𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, [nishinoya yuu x reader]

𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝟶𝟶

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 the world had left you behind – time was flying quicker than you could count how many fingers you had. Spoiler alert: you had ten fingers.

Before you knew it, you were already at the ripe age of twelve – right when puberty was going to hit. You hadn't finished growing up yet; all you wanted to do was hang around the local parks, be with your elementary school friends and keep this childhood innocence of yours. But nonetheless, nobody could have that unless a time machine was invented.

What you thought was fiction in the anime Steins;Gate, stayed fiction. You just had to grow up like everyone else would – in a slow and painful way.

Your own father saw you moping on the hardwood floors of the household. He seemingly was quite annoyed that you were getting your summer sweat all over his newly cleaned floors. He then sighed and ushered you to sit on the couch and watch some anime – which you adored, but was not in the mood as of yet.

"Why don't you hang out with Iwaizumi and Oikawa? You're always at the park with them playing volleyball."

A groan escaped your mouth. "They probably don't think I'm cool anymore since they're about to become second-years in middle school. I doubt they want to hang out with a girl who's younger than them."

Your dad rolled his eyes. "You're only a year younger than them and didn't Iwaizumi call you this morning?"

"As much as I love them, it's too hot to play or go outside. I don't like bugs as much as Haji-kun does – which is probably what they're doing now; catching icky, disgusting bugs."

After rummaging through some old cabinets, your father had pressed a notebook on top of your head. "What is that?"

"A diary– is that not cool for kids your age? Then a journal we'll call it."

"Why would I need this?" You inquired. After all, your generation was growing up with all this advanced technology – you were sure that in no time at all, books would be replaced with holographic screens and talking robots like Siri.

"For your thoughts and to cure your boredom. I don't want you to get lost in that data box you call a phone. So here's something to compensate."

The journal, not a diary, was then placed beside your head which was still on the cold floor. Picking your precious brain up, which you wondered if there was anything inside your skull in the first place, you grabbed the book and headed towards your room – upstairs on the second floor.

After placing down the book on your wooden desk which was by your balcony window, facing your neighbour's house; you examined the journal from far away. Thanks to the open window, the wind gushed through and flipped through the blue-lined white papers. Giving in to your curiosity, you sat down at your table and picked up a pen.

You forced the wind back the other way by asserting dominance, and flipped your journal to the first page. There you wrote:

What should I call you? It would probably make me feel more comfortable writing to an inanimate object than a real person.

You.

I'll call you, you.

Dear You. Please take care of m

"My pen just ran out of ink."