Tsukishima held the muzzle against her forehead. For a moment, he wondered if she felt the cold metal on her skin. His hand shifted slightly.
I guess not.
He clicked the gun, almost ready to pull the trigger anytime now. If it wasn't for the net they'd set up recently, all of them would've been...
"Oi... Tsukishima..."
Hinata who was once the team's orange ball of energy now cried and plead to his lanky, foul-mouthed rival.
"Don't shoot her," he wanted to beg him, but couldn't bring himself to because he knew it wasn't easy on the blond, or on anyone.
Why did it have to come down to this?
Weren't they going to protect each other?
Why did they end up holding a gun against her?
"Hitoka... Hitoka didn't do anything wrong, right, Kageyama?"
Kageyama bit his lip hard, shaking slightly, his eyes warm, as he held himself and Hinata in place.
"Yamaguchi, you think so too, right?"
But the freckled pinch server made no move, curled up in the corner, not even to wipe his tears.
"Hitoka... She-"
"Haaaa?" Tsukishima finally snapped. "This-" he said, pointing the gun to what was once their clumsy manager. "This isn't Yachi-san anymore."
It was the hard truth.
"She's not just sick. She's dead. She's rotting. Can't you get that through your-"
"Tsukki, isn't that enough?" Yamaguchi cried from the corner, anger raising his voice. The blond stopped promptly, eyes back on the undead little girl who was trying to scratch him. The whole room was silent grey.
Hinata's head sunk. He knew that. He did. All of them did, but why did it have to happen to Yachi?
"There must be something wrong with the world..."
Yachi who smiled and encouraged everyone, despite being scared more than anyone else, that Yachi... what did she do to deserve this?
"The world is wrong," Hinata mumbled as he clung onto Kageyama.
The gun was poised ready for firing, but Tsukishima knew he wasn't. It was illogical. Hinata was right.
There must be something wrong with the world.
His eyes lazed around her figure. "When, just when was she bitten?" he thought as he tried to recall the last few days, when Yachi was alive and well.
When was it?
Then, it occurred to him.
All the minor things he had noticed before had been clear signs, almost slapping him in the face. How could he have missed all that? It frustrated him.
"Was that how it was, Hitoka?" he whispered, holding back his own emotions.
His fingers that were calmly resting on the trigger, now quivered slightly.
You're really a special kind of idiot.
Tsukishima breathed, recollecting himself, the background melting into white nothingness.
"I got it. I'm sending you home."