#this is powered by katya lel and laufey

[03junkie]

something has been written. I’m feeling extra in my feels today, so this is the product of that. Also CW: alcohol and recreational drug use

Midnight is truly when Barty and Evan come to life. Where the day is slow, somber and lazy, it’s the hours of the Devil when they actually enjoy life. They turn on every light in the house, and turn up the volume on their speakers. Noise complaints were frequent, but they were both rich enough to pay for the soundproofing of their neighbours’ house. Their own house? No, they didn’t care enough to alter their own home for a bunch of sensitive pricks.

Barty put on music, some rendition of Russian EDM that Evan had grown up with, owing to the fact that they’ve been around each other since they could talk. Initially, Evan hated the sound of it, but slowly, he got a taste for it. When his friends would insult the pair’s taste in music, Evan would jump to defend themselves, saying that the group of them were just too inferior to understand good music.

Being friends for about twenty years, and a couple for five, they had seen each other through all sorts of times, good, bad, ugly. Somewhere along the road of finding comfort in each other’s beds, they both had fallen hard. The kind of falling one could only dream of; crashing and burning and soaring all at the same time.

Along the years, the both of them had taken to vice. It’d been a long time coming, after escaping their houses for each other. They’d made enough of a name for themselves in the world; Barty wrote, and Evan sang. With whatever little fame they had, they’d made a near-perfect life for themselves.

Now, almost ritualistically, Evan was pulling out two crystal glasses (a housewarming gift from Reg and James), and pulling out the stopper on the decanter filled with whiskey.

“You know I’m trying to reduce alcohol, любимый,” Barty slung an arm across Evan’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. As a force of habit, Evan couldn’t help the blush settling on his cheeks.

“You’re no fun when you’re sober.” Evan jutted his lower lip out almost cartoonishly. Barty gave him a long, languid look, before sighing. He reached out for the glass settled on the counter, and drank in one gulp. He didn’t even flinch as the liquid went down. Barty poured another one for himself, and drank that as swiftly as the first.

Evan smiled, and watched as Barty moved across the room rhythmically, turning the volume up higher. Evan turned to his own glass. He preferred to drink slower, because he tended to get drunk faster than Barty. Barty had been drinking since he was thirteen, but it wasn’t a problem. He knew he could stop whenever he wanted, and he didn’t want to stop right now. The couple’s friends were concerned for Barty, but Evan always shut them down saying that he knew what was best for Barty.

“Baby, can you change the song? Это скучно.” Barty yelled from their bedroom. Evan obliged, and a very familiar melody filled the walls of their house. He heard Barty whoop in delight.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” He walked out of the room, eyelids painted with blue glitter, and a feather boa ‘round his neck. Evan laughed, not unkindly, but because he was lucky to be with someone so beautiful. Barty reached for the whiskey once again, but stopped before pouring it. “We have tequila, да?”

“Behind the other bottles on the second shelf.” Barty grinned at him, a manic quirk of the lips with something glinting in his eyes.

“You bought the expensive shit?” Evan nodded, swallowing part of his drink.

“I knew you wanted it, so I bought it.” He shrugged. Barty jumped up to his feet and ambushed Evan into a breath-restricting hug. He kissed both his cheeks a couple times.

“Я люблю тебя, baby. Really.” He laughed against Evan’s throat, and Evan felt his own chest constricting at the sound. It was his favourite thing in the world. These domestic moments tucked away in their otherwise fast-paced lives.

“I love you too, Bat,” Barty kissed him, taking his time. His hands were on Evan’s waist, guiding him into a slow dance. The music was fast, but there was something about Barty moving him so slowly and gingerly across their living room. “Your tequila’s waiting for you.”

“Shots?” Barty looked at him through his lashes, innocent and sweet.

“You already know it. There should be a lime in the fridge,” Evan watches Barty from behind, silently admiring the slope of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Barty was beyond beautiful, in all honesty. He was breathtaking, the same way a scenery was. One could never take their eyes off him even if they wanted to. He was the automatic center of attention of any event, and he reveled in it. He knew that his beauty was a weapon, and he wielded it with pride.

“Роза, find your stash. I’m feeling like a bit of pot today.”

“Alright, but not too much. We both know chemsex isn’t for us.” Barty laughed softly from the kitchen. Evan headed to their bedroom, flicking the lights on. He always kept a bit with him at all times. That was his vice. Barty had alcohol, and Evan had his stash of pot. From the room, he could hear Barty singing along with the song. The drunker he got, the more prominent his accent got. It wouldn’t be long before the boy was speaking purely in Russian.

Evan rejoined his boyfriend in the living room, who had already laid out multiple shot glasses in a row, with a bunch of slices of lime alongside them.

“Salt?”

“Don’t worry about it, солнышко,” Barty ruffled his hair. He picked up the salt shaker and unscrewed its lid. He shook out some salt onto the back of his palm, and licked it off. Before Evan could react, Barty was kissing him, the taste of salt filling his mouth. “Drink up, baby.”

Evan picked up a glass and threw the contents of it back into his mouth. The alcohol burned as it went down. Barty handed him a wedge of lime and he bit into it, eyes scrunching up at the sourness. He wasn’t a fan of tequila, evidently. He waved his hand around his neck, signaling that he was done. Barty pouted, eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Evs.” He scanned Evan’s face expectantly, and Evan couldn’t help but oblige.

