Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Staring at the ceiling, eyes glazing over as you listened to the sounds of people shuffling beyond the doors of the library, your mind was wandering. You’d been here since school had ended, surrounded by the dusty peace of a room left unoccupied, but you hadn’t managed to get much work done. Your mind had been wandering, your concentration taking a nosedive in a way that it only could when you wanted to be doing anything  but what it needed to be doing.

The world around you was stuck in a stasis of sorts, the sleepy early evening sunlight casting long shadows around the room. A textbook sat open on the table in front of you, the notebook beside it opened to a page littered with small scribbles and doodles along the margins. It wasn’t even as if you struggled in school normally - it was simply that your mind was at least a hundred miles away from the math lesson you’d been trying to reteach yourself. Miles and a few months away, to be precise, when your mother was finally released from her extended stay in the hospital. 

You’d been sitting against the ledge of the fountain that sat in front of the large building, gazing up at clouds passing overhead. With the trickling water at your back and the people milling about, you waited with your arms crossed over your chest, one foot crossed in front of the other. It’d been a few weeks since you’d seen her, after a particularly bad relapse. For as long as you could remember it’d been like this - hospital visits and waiting and stress and stress and stress… 

Weeks, in fear of the worst. 

But your mother was being released, her tests good enough to provide solace to her medical caregivers and all of us. Now, you were just waiting for your parents to come out, after signing her out and gathering all of her belongings before heading home. 

Your father had caught the earliest flight he could home, and when he’d arrived home early that morning, you’d gotten up from where you’d been sitting at the dining table, and you’d let him wrap his arms around you as your eyes filled with tears and you tried to keep your breathing steady. 

You heard your name then, and when you looked over and caught sight of your mom, pale and wispy, you couldn’t keep the smile away from your face. You let your arms fall away and stepped towards her outstretched arms, letting your face rest along the dip between her neck and her shoulder. Breathing in her scent brought comfort to you, a warmth that helped the anxiety plaguing your mind find a way out. 

“Oh,” a soft voice said, breaking you out of your reverie. You blinked once, turning your head so that you could cast your sight on the intruder. A head was peeking around one of the far bookshelves, neatly styled brown hair and a pair of wide eyes. “I didn’t think anyone else would be in here,” the boy said, walking quickly around the shelf and towards the table you’d been sitting at. 

Your gaze followed him around, brows pulling together as you realized who he was. “I was just leaving,” you said, standing up and moving your things quickly towards your open bag. There was nothing inherently wrong with Oikawa Toru. He was friendly to everyone, kind, and always smiling. He was goofy, handsome, and generally well-liked. But he was constantly surrounded by people - namely by girls who wanted desperately to receive his attention. Witnessing it was exhausting, but being caught in the middle of it; you didn’t want to think about what that would be like. 

Raising a hand as he sat down across from you, Oikawa said, “Wait, actually, could you… stay here for a few more minutes?” You cast a wary look over him, and then looked in the direction of the library door, unsure why your stomach was beginning to fill with dread. 

You’d never actually spoken to him before, not in more than an “oh-excuse-me-I’m-passing-by” kind of way. Reluctantly, you sat back down in your seat, never taking your eyes away from his. He smiled gratefully at you as you did, letting his own take in the room around you. From the hall you could hear a few voices, their words muffled and indecipherable. It was an uncomfortable silence that stretched between the both of you, your expectant gaze asking for why you’d been asked to stay and his avoidant gaze flicking around to take in every minuscule detail about the library that he’d probably already seen multiple times before.

“So,” you say, after a beat, letting a fingertip run along the face of the table. His eye flick back to you, gaze sharp, “Was there an actual reason for me to stay, or…?” Maybe it was a little rude to speak to him like this, but really. You couldn’t just stay here all night. Oikawa lets out a nervous huff of laughter, an uncomfortable sound that fills the space between you. 

His lips curl up into a smile then, warm, “Can’t a guy spend time with a pretty girl without an ulterior motive?” When you go to gather your things faster, he lets out a laugh and says, “I’m joking, I just don’t want anyone to find me for a little while longer.” 

