@sunkiller-microfics - June 6 - Unwanted - 820 words
First Part Previous Part
"What took you so long? I expected you a while ago," a tall man, cleaning a gun, said as they walked into the back garden.
"Had to make a bit of a stop," Evan remarked, glancing at Barty for a second. "Plus, it's been a while since I was out here. Nearly hit Trevor when I got here, too. I see Neville is still having a hard time controlling him."
"You could say that. Trevor was just full of energy during the storm, and we couldn't let him out." As if summoned, the dog and the teenager walked back into the garden. "Speak of the devil."
The man, who seemed relatively stable to Barty, put the gun back in his holster and gestured for them to follow him inside. He stuck close to Evan, not sure what to expect from this guy. Evan cocked a brow after he held the door for him when Barty didn't go inside right away.
"He's not gonna bite you," he whispered with a sly grin. "Seriously, though, Frank is one of the better people I know. He used to be a detective."
"Yeah, until they kicked me off the force," the guy, Frank, said, popping out of nowhere.
"Oh? Why's that?" Barty asked, calming down a little bit, but not completely letting down his guard.
"They didn't approve of his methods," Evan answered for him.
"It's not my fault, my way got results," Frank scoffed. "Want something to drink?
"Coffee?" Evan asked, walking into the kitchen. "Or has Alice cut you off for the night?"
"As if she could," Frank laughed before quickly looking around the corner as if she was gonna pop out from behind it. "Cups are in the cabinet. Coffee's in the pot."
Evan grabbed two cups after asking Barty if he wanted some. He didn't really want the coffee, but he hoped it would help his nerves and keep his hands busy. Once they had their drinks, the three of them sat down at the kitchen table, and all the amusement disappeared from Frank's face.
"I didn't get much from your texts except that James is missing again," Frank said seriously. "Are you sure he didn't just take a drive to clear his head? I remember you mentioned that he liked to do that sometimes."
"I'm positive," Evan answered. "Do you know when he was released from prison? I thought they were supposed to inform us of when that happened, and I haven't heard shit."
Frank looked confused. "I wasn't told either. One second," he said, pulling out his phone and standing up to call someone in the other room.
Barty leaned over to whisper to Evan. "I don't want to assume anything, but why do you know an unwanted detective?"
"First off, he's not unwanted. He's just resourceful, and the rest of the officers felt threatened by him, so they found a way to get rid of him," Evan said with a little bite in his tone, and Barty flinched back slightly. "As far as how I know him, he worked the case whenâ" He took a deep breath. " Frank was the detective who put him away the first time."
"Oh."
Barty sat up straighter, taking a sip of his coffee, unsure of what else to say. Frank walked back into the room a few minutes later, shoving his phone back in his pocket.
"Are you sure it's him, Evan? My contacts haven't heard anything about him getting out. Plus, he still had another three years."
"Yeah, I'm sure." Evan turned towards Barty with his hand out. "Barty, give me your phone."
"Um, it's dead," Barty replied sheepishly. For some reason, he didn't think to charge it in the car.
"Give it here. I have a charger," Frank said quickly, and Barty handed it over.
It took a few minutes for his phone to come back to life. While they were waiting, Evan told Frank about what they found at the house and how James had been acting the last couple of days.
"Okay, pull up the voice memo," Evan told him as soon as it was charged enough. Barty did, his heart stinging every time he had to hear the pain and fear in James's voice. "Believe me now?"
"Yeah, yeah. I believe you," Frank seethed, more at the situation than at Evan. "I don't know when he got out, but I wouldn't be surprised if his father hadn't thrown around some money to get him out early."
Father's money? Was James's ex rich, too?
"I kept telling James not to get involved with him, but he's always done what he wanted, and he was so alluring at the time," Evan gritted out, and took a deep breath to calm down. "So, do you think you can help? I don't even want to think about what James is going through right now."
They drove for another ten minutes until they turned into a relatively decent neighbourhood, and Evan slowed down to a near drag as if he were searching for the correct address. Barty looked around for a few seconds, not really sure what Evan was looking for. The houses appeared normal from the outside, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. They could contain a slew of ruthless criminals, or middle-class families just trying to get by. Given the fact that Evan mentioned knowing some unsavoury people, Barty was leaning more towards the former.
Evan slammed on his brakes, and Barty nearly smacked his head on the dashboard as a dog bolted out into the street from between two cars. The rain had slowed to a sprinkle now, but the roads were still wet and slippery. A lanky boy, probably around fifteen or sixteen, dashed out into the street, hollering at the dog to come back. Clearly, the dog had other plans as it ran around in circles and took off down the street.
"Well, that helped," Evan said, and turned onto the drive the pair had just come from.
Barty snapped his head up to look at Evan, wincing as he cracked his neck. "How did that help?"
"Because the dog was Trevor, and the teenager was Neville. My contact's son."
"Oh."
Barty didn't say anything else as he looked around the massive drive that led to a rather modest home. At least, that's what he thought until he heard a loud crack followed by a gunshot that sounded a lot closer than he would have liked. He turned back to Evan, who had just put the car in park, and unbuckled his seat belt.
"Did you not just hear that?"
"If you're too nervous to come inside, you can stay out here and watch the car. I'm going in to get some answers."
Evan got out of the car without another word and started heading for the gate that had been left open. Barty quickly got out and followed him. He'd do anything as long as it led to getting James back.
~~
James gasped and jolted awake as the ice-cold water that had been thrown on him soaked through the little clothes he had on and penetrated his bones. He tried to move away from the freezing puddle seeping into the mattress beneath him, but the chains on his ankles and wrists only dug in deeper.
James blinked a couple of times in a feeble attempt to clear the water from his eyes. His ex laughed cruelly somewhere in the room, but with his blurry vision and the drugs still coursing through his veins, it made it impossible to discern where he was. That was until he felt a slight tug on his right arm. However, his sluggish brain couldn't register what was happening quickly enough.
His ex clamped his hand on James's chin in a vice grip, nails digging into his cheeks, and got right in his face until James could see him clearly. The evil smirk made him flinch, or well, as much as he could with his ex holding his face.
"You're gonna be a good boy and give me what I want," he whispered devilishly before shoving James's face away and standing up.
James squinted at him as he pleaded with his brain to work, to figure out what he wanted now. He tried to move again, but all four of his limbs were pulled so tight into a spread eagle that his muscles screamed at him, and James's eyes went wide.
"No, no, please. No," he begged, shaking his head hard.
"That's cute. You think you get a choice?" his ex mocked, getting in his face again. "After that stunt you pulled last week, you're lucky you even get a warning. Now, open."
James clamped his mouth shut as hard as he could, his teeth grinding into each other. His ex laughed darkly and pinched James's nose until he couldn't breathe through it. Unfortunately, his body decided to betray him, his mouth opening on its own accord, and he gasped for air.
Not even a second later, the gag was shoved into it, and his ex manhandled his head until it was secured in the back as tight as it would go, and locked into place for good measure. The leather straps dug into his cheeks, and the mask was suffocating him even more than the large ball nearly touching the back of his throat.
He struggled as much as he could, but the chains pulled tighter with every move. His ex straddled his hips and held up what James could only assume was a remote of some kind. Sure enough, he pressed a button, and the ball in his mouth electrocuted him along with the metal cuffs on his ankles and wrists. James's body spasmed until he passed out.
"Where are you going?" Barty asked, stumbling as he tried to keep up with Evan.
"To get answers. Like I said, I'm not gonna just sit here and wait for something to happen," he replied, opening the door to his car and sliding in before leaning over to look at Barty, who was still standing in the pouring rain. Which, now that he thought about it, seemed like an ominous sign for what's coming, since it's been raining since James ran out of his house. "You coming?"
Barty shook his head quickly in an attempt to get his brain to work again. He jumped into the passenger seat, and Evan threw the car in reverse before he could even get his seat belt on.
"Are we going to the police station?" Barty asked dumbly, even though that seemed like the most likely place to go when someone had been kidnapped.
