Archive of Our Own ^beta

Once again, they were left alone in the flat. Regulus was out, the silence between them stretching thin and taut. Evan could feel Barty’s eyes on him—hot, invasive, like fingertips dragging slow down his spine. It always was when they were alone—Evan on edge, wound too tight, because Barty didn’t just toe the line… he blurred it. Over and over again.

“I’m not cheating on my boyfriend with you tonight,” Evan said, voice low, strained with effort.

Barty didn’t flinch. He only leaned back in the armchair, legs spread wide, hands draped lazily over the arms like a king surveying something he already owned. His eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint as a smirk pulled slow across his mouth, one that knew far too much.

“That’s fine…” he drawled. “What night, then?”

The way he said it, like it wasn’t a question but a certainty, made Evan’s pulse spike. He hated that. Hated how his breath hitched just slightly, how his eyes flickered down before snapping back up again.

“And you wonder why my boyfriend hates you,” Evan muttered, but his voice wasn’t sharp, it was shaky. Almost breathless. Barty tilted his head, predator-slow. “He hates me because he knows I see right through him,” he said. “I´m the only one who knows how much of a loser he really is. The only interesting thing about him is that you let him put his hands on you.”

Evan looked away, jaw tight. “You’re disgusting.”

“No,” Barty murmured, rising to his feet, his steps languid as he crossed the room. “I’m just honest. And deep down, you like it.” He came to a stop close—too close—and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “He´s only a cock you use to fill yourself up, just admit it.”

Evan’s breath caught. “And what are you?” he asked. 

Barty grinned, his gaze flicking to Evan’s mouth before returning to his eyes.

“Better.”

It wasn’t the first time—and Evan knew it wouldn’t be the last. Barty had made that perfectly clear, again and again. He didn’t care about lines, about limits, about the sanctity of relationships. He never had. And Evan should’ve hated that.

He should have.

Not when he had a boyfriend. Not when he was supposed to be loyal, grounded, sane. It was wrong, sinful even, to think about Barty the way he did, to feel that electric rush every time those eyes raked over him like he was something worth devouring.

But the worst part?

The silence.

Those moments when Barty wasn’t flirting, when he wasn’t teasing, when he wasn’t inching closer with that infuriating grin, those were the moments that unsettled Evan most. Because when Barty wasn’t trying to get under his skin, it felt like something was off. Like he was off.

It was addicting, the attention, the chaos, the way Barty made him feel wanted in the most wicked, unapologetic way.

So the more Barty pushed… the more Evan found himself swaying. Tempted.

Perhaps that’s why, when Barty leaned in—slow and deliberate, his breath ghosting over Evan’s lips—he didn’t pull away. He should’ve .

But he didn’t.

He stood perfectly still, heart hammering against his ribs, breath caught somewhere between panic and desire. His lips parted just slightly, like he was waiting… hoping…

And Barty was so close now, close enough for Evan to smell the faint trace of smoke and something darker on his skin. Close enough for the heat between them to become unbearable.

Then—

Evan’s phone went off, slicing through the moment like a blade. The sound jolted him. He blinked, breathless, the spell shattered in an instant. Barty pulled back slowly, eyes narrowed. 

But Evan was still frozen—still tingling from how close he’d come to crossing that line.

So damn close.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Barty asked, his tone sharp with sudden irritation, a flash of annoyance tightening his jaw.

Evan waved him off with a lazy flick of his hand, already pressing the phone to his ear.

“Yes, baby, sure—” he murmured, his voice softening. “Right now? It’s pretty late…” He paused, listening. “Oh—no, yeah. Give me ten, I’ll be there. Love y—”

The line went dead.

Barty scoffed, the sound bitter and low. He didn’t need to hear the rest—he’d already heard enough .

“What kind of prick ends the call before saying it back?” he muttered, eyes dark with something sharp and coiled. He leaned closer again, voice dropping into something slower, slicker. “You know I’d never do that to you, right?”

He brushed his fingers casually along the edge of the table, eyes locked on Evan. “You’re such a doll. Soft and pretty and loyal , even when you shouldn’t be.”

Then came the smirk, slow, sinister.

“He should know better. He should guard a treasure like you. Because if he doesn’t…” Barty tilted his head, voice silken with menace, “someone just might steal it away.”

His gaze lingered a second too long, hungry, taunting, before backing off. 

“Barty, you can’t—” Evan began, his voice strained, breath catching like he was trying to hold too many things in at once. “I mean, you can’t just—”

But Barty cut in, sharp and seamless.

“Let me guess,” he said, tone cold and laced with contempt. “He’s calling you in at three in the bloody morning for a quick shag after ghosting you all weekend?”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing, voice dropping into something darker. “And you’re gonna go. Because that’s what you always do. Right?”

Evan flinched—just slightly—but Barty saw it.

“Every time he snaps his fingers, you come running.” He tilted his head, lips curling. “Like a good little dog.”

Barty didn’t look away. He let the silence stretch, daring Evan to defend it. Daring him to admit he couldn’t.

“That’s not how it is,” Evan said quickly, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.

Barty arched a brow, stepping forward just enough to make it feel like a challenge. “No?” he asked, mock-curious, voice soaked in smugness. “It’s not three in the morning?”

Evan’s lips parted. “Yes, but—” he stammered, already faltering. “He’s been… busy this weekend. Work’s been a lot and you know—his job—he gets out late.”

Barty let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. So late it gives him plenty of time to hit the clubs without you,” he said, voice sharp as a knife. “Plenty of time to pay attention to everyone but you.”

He leaned in slightly, gaze burning. “Funny how he’s never too tired for that.”

Evan looked away, jaw tight, but the flush creeping up his neck gave him away.

Barty saw it—and he smiled. That slow, kind of smile that meant he knew he was winning.

“Whatever,” Evan muttered, voice tight with frustration. “You’re such a bloody tosser.” He grabbed his coat, avoiding Barty’s eyes as he moved toward the door. “I need to go.”

His steps were hurried, almost clumsy, as if leaving fast enough would stop him from saying something he’d regret.

But just as his hand touched the doorknob, Barty’s voice rang out behind him, flat, cutting, and far too casual. “Let me know how the sex is.”

Evan froze.

Didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just stood there for half a second too long, shoulders stiff, breath shallow, before walking out and letting the door click shut behind him. Barty stayed where he was, eyes still on the space Evan had just vacated, jaw clenched like he was the one left wanting.

******

Evan kept glancing at the door, nerves coiling tighter with every tick of the clock. It was the first time he’d invited his boyfriend to a proper get-together with all his friends, and still, no sign of him. The longer the silence stretched, the more anxious he became.

“Still not anywhere near, that boy of yours?”

The voice came low and smooth, right against his ear, sending an involuntary shiver down Evan’s spine.

He stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek. “He’s just—” But the words caught in his throat. “He’ll be here.”

“When?”

Barty stepped in front of him, far too close, and shoved a drink into his chest with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Evan took it without thinking. “Soon.”

But even he didn’t believe it. So he tipped the drink back, swallowing it in one go.

Barty’s gaze followed every movement, his eyes heavy-lidded as they traced the elegant tilt of Evan’s neck.

That throat. So pale, so vulnerable.

His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, thoughts flickering like static, about all the ways he’d ruin something that beautiful.

Evan had never been the pretty one out of the three—that was Regulus, with a heart as black as his surname and lips like crushed roses to make up for it.

Barty would know. He’d had his share of Regulus once, fingers tangled in silk-soft hair, kisses like poisoned wine, but Potter had stolen him away somewhere down the line. That chapter had long since closed. 

