Chapter Text
Evan relishes the coolness of the stone staircase underneath his feet and no, he doesn’t have this back in England.
He climbs up as quickly as he can, wishing to just skip all the time-wasting responsibilities and go; go to him, go to Barty.
His heart has felt as if on fire ever since aunt Marie pulled into the gravelly driveway and Evan stepped out of the car. Barty hasn’t been this close since Evan left all those months ago – he can recall the freshness of the August morning air, the way his insides were squeezing, Barty’s whisper replaying in his head: I love you, I love you, I love you.
It’s not the same now, not really. There is no rising sun, no swishing grass – but there is a warm feeling in Evan’s chest that he recognizes. It’s a telltale sign that Barty is near.
If it were any other situation, Evan would realise how freezed to the bone he is. Aunt Marie’s car has a poor heater and it’s cold up here, in the Italian mountains. It’s the 22nd of December and despite no snow covering the ground, it sure feels like it. The soil is frozen in some places and everything is muted, as if seen through a piece of frosty glass in the evening.
Evan’s cheeks are stinging and red from the cold, his hands trembling; one carries his suitcase while the other helps him get up the stairs. There’s no time to waste. Four months. He’s been counting down to this moment for four months.
All throughout this stretch of time, whilst waiting impatiently, Evan has gone over his plan for this moment countless times. He’s thought about every step, repeatedly asking himself the key question of how can he be quicker?
Evan reaches the floor and there’s a small lamp on the windowsill, turned on, the light dim. He frowns, wondering if aunt Marie forgot to turn it off before she left, but there’s no time to linger. His room is just there, just at the end of this hall and, Barty aside for the briefest moment, Evan has missed this too.
His suitcase thuds, small wheels turning on the wooden floor. Evan’s chest explodes with warmth at the thought of the floral duvet waiting for him on the other side of the wall; the lace curtains, the creaky wardrobe, the wood planks, the vintage desk. The guitar is probably perched against the wall. Possibly out of tune and it’s all just waiting for him, waiting.
There are just a few steps left. And yes, he’ll be there, but all those things will have to wait longer – Evan will walk in, leave his suitcase and run back down.
He’s a step away from the door. After going back down, he’ll just put on his shoes, because he left his jacket on. He unzips it though. He’s strangely warm. The fabric of the jacket scratches his neck.
Hand on the door handle. Then, he’ll open the door and he’ll leave. Carefully, but not too carefully, just so as not to fall, he’ll run. It’s too cold and slippery for the bike, but yes, he’ll run. In the absolute darkness until he arrives.
He presses the handle.
Until he knocks on the door.
He opens the door and takes a step.
Until he’s with Barty.
The room is light and Evan pulls his suitcase in. It has the audacity to catch on the threshold and Evan huffs, his heartbeat picks up, because there’s no time to waste! It’s so warm here, Jesus. They’ve waited so long and now Barty is basically right here! Evan pulls the suitcase through and turns and–
“Hi.”
Oh my god.
Barty is right here.
“All good?”
There’s an excited smile in his voice that he’s trying to bite back, and Evan marvels at how it isn’t tamed down by a weak overseas connection. He’s here. He’s real.
Evan lets out a strangled breath. His heart drops to his stomach and he runs. He runs, tackling Barty back onto the bed and he wraps his arms around the boy, squeezing and holding, and touching just to feel the real life flesh. It’s him. It’s really him.
Evan is lightheaded. What is happening? His heart is making leaps in his chest and his inhales are trembling. He lets out a shaky laugh, because his body is in shock, what is he– what is he supposed to do? His mind is in shock as well, glitched like most of their calls and frozen like Evan’s face. His heart isn’t in shock, not really. His heart is thriving, hot in Evan’s ribcage, because it knows that he isn’t supposed to do or be anything. Evan can just stay here.
Barty’s arms have wrapped around him tightly and he’s pressing Evan’s chest against his even though Evan has already put his entire weight down on the boy. They’re finally close.
Barty’s breath tickles Evan’s neck right where his jacket scratches his skin. It soothes the itch in so many more ways than one and Evan nuzzles his face into the crook of Barty’s neck, his body melting into the shape of the boy with each inhale.
“Barty,” he breathes out, the whisper barely audible. It doesn’t have to be louder, though. Barty is right here.
