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Tweak says, "queer as folk quotes = gay"

Dean Thomas (artistdean) wrote in finnigans_rpg,
@ 2015-08-24 00:52:00

Entry tags:

character: dean thomas, character: seamus finnigan, status: complete

RP: Even more of a birthday surprise than was anticipated
Who: Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan
What: Seamus delivers Dean's birthday presents. Dean forgets his birthday
Where: Dean's bedroom (tiny bit of Towpath Studios)
When: Morning, Monday 24th August
Rating: NSFW - Swearing and small amount of poorly consented sexual-ish content (check with players if you want more details)

Despite a few slow periods when he was literally watching or waiting for paint to dry the past month had been an incredibly busy one for Dean. His sudden breakthrough during a bout of sleeplessness had catapulted him head first into almost a month of working on a test run for his Nightmare project. People grumbling at the price of his work could be directed at just how long wizarding art could take in addition to the actual painting time.

All the painting, and masking, and waiting had finally come to a close in the early hours of Monday morning when he'd been unable to sleep at midnight and had decided to go and check on the drying progress of the final layer. Upon discovering it was dry he'd set about doing the spell work to bring everything to life.

He had finally, finally finished in the early hours of the morning, watching for several tense minutes as the piece moved its way through the first of many, many repetitions of its final form. There were a few little niggles he had with it, but it had basically worked and he could easily fix those in the final piece. He'd jumped for joy and danced around his studio for a solid ten minutes before realising he was absolutely exhausted, all the hours he had spent working and worrying about how it would go finally crashing down on him in a complete lack of adrenaline.

He had made a very careful check he'd finalised his spells and closed up his studio again, leaving the piece on prominent view to remind himself of his success when he came back later. Or possibly the next day. Such success deserved a reward.

Said reward was sleep. He didn't even bother showering when he got home, just stripped off his clothes where he stood and crawled under his duvet. He was asleep within minutes, snoring softly.

Not once in all of this did he remember that it was his birthday and he was likely to get a visitor. A visitor for whom he usually made a concession to at least underwear in bed.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:06 am UTC (link)

Recognizing the flailing and shallow gasps as Not Good - and possibly signs of worse to come - Seamus dropped to his knees on the mattress, and then stalled. Usually, he'd clamber over to Dean, grab him and wrap around him and remind him of the real time and place. Would Dean recoil from the touch? Or, worse, would he force himself to endure it? Seamus couldn't bring himself to find out - didn't want to face either option. Coward. The word flashed across his mind like sheet lightning. He dropped back on his haunches, loose fingers hanging from loose hands, loose wrists, loose shoulders. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

Without intervention, Dean's breathing wasn't getting any easier. For a moment - for the first time - Seamus wondered if he should go get Susan. Maybe Susan could sit with Dean, maybe her strength would calm him down. And then Dean seemed to fall over himself, back onto the mattress. "Careful," Seamus said automatically. "Focus on breathing first, yeah? When you've got that under control, then you can move." The words would have been perfectly acceptable on any other day - would have had just the right hint of joking so that Dean knew Seamus wasn't worried - and if Seamus wasn't worried, things couldn't be that badly wrong, right? Now, though, the words sounded cold to Seamus's ear. Harsh. He hadn't meant them that way, and Godric only knew how they actually sounded, but they felt all wrong, divorced from physical contact and delivered as if Seamus were a stranger, an intruder.

Seamus lurched off the bed again. "Breath in," he said, counting to five in his own head as he looked around for Dean's self care box. "Breath out." He found it in its usual place, moved it to the bed. His fingers explored the familiar objects inside, pulling out a few that might be useful, rejecting anything that was remotely related to himself. "Breath in," he continued, pushing the presents off the bedside table and setting up Dean's candle. "Breath out." He pulled a picture of Susan and Shadow - soaking wet both - from the box. "This is new," he murmured. "Breath in?" The last instruction rose as a question while he tried to see - without moving from his space on the floor - if Dean were doing better.

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:07 am UTC (link)

Normally when Seamus realised he was having panic attack or being triggered he came and touched him, and now he couldn't seem to bear to touch him. Why would he? After all Dean had just basically assaulted him and touched the part of his body he was most sensitive about. No. No. Not good.

