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It's like meeting Seamus all over again.
Their battlefield reunion didn't leave much time for catching up. The recovery and rebuilding afterward, even less so. With friends to bury and so many fresh wounds - body and soul - to heal, he and Seamus don't get a moment to breathe, to grab a pint and just talk until much later.
And then it's like they hadn't spent a day apart at all, like nothing had changed. Except so much has.
There's a stillness to Seamus now that Dean knows was learned hiding from the Carrows. The boy who used to be incapable of sitting still through a lesson unless he was sleeping is gone, replaced by a man who knows the price of making the wrong move.
That price is written in the now slightly crooked bend of Seamus's nose, the thin scar at his hairline, the way the pinky on his left hand can't straighten out completely, and it kills Dean to know he wasn't there to share the hurt with Seamus. But Seamus knows and he understands and it makes the words easier. So much was left unsaid between them before, but war has a way of making men honest: in the way they fight, in the way they kill, and in the way they love.
The kisses are new, and Dean has to learn those like he has to learn the new topography of Seamus's skin. It's terrifying and amazing and he and Seamus can share this together at least.
They share the nightmares, too, but at least now they both have a hand to reach for in the dark.
Sometimes there's a coldness in Seamus's eyes that scares Dean so much. But then it's gone, banished by the warmth of a crooked smile or a flare of temper that heats Dean's own blood until he's not quite sure how they ended up half naked on the floor, gasping and shaking.
Dean wonders if Seamus is as awed and daunted by the changes in Dean himself, the stark differences between boy and man. But just as the uncertainty rears its head, Seamus will tilt his head just so, laugh just as loudly as he used to, and Dean knows it doesn't matter. He loves him just the same.