https://archiveofourown.org/works/88572311
Hi everyone! I've just started writing a new Prongsfoot fanfic, "Chiaroscuro"! It is a university AU, James is a soccer player (sorry I am basing it in the US!) and Sirius is an art major! I would absolutely love if you checked it out. Here is a snippet:
Sirius had a problem. A blessing and a curse. All of his art had started to take the same shape. It didn’t matter if he used charcoal, paint, or sculpture; they all began to look the same. Well, his friends couldn’t tell that the works were painfully similar, especially across mediums, but Sirius absolutely could. Soon after starting a new project, Sirius would watch it grow a life of its own, resembling the same thing as all of his other works: the man from across the bar.
At least Sirius never seemed to tire of inspiration. All he had to do was close his eyes and picture the man’s gorgeous copper skin, dark, curled hair that always appeared tussled by the wind, and a smile that radiated warmth. If somehow that wasn’t enough, Sirius would think of the man’s broad shoulders and toned arms. He would think of the tight shirts the man wore, leaving nothing to the imagination. The man was really only begging Sirius to picture him with his shirt off.
Though the two had never come face to face outside of Sirius’s favorite bar and club, the other man was taking over Sirius’s life. Sirius’s roommate, Remus, whom he had met in his first year at university, begged to differ. Remus— always the realist, liked to see things in plain terms. Sirius was the opposite, looking at the expansive meaning beyond first glances. It was the trait that made Sirius such a tremendous artist.
“How could this guy be in all of your paintings, Sirius?” questioned Remus.
Sirius threw his hands up in the air, careful of the paint on his fingertips as he brought the back of his wrists to scratch at his eyebrow and then rest at his hips.
“This painting is supposed to be based on the word ‘glory.’ How am I going to explain to my professor that the inspiration is just him?” complained Sirius.
Remus leaned over the canvas from the side of Sirius’s chair. “He’s a stranger, Sirius! I don’t even see a person,” Remus asked.
“Oh, Remus,” Sirius sighed, “he is so much more than a person.”
“You are head over heels,” Remus chuckled before attempting to offer a solution. “I mean, these light strips look a bit like glory to me.”
Sirius sighed and gestured to the painting. “Those light strips are the strobe lights in the club.” He pointed to another corner, where flames seemed to rise from ashes. “God Remus, even the fire is the shade of his auburn eyes.”
“I was wondering why the fire was less…red.”
Sirius snorted, exasperated, and leaned into Remus’s arm. Forgetting about the paint on his hands, he dragged his fingers across his face and down his eyes.
