Thoughtography | IwaOi |

Chapter 3: Attention

Oikawa POV

Even with my hand against my chest, my heart rate was still pounding faster than the speed of light. With my back against my bedroom door and my arm around my knees, I just had to pray no-one came in. I pushed my hair back from my eyes with a troubled sigh.

It takes effort to look that effortless in front of your crush.

Half of my bedroom was damp, after me having made the stupid mistake of leaving my window open before going to school, and the air was crisp and cool. It gave me the feeling of a forest after a snowstorm.

"Tooru?" A voice called from the lounge room. "Come help me! Toooooruuuuu –"

"No, I'm not helping you!" I groaned back. I didn't even know what my mother was trying to do, but apparently it was impossible to do without forcing her son to come do it for her.

"Come on," She called. "You hid away in your bedroom as soon as you got home, you might as well come say hello."

"Hello!" I shouted through the door, overly brightly, before my face dropped. "You happy now?"

"To my face, Tooru." She deadpanned.

"I have homework."

"So? You can't spare two minutes to come say hello to your dear old mother who's been slaving away over this stove for hours just so she can put food on your plate?"

"Nope."

"WHY YOU LITTLE –"

I moved to my desk, my swivel chair making a hiss as I sat down on the cushioned seat.

Holding a pencil over my black backed notebook – the tip hovering just above the paper – I sat hunched forward with my elbows on the wood, scrawling Iwa-chan's name over and over. I blinked. What am I doing? Falling back into my chair with an exasperated groan, I let my head hang over the back. As I spun in circles, I half expected to see the hulking figure of a Shinigami behind me. You know, the Death God? The one who owns the Death Note? And he's come to visit me because I just wrote a name down in my – you know what, nevermind.

A buzz came from my phone as it leapt across my desk, vibrating. It was only when the screen lit up my bedroom with a ghostly blue light that I realised how dark it really was. Shadows fell everywhere that wasn't touched by the sliver of yellow coming from beneath my door, decorating the corners and walls like dark cobwebs. Turning on my lamp with a sharp click, I checked my messages.

1 new message

Iwa-chan

Yo Trashykawa, you . . .

I groaned, opening up the full message. No doubt, this would be another lecture about something I did wrong.

Iwa-chan:

Yo Trashykawa, you left your volleyball at my place last weekend

"I –" He actually messaged me for a reason other than to berate me? Didn't know it could do that.

You:

Can you bring it to school tomorrow?

He responded with a simple 'sure' and I put my phone face down on my desk. Taking my pencil out again, I began to scribble mindlessly on my paper, making looping strokes and random squiggles, not attempting to get any end result, just getting my energy out. It's like when those psychics on TV scribble things down on their paper so they can focus and get a better connection.

Except in this case I'm not talking to the dead (hopefully).

Instead, I found myself drawing it.