Inspired by Post Malone's, Circles.
***
There he was, playing the piano again.
Remus stopped in his tracks. Though his messenger bag seemed to dent his shoulder and all he could think of were his boss' reminder of tomorrow's meeting, he couldn't move an inch away. His train was about to leave in 2 minutes, the speakers announcing its departure soon enough. Yet, he stood there, somewhat hiding behind the pillar to watch him play.
His hair was let loose today. Black, wavy hair cascading over his shoulder and back. The music today was sombre, quite suitable to the late-night silence of the train station they were in. Remus watched, hoping he didn't seem like a creep. But he was drawn to the nameless pianist. Like a moth to a flame, he hovered nearby.
He needed to talk to him. He'd seen many strangers passing by him, smiling and complimenting. Those were the only times Remus caught a glimpse of his smile. It was charming, one that would drive the Mona Lisa's to obscurity. He also had dimples. Though, Remus was still unsure why his brain provided that information. To even notice that in the first place!
The tired salary man wiped his face, hoping that would knock some sense into him. Remus is an adult. He faced far more daunting moments in his life than to pass a compliment to an artist. But with each step forward, he was sent two steps back. Just say it God damn it!
"That was beautiful."
"You play so well."
The black waves are clearer now, its shine more palpable. Remus could make out the silver rings on his graceful fingers. Like a siren, the music lured him closer and closer. His mouth drew ajar, ready to say the rehearsed lines in his head. Right before the words leave his lips, they purse shut and Remus gripped his bag strap tight as he walked away to the gates. Like Sisyphus, he was back where he began.
***
There he was rushing for his train again.
Sirius has been testing out different types of music, to see which would make him stay longer. Out of all his audience in the train station, he enjoyed playing for this man the most. Although he only stood in the peripheral view of Sirius' eye, the pianist loved having his muse so close.
Tonight was no different. He thought maybe some Chopin would do him good. After all, his muse always looked so dishevelled from his day at work. It's as if his 9-to-5 made him run up and down the stairs, made him so flustered he wouldn't stand closer to him. Suddenly, Sirius hears footsteps. The sound of the muse's work shoes echoed with his music in the empty station, inching nearer and nearer. Sirius kept playing, pretending he hadn't noticed him at all.
But, like a ghost, his muse walked on. His glasses pushed onto his curly hair instead of his Roman nose. Sirius thought maybe he could catch up. Pretend to bump into him, pretend to chase the same train.
"Oh, you're going that way too?"
And, like Lot's wife, he had become a pillar of salt, watching his muse's back disappear as he descended the elevator. Sirius had returned to where he was in their circle.
***
It was like a game of chess in a stalemate. Each day was a new round for them and yet each day, Remus found himself bound to the pillar, watching the pianist whip up a new performance. Each day, Sirius grew anxious, itching to look back at his muse as Orpheus looked back at his. Why is it so hard? Two adult men running around in circles, neither making up their mind.
Sirius had seen his muse in his thickest coat. His curly hair hidden under a beanie that was also covered in white snow. His already tall figure, now amplified by the coat's length. Remus had seen the pianist with his hair tied up, the red rash on his nape a clear sign he'd spent too long under the summer sun. Seasons change and here they were, still catching glimpses of each other, still craning their necks to see how the other was.
Somehow, Sirius had seen Remus' at his worst. His suit jacket soaked to his skin, the blue of his shirt now translucent. It was thunderous outside. People scurried to get to their trains, craving the warmth of their homes. But Sirius was there, playing the piano, hoping that they'd cross paths again. Remus might have been the closest to him that day. His fatigue overpowered him to sit on the bench slightly behind Sirius.
The pianist could hear his sigh and the creaking of his reading glasses as he took them off to wipe the speckles of raindrops. For a moment, Remus felt himself being lulled to his song. It was the closest he'd ever been to breaking their bubble, to say that his music had made him forget the headache he had and the fever he knew was coming. Sirius could imagine it. He could see himself offering Remus his jacket, maybe giving him tissues to wipe his face. But he sat there, all up in his own head. The crowd of people continued to move between them like a rushing river but they were rocks in the stream.
Until one day, Sirius found his seat taken.
***
Remus didn't know what he was thinking, only that he knew he was tired of waiting. He was tired of keeping his love from a distance. So, in the grief of the pianist's absence that night, he had brought them closer than before albeit not in person. His fingers were clumsy, not poised like the pianist. Remus only knew one song from his old piano lessons even then the notes came stuttered. For a moment, he imagined the pianist's fingers on the keys, just as he was. In a delusional haze, Remus imagined their hands together. Maybe the pianist was teaching his stiff fingers a new song.
"So you do play."
Sirius leaned on the piano's top with his arms propping his chin. Remus looked up and it was the first time he'd properly seen their color. Grey like the silver rings that had dulled on its wearer's fingers. Remus' face had warmed, he just knew he was cosplaying Elmo right now.
"A little bit. Very rusty though."
Sirius nods. "Mind if I sit next to you?"
"Of course not," Remus said too quickly.
The bubble was burst. Sirius settles himself in a comfortable distance, or as comfortable as he could be on a tiny piano stool. Remus felt like he was back in high school, the familiar queasy crush-y sensation in his stomach. He was so close, so so close.
Sirius' own hands settled next to his. "Can you play that again?"
"I don't know, I'll mess it up-"
"I won't laugh," Sirius assured him. "At least, not yet."
Remus rolls his eyes jokingly. Perhaps it was his nervous system kicking in, pumping adrenaline forcing him to play the song perfectly. What surprised him was Sirius playing along. He never knew there was a companion part that went along with his. His bare, clumsy fingers next to the pianist's ringed, graceful ones. Maybe, just maybe, they were meant to be.
"See? You didn't mess up one bit!" Sirius smiled at him.
"Will you come to dinner with me?"
Sirius blinked, his smile stupidly plastered on his face. "Huh?"
Fuck, Remus thought. What was he thinking? They hadn't even swapped names yet! Had he just messed up the most important execution of his life-
"Sure," Sirius said easily, as if they'd been friends for ages.
He gets up and fixes his jacket before looking back down at Remus confusedly.
"Well? I'm starving!"
Remus stammered his answer. "R-right!'
He stumbles against the piano stool, trying to keep up with Sirius. Yet he could feel an adventure coming, the thrill of this mysterious pianist.
"I haven't asked your name. I'm Remus."
Oh that smile, now directed at him. "I'm Sirius. Too eager to get me dinner huh?"
"You can say that."
