May 5th, 2018

"Uh huh," Tsukishima droned into his phone, which he had squeezed between his ear and his shoulder. "Yep. Got it. Right." His hands were busy unwrapping a box full of snacks that Kuroeda Yumika had gifted him for some strange reason. He had planned to throw it out, but doing so would have resulted in terrible waste. Tsukishima let his phone drop to his plush bed before hanging up. "Sheesh..." A company party tonight? The second section of their spring collection had boomed in terms of viewership and magazine and clothing sales, but still... All Tsukishima wanted right now was a night to himself. Maybe soaking in a hot tub with a cold glass of kahlua with milk.

His phone dinged as he pulled out a packet of honey butter chips, making him glance at the device. It was a notification—he had received a text from Yamaguchi. It was also the thing that made him smile a little for the first time tonight, but that was quickly ruined when another notification pinged. This time, it was a message from Oishi.

Oishi rarely texted, meaning that it must have been something at least of semi-importance, so Tsukishima saved answering Yamaguchi's text for later.

[Oishi]: What are you wearing tonight?

[Oishi]: We need to match, and it has to be something from this season, or people will talk shit.

[Tsukishima]: I am aware. People suck.

[Oishi]: lol

[Oishi]: Send me a picture.

Oishi Ryoka has sent an attachment.

[Oishi]: Here's my dress.

Tsukishima recognized the outfit—she had worn it in an exclusive photo shoot with Haiba Alisa the other day. Although he couldn't see the back of the dress, he knew that it had a deep plunge that showed off her shoulder blades. She would be the belle of the ball tonight.

[Tsukishima]: Gimme a moment.

[Tsukishima]: I'm not dressed yet.

[Oishi]: The party's in two hours. WTF are you doing?

[Tsukishima]: Well, I WAS unwinding before you texted.

[Tsukishima]: Kuroeda has good taste. Too bad it doesn't extend to men.

[Oishi]: What did she get you? An assortment of butt plugs and anal beads?

[Tsukishima]: Fuck no

[Tsukishima]: Why are u like this

[Oishi]: lmao

[Oishi]: Anyway, send it soon or I'll have your head.

[Tsukishima]: 💩

Tsukishima flopped onto his bed. Beneath his tired body, it felt like a cloud. Groaning into his pillow, he took off his glasses (they kept pressing into his face) and put them on the nightstand. Then he opened Yamaguchi's message, smiling a little sadly.

[Yamaguchi]: Tsukki, wanna go grab dinner tonight?

When was the last time I saw Yamaguchi, anyway?

It had been a while, certainly. Both of them were busy with their own lives, after all. Although Yamaguchi worked nine-to-five office job, Tsukishima's schedule was not so rigid. It was difficult meeting up regularly when there was nothing regular about Tsukishima's career.

[Tsukishima]: I can't tonight.

[Tsukishima]: What about tomorrow night?

Yamaguchi didn't answer right away. There was zero indication on the app that Yamaguchi had seen his message yet, either, so Tsukishima decided to leave it for now. He had a party to dress up for, and he was going to hate it there.

Yachi Hitoka fidgeted with her ribbon on her dress as she glanced around her surroundings. It felt a little awkward to be standing all by herself in the middle of the quadrangle lawn, and she couldn't help but feel like all eyes were on her.

This is a little fancier than what I'm used to wearing, she thought, flicking the end of the ribbon with one finger. Yachi smiled. Oh well. The restaurant Yahaba had invited her to was a fine dining one, so she supposed that it was only appropriate for her dress up for it.

"Hitoka-chan!"

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard Yahaba's voice call out her name, lifting her arm to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Yachi beamed at Yahaba, who was jogging up to her. "Yahaba-kun, there you are."

"Sorry," Yahaba slowed to a stop in front of her, chuckling sheepishly, "I didn't make you wait long, did I?"

"No, no! I just got here, to be honest."

Yachi Hitoka had not been on many dates in her life. During high school, most—if not all—of her friends had courted at least once, but she remained the exception. She had only started seeing boys after graduation, when she had a little more confidence in herself. In her first year, she had dated a popular upperclassman known as Oujiyama Hideo, but they'd broke it off after a few months.

The second boy she had dated was Yamaguchi, both of them agreeing to part ways after realizing they were better off as friends.

Oddly enough, both of them had gone to Karasuno High.

