reciprocate. oikawa tooru

You never did like the fact that you had a crush – no – were in love with your school’s resident heartthrob. Ever since first year, you were assigned to the same class as he was, until second, until third year, you felt like the person assigning classes was laughing at you. Consequences had it, that you were there to witness his personality first hand, everyday from the beginning of high school, until then that you were a few months until you graduate.

Many times had you brushed your feelings for the boy off, saying that it was merely a passing crush because he was naturally charismatic, handsome and eye catching. That proved to be wrong as your ‘passing crush’ lasted until third year, up to the point were you were unable to ignore the uncontrollable beating of your heart, the helpless stuttering whenever he spoke two words to you.

Never did it help that you were seated on the desk next to him. He would occasionally glance in your general direction to ask if he could borrow a pen, or tap your shoulder at the end of class to ask what the assignment was because he accidentally fell asleep, or ask for a little help whenever he felt the difficulty of your homework. You shrugged them off as friendly gestures, not of insecurity, but it was because he did the same to his other seatmates. The one on his right, the one in front of him, the one behind, and then you; it was no different – and you hated that.

Whenever girls would pile at your homeroom’s door, looking for him, you couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling of jealousy. You knew you had no right to be jealous, especially since you were just a friend, err, acquaintance, to him. But the twinge of pain you’d feel in your chest whenever he smiles at them, whenever he waves at them and talks very sweet to them, whenever he’d leave the comfort of his desk to stride towards them, away from you; it was so tremendous you could feel your fingers tightening around your pen, the words coming off ragged and deep in your notebook.

The day you decided to confess to him was very clear in your mind. It was a beautiful Wednesday and you decided to do it through a love letter. The night before that was spent sleepless, tossing and turning in your bed as you think about the letter you’ve spent days on. And when you were one step closer to telling him of your feelings, you stopped. You thought the idea of sliding the letter in his locker was good, that it would save you a great deal of embarrassment than just handing it to him, but once you got to his locker, you noticed the visible amount of pink and white envelopes protruding from the corners of the confinement of his locker; ten, no, maybe fifty, of them limply clung onto the small slits. You dropped your hands to the side, feeling defeat and went for stuffing the paper back inside your bag, not caring if you had crumpled it.

“Good morning, [First name]-chan!! What are you doing at my locker? Are you giving me a love letter? Which one is yours?” He said that day, pointing at the shoved letters. You shook your head and gave him a small smile, denying the fact that you, indeed, planned on giving him one, but settled on telling him that the letters piqued your curiosity. “Uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhaaaaahhhhh, I know!!!! Now I have to spend the rest of my morning trying to get all of them out, I need to use my locker, you know? For putting school stuff and things.”

You left the letter forgotten, sitting at the bottom of your bag collecting dust and fabric flint and pencil shavings. It was stupid to even think of letting him know of your feelings, seeing as it was more than obvious that he had more than half of the girls – no, students – drooling over his smooth, soft, wavy brown hair, his matching eyes, and his overall attractive physical appearance. You were just another passing face to him, no one special, and no one he would remember.

Sometimes you had felt like you were a little higher than his fan people (yes, fan people, not just fan girls because wow Oikawa’s booty can make anyone swiddy daddle) because you actually had to witness his adorable personality first hand; being his classmate for three years had its perks yet... no, you shouldn’t raise your hope too high, after all you hadn’t even have barely three proper conversations with him, only the casual good mornings or hellos whenever he sits on his desk in the morning. You don’t even know what his favourite colour was and his favourite food, his favorite spots in the school; and it reminded you that you had just fallen in love with what you’ve seen, and you haven’t seen enough.

You’ve felt a little jealous of everyone who talked to him, everyone who knew him, from his hobbies down to the things he’s concerned about the most; from the things that makes him happy to the things that irritated him the most.

The day you saw him weeping on the cold ground in your school’s gym’s changing rooms after the prelims shook you from the tips of the hairs on your arm to the very veins that line themselves in your body. You barely knew him despite being behind him and hopelessly in love with him for three years, and with that, you didn’t know what to say or do. This is the first time you’ve seen this side of him and you were afraid that you do anything to upset him. So you said nothing, kneeling to his level and wrapping your comforting arms around his shoulders. What would Iwaizumi-san do if he was here? Would he have done the same? Scrap being bad at trying to comfort your crush, you were bad at comforting people in general.

It surprised you when he hugged you back, pulling you close to his body and crying silently on your shoulder, wetting the beige clothing and dishevelling them. You remain in that position for a while, your arms around each other, his face buried onto the blade of your shoulder, his legs on either side of your body – the locker room’s floor didn’t feel very cold anymore, it kind of felt warm and reassuring to him, and found it kind of odd.

His sobs were long since ceased, but he held you closer than he did before, inhaling your scent and imprinting it in his mind.

The two of you would’ve stayed like that longer had his best, closest, childhood friend hadn’t come, looking for the genius setter. He wasn’t derogatory that time, no words such as ‘trash’ or ‘crappy’ or such; he only rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed in a soothing manner, calming the long since calmed chocolate eyed boy.

“[First name].” The absence of the honorific he used on everyone made you stare into his eyes, for once he felt like someone besides Iwaizumi was taking him seriously, taking him as someone with emotions rather than a trophy who’s handsome and great. “Thank you.”

You had no idea why he had thanked you; you were at loss because you do not have any recollection on what you did for him to be grateful to you.

And with that he stood up, out stretched his hand for you to grasp to help you stand up, and left with his best friend, their footsteps echoing in your ears.

You wondered what he was thinking when he spoke those words to you.

Oikawa Tooru never did like the fact that he had a crush – no – was in love with his classmate who always seemed to brush his hints off. Ever since first year, he was assigned to the same class as you were, until second, until third year, he felt like the person assigning classes was laughing at him. Consequences had it, that he was there to witness your personality first hand, everyday from the beginning of high school, until then that you were a few months until you graduate.