reggie's ver.

The wind rolled lazily through the tall grass, coaxing it into a slow dance beneath the golden morning sun. Light filtered through the pale blue curtains, settling across Barty's face with enough warmth to stir him from sleep.

His hand reached across the bed instinctively. Cold sheets. A sleepy smile found its way onto his face anyway. Of course Evan was already awake.

The scent of freshly baked bread drifted upstairs, warm and buttery, carrying with it the familiar comfort of home. Somewhere below, someone was humming. The melody was soft, absent-minded—one Evan never seemed capable of finishing.

Barty pushed himself upright, dragging a hand through the unruly mess of curls that had somehow become worse overnight. He reached for the shirt hanging from the bedpost, pulling it over his head before padding barefoot toward the stairs.

The old floorboards greeted him with quiet creaks.

The house always sounded alive in the mornings.

As he stepped into the kitchen, the smell of toasted bread grew stronger.

Evan stood by the counter with his back turned, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. One hand held a spatula while the other rested against the edge of the counter. Sunlight poured through the open window, catching the loose strands of his blond hair until they almost glowed.

There was a streak of flour across his cheek. Barty noticed it immediately. He decided not to tell him. It suited him.

"What's up, Rosie?"

Without turning around, Evan smiled.

"Morning to you too, Bee."

Barty wandered further into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

"No, seriously." He tilted his head. "What's up?"

That finally earned him a glance over Evan's shoulder.

"Hm?"

Barty pretended to think, looking toward the ceiling as if searching for an answer. "The sky."

For a heartbeat, Evan only stared. Then he sighed dramatically. "...As always."

The silence that followed lasted exactly long enough for both of them to break into laughter. It wasn't funny. It hadn't been funny the first hundred times they'd said it either. But somewhere along the way, it had become theirs. Barty laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the kitchen island.

"You know," Evan said once they had finally settled down, "one day I'm not going to answer that."

"You say that every time."

"And every time I do."

"Exactly."

Evan rolled his eyes fondly before returning his attention to the toast.

"I'll start the coffee."

"You'll burn it."

"I've only burnt it twice."

Evan looked at him.

Barty frowned. "...Three?"

"Four."

"You're making that up."

"I'm protecting my future."

"Oh, so now you're planning one with me?"

Evan's ears turned the faintest shade of pink. "I regret saying anything."

Barty grinned victoriously as he filled the kettle, setting it on the heater.

Breakfast was simple. Avocado toast. Sunny-side-up eggs. Coffee that Evan insisted tasted burnt no matter how carefully Barty made it.

They settled into their usual seats across the small wooden table beneath the kitchen window. Outside, the wildflowers swayed lazily in the breeze. The blue curtains fluttered softly beside them, carrying the scent of summer into the room.

Barty had barely taken his first bite when he looked up. Evan was already looking at him.

"...What?"

Instead of answering, Evan rested his chin in his palm, smiling in that suspiciously innocent way Barty had learned never to trust. "You'll do the laundry today."

Still distracted, Barty nodded. "Yeah, alright."

Evan simply hummed to himself and reached for his coffee.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

"...Hang on."

Evan took another sip.

Barty narrowed his eyes. "You did it again."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You smiled at me."

"I did."

"You know I stop thinking when you smile at me."

"I was hoping you hadn't noticed."

"You manipulated me."

Evan gasped softly, placing a hand over his chest. "What a horrible accusation."

"It is literally what happened."

"I prefer persuaded."

Barty dropped his forehead dramatically onto the table with a groan. "You smile your way out of chores every week."

"And yet..."

"...It keeps working."

"...Unfortunately."

Evan couldn't hold back his laugh anymore. It was soft. Warm. The kind of laugh that always made Barty wonder how anyone could believe heaven sounded any different.

After breakfast, Evan insisted on washing the dishes while Barty wandered from room to room collecting abandoned shirts and socks into a woven basket.

Outside, the backyard had long since stopped resembling a backyard. Wildflowers had conquered nearly every patch of grass after Evan had scattered seeds with no real plan other than they'll grow where they want to.

Against all odds...

They had.

Barty still refused to call it a garden.

He set the basket beside the outdoor faucet, separating white clothes from coloured ones while the basin slowly filled with water.

The kitchen faucet finally stopped running.

A second later, hurried footsteps echoed through the house. The back door flew open. "Barty!"

He looked up just in time to see Evan leaning halfway out the doorway, trying—and failing—not to laugh. "The chickens escaped."

Barty closed his eyes. "...Again?"

"I'm afraid so."

He pinched the bridge of his nose with theatrical exhaustion before looking back at Evan, who had the decency to look at least a little apologetic. It lasted all of two seconds.

"Honestly," Barty sighed, "how do you keep saying that with a smile?"

Evan shrugged. "I like watching you chase them."

"Then maybe you should chase them this time." Evan stepped off the porch, stopping just in front of him. He was smiling again. The unfair one.mThe one that always reached his eyes.

"We both know you wouldn't let me."

"Oh?"

"You love me too much."

Barty stared at him for a long moment before sighing in defeat. "...You're insufferable."

"I've been told."

"Mostly by me."

"I know."

"And you're evil enough to use it against me."

"I am." Another sigh.

"...You're lucky you're pretty."

"I know.” Barty shook his head, unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips as he walked past Evan toward the front yard.

Behind him, Evan laughed. Bright. Unrestrained. The kind of laugh Barty wished he could bottle away and keep forever. For a little while, it felt like the only sound in the world.

And so, after chasing and catching the chickens around, Evan gave Barty the privilege of taking a break. He said they should just forget about laundry for today, and just do it tomorrow—together. 

Barty agrees to this, and they end up on the front porch, sitting on the wood swing that Evan forced him to install a week ago. Evan is the one sitting, Barty took up most of the space by lying on it; his head on Evan’s lap. 

Barty looks to the side, his eyes met with the view of what looks like an endless field of tall grass—no other house in sight. Sometimes this is inconvenient, they have to ride a bike to buy supplies every week. Though mostly, Barty thinks it’s nice. They’re isolated, and it’s peaceful.

“What are you thinking of?” Evan asks, looking down at him.

Barty scrunches his nose, trying not to laugh because of what he sees when he looks up. “Our fences look boring. We should paint them.”

“Oh, yeah? What color are you thinking?”

Barty pauses for a while, thinking. “Blue,” he says eventually.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Green’s your favorite.”

There’s a long pause, and Barty swears he could hear the sudden ringing of church bells. He looks back at Evan who is still staring at him.

“You think we’ll ever find this place?” The blond suddenly asks.

Confused still, Barty finds himself having an answer. “Maybe we already have.”

The church bells ring closer, and louder. Barty sits up, and it’s dark.

Not pitch black, just darker. 

Oh, he’s back in his room.

It’s a shame, he wanted to tell Evan one last thing. 

“Green’s your favorite.”

But your eyes are my favorite, too. They’re blue.