Three months later

"Are we seriously the first people here?" Hanamaki asks in disbelief, looking up from the map and at the others. "Where the fuck is their bus?"

Oikawa had always imagined he'd be in Tokyo surrounded by his teammates, with their coach right beside them, ready for nationals. There'd be other schools here, schools from all across the country. Students, loved ones, scouts. They'd be in their sports uniforms, buzzing with energy and excitement, powered with determination.

Instead, he's with his fellow third years, Iwaizumi Hajime, Issei Matsukawa, and Hanamaki Takahiro, standing in front of Fumon Hall, dressed like they were here for a ceremony.

"Traffic is really bad on the interstate highway," Matsukawa quips, folding his arms and tucking his program schedule into the crook of Iwaizumi's elbow as he does so. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, which earns a smirk from Matsukawa.

"So? They could take the train like we did!" Makki exclaims, clearly annoyed. Oikawa lets out a chuckle. "You sound like such a dad, Makki-chan," he quips, earning a smack on the head from Makki's map.

"That hurt," he whines, half-pouting. Now it's Hanamaki's turn to chuckle.

Iwaizumi mumbles something inaudible under his breath before pulling out his phone. It's lit up with a text notification.

"She says we should go inside, they're already there and about to start," Iwaizumi reads, looking up at them with wide eyes. He gets three pairs of widened eyes back, before he sees Oikawa literally zoom past him, his shoes whacking against the pavement, Matsukawa and Hanamaki in tow. "Move Iwa-chan, we're late!" he cries out, like he's about to miss the delivery of his first child.

"I know, you fucking idiot, I'm the one who got the text!" Iwaizumi yells back, taking off after them.

*

He's never seen her that focused before. Not once has she looked up from that piano to look up at the audience as she usually did. Her shoulders extremely tensed up; if he were to sit next to her and breathe he's sure she'd smack him.

This is their final stage, before the last voting and judging takes place. Oikawa glances at the program clenched in Iwaizumi's hand. He's got a really strong grip on it, for something as small as a piece of paper.

He can hear his rhythmic breathing, and sees that his shoulders are tensed up as well. He's stressed for her.

"You're gonna pop a blood vessel if you don't relax, Iwa-chan. You're not some fifty year old with hypertension," Oikawa whispers, nudging him with his shoulder. His best friend snaps out of it, his shoulders sagging back. He mumbles a thanks while Makki pats him on the back.

Their performance ends, the violins lowering to a halt while Mitsuha plays the last chord. She releases a sigh of relief as her hands leave the keyboard and she slumps forward, almost collapsing. Stumbling to her feet, she picks herself up as the rest of the band club watches her with adoring eyes, standing up along with her and bowing simultaneously.

The crowd stands up too, as waves of applause echo around the hall. Mitsuha drops to her knees, bowing with her head to the ground, and Oikawa can see her body shake as she struggles to hold in tears.

She eventually lifts herself up, bowing one more time before the judges before the rest of the band escorts her off the stage. Oikawa can't help but smile proudly. Regardless of the conflicting emotions he harbors inside, he pushes it aside with the elevated sense of seeing her achieve her goals.

He turns to smile at Iwaizumi, to tell him how proud he is of her. Oikawa's taken aback when Hajime instead buries his face in his shoulder and sobs.

*

It's maybe a whole supermarket's supply of tissues that's passed between the Iwaizumi cousins by the time they make it back home. Makki and Mattsun left before them, getting off a few stops earlier than usual. Mitsuha is sniffling softly as she holds onto her cousin's forearm, her tiny steps rushing to keep up with his larger ones.

"Could you WALK any more faster?" she grumbles, practically skipping at this point. "I'm small you know."

"Discuss it with genetics, not with me," Iwaizumi shoots back, giving her a side-eye. A gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips, but he doesn't let it show. Oikawa giggles, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

Aoba Johsai took home the national trophy for the band competition, with Mitsuha's perfectly played Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto One bagging them the victory. Oikawa can still remember how flushed Mitsuha looked when she went to accept the trophy and the sash. He'd never feared for someone's balance as much before that.