“That’s me.” The boy is smiling against the side of Evan’s neck.
“Oh my god,” Evan chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
It may seem dramatic, from a bird's eye view. It’s not like Evan wasn’t expecting to see Barty tonight, right? He had a plan, after all, and it did involve meeting Barty in the next 20 minutes. And despite all that, this is still new. This, he can’t have been ready for. He can’t have prepared his heart for this extraordinary explosion of warmth, this feeling of safety, of belonging, understanding, of home. He wouldn’t have wanted to. This moment of ‘finally’ is everything and it’s all the more intensified with the added element of surprise.
Getting to see Barty here, quicker than Evan thought he would, reminds him of the feeling when you’re walking up the stairs and mistakenly expect another step. The drop of the stomach, the rush of warmth, the lightheadedness, it’s all here. In a good way. In an indescribably good way.
“I can’t believe you’re here, either.” It’s a whisper.
Finally, Evan raises himself from where he’s lying on Barty. His arms shake slightly, but he manages to push himself up so now he’s sitting on his heels on the edge of the bed. His eyes sting dangerously, but he couldn’t care less right now. Nothing matters except this, except them, except the boy in front of Evan.
Barty is glowing, as usual, Evan thinks. He’s leaning back on his forearms, hazel eyes looking up at Evan with that glimmer in them. It’s not tears, but something from deep inside. The boy’s cheeks are red and his hair is mussed, both thanks to Evan’s tackle, presumably. Evan thinks Barty’s tan has gone down since August, although he can’t really say; it may just be the unsure yellow lighting of the desk lamp. His hair is different, too. Evan remembers Barty calling him in late October after having his hair cut, but now it’s grown again, slightly longer and even more unruly than it was in the summer.
Evan gulps. His hands itch to trace the sharp lines of Barty’s face and while not much is stopping him right now, he stops himself from doing so. Instead, he locks eyes with Barty and they share a smile. It’s quiet. No music, no noise, nothing. Their smiles are growing with every second, evolving from softness to a burst of giggles, faces hidden behind hands and shaking shoulders.
Barty scrambles to sit up and wraps his arms around Evan once again; around his waist, resting his forehead on the boy’s shoulder, because Evan is higher than him this way, sitting on his heels. Evan puts his hands on Barty’s lower back, embracing him, and they stay like this for a few long moments. Their breaths are stabilising, finally becoming steadier and slower. Evan’s mind comes down to earth, kind of.
He thinks Barty can hear his heart beating and he needs to remind himself that it’s not a bad thing. Barty won’t laugh at the rapid pace. Barty will understand. Maybe, hopefully, Barty’s heart is beating like that too.
Evan’s lips tingle. He’s already caught himself three times, leaning down to place a kiss on Barty’s hair. He can be patient, right? He can wait just a bit longer. No need to jump Barty immediately, he figures. After all, it is a lot to take in – all they’ve been to each other for four months has been text messages and distorted voices on the phone; images on cracked screens.
Barty creates the tiniest bit of space between them and Evan’s stomach flips when he realises Barty is taking his jacket off. Warm hands sliding on Evan’s shoulders, catching on the seams of his blue hoodie and pulling the scratchy, rough winter coat off.
Evan closes his eyes.
Okay, maybe that’s just what he’s been to Barty. For him… For him, Barty has been messages and calls too, but he’s also been the rising sun on Evan’s way to class, his dreams and daydreams, the aftertaste of his most treasured memories and hope. He’s been the sudden warmth in his chest in the middle of a cold day, the only thing on Evan’s mind when he goes swimming and the comfort of that green hoodie. Evan has the hoodie with him. Maybe Barty will let him swap it for something else.
Evan’s jacket is off now and Evan’s movements aren’t as restricted anymore. He brings his hand to the nape of Barty’s neck and rests his fingers there.
“Oh fuck,” Barty hisses and Evan immediately draws his hand back.
“Sorry?” He says in response, unsure.
“No, no, no!” Barty unwraps one of his hands from Evan’s back and guides Evan’s palm to go back on his neck. “Just– you’re cold!” He huffs out, still recovering from the shock.
“Yeah, well, it’s quite freezing here, not sure if you’ve noticed.” Evan rolls his eyes with a smile, even though Barty can’t see it. He presses his cold fingers into the skin of the boy’s neck a bit harder. Barty shivers and pushes himself away from Evan, so now they’re looking in each other’s eyes again.
