InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "are you still accepting"

Dean Thomas (artistdean) wrote in finnigans_rpg,
@ 2015-09-06 14:44:00

Entry tags:

character: dean thomas, character: seamus finnigan, delivery: seamus finnigan

RP/Delivery: Apology Cake
Who: Dean Thomas (solo), Delivery for: Seamus
What: Dean needs to do something to apologise
Where: Dean's flat
When: RP covers Friday-Sunday, Delivery: Sunday morning
Rating: SFW

When Dean had received the tarts from Lucy he'd just stared at them for a while. Something niggling at him. Eventually he'd decided he should write her a thank you note. Only then he realised what had been niggling at him. He'd tried his usual attempts at painting out his emotions and that had only got him so far, and it had all come out abstract and sad and lost. But then he'd realised there was maybe something he could try.

Of course the words had poured out onto the page and he'd had to ward it private, but it had unlocked an idea. What was the one thing he was good at aside from art? Baking. And he did have one particular cake in his repertoire that would work for this. He rarely cooked it and it was a family recipe that only came out on special occasions. He'd also taken it up as his apology cake for when he'd really messed up. It hadn't come out for that reason often, but now he felt like he really needed to use it. He was so lost without talking to Seamus and he needed to know one way or the other. He thought maybe they'd salvaged something, initially on his birthday when they'd managed to get through presents. And then Seamus had left and they'd barely spoken to each other since despite spending time in France. And hadn't that been painful and awkward.

His only problem was that writing it all down had wiped him out and he'd ended up crying at the words, and then in the shower too. Crying until he was exhausted and flopped onto his bed in emotionally exhausted sleep. He'd forgotten to take a sleeping potion and he'd had a disjointed set of dreams that mashed together hopeful scenes of reconciliation with ones of despair and lost friendship. When he woke again he didn't feel very rested.

Still, he managed to pull himself together and go and retrieve the vital rum-soaked fruit from his Aunt Rose since he never made or kept any himself unless he was pre-planning to make the cake. The visit involved the usual interrogation on his eating habits, and admonishment that he didn't visit often enough, and some real concern about him needing the fruit. She knew he'd only make the cake spontaneously if it was serious. He'd explained that he and Seamus had a falling out, although not all of the details. And that even though he knew, thanks to an emergency extra therapy visit, that it wasn't really his fault he still felt the need to reach out and apologise and try to bridge the gap.

He'd even extracted a promise from her to not pass on the news of the argument to the rest of the family for now. He'd have to tell them if this didn't work, but he could trust her to keep it to herself for now. And possibly to pray for him if he knew her at all. He appreciated the thought, even if he didn't believe himself.

Saturday afternoon he spent making the cake and trying, during the two hours cooking time, to write a suitable note to go with it. Many attempts were made and discarded. These were among them.

I'm sorry
I'm sorry. I miss you. I hate-
I'm sorry I felt you up. It was an accident and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable around me.
I'm sorry about how my-
I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you-
You're still my friend, right? I don't want to lose you.
I-
I love you. I know you don't want to hear it and you don't think of me that way, but I thought it was real and I wanted you to be there. To wake up with me. And I'm sorry. I know you don't like your scars, but they're part of what makes you you and all of you is gorgeous to me. I'm sorry I did something so insensitive. I hate arguing with you, not talking to you avoiding you. Whatever this is. I miss you. I miss you like I'm missing part of my own body. It's ridiculous. We don't spend time together every day but you're all I can think about and its worse than when I first worked out I love you. At least then I could see you even if it was horribly awkward. Now you disappear whenever I'm in the room. Or I avoid being in the room in case you do. I don't want to ever fight wit you like this. I don't even care if you don't love me. I just want my friend back. Even if I have to get your trust back. I'd do anything. I can't live like this and be happy. I'm sorry I violated your space like that.
~~I wish it had been real~~
I know I was asleep and I didn't really know what I was doing, but I want to apologise for what happened on my birthday. I never want you to be uncomfortable with me.
I'm sorry we've not been talking. I miss you a lot. If you don't want to see

I'm sorry that I touched you while I was asleep on my birthday. I know that it was a violation of your personal space and I apologise for that. I will endeavour never to do that again. I also apologise that I may have stopped you getting away because I had a panic attack. Thank you for caring for me even when I'd just invaded your space. I hope that you can forgive me.

