[platform 9¾] don't say you love me • • d e a n

Dennis woke up at 6:42am without an alarm.

Blinking in the greyish twilight of dawn, Dennis took a moment to remind himself that he was catching the Hogwarts express back to school today. There was something pleasant about the dissatisfied feeling he had deep in the pit of his stomach. Dennis didn't want to go to school. He imagined the feeling to be similar to standing on a stormy shore as the tide rose with no real way out. The water was coming in slowly but surely, and he was resigned to it happening regardless of his wants. It wasn't all doom and dark skies, though. The pleasant slant on the dread in the drowning metaphor was that part of the reason he felt so much trepidation was the fact that he didn't want to leave. And he didn't want to leave because of Dean.

It felt good to be able to want something without feeling guilty about it. It felt good to know that some of his feelings were reciprocated and that he wasn't going crazy when he was coming up with reasons to back up the idea that Dean might actually like having him around. The crazy thoughts were the paranoid ones, about how Dean didn't like him or thought he was useless. It felt good to be able to put these thoughts in seperate categories; Dean liked him (right). Dean hated him (crazy). Sometimes Dennis spent so much time by himself wrapped up in his own head that simple thoughts like those got all twisted within each other.

Staring up at the ceiling, Dennis smiled a little remembering the past few days. The past few days were what had really cleared his head of all of the churning waters. Days spent, not unloading deep and meaningful thoughts or connecting on some intellectual level, but rather days spent watching football on Dean's old TV. Mornings drinking milkshakes. Afternoons walking around muggle malls in London doing nothing in particular. Catching trains and watching people from the seats of bus stops as they waited for their very muggle buses. It wasn't the muggleness of it all that made it feel so good, it was the normality. He and Dean hadn't exactly spend their days expressing all of their feelings to one another, though there had certainly been a couple of sentimental moments late at night as conversation turned from football teams to family or memories or past loves, but it had all fallen into place in the most normal way and Dennis couldn't have asked for anything more.

The teenager pushed himself up on to his elbows, then sleepily ran a hand through his hair. He'd already packed up his stuff last night but there were a few things he had to do now. After giving himself a second to adjust to the onslaught of sensory information that came with being awake, Dennis got to his feet and started packing up the couch methodically. He folded his sheets and set everything up like he'd never even been there. When he was done, he made his way to the kitchen area and started making breakfast for the two of them. He knew Riley wasn't staying here for a few days and a part of him was sure that that was because he was here. But he wasn't thinking about that. It was harder to think in spirals and follow destructive thought patterns when he'd had such a nice, calm time here. Dennis popped toast down how Dean liked it and started making himself and Dean a tea and coffee respectively.

Dean woke to the sound of movement outside his door. Rolling over into the empty side of his bed, he tried to combat the heaviness in his eyelids. They’d stayed up late on Dennis’s last night and he hadn’t been ready to get up, but he had to. Dean had never felt like a late riser until Dennis came to stay. There was a sort of guilt that came along with it, a sense that he should be the one up first, making breakfast. As if he were a waiter, or a parent, or it didn’t matter really, but the idea that it was his job to be taking care of Dennis was stubbornly persistent in some part of his unconscious mind.

He got out of bed and wandered out of his room in his only pair of threadbare sweatpants. He’d long since stopped caring how Dennis saw him. The houseguest in question was leaning against the counter waiting on the kettle and looked up when Dean closed his bedroom door. “You didn’t have to do that,” said Dean, glancing over the room and flashing Dennis a tired smile as he scratched his stubbly chin. “But thank you. Let me brush my teeth—"

The visit had reminded him why he cared about Dennis so much in the first place. As they’d lurched from awkwardness to heartache to tragedy, Dean only knew he loved Dennis because of how much it hurt to see him struggle. There had been brief moments of companionship, but they’d been overshadowed by the strain and worry so much that he began to associate Dennis with grief more than friendship. He was remembering now that things could be easy. That there were things he shared with only Dennis, that they could talk or they could do anything but and it could be nice. He felt much better than he had a few days ago. It looked like it had been good for Dennis too, and while Dean knew there could be any number of things lurking under the surface, he liked to think they’d had some sort of breakthrough.

“You haven’t got to be at the station for a few hours,” called Dean when he’d turned off the water. “Anything you want to do before being shipped off to Hogsmeade?” He slipped back in his room to grab a shirt before proposing an idea. “We could get a proper breakfast, if you want.” Accepting a slice of toast, he set it directly on the counter to spread his butter. “Or we could do anything, really.”

Dean paused before taking a bite, and looked up at Dennis. “Are you ready?” he asked. Not about the logistics, as Dennis had obviously packed and cleaned and prepared. But going away to Hogwarts for another year was momentous even in the most mundane of circumstances, and Dean knew there were all sorts of things wrapped up in the idea of school for Dennis now.