Yahaba, though...

Yachi smiled shyly as they walked together, their arms brushing; her canvas bag made for a flimsy barrier.

It was a cool summer evening, and they spent the walk to the restaurant talking idly. On the way there, Yachi discovered that Yahaba had an interest in Peking Opera of all things. She didn't know much about the subject, but she did share her passion for origami and other crafts in return.

"Oh!" Yahaba remembered. "Did you do any sports in high school, Hitoka-chan?"

"Sports?" Yachi echoed. "Well, er, not really. I was the manager for the boy's volleyball club, though. What about you, Yahaba-kun?"

"Volleyball? Huh..." He smiled again, but Yachi couldn't really decipher the meaning behind it. "I used to play setter for... Seijoh. Ah, I mean Aobajosai. We just call it that because—"

"Eh?! Seijoh?! I-I went to Karasuno...!" Yachi began to blabber, holding out her hands. Come to think of it, Yahaba-kun does look somewhat familiar...

"Ohhh, for real? Small world, huh? Maybe we've met before, a long time ago..."

The idea of meeting in the past was certainly romantic, even though her high school days had an ugly blemish on them. She had been recruited to manage the boy's volleyball team, she remembered, by Shimizu Kiyoko, who remained a good friend of hers to this day. It'd been fun, although she knew there had been some unspoken issues within the team—specifically among the first year boys. Yachi had never pried—hadn't found it her place to do so.

Then Oikawa had died, and Kageyama had run away and gotten into trouble with the law.

She hadn't seen him since.

A lost cause, her mother had reckoned, shaking her head.

Oikawa... Warily, Yachi side-eyed Yahaba. They would've been on the team at the same time... It had been hard for Karasuno to accept the death of one of Miyagi Prefecture's most brilliant setters—she could not even begin to imagine what it would have been like had it been someone on her team that had died. To be in the epicenter of the earthquake that had struck the volleyball world.

"Hey," Yahaba said, the restaurant coming into view. "Hitoka-chan."

"Mm?"

"You don't have to call me 'Yahaba-kun', you know."

"Oh! Ah, um... You never told me your first name. Sorry!"

"Nah, it's fine," Yahaba placed his hand around her shoulders as he led her inside, "Just call me... Tooru."

The first face that Kunimi saw when he had entered Aobajosai's gym for the first time with Kindaichi was Yahaba's. The opening of the door had garnered the setter's attention, and Yahaba had grinned at him, waving over Kyoutani so they could greet each other together.

It seemed odd to Kunimi, that he was now sitting in the same restaurant as Yachi and Yahaba at a faraway table. He pretended to be fixated with his phone, his baseball cap tilted slightly downward so that his eyes—focused on where Yachi and Yahaba were sitting—remained hidden.

Nothing's happened so far, he thought as the waiter approached his table from the side to give him a fizzy soda. He would maybe ordered some alcohol, but he needed to stay alert. Kunimi narrowed his eyes when Yahaba reached over the table to brush a strand of hair away from Yachi's eyes, a smile on his face that had an uncomfortable amount of déjà vu creeping up on him.

He couldn't hear what they were saying from where he was seated; he had a clear view of Yahaba's face, but could only see the back of Yachi's blonde head as well. As he drank, he wondered what was going through Yachi's mind at this very moment. From the way she was lifting her hand over her mouth to chuckle at whatever Yahaba was saying, she was certainly having a good time.

Kunimi bit down on the straw of his drink, brow furrowing.

"Honestly, your brother is so immature sometimes, Akira."

"I know."

A hand gentle ruffling his hair.

"I'm thankful for you. Don't tell your big brother, but you've always been the most reliable son."

He grumbled when she pinched his cheek affectionately.

"Tch." Kunimi yanked the straw out of his mouth. "Reliable son..." If I'm so damn reliable, then I wouldn't have gotten her dragged into all this bullshit. Ugh.

Yachi said something then that made Yahaba tilt his head back and laugh. Kunimi could not recall the last time he had seen Yahaba exude such a blatantly positive emotion—perhaps it was heartless of him to think so, but his most vivid memories of Yahaba's facial expressions tended to be on the negative side.

"STOP! KENTAROU, STOP! PLEASE STOP!"

"YAHABA, LET GO!"

"NO! NO, I WON'T!"

"What is going on here?!"

"It's over."