"No." Evan turned to Barty for a second, his mouth quirking up slightly before looking back at the road. "They wouldn't be able to help right now anyway."
"Why not?"
Evan turned off the highway leading to a neighbourhood that Barty had never been to.
"James is an adult, and it's only been a couple of hours. They won't do anything until it's been at least forty-eight hours without contact."
"Even with the evidence we have?" Logically, Barty knew Evan was right, considering he'd dealt with the police department before, and he wasn't thrilled about their incompetence. "Never mind, that was a dumb question. Where are you going then? Who would have answers?"
Evan sighed before pulling over and looking at him with a serious expression, as if he was tired of all the questions.
"Look. I know you're confused right now, considering the fact that I'm pretty sure James didn't share anything about his, or rather, our past." Barty shook his head no. "But in the last five years, I've done a lot to make sure I'd never feel useless again. Especially where James was concerned. And in those five years, I've developed some less-than-savoury contacts. While I've stayed in contact with them, I have also been able to keep it a secret. I take pride in the fact that I haven't had to call on them until now, but they will have the answers, or at least be able to get me the answers we need."
"Oh, okay," Barty replied quietly, sitting back in his seat as Evan started driving again.
Did he know anything about his boyfriend, or his friend, or were the last three years a complete lie? Was any of it true?
~~
James woke up with a splitting headache. He cracked his good eye open slightly to find out he was lying on his back on the bed with the metal cuff connected to the chain on his ankle again. Why was he not dead? He shifted around as much as he could, his body screaming at him with every twist and turn.
Since he couldn't see anything in the dark, he let his hand trail down his bare chest to where his ex had stabbed him in between his ribs. He stopped when he felt the bandage wrapped tightly around his torso. Who patched him up? It couldn't have been his ex; he wasn't that nice.
Sighing, James tried to curl up in an attempt to get some kind of comfort, but he found the chain on his left ankle was shortened, keeping his leg almost completely straight, and his right arm was above his head with another metal cuff and chain attached to the rungs of the headboard. How had he not noticed that before?
James didn't want to think about what was gonna happen next. Maybe his ex would simply leave him down here, and he'd starve to death. But that seemed unlikely.
At least Barty will be safe. With me here, there's no reason for my ex to go after him.
@sunkiller-microfics - May 30 - Poison - 698 words
First Part Previous Part
Barty was going to be sick. The knowledge that James had almost died before, and the speed at which all the colour drained from Evan's face the second he heard the voice, felt like poison on his tongue. And James went willingly, or reluctantly, given the state of the house. Barty slapped his hand over his mouth and ran to the bathroom, sick coming up the second he got the toilet lid open.
Once he was sure he had nothing else in his system, Barty fell back against the bathtub, breathing hard. Evan fell to his knees next to him and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug as they sobbed into each other's shirts.
"I know, Bee," Evan whispered when he was able to catch his breath. "We'll get him back. We have to. I'm not willing to let him suffer at the hands of that asshole again." He choked back another sob before breathing out the next sentence, "I didn't even know he was released from prison."
That sentence stabbed Barty in the heart even more than James yelling at him, in a futile attempt to what? Protect him? What did this guy do to James to make him choose to endure it again instead of trying to get help from Barty or Evan? He could have said something when he came over. Barty's eyes went wide again as another thought assaulted his brain, and he shoved Evan to empty his stomach again.
Evan fell back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest, and cried into them, muttering to himself, but Barty couldn't make out what he was saying. Although he could probably guess it had something to do with feeling guilty. After the dry heaves subsided, Barty crawled over to Evan and rested his head on his shoulder.
"What are we going to do, Ev?" Barty whimpered, twisting the necklace James gave him for their third anniversary in his hands.
"I don't know, but we can't just sit here and wait for something to happen. I couldn't help him before, being a naive, scrawny teenager." Evan stood up suddenly and held his hand out for Barty to take. "I know better now," he replied with so much pure unwavering resolve that he was sure Evan would single-handedly kill an entire army to get James back.
Barty took his hand, stumbling only slightly when he hauled him up. Once he was steady, Evan let go and pulled out his phone, typing quickly as he left the bathroom. Barty followed him, pulling his own phone from his pocket to do something productive, like try to locate James's phone or something, but it was completely dead. Fuck!
Evan stopped short, turning back to look at Barty with an unreadable expression.
"What exactly did James say and do when he stopped by your house?"
"Umm," Barty's brain short-circuited from the whiplash of emotions.
"Come on, Barty. It's important. I need to know exactlyâword for wordâwhat he said, and how he was acting. No detail is too small."
"Okay, okay. One second, let me think."
It took a minute for him to gather his thoughts, but once he did, the words flowed off his tongue like a waterfall, and Evan typed everything into his phone, whether it was in a text or a notes app Barty didn't know, but he also didn't care as long as it helped them get James back before something even worse happened.
~~
James blinked his blurry eyes open as much as he could through the rapid swelling. His glasses were somewhere on the ground, shattered into a million pieces. He couldn't really see anything else in the dark room, but he knew he was alone again, dangling from the chain around his wrists and pulling his arms towards the ceiling. James tried to pull himself up, just to get a shadow of relief in his sore muscles. However, the movement made him wince as it stretched where he was stabbed in the side, and he felt the first drop of blood trickle down his bare stomach.
Sighing and closing his eyes again, James hoped it would at least be a quick death.
@sunkiller-microfics - May 29 - Crown - 1023 words
Barty groaned when a stream of sunlight brushed against his eyelids from the half-opened curtain. He rolled over to smack James and tell him to close it, but all he hit was the empty side of the bed. Yawning, Barty stretched out his sore muscles and peeked at the time on the clock. Nine in the morning. He was hoping to get a little more sleep since it was Saturday, but the universe seemed to have other plans.
Slowly, he made his way out of bed, throwing his feet over the edge and sitting there for a few minutes. He brushed James's side again. It was cold, which meant he'd been up for a couple of hours already. Damn early bird. Barty would never understand how he fell in love with someone who was up at the ass crack of dawn every day.
After taking another twenty minutes to will his body to get ready for the day, Barty padded his way into the kitchen, praying that James at least made coffee before he left for his morning run. He sighed in relief as the sweet smoky scent of fresh-brewed coffee hit his nostrils. He poured a cup, took a long sip, and sank into the chair at the kitchen table.
He was half done with his first cup when the front door banged open against the wall, and his boyfriend stumbled into the house in a fit of giggles. What the hell? Yes, James was a morning person, but he was never this hyper when he came back from his run. Before the run, maybe, but not after. Barty pulled himself up from the chair and went to investigate. Maybe James brought home company and just didn't tell Barty he was going to.
Nope. His loveable idiot was sitting in the entryway, the front door still open, giggling like a madman with what looked like a crown of twigs that looked like antlers on his head, lopsided. It was probably tangled in his already messy mop of dark brown curls. Barty watched him for another minute before curiosity got the best of him.
"Well, aren't you chipper this morning?" Barty drawled, crouching next to James, who had a giant, dopey smile on his face when he looked up.
"Barty! Baby! You're awake!" James shouted, too loud for this early in the morning.
"Yes, I am, and you're extremely hyper." He shook his head and helped James up when he lifted his arms and made grabby hands at him. "Did you take a double dose of your meds by accident this morning?"
James shook his head hard, giggling when he stumbled. "Nope," he replied, popping the p. "But I didn't have any water on me when I took them, and Marls said she had a drink for me." James leaned a little closer, poking Barty in the chest like a drunk child. "Did you know Monster Energy makes coffee?" Barty nodded his head slowly, because yeah, he did, but it wasn't available in the UK unless you ordered it from the States.
"Yeah, but you can't get it here."
James giggled again before spinning in a circle. "Well, Marls had some that her brother sent her from the States. It was called Mean Bean Monster Killer Brew Triple Shot. I drank that to chase my meds this morning, and now I'm vibrating." He grabbed Barty's hand and put it over his heart. "Can you feel that? My heart feels like it's racing around a NASCAR track."
Well, he's gonna have to have a chat with Marlene later. Barty took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at the childlike smile plastered on James's face.