"Morning." Dennis returned Dean's smile, one cheek dimpling cutely as he did so. He didn't justify Dean's comment with a response, though. It was sort of a pattern for them, he thought. Dennis went out of his way to do something nice, Dean protested that he didn't need to. It went the other way, too; as if neither of them could accept simple giving gestures or if it was difficult to believe that the other one wanted to make them. Mechanically, Dennis moved between the coffee and the stove and the toaster. Breakfast wasn't anything fancy; just eggs and toast. He cracked the eggs into the frying pan as Dean called out from the bathroom.

"Nah it's okay, I think it might be nice just to hang out here." The cold morning air was weirdly refreshing. It might feel oppressive on another day, but Dennis felt like he was in such a strangely pure state of mind that his body was simply absorbing its surroundings and taking in all of the best parts. It had been a long time since he'd felt this sort of calm. Dennis scooped the eggs onto their plates, dropped the frying pan and spatula into the sink and then served it all up on Dean's small table. He skipped back to the cupboard to grab the salt and pepper before taking his seat next to Dean.

Are you ready?

"I don't want to go," he admitted, "It's been so nice staying with you." A part of him could imagine a future in which they were roommates and he didn't have to sleep on the couch. It looked nice, he thought. Maybe it was a bit optimistic, though. Dennis loved Dean but would his friend want him around all the time? He felt really good at the moment, but he knew that sometimes he could be a bit of a black hole; destructive and impossible to properly escape. Dean wasn't the kind of person to just let him go, either. Dennis shrugged a little, taking a large bite of his toast and chewing it as he brushed away these thoughts. It didn't really matter, he reminded himself. It didn't matter how much Dean cared about him - only that he did.

After swallowing, he added, "but yeah I think I'm okay." Dennis wiped a little egg yolk from the corner of his mouth before wolfing down the rest of that piece of toast, then drank a sip of tea and burned his tongue a little in his impatience. "How about you?" he said, false concern gracing his features moments before a lazy half-smile betrayed his humour, "who's gonna make you breakfast when I'm back at school?"

Dean sat down and let Dennis scrape scrambled eggs onto his plate. “Thanks,” he said, already unable to remember if he’d said so, or just protested the gesture. He’d been trying to stop doing that. It wasn’t uncommon that he wake up to breakfast, or the bathroom cleaned, perhaps, or the dishes done. Dennis seemed to like to do things for him. Maybe some sense of obligation, like he ought to be repaying Dean with service at least if not money. But even if it was fair, Dean had never been entirely comfortable with being served. (Was this how Ginny had felt, back then? He chuckled softly to himself at the thought.)

He shrugged modestly as Dennis told him he’d rather stay, unsure what to say besides thanks, again. “Well, better food at Hogwarts, at least,” joked Dean instead, giving Dennis a lopsided grin. “Or—y’know.” He’d always had a hard time parting with his money, and wasn’t much of a cook besides: they ate eggs and toast with some frequency. “Bit more comfortable place to sleep, too,” he added with a nod toward the couch. There wasn’t really much going for Dean’s place at all, other than freedom…and himself. He smiled down at his plate. He didn’t want to make presumptions about what Dennis wanted to stay for, but he liked thinking it.

“I’m glad,” he said. There was a sort of optimism in Dennis’s manner that Dean didn’t know if he’d ever seen there before, and it was filling him with warmth. “And, I mean, you’re not stuck there if you change your mind. Set off some fireworks and fly away, yeah?” He rested his chin in his hand, smiling tenderly back at Dennis. “Don’t worry about me, though. I’ll live.” Hopefully Dennis wouldn’t take it as an admission that he wouldn’t miss him—but Dean was less worried about that today than he might have been a few days ago.

Dennis nodded at the mention of food as he wolfed down his own. He felt a little guilty about eating all of Dean's food - this morning he'd made himself four eggs and he'd probably still be hungry after. There had been times this summer and other recent breaks where he'd skipped meals because he didn't have enough money, but that never happened here. Having to make his own food really wasn't a problem for Dennis - and he liked cooking simple things for Dean - but it was true that Hogwarts dinners were really something else. As much as he hated the place from time to time, he had no complaints about the food. Dennis' eyes flicked towards the couch when it was brought up, feeling like he had to speak up in defence of the thing. He was sentimental about it.

The teenager wiped a bit of egg from his lips with the back of his forearm. "New bed though," he commented, a sigh in his eyes if not his lips. Now that the others his age were all graduated and gone he was stuck sleeping with the new lot of sixth years. A new batch of kids two years younger than him that he didn't know. Dennis was perpetually the new kid at school. He wondered when that would stop. The teenager took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his seat, his plate characteristically empty far before Dean was even halfway through. Sometimes he ate like he didn't know when his next meal was coming, whether he actually did or not. Dennis didn't miss Dean's expression as the other man looked down at his plate and Dennis' lips formed a crooked smile in response, one cheek dimpling a little. Dean had a gorgeous smile.

