Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Challenges listed at the bottom.
Word Count - 2353
It's Okay To Not Be Okay
The white of his robes made him smile as he stared in the mirror. It never failed to make him smile because it was proof that he was more than nightmares and PTSD and fear.
The healer robes he donned daily was proof that he was more than the war had made him.
Seamus ran a hand through his hair and moved away from the mirror to put his shoes on. He grabbed his watch, clasping it onto his wrist, and then checked his robes for everything else he needed.
Ready, he checked the flat was locked up tight, and Apparated out.
…
George entered St Mungo's alone, walking the familiar path along the hallways to his therapist's office.
He didn't know why he still bothered to come. Well, that was a lie. He did know why he bothered.
He bothered because he couldn't stand to see the sadness and worry in his mum's eyes when he caught her watching him.
It made him feel worse than he already did.
His therapist was a nice guy, but George didn't like him. He sprouted pointless phrases, such as "You can't move on if you're still in the past."
Why did nobody understand that George couldn't move on from the past because every time he looked in the mirror, he saw his past staring right back at him?
…
Seamus' shift finished too soon. He was waiting for someone, anyone to say that they couldn't make their shift so he could volunteer to stay, but nobody did.
He didn't want to go back home, back to the lonely flat he lived in.
If he went home, the nightmares would visit. The shadows would creep up on him and the silence would be deafening.
Instead, he signed out and made his way up to the roof. He liked it up there, especially in winter.
Snow would coat the floor all around the hospital, and when there was a little bit of sunshine, the world seemed to sparkle a little.
Pushing open the door, Seamus shivered a little against the cold and pulled his robes around him a little bit tighter.
He moved over to the edge, his lips tilting when he saw that the world was indeed coated in white. It was better to see it in the early morning, when the snowfall was fresh, but from the roof, it still looked pretty even with the trails of footprints running through it.
A noise behind him startled him, and he turned to find the door swinging open, and a flash of red hair almost hidden by a cream knitted scarf.
…
George blinked when he saw the roof was already inhabited. He hadn't expected to find anyone up there.
"Ah. Sorry," he muttered. He meant to turn around and go back down the stairs, but his limbs seemed to freeze, unwilling to move from the freedom that the air offered.
"It's fine. I'm sure the roof can handle both of us."
George snorted. He vaguely recognised the man as Seamus Finnegan. Brief memories of explosions came to mind but he pushed them away immediately. Remembering anything from Hogwarts was generally a terrible idea.
George nodded and stepped forward, letting the door swing closed behind him.
"It's nice up here," he murmured.
Seamus nodded. "The world is quiet here. But not too quiet. Not silent."
George blinked, but nodded his head in agreement. He shoved his hands into his pockets to ward off the chill.
"You… work here?" he asked, eyeing Seamus' Healer Robes.
"Nah, I just wear the robes for shits and giggles."
George felt his lips tilting up. It was an answer he might've given himself once upon a time. An answer that…
The smile was aborted before it could fully form.
Seamus noticed.
"You know, it's okay to not be okay."
When George looked at him questioningly, Seamus added, "I just wanted to make sure you knew that. It took me a while to understand it, because I thought that I should be on some sort of healing schedule."
He took a deep breath. "And I don't really know you. And I don't know how… or what… you're feeling. But… I just thought that you should know. You know. That's it's okay if you're not okay."
"I have depression. And PTSD," George supplied, surprising both of them. "And a therapist with a fondness for twee phrases that make me want to bash his head on his desk repeatedly."
Seamus grinned briefly, before sobering.
"I have nightmares. And PTSD. And that same inclination to bash people's heads off the nearest hard surface occasionally. It's what you do with it that counts. I turned it into a focus for helping other people, because I have no idea how to help myself."
"You're… very honest."
Seamus nodded. "I lied to myself for a really long time. I told myself I was fine. I really wasn't. Now… now I own not being okay."
"How do you keep going though? How… Where do you get that strength."
"It's because we have no choice," Seamus replied. "Because if we don't find that strength, then we give up. And they win. And… that can't happen."
Seamus turned away from the edge of the roof and patted George's arm before he headed towards the door.