"Okay, Jamie. Let's get you some water, yeah? We don't want that big heart of yours bursting from your chest now, do we?"
James shook his head as another bout of giggles took over his body. Barty led him to the couch, pushing him down gently before walking to the kitchen to grab several bottles of water, an ice pack, and some bread. He sat next to his boyfriend, unscrewing the cap and handing him the water.
"Drink this," Barty said, grabbing one of James's wrists to feel his pulse.
James downed the whole bottle and grabbed the bread off the table, shoving the piece in his mouth quickly. Barty shook his head again, ducking it to hide his smile, before placing the ice pack that he wrapped in a tea towel on James's forehead when he leaned his head back to rest on the back of the couch.
"Okay, now take some deep breaths, so we can try to slow down your heart."
"'Kay," he mumbled around the bread before swallowing it, and trying again. "Okay."
It took nearly twenty minutes of deep breathing, and two more bottles of water, but his loveable idiot's heartbeat was back down to a healthy rhythm. When James looked up this time, smiling at Barty like the dope he was, he dropped his head on Barty's chest and wrapped his arms around his waist.
"I love you, Barty."
Barty chuckled softly. "I love you, too, Jamie. But how about we don't take drinks from Marlene anymore."
"Okay." James sighed into Barty's chest. "Barty?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm tired."
That made Barty laugh harder. "I'm not surprised. Come on, baby. Let's go lie down and cuddle."
He helped James up off the couch and practically carried him back to the bedroom. James plopped onto the bed, and Barty knelt down to take off his trainers. When he came back to the bed after setting them by the door, James was already snoring softly, clinging to Barty's pillow. Barty smiled lovingly, then crawled in behind him and pulled James into his chest, where he rolled over and automatically wrapped his arms around Barty's waist again.
Barty didn't go back to sleep. Instead, he watched over his boyfriend, gently carding his fingers through his tangled curls after removing the crown. God, he loved this boy, even when he did stupid shit like chase his ADHD meds with even more caffeine than necessary.
@sunkiller-microfics - May 27 - Umbrella - 748 words
First Part Previous Part
Barty looked at Evan, who was already looking at him. They both turned back to the door slowly, the rain not even feeling like it was touching them anymore, as if they were under a metaphorical umbrella. Barty took a cautious step towards the door, but Evan grabbed his elbow with fear written all over his face.
"We have to see if he's in there, Ev," Barty whispered, swallowing around a lump of panic in his throat. "What if he's hurt?"
Evan shook out of his stupor and squared his shoulders, determination flashing in his ocean blue eyes. He was charging forward before Barty could open his mouth again. He ran after him, practically sprinting into the house despite the danger they might find on the other side of the door.
But it wasn't danger they found. No, it was somehow worse. What they found was a destroyed living room. Glass was shattered on the ground, furniture was overturned, the TV was broken in halfâand it was a big TVâ, and what appeared to be drops of blood on the carpet. Barty clamped his hand over his mouth again, trying to hold back the sob that was trying to escape as well as the bile.
This couldn't be happening. Where was James?
"Evan?" Barty choked out in a whimper.
"I know, Bee. It looks bad, but we can't break down yet." He sounded like he was trying to be strong, but Barty could hear the panic creeping into his voice again. "Jamie has to be around here somewhere."
Evan glanced back at him, and Barty could already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. As much as he wanted to believe his friend, he didn't think James was here. Not after the voice message and the state of the house. It looked like a tornado had ripped through itâone that nobody could have survived.
"IâI wantâ" Barty swallowed hard. "I want to believe you... but..."
Evan was in front of him in a second, holding his face in his hands.
"But what? I know James. He wouldn't just sit by and let this happen. James would have fought whoever did this and gotten away. He had to... Bee, he had to get away," Evan finished in a whimper.
Barty glanced up with blurry eyes and whispered, "The voice message. HeâHe said he'dâ said he'd go with them."
Evan let go, stumbling back and nearly tripping over the overturned couch, shaking his head hard.
"No. No, James wouldn't do that. He wouldn't willingly go with someone. Not if they did this. Not after the last time."
Barty snapped his head up and stared at Evan. What was he talking about? What last time? Barty knew that he and James had only been together for three years, but he was sure they had told each other everything from their past. But then again, Barty didn't recognise the voice and couldn't even think of a name that James could have mentioned that would have done this.
"What do you mean, Evan? What happened last time? When was the last time?"
Evan started to worry his bottom lip, looking everywhere except at Barty. He knew something, and it scared him. Barty stepped forward and grabbed Evan by the shoulders.
"What happened last time?" he nearly shouted, shaking Evan until he looked at him.
Evan squeaked out a half-sob, half-whimper before locking eyes with Barty.
"HeâJamesâHe almost died. His ex-boyfriend almost killed him."
It was barely above a breath, but the statement shot straight through Barty's heart, making him stumble back, and his breathing became erratic as his heart tried to jump out of his chest. No. No, that can't be. Barty collapsed onto the side of the chair. He pulled out his phone with shaking fingers and hit play on the recording.
"IsâIs this his ex?"
Evan's blue irises were swallowed by the black as soon as the second voice came over the recording, and Barty's heart shattered into a million pieces, sinking down to the floor.
~~
"Now be a good boy, and stay put. I've got some errands to run."
James nodded slowly, but didn't say anything, and his ex slammed the door closed. Once he heard the click of the lock, James cried softly and curled up on the old, beat-up bed. The rattling of the chain on his ankle was the only other sound in the windowless room when he moved.
Not in a passionate way. Not in the way he hated early mornings or authority figures or yogurt with fruit chunks in it. No, yoga inspired a quieter kind of misery. The kind that settled deep in his bones every time the woman on the television smiled with terrifying serenity and said things like, âNow engage your core.â
What core?
Barty was fairly certain his organs were just floating around inside him like soup.
âThis is humiliating,â Barty muttered as he bent forward with all the grace of a folding chair collapsing in on itself.
Behind him, sprawled on the couch like a lazy housecat, James snorted.
âYouâre doing amazing, love.â
âIâm one wrong move away from snapping my hamstring clean in half.â
âThatâs the spirit.â
Barty glared over his shoulder, blonde curls sticking to his forehead already. âIf you laugh at me again, Potter, Iâm turning this into a murder scene.â
James lifted both hands innocently, though his grin ruined the effect. âIâm not laughing at you.â
âYou literally just laughed.â
âI laughed with affection.â
âThatâs somehow worse.â
The instructor on the TV transitioned smoothly into another pose. Barty stared at her in horror.
âSheâs not human.â
âSheâs flexible.â
âSheâs possessed.â
James bit down on another smile.
The living room smelled faintly like the coffee theyâd abandoned on the table an hour ago. Morning light poured through the windows, warm against the hardwood floors. Barty stood barefoot on a yoga mat James had bought three months ago during one of his âwe should take care of ourselvesâ phases.
Usually Barty ignored those phases until they passed.
This one apparently had staying power.
âCome on,â James coaxed softly. âJust try the next one.â
Barty sighed dramatically enough to qualify as performance art before shifting into position again.
James watched him carefully.
Watched the slight wobble in Bartyâs arms as he held himself up. Watched the concentration pulling his brows together. Watched the tiny frustrated huff every time he lost balance and had to reset.
But mostlyâ
Mostly James watched how hard Barty was trying.
That was the thing that kept making warmth bloom painfully in Jamesâs chest.
A year ago, Barty wouldâve quit after five minutes.
A year ago, anything involving patience with himself turned ugly fast. One mistake and heâd spiral. One stumble and heâd snap something cruel about his own body, his own mind, his own worth. James remembered nights spent peeling sharp words out of Bartyâs skin one by one, holding him together while he shook with frustration at himself.
Now?
Now he was still here twenty minutes later, sweaty and annoyed and muttering curses under his breathâbut still trying.
James couldnât stop smiling.
Barty dropped into a plank pose with a noise of immediate regret.