You make a face at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t drop the easy smile, his brown eyes full of mirth. Determined not to pay him any attention, you focus back on your things in front of you. You still had your notebook open, the problem you’d been working on glaring at you. Pulling it and your pencil back in front of you, you try to start working on it again. Just because you had been lost in your thoughts didn’t mean he had to know - he was still interrupting you after all. 

But he didn’t seem perturbed by you intentionally ignoring him. He almost seemed to enjoy it. He said, “Is it normally this quiet here?” 

“...Yeah.” You weren’t sure why, but he continued asking questions along that vein, inane babble meant to fill a silence you didn’t mind in the first place. You attempted to deliver brief replies, hoping that he would catch on quickly that you weren’t interested in maintaining a conversation. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite reaction. The less interested you seemed, the happier he seemed to just continue chirping anyway. 

After realizing you weren’t going to get much of anything else done, “Okay, well, I really am going to leave this time.” You stand up again, this time not letting him object to your departure. Picking your phone up from where it’d been sitting face down on the table beside you, your stomach drops when you see the time. Images of your mom, pale and collapsed filled your head, a tangible fear that filled you nearly to the brim. Shoving it into your bag, you toss a hand into the air in farewell and start making your way towards the exit. 

The sky outside of the windows of the school was a wave of color, pink fading to orange, casting violet shadows against the fluffy clouds suspended haphazardly throughout the expanse of the sky. The school was quiet now, members of clubs having already left. It was always a strange experience for you, seeing the school grounds devoid of any life. An alien experience that you’d had many years to grow accustomed to, but simply hadn’t. Behind you, the sound of footsteps, following and growing closer. 

You didn’t have to look behind you to know that it was Oikawa, his long legs helping him close the distance between you quickly. He walked beside you in silence, his eyes facing forward. Taking the opportunity, you cast your gaze on him, taking in the club jacket over his shoulders, the plain white shirt beneath it, and his athletic shorts. You presumed he’d skipped club practice, choosing instead to show up to the library to bug you. He’d grabbed his school bags at some point, an athletic bag slung over his chest and a backpack. 

As you exited the building together, still in a pleasant silence that you’d longed for previously. He didn’t say anything to you until you’d both reached the school gates, and he turned his head to smile one last time before throwing a hand up in a wave. “Thanks again,” he said, “see ya later.” 

“Yeah,” you said, raising your own hand in response. And then you were alone as he walked away, putting a pair of earbuds into his ears as he made his way home. You watched him for a moment before starting your own journey home. 

Walking home in the evening used to be one of your favorite things. The world was entering the catharsis that comes at the end of productivity; the restful state at the other end of expectation. Your footsteps were heavy, a part of you wishing that you could remain away from home while the warring part worried over your mother and her safety. 

It was hard to enjoy anything when you were constantly thrown back into varying states of anxiety. Speeding your pace up, you take the quickest route home, absorbing as much of the remaining sunlight in the sky as you could in an attempt to retain the semblance of warmth. 

When you arrived home, pushing the gate open and readjusting the weight of your bag on your shoulders, you heard a noise coming from the side of the house. Stepping closer to it, you noticed your mother, leaning forward to grab more things from a basket of laundry at her feet. Your feet crushed the grass, the snapping sound of it alerting her to your presence. Quickly, she righted herself and looked around. Seeing you, a happy smile pulled at her cheeks. She was still much too thin, her skin still a bit pallid despite everything, but her smile had remained effectively unchanged. So wide and full that it pinched her eyes in the corners. 

She said your name then, and, “Welcome home.” 

You said, “I’m home…” A bit bewildered that she was hanging clothes out to dry at all. You’d told her not to worry about household chores if she wasn’t feeling up to it, that you’d take care of everything that she wasn’t able to do. Surely, you’d thought numbly at the time, she’ll take advantage of an offer like that. Before she’d gotten sick… you weren’t good at offering help. But now, well, you figured it was the least you could do. 

Her expression wavered, just for a moment, “Are you alright? You’re running pretty late today, did something happen?” 

Schooling your features, you smiled in response, shaking your head to wave away her worry. “Just got caught up studying. Do you need any help?” 