"Yeah, yeah," Dennis said, waving one hand lazily. They both knew that Dennis would never be so dramatic. If he were to leave school it would be done like he did most things, quietly and with the brunt of the emotional toll taken internally and in solitude. He'd probably slip out in the night, he thought. Maybe he'd come here. The thought of Riley crossed his mind again and then he thought maybe he'd go to a hostel instead. Dennis didn't linger on it. The teenager yawned loudly into his palm; they'd had a late night last night and he'd woken a few times before he'd actually gotten up. "I'm gonna go have a shower," he told his friend, pushing his chair back against the ground and wincing at the noise it made. "Don't wash up," he ordered, pointing a mock-serious finger at his friend and raising his eyebrows a little.

Dean shot Dennis a commiserating grimace. He knew his friend felt out of place at Hogwarts already, but now that his age group had left the difference would be more stark than ever. It was odd to think of Dennis as too old for anything. Of course Dean didn’t like to even acknowledge he thought it, not when they were having such a good few days. He wondered whether Dennis sort of appreciated being older just for the change.

Likely not. Or not as much as he would appreciate feeling as if he belonged.

Dennis rose and cheekily forbade Dean from helping clean. “Christ, alright,” he replied with a soft laugh, raising his hands. They’d had this conversation before. “You may as well get all that in while you can,” he called back at the bathroom door. There wouldn’t be any chores to do at Hogwarts.

The water started running. Dean watched the door for a couple moments, and then slowly took another bite.

—

On Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Dean and Dennis made a strange pair: a couple of gangly young men in Muggle clothes, less comfortable now than they’d been a couple of hours ago at breakfast. Self-consciously, Dean looked over the growing crowd. He hadn’t been here since he returned from his sixth year. Seventeen—younger than Dennis was now. Standing here in a part of the magical world he’d lost behind between adolescence and the war made his skin prickle. Were there still students at Hogwarts who knew him? His brain didn’t think it had been long enough for them all to have left, but his heart felt as if it had been much longer.

Dean wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and pulled him into a half-a-second hug, clapping his back. “Take care of yourself, mate,” he said.

He didn’t think he’d have said much different if he’d seen Dennis off at his doorway, but here it felt so much more…performative. So intentionally casual, so unlike the parents and children around them. It didn’t cross his mind much how isolated his friendship with Dennis was. They were alone in his flat or they were out around Muggles. Never Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or anyplace anyone who they meant anything to might be. As Dean watched Dennis board the Hogwarts Express, he hoped he’d done what Dennis expected him to. Been a friend more than a father. He hadn’t pushed his way into coming here to the platform—hadn’t even asked in case it was too awkward to refuse. Dean wouldn’t be here unless Dennis had carefully decided he should be.

Dennis appeared in the window of a nearby compartment. As he sat down and looked out, the corner of Dean’s mouth twitched into a subtle smile. He lifted one hand in a still wave.

"Don't you do it," he cautioned from the bathroom, his voice echoing against the smooth tiles, his smile carried through the sound. As he dropped his t-shirt to the floor, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Eighteen, he thought distantly. An adult in both worlds now. The young man staring back at him didn't look like a child anymore; his jawline was a little more defined, his arms and legs a little less disproportionate to the rest of him. Absentmindedly, his fingers traced the outline of the scar that covered a large part of his torso, another permanent mark on his body, all kinds of moments from the past etched into his skin. This year was going to be better, he thought. He was reluctant to indulge the calm buds of optimism that had taken root in him over couple of days - Dennis Creevey knew how jarring the chasm between expectations and reality could be - but somehow they had bloomed in his chest while he wasn't paying attention.

He finished undressing, turned the metal taps, and let the water wash him clean.

—

Around them, parents were saying farewells to their children and friends were catching up after long summers spent apart. The chatter was mildly distracting; he couldn't help but eavesdrop a little as the flow of people moved slowly but steadily around them like water. The whole scene was so familiar, he thought. Like all train stations, the pores of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters held a thick, gritty sort of smell. It was pervasive, smelled distinctly like train, and Dennis couldn't be here, with that smell, and these sounds and not be sent reeling back through memories. He'd only left for Hogwarts a handful of times, really, and each time was absolutely distinct and clear in his head. He wondered how he'd feel about this one later. Only one more to go, he thought, already mentally through this one.

"Yeah I will," Dennis said simply, trying not to wince at the way it sounded like a promise, or the way a promise like that underlined the reasons it had to be made in the first place. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he stepped back, the physical intimacy wanted, liked, but still not quite comfortable or natural for the teenager. Dennis would have liked to say something profound just then, something like thanks for everything you've done for me, or it's meant a lot or even I love you - it was true after all, wasn't it? - but juxtaposed against this awkward goodbye, he couldn't. It sounded too trite, too forced, so he just nodded and turned for the train, saying nothing at all.

Through the window, Dennis caught sight of Dean still standing on the platform. He gave a half smile back - a here we go again, crooked sort of smile, with a faint dimple in one freckled cheek. The kind of smile that best carried well-natured sarcasm.

This year couldn't be much worse than the last, he thought, a tiny bud of optimism blooming again.