Chapter Text
It’s raining. It’s raining quite hard, actually. There are people rushing past the shop window, heads lowered against the onslaught, a few of them clutching futile umbrellas. Most of them, though, are unprotected - the forecast had called for sunshine this morning.
From the safety of the small bookshop where he works, Remus Lupin watches the scene outside with a mild sense of pity. Granted, depending how long the storm lasts, he may get drenched himself when he goes home; for now, though, he is quite warm and dry, unlike the poor sods out there.
Eventually, he moves away from the window. The shop had received a couple of boxes of donations a few days before, and he still hasn’t finished sorting through everything - it all has to be categorized, priced, entered into the system, and eventually shelved. The lack of customers doesn’t mean he doesn’t have work to do. He’s not getting paid to sit around staring out the window.
He’s in the back room, elbow-deep in a huge box of pulpy romance novels (his worst enemy) when, for the first time that morning, the bell above the door jingles.
He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or annoyed. On one hand, he’s desperately bored of looking at tacky, painfully heterosexual cover art; on the other hand… people.
He hauls himself to his feet with a slight wince and heads back out towards the front of the store, straightening out a few shelves quickly as he goes. He finds one book that’s in completely the wrong place (the magazine rack), but he’s not sure where it’s supposed to go, because it’s missing its sleeve and doesn’t have a title or a summary on its actual cover. He reaches the counter as he's flipping through the pages of the book, trying to figure out where it belongs.
“Good morning,” he says, somewhat absently. “Can I help -”
And then he looks up and completely forgets how to breathe.
“-you,” he chokes out, after an interval.
The customer standing in front of him is, quite possibly, the most beautiful man Remus has ever seen. Like, he looks like a fucking model or something. He has long, black hair, flattened by water, and just the slightest amount of scruff on his face, and… and a baby strapped to his chest.
Okay.
The baby is ridiculously cute; he has wild black hair that even the rain hasn’t managed to tame, and adorable chubby cheeks, and these huge green eyes that stand out starkly against his brown skin. But when Remus sees him, the first thing he feels (right after his brain’s initial reaction of “AWWW, LOOK AT THE BABY”) is disappointment. Which is fucking ridiculous. It doesn’t matter that Mr Godlike Beauty is a father and probably, like, married or something, because he could be the most single guy in the world and Remus still wouldn’t have a chance with him.
God, he needs to get it together.
“Hey,” says Mr Godlike Beauty, and Remus’s brain nearly shorts out again over the rueful smile the guy is giving him. “We picked the wrong day to go for a walk, apparently. You wouldn’t happen to have a children’s section, would you?”
“Er,” he stammers. Apparently he’s forgotten how to fucking talk. Great. Really smooth. “Um, yeah, we have a children’s section. It’s upstairs - kind of silly, really, I mean, strollers and everything, but - yeah, yeah, we have a children’s section. I… can show you?”
Mr Godlike Beauty, bless his heart, is smiling at him as though everything is perfectly normal and Remus hadn’t just turned into a bumbling idiot right in front of him. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”
The children’s area upstairs is nothing to write home about, in Remus’s humble opinion - it consists of a small round rug with colourful dinosaurs traipsing across its dark green surface, a saggy red beanbag chair, a bead maze, and a short (but very full) wooden bookcase. But it’s next to the window, so weak grey light is spilling across the ground, and the pitter-patter of the rain provides a quiet but admittedly pleasant soundtrack, so Remus has to admit it’s kinda cozy up here with this atmosphere. The baby seems to be pretty into it, at least - he lets out a little cooing noise and waves his chubby fists around as Mr Godlike Beauty starts unclipping the harness of the baby carrier.
...Remus really needs to stop calling this probably-married father “Mr Godlike Beauty” in his head.
Hot Dad (oh, fuck no) sets the squirming baby down on the carpet, and the baby immediately crawls over to the bead maze. And then just kind of stares at it. Both Remus and Hot Dad (Remus wants to punch himself in the fucking face) watch for a moment, waiting to see if something will happen, but the baby just sits there, gurgling happily.
“He’s an odd one,” Hot Dad (no) says fondly. “Or maybe he’s not, I still barely know shit about babies.”
Remus just shrugs helplessly. He wants to make some kind of witty remark that will make this guy fall instantly in love with him, but his mouth isn’t cooperating and nor is his brain. Also, he reminds himself again, there’s almost no way this guy isn’t taken. And if he’s not, there is no way in hell he’d be interested in some sick, scrawny weirdo who works in a bookstore and apparently can’t even coherently string a few words together.
“Erm,” he says, “the baby books are on the bottom few shelves. And, uh, yeah. Have at it. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Then he flees.
Once downstairs, he sits down on his stool and slumps miserably forward onto the counter. When he’d walked into work this morning, he really hadn’t been expecting to embarrass himself in front of a hot guy (a really, a really hot guy his brain adds unhelpfully) and his baby. And yet, here he is.
