Content Warnings: Brief embarrassment and being filmed/uploaded to social media without prior permission.
word count ~ 800
You moved through the penthouse like it was your own private stage, bare feet sliding over polished wooden floors, a damp cloth in one hand and your phone in the other. Sunlight spilt through the windows, making dust motes dance as you scrubbed and swayed to your favourite song. The world outside Paris buzzed below, but up here you were untouchableâjust a girl in leggings and an old tank top, singing at the top of her lungs, pretending nobody was watching.
Every Saturday, you deep-cleaned the penthouse. It was your ritual. Youâd start with the kitchen, humming as you wiped down the marble, then move to the living room, chasing crumbs from the couch. Kylian always joked he could eat off the floor by the time you were done, but you liked the feeling of orderâthat, in this corner of your shared life, everything was in its place.
You spun in a circle, hair flying. The chorus soared from your lips into the handle of your mop. For a moment, you imagined the crowdâthe roar of invisible fans, the heat of the spotlight. Eyes closed, you lost yourself in the music, scrubbing away both the grime of the week and whatever little worries clung to your chest.
You were so lost in tune and rhythm that you didnât hear the front door open or see the shadow slip into the hall. You didnât notice the phone pointed at you, blinking red as it captured your private concert.
It wasnât until the song ended and your headphones slipped from your ears that you felt the prickle of being watched. You glanced up, breathless, and froze. There stood Kylianâyour fiancĂŠ, your favourite person in the worldâleaning against the doorframe, grinning ear to ear, phone held aloft in victory.
You stared at him, cheeks flaming with embarrassment, a fizz of panic buzzing in your chest. Your stomach flipped as you clung to your mop, feeling suddenly exposed. âHow long have you been standing there?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, uncertain and vulnerable.
Kylianâs grin widened. âLong enough, mon amour. Youâve got moves,â he teased, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. âBabe, can you delete that...? Please?â You peeked at him between your fingers, half-laughing, half-pleading.
He shook his head, still recording. âI would never, mon amour.â He crossed the kitchen in three easy strides. He wrapped his arms around you, pulled you in, and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. âYouâre too cute to delete.â
You melted into his embrace, forgetting the sponge and spray bottle in your hands. Embarrassment faded, replaced by wonderâhow did you end up with someone like him? Someone who made you feel seen even on your silliest days?
Unbeknownst to you, as you snuggled into his chest, Kylianâs thumb moved deftly over his phone. He tapped open Instagram and scrolled through your story highlights. Then he uploaded the videoâthe one of you singing and dancing, hair wild, voice cracking on high notes. He added a simple, sweet French caption: "Je lâaime," with a red heart.
You pulled away, still a little shy, and kissed his cheek. âYouâre impossible,â you teased. You set your cleaning supplies down and glanced at the clock. âGo relax, okay? Iâll finish up.â
He flopped onto the couch with a mock pout. You saw the smile tugging at his lips as he settled in, feet up, head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed. You finished cleaning. This time, you moved quietly. The music still played, but wild dancing had faded into soft humming.
Later, as you finished the last room and wiped your hands on your leggings, your phone buzzed with notifications. You picked it up, curiosity and anxiety rising. Expecting a group chat or a message from your mom, your breath caughtâKylianâs Instagram story was already racking up thousands of views.
You watched yourself on the screen, heart thumping painfully and cheeks burning, dancing around the kitchen, voice off-key and laughter echoing in the background. The caption made your heart stutter again: Je lâaimeâI love herâand the little red heart that felt bigger than the sky.
You glanced over at the couch, at the man you loved. He was asleep with a faint smile on his lips. For a moment, you just stood there and let the warmth fill you up. You wondered how you got so lucky. How did someone like you end up with someone like himâa man who loved you enough to share your goofiest moments with the world?
You tiptoed over, curled up beside him, and rested your head on his chest. His arms found you even in sleep, pulling you close, holding you like you were the best thing he'd ever found. Out the window, Paris was painted in gold and lavender, the city settling into another night. But up here, in your little world, everything was exactly where it belonged.
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Regulus had been staring at himself for so long that the mirror had stopped feeling like glass.
It had become something crueler.
A witness.
A flat, silver-eyed thing that knew too much and softened nothing.
The bedroom behind him was warm, slightly messy, lived-in in the way their flat had become since Barty had moved in properly instead of just leaving half his life in Regulusâs drawers and calling that visiting. A shirt hung from the back of a chair. One of Bartyâs ties had been abandoned on the floor like he had shed it mid-sentence. The duvet was still creased from where Regulus had sat earlier, one knee drawn up to his chest, trying to breathe through the strange, prickling awareness of his own body.
Now he stood in front of the mirror in black trousers, socks, and a half-buttoned shirt, his fingers frozen against the next button.
He was meant to be getting dressed.
That was all.
A simple task. Ordinary. Human. The sort of thing one did every day without it becoming a battlefield.
Button the shirt. Fix the collar. Tuck it in. Look normal. Be normal. Step away from the mirror before it swallowed him whole.
Behind him, Barty paced.
Barty always paced when he was in the middle of a story. He could never simply stand still and speak. Words moved through him like electricity, fizzing in his hands, his shoulders, his mouth. He walked from the wardrobe to the bed, from the bed to the window, from the window back again, grinning like he had personally survived an assassination attempt and come out of it with gossip.
âAnd then,â Barty said, pointing at nothing, âthen he looks me dead in the eyes, Reg, dead in the eyes, like Iâm supposed to be intimidated by a man who thinks a navy waistcoat is a personality, and says, âCrouch, this isnât how we usually handle client follow-up.ââ
He scoffed.