“Oh, no, thank you. I’ll start on dinner when I finish with the laundry.” You nodded, wary to leave her but not wanting to bother her by hovering for too long. As you made your way up the stairs to your room, you listened for her, any sound that might’ve indicated she needed help. Dropping your things off and changing out of your uniform, you heard nothing. You headed back downstairs to grab a drink from the fridge. 

This was the way your life had been since your father had left again. 

When you’d walked past your parents' bedroom that night, you saw him sitting on his bed, elbows resting on his knees. His face was turned down, gazing at the palms of his hands. You’d stopped in the doorway, gazing at him in concern when he’d looked up, eyes blown wide. He’d said your name then, “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you’d said, and then, “What’s wrong?” 

He looked at you for a moment, and then, with a sigh, patted the bed beside him. Your feet carried you across the room to him, reluctant but curious. Settling onto the mattress, you looked at him again. His face was lined with worry and exhaustion, eyes full of a weariness you hadn’t ever noticed before. He looked at you too, and without preamble, put a hand on your shoulder. He said your name again, and then, “You’ll take care of mom while I’m gone, right?” 

You nodded, unable to find your voice. He nodded too and then looked back at his hands; at the suitcase that was standing near the door. “Good,” he said, after a brief pause, “good… She’s gonna need you, I wish I could stay to help her but -- but, I’ve gotta leave again soon…” 

It’d only been a month or two since then, but it’d felt like longer. The constant presence of your promise weighing heavily on your mind and chest, a physical burden that you carried around with you everywhere. You’d been trying, too, to make sure that you were around and available for your mom; just in case. She needed the help and you loved her, there was no reason why you shouldn’t offer it to her.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, your slippered feet muffled against the wooden floor, you were filled with a renewed determination to be helpful, to provide the stability your family needed to help you all get through this.

Oikawa doesn’t visit the library again until the following week. 

He’d passed you a few times in the hallways, occasionally catching his eyes and sharing a strange look with him, and then he’d smile and look away, continuing whatever conversation he’d been in before like he hadn’t even seen you. As if you were both in on a funny secret that you alone shared. Neither of you had spoken to each other, which was a ridiculous train of thought; it wasn’t as if you were friends or anything. 

You’d gone to the library a few times, hoping to be able to find a quiet place to focus that was not in the small bubble of normalcy you’d steadily grown accustomed to - your house, your classroom, and sometimes the grocery store if your mother was feeling very ill. Not that it’d made much of a difference anyway, you’d gotten very little done, mind once again struggling to focus on anything of substance. 

Today though, you were determined. You’d asked your teacher for a bit of extra help after class, another personalized explanation to help you get through some practice problems, to really cement the concepts into your brain. It’d worked so far, too, you’d managed to make your way through a handful of problems and you were feeling pretty good about it. 

A hand reached out past your head, elbow brushing the hair near your ear. With a long finger pointing at the last problem you’d been working on, you hear a voice say, “This one’s wrong.” 

Understandably, you jump, twisting around to see Oikawa taking a step back with an easy grin tugging the corners of his lips up. He stepped around the table and took the seat across from you, pulling his own bag from his shoulders and letting it fall with a thud against the ground. He crossed his arms before him leaning his weight against the table to peer at your paper, now upside-down to him. 

Until now, you’d never realized how long his lashes were, casting slight shadows against his cheeks. His dark hair was tousled, intentionally styled to frame his face in the most attractive light. You set your eyes back to your paper, eyeing the problem he said you’d done incorrectly - you couldn’t see how it was wrong. 

He reached his arm forward again, pointing out another problem, “This one, too. You keep substituting the wrong numbers,” he said, and when you looked up with him, confused, he turned the paper around and held an expectant hand out, waiting for you to pass your pencil over to him. When you did, he immediately circled the spot where you’d messed up, explaining how to correctly answer. After he was done, he looked up towards you, brows raised. 

“What?” You said, the word thick on your tongue. 

He shook his head, looking back down at the paper and turning it back to you. Genuinely grateful, you accept it back and look back over how he did it, following the steps he’d written out. To your delight, it actually made sense. His simplified explanation had made the process feel less daunting. When you looked up to thank him, he was already looking at you, a cheek resting in his palm and his brows pushed together as if he were trying to figure you out. Uneasy over being watched, you decide to keep your appreciation to yourself and start working on your next problem. 