Barty’s smile is lopsided and giggly, and he’s red in the face from pressing it into Evan’s shoulder and the warmth of the room, too. His eyes never leave Evan’s when he says, “I missed your accent.”
At that, Evan snorts and ducks his head. His shoulders shake from laughter when Barty continues.
“Whenever I read your messages, they sound British in my head,” he laughs, showing his teeth in the smile. “But you know how my British accent is. Not even close to the real thing.” He shakes his head.
“Glad you admit it.” Evan rolls his eyes and twists his wrist, now putting the still cold back of his hand against Barty’s skin.
The boy hisses, poking at Evan’s stomach, but he manages to dodge it. “What the fuck?” Barty groans. “You’re so cold!”
“Yeah, I thought we’ve established that it’s quite fucking freezing outside.” Evan looks at him pointedly, but drops his hands.
There is no reply and Evan catches Barty trying to hide a smile. The boy is biting his cheek and he’s turned his gaze away.
“What?” Evan looks at him confused, his smile never dropping. “Barty.” He squints.
Barty throws his head back with a soft, bubbly laugh and Evan’s heart flips. Now he’s the one trying not to let his smile show.
“Nothing.” Barty shakes his head.
“Am I supposed to believe that?” Evan tilts his head. Barty just dissolves into laughter again and Evan has to seriously hold himself back so as not to just… jump at him and pinch his cheeks or do something equally embarrassing. Remind him, why haven’t they kissed yet? He groans internally.
“Can you…” Barty starts and Evan watches his throat move as he gulps. Barty’s eyes still have that heartstopping light in them. “Can you repeat that?”
“What?”
“Like, that… ‘it’s quite fucking freezing outside,’” Barty says it in his awful, terrible British accent and looks up at Evan, grinning widely.
“You’re impossible.” Evan shakes his head, eyes closed. “Um, it’s quite fucking freezing outside…?” He repeats and watches Barty’s face light up even more. He’s smiling and his shoulders are shaking. Evan knows that regardless of all his eyerolls and playful snides, he probably looks similar. His cheeks hurt and it’s the good kind. He can’t stop smiling, letting out small laughs every now and then, sometimes with a reason for it, sometimes not.
Barty’s laugh dies down and Evan shakes his head again, “You’re so weird,” he laughs.
“You’re so British,” Barty quips back.
“You’re so annoying.” Evan pokes at Barty’s stomach and the boy shrieks. Barty squints at him.
“You’re so cold.”
Evan looks down at him, a deadpan expression on his face. He puts his hands on Barty’s waist, where the cold of Evan’s hand can’t reach his skin through his sweater. Barty’s beaming and Evan can’t get enough of that shine in his eyes.
“I know,” he says slowly, his face suddenly getting very close to Barty.
Barty bites the inside of his cheek and it’s like Evan can see the wheels in his head turning. The silence is almost deafening. Barty breathes in.
“I can make you warm,” he whispers.
And Evan would probably laugh at him in any other situation, but he wants this. He wants the dumb pick-up lines that somehow lead somewhere, because he’s not brave enough yet to just go for it. He gulps as the distance between their faces gets smaller and smaller.
“Can you?” Evan breathes out.
He subconsciously licks his lips and his lashes flutter. Barty is looking up at him, a timid question in his eyes and Evan is surprised that his whole appearance isn’t enough of an answer.
So he lets his eyes flicker down to Barty’s lips, for a fraction of a second escaping Barty’s heavy stare.
“Mhm,” the boy hums in response and then Evan feels warm hands on his neck, pulling him down and they’re finally kissing.
Lips pressed against lips, moving gently, shyly. Evan’s eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are gripping Barty’s waist strongly. The sensation balances on the line between familiarity and novelty, like a time capsule being dug up after decades. Warmth, warmth all around. Barty’s lips are soft and hot, and such a nice contrast to Evan’s coldness.
Honestly, he feels like crying. It catches up to him like a ricochet, that Barty is here with him. Again and again, the thought hits him each time with doubled force. Making his heart stutter and explode, or something similar to that. Barty’s elbows hooked behind his neck pull him down and Evan goes willingly. He caresses Barty’s back, digging his fingers into the folds of the boy’s sweater.
