so folks it's been a wild ride but we're finally at the end. thank you for all your support during these past seven months, and for being with me on my haikyuu journey during these past eight years. here's hoping you all face happier and better days in spite of the pandemic out there. i hope you enjoy the final instalment of my humble HQ zombie au :) happy reading~

On the fourth day, Kenma turns in his sleep.

It happens when Kei is on shift. He's wringing a cool cloth and dabbing it on the setter's skin – his fever's been fluctuating for a while now – when Kenma begins convulsing in his arms, lids fluttering open and eyes rolling back to the base of his skull.

Kei panics.

He remembers the story of how Kenma lost his eye and went into a brief seizure soon after the operation. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's a side effect of his body trying to fight off the infection, like an uphill climb in his journey towards recovery. Kei hopes.

But the thrashing is noisy, Kei can't help but worry, because Kuroo is still sleeping and the poor guy needs his rest. Kei pushes down on Kenma to hold him still, hands on forearms and his elbow against the other's chest.

The fit continues.

Kei makes do with what he can to keep Kenma steady, sweat lining his brow from both physical effort and the overwhelming sense of concern. For both Kuroo's and Kenma's sakes, Kei does little else but pray for things to calm down and be quiet.

It lasts for ten whole minutes.

Kenma's hair falls on his face as he squirms, lips parting as he lets out a small whimper of pain, and the caretaker part in Kei holds back the urge to brush it all away.

Kei stops panicking and the blood no longer rushes to his ears. The room is quiet, save for a few snores that escape Kuroo. Finally, Kenma falls still. Kei allows himself to relax.

Then, he hears it.

It starts out like a gasp. A small puff of air that doesn't quite sound right. Kei hears wheezing; the struggling noise of a dying man's choked breaths. The sound of a rattling as the wind blows through the hollow space of another's bones.

Kei turns his head, moving slowly to take a better look at Kenma and–

And there it is.

He's looking at it now, greater than all his fears combined. The patch of mottled skin that traces around the edges of his scar. The crisscrossed streaks of his veins that imprint themselves like a pattern in the area surrounding the wound. That sickeningly familiar shade of herculean blue.

Kenma isn't Kenma anymore.

He's gone just like the rest of them.

Kei has been a fool to have fallen for the same mistake twice. He does not want to risk it for a third time.

He backs away and motions to retrieve Kuroo's gun nearby. Kenma's been tied down as a just-in-case, but the infected are wild beasts and the bondages, it seems, are not enough to hold him down.

Kenma manages to get out of it.

Kei feels his heart stop.

He is frozen to the ground. This is a scene that Kei is all too familiar with. A sick and painful feeling bubbles in his chest. Kei remembers Akaashi; remembers Bokuto and thinks no less of the man with nothing other than sheer respect, for his strength and his bravery when that moment came and Bokuto had been the one to pull the trigger instead.

Now Kei is alone, almost. Kuroo is in danger and Kenma has turned, and Bokuto and Akaashi were long gone just like the rest of them. There's nobody else who can pick up his slack.

Kei has to make things right.

He sucks in a breath and steels himself, mentally prepares for what he couldn't bring his hands to do before.

Kenma pushes himself off with his good leg and makes a leap to attack Kuroo. Kei rushes to take aim as soon as his fingers meet the familiar brush of metal. Kuroo's weapon is almost foreign in his hands; skin relishing in the feel of cold steel and polymer frames. But it feels good - like a fresh beginning, Kei can't help but think - fingers coiling around the trigger as he tightens his hold around the grip.

He shoots.

Kuroo wakes up right there and then; eyes opening to the sight of Kenma falling before him, a bullet shot straight through the crown of his head – temple to temple, dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

.

"What the fuck?" Kuroo shouts, voice cracking from emotion. His eyes are wet, heaving with questions that die unspoken on his tongue.

"I'm sorry, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo looks desperate, movements panicked and stilted, gaze burning as though manic and fevered. His eyes skim Kei's face over and over, searching and pleading and begging him for answers.

"How dare you?" Kuroo sounds shocked. "How…" Afraid. "How could you?"

"It didn't work," Kei tells him, and he hates the way his voice sounds so detached in his attempt to explain. "He turned," Kei wonders if his eyes are as cold as his words, "I had to do it."

I had to protect you.

Kuroo's eyes are on him, gaze sharp. "You don't know that," he spits out bitterly to him in contempt, "How sure were you? What if he was still working on beating it?"

"He lunged at you, Kuroo-san. I couldn't take that chance."

"Chance!" the older boy screams, eyes crazed and on the precipice of hysteria. His voice is laced with venom. Resentment. "What chance?!" Kuroo doesn't hold back, "Because of you Kenma doesn't have any chance at all!"

"Kuroo-san."

"Because you just–"

"Kuroo."

"–blew out his fucking brains–"

"Stop."

"–you didn't give him enough time–"

"Listen–"

"Why should I listen to you?"

"Kuroo-san, please. Kenma–"

"What do you even know about Kenma?"

"I know that Kenma wanted to protect you," Kei answers firmly, voice resolute. "He wanted me to do this."

"Bullshit."

"Because he loved you," Kei continues with his point without wavering. Kuroo finally stops his screaming and allows himself to listen. "We had an agreement. He asked me to kill him before he could hurt anyone on the team," he tells him, "You, especially."

Kei hears another sound of a pained gasp for air. It sounds broken, raw.

Alive.

Kuroo brings a hand to his mouth and muffles a choked sob into the skin of his palm. Kei listens to the sounds as he grieves; wallows together with him in silence.

.

