Fic: Tangles of yarn – a story in three parts for nathaniel_hp

[ithinktsdashing.livejournal.com]

Title: Tangles of yarn – a story in three parts
Author/Artist: calico_lupin
Recipient:nathaniel_hp
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *none
Word count: 2634
Summary: As plentiful and as odd as Sirius's hobbies have been over the years, Remus has to admit he didn't see this one coming.
Notes: This story was supposed to have illustrations as well, but life wanted differently and I simply haven't had the time, nor energy to do that. I might add some in the future, but for now... My apologies. I hope it doesn't read as incomplete to you as it feels in my head.

One.

Sirius Black had never been known for being a predictable man. Remus could testify for this; they had shared a flat for over a year now, and foolish as he was, he thought he had seen most things that Sirius could throw his way. He had been there for the manic tea collection, when Sirius had insisted on filling every cabinet in the house with different sorts of tea, claiming that one could never have too many brands and don’t be ridiculous Remus. This had ended when their budget ran out, and they both had had to live on 20 pence noodles for the rest of the month. Sirius had not been happy, and the look he had given Remus on the eighteenth day had clearly stated that they would not speak of it ever again. Remus had smiled.

He had been there for the time when Sirius decided that punk was the only tolerable music, and all other records must be thrown out immediately. Remus had rolled his eyes and hidden said records away, not taking them back out again until Sirius admitted that he might have made a mistake and, yes, he did miss his old Stones albums.

That was the first time they kissed, too. When Remus mockingly presented Sirius with the music he thought he had lost, and Sirius had lit up like the sun and kissed him sloppily right on the mouth. Remus had given him a confused look, and then watched in amusement as Sirius ran over to their old record player and started to play Satisfaction at maximum volume. Miming to it, he spun around, making the most absurd hip movement Remus had ever seen while grinning at his flatmate. But that was just Sirius, unashamed, vibrant and physical, and Remus quickly forgot about the unexpected kiss as he was pulled into joining the rhythm himself, shouting things such as “no!”, “stop it!” and “twat!” without really putting any his heart into it.

The neighbours had complained.

And he had been there when Sirius cut his hair short, dyed it red and pierced his ear with a safety pin.

Though to tell the truth, that happened at the same time as the last example, so it should perhaps not be treated as a separate incident. 

But he had been there when Sirius enchanted his socks to run around, and collected handwriting samples and pencil stubs, and got really into muggle literature, and decided that washing the dishes was much more fun when you put all the cups in the sink at once and accidentally soaked the whole kitchen floor, and he had been there to hear ‘I swear to god Remus if you don’t stop putting your used teabags on the counter instead of in the bin-’, and ‘wherever I lay my pants is my spot’, and so on. 

So one could be forgiven for thinking that Remus would not be surprised when Sirius, after months of suspicious calm, would come up with yet another little quirk which would make their everyday lives more interesting. And this time, it’s...

“Knitting!” Sirius exclaims proudly. Remus stares at him, at a loss for words.

“I’m… sorry?”

“Knitting,” Sirius repeats in an excited voice, opening the paper bag to show Remus its content. Yes, knitting indeed. And that was a lot of yarn… 

“Okay…” Remus gives him a sceptical look. “Padfoot, why?”

“Why not? It will be great- Didn’t you say you had an aunt who used to knit you sweaters for Christmas and things?”

“Are you going to replace my aunt?” Remus asks, more confused than ever. Sirius shakes his head impatiently. 

“No! But…” And then there is that slightest hint of embarrassment, and the pieces suddenly fall together.

“You’re knitting for Harry.”

“Well, James bloody well can’t,” Sirius says defensively. “And besides, just… I…”

“You’re going to be his knitting godfather.”

“I, well… Oh sod off Remus!”

And throwing his arms up in the air, Sirius leaves the room, refusing to discuss it further. Remus, well, he only smiles. Sirius has the most curious ways of showing affection sometimes, and he has to admit this whole thing is quite endearing. If Sirius could only muster the patience to fulfil the task at hand, no doubt it would be a sweet gesture.

Which James would mock him about for years to come, of course.

And that is how it begins. The next day, Remus awakes not to the usual smell of coffee in the morning, but to low curses and the sound of knitting needles clicking lightly together. Or not as lightly, when Sirius loses his temper and breaks one right off. Remus calmly plucks it from his hand, taps it with his wand and says a light “reparo,” before giving it back. Sirius takes it with a dignified huff. 

“It’s not as easy as-“

“You don’t make it look very easy, Padfoot,” Remus says in a casual voice as he walks over to the kitchen counter. It requires less than five steps, as the kitchen and living room is one and the same. “Coffee?”

