Knowing that love is to share,
Each one believing that love never dies
Watching their eyes
And hoping I’m always there
I want her everywhere,
And if she’s beside me
I know I need never care
Remus hums pleasantly under his breath, tapping his fingers against the counter as he flips the page of his book. God, does Paul McCartney have a way with his words, he thinks. Eventually as the song extends into chorus, he can’t help but sing along with what he thinks is quite frankly not just a song but the most beautiful display of love he has ever seen. Maybe that’s an exaggeration but who cares. Not Remus, anyway.
Unbeknownst to him, now engrossed in the song, slouched in the rickety chair with his eyes shut and legs up against the espresso machine, the door opens and in walks a customer. Remus, in a tranquil state, warbles out the song in a voice that he knows is absolutely abhorrent but honestly can’t bring himself to care because it’s not as if there’s any customers at the moment. So it’s fine. Right?
He hears a disturbance in the song. Must be dust on the record again, for fuck’s sake. He grumpily opens his eyes to inspect the disc but then hears the noise again. A cough. He shuts his eyes again, this time in utter humiliation, and turns around.
“Uh, hi? Sorry for… bothering you?”
Remus exhales rather dramatically, feeling no urgency to respond because yes, he was feeling quite bothered actually.
“Don’t be. What would you li-“
Fuck me. Remus had now opened his eyes and stood in front of him has to be the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid his eyes on. The Beatles can bloody wait if this is the aforementioned ‘disturbance’ that made him turn away. His wind-swept black hair just brushed his shoulders, from which a worn leather jacket hung. Without a prior thought, his eyes slowly worked downwards, taking in the baggy blue jeans, adorned with a studded belt and cuffed to show off his cherry red Docs.
Jesus Christ. He cleared his throat, now aware that he had literally just eyed the poor man up and down. Come on, Remus, where’s your professionalism gone?
“Apologies, what can I get for you today?”
“An iced latte please,” the man smirks, his voice smooth and southern with the classic London dignity. Remus delights in the fact that this reveals a little dimple in his cheek. As he moves his head to speak, the black curls fall out of his face and Remus, who is still hungrily taking in the man while trying his best to not show it, spots a glinting silver eyebrow piercing. And oh my god, that does it. He’s definitely weak in the knees now. Stop it Remus, stop acting like a teenager and just give the man his damned iced latte.
“Of course” he replies with a hopefully perfectly normal smile, and turns to the coffee machine. The embarrassment creeps back up on him, and he feels heat spreading to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Oh joy, even better. Not only was he singing like a mauled cat but now that’s topped off by looking like a tomato. Or a beetroot, he thinks, could be more accurate. He really needs to get that poxy door bell fixed.
Placing the drink on the counter while trying not to tip it over is quite a task with the man’s gaze upon him. He desperately tries to not make eye contact with him but well, those bright silver eyes are obviously sexy, and the man obviously knows it, and no one can deny that Remus is a weak, weak man. When their eyes meet, he swears he feels his face turn a whole shade darker. The man takes his drink, that lovely smirk playing across his face again.
“So, you like the Beatles, huh?”
“Yeah, I don’t know how you worked that one out,” he replies bashfully, fumbling with the card machine.
The man laughs, really laughs, and honestly Remus is now confused because that was an abysmal attempt at a joke, actually shockingly bad. But he won’t complain, laughter suits him, although he supposes any emotion could suit you with a face like that.
“Yeah I know, real tough one that was.” He retorts. “I love this song, it’s just the epitome of romance. Whoever Paul wrote that for is one lucky bugger.” Despite himself, Remus lets out a giggle, yes, a giggle (god, what is he, a 13 year old girl?). He cannot believe he’s found someone who is clearly on the same wavelength as him, because yes, yes it is the epitome, and finally someone has said it.
“Yeah, um, he actually wrote it for his girlfriend Jane Asher. Honestly, I’m jealous of her too.” Oh god, why did he say that? He sounds like a right creep now, knowing fucking everything about Paul fucking McCartney. What is he, a stalker? But to his surprise, the mystery man doesn’t suddenly think he’s a freak and instead laughs that beautiful laugh again.