Regulus did not blink.
Barty turned sharply on his heel. âThis isnât how we usually handle client follow-up,â he repeated, putting on a voice so dry and pompous it probably deserved its own office. âAs though the way they usually handle it isnât by sitting there with their thumbs up their arses until someone richer than them has an opinion.â
The mirror stared back.
Regulus stared too.
There was a softness to his face he had not noticed before. Or maybe he had noticed it and pretended he had not. His cheeks looked fuller. His shirt sat wrong across him. Everything felt wrong. Skin. Fabric. Bones. Breath.
He could feel his body in layers.
Too much body.
Too present.
Too loud.
Barty was still talking.
âSo naturally,â Barty continued, âI smiled at him. My terrifying little polite smile. You know the one.â
Regulus did know the one.
He did not say so.
âThe one that makes people start apologising even when I havenât done anything yet,â Barty said with obvious delight. âAnd I said, âMarius, darling, if I wanted the usual handling, I wouldâve asked the stationery cupboard to run the account.ââ
Barty laughed at his own line, bright and sharp, then pointed at Regulusâs reflection.
âYou wouldâve loved it. He went purple. Not red. Purple. Like a cursed aubergine in cufflinks.â
Regulus swallowed.
His throat ached.
A cursed aubergine in cufflinks, he thought faintly.
Usually, that would have got something out of him. A huff. A glance. A soft, unwilling smile. Barty lived for those. Collected them greedily, as though every small crack in Regulusâs composure was treasure.
But Regulusâs mouth would not move.
His fingers tightened on the shirt button.
The mirror showed him that too.
Everything showed him everything.
Barty drifted closer again, still talking, still blazing with that careless, beautiful, unbearable life of his.
âAnd anyway, thatâs not even the worst part. The worst part is that he tried to follow me into the lift afterwards, which is bold, because I had just metaphorically stabbed him in front of three departments and a woman from legal who absolutely wants me carnally.â
Regulus heard none of it properly.
The words blurred.
Carnally. Lift. Legal. Waistcoat. Honeymoon.
Bartyâs voice rolled over the room, filling every corner. He had been talking about work, then about dinner, then about a possible honeymoon itinerary with the same amount of violent passion he brought to everything. Italy had been mentioned. Greece. Some expensive hotel suite with a balcony. A private beach. A bath big enough for two people and Bartyâs ego.
âWe need somewhere dramatic,â Barty said. âSomewhere worthy of us. I donât want a beige honeymoon. I refuse. I want sun, silk sheets, questionable room service, and you looking devastating in something tiny enough to cause international tension.â
Regulus breathed in.
His chest rose strangely against the shirt.
He looked down.
Mistake.
Instant, violent mistake.
His stomach was not obvious. Not yet. Not to anyone who did not already know. It was still only the beginning of a change, a quiet adjustment beneath skin, a secret written in flesh before it had been spoken aloud. A few months along, the healer had said. Kindly. Carefully. As though Regulus had not gone silent in the chair, one hand curled around the edge of it hard enough to hurt.
A few months.
A baby.
His baby.
Their baby.
The thought should have been impossible. Terrifying. Beautiful. It was all of those things at once, and the combination left him dizzy.
He loved it.
He knew that with a fierceness that almost frightened him. There had been no question in that part of him. No hesitation. The moment the healer had said it, the moment Regulus had understood what was happening inside him, some strange locked chamber of his heart had opened, and light had poured through.
Mine, he had thought.
Ours.
Then, almost immediately after, the rest of him had begun to collapse.
Because love did not stop the body from feeling like a betrayal.
Love did not silence the old ghosts.
Love did not erase the sudden, brutal awareness of what he had been born with, what his body could do, what his body was doing now without asking whether he could survive being reminded.
His stomach twisted.
He pressed a hand lightly over it before he could stop himself.
The touch was gentle.
The feeling it brought was not.
In the mirror, Regulus saw the movement. Saw his own hand. Saw the careful curve of his fingers over the place where everything had changed.
He dropped his hand at once.
Barty, oblivious and delighted, flung himself backwards onto the bed for half a second, then sprang up again like gravity bored him.
âAnd during our honeymoon,â he said, voice dipping into something wicked and fond, âI hope you understand Iâm going to be an absolute menace. A devoted husband, obviously. Romantic. Attentive. Disgustingly in love. But also a menace. Iâm going to keep you in bed until neither of us remembers what country weâre in.â
Regulusâs breathing thinned.
âI mean it,â Barty went on, strolling up behind him. âTwenty-four seven, Reg. Every day. Iâm going to kiss you until you forget every language you know. Iâm going to make you blush every morning and ruin you every night and then order breakfast like Iâm a civilised person.â
His grin softened into something adoring.
âYou look so fucking sexy, by the way.â
Regulus closed his eyes.
Do not say that.
Do not look at me.
Do not want this body.
Do not remind me I have one.
Barty did not hear the thought. Of course he did not. He only saw Regulus standing still in the mirror and assumed, because Barty often assumed desire was a room he could walk into uninvited and be welcomed, that silence meant shyness, or challenge, or invitation.
He came up behind Regulus and slid both arms around his waist.
Regulus went rigid.
Barty did not notice immediately.
He pressed himself close, chin hooking over Regulusâs shoulder, his mouth warm against the side of Regulusâs neck. He smelled faintly of smoke, expensive cologne, and cold city air, as though London itself had tried to follow him home and got caught in his coat.
Barty always looked half-wild, even when he was still. His curls were slightly untamed from pacing and dragging a hand through them. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His grin was pressed against Regulusâs skin like a promise.
