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“Notice something wrong?”
Remus raised his brows in mild surprise mid-sip from his morning coffee at the accustomed voice, his eyes glued to Discovery channel on TV. It was barely eight o’ clock on a weekend morning, and he hadn’t been expecting to hear that voice until at least ten. He was an early riser compared to Sirius, who seemed to be feeling rather eggy according to the testy undercurrent in his tone. Remus had to say he wasn’t surprised by that. It was morning, after all.
“Why hello, Sirius. Nice to see you up and early for once. And on a Sunday,” he added, taking another sip as he fixed his eyes on the screen, entranced by the sight of half a dozen baby alpacas "in their natural habitat," said the solemn narration.
“Kindly look at me and say that again.”
Remus absent-mindedly thumbed the sleek surface of his mug, straining to hear how exactly alpacas prepared for sleep. “Really, Padfoot?”
“Humour me.”
“I said, ‘Why, hello, Sirius. Nice to see you up and—” He tore his eyes away from the screen. “—in that… stunning sweater you’re sporting indeed. What a… vibrant shade of blue.”
He could tell that Sirius wasn't wearing an entirely new sweater because a) the form and shape of the clothing was exactly the same as the hand-knit sweater Sirius always changed into after coming home, and b) Sirius would never open up his wallet for a sweater of such colour.
“Cerulean,” Sirius elaborated, sinking into the couch seat next to Remus, who now found himself entranced by the sheer saturation of the knitting. “Seem familiar?”
Remus scrunched his eyebrows for three seconds, mentally going through his wardrobe. Then it dawned on him. “My socks.”
Sirius tweaked the knitted neckband of his colour-washed sweater. “The only article of clothing in the flat with this bloody particular shade,” he said dryly.
Now, as he pointedly avoided Sirius' accusing glare by taking a sudden interest in his coffee, Remus could perfectly recall purchasing the socks off the street stands just last week. Vibrant pigments had been his weekly fixation at that point. Remus had his urges.
Having not shared the obsession, Sirius had of course disapproved of the socks when Remus had come home and practically shoved it up his nose. Their conversation had gone like this:
"Sirius, look at these socks I got! Aren't they gorgeous?"
"Moony, I'm trying to work here."
"No, just look and you'll see—"
"Ow, Remus, don't shove your bloody socks in my—What the hell are these? Did you seriously pay money to buy blue socks?"
"Cerulean, to be more exact. Such a decent colour, don't you think?"
"Moony, I swear, if you wear those godawful things outside I will personally make sure to never speak to you again."
Come again, 'Disapproved' seemed lightly dubbing it. 'Detested' would be a more accurate description.
“Oh. Well,” started Remus at a desperate attempt at defending himself. “I didn't do anything to your sweater. I washed my socks last Wednesday. They're in my sock drawer.”
“And guess what I found in the dryer this morning.” Sirius said flatly, reaching into the pocket of his sweater and to Remus’ utmost dread, pulled out a single sock with an equally cerulean hue, if not marginally faded from its most recent wash.
Ah.
"Ah," Remus voiced his thoughts out loud. "I must have missed it."
"Such a klutz," tutted Sirius. "Now you've ruined one of the few decent sweaters I had."
"It’s not that bad," Remus piped up at a helpless attempt to defend his past taste.
Sirius hitched up his eyebrows with a questioning undertone. It sometimes baffled Remus how a person could have that many variations in the mastery of eyebrow-raising. “You think?”
“Yes,” Remus made every effort to keep his voice from tailing off uncertainly. “It, uh, the blue really brings out your eyes.”
“Moony.”
“What?”
“My eyes are black.”
“Ah, that’s the point. Contrast, you see?” Remus waved his hands through the air, gesturing towards his disgruntled roommate slash boyfriend. The look on Sirius’ face told him he was being too farfetched.
“Remus.”
“Right.” Remus dropped his hands to his sides, one making a reflex stretch over to the coffee table to grab hold of the mug. "My apologies. I'll miss the ivory colouring of your weekend sweater. May the now-gone hues rest in peace."
"My sweater does not appreciate your sarcasm."
"Then how could I possibly redeem myself, O dear sir?"
Sirius adjusted his position as if he had been waiting for this question since the start. "You're buying me a decent sweater this afternoon. And no, I'm not taking any advices from you on the colour," he added before Remus could say anything. "Meanwhile, I'll be taking this."
With a neat tug, Sirius pulled the coffee out of Remus' grasp—Remus bit his own tongue to keep from objecting—and took a hearty sip. "Bloody mornings."
Oh, well. Remus had had enough coffee for the morning. He snuggled up closer to the blue tinged sweater and resumed watching Discovery channel.
"Are those actual alpacas I'm seeing?" Sirius asked, incredulous.