HB fic: Commitment [Dakin/Irwin, general]
Title: Commitment Author: celandineb Fandom: History Boys Pairing: Dakin/Irwin Rating: general Summary: Househunting is a tedious process, but worth it in the end. Note: Teenyfic (678 words). This one is for westernredcedar.
This is the sixteenth place they have looked at – well, technically the seventeenth, but they didn't even get out of the car at the fourth one, so it scarcely counts – and Irwin likes it immediately. Something about the size and proportions of the rooms, the quality of the light, makes him feel immediately comfortable.
Like nearly every house they have seen, however, it has three storeys. Irwin insisted that they should not limit their options. Dakin had shrugged and nodded, and their estate agent had shaken her head but taken him at his word.
"This could make an excellent study for you," Dakin comments as they examine what is presently the dining room.
Irwin nods. The room is at the back of the house, and two large windows look northward into the garden, which is well-kept, though a little sterile. He wonders if the present owners care for it themselves or if they have a service. If he and Dakin take this one, he thinks, they should inquire.
"There's an en-suite bath in the master bedroom," their agent says as she leads them upstairs. She is used now to having to wait for Irwin to navigate the stairs, although it took her a little while. The rubber tip of his cane helps steady him on the polished wood. He leans on it heavily and grasps the handrail, moving up one step at a time like a toddler – but far better this than not at all.
The bath has been refurbished, all gleaming white tile and chrome fixtures. Irwin prefers something less antiseptically American, but Dakin likes it and Irwin admits that it's far nicer than the fuchsia and gold of the bath in the last place but one that they viewed.
It's a larger house than they really need, but that means that Irwin will rarely if ever have to climb all the way up to the second storey; they can turn the other first-storey bedroom into a sitting room with the television, and have an office for Dakin and a guest room on the second floor. Plus, as Dakin points out when they talk about it that night over dinner, it's quite reasonably priced for the area and likely to go up in value. The present owners are moving to Australia and anxious to sell.
"We could have one of those wheelchair lifts put in on the staircase," Dakin says.
"Not right away," Irwin demurs. "I can manage." He knows that Dakin is right, and that sooner or later they will do that, but for now he wants to retain the illusion that it is unnecessary to make special accommodations for him.
They make an offer, which is accepted, and six weeks later – after some repainting and laying of new carpets – they move in. Dakin decides that the front room needs a piano, and so he buys one as a housewarming gift to themselves, although neither of them really plays. Irwin goes into his files and finds a photograph. He has it framed in silver and gives it to Dakin rather shyly. He had managed to get the copy through Dorothy Lintott years ago, explaining that he wanted something by which to remember Hector. The faces of the history boys peer out from the frame, young and confident and ridiculously vulnerable; their three instructors appear more wary, more cynical, although Irwin looks nearly as young as the students.
Dakin is amused at Irwin's having the picture, and he insists that it belongs on top of the piano – "Scripps would never forgive me if I put it anywhere else, nor would Posner for that matter," he says, smiling. He is right, although Irwin wonders briefly if having it where others can see that they were once teacher and student is a good idea. He supposes no one is likely to care, really, since anyone who is friends with either of them is aware that they've only been together for a couple of years.
No one else needs to know that they sometimes replay those old roles, after all.