“Do you come to the library every day?” 

The question took you off guard, mostly because you hadn’t been expecting him to break the silence. You don’t look away from your paper when you reply. “No.” 

Clearly miffed by your lackluster response, you hear him sigh, shifting in his seat. He seemed to do that a lot - shift. Constantly rearranging his limbs to look the most casual, the most comfortable. There was a part of you that thought that must be exhausting, to constantly concern yourself with maintaining an undisturbed air. There was another part of you, a part that was somewhere between cruel and sympathetic, that wondered what the point of doing it in the first place was. 

“Do you have anything you like to do for fun?” You wondered if he did this to everyone; if this nettling personality was what everyone considered to be charming. He was certainly friendly, keeping a steady and simple flow of conversation despite your lack of interest and responses. You answered him callously, desperately wanting him to realize that you didn’t want to talk about your hobbies or your classmates or what your favorite movie was with him. You didn’t want to talk about that with anyone. 

After the fifth personal question, the language he used started to shift. Less of a curious classmate to more of a scathing review. “Don’t you have any friends?” That got under your skin; who was this boy to come into your study room, to bug you and then keep up a steady stream of questions you weren’t interested in answering, to start digging and prodding and - no, this wouldn’t do. You looked up at him finally, and the expression on his face shifted as if he’d been hoping to garner some sort of reaction from you. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than stalk me in the library?” 

Pulling a hand to his chest and pinching his face in mock hurt, he turned away from you dramatically, “You wound me,” he groaned, “that is quite an accusation to throw around, miss.” 

“Don’t call me 'miss'.” You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the paper before you. 

“What should I call you instead?” 

Glaring down at the paper, unsure why you were suddenly nervous, you said your name. Then, blanching at your own daring, you glanced up at him, “I guess.” He was smiling then - not the cheeky grin he gave when he was being particularly mischievous, and not the easy smirk that didn’t touch his eyes - a genuine smile that made him look different, somehow. Handsome. Your stomach did a small, uncomfortable somersault. 

It settled quickly after he opened his mouth again, though, his voice saying your name a few times, slowly. As if he were tasting it. And to your horror, with no honorifics. Your cheeks went hot. 

“Nevermind,” you said, frowning, “that was creepy. I think I’d prefer ‘ miss’ .” He laughed then, a happy noise breaking through the quiet of the room, and you couldn’t help laughing in return, the giggles bubbling up from your throat. Despite your apparent disinterest, you couldn’t pretend that this simple back-and-forth wasn’t fun, or that a part of you wasn't actually enjoying it. 

After you’d both settled back into an easier silence, you let the feeling of camaraderie settle. Keeping your voice low, you said, “Do you come to the library a lot?” You were fairly certain you knew the answer already, keenly aware of the absence of pretty much anyone else on your own visits over the last few weeks. But, you thought, maybe he’d come a lot before, and he’d just been especially busy lately… He is a member of the volleyball club, after all, and you were fairly sure they had practice just about every day. 

“Nah,” he leaned back in his chair then, crossing his arms behind his head, “I didn’t even realize we were allowed to come in here after school until I saw you.” He gazed at you then, curiosity written plainly across his face. You’d never understood what people meant when they described others as an ‘open book’ but you thought maybe it was something similar to this. Someone who didn’t try to hide anything, someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. 

“Oh,” you nodded, wondering if he was planning on elaborating at all. “So… you just happened to stumble along and then decided to come back?” 

“Well,” he said, scratching absently at his cheek, “yeah. To be honest I kinda hoped you would be here again anyways.” 

“Why?” You hadn't meant for it to come out the way that it had, uncomfortable and cold.

With a sad smile, he shrugged. “It’s nice to be around someone that doesn’t expect something from me.” You don’t know how to respond to that, faced with such raw truth. “Anyways,” he said, stretching his arms in front of him before standing up, “they still haven’t found me here yet, so for now, it’s my secret hideout.” He winked at you and then with a wave, he left. 

You’d started growing accustomed to Oikawa’s random visits. 