Regulus looked trapped inside himself.
Barty swayed them slightly, as though they were dancing to music only he could hear.
âMy fiancĂŠ,â Barty said, pleased with the word in a way he had never managed to hide. âMy beautiful, terrifying, impossible fiancĂŠ.â
Regulusâs jaw clenched.
Barty kissed his temple.
âStill canât believe you agreed,â he whispered.
Regulus stared at their reflection.
Bartyâs arms around his waist.
Bartyâs hands over his stomach.
Regulus stopped breathing.
There.
There.
Bartyâs fingers rested carelessly, affectionately, exactly where Regulus could not bear them and desperately wanted them all at once.
The room shifted.
The mirror seemed to tilt forward.
Bartyâs hand moved gently, thumb rubbing a slow arc over Regulusâs shirt.
âReg?â
It was quiet.
Not teasing now.
Regulus did not answer.
Barty lifted his head from Regulusâs shoulder. His expression in the mirror changed first at the eyes. The grin faded. Not vanished, exactly, because Bartyâs mouth always looked like it knew something sharp, but softened into worry.
âRegulus.â
Regulus swallowed again.
It hurt.
Bartyâs arms stayed around him, but they loosened at once, no longer trapping. Only there.
Bartyâs eyes flicked over him in the mirror, searching. His face sharpened with attention. Barty could miss a mood for ten minutes if he was on a ramble, but once he saw it, he saw everything. Too much. Too fast.
âReg,â he said again. âLook at me.â
Regulus could not.
âDarling.â
That nearly broke him.
He hated darling except when Barty said it like that. Not smug. Not theatrical. Not weaponised. Soft. Like something held in both hands.
Regulusâs eyes filled.
Bartyâs expression changed completely.
âOh,â he whispered. âOh, love.â
Regulus turned his face away from the mirror.
Barty did not try to make him look back. He stepped around him instead, careful and quick, putting himself between Regulus and his reflection.
The mirror disappeared behind Bartyâs body.
That helped.
Not enough.
But it helped.
Barty took Regulusâs hands.
They were cold.
âTell me,â Barty said.
Regulus breathed out, and the breath shook so badly it sounded broken.
âI canât.â
âYou can.â
âI canât.â
âAll right,â Barty said immediately. âThen donât. Not yet. Just breathe.â
Regulus made a sound that was not quite a laugh and not quite a sob.
Bartyâs face crumpled with concern so raw it made Regulus want to apologise, which made everything worse, because he had done nothing wrong except exist in a body that kept becoming evidence.
âIâm sorry,â Regulus said.
âNo,â Barty said, instantly. âNo, donât do that.â
âIâm sorry.â
âStop. Regulus, stop.â Barty squeezed his hands. âYou are not allowed to apologise at me when you look like youâre about to shatter. Thatâs illegal. Iâll make it illegal.â
Regulusâs laugh broke halfway through and turned into a sob.
Bartyâs eyes widened.
âOh, fuck,â he breathed. âCome here.â
Regulus let himself be pulled in.
For one second, he held himself stiffly, his face turned against Bartyâs shoulder, hands hovering uselessly at Bartyâs sides. Then Barty wrapped around him properly, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other spread between his shoulder blades, and Regulus broke.
It came out of him violently.
Not graceful tears. Not the cinematic kind. Ugly, silent at first, then gasping. His shoulders hitched. His fingers clutched at Bartyâs shirt. His whole body shook with the effort of holding in something that had already burst.
Barty held him through it.
No jokes now.
No pacing. No rambling. No manic little sparks thrown into the air to make a room brighter.
Just Barty, solid and warm, one hand stroking Regulusâs hair with uncharacteristic patience.
âYou are,â Barty insisted. âYou are. Whatever this is, Iâm here.â
Regulus dragged in a breath.
It snagged on the way in.
âIâm pregnant.â
The room went quiet.
A deep quiet.
Not empty. Not cold.
Stunned.
Barty stopped breathing.
Regulus felt it. Felt the sudden stillness of his chest, the silence where Bartyâs body had been moving. Felt the hand in his hair pause.
For one terrible second, every old fear opened its mouth at once.
Then Barty exhaled.
Not a word.
Just air.
Regulus shut his eyes hard.
âI only found out recently,â he said, voice cracking. âI didnât know how to tell you. I didnâtâ I couldnâtâ I tried, but then every time I looked at you, I couldnât get the words out, and I know I should have told you straight away, I know, I justââ
âRegulus.â
âAnd I love it,â Regulus said, desperate now, words spilling because if he stopped he might never start again. âI do. I love it already, and thatâs the worst part, because I love it and I want it and I donât want you to think I donât, but I canâtâ I canât stand this. I canât stand looking at myself. I canât stand feeling everything changing. I canât stand knowing why. I canât stand being reminded that my body canâ that I haveââ
His voice failed.
Bartyâs arms tightened.
âLove,â he whispered.
Regulus shook his head again, crying harder. âIâm happy and Iâm not. Iâm terrified. I feel horrible. I feel wrong. And then I feel guilty for feeling wrong, because itâs ours, and I love it, Barty, I do, I swear I doââ
âYou donât,â Regulus snapped, but there was no heat in it. Only pain. âYou canât.â
Barty went still again.
Then, softly, he said, âNo. I canât. Not the way you do.â
Regulusâs breath shuddered.
Barty pressed a kiss to the side of his head.
âBut I know you,â he said. âI know when you love something. You go quiet with it. Like youâre afraid the world will hear and try to take it from you.â
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut.
