"Maybe, but since when have you played a ukulele- ??"

i’m not even dead wtf, you’re the dead one

"I make very special exceptions to that rule, ok"

烏–>    Kageyama stared in the distance of the ruins of Japan, not knowing what towns and cities they’ve passed by in the passing moons since the beginning of this hell of an apocalypse. The dried markings of rotted blood on his weapon held a scent that he grown used to, the former setter closing his eyes and opening them again, wishing it was just a dream and that he would wake up to see a court again.

His home, his world---- it was all gone. He dare not remember what Miyagi looked like prior to all this, having left that world behind him for a new life in Tokyo. Never did he imagine that he would lose the very people he had begun to care so much about.

The smiles of the team were faded like an old photograph, sepia covering their faces. He could barely remember how Kenma spoke, nor the sound of the squeaking of shoes or the sound of spikes from a spiker’s hand. The face of Nekomata and Naoi were scratched out, teasing him about a life that used to exist.

Where were they all now? Perhaps his mind didn’t want to remember something about them, as he felt as if a part of his mind and heart had been cut away during the time from the beginning to where he and Kuroo were now.

He looked back at Kuroo, frowning a bit. They were low on food and Kageyama could predict that a hoard was nearing where they were now. He gripped onto his weapon before approaching Kuroo, a hand on his bag as he spoke.

“Maybe they are sad, and because no one notices they cry more.” THE SUFFERING OF DIRTY MONGRELS WAS NOT A CONCERN OF HERS, but curious it made her, and that curiosity was spoken, getting an answer was never an expectation, not from most people at least.