A cooling breeze drifted through the post office – a fleeting mercy before the heat reclaimed its place against his skin. The small oscillating fan continued its course – left to right, right to left. In the middle of its arc, Peter caught a brief moment of relief, only for it to vanish as quickly as it came. The noise of cracking metal and whirring blades filled the space, neither comforting nor entirely ignorable.

It was a slow day. Most of the townsfolk stayed home or worked their land. James was off helping folks around town. Remus had a shift at the gas station, with Sirius inevitably tagging along. Peter still wasn’t sure how Remus’ boss hadn’t banished Sirius yet, but somehow, he kept getting away with it.

Only two people had stopped by today, sending letters to Kansas and New York. He always wondered about that – where people were sending their words, what history was tucked inside those envelopes. A quiet curiosity that made days like this more bearable.

“Hello?”

A voice at the entrance pulled him out of his thoughts. He straightened up, blinking the daze away.

“Hi,” he said kindly, quick to offer the polite, well-worn smile of customer service. His cheeks warmed faintly, a soft pink dusting over his skin. “How can I help you?”

But then, that automatic smile faded – replaced by something more genuine. Because you were here. And you had been, every other day. Peter liked that. You always had something to say, a story to tell about who you were writing to or why.

And Peter? He hung onto every word. He’d ask questions, throw in remarks meant to impress you, watch the way you’d light up as you went on. There had been more than a few shifts where he’d spent nearly the whole time just talking to you.

And honestly? He didn’t mind one bit.