But Evan Rosier wasn’t pretty. Not like Regulus. He was something else entirely, something intoxicating. Something Barty had wanted to sink his teeth into for far too long.

Barty wanted to press him against the wall, lips hot against his neck, grip firm around his waist—push him down to two knees and make him forget whatever pathetic loyalty he clung to.

He wanted Evan trembling for him. Not because he was prettier. But because he was his .

Or would be. Sooner or later.

“I don’t reckon he’s coming,” Barty murmured, eyes raking slowly down Evan’s frame, voice low and taunting. “Clock’s ticking.”

Evan stiffened. “He’ll be here,” he replied quickly—too quickly. And then, quieter, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else: “He will.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Barty said, clicking his tongue and flashing a lazy, knowing smile. “For now though… come play, will you?”

Evan sighed. “Do I have to?”

“It’s your party, darling,” Barty drawled, cocking his head. “Unless you want everyone to think you’ve vanished into your own misery.”

Evan rolled his eyes, but he knew Barty had a point. He couldn’t just sulk by the door all night, waiting on a man who clearly had better things to do.

Still, the idea of stepping back into the crowd, smiling, pretending, felt exhausting.

But Barty was already walking away, drink in hand, leaving a lingering trace of cologne and temptation in his wake.

And damn it, Evan followed.

As Evan drifted back toward the living room, he found the group tangled together in that easy, drunken intimacy that only came with close friendships—or the kind of lust that blurred those lines.

They were all draped over each other like silk thrown carelessly on velvet.

Regulus was nestled in between James’ thighs, strong arms coiled around him like he was something rarer than gold. 

Dorcas sat perched in Marlene’s lap, legs sprawled open like a man with no shame, her fingers lazily tracing circles over Marlene’s thigh.

And then there was Remus and Sirius—messy and unabashed, as always. Remus was pressed up against the armrest, his curls flattened against the cushion while Sirius straddled him without a care in the world, their legs tangled and stretched across the couch like the room belonged to them.

Lily was there too, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Mary, their fingers laced together in a quiet rhythm of affection. Nearby, Pandora twirled her fingers through Xenophilius’ hair, humming to whatever dreamy tune played in her head.

It hit Evan all at once—when had everyone gotten paired off? When had the room become filled with private little worlds he didn’t belong to?

The only one left unclaimed was Barty.

Oh, Barty.

That made him dangerous, untethered, unafraid. With nothing to lose, he played the game recklessly, shamelessly. And Evan, who should’ve known better, kept falling for every bluff.

Barty seemed to sense it, the unease flickering behind Evan’s eyes, the way he hovered on the edge of things. So the moment Evan slid into an empty spot around the circle, Barty struck.

“Rosy,” he purred, eyes glinting like a blade. “I dare you to kiss Reggie.”

“Oi!” James snapped, ever the territorial type, instantly on edge.

But Regulus, flushed and tipsy with wine-stained lips, didn’t protest. If anything, he looked a little too amused.

Evan let out a dry laugh, lifting his glass to his lips. “Really, Crouch? We both have boyfriends.”

Barty’s smirk deepened, eyes flicking deliberately toward the door. “ I don’t see them anywhere.”

James elbowed him hard in the ribs, making him grunt, but it didn’t wipe the grin off his face.

“That sort of stuff doesn’t count here!” Marlene chimed in, ever the agent of chaos. “It’s all fun and games. Just a kiss. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“What, Rosy?” Regulus slurred slightly, his voice smooth but blurred around the edges. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” His gaze turned sharp, hooded, almost daring, as he pouted with drunken dramatics.

“What—? No, that’s not it,” Evan stammered, blinking fast. His voice caught somewhere between flustered and defensive.

“Oh,” Barty cut in, his tone slick as oil. “So you do think he’s pretty.” He leaned back, arms sprawled over the back of the couch, wearing a grin that could slice glass. “You know, if I were your boyfriend, I don’t think I’d like you calling other guys pretty.”

Evan’s lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. His silence said more than any defense could.

“Well,” he muttered eventually, “you’re not my boyfriend.”

Barty’s smirk curled higher, eyes glinting with something darker. “Hm,” he hummed. “Yet.”

There was something only Barty knew. Out of all their friends, he was the only one who had actually met Evan’s boyfriend—meaning he held an opinion none of the others were even entitled to have. And that opinion? He loathed the bloke.

Barty had never cared for anyone in a romantic sense—not really. Aside from Regulus, his track record was a string of one-night stands: fast, forgettable, and tossed aside by morning. Love, or even the pretense of it, wasn’t his style. Which made it all the more infuriating—and strangely compelling—for Evan that Barty couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut whenever his boyfriend came up.

He wasn't supposed to care. Not about Evan. Not like that.

“In your dreams, Crouch,” Evan snapped. “I’m not making out with anyone tonight except my boyfriend—so you lot can forget the dare and move on.”

Barty didn’t miss a beat. “Alright then—truth.”

Evan narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“No dare, so truth’s only fair,” Barty said smoothly, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

“Okay shoot.”

Evan already knew this was going to be a nightmare. Barty had no shame, zero. Whatever he asked was bound to be outrageous.

“When’s the last time someone actually made you come?” Barty drawled.

The room fell silent. Jaws dropped, heads snapped up, no one had been expecting that . But there he was: Barty Crouch Jr., smirking like the devil himself.

“Like, really come,” he added, tilting his head, his voice cutting through the tension.

Evan swallowed hard.

It wasn’t that Evan didn’t want to answer, he just didn’t have one. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone actually get him off. It was fine, really. His boyfriend just didn’t like to… give. Some people were like that, more interested in taking. And Evan had convinced himself he was okay with it. He could always finish himself off afterward; a quick hand, a little imagination, and it was done. No harm. No foul.

Still... sometimes he wished someone would wreck him. He wished a touch alone could make his vision blur, his knees buckle — wished for pleasure so sharp it hurt.

And Barty — fuck, Barty would know how to do that.

He could picture it so easily: Barty slamming him against a wall, shoving him onto a bed, one hand curled around his throat, the other roaming lower, rough and greedy. He could almost feel Barty’s teeth dragging across his skin, each kiss moving down... and down... and down—

"Yo, Rosy?" someone said, snapping him out of it.

Evan blinked, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He must have looked wrecked already.

"You gonna answer the question or what?" Marlene teased. "Either that or kiss Reggie."

"Oi!" Potter barked immediately, half-rising from his seat. "My boyfriend’s not bloody for sale!"

Marlene rolled her eyes, flashing a teasing grin. "Relax, Potter. It's just a game."

"Bloody annoying is what it is," James snapped back. "How’d you like it if Lily went snogging your girlfriend, huh?"

"What the hell do I have to do with anything?" Lily cut in, bristling.

And then — chaos.  Voices piled on top of each other: Regulus jumped in, defending Barty, which had Sirius immediately snapping at Regulus, accusing him of being a shitty boyfriend for even considering kissing someone else. That, naturally, made James turn on Sirius for calling his boyfriend a bad boyfriend, which dragged Remus into the mess, trying — and failing — to mediate.
Meanwhile, Lily was still having a go at James for even dragging her into it in the first place, and the others weren’t exactly holding their tongues either. It was a full-on shouting match. And- And- 

Barty was looking at him. 

Through the chaos of shouting and laughter, Barty was looking at him. It felt like the noise fell away, like the two of them existed in a pocket of space where no one else could reach.

