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small_giftsTitle:And, Somehow, It Comes Right
Author/Artist:liseuse
Recipient:paulamcg
Rating:PG-13 (the swearing always gets me!)
Contents or warnings: None
Word count:2,300
Summary: Living together is hard, but somehow we make it through.
Notes: Happy Small Gifts,paulamcg! All thanks for the speedy beta go to wildestranger. All mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone.
Remus shoved at the door and then nearly fell over his feet as it opened smoothly. It was taking some adjusting to, he thought ruefully, to living somewhere where the front door didn’t need to be jiggled, shoved and then coaxed open. His muscle memory was all wrong and he kept going to the wrong side of the doorway for the light switch. And the stove knobs didn’t need to be wiggled quite as much as the ones in his old flat. Sirius’s flat was somewhat bare of furniture still, but everything worked, and it was warm and the windows didn’t let in a draft. “Our flat,” he heard Sirius say as if he was there and Remus was having a conversation with anyone other than himself and the milk bottle.
He’d tried to explain to Sirius the last time they had this argument, the one argument they seemed to have all the bloody time at the moment, that he’d spent a year thinking of this flat as Sirius’s and his flat as, well, as his, and that it was going to take a bit of time to start thinking about the flat as theirs. Sirius had slouched off to go and make a pot of tea and sulk.
“But,” Sirius had said when he came back into the living room, carrying on the conversation that Remus was starting to think he could have in his sleep, “I’ve always thought of it as our flat and I want you to as well.”
“Yes,” Remus had replied, “I know. But it wasn’t really our flat, I had my own flat, and you had this one, and now we have this one, but I don’t think my brain has quite caught up. It’ll get there.”
Sirius had hrrumphed, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Remus’s chair. Remus had brought the chair with him; it had been his mum’s and Lily had driven it down to London for him after the funeral. He’d felt terrible taking it from the house, leaving that spot in the front room bare. “Stop mithering,” his dad had said, “might as well be used. Not like I’m going to sit in it, is it?” No, Remus had had to agree, his dad wasn’t going to sit in the chair. It was an old-fashioned ladies chair in a very strange shade of orange with a dent on the left hand armrest where his mum used to sit her mug of tea. They’d wrestled it into Lily’s Morris Minor and trundled it south.
--
Lily had sworn to high hell when he’d asked her to move it again. “But just across a bit of London this time?” Remus had wheedled and bought her a currant bun.
“You owe me more than a sodding currant bun,” she’d said. “You owe me every single currant bun I see until the end of time.”
“Deal,” Remus had replied. He’d worry about how to afford the currant buns later, he decided.
--
“Living together,” Remus told the milk bottle, “is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t think it would be this much work. Or not as much work on this one thing, anyway.” He’d lived with Sirius in a dormitory for years, he knew that Sirius’s moods were hard work, that his were hard work come to it. He just hadn’t anticipated how difficult it was going to be to try to be vaguely equal. “The problem is that working in a greengrocer doesn’t actually pay that much.” The milk bottle didn’t seem to care, but it wasn’t actively objecting to being talked at. Working in an anarchist bookshop didn’t pay much either, but Sirius didn’t need it to.
--
Lily had laughed a little ruefully when he’d tried to explain why both he and Sirius were in such awful moods despite having just moved in together. “It’s fucking weird,” she agreed. “I mean, my parents have enough money but not buckets of the stuff. But the Potters just have it, lots of it, and that means James has it, and he doesn’t ever worry about it.”
“Hmmm,” Remus said through a mouthful of toast. “But how do you manage with that?” He pushed the beans onto the remaining toast. “I asked Sirius to come home with some cheese the other day and he came home with something handmade in small batches in Devon. My only contribution is past-their-best vegetables and a passable dhal.”
“Oh, I’ve just abandoned my principles,” Lily laughed and stole the last piece of toast. “No, but seriously, James can spend money like it’s water, so he does. He funds bits of the Order, the Potters fund most of the death-in-service payments, he bought the house outright. I just try not to think about it really.” She paused and looked a little more serious. “No, that’s not true. James doesn’t need me to bring in any money, he’s got that covered. He needs me to be his friend, and his wife, and to give him something to fight for. Just like I need him for all those things.” She leaned across the table and held Remus’s hand. “Sirius doesn’t care if you can only ever present him with mushy tomatoes and dubious potatoes. He needs you to be there and to love him. I mean, he might have money thanks to his uncle, but the rest of his family is unendingly shit, his childhood was fucking hell in boaters and braces, and you’re the replacement.”
