This bit of angst brought to you by Bex, who requested GeorgeSeamus, photograph, and "Any reasonable person would have left by now." (Please don't shout at me too much, Bex!)
Warning: strong language, grief.
it's all a lot of oysters (but no pearls)
"George." Seamus knocks on their bedroom door and frowns. There's an odd sound coming from inside the room—a sort of choked sobbing. "George?"
He pushes the door open to find his lover curled up on the bed, tears streaming down his face. Seamus rushes over and wraps his arms around the other man.
"George, what's happened?" he whispers. George says nothing, but Seamus' eyes fall on a bent photograph that seems to have fallen from the redhead's grasp. Upon closer examination, he realizes that it's a picture of Fred.
Suddenly, the reason for George's grief makes sense.
"Oh, hell," Seamus swears quietly, because he's just realized what day it is.
It's May 2nd.
It's fucking May 2nd and Seamus hates himself for not remembering sooner, but he knows that George must hate himself even more.
Today is the four year anniversary of Fred's death, and it doesn't seem like time has healed anything, let alone the wounds on George's heart.
Seamus settles for rubbing the redhead's back, tracing circles onto his shirt as the tears continue to fall. Eventually, George tires himself out and falls asleep in a puddle of his own misery.
Seamus continues to hold him until he drifts off, too.
...
When he awakes, the first thing that Seamus realizes is that George is gone. He sits up and scans the room in a panic, breathing a sigh of relief only when George walks in from the bathroom.
He's shirtless, and Seamus winces at the way the bones protrude from his chest, grim reminders of all the meals he's skipped because eating is the last fucking thing on his mind.
"Hey," Seamus says, and then, because he can't think of anything else to say: "How are you holding up?"
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but George flashes him a weak smile, and Seamus is momentarily relieved.
"I'm...here." George speaks with care, something he rarely did when Fred was alive. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Seamus. "Thank you."
He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't have to.
"You're welcome," Seamus says, squeezing the redhead's hand. "I'm here for you, George. Always."
George seems to curl into himself now, mumbling something that Seamus can't quite make out. When Seamus asks him to repeat himself, he rasps, "Any reasonable person would have left by now."
Seamus doesn't mean for it to happen, but laughter bursts out of him the way water spills over a dam. The floodgates have been opened and he barely manages to choke out, "Sorry, but when have I ever been reasonable?"
George is apparently amused by this notion as well, for he begins to chortle along with Seamus. At some point, the mirth subsides, leaving them both with aching sides and the tiniest glimmer of hope.
Despite all that they've lost, at least they have each other.
Word count: 482