When Kunimi's food arrived, he found that he had no appetite.

"Ugh, I need a smoke."

"It hasn't even been an hour yet."

Oishi Ryoka turned her head to glare with pursed lips at Tsukishima, who was unfazed. "For real? It feels like it's been forever. Look around—everybody's already drunk off their faces. Oh, great—here comes that airhead, Alisa."

Tsukishima gave her a quizzical look. "I thought you liked Alisa."

"I do. I just don't think I can deal with her right now—she's so clueless sometimes."

He could understand. Haiba Alisa was a nice girl—and a very beautiful one, too—but she had difficulty reading the room at times. There was a huge grin on her face as she approached them, a martini glass in one hand.

"Ryoka-chan!" cheered Alisa, putting one hand on Oishi's pale shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed—she was clearly tipsy. "How was the funeral~?"

"Excuse me?" Oishi raised a brow.

At the same time, Tsukishima parroted, "Funeral?"

"Alisa!"

"Ah!" Alisa almost spilled her drink. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry! I'm totally running my mouth again, I didn't mean to, I'm..." Woozily, she swayed. "Ah... Maybe I'll sit down for a little."

"That'd be a good idea," Oishi said, frosty. Had it been anyone else, Tsukishima was sure she would have thrown her drink at them. But, despite her eccentricities, Alisa truly was a diamond in the rough—an authentic artifact in a world of replicas.

Tsukishima let Oishi down her drink and snap her fingers for a waiter to give her a new one before prompting, "So what was this about a funeral?"

"It's nothing," Oishi sighed heavily. "Just that Miya's funeral wake was earlier today." She turned away from him, staring out the window with a frown on her face. "It was fucking awful."

Slowly, he nodded. "Was it the crying that bothered you?"

"No. The thing that bothered me most was that nobody cried. I didn't either, but... It shouldn't be expected of me. We were just coworkers. Sure, sometimes we took photos together and uploaded on Picstagram for clout, but our relationship was... strictly professional. Tch!" Oishi whipped around, back to where Tsukishima was standing. "His mom and Director Shō... They were basically his only family and I didn't see a single fucking tear from either of them." Her gaze dropped, her white bangs shadowing her face. "He had a man he loved. I didn't see him there. They didn't let him come, I bet. So, yeah. It was a shitty wake."

"I'm not surprised." The words sounded callous, even to him. "No... It's not surprising at all."

"Did I say I was surprised? No. Bothered? Yeah, a lot." Her hand hovered over the nigh invisible pocket of her dress. "It makes me want to call Tetsurou and say I'm sorry for making him feel like I left him behind for my job. Because I know he cares for me a lot more than any of these statues," she gave the room a once-over, "ever would. Minus Alisa, of course." Oishi sipped her drink. "She's a sweetheart."

The quiver in her voice had Tsukishima shifting his weight to his right foot in mild discomfort. It reminded him of the man who awaited his next message, any sort of confirmation for their dinner date. He exhaled. "Right. You do that."

She slid her hand in her pocket, eyes widening in alarm when she realized it wasn't there. "What the—?! It's not in here!"

"Are you serious?" Tsukishima reprimanded. "How could you lose it?"

"Hell if I know! Hey, Chen!" Oishi waved her manager, who had been woodenly chatting up a group of girls, over. "Chen, do you know where my phone is?"

As far as Tsukishima knew, Chen Jianhong had migrated to Japan from China when he was in his late teens. He had been integrated into the entertainment industry by Director Shō, and served currently as Oishi's manager and bodyguard. Tsukishima stepped back warily as Chen practically shoved himself between them, pointedly ignoring the blond model.

With one slender hand, Oishi pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "Good, you're still here. I was beginning to wonder if you were cheating on me with all your disappearing."

"You're not dating," Tsukishima interjected blandly.

"I know. But he's my manager. Isn't that right, Chen? So where have you been going, hm? You don't have money problems, do you?"

Chen scoffed, looking anywhere except Oishi's busty chest, the curve of her breasts accentuated by the way her dress clung to her. At least he was respectful, if anything. Or maybe he was trying his best not to be a horndog—Tsukishima couldn't really tell; his expressions were, most of the time, some variation of 'angry' or 'annoyed'. "Don't be concerned about me. Money's fine, Oishi. I found your phone by the drinks table, by the way." He fished it out of the pocket of his slacks. "Here."