“Oh fucking shitting hell,” Remus muttered. “That might be more terrifying. I don’t think I’ve got the strength of character to make up for a childhood spent in the tender loving care of Walburga.”
--
By the time Sirius came home, sopping wet and shivering, Remus had a pot of dahl simmering and was hoping he hadn’t curdled the milk with the strength of his whingeing.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, towelling off his hair.
“No,” Remus replied, “you don’t get to apologise, I was going to do that.” He leaned back against the counter and smiled. “How were the anarchists of London today?”
“Soggy,” Sirius said. “Soggy and soporific.”
“Suspicious?” Remus asked.
“Not unless you count the man who was obviously Special Branch. No self-respecting anarchist has shoes that nicely shined,” Sirius laughed. “You could practically see yourself in them.”
“Well brought up,” Remus said, spooning the dhal into bowls. “Or has a devoted wife.”
“James doesn’t have shiny shoes,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “Do you think people put it in their wedding vows. You know, ‘I will love you and honour you all the days of my life and your shoes will always be shined and your suits always brushed’?”
“I will love you and honour you all the days of my life, and I will always eat your cooked breakfast, and smile nicely at your mother when she comes for Sunday lunch,” Remus laughed. “I think wedding vows would be a lot longer if you had to include everything like that. I expect it boils down to the weight of social expectations. And a lack of magic. I don’t need to shine your shoes, you can just magic them shiny.”
Sirius looked offended. “I’d never ask you to shine my shoes, or silently expect it.” He winkled his nose at the thought. “If I wanted a house elf I’d ask Marlene if she knew of any looking for work.”
“I will love you and honour you all the days of my life and never replace you with a house elf,” Remus said. “We’ve got it. Wedding vows are revolutionised.”
“Be the change you want to see, and all that,” Sirius said. “Don’t take this the wrong way but the parathas are better than usual.”
Remus grinned. “Thank Mrs Patel. I took her some okra and she was making them. I think she gave me them to stop me asking why I can’t make them right. She muttered something about how even Sanjit can make them and he can’t do anything, apparently.”
“Oh, I don’t know, he can murder a tune on the violin like it’s nobody’s business.” Sirius tipped his head towards the wall. “I think the evening practice session is about to start. Do we think he’s still murdering Purcell or will it be that charming Hungarian folk dance that I once saw performed live by actual Hungarian musicians but can no longer recollect the finer details of because it just sounds so lovely when it’s being played by a very unenthusiastic eleven year old?”
“I’m holding out hope for the Scottish reel that we got to hear every evening for the entire summer,” Remus said.
“Ah, yes,” Sirius agreed. “That truly was the finest musical accompaniment to everyday life. How does his mother stand it?”
Remus shrugged and then smiled. “Oh, no, we were both wrong, it’s the traditional caterwaul version of O Come All Ye Faithful! Calloo callay!”
--
Remus woke up to the sound of tapping at the window and fought his way out from underneath Sirius’s arm. “Dog patronus, but the soul of an octopus,” he muttered under his breath and went to open the window. There was a very small very cold looking owl sitting on the windowsill and before he could get a treat it gave an affronted squawk and flew busily off.
“I didn’t know owls could squawk,” Sirius yawned, pulling a jumper on over his pajama top and sitting up slightly.
“I have that effect on them this close to the moon,” Remus said and then burst out laughing at Sirius’s expression. “I’m joking you utter nitwit, don’t you think you’d have noticed by now.” He slid back in bed and tucked his feet in between Sirius’s calves, snickering at the yelp Sirius let out.
“If your hands are as cold as your feet don’t even think of -- argh,” Sirius yelped as Remus reached under his jumper to tug him down on top of him. “Hello,” he said looking down at Remus.
“Hello,” Remus replied just as seriously. “Good news, you don’t have to go to Abergavenny. I’m not working today and the anarchists already think you’re … actually what do they think you’re doing?”
