Work Text:
January 7, 1979
Being a werewolf definitely had its disadvantages. Being unable to keep a job was a contender for second place, because, you know, turning into a bloodthirsty monster once a month could put a damper on this whole ‘work ethic’ thing.
“We need someone who’s willing to take one for the team. We can’t have you taking off two or three days in a row every month.”
It wasn’t the most horrific thing he’d ever heard, but it still hurt. A lot actually.
Remus trudged up the stairs of his apartment building, too frustrated to even curse at himself for not side stepping that massive puddle outside. Now his socks were wet.
He stopped in front of the door, which still sported a massive wreath. He told Sirius several times to take it down. Naturally, Sirius refused, and even went so far as to threaten to keep it year round with a permanent sticking charm. The subject was considered closed.
‘Come on, Remus, don’t be a coward.’ The werewolf gave himself a mental berating, taking a deep breath before unlocking the door.
“Moony! Thank Merlin you’re home, I thought you’d gotten lost, or mugged, or something. Get changed! I’ve got the whole afternoon planned, first we’re—” Sirius finally came out from the living room. He took in the sight of his disheveled, wet socks wearing boyfriend. His voice got considerably more frantic. “Remus? What’s wrong? What happened? Who do I have to kill?”
Remus choked out a laugh, leaning heavily against the closed door.
“You don’t have to kill anyone, don’t worry. Maiming on the other hand…” he trailed off. “I got fired again.”
Sirius’s perfect lips thinned into a grim line. He opened his arms wide.
Remus shuffled over in his wet socks.
“They didn’t deserve you anyways. Who wants to spend all day making food? Not my Moony, that’s for sure. Rather shite working hours, too.” Sirius turned his head and buried his nose in Remus’s hair, taking a deep breath. “Although I will definitely miss it when you come home smelling like this.”
Remus’s shoulders shook as he laughed. At least, that’s what Sirius told himself, ignoring the growing wet patch on his shoulder.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
Remus nodded into Sirius’s shoulder, sniffing a bit, from the cold, of course.
“Right, you warm up the couch for us, and I’ll be just a sec.”
Remus shook his head.
“No? Really? Okay then…” Sirius twisted in his boyfriend’s arms so Remus was behind him. “Off to the kitchen! Don’t step on my heels.”
*ten minutes later*
Remus finally let go of Sirius long enough to resituate themselves on the couch. He carefully curled into a little ball, gingerly holding his mug of hot chocolate with Sirius’s arm securely around him.
“You’re getting better at this.” Remus gestured to the mug. “Keep this up, and I may have to declare my undying love for you.”
Sirius barked out a laugh. “Make sure Evans hears you.”
There was silence for exactly one minute and twenty-three seconds.
“Do we still have todays newspaper?”
“I used it to start the fire, why?”
“I need to start looking for another job.”
“Why a muggle job though?”
Remus raised his head.
“Padfoot.”
“What?”
“No wizard in their right mind would hire a werewolf.”
Sirius finished off his hot chocolate with a scowl. Talking about werewolf rights was not a good subject to get into. Especially not when there’s alcohol involved. Especially not after the Firewhisky Incident in the summer of 1976.
“Well, I would hire you,” he stated.
Remus rolled his eyes. “To do what?”
Sirius grinned the grin that made Remus’s stomach do all sorts of flips and tumbles. “What do you think?” he replied in a rather suggestive tone.
“Get out of my flat.” Remus deadpanned.
“But Moooooonnnnnnnyyyyyy!”
“Out. Goodbye.” Neither man moved of course.
“Well if you’re going to be like that, I must remind you that will be rather difficult seeing as currently I’m the breadwinner, and you’re my housewife.”
Remus snorted, smiling for the first time that day. “But you’re the only one who can cook. I can’t make my own French toast!”
“And I don’t really work! But we’re perfectly functional. Don’t let Evans tell you otherwise.”
“Stop talking. Please.”
“Fine, but no more talk, or worrying about working, or jobs, or money for the rest of the day. I’m forbidding it.”
“But—!”
“No buts!”
“Fine.”
And so, thoughts of money, jobs, and the acute feeling of depression was set on the back-burner in exchange for cuddles, hot chocolate, and the blissful feeling of being very much loved.