Some versions of the note were crossed out before others began below, some were simply screwed up and vanished with spell, never to be seen again. Some he was tempted by. Others he wrote out because he knew he would never send them but the thoughts were swirling in his brain and it seemed easier to get them out than to let them stew. Eventually he settled on a version he didn't hate, even if it felt a bit limp in places because of all the things he couldn't make himself write because they were outright lies. He re-wrote the final version neatly and ripped up the remaining attempts and put them in the bin.

He was done before the cake was, despite all the crossing out staring into space it entailed. By then it was getting on for evening and he gave up on doing much else useful for the day and cleaned his bathroom. Ate cheese on toast and went to bed. Given his fitful sleep the previous night and the fact he couldn't settle to his book, or sketching he gave in and took his potion and slept.

The next morning he showered and made himself presentable. He knew he looked a bit tired and drawn, but he wasn't going to bother spelling that away. He wrapped the now cool cake and slipped the scroll with his apology under the string used to tie it. Then he sat nervously checking his watch every thirty seconds, his foot tapping on the floor. He had to time it right, which meant being late for Battlescars to ensure that Seamus had absolutely, definitely left the flat.

Eventually the hands crawled around to 11 and he swallowed twice, brushing himself down and apparated to inside the door. He'd been unaware that he'd had a slightly sick feeling in his stomach that the wards might have landed him on the other side, right up until it unravelled as he arrived safely.

Carefully he set the wrapped cake and note on the kitchen counter where it couldn't be missed. Then he opened the door and slipped down the stairs, carrying on until he crept into the back of the Battlescars meeting, signing the parchment automatically and sneaking into a seat. He didn't look above Seamus' knees, but even without the fact he was speaking he would have recognised him anywhere.

When the meeting wrapped up he left quickly, not wanting to hang around and face any awkwardness when he knew what was upstairs.

Scroll, in Dean's neatest writing reads as follows.

Dear Seamus,

I'm writing to say I'm sorry that I touched you while I was asleep on my birthday. I know that I invaded your personal space, and I apologise for that. I will endeavour never to do that again. I also apologise that I may have stopped you getting away because I had a panic attack.

Thank you for caring for me even when I'd just violated your space.

I hope that you can forgive me.

Please accept this cake as a token of my apology, a gesture of goodwill, and a hand of continued friendship held out,

Love,
Dean.

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artistdean
2015-09-12 07:57 pm UTC (link)

Dean was feeling distinctly unsettled by Seamus' presence. He wanted to simultaneously throw his arms around him and run away and hide to prevent whatever words he was going to say. Just in case they weren't the ones he wanted to hear. The thought Seamus might say he'd wanted Dean to continue hadn't even made the faintest suggestion of crossing his mind. He just wanted his friendship to return to normal.

He opened his mouth to protest when Seamus told him he didn't need to apologise, but deflated the breath he'd taken and shut up, sensing there was maybe more to come. He couldn't quite decide whether to look Seamus in the eye or stare at his feet, and switched a couple of times between the two, but his eyes were mostly drawn to his face. It was emotionally charged as a moment, and even though he found that hard sometimes it was also important.

When Seamus said it had been weird he snorted. "Understatement," he muttered. Then Seamus said they'd figure it out, and frankly right at this moment that was all he wanted. Something released slightly, the tightness in his throat and knot in his stomach that he'd been carrying around with him everywhere since his birthday. Never quite out of mind, never quite forgotten. It didn't go away, but it felt a little easier.

The smile that sneaked onto his face when Seamus got all stubborn was unexpected and he tried to stifle it a bit. Standing here with half eaten toast and his idiot best friend that he loved telling him his own moment of idiocy didn't need forgiving. Merlin alive that felt good. He recognised the stubborn streak, just as he recognised his own stubbornness. And then Seamus made him laugh and the smile stretched unhindered.

He did't know what to say, couldn't quite formulate any words. So instead he crossed the distance between them and wrapped Seamus up in a hug. "Hate it when it's weird," he said, quiet and sincere, spoken mostly into the top of Seamus' head. The hug was brief, he was still not sure he was completely welcome, despite what Seamus said. He knew he was more sensitive to his scars than he ever liked admitting.

