Chapter Text
Thursday, 01:32 AM
⚫evanessence
wanna pretend to be a toxic couple and go to a therapist and see how long it takes to figure out we don't know each other. must commit to the bit. must be dramatic. i need content.
🟢 barts_tatooart 3:01 AM
replying to @evanessence. me: i just feel like i don't even know him, you: it's like having a stranger in my bed.
I'm free on Tuesday.
TEXTS: Barty and ‘Evan’
03:45 AM
Evan: ok. direct message me. i am fully serious about this.
O4:11 AM
Barty: i’m happy to exchange numbers, but i will need to see your dedication to the craft.
Barty: what’s your character arc? are we secretly miserable? openly hateful? passive-aggressive?
6:00 AM
Evan: kay so we're the type that insists we're soulmates like love eachother but don't really like each other. we are the main characters.
Evan: i’m devastatingly beautiful, emotionally unavailable, and your anxiety is a personal inconvenience.
11:55 AM
Barty: i like it. But i’m hot mess aesthetic, perpetually victimized, and i wear your emotional unavailability like a trophy proving how deeply i love the real you underneath.
Evan: my no is 0696700 xxxxxxx.
11:56 AM
Unknown no: Hi, toxic fiance
Evan: Her name is P. Pomfrey. she specializes in couples counselling and is apparently talanted af, which makes this appointment gold.
Evan: I’ve booked us in for next Tuesday at 5 pm. We're booked as Evan and Barty and we met at a poetry slam.
Barty: poetry slam wtf. I would never. It's perfect
11:58 AM
Evan: see you in a week, Barty. please be late. i’ll use it against you in the session.
TEXTS: Bartemius and Reg
12:05 PM
Bartemius: Reg i need a favour.
Reg: Barty. It's Thursday. You should be at the studio.
Bartemius: Yeah, working on a snake on my forearm, it’s going terribly. But that’s not the point. How's the new roommate?
Bartemius: You know the couple's therapist, Pomfrey?
Reg: I know of her. Why?
Reg: Roommate's name is E. Rosier is what I deduced from the mail on the table. He told me to call him Rosie. I don't know much else
Bartemius: cool nickname. I need you to confirm there's an appointment booked with Pomfrey for a couple named ‘Evan and Barty.’
Reg: Barty. What?
Barty: It’s for a bit. A massive, beautiful, content-driven bit. I met a guy on Twitter.
Reg: You're going to a couples therapist with a stranger you met on Twitter for content.
Barty: Yes.
Reg: I hate you. Wait
1:02
Reg: Apparently, your fiancé Evan booked it this morning.
Reg: Don't bring me into it. Pretty sure Sirius's best friend, whom I'm forced to meet next week, works there, I don't want Potter to get a bad impression.
Barty: We haven't met. He won't know us. He’s too pure for our specific brand of toxic waste. Love you, Reg.
1:36 PM
Regulus tossed his phone onto the couch.
"Rosie, are you going to be in for dinner?" he called out absently to his flatmate, who was currently wrestling a massive, flat-packed bookcase.
"Ehh, probably not," a voice shouted back, slightly muffled by a cardboard box. "Pandora and I have a twins-only movie binge starting from lunch. I probably won't be back till late, sorry! Why?"
"Just checking. Sirius is forcing me to have coffee with his best friend, Potter, next week. It feels like a big step," Regulus sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Ooh, Big Brother’s Best Friend is a classic. Make sure to hate him immediately," Rosie replied from the hallway.
Regulus smirked. "Don't worry, I plan to."
Thursday, 2:40 PM
Evan was sitting on his twin sister Pandora's bed. Pandora was meticulously organizing a box of crystals, occasionally giving him a pointed look.
"You're actually going through with this," Pandora said, placing a perfect pyramid of amethyst on a scarf. "You're going to commit therapy fraud with a stranger because you're bored."
"I'm not bored, Pandy. I'm unfulfilled," Evan corrected, scrolling through his text thread with his new scene partner. "And it's not fraud. We're attending an appointment we paid for. We're just providing a... unique data set."
Pandora muttered, not looking up. “You've already done more emotional labor for this fake relationship than you have for any of your actual relationships, Ev."
