delude || oikawa.t x reader

|2| a normal day

'Boring'

That's the title of the book written by an author named (F/n) (L/n). Something about that book piques the interest of Oikawa Tooru, it was unspecified whether if it's the short and straightforward title that caught his attention, or if it's the pitch black cover without anything else on it, making it distinctive enough to separate it from the other books.

Closing the book, he leans by the thin wall of the gym. Placing it to his lap as he lets out a sharp and short exhale, something about the book is addictive, as if it's forcefully making him drink an elixir down his throat.

It's about a child who's lost within his thoughts. Receiving physical abuse by his parents, but they wrote it in the most fantasy-like ways, almost abstract, just like how such a young kid would see the world. The boy remains unnamed, in another volume, he's now twelve, and the world seems so dull. He has friends, his parents' abuse became less frequent, but his head is shattered to the ground, and he doesn't bother to ever fix it. There is, however, a line that's in the book, which is now written in the back of his head, a line that he proceeds to read and ponder with such attentiveness.

━boring
Everyone is different, and that makes them the same. I know everyone is different, and it's boring, it's tiresome, it's a bother. As much as I feel the rush of urge to let the noose dig into my skin, the idea of death is scary, everything that I lack knowledge of is scary. 

Therefore I know nothing about whatever comes after death, so I continued to live in a world full of garbage, because I'm a pathetic human who doesn't understand the world, and what comes after. We all die in the end, the world will vanish, everything will erased, or at least, that's what people believed, so why does God even bother to create humans and watch them success when this so called God of yours will only erase everything, even the air you used to breathe in the end?

But it's what they believe, not what they have been through. The possibility of God to exist is terribly low in my case, and I can never bear the smallest possibility to roll my dice with. So I can only walk in a circle over and over again, gambling with this element named God━if he even exists, of course.

"You've been reading a lot recently, what's up?" Iwaizumi sits beside him, crossing his legs while holding a bottle of water with his right hand, his gaze didn't shift to Oikawa, but to the book that hogged his time as much as volleyball would do so.

"What can I say? It's a nice book," he adjusts his chocolate bangs slowly with his fingers, smiling to himself when he reads the author's name inside his head.

Ever since they had gone to the bookstore to buy some research books about aliens, or planets, what Oikawa holds in his hand is yet to be a story that's nowhere near those topics of his interest. He became more genuine with his words, feelings. At first the ace of Aoba Johsai only thought that he's just in a good mood, but then he realizes how the book is the sole reason of his change in demeanor.

It's refreshing, it feels more assuring yet terrifying now with the captain's sincerity of actions and words. But Iwaizumi could never admit that to the setter.

"(F/n) (L/n) ?" Iwaizumi utters in a hushed and soft voice. Oikawa hummed questionably towards Iwaizumi when the ace's eyes widened slightly in realization. The name sounds oddly familiar, so he continued on trying to remember that name. 

Then, realization struck. 

"Isn't that the girl from the art club?"