His body feels it, feels that it’s safe. Evan hasn’t hugged anyone since Barty, that fateful day in August when he had to leave and now, finally feeling the warmth of a human’s body, let alone Barty’s, his limbs slacken and he virtually melts. Barty tilts his head and the kiss deepens.
Evan is back there, back on that road. In the summer evening sun, hands tangled with Barty’s. It’s all underneath his skin. Everything he does, everything he sees, it all brings him back to those memories. Those four weeks have settled in him like a tattoo. It’s everpresent, always there, just a smile, just a song away.
But this week will join those. This moment will be one he’ll come back to whenever his hands will feel cold and the collar of his jacket will scratch his neck too harshly.
Now there is no coldness, there is no discomfort. Barty brings only warmth and softness. Evan feels a gentle bite on his lip and a shiver goes down his spine. He gasps into Barty’s lips and leans down even further, even closer, even more.
They part at last with laboured breaths and Evan doesn’t look into Barty's eyes. He doesn’t really look at Barty at all, flushed pink, not ready for the view of the boy’s lips red and bitten. It’s like a wave that crashes over him, the relief of ‘all’s well.’ Evan knows it was stupid to ever doubt Barty when all he’s been is sweet and encouraging, but sometimes there simply isn’t anything as reassuring as a kiss like this.
Evan moves his legs from underneath him and sits criss-cross. His knee fits right on Barty’s shin and vice versa. Barty’s warm palms slide down his neck and goosebumps break out; they run down his arms all the way to Evan’s fingers. They intertwine them, both looking at their tangled hands rather than at each other’s faces, because no matter how many hours they’ve spent texting, on a call or even facetiming, that has nothing on being able to touch each other, feel the other person’s presence right beneath their fingertips.
Evan is sure there won’t be much of the timidness left when they’ve readjusted to the reality of being in one place once again.
Barty’s fingers press into the back of his hand and Evan watches them do so. His skin has thawed underneath the touch and he feels the warmth radiate up his arms. The room is silent. Barty’s fingertips draw circles on Evan’s knuckles. Their breaths are slow, but shallow.
Finally, Barty takes the initiative and leans back on the mattress, pulling Evan along with him. Their legs tangle as they try to make themselves comfortable, but it isn’t easy to find a balance between being able to breathe while also being as close as possible. Evan doesn’t want to impose on the boy either, so he lets Barty orchestrate them. Out of the two of them, Barty has always gravitated more towards physical touch, anyway, so that calms Evan down. Barty wants this too.
Evan is lying with his head on Barty’s chest. The boy has his arm wrapped around his back and he’s playing with Evan’s hair, pulling at the blonde strands in a way that makes Evan feel dizzy. He’s got his eyes closed, blocking out other sensations, because it’s too much. He focuses on what’s important and what’s the closest – Barty breathing, Barty’s heartbeat. Barty’s touch, too.
“How was the journey?” Evan hears the words said into his hair.
Barty has texted him a few times today, asking this question or another, but Evan might have left him with a too-brief reply. He’s not proud of it, but the anticipation to see Barty again comes with two sides – one of excitement and the second, anxiety. And doubt. Restless doubt has been gnawing at him since the beginning of the month when he finally talked to his mother and somehow, by the force of a miracle, she let him come here again.
Now and summertime are miles away. Everything’s different; almost everything. Some things are just the same, like that boiling hot, simultaneously comforting and exciting feeling in Evan’s chest, where his heart is supposed to be – that hasn’t changed.
Back then, even after they’d become friends, they had the privilege of being able to write their relationship off as something brief, always meant to pass; a mistake, if something went wrong. Evan could always divert back to the safe thought of well, it obviously wasn’t meant to last, just because someone is your age and nearby doesn’t mean you’ll be best friends.
But they are. They are something more and they did sign up to this, underlining their names with each mention of a ‘next time.’ They’ve discovered a pretty spot and made it a train station, started to build train tracks, not knowing where they’ll go or if the destination is as pretty as the start.
Now, if they mess up, it won’t be a mistake. It’ll be a failure.
