Thoughtography | IwaOi |

Chapter 21: The End

Iwaizumi POV:

Phone calls always used to give me anxiety, no matter what the topic – this was no exception.

It had been almost a week since the whole drama with my dad (who was now home and healthy, despite getting quite the earful from my mum) and almost a week since Oikawa had arranged to get a blood test.

Which is why I was sitting with my phone right beside me in bed, waiting for that call: the one where he'd tell me the results.

If all my praying had worked it would come back normal, with a regular amount of white blood cells – I wasn't prepared to face any other option. My nerves were absolutely shot for no reason, adrenaline preparing me for what felt like impending doom, leg bouncing to release all the energy stored inside me.

Oikawa had decided that I'd hear the news before Makki and Matsukawa, giving me 'boyfriend priorities'. But that just left me to suffer on my own without anyone to talk to.

Repeating curses beneath my breath, I continued shooting periodic glances at my phone. "Just hurry up and call me."

I didn't even know when he was going to finish his appointment with the doctor, so I had no clue when to expect that call to come. I was just hoping it would be soon.

Put me out of my misery.

In the meantime, I decided to pull out an old sketchbook from when I was, like, 10. I'd found it recently, but didn't have the time to flick through the heavily crinkled pages, instead storing it under my bed for my future self to deal with. But now was the perfect time to escape from this reality and dive head first into the past, even if it was only 8 years ago.

Upon opening the book, I found the first page empty, obviously – I've literally never met anyone who draws on the first page.

But as it went along there was a few more scribbly little sketches, mainly faces and plants. It was such a refreshing blast from the past, seeing how much effort I used to put into a single eye. But there was one page that made me pause, fingers hesitating when I went to turn the page.

There was a messy line drawn halfway down the page, separating the space of what looked like two entirely different artists.

I smiled at a lacy looking heart in the centre of the right-half, filled to the edge with squiggly shapes.

Oikawa.

This was obviously the result of one of the many sleepovers from our childhood, when we had no clue what to do or talk about – gossip wasn't really a huge thing between us.

Oh how things change.

There were a few heavy handed scribbles, covering up where Oikawa had slipped into my side of the page, obviously something I had pegged as 'too girly': flowers, hearts, something like that.

Oikawa had always been a bit more feminine than your average boy, but it wasn't much of a big deal; no one cared about that kind of thing in elementary school. It was only when the influence of the internet came into the picture, reminding us of exactly what a boy must be.

And Oikawa was not that.

It didn't affect him in any way, completely ignoring any remarks he'd be struck with from our dickheaded classmates. There was never anything too bad anyway: no slurs (no one even knew anything other than fuck and shit back then). Just a few extremely helpful notes on how he walks with his feet too turned in; how he'd sometimes sit with his legs crossed; how he was friends with too many girls.

Jokes on them, he ended up with more love-struck fangirls than any of them ever would.

I sighed, running a finger over every shaky little sketch.