Dean couldn't breathe. The gasps he was getting in just weren't enough. He wanted desperately to reach out for Seamus, but the thought alone was enough to make his breathing even jerkier. And Seamus' tone wasn't exactly encouraging as it usually was either and he kept his hands to himself. Literally. He stuck them back on his own body. One on his stomach, one on his chest. It was a good way of feeling his breaths anyway, even if he'd rather have comforting touches too.

He tried to follow Seamus' instructions head turned to try and see his head from where he was after he had dived off the bed. He didn't want him to leave. He didn't think Seamus would actually do that, but his stomach lurched in fear as Seamus moved nevertheless. He could hear rustling though, and knew he wasn't going, at least not yet. He tried to follow as Seamus gave instructions, and his breathing became a little easier. It wasn't quite right or easy yet, but his chest felt a little less tight. He saw the flames as Seamus lit his candle and his mind calmed a little more. It wouldn't smell immediately no matter how good of a candle he bought, but the smell of spiced apples and oranges he associated with his own flat would permeate the room soon enough.

"Why're," breath, "here?" Dean managed after a minute or two more of careful breathing. Not quite a full sentence, but understandable at least. He honestly wasn't sure why Seamus had appeared. Not that he generally objected to friendly visitors, but Seamus was rarely up before him regardless of the day. And when he was in bed with Seamus or expecting him he usually tried to wear pyjamas, or at least leave his underpants on.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:10 am UTC (link)

Seamus stood awkwardly, not sure what else to do. He wasn't helping - and he hated that he wasn't helping. He was about to offer to go get Susan when Dean spoke, the question stinging like a slap. I thought I was welcome. He bit back the words, literally, teeth catching painfully on the inside of his cheek, jaw tense. "Just -" Seamus took a breath, reminded himself he couldn't be angry at Dean for being triggered. It must have been an unpleasant surprise, dreaming of... whoever and waking up to find Seamus instead. When he finally spoke, his tone was a little more normal, though his expression was still uncertain. "I just wanted to see you open your presents," he offered, making a small gesture to the pile of wrapped bundles that was now on the floor. "It's not a big deal. You can open them whenever." It was a big deal, but Seamus didn't want to be where he wasn't wanted.

He lifted a hand to his hair, tugging at the curls in a way that was the opposite of soothing. He didn't know whether he should stay or go. He wasn't even sure what he wanted - except to go back to an hour ago, before any of these uncomfortable truths had lodged up under his heart. But ignorance of reality wasn't the same as changing reality, and Seamus had always put Dean's comfort first. Or tried to. Apparently he'd been failing. "D'you want me to go get Susan?" he asked, voice small as he pushed the words out past a catch in his throat.

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:10 am UTC (link)

Dean frowned, even as his breath was starting to get somewhere near normal again. "Presents?" he asked, confused, and then the knut tumbled down the slot and alighted in his brain, shock slowly spreading across his face. "Shit it's my birthday," he said, pushing up into a sitting position. It was perhaps a little quicker than he should have sat up, but he honestly couldn't believe he'd managed to forget his birthday. He took several more careful breaths and turned properly to Seamus, duvet slipping to his waist as his hands fell uselessly to his sides in shock.

He winced at the way Seamus was tugging on his hair. "No. No. Unless you want to leave," he said hastily. "Sorry. I. Well, you know, dream, and then I realised and I really didn't intend to..." His rather stiff words trailed off. He couldn't lie and say 'I didn't intend to feel you up' because that was exactly what he'd been doing in his head, and, well any other combination of words he could think of were either too telling or a complete lie. He sucked in a breath and shook his head. "Just. Sorry," he said. He chewed at his lip, hands coming to wring in his lap where his gaze was fixed, not wanting to look at Seamus for more than a few seconds.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:12 am UTC (link)

Seamus would have laughed. Under any other circumstances it would have been hilarious that Dean had managed to forget his own birthday. Now, Seamus had to make a conscious effort even to quirk a smile. "Yeah," he said, jerking his hand out of his hair and wincing as he snagged his fingers on a snarl he hadn't known was there. "Yup. It's your birthday. Today. There's, uh, a thing later..." He let his hands fall to his sides as he looked down at the presents. He didn't want to go, not if Dean didn't want him to. So, he reached down for the birthday card that was tucked under the ribbon of the flatter of the presents. "Here," he said, thrusting it at Dean. "Open."

