Written for Laura (Someone aka Me) on the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2013.

Seamus leans against the pile of pillows at the end of his bed. He looks over at Dean, who's lying on his stomach on the floor and scratching away at a piece of parchment.

"What're you drawing?" he asks, craning his neck to get a better view.

Dean tears himself away from his drawing and moves into a sitting position. He frowns at the parchment and says, "Minnie. But I can't get her wrinkles right."

Seamus bursts into laughter and crawls onto the floor to get a better look.

"Oh god, that's brilliant," he manages to splutter. When he finally catches his breath, says, "Don't worry. You got all her wrinkles just right."

Dean's frown morphs into a grin. "They are pretty good, aren't they?"

The two spend the next few minutes clutching their sides. By the time they've calmed down, they're both red in the face and gasping for air.

"How come you've never drawn me?" Seamus questions while propping himself against the bed frame. "You draw everyone else. Seriously, you've even drawn Harry."

"I've drawn Harry and Ron," Dean says with an exaggerated wink.

Seamus retches as he thinks about the particular drawing of his two friends that he knows that Dean is referring to. Really, he could have lived veryhappily without that image ever entering his mind.

"And yet you've never drawn me..."

It's the silence that follows that makes Seamus really think about what he's just said. It's insane, really, to think that Dean has never drawn him. Dean's drawn everyone. He's literally drawn everyone. Other than himself, Seamus can't think of a single person who Dean hasn't drawn.

"Yeah, so why haven't you drawn me?" Seamus cringes at the whining tone his voice takes on. Apparently, though, he just can't help himself. He continues, "I'm, what, not good enough for you to draw?"

...and now Seamus wants to hit himself for sounding like such a girl.

"Oh, come on." Dean rolls his eyes. "S'not like that. I haven't drawn you. So what? It's not a big deal."

And because it's already been established that's he practically growing a vagina, Seamus pushes, "Why not? I mean...there's got to be a reason."

"There isn't."

Seamus blinks at the severity of Dean's tone and then watches as Dean sighs and gives weak shrug. A few moments pass and it looks like Dean wants to say something, but he shakes his head, gathers up his parchment and retreats to his bed.

Seamus would like to say that he didn't really care and that he didn't lose a moment of sleep over it, but he'd be lying if he did. And more than anything, he'd like to think that the fact that Dean has never drawn him doesn't bother him at all, but again, he'd be lying if he did. He spends the entire night fighting the screaming thoughts that plague his mind.

He hasn't drawn you. He hates you. Why else wouldn't he have drawn you? He's drawn everyone else. Seriously. He's drawn Harry and Ron fucking like there's no tomorrow, but he hasn't even considered drawing you in a perfectly normal situation. Nope. Just admit it. He hates you.

The sun rises and Seamus still hasn't managed to get a wink of sleep. He rolls out of bed, weary and sure that by the end of the day, he'll have collapsed from exhaustion. For a brief moment, he catches Dean's eye. He manages a small smile and Dean replies in the same way, but even Seamus can see that's it's forced.

Argh. Well, he's not very well going to lose his best friend over a silly thought, so Seamus resolves to sort it out before dinner. The old-fashioned way, he reckons. Face-to-face.

Unfortunately, that's easier said than done and it's not until after dinner when Seamus manages to catch Dean by himself.

"This isn't about the drawing thing, is it?" Dean sighs, turning so not face him. "I'll draw you tonight if it means so much to you."

"It's—"

"Just sit down over there," Dean says, already rummaging through his satchel for a spare piece of parchment and a decent quill. "Make yourself comfortable and we'll be done in a few."

"That wasn't—"

"Do you want this done or not?" Dean finally snaps, glaring at his friend from across the room. "The way you keep going on..."

"No. Jesus." Seamus rubs his temples in exasperation. "I just wanted to know why. Just..." He gestures with his arm. "Put your shit away, will you?"

Dean visibly hesitates. He takes his time putting the parchment and quill away and even when he's done, he refuses to face Seamus. Instead, he stands awkwardly at the corner of his bed, lean fingers tapping mindlessly at his bedpost. It becomes apparent that he's not planning on moving any time soon, so Seamus collapses on his own bed, dropping his head in his hands.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Seamus says eventually, breaking the silence. "Was curious, that's all."

"Don't see why it's such a big deal."

"I just want an answer." Then he shakes his head and adds, "It don't matter though."

Seamus pulls the curtain around his bed and lies down. He's tired enough now that he's bound to fall asleep regardless of how badly he still wants an answer. It's easy to fall asleep.

Dean, on the other hand, stays as he is, tapping at a bedpost and staring at the blank parchment thrown on his bed. He'd always hoped that his friend would never notice. Or, if he did, that he'd never ask.

He doesn't how to explain.

He can't, after all, very well say, "I've never drawn you because I think you're brilliant and I'm terrified that I won't be able to do you justice if I tried."