Stroke
Word Count: 529 - @wolfstarmicrofic
Remus peered around his easel and let his eye wander to the man sitting across from him. Already working, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. An airy smile graced his face as his hand glided along in one fluid movement. Not for the first time, Remus wondered what went on in that wondrous man's mind.
He had never seen someone more at ease while life drawing. Their class was host to a whole array of characters from the serious, pretentious type to the bashful, sniggering sort. The man who always sat across from him was something else entirely.
He had floated into the room during Remus' very first session like a dandelion in the wind, soft and light, and altogether beautiful. When he drew, it was as if nothing existed but the paper and the charcoal in his hand. It was mesmerising. His art was all long, languid strokes that danced around the page, melting into one another until the right shapes and forms emerged.
Remus was no artist. He'd started coming here for a laugh, for something to do on a Tuesday night that would otherwise be spent marking essays in his empty flat. He had no real sense of light and shade, or right and wrong, when it came to this. And yet, the first time he'd seen this man's work, a piece of his universe had shifted.
He just really loved his art.
A soft clearing of a throat stirred Remus from his reverie, and - oh Grey eyes were staring back at him. A brow was raised in his direction. Remus snapped his gaze back to the model in the middle of the room as he felt his cheeks burn. He fumbled with his pencils but, try as he might, for the rest of the class his page remained miserably blank.
The end of the class couldn't have come sooner. This was usually the best bit. Remus had grown rather fond of walking around, browsing the work of others, and marvelling at how wildly different they all were. He was self-aware enough to admit that there was a particular person's work he liked to see above the rest. But today - finally, he thought, because it was only a matter of time - he'd cocked that up too. With nothing to show for himself but a scrappy piece of paper and his measly set of pencils, Remus was all but ready to dash out the door.
That was until a pleasant voice, sweet as honey, stopped him. "Here, I hope you're not in a hurry?"
Remus turned around very, very slowly.
"I, um…"
And there it was. Remus prepared himself for the confrontation, and the questioning, and the utter embarrassment of being caught staring at a painfully gorgeous man who was just trying to draw in peace.
"I thought you might like this…?" For the very first time, the man who always sat across from him seemed unsure. Unsettled. In his outstretched hand, in gentle, grey tones, was…
It was Remus. He had drawn Remus.
In the bottom of the page, scrawled in careful writing was a number and a name.
Sirius.
"Call me?"
