𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲 || 𝐭. 𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚

⤷𝟜𝟞: 𝕕𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤

kageyama's pov—

for as long as he can remember, kageyama has had a voice of reason.

there was always a small voice in the back of his head, always telling him what he should've done—what he could've done.

like that time he lashed out at his teammates. {which time, tobiyo? it's happened a quite lot-} his voice of reason was there, telling him to shut the fuck up.

he didn't listen.

or, like that other time when he could've talked to his upperclassman with respect. he could've been mature about everything...but instead, kageyama decided to ruin all chances of ever having an okay-ish mutual friendship (or acquaintance-ship. let's be real, they'll never be friends) with toru oikawa.

his voice of reason was there, too.

and kageyama didn't listen.

or, maybe. like that time...every time it involved her.

kageyama could've listened to that small voice in the back of his head. he could've listened to the voice telling him to apologize. to get over himself and admit that he's never forgotten—that he'll never be able to forget. to simply admit the three words he's wanted to say for two years.

he didn't listen to that voice.

kageyama's voice of reason was a voice that he never listened to.

(well. maybe if he just listened to that small voice, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, would we now?)

it goes without saying that everyone has reasons.

what lies behind any action is the shadow of a reason. it might not be a pretty reason, but, it's there.

and as much as kageyama doesn't want to admit it, there's always a reason.

jealousy.

anger.

insecurity.

neglect.

it's suffocating.

for tobio kageyama, these reasons are suffocating.

and they are the pillars that bind around his wrists as he frantically tries to run towards her.

the anger has never left him. neither has the jealousy, hatred, or regret.

but what kageyama can no longer separate, after all this time, is who he's angry at.

kageyama didn't know if he was mad at her, or if he was mad at himself.

maybe deep down, the real answer of how much he aches for her scares him more than anything he's ever felt.

so much that it's suffocating.

and as kageyama continued to suffocate, he ran.

he ran past campus, past people, past buildings.

he ran because, at that moment, it was the only thing left that he could do.

his entire existence was focused on trying to find one person.

a person that he couldn't afford to lose.

where is she?

kageyama stopped and dialled her number again.

he didn't have the patience to listen to the monotone buzzing of each ring. he didn't have the patience to be met with the same robotic voice at the end of each call.