"You're just going to leave me on the roof? When you know I'm depressed?" George asked quietly.
Seamus, with his hand on the door handle, turned back and nodded once. "I am. Because… it's not for me to trust that you won't do anything to hurt yourself. Only you can decide not to. And… only you can decide what you need to do."
"What do you do when there's nothing but pain left inside of you?"
Seamus's eyes looked pained for a moment. "You find something. A bright spot. Something that, if only for a moment in a day, can make you smile. And you focus on that when you can't feel anything else."
Seamus left the roof, leaving George with a mind full of whirling thoughts.
One thing stood out to him. Find something that makes you smile.
All George could think was that for the first time in weeks, his lips had twitched upwards when Seamus made a joke.
…
Seamus was run off his feet. It'd been a week to the day since he spoke to George, and he'd hoped to be up on the roof at the same time in case George turned up.
Instead, he was filling in for one of the Healer aids for the grouchiest doctor at the hospital.
He had a problem with everything Seamus did - particularly when Seamus produced a ballpoint Muggle pen from his pocket instead of a quill.
Honestly, it just made more sense to carry pens - who had time to be walking around with quills and ink in a hospital?
Certainly not Seamus, that was for sure.
And so, three hours later than his shift was supposed to end, a grumpy Seamus collected his things from his locker and made his way down to the exit.
He didn't feel like going straight home. He was restless in his skin. Casting a warming charm on himself before leaving, he stepped out into the evening.
It was already fairly dark out.
"I thought you might come up to the roof again."
Seamus startled, turning to find George sitting on a bench next to the shop window that was the muggle friendly front to the hospital.
"I planned too, but I was called up by one of the senior doctors to help out on another ward after my shift ended."
George nodded. He looked… Seamus couldn't put his finger on what was different about the man.
"I thought about what you said last week."
Seamus raised his eyebrow. "Uh huh."
"And I realised you were right. Nobody ever told me that it was okay to not be okay. It… helped."
Seamus nodded. "I'm glad."
George stood up. "Drink?"
Seamus shrugged. "Food first. I fancy fried chicken."
…
It became a ritual. They'd meet up first once a week and then twice until eventually, they saw each other at least every other day, often times it was more.
Their conversations ranged from deep to silly. There were tears of both laughter and grief, and yet there was never any embarrassment.
It was… healing.
Healing in a different way.
Because they were both a pair of messes, but together, they were slightly less of a mess.
And it was nice. And comforting.
Until.
…
He woke up slowly, the pain in his limbs making itself known as soon as Seamus breached consciousness. He blinked cautiously, the light hurting his eyes until they adjusted to it. He had no idea why he was in a bed at St Mungo's.
He was supposed to take care of the people in the beds, dammit.
Looking around the room, he found George in the chair by his bed, his eyes closed but twitching with dreams (Seamus hoped they were dreams and not nightmares) and his face was tear stained and pale.
Seamus was so mad at himself in that minute. As if George needed more stress - especially from him. He was supposed to be there to ease George's grief, not add to it.
The redhead shifted in his chair before his eyes snapped open, looking around the room wildly.
Nightmare, Seamus' brain supplied unhelpfully. Like, yeah, no shit.
"Hey," Seamus murmured, scowling when his voice was croaky. "Hey, George. It's okay, s'all okay."
George focused on him immediately, and seemed to sag, breathing heavily.
"You're awake."
Usually, Seamus would call him out for stating the obvious, but not this time. Instead he just nodded, pushing himself up in the bed.
"I am. What… why am I here?"
George swallowed. "I had an accident with a product I was working on."
Seamus nodded. "Okay," he replied slowly.
"And there was an explosion. But you… you pushed me out of the way and you took the brunt of it. It… Seamus… I thought, I thought you were, I thought you were d-"
George was hyperventilating.
Ignoring the protesting pain in his ribs, Seamus climbed off the bed and pushed George's head down.
He coached him quietly into matching his breathing to Seamus' more even breathing until he was okay.
"I'm here, George. Doesn't matter what could've happened when it didn't happen, okay?"