"That's because this is fun and low-stakes," Evan said, dropping back onto the bed. "Look, Barty is a tattoo artist. He seems fun and weird. He's exactly the kind of person I can be terrible with without any consequences."
TEXTS: Evan and Dorcas
3:00 PM
Evan: Dorc. You won’t believe the level of trash-fire content I’ve just committed to.
Dorc: what
Evan:I’m going to couples therapy with a stranger I met on Twitter.
Dorc: Wait. I thought you were bored. Now you’re actively courting a liability. I’m impressed. Is he hot?
Evan: I saw his profile picture it is blurry. but he has green in his hair and what shines like piercings on his nose and eyebrows and manic energy I can feel through the screen.
Dorcas: smash, wait who are you going to? Please not Pomfrey
Evan: yes.
Dorcas: she'll ban me and marlene she worked wonders for us.
Evan: ill find out irl
Dorc: What’s his name, you idiot?
Evan: Barty.
Dorc: Barty what?
Evan: No idea. He knows me as Evan. We’re keeping it to the first names for the sheer romance of it all.
Dorc: Evan Rosier, you are a walking disaster. At least you'll have good material for Lily's next poetry night.
Evan: Don't tell Lily yet. I need her to think I’m doing this to find my authentic self.
Dorc: Marlene just came in now. She thinks this is the most romantic thing she’s ever heard. We'll need pictures from the first appointment.
Evan: This Tuesday, 5 PM. Wish me luck. I’m already planning my passive-aggressive sighs.
Tuesday, 4:56 PM
Evan: I'm here. You?
Evan was waiting outside a pretty modern office building near King’s Cross, checking his reflection in a storefront window. He was in an expensive silk shirt that made him look soft, but cut to show off his sharp collarbones, and pants that were probably too formal. He looked like he was about to cry, but in a very beautiful, high-fashion way.
Perfect.
He checked his phone one last time. Barty hadn't texted since that morning, when he'd simply sent:
T-4 hours until we destroy a licensed professional's faith in humanity.
Evan’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He felt like he was waiting for a blind date, but also a heist. This was dangerously exciting.
A second later, a bike skidded to a stop right in front of him. The person straddling the matte black fixie looked like every mother's nightmare come to life.
"Evan?" the man asked, pulling off a helmet.
This was Barty.
Barty. He was even better than the blurry Twitter photo had suggested. He had dark, messy bedhead hair with green and blonde highlights, longer than shown in the picture. His eyes were a startling green that matched his hair. He was wearing a slightly ripped black band t-shirt and skinny jeans, with an arm full of delicate blackwork tattoos. The overall aesthetic was raccoon, but in the hottest way.
Evan felt a wave of genuine, unhealthy physical attraction that was almost upsetting. He reminds himself that this was just a bit.
"Barty," Evan replies, his voice coming out a little huskier than planned. He recovered instantly, giving Barty a slow, condescending sweep from his scuffed black boots to his disheveled hair.
"You're late," Evan announced, tilting his head back slightly.
Barty's eyes narrowed, a flash of something manic and delighted passing through them. "Traffic was terrible, Ev. You know I hate it when you get like this. It’s always about you, isn't it?"
The commitment to the bit, the immediate, unwarranted cruelty was exhilarating.
"You promised me you would leave extra time," Evan said, stepping in close and lowering his voice to an intimate, venomous stage whisper. "This is exactly why we're here, Barty. Your lack of consideration for my feelings is a chronic pattern."
"And your emotional drama is a chronic pattern I pay for, babe," Barty shot back, his voice smooth and dangerous. He didn't break eye contact.
Evan felt a genuine shiver run down his spine. He was going to enjoy this. He opened the glass door to the building.
"Don't worry," Barty murmured, grabbing Evan’s elbow in a light, possessive grip that felt instantly wrong and right. "I've already booked us for next week. You need this, Evan."
"No," Evan said, leaning into the grip just enough to feel the warmth of Barty’s skin. "We need this, babe."
