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It wasn’t like Evan meant to fuck it up.
It wasn’t like he wanted to wreck the best thing that had ever happened to him.
But the cracks had started small—
tiny, almost invisible, like hairline fractures in glass.
Easy to ignore.
Until the whole thing shattered.
It started a few days after the park.
When Barty kissed him, soft and slow, thumbs brushing Evan’s jaw like he was trying to memorize him, Evan kissed back—
but it felt wrong.
Not because Barty was wrong.
Because Evan wasn't enough.
Because Evan didn’t want the way Barty needed him to.
Because sooner or later, Barty would realize it.
And then he'd leave.
So Evan pulled away too fast.
Made a joke that wasn’t funny.
Pretended he heard his phone buzz and checked it like an escape hatch.
Barty didn’t say anything.
He just smiled — too wide, too bright — and let him go.
**
The second crack was worse.
Barty had a basketball game, and Evan showed up late, skidding into the gym with his heart hammering, sweat sticking his shirt to his spine even though it was freezing outside.
He spotted James instantly, already on the court, weaving through players with Regulus perched on the bleachers, crutches beside him, head down scrolling on his phone.
But Barty...
Barty was on the bench, hunched over, jaw tight, hands clenched around his knees.
Evan made his way over after the buzzer sounded.
"You were late," Barty said, not looking at him.
"I—" Evan shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "I’m here now."
It was the wrong thing to say.
He knew it as soon as Barty flinched.
"I guess," Barty muttered. He stood up, grabbing his water bottle. "It’s whatever."
And Evan — who should have stayed, should have said I'm sorry, tell me how I can make it better —
didn't.
He just stood there, stupid and frozen, while Barty walked away.
James caught his eye across the gym, a flicker of something almost like disappointment in his face before Regulus threw a crumpled wrapper at him and stole his attention back.
Evan hated himself a little more.
**
It got worse after that.
Barty started texting less.
Evan answered even less.
Calls went unanswered, plans got canceled.
The excuses piled up — homework, practice, errands —
but really it was Evan's own fear choking him out.
Because every time Barty looked at him, Evan saw it.
The need.
The wanting.
The why won’t you let me in heavy behind his bright, desperate smiles.
And Evan panicked.
And Evan ran.
**
The fight, when it finally happened, wasn’t loud.
It was worse than loud.
It was quiet.
It was Barty showing up outside Evan’s house at nearly midnight, skateboard tucked under his arm, hoodie damp from the misting rain.
It was Evan opening the door, heart thundering, mouth dry.
It was Barty saying, "Are you gonna keep running forever, or should I just stop trying?"
And Evan — stupid, scared Evan — saying nothing.
Just staring.
Just breaking apart a little more.
Barty huffed out a breath, wiping a hand over his face.
"I’m not asking for anything you can't give," he said, voice shaking.
"I just wanted you. Whatever version of you you felt like giving."
"I’m broken," Evan whispered, the words ripping out of him.
Barty stared at him like Evan had slapped him.
"No, you're not," Barty said, hollow and hurt.
"But I guess you think you are."
Evan stepped back, and it was the worst thing he could have done.
Because Barty took it for what it was:
a door slamming in his face.
"I’m not gonna chase you forever, Ev," he said quietly.
"I love you. But I can’t keep bleeding for someone who won't even reach for me."
The porch light flickered.
Barty turned, board under his arm, walking back down the steps.
Rain curling in his hair, shoes slapping against the pavement, heart walking away.
Evan didn’t call him back.
He shut the door.
And leaned against it, sinking to the floor, the sobs wrecking him from the inside out.
---
Barty didn't even really remember getting to Regulus' house.
One second he was skating aimlessly through wet streets, wheels slipping dangerously on the asphalt —
the next, he was pounding on Regulus' door like the world was ending.
Maybe for him, it was.
The porch light buzzed overhead, moths slamming into the glass.
The door creaked open an inch, a sliver of pale face and messy black hair peeking through.
Regulus blinked at him like he'd just woken up.
Which, to be fair, he probably had.
Behind him, from somewhere deep in the house, James' voice floated out, muffled but distinct:
"Who's that?"
Regulus, without missing a beat, deadpanned, "The more chaotic one."
And then he opened the door the rest of the way, limp and all, stepping aside to let Barty in without another word.
