Chapter Four

Seamus cried again, but he didn't have Dean to hold him this time, and it was all the worse, because it was entirely his fault.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, curling up into a ball. "I'm so, so sorry...so sorry..."

He rocked back and forth, choking out loud, violent sobs that echoed in the all-too empty flat. If only he'd said goodbye...if only he'd said something to make Dean stay... But that would've been selfish, Seamus berated himself, burying his face in his hands. The kiss was selfish, so, so selfish, but it was so, so wonderful...and now he's going to hate me. I can't tell him. He won't understand that it's for him. He doesn't want to be with me. He doesn't want to be seen as that way everywhere he goes. Seamus bit back another sob, shuddering violently and gasping for breath. Another fit of storming sobbing overcame him.

Quite loudly and suddenly, the phone rang, jerking him out of his miseries. Sniffling and swallowing several times, he rose, retreating to the kitchen, where the phone sat. Wiping away the tears obscuring his vision, Seamus glanced at the caller ID. Swallowing once more and hoping he didn't sound like a desolate wreck, he picked up the phone.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted her, sniffling.

"Seamus?" she checked. "Oh, yes, good. You sound terrible, dear. Ah, are you and Dean free of your...dilemma, as he phrased it? I texted him, but he didn't reply."

"He didn't?" Seamus wondered aloud.

"Er, well, actually, he did," she hedged tentatively, "But it was something along the lines of 'bugger off; it's none of your bloody business' or something. I don't think he's all too pleased."

Seamus winced.

"'S me fault," he mumbled, "but yeah, we're out of that dilemma."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire?"

"Mm-hm."

Hermione was silent for a little while. Rose released a joyful, gurgling squeal in the background.

"Seamus, have you...have you sorted it out with Dean? Have you told him, and that's what's got him so mad?" she asked worriedly. "He really doesn't seem the type to become flustered over these things."

"What?" cried Seamus. "Told him what? I didn't have to tell him anything."

Hermione laughed.

"Merlin, you silly duck, stop trying to hide it," she chided him gently. "Has that been what's made you so upset the past while? Oh, no...was that what made you...made you get yourself intoxicated?"

Her voice had dropped to an anxiously hushed whisper.

"Wow, Hermione. You're a ruddy fantastic reader of people," he muttered, "and no, I didn't tell him."

Hermione gasped.

"Did...is he...?" she managed.

"I think that's enough," bit out Seamus, his tone clipped. "Goodbye."

"No. Wait—"

He hung up, dropping the phone and banging his head on the wall. Several times. Hard. Extremely hard. The sharp edge of the doorframe clipped the side of his forehead, and a warm trickle of blood slid down the side of his face.

"Merlin's saggy left...beard," he growled, clapping a hand to the cut on his head. "Yes, brilliant, Seamus, because Merlin has a right beard, too, and you've just got to specify which beard...oh, bloody—hell..."