Tuesday, 5:00 PM
They sat in the waiting room, all muted tones and abstract oil paintings, Barty fucking hated bland oil paintings, in silence, exactly six inches apart. Barty was scrolling aggressively on his phone. He glanced at Evan from the corner of his eye. He was staring at the wall, radiating cold fury. It was kinda hot.
"Barty and Evan for Pomfrey?" a kind voice asked.
Poppy Pomfrey was exactly what Evan had described: warm and looking like she had seen it all.
The office was cozy, filled with plants and the smell of expensive air diffusers.
Barty had smelled places like this before when his father had tried to get him medicated, he fucking hated this smell.
Barty instantly put on his performance face: weary, misunderstood, victim of great beauty.
"Thank you, Poppy, though this is pretty pointless anyway, Ev is just being extra, and he forced this on us on a Tuesday," Barty sighed, sitting down and draping one arm dramatically over the back of the sofa, making sure Evan couldn't comfortably sit back.
"I insisted because you're incapable of managing your schedule, Barty," Evan said, his tone perfectly level but edged with pure resentment. "You know my work is demanding. But everything has to revolve around your ‘art’."
Pomfrey blinked once, writing something down. "So, Evan, what brings you here today? What is the core issue you'd like to address?"
Evan leaned forward, tears suddenly welling up (he was an excellent, terrible actor). "I just... I just want Barty to see me. To truly see the damage he's done. Every time I ask for something small, like, say, roses for the wedding bouquets instead of the horrible mess he wants, it turns into a fight about his childhood trauma."
Barty frowned slightly.
"Evan, that's unfair. I told you, you should have asked me before changing them. Why do you always play the victim?
Evan scoffed with offense, "He's like this now, feigning nonchalance like I'm the one making everything a big deal, but every tiny, liminal misunderstanding is just another excuse for Barty to have an emotional meltdown."
Pomfrey paused. "Liminal?"
"Yes, liminal," Evan sniffed, pulling a tissue from the box next to him. "It means the space in-between. Like the space between the man I love and the monster he lets out when I ask him to take responsibility for his emotional negligence. It’s a crisis of liminal space."
Barty internally cheered. Nailed it.
Pomfrey sighed, then smiled gently. "Alright, Evan. And Barty, what is your perspective on this 'liminal crisis'?"
"I think he needs to decide if he loves me or the idea of fixing me," Barty said, staring straight at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. "And honestly, Poppy, the anxiety is exhausting. Sometimes I just want to know if he's capable of putting my feelings first just once. Even when I proposed, he couldn't help but criticize me."
"Your feelings? Barty, the ring you bought was cheap silver. I had an allergic reaction!" Evan cried, throwing his hands up.
Pomfrey held up a hand. "I think we have a starting point. Let's schedule another session. We'll start with a few simple communication exercises next time."
Tuesday, 5:45 PM
Regulus was waiting for Sirius outside the gym, scrolling through his own schedule. He’d booked James Potter for a coffee meet-up on Thursday. He wasn't excited. James was his brother’s best friend therefore James was probably loud.
TEXTS: Regulus and Sirius
5:46 PM
Reggie: You need to assure me that James Potter can have a conversation without shouting.
Siri: Reggie, James is literally a licensed psychotherapist. He’s the chillest person alive. You’re going to love him.
Reggie: I doubt that. I reserve my affection for things that don't talk back, like statues or cats
Reggie: Also, Barty is pulling some stunt in his office with the relationship therapist Pomfrey.
Siri: I hope they don't break Poppy. She's a good woman.
James is actually in a meeting with her right now. They share an office suite.
Reggie: See? It’s a bad sign. Chaos follows Barty. I already think James is going to analyse me and diagnose me with shit.
5:50 PM
Siri: James wouldn’t do that. He’s the opposite of a monster, Reg. He's my rock. You'll love him. Come on. I'm waiting for you at the entrance.
Reggie: Also, why can't we meet with all of you together? I like Remus.
Siri: I'll be there in the beginning. I just think we should get the meeting over with before any mutual parties.
Regulus sighed, pushing off the wall. He really didn't want to like his brother's metaphorical brother. He was already too comfortable with the people he had.