He only ever made his way to the library on Mondays. When you asked him why, he explained that they were the only days he didn’t have practice. According to him, he needed the time so he wouldn’t overwork his muscles. As he explained it to you, however, you couldn’t help but notice a sort of reluctance. It was possible he didn’t  want  to take the time off, you supposed. 

On the days that you did sit together, you’d both grown accustomed to a sort of pattern. You would work on homework for different classes, and sometimes he would too. Sometimes if he could see that you were struggling with a question, he would offer advice or help. If he needed help, he’d ask you questions too, although mostly you weren’t able to offer much help in return. 

The more time you spent around each other, the more you realized that you didn’t really mind hanging out with him. There was a lot more to Oikawa than the flirty smirks and the lazy confidence. He spoke freely of a lot of things, his family - especially his nephew, who he seemed to adore - his friends, volleyball. He could talk about volleyball for hours. Games he’d watched, practice matches he’d been involved in, a serve he’d been working on for a while. Every time your conversation strayed to the sport, he would speak animatedly, eyes lighting up. Shockingly, it was almost as if you were becoming friends.

Even more shocking, you didn’t mind it. 

Today was a Wednesday though, which meant you’d be alone in the library until 4:30; alone and able to focus on getting work done again. Being alone had never been easy for you; it’d been harder still since your mom got sick. It offered you too much time in your own mind. Although you were alone, you enjoyed this time nearly as much as you enjoyed the time with your new friend. It was time away from your responsibilities, time away from your life. 

The room was filled with a dusty sort of silence, light leaking through the windows. Your books were on the table before you, unopened, as you stared down at your phone. Music player opened, earbuds in, you scrolled through your library and looked for any song that might help get you motivated. 

“Oh good, you’re here.” The voice startles you, sending a shock through your whole body as you turn to find the face it’d come from. Oikawa was walking towards you, quickly maneuvering through the maze of shelves and tables. He had his bags slung around his shoulders, a harried expression on his face. He looked down at the table, taking in the unopened books, and momentarily paused, as if considering before he said, “Struggling to focus without me?” 

You scoffed, looking back at your phone and locking the screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice right now?” He was settling himself into the seat across from you, his usual spot, when you looked up at him, wrinkling your nose in distaste. A small smile pulled up the corners of his lips. 

It fell as the sound of muffled voices came from outside of the library. 

“I have a favor to ask you, and I need you to give me a yes or no right now.” The words spilled from his mouth quickly, almost slurring together. 

“What?” You’d never heard him speak like this before. 

“Please, quickly.” 

“I don’t - what is the favor?” The voices were closer now.

“Pretend to be my girlfriend.” 

“Excuse me?” 

The door of the library opened, and the voices grew closer still. You glanced over your shoulder, curious, but then you heard Oikawa shift, and your attention fell back on him. He was looking at you, wide brown eyes pleading. “Please, I wouldn’t be asking if I had another choice.” Behind you, the voices were nearly upon you. 

“Fine.” 

He stared at you, eyes shining, and then reached a hesitant hand across the table. His fingers stopped on your knuckles, feather-soft and slow. “Oh? Oikawa’s here after all.” A girl’s voice came from the shelves, and instead of looking for the owner behind you, your eyes remained trained on Oikawa. His own lashes were casting shadows against his cheeks as he gazed down at your hand which he’d picked up in his own. 

He turned your palm over, slowly tracing his fingers along the lines of your hand. You watched his methodical progress, a little breathless as they dipped onto your wrist, beneath the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Oikawa?” Another lilting voice said. 

As if only just realizing they were there, Oikawa glanced up. “Oh, hey guys what’s up?” 

“‘What’s up?’ I mean,” One of the girls said, and you could hear the frown in her voice, “What’s up with  you ?” 

“Yeah, why’d you just run off like that after practice? We were waiting for you!” 

“Ah,” Oikawa said with a troubled smile, “Sorry, I thought my girlfriend might still be here so I wanted to hurry over to walk her home.” 

“Girlfriend?” 

“Yeah!” He said, and the smile on his face seemed almost genuine. “You guys have met, right?” He raised his brows in surprise when they said no, and then he introduced you, his eyes barely straying from you. 

