“Baby, you're just as important as volleyball!” He defended with a pitiful expression. Your boyfriend grabbed you by your waist; preventing you from leaving before an awful dawn of guilt, and realization hangs in the air as he desperately tries to recollect himself after another argument with you.

“I don't get you. You wanted this, didn't you? I'm an athlete, I'm supposed to be at clubs!” He put his hand over his hips, rubbing his temples with his right hand before he pinched the bridge of his nose in utter annoyance, letting out a groan of pent up aggravation.

“Why are you so damn upset? It went from women to what? To ‘You don't have time for me because you're always practicing’ WHEN THAT'S MY JOB?” His brows furrowed, shouting at you as his frustration got the best of him. He was desperate to make you stay, trying to get his point across—until he experienced metanoia, realizing you were acting selfish. He was pining about how to shift the blame on you as he caught on to the root of the problem. An eminent blossom of a broken relationship was inviolable as you fomented a seed in thick, hard ground.

“And what if I say you're not my number one? Would that make you feel any better, huh?” He raised a brow, slamming you against the wall of the nightclub as he referred to your words earlier when you expressed your deep fury about being compared to Volleyball like you were some kind of mistress. It was boisterous inside, unlike the outside which consisted of drunk people throwing up beside the garbage dump. Oikawa looked away to stare at them, grumbling something.

“Are you upset because you're on the same level of a sport? Is it silly when you're the one acting like a fucking idiot when you know this 'shitty ass sport' is going to take me to the nationals?” He rolled his eyes as he lowered his voice. Finally yanking your wrist harshly, he pulled your smaller stature beside him as he stormed inside, deterring from the crowd to the exit.

“Leave. I don't want to talk right now, I'll tell Iwaizumi to drive you home.”