Chapter Text
Most goals in the zombie apocalypse was, survive, find a cure, or figure what the hell we did to deserve this, but not mine. My only goal was to find Akaashi Keiji, and the world can’t go to shit before I do.
ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ۫ ˑ ֗ ִ ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ୭₊˚: ★ ٬ ˑ ִ ۫ ִֶָ⋆☆
“Kaashiii~ I don’t get why no place has them!” I complained into the phone keeping my eyes on the stop light waiting for it to turn green.
“Well you probably ate them out of any store near us.” A sweet smooth voice joked back to me.
This sweet voice was Akaashi Keiji, my boyfriend (soon to be finance, don’t tell him), and the love of my life!
Currently I was on the search for these amazing dumplings I’ve been getting recently, so good I was driving a hour out just to get them.
“If they don’t have them there we could always order online.” I pouted turning into the parking lot of yet another grocery store.
“Yeah but it’s not the same, plus we’ve been needing things for the house anyways!” I could almost feel the shrug and eye roll through the phone.
“Those things aren’t an hour away though Bokuto.” “To be fair it’s only 58 minutes!” *sigh* There’s the eye roll.. “Just promise me you’ll home before traffic gets crazy, okay?” I’d do anything for you. “I’d do anything for you.”
I heard a small laugh that made me wanna melt as the doors opened for me to walk inside. “Don’t forget, before things get crazy. I love you Bokuto.” EVERYTIME I heard that it always felt like the first time..
“I love you too Akaashi.”
𝟭…
𝟮…
All citizens are advised to shelter in place IMMEDIATELY.
𝟯…
A rapid-onset, highly infectious pathogen has caused widespread-
𝟰…
reanimation of the deceased, resulting in-
𝟱…
uncontrolled hostile activity.
ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ۫ ˑ ֗ ִ ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ୭₊˚: ★ ٬ ˑ ִ ۫ ִֶָ⋆☆
I slammed into the sliding glass door, trying to yank it open manually, but the automated system was already sputtering, frozen between fully open and fully locked.
People were shoving, their faces contorted with a panic that looked ghostly and horrified, not like the petty arguments over limited stock or Black Friday.
The security guard near the entrance was fumbling with his gun, but his attention snapped away when a woman—her face smeared with what I prayed was just ketchup—sank her teeth into his forearm.
What. The. Fuck.
The roar that followed wasn't a scream; it was the sound of civilization tearing itself apart over cereal boxes.
I shoved past a pyramid of falling soup cans, the metallic clatter momentarily masking the wet snapping sound of bone just beyond the produce section.
I needed the back exit, but to get there, I had to cross the open space of the main aisle, and the things were starting to move fast now, drawn by the noise and the scent of fresh fear.
Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck?!
One second I was arguing with myself over whole milk versus two percent; the next, the world turned into a screaming echo ring.
The store’s PA system didn’t just broadcast a warning, it shrieked it, a robotic voice repeating the same bullshit, official advice about staying indoors while the windows rattled loose in their frames.
That’s when I saw it—a flash of deep red blurring past the parking lot entrance, followed by a sound that wasn't human or animal, but a wet, tearing noise.
I ditched the cart, shoving past the group of people running to grab anything they could, because the speaker-blared apocalypse meant nothing compared to the knowledge that Akaashi was locked behind ninety miles of suddenly hostile streets, waiting for the man who was now fighting his way through a panicked crowd just to get his car keys.
𖤐 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ۫ ˑ ֗ ִ ˑ ּ 𖤐ᴅᴀʏ 4 ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀᴋᴀᴀꜱʜɪ ִ୭₊˚:★ ٬ ˑ ִ ۫ ִֶָ⋆☆
The truth was, I didn’t care that the world had ended. I didn't care about how much I missed volleyball, or the fall of governments, or whether the news had been wrong. Day One wasn't about the apocalypse; it was about the loneliness.
It was about the cold dread of running into a house where the unfinished manga sat on the desk in the living room cause the man who started it wasn't there.
Every shambling corpse I dodged, every burning car I skirted, was just a pointless obstacle between me and the one person who mattered. I was operating on a single, pure thought: Akaashi.
