Work Text:
"I think Xanadu is my favorite, but I listen to Physical all the time too. It's just something about her voice. It's so… ethereal, you know?"
He tilts his head to the side and looks up through his lashes as he says it. In that way he has, like he's trying to get you to agree, but he also knows you'll agree? Like a baby deer or a particularly charming Bichon Frise.
It works every fucking time. On me. On everyone. This old guy he's talking to is nodding a mile a minute. "Yas. It's just so CAMP!" he enthuses, practically drooling on the cash wrap.
Scorpius hitches his hip against the counter and takes a breathy little breath. "Camp?" He blinks several times. "I don't know about that. I just love her. Do you have any of her earlier stuff?"
The old guy is shaking his head and widening his eyes like Andy Warhol on the tail end of a coke bender. I jam an Ornette Coleman CD into the six disc changer and push play aggressively.
"Oh my god. You need If Not for You. Her version of "If You Could Read my Mind."" Scorp puts a hand over his heart as he comes out from the behind the counter and leads the way to the (well-stocked, I'm not stupid) Olivia Newton-John section. The old guy buys five records. Five.
A typical fucking Thursday.
"What is this, Al?" Scorpius points a swirling finger to the ceiling as Ornette's primal wail fills the shop to its very edges.
"Outside jazz," I mutter, trying to ignore how his crop-top reveals a tiny bit of navel as he leans over to grab a stack of CDs.
"Outside of what?" He picks up the pricing gun and starts putting stickers on jewel cases, a lock of that pure platinum hair falling over his forehead. I lick my lips very much in spite of myself. God damn it.
"It's just a term," I say, waving an arm. "Like, outside of standard musical structures. Interesting rhythm. Syncopation. Outside."
He looks up and smiles. My stupid breath catches. "That's so cool."
And I know he's sincere because he's always sincere. This is the person who, when I interviewed him for this job, unironically named the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack as his favorite record of all time.
"Original Broadway cast. It's a 2-CD set," he'd said with a touch of urgency. And I'd nodded like the old guy earlier, then hired him. Even though this store is very much independent and, under my management, has become known for rare and 'outside' stuff.
But you know what? Sales have gone up 23% since he's been here.
Jesus H. Christ.
I slam out from the behind the cash wrap and head to used Prog Rock vinyl. "Gonna check the alphabetizing!" I call over a shoulder.
"Cool, Albussss," he singsongs, tapping out a little beat with his long fingers. I try and fail not to watch as he swings around to grab more CDs, a good third of his slim midriff showing this time.
I grimace and take a Rush album out of the King Crimson section and slot it back into place. Scorpius is now dancing around the register (to Ornette fucking Coleman) in a way that is both delightful and deeply disturbing.
I force my eyes away. How the fuck did this happen? How did it occur? How did I, an antisocial, cynical bastard on most days, fall in deep, obsessive like with someone who loves musicals and 70s light rock? A morning person. A sunshine and glitter person? A blond.
I shake my head at the copy of Script for a Jester's Tear I'm clutching a little too tightly.
"Hey, do you, like, carry The Shins?" a tentative voice sounds from behind me.
"Of course," I snap, not even looking over my shoulder. "You'll find them over in the Obvious Indie department."
"Uh. OK, dude."
Shit.
"No wait, sorry," I say, turning around. "I accidentally drank decaf this morning. It's right over here." I lead the guy to the correct place. He predictably picks up Oh Inverted World and brings it up to Scorp, who rings him up through a string of bright chatter.
"You should, uh, really give Chutes Too Narrow a try," I mumble as the customer laughs at something Scorpius says.
The guy doesn't hear me but Scorp's eyebrows go up. "What was that, Albus?" he asks sweetly.
"The Shins," I say. "They're a decent band, but their second album is really great. There are a couple of good tracks on that one." I point to the CD Scorpius is sliding into a paper bag. "But every song on this one is a gem." I hold up a another jewel case as the customer blinks at me.
"Amazing!" Scorpius says, his eyes lighting up. "Do we have that back here, Albus?" He bends and looks under the counter at the racks of demos, baring more creamy skin.
"Yeah, it's actually under 'Obvious Indie'." I say, referring to the masking tape labels on the shelf holding the shop's collection. I give the customer a sort of embarrassed look and he snorts. "If you have, uh, time that is." I shrug a shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's hear it. This is for my daughter's birthday," the guy says. "So if there's another good one, I'd definitely like to get it for her."
Scorpius pauses Ornette and puts the new CD in the player. "How old is she?"
"Turning sixteen. I'm trying keep her mind open to stuff beyond what's on the Sirius XM Number Ones station," the guy says.
I guess that's pretty cool. Taking an interest in and trying to relate to your kid.
I stick around to see the guy's reaction as the first bright notes of the album explode into the space around us. It is really good.
"I love this!" Scorp says. "I'd never heard it either," he shares, eyes bright on the customer, who is nodding his head to the beat. The guy smiles and looks even more relaxed. Scorpius is so fucking good with people, it blows my mind.
After two tracks the guy, ("Jeremy" — thanks to Scorpius, we're all good friends now) is sold and Scorp rings the additional sale. Jeremy thanks us profusely as he leaves.
I feel good in spite of myself.
"That was great, Albus!" Scorp says, smacking the counter.
"Whatever." But I smile. I can't help it. It embarasses me—I never smile—so I look down, then I can't help looking back up. Scorpius is watching me, his lips parted and eyes a little unfocused. His cheeks are pink. I breathe in, then clear my throat and move in the vague direction of Prog Rock again.
The Shins play on and I try not to dwell on the effect of a wash of color on pale skin. Or the way eyes can be soft and intense at the same time.
"This is interesting and syncopated too, isn't it?" Scorpius's voice is close and I startle as I look up. He's standing right there, a few inches taller than me and so near I can smell the faint vanilla scent that seems to cling to him. Is it a lotion? A hair product? What his skin would taste like if I licked it?
I brush my hair out of my eyes. Stupid curls are the bane of my existence. "Uh, yeah. I guess it is," I say, kind of surprised. I'd never made the connection. "Do you really like it?"
Scorpius holds eye contact. "I really like it," he says softly. I feel his words right up the column of my spine. I just look at him for a minute. His eyes aren't pale blue like I'd thought—they're grey.
Who the fuck has grey eyes and platinum hair without the help of science?
I blink and my mouth does something weird where it talks without the permission of my brain. "If you like them, there's a show on Saturday. At The Joint. Good local band and these guys are clearly an influence on them. We could go. If you wanted. Or you could go and I would be there. Or not. Either way. You might like them though." I can feel my neck getting hot as I'm talking and talking like a fucking dumbass.
Why the hell would Scorpius Malfoy want to go to a beer-soaked hole like The Joint with a social reject/asshole like Albus Potter? How fucking absurd. I wish the floor would open up and swallow me.
But then the grey eyes glow and the impossibly long lashes go down. I know he's going to tilt his head before he does it and my heart starts to race. "I thought you'd never ask," he finally says.
My mouth opens and closes and opens again. "You thought I'd—" I'm having real trouble understanding what is happening right now.
"Well yeah," he says. Like it's obvious or something.
"Well I'm, uh, asking." God, my face feels like it's on fire. I'm half elated/half mortified.
Scorpius smiles and it's like a shooting fucking star. "What should I wear?"