[After being closed up in the closet of an office the publishing company he copy-edits for keeps him in all day, Remus can't stand just going home and writing his own stories alone in his dingy flat. It may not be in the literal basement, unlike his workplace, but it isn't exactly an inspiring locale.
Instead, he does the most stereotypical thing imaginable and frequents different coffee shops, several notebooks and pens in his messenger bag. It's routine now; he orders the largest mug of Earl Grey they offer and finds a spot where he can look out over the store, people-watching when the words elude him. Sometimes he doesn't look up for hours, scribbling out rough drafts onto paper until his hand cramps up, his tea long gone cold. Sometimes he can barely get a sentence down, and after another cup or two, gives up the endeavor for the night.
It's not every day, but it's most days. Occasionally Sirius and James will drag him out to something so he doesn't turn completely anti-social, but he's not really. He just prefers to observe the world around him rather than participate in it sometimes. The coffee houses are his safe haven, where he can filter out all distractions and get the stories rattling around in his head down onto paper. It doesn't matter that he wouldn't even be able to get the company he worked for to publish it, that his work was relegated to pulp magazines willing to print "unsuitable" works of fiction, displaying it like a spectacle.
Well, alright, clearly it bloody matters. He can't even put his own name on it, he'd surely lose all employability if word got out he wrote queer fiction, erotic or no. But Remus excels at compartmentalization and has made the decision that coffee shops are the one place he won't allow himself to think about those things, or any looming financial issues, or his failing health, or all the problems in his flat.
Today is one where the words just won't come. He stares out the window, chin propped up in one hand, the other gently drumming fingers against the table. About a week ago, he'd taken the plunge and started writing the novel he'd been planning for the better part of three years, but after so long of only writing short stories, it's difficult to manage. And, of course, he's got writer's block. That doesn't help.
He leans down and gives Snuffles' ears a good rub. The dog is being perfectly well-behaved, laying under his chair, relaxed but attentive. His size often makes him seem intimidating but Remus always tells people he's a very well-trained teddy bear, and it's true.]
Don't suppose you have any ideas about how to finish out this scene? [The question, murmured low, is of course rhetorical. Snuffles is smart, and knows when Remus is about to collapse before he does, but if he has any ideas for how to get Remus' protagonist to finally admit his feelings for his best friend, he's not telling.]
[ He likes cafes. The sleepier the better, in his opinion. As much as Felix enjoys dance nights and clubs and punk rock and the rise of art in London right now, there's something about the pitter-patter of rain and the low murmur of conversation that draws him in. There's always someone working, too--a artist, a musician, always someone that Felix can latch onto. He's on his way to see if his favourite place is still there after 15 years when he swears he sees him.
Just a glimpse in the window, a little flash of curls and Felix's whole world comes grinding to a halt, his plans skidding to a stop as he swears--swears--he's seen him.
No. No, surely, this is just his mind playing tricks on him. It's been so long, too long, it couldn't possibly be him. Could it?
Felix's arms feel heavy, like the bright blue umbrella he's carrying somehow weighs a tonne instead of nothing at all, but he pushes through it and decides to enter the cafe. If it's not him, then at least he can get a nice cup of coffee and chide himself in his foolishness. It's a step away from the rain regardless, however light the drops are at the moment.
He can't help but stare when he sees him, memories flooding through his head so quickly he feels dizzy. Felix feels like his spine is on fire, he feels flushed, almost feverish even though he knows that's not the case.
It's him. It's Remus. The smile on his face is wide, bright and the most genuine thing he's felt in ages. ]
It should be dramatic. A cliffhanger, maybe.
[ He can't stop smiling. Felix's accent is still distinctly American--he's just arrived in London so he hasn't switched it yet--and he's dressed head to toe in powder blue, from his t-shirt to his slacks and blazer to his tennis shoes. He's well aware that Remus probably won't even remember him, but it doesn't matter.
[The thing about rhetorical questions, especially when they're asked to dogs, is that it can be very jarring when someone answers them. So it is here, Remus startling into sitting up again, turning towards the source of the voice.
Taking in the sight of him is a wholly different kind of surprise. He cuts an odd figure with his choice in clothes, but more than that is the unplaceable familiarity. Remus knows this man, but he can't for the life of him figure out how, or from where.]
I'm sorry, do I know you? [The question, usually intoned rudely and dismissively, comes out as the question it is instead, no bite to it. He's an American. Remus doesn't know many Americans, and none that look remotely like this man.
