no more tsouris
hackney, saturday the tenth of april 2004 // nineteenth of kislev 5764
Tony gave Noah a sheepish little grin when the door finally opened, lifting up the little paper bag. "I brought wine," he said, like it was enough of a greeting. In the green and blue striped gift bag, some bottles clinked together. "And macaroons."
Noah wasn't Jewish, but he knew from Jews in a very New York sort of way, which was to say, better than any gentile Englishman could hope to know. Zach was getting close against all his best efforts, now that he worked for a kosher caterer (or, more accurately, Tony's mum), but Noah had been at that level for years, before knowing Tony. It was comfortable – he didn't worry about being a
shande fur die goyim around Noah Haas.
It had been Noah to took him to Katz's and the Second Avenue deli when he had been in New York, after he had walked into Cousin David's establishment, realized they served
pork, and bolted in a fit of ridiculous religious rage. Noah who had gone to the bars with him, gay, straight, and wizarding, when Tony was a week into his work-study and realizing that perhaps Portkeying across the world did not instantly cure his heartbreak. Noah who made, frankly, amazing edibles in Michael's kitchen since moving to London. Noah was a good friend. Tony wasn't sure what he had done to deserve a friendship that was so
easy.
Also, Noah would drink Manischewitz.
"Is Emma in?" Tony asked as he stepped over the threshold, loosening his tie. He had brought extra macaroons, in case his one and only ex-girlfriend or the other roommate were around. Not extra wine, though – two bottles of Manischewitz, sweet as sin, was enough for any two grown men. Also, he assumed Noah had... well, beer was forbidden this week, so. Better wine? Tony could always stumble down to the liquor store, if needed.
@Noah Haas 
