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Dean groaned and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He’d really come to rely on having Luna around to do wacky things, he realized. Even if he didn’t end up drawing her herself, inevitably one of the fantastical creatures she buzzed about would inspire him in some way. Now he just had the same old Gryffindor lion taking shape on the page – something he’d drawn hundreds of times and was, quite frankly, bored of. Besides, he was meant to be drawing something Christmassy for his Christmas cards, and, well. Lions didn’t exactly scream Christmas. He sighed and looked forlornly down at the drawing again. Maybe he’d add a Santa hat and call it a day.
Seamus unceremoniously dropped a small bin chock full of baking decorations right next to Dean’s elbow, startling him back to the present.
“Cookie decorating time,” he announced. “No more glowering at half-done sketches.”
Seamus seemed determined to fill every moment that Dean was staying at his flat (well, except when Seamus was trying to work) with Christmassy goodness and cheer, and quite frankly, Dean was glad of it. It had grated on him back home, but with Seamus… with Seamus he knew that it was to try to mask the hurt of the past year and not because he didn’t understand.
Didn’t hurt that he had gotten a lot of sweets out of the deal too. Seamus had been doing a lot of baking lately, and Dean’s mouth watered even for the simple sugar cookies that Seamus was currently bringing to the table.
“Do we need to decorate them? Can’t we just go ahead and –”
Dean made a grab for a cookie and Seamus squawked, batting his hand away. He held the tray up above his head and pointed an admonishing finger at his friend.
“You’d best behave, or you’re not going to get any, decorated or bare.”
Dean pouted, but Seamus held his stare.
“Argh, fine. I’ll be good.”
Seamus eyed him suspiciously, but lowered the tray to the table.
“Right. We’ve got icing, we’ve got sprinkles, we’ve got silver balls and red hots and who knows what else. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Pick your poison, then.”
Seamus immediately went for a cookie in the shape of a holly leaf. Dean considered his options, then went for a snowman.
Ten minutes later, Dean was ready to give up. His snowman had turned out okay, but he’d picked up what Seamus had told him was meant to be a snow globe, and, well. It wasn’t pretty.
He sighed and pushed his cookie away.
“All right?” Seamus asked without looking up. He was intently shaking some sprinkles over his own.
“I’m supposed to be good at this,” Dean grumbled.
Seamus only laughed. “Dean, you may not believe this, but how they look has no bearing on how they taste.”
Dean peered over at Seamus’s latest creation – or perhaps more accurately, he thought, snorting, monstrosity.
“Ah,” Seamus said grandly, lofting his cookie up like a tuxedoed waiter with a large tray and affecting a posh English accent, “you may scoff at my work, good sir, but I’ll have you know that this is a masterpiece for the tastebuds.”
Dean crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Is that right.”
“A truer word was never said,” Seamus sniffed, then broke and grinned at Dean. “Try it, then, if you’re such a skeptic, and tell me it’s not the best damned thing you’ve ever had.” He held the cookie out. Dean gave it a hard, measuring stare, taking in the icing – once separate green, red, and yellow but mostly turned into a somewhat brown mass – dripping off the edges, the silver balls that seemed to be strategically placed but that for the life of him he could not figure out in what way, and the sprinkles that rose in a mound on one side and one side only, and considered how much he valued the sanctity of both art and his health.
“All right,” he said slowly, looking back up to his friend. “I’ll bite.”
Seamus’s eyes sparkled with delight, and Dean’s belly gave a little flip. He quickly looked back at the cookie.
It was really rather messy, and he didn’t want to get his hands dirty (never mind that they were already covered in decorating materials), surely Seamus wouldn’t mind if… Dean’s eyes flicked back up.
He bent down and bit off half the cookie from between Seamus’s proffered hand. Seamus’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked about to say something, but instead he closed his mouth and swallowed. Dean took a step back and pretended that eating out of your friend’s hand was a perfectly normal thing they did all the time – it’s not like they’d never done it before, at least – and chewed, considering.
