"can i get a black coffee?" he asks me that everyday and it is with disdain that i notice it is christmas day and here he is inside this coffee shop and not at home where he should be. i get off in nearly ten minutes and then i will be on my way to meet with my parents who will most likely just stare at me over their tea with the utmost, secret disgust that makes me cringe. so i work slowly and delicately while there are only two customers in here and one other worker. She's in here until noon, but she doesn't mind because she's related to the owner. after i make this brew i'm allowed to take my apron off and leave because we both know that no one else is going to come into here today.
i don't ask him if he wants sugar because i know he doesn't, but he would like some peppermint to swirl in there so he can watch the peppermint be melted by the heat of the beverage. peppermint also calms the nerves, i wonder if he is nervous as i hand him a handful of peppermints before i turn to make his order.
i was never good at making coffee, because my hands aren't steady, but no one ever complains about the mess i make when my hand shakes too much and i spill something. instead, i actually get no reaction from the rest of the staff and the owner never pays me any less for my sloppy work. i fill the cup up halfway, spill a little on the counter, and then manage to fill the rest of the cup up. one time i spilled the whole brew on myself and had to be rushed to the hospital; now i have a slight scar on my right arm from the experience.
it takes me a couple more minutes to spill a little bit more of his coffee while trying to fit the lid on, which has his gaze softening a tad and i wonder who he is and what his story is. he is such a good looking man who must have some lady problems or perhaps he is free for the morning and will be off to christmas lunch with his family in a couple hours. i can't help but to look at him from under my lashes, which aren't too long and don't hide my gaze well, but i want to commit him to memory, because any day he could just stop coming and i would never see him again. he's beautiful, and i think he might not be human sometimes, because he's got these grey-blue eyes that look like a storm: looks like disaster, and they are the most beautiful pair of eyes that i have ever seen in my lifetime. he is a raven-haired beauty with a lean body and broad shoulders. i've wanted him since day one.
he accepts the steaming cup from my clumsy hands and then fumbles around in his pocket for change, "merry christmas" he says as he passes over a few more galleons than needed for payment and tells me to keep it. i don't know what compels me to listen to him, but i do.
dutifully, i murmur a "happy holidays" in return and watch him as he heads to his normal seat next to the window in the very back. then my gaze is dragged to the clock: nine on the dot. i abandon my apron and walk to the back the store, pretending to be putting something in the closet, but i want to talk to this man so badly that my hands are shaking again. from the corner of his eye, he watches me as i wrench the closet door open, spend a couple minutes in there doing nothing, and exit without anything in my hands.
"i didn't ask you if you wanted sugar or anything"
"you know me well enough by now i suppose"
"oh, well, uh do you-"
"remus, i'm alright with my coffee and peppermint. do you care for one?"
and that is how i ended up sitting across from sirius black who i knew nothing about besides the way he drank coffee and where he sat and his reading style. sirius black likes poetry more than he likes to let on; more than one occasion i've caught him with shakespeare or e.e. cummings or sometimes even dickinson. he reads classics too; don quixote was in his possession for weeks before he finished it and then started metamorphosis. the last time i saw him, he had been reading dickens. i could just fall in love with the way he devoured books with his eyes and how he was a chaotic reader. he underlines things, caresses the pages: flips through the book and then back a couple pages to read whole parts over. he dog-ears pages and when he rips a page, he'll spend there for a half an hour with tape trying to get it to fit back together perfectly.
i accept a peppermint from him and pop it into my mouth. "busy day for most, what're you doing working?" he asks, eyes lifting from his coffee to meet mine and i want to crawl back into my skin and take refugee where his stormy gaze can't reach me.
"my family doesn't like me much; i just planned on heading over for dinner later because otherwise i'll be eating alone"
he nods, taking a sip of his coffee. "aren't you going to ask about me?"
"why aren't you celebrating?"
with a wry smile, he replies surprisingly mild. "i was disowned last night"
"oh"
our attention is stolen by his coffee and i watch him slowly as he takes a deliberately long sip before setting his cup down and leaning onto his elbows. he appraises me slowly and i can see his eyes traveling me, taking me in like a piece of art and i want to flee because i am so pale in comparison to him with my scars and dirty blonde hair.
"spend christmas with me" i offer, which is way out of my character, but it is the season of giving and giving someone a proper christmas didn't seem like such a bad thing to do.
he raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "why?"
the thing is, i don't know why. for his question, i have no reasonable answer, so i just bite down on my peppermint and get up from my seat across from him. this is me giving up; he stands up with me.
