untitled ff

fandom: legend of the galactic heroes
characters: yang, dusty; implied yang/frederica
notes: high school au eyyy

i. (of x)

“—salutatorian of her middle school, also well-known for her photographic memory.” Dusty pauses, stills from his writing to press a contemplative finger against his cheek, only briefly, before he returns his attention back to the half-filled page of his notebook. “That’s only as far as I know, though,” he admits, between scratches of ink against lined paper.

“Hmm,” begins Yang, a low and noncommittal mumble as he leans back further against his chair. He doesn’t continue and Dusty hadn’t expected him to; he turns another page, lamenting silently over what little ink he still has left and the sudden price hike in stationery recently.

“Why are you even asking me this?” he presses, without looking up; spins the plastic pen idly between his fingers as he debates between using one word or the other. Both are equally good, and they serve the same purpose. A dilemma. The pen continues to twirl, blurring into a flash of bright red. It’s late; the classroom is empty, the main building quiet, and yet Yang still looks around to check for eavesdroppers before he opens his mouth to answer. Dusty wonders. “This is Poplan’s department, not mine,” he adds. Then, a sigh, short yet weary, and for a second he almost feels like he’s just celebrated his thirtieth birthday again, half-melted candles and all. “I don’t do creepy.”

“Yeah,” Yang avoids the question, flicking his eyes towards a spot of chipped paint on the wall. Dusty’s hand slips and so does his pen; the ink smears and smudges over the paper before he can stop it, a vivid shade of red against the creased white surface, spilling over the dark blue of his jacket. “…Just forget it.”

“Mm,” he replies after a beat, offering an absent nod. Yang’s expression relaxes, minutely; from the corner of his eye, Dusty notices, but he’s too busy grumbling about pesky ink stains to really care.

tba