âOh, fuck this.â
âYouâve got it!â
âMy arms are vibrating.â
âThat means itâs working.â
âThat means Iâm dying.â
James laughed quietly, softer this time. Fond enough that it almost hurt.
Barty still didnât notice the staring.
Probably because he was too busy fighting for his life.
The instructor started talking about breathing techniques.
Barty wheezed, âI canât believe people do this for fun.â
James leaned his head against the couch cushion, eyes never leaving him.
There was something unfairly beautiful about Barty like this. Not polished. Not sharp-edged and defensive and dangerous the way he presented himself to everyone else.
Just⊠Barty.
Hair messy. Oversized sleeveless shirt slipping off one shoulder. A faint flush spreading across his cheeks from exertion. Completely focused on trying to improve himself because James had suggested it might help with the back pain he constantly ignored.
Because James had asked.
God.
James loved him so much he felt stupid with it sometimes.
âOkay,â the woman on the television said cheerfully, âtime for boat pose!â
Barty looked physically offended.
âNo.â
James burst out laughing.
âNo, seriously,â Barty said, pointing accusingly at the screen. âLook at her. Sheâs balanced on her arse like a fucking enchanted swan.â
âYou can do it.â
âI absolutely cannot.â
âYou said that about the stretches earlier.â
âAnd I was correct.â
Still grumbling, Barty shifted onto the mat and attempted the pose.
It lasted approximately three seconds before he tipped sideways entirely and rolled onto the floor with a loud thud.
James immediately sat upright. âYou okay?â
There was a beat of silence.
Then Barty started laughing.
Not irritated laughter. Not manic laughter.
Just genuine, breathless amusement.
James stared at him.
Barty lay sprawled dramatically across the yoga mat, giggling into the floorboards at his own failure, and something inside James went painfully soft.
Because that was new too.
The ability to fail without tearing himself apart over it.
Barty finally looked over. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
James blinked, apparently having been caught staring for far too long.
âLike what?â
âLike I just personally hung the moon.â
James smiled before he could stop himself. Big and helpless and probably far too emotional for ten in the morning.
Bartyâs laughter quieted.
And James realized, suddenly, that Barty had changed enough to notice things like this now too.
The softness. The pride.
The love.
James pushed himself off the couch and walked over until he was standing beside the mat.
âYou know,â he said quietly, âIâm really proud of you.â
Bartyâs expression immediately twisted into suspicion. âWhy are you saying it like that?â
âLike what?â
âLike youâre about to make me cry before breakfast.â
James crouched beside him.
Bartyâs cheeks were pink now, whether from exertion or embarrassment James couldnât tell.
âYouâve justâŠâ James hesitated, trying to untangle feelings too big for language. âYouâve come really far, B.â
Barty looked away instantly.
Classic.
James reached out and brushed sweat-damp curls back from his forehead.
âA while ago,â James continued softly, âyou wouldnât have let yourself be bad at something long enough to improve at it.â
Barty swallowed.
The joking edge faded from his face.
James smiled gently. âBut you stayed.â
Barty stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then, quieter than before, âWell. You asked me to.â
That nearly killed James outright.
He leaned down without thinking and kissed Bartyâs forehead.
Barty made a grumbly little noise. âDonât get sappy on me.â
âToo late.â
âYouâre disgusting.â
âYou love me.â
Barty finally looked back at him, eyes warm despite the insult already forming on his tongue.
Unfortunately, before he could say it, the woman on the television chirpedâ
âNow weâll begin crow pose!â
Barty sat straight up. âAbsolutely the fuck not.â
@sunkiller-microfics - May 19 - command - 905 words
First part
Barty was still confused. There was nothing that James had done or said in the last few weeks that could explain what happened. He knew that James wasn't acting like himself. That much was clear. James seemed almost scared. But why? Was he scared of Barty? Of himself? Or was Barty reading the situation wrong? He sat on the edge of the couch, his legs unable to keep him up as a particular thought crossed his mind.
Was James being threatened?
But even that didn't make sense. James didn't scare easily, and Barty couldn't remember a time that he had ever seen him afraid of anything. Not when they got into the car accident. Not when Barty lost his temper and threw a glass against the wall. Not when his parents almost died in the flood that took the cabin the four of them had been staying at. So what could somebody have threatened James with to make him afraid?
Barty pulled out his phone to check his messages. There were only three, and they were all from before he got home.
Jamie: I'm sorry.
Jamie: I love you.
The third message was a long voice message. Barty hesitated with his finger over the play button. He didn't know what James was going to say, but he had a feeling it wasn't going to be good. The message was sent twenty minutes before Barty got home and found James on his porch. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he hit play.
Jamie: No, I swear I didn't. He doesn't know. Please, don't...
There was a crash in the background, and what sounded like somebody punching a wall. Then a different voice spoke. One that Barty didn't recognise.
Jamie: ...don't what? Kill him? You lost the right to ask me anything when you ran away...
The voice was getting louder, almost commanding, then another crash, and James was whimpering. Barty gritted his teeth as he listened. Something had happened to his boyfriend, and he wasn't there to protect him. He clamped his hand over his mouth as the bile started to rise in his throat. There was silence on the recording, but Barty noticed there was still time on it. He tried to listen for anything else that could tell him what was happening or who the other man was. Then he heard James again, speaking in almost a whisper.
Jamie: ...I'll go with you. I promise. Just please, don't hurt him...
A pause before the angry man spoke again.
Jamie: ...You have one hour, and if you so much as even think about telling anybody or running away again, I'll kill him and make you watch. Then I'll kill you, and leave your body on the side of the forest for the animals to eat...
Barty was sick to his stomach. He didn't know what to do or who to call. He was frozen in fear.
Jamie: ...I won't. Iâ
The recording cut out after that. Barty sat there, his heart pounding out of his chest. Somebody had threatened James. Somebody from his past, but Barty couldn't think of anybody who matched the voice. He was sure James would have said something about it before. Right? Before he knew what he was doing, Barty was calling James's phone, praying that he had just dreamed up that whole recording and the fight when he got home. It went straight to voicemail. Barty called again and again and again, expecting a different result. Then he called Evan.
"Hey, Barty. What's up?" Evan asked when he answered on the second ring.
"Have you seen James tonight?" Barty blurted.
"No. I've been at work all day. He texted me earlier and said he was staying at yours tonight. Why? Did something happen?"
It sounded like Evan stopped whatever he was doing, and the worry seeping into his tone was clear as day.
"Yes, and no. I don't know," Barty managed as he looked around for his keys. "He told me he was going to stay home, but then he was here when I got home. Then he went off on me, claiming I didn't love him before storming out of my house, and now he's not answering his phone. I also got a really weird voice message from him."
Barty found his keys and headed back out to his car, fully intending to drive to James and Evan's house.
"Weird how?"
"He was talking to someone, well, no, not talking, begging for them not to hurt somebody."
Barty got in his car, jamming the keys into the ignition, but the engine wouldn't turn over. That wasn't good. He tried again. Nothing. Barty looked around the car and down the street before deciding to just run to their house. It wasn't far, but it was downpouring.
"Do you know who?" Evan asked, pulling Barty from his thoughts.
"No. It's not a voice I recognised, and they never said a name. I'm headed to your house now," he replied, breathing heavy as he tried to run.
"I'll meet you there."
And then the line went dead. Barty didn't care. He shoved his phone in his already soaked jeans pocket and ran as fast as he could to their house. He got there at the same time as Evan, and they both froze when they looked at the front door.
It was kicked in and was barely hanging on the hinges.
James had been texting him all day, and normally Barty didn't mind his boyfriend checking up on him, but today had been excessive, and James wasn't making any sense. First, he was complaining about their dinner plans that Barty had had to cancel two nights prior when he got stuck at work. Then, he was being clingy, saying how much he missed him and couldn't wait to see him. Then, he was saying how he wanted to stay home tonight instead of meeting up like they planned.
By the time Barty had finished work and drove home, he had had to silence his phone for a few hours just to get a break from all the notifications. And don't get him wrong, he loved James and wanted to marry him someday, but today with everything that was happening at work and then all the texts, it had been a lot. Now, all he wanted to do was go home and relax for the night.
