Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Written for Hogwarts Assignment 7, Literature Task 9. "You only get one life. It's actually your duty to live it as fully as possible."
Also Written for Hunger Games - GeorgeSeamus / Ruin / Excitement.
Word Count - 2598
Beta'd by Amber
when i wake, i wake with you
Seamus leant against the wall, his travel mug in his hand, inhaling the sweet scent of coffee from within. He'd already worked a twelve hour shift, and he still had another six hours to go, thanks to the many people calling in sick.
Translation, calling in hungover.
It was the holiday season, and even hangover potions weren't perfect. A lot of his colleagues had over indulged at the many parties they were attending, and so, Seamus was the lucky one who'd been called in to cover their shifts.
Not that he really minded. He didn't have much of a life outside of his work. He liked to be busy, to have his mind occupied so that he couldn't think, couldn't dwell, because that was very bad for his health.
No exaggeration.
He'd never been a great believer in overthinking, now even more. He was already plagued by what ifs and should haves in his dreams, he didn't need them pushing into his day to day life.
Someone knocked into him from behind and only his quick movement saved his precious coffee. Seamus turned to see a flash of red hair and pink cheeks.
"Sorry, sorry," a voice muttered, and Seamus shook his head.
"Don't worry about it, no harm done."
When the redhead looked up, Seamus was surprised to find himself face to face with George Weasley.
"Hey," he murmured, his lips tilting up. "You okay?"
George nodded. "Fine. Sorry, I, uh, forgot to wipe my feet on the way in and the floor is slippy. It's Seamus, right?"
"Hmhmm."
George shifted awkwardly and then nodded his head to the long corridor. "I should, uh."
Seamus pulled out his wand and pointed it towards the floor, casting a drying charm on George's shoes. George's flush deepened and he ambled away, his hands pushed deep into his pockets.
Seamus couldn't help but smile. That flush was cute.
…
There was blood everywhere. Seamus couldn't pick out specific people from the pile of bodies; he only knew with certainty that they were friends, they were loved ones, they were people he'd failed to save.
He didn't know anymore if they'd died in the Battle of Hogwarts, when he'd been too young to fight and too old to run away, or if they were patients from his time as a Healer.
All he knew was that the pile of bodies was because of him.
When he woke up, he was panting harshly and his cheeks were wet with tears.
…
"Oh, hey," Seamus said, as he exited the coffee shop.
George smiled at him, nodding his head. "That smells glorious," he muttered, nodding to Seamus' coffee. "I don't have time to get one, my therapy session is in like… ah, shit, five minutes ago."
Seamus snorted, handing his coffee over. "Here, have some of this one. I should… probably not drink as much coffee as I do."
"Heathen. There's no such thing as too much coffee."
"So, therapy?" Seamus asked. He'd seen George a couple of times since he'd literally run into him, and he'd been curious about why George was at the hospital so often. He didn't look particularly unhealthy.
George nodded. "Fred. You know?"
Seamus nodded. Sadly, he knew all too well. "Does it help?"
"I mean, I'm a functioning human being now, when for a long time, I really wasn't so… yeah. It helps."
"That's good. But since your appointment was like, five minutes ago… you should probably go, right?"
"Fuck, yeah, that. I should. Yeah. Thanks for the coffee."
"Anytime."
…
"Dean! Dean, where are you?" he cried out. He stumbled over rubble, the castle ravaged by a war that should never have been necessary.
He can't find his best friend, but he knows that Dean ran this way because he saw him. He knew Dean was here somewhere.
"Dean!" he called again.
Cold laughter filled the air around him, and he spun, suddenly finding himself surrounded by cloaked beings. It was freezing, and Seamus spun around again, alone once more.
A whimpering sound grabbed his attention, and Seamus moved forwards to a room that had appeared from nowhere. There was a white hospital bed in the middle of an otherwise empty space, and lay on the bed was a familiar figure.
"Dean!"
Dean's eyes were flat and empty, but they stared into Seamus like they were seeing his very soul.
"Why didn't you save me?"
When he woke up, he was crying out his best friends name and muttering apologies to a man that wasn't alive to hear them.
…
"This is becoming a habit," Seamus said, smiling as George approached him.
"At least I'm not literally falling into you these days," George replied, stopping in front of him.
Seamus chuckled, handing over his coffee cup. George took a grateful sip. "They always make coffee better for you than they do for me," he commented.