“Fighting the fight,” Sirius said, raising his clenched fist above his shoulder. “They don’t really ask what I get up to when I’m not there, which makes things easier. I turn up with a black eye and a busted shoulder and they think I got in a fight with a skinhead. No point in telling them I was fighting a rich idiot in a long cloak, they’d just think I’d lost it. Or it was a grand metaphor for the elite. Toss up between whether I’m telling Carl or Rose, to be honest.”
“Fancy staying in bed until noon, and then doing the crossword?” Remus kissed his way up Sirius’s shoulder.
“How decadent,” Sirius gasped, “definitely can’t tell the anarchists about that. They’ll start a rumour I read The Guardian.”
“Heaven forfend,” Remus grinned and rolled them over. “I want you to fuck me like this. Fancy it?”
--
“What the fuck?” Remus said as he walked into the sitting room. “Where the fuck did you come from?” he asked the settee that was in the middle of the room, and that hadn’t been there when he left the house two days previously.
“It’s rude to ask Christmas presents where they’re from,” Sirius called from the kitchen. “Also, stop talking to inanimate objects. Especially when I’m here.”
“I didn’t know you were here,” Remus said as he came through the kitchen door. “And what do you mean it’s a Christmas present?”
“I mean, we needed furniture and I’m bored of having the same argument about buying it. So I bought a sofa and it can count as your Christmas and birthday present for as many years as you decide it needs to if it means we don’t have to go round the same argumental bush every again.” Sirius paused, “I think that metaphor got away from me somehow.”
Remus opened his mouth to start the argument again on auto-pilot, and then saw the look on Sirius’s face and stopped. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay? As in ‘okay this can stay in our flat along with the bedside tables that I might also have bought? And the coffee table? And I can still buy you a present for Christmas and your birthday?’ That sort of okay?” Sirius was trying to smile and he just looked worried.
“Yes, that sort of okay,” Remus said. “I wasn’t arguing with you because I don’t want a settee, or because I think it’s fun to have to lean all the way down to the floor to pick a mug of tea up.” He sat down at the table and gestured for Sirius to take the other chair. “Or because I don’t want to live here.”
“I know that,” Sirius said quickly.
“Just hush up for a minute,” Remus said with a small smile, taking one of Sirius’s hands in his. “The settee startled me because it was a bit like you had somehow read my mind as I was sat in a cow byre in Kilkenny for three days. I was going to come home and say ‘yes, let’s go and buy a settee, and a coffee table, and I think we need a bath mat’ and then I walked in and there was a settee, and apparently there is going to be a coffee table. It just took me a bit of time to realise I was cutting off my nose to spite my face and that it was a good thing that one of us could afford to buy furniture. I can make dahl, and you can buy furniture, and neither of us will shine shoes.”
Sirius smiled, properly, and stood up, “I promise to never shine your shoes,” he said before bending down to kiss Remus.
Remus kissed him back fervently, before pulling back a little. “We still need a bath mat, by the way.”
“We can have three,” Sirius promised, “I’ll buy you them for Christmas.”
Author/Artist:
liseuseRecipient:
paulamcgRating:PG-13 (the swearing always gets me!)
Contents or warnings: None
Word count:2,300
Summary: Living together is hard, but somehow we make it through.
Notes: Happy Small Gifts,
paulamcg! All thanks for the speedy beta go to wildestranger. All mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone.Remus shoved at the door and then nearly fell over his feet as it opened smoothly. It was taking some adjusting to, he thought ruefully, to living somewhere where the front door didn’t need to be jiggled, shoved and then coaxed open. His muscle memory was all wrong and he kept going to the wrong side of the doorway for the light switch. And the stove knobs didn’t need to be wiggled quite as much as the ones in his old flat. Sirius’s flat was somewhat bare of furniture still, but everything worked, and it was warm and the windows didn’t let in a draft. “Our flat,” he heard Sirius say as if he was there and Remus was having a conversation with anyone other than himself and the milk bottle.