This all-consuming fear is one reason for why Evan’s responses to Barty were so inexhaustive today. The next one is being strategic. See, Evan has thought about this – if he doesn’t tell Barty everything in a text, that means he’ll undoubtedly have something to talk about when they see each other. Evan will have something to say. Barty won’t suddenly make up his mind that shit, Evan is boring, and Evan will have Barty, still. Barty will still be his to hold and kiss, and watch and love.
Evan really doesn’t do well with a change of routine, does he? Once he’s got used to something, a flood of insecurity is guaranteed when he has to break out of it.
He groans and, to shut his mind off, presses his face into Barty’s chest, hoping the sound of his heartbeat will block out his noisy thoughts. Barty doesn’t even seem to be mad at him, or hurt that Evan had brushed him off. He’s too nice. Or he didn’t care.
Jesus, no. No, Evan feels even worse about thinking that of Barty than he does about giving him such dry responses earlier. Barty has just looked at Evan like that, with that light in his eyes and he’s now holding Evan in his arms, brushing through his hair, and he’s the last person who wouldn’t care about something.
“Evan?” Barty asks, pulling at Evan’s hair so his head leans back and Barty can see his face. “What’s happening?”
Evan closes his eyes and breathes shakily. “I don’t know.” His brows furrow. “I’m sorry. Everything’s good, it’s so good, but I just–”
“You’re all good, I’m just worried,” Barty whispers and leans in to give Evan a kiss on his forehead.
Evan’s body goes limp and his head falls on Barty’s shoulder. He takes breaths along to the rhythm of Barty’s fingers moving through his hair and feels all the doubt leave through his airways with each exhale.
He opens his eyes slowly and brings them up to meet Barty’s.
The boy is looking at him in a way that makes Evan feel like Barty has taken Evan’s soul in his hands and hugged it close to his heart, whispering ‘I love you’ into every little corner of it. Barty’s eyes are reassuring, but searching. You’re good now, what’s wrong? What’s happening? You’re safe with me.
“I think I’m just…” Evan looks behind Barty at the wall, but quickly brings his eyes back to the boy, his chest, where Evan has put his hand and is now trailing lines over the boy’s breastbone. He sighs. “This will sound really bad, but uh, I just got overwhelmed, I think, and I panicked, ‘cause I don’t really– didn’t really know how… how to act around you. Now that we’re in the same place.”
Evan’s voice is small. The two sides of his brain turn on again, the constant tug of war between sureness and uncertainty goes on and on, and at this point Evan just wants it to be quiet. No noise, no disturbance distracting him from being able to focus on Barty and Barty only.
“It’s just–” Evan points at his temple, eyes squeezed shut as his head shakes involuntarily. “It’s so loud there.”
Barty takes a deep inhale and Evan feels it. The boy pulls himself from underneath Evan so now he’s leaning over him with just his forearm under Evan’s neck, his fingers buried in the hair on the back of the blonde’s head.
Barty hesitantly places his knee between Evan’s thighs and the sheets rustle in the silence. Evan still has his eyes closed – he couldn’t possibly bear the sight of Barty like this right now – but he feels the heat of the boy’s body above him and suddenly there’s a kiss being placed on his temple. Then, on the other one, and the skin tingles.
He’s not wearing glasses today, so Barty easily presses his lips to both eyelids and the tip of Evan’s nose. His face is burning. His whole body is hot and it’s somewhere on the line between unbearable and euphoric.
Barty puts his elbows on either side of Evan’s head and the mattress dips. Evan feels his skin burning where the kisses have been placed and where their bodies meet – through two layers of trousers, Barty’s knee is pressed against Evan’s thigh. His breaths turn laboured and his eyes flutter, staying closed, please, staying closed.
Barty’s gulp and sharp inhale are audible in the small distance between them, in the quiet. Evan feels every shift of their bodies as the mattress leaves nothing to wonder – every twitch of Barty’s muscles, every time Evan’s back presses down into the bed with an exhale.
Barty fixes his forearms around Evan’s head and nudges Evan’s leg with his knee. Evan moves his thighs to make more space between them and Barty puts his other knee there. Their thighs are touching. There’s a heaviness around them now, in the same way a comforter weighs down on your body on a cold, wintry night. Evan is wrapped up in Barty; in this syrupy, lethargic feeling which has replaced the pulsating push and pull of his thoughts. He’s wrapped up in the golden string that connects them, that shines on and on– they are a lighthouse in the middle of endless darkness and coldness. It’s just them here. Just them, and nothing for miles.
