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Dean couldn’t remember when was the first time Seamus lifted his curtains and demanded a place on his bed. He remembered he said yes, though. Of course, he was too tired and only half-conscious, why would he object?
So, Seamus came again. And again. And again. Each time less apologetic. Each time shoving himself closer to Dean’s body. Now it had become a habit of his, and it was only weird to ask him to stop, after all those nights when Seamus’s breaths were right on Dean’s neck, his nose inches from Dean’s lips.
What was weirder, though, was their silent agreement to never talk about it, not even just between him and Seamus. Surely Harry and Ron had noticed, but they never cared to ask. Surely Seamus’ whining woke Neville up once or twice, but he just rolled over and went back snoring.
Was that abnormal? Dean questioned every time he woke up with Seamus on his bed. Harry sometimes shared a bed with Ron, so it might not be too weird for a British wizard boarding school, but if it was truly nothing, why couldn’t he talk about it?
Even when Dean couldn’t sleep, even when he was entirely aware of everything, he would still allow Seamus to squeeze under his blanket. He was warm. Dean told himself. But when was the castle not properly heated? It wasn’t because of physical coldness; it was because of that heat only the Irish boy could provide. The feeling of his presence. The energy that came out so naturally from that tiny body, that freckled face, that wild grin which always meant mischief.
He couldn’t help, when Seamus was fast asleep, putting his fingers inside Seamus’ sandy hair, or stroking the locks until they were perfectly tidy, just to wait until Seamus rolled in his sleep and ruined all Dean’s work. And he would do it again. He was never tired of those gentle touches. He only craved more, wishing Seamus’ pajamas would get above his waist so he could pull them down properly.
Sometimes he thought of Ruby, his three-year-old Labrador at home, small, energetic, and extremely clingy just like Seamus. Merlin. God. He would think. I must be the weirder one. It is weird to think your best mate is like a dog.
But once dawn came, all those feelings were swept under the pillow, like a little boy hiding his sweets. That chaotic mix of obsession, confusion, tenderness, and secret pleasures were only for the nights when they were separated from the outside world, just curling together in this warm little nest.
But still, there were times when those feelings drifted out of boundaries. The morning of the Quidditch World Cup, Dean woke up with Seamus right on top of him. They were not in the dark anymore, but under the morning light that somehow found its way into their tent. Seamus’ freckles were so close that Dean could lick them effortlessly. He nearly did. A wide smile blossomed on Seamus’ face, his blond hair jittering with even the slightest facial muscle movement.
Dean couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Yet he was miraculously aware of Seamus left hand on the bed supporting himself, the right one on Dean’s left chest, as if holding his heart. The only thing Dean could hear was his own heartbeat.
“Ewww, morning breath. Go brush ye teeth!”
Dean pushed him away and fled.
Later, they went to the World Cup like normal lads. Of course they would. It was all Dean’s fault to think anything else could happen. Those things belonged to the night, only at night.
And they did happen that night. Just not as tender nor secretive as Dean expected. Fire whisky and the victory made Seamus go fully hyper. He danced around nonstop, cheering incoherently, and dragging Dean to a new place every three seconds. Just when Dean got too tired to drink or dance anymore, he seized his wrist.
Dean’s waist bent. It took him a few seconds to finally realize their lips were together. They were kissing. And Dean was back to those nights again, his body moved on its own as if they had kissed thousands of times. His hands were again in Seamus’ sandy hair, their bodies overlapped.
And then they heard the screams. But Dean didn’t dare to open his eyes nor let go, fearing to break the moment. It was Seamus’ who stood up first. His expression turned from dazed bliss into pure panic.
“I can’t let them get’u! Ye’re Muggle-born.”
And the magic of the night broke.
To Dean’s relief, they made it out of the Death Eater attack and got back to Hogwarts. With the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, Seamus got even more talkative, letting out random babble of speculation about the contest, but Dean didn’t share that enthusiasm. He was more concerned about what was actually going on between him and Seamus. Seamus never talked about that kiss. Overtime, Deans started to really question if Seamus could remember, or if that was just part of Dean’s own victory night fever dream.
But their little tradition at night continued. Seamus would sneak to his bed on tiptoes, mumbling things in muffled sleepy tone. Dean would take him in and watch him falling asleep. The only difference was now he couldn’t consider Seamus to be like Ruby to the slightest. He definitely possessed another sort of cuteness distinct from the Labrador--the cuteness that made Dean’s breaths go fast, his abdomen heat up, the cuteness that forced Dean to ponder again and again whether the kiss was a “kiss me I’m Irish” thing or some stupid impulse ignited by reckless drinking.
He could never get a sign of any confirmation, especially when Seamus told him with a piercing bright smile that Lavender was going to the Yule Ball with him.
“When are you two friends?”
“I mean, she’s a girl.” Seamus snorted.
“Does it have to be a girl?”