"I know he doesn’t make you come," Barty mouthed silently, just for Evan.

The words hit him like a strike of cold lightning, sending a shiver down his spine and raising every hair on his body.

"How sad," Barty added, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Evan swallowed hard, throat dry.

"You know what, why don’t you fuck off, Crouch!" Evan thought — or at least, he meant to.

But the room fell silent.

When he looked up, everyone was staring at him, wide-eyed and stunned. He realized, with a jolt of horror, that he hadn’t just thought it — he’d said it. Out loud. For everyone to hear.

Fuck.

Without another word, Evan turned and stormed off, leaving behind a room full of frozen faces.

He shoved the door to his bedroom open and slammed it shut behind him, chest heaving. Why was Barty doing this to him? Why?

It didn’t help that he was half-intoxicated out of his mind. 

He’d been drinking non-stop since the party started, too overwhelmed by the sinking dread of whether his boyfriend would show up and he still hadn’t.

God, what an embarrassment.

What must his friends think? He probably looked pathetic right now. They must all see it,  see right through him.

Why couldn’t his boyfriend do this one thing for him? Just one thing. Evan was always there, tagging along to whatever his boyfriend wanted, going wherever he asked and he couldn’t even show up tonight?

Two months of dating, and still no introduction to his friends. Hell, maybe it was already past due.

Maybe Barty was right. Maybe his boyfriend was a pathetic loser who didn’t care.

But if Barty was right… Where did that leave him ?

It left him wide open. It meant Barty could take him. He  could wrap a hand around his throat, push him under, rip him apart from the inside out, and Evan wouldn’t even fight it.

He could almost feel it: Barty’s hands skating down his body, rough and teasing, his teeth scraping, biting, claiming piece after piece—

Evan wondered if Barty would be rough with him. 

If he’d yank at his hair, pulling from the roots until Evan gasped, or bite his lips hard enough to draw blood.

He wondered if Barty would make him beg for it with that wicked, goddamn gorgeous grin he always wore. The grin that haunted Evan's nightmares, that danced dangerously between cruelty and lust.
He wanted to lick it right off his face, wanted to tear it apart with his mouth because— because—

What the hell was he thinking?

No. No. He had a boyfriend. He had—

“You doing alright?” a voice asked, dragging him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Barty. Of course it was him. Just bloody amazing. 

Something snapped inside Evan, and before he even realized it, he had Barty shoved up against the wall, his hands fisted in Barty’s shirt, his eyes burning and a little tear-stained. "Why the bloody hell would you ask that, huh?" he hissed, his voice breaking at the edges.

For a brief second, Barty’s gaze softened, something almost like regret flickering through him, but it was gone just as fast, replaced by that infuriating spark. "Struck a nerve, did I?" he murmured, almost lazily, like he was daring Evan to make it worse.

“No-” Evan said, too quickly for his own good. “You didn't. I mean- it´s just-” 

And he thought about all the times he laid in bed waiting for his boyfriend to finish him off, waiting for him to focus on someone else's pleasure for once…waiting for him to care. 

"Do you want me to hate you, is that it?" Evan demanded, his voice cracking just slightly, his grip trembling where he fisted Barty’s collar.

Barty’s breath hitched,  just barely,  before he covered it with a cocky tilt of his head. "Don’t you already?" he challenged, his smirk razor-sharp, almost convincing.

"No," Evan said. 

For a fleeting second, something faltered behind Barty’s eyes. His smirk faded, the corner of his mouth twitching downward, and a small crease deepened between his brows.

"Wish you would," he muttered, almost too low for Evan to hear.

"Why?" Evan whispered.

Barty leaned in, the words brushing Evan’s skin like a ghost. "Hate is desire, my dear Rosy."

Evan kept quiet. He didn’t know what to say. 

Hate wasn’t desire, was it? It couldn’t be, because even if he didn’t hate Barty, there had been times when he absolutely had. Every time Barty bulldozed his way through one of Evan’s relationships, he hated him. Every time Barty shagged a stranger without a second thought, he hated him. Even when Barty was hopelessly in love with Regulus, even though Evan loved Regulus as a friend, he still hated Barty. He hated him with a viciousness he didn’t know what to do with.

"You know," Barty went on, speaking right over Evan’s tangled thoughts as his lips grazed closer to his neck. "We all hate what we want," he murmured, brushing his mouth against Evan’s delicate skin, sending a shiver through him. "It’s the nature within us." Another kiss followed — slower, wetter — his tongue gliding over the bump of Evan’s adam’s apple. The heat between them grew unbearable, and Evan could feel the strain tightening in his pants.

"Such a pity you settle for dullness, when you could be having so—" Barty bit down sharply, tearing a strained noise from Evan’s throat. "So much—" His teeth tugged at the skin, rough enough that Evan swore he could feel the blood cells bursting under the pressure.

And then a hand, bold and unrelenting, pressed over his crotch as Barty finished, voice low and burning against his ear, "More."

"See? You’re already hard—"

"Get off me," Evan cut in sharply, yanking himself free and forcing space between them.

“What are you so afraid of, huh?” Barty snapped, voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “He treats you like shit.”

“He doesn’t—” Evan stammered. “He… he loves me.”

“Does he?” Barty stepped closer, each movement deliberate, predatory. “He can’t even say it. And he’s not here, is he? Didn’t even bother to show up.”

“He must’ve—” Evan faltered, instinctively retreating. “Something must’ve come up.”

“Oh, Rosier,” Barty sneered, the name like venom on his tongue. “When are you going to stop making excuses for him?”

Before Evan could answer, Barty shoved him back onto the bed with a rough motion, catching him off guard. He climbed on top of him, hands pinning Evan’s wrists against the mattress.

“You don’t even like him,” Barty said lowly, face inches from Evan’s. “You just… tolerate him.”

“Get off me,” Evan said, breath unsteady, but his heart was thundering in his chest.

“Just admit it,” Barty said, his weight steady, unflinching. “You’re lonely, and he’s convenient. That’s all it is. Nothing more.”

Lonely? Evan’s jaw clenched. If anyone was lonely, it was Barty. 

“Fuck you, Crouch,” he snapped.

Barty’s lips curled. “Please?”

In a blur, Evan twisted beneath him and flipped their positions, straddling Barty in one swift, practiced motion. Barty lay beneath him now, eyes wide.

“I’m not—” Evan whispered, his voice low and frayed. “I’m not… lonely.”

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Barty murmured, voice low and deliberate.

Evan stiffened, a pulse tightening at the base of his throat. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly burning with the need to deflect. “What do you know about the look in my eyes?”

Because those things—eyes—were intimate. Not something you casually noticed. Not something you mentioned unless you’d been paying close attention. And Barty had never been one to pay attention…  right?

But Evan knew his eyes. 

It had taken years, but he’d learned them like scripture. He could read the smallest shift in them like a trained soldier with a coded map. Barty’s eyes gave him away more than his voice ever did—hazel, yes, but so alive they almost seemed volatile. When Barty was happy, they brightened with a liquid warmth, golden flecks swimming to the surface like sunlight through whiskey. But when he was sad, or worse, when something cracked inside him, the gold vanished, swallowed by stormy green shadows. A dull, tarnished green that almost looked gray in certain lights.

Jealousy made them burn. Mischief made them flicker. Rage turned them to stone. And now—

Now they were hard to place. Focused. Sharp. Like he was searching for something in Evan’s face that he wasn’t quite ready to name.

Evan’s breath hitched. That look, he had seen it before. Just not directed at him. Not like this.