"Fine. I'll just link with Tooru," Mitsuha snaps, letting go of her cousin's arm abruptly, proceeding to link her arm with his own. She sticks out her tongue at Hajime as Oikawa's hand pulls out of his pocket. She's about to hold onto his own arm when his fingers intertwine with hers.

"There," Oikawa says smugly. "Now you can walk properly without tiring out your feet."

A warmth spreads throughout her face. It lights up her cheeks, turning them a dark shade of pink. The tip of her nose is turning pink as well, and she turns her face away after her and Oikawa share a few minutes of eye contact.

The whole scenario is very, very cute.

I could kiss you right now, is what he wants to say, but he stops himself. This is the most forward and cheeky he's allowed himself to go. Past that and he knows he'll regret it.

He hates having to hold himself back like this. It was easier for other things, like dealing with friends or teammates. He could just throw it into volleyball, envelop himself with practice until the late hours of the night, or until Iwaizumi busted through the gym doors and told him off for staying too long and overworking himself.

But Oikawa Tooru is tired, so tired, of having to hold himself back from Mitsuha. Ever since high school started he's been attracted to her, gravitated to her like the moon to the Earth. He loves being around her, enjoying her heart-warming presence and basking in that heavenly glow she always seemed to have. He looks forward to their walks home because she often stays late for band practice herself, and makes it a point to bust into the gym and tell him off for overworking. He loves how she throws herself into studies whenever exam time rolls around, how fidgety and focused she gets when she's writing mock essays and reciting passages by heart. He just wants to be able to hold her hand like now, whenever and wherever. To be able to twirl her around and hear her giggle. To be able to scoop her up in his arms and shower her with love and affection.

But he can't, and he won't. Because deep down, he knows it will only ruin things for her. And the last thing he ever wants to do is bring her pain.

So that's why he'll only limit it to playful flirting, to their usual banter. To keep that affection and love they shared the way it is, to preserve it for eternity. The last thing he would ever want to do is lose a best friend.

They walk hand in hand, bickering and teasing Iwaizumi whenever they can. The "Jesse and James" of the third-years as Makki and Mattsun like to call them, with Iwaizumi being the "Meowth" of the group. It's in moments like these that Oikawa can feel comfortable enough to let his guard down, not so much as for them to see how much pain he kept inside. Moments like these were these sudden bursts of affection towards Mitsuha wouldn't seem out of place, because everyone would just say they're childhood friends, they're practically family.

I don't want to be just family.

They reach their houses, and he can feel the hesitation building up in him when she's about to pull away. But to be honest, it feels like she doesn't want to pull away in the first place.

Let go. Please, let go.

"We've held hands for this long, so you might as well walk me to the gate," she grumbles, tugging on his hand. Iwaizumi is looking at the both of them, with the eyes that said he wished he didn't have to experience this dramatic shit every time (his own words).

"Fine, fine," Oikawa whines, giving in. He puts on a pout, reluctantly allowing her to drag him to the gate while he stumbles to waste time.

Please, please let go. It hurts so much because I never want to let go of your hand either. I want to hold it forever, until the moon ceases to shine.

The internal conflict makes him want to cry. He hasn't cried since he thanked the team for the last three years of volleyball.

His heart hurts so much. Every time it beats it aches, and it echoes with the sound of pain. All because he keeps holding himself back from the one who he's subconsciously dedicated his heart to.

After what seems like a lifetime, they finally do reach the gate of the Iwaizumi's front yard, and she's reluctant to let go. Hesitantly at first, she removes her fingers one by one, because soon enough she'll miss the warmth and safety of his hand. Mitsuha wants to remember that feeling.

They wave goodbye, and she thanks him for coming today, for supporting her and for giving her tissues. He laughs it off as no big deal, that he would have done it even if they lost, and that he's glad at least she could bring Aoba Johsai to nationals.

The cousins disappear behind the gate, and it swings to a stop, a loud clang resonating in Oikawa's ear drums. A sound which is echoed within the chambers of his own aching heart.