Despite the... interesting choice in clothing, he's handsome. And there's something... off about him, more than the clothes and the answering a stranger's rhetorical question to their dog and the burning sense that he should be familiar in some way. Something about the whole interaction seems almost other-worldly.]
[ Can he feel it? Felix wonders if he can, like the heavy, heady air pressure before it's about to storm. Or maybe it's just him, finding his whole world in front of him, skinnier than Felix likes and a little sallow but still the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.
It's the fact that he doesn't know him that breaks his heart, but he smiles anyway, grin smooth and teeth white and as he hopes he's as charming as he was when they first met. ]
No. No--sorry, this is probably super rude, isn't it? I-- [ He stops himself, takes a small breath out, and then tries again. ] I'm also really bad at this, so: Hi, I'm Felix, and two of my top five favourite things are writing and dogs. You have both, so I'd feel like garbage if I didn't at least say hi.
[Remus can't help a huff of a laugh. There's really no other word for the man than interesting. Lucky for him, Remus likes interesting people, and-- well, he's curious. Almost everything about the man makes him want to know more.
So he scoots the chair across from him out a smidge with his foot.]
My name's Remus, and this is Snuffles. Would you like to join us? I don't think I'll be getting any more writing done right now anyway.
[ Would he ever. Felix plops into the chair like he's unable to obey the command even if he wanted to, his elbows on the table, hand cupping his chin, looking intently at Felix.
It's probably too much. He should probably just keep it cool. Felix is clam and collected, isn't he? He always tries to be. It never quite works out, but this is--this is Remus, his Remus, and he's been in this world for as long as he can remember and Remus is the only one that makes his heart flutter and his mouth dry.
At least dogs still like him. He's going to ask about that in a second, actually, but first: ]
Next drink's on me, then--though it's not alcohol, it's tea, the gesture still stands, I hope. What are you writing?
[Is he-- flirting? Remus lets out a huff of nervous laughter. He's not used to being flirted with, certainly not by another man, and so openly in a coffee shop of all places? If he were at a gay bar, maybe it would be less of a shock.
Snuffles sniffs the man's shoes, then settles his big shaggy head back onto the floor.]
You don't have to-- oh, uh. [Another small laugh, this one a bit embarrassed.] I'm writing a novel. Awfully cliche, I know. [A thoughtful pause. Somehow it doesn't feel as uncomfortable to tell Felix about it than other people.] It's about a man whose brother has been murdered, and the police have been paid off, so he has to figure out who the killer is and track them down with the help of his best friend and his sister.
[That's not to mention the requited pining between the man and his best friend, but... better be sure he's interpreted Felix's intentions correctly before talking about that.]
[ It's Felix's fault, he supposes--he's too giddy, too dizzy on excitement that he's forgotten that this is the 80s. There are bad things happening, there bad people. People don't really accept this type of love anymore. As to why, Felix doesn't quite understand. All he does know is that it's bullshit, old habits die hard, and it's his dearest love across him, writing and laughing and being stunning. It's a bit hard to concentrate. ]
A mystery. That doesn't sound cliche in the least--danger? Intrigue? Romance? [ He grins, raking his teeth under his lower lip to bite down, intent. ] I'm a little jealous, I can't write to save my life.
All of the above, and then some. [Remus' eyes catch on Felix's mouth as he bites onto his lower lip, sensing the intent but still doubting his own instincts. What if he's misinterpreting it all?
It takes him just a moment too long to stop himself from staring at the man's lips. He swiftly looks away, disguising it as a casual movement to scratch Snuffles' ears.]
Why do you say that? [The tone is gently curious. Once upon a time, Remus fancied himself a career in academia, and he still fondly remembers his tutoring days, coaxing reluctant students into trying their hand at writing, just once more.]
[ He's--flighty isn't the right word, but he's something, something so unlike his past love that Felix has to remind himself that while they share a face--a name even--there's something else. He's his own person.
Funny. Felix hasn't thought about that before, too wrapped up in actually finding him. It's enough that he looks a tad thoughtful when he glances over at the dog. Why does Remus have a dog? It's fitting, but that's something else that strikes him as weird. He needs to ask he's thought this before, but his mind is in such a tizzy he's having difficulty focusing. ]
Oh, you know how it is. some people have a knack for it, and some people have a knack for spotting it. [ How far along are you? He's all elbows on tables now, leaning forward. Enough about him, Remus, he's dreadfully boring--more about you. ]
[Well, he's certainly not entitled to a stranger's life story. If Felix doesn't want to share the real reasons, he won't push.