Barty stumbled inside, dripping rain and wild-eyed, clutching his board like it was the only thing keeping him from flying apart.
The living room was dim, lit only by the TV screen still paused on some trashy horror movie, popcorn spilled across the coffee table.
James poked his head out from the kitchen, a spoon in his mouth, wearing Regulus' ridiculous pink socks.
He took one look at Barty—
the hunched shoulders, the frantic pacing already starting—
and wisely ducked back into the kitchen without saying anything.
Regulus, to his credit, just watched him.
Arms crossed.
Weight shifted onto his good foot.
Mouth pressed in a thin, unimpressed line.
Barty couldn’t stand still.
He dropped his board against the wall with a loud clatter and started pacing back and forth like a trapped animal.
"I fucked it up," he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair. "I fucked everything up."
Regulus didn't move.
Didn’t speak.
"He doesn't want me," Barty said, louder now, the words cracking in his throat.
"He doesn’t—"
He couldn't finish it.
Couldn't get the rest out without throwing up or punching something.
Regulus sighed, long-suffering, and finally spoke:
"You're an idiot."
Barty froze mid-step, blinking at him.
Regulus pushed off the wall, limping closer.
"You’re an idiot," he said again, voice sharp but not cruel.
"And he does want you."
Barty opened his mouth — to argue, to scream, to say he left me standing there like a fucking fool — but Regulus cut him off with a raised hand.
"Evan's scared," Regulus said simply.
"And you're making it worse by acting like he already chose to lose you."
Barty shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked.
Regulus dropped onto the couch, gingerly stretching his injured ankle out in front of him.
He grabbed the TV remote, turning the volume down so James' cackling horror movie victims didn’t drown them out.
"Just act normal," Regulus said, flicking through channels aimlessly.
"Talk to him like you did before all this. Like he’s still Evan. Not some puzzle you’re trying to force into shape."
Barty stared at him, breathing hard.
"He’s... he's not coming back," Barty whispered.
"Not after the way I—"
Regulus rolled his eyes so hard it was audible.
"God, you're dramatic."
He tossed the remote down and looked Barty straight in the face, deadly serious now.
"He’ll come around. But you have to give him space to want to. Not corner him like a scared cat."
Barty slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, legs sprawled awkwardly.
"Space," he repeated, hollow.
Regulus nodded once.
"Space. Time. Normalcy. Love. All that bullshit."
In the kitchen, James dropped something — a loud clatter of a pot or a pan — and shouted, "I'm not helping you clean that up!" to nobody in particular.
Regulus didn't even blink.
Barty buried his face in his arms, breathing in the musty carpet smell and trying not to cry.
Trying not to think about how much he'd already lost.
"You’re not gonna lose him," Regulus said, voice softer now.
"Not if you stay."
Barty will stay.
He'll stay because Regulus, for all his sharp edges, didn’t lie about things like this.
He'll stay because maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only stray trying to find his way home.
---
It was barely ten minutes after Barty left.
The rain had slowed to a mist outside, and the house had settled into a weird, heavy quiet —
just Regulus flipping through TV channels, James making a disaster in the kitchen, both pretending they weren’t worried about Barty imploding somewhere in the city.
The doorbell rang again.
James, closest, grumbled under his breath and wiped his hands on his sweats.
"Bet it's Barty again," he called lazily over his shoulder as he shuffled to the door.
He yanked it open, ready with a snarky comment—
And froze.
It wasn’t Barty.
It was Evan.
Soaked through.
Hood up.
Board tucked awkwardly under one arm, shoes dripping muddy rainwater onto the welcome mat.
His face was pale, mouth tight like he was either about to cry or about to run away.
James blinked.
Then twisted his head around to shout back into the living room:
"Reg, the other one’s here!"
A loud, disgusted groan floated back.
"Oh fuck me," Regulus muttered, already dragging himself off the couch with his crutch.
James stepped aside wordlessly, letting Evan in with a raised eyebrow.
Evan barely noticed him.
He was shaking — not from cold, but from that twitchy, skittish energy that meant he was two seconds from bolting.
Regulus finally hobbled into the hallway, took one look at Evan dripping in his front hall, and scrubbed a hand down his face.
"You two are gonna kill me," Regulus said flatly.
"I’m gonna die. Right here. On this ugly-ass carpet. They'll say it was spontaneous secondhand heartbreak."