-~*~-

He has to give it to Sirius, Remus thinks as he watches the man once again trying to untangle himself from what looks like miles of yarn - he doesn’t give up. Despite several angry outbursts and calling the yarn and needles names that makes even Remus cringe – and he has never been very sensitive in that aspect – he kept at it. He may not be particularly good at it, but he tries. 

“So,” he muses, leaning over the back of Sirius’s armchair. “What is this supposed to be?

“Funny.”

“I’m not trying to make fun of you, Padfoot. I sort of wish I was, but I am genuinely asking.”

Sirius glances up, giving him a haughty look.

“Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.”

“I guess that proves that your jumper is not poetry, then.”

Sirius holds up the tangle of seemingly random coloured threads, frowning as he looks at it.

“It is a little artsy-“

“No. And don’t try to Eliot me – I know Eliot.”

“You also knew it was a jumper.”

“Tea?”

-~*~-

James, of course, finds it immensely funny.

“You can’t be serious about this, mate,” he says, watching as Sirius tries not to make the yarn tangle during a particularly tricky manoeuvre. With a strange pang of fondness, Remus once again makes a note of Sirius’s habit to let the tip of his tongue peek out from between those lips when he concentrates on the task. “It’s just not very… you, is it?”

“Knitting is harder than it looks, Prongs,” Sirius mutters, narrowing his eyes at the manically blue threads. 

“So?”

“So I like a challenge.”

“If you like a challenge-“

“Are you going to make a bad pun out of that?” Sirius asks, looking up with one eyebrow raised so high it is almost vanishing under his fringe. “Because let me remind you, these needles may not be sharp but I can still poke your eye out with one.”

James laughs. “No need to get worked up, Padfoot. I’m just saying I’m not sure what’s gotten into you…”

“He’s knitting for Harry,” Remus explains innocently as he hands James a cup of tea. Sitting down on the sofa next to Sirius, he adds “I think he is trying to bribe your son into liking him with… things. Sirius don't look at me like that, I can’t call it a mitten if it doesn’t resemble one.”

“Maybe he is trying to get on Lily’s good side?” Peter muses. “She sure will appreciate the thought, won’t she?”

“Are you saying Sirius is sucking up to my wife? Ow, ow! Put that thing away Padfoot.” 

Remus shakes his head, sitting back on the sofa and sipping his tea. At least here nothing much has changed since school. James still ignores Sirius’s warnings, Sirius still hits him for it, Remus and Peter knows better than to get in between, and Remus would not for the world admit that he might have helped cause this little drama on purpose. Well, Sirius always says he is trickier than he looks. Maybe he has a point…

He smiles silently, shaking his head. At least some things remains the same. Not much do nowadays, with the Order and… and the spy…

Remus looks at his friends in silence, and for a brief moment he wishes it could always be like this. 

-~*~-

Two.

“I am a genius!”

“No, you’re not.” Remus is tired. It has hardly been two days since he returned from the last full moon, and he has barely been out of bed since. Barely talked to Sirius since, because he knows that Sirius is on the verge of bursting with questions he cannot ask. About where he’s been and where he got that scar, why he looks so sad (and whose blood is it that is sprayed all over Remus’s clothes when he returns Remus it doesn’t smell like you), why he seems so distant lately and what exactly is in that report he couldn’t hold up writing until after he got some sleep? What is so important that Remus has to risk his health, what exactly is he doing and when can he stop hurting himself like this, because Sirius bloody well won’t have it anymore and if Dumbledore thinks he is going to watch Remus slowly kill himself because of his stupid Order-

They have fought about this every month since Remus’s missions began. Twice those fights ended up with them in bed.

They never talk about that.

They barely talk about anything these days…

But at Sirius’s words, he still looks up from his private game of chess, glancing over at Sirius who is triumphantly holding up something Remus has to admit is a pretty fine-looking sweater. Slowly lowering the knight he had just been about to move, he stares at Sirius in utmost confusion. “Did you make that?”

 “Of course I did,” Sirius sniffles – clearly insulted by Remus’s lack of faith. “I told you, I am a genius.”

“Not at knitting you’re not.” In other areas, Remus has to admit that Sirius is in fact, quite genius. But it feeds Sirius’s ego less to say which areas he is not genius in, rather than admitting that in some well yes he might be. The truth is implied, is it not? And Sirius doesn’t exactly seem wounded, laughing as he is over his masterfully executed baby-sized sweater in green.

Jade green. 

Slowly crossing the room to get a closer look, Remus has to admit exactly this; It is masterfully executed. 

“Well, Padfoot… I have to say I’m impressed. This is pretty good.”

“I know.”

“You are so humble.”

