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laxibrook · 1 year

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Dry Cleaning near me Tips and Tricks UK |

The Doorstep Laundry Service

Here are some of our favourite dry cleaning advices as you begin the week!

Blot stains, never rub them

Never rub a stain. Blot the stained area. This may help remove some of the staining substance while avoiding damage to the fabric. Some stains caused by beverages, food, or oily substances may not be visible after they dry.

Do not iron dirty or stained clothing

Never iron soiled clothing since doing so permanently embeds the dirt. Verify that your day's attire has been properly washed before ironing it. If the stain was difficult to remove previously, after ironing it will be impossible.

Never store a piece of clothing without first cleaning it

Unclean clothing should never be stored because it will simply make any odours worse. If you don't remove sweat, dust, and other natural odours from clothing before storing it in an airtight container, the garment will develop a musty, stale scent after being stored for several months.

Avoid exposing your clothing to Sunlight

Do not expose your garments for extended periods of time to direct sunlight or bright artificial lighting. Sunlight may bleach clothing, making white items whiter while also lightening other colours. Your clothing can be sanitised by the sun. Your clothes, drapes, and furniture may significantly fade with prolonged sun exposure. Avoid overexposing garments to the sun. If you want to bleach your clothes on purpose, two to three hours of exposure to the sun will suffice. Try a few hours again the following day if you want the item to be even whiter. However, bear in mind that keeping items out for extended periods of time, especially if they are made of delicate textiles, may weaken and harm the fabric.

Clean the outfit's matching components all at once

It is always advised to launder coordinating items—such as suits, sweater sets, etc.—together, whether or not both items were worn or appear soiled. The adage "clean matching pieces together" also applies to curtains, slipcovers, and bedroom outfits. A buying advice for you is to bring matching goods into natural light to ensure the items are from the same dye lot. Garment manufacturers frequently warn buyers about the potential for tiny differences in colour after cleaning or washing.

Hang Leather Clothes on Padded Hangers

To assist keep its shape, leather clothing should always be hung on padded hangers. Hanging your leather jacket on these hangers help to maintain the shape of your jacket and keep your garment healthy and wrinkle free.

Regularly dry clean your clothes near me

Your clothes will last longer if you regularly have them dry cleaned at The Doorstep Laundry Service. The answer may vary depending on the fabric, how frequently you wear it, how dirty you get it, and other factors. However, generally speaking, you should dry clean your "dry clean only" apparel every third to fourth wear.

Apply hairspray and perfume before dressing

The spray's alcohol might cause stains, fading, or other damage to clothing. However, hairspray on clothes does help you get rid of lint on your clothes. A lint roller is always an option, but it takes time. Instead, mist a washcloth with hairspray and rub it over your outfit. The garments will remain clean and lint-free since the lint will adhere to the hairspray and come off easily. Avoid spraying directly on your clothing to avoid staining the item you are wearing.

Denim must be dry cleaned

It will aid in dye preservation, maintain the colour of the denim, and stop fading. Dry cleaning near me is the best way to preserve your denim clothes.

Know the Facts about your Sunscreen

Sunscreen is beneficial to the skin, but harmful to clothing. Apply sunscreen with caution since it may fade or stain your clothing. Once the colour has faded, there is not much that you can do to regain it.

Store Clothes in Plastic Bags on Trips

Your clothing will be protected in plastic bags until you return home. We advise putting your clothing either uncovered or in fabric garment bags when you put it away.

Avoid excessive perspiration on clothing.

Put on breathable clothing. Wearing light, breathable fabrics with sufficient ventilation is the best approach to reduce sweating with your wardrobe choices. Lighter colours also help to reflect the sun rather than absorb it, so wearing white can help keep you cool and reduce sweat. Avoid wearing silks during a hot weather especially, as the sweat can fade many colours.

Tell your local dry cleaning service about the stains

Point out any stains on your clothes for us before The Doorstep Laundry Service in Islington dry cleans it for you. Spot any light-colored or undetectable spills, including those from white wine, soda, or fruit juice.

Wash your clothes before storing them away

Before storing a special occasion item back in your closet, have it dry cleaned even if you only wear it once or twice a year. This will keep your clothes from building up dust and germs on it. When you take your clothes out again in the next season they will be fresh and ready to wear!

