Chapter 8

The next morning was weird. Dean and Seamus just sat in the kitchen, eating their breakfast, not looking at each other and talking as less as possible. Whenever they accidentally touched, one of them (Seamus) would turn tomatoe red and the other (Dean) would stammer „Sorry" and then they would both look away. It was awkward, especially because Dean's parents had found them, asleep on the couch, cuddling and holding hands. His mother had asked Dean some very embarassing questions afterward. And even if she'd told him that it would be okay with her, and she'd find them cute together, Dean wasn't sure if it was possible. Even if Seamus did tell him that he was gay, what did that mean? Nothing, exactly.

He didn't want to ruin their friendship.

„Dean, sweetheart?" his mum said and entered the kitchen, wearing a nearly blinding, yellow coat. But the coat couldn't shine as bright as her smile.

„Hm?" Dean looked up, trying to keep his eyes from wandering over to Seamus.

„We're leaving. Oh, nice shirt, Seamus darling! Really nice. We'll be back late, so don't wait for us! Have fun!" she said and smiled even brighter.

„Thanks, ma'am, but my shirt surely isn't as nice as your coat," Seamus answered. Mrs Thomas beamed blindingly.

„Thank you, honey! Oh, and you know that you can stay until you both have to go back to school, if that's okay with you?" she said, looking a little worried now.

„Thank you, that's very nice to hear, but I'm not sure if it'll work out," Seamus told her and smiled weakly. She just nodded.

„Think about it, right, honey? 'Kay, then I'll leave you alone now! See you later!" she kissed Dean on the cheek and rushed out of the room. Dean waited until he was sure that they were really gone and none of his siblings was around anymore before he talked to Seamus directly.

„What do you mean, you don't know if it'll work out?"

Seamus looked at him for the first time this morning. It felt good. But his words didn't.

„I mean that I think I'm going to leave. I can't do this anymore," he said, finished his eggs and bacon and put the dishes in the washer before he headed off to the living room.

„You can't do what anymore?" Dean shouted after him. Seamus didn't answer.

The biggest part of the day was spent in the living room, where Dean would draw and think about Seamus, who was upstairs. Dean wasn't really sure what he should say to him, especially now that he was sure that he felt something for his best friend, something that was definetily more than friendship. Yes, he loved his best friend and yes, he didn't know what to do.

He groaned and dunked the brush in the blue paint he always used for Seamus' eyes. He drew him, of course he did. He always drew what was on his mind and that was, now more than ever, Seamus. He just prayed that he wouldn't leave.

It was around four O'clock when Seamus eventually entered the living room, fiddling with his sleeve and avoiding eye contact. Dean looked up from his nearly ready picture.

„I can't do this anymore," Seamus said as if they never stopped their conversation. „My things are packed, I'm goin' to leave in a few minutes and then take the bus to Dover; I don't know where I'm going, but I do know that we won't see us again, so I guess this is goodbye."

Dean wondered if Seamus could hear the sound of his heart as it broke into a million little pieces.

„Would you be so kind and tell me what exactly it is that you can't do anymore?" he asked, his voice calm. He didn't know how he managed to not break down and cry and beg Seamus not to leave.

„I've been kicked out for reasons," Seamus said, slowly turning red from head to toe. „Not just because I'm a poof, but also 'cause I'm in love with someone. Well, more exactly I'm in love with you. That's why I can't do this anymore, live in your house and stuff. It's too much knowing that I'm not good enough for you."

Dean's heart skipped another beat, then raced twice as fast as it did before. He swallowed and took the picture he'd been working on for the last few hours.

„Would you please do me a favour and look at this?" he asked and handed the paper to Seamus, who simply stared at it. He blushed even harder and his hands, Dean noticed, were trembling.

„What does this look like to you?" Dean asked softly. He watched Seamus' eyes wandering over the painting, which showed him, laying in bed, sleeping, naked.

„Like a piece of art," Seamus breathed quietly.

Dean cupped his hand around Sea's cheek and watched him the whole time. Seamus looked up, breathing unsteadily and shaking lightly. His heart was racing.

„Because I look at you, and I'm home," Dean quoted and when Seamus smiled disbelievingly he leaned in.

Their lips touched and Seamus Finnigan was home again.