Barty’s face lingers millimeters above Evan’s. From time to time, their noses brush minutely, but Barty doesn’t move and Evan doesn’t pull him down.
Evan takes his hands from where they’ve lain haphazardly on his stomach and blindly places them on Barty’s back. His fingers slide up, gently pulling at the green sweater Barty’s wearing, until Evan feels the warm, bare skin of his neck. He traces the vertebrae, circling around the bones and going up to Barty’s hair on the nape of his neck and he scratches at it softly. He feels Barty’s sharp inhale and shaky exhale, so he repeats it, now pulling at the hair a bit as well, which earns him the same reaction.
They’re both breathing heavily and Barty leans down another few millimeters and rests his forehead against Evan’s. Evan can hear a lot, really – the blood rushing through his veins, their synchronised breathing which is so loud it sounds like it’s echoing off the walls, his own heartbeat – but he can’t hear those thoughts anymore, because they’re not there.
There is static. There’s a fuzzy white noise and a hum akin to an oven preheating. There’s Barty’s name, as always, and the strum of Evan’s favourite song.
His mouth relaxes into a smile that he can’t stop, and doesn’t want to.
“How can–” Barty’s voice breaks. “How can I make it quieter?”
There’s a gulp and the rhythm of Evan’s heartbeat picks up. He breathes out, smiling, and shakes his head lightly. His movements, his voice, his words – none of it has to be grand or loud. They’re so close Evan thinks Barty might hear his thoughts.
“You’ve already done it,” he whispers.
He buries his hands deeper into Barty’s hair and twists his fingers, the strands wrapping around them. He pulls a bit, he lets them go. Barty’s breathing stutters and it’s endearing – learning, maybe relearning those purely physical nuances that he couldn’t have known without touching.
“I’m glad,” Barty whispers against Evan’s lips, “that I can make it better.”
Evan shakes his head once again, but their lips never brush. His smile widens and he bites the inside of his cheek.
“Don’t be daft,” he huffs, “you’re like, the only good thing– like, ever.”
Barty laughs quietly and brushes Evan’s hair back.
“Oh, I missed you so fucking much.” He takes Evan’s face into his hands.
“Well,” Evan breathes, “you have me now.”
They meet halfway with Barty pressing down and Evan leaning up. He takes his hands off of Barty’s neck and brings them around under Barty’s arms to frame the boy’s face. They’ve tilted their heads, but the angle makes their noses press into the other’s cheek. Little twirls and colourful spirals show up behind Evan’s eyelids – all green and blue, and golden.
He smiles into the kiss and Barty responds with the same. They part, but it’s just their lips, because Barty goes on to put kisses all around Evan’s face, making him giggle.
“Barty!” He squeals, when a peck to his jawline tickles.
Barty falls sideways, bringing Evan with him as they’re tangled – kind of like a shoelace that you never untie and once you try to, it just becomes a huge knot you give up on figuring out.
They kiss lying sideways, too. Evan’s thigh is squashed under the weight of Barty and he tries to pull it out, which Barty takes as an attempt to pull away completely and wraps his arms tightly around the back of Evan’s neck.
“Barty, I– I need to just, uh–” Evan explains and manages to slide his leg out. Now, it’s Barty who’s lying down and Evan leaning over. Barty pulls him down to clumsily press their lips together and Evan almost falls on him fully. He squeaks.
After fixing his hands, so they’re stable on both sides of Barty’s face, he puts his leg over Barty’s thighs. Otherwise, he’d have to lean down at an awkward angle that made his back hurt, so he just ends up sitting in Barty’s lap.
It catches up to him, the realisation he probably has to move further up on Barty’s thighs to be able to lean down and kiss him. But the thought of that makes him flush and, yeah, maybe it’s not a good idea. So he pulls Barty up, puts his arms around the boy’s neck and stays like that. Barty wastes no time, hands gripping Evan’s waist, kissing him until there’s no oxygen left in his lungs.
They’re panting, foreheads resting against each other, eyes closed. It’s at least a minute or two before Evan gathers up the courage to look. He opens his eyes and Barty’s there, eyes half-open, grinning at him. Evan immediately hides his face in the crook of the boy’s neck and they laugh.
Evan groans. Barty gives his waist a squeeze.