"i never said no" he mutters, which makes me think that maybe he is just wanting a friend, or maybe he is just lonely. either way, i'm not going to be the one to abandon him today.
i warn him that i don't have much food, so he requests that we stop by his house to pick up some canned dishes. when i enter the complex, he leads me up the stairs and into the room marked A6. Inside the rooms are all painted light blue and i notice paint splatters on the walls and floors and i contemplate the chances of sirius also being a painter.
in his kitchen, he rustles through cabinets while i snoop through a notebook on his table that simply has 'i fell in love with a stranger today' written on it in black marker. something warm courses through my veins as i read the words over and over. when i flip the page, i find a date on the back, but it isn't a date i can recall as pertaining to anything of importance.
sirius catches me red-handed, but he is grinning and carrying piles of green beans, peas, beans, fruits, and a bag of potatoes. this side of him has a small smile appearing on my face as something pulls on my heartstrings like they are an instrument that needs to be handled carefully.
fleetingly, i wonder if there is a red piece of thread connecting us, but looking over at his hands reveals that there isn't any thread involved.
"ready? we're going to eat great"
and his optimism is just what i've always wanted and needed from life.
he declines my offer to take some of the cans and instead asks me if i have the money for a taxi or if i live close. well, i didn't have the spare change for a taxi and nope, i didn't live all that close unless we want to walk all morning. i tell him this and he just smiles. "i have a couple galleons in my pocket"
a couple turned out to be more than any normal person walked around with, but i don't comment on it and i definitely don't let my surprise register or show on my face as i take out some money and then go down to catch a taxi to take us to my home. then it dawns on me that i'm taking this stranger home with me and trusting him way more than i should trust a stranger, and he is trusting me as well. to me, this is odd and frightening, but it is enthralling too. especially when it has been such a long time since i have had someone trust me or someone to trust.
after i flag down a taxi, i climb into the backseat and sirius follows after me, watching me as i give the taxi driver my address and he grunts in response and pulls away from sirius' place.
"aren't you going to ask how i'm so well off?"
i jump in response at his voice, which is so smooth and quiet. i look over towards the driver before answering him. "none of my business really" i reply, my voice dropping and sounding hoarse. for a split second i consider throwing myself out of the car because there is no way i'm impressing this stranger no matter how hard i try.
his smile grows. "i like you"
and sirius black, i think i'm starting to like you too, very much.
xx/xx
we arrive at my house at nearly noon, which makes sirius anxious as he shakes his leg the whole car ride and stares out the window before just falling asleep beside me, head lolling onto my shoulder and cans rolling out of his hands and into the empty space between our legs. i pay the driver and gently prod sirius awake, which has him clutching the cans in his arms tighter, and i notice the ripple in his muscles when he flexes them and for some odd reason, my cheeks are turning pink. hurriedly, i wish the taxi driver a 'happy holidays' and then collect the falling cans before following sirius out of the taxi.
"you live here?" sirius inclines his head to my home which is ratty and ancient, but something glimmers in his eyes like he loves this old house and he wants to seek solace from it. "brilliant"
i run ahead of him so i can unlock the door while he examines some of the flowers in the garden and i know he wants to ask me if i garden, but i don't. most of those flowers are dead and i won't plant anything new or remove the dead flowers from the soil. that was my mum's job, but she doesn't come around too often anymore. i doubt she really gives a fuck about the flowers.
it isn't that my parents hate me, on the contrary. they love me very, very much. but they stay away because they feel like somewhere along the parenting road, they went very, very wrong. now they feel guilty when they look at me and they see all the scars on their precious son. and i think that somewhere along the way i must have gotten the word homosexual branded on my forehead because that's all i am to them anymore.
"welcome to my home" i say to him as i hold the door open for him. he walks in and goes straight to the kitchen like he knows this house just as well as he knows his own. inside the kitchen, he deposits the cans and potatoes onto the counter and then goes to fix tea.
i swear that my heart has just stopped beating in my chest and i'm completely dead. it is rare for me to receive kindness from anyone, let alone strangers. this is a christmas miracle, or something like it, because sirius black is literally perfection in the form of a human being. i make my way into the kitchen and watch him with wide eyes. he notices, freezes, and a hand goes up to muss his hair.
a small blush appears. "i didn't even ask. i'm sorry"
in response, i just smile at him and nod to hopefully tell him without words that it is more than fine and he seems to get it as he turns back to the tea kettle. i want to talk, but suddenly my throat feels like it has closed and so i just sit there and focus on breathing until the tea is made and sits in two cups (which it takes him one try to guess what cabinet the cups are in) in front of each of us on the table. he folds his hands and smiles at me.
