Chapter 1 - Killua

Alone. Apart. Separated. Cold. Without. Missing. Departed. Frozen. Confined. Lost. Hurt… Killua….

If Killua had a comfort object, that comfort object was loneliness. He had become accustomed to its embrace. As much a prison as it was a grave, loneliness would wrap itself around Killua like a blanket made of snowflakes with gentle, icy kisses dancing across his pale skin. This was familiar, his bones, skin and heart told him so. The loneliness would cut out the world around him, cut off the elements and emotions so vastly distributed throughout the atmosphere. Things like pain were distant, not able to find footing within this realm. Too many, he knew, often misinterpreted this feeling, the isolation, as warmth. Killua did not make this mistake of course. He may be a broken shell of a being but he was still no fool. He was fully aware that this frigid embrace induced nothing near warmth. It only offered numbness to the cold. To Killua though, this was warmth, or the nearest thing to it. The closest he had ever been to warmth in his short life was the absence of the feeling of cold. The absence of feeling anything. A lesson he had learned well as a young child of the Zoldyck family while shackled and tortured. You had to earn this kind of loneliness, you see. This loneliness and the refuge it offered resided in the deep. A dark expanse of territory far below with ocean upon ocean of nothing stacked endlessly upon it, pressing it deeper and deeper with all the might and force of gravity spurred on by the weight of the cosmos strewn on top.

But every now and then there was…something. Something stirred in the vast expanse of nothing. There was a small ripple in the consistency of the barrier to life that loneliness cast. It vibrated and sung and glowed gently in the back of Killua's mind. Something threatening to tear the loneliness apart, exposing Killua to everything. Something that Killua could not completely suppress, not completely control, short of suicide.

Memories….Killua thought.

Memories of a certain time. Dangerous memories. They were memories of a time where Killua had managed to step halfway out of this world of loneliness. One foot in, one foot out, daring to feel, to touch, to be…warm. Killua also remembered another feeling, one that frightened him deeply. Vulnerable. During this time he had felt and been very vulnerable. Something Illumi had taught him to avoid entirely. Run. Run if you are vulnerable. Run if you are weak. Run if you can't resist. This was the doctrine Illumi had so deeply instilled within Killua's mind. But Killua had not listened, he overcame Illumi's manipulative Nen and the needle injecting into his brain. He had stayed, he had remained vulnerable and because of it he had been deeply wounded. It was a wound that penetrated deeper than any other, there was no veil, no shield, no buffer to slow its force. It shot through every part of his being, ripping through his soul, skewering it on a white hot spear that twisted and turned eternally, barbed with all the memories that had been darkened and formed into cruel spikes. It did not relent. This was a kind of pain that loneliness could not numb and Killua knew now that it would always be there, below the surface, threatening to disturb what little comfort there may be in his accustomed solitude.

I was born into a prison, Killua thought, and when I knocked down the walls to free myself I found only a new prison, but one of which I am not the warden.

Gon.

The name rung out in Killua's mind like a bell struck by a hammer, an uncomfortable lingering clang.

"Gon…" This time out loud.

"Gon…." Killua said his name again, twisting and turning in his shallow rest.

You are…..you are my prison, Gon…. Killua hummed internally. It was his last thought before drifting back to a feverish sleep.

Killua woke up later than usual, the sun had not coaxed him from his slumber as it normally did due to a heavily overcast sky. A dampness in the air foretold of a heavy rain soon to come. It took Killua a few moments to let his eyes adjust and become aware of his surroundings. Not that he didn't know where he was but he felt disoriented from a restless night of tossing and turning. He could remember bits and pieces of his dreams, mainly impressions of his emotional distress. These were the dreams that visited often and he knew why.