"It's my charm," Seamus preened.
George wrinkled his nose. "It's something."
They fell into their usual conversation until it was time for George to head to his therapy session. Seamus watched him go, before he checked his watch and cursed. He had an appointment to get to.
Oops?
…
He was falling.
Falling, falling, falling.
He didn't want to fall, but he didn't want to land either, because he knew with certainty that if he landed, he would die.
When he woke up, it was with a jerk and a racing heart and sweat dripping from his temple.
…
Something wasn't right. Seamus stood by his usual spot, waiting for George. Except… George wasn't there.
Hoping he was down with a cold or… something, Seamus eventually left, twenty minutes after he should have done in all honesty, but…
There was a nagging feeling that something wasn't right.
The following day, he popped to the coffee shop to get his sustenance and found George sitting in Seamus' usual spot, nursing a cup and looking forlorn.
"Hey," Seamus said, cautiously. "You… good?"
George looked up and met his eyes, and Seamus was dismayed to find him red eyed, his eyes welling with fresh tears and his lip trembling.
"Come with me," Seamus murmured, walking him down the corridor to an empty room. "What's going on?"
"Bad day… week… something."
"You're appointment?"
"I missed it. I just… why was it him? Why wasn't it me?"
"I don't have answers for you," Seamus said quietly. "And honestly, I don't think there is an answer to those questions."
George nodded, wiping his face. "I know. I know there's no answers, I just… I need to be able to make sense of it because if there's no sense to it then why did it happen?"
"I think… I think this is one part of life that is never going to make sense. And it's… we've just gotta deal and hope for better days. And distractions."
"Is that… is that what you do? Distract yourself?"
Seamus blinked. He hadn't realised that George knew about Dean. Then again, they'd all lost someone, so perhaps he didn't.
"It's all I can do," Seamus said.
"Does it work?"
"Sometimes."
"What about when it doesn't?"
Seamus sighed. "When it doesn't, I drink coffee and I work, and I wait in a corridor for a redhead that always makes me smile."
George stared at him for a long moment before his lips tilted up slightly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
…
There was… nothing.
It was… empty.
No sights. No smells. No sounds.
When he woke up, he felt terror like he'd never known and it took a long time for him to calm down.
…
Seamus bought two coffees, one in his usual travel mug and an extra for George. Usually, he didn't mind sharing, but he'd had very little sleep and coffee was most certainly necessary to help him make it through the day.
"Hey!"
Seamus turned, smiling when George walked up to him. He held the coffee out, his heart skipping a beat when their fingers brushed together.
"You look like shit," George commented, lifting the coffee to his lips to take a sip.
"Eh, sleep is elusive," Seamus replied with a shrug. "What can you do?"
"You're a healer. Can't you like… prescribe yourself a potion?"
Seamus snorted. "Not quite how it works, mate, no. Besides, sleeping potions are far too easy to get addicted too, and I've got enough issues without adding that to the pile."
George nodded. "So, uh. I was thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Asshole."
"Uh huh," Seamus agreed. "Sorry, carry on."
"I… maybeweshouldgoonadate?"
Seamus blinked. "Um. What?"
George took a deep breath. "I was thinking that maybe we should go on a date," he repeated, watching Seamus nervously.
"I. Erm. No," Seamus said, taking a step back as he shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry, I really can't. I have to… go."
He walked away, refusing to look back, cursing himself for the hurt look he knew he'd see on George's face. Why was he such a mess?
The problem was that he did really like George. He did. He just… What did it say about him that he was thinking about dating someone else when Dean was dead? What did it say that he'd found himself attracted to someone that wasn't Dean?
He wasn't ready for any of this. He didn't think he ever would be.
He just hated that he had to hurt George.
…
He can hear George calling for help, but he can't reach him. He searches through the forest, but every tree he passes looks the same, and every rock is one that he passed by minutes before.
He feels like he's walking in circles, but George's voice stays the same, and Seamus cannot find him. He tries changing directions, only to find himself walking the same path.
"Seamus, help me," George begged. "Why won't you help me?"
"I'm trying," he whispers. "But… trying isn't always enough, is it?"
"I'm so lost," George shouts out. "I'm so lost and I need someone to find me!"
Tears fall onto Seamus' cheeks. "I don't think I'm the one for the job."
When he woke up, it was with feelings of sorrow and regret and a wish that he was strong enough.
