He can't remember the last time he'd been this late out at night. Time passes when you're too busy throwing your emotional woes into the continuous serves you make, despite everyone having left the gym already.

Oikawa Tooru trudges back home, alone. A few cars drive by, and the occasional bird makes its call. Ten o'clock isn't the usual time he returns home from school, but he figures exceptions can be made.

Mitsuha isn't with him on this walk. She left earlier, because she had pressing duties at home to take care of, and had to skip her own rehearsal for the school's cultural festival. Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki left five hours ago, stating that they were too hungry and tired to continue practice, and that Matsukawa had a discount for a ramen place close by. Before they had left, Iwaizumi lectured Oikawa at an extensive length, saying he'd beat his ass if he wasn't home by nine.

Truthfully, he only stayed back so he could instruct and advise the second years who would take their places after they left. He'd already made the decision to make Yahaba the new captain for the next year, confident in his abilities to bring out the best in Seijoh.

Much, much better than I could have done.

He turns the corner, crossing the little wooden bridge that went over the mountain stream. He remembers falling into this once, when he and Iwaizumi had been little, and had an obsession with catching butterflies.

Simpler days and simpler times, where he just wanted to play volleyball for the fun of it, where Mitsuha was just Iwaizumi's cousin who had to come live with them because of family issues. Where pains of love did not exist.

"Ha, what are you? Some kind of shounen protagonist?" Oikawa admonishes himself out loud, running a roughened hand through his styled hair. "You're honestly so lame-"

"Yeah, if you talk to yourself out loud at ten in the night,  with your hand placed in your hair like that, you've definitely qualified as lame, if not neighborhood creep," someone chides, with a hint of tease. He looks up from the ground to see Mitsuha standing there, her arms folded.

"What are you doing out this late?" Oikawa asks, aghast, but she waves the question away.

"Where the fuck have you been?" she hisses, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's so late-"

"Didja make ya worry?" he chirps, smiling at her cheekily. "Aww, Mittsun, you don't have to-"

She whacks his army with a glove, and he flinches. "That really hurt, ya know," he mutters, nursing his arm.

"Of course I was worried. I was worried when Iwa-chan didn't come home with you, I was worried when you weren't home by nine like Iwa-chan asked...you gave me more worry than my mother has in my entire life time," she scolds, giving him a disapproving stare. "I thought you got hurt and fell into a ditch, or a group of thugs decided to gang up on you and ask you for your money."

Now it's his turn to give her a look, this time one in disbelief. "A group of thugs...in Miyagi?" he asks, raising his own eyebrow at her. "Mittsun, the most you're gonna get of thugs in Miyagi is if they're Kyoutani, and he's anything but a thug. He just looks like one."

Mitsuha sighs, and turns around, heading back to her own house. "Just come inside," she says, beckoning him to follow her.

He hastily leaves his things at her front door, slipping off his trainers in a quick motion before padding into the kitchen in his socks. He sits by the kitchen island, slumped across the counter, his head resting on a propped up hand. He watches as Mitsuha pulls out a bowl from one of the cupboards above, and gives him ramen.

Muttering his thanks, he begins to eat, finally aware of the hunger that's manifested itself in his stomach. He continues to shovel down food at a monstrous pace, and she's not surprised when he holds out the bowl for a second serving. Chuckling, she takes it from him and refills it with more ramen, turning around to hand it back to him when it's snatched out of her hand.

"Hey!" she lets out a disapproving cry, and Oikawa sticks his tongue out her before beginning to wolf down the second bowl. "I hope your sides burst from all the soup," she mutters, decking him on the head as she walks past.

"You're just like Iwa-chan!" he cries out in pain, after swallowing a large portion of noodles. He crosses his eyebrows, whining when she comes to ruffle his hair a little too roughly.

"We're related, what else did you expect?" she mocks, with a smile. Oikawa rolls his eyes in response.