"Aww," Oishi cooed, taking it, "You're a sweetheart, Chen."

"Mm." Chen glanced at his watch. "Have a nice night, Oishi. I got somewhere to be." Without waiting for a response, he strode away brusquely, leaving Oishi to squint after him.

"Huh? The hell...? Did I just get blown off?! By my own damn manager?!"

"Oi." Tsukishima steadied her. "Calm down, you're drunk. Go sit next to Alisa. I've already lost count of how many standard drinks you've had..." Palming her shoulders, he guided her toward the booth which Alisa had occupied. She waved when she saw them coming, scooting aside to allow Tsukishima to help Oishi sit down.

"Thanks," grunted Oishi, leaning against the back cushion.

"Whatever. I just didn't want you throwing a hissy fit standing up."

She flipped him the bird. "Shut up, man. Just accept my thanks like a normal human being. And I wouldn't have thrown a hissy fit."

Tsukishima's eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"

"Yeah." In a fashion that was decidedly very unladylike, Oishi crossed one leg over the other, the hem of her dress stretching. Hurriedly, Tsukishima pushed her leg back down, ignoring the sour puckering of her lips. Hopefully, everyone else had been too drunk to notice the flash of her panties—the people here were vicious when it came to criticism and gossip. "I'm just not his type, y'know?"

"Is that so?" He sat down at the booth, opposite Oishi. In his peripheral, he spotted Chen getting held up by a group of drunk women. "I thought you were everyone's type."

"Mmmhm. So did I. Look," Oishi pinched a lock of white hair between her fingers, holding it out toward him, "Look at this. Chen's not into white-haired chicks with fox faces like me. He likes girls like Kuroeda. Girls with black hair and cat faces. The only reason he hasn't made any moves on her is probably 'cause he knows she's a slut. Hahaha! She does everything short of actual sex with randoms. Chen likes pure girls."

"Or maybe," Tsukishima suggested, tucking the jibe about Kuroeda away for later, "It's because he's a professional."

"Hah! Chen? A professional? Don't make me laugh." Oishi hiccuped before straightening, the filmy glaze of drunken incoherence in her eyes lifting ever so slightly. "That man... is a viper."

The stars were out tonight. It was a rare sight to see, especially in the city. Yachi had had a lot more luck counting stars back in Miyagi. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, lifting her arms up in a stretch as Yahaba stopped in front of the park's fountain.

"It's nice, huh?" Yahaba sat down at the edge of the fountain, patting the spot next to him for Yachi.

Delicately, she tucked her skirt beneath her thighs and seated herself beside him. "It is," she agreed, looking heavenward with a small smile on her lips. A nighttime breeze blew through the park, and her hair swayed with the wind. Yahaba opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke first, her eyes still fixed on the sky. "It's kinda nostalgic, actually."

"Really?" Yahaba palmed the sides of the fountain, leaning backward slightly. "What does it make you think of, Hitoka-chan?"

"Back then," answered Yachi, sighing quietly. "It reminds me of a long time ago. I mean," she blushed, "I know I sound like an old man right now, but I'm serious! I was lucky, you know. A lot of bad things happened in our town, but... I was lucky to only have to watch other people suffer. It sounds awful, but... It's true. At least to me. I was lucky. Sorry, I must be bringing the mood down..."

"Don't say that, Hitoka-chan," Yahaba admonished gently. "You're allowed to be sad. To be honest," he grimaced, "I watched the people around me suffer, too. Any sort of suffering is sad, don't you think?"

"I guess you're right."

They fell into silence.

Yachi listened to the gentle bubbling of the water fountain, tapping the heel of her boots against the cobblestone along with the rhythm. It was a peaceful night; she could hear crickets chirping beyond the bushes, and the area still smelled like dew from this morning's fox rains. There was absolutely no reason for her to be bothered at all, but...

Kunimi had been acting weird for a while now. Asking her to report to him about her dates and whatnot would have tired any other girl, but Yachi knew that Kunimi wasn't this kind of person. Something had to be wrong for him to behave in such a way, and—she peeked at Yahaba from beneath her lashes—she knew that things couldn't continue between them because of that.

"Tooru-kun," she started, but Yahaba talked over her.

"Hitoka-chan, I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh..." Closing her eyes, Yachi mustered up her courage. "I'm sorry, Tooru-kun, but... I think we're moving too fast. And, um, there are things I need to sort out first before we—"

"What?"