Killua groaned and tossed the damp bedding aside, swinging his legs out and over the edge of the bed in the hotel room he had been calling home for the last few months. His thoughts slowly became oriented and with it a current understanding of where in the timeline of his life he currently sat. Killua was almost fifteen now, It had been about a year and a half since he and Gon had traveled to the world tree. That was where Gon's quest ended, where he met Ging and finally would be able to ask him all the questions he had been saving up for years. That was where Killua had desperately latched on to a distraction in Alluka, something to help him focus and control his anguish out of sheer necessity as a guardian. It wasn't that Killua didn't care for Alluka, he knew he did, but he also knew that his choice to take Alluka away from the family and become her guardian was based more on his own needs than hers. He hated to admit it but it was the truth. He was grateful for the time he had with Alluka, it had proved to be somewhat of an extension on a life doomed to drown in sorrow and blink out of existence, irrelevant and alone. Killua knew that Alluka had benefited as well. Her liberation from the confines of the Zoldyck estate and the less than honourable intentions their family had for Nanika were reward enough. But just knowing that what he had done was right didn't make him feel any less shitty about the why.

That was all over now though. Alluka was fully trained in her Nen and she had more than enough power to protect herself. Having come to this realization Alluka had decided that she wanted to head out on her own adventure of sorts, to find her identity and purpose. Something Zoldyck children typically never got to do, of course, their purpose was decided from birth, it was to kill. But Killua had freed Alluka from this fate and at least for that, he determined, he should feel some satisfaction.

Somewhere along the way Alluka had fallen quite in tow with Leorio and Kurapika who were both off galavanting and exploring new worlds. Leorio to conduct medicinal research sourcing new and foreign subtances of every kind and Kurapika simply to find a purpose beyond vengeance. Leorio and Kurapika had developed quite a bond as friends, maybe not just friends but more than friends, Killua honestly did not know; and Alluka had decided that she would hitch a ride on their coattails one way or another. Killua had protested at first, of course, but then considering the options, Alluka on her own or, Alluka with Kurapika, an extremely powerful Nen user in his own right, the choice had been obvious. Once Alluka set her mind to something she could not be dissuaded.

Killua looked up from his slouched position at the edge of the bed and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room. He almost laughed at his own image and thought, In another life, without these scars, someone might have actually thought me beautiful. Killua flexed his toes and urged his legs to bring him to a standing position. He threw his arms behind his head in a familiar movement, stretching from one side to the other, abdominal muscles coming alive and dividing his torso into rough, chiselled sections. He walked groggily over to the nightstand to check in with the familiar beetle phone.

No missed calls. No messages. 11:51 AM.

"Just another day in fucking paradise…" Killua chimed cynically. He remarked at how much the last year had aged him mentally. He was still a youth by all of societies definitions but he knew that his own personal experiences took him far beyond that now.

It had been two months since he took up residence in the luxurious Hotel La Grande in Yorknew City. After Alluka left he had decided this would be a fitting place to spend the rest of his days, burning through his millions of Jenny and eventually figure out the optimal time to end it all. If Killua was going to go down as a pitiful mess he would at least do so with every comfort money could buy. The hotel room he had acquired on long-term lease was among the best of the suites Yorknew City had to offer. It was on the top floor with a striking view of the skyline, a large rectangular room with expansive windows in all directions stretching from floor to ceiling with enormously gaudy lacquered wooden frames that might embarrass a king. Thick drapes of red and black velvet with golden silk tassels spilled out around the windows and in extra length over the floor which was a pristinely polished bamboo. The surface of the floor was hard enough to withstand the onslaught of a jack hammer and proved to be excellent for training as not a sound could be heard beneath no matter how hard the impact. The ceiling was textured with murals of abstract gods and angels stretching out to the centre where a domed skylight poured light in like a thick sauce over everything. There was moulding everywhere, the ceiling, the floor, door ways, closets, excessively decorated at any corners or ends with sculpting work in the dense black wood. Furniture littered the space, clashing unapologetically in the most ostentatious manner that any decorator could have devised. Every surface meticulously detailed with the most luxurious materials one could think of. Velvet, silk, satin, wool, gold leaf, leather hides, fine cotton and furs. There was no care given to even attempt a central theme that you could call anything other than outrageous. The patterns on each piece of furniture ranged from distinctly modern to tasteless animal prints and vulgar explosions of colour. All of this to show what manner of things reckless wealth could accumulate, a pure statement of greed. These were hardly Killua's tastes. It was more a humorous jest to himself that he decided to reside in this room. One last pathetic laugh at himself before it was lights out.

