea,’ are exchanged wordlessly. After hours (a second?) they get the hang of it. They explore and they laugh, and they sigh against each other’s lips. There are hands caressing faces and arms. Fingers resting on someone’s chest and knowing this isn’t nothing. Because they might not say it outright, but they have other ways of letting each other know. I love you, I trust you, I would do anything for you.
When he was younger Regulus dove into the ocean to save Barty. He had not screamed for help; he had not hesitated. They both almost drowned that day. After that (or maybe it was before?) it became clear.
I love you, I trust you, I would do anything for you.
Outside the closet, Dorcas, Pandora, and Evan sit impatiently, counting down the seconds to let the other boys out. When the seven minutes are up, they yank the door open. Regulus and Barty are already up on their feet.
Pandora smirks at them from the entrance, wiggling her pale eyebrows. “Did you do it?”
Barty finds his words first, snorting for dramatic effect. “Yes, Pandora. We made out. It was super hot. I’m sorry you missed it.”
Pandora scoffs, flipping him off. Over her shoulder, she tells Dorcas: “It told you it would be a waste of a dare! Should’ve made Barty lick my foot.”
“Why your foot specifically, Pandora, eh? A bit suspicious how adamant you are about this. You want me that badly?”
“If you must know, I got athlete's foot in your mum’s shower!”
Regulus watches their backs as they walk away bickering like siblings. No one sees him stay back. No one sees him press his fingers against his lips.
This time he did not dive in, but the waves caught up to him regardless.
It's like no time passed at all.
This time, he thinks he might drown.