sirius was a shit roommate. since graduating, he had found himself trapped in an endless cycle of moving in and moving out of hostels. though he had taken up residence in james's family manor since the tender age of sixteen—james, for his part, having no objection to the arrangement continuing indefinitely—sirius's pride would not suffer him to live forever on fleamont and euphemia's charity.

as it turned out, sirius was utterly useless when it came to living on his own. growing up in a sheltered wealthy household with an old elf doing all the family chores did not bode well for his skillset. he had the money for financial independence (may his uncle rest in peace), but the challenge of remaining in any flat without being asked to leave became his greatest foe.

you, meanwhile, had recently transferred to london for work, whether you liked it or not, and had moved to student housing as a result. yes you could drive to your internship, but it did make you feel quite ill, so you avoided it like the plague itself.

this brought you to being the latest victim of sirius’s living conditions.

you had to admit that the disowned heir was very pleasant to look at, often seen prowling about with his dark tresses hastily pinned into an untidy knot atop his head, trousers slung low about his hips—his tattoos a sight to behold—but such aesthetic virtues did little to quell the rising urge to throw the washing machine at him.

“yes, i am aware that one of my sweaters ended up on the bookshelf. personally, i do not know how it got there.” sirius mused, regarding you through his inky lashes indolently; as though he had not shrieked in horror scarcely thirty minutes earlier when the bread emerged from the toaster.

scolding him for being an utterly insufferable housemate proved a near impossible task, particularly when the faint curl of his lower lip suggested he was utterly unmoved. “perhaps there is a ghost here, manhandling my garments. i would never think of inconveniencing you."