However, when he got there, James was already waiting on the front steps, and jumped up as soon as he pulled into the drive. Barty sighed, already preparing for a fight that he was sure was coming. His friends told him that it was normal, that couples fought, and he knew that. He just hated it. Fighting never led to anything good, and one or both of them ended up hurt in the end, even if it was unintentional.
Barty took a deep breath before he cut the engine and stepped out of the car, grabbing his bag from the backseat. James hadn't moved from the front steps. And that made him pause for a second. Even if James was mad at him for something, he always greeted him at the car if he was waiting at Barty's house.
"Hey," Barty said casually, making his way to James, walking up the steps and unlocking the door. "I thought you were staying home tonight."
"What? Can't I change my mind and surprise my boyfriend?" he countered, clearly going for playful, but it was too forced and just felt wrong.
The tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. The nervous clenching of his fists that Barty was sure James thought he was hiding. His entire demeanor just felt off somehow, and Barty couldn't put his finger on it.
He opened the front door and walked inside, holding it open for James to follow. "Of course you can. I've just had a long day and was planning on turning in early, since you said you didn't feel well and were gonna stay home for the night."
"So you don't love me anymore. Is that it?" James asked as soon as the door closed behind him.
What?!
Barty whipped around and balked at him, opening and closing his mouth, unable to get his brain to function or any words to come out. Because what in the hell just happened?
After what felt like forever, Barty managed to reboot his brain. "Of course, I love you, Jamie. Why wouldn't I?"
James pushed past him into the living room and crossed his arms, not saying a word. Just staring at Barty as if he should be able to read his mind. Barty took a subtle deep breath before stepping closer to his boyfriend, reaching for his hand that wasn't completely tucked into his arm. James stepped back suddenly, and Barty froze.
What was going on?
"James, are you okay? Did something happen?"
"Oh, so now you wanna know what's going on." James scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Now, you wanna talk. Now, you remembered that you had a boyfriend."
Barty was completely confused. Where was all this coming from? Yes, he had silenced his phone for a couple of hours so he could finish his work, but this seemed like an overreaction.
"What are you talking about? I've been talking to you almost all day, except when I told you I had to finish the project and my boss was hovering, so I couldn't be on my phone."
Barty stepped closer, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at James. Scanning his eyes over his features for any sigh of something he missed. He knew he hadn't checked the messages since he left work, but what could have happened in the last three hours to get his boyfriend in such a tizzy.
"You know what?" Jamed neatly shouted, stepping around Barty. "If you wanted space so bad, all you had to do was ask."
Before he could register what James said, he was walking out the front door and slamming it behind him. Barty stood there staring at the cracking paint of the door with his mouth agape. Stunned into silence, and replaying everyday conversation they had had over the last couple of weeks.
The room is dim except for the warm spill of a bedside lamp, shadows stretching long across the walls. It feels intentionalâeverything Barty does feels intentional. Even the way he watches.
James is already flushed, breath uneven, shirt half-open and slipping off one shoulder. Thereâs a kind of restless energy in him, like heâs bracing and leaning in at the same time. He always does thatâmeets the edge instead of backing away from it.
Barty notices. Of course he does.
He steps closer, slow enough to make it unbearable, fingers brushing along Jamesâs jaw before tilting his chin up just slightly.
âStill with me?â Barty murmurs, voice low, almost conversational.
James huffs a quiet laugh, though it catches halfway. âYouâd know if I wasnât.â
âMm.â Bartyâs thumb traces over his lip, not quite gentle. âI would.â
Thereâs a pauseânot empty, but charged. Checking, measuring. Bartyâs gaze flicks over him, sharp and assessing in a way that would be unnerving if James didnât like it so much.
Then, softer, but more serious:
âTell me if I hit past your limit.â
That lands differently.
Jamesâs expression shiftsânot losing the heat, but grounding it. He nods once, deliberate. âI will.â
Barty studies him for another second, like heâs committing that answer to memory, then something in him settles. Not restraint exactlyâbut control.
âGood,â he says.
And then he tests.
It starts smallâa firmer grip, a sharper press, something that makes James inhale quick and sharp. Not pain for its own sake, but precise, placed. Barty watches the reaction like itâs part of the process, like Jamesâs responses are instructions heâs learning to read in real time.
James leans into it.
Of course he does.
A quiet, breathless sound slips out of him, halfway between tension and something warmer, and Bartyâs mouth curves just slightly.
âYeah?â he murmurs, almost teasing now. âThat one you like.â
James doesnât answer in wordsâjust a nod, a bit too quick, eyes bright.
So Barty pushes a little further.
Not recklessly. Never that. Each shift is measured, each reaction cataloguedâthe way Jamesâs shoulders tense, the way his breath stutters, the exact point where anticipation starts to blur into overwhelmâ
And right before it tipsâ
Barty eases off.
Just enough.
James exhales, shaky but smiling, like he knows exactly what Barty just did. âYouâreââ he starts, then cuts himself off with a quiet laugh. âYouâre infuriating.â
âCareful,â Barty replies lightly, though his hand settles at Jamesâs waist again, grounding. âIâm being nice right now.â
âThatâs nice?â James raises a brow, but heâs leaning closer again, drawn in despite himself. âIâd hate to see the alternative.â
Bartyâs expression sharpensânot dangerous, not really, but intent in a way that makes the air feel tighter.
âMaybe,â he says, voice dropping just slightly, âweâll get there.â
James couldnât decide which version of the moment had been real.
In one, Rockwood had leaned too far across the cafeteria table, voice dipped low, words coated in that oily, almost-friendly tone people used when they wanted to hurt you without witnesses. Pathetic, maybe. Or still hearing things, are you? Something like that.
In another, it had been Creevey insteadâquieter, sharper, a whisper that slid right past Jamesâs ear and nested somewhere behind his eyes. That version didnât even feel spoken aloud. It felt placed there.
And then there was the third possibility, the one James had been getting better at recognizingâthe one where no one had said anything at all.
That one was always the hardest to accept.
The plate had left his hand before heâd fully chosen which reality to believe.
It shattered spectacularly against the far wall, ceramic exploding like a gunshot. Conversation died instantly. Chairs scraped. Someone swore. Orderlies were already moving before the last fragment hit the floor.
James remembered the restraint on his arms more than the restraint itselfâthe pressure, the inevitability of it. The way his own voice sounded distant as he tried to explain, You didnât hear it? He saidâsomeone saidâ
No one ever heard it.
Now there was only the hum.
The solitary unit had a sound to it, a low, electrical buzzing that never quite settled into the background. James sat on the narrow bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair as if he could physically hold his thoughts in place.
Heâd messed up.
Again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, replaying the scene, trying to pin it down like something scientific. Evidence. Angles. Reactions.
Rockwood hadnât looked at him.
Creevey had been across the room.
No one else had reacted until the plate hit.
James exhaled sharply through his nose. âNot real,â he muttered, like a conclusion he could file away. âNot real.â
Some days, that worked.
Some days, it didnât stop the echo.
A sound in the hallway pulled him out of the spiralâsoft, uneven. Footsteps. Then a faint shuffle, like someone dragging their shoe along the floor on purpose.
James stilled.
He turned his head slowly toward the door, eyes tracking the thin strip of space at the bottom. For a second, there was nothingâ
Then a shadow.
And then, just barely visible when the person leaned closer, the top of a head.
Dark. Curly.
Jamesâs chest loosened before he could stop it.
âYou know,â came the voice, muffled through the door but unmistakable, âa broken plate is a sure-fire way to land yourself in the fun room.â
There it wasâthat tone. Light. Amused. Like this was all a joke and not⊠this.
Barty.
James huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, dragging a hand down his face. âYeah, well,â he said, voice rough, âIâve always had a talent for self-sabotage.â
There was a soft thud as Barty leaned his foreheadâor maybe his shoulderâagainst the door. âYouâre supposed to think about throwing things,â he replied. âNot actually do it. Thatâs, like, step one of being a functional disaster.â
James shifted off the bed and moved closer, lowering himself to sit on the floor with his back against the door. The proximity felt⊠grounding. Even with the barrier between them.
