talk. // a dumb yura and dima interaction i conjured late night..
“So.. Dima, right?” Yura asked, casting a side-eye to the fidgeting teen squatted next to him. He never really got to look at him as much, especially since he only saw him in passing whenever he was near his sister.
It’s a bit endearing in a way that their first proper conversation had to be inside of a worn-down apartment building. Feels oddly poetic.
Dima looked up at him. His blue eyes scanning his usual smirk and his newly signature blue outfit. Green eyes just staring down to blue hiding what could be ulterior motives but just can’t sadly be read by the psychic.
“Yeah. What is it?”
“..You know Katya, right?”
Yura scratched at his head, his free hand reaching into his pocket. Warm but pale fingers find themselves wrapping around the comfort of a cigarette pack, holding onto it and letting it escape the confinements of the musty jean pockets.
“I know KT. What about her?”
Dima watched the man light a cigarette, taking his sweet time inhaling a drag of the tobacco before exhaling. The gray puff of smoke obscuring his face momentarily as his lips part for his voice to escape.
“Dunno. Just.. wanted to know, y’know?”
“. . . What is it?”
Yura’s usual smile fell short as his hand waved at the smoke to go away. His eyes no longer pierced through the soul of the mutant and instead looked dead ahead. The door in front of him tinted yellow from the sunlight of the nearby window and his mind trying its hardest to just think.
All of that just for Yura to exhale, grin again, and look back at Dima.
“Just don’t remember her face. That’s all.”