James snorted from the kitchen.
"You’re so dramatic," he stage-whispered.
Regulus ignored him.
Instead, he limped closer and tilted his head at Evan, sizing him up like a particularly pathetic stray kitten.
"You here to cry at me too?" Regulus asked dryly.
"Because Barty already called dibs."
Evan flinched.
Regulus’ face softened immediately.
Dammit. He was trying to be a dick to make it easier, but Evan just looked so... small.
He sighed.
"Come in," he muttered, stepping back.
"Sit down before you fall down."
Evan nodded mutely, kicking off his soaked sneakers with an awkward thud.
He stood there, shifting his board from hand to hand, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark.
Regulus squinted at him.
"You looking for Barty?"
Evan hesitated.
Then nodded.
Regulus let out a sharp breath through his nose.
"You just missed him."
Evan’s whole body sagged, like someone had popped all the bones out of him.
James reappeared, leaning casually against the doorway with a mug of tea.
He offered it to Evan without a word.
Evan blinked at it like it was a foreign object.
James shrugged.
"I figured someone was gonna need it."
Regulus crossed his arms, tired, resigned, heart weirdly aching.
"You idiots are gonna make me play therapist, aren't you," he muttered.
"God help me."
Evan finally croaked out, voice rough and thin, "I don't know what I'm doing."
Regulus softened again, despite himself.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Neither does he."
They stood there for a long moment, all the air in the hallway thick with things unsaid.
Then Regulus limped back toward the living room and tossed over his shoulder:
"Figure it out. Before you both drown in your own stupidity."
James clapped Evan on the back, almost knocking the tea out of his hands.
"You’re doing great, champ."
Evan just stood there.
Wet. Shivering. Lost.
But for the first time in days, he wasn’t running away.
He was standing still.
Waiting.
Maybe ready to turn back around.
---
The house had just fallen quiet again.
Evan gone.
James back in the kitchen pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time.
Regulus halfway to collapsing onto the couch and sleeping for a decade.
And then—
the fucking doorbell rang.
Again.
Regulus stared at the ceiling like he was begging for divine intervention.
When none came, he cursed under his breath, hauled himself upright with his crutch—
—and, without thinking, grabbed the nearest heavy object for self-defense.
Unfortunately, that object happened to be an ancient urn sitting on the side table.
A dusty, floral monstrosity containing the ashes of Irma Crabbe, may she rot eternally.
He hobbled to the door, cradling the urn like a weapon, eyes wild.
"If this is one more emotionally unstable skateboarder, I swear to fucking Merlin—"
He yanked open the door.
And stopped dead.
Standing there was a skinny teenager in a red jacket, balancing three pizza boxes and looking mildly alarmed.
"Uh," the kid said.
"Large pepperoni and two garlic breads for—" he checked the slip, "Regulus?"
Regulus blinked.
A long, heavy beat of silence.
And then, with the most instantaneous fake cheerfulness in human history, Regulus lowered the urn and chirped:
"Oh hi bestie!"
James, from the kitchen, barked out a laugh so loud Regulus winced.
The pizza guy just nodded cautiously and handed over the boxes, clearly deciding not to question the deranged, urn-wielding rich kid vibe.
Regulus tucked the urn under his armpit like a football and juggled the pizzas awkwardly.
"Thanks, love. Saved my life."
The kid nodded again, backed away slowly, and practically sprinted down the driveway without waiting for a tip.
Regulus kicked the door shut with his good foot, dropped the urn back onto the side table, and shuffled back toward the living room.
James appeared, grinning wickedly, and plucked a box out of his arms.
"You realize you just threatened a sixteen-year-old with your dead grandmother, right?"
Regulus flopped onto the couch and shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth without answering.
James ruffled his hair on the way past.
"You’re doing amazing, sweetie."
Regulus flipped him off.
But he was already laughing.
Tired. Bone-deep exhausted.
But laughing.
Because at least tonight — even if the world was falling apart —
there was pizza.
And maybe, just maybe, everything else would figure itself out too.
Eventually.
---
The pizza boxes sat abandoned on the coffee table, a few crusts scattered, the TV murmuring low nonsense into the room.
Outside, the rain picked up again, soft and steady against the windows.
Regulus lay stretched out on the couch, one ankle propped up on a pillow, hoodie riding up at his waist.
