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Remus looks up at the lights adorning the wall above the door, twinkling a little too slowly for this version of jingle bells, and it's enough to make his teeth itch in irritation. Still, he forces his way through the throngs of people until he gets to the back of the store, where he knows the men’s clothes are displayed. Remus starts, unfortunately and uncomfortably, in the underwear section and fights his averting eyes the entire time. Just the thought of having to buy his dad something and seeing any underwear at all is enough to have him visualising his dad in them, and he’d rather beat himself to death with a mannequin leg than keep that thought in his mind.
When he finally reaches the jumpers and coats, it’s almost deserted, and he can touch the pieces, trying to decide whether the very fibres themselves would suit his dad. Honestly, he’s not sure why he's going through this much trouble.
He’s never done more than novelty socks, but maybe that's precisely it; he’s become predictable. He’d veered past his mam’s fave perfume, albeit selfishly because if he smelled it one more time, he would retch. He’d bought her a fancy-looking handbag to replace the old threadbare thing she’s using now, and he doesn’t think it’s a bad gift at all, considering how far it is out of his comfort zone.
So, that just leaves his dad. “You can’t get any further away from socks than a jumper or a jacket,” he muses quietly as he reaches for the inside of a sheepskin coat before physically recoiling from the texture. “Well, that’s certainly not it,” he shakes his head, wiping his fingers on his jeans as he delves deeper into the racks. There’s a soft blazer, but it’s a little too similar to the brown one his dad wears for work, although this is a pale grey. It’s still lovely, but it’s not quite right.
“What do you even buy for the man who has everything?”
“ Well .”
The voice ahead of him jerks him out of his reverie. He drops the sleeve of the ocean blue cable knit jumper he’d been touching (not suitable for his dad) as if he’d been caught almost stealing the stupid thing. He looks up at the voice, finding the amused eyes of a guy a fair few years younger than him, if his smooth face is anything to go by. His dark hair is long enough to curl around his ears and chin, and somehow it makes him look both playful and professional. Remus rubs at the most obvious scar on his face, which bisects his nose, before he drops his hand again. He can’t help but think that this guy probably has fewer scars on his entire body than Remus has on his left hand.
“I’d think that having someone like you out shopping for him is already a pretty good gift, hmm?”
Remus, half-surprised by how nicely this man is talking to him, is taken aback a second time when he processes his words. “What?”
The man nods, flicking through the coats on the rack in front of him, eyes cast down as he looks at the sizes, presumably. “It’s the thought that counts, or so I’ve heard.”
Remus casts a brief eye behind him, feeling as if he’s looking for witnesses before he speaks quietly over the clothes. “I can’t exactly show up empty-handed.”
He lifts his head, raking his eyes up Remus’ body so thoroughly he feels like the man is touching him. “You’ll get away with wearing just the ribbon meant for the gift. It’ll be fine.”
“Why would-I can’t wear a bow ,” he flushes at the very thought, shaking his head as he fights a smile at this very flirtatious man who has this all very wrong. “No, I need an actual gift.”
“How big is he?”
Remus looks at the space beside him, trying to imagine how tall his dad is (or short, rather, when compared to Remus). “A few inches shorter than me.”
“Lucky guy.”
He looks over just in time to see the happy smirk on the still-unnamed man’s face.
“I assure he-” Remus shakes his head, but the guy interrupts him with a wave and a self-assured smile.
“Listen, maybe it’s just me, but I always think we need to have a little more confidence in ourselves. He obviously loves you-”
“Yes, but-”
“No buts, listen.” He stalks toward Remus, practically slamming his hands on Remus’ shoulders as if to stop his mind from wandering. All it does is show Remus exactly how much taller he is than this man, and it’s enticing, to say the least. “Buy a bow, or a bow tie if you’d rather look a little fancier. Get some chocolates, or go a step further and get a jar of good body chocolate. Honestly, you’d make his fucking holidays right there.”