Killua wandered over to a seating area where he had bars of chocolate stacked on a coffee table. He grabbed one, peeling the wrapper off recklessly and tossing it in a clump to the ground by his feet. He had no respect for this place. He stuffed the delicious bar into his mouth, eating the entire thing in almost two bites. It was a dark chocolate, some of his favourite, spiced orange with a rock sugar and salt coating. There was a sweet, salty and spicy combination he found to be the perfect foreground for a rich and smooth cocoa flavour. By the evidence of Killua's eating habits scattered about the room, which was an absolute mess by the way, one might think the most unhealthy and careless person in the world lived here. But Killua's years of training and near perfect body mass was virtually unharmed at this point by any diet. One hour of training in conjunction with his superior metabolism would melt a hundred bars of chocolate from Killua's body, his tall lean frame a machine for grinding calories and fat to dust. His body preserved only the protein to maintain his strength, the rest was simply fuel for the fire.

Killua still trained every day, for what he did not know, perhaps it was to ensure he would have the mental and physical fortitude to carry out a specific act he had been thinking of ever since Alluka had left. He grabbed a robe off one of the chairs nearby and headed to the shower room. He removed his underwear and turned the taps on in the enormous walk-in shower, stepping in immediately, unconcerned by whatever temperature would greet him. It was cold, of course.

Will today be the day I do it? Killua thought. Cold water ran through his silver hair, matting it in all directions around his head. It ran down his back like a river in-between strong shoulder blades, rushing into a narrow ribbon across his lower back and below, finding its way eventually to the drain, carrying almost no filth as Killua was nearly always without need of cleansing. It was as if his pristinely white skin resisted any dirt or stain. All the filth is stuck inside me, Killua thought idly. He looked down at his hands and formed them into fists, flexing, beginning the familiar rush of blood into his veins, bringing his whole body into consciousness.

No…it's not time yet, there's still something I have to do, Killua recalled. Gon, I need to tell you everything, I need you to know how I feel, how I felt at that time, when you...Killua could not finish that particular thought. He continued where the blank space left off...and then when you grant me what I know is assured rejection I will know it is time. That will be the final push that I need to overcome my survival instincts and end myself. A fitting final task for a trained assassin. The hardest target of all, my own life.

It hadn't taken Killua long to understand why Gon's cruel behaviour during his trip of vengeance for Kite had hurt him so deeply. He had taken advantage of Killua's vulnerability at that time and broken every part of his being. Killua understood now, the time he spent with Gon, coming out of his shell and becoming an individual had led him to develop a deep affection for Gon. This was affection beyond friendship, beyond best friends. It was love. Killua fell in love with Gon and only Gon, needing him in his life, needing Gon to see him, to recognize him and to reciprocate that love. Killua sacrificed everything for Gon. At every turn during their adventures Killua had put Gon first, protected him from his own naivety, remained calm when Gon could not. Killua had dedicated his life to Gon, it was the only life Killua knew and Gon had given him that. But like a master who needs to show control over his dog Gon had pulled that life away, with words so harsh, so cruel, so clear…"this means nothing to you…". That's what Gon had said. He had not cared if Killua was standing by his side or across the world at that moment. Yet still even as Gon hurled that epithet through Killua's heart he had not been able to leave. He loved Gon with such roaring passion that upon discovering a disfigured Gon beating Pitou to a gory pulp with his own severed arm Killua could feel nothing but a lovers anguish and need to save him. Killua knew this would be his last act for Gon, that Gon would never truly thank him for it and that it would only leave a larger hole in Killua's soul than he had already known was there. Killua was unable to stop himself then. He had to save Gon. He had to use Alluka, Nanika, to do it. A somewhat selfish act, using anything around him without any consideration for the feelings of others, just, for Gon. The feelings of others didn't matter to Killua when it came to Gon, Gon was his light, Gon was the air he breathed, the water he drank. Gon was all the natural laws that governed Killua's whole being. Killua would have given his own life to save Gon's in that moment, standing beside the shrivelled and burnt body, Gon's heartbeat just barely hanging on. He had tried to give his life as the price for healing Gon but Nanika did not demand it. Nanika granted his commands, without wish, without price. A mercy perhaps. If only the price had been my life though, then and only then Gon would have truly understood how I feel, Killua determined.

