Work Text:
December 15
Remus Lupin was late. He dashed across the slushy pavement, his shoulder bag bouncing on his back. A wealthy couple had decided to strike up a conversation with him as his shift at the bookstore was ending and it had taken him a solid quarter of an hour to shake them off. Now, as he stepped off the sidewalk onto the road, a white car skidded by, splashing his tan pants with muddy water.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he stared down at the sopping mess his legs had become. His watch had stopped working days ago but force of habit had kept it on his wrist and he stared down at it now for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and taking off again.
~
The Melting Pot was an elegant restaurant, with valet parking, a cozy interior, and a reputation that kept people queuing up outside on even the dreariest of days. As Remus began to gently push his way through the crowd outside, he cursed this last fact. There were two entrances in the front of the restaurant and he strode through the one that said Employees Only, just as a group of four people dressed in long black overcoats appeared on the opposite side of the street, seemingly out of thin air.
As Remus ducked through the kitchen to the small room where staff members kept their coats and bags, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. Freezing mid-step, he turned around, an apologetic expression on his face.
“You’re late, Lupin,” William said disapprovingly. “And a bloody mess too, at that.”
“Sorry,” Remus said, biting his lip. “My other job ran late –”
William brushed off his apology with a waving hand. “Next time, next time,” he said distractedly. “Table twelve, okay? Five minutes. Oh, and cover up those –” he gestured to his nose – “scars.”
Remus nodded before turning around once more and entering the staff closet. He closed the door and hung up his coat and bag, before double checking that there were no footsteps coming towards him. Bending down, he reached into one of his brown boots and pulled out something that resembled a polished stick. Pointing it towards his legs, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The familiar warmth of a drying spell washed over him and the next moment, his wet pants were suddenly cleaner than they had been in a very long time. Stowing it away once more, he pulled off his blue t-shirt (Collectible Books: New and Old!) and rummaged through his bag for a black button down. His freckled, tanned back, now exposed in the small room, was just as scarred as his face. Moments later, however, it was covered up as Remus buttoned up his – albeit slightly crumpled – shirt. After running a hand through his hair, he slid his wand back into his shoe, made sure it was hidden, and opened the door. Checking the clock, he smiled. Two minutes left.
~
Sirius Black hated his family. He disliked their clothing, their voices, their disdain for the non-magical, their hatred of him… Yet tonight he had been dragged to a restaurant for his brother’s birthday – a date which seemed to stick in his mother’s head and push out everything about her eldest son, including the day of his birth, which was now just a little over a month ago.
“Mother, it’s right over there,” Regulus said, pointing across the street to the bustling restaurant. Walburga sniffed disdainfully, and Sirius grinned. His parents could complain about muggles all they liked, but it seemed to be a unanimously agreed fact in the wizarding world that the non-magical were the best chefs. His parents were rooted to the spot, as though taking the action to walk across the street would be a sign of weakness – a chink in the armor of their racist, supremacist ways of thinking.
Sirius sighed, pushed past his younger brother, and stepped off the sidewalk. After a moment of hesitation, Regulus followed, beckoning to their parents.
~
An Italian restaurant in the middle of London, The Melting Pot was a bustling hub for entertainment, food, and alcohol. As the Blacks settled down into their booth – Sirius and Regulus on one side, their parents on the other – they could hear the commotion through the thin wall and door that separated the kitchen from the dining area. Not a moment after they picked up their menus, the door swung open and a waiter with a scarred face came out, wearing tan pants, a black button down shirt, and an apron from which he took out a pen and pad of paper. Sirius smiled slightly. His name tag said Remus on it.
“Hi there! And how are we all doing tonight?” The man was cheerful, smiling as he passed out plates from the stack in the middle of the table.
“Wonderfully, thanks,” Sirius said, after a glance at his parents told him that they wouldn’t be talking.
“Can I get you something to drink?” He took out a pad of paper, uncapped the pen with his teeth, and poised his hand before looking up expectantly. This time, it was his father who spoke.
“A bottle of your best wine for the table,” he said, his grey eyes glaring at Remus.
“And a sprite for me,” Sirius added, smiling at his parents with a grin that implied he knew exactly how irritating this was for them.
Remus pocketed the paper and capped the pen, before smiling easily and walking off. Sirius let his gaze linger a bit on the way he carried himself, with loping strides and steady arms, before turning his attention back to his parents. As Walburga glared at him and Regulus sighed, Sirius thought, this will be a long night.
~
Remus lifted his arm to check his watch. Not there, idiot, a voice in his head snapped. He was in the corridor leading into the kitchens, keeping an eye on his tables through the glass window in the door – he was an expert at body language. At this point, all the families he was serving were immersed in deep conversation, not all of which was pleasant, if the look on the black-haired boy’s face was anything to go by. Remus cocked his head, watching creases appear on his forehead as he furrowed his brow. He started back the next moment as Lily came through the door, already ripping off a sheet of paper from the pad in her hand to place on the counter so that food could be made. Leaning on wall opposite from Remus, she followed his gaze and smiled.
“Your table?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“The family of four. Your table?”
Remus jerked his head away from the window guiltily and landed his eyes on Lily. Her red hair was tied into a knot on the top of her head, and her freckles appeared more pronounced in the glare of the kitchen light. “Oh, yeah…” he trailed off, trying to feign disinterest. As if out of habit however, his eyes wandered back to the figure he had been watching, who was now rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair.
“He’s cute,” Lily said helpfully.