He certainly seems interested in Remus' work, though, which is weirdly flattering. He hasn't even read any of it yet.]
And you're the latter, then?
[He smiles, idly flipping through his notebook.]
Perhaps I'll consult you for some proofreading. [He's only partially teasing.] That is, if you're not headed out of the country soon.
[Probably not local, with that accent. And alright, maybe he's fishing for some more information. No use getting his hopes up on someone who will be leaving the country in a couple weeks.]
[ Felix's smile is back, bouncing easily with the ebb and flow of the conversation they've just started. This is where he feels at home, wrapped up in warm words about art. ]
Proofreading-- [ he hisses through his teeth, shaking his head. ] Not my strong suit, either. I can read it with that in mind, though. If you trust a stranger.
[ They're not strangers, though, not really. Felix tips his chair back so it balances on two legs, realize he hasn't actually answered the other's unasked question, and circles back. ]
I'm here for a good long while--not a tourist, if that's what you mean. Worried I'll run off with your ideas?
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Instead, he does the most stereotypical thing imaginable and frequents different coffee shops, several notebooks and pens in his messenger bag. It's routine now; he orders the largest mug of Earl Grey they offer and finds a spot where he can look out over the store, people-watching when the words elude him. Sometimes he doesn't look up for hours, scribbling out rough drafts onto paper until his hand cramps up, his tea long gone cold. Sometimes he can barely get a sentence down, and after another cup or two, gives up the endeavor for the night.
It's not every day, but it's most days. Occasionally Sirius and James will drag him out to something so he doesn't turn completely anti-social, but he's not really. He just prefers to observe the world around him rather than participate in it sometimes. The coffee houses are his safe haven, where he can filter out all distractions and get the stories rattling around in his head down onto paper. It doesn't matter that he wouldn't even be able to get the company he worked for to publish it, that his work was relegated to pulp magazines willing to print "unsuitable" works of fiction, displaying it like a spectacle.
Well, alright, clearly it bloody matters. He can't even put his own name on it, he'd surely lose all employability if word got out he wrote queer fiction, erotic or no. But Remus excels at compartmentalization and has made the decision that coffee shops are the one place he won't allow himself to think about those things, or any looming financial issues, or his failing health, or all the problems in his flat.
Today is one where the words just won't come. He stares out the window, chin propped up in one hand, the other gently drumming fingers against the table. About a week ago, he'd taken the plunge and started writing the novel he'd been planning for the better part of three years, but after so long of only writing short stories, it's difficult to manage. And, of course, he's got writer's block. That doesn't help.
He leans down and gives Snuffles' ears a good rub. The dog is being perfectly well-behaved, laying under his chair, relaxed but attentive. His size often makes him seem intimidating but Remus always tells people he's a very well-trained teddy bear, and it's true.]
Don't suppose you have any ideas about how to finish out this scene? [The question, murmured low, is of course rhetorical. Snuffles is smart, and knows when Remus is about to collapse before he does, but if he has any ideas for how to get Remus' protagonist to finally admit his feelings for his best friend, he's not telling.]
writes a novel ig
Just a glimpse in the window, a little flash of curls and Felix's whole world comes grinding to a halt, his plans skidding to a stop as he swears--swears--he's seen him.
No. No, surely, this is just his mind playing tricks on him. It's been so long, too long, it couldn't possibly be him. Could it?
Felix's arms feel heavy, like the bright blue umbrella he's carrying somehow weighs a tonne instead of nothing at all, but he pushes through it and decides to enter the cafe. If it's not him, then at least he can get a nice cup of coffee and chide himself in his foolishness. It's a step away from the rain regardless, however light the drops are at the moment.
He can't help but stare when he sees him, memories flooding through his head so quickly he feels dizzy. Felix feels like his spine is on fire, he feels flushed, almost feverish even though he knows that's not the case.
It's him. It's Remus. The smile on his face is wide, bright and the most genuine thing he's felt in ages. ]
It should be dramatic. A cliffhanger, maybe.
[ He can't stop smiling. Felix's accent is still distinctly American--he's just arrived in London so he hasn't switched it yet--and he's dressed head to toe in powder blue, from his t-shirt to his slacks and blazer to his tennis shoes. He's well aware that Remus probably won't even remember him, but it doesn't matter.
