Oikawa's pouting tone was a symphony of mock offense, his grip on you tightening like a gentle vice. His head remained nestled on your shoulder, a picture of contentment, as he gazed up at you with a mixture of curiosity and playful accusation. "What's so captivating in those dusty pages?" he teased, his breath whispering against your neck like a summer breeze.

His inner monologue, however, was a comedic soliloquy. 'The girls would sell their souls for my attention, and yet, this bookworm is oblivious to my charms. I'm like a puppy, wagging my tail for scraps of affection, and she's too engrossed in her literary world to notice.' The humor in his situation wasn't lost on him, but his feelings for you were no laughing matter.

As classmates and third-year high school students at Aoba Johsai, Oikawa had grown accustomed to your unique brand of indifference. You were the sole person who treated him like, well, a normal human being, rather than the idolized star he'd become. Your immunity to his charms had initially puzzled him, but after his heartfelt confession six months ago, even you couldn't resist the sincerity in his eyes.

Now, Oikawa was a self-proclaimed simp, forever at your beck and call. His days blended together in a haze of devotion, as he lavished you with gifts and attention, all in the hopes of earning a simple kiss. Today was no exception; he'd spent the entire afternoon lounging in your dorm room, clinging to you like a lifeline.

As you continued reading, Oikawa's gaze drifted upward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. A plan was brewing in that clever mind of his. With a sudden burst of excitement, he pulled back, his face alight with a cheeky grin. "Sunday's tomorrow, why don't we make it a date?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation. "We can go anywhere you want," he added, his eyes pleading like a puppy's, hoping against hope that you wouldn't ditch him.