then words come to me. "i feel like i've known you for awhile"
sirius shrugs, as simple as that, as though it doesn't even matter that it feels like i could fall into him and never leave his world. to me, this is startling and scary. "can i start a fire later?" he asks, drawing me out of some of my thoughts.
i nod, looking over towards my fireplace. honestly, i can't recall the last time i used it, but i remember how my mother and father loved to read in the glow of the firelight. when i look back at sirius, he is looking around the house with his hands around the teacup and they are monstrous in comparison to the small cup.
the silence we settle into isn't uneasy or awkward; it is comfortable. so when he breaks it, i jump a tad in my seat and my unsteady hands shake and spill some of my drink onto the table. "remus john lupin, how'd you manage to get those scars?"
his voice is soft and he doesn't try to pry answers out of me. his eyes never leave mine; they don't travel across all of my scars. in his gaze, there is no disgust, only curiosity. "which ones?" i ask.
but then i'm talking about them without meaning to and i start with the easiest to explain, "this one is from spilling coffee on me, i burnt myself and burns can scar too i guess, but i might have cut my arm on something because i used to work at a deli and i was prone to have clumsy hands"
"i never self-harmed but i do nick myself on sharp things all the time" i confess, looking down to my hands and then back up to sirius, who is watching me and he knows that i'm not telling the full stories, but no one has ever asked before because everyone already knows. it was all in the newspaper.
when a seven year old boy was taken, raped, tortured for three years. when his uncle was taken to jail for it because the little starving boy lost so much weight he could squeeze through the bars in his cage and sneak out of the house. everyone knew the story of the boy who was so bloody and beaten that after escaping the house, he only made it down the street before he collapsed in the side of the road and was found by some passerby. the doctors said the boy should've died long ago and had been a living skeleton for much too long. his parents didn't even know he was missing at first and waited a week before reporting him as such. now they can't even look at him.
i can't look at them either, even though it isn't their fault.
i don't even realise i'm crying: tears hot and streaming down my cheeks and i let go of my teacup, which i'm holding off the table and it shatters as it smashes into the wood and the contents spill everywhere. and i'm apologising over and over for it and for living and i'm expecting sirius to leave right now, so when he pulls me from the seat and leads me onto my armchair, i'm shocked. he sits down on the chair, pulls me onto his lap and holds me like no one has ever held be before. i have been so depraved from love that in this perfect stranger's arms, i accept it blindly.
i should never trust anyone in my life again, but i need someone to trust. i want it to be him.
so i cry for awhile, until his tea has gone cold. and once i'm reduced to sniffles, i tilt my head back carefully, moving out from underneath his chin and i brush my lips across his jaw. right on his neck is where i place a soft kiss, and i wonder how many people have kissed him here and if they made him weak at the knees; if he loved them; if he still loves them.
his breath hitches when i kiss him there, so i move my lips down and press kisses all along his neck before he moves away slightly as though he's come to the realisation that i'm a stranger and that he doesn't want me to be touching my lips to him. "remus, just because i'm here doesn't mean-"
"please i want to kiss you" and that is the end of the argument, because suddenly i'm sitting up in his lap and my lips are folding over his while his hands drop down to my hips; my hands go up to rest on his cheeks. here i am, kissing this man that i haven't spoken to before today except to ask his order at the coffee shop. this man who i've secretly admired and craved to know more about.
surprisingly, his lips are soft and gentle and when he moves into the kiss more, i am completely shocked by how his actions are gentle, but he isn't treating me like i'm fragile. hesitantly i slide my tongue across his bottom lip and underneath my hands i can feel him quiver before parting his lips so my tongue can slide across his slowly.
then i realise what the bloody hell i'm doing and i pull away, but slowly because as ashamed i am of myself, i don't want to move away from sirius black. but then our lips are separating and i'm climbing off his lap so i can go and clean the mess up in the kitchen.
it is with desperation that i scrub at my face and then the table, which has had time for the tea to soak into the oak and stain it permanently. i dispose of the shattered remains of the teacup and jump out of my skin when sirius promises to buy a new set for me: a christmas gift. "okay" i respond despondently as i stare hard at the wooden table and think of how idiotic i am.
"you do know that it is okay to kiss me right? i'm not- it wasn't-" but he doesn't really know what he is trying to say and i'm not exactly sure what i'm feeling. "you are very generous for letting me just spend christmas with you"
when i turn around though, he isn't there and suddenly i feel very, very alone and very, very sad. although a curse from down the hall instantly has relief rushing through me: he wasn't leaving! "bathroom?" i call.
