The Storyteller (Oikawa Tooru x reader)

11. viewpoint

Cancer was a running problem in your family. No, not the term used in any internet jokes, the real life, actual disease. Apparently it was genetic, so there wasn't much of a chance of you escaping it. For as long as you could remember, you had been told by mean cousins that you would most likely die from the illness.

And for quite some time, you thought they were lying. You genuinely dismissed their comments, thinking that they were being stupid, and just trying to scare you, as older relatives often did. 

That was until your mum got it.

Now, your mother had mostly been abroad, only coming over to where you lived for summer. She'd grown up in England, and then moved to Japan, where she met your father; but when she got a job offer in Scotland, for a company that paid much better than her current workplace, how could she resist?

Unfortunately, when you were 13, she was diagnosed with an aggressive colon cancer, and had to be put into chemotherapy almost straight away.

From that point on, you could only ever talk to your mother on the phone. Flights were too expensive, since your dad's salary wasn't even half of your mother's. 

Something about life became strangely bleak after that.

-

"You should come watch us practice, (Y/n)-chan," Oikawa commented, as you trailed behind him on your way out from school.

"What for?" you questioned dully, eyeing him with suspicion. 

"Just so you can see how fantastic I am," he replied, and an obnoxious smirk spread across his face when he heard you grumble in annoyance.

"I don't know," you muttered, averting your gaze to your shoes. "I might distract you guys from practice. I don't want to get in the way."

"Why would you think that? We're a very competent lot you know," Oikawa's footsteps halted, and you peered upwards to catch him offering you a tilt of his head accompanied with his signature grin.

"I'm shocked that your vocabulary has the word competent in it," you murmured, taking a sudden interest in the painted wall to your left.

"I think you'll find that I'm smarter than you think," Oikawa pouted, folding his arms.

"Brush your teeth after saying that shit," you replied, getting great satisfaction in how his jaw dropped in mock offense.

"You're quite rude for someone so quiet, (Y/n)-chan," he huffed.

In a moment of panic, you were convinced you had genuinely hurt his feelings, and backtracked nervously. "I-I--They just come out, sometimes. I feel like you would like the banter — but that's just me assuming things again, of course — so I thought I could try using sarcasm as a way to make myself seem less awkward," you spluttered, making hurried hand gestures to convey something you didn't even quite know.

Oikawa was silent, before he let out a slight chuckle. "You're an interesting character, aren't you? Don't worry, Iwa-chan has taught me how to handle tough love; but you don't need to sound so serious, I can tell you're putting in effort."

You jolted, and your lips formed a thin line, reaching up to tug at your collar, as you became hot with embarrassment. "Wikihow said sharp wit was admirable," you muttered, feeling betrayed by the website. 

(Wikihow was your last resort in your internet search on how to seem likeable.)

"Yes, yes," Oikawa snorted, his tone somewhat mocking, yet in a fun way, "just make sure you don't start T-posing in the bathrooms, alright?"

"I hope you choke on a stapler," you snapped, shaking with furious humiliation.

Oikawa only laughed harder at your comment, before wiggling his eyebrows. "Now, are you going to come to my practice?"

You glanced away, weighing the pros and cons, before shrugging moodily. "Fine, I guess."

It wouldn't be as great as watching tennis, but perhaps volleyball contained a few tricks that you could use in your own sport of expertise.

-

"Trashykawa!" Iwaizumi instantly threw a volleyball right at Oikawa as soon as he entered the gym, "Don't drag your friends to practice if they don't wanna be here!"

"But Iwa-chan! (Y/n)-chan agreed to come! Right?!" Oikawa looked at you for support, as he rubbed a now red mark on his pretty face.

Now under the scrutiny of all his teammates, who were looking at you with curiosity, you felt very pressured, and all you could bring yourself to do was stutter out, "I-It's fine, Iwaizumi-san! I wanted to, uh, see if I could, uhm… pick up anything from volleyball, to use for my own exercise!"

Iwaizumi searched your expression for any sign of insincerity, then reluctantly nodded with a grunt. "That's fine. You can sit at the bench over there," he pointed to the said item, "but watch out for any stray balls."

"Thank you," you whispered meekly, before scurrying over to the bench. On your way, you caught sight of several people, who had come to watch Oikawa, and immediately felt a rush of anxiety to your head. 

Would they kill you if they saw you getting special treatment? Fuck that, had they already noticed that you were talking with Oikawa? Shitting hell, they were a literal cult, they'd probably strap you to a pole and set you on fire while chanting Oikawa's favourite songs.

(Also, for some reason, you had the feeling Oikawa liked Ariana Grande and Britney Spears. You didn't know why. He just gave off that energy.)

You sat down heavily, and tried to focus on what was going on during the practice. Oikawa led the boys, seeing as he was the captain, and you found that even though they teased him mercilessly, he was probably the most capable person among them, who could tie them together, to create such an admirable team.

Since tennis was a sport you generally did alone, unless you were playing doubles, it was fascinating to see such comadary between them.

It made you think; it made you think about how nice it must be to work with people who understood you.

You'd always been drawn to tennis because it relied on each player, so there was no one to blame for your mistakes but yourself, and you didn't let anyone down if you lost. But… watching these guys was giving you a whole new perspective. Their interactions were heartwarming, and it caused you to reevaluate some previous ideals you'd stuck with.

Maybe, if you had friends who knew everything about you, and accepted you, and loved you, working with others would be fun.

But you didn't have that.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, as you realized just how lonely you were. This type of thing was normal; you were just an outsider who'd never attempted to make a single friend out of fear. 

It was comparable to a sharp slap in the face: sudden, and with a sting that shocked your body.

Releasing a shuddered breath, you looked up again, and swallowed the lump in your throat. You weren't here to cry.

A/n: am I pushing my own grief about cancer in my own family in this story because my grandma died last week from it? Yes.
Is it unhealthy? Probably.