The Melody of Us

This could be a disaster
There’s so many factors
Like what if you freak out and then we’re losing it all
At the critical chapter
Where I say “I love you”
And you don’t say it after

Sirius steps into the coffee shop, the warmth brushing over his cold-touched cheeks, and the smell of coffee assaults his senses, but like, in a nice way. Like the way an older cousin punches you affectionately after you buy her snacks with her own debit card (Sirius is speaking from experience).

Sirius’ head is pounding, the remnants of the hangover from the night before, and he appreciates the soft glow of the lights in the shop.

The place is homey yet modern, large lights hanging from the ceiling painting everything in a yellow glow. Nothing fluorescent, no sharp angles or colours or designs. The walls are painted in various shades of brown, the floor a light beige colour of tiled wood, the counter is a stone-grey, and behind the counter… Sirius’ breath catches in his throat as the man behind the counter lifts his head and their eyes meet.

There is a small smile on the other man’s face as he says, “Welcome to The Daily Grind, what can I get you?”

Sirius’ mind is pleasantly blank. “Oh! Um, just whatever you would recommend.” He can feel his face heat up.

“I haven’t been here before, so I don't know what would be good.” Sirius rushes to clarify as the other boy blinks at him, a smile slowly creeping across his face.

“Can I ask a few questions to clarify what you’d like?” He asks, and Sirius nods for him to go ahead.

“Iced or hot?” Is the first question as he reaches for a cup, and Sirius has to look away for a moment to get his thoughts in order.

“Iced.” He nods, and the next question is,

“How sweet?” And Sirius was about to say something stupid, like just as sweet as you, but he did not know this person, and that would be rude. So he simply shook his head slightly and said “Like, pretty sweet. Extra caramel if it has caramel.” The barista, Remus, his nametag read, nodded, scribbling something down on the side of the cup.

“And what would the name for the order be?” Remus glances up, waiting. He has a patchwork of jagged scars on one side of his face.

“Oh, um. Sirius.” Sirius blurts out. The sharpie stills near the bottom of the cup where it was poised to write.

“Pardon?”

“Sirius. S-I-R-I-U-S. Like the star Sirius.”

“Oh. Never heard that one before.” The barista gives him a tight-lipped smile, and hands the cup off to someone in the back. He rings up the total, and Sirius pays, then moves off to the side to wait as Remus takes the order of the next person in line.

In a few minutes his name is called, and he pushes off the wall he was leaning against to grab the drink made for him. He accepts it with a nod, turning the cup to the side to see if he can decipher what is written on the side, but it’s just a bunch of letters that mean nothing to him.

He stirs the drink around with a straw, then takes a sip.

Wow.

His mind is blown. It’s the perfect ratio of coffee and milk, sweet and bitter, with just a hint of something that distinctly reminds Sirius of fall, and something woodsy. It’s just… He has no words. Sirius glances up at Remus, this simple barista who took one look at Sirius and seemed to know exactly what he needed.

Just then, the customer Remus is serving pays for their order and moves aside, and Remus lifts his head, his gaze snagging on Sirius’. He gives a small smile, and Sirius is moving forward before he realises.

“This is amazing!” He gushes. “What is it? I think I’ll be getting it every time I come here.” Remus asks to see the cup, and Sirius passes it over, making sure that his fingers brush Remus’.

“It’s actually one of my favourite drinks on the menu, myself.” Remus glances up at him shyly. “A hazelnut latte with an extra pump of hazelnut and lavender. Although I like mine hot…” He trails off, looking lost all of a sudden. “I’m glad you liked it.” He smiled at Sirius and handed him back the cup.

“Thank you.” Sirius said softly. “You’ve made my day.”

“Have I really?” Remus asks, leaning on the counter. “Yeah, I kind of had a bad day yesterday, and woke up hungover today, so this helps a lot.” He pointed to the cup in his other hand.

“Glad to hear it. I’m Remus, by the way.”

“Sirius.”

“I know.” Remus smirks slightly.

“Well, I know you serve a lot of customers. Wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot my name the moment I stepped away.” Sirius shrugged, and Remus shook his head. “I wouldn’t forget a name like Sirius in a long time.” Sirius’ cheeks heat, and he feels a blooming sensation in the back of his ribcage.

Say it again, say my name again. He mentally begs.

“Anyway, pleasure to meet you.” Remus extends a hand, and they shake.

“So formal. Do you begin all friendships like a business deal?” Sirius teases.

“Only the most promising ones.” Remus winks.

“Lupin! Quit flirting on the job!” A voice comes calling from the back of the shop, Remus’ manager, perhaps. Remus huffs in irritation. “I wasn’t flirting.”