Canned tuna tastes no better freshly cooked than it does lukewarm, Kei decides, when Kuroo pries open a can he'd looted from the back of the warehouse storage shed. Kei takes in two mouthfuls of fish, the salinity faring no better than his tears, and swallows it down without complaint. There's a hollow feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach. He hardly feels full.

"I think it would be a good idea to spend another night here," Kuroo says, eyes rubbed red and bloodshot. Kei ignores the heated flush of their damp cheeks. "The pier is only fifteen minutes away." He sniffs. "We should get some more rest in the meantime."

"The boats aren't going anywhere," Kei agrees. "We can leave tomorrow, no rush."

"If we're lucky, we might be able to have Yakkun and the others tag along."

"The ones from the bridge?"

A nod. "We used to travel together with them, you know."

"What stopped you, then?"

"They found out about Kenma," Kuroo confides. "So we split up. We weren't forced out of the team, though...they were our friends. But even if they let us stick around, we all knew how wary everyone had felt about it. The underlying unease. Kenma eventually decided that he'd rather not stick around the group. He probably got sick of everyone treating him like he was made of glass. Can't blame them, though. After all, we understood the risks."

"And you?'

"Yaku and I decided it would be safer if I tagged along. We both knew there was no way I would let him just go out there alone."

"Weren't you scared?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Kuroo laughs at his query; the sound of it comes as quickly as it goes. "But I loved him more than I was afraid of him, and that alone was enough for me."

"How naive, Kuroo-san."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'romantic.'"

"You could be both," Kei argues, crossing his arms. "I wouldn't put it past you. You're practically a walking oxymoron at this point."

"Love does that to people sometimes, Tsukki," the older boy confesses breezily, "It makes them brave. Reckless."

"Annoying?"

Another vivid laugh. "Yeah," he agrees. "That too."

"It's a mystery how your teammates managed to put up with you all this time."

"Who knows." Kuroo stops laughing and flashes him a smile back, expression tight-lipped with unspoken understanding.

Kei coughs. "Do you think they're still–"

"Alive? Of course. They're fighters, the whole lot of them. They're not going to give themselves up that easily."

"Then they might have already gone ahead. It's been days now."

"Could we still look for them tomorrow before we sail out, though?"

"First thing in the morning?"

"That would be nice."

"It would, wouldn't it," Kei hums. "We should sleep early then, so we can start the search sooner. There's no use spending tonight worrying over things we have yet to face the next day."

"You're right."

"Mm. I usually am."

Kei munches on another mouthful of tuna before he wipes his fingers on the hem of his shirt. The fish is salty against his tongue, and he grabs a cracker to rinse away the taste of brine in his mouth.

"Since when?" Kuroo asks him quietly, after Kei swallows his cracker down.

"When what?"

"Since when did you know about Kenma?"

"After Bokuto," Kei replies, eyes not quite meeting the other's gaze. He ducks his head down low when he speaks. "That time we left you at the gas station. He told me when we were at the museum, when we left you alone to grieve."

Kuroo hums, setting down the now-empty can before him. The metal clinks against the polished concrete floor.

"And you agreed?" Kuroo asks, voice ripping through the air and stumbling in the cracked earth. His words resound as softly as the withered leaves that rustled around their feet. The anguish of the marrow. "Just like that?"

Kei imagines the feeling of Kenma's hand in his, the warmth of it pressed against his palm. He remembers the brittle ache of his honesty. The raw gold of his voice.

"Yes," Kei murmurs as he clings onto the memory, holding it tight, the way a lover would. "Just like that."

.

At night, Kuroo sleeps beside him, curled up with his brows furrowed in a fitful sleep. Dried up tears crust at the corners of his eyes. Kei lies on the cot with his head propped up against his jacket-turned makeshift pillow. He'd long stopped dreaming of his life before the outbreak.

They lie together, holding hands just like what they both used to do with Kenma. It's comforting, almost, because it reminds Kei of living. It reminds him that they're still here and that they're not alone. That they have each other. It's only the two of them now.

In the midst of his insomnia, Kei spends his hours sorting through their agenda for the next day. He thinks about his promise to help Kuroo search for the rest of Nekoma. About Kenma's body and how they'll have to find a good spot to bury it tomorrow out of respect. Somewhere in the water probably, where the sun meets the sea and the light scatters at dusk. Where the water will resemble a mirror of the most forgiving oblivion. Like a memory of an old friend.

Tomorrow they'll scavenge more supplies and amass their loot for dinner, and find a good enough spot for the next hideout until they set up a ship ready for their departure. There's still a lot more out there for them to do before they can finally leave the docks, but it's fine.

For now, he'll catch up on lost hours of well-deserved rest and make the most of what can be comfortable in their cramped makeshift bed; he'll hold onto Kuroo's hand and soldier through whatever is thrown at them by reality, and he'll let the warmth of their skinship anchor himself through the rest of it.

It's only the two of them now.

.

When Kei closes his eyes later that night, he revisits a memory in place of a dream.

It's of him lying in the back alley of a ransacked family restaurant, face pressed against the hard gravel of the Tokyo city sidewalk. He remembers the stench of decay that hung in the air, the grime smeared across his cheek; his clothes are splattered with the blood of strangers he can't seem to name.

He remembers.

There's the weight of a boot pressed down on his chest; the feeling of a gun cocked against his temple. A familiar mop of hair streaked in white and grey. A boy with an eyepatch.

And then, at last –

Four sets of eyes that look down at him curiously when he meets their gaze.

.

(Tsukishima Kei falls asleep at the end of the world, and thinks of just how lucky he is to have been found.)