“I think he might have a few problems with that, actually. One,” he waits until the guy nods at him, curious enough to keep quiet. “He’s my dad .”
The silence beats on for a second before the guy, still hanging onto Remus, practically drops his head to Remus' chest in laughter, coming up with tears in his eyes and a mortified look on his face.
“I’m so fucking sorry! This is what I get for butting into people’s monologues. I take that whole thing off the table. Forget I said any of it.” He straightens his t-shirt over his jeans and then his leather jacket before he looks around. “Now, what kind of man is your dad?”
“Really? You’re going to help me?”
“Why not? I already fucked up. It can only go up from here,” he winks as he stalks off, and Remus stares after him, captivated.
“How about a bomber jacket?”
Remus recoils, shaking his head. “God no, my dad would never wear a jacket like that. He’s,” he walks over to the other man, trying to look at him surreptitiously. “He’s kind of like me. Older, obviously. Very boring.”
The guy’s laugh echoes out again, and Remus wonders if everyone else is looking around for the source of the laughter the way Remus is soaking it in. “This whole thing,” he gestures between them, “has been far from boring, so you can’t be boring. Anyway, what about an overcoat? Single breast, I’d say?”
Remus lets out an undignified ‘huh’, which only makes the man laugh again.
“One of these,” he holds out a dark grey coat, which looks long enough to reach his dad’s knees.
“Um.”
“Ok, no to that one. What about a trench coat?”
“He has one.”
“And how old is it?”
Remus smiles, looking away from his new shopping friend before he simply has to look back. “Well, I’m 29, so it’s probably 30 at least.”
The guy smiles, passing him the coat. “Then try this. It’s a good style. Versatile.”
“What if he needs something warmer? And less like a black bag?”
The guy looks affronted, but chuckles, continuing to look around. “A gentleman’s coat,” he mutters as he wanders off, grabbing a light beige coat and turning to find Remus way too close. “What about this?”
Remus touches it, eyeing the colour, the cut, the buttons, all in a line, clean line down the centre, not the side like the other weird coat this guy had shown him. “It’s actually really nice.”
“How big is your dad?”
“A little taller than you.”
“Wow, a family of trees,” he winks at Remus as he pulls his leather off, passing it to a stunned Remus, who lets go of the coat when prompted. Then, the guy wanders off, and Remus follows blindly, gripping the softly worn leather jacket like a lifeline. He dips into the changing room, and Remus follows after looking around, wondering if this looks like what he thinks it looks like, wondering if it is what he thinks it looks like.
A curtain flutters and Remus heads toward it. After a moment's hesitation, he reaches for the curtain and peeks into the changing room. The guy turns in front of the mirror, straightening the coat as he makes eye contact through the glass, smiling gently.
“Well?”
Remus nods, thinking this man would look good in a ratty sheet.
“Am I close enough to his size? Do we need a bigger one?”
He shakes his head, swallowing roughly. “No, he’s thinner than you. Angular, my mam calls him.”
“Seems that might run in the family too,” he looks Remus up and down again. There’s a part of him, loud but small, that wants to crowd the guy into the changing room, pull the curtain closed, strip off every single item of clothing the man put on this morning. He ignores it, shaking his head, and drops his eyes to the coat again. He wants to find his own words to describe this man, just to even the playing field.
“No-that one’s fine,” he reiterates quietly. Just as he’s hoping for it, the man slowly drops the coat off his shoulders, and it’s enchanting.
“You know what?”
Remus shakes his head dumbly, and the resulting smile on the man’s face makes him wonder if he looks as stupid as he feels.
“I have a request. You know, seeing as I helped so much with this coat,” he shakes the offending piece of cloth to prove his point.
Remus, for his part, just continues nodding dumbly.
“Come on.” The guy-he really needs to ask his name-just grabs Remus' wrist and drags him along, stopping at a shortish grey coak. He eyes Remus again before flicking through the hangers for a specific size. He pulls it out with a devilish smile, holding it up to Remus’ chest with an indulgent nod. “Yeah. Go on, let me see it.