“How long have you two been together?” One of the girls eventually asks, a polite gesture despite her clear disinterest. Maybe disinterest wasn’t the correct term -- disdain, maybe. Despite your own qualms over the entire thing, you’d kept your eyes down shyly for most of the conversation. Avoiding prolonged eye contact with Oikawa himself, and feigning embarrassment whenever either of the girls spoke to you. Though he gave no outward indication, this seemed to please Oikawa a great deal. 

“It’s… only a recent development,” You chose your words carefully, letting them fall from your mouth slowly. It wasn’t a lie; you realized you had no interest in lying about this specific thing. It was almost fun, picking and choosing words that led them to believe something when you meant something else entirely. 

“Oh… Well, congratulations, I guess.” And with this, neither of the girls tried to hide their contempt, jealousy written plainly in their words. You looked up to them with a smile, then turned it on Oikawa, letting their words soak into your skin as if they were a truth. He smiled back at you until the girls took their leave, uncomfortable watching the intimate moment between the two of you. 

As soon as they were gone, his smile fell. He leaned back in his chair, a neutral expression replacing the mirth that had been there. Crossing his arms over his chest, he let out a sigh, and casting his eyes back on your face, he pursed his lips. “Sorry,” he said, “about that.”

You raised a brow at the tonal shift, following his lead and mirroring his body language, “Do you ask all of your friends to pretend to date you?” 

Oikawa snorted, rolling his eyes, “No way, this was a special exception.” He winked, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust. He was back to his flirty usual. The lazy confidence oozing off of him. It was almost enough to make you forget the way that his face had fallen. 

“I never would’ve thought that you’d try to hide from a group of girls.”

He pouted, “I wasn’t  hiding . I was simply… avoiding.” 

“Right…” You said, narrowing your eyes and nodding, “Avoiding. So?” 

“So?”

“Why were you  avoiding  them?” You put emphasis on the word he’d chosen to use, raising your eyes back to his face to watch his reaction. There was none - he maintained the same composure, the same easy assurance. As if anything he said or felt was the standard for what was acceptable. 

With a shrug, he tipped his head backward and gazed at you through his long lashes. “There’s a perfectly nice girl that I can talk to right here, right? Why should I seek attention from anyone else?” 

You decided to ignore that, shuffling your books and pencils together on the table instead. You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to give you an actual answer. “Is this going to be a recurring thing then, me pretending to date you?” 

He pursed his lips again, “What do you mean?” 

“Well you don’t want attention - or something - and you’ve already told those girls that we’re dating, so… is this going to be a continuous thing, or are you going to tell them that we’ve broken up?” 

Furrowing his brow, he considered for a moment, opening his mouth once and then closing it again, rethinking whatever he was about to say. “Would you want to continue pretending?” 

“I mean, it’s a little late to turn my nose up at the idea, isn’t it?” 

He smiled another genuine one that lit up his entire face. 

You were sitting at your seat at lunch the next day, unopened convenience store lunch sitting on your desk. With a pair of earbuds playing a slow melody into your ears, you watched the people around you settling back into their seats and continuing whatever conversation they’d been having. 

When you’d gotten home the night before, your mother had smiled at you from the kitchen table, where she was nursing a cup of tea. By the stillness of the liquid and the lack of steam rising over the brim, it was already cold. She hadn’t drunk much of it. “Welcome home,” she said, “dinner is almost done.” 

Crossing the room in a few easy steps you leaned against her, resting your face on her head. Warmth radiated off of her in comforting waves, and you let out a breath. “You could’ve waited for me, I would’ve helped you out.” 

Your mother reached a hand up and patted your cheek, turning her face up, “I’m not so fragile that I can’t make dinner for us. It’s alright.” 

“Alright, you’re right… I’m just worried…” 

“Don’t worry.” 

You hear your name then, feel a soft touch on your shoulder. Glancing around, you notice one of your classmates, a girl who you spoke to sometimes, is standing to your left. You look at her, raising a brow in curiosity. “Someone is here for you.” She said, tossing a thumb over her shoulder. You crane your neck to peer around her, feeling your heart slam once against your chest. Standing in the door, brows raised and looking at everything with a pair of wide eyes, is Oikawa. When he catches your eyes, a grin spreads across his cheeks and he waves to you. 