âI thought I heard something,â James said after a beat.
He hated how that sentence sounded now. Thin. Overused.
On the other side, Barty didnât answer right away. No immediate joke, no deflection. Just the faint sound of him adjusting his stance.
âYeah?â he said finally, quieter.
James pressed the back of his head lightly against the door. âCouldâve been Rockwood. Or Creevey.â He swallowed. âOr neither.â
Another pauseâbut not an uncomfortable one. Just⊠space.
âOkay,â Barty said.
Not are you sure? Not that didnât happen. Just⊠okay.
James let out a slow breath. âI tried to check. You knowâlike they tell me to.â He tapped his temple lightly against the metal. âContext. Reactions. Evidence.â
âAnd?â
âAnd I still threw the damn plate.â
A soft snort came through the door. âBold strategy.â
James huffed again, but it faded quickly. âI think it slipped through,â he admitted. âOne of the bad ones.â
This time, Barty answered immediately. âYeah,â he said. âThat happens.â
There was no pity in it. No clinical distance. Just⊠fact.
James closed his eyes.
On the other side of the door, Barty slid down until he was sitting tooâthe faint scrape gave it away. Their backs lined up, separated by a few inches of reinforced material and a whole lot of hospital policy.
âYou know what I think?â Barty said after a moment.
âThat Iâm an idiot?â
âWell, yeah, obviously. But thatâs not my point.â
James smiled faintly, eyes still closed.
âI think,â Barty continued, âthat you noticed it might not be real. Which is already better than, you know, last month.â
James winced. âLow bar.â
âStill a bar.â
Silence settled again, but this time it felt⊠different. Less like isolation, more like a shared pause.
âTheyâll let you out tomorrow,â Barty added. âMaybe sooner if you play nice.â
âDefine âplay nice.ââ
âNo more interior decorating with cafeteria ware.â
James let his head tip back slightly, a quiet laugh escaping him. âIâll do my best.â
âDo better than your best,â Barty shot back lightly. âYour best is what got you in there.â
Another beat.
ââŠHey,â James said, softer.
âYeah?â
James hesitated, fingers brushing lightly against the door as if he could somehow reach through it. âThanks. For⊠checking.â
On the other side, there was a faint shiftâlike Barty had mirrored the gesture without thinking.
âDonât get sentimental on me,â he said, but the edge was gone. âIâve got a reputation to maintain.â
James smiled to himself, the tightness in his chest easing just a little.
The hum of the room didnât disappear.
The doubts didnât vanish.
But for the moment, they werenât the only things in his head.
As a fun fact, you can thank having "We Don't talk anymore" - Charlie Puth on repeat for this one.
James doesnât mean it.
Thatâs the worst partâhow convincing he sounds when he does.
âI hate you,â he spits, the words sharp and fast, like if he gets them out quickly enough they wonât stick to his teeth. Like theyâll dissolve in the air before they can land.
They donât.
They land squarely in Bartyâs chest.
Barty doesnât flinch. He doesnât move at all, actuallyâjust leans back against the closed front door, keys still dangling from his fingers, jacket half-zipped. He looks tired. Ink stains his hands, dark crescents under his nails, and thereâs a smear of red on his wrist that might be ink or might not.
âYeah,â Barty says, flat. Not dismissive. Not hurt. Just⊠there. âYou said that already.â
Jamesâs hands curl into fists. He hates that tone more than anythingâthe calm, the knowing. Like Bartyâs memorized the script. Like this is just another loop in the same broken record.
âMaybe I mean it more this time,â James snaps, pacing now, dragging his hands through his hair hard enough to pull. âMaybe I finally realized I shouldâve meant it the first hundred times.â
âRight,â Barty mutters, pushing himself off the door at last. He tosses his keys onto the side table with a clatter. âThat must be it.â
âYou were gone for six hours,â James continues, voice rising, words tripping over each other faster than he can filter them. âSix. Hours. You said youâd be back by four.â
âI had a client.â
âOh, yeah? Mustâve been a really important client.â
Barty exhales slowly through his nose. He shrugs off his jacket, hangs it up with deliberate careâlike if he moves too fast, something will snap.
âShe wanted a full sleeve redone,â he says. âTook longer than expected.â
James laughs, sharp and humorless. âOf course she did. Let me guessâshe just couldnât let you go, right? Needed you there, touching her all dayââ
âDonât,â Barty cuts in, not loud, but firm enough that it slices clean through Jamesâs spiral.
But James is already gone, already halfway down the slope.
ââbecause youâre just so good at that, arenât you? Everyone loves you. Everyone wants you. Why wouldnât they? Youâreââ He gestures wildly, like the word is somewhere in the air and he just has to grab it. ââyou. And Iâm justââ
He chokes on the rest.
Barty watches him carefully now. Not cold. Not distant. Focused.
There it is.
The pivot.
It always comesâthe turn from anger into something messier, something hollowed-out and aching.
âIâm just what?â Barty asks quietly.
James shakes his head hard, like he can dislodge the thought before it finishes forming. âNothing.â
âJames.â
âI said nothing!â
Silence crashes between them, heavy and buzzing.
James presses his palms into his eyes until stars burst behind them. His chest feels too tight, like his ribs are shrinking around his lungs.
âYou should just go,â he mutters, voice dropping, losing all its earlier sharpness. âHonestly. I donât know why youâre even still here.â
Barty doesnât answer immediately. He moves insteadâslow, measured steps across the room until heâs standing just a few feet away.
âBecause you donât mean it,â he says.
James lets out a broken laugh. âGod, youâre so arrogant.â
âNo,â Barty replies, just as steady. âIâm experienced.â
That almost gets a smile. Almost.
James drops his hands, eyes red-rimmed and too bright. âYou donât get it.â
âThen explain it to me.â
âI canât,â James snaps, frustration flaring again. âThatâs the whole problemâI canât explain it, I canât stop it, I canâtââ He gestures helplessly at himself. ââturn it off. One minute Iâm fine and the next I justââ He swallows hard. âI get this thought stuck in my head and it wonât leave.â
Bartyâs expression softens, just slightly. âWhat thought?â
James hesitates.
Thatâs new.
Usually he just deflects, lashes out, says something cruel enough to end the conversation. But tonight the words sit heavy on his tongue, demanding to be said.
âThat you deserve better,â he admits finally, voice barely above a whisper. âOr that youâve already figured that out and youâre just⊠waiting to leave.â
Bartyâs jaw tightens.
âAnd tonight?â he asks.
James huffs a weak, self-deprecating breath. âTonight it was both. You were gone too long, so obviously that meant you found someone better and just didnât feel like telling me yet.â He shrugs, brittle. âMakes sense.â
âIt doesnât,â Barty says immediately.
âIt does in my head.â
âYour headâs a liar.â
James snorts. âYeah, well, itâs very convincing.â
Another stretch of silence. This one isnât as sharp. Just⊠tired.
Barty rubs a hand over his face, smearing that streak on his wrist further. âShe cried halfway through the tattoo,â he says suddenly.
James blinks. âWhat?â
âThe client,â Barty clarifies. âSaid her ex used to draw on her arm when she couldnât sleep. She wanted me to copy the designs exactly, even though they were shit.â He huffs softly. âTook forever because she kept asking me to redo lines that were already perfect.â
James stares at him, thrown off.
âI wasnât cheating on you,â Barty adds, quieter now. âI was stuck with a crying woman who couldnât decide if she wanted a star or a spiral.â
A beat.
ââŠspiralâs better,â James mutters automatically.
âYeah,â Barty agrees. âI know.â
The tension cracks, just a little.
James sinks onto the couch like his legs give out all at once. He drags his hands down his face, exhausted now, the manic edge burning out and leaving something duller in its wake.
âI hate this,â he says, voice small. âI hate that I do this to you.â
Barty shrugs, but itâs not dismissive this time. Just honest. âYeah. Me too.â
James winces.