“I am.”

“Padfoot!”

Sirius grins, all too pleased at this, and Remus realises with a small pang of guilt that it has been ages since he last used that name. It’s always ‘Sirius’ now, it’s always ‘Sirius’ when they fight and it’s always ‘Sirius’ in between the fights, because even in their most comfortable moments there is still this tension between them that they don’t speak of, but that turns ‘Padfoot’ to ‘Sirius’ and once in a fight even to ‘Black’. Sirius had stared at him at that, a look on his face as if he wanted to actually hit Remus. But he hadn’t, he had just turned on the spot and slammed the door behind him as he walked away. 

And now it is ‘Padfoot’, and Sirius smiles like the sun. 

Is this why he’s been doing this? Is this why he decided on such a ridiculously out of character hobby as knitting, all of a sudden? Because, fucking hell, it’s working, and even as Remus realises that his mind is racing, looking back at the past few weeks and months and even year. How the gap between them had started to grow, but every time Sirius sits down with those ridiculous bloody needles they have relaxed. They have been comfortable around one another, made jokes and teased each other as they used to. 

And he realises now that Sirius knew that.

‘You clever, clever man…’ Remus snorts, giving Sirius a scolding look. There is a smirk hidden beneath, and he knows Sirius can see it. 

“You’re the least humble man on this planet, you know.”

Sirius gasps theatrically, putting a hand over his heart.

“What? Moony! Rude.” 

“True, though.”

“I cannot believe you would say that. I’m hurt, I’m wounded.”

“You are not!”

“Not really.”

“Arse.”

“Moonpie.”

“What?!” Remus, who has just been about to return to his chessboard, turns on the spot to stare at Sirius, completely caught off guard. Sirius laughs.

“You heard me.”

“You’re a dead man, Sirius Black.”

“Hold me.”

-~*~-

Lily can’t believe her eyes when Sirius shows her the sweater.

“Did you cheat?” She can’t really help but asking. Sirius snorts.

“I bloody well did not!”

“Sirius… it’s…” She frowns, looking at the piece of clothing resting in her hands, as if she can’t quite figure out what to think of it. “It’s not dangerous.”

“No.”

“It’s useful.”

“Yes.”

“It looks... Are you sure you made this?”

“You are hurting my feelings and I will never knit for you if you so beg me.”

Lily laughs, done teasing him for now. She gives him a hug and smiles.

“Thank you, Padfoot. It’s lovely.”

“I know. I’m lovely. Why can’t people just realise that?”

-~*~-

Three.

When the news about Sirius’s arrest reaches him, it is more of a shock than he likes to admit. No one cares to tell him in person, he gets the news from the paper just like everyone else. Why would anyone bother to tell Sirius’ flatmate, after all? His friend of ten years.

Remus does what he always does in a situation like this. He makes tea. Drinks tea. Sits in the silent, empty kitchen and drinks tea. And for once in his life, he does not quite know how to cope.

He doesn’t leave the house that day. Doesn’t eat, can’t remember to. He doesn’t scream or curse or break things or act out. That’s what Sirius does.

Remus makes tea.

Forgets to drink his tea.

And as twilight falls, he finds that he is still alone – and he isn’t sure if or why he expected otherwise.

Sirius is gone.

Everyone is gone.

Shooting stars rain down like fireworks outside, and he is suddenly very aware that everyone else must be celebrating today. It is a strange feeling, one he can’t quite shake off no matter how much he tries.

His hands are shaking.

He should do something - can’t just sit here. Needs to put them to work. So he does. He walks into Sirius’s bedroom and methodically starts to sort things out in there. He empties the closet and tidies the bed, then realises Sirius won’t need any bedsheets anymore and takes them away. He finds three empty cups to bring to the kitchen, nearly seven spoons. And hidden in a drawer, a half-finished jumper with the letters R.J.L spelled in white. Sirius was always fond of the sound of that, the sound of his first and middle names together. Remus John. Remus John Lupin. That was the name he whispered in bed, that one time he dared to utter a name in the secrecy of darkness.

Remus John.

And this is when he breaks – falling on his knees with the sweater pressed to his face. It smells like dog and fags and gasoline, and it smells of Sirius and he hates himself for inhaling that scent like a drug he’s been starved of for too long.

Much like kissing Sirius, this is another thing he will only do twice in his lifetime.

Comments

[onehundredmoons.livejournal.com]

I really liked where you took this! And my favorite bit was skeptical Lily asking if the sweater was safe. :)

[ithinktsdashing.livejournal.com]

I rarely write Lily because, well, I'm just not good at it... But I just had to put that in. Even I would be worried getting a sweater from Sirius, especially one he knitted himself