George nodded, and Seamus moved back to the bed, half lying down on top of the sheets, relief flowing through him that he'd taken the pressure off his ribs. George pulled his chair closer so he could lean on the bed.
He traced the tattoo that wound around Seamus' ankle, a single line with one heartbeat in the middle.
"I didn't know you had this."
Seamus smiled. "It reminds me that no matter what happens, no matter how bad it seems, it'll be alright as long as there's at least one beat left in my heart."
"I almost lost you."
"But you didn't. I'm here, George. It'll take more than an exploding prank to get rid of me."
George snorted, which turned into a chuckle, which turned into them both giggling like loons.
Until George's giggles were interrupted by a sob.
Seamus tugged on George's sleeves until he shuffled his chair up towards Seamus head.
"Why do you still want me around?" George asked, attempting levity and missing it by a mile. "I'm a mess."
Seamus ran his hand through George's hair. "Some things are worth pursuit regardless of the cost."
"Which self help book did you get that out of?"
"A shit one," Seamus replied. "But really George, you are a mess. I'm a mess. Everyone is a mess in one way or another, and anyone that thinks they've got their shit together completely is lying to themselves.
"You're still you. You'll never stop being you. And that's why I still want you around."
George blushed. "Seamus…"
"Hmm?"
"I love you a bit, you know?"
"Yeah? I love you a bit too."
…
Things changed after that. Friendly touches lasted longer, affection was more freely offered and received, and neither one of them pretended that it was anything less than what it was.
On the yearly reunion of the DA, they arrived together. And when Justin asked if they were dating, they smiled at one another and stayed silent.
On Christmas morning, when Seamus woke up from a startling nightmare, George was lay beside him, curled into him, breathing deeply and calmly and it was the best medicine Seamus had ever known.
On the fourth anniversary of the Battle, when George disappeared for nine hours and came home drunk, Seamus tucked him into bed and lay beside him, awake all night just in case.
And when George apologised in the morning, Seamus waved him off and brought him paracetamol and made him a greasy fry up.
…
"So, I was thinking."
Seamus winced comically. "That's never a good thing."
"Arse."
"Uh huh."
"I was thinking that… well. I'm still a bit of a mess. And so are you. And… well. Maybe we could be messes together?"
Seamus paused. "Erm. Hate to break it to you babe, but I think you're suffering amnesia. We've been living together for eighteen months."
"Nineteen months, you prat. And I meant…. Like. Forever."
"Are you asking me to marry you?"
"Apparently not doing a very good job of it but yes."
Seamus chuckled. "It's a good job you're attractive George, because you kinda suck a bit at romance."
George huffed. "Okay. You rescued me when I didn't think anybody could, not even myself. Maybe especially not myself. And you've spent the last three years making me happier than I thought I would ever be again. So, Seamus Finnigan, will you marry me?"
"You're a prat," Seamus joked, wiping away a stray tear. "But yes, of course I'll marry you."
"And you're a sap," George replied, kissing his now dry cheek softly. "But I love you a bit. So it's okay."
"I love you a bit, too."
Written for;
Writing Club;
Character Appreciation - 20. Depression
Disney - C8. Write about a healer
Book Club - Aiko - Sparkle / Dream / "Some things are worth pursuit regardless of the cost."
Showtime - 2. "You can't move on if you're still in the past."
Amber's Attic - 7. Write about someone pretending to be tougher than they are.
Buttons - O2. Scarf / D3. "It's because we have no other choice." / W5. Fancy.
Ami's Audio - 9. Chicken
Em's Emporium - 3. Post War Story
Lo's Lowdown - C3. Healer
Seasonal - Summer
Days of the year - Ballpoint Pen Day
Summer - Fresh
Colour - Cream
Birthstone - Sapphire - "What do you do when there's nothing but pain left inside of you?"
Flowers - Aster - Attractive
Fire - Dry
Shays Musicals - 17. Rent - A slash pairing
Other
Hot Air Balloon - 18. White
Eagle - 10. George / Lonely
TV Addicts - 11. Volunteer / "The world is quiet here." / Tattoo on ankle.
Faerie Land - Winter Faerie - Snow / White / Cold / Freeze