There was a time, fall semester of first year, when there'd been the troll in the dungeon, Dean had tugged him down behind a lumpy scarlet sofa, back and safe in the common room, and whispered, "You're not scared, are you?" Seamus shook his head, and he knew he could have done it then, where no one would see them, but of course he was scared, and he just-- didn't.
There was a time, back at the start of second year, when Lockhart had let out the Cornish pixies and demonstrated a negative ability to deal with them, and Dean had laughed so hard that he'd had to bite down on his knuckles to stop from crying. He was still laughing when they'd tumbled out of the class, caught in the rush to get away, and Dean had said, "Did you see him?" like it was something easy to miss. And Seamus laughed, and nodded, and it would have been the simplest thing in the world to lean over and just do it, but he just-- didn't.
There was a time, middle of second year, after the Chamber had been opened, when they had sat in the library amid history texts, and Dean had said, "You ever feel like you're completely worthless in the long run?" Seamus hadn't, but that could have been because he had never thought that not being known made you worthless. And he could have told Dean this, could have said something horrid about it being more than history and Harry and everything, but it wasn't only that he didn't, but that he couldn't. Because that could never be taken for anything but what it was; Seamus wasn't quite that suave, not yet.
But third year: third year, Seamus had a plan, and of course it would go off with a hitch or eight, but that was to be expected. Best laid plans and all that, and these weren't even that well-laid at all, since they mostly consisted of Seamus saying, "supper's boring, you want to go back to the dorm?" and dragging Dean off whether he liked it or not, and the rest went from there.
Just where it went Seamus had yet to determine, but he was sure the results would be most favourable. Things tended to work that way, he knew.
It could have happened any night, he told himself, any night at all, because they ate supper every night and every night he'd have loved to do it, just to drag Dean off and have done with it so they could forget about it sooner, but it just-- didn't happen. Because, right, Seamus just didn't feel like it.
It did rather throw a wrench in things, though, when Dean said, "So I was thinking," on the way back to the common room one evening -- not so much the thinking, but what came after.
"Fancy that," said Seamus, and really didn't.
"So I was thinking," Dean repeated, and Seamus was sort of dreading having him get to the point, so he said nothing, but Dean was apparently not going to be swayed. "So I was thinking," he said, as if perhaps Seamus had missed it the first two times, "that we should probably just snog and get it over with, you know?"
Seamus stopped mid-stride. "That we should what now?"
"Snog," Dean said, and when it didn't seem to register with Seamus, he added, "you know, kiss. I know you know what that means, Seamus."
"Right," said Seamus.
"So," said Dean.
Seamus considered this a moment, and whether or not it counted as a hitch in the plan, given that the plan had not even been implemented just yet. "Why would we be doing this, now?" he asked.
Dean looked at him doubtfully. "So I'm not singing 'sweet sixteen and never been kissed' on your birthday?"
"You wouldn't do that," Seamus said.
"Probably not," Dean said, and shrugged. "So let's not, then."
"No," said Seamus quickly, before Dean could get away-- because this wasn't the plan, but it would certainly do in a pinch. "Let's," he said, and Dean kissed him right there, in the middle of the hallway.