He’d tried to explain to Sirius the last time they had this argument, the one argument they seemed to have all the bloody time at the moment, that he’d spent a year thinking of this flat as Sirius’s and his flat as, well, as his, and that it was going to take a bit of time to start thinking about the flat as theirs. Sirius had slouched off to go and make a pot of tea and sulk.
“But,” Sirius had said when he came back into the living room, carrying on the conversation that Remus was starting to think he could have in his sleep, “I’ve always thought of it as our flat and I want you to as well.”
“Yes,” Remus had replied, “I know. But it wasn’t really our flat, I had my own flat, and you had this one, and now we have this one, but I don’t think my brain has quite caught up. It’ll get there.”
Sirius had hrrumphed, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Remus’s chair. Remus had brought the chair with him; it had been his mum’s and Lily had driven it down to London for him after the funeral. He’d felt terrible taking it from the house, leaving that spot in the front room bare. “Stop mithering,” his dad had said, “might as well be used. Not like I’m going to sit in it, is it?” No, Remus had had to agree, his dad wasn’t going to sit in the chair. It was an old-fashioned ladies chair in a very strange shade of orange with a dent on the left hand armrest where his mum used to sit her mug of tea. They’d wrestled it into Lily’s Morris Minor and trundled it south.
Lily had sworn to high hell when he’d asked her to move it again. “But just across a bit of London this time?” Remus had wheedled and bought her a currant bun.
“You owe me more than a sodding currant bun,” she’d said. “You owe me every single currant bun I see until the end of time.”
“Deal,” Remus had replied. He’d worry about how to afford the currant buns later, he decided.
“Living together,” Remus told the milk bottle, “is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t think it would be this much work. Or not as much work on this one thing, anyway.” He’d lived with Sirius in a dormitory for years, he knew that Sirius’s moods were hard work, that his were hard work come to it. He just hadn’t anticipated how difficult it was going to be to try to be vaguely equal. “The problem is that working in a greengrocer doesn’t actually pay that much.” The milk bottle didn’t seem to care, but it wasn’t actively objecting to being talked at. Working in an anarchist bookshop didn’t pay much either, but Sirius didn’t need it to.
Lily had laughed a little ruefully when he’d tried to explain why both he and Sirius were in such awful moods despite having just moved in together. “It’s fucking weird,” she agreed. “I mean, my parents have enough money but not buckets of the stuff. But the Potters just have it, lots of it, and that means James has it, and he doesn’t ever worry about it.”
“Hmmm,” Remus said through a mouthful of toast. “But how do you manage with that?” He pushed the beans onto the remaining toast. “I asked Sirius to come home with some cheese the other day and he came home with something handmade in small batches in Devon. My only contribution is past-their-best vegetables and a passable dhal.”
“Oh, I’ve just abandoned my principles,” Lily laughed and stole the last piece of toast. “No, but seriously, James can spend money like it’s water, so he does. He funds bits of the Order, the Potters fund most of the death-in-service payments, he bought the house outright. I just try not to think about it really.” She paused and looked a little more serious. “No, that’s not true. James doesn’t need me to bring in any money, he’s got that covered. He needs me to be his friend, and his wife, and to give him something to fight for. Just like I need him for all those things.” She leaned across the table and held Remus’s hand. “Sirius doesn’t care if you can only ever present him with mushy tomatoes and dubious potatoes. He needs you to be there and to love him. I mean, he might have money thanks to his uncle, but the rest of his family is unendingly shit, his childhood was fucking hell in boaters and braces, and you’re the replacement.”
“Oh fucking shitting hell,” Remus muttered. “That might be more terrifying. I don’t think I’ve got the strength of character to make up for a childhood spent in the tender loving care of Walburga.”
By the time Sirius came home, sopping wet and shivering, Remus had a pot of dahl simmering and was hoping he hadn’t curdled the milk with the strength of his whingeing.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, towelling off his hair.
“No,” Remus replied, “you don’t get to apologise, I was going to do that.” He leaned back against the counter and smiled. “How were the anarchists of London today?”
“Soggy,” Sirius said. “Soggy and soporific.”
“Suspicious?” Remus asked.
“Not unless you count the man who was obviously Special Branch. No self-respecting anarchist has shoes that nicely shined,” Sirius laughed. “You could practically see yourself in them.”