…
"Oh. Hey," George greets, smiling awkwardly. "I… didn't expect you to be here."
Seamus swallowed hard. "I, uh, I thought I probably owed you an explanation."
"You don't owe me anything," George refuted, looking away.
"Actually, I really do. I don't want to ruin our friendship, " Seamus murmured. "Look, it's not… it's not that I don't like you, because I do, I really do. I just… I'm a mess. I hide it well here, because here I'm a competent healer that fixes things. At home… at home, I'm Seamus, who's actually a bit of a fucking disaster."
George chuckled, looking up to meet Seamus' eyes. "You know, I was super nervous to ask you on a date, which seems a bit ridiculous now because I see you more than I see most of my own family. But… my therapist told me something, and it was that that made me ask you, because it really struck me."
Seamus raised his eyebrow in question.
"You only get one life," George recited dutifully. "It's actually your duty to live it as fully as possible."
Seamus blinked, and George smiled again.
"I know. Cheesy as fuck, and should probably relegated to the 'things that never need to be repeated' bin, but… he was right, and… maybe it's something you should think about too. I know… I know it's hard. It sucks. But… maybe we're allowed to still live even though… even though they can't. Maybe it's our duty to them to not waste a single day, you know?"
"You're right," Seamus said quietly. When George took his hand, Seamus added, "It is cheesy as fuck. But… also probably true. So… even though I turned you down and made a bit of an arse of the whole thing, maybe we can do the date thing?"
George snorted. "You're right, you are a fucking disaster. But hey, I happen to like disasters. Friday? Seven at the Leaky?"
Seamus swallowed hard and then nodded. "I'll be there."
…
"Don't you love me anymore?"
Seamus lifted his hand, resting his palm against Dean's cheek. "I'll always love you."
"Then why are you moving on? Why are you forgetting me?"
Seamus stepped closer, revelling in the warmth of Dean's embrace, a feeling he'd thought forever lost.
"I'm never forget you, you know? You do know that, Dean. I know you do. You're always going to be a part of me, a part of who I am, and you'll always have a piece of my heart. I know you know that."
Dean sighed against him. "You're right. You're right, I know. I love you, Shay. Always have, always will, and I'll still be waiting for you."
Seamus smiled. "I know."
When he woke up, it was with bittersweet tears and a more solid resolve that he could actually do this without ruining everything.
…
He wasn't sure if the butterflies in his stomach were nerves or excitement, but he managed to think around them, enough to get himself ready at least. This was the first date he'd been on since…
Well. He supposed that unless visits to Hogsmeade counted, this was his first ever date.
Wow that was actually a bit depressing.
Seamus shook the thought away and took one last look at himself in the mirror. He supposed he looked alright. George had told him smart casual (seriously, what does that even mean?) and he could only hope he'd managed it.
If he hadn't… well, he supposed making George laugh would be a win anyway? Either that or George would leave him wherever they were going and… nope. Not going there either.
Merlin, why was he such a disaster?
Wrapping his scarf around his neck, Seamus left his flat, walking outside of the wards so he could apparate to the Leaky Cauldron to meet George. He was ten minutes early (was that too eager? Should he wait?) but he figured better early than late.
George was waiting for him, looking dashing in muggle clothing, with a wide smile on his face. "Ready?"
"Ready is probably an overestimation of my abilities, but sure why not," Seamus replied.
George chuckled. "Relax. It's just me. We share coffee in a hospital corridor all the time, we're practically soulmates."
Seamus stumbled. "Soulmates does not make me relax, George, dammit."
George laughed again and looped his hand through Seamus' arm. "Remember, it's our duty to live life fully," he muttered, making Seamus grin. "Besides, Ron told me about muggle 'arcade games' and he said we can blow shit up on them, so we're gonna go play on them before we go to dinner. Sound good?"
Seamus' grin morphed into a blinding smile. "Sounds great. Blowing shit up is kinda my specialty."
"I know."
…
It smells like flowers and gunpowder. An odd mix, but George is beside him so Seamus isn't too worried. There's a picnic on the ground, and a smile on George's face, and the sun is shining.
The grass tickles his bare skin, and George's laughter fills the air, and the birdsong mingles with it prettily.
There's a feeling of comfort, of protection, of safety, of love.
When he woke up, it was with a smile on his face, and a wet patch on his t-shirt from George's drool. He smiled and closed his eyes, more than willing to slip back into dreams until dawn.