The Wilting Rose

Now the autumn leaves were falling, and the ground was crisp with golden leaves. The lake had turned deep green; upon it's surface floated the fallen leaves like small, solitary boats. The days were peaceful and still, but the night sent a screeching, howling wind that tore away relentlessly until morning came.

In the breaking of a cold, bright dawn, Dean Thomas stood by the lake lost in thought. It had been a month since that night, that strange disturbing night. He took a twig in his hand thoughtfully. What had he felt then? Did he feel that way now? If he did.. Would he allow himself to? The face of Seamus came into his mind. It was the same as it had always been.

"I'm hardly swooning with desire, am I?" Muttered Dean, without realising he had spoken aloud. He began to run his fingers up and down the smooth twig. There was something special about that night, doubtless. Though what it was, he couldn't tell, for the familiar crunch of footsteps through the leaves brought him back to reality. Dean turned, and noticed Seamus Finnigan walking up the path. Seamus caught his eye and smiled. Dean hoped that this smile would make everything all right, make him see that he loved him. But it didn't.

"You've been avoiding me," said Seamus playfully, though in his eyes Dean could see he was hurt.

"Don't be stupid," Dean grinned, trying to sound carefree.

"Let's go for a walk." Seamus clapped a hand on Dean's back, to move him. Dean could tell by the way Seamus let his hand linger that his feelings had not changed. They walked for a while in silence. Then suddenly, Seamus turned and stopped walking.

"We should talk about- about what happened."

Looking into those feline eys of Dean's, Seamus could tell there was regret in them. He watched Dean squirm uncomfortably under his fixed stare, and then turn his body away from him. Feeling a desperate surge in his heart Seamus grabbed Dean's arm and turned him around to face him again.

"Don't do this, please don't I know it's weird, but isn't it worth it? I love you, Dean." Seamus shook Dean's arm frantically. "I love you."

"I'm going to get some breakfast," muttered Dean, trying to shake off Seamus. He had been stupid that night and wasn't about to risk it again.

"No! That night," Seamus was breathing hard and he was trembling. "You said you- and we- didn't it- why did you-"

"It meant something then. But it doesn't any more. I'm sorry, Seamus. I'm not like you."

Seamus released his grip on Dean, stricken by the harshness of Dean's word. Dean had turned around, as if he couldn't bear to look at Seamus anymore. His breath was shallow and his body was tense, ready to move. Sinking to the floor, Seamus gazed after Dean's slowly retreating shape.

"It isn't fair!" Seamus shouted after him. "I thought you might actually have cared... I should've known you were lying!"

Then, he watched the mist swirl around Dean, and he was gone. Feeling a slow passion rise up in his veins, blood red and torrid he kicked a tree. Then, white passed in front of his eyes and the anger grew, rising with a loud, taunting music in his ears until everything turned black and silent.