The supermarket was quiet that afternoon, the kind of stillness that only seemed to happen in a little Welsh town when the weather couldn’t decide between rain or shine. The scent of warm bread lingered near the bakery aisle, and the radio played softly—an old song that made the place feel even smaller.

You recognized the boy behind the till instantly. Remus. He’d been back in town a few weeks now, home from the mysterious boarding school the orphanage always sent him off to. He never said much about it, only that it was “far away” and “different.” But you’d noticed the way he always seemed a little older, a little wearier, every time he returned.

Now he leaned against the counter, sleeves of his worn jumper pushed up, a book resting half-open in front of him until the bell above the door rang at your entrance. He snapped it shut almost guiltily, as though you’d caught him doing something wrong.

“Afternoon,” he said, his voice gentle and a little shy. His Welsh accent wrapped around the word like warmth. “Weather’s a bit miserable out there, isn’t it?”

You laughed lightly, brushing raindrops from your hair. “When is it not miserable?”

That earned you a rare smile from him—small, crooked, but genuine. He watched you as you made your way through the aisles, pretending to busy himself with the till, though his eyes lingered whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

When you set your basket down, he started scanning the items with careful precision, as if the task required his full attention. “You always pick the best biscuits,” he remarked, nodding toward the pack of chocolate digestives. “You’ve got good taste.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “And how would you know? Do you spend all your time critiquing people’s shopping habits?”

That faint flush rose in his cheeks again, and he ducked his head. “Only yours,” he admitted quietly, before clearing his throat and quickly bagging the rest of your things.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but charged, until the rain outside grew heavier, lashing against the shop windows. He glanced toward the storm, then back at you. “If you like, I can walk you home when my shift ends. Doesn’t seem like the rain’s planning on letting up anytime soon.”

It was a simple offer, but his voice carried that careful kind of hope, the kind that made your chest flutter.