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openbottle
2015-09-17 05:33 pm UTC (link)

The hug should have been expected, but Seamus had managed to convince himself that that stage of their relationship was behind them and he didn't quite know what to do. His natural reaction was to melt into the contact. The time since Dean's birthday was probably longer than Seamus had gone without a hug in years, and he didn't like it, wanted to recapture that human contact. On the other hand, his skin crawled at the idea that Dean was hating this, suffering through it despite his natural aversion.

In the end, conflicted, Seamus leaned into the hug with the unscarred side of his body, wrapped that arm around Dean's waist and tucked his head into Dean's shoulder for a moment. "You and me both," he muttered. "Are you getting jam on me?" He pulled away, as if to check himself for sticky smudges but mostly because he didn't want to prolong the contact past the point at which it was comfortable.

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artistdean
2015-09-18 09:43 pm UTC (link)

At first he wasn't sure that Seamus was going to hug him back and when he did the sense of relief was almost overwhelming. The time at odds with each other had been agonising, and even a simple hug started to heal some more of the wounds. It wasn't long, and frankly right now a long hug would have been awkward, but it was good.

He snorted at the accusation while he unwrapped himself from the hug. Even in his sudden need to wrap himself around Seamus he had managed to keep in mind what was in his hands and kept that wrist and hand away from his friend. "No, I'm not. Waste of perfectly good food if I got it all on your clothes," he said.

His mouth opened to venture something more but he was at a loss as to what to say. Instead he brought his slice of toast to his mouth and took a bite just to give himself something to do. All of a sudden he didn't want Seamus to see what he'd produced in the last week, but the canvases were sort of hard to miss. Particularly because they were so unusual. He knew he'd been letting his raw feelings out in paint, but it would likely be less obvious to Seamus exactly what those were given how abstract his work had turned out.

First he chewed at his toast, then he chewed at his lip. "Want the other piece?" he asked, gesturing to the table where the piece of toast he'd peeled his own from was sat on a clean piece of parchment. It was a pathetic thing to say, and he really should have had more than a single piece of toast to eat, but he had to say something and he didn't really want to delve into discussing the past week or two right now, or probably ever.

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openbottle
2015-10-07 04:17 pm UTC (link)

Seamus smiled, the expression not altogether convincing. He couldn't bring himself to look at Dean too much, but his usual habit of repressing his curiosity about Dean's in-progress art meant he didn't know where else was safe to look. More than ever he wanted to keep from pissing Dean off, or making him uncomfortable. Dean already put up with far too much and Seamus wanted to minimise the burden as much as possible. "I have cake to eat," he pointed out. He almost repeated the same joke he'd already made, about Dean not getting it back just because he hadn't needed to make it in the first place.

Maybe he should just get back to his cake, and leave Dean in peace - but that felt weird and wrong and awkward too. It wasn't a rule by any means, but they often spent Sundays together because it was the only day Seamus gave himself off every week. If they were trying to fix this thing, avoiding each other forever wasn't going to work. Seamus tucked one hand up into the sleeve of his hoodie, using the other to pull a stray thread from the cuff. "We could - do something," he offered, hesitance obvious. "Go flying, or out for lunch, or... something." Something where it wouldn't be obviously unnatural if they didn't touch too much.

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artistdean
2015-10-08 05:50 pm UTC (link)

"True," he muttered, shifting one foot from side to side and feeling slightly uncomfortable. Things were better already, he could tell they were, but they weren't quite right yet. He had the sense that maybe if they could push through this things would become more right. Closer to that they were used to. Closer to normal. Whatever that was.

Not uncomfortable in his own space was what it was. At least partially. He was feeling off-kilter since Seamus had arrived. Maybe because he hadn't expected him, but mostly because of how they were. How they'd been. Been. Definitely trying to move past it. He chewed at his lip, and winced slightly, he'd been doing it a little too often and it was feeling sore. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not doing anything important here. And, er, I don't think either of our mothers would be impressed with my lunch right now," he said, because honestly now they were something like reconciling his inability to eat properly due to nerves seemed to have been replaced by ravenous hunger. "We could go eat, although maybe I might need to spell my clothes a bit," he said. He was dressed in some of his work clothes, perpetually paint spattered where he never bothered to spell them clean because it was so pointless.

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