“I know a lot of things, Rosier,” Barty whispered, his voice like a secret brushing the edge of Evan’s skin. “About you .”

“No, you don’t—” Evan shot back, his tone defensive, but wavered. “It’s not like you even pay —”

“I do,” Barty cut in, swift and seamless, as if he’d been waiting to say it.

His eyes didn’t flinch. “I do. I just know how to watch without making it obvious.”

“You’re bluffing,” Evan said, scoffing. “That’s complete bollocks.”

Barty’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. But his eyes gave him away. There was disappointment there.

“You’re lonely,” he said again, softer this time, like it was a truth he hated holding.

Before Evan could fire back, Barty’s hand slid up to his neck, fingers finding the sensitive spot at the base of his skull. He rubbed it slowly, deliberately, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then, leaning in close, his breath warm against Evan’s mouth, he murmured against his lips, “I could fix that.”

And Evan was so close to giving in. Teetering on the edge of it, really—because it wasn’t fair.

All around him, his friends moved like they'd found their missing pieces. Even Marlene and Dorcas, who couldn’t go a week without some ridiculous fight, looked at each other like they were stitched from the same soul. It was in their eyes—undeniable love, no matter how loud the arguments got.

Evan used to believe in that kind of connection. He remembered the old Greek myth, the one that said humans were once whole—four arms, four legs, two faces, two hearts. That they were split apart as punishment by the gods, doomed to roam the world searching for their missing half. Evan had always clung to that idea. Always searching. Always hoping.

But his half never came. Or if it did, it didn’t care enough to stay. He always cared more. He gave too much, waited too long. His boyfriend didn’t love him. Not really. 

So yes, perhaps he was going to give in. Maybe not forever. But in that moment, he wanted to feel wanted. He would have, maybe…if not for someone slamming the door open. 

“What the bloody hell?”

His boyfriend stood in the doorway, half-drunk, all rage. 

Bloody perfect. 

******

Everything was fucked. Completely, irreparably, unbearably fucked.

The moment his boyfriend found Evan on top of Barty, everything detonated.

There was no time for explanation—just fists. His boyfriend threw the first punch right at Barty, but Barty didn’t hesitate to return it, and suddenly it was an all-out brawl. Shouting, crashing, the sound of fists against skin. Within seconds, the others came running.

Remus was the first to intervene, throwing himself between Barty and the chaos, struggling to hold him back as Barty thrashed and cursed with venom in his voice. James grabbed at Evan’s boyfriend, trying to restrain him, but the moment James laid a hand on him, he snapped.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he shouted, eyes wild. “ None of you get to touch me!”

The room was spiraling—voices overlapping, anger ricocheting off the walls. Barty kept hurling insults like blades, his voice cutting through the noise, relentless and merciless. All while Evan tried not to have a full on panic attack. 

It was Regulus who finally snapped and kicked everyone out, literally everyone. His voice cut through the chaos with sharp finality, and no one dared argue. The only ones allowed to stay were the ones paying for the flat: him, Barty, and Evan.

But Evan didn’t stay.

He bolted after his furious boyfriend like a dog chasing a car, heart hammering in his chest. Desperate. Humiliated. Terrified .

He barely caught the cab in time, throwing himself inside before the door shut. The entire ride was a mess of angry silence and frantic words, Evan tripping over his own sentences, crying harder the more his boyfriend ignored him.

“It wasn’t like that—” he choked out, voice cracking.

“You’d know I’d never do that to you. You know I wouldn’t—please, just listen—”

But the words felt useless, slipping through the cracks like water.

Whatever. It wasn’t like his boyfriend actually cared about him. Not in the way that mattered.

Whether Evan had been fooling around or not, that wasn’t what set him off. It was never about love. Not even lust. What his boyfriend couldn’t stomach was the idea of losing . The thought that someone else might touch what he believed was his.

Because that’s what Evan was to him— his . Possession, not partner. And he didn’t like to share.

By the end of the night, he accepted Evan’s apology—but only after Evan dropped to his knees. Like always. Because to him, sex was a transaction. Power dressed up as passion. And he always got Evan right where he wanted him.

By morning, he was gone, off to work. No goodbye. No note. Just the sound of the front door clicking shut sometime before dawn.

Evan woke up alone. Again. 

That had been a week ago. 

Now Regulus was trying to get him to talk to Barty, insisting really, because, according to him, he couldn’t keep living with roommates who were constantly at each other’s throats.

“Talk it out or move out,” he’d said, half-joking, half-dead serious.

But Evan didn’t understand why Barty was angry in the first place. He had no right to be. After all, it had been his fault. Barty had no right to be upset. None.

Still, Regulus wasn’t wrong. Not entirely.

The apartment had been unbearable all week with the tension hanging thick in the air, impossible to ignore. Every time Barty walked into a room, Evan made it a point to leave. And when Evan was already there, Barty didn’t stay long either. Their avoidance had become a pattern.

No one could leave them alone in the same room for more than a minute because it escalated too fast. Words turned volatile, and both of them could feel how close they were to crossing a line neither of them could take back. 

But, even if Barty had been the one to pin him down first, Evan had been the one to twist the moment into something else. He’d rolled on top of him. Stayed there. Watched his eyes. Felt his breath.

He could have walked away. But he didn’t.

The blame was on him as much as it was on Barty. 

“He should be the one to apologize,” Evan snapped, irritation flaring in his eyes.

Regulus didn’t even look up from his book. His voice was flat, final. “I don’t bloody care. Barty doesn’t apologize. Do you want this fixed? Then you fix it.”

Evan scoffed, bitterness curling in his throat. “Funny. He managed to apologize to you.”

Regulus turned a page slowly. “That was different,” he said, without explaining how.

And somehow, that only made it worse.

Sometimes, Evan found himself jealous of Regulus. He didn’t mean to be, it wasn’t something he was proud of, but the feeling crept in anyway.

Because Regulus Black had it all.

The beauty that turned heads without trying. The kind of intelligence that didn’t just get good marks, but respect. The effortless elegance, the old money, the composed silences people leaned in to listen to. But more than any of that… he had Barty .

Before James Potter, before any of that, Regulus had belonged to Barty. And Barty had belonged to him.

Evan remembered it clearly: those early months when Regulus began to grow into his looks, shedding the awkwardness of adolescence like old skin. Suddenly, Barty wanted him—not just as a friend, but with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

He became infatuated .

And all throughout their college years, Evan was the one who had to listen. The endless ramblings about Regulus Black. His voice, his laugh, the tilt of his head when he was thinking. Barty talked about him like he was a poem only he could read properly.

Then they started sleeping together. And Evan wasn’t spared the details.

Not a single one.

But those two were a car crash, literally . Beautiful in the way disasters sometimes are. Too much, too fast, too tangled in the remnants of their bruised childhoods. They were woven together by hurt and hollow spaces, clinging to each other like lifelines until the weight of it all collapsed.

A supernova. Blazing. Brief. Explosive.

The rush had been intoxicating . Evan knew, because he’d watched it unfold like a spectator to a wildfire. And then, just like that, they crashed. Burned out. Ended.

Regulus moved on. But Barty… sometimes he still looked at Regulus like he was the brightest star in the sky. 

It wasn't fair. Why couldn't Barty look at Evan like that? Why? 

Why did Regulus Black get to have everything while he had nothing? Nothing in the world belonged to him. But- 

“Time’s ticking,” Regulus said, pulling him out of his trance.