Tuesday, 6:30 PM
Barty was walking his bike back to the studio, the adrenaline from the session vibrating pleasantly beneath his skin. He felt more alive and creatively charged than he had in months. The high was addictive, the immediate, synchronized leap into deep, performative resentment with a stranger. It was the best kind of emotional recklessness.
He had to admit, Evan was spectacular. The way his eyes had welled up on cue, the sheer, unwarranted audacity of the "cheap silver ring" accusation. He was a perfect mirror for Barty's own theatricity.
He pulled out his phone the moment he stepped inside the studio's back door.
TEXTS: Barty and ‘Evan’
6:32 PM
Evan: Did you see her face when I mentioned the cheap silver ring? Priceless.
Barty: You were born for this role, Ev. I almost believed you were allergic.
Evan: I am allergic. To cheap emotional gestures. Also cheap silver, obviously.
Barty: And I'm the misunderstood artist, trapped by the demands of his perfect fiancée. I think I’m going to start wearing a fake silver wedding band on my necklace. It’ll really sell the despair.
Evan: You better not. That’s my bit. The ring symbolizes our failure to communicate. It must remain cheap and unworn.
Barty: Fine. I’ll just get a tattoo of a wedding band. It’s more commitmentphobic.
Evan: a permanent tatoo says lack of commitment to you, I love your brain.
Barty totally did not blush
Barty: We should discuss our fake engagement story before the next session. We need shared trauma.
Evan: We met at a poetry slam, then?
Barty:I spilled red wine on your pristine white shirt while reading a stupid poem about my father and abandonment. We hooked up in the bathroom. It was intense and immediate.
Evan: I love it. And then we realized we only work in crisis mode.
Barty: So... next Tuesday. Same time. Don't worry, I'll be exactly 2 minutes late this time. The perfect amount of disrespect.
Evan: If you're 2 minutes late, I'm going to tell Pomfrey you keep an archive of my worst texts in a hidden file.
Barty: Deal.
Barty smiled, a genuine, alarming smile that crinkled the corners of his pale eyes. This level of immediate, intuitive antagonism was more intimate than most relationships he’d ever had.
Evan and Dorcas:
Tuesday, 7:00 PM
Evan dropped his bag by the door of his new flat, pausing to admire the clean lines of the entryway—which his flatmate Regulus had apparently dictated. He was waiting for Regulus to emerge from his room so he could loudly debrief, but the flat remained silent. Regulus was probably at his brother’s house again.
He settled onto the sofa and messaged Dorcas.
TEXTS: Evan and Dorcas
7:05 PM
Evan: It was majestic. I cried on command. We are a triumph of dramaticism. He was better at it than i expected.
Dorc: Did Poppy look traumatized?
Evan: Not yet. But she definitely looked intrigued when I hit her with the 'liminal space' concept. Barty scheduled the other ones for the next few weeks.
Dorc: You're doing this for a bit. Why are you genuinely excited?
Evan: Because Dorc, he’s good at being terrible. We had this immediate, disgusting chemistry.
Dorc: Evan.
Evan: I’m emotionally untouchable. This is low-stakes chaos. Don't worry.
Dorc: Marlene just screamed 'I told you! It's a dark meet-cute!' from the kitchen. She thinks you’re going to fall in love and get real married.
Evan: Tell Marlene to stick to rugby. I'm doing this for the drama, not the destiny. Also, Barty is hot. But not my type. Honest.
Evan set his phone down, unable to shake the feeling of Barty’s fingers on his elbow, that brief pressure. He twisted one of his blonde braids on a finger. He just wanted drama. This was all just an experiment anyway.
Wednesday, 11:00 AM
TEXTS: Rosie and Reg
Rosie: will you be in the flat for lunch? im ordering chinese
Reg: no. gonna meet the best friend rn.
Rosie: that's today? good luck!
Regulus walks into the bustling London café, already wishing he could teleport back to the solitude of his room. He had already spent too much time in social contact recently, between settling into getting the art history degree and the overwhelming presence of his flatmate, Rosie, who seemed nice enough.
