It's midnight.

Most people have gone to bed by now, but Mitsuha can hear the sound of a match on Hajime's computer in her room. Yuki went home a while ago, after her mother had driven around to pick her up. Mitsuha's own mother was asleep in the guest room, since she was leaving early in the morning.

Mitsuha's seated near the bedroom window, her acceptance letter before her. Her legs are pulled close to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she huddles near the heater. There's still currents of excitement coursing through her body at the whole business. This is probably one of the few best things she's had these past few weeks.

There'd been a lot of crying after she announced it. Mitsuha has cried a lot this week, but today definitely took the cake. She was still half-sobbing when Yuki's mother had come up to their front door, and only managed to get a rein on herself when her mother chided her for sniffling like a five year old.

It's then that her mind reverts back to Oikawa's letter.

Is today a special day? Mitsuha thinks to herself, as she slowly lets go of her legs and gets to her feet, careful to not hit her head on the window ledge when she stands up. She heads to her dresser, where the letter is placed, near a framed photo of her and the volleyball third years, when they started their third and final year.

She sits down on the stool there, taking the letter in her hands. Her fingers go over the indented stars as she traces out their outline, her heart beating rapidly. With a heavy intake of air, she slides a fingernail underneath the flap, cutting across the glue.

Mitsuha pulls out the letter in trepidation, turning on the dresser's light as she does so. It probably has something heart-breaking on it, she muses. Otherwise he wouldn't have stopped her from opening it that day.

Happy White Day, Mittsun!  is emblazoned across the top of the letter in teal ink. There are cartoon shooting stars drawn around, and she can't help but wonder if Oikawa had asked his nephew Takeru for help with it.

Ah, Iwa-chan told me to put off writing this letter until later. But I guess that with what limited time we have anyway, I decided to do it. I thought it would be unfair to you and to our friendship if I left this until the last minute.

Your words that night really hit home for me, Mittsun. I considered it, playing in a foreign league. I guess losing in the Spring Inter-High made me feel like I wasn't cut out for anything professional in volleyball. But I really wanted to keep playing, despite how I felt inside.

Do you remember how Iwa-chan and I used to go watch the Tachibana Red Falcons when we were younger? They were my favorite team growing up-they still are, who am I kidding-but I really felt connected to one of the players there. The setter, Jose Blanco.

Ah, Mittsun, you should have been there for that match. It was something I'll never forget. But I'll leave my fanboying for later and get straight to the point. I told Coach Irihata about my plans to play in a foreign league, and he told me he had a friend who knew Jose. In the time we didn't talk as much as we used to, I was meeting with Jose Blanco and telling him about my aspirations. He suggested playing in the Argentinian league, something I hadn't considered before. He also said he'll help with arrangements and finding me a sponsor and stuff like that. So I told my mom and she's on board with it. I'm going to Argentina in the fall, a couple of months after we graduate. Jose said he'd help me improve my technique over the summer and give me general education classes before I leave, so I won't be left behind.

"You're cut out for the world stage," is what she had told him that night. It seems so long ago, now when she thinks about it.

She can't help but feel a sting of pain pierce through her chest when she reads that he'll be gone in the fall. It was only March now, and fall didn't seem that far off. Their graduation was going to take place in the first week of April, and then they'd have May off for the summer vacation. In June, most of them would be gone. She isn't even sure if she'd be here for June.

Time is cruel.

Pushing these thoughts to the side, she goes back to reading the letter. Mitsuha doesn't want to think about the limited time she has left here, and certainly doesn't want to think about Oikawa leaving too soon.

Funny how fast time flies, huh? I thought I'd at least have a year. But I guess the earlier I go, the quicker I'll make it to the top. That's where I'll be, waiting for you.

Aoba Johsai, when translated to English, means "Blue Castle". When you take the first and third kanji of the name, it gives you Seijoh, the nickname of the school. When Seijoh's translated to English, it's "blueprint".

Seijoh's pride revolved around the fact that they were close rivals to Shiratorizawa, be it in academics or extracurriculars. And while most students disagreed with Seijoh being on the same level as Shiratorizawa, it's still considered one of the top four high schools in Miyagi, a powerhouse in its own right.

Every castle needed its king, and Seijoh's Oikawa Tooru was that Great King, even if he never acknowledged that title himself. Mitsuha could always allude it to an underlying sense of humility Oikawa kept underneath his proud and confident facade, one that reminded him of his roots and who he really was: an ordinary person who had to work just as hard as everyone else around him to get to where he was now.

Aoba Johsai was Oikawa's blueprint, a document that contained the intricacies and functions of him as a student as a star volleyball player. It served as his foundation, his stepping stones to help him reach his potential. Throughout the years, Mitsuha's watched him reinvent and improve himself continuously, breaking himself down until there was just a simple body for him to work on. He built and rebuilt from scratch, always aiming for perfection.

It's one of the harshest things she's ever seen him done. Through countless injuries and losses that tore away at his heart and body and made him question whether this was something he was really cut out for, she watched him finetune and perfect every little nook and cranny of his, until he was satisfied with the end product.

Aoba Johsai was often compared to a forest, one where its trees were firmly planted into the ground, and that they could only go higher from there, due to their strong foundation. A fertile ground for planting the seeds of the future.

