NEO-POP | Iwaizumi Hajime ✓

09 LET THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG

CHAPTER NINE
let the cat out of the bag

AOBA JŌSAI
YEAR THREE

Tonight, the month of April brings about a mugginess that is almost too much to handle, simmering into the fabric of your shirt and clinging onto your skin uncomfortably as the surrounding air wraps you up in a scent cocoon of petrichor and freshly cut grass. With its blossoming wildflowers and singing birds, paired alongside a gloomy haze that looms over the prefecture most days, April is a month so lively and dreary all at once. Refreshing, yet so desolate that for the past couple of weeks, you've found yourself stuck in an art block.

When you tell Iwaizumi this during one of your hangouts, he comes up with the brilliant idea of going bug-catching, hence why you're at the park right now. And though the idea doesn't sound quite as thoughtful as it did when it first popped up in his head, it appears to be working well in practice so far as you sit underneath the big cedar tree at the far end of the park, where the nearby streetlamp illuminates just enough of the sketchbook in your lap for you to fill the pages with all sorts of insect doodles.

You hear a familiar, gruff voice — "Gotcha." — and then grass rustling underneath heavy footsteps before a mess of strong limbs crouches in front of you. Two hands outstretch above your pencil, which comes to a halt as you observe a couple flashes of amber light and a slight fluttering motion encased between Iwaizumi's palms.

With a hum, you hunch over your sketchbook again and scrawl in your messy handwriting: firefly, next to your previous drawing labelled rhinoceros beetle. After taking another long look at the insect, you nod at Iwaizumi, and he opens his hands, allowing the firefly to frolic away and disappear into the shadows.

"God, it's so humid out here."

He yawns before shifting himself so that he's sitting diagonal to you. With his legs splayed out comfortably on the grass next to you, he leans back and braces the palms of his hands against the ground for support, letting the occasional breeze sift through his hair, which had thankfully grown back to its usual appearance after your... objectionable haircut last summer. "After this, you wanna head home?" he asks.

"Sure. It's past your bedtime now, isn't it."

"Very funny," he says with a scoff that comes out more lighthearted than intended, punching your shoulder gently. "Especially when you're the one with a curfew."

"Me." Your pencil comes to an abrupt stop, the lead chipping off in the process, and you stare at him with some disbelief because you don't recall your parents ever designating you a curfew, at least not since you were in middle school.

"My mom wants me to take you home before 11PM," he explains after seeing the look on your face. "You're her favourite out of all my friends, y'know. Somehow."

"That is so sweet of her," you say dryly, deciding to ignore that last part. There's a couple beats of silence, and you start adding in the final details of your firefly drawing, but then he nudges your shoulder.

"You're my favourite, too."

Your hand jerks. You blink at your mistake for a second before hurriedly erasing it from the paper with a tense grip on your pencil.

Iwaizumi, oblivious to your reaction, lowers himself to the ground with an arm comfortably placed beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. He yawns again, then closes his eyes, and stretches his other arm over his face to block out the light emitted by the streetlamp. You glance over at him, settling your eyes first on the mole sitting just below his jawline and then the faint freckles that spatter across his cheeks and then the slight bump in the middle of his nose bridge and then the faded scar on his chin from when he busted it open while learning to ride a bike for the first time and then and then and then—