Work Text:
Remus heels clicked on the stone as he passed through the little square of the campus commonly referred to as “Activist Corner”. He looked around at the people lined up with their fliers and their clipboards holding petitions that would never go anywhere. Swerving to avoid the majority of them, he tried to get to his class without any distractions as always.
Of course, he was never that lucky.
“Support LGBT rights, don't let them suppress our voices!”
The owner of the voice was all of a sudden nearly on top of Remus, causing him to stumble. As he straightened himself up and hoisted his backpack further up on his shoulder, Remus turned to glare at the face which was quickly becoming familiar.
Grey eyes sparkled around heavy lashes as he held a bright flier splashed with colorful words towards Remus with long, dexterous looking fingers. Remus was too dignified to physically shake himself out of the stupor that seemed to be caused by the man, so he made do with avoiding those eyes.
“No thanks.” he mumbled, watching the ground carefully (and definitely not watching those scuffed leather boots as they shuffled, as if they were compelling Remus to look up along those leather clad legs, to look at those too-long black curls and that too-pale skin and those far too-captivating grey eyes.)
Remus hurried away before the man could shove his flier at him, settling into class a few minutes before the professor would walk in. Taking out his notes and pulling at a handful of hair in his fist, he studied.
There was this idea in his mind that Remus had always had, that if you didn't know and recognize someone by their name, you couldn't really know him. With his quiet (too quiet, hospitals were not meant for talking) childhood, he'd plenty of time to think strange thoughts such as this. Perhaps this idea was why when he saw that man, those fliers in his hand, he refused to call him by name in his mind. Everyone knew Sirius Black, but Remus refused to know him, as he had been for the last few weeks.
He passed the boy once more the next day, missing the smile that graced those lips as Remus bowed his head.
“Stop these attacks on the gay community!” Remus could hear from behind him as he walked away, just like everyday.
The next day (a Thursday, he always disliked Thursdays) Remus came up to the square once more. This day though, he didn't look at the ground as he approached the persistent man. Remus didn't miss the smile that grew on his lips, though Remus' lips only tightened in regard.
“Gay marriage shouldn't be an issue, fuck societal norms!” the man (Sirius) shouted, his eyes on Remus as he held out a colorful flier.
After a moment of what could be awkward silence as Remus paused briefly in his steps, he smirked back.
“Your eyebrow is smudged.” Remus said, before continuing on the path to class. He didn't need to look back to feel Sirius' eyes on his back. Sitting down in the hard backed chair in the classroom, right before the professor would walk in, he couldn't keep a tiny smile from his face.
Remus stuffed his hand in the pockets of a hoodie he hadn't worn in years. The crumpled paper in his fist felt sharp against his skin, and he couldn't help but tighten his fingers and crumple his father's words even further. They were always loving letters, caring and concerned, pretending that Remus wasn't ill and wasting his life on an English degree and that he was normal and everything was fine. As if Remus didn't have to check into the hospital at least once a month for transfusions. As if Remus was a bloody good son, when he knew he wasn't.
His head didn't turn when he heard Sirius shout his choreographed words. A mixture of forced apathy and the fabric of his hood blocked that raw voice out, and so what if he flinched when the paper of the always proffered flier brushed his arm? He kept walking.
Hard plastic held up his slumped form as he stared blankly at the scribbled notes. Back when he was a teenager his mother would chastise him for being over-dramatic, and say that he should just shut up and fit in and be normal. Normal sons don't nearly flirt with men they barely knew. Normal sons don't nearly flirt with men at all.
Remus huffed into the chilly air, a white cloud forming in front of his face. This day was strange for some reason (though Saturdays were never particularly normal), but it wasn't until he sat at the bus stop that he realized. Remus had walked through the normal square to get to his class, and no shouting voice had stopped him, no outstretched arm holding a colorful flier nearly made him late for class.
He told himself he wasn't disappointed, that the strange feeling in his stomach meant nothing. He had never been a good liar.
The normal shouting of passionate clipboard wielding students greeted him on Monday as he walked through the corner. Remus' steps faltered as he caught sight of him, but he pressed on. He turned around and grinned at the sight of Remus carrying his bag and walking his way, and Remus pretended that he wasn't fighting the urge to blush.
“My motorcycle broke down.” the man said as Remus passed by, holding out the flier.
“Oh.” he managed, slowing down to regard the smiling man. Remus opened his mouth once, before closing it and speeding up, his steps taking him away from the square. Even through the professor's droning lecture, which under normal circumstances would be quite interesting, his thoughts kept stealing back to the man.
Of course Sirius would have a motorbike, he thought, lips twisting in a wry grin without being aware of it.
The next few days passed in quite the same way, with almost-smiles and strange (but not awkward) eye contact between the two of them. Remus would be lying if he said Sirius' yelled protests didn't stick with him, and he would never admit that his thoughts often turned to a certain face (and body) at night, tangled in the sheets of his cold bed.
This pattern of lingering eyes and hushed thoughts was something Remus could get used to, but he didn't have to.
It was Saturday again, and Remus kicked at a spot on the ground. He was stood in front of the entrance to the tiny courtyard, unsure of why the air seemed different today. Some ridiculous part of his mind informed him that it'd been a month and a half since those ever-colorful fliers started getting shoved in his face nearly daily, but that shouldn't matter.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling quickly, he walked into the square. His legs brought him quite quickly to where Sirius stood, still in his flier-pushing until Remus got to him. They locked eyes, and Sirius smiled as he seemed to do often.
“Being queer is completely normal, don't let them tell you otherwise.” Sirius said, but today he didn't shout it. His words were just for Remus, and his eyes seemed to contain miniature storms in them.
Remus came to a complete halt, feeling like he couldn't move away from Sirius if he wanted to. His breath seemed caught in his chest, and he didn't dare to close his eyes to blink. Remus was close enough to catch the whispered “Flier?” coming from the other man, and his ears buzzed as those eyes bored into him.
He blinked. Feeling his lips quirk up, the air escaped his lungs in one big rush.
“Sure, I'll take one.”