Chapter 6
“Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.”
Remus thinks that Oscar Wilde was very much correct when he said this. Is it because he’s painfully not a morning person? Maybe. However, he would be lying if he said that the idea of him not being a morning person is a direct indicator of his intelligence didn’t amuse him. It did very much so. That idea was the main reason for his survival in the middle of the gloomy and grumpy London at bloody 8 o’clock in the morning. Stupid job interviews.
Apart from sometimes teaching history at the local school as a substitute teacher (the actual teacher of the school got sick quite a lot, that poor lady) Remus usually worked around books. At first it was the library, however, much to Remus’ disappointment, that whole idea turned out to be much more boring than he could have anticipated. Besides, the amount of stairs in the library was borderline ridiculous and Remus refused to climb to the ninth circle of Hell and back every single day. He needed a single-floored, not as dull, yet still bookish job. And then he found it. One of the bookshops in this area fit that description and was in need of additional staff, hence Remus on that cold and rusty bench at bloody 8 o’clock in the morning in the middle of London.
Well, at least he has his book. Today, it’s “Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast” by Oscar Wilde. That probably explains the quote he had been thinking about that morning. So there he was: on the bench, freezing cold and a little stressed, reading some of Oscar Wilde’s most pretentious remarks printed on paper.
This environment called for a smoke. Right? I mean, it just called for it. And so after a few seconds of juggling the thought in his mind Remus decided to answer that call. He took out a box of cigarettes and a vintage lighter from his pocket. Was it heavy and uncomfortable? Maybe. Was it also very cool? Probably. But that’s not the main reason Remus carried the lighter around. (Regardless of the coolness factor being important as well.) His mum used to use this lighter. “When you grow up, Remus, make sure to never pick up this filthy habit of mine, will you?” Hope always said. “Of course, mum, cheers,” Remus thought. And with that he lit up his cigarette. If Hope were here, she would probably shove him slightly and laugh. However, nobody shoves him and nobody laughs. It’s okay, though. It’s been a long time.
Remus inhaled and looked around. London was pretty in the mornings. People might be grumpy and mean, or, on the contrary, smiling from ear to ear to the point at which you get confused as to why they are so happy at 8 o’clock in the morning, but the buildings in the sun were still bloody gorgeous. Remus liked looking around like that, either it was buildings or people. Like that old lady with her dog, walking slowly as if they are both waiting for one another. Or that little boy, running around his dad with a toy plane and a bag-pack bigger than the boy himself. Or that…bloody hell…gorgeous man right across the street. Remus immediately turned his eyes away.
When he gathered the courage to look up again, he found the man leaning against the street light. The guy had long black hair that, like a dark waterfall, fell on his perfectly sculpted face. He was wearing a black leather jacket with a bunch of pins on the lapels and black leather shoes. The guy had a few silver rings on his lean fingers that were holding a cigarette in a way that could almost be called a royalty-like fashion. Remus slowly dragged his eyes up until he looked at the guy’s face only to be met by a pair of eyeliner-outlined eyes staring right at him. Shit. Remus could have guessed that his eyes probably widened in a way they have never widened before, yet he could not look away, which made him not only embarrassed, but also stupidly hopeless. The man smiled with his eyes and slowly raised the hand that was holding the cigarette, as if toasting on the morning smoke they both seemed to be sharing. Remus cursed under his breath.
-
Did he just bloody curse?
Sirius was almost sliding off the damn street light, yet he wasn’t sure if it was the slippery leather of his jacket or the stroke he was probably having. For the last few minutes Sirius has been practicing and (in his humble opinion) has managed to perfect, what he just called, flirting from a distance, because that subtle wave was the best damn move Sirius has ever pulled. And he has pulled a lot of moves.
Desperate times call for desperate measures and that was definitely one of those times, because that man across the street was bloody perfect. How can someone just sit there, on that stupid rusty London bench, with his stupid loafers and his stupid colorful socks and a stupid brown leather jacket, with a stupid vintage t-shirt peeking out, and a stupid pile of perfectly curled up brown hair and his stupid freckles and that stupid smirk on his face and a stupid cigarette between his lips… Sirius might be a good actor, but he would lie if he said his heart wasn’t beating a tad too fast at this moment.
The guy was currently looking anywhere but at Sirius, which made him laugh under his breath. (“Il doit juste être dégoûté par toi,” Reggie would say, to which Sirius would respond by shoving him. Not too hard though. Just a little.) Sirius was still looking at the man on the bench when the guy slowly raised his eyes and responded by also lifting his cigarette. Shit. Stupid flirting from a distance has backfired.
Shit again. He has to go to work. Don’t get Sirius wrong - he loves his job. Doing tattoos in his own tattoo salon is a dream and he would never change it for the world. Besides, that is obviously a lot better than working insane hours in a restaurant, which he also had to do in order to get around when he was just starting out with his tattoo business. (Even if flirting with hot customers was really bloody fun and entertaining.) So, with great heartache Sirius had to separate himself from the street light and leave that perfect man across the street in the hopes that their paths would cross again someday. He had a weird feeling that it was going to happen sooner than either of them would have anticipated.
Naturally, the best thing he could do now was to give the streets of London and maybe even, by accident, the man on the bench, his walk-out of the century. Which (in his humble opinion) he in fact gave. Or in other words: Sirius stumbled on a side-walk tile and probably nearly broke his leg, but the hair-flip was truly priceless. Bon appétit.
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The man across the street was now hastily walking away and Remus found himself in a desperate need for that guy to come back and lean against that bloody street lamp once more. London at 8 o’clock is a weird thing it seems. Or maybe that’s just that uneasy feeling you get after seeing the most beautiful man you have ever witnessed just walk away. Maybe it’s both. Remus rarely did this stuff, but in that moment he took a moment to close his eyes and wish for yet another encounter with that man. He had a weird feeling that it was going to happen sooner than either of them would have anticipated. With that he stood up, put his book in his pocket, took hold of his cane and walked away smiling.