He pushes back the hair from his forehead, and before Sirius can stop himself, the words are out of his mouth. “I was.”

Remus' head snaps up, his brows slightly furrowed. “What?” He asks, hesitantly.

“I was. Flirting.” Sirius repeats, more confident now. “In fact, I was just about to ask for your phone number.” He continues, lying through his teeth.

Remus’ mouth curls up into a smirk. “Oh if you want my phone number, you’ll have to work for it.”

“What? I’ll do anything.” Sirius leans forward, but Remus only shakes his head, turning away. “If I tell you, where’s the fun in that? I’ll see you around, Sirius.” With a wave of his hand, he disappears into the kitchen. Sirius is left behind, stunned, holding his cup of coffee and his full heart in his hands.

“See you, Remus Lupin.” He murmurs, though there’s no one around to hear it. He turns and exits the shop, making his way back home. He’s late to class, but he doesn’t care.



Sirius frowns at the painting in front of him, then glances back at the reference photos McGonagall assigned them. The canvas in front of him stays infuriatingly silent, the picture not taking the shape or the form which Sirius is trying to extract from it. He doesn’t let himself recognise the shape the painting is taking. Soft black curls, sharp grey eyes. He rubs a hand across his face, realising just a bit too late he has a smear of blue on the side of his palm. He’s pretty sure it’s all across his nose now–he can feel the moisture of the paint. Oh, well. He untucks his legs from under himself, sliding off the stool in his studio. There’s nothing more he’ll be able to do on the painting today, anyways.



Sirius shows up at the coffee shop again the next morning, easy banter with Remus picked up as if they never left off. He finds out Remus is really fond of chocolate, and something clicks together in the back of his mind.

On Thursday he gets up early, for once glad his neighbour is such an early bird. There’s another duet in the showers, Freaks by Surf Curse taking the stage, and followed by Chlorine by the Twenty One Pilots, and another song that his neighbour plays. He thinks the singer might be Melanie Martinez but isn’t sure.

The music makes Sirius feel like he’s at a concert, on the stage, singing back-to-back with a friend. The rushing of water pelting the wall could easily be the cheering of adoring fans. Once again, the other guy is finished before Sirius is even halfway done, and he’s left wondering if he even bothers to use macadamia oil on the ends of his hair to keep them from splitting.

Once Sirius himself is finished (or, rather, all the hot water has run out), he takes special care with his hair, styling it as it dries to get that perfect ends-curly-roots-soft-middle-fluffy look. He spends over an hour in his bedroom, trying to choose the perfect outfit. In the end, Sirius is on the floor, surrounded by piles of clothes, trying not to burst into tears.

“How come I have so many clothes, yet nothing to wear?!” He exclaims, throwing his arms in the air and feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.

“I don’t know, mate.” James, who has just arrived, summoned by Sirius for help with this extreme dilemma, runs his hands through his already-messy hair. Sirius has been trying, unsuccessfully, for two years to get James to try something other than the shampoo-conditioner-blow dry routine he’s been using since he could take his own showers. He’s sure, if James would just try an avocado mask, or egg yolk, he could tame the impossible fluffy frizz on his head.

James tuts, “Stop looking at my hair like that. You know you’re not going to change my mind about it. Besides, it gets me all the girls.” Sirius snorts, sitting up. “And the guys?”

“Well, that’s where my strong rugby shoulders come in.”

“Uh huh. And all those other people you have in your bed?”

“Do you really underestimate my charm?” James scoffs.

“No, I just think your hair looks stupid, and if I was still looking to shag you it would have deterred me completely.” James and Sirius had kissed, once, in their last year of school. That one kiss had really cemented that they would only ever be friends, and they had laughed about it immediately afterwards. Sirius was the one who made that move, having a pretty big crush on his best friend that had gone away over the years. He still made fun of James for kissing him back.

“Ugh, I just wanna look good for this! It’s important.” Sirius flops back onto the floor, covering his face with his hands.

“Well,” James starts slowly. “Why not just be yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Sirius peers at him from between his fingers.

“If this Remus bloke is already flirting with you, that must mean he likes you for you and not for the clothes you’re wearing or how you look.” James shrugs. “That’s the most logical thing I can think of.”

“You’re saying Remus thinks I’m ugly and have no sense of style?” Sirius asks, affronted. James throws up his hands, exasperated. “No! I just think what’s on the inside matters more than what’s on the outside.”

“Example?”

“Refrigerator.”

“Makes sense.” Sirius pushed to his feet as James continued. “Well, if you met a guy who was a total ten in everything, and had zero personality, or, had the worst personality, always put you down, made jokes at your expense, whatever, would you stay with him for the rest of your life?”

