time: 16 december, late morning location: gryffindor boys dormitory status: for @seamusburning
“sit still,” he hissed for what must have been the fifth time. with one hand steadied on seamus’ leg, michael lifted his wand to the worst of what he could see. he’d given seamus what he could for the pain, short of hauling the both of them down to the hospital wing and dropping him at promfrey’s feet, an urge he still fought against as he took seamus in, wounds and bruises and all.
michael wasn’t sure what else he should have expected, honestly, when neville grabbed him between classes, gave him this week’s password ( as if he didn’t already know ), and told him he’d be wanted in gryffindor tower. there was only ever one thing michael would face as he ascended the stairs, but the sight of seamus still stopped his heart, spilled ice in his veins, made him see red with rage.
“better?” he asked, finally, from his seat at the edge of the bed and after enough muttered episkeys had dulled the worst of seamus’ bruises and busted lip. michael’s free hand lifted to seamu’s jaw, thumb tracing the curve he knew so well, and drew up to brush across his cheekbone. he wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt to see seamus like this, but he knew better now than to ask anything of him. they’d put each other back together enough times for that conversation to close.