“Okay, I s’pose I have to give this one to you. This is delicious.”
“Told ya. Now come on, slap some edible glitter and glue on the rest of these and then we’ll feast.”
* * *
“When do you want supper?”
Seamus blinked up at him, quill dangling between his fingers. “What?”
“Supper? I can make it whenever, but I wanted to make sure you’d be done.”
“Oh. Soon as possible I guess.” He looked back down at the article he’d been working on – ironically about the corruption of the media – and dropped his quill. “Won’t get much more done on this anyway, my hand is killing me.”
“Cramping?” Dean asked sympathetically. Seamus nodded. “I can show you some of the hand massage techniques I use if you like. They really help.”
Seamus groaned. “A massage. Don’t tease me, D, I couldn’t bear it.”
Dean chuckled and tossed the kitchen towel onto his shoulder, pulling a chair over to sit beside Seamus. “Come on, then, let me see it.” Seamus extended a hand and Dean started with the fingers. “Trick is to be both gentle and firm,” Dean began, trying to lower and slow his voice into relaxation mode, “which can be kind of a weird concept, but once you get it it’s easy enough to keep it going.” He pressed into the index finger and slid down from base to tip. Seamus whimpered and Dean paused. “Am I hurting you? Not gentle enough?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Seamus said, but his eyes were screwed tight and his face had flamed a bright red. Dean figured it was more from embarrassment than anything else.
“Mate, you’re going to need to relax or tell me what’s wrong.”
Seamus opened an eye, caught Dean’s, and released a shaky laugh. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Just. A little weird, you know?” He shrugged vaguely. “Not everyday you’re practically holding hands with your – your best mate.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if we’re shy about touching each other. I mean, we hug all the time.”
“No, I know, it’s just.” Seamus growled in frustration. “It’s just different, okay?”
Dean studied his friend, allowing that familiar flicker of hope to come to life in his chest again. Because the fact that Seamus’s thoughts were headed elsewhere when this could so easily be written off as being just close friends, well. Dean grinned a little to himself and ducked his head back down to Seamus’s hand.
“Right, I’ll keep going then if you’re good.”
“Please, cure my pain.”
“So I’m sure there’s an official order or something you’re supposed to do this in, but I’ve always started with fingers. Then, I come up here. Back of the hand. The bones are a bit weird at first but really this feels so good.”
Seamus hummed in agreement.
“These areas between the fingers don’t get a lot of love, and for me at least, that’s where a lot of pain comes from. They need to get spread out a little. Which leads us to the next bit.” He lifted Seamus’s hand so they were palm to palm and then lightly laced their fingers together, desperately trying to ignore the happy, nervous twisting in his gut.
“And this does… what, exactly?” Seamus’s voice was a little squeaky.
“Well once I actually do it,” Dean said, spreading his fingers out and stretching Seamus’s along the way, “it should help with that same spreading thing.”
“Oh. Cool. Yeah, that feels good.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked, pleased.
“Thought you’d done this enough to know you’re good at it.”
“True. My skill is unmatched.”
Seamus scoffed, but didn’t otherwise say anything, and they fell into silence as Dean continued the massage, working into Seamus’s palm. He once again was struck by how easy this was, just him and Seamus, in a world where chaos seemed to reign supreme and yet they managed to find the little joys in their days together, and it was quiet (well, comparatively), and nice, and Dean had felt constantly happy and at peace since he’d come to visit.
He finished working on the hand but didn’t let go. He couldn’t, not just yet.
“Hey, um,” Dean cleared his throat as he stared down their hands. “Thank you. For letting me stay with you for the hols, I love my family but they just don’t… they don’t get it, and they never will, and this year has been so bloody…”
Seamus turned his hand over so that he could hold Dean’s in his own, and Dean glowed a little to think that this was okay now. “Hey, don’t worry about it. ‘Sides, I could use the company just as much. Must admit it has been weird, being on my own.” He grinned lightly. “Honestly, though, mate, it’s like you forgot we lived together for six years. You might as well have been living here already for all that you seem to have claimed it the last few days. You’re the easiest guest ever.”
