The Wilting Rose

The storms had ceased now and the air was still. In the sky hung a swollen sun, wrapped in tired grey cloud. The air felt thick and suffocating like one breath would last all day, sitting heavily in the lungs. It was thickly perfumed, almost nauseatingly, with the scents of rose and lavender.

Seamus sat by the fountain, hand dipping idly into the water. It was one of few moments he'd had to himself lately. It felt good. His eyes fell on the surface of the water, where he could just see a reflection. He stared at it hungrily, having seen himself reflected in a pair of liquid brown eyes for a while now. The boy staring back was pale and thin, his startling green eyes being the only colour in his face. Seamus ran a hand through his sandy hair, watching his reflection slowly do the same. Fascinated, he poked a finger into the surface of the reflection, waving it waver and distort, a slight smile upon his lips. Then his eyes wandered over to Dean, who was sitting with his back against a tree. His head was bent low and his sketchbook was open on his lap. His pencil flew over the page, eyes occasionally looking up through a squint.

"What are you drawing?" he asked, transfixed by Dean's concentration.

Dean looked up, startled, then smiled warmly. Seamus had almost recovered now and would soon be out of the Hospital Wing. It had been hard at first, when Seamus had been little more than a child, wandering aimlessly through the dark. Dean had tried to guide him, but often his hold on Seamus' hand would slip. He'd watch him drag his feet along the ground, dead eyes cast to nowhere. Worse than watching Seamus lose himself was knowing that it was their pathetic love- his denial and Seamus' pain- that was the cause of so many problems. This guilt, combined with his rediscovered love, made him more determined to cure his friend. Long afternoons were spent talking quietly to Seamus, reassuring and listening intently. He would take him out into the grounds and show him what was beautiful in the world. And slowly, Seamus started to shed his skin of depression and emerge.

"Drawing." At this matter of fact remark, Seamus rolled his eyes.

For a while, he watched Dean's long fingers move against the pencil as it made lines and curves, lighter and darker each time. As he worked, Dean's lips parted and then closed again, before moving against each other. Beautiful, thought Seamus, not noticing Dean look up at him.

"You look interested," Dean remarked, setting the pencil down carefully.

"Can you show me how you draw like that?"

Dean nodded, and gestured for Seamus to sit on the ground in front of him. Gently, he took his hand and slipped the pencil into it. Then he enclosed his own fingers around the pencil, so that their hands worked together. He rested his chin on Seamus' shoulder. Seamus could feel his breath on his cheek and his warm body surrounding him. Slowly, the pencil began to move, flowing around the creamy page.

"I'm drawing!" Seamus whispered happily. Dean nodded. His every breath sent uncontrollable shivers down his spine.

When he gave more attention to detail, Dean would lean into him. His long fingers would grip his own and guide the pencil around the page in thicker, heavier lines.

After a while, the pencil stopped moving, but neither of them separated. They sat, staring down at their work. Seamus looked down at his hands, stained by pencil smudged from Dean's fingers, enjoying their closeness. He turned around, bringing a hand up the Dean's cheek, knowing he wanted this, knowing it could no longer destroy them. Softly, he brushed his lips against Dean's, pulling away gently to look at his expression. There was a warmth in his eyes like gentle fire. Seamus kissed him again, this time more deeply, more slowly. He massaged Dean's tongue with his own, feeling their hearts beat against each other. Dean sighed with pleasure, wrapping his arms more tightly around him.

Eventually they separated, out of breath. They flopped on to the ground next to each other, still embracing. Seamus turned to look at Dean's face, checking that he was still happy. Dean's eyelids fluttered as he looked up at him through dark lashes, a contented smile upon his face. Seamus couldn't resist laughing to himself when he saw a large pencil smudge on Dean's cheek, silver grey in the cloudy afternoon light.

And they smiled at each other again, knowing that this was the beginning of something beautiful.