Remus is sure his blood is all missing. He’s stupid, the same way he sometimes feels when he’s turned on, but he’s not turned on now. Well, not much. Not visibly . He shrugs his old coat off, and the guy snatches it away quickly, swapping it with the new coat. When he’s got it on, he turns Remus around with his hand on his wrist again and pulls him to the changing room, trying to look at Remus’ reflection over Remus’ shoulder. He’s almost too short for that to work, and he topples off his toes into Remus’ back, but he holds himself steady there, their eyes connecting through the mirror.
“I really like that.”
Remus swallows before he looks at his actual reflection, but he's not sure.
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugs. “Isn’t it, I don’t know, a little short?” He pulls it down, feeling like it should be covering more or less. Pick one.
His fingers stop Remus’ hands, and their eyes meet again. “It’s perfect. Trust me. You really suit it.”
“You sure?”
He nods, and Remus knows there and then that this man isn’t lying to him, although he’s not sure how he knows that.
“Maybe I should get it.”
He nods. “A Christmas present for yourself.”
“Yeah. F’me.”
The smile that moves over his new something's face is beautiful, and he returns it easily.
“Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry I insinuated you were shagging your dad.”
Remus laughs loudly, covering his face and hoping the rest of the changing rooms are empty or that sounds awful .
“Forgiven, I promise.” Just as he starts shaking out of the coat, his fingers move to grip it, easing it off Remus’ shoulders. While he’s seen his dad do this a million times for his mam, it feels different being on the receiving end. Electric. Dizzying. Sweet.
He even helps Remus into his tatty coat, which is probably almost as old as his dad’s trench coat, seeing as it was his dad’s first.
He’s a creature of comfort.
It’s a flaw, he knows.
He doesn’t care.
“I-fuck, I should go,” the guy looks sheepish, and Remus is awakened to the idea that he has a life outside of this fucking sexually-charged changing room, and he nods quickly.
“Yeah, me too. Got my stuff,” Remus lifts both coats, and a flash of leather reminds him he still has this guy’s jacket, who looks almost surprised to see it.
“Oh, thanks.”
He flicks it on, a practised move, surely, and looks cooler in that one moment than Remus has looked in his entire life.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?”
Remus nods and watches as he leaves the changing room, offering Remus one last look over his shoulder before he’s gone. Remus leans against the nearest wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s still trying to recalibrate his entire fucking existence when he remembers that he doesn’t know this guy's name. He runs out of the changing room, spotting his shiny black hair a bit too far away to catch up to without running. Instead, his brain shuts down, and his mouth takes the podium.
“WAIT!” He yells, catching several people’s attention, including the shorter black-haired beauty, who turns with a smile wider than his cheeks.
“Yeah?”
“My name’s Remus.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Remus. I’m Sirius. Be sure to check all your pockets, will you?”
Remus looks at the coat in his hand, the one he’s wearing, and scavenges for what he hopes is this guy's number, thrilled when he sees a business card with an elegant script on the back.
‘I have a few more Christmas ideas, if you’re interested’ followed by his number. Remus looks up, smiling in victory, but he– Sirius– isn’t around anymore. No matter; Remus has his number. He runs to the last section for the day, at least for this shop, grabs what he needs, and pays quickly before running off to the shop he’s been in a handful of times already, probably. He smiles at the young woman behind the counter as he looks through the shelves, grabbing what he needs.
His mind is on how he’ll message Sirius later, what he’d say, what Sirius might say.
Excitement is running through his veins like the best drug in the world, and he’s thrumming when he gets home, locking the door and dropping most of the shopping in the hallway. He empties one of the bags on his bed, arranges the few items, snaps several pics before he’s happy, and sends one to Sirius.
‘How did you say I needed to gift wrap these?’
Attached are the innocuous jars of chocolate whip: dark chocolate and milk chocolate, as well as a soft silk bow tie, in bright red because it is Christmas, after all.