Killua shut the water off and stepped out to dry himself off with one of the many towels that were replenished by hotel staff daily. Wrapped in the thick white cotton robe he had grabbed off the chair earlier, he snatched up his underwear off the floor and tossed them into the trash on his way out of the bathroom. Killua had dispensed with laundry, he wasn't expecting to be around much longer and had simply emptied a few department stores of their supplies in the areas of clothing necessities and wore a brand new set each day. He had the Jenny to spare, after-all. Killua had taken Alluka to Heaven's Arena after the trip to the world tree and she had easily reached the 200's within a month. Killua of course had spent his time there defeating opponents swiftly and with ease, collecting millions upon millions of Jenny. He had already submitted half into a savings deposit that would be released to Alluka upon her sixteenth birthday but that still left plenty to waste on his way out of this dreary world he found himself in. Killua walked lazily over to his bedside dresser and pulled on a pristine pair of light blue boxer briefs, some ankle socks and a black tank top. He then proceeded routinely over to a large closet where his outer clothes resided and opened the sliding doors to decide what to wear for the day. His eyes glazed over his options, black jeans, purple jeans, beige jeans, a myriad of athletic shorts, all black or blue. Long sleeved black and blue tees. Pastel coloured short tees that he often layered with a long sleeve t-shirt underneath. Looking at his clothes Killua realized he was pretty one dimensional when it came to what he wore. He used to think Gon was that way, what with wearing the same thing literally all the time. That familiar green jacket and matching shorts. But he knew they held meaning for Gon since Mito-San had made them for him and what did Gon care about clothes anyway? Not that Killua really cared either, he realized, noticing the fact that almost all of his outfits looked basically the same. The biggest difference between them was that Killua sometimes wore pants. He figured that was worth a few points.

I'm looking at my clothes and even in this i manage to bring it around to Gon. FUCK, Killua screamed internally. He slammed the closet doors violently to the other side of the steel track, his head lowered and teeth grinding. When his small outburst of rage subsided and he regained control of himself his eyes settled on something tucked away in the corner of the top shelf. It was a baggy pair of sweat shorts, dark blue, with a light stripe down the sides. A dark blue long-sleeve t-shirt with a lightly coloured short sleeve t-shirt, almost lavender, were folded on top. Killua's heart beat a little harder. These were the clothes he incessantly wore during his travels with Gon. He hadn't washed them since their last meeting. They still held part of Gon for him, the times he carried Gon on his back, the times they would spar and he would become sprinkled with Gon's sweat, the times they were scattered about Gon's room at Whale Island during their visit, mingling with Gon's belongings. Killua trembled slightly, he reached out and pulled the garments off the shelf and held them closely to his chest. He buried his face in the clothes, inhaling, desperately trying to catch a bit of the scent as tears appeared on the horizons of his eyelids. He wanted to go back to that time terribly, before Pitou and Kite, before everything went so, so wrong. He wanted to live forever in Gon's room at Whale Island, falling asleep to the sound of Gon's gentle breathing at night. Not a care in the world. This is pathetic, Killua thought. Killua the assassin, crying into clothes because they still might smell a bit like the boy he loves most in this world, a boy who does not love him back, a selfish boy that I should have killed for what he did to me. But he couldn't stop, he wanted to forget everything else that had happened and just remember those simple times with Gon. Those times his heart had sputtered to life, daring to feel comfortable, daring to feel safe, to feel loved. Those times Gon had smiled at him cheekily after saying something completely embarrassing causing Killua's cheeks to flush. Gon had always known how to embarrass Killua, any outward show of affection would have Killua looking down at the ground, heat rising in his ears. If only Gon had known how that affection had been taken, how it had caused a development within Killua's own feelings.

Killua went to lay back down on his bed, the motivation to start his day had left him as soon as his mind drifted to those beloved yet tortured memories of Gon. He curled into a ball, hugging his old clothes tightly, tears streaming into the soft material, choking sobs only reinforced when an accidentally sharp inhale brought with it the scent of things Gon.

Thunder cracked and the heavens opened up outside with a deluge of equal force to the one now pouring from Killua's broken heart, as if in unison.