Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter books or films or anything associated with them. I also don't own One Direction or anything associated with their song "What Makes You Beautiful."
A/N: It's a songfic without the song. I'm inspired by music every day, and it encourages me to write about my favorite boys, Dean and Seamus. This is a bit of a trial run; if you like this, feel free to request a songfic from either my list on my profile or your own music. If you don't like it, I eat constructive criticism for breakfast. It fuels me. So bring it on.
What Makes You Beautiful
He could see the insecurities lying just beneath the surface. Seamus acted. Everywhere, all the time, he oozed confidence, leaked charm and smiled like the sun. Even in the dorm at night, he'd never fail to impress, always be putting on a show, trying so hard to win over everyone around him. Dean knew, though. He knew that, although part of Seamus was genuinely expressive, he was covering for himself. He was hiding, fearful that anyone would see how ashamed of himself he was.
Seamus had tried to get Dean out of his shell in front of others- it was something Seamus did very well, talking to anyone about anything, but Dean seemed to have no interest in it. It wasn't just that he wasn't interested, Seamus could see- he was uncomfortable. He'd looked into those honey-brown eyes and when the intensity of their stare had overcome him, he'd had to glance down, biting his lip. When he'd looked back up, Dean had returned to his sketch, and Seamus hadn't tried getting him to talk anymore. The sweet curve of Ginny's hair fell loosely across the parchment, and Seamus asked.
"Why are you drawing her?"
Dean hunched, automatically protective over his work, but forced himself to relax and look back into Seamus' eyes.
"Artists are drawn to beautiful things," he replied simply.
The gaze again overwhelmed him, and Seamus was forced to look away. This time, he hadn't looked back up. He didn't want Dean to see the wetness in his eyes.
Dean had turned his head around the doorjamb to the bathroom once- just once, and found himself unable to look away. There stood Seamus, towel around his waist, burning a hole in the mirror with the ferocity of his glare. Dean saw the tension and hatred in his best mate's face, but had no idea why. He'd stared at the broken image of his friend's frustration for a moment that seemed eternity, gazing at the fear and anger in his reflection until Seamus had run the water and splashed himself, prompting Dean to turn back to the empty dorm. When Seamus had come out moments later, fully clothed and hair tousled, he'd smiled, as he always did, and began nattering on about some aimless thing or other. Dean wondered. If something were wrong, surely Seamus would've told him? There would have been some sign, some mention of something different in Shay's life. Dean pushed it to the back of his mind, and listened as Seamus chattered all the way down to the great hall.
Dean was shy. It wasn't a big secret, he was quiet, and mostly alone but for Seamus- and though when Seamus had cornered him about it Dean had simply murmured that he liked to watch people, Seamus was worried about his best mate. He knew how breathtaking Dean could be, and he saw it in his friend's face every day. How Dean's eyebrows would furrow and his eyes would flicker across the page as he created masterpiece after masterpiece, hidden away in his sketchbook. Only Seamus saw those drawings- having full access to your best mate's personal possessions meant secretively searching through his private art once in a while- and he was rendered speechless. Even when he was alone, this was difficult to accomplish over his constant conversations with himself.
He sat there, staring at the gorgeous works, and bit his lip. He slipped the sketchbook shut, thinking of the way Dean turned his head to the ground whenever someone spoke to him, or even looked at him. He was so… alluring. The way he'd gaze up at you under those dark eyelashes, that look that made Seamus feel he would burn red hot if he didn't look away.
When Dean entered the dorm, he knew something was wrong. Seamus was lying on Dean's bed, which in itself was not an odd occurrence, but he was completely silent. The only motion was the perpetual worrying of his lower lip. Dean had walked in on Seamus holding a quiet conversation with himself so many times that he couldn't remember the last time he'd come in to see Seamus not speaking.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed his silent friend occupied.
Seamus didn't move, just stared at the canopy, repetitively nipping and releasing his lip.
"Seamus, I know something's wrong," Dean began again, "just tell me."
In response, Seamus' hand dug underneath the pillow and pulled out Dean's sketchbook.
Dean gasped, eyes going from the book to Seamus' face in terror.
"Dean," Seamus asked quietly, "why are there so many of me?"
Dean was flustered. He hadn't wanted this conversation, not yet, and he was trying to think of a million excuses when he saw the tears forming in Seamus' eyes.
"Shay? Seamus? What- why are you crying?"
As the tears dripped softly over his nose and ran down his cheeks, Seamus whispered something so quietly Dean had to ask him to repeat it.
"I said…. You told me that artists are drawn to beautiful things. How could you put me next to Ginny and everything else you have in here? How could you make me look like that?" He choked, opening to a page at random and pointing.
Dean was stunned. In his mind, he saw Seamus in the bathroom, clenching the counter and staring at his reflection in fury. He remembered the faltering smile and the shameful glances away when Dean had tried to look him in the eyes.
"You don't know?" he asked slowly, the realization fully impacting him for the first time, and he grasped Seamus' shoulders. "Hey. Look at me." He demanded, and Dean so rarely demanded anything that Seamus complied, exposing the fearful hatred for himself to Dean for the first time. "You are beautiful."
A/N: So this didn't come out how I wanted it to at all. I think it's pretty terrible. Oh well. Review if you agree, disagree, have suggestions or requests. Thanks!