Store your clothes in a cool place

Always keep clothes in cool places to store them, like a spare closet or beneath your bed. Clothing should be kept in a cool, dry, and dark atmosphere. If the surroundings are bright, the light may fade your textiles. Many individuals opt to keep their clothing in garages or attics, but clothing can become damaged in these spaces due to sudden temperature changes.

By lessening the damage from a typical washing machine, dry cleaning increases the lifespan of your clothing. This is why The Doorstep Laundry Service prefers it and suggests their customers to dry clean their clothes for longevity. the Doorstep Laundry Service offers all necessary services for your clothes near me in Islington, UK. Now laundry should never worry you!

#dry cleaning #LAUNDRY UK #DRY CLEANING HACKNEY #dry cleaner islington

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aflashbak · 2 years

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Watching The Beatles Christmas Concerts (24 December 1963 to 11 January 1964) - The Beatles’ Christmas Show was a variety stage production at London’s Astoria Cinema in Finsbury Park. It ran from 24 December 1963 to 11 January 1964. The Beatles’ Set List for the Christmas Shows 1. Roll Over Beethoven 2. All My Loving 3. This Boy 4. I Wanna Be Your Man 5. She Loves You 6. Till There Was You 7. I Want to Hold Your Hand 8. Money (That’s What I Want) 9. Twist and Shout More photos from these concerts at the link: https://flashbak.com/tag/the-beatles/ #thebeatles #beatles #music #christmas #london #uk #england #pop #finsburypark #islington #fans #crowd #crowds #concert #concerts #gig #gigs https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci67CpWsj-w/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#thebeatles #beatles #music #christmas #london #uk #england #pop #finsburypark #islington #fans #crowd #crowds #concert #concerts #gig #gigs

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 2 months

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MOTÖRMASTERS -- ACES UP THEIR SLEEVES IN THEIR BIGGEST YEAR YET.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on English maximum rock 'n' roll group, MOTÖRHEAD, photographed during the band's "Ace of Spades" heyday in and around Islington, London, UK, c. December 1980 (the "AoS" LP was released a month prior). 📸: Fin Costello.

"EVERYTHING LOUDER THAN EVERYTHING ELSE!!"

Sources: www.reddit.com/r/ClassicRock/comments/yzu4ln, Rolling Stone, Getty Images, Pinterest, Louder Sound, various, etc...

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

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In other news, this week a French publisher on his way to the London Book Fair was arrested by British counter-terrorist police to be questioned about his participation in protests in France.

A French publisher has been arrested on terror charges in London after being questioned by UK police about participating in anti-government protests in France.

Moret arrived at St Pancras [...] with his colleague Stella Magliani-Belkacem, the editorial director at the Paris-based publishing house, to be confronted by the two officers. [...] He was questioned for six hours and then arrested for alleged obstruction in refusing to disclose the passcodes to his phone and computer. [...] He was transferred to a police station in Islington, north London, where he remained in custody on Tuesday. He was later released on bail.

Éditions la Fabrique is known for publishing radical left authors. Moret also represents the French science fiction novelist Alain Damasio and had arranged more than 40 appointments at the London book fair. [...]

[Quoting publishing house’s press release] “The police officers claimed that Ernest had participated in demonstrations in France as a justification for this act – a quite remarkably inappropriate statement for a British police officer to make, and which seems to clearly indicate complicity between French and British authorities on this matter.” [...] “There’s been an increasingly repressive approach by the French government to the demonstrations, both in terms of police violence, but also in terms of a security clampdown.”

(Guardian link - BBC link) (article in French)

The publishing house (here’s their latest statement in French) and the publisher’s lawyer mention that the British police asked him “Do you support Emmanuel Macron? Did you attend protests against the pension reform?” and he was also asked to name the authors with anti-government views that his employer has published. They add, “Asking the representative of a publishing house, in the framework of counter-terrorism, about the opinions of his authors, is pushing even further the logic of political censorship and repression of dissenting thought. In a context of social protests and authoritarian escalation on the part of the French government, this aspect [of the questioning] is chilling.”