And that Seamus had been thinking the same thing, that they fit together in life as easily as their hands right now, well. Dean thought he was allowed to let that little flame of hope bloom into something more.
* * *
Dean was beginning to realize why it took an insufferably long time in books and movies for the romantic leads to get together. It was all well and good to have a plan of action and be reasonably sure you would be well received, but when it came to actually doing anything? That was the hard part, and Dean was beginning to panic a little about what would happen if he was wrong.
So instead of going through with the plan, he figured it might be a good idea to confirm his suspicions. Better safe than sorry and all that.
Seamus had decided that Christmas Eve was a good day to stop working finally (and Dean had never thought his best mate would be one to work when other people had already stopped for the holidays, but here they were) and had slept in extra late that morning (read: nearly to the afternoon). Seeing him come downstairs with bed-fluffed hair and bleary eyes, still in his pyjamas, had sent Dean’s heart fluttering away and he’d had to get up to put the kettle on just to have something else to do than stare.
Unfortunately, Seamus followed him to the kitchen to find something to munch on while he waited for tea, so Dean was not spared for long.
“Morning.”
Seamus only grunted as he rummaged through the pantry and emerged with some crackers.
“Ah, don’t worry, mate, we’ll get some tea into you in a few.”
Seamus shuffled up next to him and patted his arm gratefully. “You. Are the best. Have I ever told you that?”
“Maybe once or twice,” Dean grinned. “Sleep well?”
“Never had a better sleep in my life. Had some real trouble getting up.” It looked like he was ready to sleep again, slumped against the counter with his eyes drifting closed.
“And yet you managed. A truly Herculean feat.”
“Yeah, well, couldn’t leave you down here by yourself all day, could I? Plus I got a bit bored. You’ve spoiled me for thinking lazing around would be better than taking advantage of having you here.”
Dean shifted his feet. Certainly promising, he thought as he pulled two teacups from the cupboard above Seamus’s head.
“Mm, you smell good.”
Dean stopped in surprise, arm still hovering up above about to close the cupboard. Seamus’s eyes snapped open.
“I mean. You – oh, sod it, I meant what I said. You put on some lotion or something?”
Dean carefully lowered his arm and went to pull out the milk and sugar, biting his lip to disguise his smile. “Just the usual shower and deodorant. All part of my grand plan. Nice to know it’s working.” He let his lips quirk up at Seamus.
“And what grand plan is that, then?”
“Figuring out what things will make someone fall in love with me. It’s a work in progress.”
Seamus frowned. “Seems you’ve been keeping some important things from me. What else is part of this plan? And who’s supposed to be falling in love with you?”
“Don’t quite know yet.” Dean watched as some tension slipped from Seamus’s shoulders and a smirk replaced his frown.
“You’ve got a grand plan with only one thing – and a pretty bare minimum thing at that – working toward it?”
“Like I said, work in progress.”
Seamus only shook his head and turned to pick out his favored tea.
“What would you add to my grand plan, then? Fireworks? Candlelit dinners? Mistletoe?”
Seamus snorted. “Mistletoe’d be a very Lockhart way to go about things,” he said. “Meaningless froofy nonsense, with an ugly little plant that’s probably dropping some weird tiny insects on you while you swap spit under it.”
Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, then in a slightly strangled voice said, “Yeah, maybe not the best idea.”
Seamus shot him a quick glance. “You alright, mate? You sound – oh Merlin, you were ready to go and try to woo some bird with some mistletoe, weren’t you!”
“I was not!”
“Can’t fool me, Dean, we’ve been best mates since we were wee little firsties. I bet you even have some mistletoe hidden in your pocket, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.” He made a grab for Dean’s pocket, not seeming to actually be trying, but Dean still froze, eyes wide. Seamus stopped, his hand hanging in the air. “Dean? I’m just joking, mate, I wasn’t actually… Look, if you’re actually trying to, I don’t know, make some grand romantic gesture for someone, it’s really not a bad idea. I was only joking.”
