Remus saw him and his fingers itched to sketch. For a moment,
that very feeling was startling – it was something that had become almost alien
to him, so long since he could honestly say he’d felt it – and then the next,
he was scrambling for paper and pencil. It wasn’t the time or the place really
– the coffee shop was tiny, and busy enough that he’d had to ask to join
another couple just to have a place to sit down. He nearly elbowed his hot chocolate
off the table in his urgency, drawing bewildered eyes, but he couldn’t bring
himself to care too much when finally, pencil met paper and something good happened.
It was his final year, the final project deadline was encroaching
and Remus was hopelessly uninspired. He’d spent days just sitting staring at
the blank page on his sketch book, or at an unmarked canvas, and wishing for
something to come to him. The pray hadn’t been answered until now. Now, the
curves of a face came easy - the swirl of curls, the angle a nose, a swooping
neck and broad shoulders. His eyes flickered towards the man, who took long
strides in boots that jingled, and back to his page and back again. The
stranger was unaware of him, thankfully, although Remus wasn’t sure whether it
was because he didn’t want to get caught staring, or didn’t want the man’s
relaxed expression to break in the middle of transferring it to page.
Remus drew the lapel on his leather jacket, and noted the
clipped gold nail polish on his fingers. He scribbled a note in the margin to
remember that, but he doubted he would forget so easily. Those hands shoved
into his back pockets as he waited, and Remus was perhaps a little ashamed to
admit just how long he spent committing the sight to the page.