Work Text:
Planet is the night type of person.
Sure, seeing the world bathed in orange hues during afternoons is beautiful. Though nothing beats the stillness of the evening when everyone's asleep and when tranquility becomes akin to a personal bubble where Time, for once, took pity on heavy eyes and finally paused.
In the stretch of late night, only the starry sky and trilling of crickets accompany the few people bothered enough to stay awake or those seeking for a break from every day routine and responsibilities.
Planet is usually the latter of the two.
And it's not necessarily bad, not really, when he chose to stay up last night. Not when he used the span of time in finishing his paper for their practical research course instead of booting up geometry dash. He wasn't tempted to, of course..
Planet yawned and attempted, at most, to rub the tiredness from his eyes with the knuckles of his own clenched fists as he aligned his ID to the sensor by the university's entrance. The speaker beeped to signal his recorded attendance and displayed the time on the monitor. 6:45 am. 45 more minutes before his first class.
Look, they prefer the night time, true! but the crisp air of a Monday morning is special in its own way too, he thinks. Especially with how gentle the sun caresses his face and how the dew appears to make every blade of grass sparkle.
He's glad to have finished his shitty paper. Though they didn't have the same course, and in that sense, nor do they have the same paper to do, Spoke stayed in vc with them all night. The raven-haired teen served more as white noise than anything useful but they appreciate the sentiment all the same. He was likely singing gacha songs–he's not too sure–maybe not.
It's unfortunate Planet wasn't stupid.
God right now they wished they were.
It's been half an entire year since he was put in an honors program for, not to brag but, performing better than most of their peers the year before. and mind you, against his will! The paper he hastily wrote last night was only one out of the many course requirements tormenting his very being.
Planet swears up and down his classes were designed to farm souls. They're not sure for what reason though, maybe for consumption? Sounds about right–the university admins are demons in disguise. probably. demons hostile to makeup-wearing teens and boys with longer-than-an-inch haircuts instead of crucifixes. Planet couldn't really think of another reason why on Earth the department would be so strict about its haircut policy if they weren't a direct way to repel admins back to the underworld.
He tugs the strings of his hoodie to further conceal his white hair. It's definitely white, it's definitely fluffy, but it's also definitely longer than what's permitted on fine-print but he'll be damned if he gets caught and has to get another buzzcut in the name of keeping the department's reputation and away from tainting it's prestige (what the fuck?)
They're getting sidetracked. Point is, he's tired, sleepy, probably has dried drool on his face, and to add on, just felt the feather-light weight of his backpack. He's definitely forgotten to bring something.
In the middle of the university sidewalk, Planet halted to quickly zip open and parse through his belongings. His water bottle, a snapped pencil, Good ol' calculator, two pieces of grape in a tupperware, and also a clean sheet torn from his notebook.
He's very much forgotten to print out his research paper before leaving his home two hours away. The very thing due for graded calibration today. well. What's the point of getting a printer at home for his personal use if he keeps forgetting it exists to perform its one purpose.
He guesses there's nothing he could do but squeeze going to the library between his classes. Although he admits this rather unenthusiastically. They were really hoping to take a nap instead of watching an unreliable, electronic, waste-of-time spit out sheets of paper that sometimes crumple said paper when it decides it wants to fuck with your mind. oh what a sad life it is. Maybe printers are hellspawn too. Printers act worse when it knows the deadline is close–he has proof!
How he wishes he could just reincarnate as floating nebula in space. Preferably with his pc. and an internet router for sure.
He rounds the corner of the admissions building and finds Spoke sitting on one of the few secluded benches in the campus.
Planet comes closer and stands behind the bench, facing Spoke's back. It was Spoke who greeted him first.
"Hey man!"
Planet winces at the volume and thinks the person standing right in front of him is way too loud for this hour, nevertheless, the corners of his mouth lift into a genuine smile seeing the fondness in the curve of his friend's eyes. Afterall, Spoke is Spoke.
"Hi Spoke" Planet replies with all the energy he could muster from a total of no hours of sleep. He watches Spoke fidget with his backpack strap, and remembers to check his watch. 30 more minutes 'till class. Without really thinking about it, Planet sits down and rests his head on Spoke’s lap, letting himself relax completely despite the insistent shaking of his friend's leg. A subconscious habit he's formed over the years.
The morning light hits the foliage surrounding their little area just right, the birds continue their chirping and Planet, after 28 restless hours, finally drifts to sleep.
Spoke glances down at him, shaking his head with an amused smile before returning to his phone.
“Good morning, Planet"