Evan clicked his tongue, irritation flaring. “Sod off, Reggie,” he snapped—sharper than he meant.

Regulus looked up from his book, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual stoic expression. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t let the moment stretch.

“To be a bother, I don’t mean,” he said quietly, but firmly. “It’s not about who’s right or wrong. Sometimes, life is unfair. So, kill yourself or get over it.”

“Gee, Reggie,” Evan sighed, sarcasm lacing his voice. “You really know how to lift a guy’s spirits.”

Regulus rolled his eyes without missing a beat. “What’s the big issue, Ev? You’ve got a boyfriend. Barty shouldn’t be getting under your skin like this… unless—”

“Don’t insinuate things you know nothing about,” Evan snapped, his voice sharper than intended.

Regulus didn’t flinch. “I’m just saying,” he replied coolly, then added, quieter but not without weight, “But I’m not here to judge. It’s me, alright? You don’t have to hide what you want.”

Evan knew he meant well. He just wished that Regulus could be wrong sometimes. It was getting bloody exhausting having him be right every single day. But oh well…those were the Blacks to the world, always right, whether the truth was ugly or not. 

“I don't want anything,” Evan confessed. 

“Bullshit,” Regulus countered. “You want everything.” 

That struck a nerve. 

The way Regulus said it…so affirmative yet gentle. He meant no harm but it screwed with Evan´s head the way Regulus had them all figured out. 

Taking a steadying breath, Evan pushed himself off the couch, his limbs heavy with hesitation. Each step toward the staircase felt like a quiet surrender as he made his way to Barty’s room on the second floor. 

How many times had he walked these steps? Intoxicated or high, he had made his way to Barty´s room countless times before. Not to shag or anything intimate like that, but simply to exist. He never felt ashamed or judged by Barty. It was as if his room was a sanctuary for the both of them where they could simply let go of the bad shit, unload and unpack all the trash of the world. 

Barty always made it better. 

Evan had always known there was something wrong with him. From the moment he took his first breath, it felt like someone had handed him a heart already cracked down the middle. Everything in the world hit him a little too hard, settled in his bones a little too deeply.

As a child, he cried for an entire week when his pet fish died. When his first girlfriend left him for another boy, it wasn’t just heartbreak, it was physical. His chest ached like it had been bruised from the inside. At school, he turned moody and volatile when people said his twin sister was cooler than him, lashing out in sharp bursts of jealousy, only to come home hours later and sob into her shoulder, whispering apologies for how cruel he'd been.

He tried playing soccer once, but the pressure twisted around his throat until he couldn't breathe. His first drawing, he tore to shreds because it wasn’t perfect.

He felt everything too much. Every failure, every glance, every slight or praise. And it destroyed him, a little more each time.

For most of his life, Evan had believed that feeling too much was a curse, something broken inside him that he had to carry alone. That was until he met Barty Crouch Jr, a walking contradiction. 

He felt nothing because he felt too much. It was his way of surviving, dissociating to associate, numbing himself just enough to remain in control.

Regulus was like that too. When he read, he always had music playing softly in the background—not because he cared for the melody, but because he needed the noise. Something to ground him. The music wasn’t meant to be heard; it was meant to fade , so the words within the book could come alive.

Regulus and Barty were made just for him. 

Barty was reckless, always drifting from one person to the next, desperate not to get attached. He partied four nights a week, slipped pills into his system, and drank until his thoughts blurred. He needed the high to escape the low, chasing chaos just to feel some semblance of balance.

It was unhealthy, sure. But through it all, Barty never pitied himself. He didn’t complain about the ache or the emptiness, he just dealt with it, alone. Life was shit, so why not live on the edge? That was his logic. He could have opened Evan’s eyes - might have, if Evan had only let him.

And that was why he mattered. Barty made Evan see that maybe feeling too much wasn’t a curse. That maybe there was no reason he didn’t deserve to enjoy life like everyone else. Barty took his pain and turned it into fire. Evan took his and buried it like a corpse.

He wanted to believe that it wasn't all bad. He wanted- he wanted- he wanted- 

“Don’t you know how to knock?!” a girl’s voice snapped, panicked, as she yanked Barty’s sheets up to cover her chest.

What. The. Fuck. 

“Came to enjoy the show, Rosy?” Barty teased with a malevolent smirk. 

Fuck Barty Crouch Jr. Fuck him. 

This was what happened when he tried to believe there was still good in the world. He came here ready to apologize—ready to try —only to find Barty tangled in the sheets with a stranger. Their sheets. The same bed they used to share on nights when Evan was too drunk or too high to crawl into his own.

Screw him. Screw him.

“Are you serious right now?” Evan snapped, his accent thickening in fury, French vowels slipping into his words like venom. “You’re such a bloody whore.”

“Hey!” the girl protested, clutching the sheets tighter across her chest.

“Oh, sod off, will you?” Evan hissed, throwing up his hands. “No one’s bloody talking to you. Who even are you?”

Barty didn’t defend her—of course he didn’t. He didn’t care. He never did. Instead, he leaned back, delighting in the chaos he’d sparked, stoking the fire with a smirk.

“Now, now, Rosy,” he said mockingly, voice smooth and condescending, “we don’t speak to guests like that.”

“Spare me,” Evan snapped. “As if you care .”

Barty shrugged, lips curving into a lazy smile. “Hmm. I don’t.” He tilted his head mockingly. “But you seem to.”

Evan’s chest tightened.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Barty added, voice like a dagger wrapped in silk.

Evan’s blood turned cold. He didn’t speak—he screamed .

“I bloody hate you. I hate you!”

He spun on his heel and slammed the door so hard it rattled the frame.

Why did it hurt this much? Why did it matter?

His pulse was racing, his thoughts crashing into one another like waves in a storm. The walls were too close, the air too thick.

“Get it together,” he muttered, slapping the sides of his head. “Get. It. Together .”

“Where are you going?” Regulus asked, alarmed, as Evan stormed past like a gust of wind.

“ Out! ” 

And just like that, he was gone.

He drove to the top of the nearby hill, the one where the city unfolded like a painting beneath him. From up there, everything looked small, manageable. The buildings were miniature models, the cars like ants, the people reduced to tiny specks moving through light and shadow. For a while, he let himself believe he was just as insignificant. Just another leaf caught in the wind.

The night air bit at his cheeks, sharp and cold, but it helped him breathe. Above, the stars blinked indifferently, and the moon, half-shrouded in clouds, hung like a judge in the sky, casting its silver light down on him as if to remind him: You’re small. You’re forgettable. 

This place was his favorite in the entire world. Not even France had ever made him feel this haunted, this seen . Up here, he could feel everything without shame, without guilt. The pain here wasn’t a burden. 

No one was watching. No one knew. It was just him, his ache, and the silent earth beneath him. 

It was just him. Only him and no one- 

“Truce?” A hand suddenly appeared in front of his face, holding an unlit cigarette, the ember waiting for a spark.

How did he find him?

“Was she a good shag?” Evan asked bitterly, the words sharp as they escaped him. He didn’t bother to look up.

Barty sat beside him, their shoulders brushing lightly. “Eh,” he said, unphased. “Could’ve been better.”

Evan snatched the cigarette from his hand, lighting it with a violent jerk. He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs, and for a moment, it felt like relief.

“What a pity,” Evan muttered, though the spite in his tone betrayed any trace of sympathy.

Barty gave a low, amused scoff. “You don’t actually give a damn.”

Evan’s lips twitched, the hint of a smile threatening to surface, only to be smothered by the weight of what he felt. “Am I no good?” he asked suddenly. 