Being an accomplice to thoughtcrime by publishing dissident authors gets you treated like an international terrorist now... The publisher’s lawyer suggests that French authorities asked the UK to help them get their hands on the publisher’s contacts in the radical left sphere. But on the face of it, we’ve got: Exercise your right to protest your government in France -> get arrested by counter-terrorist UK police in London. That’s literally the reason he was given for being greeted by police at the train station...

#frpol #i bought a couple of books from la fabrique this morning... win-win i actually meant to read them and didn't know they were #published by them #in slightly better news @french people if you haven't seen some video excerpts of macron meeting alsatians today it's worth checking out #people telling him how corrupt his gov is; someone saying ''you're going to fall; mark my words'' and someone else #''we don't want your reform you arsehole'' and people chanting 'macron resign' as he walks away looking a bit pissed...#and naturally protests were banned in the cities he visited today and cops had cleared the area of actual protesters #before macron arrived so the people he met were actually the less angry people

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megumimania · 8 months

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AOT LONDON BOY HCS PT 2

featuring: reiner, onyankopon, armin

a/n: this is part two of these hcs, part one is here! thanks for tuning in its kinda rushed my bad 😪, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

ARMIN

-armin would be from islington or finchley maybe even south, but I don’t see him living in like bougie areas such as kensington or chelsea or like richmond

- him and eren went to the same primary and secondary together

-armin was literally his get out of jail free card because of his stellar reputation in academics

-he always gets free stuff from the corner shop or the chicken and chip shop

-doesn’t own a car, he either bikes or takes the tube because he cares about the environment and doesn’t want to add onto the extra pollution in london

-his dress sense is very casual like a t shirt, a pair of loose fitted trousers and some trainers but when he cant be bothered he’ll wear a tech fleece

-he has a very good sense of direction, like he knows the fastest routes for anything, like when eren and connie dragged him to carni (if you went this year im saur jealous 😩 but anyways) and it was time to get home armin found a quicker route that got them back pretty fast

-knows all the best secret spots in london for anything! which makes hanging out with him more fun because you experience a new part of london when you’re together

-he isnt a fan of eren’s scamming ways but when eren asks for help he always answers as long as he’s not a part of it

-london men i feel like are terrible with their feelings but armin is the exception, he would be very open with you about his feelings and such

-reads so much, you’ll catch him at hyde park or greenwich park reading till the sun sets

-he smokes cigarettes but he’s trying to cut it out for you

-his playlist would be very diverse since he’s been brought up in a multicultural area, like it would go from bashment, to rnb, drill to pop

-unlike his unserious counterparts *cough cough* eren and connie, he’s very loyal!

ONYANKOPON

-my ghanaian king, shoutout to my ghanaians!!

-he speaks twi so well that people forget he was brought up in the uk

-he would be from peckham or lewisham for suree, he’s deffo been dragged around by his mum round rye lane market on a saturday morning carrying that trolley with him

-he goes to a pentecostal church, he’s always leading youth service and helping out at church events.

-the aunties love him for this because he’s the perfect son that they don’t have and they just love him in general

-ony can cook and im being for real, so you guys never eat out unless ony wants to show you to a new niche restaurant somewhere

-he has snap but doesn’t have a bitmoji because he thinks it’s immature 😕 but eventually he caves and makes one because you ask him too

-hes always promoting his boys stuff whether that be music,

-he deffo went to an all boys secondary and then he went to a mixed sixth form after, he gives me those vibes

-he used to go to the library to link girls after school 😭 he had a big playboy phase but hes calmed down

-he used to be one of those people at stratford westfield trying to sell you magazines before you enter

-hes not stingy with his money, hes always spoiling the people he loves

-he has a bunch of caps and grills that he likes to rotate out weekly, he has great style

-he works in corporate london so its rare that you dont see him outside of a suit and tie but he always makes time for you

-ony is always holding your bag for dear life when you go to bait areas like oxford street or westfields or like the tourist spots because people be getting their shit stolen loool

-he loves late night tesco trips anything that he can do at night i.e late night walks, drives etc

-bossman is always giving him discounts on stuff because ony is loyal customer.

