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.