Dean shrugged and picked up the kettle to pour their tea, taking his time under the guise of being careful. Really, he was just afraid to see Seamus’s expression when he remembered that Dean hadn’t spent any time away, had only spent it with Seamus lately, which meant there likely wasn’t any girl in the picture and severely narrowed down options for anyone else.
Seamus touched his sleeve lightly. “Listen, I… I’m sorry, I was being an insensitive berk. I’m sure whoever it is will be over the moon – I mean, you’re a total catch – and you’ll get your perfect romantic Christmas or whatever. And I think, maybe,” Seamus sucked on his lip a moment and looked away. “Maybe I’m also just a bit upset that y– that no one is ever going to do something like that for me, so I made fun of it. And that was rude of me.”
“Why do you think no one will ever do that for you?”
Seamus’s head whipped up to meet Dean’s eyes, and Dean thought that maybe he shouldn’t have said it with such heat, but he’d be damned if he’d let Seamus get away with what he’d just said.
“What?”
“I said, why do you think no one will ever do that for you?” Dean repeated, eyes not wavering from Seamus’s, jaw tense.
“I – yeah I heard you the first time, I just don’t… look, it’s no secret I’m not the greatest bloke around, yeah? I’m hot-headed, I literally make things go up in flames –”
“A plus if I’ve ever heard one.”
“– I can’t make a decent meal if I try –”
“Make some mean pastries though.”
“ – will you shut up? I’m short, and even though I’m Irish I don’t even have the cute redhead look going for me –”
“Plenty of people love blonds, especially dirty blonds.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.
“ – seriously shut your trap – I go too far with jokes, case in point two minutes ago. I’m a very average wizard, maybe as average as it gets, and at least the ones who are bad at it make exciting things happen. Maybe that’s it, maybe I’m just boring.”
Dean sighed and grabbed Seamus’s shoulders. “One. Maybe the first thing you said was about blowing things up, which entirely negates that last concrete point. And being average is perfectly lovely and honestly so much more fun in day-to-day life. Can you imagine having to be Harry? Seems like a nightmare. Two. I don’t know if you’ve heard of this thing called being a short king, but that’s you. Plus I’m just extra tall, so if it really bothers you, just remember I’m like, freakishly big, and I’m usually your comparison point. You’re also the perfect height for leaning on. Truly wonderful.” Seamus allowed a tiny smile to break through. “I said it before, but your pastries are a fucking delight, mate, no one makes them like you. And I can cook, so there’s no need to worry about that.”
“We don’t live together, though,” Seamus pointed out.
Dean waved a hand. “Details. Unimportant. We’re wizards, we’ve got floo and apparition and whatever the hell else.” Dean didn’t add that he wouldn’t mind if they did live together. “Anyway, more importantly, my points. Sure, you’re hot-headed, but you’ve gotten loads better at managing it, and apologizing when you don’t. Redheads aren’t everyone’s type.”
Seamus gave him a pointed look at this, and Dean blushed.
“Ginny was a one-time thing, alright, when else have I done that?”
“True, you went for the blonds after that. Lisa, Hannah, Neville – and what a weird way for that to come about, by the way,” Seamus said, then, “…Luna?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, she just lets me practice drawing people. We’re just friends. Besides, she’s off with that guy who’s just as obsessed with weird animals as she is now.”
“Right. Whatever, keep telling me how awesome I am,” Seamus said, and Dean was both grateful and disappointed that he let the subject drop before they got into the fact that Seamus was blond, and wasn’t that such a funny coincidence.
“Nah, mate,” he said instead. “I can already see your head inflating. Besides, tea’s going to start getting cold if I have to go through the whole list.” Dean picked up his cup and started walking to the couch, but not before he caught the soft, pleased smile gracing Seamus’s lips.