âBut I also know itâs not really you,â Barty continues. âOr not all of you, anyway.â
âThat doesnât make it okay.â
âNo,â Barty agrees. âIt doesnât.â
He steps closer, then stopsâclose enough to reach, far enough to give James space to pull away if he wants to.
James doesnât.
âIâm not going anywhere,â Barty says, softer now. âEven when you try to make me.â
James lets out a shaky breath. âYou say that now.â
âI say it every time.â
âThat doesnât meanââ
âIt does,â Barty cuts in gently. âYou just donât believe it yet.â
James looks up at him, eyes glassy. âWhy?â
Barty tilts his head, considering him like itâs the simplest question in the world.
âBecause I know the routine,â he says. âAnd Iâm still here anyway.â
That does it.
Jamesâs shoulders finally drop, tension draining out of him in a slow, uneven exhale. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, like the weight of everything is finally too much to carry standing up.
ââŠI donât hate you,â he mutters.
âYeah,â Barty says, nudging his foot lightly against Jamesâs. âI know.â
A pause.
ââŠyou can still be a bit of a dick, though.â
That earns a weak, real laugh.
âShut up,â James murmurs.
Barty smirks, just a little. âMake me.â
And for the first time that night, the merry-go-round slows.
high - @sunkiller-microfics - wc: 868 - CW: drug usage
James already knew what he was going to walk into before he even unlocked the door.
It was the smell firstâearthy, damp, unmistakable. Not quite rot, not quite incense. Mushrooms. Again.
He closed his eyes for a second, forehead resting against the doorframe like maybe, if he waited long enough, reality would rearrange itself into something less exhausting. It didnât.
The door creaked open.
âUnbelievable,â he muttered.
Barty was sprawled flat on his back in the middle of the living room, limbs splayed out like a crime scene outline that had given up halfway through. One arm twitched lazily every few seconds, fingers curling at nothing. His shirtâJamesâs shirt, actuallyâwas half-ridden up his torso, exposing pale skin and the sharp jut of his ribs.
Evan, somehow worse, was draped over the couch upside down, head hanging off the cushions, hair brushing the carpet. He was staring at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe, blinking slowly.
âGuys,â James said, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.
No response.
âFantastic. Great. Love this.â
He dropped his keys on the counter and stepped over a discarded hoodie, then another, narrowly avoiding what he sincerely hoped was just spilled juice and not something more concerning. His gaze flicked between themâEvan, blissfully dissociated; Barty, barely conscious.
âDo you two have, like, a schedule for this?â James continued. âOr is it just whenever I have a long day?â
Still nothing.
James exhaled sharply through his nose and walked over to Barty, nudging his foot against Bartyâs side. No reaction.
âOi,â he said, a little louder. âCrouch. Earth to Crouch.â
He gave him a light kickâmore of a nudge, really, just enough to jostle him.
Barty stirred.
It wasnât much. Just a slow, delayed reaction, like his brain had to swim through molasses to catch up. His head lolled slightly to the side, unfocused eyes blinking up at James.
James crossed his arms. âThere he is. Welcome back. Care to explainââ
âOhhhâŠâ Barty breathed, voice soft and warped, like it had been stretched out of shape. His lips curved into a slow, dreamy smile. âJamie.â
James froze.
Barty reached out vaguely, his hand missing James entirely and landing somewhere near his ankle. His fingers curled there anyway, like heâd meant to do that.
âHi,â Barty added, as if this were a perfectly normal interaction and not him absolutely gone out of his mind on the living room floor.
James stared down at him, unimpressed.
âYouâre unbelievable,â he said flatly.
Barty just hummed in response, eyes drifting half-shut again, still smiling like James had just said something wonderful.
From the couch, Evan let out a quiet, awed whisper. âHeâs glowing.â
âI am not glowing,â James snapped.
Evan didnât even look at him. âNo, like⊠spiritually. Itâs a whole thing.â
âRight. Brilliant. Fantastic. Love that for me.â
James dragged a hand down his face, already feeling the headache settling in.
âThis is exactly what I needed after work,â he went on. âTruly. Nothing says relaxation like coming home to my boyfriend off his head and his terrible, terrible influence of a best friendââ
âIâm a great influence,â Evan murmured dreamily.
âYou got disowned, Evan.â
âCharacter development.â
James groaned.
He looked back down at Barty, who was still lightly gripping his ankle like it was the only stable thing in the universe.
âLet go,â James said.
Barty shook his head weakly. âNo. Youâll float away.â
James sighed, long-suffering, but didnât pull his leg away.
âGod, youâre ridiculous.â
Bartyâs smile softened, eyes fluttering open just enough to look at him again.
âYeah,â he said quietly. âBut you love me.â
James paused.
For a moment, just a moment, the irritation cracked.
He rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it anymore. âDebatable.â
Bartyâs grip tightened slightly, like he didnât believe him for a second.
ââŠJamie,â he mumbled again, softer this time, like the name itself was something comforting he could hold onto.
James huffed, shaking his head.
âYeah, yeah,â he muttered. âCome on. Up you get. Iâm not leaving you on the floor.â
It took effortâmore than it should haveâbut eventually James managed to haul Barty into something resembling a sitting position. Barty leaned into him immediately, all loose limbs and dead weight, head dropping against Jamesâs shoulder.
Evan watched this with deep, profound interest.
âThis is,â he said slowly, âso beautiful.â
James adjusted his grip on Barty, who was now fully clinging to him.
âNext time,â James said, already bracing himself for the inevitable repeat of this exact situation, âwe are having a conversation about boundaries.â
âMm,â Barty hummed against his shoulder, clearly not processing a single word.
ââŠAnd maybe,â James added, quieter, âslightly less of whatever the hell this is.â
Barty just nuzzled closer, mumbling something incomprehensible that might have been his name again.
James looked down at him, exasperation giving wayâjust a littleâto reluctant fondness.
âYeah,â he sighed. âYouâre lucky youâre pretty.â
Not bad strangeâBarty was many things, and âstrangeâ barely cracked the top tenâbut curious strange. The kind that itched at the back of Jamesâs mind whenever it came up, which, admittedly, wasnât often.
Barty never let anyone into his apartment.
It wasnât a rule he announced. He just⊠deflected. Joked. Distracted. The one time James had casually suggested stopping by, Barty had knocked over his own drink mid-laugh and then spent a suspiciously long time cleaning it up. Another time, heâd claimed âplumbing issues,â which might have been believable if he hadnât followed it up with, âYou wouldnât survive it, Jamie, itâs horrific, like a swamp, like aâjust donât.â
So James had dropped it.
Mostly.
Until Barty, of all people, said, âYouâre coming over Friday.â
James blinked. âAm I?â
âYes,â Barty said, already halfway through lighting a cigarette he absolutely was not going to smoke indoors (he would; he always did). âIâm making dinner.â
âYou⊠cook?â
Barty looked offended. âIâm Italian, you absolute tragedy.â
âYou order Italian,â James corrected.
âI order because I am lazy and people keep ruining it,â Barty snapped. âPenne alla vodka should not taste like regret and jar sauce. Iâve had enough. Iâm doing it myself.â
âAnd this requires me?â
âYou,â Barty said, pointing at him with the cigarette like it was a weapon, âare going to sit there and appreciate it properly.â
Which is how James found himself, two days later, standing outside Bartyâs apartment door while Barty fumbled with his keys like heâd forgotten how doors worked.
âYou alright there?â James asked.
âFine,â Barty said too quickly. âPerfect. Never been better. Justâkeysâmetalâdoorsâarchitectureââ
âBarty.â
âIâm opening it!â
The door swung open.
James stepped inside.
And⊠nothing exploded.
No swamp. No catastrophe. No obvious reason for the years of avoidance. The apartment wasâwell, it was Barty, but in a way James hadnât expected. Clean, for one. Not sterile, but deliberate. Dark wood shelves lined with books that looked actually read. A record player in the corner. Plants that were somehow alive.