“Well brought up,” Remus said, spooning the dhal into bowls. “Or has a devoted wife.”
“James doesn’t have shiny shoes,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “Do you think people put it in their wedding vows. You know, ‘I will love you and honour you all the days of my life and your shoes will always be shined and your suits always brushed’?”
“I will love you and honour you all the days of my life, and I will always eat your cooked breakfast, and smile nicely at your mother when she comes for Sunday lunch,” Remus laughed. “I think wedding vows would be a lot longer if you had to include everything like that. I expect it boils down to the weight of social expectations. And a lack of magic. I don’t need to shine your shoes, you can just magic them shiny.”
Sirius looked offended. “I’d never ask you to shine my shoes, or silently expect it.” He winkled his nose at the thought. “If I wanted a house elf I’d ask Marlene if she knew of any looking for work.”
“I will love you and honour you all the days of my life and never replace you with a house elf,” Remus said. “We’ve got it. Wedding vows are revolutionised.”
“Be the change you want to see, and all that,” Sirius said. “Don’t take this the wrong way but the parathas are better than usual.”
Remus grinned. “Thank Mrs Patel. I took her some okra and she was making them. I think she gave me them to stop me asking why I can’t make them right. She muttered something about how even Sanjit can make them and he can’t do anything, apparently.”
“Oh, I don’t know, he can murder a tune on the violin like it’s nobody’s business.” Sirius tipped his head towards the wall. “I think the evening practice session is about to start. Do we think he’s still murdering Purcell or will it be that charming Hungarian folk dance that I once saw performed live by actual Hungarian musicians but can no longer recollect the finer details of because it just sounds so lovely when it’s being played by a very unenthusiastic eleven year old?”
“I’m holding out hope for the Scottish reel that we got to hear every evening for the entire summer,” Remus said.
“Ah, yes,” Sirius agreed. “That truly was the finest musical accompaniment to everyday life. How does his mother stand it?”
Remus shrugged and then smiled. “Oh, no, we were both wrong, it’s the traditional caterwaul version of O Come All Ye Faithful! Calloo callay!”
Remus woke up to the sound of tapping at the window and fought his way out from underneath Sirius’s arm. “Dog patronus, but the soul of an octopus,” he muttered under his breath and went to open the window. There was a very small very cold looking owl sitting on the windowsill and before he could get a treat it gave an affronted squawk and flew busily off.
“I didn’t know owls could squawk,” Sirius yawned, pulling a jumper on over his pajama top and sitting up slightly.
“I have that effect on them this close to the moon,” Remus said and then burst out laughing at Sirius’s expression. “I’m joking you utter nitwit, don’t you think you’d have noticed by now.” He slid back in bed and tucked his feet in between Sirius’s calves, snickering at the yelp Sirius let out.
“If your hands are as cold as your feet don’t even think of -- argh,” Sirius yelped as Remus reached under his jumper to tug him down on top of him. “Hello,” he said looking down at Remus.
“Hello,” Remus replied just as seriously. “Good news, you don’t have to go to Abergavenny. I’m not working today and the anarchists already think you’re … actually what do they think you’re doing?”
“Fighting the fight,” Sirius said, raising his clenched fist above his shoulder. “They don’t really ask what I get up to when I’m not there, which makes things easier. I turn up with a black eye and a busted shoulder and they think I got in a fight with a skinhead. No point in telling them I was fighting a rich idiot in a long cloak, they’d just think I’d lost it. Or it was a grand metaphor for the elite. Toss up between whether I’m telling Carl or Rose, to be honest.”
“Fancy staying in bed until noon, and then doing the crossword?” Remus kissed his way up Sirius’s shoulder.
“How decadent,” Sirius gasped, “definitely can’t tell the anarchists about that. They’ll start a rumour I read The Guardian.”
“Heaven forfend,” Remus grinned and rolled them over. “I want you to fuck me like this. Fancy it?”
“What the fuck?” Remus said as he walked into the sitting room. “Where the fuck did you come from?” he asked the settee that was in the middle of the room, and that hadn’t been there when he left the house two days previously.
“It’s rude to ask Christmas presents where they’re from,” Sirius called from the kitchen. “Also, stop talking to inanimate objects. Especially when I’m here.”