While Dean was occupied with the card, Seamus smoothed the duvet out before sitting down on top of it, at the extreme end of the bed where there was no risk of a stray knee or shoulder bumping Dean. It also meant he could still reach the presents. The presents, that were making him feel even more awkward. There really wasn't a good present to start with. Two were related to the party, which would be confusing since Dean didn't know the theme. Seamus had been planning to end with those. But the first was... personal. Too personal, now. Certainly to start off with. Seamus felt like they needed something to ease them back into... something approaching normal. "Okay," he said, leaning down to grab the framed recipe - handwritten by a professional scribe, and titled 'Dean Spirit'. "This one next."

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:14 am UTC (link)

Dean groaned in frustration. He had honestly never thought he'd get so caught up in something that he'd forget his birthday of all things. And then start it so spectacularly badly as a result. He scrubbed a hand across his face and attempted to smile. What appeared was rather a brittle thing. He shuffled around slightly at his edge of the bed, arranging the duvet on his side around him so he was feeling a little less naked. Which was basically impossible since he was actually naked and feeling incredibly awkward about it. He took the proffered card incredibly delicately, careful not to touch Seamus. He had a gut feeling Seamus would flinch away if he touched him again right now. He opened the card with rather less verve than a usual birthday would see and managed to smile nevertheless at the front. A slight huff of amusement escaped him, even a faintly sick roiling went through his stomach. "Thank you," he murmured, running a gentle finger over the picture, swallowing. It had clearly been bought in a rather better frame of mind. Obviously.

When Seamus sat so far away Dean shifted slightly uncomfortably, seeing it as confirmation that Seamus didn't want to touch him. He resisted the urge to lean over and touch his arm, the distance between them feeling as if it was a vast uncross-able plain. He took the wrapped gift and did some obligatory poking to try and work out what it was. It was entirely unhelpful, even with his gaze glued to the gift rather than flicking to the presence of his best friend which loomed in his senses. He opened the paper, accidentally coming up with the back of the frame at first. When he saw it he frowned at first, reading the recipe. A soft smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "You did me a cocktail?" he asked in quiet wonder, even though he knew the answer. He knew it was something Seamus often did for Ginny for her birthday, but the thought that had gone into this one ahead of time was clear. It even included spiced rum, which was one of his favourite alcohols to drink when he bothered. Also one of his favourite thing to cook with. He brought it closer to his nose, examining the fine work of the scribe. It was absolutely excellent. He had a good hand himself, thanks to a short primer during his training, but this was clearly professional work. The frame, however confused him, it wasn't of a style that really fitted with any of the mis-matched decor in his flat. It looked like the muggle Art Deco style. He tilted his head and frowned. "Is the frame related?" he asked, looking somewhere around Seamus' knees.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:15 am UTC (link)

Dean's clever, careful fingers taking the barest edge of the card cut Seamus to the heart. If Dean couldn't even bring himself to touch something Seamus had touched... Seamus couldn't make the last seven years of their friendship make any sense. They'd shared beds, been swimming, wrapped up in one another countless times. Seamus had mostly tried to make sure his scar was covered, 90% of the time, but Dean had known it was there. He'd never complained about the times he'd walked in on Seamus on the way to the shower, or coming from it. He wouldn't, of course. They'd been best friends before the battle and Dean had wanted Seamus to believe the scar wasn't a big deal. Should Seamus feel grateful for how well Dean had covered the truth?

Bending one knee, Seamus drew it close to his chest and rested his chin on it, head tipped to the side so he could watch Dean. "Yeah," he answered, feeling the knot of tension in his gut loosen just a little at the tone of Dean's voice. "I've got all the stuff so I can make you one later." More than one. Seamus had bought figs that he had no idea what else he was going to do with. He opened his mouth to continued, then exhaled slowly as he brought his lips back together. He'd poured over possible cocktail inspirations for hours. He'd eventually chosen the two-hit fig cocktail because it had both the spiced rum that Dean loved and good quality whiskey. It was - symbolic, or something. The two of them together in one cocktail. Stupid.

