Work Text:
Remus doesn't make friends very easily.
His brother does. Roman makes friends as easily as breathing, it feels like. Roman can smile at a stranger and by the end of the conversation, they're exchanging phone numbers and Snapchats and promising to meet up again.
Remus can't do that. Remus is too loud. He has a hard time modulating his voice. It's always either too loud or too soft and sometimes it doesn't work at all. He flaps his hands when he's happy or excited, and people don't seem to like that. People don't like it when he melts down, either, and he can't help that. He can't help what too bright lights and too loud noises do to him, reduce him to a sobbing, shivering mess, curled up on the floor with his hands pressed so tightly over his ears, it hurts. Roman gets him noise canceling headphones for Christmas, and he loves them, but he hates that he has to wear them.
Wearing noise canceling headphones in public doesn't make you very approachable, either. Doesn't net you many friends. Or hell, even acquaintances.
And then he meets Janus.
They share a pottery class. Janus's work is always elegant and sculpted, always something like fine art. Nothing like Remus's own blobby creations that until he saw Janus's work, he was actually okay with. Roman doesn't share this class with him, so Roman isn't there to steal the spotlight. Not that he thinks his brother wants to steal the spotlight. He just...does. He's in theater and he loves Disney. He sings Broadway songs in public, and somehow people like that.
"Is this seat taken?" Janus asks, and of course it's not, because no one wants to sit next to the weird guy with a penchant for shoving both hands in his clay and messing it up because he loves the squish of it between his fingers so much.
"No, you're fine," he says shyly, and for a wonder, this time his voice comes out okay. If he were Roman, he'd be able to strike up a conversation here. But he's not Roman, so he just whispers his answers to Janus's interested questions. He's sure Janus will never sit next to him again, by the time class is over. There's no way.
Janus plops down next to Remus next class and rewards him with a bright smile.
"Hello," Janus says. "It was...Remus, right?"
"Yeah," Remus says. He feels dazed, like someone's delivered a very sharp blow to the head. His foot jiggles, tapping against the floor. "Janus, yeah?"
"Got it in one," Janus says, and smiles again. "I'm glad you don't mind me sitting here."
"Of- of course not," Remus stammers. "It's great. Um. No one's ever wanted to sit next to me before."
"You inspire me," Janus says simply, and gets to work. By the time Remus is able to properly parse what Janus just said, it's halfway through the class and his clay is wilting on one side, no matter what he does to it.
"Try this," Janus murmurs, and demonstrates on his own. It still doesn't work, but it makes it look better, and Remus will take that any day.
"What did you mean earlier?" He finally blurts out, watching the rest of the class around them pack up. "That I inspire you?"
"Exactly what I said," Janus says. "You look so enthusiastic, so involved with your work. It's inspiring."
"But my work is shit," Remus feels forced to admit.
"Do you like doing it?" Janus asks. Remus blinks.
"What?" He asks.
"Do you like doing it?" Janus repeats.
"I- er- well- yes?"
"Then it's not shit," Janus says. "Don't compare yourself to other people. Don't ask what someone else would do. Discover what Remus would do." And with that, he stands up.
Remus stays behind. He's not the only one, a few other people routinely stay behind to work on their own projects. He doesn't know what he's doing, but it feels right. When he's done, it's still blobby, still a little malformed on one side, but it feels recognizably his.
When the next class starts, he waits impatiently for Janus, scarcely able to let him walk through the door before he's thrusting his project Janus's way. It's an octopus, or rather, that's what Remus had in mind when he first started making it. Janus smiles in delight, cradling it between both hands like something precious.
"I love it," he says sincerely. "It looks amazing."
"Thanks," Remus says. His heart feels like it's beating so fast, it might rip out of his chest. "Can you- I mean- um-"
"Yes?" Janus asks, waiting patiently. Remus flaps one hand, hard, as he gropes for the right words.
"Want my phone number?" He finally manages to whisper. Janus smiles.
"I'd love that," he says.