It always felt like anything he wanted wasn’t his to keep. The universe had a cruel sense of humor, offering him a taste, only to tear it away the moment he indulged.

Truthfully, he was lonely.

On the worst nights, he’d lie naked on his bed, his boyfriend long gone, never one to stay the night. Through the thin walls, he’d hear the muffled moans echoing from Barty’s room, and he’d let himself pretend, just for a second, that it could be him instead.

He shouldn’t feel like this. But what if he always did?

But he wasn’t a cheater. He wasn’t. Because even if what he felt was cheap lust, even if it was fleeting and hollow, it was still something , and something was better than nothing. Evan knew what it meant to have nothing .

Yes, he’d grown up spoiled with money, prestige, and the finest schools anyone could ask for. But that didn’t mean people wanted him. They used him, sure, for his name, his connections, the illusion of charm.

Everyone loved Evan Rosier. But nobody liked him. 

“What do you mean?” Barty asked, a soft look in his eyes as he stole the cigarette away, his fingers brushing against Evan´s, for a tiny moment. 

Evan finally looked at him and there it was. That haunting overwhelming sensation in his chest, the one he got every time he looked at Barty. For all his might, Barty made everything seem effortless. 

Starlight glistened against the piercings on his face, the ones he got only to spite his father out while his disheveled hair fell over eyes that were now burning quietly under the pretense of something. 

Evan saw Barty every night in his sleep. He anticipated every bad dream like falling with a knife…it cut deep. There was something wrong with him. 

He had a boyfriend. He had. He had. 

It wasn´t enough. 

“You know what I mean,” Evan replied quietly. “Am I no good?” 

“You’re so bloody infuriating, Rosier,” Barty snapped, his voice laced with equal parts frustration and something dangerously close to fondness. “You know, I can't understand how someone like you would end up as someone like me.” 

“Someone like me?” 

Barty didn’t offer an explanation. He just pressed on, eyes sharp. “Why are you with him?” he asked, the question biting through the quiet like a blade.

Evan was getting pretty sick of that question. His sister asked it all the time. Unlike him, Pandora Rosier had sharp eyes. She saw the world differently, with an intuition he had never been able to grasp. She could spot a bad seed from a mile away. Whenever Evan fell in with the wrong crowd, Pandora warned him long before he realized the truth himself. It was the same with his partners, always one step ahead, always right.

So it baffled him that she had never warned him about Barty. In fact, Pandora liked Barty. She adored him. And that didn’t sit right with Evan. Couldn’t she see what a nutcase he was?

Perhaps Evan was wrong about Barty. 

As for his boyfriend… Pandora never let it go. She’d taken a dislike to him from the very beginning, casting that signature judgmental glance his way. She’d pleaded with Evan to open his eyes, to see what she saw. But he hadn’t listened.

He still didn’t.

His boyfriend was fine. Right? Handsome, with copper hair and piercing black eyes, smooth skin and a calm demeanor. He was a doctor—respected, grounded, good with his family. The kind of man people were supposed to want. The kind of man you brought home to your parents.

Nothing like Barty.

No, they were opposites in every possible way. His boyfriend was everything Barty wasn’t. 

So why did he feel so…much? 

"Why were you with Regulus?" Evan shot back. It was a low blow—he knew that—but Barty had it coming.

Barty's expression hardened, his eyes turning cold. "Because, unlike your boyfriend, Reggie actually wanted me."

The words hit like a slap.  Ouch.

“Did he?” Evan asked, even though he knew he should’ve stopped. “Don’t kid yourself, Crouch. You were just a placeholder.”

Barty shot to his feet, the movement sharp and furious. “You know what?” he snapped, voice low but laced with venom. “You deserve every ounce of bullshit that guy puts you through. Don’t come crying when you finally realize you don’t mean a damn thing to him.”

******

His boyfriend wasn´t coming…again. 

He'd tried all week to make him come to this bloody bar, only for him to accept and cancel at the last minute.  They had been here about an hour and only five minutes ago did his boyfriend bother to text. Evan should have predicted that. 

The lights were low and the ambience inside was cold, making the bar feel like a freezer. He didn´t know how Dorcas wasn´t freezing to death with nothing but a tight top and a miniskirt.

Regulus wasn’t here, he never cared much for bars. Naturally, that meant James hadn’t shown up either. God forbid James Potter spend a few hours without Regulus Black. Still, the others had come, even Lupin, though Evan knew he would’ve much rather stayed in.

Barty wasn’t speaking to him, and hadn't said a word since that night on the hill. Now, he was on the dance floor, moving far too closely with a girl whose top was slipping dangerously low, while Evan stood in the corner, clutching his drink so tightly it was a miracle the glass hadn’t shattered.

And yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, no matter how much he wanted to. Maybe it was the alcohol clouding his brain, or maybe it was something worse. The bass pounded against his skull, echoing in time with his heartbeat. Then, just as Barty leaned in to kiss the girl, he looked up—eyes locking with Evan’s across the crowd. In that instant, the music dulled, the noise vanished, and the world stilled. Evan’s pulse surged in the silence.

Barty was looking at him, and Evan was looking back. They stared, caught in that unbearable stillness only they ever seemed to create.

How many times had Evan dreamt of this? Of being seen by Barty, not just noticed, but truly seen. And now, the way Barty’s eyes were locked on him, it was unmistakable. Desire. But also hatred.

Maybe Barty had been right all along. Maybe hate was just desire with nowhere to go.

Then Barty kissed her.

The spell shattered. The music roared back to life. Evan’s chest ached like something had cracked open.

He tipped his head back and downed the rest of his drink, but it tasted like nothing. 

So, he got another drink. Then another. And another.

Time blurred. The music throbbed against his skull, and the edges of the world turned soft and unreal. Before he knew it, someone had him pressed against a wall.

“C’mon, doll,” the guy slurred into his ear. “I know you want it.”

Evan blinked, disoriented. The room spun around him. He tried to push the man away, but his arms felt like jelly, too heavy, too slow, useless.

“No, hey—” Evan tried to speak, but his words came out slow, slurred, barely a whisper. “I don’t—”

“I’ve seen you,” the guy pressed on, not listening. “Looking for someone on the dancefloor. It’s just some fun.”

Then the guy’s lips were on his neck, and Evan’s body froze. He tried to push him off, but his limbs felt weak, too numb to respond.

“Stop,” Evan gasped, voice strained, but the guy didn’t listen. His hands roamed lower, making Evan’s skin crawl. Panic surged, and just as Evan’s last bit of resistance faded, something solid slammed into the guy, knocking him away.

Barty.

In one violent motion, Barty’s fist collided with the guy’s face, sending him stumbling back. “Are you a bloody moron?!” Barty yelled, fury in his eyes as he threw another punch, harder this time. “You don’t get to touch him! He’s not yours!”

The chaos hit Evan like a freight train. The music was deafening, the lights too harsh, too bright, and the world spun, his head, his heart, everything a blur except Barty. Only Barty was clear. Barty, still landing punch after punch on the guy, until blood splattered, staining the floor.

The bouncers arrived quickly, dragging the guy out with little hesitation. He stumbled off, not even bothering to look back at Barty, his pride too bruised to face another confrontation. Barty, unfazed, called a cab without a second thought, ushering Evan inside with a steady hand. Barty sat next to him. 

“You alright?” Barty asked, his voice softer now, holding a quiet concern. He offered Evan a bottle of water. 

