Karasuno Fight {One Shot Book}

As The Day Bleeds, Into Nightfall

A snapshot of Kageyama and Kindaichi's relationship, both as a boss and his right hand, and as the kids that they are but are never truly allowed to be.

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"I want an answer."

The men, his men, surround him like a flock of birds. If they have any fear, they do not show it, their eyes sharp and their faces hardened. He stands, his back straight and his feet planted firmly on the floor, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks at the men assembled before him, his gaze steady.

"Miyamoto is gone." He doesn't flinch as he says it. It happened. He cannot change it or escape it, despite how much he (and likely them) wishes he could. "I am giving you all a choice. You can leave this life by going up those stairs and never showing your faces here again. Or, if you feel so inclined as to walk this hell with me, you can stay down here and wait. I'll give you five minutes."

He turns his back on them after that, no longer able to look at their faces, and descends farther down into the basement of the building.

It's dim and damp in the large, empty space, the air stale and musty from years of abandon. The walls are decorated with elaborate graffiti, stark lines and vivid colors bright against the muted yellow green wallpaper. His eyes hurt from squinting in the dark, and he stops walking to lean his forehead against the wall, humming in appreciation at the feel of the cool wall against his feverish skin.

Five minutes pass, slowly and silently, and he keeps standing there alone. He isn't sure whether he's disappointed or relieved. He exhales softly just to make some noise.

Then, he hears the quiet patter of footsteps. "Hey," he hears Kindaichi say as he stops a few feet away from him. "Sorry, I'm late. Everyone kept hustling me to follow you down here cause they're too chicken shit to do it themselves. They're still here."

He opens his eyes then, and turns to look up at Kindaichi. Kindaichi scratches his head, grinning at him in embarrassment. "They refuse to leave here without being given the order to, me included. So we're all up there waiting for you, boss."

Kageyama blinks slowly. The term boss always sounded so fitting when it was for someone else, so strong and unwavering in its usage. A sign of pride, and of respect. It was fitting for a person like his predecessor, the alpha of this little wolf pack.

None of them truly break down, too full of pride like their former boss. He can understand. He's fairly sure Miyamoto would be holding every single one of them at gunpoint for even thinking of crying and wailing like a child just because he bit the dust. But that doesn't change the simple truth. They have all lost someone, someone to live and die for.

He has a flashback of amber eyes looking down at him knowingly, dancing with mischief. A wolfish grin flashing in the darkness of an alleyway. A hushed and deliberate confession in the cold night air.

"I'm counting on ya, street rat."

The term boss always sounded fitting for Miyamoto, the wolf prowling among the weak prey of the city. But now the wolf pack had a new alpha. A scrawny street mutt.

He strides past Kindaichi without another word, his head held high. He was now the boss. And he was going to make sure that everyone, including himself, didn't forget it.

It was twilight in the city. The sun was setting. It was almost dazzling, how bright and beautiful it was, even as it was dying. He burrows deeper into the blanket as a sudden chill creeps up his back.

Kindaichi emerges from the bathroom a moment later, shutting the door with a soft click. He's shirtless, his scrawny, bandaged chest on full display. A cut above his eyebrow is stitched, an angry red line against his tanned skin. He glances down at him, his face void of emotion.

Kageyama meets his gaze. A hand reaches out from under the blanket. "Join me."

Kindaichi slides under the blanket easily, and Kageyama shuffles over until he's pressed flush against his side, Kindaichi's arm looped around his back, and his head resting gently on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady presence despite the bandages.

They lay there in silence for more than a few heartbeats, the city strangely muted beyond the windows of the hideout. He exhales. Kindaichi speaks then. "They found them."

Kageyama says nothing, his breath faltering.

"You don't have to say anything." Kindaichi's hand runs tenderly through his hair. "The boys brought them back while we were getting treated. They're ready with your say so. To send them off."

Kageyama swallows, his throat dry. "Who was with them last?" He croaks.

"Nishinoya and Makoto."

"They'll be the ones to do it then. And the rest?" He leans into Kindaichi's touch, a small comfort among all the pain he was feeling.

Kindaichi doesn't stop in his ministrations. "Only injured, sir. No other casualties."

It was funny how fragile life was. He thought to himself as he watched the last of the sun's dying rays disappear. So warm and bright, yet snuffed out in only an instant. He laughs.

Kindaichi doesn't stop, not even when tears fall from his eyes, and he grips the blanket like a lifeline, throwing his head back and wailing his sorrows to the silent, uncaring heavens.