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''Just weeks and you're already done with him? Hm?''

''Shut up.'' Kageyama snaps, trudging out the alley in blood and gore. He hears white noise. The scenery passes by in a blur, but nothing registers. Ghoul? Zombie? Can he be both at the same time? Or are they different? Kageyama couldn’t tell anymore.


“You awake?”

There was rustling on the line, as if Hinata was digging through his bag pack. Kageyama stiffens, breath hitching because of the realness. He knows it’s just a voice recording, but the pained ache in his chest stings. Kageyama clutches the bedsheets and listens.

“Well, anyway, come to school! You’re missing a lot - Noya-senpai’s Rolling Thunder version 3 was -”

Kageyama snorts laughter and the tears that welled up almost spilled; he can almost visualise Nishinoya-senpai's trademark 'Rolling Thunder' with just Hinata's voice alone. A bitter grin worked its way to his lips. “Dumbass,” Kageyama tried to choke out, bemused, but the words stayed lodged in his throat. To his ears, the words came out strangled - just like how he had strangled Hinata to death, choking Hinata’s last breaths out, and then- and then-. Meat.

Kageyama rushes to the toilet, heaving saliva and acid and possibly bits and pieces of Hinata. His stomach churns and his throat burns. His eyes and nose stings; mucus and tears running trails on his face.

Hinata’s voice continues to surround his room; cheery, hopeful, optimistic, contrasting against the backdrop of his room. Kageyama strains his ears to listen, rests his head upon the cool material of the toilet seat. The tears continue to flow.

The moonlight illuminates the space between his bed and the answering machine; and Kageyama imagines the two of them beneath the moonlight - laughing, bickering and sharing secrets.

Dust motes float in the empty space - mocking the future they could have had. Empty, empty, empty.

Kageyama can still picture Hinata - before, after. Bright ginger hair, streaked in red. A mischievous grin. “Looks like I’m first to go; you win, Kageyama”. Sincere eyes.

Kageyama choked on a half-sob, half-laugh. He won’t be able to see Hinata’s endless fidgeting, nor Hinata asking for a toss. He continues to listen to Hinata’s voice on the answering machine.

“We all miss you; so come back soon when you’re feeling better, Kageyama!”

He breathes and chokes on snot and tears; bracing himself for another recording of Hinata’s voice from the answering machine.

“Can you believe! Stingyshima won’t toss to me! He even-”

“Of course he won’t, dumbass,” Kageyama tells empty air, his voice thick, “Tsukishima specialises in blocking, not tossing.”

The recording from the answering machine runs on, repeating the past and leaving Kageyama behind. Kageyama can rewind the recordings, but only memories of Hinata plays - Hinata’s vibrance, voice, ginger hair, Hinata. Kageyama can’t resurrect the dead. He can’t rewind his actions.

Kageyama can’t bring Hinata back into his life.