“I thought you were angry at me,” Evan muttered, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Barty glanced at him, his expression hard but not without a trace of something softer. “I am,” he said, the words clipped. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let some sicko lay a hand on you.”

“I’m not your problem, Barty,” Evan muttered, letting his head fall back against the seat. “You don’t have to save me.”

Barty’s jaw tightened, his eyes hard. “Someone has to. God knows you won’t save yourself.”

Evan’s gaze drifted away, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I deserve it.”

Barty’s tone shifted, quieter but intense. “You remember Barney?”

“How could I forget?”

“I spent most of my life thinking I deserved that. The way my father treated me… But you—”

“I told you, you never deserved that,” Evan interrupted, his voice rough. “You were just a kid.”

“Yeah, but I thought I did,” Barty continued, his voice lower, more resigned. “It’s bollocks, really, how we end up accepting the love we think we deserve.”

Evan didn’t respond. He sat in silence. 

By the time they got home, Evan had sobered up, yet his body was still heavy and his brain hurt. Barty ended up helping him towards his bed and before he left, Evan grabbed him by the wrist. 

“Stay,” Evan pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Barty shook his head. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” Evan shot back, though even he knew it wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t exactly sober either. “Just… stay. Please.”

Barty hesitated for a moment—just a beat—then sighed, tugged off his hoodie, and tossed it aside. He slipped beneath the sheets, settling beside Evan.

Evan couldn’t remember the first time they’d shared a bed. It had never mattered. The feeling was always the same: a quiet, wordless comfort that curled between them like a breath of warmth.

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Evan murmured, his consciousness already dissolving into sleep.

And just before the dark took him completely, he thought, no, he was sure, he heard Barty whisper, “Regulus is long gone. You’re the one I need.”

Evan woke to the sensation of an arm draped around his waist.

His mind was foggy, thick with the residue of last night’s drinks. Everything was a blur, flashes of music, spinning lights, and slurred words. One thing was certain: his boyfriend hadn’t shown up.

So… who was behind him?

His heart kicked up. A stranger? Had he—? No. No, no, no. Panic surged. Had he cheated? With someone he didn’t even remember?

But then he saw the tattoos, familiar ink etched onto pale skin. Tattoos he knew like the back of his own hand.

Fuck. Barty.

And just like that, it all came crashing back—the bar, the drinks, Barty kissing that girl, the stranger pressing him against the wall, the fight, the cab ride home.

And finally, his own voice, slurred and desperate: “Just… stay.”

Evan tried to slip away, inch by inch, moving as stealthily as possible to avoid waking Barty. He’d nearly freed himself from the warmth of the arm draped around his waist when a sudden, sharp tug yanked him back against the body behind him.

“Going somewhere?” Barty’s voice was low and gravelly, thick with sleep.

Evan swallowed hard and twisted around until he was face to face with Barty. The morning light spilled across the room, catching Barty just right, highlighting the sharp lines of his face, casting delicate shadows that made him look sculpted, like something carved from clay and honed to near perfection.

“Sorry,” Evan muttered, eyes flicking away. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I don’t mind,” Barty replied. 

“What happened last night, I don’t—” Evan began, but the words faltered.

What could he even say? That he regretted it?

The truth was… he didn’t.

He wanted this, waking up beside Barty, being held like he mattered. There was something intoxicating about the way Barty held him. 

This version of Barty, unguarded and soft, wasn’t one the world got to see. But Evan did. And it felt like elation.

But even so… it was a mistake. Wasn’t it? Evan had a boyfriend. He wasn’t a cheater. He wasn’t that person.

And yet—

It would be so easy. So devastatingly easy to reach out, curl his fingers around the back of Barty’s neck, and pull him in. One gesture. That’s all it would take.

One second of surrender, and he could stop pretending he didn’t want him. He could be done with his boyfriend— just like that.  So easy. So, so—

“Yes, Rosy?” Barty’s voice cut through his trance like a knife. 

He should have said something like "This was a mistake." Or maybe, "It can't happen again." But instead, what slipped out was, “Thank you for staying.”

Barty gave him a soft smile. 

******

“This can’t be bloody happening,” Evan muttered, his face buried in his hands.

It felt like the floor had vanished beneath him. From one moment to the next his life was in shambles.

His room felt suffocating, the walls inching closer with every breath. The pictures on his phone might not show his boyfriend kissing the girl, but they didn’t need to. She was on his lap, her dress riding up far too high, and his hand was settled firmly on her hip. His lips hovered close to her neck, dangerously close.

No, no—

Evan had been good . He played the part. He gave, and gave, and gave some more. He didn’t complain. He bent where others broke. Because he thought, he truly thought , that if he gave enough, loved hard enough, he’d be loved back .

But it wasn’t fair.

In every relationship, he was the one pouring his soul into a bottomless cup. And in return? He was used. Sometimes it felt like he was something to shag rather than someone to love. Still, he never stopped hoping. Maybe people changed. 

Maybe as they grew up, they’d stop hurting each other. Maybe someone, someday, would choose him and mean it.

He’d seen it happen to his friends, settling down, building something real. So he kept believing. Kept trying.

And that hope had made him blind.

Why didn't anyone want him? Why wasn't he good enough? 

He knew there had to be something wrong with him. People always left him. 

It was always the same: someone took an interest, drawn in by something they thought they saw in him. A spark. A mystery. A promise. And then, slowly, inevitably, they got to know him, and they vanished. No explanation, no fallout. Just gone. As if they’d grown bored the moment he stopped being new.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t cruel. That made it worse.

He wasn’t hated. He was forgotten.

Too plain. Too mundane. Too easy to walk away from. 

He was just another blue-eyed blond with soft features and a stupid French accent, half-disguised beneath a British one. Sometimes, he genuinely believed Pandora had stolen all the good DNA. Unlike him, she was unforgettable.

But it wasn’t just about looks. Sure, people found Pandora beautiful, but they also fell for her , completely. Her laughter, her warmth, her strange way of understanding people.

Regulus didn’t talk to anyone. Not boys, much less girls. And yet somehow, one day, Pandora had waltzed right into his life and cracked him open like it was the easiest thing in the world.

How did she do that?

Evan doubted Regulus had ever opened up to him the way he had with her—not even close.

Barty, too. Even though Dorcas was technically his best girl friend, Evan doubted Barty would take a bullet for her. But for Pandora? He’d kill for her. He’d die for her. To Barty, she wasn’t just a friend, she was it . The most precious girl in the entire world. To Barty, Pandora Rosier was sacred. 

Evan envied her. The way people were so easily drawn to her. She knew how to make people feel good. And Evan? He only knew how to bore them.  

He knew he wasn´t born as bright as the sun like James Potter or as moving as the ocean as Regulus Black or as mesmerizing as the moon like Remus Lupin or as intoxicating as the rush like Barty Crouch Jr, but he wasn´t…nothing, was he? 

To hell with this.

If nothing ever worked out, then fine. At least this time, it would be on his terms.

It was past midnight when Evan slammed Barty’s door open. Barty was sitting shirtless on the bed, eyes wide, caught in the middle of something—sleep, thought, or simply surprise.

“Rosy, what are you—”

But Evan didn’t let him finish. He grabbed him by the neck and crashed their mouths together in a kiss—a hungry and desperate kiss. For the first time, it didn’t feel like he was chasing something. It felt like letting go . And Barty tasted so damn good. 

“Wait—” Barty panted, pulling back, his chest rising and falling. There was something unreadable in his expression. “What is this? You don’t want me.”