Maybe Susan was right, after all. Maybe Seamus was giving himself too much significance in Dean's life, making it impossible for someone new to worm their own way in. It was an argument Seamus had always dismissed out of hand, believing that Dean wanted that level of involvement. He heard Dean's voice and looked up. "Huh?" It took a second before his brain processed the words he'd heard. "Oh." He'd known it was a risk, putting the recipe in an appropriate frame - but he'd thought the pay off, having a reminder of the whole night, would be worth it. Looking away again, he stalled. He felt so disconnected he didn't know how to react. He didn't think he could pull of mysterious, but some part of him still didn't want to ruin the surprise. He shrugged. "It's not like you really have a theme for me to work with."

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:16 am UTC (link)

"No scotch anywhere near this, right?" he joked feebly. The whiskey being in there was a nice touch too. Especially since Guinness hardly went well in most cocktails. Dean wasn't really anywhere knowledgeable enough to tell the difference between the two alcohols, but he generally drank whiskey by preference in loyalty to Seamus. "I'm looking forward to it," he said, stroking the frame before setting it aside on the bed. He would have reached over and put it on the bedside table but the twist would likely have landed him on the floor, or possibly just made him expose himself. Neither of those seemed like a good option and frankly he wasn't sure where he'd put this. If they didn't manage to move past this he'd likely never want to see it again. They had to be able to move past this, right? A fourteen-year-long friendship had to be able to survive some accidental groping. Didn't it? Right now Dean wasn't so sure. The sense of a rift between them felt like it was establishing itself. Something Dean had never wanted.

He snorted slightly in acknowledgement of that particular statement. "Yeah, well, you know," he said, his words lacking focus. It was true that his mis-matched and mostly second hand furniture and furnishings were severely lacking in any coherent theme other than 'I had no money when I was buying things'. In fact several of the things had been gifted by or purloined from friends and relatives. It felt like home to Dean, the stray touches and gifts making it even more special that he could afford a place of his own. He looked down at the frame at his side and smiled. "It's gorgeous," he admitted. "Whoever did the script has an amazing hand. I'm looking forward to the results." And man was he. Right now a large glass of something alcoholic sounded like it would solve a lot of his problems, at least temporarily.

He forced himself to glance up at Seamus and half wished he hadn't because he couldn't place the look on his face, and he knew Seamus' expressions and body language almost as well as he knew his own. Whatever this was, he wished he hadn't seen it. He swallowed hard and offered a tentative and slightly forced smile. "Thank you," he said. He wanted to get up and move around. Do something, anything. But it was like his arse was stuck to the spot, his limbs felt unreal and without purpose. He would see this through. Wherever it might lead. A broken heart. A shattered friendship.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:17 am UTC (link)

"Good Irish whiskey all the way," Seamus confirmed. The original recipe had called for Sailor Jerry and some American whiskey Seamus had never heard of - he'd switched out both for his and Dean's preferred brands. Dean drank so rarely that when he did, he deserved the good stuff. "If you make it with Scotch you have to think of something else to call it." He wasn't great at puns, and he didn't really bother when he made Ginny's drinks, but he'd actually been quite pleased with 'Dean Spirt'. He watched Dean set the frame aside, sucking in a breath as he tried to mentally prepare himself for the next present. It suddenly felt like too much - too intimate - almost an imposition, but without it he'd basically got Dean a piece of paper and a hat. "Turns out Gringotts employs scribes," he said with a shrug. "Who knew, right?" It made sense if you thought about it, Seamus supposed, but he'd still be surprised to find one who was happy to take freelance work.

Knowing he couldn't wait any longer, he reached down for the next present. He held the long, thin parcel in his hand for a moment before handing it over. He knew this one was going to require some explanation, but didn't know where to begin. He watched as Dean unwrapped the spurtle and gave him an obviously uncomprehending look. The awkward silence while Seamus tried to find his words lasted for too long. "Mam's got one," he eventually blurted. "That she got from Nana, and maybe from her mam before that." It had simply always been around in Seamus's childhood - both in his own home and the homes of his maternal aunts. "It's called a spurtle. You use it to stir stuff. Tap it against a pot once for slow, twice for medium, three times for fast." Seamus picked at a developing hole in the knee of his jeans, looking anywhere but at Dean's face. "I thought -" God, his thought process seemed so hard to explain now. "Well. I thought you should have something. A magical... thing. What's the word?" Dean didn't have a magical family to inherit these things from. Seamus had wanted to get him a clock like the Weasleys had, one that would tell him where Seamus, Susan, Jess, Cat and his mam were. It had turned out too expensive, and Dominic couldn't do the clock work required. "Heirloom," he added, eventually lighting on the right word. "It's from a magical family. Not mine, I bought it, but I checked and they weren't Death Eaters or anything."

