laugh hard, it's a long ways to the bank
Title: The Most Important Meal
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: general, romance
Characters: Lionel Lovegood, Marlene McKinnon, mentions of Hestia Jones
As much as Marlene liked to imagine Lionel’s mother as a lovely, eccentric, beautiful person, obviously something was wrong with the woman. To Sophie Lovegood’s grave discredit, she had raised a son who did not know how to eat breakfast.
The morning after the first night they spend in their new apartment, Lionel doesn’t wake up until three in the afternoon (which doesn’t make sense at all because she could have sworn the boy was in bed at the decent hour of eleven o’clock), shuffles sleepily into the kitchen, opens the freezer, and starts eating the orange juice concentrate, frozen and undiluted, out of the can with a spoon.
Marlene is revolted. “You are going to make yourself sick,” she says, eyebrow twitching in horror.
Lionel peers into the can and then licks a drip of the citrus off his ring finger. (Marlene does not notice, does not notice, does not notice. And certainly does not find herself transfixed by the flash of his tongue.) “Yeah, probably,” he agrees, then takes another sour bite and grins.
The morning after that, Marlene is up first again, but this time only by about half an hour. Maybe more, maybe less. All she knows for sure is that when she wanders into the kitchen for a cup of mid-morning tea, Lionel is leaning casually against the scummy counter, alternating between tipping the box of cereal into his mouth and taking swigs of milk straight from the carton.
Spotting her, Lionel chances one last sip before putting the milk and the cereal down on the counter and smiling sheepishly.
“I hope you were planning on buying me new milk,” Marlene says, after a moment of eyeing him sternly. “I’m not drinking that after you got your icky mouth all over the top.” Childishly, she adds, “That’s like kissing, you know.”
His eyebrow quirks up and Marlene quickly leaves the room before he can suggest they make it official. (That is to say - before she suggests they make it official.)
For their third morning living together, Lionel is actually up first. He kisses Hestia goodbye (twice, no, three times) then shuts the door to turn around to Marlene standing by the couch with her hands loosely on her waist. “Didn’t know Hestia was spending the night.”
“Hmmm? Oh, well, yes. It was a spur of the moment decision. You were already asleep.” He peels a hangnail slowly. “Did we wake you?”
A touch coldly, Marlene responds, “When? Now or last night?” Lionel doesn’t answer, just grins. Marlene sighs, rolls her eyes, and, determined not to fight, says, “Want breakfast?”
“Oh, no, I’ve already eaten this morning.” Lionel flops down on the couch and scribbles something onto his hand with the muggle pens Marlene’s gotten him hooked on.
She pauses, still figuring out whether or not that was some kind of sordid metaphor or not, then decides she’s best off not knowing.
And then, the morning after that, Marlene blinks her eyes open at five to realize that the kitchen light is on. Pale pre-dawn light filters in through her window (despite the drapes from Emmeline) and so Marlene rubs sleep out of her eyes and gets up to turn it off.
Once in the doorway, though, she sees Lionel sitting at the kitchen table morosely, his left sleeve rolled up and the Mark on his arm giving her eyes blind spots. “Lionel?” Marlene whispers hoarsely. “You’re up early. When did you get in?”
Lionel blinks a few times, then turns his arm over to hide the Mark and glance at his watch. It’s still broken. “Around one,” he says, monotone. “Give or take an hour.”
“You’ve been awake all this time?”
He shrugs. “Can’t sleep.”
“Let me make you breakfast,” she says, already getting out the pan from the oven to make him something warm.
Lionel waves her off. “I’m not hungry. I’m just gonna…” The sentence hangs limply as he wanders ghostlike past her into his own room and shuts the door.
“Not a word.”
“What?”
Marlene growls and shoves the plate at him. “What did I just tell you?”
Lionel blinks, looks down at the half an omlette, some kind of potatoes, and bacon, then back up at Marlene. “What?” He flinches. “Sorry.” Again. “Sorry! Ah! Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry!!”
In a panic, Lionel clamps a hand over his mouth and smiles weakly.
“It’s alright,” his flatmate softens. “Just eat your breakfast.”
Hesitantly, Lionel lowers his hand and says, genuinely, “Thanks, Marlene. Um. Yeah.”
She shrugs. “Apparently your mum didn’t teach you about breakfast well enough. You need a good meal after, y’know. Yesterday.”
Lionel shakes his head unbelievingly. “You are such a duck, Marlene.”