“I didn’t know you were here,” Remus said as he came through the kitchen door. “And what do you mean it’s a Christmas present?”
“I mean, we needed furniture and I’m bored of having the same argument about buying it. So I bought a sofa and it can count as your Christmas and birthday present for as many years as you decide it needs to if it means we don’t have to go round the same argumental bush every again.” Sirius paused, “I think that metaphor got away from me somehow.”
Remus opened his mouth to start the argument again on auto-pilot, and then saw the look on Sirius’s face and stopped. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay? As in ‘okay this can stay in our flat along with the bedside tables that I might also have bought? And the coffee table? And I can still buy you a present for Christmas and your birthday?’ That sort of okay?” Sirius was trying to smile and he just looked worried.
“Yes, that sort of okay,” Remus said. “I wasn’t arguing with you because I don’t want a settee, or because I think it’s fun to have to lean all the way down to the floor to pick a mug of tea up.” He sat down at the table and gestured for Sirius to take the other chair. “Or because I don’t want to live here.”
“I know that,” Sirius said quickly.
“Just hush up for a minute,” Remus said with a small smile, taking one of Sirius’s hands in his. “The settee startled me because it was a bit like you had somehow read my mind as I was sat in a cow byre in Kilkenny for three days. I was going to come home and say ‘yes, let’s go and buy a settee, and a coffee table, and I think we need a bath mat’ and then I walked in and there was a settee, and apparently there is going to be a coffee table. It just took me a bit of time to realise I was cutting off my nose to spite my face and that it was a good thing that one of us could afford to buy furniture. I can make dahl, and you can buy furniture, and neither of us will shine shoes.”
Sirius smiled, properly, and stood up, “I promise to never shine your shoes,” he said before bending down to kiss Remus.
Remus kissed him back fervently, before pulling back a little. “We still need a bath mat, by the way.”
“We can have three,” Sirius promised, “I’ll buy you them for Christmas.”
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Date: 2019-12-03 09:03 pm (UTC)This is so cheeky and redolent and sexy by turns, I adore their dynamic here. VERY accurate to that feeling of making a home with someone you love. Gorgeous <3
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Date: 2019-12-03 11:29 pm (UTC)This story is so blissfully domestic! I could read 50k more words of this and die happy. Their dynamic, their banter, their, I don’t know, absolutely everything - you got it all so right.
This is simply delightful ❤️
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Date: 2019-12-07 02:24 pm (UTC)I may, like Remus here, spend more time than I should talking to inanimate objects. What can I say? Sometimes the cat isn't around!
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Date: 2019-12-07 02:26 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for the lovely comment <3
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Date: 2019-12-04 04:49 pm (UTC)You write the dialogue excellently, and I love the way your Remus and Sirius talk, as I agree that these brilliant boys are verbally talented. Remus talking to milk bottles and furniture is a wonderful trait in the characterisation.
I’m also glad that the swearing always gets you, as it suits your characters well. Your laughing and swearing Lily’s a delight, too. The small scene with the currant buns is one of my favourite moments.
Repeated references to something outside of this domestic setting make me feel that that these are real young men interacting with their environment. And I love the choice of their jobs: the fandom classic, a bookshop as the workplace for Sirius (for a change) and greengrocer’s for Remus, who gets the past-their-best vegetables to contribute to the household.
And how you deal with the theme! I enjoy and admire the way you do it without any blatant suffering from poverty. In my view the point is that Remus feels uncomfortable about contributing so much less than Sirius both because of issues of dignity and because he would like to offer more to the man he loves.
I’m sure I could think of more to say after rereading again, but I trust this is enough for you to know the story’s an amazing treat. I was happy to see that you’d picked my prompt – and later that you offered beta services and helped me with my fic, and this gift has now made me ever happier.
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Date: 2019-12-07 02:29 pm (UTC)I might be some sort of fandom cast-out for this, but whilst I think Remus likes books and reading, I don't have a headcanon of him being so so absorbed in books that he works in a bookshop. I like the idea of him working in a slightly run-down greengrocer's shop, somewhere on a slightly grubby London road, surrounded by bruised tomatoes and dented tins of things.
<3
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