By the time Seamus followed him into the sitting room and settled into his favorite chair, Dean was flipping through channels trying to find something decent to watch. News, some reruns of old shows and Christmas specials of new ones he didn’t know, Love Actually of course, but it was at the Mr Bean bit that drove Dean to insanity no matter how he was supposed to feel about what’s-his-face, Titanic… Dean paused.
“Is this meant to be a Christmas movie?” he asked.
Seamus looked up. “Maybe? When did it sink?”
“Can’t remember, honestly, don’t imagine wizards cared enough to make it part of our curriculum. Don’t think it was Christmas, though.”
“Well. There’s snow and ice at least.”
“Yeah.”
They fell silent, watching as Jack pulled Rose to dance – well, Seamus watched at least, and Dean watched his feet twitch, his head bob in time to the music.
They were up to Rose showing Jack the necklace and convincing him to draw her before either of them spoke again.
“You know.” Seamus cleared his throat. “If you need another model, while, you know, Luna’s travelling. I’d be happy to fill in.”
“Really?” Dean asked, studying him. Seamus wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, and his cheeks were tinged pink, but he forged ahead.
“Course. I mean, you draw me enough anyway. Might as well have my permission.”
It was Dean’s turn to blush. He hadn’t realized that Seamus had noticed – but then again, he mused, if someone stares at you as much as is required to draw them, you’re bound to catch on eventually.
“Well. Thanks, Shay, that would be nice. If you’re sure.”
“Yeah. Was always kinda curious what it would be like to be a model.” He looked back at the telly. “Maybe I’ll even ask you to draw me like one of your French girls.”
Dean choked on his tea, and if the reason was for more than the laughter that bubbled out of him, well, no one else needed to know that.
* * *
Seamus had fallen asleep sometime toward the end of the film, and Dean was taking advantage of his stillness to make some sketches. Maybe it was weird, but Seamus just looked so… soft. The mussed up hair, the hand smushing up his cheek, the fingers curled loosely around the blanket round his waist. Dean couldn’t resist. He was trying to quietly sharpen his 4B when his eyes drifted over to the window.
“Oh my… Oh my goodness, Shay!” he hissed. Then, louder, “Seamus, wake up! It’s snowing!”
Seamus blinked awake and looked out the window, then straightened up suddenly.
“It’s snowing!”
“Yeah, I just said.”
“Hush, you.” Seamus scrambled out of the blanket and off the chair. He grabbed Dean’s elbow and hauled him off the sofa. “C’mon, coats, hats, gloves, get a move on!”
Dean laughed and let himself be dragged along. Seamus had a tendency to get inordinately excited about snow no matter how many times he saw it, and Dean loved him for it. That combined with that they would probably see much less of it down in London than they had back at Hogwarts, Dean knew he was going to savor every second.
They shrugged on their coats and were struggling to put on gloves as they stumbled outside. It was getting dark out, and the Christmas lights and streetlamps were casting a soft glow on the smudgy snow.
It was hardly deep, maybe just a couple of inches, but that was practically a miracle here, and Seamus laughed in delight.
Dean let him run around a bit and kick up the snow before deciding to have some fun. He formed several snowballs, then pulled out his wand and whispered the same charm used to enchant bludgers over them and sent them Seamus’s way.
Dean doubled over when the snowballs sounded a very satisfying thwack! thwack! thwack! as they pelted Seamus’s head, one even managing to smack the sweet spot of no protection on his neck between hat and scarf.
“Oi!” yelled Seamus, and suddenly he was barreling toward Dean and tackling him to the ground.
“Argh!”
“You are gonna pay for that, you little –”
Seamus and Dean rolled on the cold ground, arms and legs flailing, trying to get the upper hand. Dean managed to hook a leg around Seamus’s and force him under with a “Ha!” of triumph, but it was short-lived. Seamus may have been a head shorter than him, but his stocky figure was serving him well now, and he was quickly able to shove Dean off and roll on top himself when –
“Ouch!”
Dean stopped mid-shove. “What’s up?”