“Well, Jane, I hate you,” he grins. After tapping his card against the reader and taking one, last deliberate glance at Remus, he reaches for his drink and starts towards the door. “Thanks for the coffee, see you.”
No, Remus thinks, don’t leave. He stands abruptly and helplessly stares as the love of his life walks of the cafe. Well fucking done Remus, that was a once in a lifetime opportunity. People like that don’t come to Wales, that’s a fact, and yet he just let him slip through his fingers without even catching his name. What an idiot.
___
“No, Lily, you don’t even understand, I’m telling you that man wasn’t real, he-,” Remus’ co-worker and best friend groaned, pulling her red hair in fists from frustration.
“Remus, I beg that you shut up please, you’ve been going on about him all day. Of course he’s not fucking real, people like that don’t just come here and you know that as well as I do. You probably just haven’t slept enough recently,’ she states, in a very smug, know-it-all type of manner that pisses Remus off, thank you very much.
“He was so real,” he exclaims indignantly, “and I’ll have you know I sleep the perfect amount.”
Lily just shakes her head, sighing as she dusts coffee off of her apron and then slipping past the counter to serve the drinks. Remus grinds his teeth in exasperation and leans out of the window so he can light a cigarette without being berated by his fellow employees. He closes his eyes, deeply exhaling the smoke in an effort to calm himself down. Honestly, getting worked up over a man he’s seen once is absolutely pathetic, but he can’t stop. He cannot erase him from his mind, and yet it only makes it worse that he knows near to nothing about the bloke apart from his tastes in coffee.
“Careful Remus, don’t let Lily see you doing that,” he hears a familiar voice come from the back door. “The window was fucking open,” he murmurs under his breath with a clenched jaw, and checks his watch. Huh, his shift was already over. Who knew a simple leather jacket and a curtain of ebony hair could make time go so quickly.
Mary, another one of the young employees at the café, strolled in and shrugged her coat off. She tutted at Remus and dropped herself into the same chair that he had been ogling the mystery man from earlier. “Right, I’ll be off then,” he told her, picking up his bag. “Hey, not so quick, my dear Rem,” Mary smirked. Oh fucking hell, what now? He internally groaned. He just wanted to go home and wallow in his despair; he was well practised in feeling sorry for himself. “What do you want, Mary?” She swatted him in mock offense, scoffing. “Don’t you take those dulcet tones with me. Why’d you wanna go so quickly anyway? Got a date?” God, I wish, Remus thought. Oh how lovely that would be. “Would be nice,” he muttered, and Mary’s eyes flashed with something playful. Speaking was definitely a mistake, wasn’t it? ‘Oh, Remus! Who is it, spill!’ He sighed. This was going to be a long day.
After going through the same spiel he’d had with Lily (‘Yes, he was real, no, I’m not exaggerating, yes, I know I’m a stupid prat, thank you’), and making Mary promise to keep it between the three of them, he finally left the café. He liked his job really, but it could get stuffy in there sometimes, and the brisk air on his face was calming. He stood still for a moment, chin tilted up towards the grey sky, just breathing. It was good to breathe, he thought, breathing helps. It always helps.
He stepped through the door into his flat, immediately dropping his bag and throwing himself onto the sofa. Honestly, he could’ve killed for a nap, but his mind was restless. Thought were spinning around in there, thoughts of iced lattes and baggy jeans and Doc Martens. He groaned, again. He’d been doing a lot of that today. After harshly rubbing his eyes with clenched fists, and letting himself bathe in pity for a minute or two, he forced himself up to have some dinner. He really couldn’t be arsed and just wanted to go to bed, but he could already hear Lily’s voice in the back of his head scolding him.
After eating a depressing meal of instant noodles, he collapsed onto his bed, already dozing off. As his eyes drooped shut, he dreamed wistfully of black haired boys.