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[florsial]

Aphrodite's Fool and the Deadman's Husband

"I’ll stand by his grave  and remember his name. The way his ring was grey, like his eyes now."

Barty has become accustomed to the glint in Regulus' eyes when he gets up the no good. Years of being friends and boyfriends do that to you. When a plain grey turns into a shiny silver from the light of mischief becoming prominent.

It had been the first thing that made him as pathetically in love as he is now. When Regulus' eyes shined with the idea of an escape plan out of detention, one that would leave a mess that could not be pinned to the group of Slytherins and their token Ravenclaw back in their 3rd year, Barty was a goner since.

He stops seeing the beautiful silver when Regulus gets the dark mark. The other was always seemingly in his head or in his music sheets.

"The way his love was like water, Flowing freely through the bed."

Barty gets dreams of Regulus when his disappearance is marked as death. They are all the same visions of a contorting body, his ears filled with moans and screams so loud that he can't tell if they are hurting his ears or throat.

"I was a thirsty boy then,  and now I am a dying man. I beg in front of Aphrodite, pleading for water."

He doesn't want to count how many days it's been. But his mind continuously does so. It's been 14 years. All 5,110 days he recounts with the vivid memories of no Regulus around. Barty fears he might be forgetting how his lover's eyes would be a light grey when he's feeling mischievous, the long painted nails with black polish, and the original soft black of Regulus' eyes. He feels he's forgetting but he doesn't know what, nor does he want to know what. Fearing it would confirm his fading memory.

Barty just wants Regulus again, to touch him, to hold him, to talk to him. He wants Regulus again. He needs him. Just once more. Just to hear him as well, the way he would chuckle in amusement, the hushed whispers where he would pour his heart out to Barty, and just the way he would call him, "My love."

It becomes more unbearable when Barty finds himself on his knees, praying to the muggles' god with a cheap and worn-down plastic cross he found on the ground clasped so tightly in his hand until his palms and knees are red and blue, bruised and rendering him in pain the next morning. Pleading for a chance to see or hear his lover once more. Pleading for Regulus to just show up and take him away from this imperious hell of the same walls he had always felt so alone in.

He can only beg.

"She laughs because she cannot give it to me. His death was always meant to be."