I can't hide beneath my sheets [Dennis]

Dennis carefully folded and arranged his things by the wall. Dean watched for a moment before thinking better of it and deciding to leave him be. He turned his back and wandered around into the kitchen to put another pot of coffee on. Before he could get there, though, Dennis had tapped his shoulder.

He was surprised by Dennis's small, earnest thanks. He’d been worrying so much about displeasing him that he hadn’t expected to hear any gratitude. And the way the boy awkwardly grinned and rubbed at his neck with one hand, it was so endearing Dean’s heart just about burst. “No problem,” he said, returning the smile warmly, eagerly. “It’s a pleasure.”

It wasn’t even just something he said, it was a pleasure. When Dennis had left last September he hadn’t known what to do with himself, he’d grown so used to someone sharing his space. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been before, how much it helped him to have someone there. And, though Dennis would probably hate to know he thought it, it helped him to have someone need him, depend on him. It gave him purpose, not just professionally or academically but as a person.

He’d missed it. He was glad to have Dennis back, at least for a little while.

Dean looked pleased with Dennis’ thanks and it made the boy simultaneously satisfied and uncomfortable. There was a strange, niggling feeling in the back of his head that told him that Dean didn’t really like him; he was just too nice, just too kind. The last thing Dennis wanted to be was a burden, but a part of him was sure that he was. Then again, they’d had such a nice time at breakfast that the boy couldn’t be sure where exactly he stood. Dennis thought it must be difficult to be friends with someone when there was such an obvious disparity in power. He’d come here because he’d needed Dean’s help. Needed it. But he had very little to offer in return.

The Gryffindor boy smiled and gave a small nod before slinking away towards the bathroom. Dean’s place was small, and Dennis didn’t have a lot of space here, so he was looking forward to the moment of solitude. It also meant that he wouldn’t be encroaching on Dean’s personal space, which was important to the younger boy. As his bare feet touched cold tiles and he shut the bathroom door behind him, he wondered what to do for the rest of the day. Subconsciously, he planned his way around Dean; he planned ways to stay out of his way, make himself smaller and less present. He grimaced as cold water struck his bare skin. The pressure to make sure Dean was happy was very real to him, he imagined he’d feel it the whole time he was here.

Still, it was more home than anywhere else.