“I dunno, mate, you tell me, it’s like you’ve got needles in your pocket or something.”
“Needles in my – oh, shit,” Dean said, trying to scramble out from underneath, but Seamus was having none of it. He pinned Dean’s chest down and narrowed his eyes.
“I could make a joke here,” he started. “But I’d be very concerned if your dick was that sharp, so give.”
“It’s, uh,” Dean cleared his throat. “Look this is not how I wanted to do this, it was meant to be, well, nicer.”
Seamus looked unimpressed. “Shall I just get it out myself then?”
Dean groaned and briefly covered his eyes, then sighed.
“No, it’s fine, I’ll… look you have to promise you won’t, won’t laugh or anything. This is already bad enough. Also maybe get off, please.”
Seamus said nothing, but rolled off into the snow beside Dean. Dean was not sure if it was better or worse that they were now laying next to each other.
“Okay, so, you know we were, er, joking in the kitchen earlier. About the mistletoe.”
Seamus’s eyes widened and he burst into laughter. “You do not actually have some on you! Merlin, Dean!”
Dean huffed. “You promised not to laugh.”
“I did no such thing,” said Seamus, but he made a valiant effort to control himself.
“If you’re quite done,” Dean said, “I’ll show it to you.” Seamus nodded, still biting back giggles, and Dean pulled out a now rather sad looking bunch of mistletoe and holly.
“You’ve been keeping holly in your pocket? What is wrong with you?”
“It was meant to be romantic!”
“Oh. Right.” Seamus looked away. “Who’s the lucky one then?”
Dean blinked. “What?”
“Whose bouquet of kiss-inducing greenery have I just ruined?”
“I – well yours, if you must know.”
Seamus froze, then slowly shifted to look at Dean again.
“Mine?” he said slowly, seemingly disbelieving.
Dean swallowed. “Yeah, if you. If you want, I mean.”
“Dean,” Seamus breathed, and suddenly his lips were on Dean’s and it didn’t matter that his gloved hands on Dean’s cheeks were cold and wet, it was perfect, intoxicating, he was kissing the person who mattered more than anything else in the world and he never wanted it to stop.
Which of course meant that it had to, mainly due to Seamus’s continued laughter.
“Really stroking my ego you are,” Dean grumbled, but he couldn’t help from letting out a wondrous laugh of his own.
“Sorry, it’s just. It really is lovely, Dean, but I can’t think what possessed you to make some convoluted plan when you could have just told me. How were you thinking to just pull this out naturally?”
“Oi, you didn’t tell me either. And it wasn’t going to be natural – I mean, it was, but there was going to be lead-up, dinner and candles and maybe some champagne –”
“Merlin, Dean, there was no need,” Seamus said, but he sounded happy at the thought, and Dean remembered his words from earlier, the thoughts that he couldn’t have this, didn’t deserve it.
“Well I’m still going to do it anyway,” he said, finding Seamus’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Like it or not, I plan to wine and dine you until you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
“S’pose I can live with that.”
“It’ll also help with something else that I totally bollocksed up when I got caught up in all this.”
Seamus frowned slightly, tipping his head to tell him to continue.
“I, er, might have not gotten you a real Christmas gift.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right. I thought it was going to be something actually bad,” Seamus laughed.
“Really? I thought you’d be more disappointed.”
“’Course not. All I really want for Christmas is you.”
Dean dropped his head sideways and saw Seamus’s eyes crinkling on his otherwise serious face and shoved his shoulder lightly.
“Aw, c’mon,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That is so cheesy.”
Seamus laughed. “Aye, it is,” he admitted. “True, though. And need I remind you, you were the one carrying mistletoe round in your pocket.”
Dean’s eyes softened. “And it did exactly what I was hoping for. Think it’ll work a second time?” he asked, pulling it back up and eyeing it consideringly.
“I think it just might.”
And being able to feel the grin on Seamus’s lips under his own was maybe the best thing Dean had ever experienced. Even if the snow was also now seeping through his pants.