âI hate this.â
âI know.â
âI hate that I hate this.â
âI know.â
âI hate the mirror.â
âThen weâll cover it.â
Regulus gave a small, broken laugh into his shirt. âYou canât cover every mirror in the world.â
âWatch me.â
âBarty.â
âIâm serious,â Barty said, and he did sound serious, which from him was always slightly alarming. âI will wage war on reflective surfaces. Iâve been waiting for a nemesis.â
Regulus laughed again, helpless and wet.
Barty kissed his hair.
âThere,â he whispered. âThere you are.â
Regulus pulled back just enough to look at him.
Bartyâs eyes were shining.
Regulus noticed it at once.
âYouâre crying.â
âNo, Iâm not.â
âYou are.â
âIâm having an eye-based reaction to joy and terror,â Barty said, blinking rapidly. âEntirely different.â
Regulusâs face twisted.
Bartyâs thumb came up carefully, wiping beneath Regulusâs eye.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â he asked, but there was no accusation in it. Only hurt, tender and restrained.
Regulus looked down.
Barty tipped his chin up again with two fingers, gentle enough that Regulus could have pulled away if he wanted.
âNot like that,â Barty said. âIâm not angry. I just want to understand.â
Regulusâs lips trembled.
âBecause once you knew, it would be real.â
Bartyâs face softened.
âAnd if it was real,â Regulus continued, âthen Iâd have to be real inside it. Not just numb. Not just pretending I had time to decide how I felt.â
Barty nodded slowly.
Regulus looked away.
âAnd I was scared youâd be happy before you saw me.â
Barty flinched.
Regulus hated himself for noticing.
âI didnât meanââ
âYes, you did,â Barty said quietly. âAnd you were right to be scared of it.â
Regulus looked back at him.
Barty swallowed.
âBecause I am happy,â he said, voice thin at the edges. âRegulus, Iâm so happy I think I might go insane. More insane. Impressively insane. But that is not bigger than you. Do you hear me? It doesnât come first.â
Regulus stared at him.
Barty cupped his face with both hands.
âYou come first,â he said. âYou. Not my feelings, not whatever circus is currently detonating inside my skull, not the fact that I want to run into traffic and scream that Iâm going to be a father. You.â
Regulusâs breathing shook again.
Barty leaned closer.
âIâm delighted,â he whispered. âAnd Iâm terrified. And Iâm shocked. And Iâm probably going to start crying properly in about thirty seconds, so brace yourself because I will make it dramatic. But right now, I need to know what you need.â
Regulus pressed his lips together.
âI donât know.â
âThatâs fine.â
âI donât want you to touch my stomach yet.â
Bartyâs hands dropped from his face immediately, hovering in the air like he had been burned.
âDone,â he said. âNo stomach.â
âI donât want you to call meââ Regulus stopped, jaw tightening.
Barty waited.
Regulus forced the words out. âI donât want you to call me anything that makes me feel likeâ like that.â
Bartyâs eyes sharpened. âNever.â
âAnd I donât want you to look at me differently.â
âI canât promise that,â Barty said.
Regulusâs face shut down.
âNo, listen,â Barty said quickly, taking his hands again. âNot badly. I wonât look at you like youâre less you. I wonât look at you like youâre fragile glass orâ or like this changes who you are. But I am going to look at you and know youâre carrying our baby, and I canât pretend that wonât make me feel something. I can promise Iâll be careful with it.â
Regulus searched his face.
Bartyâs voice went rougher.
âI can promise Iâll be careful with you.â
Regulusâs mouth trembled again.
âThat was almost a normal thing to say.â
âI know. Horrifying. I hated it.â
Regulus huffed a weak laugh.
Bartyâs thumbs moved over his knuckles.
âDo you want to sit?â he asked.
Regulus nodded.
Barty guided him to the bed without touching anywhere he had been told not to touch. It was almost absurd, how visibly careful he became. His hands went to Regulusâs shoulders, then thought better of it, then hovered near his elbows, then retreated.
Regulus sat on the edge of the mattress.
Barty crouched in front of him.
For once, the height difference tilted in Regulusâs favour. He looked down at Barty, at the frantic brightness in his eyes, at the way he seemed to be holding himself together with his teeth.
âYou can breathe,â Regulus said.
Barty let out one single, strangled laugh.
âThat is a dangerous suggestion.â
âBarty.â
âIâm breathing.â He inhaled loudly through his nose. âSee? Horrible. Didnât enjoy it.â
Regulus wiped at his face with the heel of his hand.
Barty caught his wrist gently and used the sleeve of his own shirt instead.
âThatâs disgusting,â Regulus muttered.
âYouâre engaged to me. Your standards died ages ago.â
Regulusâs mouth twitched.
Barty smiled back, small and shaky.
Then his eyes filled again.
Regulus watched him fight it.
It was a strange thing, seeing Barty Crouch Jr. try not to feel too much. Barty, who felt everything like a match dropped into petrol. Barty, who could turn irritation into performance, desire into religion, affection into a siege. He looked almost frightened of his own happiness now, as though it had arrived too large to fit inside him.
Regulusâs voice softened.
âYou can be happy.â
Bartyâs face crumpled.
âCan I?â
âYes.â
âRight now?â
âA bit.â
âA bit,â Barty repeated, nodding too fast. âI can do a bit.â
He lasted approximately two seconds.
Then he covered his mouth with one hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
Regulus stared at him.
âOh my God.â
âIâm sorry,â Barty said, though the words came out mangled. âIâm trying to be composed.â
âNo, youâre not.â
âIâm not,â Barty admitted, and then he was crying. Properly crying. Tears spilling over, shoulders shaking, grinning through it like the world had cracked open and handed him the sun.
Regulus blinked.