“So, how was the journey?” He asks with a cheeky smile. Evan doesn’t necessarily sit straight back up, but turns his head so he can speak.
“It was okay.” He shrugs. “The man next to me on the plane was giving me weird looks all flight and I have no idea what that was about, so…” he trails off. “Then, on the train,” he snorts, “this old lady was speaking Italian to me, like, asking questions and everything, even though I, at least I think so, very obviously signaled that I cannot speak Italian,” Evan groans.
“Did you try to like, I dunno, translate something and show it to her?” Barty has taken to caressing Evan’s back.
“No signal.” Evan shakes his head.
“Ugh.” Barty pats Evan’s back. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you something.”
“In Italian?” Evan makes sure.
“Mhm.”
“Sometimes I forget you can speak it,” Evan snorts.
Barty lets out a laugh and Evan feels the shake of his chest against his.
“To be honest, me too.”
“Maybe you’ve actually forgotten everything and you just think you know it, and when you try, you’ll just say a bunch of gibberish.” Evan smiles.
“I guess we have to see.”
Evan nods and leans back, sitting up straight, still on Barty’s thighs. He squints at Evan like he’s thinking about something intensely, biting the inside of his cheek. His smile still shines through. Then, he gives Evan a small nod and speaks without further hesitation.
“Sei la cosa migliore che mi sia mai capitata,” he says. Fondness lights up his face as he looks at Evan. “Sei il mio raggio di sole,” he adds.
Evan’s breath is knocked out of his lungs and he’s trying not to look away under the weight of Barty’s gaze. He’s burning hot, a knot tugging low in his stomach. He gulps.
“Yeah, that totally sounded like a bunch of nonsense.” His voice sounds significantly less confident than a few moments earlier and his poor attempts at making fun of Barty fall flat – they’re both too dark-eyed and heavy-breathing for that. “You need to say something more.”
“Ti penso continuamente,” Barty complies. There’s a ghost of a grin on his face and something hot sparks in Evan’s gut at the view. “Sei nei miei sogni ogni notte.” He bites the inside of his cheek, but those sparkly eyes say everything.
They look into each other’s eyes for a moment, before Evan snaps out of it.
“I bet you just called me a bunch of slurs,” he stutters out, huffing. “You won.” He looks down, cheeks still red.
Barty ducks his head, unable to help the smile on his face. He hums.
Eventually, Evan climbs off of Barty’s lap and they talk in a less vulnerable position. At the same time there’s so much and little to say. They sneak kisses, from time to time hug each other closer than normally and their hands stay intertwined. Evan remembers none of the cold of the night, none of the doubt.
The first time they check the time is hours later, when it’s 10:14pm and Evan’s eyelids keep treacherously falling closed, despite his desperate efforts to stop them from doing so.
“It’s okay,” Barty assures him, when Evan gets frustrated. “My aunt wants me back tonight anyway, she said you’d be too tired and I’d disturb your rest.” He pats Evan’s head.
“I hate that,” Evan mumbles into Barty’s shoulder. “You could never disturb my rest.”
He hears Barty snort, but the boy doesn’t argue.
“Yeah, but look– you can take a shower, go to sleep and before you know it, it’ll be tomorrow and I actually won’t leave you alone for longer than a few minutes.” Barty smiles into Evan’s hair. “And we have a whole week ahead of us!”
Yeah, almost. It’s Monday right now and Evan is leaving on Saturday. The attempts to make it sound like a long time end up pitiful most of the time, but Evan figures a few days are better than nothing. He nods lazily.
“Yeah, so now let me stand up and go take a shower,” Barty grabs his shoulders.
“I look so bad?” Evan grins sleepily.
“Sei bellissima, come sempre,” Barty replies, which successfully shuts Evan up. He’s not dumb, he has a vague idea of what that meant. He lets Barty stand up and looks up at him as the boy shrugs on his grey winter jacket and picks up Evan’s to hang it in the entryway. “Goodnight, Evan.”
He takes a few steps and crouches by the bed. Evan smiles at him, face squashed into the pillow. They share a chaste kiss and Barty’s standing up.
“G’night,” Evan says. Barty smiles at him, waves and then he’s out the door.
***
Evan falls asleep immediately that night, but he has some time to think in the shower and it goes better than he would’ve thought. Especially taking into consideration the sour mess of insecurity that overtook his mind for a few too-long moments earlier.
