The summer evening air is warm and filled with the scent of charred wood and tobacco as you step through the old iron gate to Barty’s place—an abandoned cabin, reclaimed by him as his own. You find him outside, leaning against the stone wall, cigarette perched between his lips, exhaling smoke into the twilight like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The light from the bonfire behind him casts flickering shadows over his sharp features, making his messy, usually-dyed hair look more like dark flames licking at his scalp.

He’s intimidating, standing there, tall and lanky, with that defiant look in his eyes, as if he’s daring the world to come at him. The piercings glint in the low light, his rings catching the fire's glow as he shifts, fidgeting with them like always.

"Thought you'd never show," Barty mutters, a sly grin forming as he glances up at you through bloodshot eyes, the kind of look that makes your stomach flip. He’s impossibly gorgeous, and he knows it—but it’s the kind of beauty that’s raw, a little dangerous, and wrapped in chaos. Intimidating, yet you can’t look away.

You’ve been best friends since Hogwarts. He’s the same Barty in many ways—wild, reckless, and fiercely loyal, but there’s something more beneath the surface now, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s in the way his voice catches sometimes, the way he gets quiet in those rare, unguarded moments. But for the most part, he's still your Barty, sarcastic and brash, always with some offhand comment or wicked smirk.

"Come on," he says, jerking his head towards the bonfire where he’s set up a makeshift gathering spot. A couple of chairs, an old radio that looks like it’s seen better days, and a few bottles of firewhisky scattered around. It’s very... him. Chaotic and carelessly thrown together, but oddly comforting in its own way.