“Ya’ going with Snape?” He snickered conspiratorially.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Parvati is also a girl.” Seamus winked.
But Ron and Harry had already asked the Patil sisters, and Dean didn’t even get a girl from lower years who cared more about the Ball than the boys. Dean ended up wandering aimlessly in the blindingly bright hall, with boys and girls dancing and laughing all in pairs around him. Even Dumbledore was dancing with Professor McGonagall. Dude, how old is he? One hundred and ten?
Seamus should be dancing with Lavender, shouldn’t he? Dean was half-amused by the thought of them dancing. Lavender dressed up lavishly tonight. Dean had spotted her at the entrance, wearing a creamy laced dress with gigantic bowknots. As for Seamus, he was much shorter, and there was never much one could do to men’s robes. Seamus kind of looked like Snow White’s little dwarf next to her.
The was a bit mean, but Dean secretly wanted Lavender to only like Seamus the way Snow White would adore her little friend.
There was Lavender, dancing with a tall, handsome Beouxbatons boy in bright blue robes. Seamus, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. For a second, Dean didn’t know if he should be relieved or nervous. At least Lavender was still a friend. Now things had spiraled out of control.
His steps quickened as his inside twisted. It would be fine. He comforted himself. At midnight, this would all come to an end. He would go back to his warm little spot between the four posters, with Seamus already waiting for him under the blankets.
“Oi! Dean! Dean Thomas!”
Dean turned. Seamus was running toward him. “Where were ya? Being looking for ya everywhere!”
“Isn’t you supposed to be with Lavender?”
“She said I should come and find you.” Seamus approached, and to Dean astonishment, the Irish boy squeezed himself so comfortably into Dean’s arms. “She said loads, but I figure she just wants to dance with the French boys.”
“So now you remember your mate, after your girl abandons you?” Dean heard himself saying.
“What?” Seamus almost jumped at his words. “Lavender’s nobody’s girl. She just wants to have fun! And she thinks it’s a good idea for me to just to…” Seamus’ voice faltered, “check on ya. Make sure ya are having fun, too.”
A sudden surge of irritation mixed with anticipation only made Dean’s more confused. “Why you two think I am not?”
“Because, because…” Seamus stammered.
Dean just noticed how red Seamus’ cheeks were.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Shut it! I can tell. You never remembered what happened after drinking!” That was a bit of a baseless accusation. Dean had only seen him drinking once, after all, but his bitterness must have something to direct to.
Seamus frowned. For a moment, they just stared at each other, but Seamus was still Seamus. He gathered himself pretty quickly and retaliated.
“You don’t know what you are talking about. I only got drunk once, and that doesn’t mean I don’t remember what happened.”
Before Dean realized what happened, Seamus advanced and grabbed his collar. Dean was forced to bend down to the shorter boy’s eye level.
“You are the one who lost memory! You are the one who pretends nothing happened. For feck’s sake, it’s been ages, Thomas! You did all those things to me at night, and now you are saying I AM forgetful?”
At those words, Dean froze. Seamus knew. Of course he knew. Wild emotions swirled inside Dean, and he fell back to the memories of the nights, the nights with Seamus, the nights he touched him in the darkness, dreading the coming of dawn. Dean was in a daze, and he didn’t bother to get himself out of it. He needed to run. He needed time to process what this all meant.
“Thomas!” Seamus shouted.
“What do you want?” Dean yelled back, head spinning.
“Just say ye like me! Or is it to shameful to admit? What am I to ye? Ye Teddy Bear? Why the feck do you do those things to me and act like nothing happened?”
“I thought you…” Dean’s voice shook. He still couldn’t think. Being held like this by Seamus, he found himself completely at the mercy of Seamus. Seamus, the boy he likes.
“I-uh-I, I thought you don’t like it.”
“I hate it so much I come to ye all the time? Lavender said boys were stupid, can’t believe I actually argued with her.”
“You danced with her!”
“Can’t I dance with a friend who’ve been comforting me for so long just because ye are such a prick!” Seamus loosened his grip. Dean, being so shocked all the time, lost his balance and fell right on to the other boy.
Damn. This day couldn’t be any worse.
Seamus cursed. Dean didn’t know what he was thinking. He grabbed Seamus’ shoulder and simply begged. “Don’t just go! Please, I want…I really fancy you. I really do! I just…You never bring it up!”
“I kissed you at the World Cup!” Seamus screamed. With a sudden realization, Dean noticed people were looking in their direction, probably for a while now.
And what was the best way to prove his words, to prove he actually fancied Seamus, and he didn’t want to hide that from anyone.
“Shall we kiss again?” He asked, his face burned as if a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
“Genius idea.” Seamus snorted but leaned in anyway.
The fireplace was burning with a comforting crackle; People’s cheers were distant. Under the chandeliers and mistletoes, Dean got the kiss better than a thousand nights.