"Ta-da!"
"Sirius, what's this!?"
Remus narrows his eyes suspiciously as his husband gestures wildly at a heavy wooden door with peeling dark green paint. The door belongs to a squat, slightly wonky building on the corner of two cobbled lanes. The walls are a worn sandy brick, and the shutters are painted the same dark green as the door. Remus narrows his eyes suspiciously and scans upwards until he sees a swinging wooden sign and groans.
"Sirius! No, absolutely not. This is- well, this is far beyond the £50 limit. You can't just- a pub? Really? No. Just no. I've got you some cologne for fuck's sake! From the counter at Superdrug! You said - after last year, you promised nothing big-"
He's silenced by the press of Sirius' body against him, lips firmly against his, words swallowed down.
"How do you know we aren't just going for a drink, my love?" Sirius murmurs into his ear with a wicked grin, nudging the pair of them back and forth in a reluctant sway.
Remus sighs.
"The 'sold' sign somewhat gives it away." He responds wryly.
"Ah, you're too smart for me, Moony." Sirius chuckles and reaches up to smack a kiss on his husband's scarred forehead.
"You promised." Remus reminds him, and Sirius has the decency to look a little sheepish.
"I really did get you something small this time, just like I said.” Remus raises an eyebrow and tilts his head pointedly in the direction of the pub, “It's just inside this totally non-anniversary related investment I made."
Sirius laughs at his husband’s groan and takes his hand, dragging him closer to the door and pulling a complicated-looking set of keys from his pocket. He unlocks it and lets them both inside, watching intently to see Remus' reaction as he walks in, biting his lip.
Honestly? Remus loves it. It's all dark mahogany and patterned carpets and delightful nooks and crannies. It smells like the pubs he spent his weekends in as a child, crouched under the table with a packet of pork scratchings whilst his dad played bingo or his mum sung with her folk band. The wallpaper is bare and peeling but Remus can already imagine Sirius' paintings decorating the walls, mismatching frames with photos of Stella, of Harry and their recent holiday to Tenerife with James and Lily. He can picture the crooked shelves full of the books he has restored and the ceramics Sirius made during his enthusiastic but short-lived pottery stint in undergrad. He knows what whiskey he would stock, what brewery he would reach out to to have on tap, where he would place the wine fridge. He mentally measures the fireplace to see what board games he could stack on top. It’s perfect.
But Remus has been known, on occasion, to be as mischievous and dramatic as his husband.
He keeps his face blank and shrugs nonchalantly.
" 's alright, I suppose."
"Moony! It's beautiful. It's antique. It's within walking distance of the studio. It's not just bloody alright!" Remus watches with amusement as Sirius pouts and folds his arms, letting out an exaggerated sigh in response.
"It's just not very big, Pads. I mean it'd hardly fit James' rugby team." He walks slowly around the bar, stifling a laugh as Sirius looks incredulously across the sizeable maze of a pub he has presumably purchased. Remus' eyes widen in delight as he turns and finds himself face to face with a gorgeous vintage jukebox. He slips the mask back on and turns around.
Sirius splutters, "The capacity is 120, Moony, what are you-"
"And we'd have to rip out all of these old things." Remus gestures to three cozy wooden booths that line the back wall, running his hands over the deep purple constellation-print fabric, tracing the little stars with his fingers. "Far too clunky, they take up way too much space." He pauses, “they probably have woodworm.”
Sirius gasps.
"But Moony, can't you see the-"
"And maybe we'd need to get someone in to get rid of these beams, I can't be ducking down all day, it'd be very inconvenient. That would cost a small fortune, and might damage the structural integrity."
Remus realises that although he has continued his wandering, Sirius has stopped following him and is stood by the bar huffing to himself and shaking his head. Remus hides his grin by turning back round.
"And you can't possibly expect me to just up and quit my job, I love-"
Sirius pounces on him then with an aggrieved growl, kissing his face all over: temples, jaw, nose.
"I knew you were lying! You love it, tell me you love it!" He jabs his fingers into Remus' side.
"I love my job," Remus chokes out with every teasing jab, laughing, "I love my horrible job at Tesco's." He smiles smugly down at his husband who smiles smugly back.
"You love me. And you love this pub." Sirius sings playfully. “You hate your job.”
"I do love you. But you are terrible at sticking to present-giving arrangements." Remus kisses him back. Only once, in punishment.
"I already told you, this isn't your anniversary present. This is." Sirius spins Remus round and gestures to a nook behind the door. He bursts out laughing.
"Pads!" He shakes his head but can't hold back the smile on his face. "I'm trying to forget last year!"
Sirius reaches for the shiny leather dog lead hanging on a peg on the wall, leaving the slightly misshapen, hand-crafted ceramic water bowl on the floor.
"Under £50! See!"
Remus rolls his eyes fondly, remembering Sirius coming through the door of their no-pets-allowed apartment exactly a year ago, huge husky in tow, dog bed stuffed under his arm.
"Unlike that bloody dog."
"Hey! You love that bloody dog."
"I do."
"You love me."
"I do."
He can see a year from now as clearly as he can picture two years ago when they'd stood across from one another saying those words before a pink-haired officiant and all their friends.
He pictures Stella lounging in her bed by the door and bouncing up to each new punter. Sirius flicking through songs on the jukebox with Harry clinging to his leg as he chooses Queen for the hundredth time. James and Lily sat at the bar deep in conversation about whatever two doctors with a toddler talk about, occasionally roping Remus into debates over bedtime routines or the state of the NHS. Remus sees himself standing with a tea towel tossed over his shoulder, free from a job he hates, quietly watching the people he loves and the people he might come to know and love.
Although he hates grand gestures, hates surprises and upheaval, Sirius always seems to know just what he needs. So he pulls his husband into his arms, squeezes him tightly, and reaches into his pocket to hand him a small leather box.
“Happy Anniversary, love.”
Sirius gasps as he opens it to find two chains, one gold and one silver, one star and one moon. He narrows his eyes,
“That’s not under £50 either!”
Remus shuts him up with a kiss.