REINER

-look at that man and tell me he wouldnt be from essex tell me!! like thats pure dagenham material right there

-if you search up a typical person from essex, he would come up

-he probably owns those skintight chinos with those ugly polos with the church shoes

-he tries to downplay his accent a bit since sometimes its hard to understand him but when hes upset his accent comes through in full force

-always at spoons or at the club till early hours

-reiner gives me bricklayer vibes so thats what im gonna roll with

-when he comes home from work in summer hes like hot and sweaty but it makes his biceps glow so its kinda sexy idk

-has a bunch of tattoos, most of them are birthdays of family members and a picture of his grandma who passed away

-has a british bulldog called belle, the dog is fucking scary but reiner thinks the world of her and thinks she can do no wrong

-listens to mainly dnb, garage, techno

-downs pints at the pub like it’s nothing, he has a high alcohol tolerance

-proper geezer that’s all i have to say tbh!

#aot x reader #armin x reader #onyankopon x reader #attack on titan #aot fluff #aot headcanons #vina writes #aot reiner #aot x black!reader #black writblr #aot x black reader #armin attack on titan #armin arlert x reader #aot onyankopon #reiner braun #aot

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aneverydaything · 1 day

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Day 2128, 20 April 2024

#London #Angel #Islington #congregational chapel #recording studios #former #converted #angel studios #Siouxsie and the Banshees #Adele #England #UK

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fourmoony · 3 months

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Friends or What?

James Potter x F!Reader

A coming of age story in which Potter's Corner Shop has a funny way of bringing people together. Falling in love is daunting when everyone is watching.

Ao3 Link - Series Masterlist - Fourmoony's Masterlist

Chapter Warnings for Chapter Two -

Language. Internalised homophobia. Mentions of physical and emotional abuse. Smoking. Use of the word 'fag', in context to a cigarette (UK Slang)

CHAPTER TWO (4K) -

JAMES

Sirius is quiet in the taxi home. He’s quiet when they shuck their shoes off in the entrance hall of the Potter Estate. He’s quiet as he footers around the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He’s quiet while he and James stand side by side in their conjoined bathroom, brushing their teeth and washing their faces. He’s quiet, quiet, quiet, and James is starting to worry. The thing about Sirius is – is that he’s loud. In every possible way. Aged eleven, Sirius Black had come bounding into James Potter’s life with his boyish grin and loudmouth attitude, two middle fingers held up to the world and they’d been inseparable since.

James is loud like the sun. He’s funny and he’s charming in a warm, light, happy sort of way. He’s sturdy and reliable, he’s soft and he’s gentle. Sirius is loud like the laughter of a ten-thousand-man crowd. He’s abrasive and he’s obnoxious, he’s rough around the edges but he’s so fucking loyal that James never really stood a chance. He was destined to be Sirius Black’s brother, his best friend, his twin flame. Sirius is rebellious, he’s never been anything except what he wanted to be. He’s jagged and he’s loud and he’s James’ best mate in the entire world.

James knows Sirius like the back of his hand. So, he knows that quiet is not good. Sirius is complex. His past hasn’t been kind to him, and while he’s not the same sixteen-year-old boy that showed up on James’ doorstep seven years ago, battered and bruised, traumatised and a shell of himself, James still worries about him sometimes. Sirius talks about his family less and less as the years go on. James would like to think that, in a way, he’s healed from the trauma of Walburga and Orion Black. There are parts of Sirius that will never come back; his boyish innocence and the warmth he once exuded from his very soul, but James knows that Sirius is better. He doesn’t have nightmares anymore, he doesn’t hide himself away, he doesn’t stash bread and sweeties under his floorboards, he goes to therapy once a week and he’s making changes, for Christ’s sakes.

But James knows, he knows it deep into his fucking core, that the reason Sirius hasn’t told him about Remus, the reason he’s being so quiet, now, is because of his upbringing. It’s a subject he knows will have to be dealt with carefully, untwined with gentle fingers like plucking the thorns from a rose. One wrong word and James is scared Sirius will flee. He doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like lack of control, and if he’s kissing Remus Lupin for any other reason than to get under the poor bloke’s skin, then James is willing to bet Sirius is feeling an overwhelming amount of both.