"where the bloody fuck-"
i hold back a chuckle, "around the corner, mate"
now everything is slightly awkward, which makes it time to start dinner. for the record, my clumsy hands have made me prone to ordering take out or fixing simple meals. today though, it is christmas and i'm certainly not having sirius eat noodles or something else from the cabinets. anyway, i bought a ham just for today. so quickly, i start the process of prepping everything. sirius comes out just before i slide the ham into oven and i turn to face him after i close the oven door.
"you don't have a tree up" he notices, blinking slowly as though he is completely confounded by this development and i've committed some kind of crime.
i point towards the fireplace, towards a box that is propped up against the wall adjoining the wall the fireplace is located on. "haven't had the time to put it up" and after the words leave my mouth, i reach up to find a couple pots so i can start vegetables later. then i move out of the kitchen, catching the time and saving it so i know how long i have left before the ham is done.
then we head over to the box which holds my christmas tree which shouldn't take too long to assemble and he begins to open it while i try and remember which box holds the ornaments; even though i don't have a lot, i have enough to be used and make the tree not look so barren.
the tree, when assembled, is a skinny thing with thin branches and sirius makes a joke how it is perfect for me before pinching my arm and asking where the ornaments are. i lift the square box off from the floor and put it on the coffee table so neither one of us has to bend all the way down to reach into the nearly empty box. he reaches in and pulls out a gingerbread man who is made of clay and painted painstakingly. all the details are perfect and he holds it gingerly and something in my chest tightens as he hangs it. "my mum made that one when i was about five. she was great with paint"
sirius smiles. "we never had homemade ornaments. the first time regulus made one, mum threw it into the fire"
well then, his family sure sounds nice.
i pull out some christmas bulbs and hang them onto the tree. all of them are hand painted of course and as much as i shouldn't be so sentimental, i am. sirius helps me with the few other projects, bulbs, and paper angels/snowflakes before stepping back and appraising our handiwork. "the star" he whispers with a sense of urgency and i look back into the box: it isn't in there. it must still be in the storage closet, so i tell him to hold on a tic and go to fetch it.
sure enough, it is in the closet, inside a small box, and i take it out to him and he urges me to place it atop the tree. even with how tall i am, i'm still a little bit shorter than the tree, so when i reach onto my tiptoes, sirius clasps his hands around my waist until i've got the star in place. when i'm back on my feet, he releases my waist and beams at the shitty looking tree.
everything is so perfect that i go to turn the radio on to christmas tunes; i've honestly never been more invested in this holiday than i am now. even though there aren't any presents to open and no family to spend time with, i've got a sirius black and he is all i need.
sirius black loves singing along to christmas music, and dancing as well, even though he is mediocre at both of these tasks. he knows how to waltz and doesn't hesitate to sweep me into a sillier version of one, all the time laughing and his cheeks turning an absolutely heartwarming, attractive pink colour. he's happy and somehow i find that this is probably one of the best things in the world: sirius black happy and flushed, laughing, alive and animated.
i want to kiss him again.
it hits me like a tonne of bricks and happens just as his hand comes to rest on the small of my back and he pulls me in against his chest as we slow to a gentle sway because we are both out of breath from dancing around. all i have to do is lean forward and my lips are going to be hovering over his. i don't have to learn forward.
he does that for me.
he takes me into our second kiss with a gentleness that was absent in the first kiss and his hands leave my back and cup my cheeks. his thumbs brush across my cheekbones and i want to keep kissing him forever. he tastes like tea and peppermint and i crave that simple taste. i feel like this isn't something that is going to go away simply, so my breath catches as he moves away and comes back in to kiss me again and again.
"hello, my beautiful stranger" sirius says in hushed tones before letting go of me and heading off in the direction of the kitchen.
standing there for a moment, i lick my lips and close my eyes; still able to feel the ghost of his lips against mine before i realise that i've forgotten to check the ham and start the vegetables. and when i turn around, sirius black is in my kitchen, setting pots out to boil.
he cooks with a fluidity that i'm instantly jealous of, but i also admire it. his hands don't shake and soon enough we are just waiting for the food to be done, with him stirring something or other every once awhile. he's making carrots, green beans, and radishes; i don't ever recall having tried radishes and i wonder if he even likes them. but then i remember that the vegetables are from his home and why would he buy vegetables that he doesn't like? he apologises for the lack of potatoes and beans; says that they didn't have enough time unless i didn't mind the ham being cold.