Marlene smiles.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: general, romance
Characters: Lionel Lovegood, Marlene McKinnon, mentions of Hestia Jones
As much as Marlene liked to imagine Lionel’s mother as a lovely, eccentric, beautiful person, obviously something was wrong with the woman. To Sophie Lovegood’s grave discredit, she had raised a son who did not know how to eat breakfast.
The morning after the first night they spend in their new apartment, Lionel doesn’t wake up until three in the afternoon (which doesn’t make sense at all because she could have sworn the boy was in bed at the decent hour of eleven o’clock), shuffles sleepily into the kitchen, opens the freezer, and starts eating the orange juice concentrate, frozen and undiluted, out of the can with a spoon.
Marlene is revolted. “You are going to make yourself sick,” she says, eyebrow twitching in horror.
Lionel peers into the can and then licks a drip of the citrus off his ring finger. (Marlene does not notice, does not notice, does not notice. And certainly does not find herself transfixed by the flash of his tongue.) “Yeah, probably,” he agrees, then takes another sour bite and grins.
The morning after that, Marlene is up first again, but this time only by about half an hour. Maybe more, maybe less. All she knows for sure is that when she wanders into the kitchen for a cup of mid-morning tea, Lionel is leaning casually against the scummy counter, alternating between tipping the box of cereal into his mouth and taking swigs of milk straight from the carton.
Spotting her, Lionel chances one last sip before putting the milk and the cereal down on the counter and smiling sheepishly.
“I hope you were planning on buying me new milk,” Marlene says, after a moment of eyeing him sternly. “I’m not drinking that after you got your icky mouth all over the top.” Childishly, she adds, “That’s like kissing, you know.”
His eyebrow quirks up and Marlene quickly leaves the room before he can suggest they make it official. (That is to say - before she suggests they make it official.)
For their third morning living together, Lionel is actually up first. He kisses Hestia goodbye (twice, no, three times) then shuts the door to turn around to Marlene standing by the couch with her hands loosely on her waist. “Didn’t know Hestia was spending the night.”
“Hmmm? Oh, well, yes. It was a spur of the moment decision. You were already asleep.” He peels a hangnail slowly. “Did we wake you?”
A touch coldly, Marlene responds, “When? Now or last night?” Lionel doesn’t answer, just grins. Marlene sighs, rolls her eyes, and, determined not to fight, says, “Want breakfast?”
“Oh, no, I’ve already eaten this morning.” Lionel flops down on the couch and scribbles something onto his hand with the muggle pens Marlene’s gotten him hooked on.
She pauses, still figuring out whether or not that was some kind of sordid metaphor or not, then decides she’s best off not knowing.
And then, the morning after that, Marlene blinks her eyes open at five to realize that the kitchen light is on. Pale pre-dawn light filters in through her window (despite the drapes from Emmeline) and so Marlene rubs sleep out of her eyes and gets up to turn it off.
Once in the doorway, though, she sees Lionel sitting at the kitchen table morosely, his left sleeve rolled up and the Mark on his arm giving her eyes blind spots. “Lionel?” Marlene whispers hoarsely. “You’re up early. When did you get in?”
Lionel blinks a few times, then turns his arm over to hide the Mark and glance at his watch. It’s still broken. “Around one,” he says, monotone. “Give or take an hour.”
“You’ve been awake all this time?”
He shrugs. “Can’t sleep.”
“Let me make you breakfast,” she says, already getting out the pan from the oven to make him something warm.
Lionel waves her off. “I’m not hungry. I’m just gonna…” The sentence hangs limply as he wanders ghostlike past her into his own room and shuts the door.
“Not a word.”
“What?”
Marlene growls and shoves the plate at him. “What did I just tell you?”
Lionel blinks, looks down at the half an omlette, some kind of potatoes, and bacon, then back up at Marlene. “What?” He flinches. “Sorry.” Again. “Sorry! Ah! Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry!!”
In a panic, Lionel clamps a hand over his mouth and smiles weakly.
“It’s alright,” his flatmate softens. “Just eat your breakfast.”
Hesitantly, Lionel lowers his hand and says, genuinely, “Thanks, Marlene. Um. Yeah.”
She shrugs. “Apparently your mum didn’t teach you about breakfast well enough. You need a good meal after, y’know. Yesterday.”
Lionel shakes his head unbelievingly. “You are such a duck, Marlene.”
Marlene smiles.