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Merlin, he loved him.
He didn’t know how it had happened, but suddenly his best friend wasn’t just his roommate anymore. He was…more.
He noticed things about him now. How he bit his lip when concentrating on a new drawing, or when he was taking notes in McGonagall’s lectures. How Dean always put his arms around his shoulders and squeezed just a little harder than was strictly legal. How he liked it when he did that to him.
He didn’t just notice things, though. He started thinking about things all the time. Seamus wasn’t completely mental. Right? He just…he was in love with his best friend. He was in love with Dean. And Dean had no idea.
When Dean asked him to share a flat after Hogwarts, he jumped at the chance. They got a quirky two-bedroom flat in Muggle London because it was cheaper and they both felt more at home there. They went out to bars, flirted with the girls, but never brought any home. They were content.
When Dean got the commission for the Holyhead Harpies’ new logo thank to Ginny Weasley, Seamus took him out for dinner. When Seamus blew up the kitchen with his latest attempt at culinary success, Dean ordered take away and they fumbled with chopsticks, snug on the too small sofa that was all they could afford.
Sometimes, he thought he saw Dean looking at him. Not like a friend. Like a…like more. Like he wanted to kiss him. But then he remembered: he’s your best friend. He’s not your boyfriend or anything more than that. And you’re okay with that. Right? You’re okay with that. You have to be.
When Seamus finally landed his first real job at the Ministry, Dean took him out to their pub. He insisted on paying, even though Seamus knew he couldn’t really afford it. It was crowded, so they ended up sitting on the same side of a large booth with a couple of random people. Seamus certainly didn’t mind being sidled up to Dean. Dean was affable as always, chatting up the waitress and making conversation with the people at their booth. All Seamus could think about was how Dean felt pressed up against his side and how much he wanted to lay his head on Dean’s shoulder.
Seamus stumbled into their flat drunk off his arse one night after a particularly grueling day at the Ministry. He’d gone out for drinks with his mates from work and they had to side-along him home. He didn’t remember much of what he said that night, but he knew that the next morning he’d woken up in Dean’s bed (fully clothed, mind you) instead of in his own with a cuppa and a Hangover Draught on the nightstand. Seamus was confused, but he knew he’d do the same for Dean, so he didn’t make too much mention of it.
That was the first time, but it wouldn’t be the last.
He ended up in Dean’s bed more often than in his own. He didn’t plan for it to happen, but every time he went out with his mates from work, he’d end up waking up the next morning in Dean’s bed. Fully clothed. But with that damned cuppa and a Hangover Draught. How did he explain that all he wanted was to wake up with that cuppa but with Dean having crawled back into the bed to share one together? How did you tell your best friend that you’ve been in love with him since you were sixteen?
Apparently, you do it in front of his mum.
They switched off where they went for Sunday dinners. Both of their mums insisted that they needed to have at least one home-cooked meal every week, and that Sundays were for family. They flooed to Ireland once a month to have dinner with Seamus’ mum and da, and the rest of the Sundays were spent with Dean’s mum in her cozy home in Fulham. Seamus always stared at the pictures of Dean with his dad on the mantle. His favorite was the one where Dean was maybe three? Four? And his dad was in his RAF uniform playing toy soldiers with him on the floor. He was staring at the photo when he sighed and said, “Merlin, but I love your son.”
CRASH
Seamus whipped around to see Dean and his mum bringing the tea service into the sitting room. Well, it was on the floor now. Seamus stuttered, “I…uh..whu…well…em…Reparo!” getting the tea service back in order before running out into the garden.
“Seamus! Seamus, wait!” Dean yelled as he ran after him.
Seamus stopped at the bench they’d sat on a million times. He looked up as Dean skidded to a halt in front of him. “I didn’t…I, well...I…fucking hell.” Dean just stared at him.
Seamus caught his eyes when Dean said, “Took you bloody long enough,” and grabbed him for the most gut-wrenching, soul-stealing kiss he’d ever had in his life.
Dean was the first to pull away. Seamus kept searching his face. Trying to figure out if this was a joke or a prank or if he was going to wake up and it was all a dream. “You’re not imagining this, Seamus,” Dean chuckled. He knew him so well. Dean knew when he couldn’t wrap his mind around something. They’d been best friends practically their whole lives.
“Seamus,” Dean said carefully, “I’ve been in love with you since the first time you singed off your eyebrows in Flitwick’s class. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Damn,” Seamus replied. “You’ve got me beat, then. I didn’t know until we were sixteen. You were biting the end of a quill in McGonagall’s class, doodling on the side of your parchment. You looked up at me and grinned and I was gone.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Why didn’t you? Mr. I’ve been in love with you since we were eleven?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Me too.”
They heard a voice coming from inside the house, “Yes, Mary Ellen, they finally admitted it. Who had the bet for April 2001?”
Seamus and Dean stared at each other, clasped hands, chuckled, and walked inside to the biggest hug and questions about when their mums could expect grandchildren.
“Start your bets, you ridiculous woman,” Dean said to his mum as Seamus finally leant his head on his shoulder. Dean sighed and squeezed Seamus’s shoulder tight.
Finally, he was home.