Remus turned red. “I – I didn’t think – I mean, I didn’t notice that or –”
A shout came from outside the kitchen, and the two of them turned to look. It was a toddler, who had apparently taken a handful of pasta and thrown it into the long, blonde hair of the woman at the next table who was now screeching.
Lily sighed. “That’s my cue, I suppose.” She reached around Remus and grabbed a towel from the rack where they were kept, before turning around, walking backwards to the door. “His name is Sirius, by the way. I head it as I walked by.” Winking, she leaned back, opened the door, and disappeared.
Sirius. Remus toyed with the hem of his apron. That’s a nice name.
Across the restaurant, the woman in the black dress glared across the table, her lips pursed and creating words that Remus didn’t need to hear to know the meaning of. Sirius stood abruptly, clenching his fists and letting the napkin perched on his lap fall to the floor. His jaw was clenched and his face had gone pale. The person next to him – a brother, it seemed – tugged at his sleeve, and he sat back down, turning his head pointedly towards the ceiling.
Remus, who had started up, a hand ready on the door to prevent an explosion of tempers and horrific glances from other customers, relaxed once more. He had dealt with crying babies and crotchety old women and overly flirtatious teenagers and drunk college students, but breaking up fights was the one thing he dreaded above all.
He yawned. Reached up to rub at his face with his palms. But paused – there was no need to mess up the makeup that hid his scars…
Oh, gods, Remus thought, horrified. My scars. The distorted reflection in the metal door was enough to tell him that he had forgotten that aspect of getting ready for work. With a final glance at the tables he was serving, he slipped out of the door, walked purposefully towards the other side of the restaurant, grabbed his bag from the Employees Only closet, and entered the men’s restroom.
~
Remus hated his situation. He knew that others had it worse – there were sob stories everywhere, and the wizarding world had more than its fair share – and nobody felt pity for… well… for what he was. But the scars were a daily reminder of the monster that hid beneath his skin, and the makeup that he carried in his bag was a cage; protection for the outside world under which the monster could lurk, out of sight and out of mind.
Now, as he applied it by hand – magic was a bad idea when it came to appearances – he heard footsteps approach the door. Remus worked faster, hastily capping the tube of concealer just as the bathroom door swung open to reveal Sirius, disheveled and angry. Remus glanced up at the mirror, then busied himself with washing his hands. Professionalism. He was still working. But Sirius, rather than going into a bathroom stall, was pacing the tile floor in front of the sinks, scowling and moving his hands from his hair to his sides to the back of his neck, as if unsure what to do with them.
“Gods. Gods!” Sirius made a sound in his throat, a noise that was half a growl and half a hysterical shout
“You okay, mate?” Remus heard himself saying. His hands, he noticed, were still under the sink’s pouring water. He pulled them out and turned off the tap.
Sirius stopped pacing and stared with sharp eyes at Remus’s face. Remus could feel himself begin to blush. I shouldn’t have said anything –
“Your scars. Where did they go?” Sirius asked bluntly.
Remus began to go through his head for an excuse. There wasn’t a single one that wouldn’t make him sound vain or muddled or otherwise uncaring. As he opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out. “You noticed?”
Glancing at the tube on the counter, Sirius’s eyes flashed. They were a tumultuous grey and his black hair was tousled. He’s a storm, Remus thought.
“Why’d you cover them?” Sirius asked. He said it directly, with no emotions that Remus could detect.
Remus averted his eyes. Picking up the tube, he busied himself with putting it back in his bag. “They make people uncomfortable,” he said at last. As if to defend himself, he added, “Why do you care?”
Sirius laughed slightly, leaning against the wall opposite Remus. “If you haven’t noticed, you’re kind of cute. And the scars only make that even more noticeable.”
Remus could have sworn that his face was on fire. “You think I’m cute?” he asked, slightly shocked.
“Is that a problem?”
“No… no! Not at all…”
The two settled back into silence, each leaning against a wall. This time, however, the space between them was comfortable. Sirius was openly staring, and he smirked as Remus looked up, blushed, then laughed self-consciously.
“See? You’re cute!”
Remus laughed louder at that, then louder still as Sirius joined in.
“Your name is Sirius, right?” he asked. “Heard it in passing,” he added. Sirius nodded.
“So… what happened?”
Sirius paused. “What do you mean?”
Remus raised his eyebrows. “I mean, what made you come in here pacing and nearly tearing out your hair?”
Sirius blushed slightly at that. “Oh. My parents aren’t people who I am usually sane around,” he said. As if by compulsion, he added, “they aren’t okay with my decisions, most of the time.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but his averted eyes made Remus see that the situation was far from okay.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, I’ll be fine,” he replied, eyes sliding to Remus’s hipbones, then trailing over his torso. “I need a distraction,” he murmured.
“What was that?” Remus had seen the trail of his vision and blushed, suspecting the thoughts that were probably going through Sirius’s head.
“Are you into blokes?”
“What?”
“You know. A tosser.”
“Oh,” Remus ran a hand through the flop of hair covering his forehead. “Yeah, I suppose…”
“Can I kiss you?”
Now Remus was truly flustered. “I don’t think… I mean, that doesn’t seem very professional, me being your waiter and – oh –” Sirius had stridden over, taking Remus’s face into his hands. Now he looked him in the eyes.
“Please?”
They were so close, and Remus could feel their mingled breath hovering between the inches that separated their lips. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay.”
~fin~