[Book 1]
Your friend demands that you be the script writer for the supposed love story between her and Oikawa Tooru.
Or in which you're forced to shove two people together, painstakingly describing their romance arc, as you slowly fall for the volle...
A/n: if you thought the last chapter was long honey you've got a big storm coming.
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Due to the time difference, you woke up at 4:30 in the morning, after sleeping in the spare room of your father's apartment. You sleepily stumbled downstairs to the kitchen, to check if there was anything to eat, tugging at your loose pajamas, and fortunately found your favourite cereal.
You didn't dare wake up your dad, since you knew he'd been making himself ill from all the drama yesterday, so you resorted to eating by yourself.
You still had about 7 hours till the business meeting, so what to do in that time? Lounge around? Phone Sosuke? Visit Oikawa?
Hang on.
Visit Oikawa?!
You shook your head quickly, and ate more aggressively, refusing to think about that man for a second longer. He was only an ex boyfriend... who happened to be concerningly close with your father, and who you were probably going to have to see a lot over the next week.
You groaned, and let your head hit the table, stirring the food around in your bowl. You were not here for Oikawa, you were here to see your father and do some work stuff. There was no time for fucking around, trying to rekindle a long dead romance; for fuck's sake, it had been almost a decade.
When the doorbell suddenly rang, you grumbled, and shifted in your seat, getting up, and trudging back up the steps. Once you opened the door, you had to squint for a moment, since you didn't have your glasses on, but you could vaguely make out the facial features of the person.
"I did say I would come up and check on you," Oikawa remarked nonchalantly, and even if you couldn't see his smirk, you could damn well hear it in his voice.
"T-That you did," you replied shakily, resisting the urge to slam the door in his face and run back to your room.
"So, mind if I come in?" he asked, edging his foot into the apartment.
(This sly fucker—)
"Well, if I tried closing the door now, I'd end up crushing your foot, so I don't think I have much of a choice," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes, but standing aside so he could come inside.
"Touche," Oikawa shrugged, before sliding through the doorway, and making his way downstairs almost immediately.
(Bloody hell, just how many times had Oikawa been to your father's flat? He seemed way too comfortable here.)
After shutting the door, you followed him warily, watching nervously as he sat down on the couch; you went back towards the table, where your breakfast was, and started to eat again, somewhat awkwardly. "How was your flight?" your guest questioned.
Your eyes flickered over to his blurry figure, "Shit."
Oikawa laughed, and it was disconcerting how attractive it sounded. "Well, I'd imagine coming here from London would be a pain."