Never had Seamus felt so stupid about a present he'd given anyone. "I don't know," he mumbled. "Traditionally it's for porridge, but mam uses it for everything."

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:23 am UTC (link)

Dean's faint smile became a little stronger as their banter, slightly stilted though it was, began to return. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything. "Never," he vowed, voice still quiet, but firm now too. He wouldn't ruin the gift or the spirit in which it was intended by doing that to Seamus. "Huh. I mean I guess it makes sense, but I didn't know," he said when Seamus explained where the scribe had come from. He supposed they were used to draw up the ostentatiously fancy contracts that the wizarding world seemed to be fond of, and probably any number of other things too. His apprenticeship contract had been like that, although it didn't really have anything on his certificate of mastery, which was stored with his actual masterpiece. The requirement of all apprenticed artists had been his finest work to date at the time. Although he was pretty sure he had since surpassed it.

The parcel he was handed confused Dean completely. He honestly couldn't think of anything that would fit in that shape of package aside from a wand. And those really weren't something you could buy for somebody else, or indeed something he needed. He unwrapped it and was honestly not any the wiser. He looked from the strange wooden stick to Seamus and back again, mouth half open in a question that never quite came. Thankfully Seamus seemed to get over his loss of words before Dean did and explained. Comprehension dawned as he mentioned when he mentioned that Mama F had one. He knew now that he'd seen it, although he'd always assumed it was a spoon sitting in the various foods magically stirring away, not having been able to see the end when it was buried in the liquid. He'd probably washed it at some point too, unknowingly, when he and Seamus had been forced into washing up by hand to keep them occupied for one reason or another before they were allowed to use magic of their own.

When Seamus explained it as something that was handed down through families Dean's throat began to feel tight and he swallowed hard. Stupid emotions. Between a lack of sleep and his, thankfully very brief, panic attack they were already nearer the surface than usual. At the word heirloom he felt his eyes fill with water and he sniffled slightly, one hand coming to rest flat on his chest. He'd never thought he'd have anything like this that had been gifted to him from a wizarding family. There were things he thought he would likely get from his parents, and while those would be special to him he hadn't thought he'd have a magical object. It's not like any family his father might have (distant though they would be), knew he existed. And Seamus giving him something like this... he curled the hand not pressing at his chest around it, holding tight as the welling tears tumbled over.

"Thank you," he said, voice bursting with emotion. He looked at Seamus properly again for a few seconds, smiling even though he was crying. He sniffed loudly and swiped at his eyes. "Stupid panic attack," he muttered to himself. The raw feeling after effect often took him by surprise these days. Now that they were so much less frequent. He wanted to reach over and hug Seamus but couldn't quite coordinate his limbs to do it.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:24 am UTC (link)

Seamus jerked his head up, immediately worried by the way Dean's breath hitched. If the present had been enough to send Dean into another panic attack, Seamus didn't know if he'd be able to move past that. But instead of panic on his face, there were tears in Dean's eyes. Seamus knew Dean better than anyone he wasn't related to by blood - and he knew Dean couldn't fake tears like that. "Hey," he said, voice somehow both soft and urgent. He shifted, instinctively moving closer. His shoulder might have bumped Dean's, except that he was brought up short by the frame on the bed between them. He rested a hand on it, then pulled it into his lap, cradling it carefully. He didn't want to break it by accidentally sitting on it. He let his eyes rest on it until Dean spoke and he looked up again.

"Well, we've had panic and tears," he said, his tone more natural now. "Want to go for the full range of emotions on your birthday? I'm sure I can say something that'll piss you off." Indeed, it seemed like a miracle he hadn't already. Seamus had unbent his leg to move, and now he stretched it out properly, flexing his foot and pointing a toe. With a short, shallow breath he let his ankle tilt slightly, foot venturing ever so slightly over the invisible line that separated his territory from Dean's. Dean's self-care box was still on the bed, so Seamus hooked it with a fingers and dragged it closer, leafing through it until he found one of the badly-patterned handkerchiefs he'd bought Dean years ago. He waved it at Dean's face, trying to find a smile. "Come on," he coaxed. "You can't look at this and cry, you know you can't."