He calls out to you, waving his hand to gesture you toward him. Voices soften around you, and you feel the eyes of your classmates on you as you reluctantly stand up and cross the room. You stop just before him, not looking at his face - when you’d agreed to continue this charade the day before, you hadn’t expected him to do  this . Unfortunately,  Oikawa  and  spectacle  seemed synonymous, at least in regards to certain aspects of his life.

He reaches forward, and you feel his palm resting on your head, “Why are you making that face?” 

Lifting your head with a scowl, you say, “What face?” 

He pouted his lips out and screwed up his brows, “This one,” he said, “you look like you’ve smelled something bad.” You pull your lips up into a grin, and he smiles in turn. He was pleased with your reaction then, it would seem. “Have we added each other on LINE?” 

“What?” You said, even though you’d heard what he said. 

“LINE, are we friends?” 

“When would we have become friends on LINE?” You were incredulous - you’d only started being friendly a few weeks before and you hadn’t exactly been trying to become close enough to him to try to talk more outside of the random library visits. 

“I guess you’re right,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, then, could we exchange our contact info now then?” The way he asked was almost shy, his eyes softer than normal, his smile unsure. Despite yourself, you were charmed. 

Gesturing behind you, you said, “I, uh, it’s at my desk.” He nodded then, and as you hurried back to your seat to grab it, you did your best to ignore all of the eyes on you. When you returned he was leaning against the wall outside of the door, gazing at you. You offered your cellphone to him. 

As he entered his contact information, you cocked your head to the side and watched. “How have the girls been today?” Your words were teasing, but he frowned at them, taking a long moment to ponder his response. 

“They’ve calmed down a bit,” He said, “actually quite a bit. I didn’t think word would’ve spread so fast.” Glancing up to you and raising a brow, he asked, “Have you told anyone?” 

Your cheeks flamed at this - not because you were nervous or anything like it, but because of the utter embarrassment that flared up at the prospect of telling anyone you had a boyfriend. Until this point, you’d remained entirely disinterested in dating as a whole. Horribly embarrassing. “Absolutely not.” 

He laughed, “You don’t have to say it like that.” Passing your phone back to you, he smiled again, wide. “That’s alright, I’m sure the girls in your class will start spreading it on their own.” He peered around your shoulder and waved. Whipping your head around, you noticed a couple of girls who’d been huddled together. When they caught your eyes, they jumped and looked away quickly. 

Covering your face with a hand, you released an amused breath, “This is really going to be a whole production, huh?” 

“Did you say something?” He said, turning his attention back to you. You smiled, waving your hand in front of you. There would be no complaining now, the time for that had passed ages ago. 

“Nah, nothing.” 

He smiled again, reaching forward to pat your head again. “Well, I’ll see you later.” You nodded, and his hand remained on your head a moment too long before he started walking away. Without looking up at him, you walked back into the classroom, grateful for the excuse of class starting soon to help you avoid any awkward conversations. Sitting in your seat, you rested your face in your arm 

“When were you going to tell me?” You hear the voice of a friend from beside you.

“Tell you what?” You turned your head and were met with a suggestive grin, she waggled her eyebrows at you. 

“That you’re dating Oikawa.” 

You blinked at her once and then smiled awkwardly. You let your eyes fall to your desk, “Well… it’s still pretty recent…” You glanced up and looked away immediately again, cheeks burning, “C’mon don’t look at me like that, you’re making me embarrassed.” 

Your friend giggled, sitting back in her seat and staring at you. There was clear envy on her face. “I can’t believe you’re so lucky. How’d you even meet?” 

“He came to the library a few times.” 

“Wow,” she said, and then she grinned again, “did you use a love potion on him or something?” You rolled your eyes and then turning your face away from her, you gazed out of the window. The sun was high in the cloudless sky, the blue so pretty it almost burned to look at. All around you were the voices of your classmates chattering and hurrying to their seats as they waited for class to start again. 

For the first time in you didn’t know how long, your mind was spiraling, but you weren’t thinking of your mother. Your head was full of languid limbs, easy smiles, and wide brown eyes. The pleasant voice that had become such a simple distraction to you after just a few weeks. You weren’t sure how to feel about it.