Chapter Text
Remus Lupin likes books. Old books with dog-eared pages so thin the ink shows through in sunlight. He likes paper back copies of Penguin Classics and out-of-the-way armchairs in dimly lit coffee shops just far enough off campus that no one knows him. He likes coffee with cream and leaf-like patterns in the foam. He likes his thick knit jumper that overflows over his delicate torso, the colour of fresh autumn drizzle. He likes breathing against the glass of the window and drawing funny faces. He likes absentmindedly doodling swirls on his napkin as he reads. He likes highlighting in orange. He likes slipping his boots off and tucking his legs up into his chair. He likes the warmth when it’s cool, and the cool when it’s warm. He doesn’t like Sirius Black.
Sirius Black likes a lot of things Remus doesn’t. Sirius drinks black coffee with three lumps of sugar. Sirius likes to sit with his feet on the table, shoes on. He likes listening to books on his tablet whilst he paints his nails, spilling the varnish carelessly, and he likes shamelessly wiping it on his worn, ripped jeans. He likes crunching scones loudly and tapping his fingers to a nonexistent rhythm. He likes his leather jacket and his long messy hair. Most importantly, he likes Remus.
Both boys spent the majority of their day-lit downtime in the coffee shop. Remus liked the hazelnut tarts. Sirius liked the distance it was from his flat. Remus arrived at ten past two every weekday, and sat in the same seat, reading, until he left when the shop closed (at half five). He would be content for the first twenty minutes or so, until Sirius Black showed up, at half past. Remus was unaware of when he first noticed the boy, but was very much aware that after that undefined point, it was very difficult to un-notice him.
Sirius would storm in at half past on the dot every day and order a double americano. He would sit in any free spot, and stir in the (quite frankly ridiculous) amount of sugar into his drink. When he was content, he’d slurp it rather ungracefully, and stick his headphones in. Remus found this incredibly distracting. He was distracted by the tapping, and the slurping, and the crunching, and the humming. He was distracted by the muddy boots and the messy hair. The pale eyes and the chewed nails. The frown and the smile. The grin and the chuckle and the laugh. He was mostly distracted, however, by the fact that one day (when the shop was rather empty, and there were plenty of seats to choose from) Sirius Black opted for the armchair opposite his own.
He didn’t say anything, after glancing up at the scene before him, instead he turned back to his book, hoping to hell that the boy opposite couldn’t see his blush, and equally hat Sirius wouldn’t turn his music so loud, it would be audible past his earphones. Sirius Black, however, did speak.
“You stare at me a lot.” Silence. How was Remus supposed to answer that anyway? “Like a lot a lot. I was watching in the reflection of the glass the other day, and you were staring at me for a minute. Like a whole real minute - which is sixty seconds and all. That’s a long time to look at one thing.” Remus knew his cheeks were burning up, and, having no idea what to do, he shoved his book in his bag, and sped from the café. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best option, seeing as he literally just ran away from the boy who’d been distracting him for the better part of a year - it definitely didn’t make him appear innocent to the charges.
Sirius arrived at the coffee shop once, once when passing by, because he was late to the bus that would drive him the thirty minute journey to his flat. It wasn’t his fault he’d noticed the quiet, golden-haired boy curled up in the corner and it wasn’t his fault he’d dropped his coffee in shock. (He’d blamed it on seeing a spider- much more manly than love at first sight.) It wasn’t his fault he had decided to skip the bus every day for the better half of a year, so he could stare at the boy, and it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t stop thinking about those bronzy eyes, or the bit lip. That oversized jumper, and the odd socks. The slight scarring over the left half of his face, and the silent chuckle that came with the turn of a page. So Sirius decided to do something about it.
He knew full well that this boy had noticed him, hell, he’d caught Remus gazing in his direction more times than he could count. All he had to do was go over and talk to him. This did not go well, seeing as after less than three minutes, Remus was running from the shop.
Sirius sat for quite some time in that chair, hoping, willing the boy would come back. He prayed he hadn’t made it awkward, and that the boy wouldn’t find a new café to rest up in, without leather-wearing annoying creepers who sit down opposite him without asking permission. Sirius was spiralling, wondering how he’d made it this far in life, and how this boy must have thought him a complete weirdo-
“You’re right.” Sirius looked up to find the boy standing there, seemingly having snuck back in.
“What?” His mouth must have dropped open, idiot.
“I said you’re right.” Remus huffed, there was something accusatory in his tone. “You caught me staring at you for a minute - which is an actual long sixty-second minute.”
“Okay.”
“For you to know I was staring at you for a whole real minute, you must have been staring at me for a whole real minute. And what’s worse; you must have been counting.”
“So…” Sirius would admit he was a little lost for words. It would appear that this boy (who suddenly seemed an awful lot more confident) was right. “So…you realised I like you too, and you came back for me?”
“No.” Sirius’s grin dropped. Way to shoot a mans ego. Remus lifted a finger and pointed to his beneath his own armchair “I left my shoes, and it’s raining out.”
Sirius was awestruck at this enigma of a boy, who just calmly pulled on his shoes, before moving back towards the exit. His hand was on the door when he sighed rather audibly. “I guess…since you admitted to liking me, you could ask me out if you want.”
A smirk played on Remus’s lips, and Sirius had never grinned wider as the other boy jotted his number in a messy scrawl. He pulled it from the taller boy, not even caring if he looked a little more than overeager. “It’s Sirius, by the way.”
“Remus.”