Barty laughed wetly into his palm.
âFuck,â he said. âFuck, Reg.â
Regulusâs own tears slowed in sheer disbelief.
âAre you laughing or crying?â
âYes.â
âBarty.â
âIâm going to be a dad,â Barty said.
The words seemed to hit him after he said them. His eyes went wide, then flooded all over again.
âIâm going to be a dad,â he repeated, softer. âIâm going to be someoneâs father. Thatâs insane. Thatâs irresponsible of the universe.â
Regulus stared down at him.
Barty looked up, tear-streaked and grinning.
âIâm going to be a father.â
Regulusâs chest ached.
This time, not only from fear.
âYes,â he whispered.
Barty made another broken sound and dropped his forehead against Regulusâs knee, careful, avoiding his stomach entirely like it had become sacred ground he had not yet been granted permission to enter.
Regulus looked at the top of his head.
âYouâre getting tears on my trousers.â
âI have just received life-altering information.â
âTheyâre expensive.â
âIâll buy you new trousers. Iâll buy you ten new trousers. Iâll buy the baby trousers.â
âThe baby wonât need trousers for a while.â
âI donât know how babies work,â Barty said into his knee. âIâll learn. Iâll become unbearable about it.â
âYouâre already unbearable.â
âYes, but now with educational material.â
Regulus laughed.
It surprised him.
The sound came out small but real, slipping through the wreckage of the moment like the first flash of a bird over storm water.
Barty lifted his head slowly.
His eyes were red. His cheeks were wet. His smile was the maddest, softest thing Regulus had ever seen.
âAnd I got you pregnant,â Barty said, then seemed to hear himself and nearly choked. âHoly shit. Regulus.â
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
âCareful.â
âNo, no, I know, I know.â Barty held up both hands. âIâm being normal.â
âYou are absolutely not.â
âIâm being sensitive and normal.â
âYouâre crying on the floor.â
âBecause Iâm going to be a father.â
âYes.â
âAnd becauseââ Barty stopped, bit his lip, failed to contain the grin that ripped across his face. âBecause apparently I got you pregnant.â
Regulus stared at him.
Barty pressed both fists to his mouth.
âIâm sorry,â he said, muffled. âIâm not making it weird.â
âYouâre making it incredibly weird.â
âItâs justââ Barty took a breath, then another, then gave up. âThatâs so fuckingââ
âBarty.â
âIâm not finishing the sentence.â
âGood.â
âIâm thinking it loudly.â
âI know.â
âItâs a compliment.â
âItâs a medical condition.â
âIt is not a medical condition. It is the miracle of my terrifyingly effective devotion.â
Regulus stared at him for half a second.
Then, despite himself, he smiled.
Barty saw it and lit up like a city.
âOh,â he whispered. âThere. That. Do that again.â
âNo.â
âYes.â
âNo.â
âPlease. Iâm devastated. Iâm a father. I need support.â
âYou are not a father yet.â
âI am emotionally a father.â
âYou are emotionally a courtroom fire.â
âAnd genetically a father.â
Regulus groaned, but there was laughter under it now, fragile and unwilling.
Barty crawled up onto the bed beside him with exaggerated caution, as if Regulus were a skittish cat and he was trying not to be scratched. He sat back against the pillows, arms open but not reaching.
Regulus looked at him.
Barty looked back.
No pressure. Not spoken, not performed. Just waiting.
Regulus moved first.
He climbed into Bartyâs arms and settled against his chest, turned sideways so Barty could hold him without touching where he had asked him not to. Barty adjusted immediately, one arm around his shoulders, the other resting along Regulusâs hip.
âIs this all right?â Barty asked.
Regulus nodded.
Barty kissed the top of his head.
They sat like that for a while.
The room, which had felt too bright and sharp before, slowly settled back into itself. The bed dipped under their combined weight. The wardrobe stood open. The mirror remained behind them, no longer watching.
Regulus sniffed.
Barty leaned sideways and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table.
Regulus took it, wiped his nose, and muttered, âElegant.â
âDevastatingly.â
âI look awful.â
âYou look like my favourite person.â
âThat wasnât an answer.â
âIt was the only answer Iâm willing to give.â
Regulus tucked the tissue in his fist and rested his head back against Bartyâs shoulder.
Barty was quiet for almost a minute.
Then he said, very carefully, âHow far along?â
Regulusâs fingers tightened.
âA few months.â
Barty inhaled.
Regulus felt the reaction go through him. The shock. The maths. The sudden widening reality of it.
âA few months,â Barty repeated.
âYes.â
âAnd you found out recently?â
âYes.â
âWere you alone?â
Regulus closed his eyes.
âYes.â
Barty made a small sound.
Not anger.
Pain.
Regulus turned his face slightly. âDonât.â
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou were about to feel guilty loudly.â
âI can feel guilty silently.â
âNo, you canât.â
Bartyâs mouth pressed against his hair.
âI wish Iâd been there.â
âI know.â
âI hate that you were alone.â
âI know.â
âI wouldâve held your hand.â
Regulus swallowed.
Bartyâs voice dropped.
âI wouldâve made a scene at the healer if they looked at you wrong.â
âThey didnât.â
âI wouldâve made a scene anyway. For morale.â
Regulus smiled faintly.
Barty tightened his arm around his shoulders, still careful.
âDo you have to go back?â
âYes.â
âIâll come.â
Regulus hesitated.
Barty stilled. âOnly if you want.â
Regulus looked down at his own hands.
âI think I do.â
Barty did not celebrate. Did not make it about himself. He only kissed his temple again and said, âThen Iâll come.â
Regulus breathed out.
