Remus isn't sure how to classify this relationship, but can certainly see where it isn't going. (Preslash, near-drabble)
Pairing: Implied R/S (pre) slash. In a way.
Disclaimer: The pretty little things mentioned in here? Not mine. Never will be, despite all the 'first star I see' wishes I've used on it. So really, suing me wouldn't do much good.
A/N: Have I mentioned how utterly frightened I am right now? My posted first R/S, as I am sick of sitting around writing and rewriting fic after fic only to scrap them in frustration. Written at three AM and completely unbetaed, which I'm sure will show and eat away at my mind. If you hate it, please, -please- tell me. I eat criticism up with a spoon, such is my love. (Although adoration and pounces are just as welcome. ;) )
It wasn't love or anything like that, as Remus saw it.
There were no cries of 'never-ending devotion riding hand in hand with the beauty of an eternal obsession' like the time Peter had discovered the wonder of girls through one Elizabeth Finkle and guilted Remus into proofreading page after page of angst-ridden poetry written in her honour. A startling loss of all common sense the moment laughing eyes chanced to rest on him (although James swore that 'he meant to trip up each time Lily wandered by, really it was all just part of his plot to win her heart') never really sprang to mind.
In fact, the need to impress was nearly non-existent, not counting the normal competitiveness of everyday school life.
It wasn't a crush, although the reasonable voice in Remus' mind mused that the idea of such a boyish infatuation was perfectly fine in some ways. After all, boy means man means human and the simplicity behind noticing a spark of laughter hidden deep within a remark (like an archaeological dig, really) or revelling in the feeling of the faint scrape of a newly-chewed nail tip over his wrist was completely beyond anything the wolf would ever fathom.
From what he had read, a crush would have to involve daydreams of fields covered in violets for the two parties to run towards each other through, kisses in the rain shared with girls clad in little more than a shirt and a tie, and perhaps baked goods, if he was especially well-behaved; which all sounded lovely on principle but refused to take into account the fact that, even in a dream, Remus worried far too much about crushing the flowers to trample recklessly through them, he failed to grasp the appeal of cold water pouring down the back of his uniform, regardless of any other warm bodies around at the time and that too much sugar made his head spin quite badly.
Obviously, Remus reflected with not a little pride, he was not the most romantic of boys and this fact alone drove out the option of anything he thought, did or even felt equating into an adoration of any sort besides the type felt by most schoolchildren towards a few select people every now and again.
What it was, namely, was a friendship of sorts, although it felt more like a carefully laid-out arrangement at times, what with the give-and-take method that had been put into action now that they'd reached the age of sixteen. A shiver or two (with a few distressed kicks thrown in for good measure) would earn him a soft padding of feet, the slip of a heavy curtain and a sleepy, 'Oi Moony, shove over, will you?' while a badly-timed owl nearly always led to Remus being dragged into a near-dawn raid of the kitchens and the strange, sudden urge to give into his darker side if ever he was given the chance, so that once he was left for what little sleep could be salvaged, a part of his mind screamed in laughter at the blockades Remus-the-boy was straining against, too busy desperately trying to keep them from toppling down to get any real rest and left him with a streak of grey beneath each eye, a new reason for an old (albeit, temporary) battle scar.
Whatever the case, it wasn't love. Remus was far too sensible to muddle up two such separate concepts as love and friendship, after all.