The abrupt shift in his tone—normally so soft and lilting—made her stiffen. Just like that, she became very aware of the edge of his palm pressing firmly against her smaller hand. She swallowed the panic down and tried again. "I-It's not—"

Yahaba's eyes were wide in bewilderment. "You're rejecting me?"

"N-no! Well, maybe I—"

"Did I do something wrong?"

Yachi bowed her head. "No! I think you're very nice, Tooru-kun, but..."

"I don't understand." Yahaba stood, frowning. "Then what's the problem?"

"I...!"

"Nobody's ever rejected me before."

What? Yachi ogled at him, at the statement he had just made. Then she mirrored his frown, though her face was lined with worry. "This... This isn't fair to me!" She yelped when he grabbed her wrist roughly, pulling her closer to him.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sayori?!"

"What?!" cried Yachi. "Who's Sayori?!"

To her horror, Yahaba's face crumpled, and he held her hands tightly, hunching over. "Oh god," he breathed, pressing his forehead against her knuckles, "Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sayori. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to break up with you. Everything was supposed to be okay."

Birds burst forth from the trees, nothing but flurried shadows under the black sky.

"Tooru," Yachi attempted to pry herself from his vice grip, "Tooru, please let go of me. Please."

"Sayori—"

The leaves rustled.

"Enough."

Clutching Yahaba's arm, Kunimi wrenched him away from Yachi, who quickly scuttled back, massaging her sore wrists. Then he took off his baseball cap and threw it aside, staring balefully at Yahaba's stooped form.

"Kunimi?" Yahaba blinked. "What... What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he retorted. "I'm stopping you from doing something you're gonna regret."

Yahaba chortled, the sound watery. "What are you, my mom?"

"Don't!" Kunimi snapped. "Talk like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kunimicchi. Everything's okay." His features contorted into something ugly, something hateful. He yanked his arm from Kunimi's hold. "So why the hell are you getting in my way?"

Warily, Kunimi held out his hands. "Senpai. This isn't like you. Think about what you're doing."

"I know damn well what I'm doing. Just ask Iwaizumi. He was my vice-captain."

Kunimi shook his head. "Iwaizumi is in prison. Your name is Yahaba Shigeru. Not Oikawa Tooru." At his silence, he continued, "I was wondering for a while, you know. I couldn't know for sure, but... Here you are." Hands still raised, he took a tentative step forward. "Yahaba Shigeru. That's who you are."

Yahaba remained silent.

Trembling in the background, Yachi reached into her purse and pawed for her phone, only relaxing when she found it.

"No," Yahaba said, and Kunimi recoiled at the sheer honesty in his voice. "I'm not. Yahaba Shigeru... You think I'm that guy?"

"You don't sound happy about it," Kunimi replied carefully.

"Of course not. Yahaba Shigeru..." He barked a sharp laugh. "He's a loser! A nobody! Didn't you see the way he fell apart like a coward when his team needed him most?! He's nothing. But me," he palmed his chest, "I'm different. I'm not like Yahaba!"

Dammit. A bead of sweat trailed down Kunimi's temple as he regarded Yahaba. He's completely lost any sense of self he may have had. "Yahaba Shigeru isn't a loser," Kunimi told him. "He isn't a nobody. He isn't nothing. He's a senpai I respected—a senpai I still respect. He's my roommate, and my friend. He served as my captain in high school, even if it was only for a little while. But he was brave." Yahaba's face fell. "He became captain because he was the best we had. Because the rest of us weren't ready to lead. And nobody—nobody—can call him a coward for that."

The wind blew through the clearing.

And Yahaba lowered his head, his bangs—styled in Oikawa's fashion—fell over his eyes. "Shut up," he murmured.

"Yahaba?"

"SHUT UP!" Yahaba lunged forward, Kunimi barely able to catch his breath before Yahaba had grabbed him by the front of his hoodie. "How can you say that shit to me?!" he bellowed. "Shut the fuck up, you lying bastard!" He shoved Kunimi backward, the black-haired man almost falling over.

"Wait—"

Yahaba's fist clipped his face, and he felt pain explode somewhere around his mouth.

He heard Yachi shriek in alarm from somewhere behind him.