The city had become a dangerous, rotten maze, but my feet knew the path home, and every breath I took was just fuel for the search. The world could burn around me; I just needed to find the man I’d promised forever to, alive, or I’d burn with it.
ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ۫ ˑ ֗ ִ ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ୭₊˚: ★ ٬ ˑ ִ ۫ ִֶָ⋆☆
The hardest part wasn't killing the first one—it was realizing I was good at it, that the adrenaline had sharpened my focus to a lethal point—it was the moment I stepped out of the ran through 711 with a half-full backpack and scanned the empty intersection.
The signal light still cycled red, yellow, green, mocking the breakdown of order below it.
I checked my phone again; no signal, just the blank screen mocking my last, unanswered text: “I’m almost there, stay put baby.” Now, every shadow looked like him, every sound was a false hope, and the low, distorted growl of the infected felt like the universe telling me I was too late.
‘Kaashi..where are you baby..’
Hitting it wasn't the clean, satisfying impact I'd hoped for like in the videos games; it was a sickening, dull thud that felt like driving steel into dense, decaying muscle. The thing shuddered, its head bent at an impossible angle. I stood over the corpse, the warm, tainted dark blood dripping onto my shoes. “This is..eugh..” realizing I had extinguished the last flicker of humanity in something that used to be a person, and that internal cost felt heavier than any physical fight.
ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ۫ ˑ ֗ ִ ˑ ּ 𖤐⠀ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ୭₊˚: ★ ٬ ˑ ִ ۫ ִֶָ⋆☆
True disgust wasn't in their hunger, but in the sheer, repulsive decay of their forms. The things smelled like a slaughterhouse left to rot under a summer sun, a heavy, coppery stench of old blood mixed with something sour and just wrong.
Their skin wasn't just pale; it was pulled thin and taught over bone, slick in some places, cracked and flaking in others, exposing raw muscle tissue that seemed to weep constantly.
I saw one stagger past, and a section of its lower jaw simply separated, hanging loose by shreds of skin, clicking against its chest plate with every hungry breath.
Their movements were jerky and unnatural—limbs swinging at odds with their torsos—a visual insult that confirmed everything that was once human had been overwritten by something filthy and tireless.
What if Kaashi had to deal with those things when the world first went to shit? Or even worse..what if he- NO! No no no I don’t even want to imagine that..
ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ۫ ˑ ֗ ִ ˑ ּ 𖤐ꜰʟᴀꜱʜʙᴀᴄᴋִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ۪ 𖤐 ˑ₊˚: ★ ٬ ˑ ִ ۫ ִֶָ⋆☆
I was just goofing around on the court—getting some extra sets in before practice. The gym was probably loud, echoing with the squeak of sneakers and the usual chaotic energy usually before practice.
Then he walked in.
It wasn't like a spotlight hit him; it was more subtle, like the whole atmosphere just... calibrated.
He wasn't doing anything grand, He was just walking across the gym floor. But the way he moved— so graceful completely unaware of the effect he was having—it just stopped me dead.
I probably missed the next three spikes. Everything about him, from the way his dark hair caught the overhead lights to the sheer presence he carried, felt significant.
I knew, in that instant, I felt my world was about to tilt as soon as I overheard how he would be joining our team.
God it was perfect, he was perfect.
Every set he gave me just felt like it had my name written on it in bold letters.
“Kaashi did you see that?!”
He would agree,
“Kaashi can you set it a bit higher this time? I wanna try something new!”
And he would do it effortlessly.
You know how sometimes people look rough after a long day? Hair a little messy, maybe slightly frazzled from an exam or a tough shift or some other stupid reason? Well, even when my kaashi was utterly exhausted, running on fumes, he still manages to look... perfect.
When he's tired, his eyes get this soft, slightly heavy look, but that's when the incredible sincerity in his gaze really comes through.
There's no pretense; just pure, beautiful truth, which is why I never doubted any set or advice he would give me. Even when we finally got together (which wasn’t a shock to anyone because I followed him around like a dog.) we never lost our spark.
If his hair is a little wild from sleeping on it funny or pushing through a tough week, it just frames his face in a way that feels incredible real and approachable.
I love reaching up and just smoothing down that one stubborn curl, because that's his.
God don’t even get me started on his eyes, way different from the milky lifeless ones I’ve been seeing everyday.
I’m going to do anything to see them again.