Disclaimer: Do you think I'm J.K. Rowling?
Authors note: Deamus is my O.T.P. Sorry for all the cuteness.
I love my drawings. They're like snapshots of my life, or memories in a Pensieve. But one in particular is my favourite.
It's of Seamus. He lies on his back outside, by the lake. It's autumn, and you can see the leaves falling. However, I left it as a pencil sketch, so the vibrant colours are missing. He is gazing up at the sky, and you'd think he didn't know I was drawing him by the look of bliss on his face. I love that drawing because Sea simply looked so beautiful in that pose. Later that day, I realised that I liked him. Then I ran away and cried on my Dorm bed for an hour.
It has a companion. This is a a painting, in full colour, the opposite of the last one. It's of Seamus, crying, hunched in a corner. You can see the skin, shiny with tear tracks and the face, blotchy and red. You can see his gorgeous eyes, brighter than usual, and his hands wrapped around his ankles. It's two weeks after I realised, and I found Seamus like this. He seemed so weak, so innocent, so helpless. His mum was ill, drastically so. He had never had the best relationship with her, but he loved her anyway. He kept saying that it was him being a bad son that drove her to this state. I consoled him. We sat there for hours, I don't know how long. I do remember Seamus falling asleep, his head on my shoulder. I carried him up to the dorm and put him on his bed, tucked him in. I whispered goodnight to him, and made my way to my own bed and slept.
Even though I would've given anything to get into that bed with him, and cuddle up to him, and help him get through this as more than just a friend.
I peel my eyes away from the two artworks, and look up into Seamus' eyes. He smiles down at me softly, and I put the box of art away.
The day after the story of that painting, I told Seamus my feelings. His response was to pull me into a broom closet on the 2nd floor. I don't have a drawing for that. And I don't need one. Because I replay in my head every day, so it can never fade.
I fix his shirt, straighten his tie, and then he proceeds to take his place at the altar. I do the same.
Even today, on our wedding day, we are still as childish, as vulnerable and as innocent as the couple we were all those years ago. But now we can be all of that 'till death do us part.