You’re a cloud of dainty perfume as you flop down beside him. “That’s so weird.”
“What’s weird?” Remus asks, half-paying attention to you, his other half trying to finish the sentence he’d been reading.
“There was a boy at the front of the cafe trying to open the door for me even though I was already opening it myself, and then he, like, stood there holding it for a bit after I’d already come in.”
“Is it possible,” Sirius butts in, because of course he does, a cigarette between his fingers unlit, “that he was flummoxed by your beauty, lovely girl?”
You drive your face into Remus’ arm. “Not this again.”
“You’ve always been beautiful,” Sirius concedes, unaware or unaffected by your bashfulness, “but lately you’ve got quite the glow. I’ve been trying to hook you for weeks. Haven’t you noticed?”
Remus smiles at his friend, digging in his jacket for a lighter to throw him. Sirius opens his hand and catches it gracefully. “She’s always been beautiful,” he says agreeably.
You lift your head only after his footfall has faded away, gaze first at the window where Sirius has gone to smoke outside, and then the table where Remus is laying his book to rest. “I can’t stand him when he does that.”
“Acts like I’m prettier than I am.”
“When does he do that?” Remus asks, not quite monotone but getting there.
“Do I? You’re lovely, and Sirius can’t not notice because he’s Sirius.”
“Can’t not attribute every weird man’s behaviour to my change in appearance.”
“You’ve changed,” Remus acquiesces. “And boys notice you more, but I think that’s more to do with your sudden propensity for smiling and walking around with your chin up than any haircut or lipgloss.”
“Oh, quite right, professor.”
He pinches your thigh, savouring the laugh that bubbles out of you and your little jump in your seat. “You’re a trollop, is that what you want to hear?” he asks.
Your face falls to your chin, and yes, Remus has liked you almost since he met you, and yes, your recent change in appearance has made you more eye-catching, but he means it when he says the pull of your demeanour is your new confidence. You’re stunning, the smile you give him, that hint of brightness in your eyes as you start to squint, it yanks sorely between his lungs. He wants to kiss you now more than he ever has before.
“You really think he held my door ‘cos he thought I was pretty?” you ask.
“I didn’t say that, did I? Sirius did.” He stands and stretches, feeling bold but not brave. “I think he held your door because you’re the most beautiful girl in any room you walk into, but what do I know?” he asks, grabbing his empty coffee cup from the small table in front. “I’ll get you a coffee.”
“You dick,” you mutter. Such a short sentence, and yet he can tell you’re flustered without turning around to see it for himself.
It’s a good thing —if he were to see you now, your shy smile, he’d end up telling you exactly how he feels about you.