A crushing defeat is a bitter thing.
It digs ruts in your mind, poisoning you with hate and revenge.
You sink to the floor outside the recital hall, black dress shoes discarded like rubbish beside your violin case.
Five months.
Everything you had worked for- your dreams, your last chance, gone.
You let your head fall to your drawn-up knees; it hurts somewhere deep inside you.
Where had you gone wrong? Surely one or two mistakes could not have derailed half your life in a matter of minutes.
How was she better than you? Obviously, there was a difference in teachers, in style-
You didn't want to admit it, but the true gap was practice.
Buried in your midnight ensemble, your eyes water, tears forming like crystalline stars and falling to the edges of your lashes.
Your phone rings.
"Hey. How'd you do?"
Kageyama's voice carries through the speaker loud and clear.
"Awful," you reply in a tone still muffled by your sobs.
Silence.
"I don't believe you," he says, adamant in his refusal. "You're amazing."
You laugh.
"Tell that to the judges that ranked me sixth." The certificate with your name on it was still crumpled in your hand: foreboding, fateful.
"...Sixth isn't bad," he mumbles.
This time, you rip the paper apart.
"Kageyama, you don't understand. I was aiming for first. I thought I could do it, that I could play at Carnegie like I've always dreamed of doing. This was...my loss."
Your voice breaks.
"Sorry, Kageyama. I shouldn't be yelling at you."
Then, you hear from behind you-
"Don't worry about it."
He's there, lanky figure and blueberry hair, trademark scowl replaced by a faint hint of a smile.
"When did you get here?" you ask, brows raised. You're in no position to make an appearance with him, and you resist when he tries to pull you up by a hand.
"Just now. Come on, are you just going to give up like that?"
You flash a sad pantomime of a grin.
"Of course. What else?"
You're not ready for the punch that sends you careening back into the wall.
It isn't his full force, you know, but it still hurts like a bitch.
"What the hell, Kageyama?!"
The setter looms over you like a stormy tornado ready to touch down.
"You're not allowed to quit. Not like a pathetic little kid. You're better than that, (f/n). You didn't let me quit volleyball, so I'm not letting you quit violin."
You stare up at him, cradling your cheek.
"How the hell am I supposed to face everyone after this?"
Kageyama smiles (the one that everyone calls demonic).
"The same way I did."
He moves away, picks up your instrument case.
"Here. Let's go."
Again, he offers his hand to you, strong with his own conviction and absolute strength.
And you take it.