James Potter was immediately visible at a table for two at the corner of the cafe. He was impossibly sunny, laughing into his phone, and wearing a bright sweatshirt, and the sun seemed to shine just a little extra on him, making his hair and sweatshirt slightly brighter. Regulus felt his defenses triple. This was the enemy.
"Regulus!" James stands, offering a wide smile and a hand that looks too warm and firm.
"Potter," Regulus replies, keeping his own hand cold and distant.
They settle down. James, who was wearing these cute, stupid, round glasses, flagged down the waiter and ordered Regulus's usual complex, fussy latte based on intel from Sirius. Regulus hated being seen.
"Sirius told me you just moved into the city this year," James said, stirring his black coffee. "From France, right? That's quite the change."
"It's louder," Regulus said dryly. "And more expensive, maybe France was also expensive, but I wouldn't know, back then I was spending my parents' money.
James laughs, a sound that's actually breathier than Regulus imagined, a lot less booming and a lot more endearing than his brother's. Regulus thinks to himself.
"Well, I'm glad you're here. Sirius missed you a lot. And I’ve heard so much about you. You can call me James, by the way. Though you seem determined to call me Potter."
Regulus ignores this, taking a slow sip of the perfect latte. "And I hear you work with Poppy Pomfrey?"
James's expression shifts, softening into a look of professional amusement. "Ah, yes, Poppy. The heart and soul of the practice. The saint who handles the couples therapy. She usually has her hands full. Poppy was telling me about a new couple, not names or anything obviously, that's private. Said they have a truly spectacular dynamic. Very high emotion. High drama. She called them 'The Liminals,' actually, because of the fiancé's use of terminology."
Regulus feels a headache blooming. The Liminals. Barty and his fiancée were famous in the office now.
"Really?" Regulus manages, his voice tight.
James chuckles, leaning back, mistaking Regulus’s anxiety for interest. "Well, I don't know their story cause confidentiality, but Poppy is thrilled; they apparently hate each other, but she says they so visibly love each other as well."
"It’s good Sirius has you, that you agreed to do this with me," James says suddenly, his gaze warm and direct, pinning Regulus in place. "You're both trying, and that's amazing."
Regulus feels suddenly, uncomfortably seen. James wasn't being analytical; he was just being kind. And that was far more dangerous than analysis. Kindness was a weapon Regulus didn't know how to defend against.
"So, tell me about your studies, Regulus," James continues, effortlessly. "Sirius said you switched to art history?"
Regulus says, "It's something I actually love for once. I was doing a business degree till last year, but it was so suffocating. Studying art history is wonderful," Regulus adds, surprisingly, actually curious. "Did you feel that way about children's psychology?"
"Well, yeah, I deal with kids with different kinds of neurodivergence usually, and I love hearing about how they see the world and trying to see it the same as them, they're actually hilarious sometimes, like this one six-year-old she's really into frogs, so she keeps trying out frog-themed jokes and.."
Regulus found himself actually caring. Fuck, he planned to hate this bloke.
Thursday, 4:00 PM
TEXTS: Dorcas and Evan
4:05 PM
Dorc: You're killing me (Marlene). Give me an update.
Evan: We’ve established the origin story: met at a poetry slam, hooked up in the bathroom, instantly codependent. It's solid.
Dorc: EVAN! You better be leaning into the drama! Dorcas is boring. I think you should tell Barty that you secretly want the cheap silver ring even though you're allergic because it reminds you of his soul, which is equally damaged and pure!
Evan: (Marlene, I assume) we're more dramatic passive-aggression and less poetry. but great attempt!
Marlene: This is the greatest love story of our generation!!! Do you have a fake wedding date yet?
Evan: (Marlene, give Dorcas back her phone) We're too unstable for a date. The wedding planning is the core source of our staged resentment.
4:15
Dorc: back
Evan: Thank god.
Dorc: Anyway. Marlene has a point. You need more tension.
Evan: I'm open to suggestions.
Dorc: In the next session, mention your twin sister. Say she's the only one who truly understands you, and Barty is fiercely jealous of her emotional connection with you. Barty will have to play along with the existence of a mystery woman he’s never heard of. Let's see how good he is with improv.
Evan: You are a genius, Dorcas Meadowes. See? This is why I keep you around.