With the amazingly warm water cleaning that and the sweat of the journey off, Evan’s mind sparks some thoughts. First being, to no surprise, Barty. Just the sound of his name in Evan’s brain brings a wave of tingly, warm feelings over his body. Evan smiles.
But there is an unaddressed – both in reality and in Evan’s head – topic that begs for attention. After being pushed down this whole day, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, the worn memory of Barty’s ‘I love you’ washes over Evan from head to toe. His stomach turns. He’s replayed it a countless number of times and the effect is still the same – the butterflies, the smile, flush; the ‘really?’
It drags along something else tonight, as well – a curled up ball of nerves. And that is because Evan has a plan. It emerged from a deeply hopeful and way too imaginative part of his mind on a particularly lonely night and a thousand iterations of it have played out before his eyes since then.
Evan wants to say it back.
He’s already grieved the fact there won’t be any morning crickets in the background and he’s even considered putting the plan off until next summer for that pity of an excuse, but it’s just that – an excuse. Winter has sunlight all the same, although softer, but it’s still there. It has branches swishing, although quieter, bare of leaves, but Evan knows Barty appreciates that the same way. He loves trees and every year the cycle comes full – the vivid, bright beauty dries up and falls off, dying, and Barty is just as excited to see the barren branches. Evan can only wish to share something with the trees.
Though it seems upside down, backwards, with Evan, with them. It's like Barty saw the dry, sad sticks of Evan and only later was rewarded with the delightfully colourful bloom.
I love you. Everything is about you. You know me. I know you.
The echo of the unsaid has haunted Evan’s thoughts since the summer evenings, when everything had just begun being about Barty. And it’s a slim chance that he’s got – this week with Barty. If he misses it, it might as well be too late. Who’s to say what will happen before they see each other again, if they ever do? Evan really can’t miss it, no matter how much a part of him wants to.
Quite often he wonders whether Barty thinks about it too. If he regrets it. He definitely isn’t embarrassed, because Barty lives by the truth that people should never be ashamed of emotions. And that’s what that was – pure emotion in word form. A sprinkle of bashfulness added in when he said ‘I think I love you.’
Surprisingly, that little part has never put doubt in Evan’s mind. It’s just a showcase of how parallel his and Barty’s internal lives are, how real the boy is. It made the confession all the more moving, leaving Evan thankful for Barty trusting him with something not yet steady, incomplete. Evan is in awe of Barty’s willingness to express.
So Evan will tell him; in return, even if Barty’s forgotten about it and doesn’t feel the same way – which Evan wouldn’t blame him for. His confession met with silence, he was probably bound to move on, put himself together, wasn’t he? Evan won’t blame him. It doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t drop in sorrow at the thought of them missing each other by a few months, but he can’t possibly hold it against Barty. Taking into account all that the boy has done for him, Evan thinks he can’t hold anything against him.
And Evan is selfish about it, about saying the words. There’s a likelihood of Barty not wanting to hear it and Evan, being well aware of that, will still speak. Well, if he has the courage. But yes, he will.
Evan will do it for himself, to feel the bliss of letting something go. To not be bound by a secret. To share something worth sharing, share something good. To be the one giving, for once, wanted or not.
Water is dripping down Evan’s chin after washing off his cleanser, so he presses his face into a small towel. The bulb on the left side of the mirror flickers when he hangs the soft fabric on the wall. Evan puts on his glasses and looks into his eyes in the reflection.
Monday down, he’s got five days.
He dreams he’s in space, tonight. The void absorbs all light wherever he looks, with no stars in the distance, nor close. Then, intuition pulls on Evan’s gaze, so he looks over his shoulder and gasps. A soft sunrise illuminates Evan’s face and it really doesn’t have to make sense how a sunrise is supposed to work in space, because it’s a dream. If he looks close, Evan thinks he can see white flowers and stars floating above the ground.
“Come on!” And Barty’s here, out of the blue. He tugs on Evan’s hand, leading him towards the sunrise. Evan makes a step in the abyss and actually moves closer. Barty is wearing his grey shorts and a black t-shirt. He’s got a pair of green socks on and the only unusual thing is the astronaut helmet on his head. The sun reflects in it and Evan smiles.