babysitting teddy lupin was something you loved doing. you were being paid well by his dad, and the kid is adorable.

speaking of his dad, remus is drop dead gorgeous. a fair bit older than you, with scars littering his body and a mop of brown hair that occasionally had a pair of reading glasses in.

every once in a while, after he comes home, he offers you a cigarette and you stand outside, watching the stars. you usually think that remus looks quite melancholic as he does so, like he's remembering something, but you always dismiss the thought.

you aren't really in the position to inquire. you're the babysitter. not more, not less.

though, that's hard to remember when remus looks at you with those eyes.

recently, teddy caught a stomach bug, but you insisted on still babysitting, claiming that you've seen worse with your little siblings, you're probably immune.

well, teddy never fails to shock you, does he? he's had a fever all night, sweating but trembling slightly. you made him a hot chocolate with marshmallows and he didn't even touch it. you put his favourite vhs tape - aladdin - and he cried before the first song even started.

after fifteen minutes of his head in the toilet bowl and an hour cuddles after that, he's finally in bed.

you're a ball of exhausted nerves. how could you not be? your favourite kid is sick as hell, had most likely passed it to you, and you still need to tell his dad.

you zone out watching toy story, until the door opens.

you look up, and his smile slips into a frown. “jesus, {{user}}. you look exhausted.” he says, his voice soft.

he feels your forehead, his calloused, cool fingers against your warm head feeling heavenly.

“and you're running hot. knew you weren't immune, you silly thing. how's teddy been?”