"Fuck." Kunimi stumbled back, feeling the wetness of blood on his chin and tasting its metallic quality with his tongue. He rubbed it away with the back of his hand and part of his sleeve, the substance almost invisible against the dark fabric of his hoodie. "Yahaba—" He dodged just in time for Yahaba to punch the air instead of his nose. Swearing, he tackled Yahaba from the side, knocking them both onto the ground. "Stay down!" he ordered, desperately trying to hold his writhing figure down.

"FUCK YOU!" Yahaba slammed his forehead between Kunimi's eyes. "Why won't you believe me?!"

"Because I know you!" Kunimi shouted from where he was laying on the floor, biting down to fight the pain in his head off. "You're my friend, you damn idiot! You're not Oikawa! God, Yahaba," his voice broke, "You think I'm really saying this to fuck with you?!"

"Urgh...!" Tears welled up in Yahaba's eyes. "I told you to shut up!" His fist rocketed against Kunimi's cheek, and his head snapped to the side; he hissed when his temple smacked against the cobblestone. "Getting in my way...! Spouting all this bullshit...!"

"It's not bullshit!" Kunimi punched him back, scrambling to his feet and panting heavily.

"Oh my god," Yachi's fingers were shaking as she typed in the emergency number on her phone, "I need to call the police...!" Frantically, she lifted the phone to her ear. "Pick up, pick up... Hello?!" she warbled. "T-they're going to kill each other! I-I need the police! We're at—"

At a standstill, the two men circled each other slowly.

"Please," Kunimi wheezed, wiping blood from his split lip, which had started to bleed again. "I just want to help you. You're my friend."

"Nobody can help me!" Yahaba screamed. "Nobody helped me when he killed me!"

A crow cawed in the night.

"I know," Kunimi said. "Nobody helped Oikawa. But you're different. You're not Oikawa. I meant every word of what I said before. Yahaba Shigeru is not a nobody," he stepped forward with his hands raised in halfhearted surrender, "Yahaba Shigeru is not nothing—"

Yahaba wavered, his shoulders sagging.

"—and Yahaba Shigeru is not a coward. Yahaba Shigeru is a senpai who I respect. Yahaba Shigeru is my roommate. Most of all, though, Yahaba Shigeru is my friend, and a great one at that. Yahaba Shigeru isn't Oikawa Tooru." Sirens wailed. "But that doesn't matter. Because Yahaba Shigeru is so much more than that."

The rock in his stomach turned into a ball of ice when Yahaba sank to his knees, staring blankly at the ground. "No," he said. "No, no, no... I am him...! I am Oikawa! I have to be! I have to be, Kunimi, I have to be, oh my god!"

He stiffened when Yahaba tilted his head. "Wait, what are you—"

Yahaba smashed his head against the ground with all his might. "I am Oikawa!" he screamed into the night, blood flying in an arc as he lifted his head and repeated the motion. "I am!" Again. "I am!" Again. "I am!" Again. "I am!"

"STOP!" Kunimi yelled, darting forward. But then a dark shadow appeared in front of him, and he halted. Looking around, he found that police officers were swarming the area.

"It's over, son," the officer who had stopped him said, bringing him over to where Yachi was standing with another officer. "Your girlfriend here told us everything. We have an ambulance on standby for him."

Kunimi could only watch, helpless, as several officers restrained Yahaba from further harming himself. His face was caked with blood, and his hair was a mess. He looked so small—so terribly small and afraid.

"It's over."

"What do you mean?"

"They're quitting. For good."

"W-what? You can't be serious. I... What about nationals?"

"What about nationals? It was over the moment Oikawa died."

"You've always been kinda cold, but this is a new low. That was cruel, Kunimi."

"Sorry."

Yeah, Kunimi thought, exhaustion weighing his body down. It's over. Turning to the side, he saw Yachi staring at Yahaba in horror, red and blue occasionally flashing on her cheek from the nearby parked police cars. Without having to think, he did the only thing he could do. Kunimi pulled Yachi close to him, and she buried her face in his chest, her small frame wracking as she sobbed, terrified. "Don't look. You don't need to look, Yachi-san."

It's over.

His throat bobbed.

It's over.

Yachi was crying.

It's over.

Kindaichi had cried back then, too.

No.

The killer still ran free.

It's not.

A/N: This was incredibly hard for me to write and I don't find myself satisfied with the result. Regardless, though, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Reviews are always appreciated!