The Wilting Rose

All was quiet in the boys' dormitory. The room slept, pitched in inky blackness apart from a ray of mottled moonlight which crept silently through the open window. Seamus Finnigan sat awake in this small hour, basking in the peaceful soft glow of the moon. He felt strangely blissful, yet could not sleep. Carefully, he crept across the room to the windowsill. The night outside was still and clear, the sky indigo and scattered with distant stars. He sighed gently, looking out into the night. When did he lose himself? His eyes moved around the room, falling upon the sleeping body of Dean Thomas. Suddenly he felt his eyes well up with tears. He had never felt such loneliness. Without thinking, he tiptoed up to Dean's bed.

Immediately, he was overcome by the beauty of Dean's sleeping persona. Dean slept on his side, his elegant hands folded upon the snow-white pillow. With chocolate brown eyes closed, his jet-black lashes brushed his smooth cheek upon which tendrils of soft hair fell. Seamus sighed again, watching Dean's lean, cat-like chest heave in his sleep. Upon his rosy lips played an arched smile, and he occasionally murmured- his slow, subconscious voice purring sexily. Becoming overwhelmed by Dean's grace and perfection, Seamus reached out his own hand and laid it on top of Dean's. He felt warm and tender- the moment was complete. Although he knew it was risky, Seamus wished to continue the moment, and so sat, adoring Dean for what felt like eternity.

Dean Thomas stirred from his sleep. He had dreamt of roses and new moons, dreams which had moved him and surprised him. His body felt warm and content, like he was being watched over, loved unconditionally.. Was he being watched over? His hand felt heavy, like somebody was holding it. But who? More curious than alarmed, he lit his lamp and peered into the face of none other than Seamus Finnigan.

"Seamus?" Dean asked, confused but not upset that he was there.

"Oh, Dean..." Seamus muttered, staring at the floor. "I... I was just..."

"You were holding my hand."

Seamus felt sick with worry. How could he have been so stupid as to portray his feelings for Dean? How could he have let his passion and curiosity take over his common sense?

"I'm sorry, Dean... It... er, won't happen again. I was just tired and homesick- probably a bit drunk."

Now it was obvious to Dean. Seamus cared for him, he loved him! Dean felt his heart leap. He had worried about his distinct lust for Seamus for ages- terrified of unrequited love and rejection, as well as the fear of being different. But Seamus felt the same- he'd held his hand in the night and watched him sleeping!

"Seamus..." Dean began, staring into the two verdent orbs of Seamus' eyes, luminous in the dark.

"No, Dean, I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry... I shouldn't have... I'm stupid... sorry..." His eyes cast to the floor and his shoulders hunched over, Seamus began to sob. Full of concern, pity and now definite love, Dean reached out a hand. His fingers brushed a rough cheek, following flowing teardrops down to Seamus' hand, where he wrapped his fingers around those of his woeful friend. This gesture meant everything to both of them, and bringing their gazes to meet each other, they kissed for the first time