Evan pushed him back onto the mattress. A half-laugh escaped his lips, sharp and bitter, as he straddled him. “I’ve always wanted you,” he said, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. “You gonna stop me?”

Then he dived, lips finding Barty’s neck with a kind of reverence disguised as recklessness.

Barty didn’t stop him. Instead, his fingers tangled in the back of Evan’s hair and yanked hard, pulling his head back. A low, guttural groan tore from Evan’s throat, pain edged with pleasure.

Then Barty’s hands slipped beneath the hem of Evan’s shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it carelessly to the floor. Evan didn’t hesitate, already fumbling with the button of Barty’s trousers, but before he could go any further, Barty flipped them over in one fluid motion, pinning Evan’s wrists to the mattress.

“You really think I’m going to let you get me off before I’ve wrecked you first?” he said, voice low and laced with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, studying Evan like he was something rare. “You’re like heaven’s edge, Ev. You don’t get to touch me until I’ve made you come.”

And what was this, what was happening? No one had ever cared about his pleasure before. People used him, plain and simple, driven by their own need for release, indifferent to whether he enjoyed it or not. He’d gotten used to being a body, not a person. But Barty? He wasn’t letting him do anything until he was taken care of. It was strange. Unfamiliar.

Before he could catch his breath, Barty’s teeth sank into the curve of his neck, just as his hand slipped deliberately beneath Evan’s waistband, moving with practiced ease.

“You finally woke up, huh?” Barty muttered against Evan’s skin before biting down, just hard enough to leave a mark. His hand moved faster, and Evan felt like he was coming undone, like his body couldn’t keep up with the surge of sensation. He’d never felt like this before, never burned this way in someone else's hands.

Barty was chaos and control all at once, challenging him physically, mentally, emotionally.

“I’ve been dying for you to realize,” Barty growled, lips brushing his ear, “that son of a bitch never deserved you.”

Of course Barty knew. He had known from the very beginning, that Evan’s boyfriend wasn’t worthy of him. The guy didn’t care. But for some reason, Evan did. And Barty hated that. Hated how much Evan gave to someone who gave so little in return.

Evan didn’t say a word. Instead, he slid his hands to the small of Barty’s back, fingers pressing in just enough to make a statement—Barty was his. Maybe not always, maybe not forever, but right now, he was.

Then Barty was tugging Evan’s jeans down in one swift motion, his mouth trailing hungrily along his torso until he settled between his thighs. He glanced up, eyes dark with intent.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “You’re so bloody beautiful.”

Evan barely had time to gasp before Barty took him into his mouth, the world around him slipping out of focus.

No one had ever wanted him like this. Not with this raw hunger, not with this much lust. Every second Barty had him in his mouth felt like ascension. 

Evan tangled his fingers in Barty’s hair, tugging him deeper with a shaky breath as his head fell back against the pillow, neck arched in surrender.

Then, just to make it worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it, Barty slipped his fingers inside him, slow and deliberate. He worked Evan open with practiced ease, like he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to unravel him.

“Shit, fuck—” Evan panted, his body jolting upward from the surge of pleasure. He braced himself on bent elbows, barely keeping upright against the onslaught. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving, every nerve lit up like fire between Barty’s mouth and fingers. It was too much. He wasn’t going to last.

And then Barty looked up, eyes gleaming with something wicked just before he curled his fingers deeper, right against that spot. Evan barely had time to breathe, let alone process it, before he was coming hard into Barty’s mouth, his body arching as pleasure tore through him like a wave.

Barty didn’t waste a second. He straddled Evan with fluid confidence, repositioning himself with practiced ease. “You taste exquisite,” he said, grinning like the devil himself. Then, with a firm grip on Evan’s waist, he shifted him up against his body, Evan’s spine pressed flush to Barty’s chest, his lower back aligned with Barty’s hips.

“Fuck,” Evan moaned as Barty thrust into him. He wasn’t used to this—the stretch, the burn, the way pleasure tangled itself in pain. Barty wasn’t soft. He was rough, yes, but deliberate, each movement careful. He wanted it to hurt, not out of cruelty, but because he knew just how mad it drove Evan.

“Bee, you’re—” Evan choked out, his voice breaking. “Harder. Go harder.”

And Barty did.

He wrapped his hand around the back of Evan’s neck, applying just the right amount of pressure as he slammed into him with brutal precision.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” he growled, his voice rough with restraint, a bitter edge clinging to every word. “You’re so bloody pretty, all I ever wanted was to ruin you.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Evan panted beneath him, voice breathless, eyes wide.

Barty let out a dry laugh, rolling his eyes. “Christ, Rosier, you’re such a damn ingénue. You’re the prettiest bloody boy I’ve ever seen.”

It shouldn’t have turned Evan on—the way Barty insulted and praised him in the same breath, but it did. It lit something wild inside him. He craved more. Needed more.

Evan tried to shift beneath him, rising slightly, but Barty pressed him back down. “Stay,” he ordered, voice low and edged with desire. “You look perfect under me.”

Then Barty yanked Evan’s hair, drawing a sharp moan from his throat as his head tilted back. Barty leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Evan’s ear. “If anything hurts, you tell me, and I’ll stop,” he whispered.

Evan’s stomach clenched at the tenderness tucked inside the threat.  “Don’t stop,” he breathed.

Barty didn't pull away. Instead, he made Evan come one more time. After that, his lips left a trail on Evan’s neck, on his abdomen, in between his thighs as his fingertips tracing possessive paths over his skin. The feeling of being so entirely claimed was overwhelming.

"You belong to me, Rosier," Barty whispered into his ear, his breath warm and heavy. His hands moved with an almost frantic urgency, marking Evan in a way that was possessive, as though every moment, every movement, was a declaration. It was for the world to see. It was for that loser boyfriend of his to see. 

Evan’s mind spun, his heart racing, caught between pleasure and something far darker, a deeper feeling of being wanted in a way he'd never experienced before. Could it be this simple? The complexity of his feelings tangled into a whirlwind, each second more addictive than the last.

"You've always been mine," Barty muttered as he leaned over him, brushing his lips across Evan’s chest. His fingers left burning trails down Evan's abdomen. "No one else gets to touch you like this."

Evan could barely breathe, his body trembling, aching to give in completely. But something lingered in the back of his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder if, after it all, they’d still be the same.

"Tell me," Barty coaxed, voice rough. "You wanted this, didn’t you?"

Evan nodded. 

They were far from the chaos now, lying in the quiet aftermath of everything that had happened. Barty was sprawled over Evan, his head resting on Evan’s chest, and Evan’s hand absentmindedly brushed through Barty's hair. The simplicity of the moment felt unexpectedly intimate.

Barty’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and insistent. "You’ll dump his ass, yeah?"

Evan’s hand stilled for a moment, his fingers lingering in Barty’s hair. He hesitated, the weight of the question hanging between them. "Will you stay?" he asked quietly, his voice almost vulnerable.

There was a slight tremor in his chest, a fear of the unknown that gnawed at him. If he was going to throw everything away, if he was going to walk away from the past, he needed to be sure. This couldn’t be a fleeting thing. He needed Barty to be real, to stay. To not disappear like everything else that ever mattered.

Barty lifted his head, looking into Evan’s eyes with an intensity that seemed to see straight through him. His lips brushed Evan's forehead in a soft kiss. "I’ll stay forever, if you’d like."

Evan smiled, the genuine warmth of the gesture softening his features.

"Yeah," Evan said, his voice steady now. "I’d like that."