So, he waits for Sirius to come to him. He sends him off to his own bed with a quiet ‘goodnight’ because he can wait. He will wait. Sirius isn’t ready and that’s okay. The two years James spent without Sirius were, by far, the hardest of his life. The Black’s decided this village was a bad influence, that it bred insubordination, was infecting Sirius’ mind with thoughts of growing up and doing anything but working in politics like the rest of his family. They moved to central London, in the borough of Islington, and that’s where things got really bad. Sirius doesn’t speak about London, much. Only to his therapist, which is fine with James. But he knows about all the stuff that happened when the Black’s lived in the village, he was there for it all; the broken bones, the bruises, the cuts, the scars, the rapid weight loss, he saw it happen, held Sirius through it, took the pieces of his own armour and filled in the gaps on Sirius’ because whilst Sirius is chaos, James is calm and he’s loyal, and he’s strong. And then Sirius left. And then Sirius came back to him. Then. Then, Sirius came home. So, James can wait. He can do it. Because James and Sirius tell each other everything, do everything together, but this is something that Sirius might just have to figure out on his own.

The house feels too quiet, the air around him too heavy, as James lies in bed. He tries to read, he fails, he polishes his rugby boots for training in the morning, and he fails. He can’t stop thinking about Sirius’ face; the frazzled, lost sort of look that plagued him when James had asked if he was okay, if he needed to talk about anything. James watched as Sirius fought and lost the battle of following Remus out of the Three Broomsticks and felt the pain heavy in his chest when he had to stop Sirius, himself.

“Not tonight. Let him cool off.” James had whispered, and Sirius didn’t have it in him to argue.

He tries to read, again, and he fails, again. He loves Sirius so much. He worries. He always worries. Because, sure, Sirius is a lot better, now, but he’s complex, he has trauma, and he’s visibly struggling. But James can’t help. Usually, he can always help Sirius. Sirius never shies away from asking for help. He’s on his own this time, scared and struggling and James can’t help him because he hasn’t asked and James refuses to push.

He tosses and he turns, and he sits up, he lies back down, he paces, he sits down, and eventually, he falls asleep, only to wake up when the bed dips beside him.

When his eyes open, he realises he’s fallen asleep with his glasses on because he can see the way the dawn breaks over the orchard outside his bedroom window. There’s frost on the grass and the sky is still a deep blue, getting lighter the further down he looks. Sirius is next to him. He doesn’t have to look over to know. James can tell by the pattern of his breaths, the smell of his shampoo, how far the bed dips. James Potter would know Sirius Black’s presence were he deaf and blind. He always will. He has a feeling Sirius, much like him, feels the weight that’s suffocating them.

He doesn’t look over, just waits for his best friend to say something. He can hear the cogs whirring behind Sirius’ pale blue eyes, the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. Sirius doesn’t speak for a long time.

“Do you –“ Sirius starts, but he falls short. He’s unsure, voice wavering, thick with anxiety. He swallows, coughs, tries again; “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

It’s not what James is expecting Sirius to ask. As his best friend, his first instinct is to say, ‘Of course I don’t’, but James knows Sirius Black like the back of his hand, the insides of his eyelids, the warm glow that burns in his chest. He knows how Sirius can be. He knows how cruel his tongue is, how his first instinct when he’s threatened is to go for the throat. So, James deliberates.

“I think you’re a good person who horrible things have happened to. Sometimes, you allow those things to control the way you act. But no. I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Padfoot.” James answers honestly.

He watches the breeze blow through the orchard trees as the sun continues to creep up between the branches. Sirius breathes a sigh of relief, shuffles closer to James so he can feel the warmth of him. He finally looks down at Sirius, head rested on the same pillow as James, and he smiles softly. Sirius smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks tired, lost, scared. James wants to fix it all so bad. But he can’t. He has to let Sirius do it, himself.

When Sirius ran to him seven years ago, James made himself a promise. Nothing, and no one, would ever harm his best friend again. Not over James Potter’s cold, dead, body. But he can’t stop this, can he? He can’t wrap Sirius up and protect him from his own heart, his own mind. He doesn’t have that much power and it’s killing him.