He just needs a few moments to process his humiliation.
He allows himself about five minutes of moping and being miserable at the counter before he goes back to his task of book-sorting. He actually ends up getting pretty single-minded about it, which is great because that way his brain can’t concoct any elaborate fantasies and/or go spiralling into embarrassed despair. He gets through the whole box of pulp novels in just over half an hour, and then moves on to the second box. Which, he realizes with a sinking feeling, is a box of non-fiction about world cultures. Which his boss has apparently already done the admin stuff for. And the world cultures shelves are upstairs.
Seriously, the universe hates him.
With a plaintive whine, he stands back up and heaves the box off the floor.
Having to take boxes full of books up a flight of stairs is, by far, the worst part of his job. His doctor has given him stern warnings about it more than once, but he’s the only employee and his boss is elderly. Luckily, it’s a pretty occasional duty, although that doesn’t really make him feel a lot better right now. Especially when he gets to the top of the stairs and the hot guy glances over and immediately looks all concerned - who can blame him, really, since Remus’s arms are shaking and his face is probably bright red with exertion and he’s straight-up panting.
“Hey - do you need a hand?” the guy asks anxiously, moving like he’s going to get to his feet. Honestly, Remus wants to swallow his pride and accept, but he really doesn’t like the idea of making the guy leave his baby alone. So he shakes his head.
“I’m okay,” he wheezes. “Thanks though.”
The guy doesn’t look convinced. He doesn’t argue, but he does watch Remus warily as he makes his way across the room. It’s very distracting, but Remus manages to safely put the box down beside the relevant shelves.
… Okay. He swears he’s not a creep. He’s really, really not. But he can’t help but notice that he’s kind of in the perfect spot to observe the two on the other side of the room without, like, openly staring. Which is honestly probably not a great idea - he’s already been reduced to a gibbering mess by this man, he doesn’t need to add any more fuel to the fire. AND YET.
The guy is young. Really, he can’t be any older than Remus. Since Remus went downstairs, he’s pulled his damp hair into an effortless top knot, revealing several earrings in his right ear; he’s wearing black skinny jeans and a grey Ramones t-shirt and beat up Doc Martens, and he has this worn leather bracelet on his wrist; and he’s smiling broadly as he watches the baby toddling around on the carpet.
“Great job, Harry!” he says, reaching out his (tattooed, oh god) arms. The baby - who is apparently named Harry - walks unsteadily towards him, and makes it almost all the way there before losing his balance and falling onto his bottom. He seems completely unphased though, just starts giggling and rocks forward to grab at his tiny Converse.
“Buh!” he exclaims.
“Book?” The guy’s practically beaming now. “Yeah, good idea! Go pick one, okay?”
Harry nods cooperatively and makes his way over to the bookshelf. As soon as he’s pulled out One Fish Two Fish, the guy scoops him into his lap. “Dr. Seuss? Very good choice.”
And then he looks over in Remus’s direction. And catches Remus’s eye. And smirks. And winks.
Remus feels his face go red. He shoves the last few books onto the right shelves as fast as humanly possible, grabs the empty box, and once again flees downstairs.
He’s mostly recovered by the time the rain starts to let up. Really, he’s fine. He’s not absolutely dying of embarrassment anymore. He doesn’t even flinch when the guy comes downstairs with Harry strapped back onto his chest and several books in his arms. (Harry is clutching One Fish Two Fish and looking awfully pleased.)
“Hullo,” he says easily, his tone and body language not at all conveying that he just caught Remus staring at him like a weirdo. He sets the books down on the counter and fishes a wallet out of his back pocket. “Harry here is quite taken with all of these. Do you take debit? ‘Cause I only have a tenner -”
“No, we take debit,” Remus says hurriedly. "Do you need a bag?"
The guy produces one of those roll-up tote bags (Remus melts just a tiny bit more) and shakes his head. Remus rings him up, tells him his total, and processes the transaction without further incident; maybe he's done being a mess for the day. He packs up the tote bag for the guy and can't help but smile at Harry's picks - the kid has good taste. Then he hands it over to the guy along with his receipt and fully expects that their interaction is over.
The guy does, indeed, head for the door. But before he pulls it open, he stops and grins at Remus.
"My name's Sirius, by the way," he says. "As in the star. Not the adjective."
...It's like he knows that Remus was calling him weird nicknames in his head.
"Nice to meet you," Remus manages. "Um. Have a nice day?"
(Is it just his imagination, or does Sirius look kind of... disappointed?
No, it's definitely just his imagination. There's no fucking way.)
"Bye!" squeals Harry, waving at Remus, and then Harry and Sirius are gone and Remus is left alone to dwell on every single way that he just embarrassed himself.