Some knot inside him loosened by a thread.
âAnd if there are things you donât want said,â Barty continued, âor words you hate, or parts of it that make everything worse, you tell me. Or write it down. Or glare at me in a specific way until I understand.â
âYou understand none of my glares.â
âI understand at least seven.â
âThere are more than seven.â
âIâm expanding the catalogue.â
Regulus let his eyes close.
Bartyâs heartbeat was fast beneath his cheek. Fast and uneven. He was still crying, quietly now, tears slipping down whenever the thought caught him again.
Regulus tilted his head back to look.
âYouâre still crying.â
Barty nodded, lips pressed together.
Regulus reached up and wiped one tear from his cheek with his thumb.
Barty turned into the touch at once.
âMy ridiculous man,â Regulus murmured.
Barty gave a wet laugh.
âThatâs father of your child, actually.â
Regulusâs eyes narrowed.
Bartyâs grin returned, bright as struck flint.
âOh, thatâs going to be unbearable,â Regulus said.
âYes,â Barty said immediately. âAwful. Iâm already drunk on it.â
âDonât make me regret telling you.â
âYou wonât.â
âI might.â
âYou adore me.â
âI tolerate you.â
âYou agreed to marry me.â
âI was under duress.â
âYou proposed back.â
âYou were being annoying.â
âI was being romantic.â
âYou were on the kitchen floor.â
âI was overcome.â
âYou had dropped an entire jar of jam.â
âAnd from that ruin, love rose.â
Regulus laughed again, more fully this time.
Barty looked at him like the sound had physically struck him in the chest.
Then he started crying harder.
âOh, for fuckâs sake,â Regulus said, but softly.
âIâm sorry,â Barty gasped, laughing through it. âI just remembered again.â
âThat Iâm pregnant?â
âThat youâre pregnant. That weâre having a baby. That youâre going to marry me. That somehow, despite all available evidence, my life has become disgustingly perfect.â
Regulusâs smile faded slightly, not gone, only sobered.
âIt wonât be perfect.â
Barty wiped at his face and nodded.
âNo. It wonât.â
âIâm going to be difficult.â
âYouâre already difficult.â
âBarty.â
âI know.â He sobered too, the grin gentling at the edges. âI know, love. Itâs going to be hard. Some days are going to be awful. Youâre going to hate things. Iâm going to say something stupid and youâll want to throw me out the window. Weâll panic. Weâll fight. Weâll learn. Iâll probably buy the wrong kind of something and insist itâs revolutionary.â
âYou will.â
âAnd youâll call me an idiot.â
âYou are.â
âAnd Iâll love you.â Bartyâs voice cracked. âThrough all of it. Every second. Even when you canât stand being looked at. Even when you canât stand being touched. Even when you donât know how to feel. Especially then.â
Regulus went very still.
Barty shifted, careful enough not to startle him.
âYou donât have to perform happiness for me,â he said. âYou donât have to make it pretty. You donât have to make this easy so I can be excited.â
Regulusâs eyes burned again.
âI donât know how to do this.â
âNeither do I.â
âThatâs not comforting.â
âNo, but it is honest.â
Regulus sniffed.
Barty kissed his forehead.
âWeâll do it badly at first,â Barty said. âThen less badly. Then perhaps with alarming competence. And if anyone has an opinion about you, your body, our baby, or the way we handle any of it, I will become a legal event.â
Regulus stared at him.
âA legal event?â
âYes.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âI donât know yet, but there will be paperwork.â
Regulus shook his head, but he was smiling again.
Barty saw it.
He softened everywhere.
âThere he is,â he whispered.
Regulusâs smile trembled.
âDonât say it like that.â
âLike what?â
âLike I came back.â
Barty looked at him for a long moment.
Then he said, âYou did.â
Regulusâs throat tightened.
Barty brushed hair back from his forehead.
âYou went somewhere horrible in your head,â he said. âAnd then you came back. Iâm allowed to be relieved.â
Regulus had no answer for that.
So he tucked his face beneath Bartyâs chin and breathed.
Barty held him.
The mirror stood behind them, useless now. Powerless. A sheet of glass with no teeth.
After a while, Regulus said, âYou really want this?â
Bartyâs arms twitched around him.
He seemed to choose his answer with care, which was rare enough to be startling.
âI want you,â he said. âAnd I want what you want, if you truly want it. And if you truly want this baby, then yes. God, yes. More than I know how to survive.â
Regulus nodded slowly.
âI want it.â
Barty inhaled sharply.
Regulus lifted his head.
âIâm scared,â he said.
Barty nodded.
âIâm miserable.â
Barty nodded again.
âI might be miserable a lot.â
âThen Iâll be there a lot.â
âThat sounds exhausting.â
âGood thing Iâm obsessive.â
Regulus gave him a look.
Barty smiled.
âAnd devastatingly in love.â
âThat too.â
âMostly that.â
Regulus leaned his forehead against Bartyâs.
For a moment, they were quiet enough to hear the city beyond the window. The distant hush of traffic. Someone shouting below, muffled by glass. A siren far off, rising and falling like a wounded mechanical bird. Ordinary life going on without permission.
Inside the flat, everything had changed.
Nothing had moved.
Bartyâs hand stroked up and down Regulusâs arm.
âCan I ask something potentially stupid?â he said.
âNo.â
âBrilliant. Iâll ask anyway.â
Regulus sighed.
Bartyâs voice went shy in a way Regulus almost never heard.
âAre you⌠are you all right with me being excited sometimes?â
Regulus pulled back enough to look at him.