we both would've minded if the ham was cold.
i set the table with a tablecloth that is miraculously still white from years of use and there is temptation for candles, but i hold back that urge and instead break out my only bottle of wine which i hope sirius will approve of: it is red wine, the only type i can stomach. i get the glasses and fill both up midway and pull two plates down from the cabinet next to me and hand them to sirius so he can make the plates. i also get the silverware and sit down to eat.
he asks if we should pray: asks if i pray. i tell him that i do, especially on holidays. "i'll humor you with grace then" and he says grace along with me, but admits that he isn't too much of a religious man, but he isn't not a religious man. i admire him even more in some odd way because he is skeptical, but willing to accept something at the same time. he's open-minded and he is hesitant. he is perfect.
he's right-handed while i'm left and it isn't an awfully normal thing to be left-handed, so i catch him watching me for a moment before a smile appears on his face and he looks down into his plate. i'm different, i know he is thinking about it, how different i am, but whether it is good or bad things is up to his mind.
he eats systematically and quickly; first his carrots, then green beans, then radishes, then the ham. he carved it and did a beautiful job at it. i feel like a messy eater compared to him when the only thing i do differently is eat whatever i manage to pick up with my fork. he's got manners too; his elbows don't sit on the table, when he reaches to his wine, he doesn't reach across his food, he wipes his mouth with a napkin every so often. i wonder if he was taught to do all of this.
"the ham is really good" he comments when he finishes his plate. the whole thing is clear and i can't help but to smile and look down at my plate which still has food here and there. i murmur a thanks and stand up to take the dishes to the sink, but he gets up before me and puts the food up in the fridge before depositing the dirty plates and pots into the sink. he tells me to fix cocoa while he does the dishes and i listen to him obediently even though i shouldn't be allowing a guest to do my dishes, but he doesn't feel temporary and i pray to god that he isn't temporary. i want him forever.
i busy myself with fixing the cocoa, grabbing the mugs from the cabinets and setting the stove so we'll have warm cocoa. while waiting on it to heat up, i sneak sidelong glances at sirius who is elbow deep in bubbles. i'm guessing that this is one of his first times at doing dishes because he is careful and delicate as he handles the glassware.
the dishes are clean a couple minutes after i finish pouring the cocoa into mugs and going in search of marshmallows which i know i have, but i'm not sure of just where exactly and by the time i have found them, i find sirius settled into the couch with a fire roaring in the fireplace.
if you have never gotten to see someone you think is beautiful illuminated in firelight, then you will never be able to experience the warmness i held in my chest at that exact minute, but coming upon sirius with two steaming mugs in my hand wasn't a smart decision because he took my breath away. his skin was pure porcelain and glimmered just slightly with the shaking flames that lick and crackle. his smile when i approached him was enough for me to settle down onto the couch and never leave his side: it was inviting and warm. everything about him glowed in the firelight and made him so much warmer and somehow more beautiful.
i hand him a mug and fold my legs underneath me as i take the seat beside him. "haven't had that fireplace roaring for awhile now" i comment with a faraway kind of look.
he wraps an arm around me, scoots closer to me and then takes a sip of his hot cocoa. "christmas makes you really shine, remus"
that confuses me because nothing makes me shine, but i appreciate his compliment. i hold it close, but bat it away. "thanks, but really it doesn't"
there isn't an argument. he doesn't try to get me to understand his compliment and i don't try to understand what he means. we both settle into a respectable silence while sipping at our cocoa and burning our tongues. eventually the fire dims down and i set my mug down and toss another log in.
when i lean back, i'm enveloped into his embrace and he pulls me to him and i cuddle up next to him as close to him as i can. my eyes flutter shut, but he doesn't really do anything other than hold me close; i can feel his breath on the side of my neck.
i'm drowsy and it takes no time to drift off to sleep; i am greedy though and desperately in my state, i try to mumble the words, to think them loud enough for a christmas miracle to happen. i wish for sirius to still be here in the morning, for this to not have been a dream, for me to finally have someone who loves me (maybe), who wants to spend time with me, who isn't using me. my thoughts are desperate and if i even shout a prayer in my head for god to please let me keep sirius black.
in the morning, i wake up in my bed, which isn't where i fell asleep and i curl up into a tight ball and reach out to stretch my arms and feel around. and there is no one in the bed with me, i'm sleeping alone and suddenly, i spring out of my bed because i realise everything that happened yesterday and then-
i smell eggs frying in the kitchen.