James was tucked behind him, arm draped over Regulus’ stomach, breath slow and even against the back of his neck.
They didn’t talk.
They didn’t need to.
Regulus let his fingers toy lazily with the edge of James’ sweatshirt, tracing the threads, the tiny worn patch near the seam.
James tightened his hold in response, nosing into Reg’s hair like it was second nature.
It was second nature now.
They'd gotten good at this — the silent comfort, the holding on without asking why.
Regulus hadn’t even realized he needed it until James had climbed onto the couch after him, had simply been there without saying a word.
His ankle throbbed dully in time with his heartbeat, but he barely noticed.
James' hand slid down, curling loosely around Regulus’ wrist, thumb brushing slow circles against his pulse.
Regulus shut his eyes.
He could feel the weight of the day pressing down — Evan and Barty crashing through his house like sad comets, the endless doorbell rings, the ache in his bones —
but underneath all of it, James was a steady heartbeat at his back.
A lighthouse he hadn’t meant to crash into.
"You're warm," Regulus mumbled into the couch cushion.
James' laugh rumbled low in his chest.
"I’m a space heater, babe. Lucky you. And lucky me for having the privilege to make you warm."
Regulus hummed, half-asleep already.
James shifted, pressing a soft, lazy kiss to the shell of his ear.
And just like that, the world shrank down to the beat of rain against the windows, the TV murmuring Black Butler to itself, and the rise and fall of James’ breathing behind him.
---
The park smelled of asphalt and half-dead grass, a sharp undercurrent of fall cutting through the sunset. Evan leaned back on his board, legs stretched out, the coolness of the evening sinking into his worn jeans.
Barty was a blur a few feet away, flipping and spinning and grinding down the curb like he was trying to outrun something, maybe himself.
Maybe Evan too.
Their boards clattered and thudded in uneven rhythm, like they couldn’t quite sync up. Which was new. Which was wrong.
James' laugh cracked across the lot—loud, full—and Evan watched as he shoved Regulus in the shoulder, the smaller boy glaring but letting himself be tugged closer, his twisted ankle wrapped in bright blue bandaging. James had offered to drive him here after basketball practice, half for company, half to keep an eye on him.
Regulus kept pretending he hated the attention. Evan wasn't fooled.
But he wasn't thinking about James and Regulus.
Not really.
Not when Barty was skating toward him now, a wildness burning in his eyes that made Evan's stomach sink.
He loved Barty.
Had loved Barty for months before they'd said it out loud 2 months in a mess of cheap beer and awkward grins.
But he hadn't told him everything.
Hadn't told him the thing that mattered most.
It has been a week after that fight in front of Evan's house.
Barty dropped onto the ground next to him, panting a little, sweat sticking strands of blond hair to his forehead. His hand found Evan's knee, casual, too casual, and Evan tensed.
Barty noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"You good?" he asked, voice low and a little rough.
Too rough.
Evan forced a smile, his fingers curling tighter around the board. "Fine. Just tired."
Barty leaned in, crowding him a little, his palm sliding up from Evan's knee to his thigh.
Heat rushed through Evan's body—
but not the kind Barty wanted.
Not the good kind.
Not the "I want you too" kind.
"I missed you today," Barty said, mouth brushing Evan’s ear, words a little desperate, a little broken.
Evan knew what he meant.
I missed touching you.
I missed tasting you.
I missed having you underneath me, over me, all around me.
Barty was starving.
And Evan...
Evan was a locked door Barty hadn't tried to open yet.
"Bar," Evan said, stiffly.
Barty pulled back a little, confusion pinching his face.
He looked so goddamn hopeful, so sweet, it made Evan’s chest ache.
"I can't," Evan said, hating how his voice cracked.
"I can't— I don’t—"
He scrubbed a hand over his face, the words catching like thorns in his throat.
Barty froze.
Like he already knew.
Like maybe he'd known from the beginning but hadn't wanted to see it.
"It's not you," Evan said quickly, tripping over the words now, trying to reach him, trying to fix the hurt he hadn’t even caused yet. "It's not— you're perfect. You're everything. I just..."
He sucked in a breath.
Closed his eyes.
Said it.
"I'm asexual, Barty."
The silence hit harder than any slam off a board.
He opened his eyes, and Barty was staring at him like Evan had just told him he was moving to the fucking moon.