“Fine, but only one more. That’s all.”

“I won’t push you for more anyway. Everyone knows what happens when you’re tipsy, or need I remind you about the time you cried when I said I was taken?” Evan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Low blow, Bat.”

“I could take it lower.” Barty winks and Evan’s heart skips a beat. One would expect that the love between both of them would decrease over the year— especially with how maddeningly close they are— but Evan still felt flustered when Barty smiled at him, the same way he did at sixteen. Evan was, admittedly, mad for him; the way a poet is mad for a dark night, an artist mad for a muse. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, and no one could stop them from being close, not life and definitely not death.

“You talk too much.” Evan reached for a second shot glass, deciding against a chaser. It would be something he’s going to regret a couple seconds from now, but that was a consequence he was willing to live with.

“Would you rather I stop?”

Making a sour face, Evan responds, “No, never.” Barty smiles a lopsided grin, far from perfect.

“Now, why would you do that? Никакого самоконтроля, говорю вам.”

“Mock me all you want in words only you understand, but don’t forget that I pay for the alcohol.” Barty’s expression switched immediately, eyes going wide in surprise.

“You know I love you, Evan. I would never mock you.”

“That’s hardly believable, but I’ll let it go this time.” Barty unwrapped the boa from his neck, looping it over Evan’s shoulders. He puts no space between them, they stand perfectly flush with each other. Barty smells like alcohol and expensive perfume; Barty smells like home.

“Dance with me, любимый.”

“Music’s too fast.”

“So we hasten.” And that was that. Barty is swinging his hips, singing loudly. Though Evan understands a small amount of Russian, he never bothered to learn it. He wanted to keep it sacred for Barty. It was his relationship with his childhood, and Evan wanted no part in causing ruination to that. Evan found out that Russian could be polarising. It could sound crass and rude, and it could sound soft and gentle at the same time. “Now, Evan, I’ve seen you dance better than that.”

“I’m a better singer than dancer, Bat.” Barty blinked a couple of times, almost like he was batting his eyelashes.

“So open your throat and sing, magpie.” Evan grinned.

“I’ve heard that one in the confines of our bedroom before,”

“I didn’t hear you complaining, шлюха,”

“I know that word, Bat, and I know that’s what half of our school called you.” Barty shrugs. Everyone and their mother knew that Barty was the slut of the school. He got around, and he enjoyed the attention he got. Evan never had a problem with his past, because none of the pricks in school were going to bed with him everyday at obscene hours of the morning, drunk and exhausted.

“I’m going to smoke, do you want one?” Evan looked at him incredulously, as if that was a question that needed to be asked. “Alright, alright, don’t look at me like that. I may just have to skip the pot and move to the end of the night that both of us are definitely looking forward to.”

“Subtlety was always your strong suit.” Evan tucks a couple strands of Barty’s hair behind his ear, who smiled slowly.

“I really fucking love you, you know that?” Their voices are low in the room full of blaring lyrics in another language.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

***

Two joints in, Barty had danced his energy out, the glitter on his eyelids almost fading and sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Evan watched him, occasionally throwing a couple of bills and whistling at the man. Barty got Evan to sing, showing him vague phonetic translations of the lyrics he couldn’t understand. He was laughing as Evan struggled with the words, but it was full of admiration and mirth.

It was well past three in the morning, and the most disciplined of runners would be waking up to get on with their day soon. They had turned off their music, because their heads had already started hurting from the noise. Maybe their neighbours had a point.

Evan was sitting in the corner of one of their sofas, a cigarette between his lips. Barty was finally starting to come down from his high, boa clutched in both his hands. The man half-twirled, dropping himself onto the sofa right next to Evan, his head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Tonight was fun,” Barty had a soft, dazed smile on his face.

“Yeah, it was. Shame we have to get to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t even remind me,” He reaches for the cigarette, smoking it himself. They sit in silence, only the slow buzz of the thermostat filling the space between them.

“Я не думаю, что смогу жить без тебя.” Evan had a pulling feeling at the back of his mind that this meant something important to Barty; a confession, if you would.

“Tell me what that means, Bat.”

“I don’t think I could live without you. Year after year after year, you were the only constant I had. I’m so grateful for that. I’m so grateful for you, Evan.” Barty’s voice cracks slightly, and Evan turns to see the man crying. “Everyday I hope I don’t fuck this up with you, like I did all those years ago. I knew you liked me, but I wasn’t ready to accept my own feelings. Maybe I was scared to lose our friendship if it all went south.”

“But it hasn’t gone south, has it? You and me, here, right now. This is everything I could ever ask for. All I could dream of since I was fourteen. Barty, you couldn’t fuck this up even if you tried as hard as you could. I would love you regardless and I’ll be there to pick up every fucking piece, even if it hurts to.”

“Nothing I ever write will satiate my love for you, and I’m scared of that. The sheer magnitude of it is frightening.”

“Just knowing you love me is more than enough.”

“I think,” he pauses, seemingly trying to find anything to say. “I think we should get married, любимый.” Evan’s hand flies up to his mouth, trying to conceal his severely shocked expression.

“Yes. Yes, one hundred times, yes.” And so, sitting in the slow come-up of the sun, with a cigarette burning to its filter, they had gone and become the closest they’d ever been.