“Remus thinks I’m a horrible person.” Sirius says, voice so quiet James thinks he believes it. Like Remus’ word is final.

He sighs, rubs the tiredness from his eyes, “Did he tell you this?”

“No,” Sirius answers, voice a moment from sleep, his eyes closed, and his face so sad and soft James feels his heart splinter, “I see it in the way he looks at me.”

“You could prove to him that you’re not.” James advises, voice soft.

Sirius makes a humming noise of acknowledgement, but ultimately, James knows the conversation is over. He’s dead to the world ten minutes later, and James follows suit not long after.

-----

SIRIUS

When Sirius was ten, he realised what it truly meant to be a member of the Black family.

It was more than fame, or politics, or even money. It was more than presenting themselves as a prestigious, well-educated family. For the Blacks it was about one thing: Power. They have an ability to play games with people that don’t even know they’re a part of them, closing in, moving pieces, counting cards until finally, they win. The Blacks always win. For as long as he can remember, every conversation Sirius Black has ever had with another member of his family has held some sort of purpose. Manipulation, information gathering, seed planting. The list goes on.

When you grow up in that environment, carefully wrapping your lips around poisoned words, watching your back with every move, the thing is – it becomes hard to trust. It gets hard to distinguish the difference between someone trying to get to know you, and someone trying to learn every dirty little secret you have so they can use it against you.

So, Sirius was ten when he learned the hard lesson of keeping his mouth shut, keeping his secrets close to his chest. Because the beating he took for telling Mary Riddle that his mother nicknamed her husband, Tom Riddle Sr., ‘The Snake’, was unpleasant at best. Secrets, or spilled secrets, never end well. He likes to keep his secrets close to his chest. Perhaps that has more to do with Walburga than he’d ever be willing to admit – because while the Black’s liked to know everyone else’s secrets, not a soul alive could tell you any of theirs.

It took Sirius one year to tell James how bad things really were. Even then, it’s not like he had an option. Too many black eyes, too many sprained wrists and unhealed cuts. James Potter is one of the smartest people Sirius knows. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out. By then, Sirius knew he could trust James, could feel it in his chest. What they have is special, unheard of. Their souls are made of the same things. Sirius knew that just as sure at age eleven as he does, now, age twenty-three.

Sirius doesn’t know why he hasn’t told James, yet.

Honestly, he doesn’t.

He’s tried. Gods, has Sirius tried. But the thing about James is – is that he’s so observant when it’s the big things, the big moments, the bad days, but the smaller, more minute things? Things like Sirius asking him to go for coffee, have a chat – it goes over his head completely. Every time Sirius builds himself up, James bulldozes over his confidence with an enthusiastic rant about rugby, the weather, the shop, and Sirius deflates like a burst balloon. He can’t get angry with James. Not really. Because Sirius has a sneaking suspicion that he’s subconsciously grateful for James ruining the moment over, and over. If he was truly confident in letting his secret spill, he’d just bulldoze James right back. That’s how they work.

But, instead, Sirius says nothing.

Always nothing.

It’s becoming a problem, he’s aware. Especially with the way Remus is staring at him, now, expectant, and impatient. He’s just – he’s not good at opening up to people, at letting them in. There’s something there, though, with Remus. He feels it in the static buzzing between his ribs, the sparks buzzing at his fingertips. He doesn’t know what to do with the energy, doesn’t like the way it makes him feel. A loss of control.

It’s been less than twenty four hours since their… fight. In the Three Broomsticks’ beer garden. Remus called Sirius a pretentious prick, Sirius called Christopher a wet wipe. Remus’ lips felt so angry against his, so frustrated and raw, so. Nice. They haven’t spoken since. Not really. Not in any way that matters. Nothing other than the short, jabbing quips that once, were fun, but now are exhausting. Sirius doesn’t hate Remus. Not really. But he’s not sure he likes him either.

He’s scared and he’s confused, and Remus is looking at him like he should have all the answers and he doesn’t know what to do.

So, he shrugs, “I told you. I don’t know.”

Remus nods, he looks like he’d been expecting that answer. “I’m not just someone you can fuck around with until you figure out whatever posh boy gay crisis it is you’re having.”