âYou can sit,â Barty said, already retreating toward the kitchen. âOr stand. Or pace. You do that.â
âI donâtââ James started, then stopped, because he did.
âWineâs on the counter,â Barty added. âDonât touch anything that looks expensive.â
âThatâs vague and unhelpful.â
âThen donât touch anything at all!â
James laughed, shaking his head as he wandered further in. âYou invited me, you know.â
âYes, Iâm aware of my own mistakes.â
From the kitchen came the sound of chopping, then the sharp scent of garlic hitting oil. Barty hummed under his breathâsomething low and unfamiliarâand James felt that strange curiosity again, softer this time.
It was⊠nice, actually. Domestic in a way that didnât quite fit the Barty he knew, all sharp edges and biting wit. Here, he seemed⊠settled.
James took a sip of wine, leaned against the counterâ
âand then his gaze drifted.
He wasnât snooping.
Not really.
He was just⊠looking.
There was a hallway just off the living room. A door slightly ajar. Another closed. A thirdâ
âWell,â James muttered to himself, âIâm already in too deep.â
He set the wine down and wandered over.
The first door led to what was clearly Bartyâs bedroomâdark bedding, a half-open wardrobe, nothing particularly shocking beyond the fact that Barty owned more than one properly folded shirt.
The secondâ
James hesitated, then pushed it open.
It looked like a spare room, maybe an office. Desk, chair, a few scattered papers.
And thenâ
âOh,â James said.
On the desk, laid out with almost alarming neatness, was a set of cat ears.
Not cheap ones. Not the plastic, costume-shop nonsense James had half-expected. These were⊠well-made. Soft, sleek black with a subtle sheen, the kind of thing that looked expensive.
James picked them up.
âOkay,â he murmured. âInteresting.â
He turned them over in his hands, inspecting the stitching, the weight. âHigh quality,â he added, like he was evaluating a piece of art.
Then his gaze shifted.
ââŠoh no.â
Next to them was a tail.
Also black. Alsoâdisturbinglyâmatching.
James stared at it.
âAlright,â he said slowly, âweâre going to be reasonable about this.â
He reached out and very carefully nudged it.
âIt could be,â he continued, âa costume accessory.â
Another nudge.
âA normal, innocentââ
He picked it up.
ââŠclip.â
He turned it over.
There was a pause.
James squinted.
ââŠis thatââ
âJames.â
James nearly launched the tail across the room.
He spun around. Barty was in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, expression utterly unreadable.
There was a long, terrible silence.
James held up the tail.
âGood news,â he said. âI havenât made any assumptions yet.â
Barty didnât move. âPut it down.â
âI would love to,â James said. âClarification first.â
âJames.â
âIs itââ
âJames.â
ââa clipââ
âJames.â
ââorââ
Barty pushed off the doorframe and walked in, slow and deliberate, until he was standing very close.
âPut,â he said quietly, âit down.â
James, to his credit, did.
Gently.
Respectfully.
âRight,â he said. âDone.â
Another pause.
Thenâ
ââŠyou were snooping.â
âYou left the door open!â
âYou entered the room!â
âI was curious!â
âYouâre insufferable.â
âYou own luxury cat ears!â
Bartyâs expression twitched.
âThat,â he said, very precisely, âis none of your business.â
âIt became my business the moment I feared for yourââ James gestured vaguely toward the tail ââstructural integrity.â
Barty barked a laughâsharp, surprised, unwilling.
âGet out,â he said, but there was no heat in it now. âDinnerâs burning.â
James lingered for half a second longer, then grinned.
âOh, Iâm absolutely not letting this go.â
âI will evict you.â
âYou invited me.â
âI will rescind it.â
âYou made penne alla vodka.â
ââŠget out of the room, James.â
James backed toward the door, hands raised in surrender, grin widening.
But as he stepped into the hallway, he caught the faintest hint of color high on Bartyâs cheekbones.
And thatâ
That was new.
James filed it away carefully.
âOh,â he said lightly, heading back toward the kitchen, âthis just got very interesting.â
That was the first thought that hit himâsharp and immediateâas glitter exploded into his face the second he pushed open the apartment door.
Not a gentle sprinkle. Not a cute little shimmer.
A weaponized, full-force, absolutely unhinged glitter bomb.
It got in his hair. His lashes. His mouthâhe sputtered, choking on what he was fairly certain was craft-store-grade betrayal. His black shirt, already smudged with ink from a twelve-hour shift, now sparkled like some kind of tragic disco ball.
Barty stood frozen in the doorway, keys still in hand, soul leaving his body one glitter particle at a time.
ââŠIâm going to kill him,â he said hoarsely.
From the kitchen came the unmistakable sound of hurried footstepsâthen a crash, a muffled curse, and finallyâ
âHa! Gotchu! I got you with my prank!â
James burst into view, practically vibrating with excitement, hair a mess, grin wide enough to split his face in half. There was flour on his cheek for no discernible reason andâGod, of courseâmore glitter in his hair.
Barty stared at him.
Silently.
Unblinkingly.
Jamesâs grin faltered just a fraction. ââŠOkay, in my defenseââ
âYou glitter bombed me,â Barty said flatly.
âIt was strategic glitterââ
âI had three clients today try to bargain me down like Iâm selling used furniture, James.â
James winced. ââŠOof. Okay. Bad timing.â
âOne of them,â Barty continued, stepping fully inside and closing the door with eerie calm, âsat in my chair for six hours and then asked if I could âknock off a bit of the priceâ because he âsat so still.ââ
âThat isâwow. Thatâs actually criminal.â
âI have ink in places I didnât know ink could get into,â Barty went on. âI havenât eaten since ten this morning. All I wantedâall I wantedâwas a glass of wine and to lie down with my boyfriend.â
James opened his mouth, probably to argue that he was, in fact, the boyfriend in question, but Barty cut him off with a sharp look.
âAnd instead,â Barty finished, gesturing vaguely at himself, âI look like a festive crime scene.â
There was a pause.
James, to his credit, at least looked a little guilty now. Not very guiltyâbut enough.
ââŠIt is April Foolsâ Day,â he offered weakly.
Barty blinked slowly. âI forgot.â
âYeah, I gathered that when you walked straight into the trap.â
âIâm going to vacuum this place,â Barty said, voice low and dangerous, âand Iâm going to find glitter here in August.â
âOkay, but considerâcounterpointââ James took a cautious step forward, hands raised in surrender. âIt was kind of impressive?â
Barty just looked at him.
James hesitated. ââŠNo?â
âNo.â
Another pause.
Then, very carefully, James reached behind his back and produced a glass of red wine.
Bartyâs eyes flicked to it.
âI did plan ahead,â James said, a little hopeful now. âSee? Iâm not a complete menace.â
Barty took the glass.
Drank half of it in one go.
Closed his eyes.
Exhaled.
ââŠYou have exactly one minute,â he said, âto make this up to me before I start plotting your demise.â
James lit up like someone had flipped a switch. âOh, I can work with that.â
Before Barty could react, James closed the distance between them, slipping glittery hands around his waist and pressing a quick kiss to his cheekâright into the mess of sparkles.
âNow you match the apartment,â James said cheerfully.
Barty made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, grabbing the front of Jamesâs shirt to keep him from escaping.
âYouâre insufferable.â
âAnd yet,â James said, entirely too pleased with himself, âyou love me.â
Barty stared at him for a long moment.
Then, with a sigh that carried the full weight of his exhausting day, he tugged James closer and buried his face in his shoulderâglitter, flour, chaos and all.
ââŠI do,â he admitted.
James softened instantly, arms tightening around him.
âCouch?â James suggested gently.
âCouch,â Barty agreed.
âAnd Iâll get you more wine.â
âYou will get me more wine.â
âAnd maybe order food?â
Barty pulled back just enough to look at him. ââŠYouâre paying.â
James grinned. âWorth it.â
They made it three steps toward the living room before Barty stopped again.
ââŠIâm still going to get glitter in your pillowcase,â he said.
James snorted. âJokeâs on youâI already do.â
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