"I don't—" Evan swallowed. "I don't want to have sex. Not now. Maybe not ever."
And there it was, ugly and real between them.
Barty’s mouth opened, then shut again.
His hand slid off Evan’s leg, leaving a ghost of heat behind.
Evan's chest heaved.
"I understand if you— if you can't do this," he whispered. "If you want someone who— someone who wants you the way you want them."
He bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood.
"I won't blame you."
Barty looked like he’d been kicked.
Looked like he was folding in on himself, ribs cracking under the weight of it.
And Evan hated himself for it.
Hated this whole moment, hated how Barty's eyes were wet but he was blinking too fast for anything to fall.
James and Regulus were laughing again in the background, a soft hum of something simple and easy, and Evan wanted to scream.
"I love you," Barty said, voice breaking.
"I don't care."
He shoved his hands into his hair, shaking his head wildly. "Fuck, Evan, you think I give a shit about that? I just— I just want you. However you come. However you are."
Evan stared at him.
Something ugly and painful and beautiful cracked open inside him.
"But you want—" Evan said helplessly. "You need—"
"I need you," Barty snarled.
"And if that means I hold your hand and we skate and we kiss sometimes and you let me love you the way you want to be loved, that's enough. It's—"
He choked out a laugh, miserable and shaky.
"It's more than enough."
Evan felt the tears before he knew he was crying.
Barty surged forward, grabbing his face in both hands, clumsy and desperate.
"You're enough," he whispered fiercely.
"You’ll always be enough."
Evan kissed him.
Salt and heat and the taste of coming home.
Barty didn't push.
Barty didn’t even try.
He just held Evan’s face like he was the most precious thing he'd ever touched, like he was terrified Evan would disappear if he let go.
James whooped in the background, and Regulus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like sappy bastards — but Evan didn't care.
For once, the world could wait.
For once, Evan was enough.
---
Regulus Black was not, by nature, a patient creature.
Especially not when he was stuck on the grass, cross-legged and furious, with a fat blue bandage strapped around his ankle like a neon sign screaming injured.
"You look like you’re about to hiss," James said helpfully, bouncing a basketball against his hip.
Regulus glared up at him.
If looks could kill, James would’ve been flat on the pavement, dribbling his own corpse.
"Don’t you have someone else to bother?" Regulus snapped, arms folded so tight across his chest he looked about two minutes from combusting.
James just grinned, the insufferable bastard.
"Nope. My day's wide open."
He dropped down onto the grass next to Regulus, spinning the basketball lazily on one finger.
Regulus watched it for half a second, scowling, before shoving it off balance.
The ball wobbled, careened into the side of James’ head, and bounced away.
James laughed so hard he nearly toppled over.
"You're an asshole," Regulus muttered, yanking the hem of his hoodie down and refusing to look at him. His cheeks were pink, probably from rage, maybe from something else.
"You're adorable," James said easily.
"Like a pissed-off kitten who just got a bath."
"Say 'kitten' one more time and I swear to God, Potter—"
Regulus shifted to lunge at him, forgetting about his ankle for exactly half a second.
Pain lanced up his leg, and he hissed—
Actually hissed—
before falling back with a grunt, clutching his foot and biting down a very creative stream of curses.
James’ face fell instantly.
"Shit, Reg, I'm sorry, I didn't— are you okay?"
He leaned in, hands fluttering uselessly like he didn’t know whether to touch him or not.
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut.
Breathed through his nose.
"I'm fine," he ground out.
"Stop looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy."
James made a wounded noise.
"I thought you were a kitten."
Regulus cracked one eye open to glare at him.
"You’re not funny."
James just smiled, wide and stupid and so soft it made Regulus want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
"Come here," James said, nudging closer, voice dropping.
He opened his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like Regulus belonged there.
Regulus hesitated—
but his ankle throbbed, and the grass was cold, and James smelled like sun and sweat and stupid teenage warmth—
so he let himself fall sideways into James’ chest, huffing a very dignified sigh as he went.
James wrapped him up without a word, tucking his chin into Regulus' hair.
The world got quieter.
Smaller.
Easier.
Regulus muttered something that might have been "idiot" against James’ hoodie.
James just chuckled and pulled him closer.
"Love you too, kitten," he whispered.
Regulus elbowed him in the ribs.
But he didn't pull away.
Barty started taking pictures.