Hey, this is my first fan fiction story so any advise or criticism would be much appreciated. Basically any sort of response would be great :) I sort of fell in love with this pairing so this is my take on Deamus, I'm planning on following this up with another chapter if anyone likes this so please review! -VivanVonVibrant

Dean always had trouble sleeping ever since he was a little boy. He would toss and turn, trying to get comfortable one way before trying something different. He had tried counting sheep, reading textbooks, reciting math formulas. He had actually gotten so good at that last one that he could now almost recite a hundred decimal placements of pi.

All of this to say that his sleep deprivation was definitely a problem.

It was in Third Year that he finally found something that truly relaxed him. Drawing had always been a hobby of his but it was during these late, sleepless nights that he really found his passion for it.

Now, whenever Dean couldn't sleep, he would simply pull out his sketchbook and a couple of muggle drawing pencils and set to work. Sometimes he would draw out of his imagination but he preferred to sketch out real objects in front of him. Usually they were something simple, a pair of shoes, a tie, some scraps of crumpled paper, and so on. It was only in his Fourth year that he started really drawing people.

On one autumn night, Dean was looking around the room to try and find something to draw when a pale face caught his eye in the next bed over. It was common to close your bed hangings when you go to sleep but Seamus Finnegan seemed to have forgotten to pull them all the way around. He was turned on his side, facing Dean with such a startlingly calm expression on his face that the artist was immediately enraptured.

Seamus was his best friend, had been since First Year. They were as close as brother's and shared almost everything between them. Dean knew about how much Seamus missed his homeland Ireland and in turn Seamus knew about Dean's desire to know who his real father is.

Another thing that Dean knew about Seamus was his energy. The boy never seemed to be able to stop fidgeting or talking or just moving. He was in constant motion, just a blur on Dean's radar as he tried to keep up with the enthusiastic person. The black boy was naturally more reserved and they both seemed to balance the other out perfectly.

Right now, seeing Seamus' features so vulnerable and at peace… it was mesmerising. It was the first time that Dean had ever thought the boy to be beautiful, although it surely wouldn't be the last.

Dean glanced down quickly to rearrange his sketchpad on his knees before he started drawing. He was too scared to move the curtain away anymore than it was in case Seamus woke up so he just drew what he could see. His dark hands moved with certainty despite this being his first realistic drawing of another human. With Seamus it was just so natural.

By the time he had finished the illustration, Dean was yawning and ready for bed. He carefully placed his supplies under his bed, taking just a moment more to look at his new favourite drawing.

After that night, Dean felt an itch to draw constantly. And not just any subject, he had the desire to draw Seamus. It was like he had just a taste of some new, never before realised drug and couldn't stop the craving for more.

Only a week after his first picture, the artist couldn't take the temptation any longer and pulled away Seamus' curtains while he slept. The paler boy didn't wake, which allowed Dean a sigh of relief. For a moment he stood there just watching his best friend dream, his eyes moving underneath their lids. The word beautiful flashed across his mind again. Dean knew that what he was doing was pretty weird but he was getting another taste of his drug so he could barely find it within himself to care.

He drew Seamus' sweet face, his slightly stubby nose, full lips, delicate eyelids and partly singed eyebrows (they had just had another potions disaster). Eyelashes fanned over his pale skin and freckles dotted his face like plentiful angel kisses. Dean remembered his mother once telling him that freckles was just a sign of an angels love and in that moment, he fully believed it.

His hand was flying across the page now, drawing every detail he could. It certainly wasn't his best sketch (he was new to depicting human faces after all) but it was by far his favourite.

Every night onwards that Dean couldn't sleep, he would draw, and more likely than not, his subject would be Seamus.

He knew it was weird; that it would freak his best mate out were he ever to find out but Dean just couldn't help it.

Drawing Seamus was his drug and he was fast becoming addicted.