Barty rushed on. âNot when youâre upset. Not over you. Not in a way that makes you feel alone with the difficult parts. But if youâre all right, or if thereâs a moment when it doesnât hurt, am I allowed to be excited? Because I can suppress it, but I should warn you now, it may come out through my ears.â
Regulus studied him.
Barty looked genuinely anxious.
The sight did something strange to Regulus.
There was fear in him still. Dysphoria still, waiting in the corners. The awareness of his body had not vanished just because Barty loved him. It would not be that easy. He knew that. They both did.
But there was something else now too.
Bartyâs tear-streaked face. Bartyâs trembling mouth. Barty trying, impossibly, to make his enormous joy small enough to fit in Regulusâs hands without hurting him.
Regulus touched his cheek.
âYes,â he said.
Barty froze.
âYou can be excited sometimes.â
Bartyâs eyes widened.
âSometimes,â Regulus repeated.
âRight.â
âAnd not loudly in public.â
âDefine loudly.â
âBarty.â
âUnderstood. Whisper-volume insanity.â
âAnd not to strangers.â
âWhat about enemies?â
âNo.â
âWhat about people who deserve to be emotionally inconvenienced?â
âNo.â
Barty nodded solemnly. âVery restrictive, but I accept.â
Regulus rolled his eyes.
Barty leaned forward and kissed him.
It was soft.
So soft it almost hurt.
No demand. No heat pushed where it was not wanted. Only mouth against mouth, trembling slightly, saltwater and breath and love.
Regulus kissed him back.
Barty made a broken little sound against him and pulled away before it could become anything else.
âSorry,â he whispered.
Regulus frowned. âWhy?â
âBecause I want to kiss you for six years.â
âThat sounds medically unwise.â
âIâm going to be a father. Iâve lost all sense of proportion.â
âYou never had any.â
âTrue.â
Regulus leaned into him again.
Barty settled back carefully, taking Regulus with him until they were lying against the pillows. Regulus curled into his side. Barty kept one hand in his hair, the other safely at his back.
After a minute, Barty whispered, âReg?â
âHm?â
âIâm going to say something.â
âMust you?â
âI must.â
âFine.â
Bartyâs voice shook with wonder.
âWeâre having a baby.â
Regulus closed his eyes.
The words landed differently from Bartyâs mouth.
Still frightening.
Still huge.
But warmer.
âWe are,â Regulus whispered.
Barty made another strangled noise.
Regulus opened one eye. âAre you crying again?â
âNo.â
âYou are.â
âIâm silently celebrating.â
âYouâre leaking.â
âIâm full of paternal feeling.â
âYouâre full of something.â
Barty laughed and sobbed at the same time, burying his face in Regulusâs hair.
Regulus let him.
For a little while, he even enjoyed it.
That was the strangest part.
Not the fear. He had expected fear. Fear was an old room. He knew its furniture.
But this, this flicker of amusement under the grief, this tenderness rising through the dysphoria like green through cracked pavement, this was stranger. Harder to trust. More dangerous in its hope.
Barty sniffed loudly.
Regulus groaned. âYouâre disgusting.â
âYou love me.â
âIâm reconsidering.â
âYou canât. Baby.â
Regulus lifted his head sharply. âDo not weaponise the baby.â
Bartyâs grin went crooked and delighted.
âOh,â he said. âThat annoyed you.â
âBarty.â
âI wonât weaponise the baby.â
âYou were about to.â
âI was absolutely about to.â
âI know.â
âBut I wonât.â Barty held up a hand. âI am a changed man.â
âYou found out ten minutes ago.â
âAnd look at my growth.â
Regulus stared at him.
Barty stared back, eyes still wet, grin still trembling.
Then Regulus did something unwise.
He smiled slowly and said, âYou know, I suppose this does mean you were very effective.â
Barty went utterly still.
Regulus watched the words strike him.
His eyes widened.
His mouth parted.
A flush climbed his throat.
Regulus arched one brow.
Barty whispered, âRegulus.â
âWhat?â
âDonât.â
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou said it with your face.â
âYouâre imagining things.â
âYou absolute menace.â
Regulusâs smile sharpened, the first familiar blade of it returning. âIâm emotionally fragile. You canât accuse me of anything.â
Barty pointed at him, tears still drying on his cheeks. âThat is evil.â
âYes.â
âI am trying to be respectful.â
âYou are trying very hard.â
âI am trying not to think about the fact that Iââ
âGo on.â
Barty clapped a hand over his own mouth.
Regulusâs eyes glittered.
Barty spoke through his fingers. âYou are cruel.â
âYou like me cruel.â
âI love you cruel. Thereâs a difference.â
Regulus leaned back into the pillows, calmer than he had been all evening. Not fixed. Not cured. Not suddenly shining and whole. But here. Present. In his own skin, however uneasy, with Barty beside him and the mirror behind them.
He looked at Barty and found him still staring, overwhelmed all over again.
âWhat?â Regulus asked.
Barty shook his head.
âNothing.â
âLiar.â
Barty swallowed.
âIâm just looking at you.â
Regulus stiffened slightly.
Barty noticed. Of course he did.
âNot like that,â he said. âNot at your body. At you.â
Regulus studied him.
Bartyâs expression was open in a way that made him look younger. Softer. Almost frightened.
âI keep thinking I canât possibly love you more,â Barty said. âAnd then you ruin my life by proving me wrong.â
Regulus looked away, but not before Barty caught the blush.
Bartyâs thumb stroked over his knuckles. âMy Regulus.â
âNo.â Regulus swallowed. âThe other thing.â
Barty went silent.
Then, carefully, reverently, he said, âWeâre having a baby.â
Regulus breathed through the ache.
