delude || oikawa.t x reader

|5| getting closer

"(L/n), can I join you?" 

(F/n) pauses her step, gently shifting her gaze to the certain brunet standing beside her with a plastic bag which she presumes to be his lunch. They stood on front of the entrance of the art club, as the keys are left hanging on the keyhole. 

She laughs quietly, "I'm not an interesting person that can entertain you, Oikawa," her stance indicates that she is rather sucked with her own words that she deems to be real. Reading her is almost like reading a melancholic story out loud in an empty and blank room.

"I believe otherwise,"

Would it be wrong for him to crave for her touch?

Her scent, the most subtle gestures she creates, the slight flicker of overwhelming quantity emotions that would be visible in a blink of an eye, the exterior of her soft cheeks that grazes slightly to his slender fingers after their conversation when he subconsciously tucks her hair behind her ear out of pure instinct. 

"You're quite touchy, aren't you?" (F/n) points out. 

"I━ uhm, I'm sorry,"

Oikawa's attention faltered by her words, hands backing off of her, his skin is no longer in contact of hers. His words aren't even placed properly and everything just trips down like splattered bottles of paint mixing their colors into an unidentified color. He hurriedly looks away, upon the painted canvas. "Where did the confident Oikawa go?" she smiles faintly.

"(L/n), you're killing me,"
Despite the small bantering that they're having, Oikawa admits that he is rather surprised by how quickly (F/n) adjusts herself around him. Admirable? Maybe. 

The club room remains occupied only by the two of them, the fizzy bottles of soda in the plastic bag is left untouched by the two of them. The girl is sitting down on a stool as she's in the middle of painting on a piece of canvas, Oikawa sat on the table beside (F/n) to stare longingly at her.

"This just feels... surreal," Oikawa murmurs, finally focusing himself onto the (h/c) haired girl once more. 

Visiting her during lunch time at least two times this week━ no, every week, is his newly planned schedule he mentally assigned to himself by the very next day of their encounter. Especially when no one else would think of barging in due to her being entrusted by the art club's president to hold the club room key. It's just the two of them, no one else to intrude.

There's no heavy smell of perfume that he'd often get from the girls swarming all over him, there was no point of putting a facade on front of (F/n), or any need to flirt with her like how he'd act to any other girls, now he's just a small human in a small world, a normal student in Aoba Johsai.

"How come?" she furrows her eyebrows.

The boy chuckles, "I still can't believe my favorite author is in Aoba Johsai all along!" leaning against the window he narrows his gaze at her. The breeze of spring fits the relaxing ambiance entails between them. She looks quickly at him, the small smile that shows his ardor towards her is the only thing that feels uncanny, she notices the small shade of unwavering turbulence and vexation.

(F/n) isn't the type to feel confidential if someone's admiring her with such profundity. She does find fondness in creating a friendship with Oikawa, but everything feels too new for her that it's rather confusing on thinking about an appropriate reply.

She hums, putting aside the brush and palette that she was holding. "You're not going to eat anything?" (F/n), the author of 'Boring' asks the pretty setter.

"I'm not hungry yet, I should be the one asking you that though, (L/n),"

Oikawa grabs a bottle of soda in the plastic bag, gesturing her to take it, which she accepts in an unenthusiastic way. However, still grateful for his offer. She isn't the best when it comes to talking with anyone in general, so conversations were often supported by Oikawa.

"Do you want to be my friend, (L/n)?"
Her eyes widen in confusion, biting her bottom lip as she looks away from him, eyes falling to her palms that are planted on her lap. Unaware how Oikawa's eyes glued on her delicate build with such awe, but at the same time being genuinely agitated if he'd said something wrong in between. But those worries were easily washed away in a whim the moment she nodded in agreement, an expression that holds no sign of melancholy.

"Sure,"

'Sure,'
It's only a word, a word that only has four letters. For such a small word, the meaning is so significant for his question.

Not realizing the pink hues spread across the setter's cheeks, (F/n) taps her index finger against the cold bottle of soda that was never opened. His reaction satisfies her in a way, perhaps the lack of acknowledgement or recognition to his own blush baffles her, albeit she was never the type to take a liking in the term of gaining people's attention in general.

She doesn't really mind his presence. Hence, she never really cared to begin with because she's awfully aware of her habit with pushing people away whenever they want to include themselves in her life. Oikawa Tooru was nothing more than a fan of hers that she presumably thinks will vanish from her days eventually.

If only she knew that day would never come, maybe she would've rejected his request.