“No, I probably wouldn’t.” Sirius scratches his chin. His gaze has just snagged on a particular pair of pants he thought he had lost.

“So, you see what I’m saying?” Sirius hums in response, neither yes nor no. “Padfoot.” James’ hand appears on his shoulder, and Sirius looks up at him.

“You’re more beautiful on the inside than almost any other person I’ve ever met, and if Remus doesn’t see that, he’s a waste of your time.”

“I think the demon possessing my body just blushed.” Sirius jokes. It’s not his fault, he can’t deal with serious situations in a serious way. James thinks it’s because Sirius was forced to grow up very quickly and at an early age, so now his inner child is forcing its way back out. Sirius thinks it’s because he has to be Sirius all the time that he has to joke every now and then (pun intended).

“And by the way, anyone with eyes can see how hot you are. I could never pull off your style but you make it work.”

“Careful, Prongs. If you go ‘round saying stuff like that I might just snog you again.” Sirius teased, but his insides were turning to butter. “I wouldn’t kiss you back.” James warns, but there’s a smile on his face.

“Come on, now, we need to get you ready for your date with the love of your life.” He clapped his hands together as Sirius protested, “It’s not a date! Well, yet, anyway.”

~.~

“I have something for you.” Sirius slides a bag over the counter as Remus is ringing up his total. He’s gotten three coffees this morning, and Remus wonders if they’re for someone or if he’s planning to down all three.

“For… me?” Remus asks dumbly, staring at the bag.

“Yes, for you! Open it.” Sirius urges, leaning forward. Remus hesitantly reaches in, pulling out a medium-sized box. “It’s a mug.” His mind is oh-so-perfectly blank, the way it always is when Sirius is around.

“A chocolate mug.” Sirius corrects, a small smile on his face, as if he’s trying to suppress it. When Remus continues blankly staring at the box in his hands, Sirius begins to wave his hands as he explains, “It’s technically to make hot chocolate– the mug is thick enough that you can pour warm milk in and it will melt enough to make a hot chocolate. Or, well, you work in a coffee shop, so maybe you can put coffee in it, make a mocha latte or something. Or you can just eat it without anything else. I know you mentioned you like chocolate. I was just at the store yesterday, and saw that, and it just basically has your name written all over it.” Sirius finishes, and Remus is still staring at him dumbly.

“I… I have no words.” He confesses.

“I can see that.” Sirius says cheekily.

“Thank you.” Remus tries for sincerity but his voice cracks.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I get my friends presents all the time.” Sirius waves a hand, but his cheeks have a spot of colour on them. Once again, Remus is left wondering why he looks familiar.

“One hazelnut lavender latte, one oat milk latte, and one americano for Sirius?” A voice calls out from the other end of the counter, and Sirius turns to grab his coffees. “I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you around?” Sirius poses it as a question, and Remus nods his head automatically. “See you.” He puts the mug reverently back into the bag, and goes to the back to sign off his shift.

He’s got class to get to, as well.



Regulus is already in the classroom when Remus gets there, sitting in the spot Remus was sitting in on Monday.

“Is this going to be a new thing, you stealing my seat every class?” Remus asks by way of greeting as he sits down, once again, to Regulus’ left.

“Might be.” Regulus replies without looking up. He’s writing something down in an expensive-looking black leather-bound notebook. “Hate to kill your apparent good mood, but it looks like I’m still alive.” Regulus does look up now, as he says it, and Remus is met with silver eyes, completely devoid of any emotion, and he snorts involuntarily.

“You say it like it’s a good thing.” He jokes, and Regulus shrugs. “I guess you upheld your end of the truce.”

“I see you didn’t.” Remus tilts his head at the seat Regulus is sitting in. “That’s your own fault. You didn’t set any rules for the condition of the truce.” He says diplomatically.

“You’re a horrible person.” Remus replies flatly, only half joking.

“Mmm, what’s the fun in being a nice one?” Regulus’ eyes spark with what seems like humour.

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that people will like you?”

“Pleasing everyone is impossible.”

“And pissing people off?”

“That’s so, so much easier. And it’s fun, too.” Regulus’ lip curls up into what could be a smile. Remus is seriously reconsidering the offer of friendship he extended to Regulus.

He shakes his head, saved from answering as the door opens and Professor Flitwick breezes into the room. “Hello, hello class! Good to see everyone here. Let’s not waste any time discussing pleasantries; who remembers where we left off the last lesson?” Remus opens his notebook, flipping through his notes on each lesson.

Regulus lifts his hand, answering the question before Remus ever gets to the page with his answers, but he doesn’t mind. He’s content to sit almost silently through the entire lesson, thinking of the look in Sirius’ eyes when he handed Remus the little gift.