Again, the words were terrifying.
Again, they were beautiful.
Again, they were real.
He pressed Bartyâs hand tighter.
âWeâre having a baby,â Regulus repeated.
Barty broke again, smiling so hard it looked painful, tears spilling freely.
Regulus watched him for a second.
Then he laughed.
Not because it was easy.
Not because everything was fine.
Because Barty was crying like an idiot on their bed, because his shirt was still half-buttoned, because the mirror had lost, because the world had changed and somehow left them both breathing.
Barty laughed too, helpless and wet, dragging Regulus closer without touching anywhere he should not.
âIâm going to be such a good dad,â Barty said, voice wrecked with conviction.
Regulus hummed. âDebatable.â
âI am.â
âYouâll teach the baby crimes.â
âOnly tasteful ones.â
âNo crimes.â
âLight fraud?â
âNo.â
âVerbal intimidation?â
âBarty.â
âFine. Literature.â
âYou donât read.â
âIâll start. For the baby.â
Regulus smiled into his chest.
Barty kissed his hair again and again, like punctuation. Like prayer. Like he could press enough love into Regulusâs skin to make the hard parts gentler.
The flat settled around them.
Outside, London kept moving. Inside, Barty held him and cried and grinned and whispered the truth until it became less sharp in Regulusâs hands.
Weâre having a baby.
You come first.
Iâm here.
My Regulus.
And for the first time since the healer had spoken, Regulus let himself rest inside the words.
Not without fear.
Not without grief.
But with Bartyâs arms around him, with his own hand curled safely in Bartyâs, with the future no longer a locked door but a room neither of them knew how to enter yet.
They would enter badly.
Loudly, probably.
With Barty crying on expensive trousers and Regulus threatening murder before breakfast.
Got this request on Qoutev, wrote it in the span of like an hour immediately after seeing the request and it's still one of my favourite oneshots to this day ^^
Synopsis: Reader and Kaveh are engaged, both very committed to work and cannot (for the love of archons) drink water or go to bed at a reasonable time.
It had been about five years since you met Kaveh, yourânowâfiancĂŠ. He was one of the most wonderful, caring, and beautiful people you've ever met. He was amazingly kind and cared so much about you, and everyone, for that matter. Even his roommate, even if he tried to hide it. Being as kind as your fiancĂŠ didn't come without it's downsides though. You'd often find him staying up very late into the night working on something to meet a deadline he could very well just ask to extend. You, and most of his friends know he's incredibly broke from spending his own money on a project. Given, that was much more of a dedication thing than a kindness thing, but that's another one of the many things you love about him.Â
Your point isâand wasâthat your fiancĂŠ is amazing and wonderful and kind and perfect. But... well, you wish he took better care of himself. He could get much more sleep, drink less, eat better, drink actual water. A number of things that you found important to living. Though it wasn't like you could say anythingâas of this moment, you were editing one of your stories, and it was roughly four in the morningâwhich wasn't much better than Kaveh. You're actually fairly sure he went to bed before you for once. You also haven't had a glass of water in three weeks. And the amount of caffeine you have daily is probably concerning. But that's besides the point, you have to be mad at Kaveh for not taking care of himself.Â
You sigh, setting down your pencil, deciding to actually go to bed. You'll wake up in like.... two hours maybe, but that's fine. You did this to yourself.
As you start getting into your bed you notice Kaveh is not asleep. So you were wrong, great. You yawn, but decide it's important to at least attempt to yell and him to go to bed. Maybe you can convince him with cuddles. That might work.Â
When you get to Kaveh's office, you see him sitting at his desk, looking rather tired.Â
"Hey, you should get some sleep, it's quite late"
Kaveh turns towards you, looking even more tired than usual. "Oh, yeah, I guess I shouldâwait, what are you doing up? It's really late, you need to get to bed"
You shrug, "Didn't see the time, like you I assume"
Kaveh, sighs before standing up and walking towards you. "C'mon sweetie, you need sleep, should I take you to bed?"
You yawn again. "I'm not too tired, you need sleep though, you have work tomorrowâwellâtoday, actually"
Kaveh wraps his arms around your waist, peppering your forehead with kisses. "You also have work tomorrow, don't you have that manuscript to submit? And those drawings for your other book?"
You smile. "Yes, I do, but I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep without you there with me,"
Kaveh sighs. "I need to finish this design tonight"
You pull away from him, putting your hands on your hips. "I also need to finish up the manuscript, but I'm going to try to sleep eventually"
Kaveh yawns. "IâI'll get to bed eventually, just not right now. You need to get to bed right now. And maybe drink some water, when's the last time you've done that?"
You glance at the window. "That's irrelevant, you need sleep"
Your fiancĂŠ raises and eyebrow at you. "I need sleep? I guess, but you're more important"
You yawn again. "We both need sleep, how about that?"
Kaveh shakes his head. "I really do need to finish this, I'll get to bed soon. I know it's hypocritical, but seriously, get to bed. I need you to take care of yourself"
You sigh. "I'll stay with you here in here until you're done, then we can go to bed together."
Kaveh nods reluctantly, "As long as you get to bed eventually, I guess"
You grab an extra chair and pull it over to where Kaveh's desk is. You look at his beautiful designs, relaxing. You manage to rest your head on Kaveh's shoulder, and try to avoid letting your eyes close. You don't end up succeeding.
.
.
.
Dappled light streams though the window of Kaveh's office, the spots of sun falling upon twoâvery tiredâartists. Kaveh and his fiancĂŠe.
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just read some of my old wips and omg i wrote mr sapnap in one where the fiances were married and just tought that actually they may take ckarl's surname
