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The moon shines bright in the sky above a neon sign hovering high beside a pastel pink-and-blue building, signifying the restaurant as Mel’s Drive-In. A man dressed in all black pulls his motorcycle into an empty space in the lot, elegantly dismounting, and struts towards the door with only a slight waver in his drunken step.
It was a regular occurrence for Sirius to find himself at the diner in the early hours, only a few minutes’ ride from the clubs he loves to frequent and open 24/7 for a guaranteed hot meal any day he chooses to indulge in nightlife. This particular Saturday night Sunday morning found him at the Whiskey a Go Go, and after far too many shots and far more substances than he can recall, a nice meal will hopefully ensure future him won’t be too upset with him.
One thing magic can’t do too much about: hangovers.
He waits at the hostess stand for someone to bring him to his usual booth right by the entrance, beside the giant windows with a view of the street. The waitstaff all know him by name, and he tries his best to remember theirs too, though it can be a struggle considering he only ever greets them in various stages of intoxication. Tonight, he vaguely recalls, the tall blond has his section. Davy? Mikey? Something like that.
“Hey Sirius,” he chirps as he strolls up, right on time. He grabs a menu from the stand and leads him to his booth, setting the menu down as Sirius slides into the seat. “I’m heading out but my cover will be right with you. He’s new so go easy on him, yeah?”
Sirius nods and the waiter heads back towards the hostess stand, leaving him to his own devices. He uses the relative privacy to roll his shoulders and neck, grimacing from the soreness of dancing and other things practically all night, and reaches for the menu.
The new waiter walks up just as he’s deciding between pancakes or a sandwich, leather jacket hunched up on his shoulders and looking completely unlike his typical suave. The man pulls a pad of tickets from the pocket of his apron along with a pen, hovering the inked tip over the paper. “Good mornin’, I’m Remus. What can I get you?”
He isn’t American, just like Sirius. Yet his voice is a major contrast, soft and baritone compared to Sirius’ loud tenor. Sirius lifts his head up to answer him and-
Damn, he’s hot.
Brown strands drape over amber eyes, hair long enough to be messily fluffed atop his head but not nearly as long as Sirius’ own. His face is marked with silvery scars, most noticeably on his cheeks and chin, though one jagged line crosses the bridge of his nose and a sliver of a surprisingly well-groomed eyebrow. Dark bags rest under his eyes and his expression is slightly dazed, the late hour clearly taking a toll on him.
Those amber eyes drift over to Sirius’ features, thin lips parting gently as he tries and fails to inconspicuously check out his customer. Fair of him, Sirius thinks, as he’d been much more bold in his observation. And with the realization of him seeming interested, it’s all too easy to fall into his routine.
“You could start by getting me your number,” Sirius offers with a cocky grin, words just a little slurred.
He’s met with amusement sparking in the other man’s eyes, the faintest blush creeping across peach and silver. Though Remus shakes his head, watching as Sirius’s grin falters slightly. “I’m flattered, but I’m still on the clock. So, food?”
Sirius rolls his eyes and stares down at his menu, finalizing his decision in his head. “Fine, for now I’ll take a stack of pancakes and a coffee. Black.”
“I sense a theme,” Remus murmurs as he jots down the order on his notepad. He caps his pen and reaches for the menu with a pale and scarred hand, pulling it up to tuck under his arm. “If that’s all, I’ll have your food shortly.”
“Thanks, handsome,” Sirius hums. He watches in amusement as Remus’ cheeks light up and he hurries off without saying a word. Knowing his game isn’t anywhere near his best from exhaustion and intoxication, he wonders how the man would react when he can actually try to flirt.
True to his word, Remus rushes over Sirius’ coffee in what barely seems like the amount of time needed to even pour a cup, let alone get to the counter and back. Sirius reaches for the mug as soon as it’s set in front of him, happily sipping the near-boiling liquid.
“Isn’t that too hot?” Remus asks, eyebrow quirked at Sirius having already downed a good quarter of the steaming mug.