Sirius has the nerve to scoff. The thing about Remus is. He’s incredibly good at giving what he gets. Sirius knows he’s cutthroat when he’s been backed into a corner. He has this evil monster in his head, in his chest, in the blood that thrums through his veins – it’s a by-product of being born a Black. Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe he grew up in a house so rotted, with a family so monstrous, that he never had any hope of being more than. But Remus is just as short, just as rude. It’s maddening. It inspires Sirius to challenge him, if only to feel the scorch of his lips, the electricity of his touch.

“I can’t do this right now.”

Remus flicks his fag across the road, pushes himself off the wall, “You’ve been saying that for as long as I’ve known you.”

“You don’t know me.” Sirius feels the need to remind Remus.

Because really, he doesn’t.

Remus Lupin knows jack shit about Sirius Black. Other than what he tastes like. What he sounds like. That he’s rotted and spoiled and probably a horrible person.

So, he knows a little.

But he’s never shown any interest in getting to know the good parts of Sirius. The loyalty. The unwavering fucking loyalty that Sirius gives out like rare change, but when you have it, you have it, and it never falters. The laughter, the jokes, the careful way he cares for each and every person he loves. He’s loud and abrasive, but Remus will never know he can be that way and not be an arsehole about it.

Sirius won’t force him to see past what he wants to see. He’s accepted that maybe the reason Remus thinks he’s a terrible person is simple. Because he is.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Remus doesn’t say good-bye when he turns, yanks open the door to the shop and steps inside. Sirius hears the faint ringing of the bell, your voice calling out Remus’ name. He gives himself a moment. A moment to look at the door and hope that Remus will come back out and explain very plainly what it is he wants from Sirius. Because Sirius is at a loss. He doesn’t remember much about the night that he met Remus. Just the feeling of pure adrenaline he got from whatever haughty words they exchanged in the smoking area, the half-hearted scoffs and awkward chit chat of getting to know someone you really shouldn’t have any interest in getting to know. Remus was charming. He was quiet and mysterious, and he was rather blunt. Sirius didn’t mind. He likes to talk, likes to push, likes to know everyone’s secrets.

Power. Games. He never really got away from that. Just them.

He doesn’t remember how it got so heated, how they ended up millimetres away from each other’s faces, their breaths mingling and the static electricity winding its way around Sirius’ ribcage. But they did. And Remus’ lips. They were so rough, so demanding. So lovely. He remembers the way it overpowered him, the kiss, shook him to his core and turned his entire fucking life upside down. The thing Sirius can’t shake, though. The thing that tears him up inside – which he refuses to look at too deeply – is the look on Remus’ face when Sirius broke the kiss, took two steps back, announced that he wasn’t gay, and essentially took off running.

The thing is, Sirius isn’t gay.

At least, he’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s not.

He can’t be. He won’t be.

When Sirius is positive Remus isn’t coming back out, he leaves.

----

The bell dings above the shop door and Remus returns in a flash of fury. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted. It pulls at the scar on his cupids bow, makes it an angrier shade of red than it normally is. Usually, after a smoke break, Remus returns more relaxed, calm, a more pleasant version of the boy you’d originally sent outside to cool off after he kicked a box of freddos across the storeroom twenty minutes ago.

He stalks up to the till, doesn’t even check if there’s any customers present before he announces that, “Sirius Black is a fucking prick.”

You’re perched on the edge of the counter, flipping through a magazine. Sundays are generally slow days. All the week’s deliveries have arrived, the pull forwards have been done, the cleaning is done. All that’s really left to do is sit around and wait for customers to show up. Remus must not be expecting you to reply – probably because you never do when it comes to Sirius – because he huffs a breath before continuing through to the storeroom, likely to take his anger out on another unsuspecting box of chocolate. The door squeaks awfully behind him.

A head of Black hair flashes past the window, barely visibly above the promotion signs James is always tacking up. But it’s there. You see it. Sirius is stalking off in the direction of the Leaky. Remus’ frustration suddenly makes sense. Not saying anything to Remus about what you and James witnessed last night has been torture, especially when he’s been a moody sod all day. Sirius and Remus don’t make any logical sense. But then, you’ve never really given it much thought. Until last night, you were under the impression they’d sooner knock each other out before going at it like horny teenagers in the beer garden.