He's here. ]
novels are fine
Taking in the sight of him is a wholly different kind of surprise. He cuts an odd figure with his choice in clothes, but more than that is the unplaceable familiarity. Remus knows this man, but he can't for the life of him figure out how, or from where.]
I'm sorry, do I know you? [The question, usually intoned rudely and dismissively, comes out as the question it is instead, no bite to it. He's an American. Remus doesn't know many Americans, and none that look remotely like this man.
Despite the... interesting choice in clothing, he's handsome. And there's something... off about him, more than the clothes and the answering a stranger's rhetorical question to their dog and the burning sense that he should be familiar in some way. Something about the whole interaction seems almost other-worldly.]
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It's the fact that he doesn't know him that breaks his heart, but he smiles anyway, grin smooth and teeth white and as he hopes he's as charming as he was when they first met. ]
No. No--sorry, this is probably super rude, isn't it? I-- [ He stops himself, takes a small breath out, and then tries again. ] I'm also really bad at this, so: Hi, I'm Felix, and two of my top five favourite things are writing and dogs. You have both, so I'd feel like garbage if I didn't at least say hi.
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So he scoots the chair across from him out a smidge with his foot.]
My name's Remus, and this is Snuffles. Would you like to join us? I don't think I'll be getting any more writing done right now anyway.
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It's probably too much. He should probably just keep it cool. Felix is clam and collected, isn't he? He always tries to be. It never quite works out, but this is--this is Remus, his Remus, and he's been in this world for as long as he can remember and Remus is the only one that makes his heart flutter and his mouth dry.
At least dogs still like him. He's going to ask about that in a second, actually, but first: ]
Next drink's on me, then--though it's not alcohol, it's tea, the gesture still stands, I hope. What are you writing?
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Snuffles sniffs the man's shoes, then settles his big shaggy head back onto the floor.]
You don't have to-- oh, uh. [Another small laugh, this one a bit embarrassed.] I'm writing a novel. Awfully cliche, I know. [A thoughtful pause. Somehow it doesn't feel as uncomfortable to tell Felix about it than other people.] It's about a man whose brother has been murdered, and the police have been paid off, so he has to figure out who the killer is and track them down with the help of his best friend and his sister.
[That's not to mention the requited pining between the man and his best friend, but... better be sure he's interpreted Felix's intentions correctly before talking about that.]
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A mystery. That doesn't sound cliche in the least--danger? Intrigue? Romance? [ He grins, raking his teeth under his lower lip to bite down, intent. ] I'm a little jealous, I can't write to save my life.
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It takes him just a moment too long to stop himself from staring at the man's lips. He swiftly looks away, disguising it as a casual movement to scratch Snuffles' ears.]
Why do you say that? [The tone is gently curious. Once upon a time, Remus fancied himself a career in academia, and he still fondly remembers his tutoring days, coaxing reluctant students into trying their hand at writing, just once more.]
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Funny. Felix hasn't thought about that before, too wrapped up in actually finding him. It's enough that he looks a tad thoughtful when he glances over at the dog. Why does Remus have a dog? It's fitting, but that's something else that strikes him as weird. He needs to ask he's thought this before, but his mind is in such a tizzy he's having difficulty focusing. ]
Oh, you know how it is. some people have a knack for it, and some people have a knack for spotting it. [ How far along are you? He's all elbows on tables now, leaning forward. Enough about him, Remus, he's dreadfully boring--more about you. ]
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He certainly seems interested in Remus' work, though, which is weirdly flattering. He hasn't even read any of it yet.]
And you're the latter, then?
[He smiles, idly flipping through his notebook.]
Perhaps I'll consult you for some proofreading. [He's only partially teasing.] That is, if you're not headed out of the country soon.
[Probably not local, with that accent. And alright, maybe he's fishing for some more information. No use getting his hopes up on someone who will be leaving the country in a couple weeks.]
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Proofreading-- [ he hisses through his teeth, shaking his head. ] Not my strong suit, either. I can read it with that in mind, though. If you trust a stranger.
[ They're not strangers, though, not really. Felix tips his chair back so it balances on two legs, realize he hasn't actually answered the other's unasked question, and circles back. ]
I'm here for a good long while--not a tourist, if that's what you mean. Worried I'll run off with your ideas?