She sits opposite him, going through her phone. He's eating slower this time, because he feels like he's about to become sick. Quiet settles in, and the dim kitchen lighting does little to alleviate the on-coming sleepiness he's about to experience from all the food. Drinking down the last remaining drops of soup left, he pushes the bowl to the side and sighs contentedly.

This makes her look up from her phone, and he can see a soft smile on her face. Her own eyes look heavy and tired, and now he feels guilty he made her wait and worry about him.

He's about to open his mouth to say something before she cuts in. "If you're going to apologize, don't. I did it because I care about you. If it was anyone else I would have offered and expected them to refuse." Her words are genuine. "Plus Hajime would only lecture even more in the morning if he found out you hadn't eaten since lunch."

Oikawa smiles, before completely slouching against the counter. She watches him with disbelief as he plasters his entire torso against the counter, murmuring something inaudible about having too much food and not enough space.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you snatched the ramen bowl from me," Mitsuha grumbles, softly flicking his forehead, emitting a low whine from him in response. "I was going to tell you why I was late-"

"You know, you should stop beating yourself up about 'not being a good enough captain'. It's not true."

Oikawa's eyes widen and he garners the energy to sit up. "What did you say?"

"You should stop saying bullshit, is what I said," Mitsuha replies, her eyes back on her phone. "Everyone in the school knows you're the best they've ever had."

"Best they've ever had?" he sneers, raising his eyebrows in disapproval. "Best they've ever had and still couldn't take them to nationals?"

"Nationals isn't everything." Now her eyes are back on him, and they're stern and steely. "It's like you said, everyone played 120%. In fact, out of all of Seijoh's games I've sat through, your last one was your best one. I've never seen that kind of passion and determination in you before, that drive that brought out everything in everyone, even players who weren't confident enough. You have a talent-while others would call it some weird kind of possession-to bring out the best in the other five standing with you on court. Not everyone can do that.

"So, you didn't make it to nationals, and that's fine. Nationals isn't what defines whether you're amazing or not. You could completely suck at nationals, and everyone who watched you back home would sit and stare at the TV screen saying, "All that skill and it was just for show?" Nationals isn't the benchmark. It's just a level some can pass and most don't. But that doesn't mean you're not cut out for other things. And if I'm being honest," Mitsuha says, as she pushes back a strand of hair behind her ear, "you're not cut out for nationals. You belong on the world stage."

He stares at her, his face blank. He can't find the right words to say anything in response to what she just threw out at him. World stage?

"Like you know, those international leagues and stuff. It's not just Japan out there. There are countries who could be in need of someone like you. A setter with your skillset and playing experience would be high in demand somewhere in like, the West." Oikawa continues to stare at her blankly. "That's what Hajime's planning on doing, going to play in America or something like that. He talked about it after he came home from the match."

Iwa-chan...

"What are you planning to do?" he spits out, before he can process anything in his brain.

"I'm waiting on a couple of conservatories," Mitsuha calmly replies, but now he can see the worry and tension in her eyes. "It's been a week since the national band competition, and there were a couple of 'scouts' there, from Vienna, Berlin, and London, I think. Sensei knows a few of them and he told me he'd send the tape from the competition some time this week, after my application has been processed and stuff. If all else fails I'll stay here."

A resolute plan. One that was thought out in advance, whose paths lead to a greater goal, and a solution if she didn't get what she wanted. It was like a carefully drawn out map, with little signs and directions showing her what to do and where to go.

"If I'm not cut out for Japan, then you aren't either," Oikawa says, before something in his brain screams FUCK!

Now it's her turn to stare at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"You won nationals, and you sent in a tape of your performances to those three places. Send it to more," he says, trying to maintain his tone. "Don't just give up and stay here. You're only ruining your own potential if you stay here."

Mitsuha blinks once, then another time. "I mean, I have back up schools and stuff-"

"I want to be standing on the world stage next to you."