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:25 am UTC (link)

Something released for Dean as Seamus moved closer again. They weren't quite touching but he clearly wasn't afraid Dean was about to do something inappropriate to him, which was a relief. Although he was definitely still feeling pretty mortified about exactly how he'd woken up basically about strip his best friend and grind against his leg. In fact he needed to move away from that thought right now before he started to feel sick and ashamed again. His breath hitched slightly as he had the thought before pushing it away for another time. He did see the care with which Seamus handled the frame he'd given him though, and smiled through his tears.

Dean gave a slightly tearful laugh. It was small, and perhaps slightly more reactive than joyful but it was a laugh all the same. He could feel Seamus' body heat again now that he was closer, or maybe it was just a reaction to his general nearness. He wanted to bridge the increasingly small gap between them but couldn't quite make himself do it. And besides his tears were stubbornly still falling. Stupid best friend ability to make him feel incredibly touched. Of course Seamus went and ruined it by waving a tiger-pattered handkerchief in his face. He snorted with laughter and grabbed it out of Seamus' hand, automatically poking him lightly with the spurtle still clutched in his other hand. "Prat," he said, but he was smiling.

Putting the spurtle down he proceeded to blow his nose loudly on the tiger's face before wiping his eyes. His tears seemed to have stopped pretty much, even if the glow of warmth at the though that had gone into the present hadn't faded in the slightest. He cleared his throat. "Ahem. Right. Unhelpful displays of emotions caused by lack of sleep and stuff over," he said, shifting uncomfortably. The other stuff was still lingering around and making his throat slightly tight, but they seemed to be moving though it.

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openbottle
2015-08-24 12:26 am UTC (link)

Seamus wriggled at the prod from the spurtle, the movement bringing him a little closer still. He'd always loved making Dean laugh, and knowing he could still do that helped him lock away the painful realisations of the morning. He could still be something, do something, for his best friend. Even if it wasn't what he'd thought he could do, it was better than nothing. "Prat who still has a present to give you," he pointed out, pulling his wand from his pocket to summon the last present - unwilling to give up the ground he'd gained in his shift towards Dean. "A present I'm willing to hold hostage." He watched Dean wipe the tears away and shrugged. "S'okay," he said, his shoulder moving in the same way it would if he were nudging Dean. He knew the tears meant Dean liked it, and understood what Seamus had been trying to do. He couldn't really ask for more than that.

"Last one," he said, handing over the hat that would complete Dean's 1920s outfit. He'd considered telling Dean to wait to open it, but in the end couldn't bring himself to pique Dean's curiosity that way.

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artistdean
2015-08-24 12:27 am UTC (link)

Dean brought a finger to his lips with pantomime levels of overacting to show he was keeping his words to himself if it was going to stop him getting his last present. When Seamus 'nudged' at thin air he looked at him carefully from the corner of his eye before doing an inelegant shuffle sideways so they were just barely touching. Mostly one of the knees from his crossed legs was poking into Seamus' outstretched legs, a layer of duvet and jeans between them. When he didn't jump back from the touch a small amount of the knot in Dean's stomach unravelled.

He took the final package, removing his finger from his lips to do so and submitted it to the usual prodding and poking which mostly revealed that it was largely soft, but seemed unlikely to be clothes because of the size and random stiff parts. He shrugged at his complete lack of guess and ripped into the paper, completely surprised at the hat that emerged. He frowned slightly at Seamus and then tried it on. Thankfully it seemed to fit. He took it off again and examined it. "Golfing hat?" he asked, thoroughly confused. "Not that I don't like it," he added - being rather taken with the colour for one thing - "but I'm just a bit confused. Does it have protective spells on it or something?" Dean was turning the hat around and around in his hands, examining it with his eyes and fingers trying to work out what Seamus meant by this gift. Not that he had to mean anything, it was a good hat, just a touch unexpected. Susan was usually the one to give clothing. Well, clothing that wasn't some huge joke.

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