You're not nervous. You're not.
It's not like it's a blind date, anyway. You know Sirius Black. Kinda. Lily's the one who set you up, coordinated it all and assured you he's keen to go on a date. You're pretty sure you've spoken to him a few times at parties, been at the pub at the same time. You know what he looks like, at least. Hair that never gets brushed, rings in his ears and nose, a smile that seems mischievous and genuinely carefree at the same time.
He's not as measured as Remus, a bit less puppy dog than James. If you'd been asked in a silly gossipy way which of the trio you'd pick, it would be him.
You just don't want to hope too hard.
Though it's taken a while, you are perfectly aware of and secure in your value and personality. You are "a fucking catch," as Marlene often says, and even if she and your other friends didn't assure you of it, you'd think so. You're prickly, sure. You're quiet in most situations, preferring to observe and go home when you've had enough. You don't laugh much, don't tell jokes. You stand at the edge of the group because that's where you prefer to be.
It's okay that you're not everyone's cup of tea. People have told you before that you should talk more, you should be more present, you should do more things. You're fine as you are and anyone who thinks otherwise isn't worth your time.
So the fact that Sirius is a few minutes late doesn't bother you that much. The bar isn't super crowded and you're sat a pretty comfortable stool snacking on the olives the bartender put out when you arrived. If he doesn't show you'll just get a drink and read the book in your bag and go home and call Lily and you know she'll lay into him.
But just as you consider it, there's a warm hand on your shoulder and you turn to find the man in question grinning at you sheepishly. His name rolls off your tongue.
"I'm so sorry," he says. "Had to take the bus and obviously it wasn't on time. Can I hug you hello?"
You appreciate him asking. Something about you tends to put people off of touch, though you don't usually mind it. "Hi, Sirius," you say, standing to give him a squeeze. He's warm and smells like tobacco and mint, like he popped one on his way over.
"Have you been here before?" He peels off his leather jacket and sits next to you, signaling for the bartender. "Do you want a drink?"
"Yes, and yes," you say. "The Sex on the Beach is quite good."
His eyebrows rise to his hairline and he grins. You keep your face neutral. "Not what I would have picked for you," he muses. "But I trust you." He asks the bartender for two.
"What would you have picked for me?" You pop an olive into your mouth.
Sirius thinks on it. "Stout pint," he says. "Or whiskey." His gaze very quickly travels the length of you as much as he can, sitting so close. "You look lovely, by the way."
That almost gets you to smile. "You do, too," you say instead. "Is that a new earring?" You reach for it without thinking but he doesn't flinch away. A gold star dangles from his right ear instead of the hoop you remember him having last time you saw him.
His grin gets impossibly bigger. How is that he can smile every second of every day? "So glad you noticed, love," he says. "It sure is. It's got a story, too. Something you might not know about me is --"
He talks and talks and talks. Your drinks come and he tells you the story and then another one and you find that you don't mind listening. It feels like Sirius is talking to you, not at you, even though it's clear he could charm a brick wall. He doesn't seem to mind that you only nod or make affirmative noises rather than chime in or laugh, answering his questions for you in just a few words. He just seems to want your attention, which he certainly has.
"And then James genuinely looked at me and said I thought they were the same thing."
The story is funny, sure, but Sirius's own laughter at his joke makes you smile. You feel it happen, feel the corners of your mouth lift and a chuckle make its way out of you.
"You have a pretty smile," Sirius says. He looks about two seconds away from poking it to see if it's real.
"Are you telling me to smile more?" you ask.
That seems to fluster him. You don't think you've seen him flustered before. He runs a hand through his unruly curls, ties them up into a half-up half-down bun thing with the hairband on his wrist. You wonder if his hair is soft.
"I, no," he stumbles. Who knew Sirius Black could stumble over his words? "I wouldn't. That's not something you say to a girl --"
You put a hand on his arm. His skin is warm, the ink that covers it smoother than you expected under your fingers. "I'm teasing, Sirius," you say.
His grin returns twice as strong. How can he flip between emotions so quickly? "You are? Oh, thank fuck."
His profanity makes your lips tug up. You take a sip of your drink and knock your knee with his.
"Hang on," he says. "If you're teasing me that means you must like me."
"What do you mean?" You genuinely want to know.
"Well," he says. "We don't really know each other, even though I've been trying to work up speaking to you at every one of Lily's parties this year, which is why she agreed to set us up, by the way, so I'd stop bothering her about it."
You want to interrupt because, what? but he keeps talking. His gaze is steady, eyes fixed on yours.
"But I get the impression that you don't let just anyone see how many sides you have."
Something in your chest is tight and warm. Is that your heart?
"Sides?" you mutter. "A cube, am I?"
He laughs. Loudly and genuinely. You don't fight the smile this time. Sirius puts his hand on your knee and leans in a little. "I'm not great with words, love," he says. "That's Remus."
"You're plenty great," you say bluntly. "And I guess you're right."
"Hmm?" He blinks a few times and you realize how long his lashes are, his eyeliner making his irises look impossibly big.
"I must like you."
Not a bad first date after all.
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