But you promised James you wouldn’t say anything. So, you don’t. You allow Remus to sulk and fume and take his frustration out on a box of freddos. Because that’s what friends do, you suppose.

Remus returns five minutes later looking cool, calm, and collected. He doesn’t offer an explanation nor an apology for his outburst. Instead, he travels around the counter to stand behind you and be ready to serve, should anyone come inside. You doubt they will, most of the village residents barely leave their homes on a Sunday, let alone past five in the afternoon. The silence is weighted. But then, you think, that’s probably because you know more than you should. Silence with Remus is usually comfortable. It sticks to your skin like humid air and makes you restless, unable to enjoy flicking through your magazine.

“What did he want?” You ask, eyes pointedly focussed on the article about this week’s fashion trends.

You’ve got one leg kicked up on the counter, balancing your magazine, and one dangling off the side, facing Remus, but you refuse to look up; terrified he’ll be able to see right through you.

He hums, “Who?”

“Sirius.”

Remus doesn’t respond for a minute. You imagine he’s trying to piece together how you know he was outside.

“Saw him stalking off towards the Leaky after you came in.” You offer.

“Right.”

“So?”

“So, what?” He asks.

You finally look up; Remus is already staring at you with nothing short of frustration written across his face. He purses his lips, shrugs a non-committal shrug, “The usual. To be a prick.”

“Right.”

“Why does it sound like you don’t believe that?” Remus asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

It’s your turn to shrug. You flip the page of your magazine, eyes downcast. “Just doesn’t seem like Sirius to go out of his way to be a prick.”

Remus scoffs but doesn’t say anything else.

The rest of the shift passes in silence.

James comes to lock up because you forgot your keys at home, this morning, and Monty offered to send James before he left earlier on. It feels like walking on eggshells when he shows up, asks how the day went, and Remus is still in his horrible, sulky mood. You avoid eye contact as you clear lottery tickets and scratch cards from behind the till, making polite conversation as James counts the money inside the tills. He knows you hate numbers – he does it without asking.

Remus doesn’t offer much of a goodbye when he leaves, just tells James he’ll see him on Wednesday and goes. You deflate when the door closes behind him, tension seeping out of your shoulders. James frowns after him, “What’s up with him?”

“Sirius stopped by, earlier.” You fiddle with the clipper display, moving the lighters around as though you have a particular order that you’d like them to be in.

“What did he want?” James asks, locking the till.

You shrug, “They were outside. Couldn’t hear. But Remus has been in a right mood since he left.”

James doesn’t say anything, just sighs and rubs his hands across his face.

Then, “I owe you an apology. For last night. I shouldn’t have been so forceful with you not telling them you know. Sometimes I forget Sirius is an adult who doesn’t need to have his feelings protected.”

He looks earnest, sincere. You hadn’t really thought any bad of James for cornering you the way he did. Honestly, you’d admired how much he cared about Sirius in that moment, how he didn’t think, just reacted in the best possible interest of his best friend.

“S’okay.” You nod, offering James a kind smile.

It’s weird, to have a normal conversation with no one watching, no flirting, no innuendos. It’s nice.

James shakes his head, his half-damp hair moving with him. He looks freshly showered, probably is, you know he had rugby practice today. He’s wearing his rugby hoodie and his gym shorts. He looks boyish and cute, and when he offers you a lopsided smile your heart stutters.

“It’s not. I felt the way you tensed when I grabbed your wrist, I shouldn’t have done that.”

You laugh a little breathily, “That-“ You try, stop, try again, “That wasn’t because I was scared or, or anything. It was just,” You trail off, hoping James accepts that as answer.

How incredibly embarrassing would it be to tell James that you’d been so tense because his touch felt like blazing fire against your skin, made your heart stop, your head spin, your stomach grow butterflies. Pathetic, really.

James looks lost but nods slowly anyway.

“Right, well. That’s us done, so you’re free to go. I’ve a few things to grab from the office and I’ll lock up on my way out.”

“Right, cheers. See you tomorrow, Jamie.”

James’ face brightens at the nickname, his smile wide and teasing, “Tomorrow.”

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