Sirius laughs and shakes his head, a dot of coffee dancing on his lip. “It’s fine, not nearly as hot as me so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Remus mumbles something that Sirius doesn’t catch, but if his continued flush is anything to go from, it’s something along the lines of an agreement to Sirius’ self-flattery. He hurries away before Sirius can say anything else, much to his dismay.
Tilting his gaze down to his coffee, Sirius drifts into his thoughts as he waits for the rest of his food. All pleasant, he finds, and if most of the thoughts concern his attractive waiter, that’s between him and the part of his brain that threatens to spill his mental word jarble directly to the aforementioned attractive waiter.
When Remus brings the pancakes, Sirius looks more than half-asleep slumped over his coffee. The waiter sets the plate down on the opposite side of the table and stands patiently, letting Sirius take his own time to register the arrival of his meal.
Sirius nearly jumps when the smell of pancakes finally drifts up to him, kickstarting his brain. He breathes a heavy sigh of relief and nods graciously at Remus, though it comes across much closer to an uncoordinated neck roll than an actual nod. “Thanks, appreciate it.”
Remus quickly scans their section of the diner. Luckily not many people spend their time in diners at three in the morning, aside from other bar patrons who tend to be much sloppier drunks than Sirius could ever be, so they’re in reasonable privacy.
“No problem, darlin’.”
And with that, he saunters off towards the kitchen.
Sirius takes a solid minute to pick his jaw off the floor. He can’t tell if he’s too gone or Remus is just that attractive, probably a hefty mixture of both. When he finally recovers enough to hold a fork he reaches for the syrup, dousing the stack of pancakes in a copious amount of sugary liquid.
Time slips by as he eats, though he quickly realizes it’s due to the exhaustion gnawing at his will to not fall asleep right in the booth. He hazily munches away at his pancakes, stealing glimpses at Remus as he waits on the few other occupied tables and occasionally ducks behind the counter to fetch items.
If they were at the club, he realizes, he’d ask Remus to dance with him. Take a couple shots, maybe even take him home. But in the middle of a diner where the hot man is his waiter, still fighting the pull of sleep, he’s far too out of his element for smooth talking.
Luckily for him, Remus steps in once the pancakes are polished off and coffee is long-since drained. He floats past the table and slips the bill onto the very edge of the laminate, pointedly leaving it face-up.
Sirius turns the paper over to see a Post-It with a messily scrawled phone number in bright blue ink, along with a signature and tiny heart. Perfect. He peels the note off of the bill and slips it into his pocket, finding himself involuntarily grinning.
He brings the bill up to the hostess stand to pay and Remus is already waiting for him, a shy smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He takes the bill and money from Sirius and opens the cash drawer, stealing glances at a very clearly giddy Sirius as he counts the cash. “So, did you get what you wanted after all?”
“Absolutely, I’d rate this experience a full five out of five stars.” Sirius reaches his hand out, drumming painted fingernails against the plastic of the cash register.
Remus chuckles, falling into silence while he doles out Sirius’ change before turning his attention away from the register to take a full look at Sirius’ face. “Oh! I didn’t catch your name, darlin’.”
Darlin’ is just fine, Sirius’ brain helpfully fills in, and he stares dumbly for a moment before remembering that Remus had asked a question. “Black. Sirius Black.”
Remus nods his approval, gathering Sirius’ change in his hand. “Like your coffee, I dig it.”
He offers the money to Sirius, who takes all but leaves a five-dollar bill as a tip, far more than the average twenty percent. Sirius tucks the rest of the money in his wallet and looks up, blue-gray eyes meeting his amber. “So I’ll be seeing you around then, Remus?”
“See me you shall, Sirius.” The man mimes a phone symbol and turns on his heel, heading back towards the counter.
Sirius steps outside and to his motorcycle, thankfully sobered by the coffee and pancakes. He climbs on and starts the ride back to his apartment, zipping down Sunset Boulevard.
And if his brain is occupied by plans for his first date with a certain attractive waiter, that’s nobody’s business but his own.