Oikawa Tooru is still a tree reaching for the top of the canopy, waiting to touch pure and unfiltered sunlight, and feel the coolness of a summer's breeze through his branches, hearing his leaves rustle in satisfaction.

I don't know if I'll be able to come home as often as I'd like, Oikawa writes. But when I do, I promise I'll spend a lot of time with you and Iwa-chan (maybe you more than Iwa-chan, just to spite him). I guess it's time for the emotional shit, huh? Iwa-chan's glaring at me now because I'm writing this instead of paying attention in Maths.

I don't know how to put this. I'm not the best when it comes to feelings, I guess. But I'll try my best for you.

You must be thinking, 'He's such an idiot. He's dated so many girls and he can't even get his feelings straight.' You're right. I am an idiot. I've dated many girls in high school but it was never feelings-based, I think. When I look back on it, they just wanted to date because I'm cute (which is true, I'd date me.) But I don't think I've felt emotionally connected with them as I have with certain people in my life, such as you. And they always get jealous when you're around. Which is understandable, if I was dating me I'd get jealous of the really pretty girl he gives all his attention to. I guess you could call me a piece of shit because of that (Iwa-chan is reading this. He's nodding. I'm hurt beyond words.)

But yes. I give all of  my attention to you when you're around. I purposely take too long to go to practices because I'm busy talking to you. Makki and Mattsun always tease me about it but I laugh it off and say I'd do it if it was another girl I had a deep connection with. But I'm lying to myself and to them when I say it. I don't think there could ever be another girl like you, someone I enjoy spending time with, someone who's hit me more than Iwa-chan has (that's an achievement in itself, but don't be proud of it), someone who's never failed to make my day. Granted, we've had our awkward moments (like this two week long vacation from each other. How do you survive without me?) and arguments, but they've led me to treasure you even more, and maybe to fall in love with you even more.

She's feeling too much. There are too many trains arriving and leaving the station inside her head, but she decides to keep reading.

Would it be wrong to say I like you? Maybe even more that? Would you hate me if I said I love you?

"No," she whispers to no one in particular. The clock ticks in the back.

If not, then I'll say it. I love you, maybe a little more than a childhood friend should. But I'd love for me to say it to you directly, instead of through a letter. So I'm hoping that you like me back-is it too much to hope for you to love me back? Iwa-chan thinks I'm stupid but anyway-so I can say it to you, and watch your eyes light up. I love it when your eyes do that. It's really cute.

Mitsuha's breathing, heavily. She's quivering slightly. Her chest rises and falls at an alarming pace. Love? Does she love Oikawa the same way he loves her?

She doesn't know. She can't process the myriad of emotions that are coursing through her veins, the scenarios of her and Oikawa together, the memories they've shared and the late-night conversations they've shared.

She lifts her feet from the floor, tucking them underneath her body. She's still clutching the letter in her hands with a tight grip, noticing that she's smudged some of the teal ink with her thumb as she's read it. She's nearing the end of the letter, and looks back to see if there's more written. It's empty.

"Okay, breathe," she whispers to herself, inhaling and exhaling at a much more leisurely pace than before. "It's a lot to take in at once, Mittsun. It's okay. It's just your neighbor, Hajime's best friend since birth, saying that he loves you. No big deal."

No big deal. It repeats in her head in a mantra, and she can feel her body tensing up. It is a very big deal.

I think it's cruel to you, how I've waited this long to tell you. Maybe if I said it earlier, maybe if I told you earlier, we'd probably have more time, if things worked out. So don't beat yourself up about it, kay? It's one of your Tooru's mistakes (Iwa-chan is nodding again. I'm thinking of suing Iwa-chan in the future for all the physical pain he has given me throughout the years).

Your Tooru.

Her eyes go to the framed picture of them both from elementary. It's faded around the edges but she can still make out the bright colors of the matching wolf onesies they wore for Character Day, because they both wanted to be the wolf from Red Riding Hood. Hajime was in the back, dressed in a Godzilla one, waving a stick around. Their arms are around each other, and the picture is taken mid-laugh.

Has he always been hers?

She's never thought of Oikawa as hers. Her neighbor, her best friend, her childhood friend, yes; but never hers, someone who belonged entirely to her. But then again, she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been a little jealous to see all the attention he got from all the girls who fawned over him daily. Maybe a tiny bit envious when he dated other girls, but she'd never so much as staked a claim on him, making him her own.

I think I'll end it here, because I've written so much already that my hand is going to fall off. Also because we're about to head for practice. I hope you have a wonderful White Day, Mittsun. Please don't cry when you read this, I hate seeing you cry.

Love,
Your Tooru

The moon is out, casting a dim white glow in her room. There are a couple of stars out, pin pricked against the inky canvas, like stray dots of paint. The light from the dresser casts a warm glow around her, and she sits there, reading over a couple of lines again and again. The teal ink  he used is a deep turquoise in the light, like the color of the sea during a sunset

Time is cruel, but so is love. If not, it's much more crueller.

"Ah...damn you, Oikawa Tooru," she murmurs to herself, as fresh tears slide down her cheeks like raindrops on a window pane while she clutches the letter to her chest. "Damn you."