Theme: Books and Candles

A/N: I wrote this fic for the lil sinner group we have in Facebook, and my recipient is papaphinks (*waves a lil if ever you're reading this*) It was really fun writing this because I've always loved imagining the cute dynamics of a shouta Kurapika with a teenager Chrollo. But don't worry this is purely platonic. Their dynamics were a lil bit inspired by Bod and Silas from Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book (READ THIS GASH THIS IS SOOOOOO AWESOME)

Chrollo is 17 here, while Kurapika is 8.

SUPER SUPER SUPER THANKS TO THE GREAT KUSARIHIME143 FOR BETA READING THIS FIC AND FOR ADDING THE CUTE LIL SCENE AT THE END OF THE FIC! I LOVE YAH GURL~

Nightmares

He was running. He emptied his thoughts as he forced his tired feet to move, because escape was what he could only think of. Because he knew if he stopped, if he tried worrying even for just a second of rest, he would die. He was a kid, but that wouldn't stop the man behind him of stabbing him to death, because it was Meteor City —human's life was but a disposable thing in this land.

Because he was just a kid, a mere eight year old kid. A little fragile creature compared to this bulky old man who could squeeze his body with bare hands. So in that one crucial second, when the dead end had come, when being caught was the inevitable option for him, he looked back, took out the knife he had always carried with his trembling hands, and stabbed the man.

Once, twice, thrice, more. He had to stab him more; on his neck, on his chest, on his abdomen, deeper and deeper, every part of his body must be stabbed, or else Kurapika would die. Just stab him, he was commanded by someone inside him. Kill him, and he blindly obeyed.

When he stopped, it was a blur behind the swarming tears in his eyes, all he could see were red and flesh, and white gradually soaking in crimson. He wiped his tears with his dirty sleeves, only to see the image more clearly. The man was down on the ground, bathing in his own blood; lifeless eyes were staring at him, judging him, condemning him for the mortal sin he had just committed. He stared at his bloodied hands as they held the knife, shaking so furiously then the crimson trails continued flowing down his hands, gradually flooding the place.

The man's eyes moved with his lips, mouthing the words: You will never be forgiven.

A voice was whispering behind him, 'Would it rather be you lying on that ground, lifeless?' The man asked. He could not lie, not with that soothing baritone voice he had adored his whole life. He would not lie, not to him. 'No. I don't want to die,' was his response.

And he was frightened when his hands raised on their own, the sharpest point of the knife glinting as it moved towards his chest.

When the knife was almost reaching his flesh, the man stood up and grabbed his knife. His face was distorting into Chrollo's as he began stabbing him, over and over again.

'It's to kill or be killed after all, Kurapika―'

His eyes opened. Panting so hard, the ceiling was the first thing he saw. He held his chest, feeling the rapid beats of his heart as he tried catching up with his breath. As his breathing finally normalized, he raised his body and cautiously sat up. He lifted the blanket to feel the sheets beneath him, and sighed in relief when he was certain it was dry.

He stared at his hands, moving them for his eyes to examine. Front, back, and their sides because he wanted to make sure they were unstained, that his dream had not merged into reality in his resting state. 'It's just a dream,' Kurapika reassured himself, resting his hands on his lap. It won't be real. His hands were tiny, yet the hilt of the knife could still fit snuggly inside them. The boy flexed his knees, hugging them to his chest. Two deep breaths. Not anymore.

Six months had passed, and he was haunted by his nightly nightmares once again.

It was like in movie theaters ―albeit he had never gone there and wished he could someday― whenever darkness would fill his sight, the same movie would just play beneath his covered lids. That fateful day he had committed the irreversible sin of taking a human's life. Everything was vivid: the fear of getting caught, the anxiety of his impending death, the throbbing and trembling of his legs, his ragged breathing, his desperation for his life ―the hopelessness to be saved. The nasty crunch of the knife's end against the man's flesh would repeatedly echo in his ears. The relief of surviving and the ecstasy of his superiority over the stronger man would begin to course all throughout his being which but they would instantly be swept away by his guilt. And when his imagination was at its peak, the images would then be distorted into more hideous and unrealistic scenes. Those images would make Kurapika wonder if he was being deceived into believing it was a dream and not for real, or worst, the other way.

He was cursed to live in that moment again and again, Kurapika believed.

So he avoided closing his eyes. He evaded sleep like it was a contagious disease, infecting his body system with its deadly pathogens that would soon eat his whole being. That was why he kept himself busy; at night, or in the morning, or whenever his eyes would betray him and close on their own. Kurapika thought he could endure the self-battery for more than a week, even just until Chrollo had come back. He had to guard their house, and the boy would not want him to notice that he was triggered once again.

But his young body gave up on him after five days, and the last thing he remembered was Chrollo standing in the door.

Chrollo-niisan is back! Kurapika thought, redirecting his mind into the present. He felt the faulty springs of the cushion, realizing for the first time that he was back on his old, stinky mattress. Chrollo definitely carried him here. Realizing that he came back two days earlier, the boy was certain that his guardian was aware of his situation.

Kurapika sighed. He was too conceited into thinking he could hide something from his guardian. His pupils moved sideways, drawn into the swaying flickers of light produced by the candles. Chrollo was there, which he had already expected.

He was in a corner, sitting on a make-shift chair ―probably a wooden box or piles of book or cartons― surrounded by candles and books as he read. Kurapika loved to observe him in his private space every night ― 'Chrollo-niisan's corner' was how he dubbed it. He looked ethereal, a creature far away from Kurapika's reach, even when he was just there physically. But the boy preferred to silently watch him, not bothering him while he got lost in his own world inside those thick volumes.

Because he felt closer to Chrollo in those moments.

He heard a light thump ―the sound of a closing book― halting him from his thoughts. Kurapika turned his head to the left, only to see big dark eyes watching him in silence. He knew that stare ― 'The Creepy Stare' as how he called it― unmoving, yet they were looking beyond something in him, or rather, simply awed at the sight he was seeing. He knew his eyes had turned red once again.

'Kurapika's crimson eyes that would glow like floating rubies in the dark are the most exquisite jewels I have ever seen,' Chrollo once told him. 'Never show them to anyone else other than me,' he had strictly imposed to the boy. It was difficult, but Kurapika managed to hide his oddity from other people ―a big thanks to contact lenses and shades. He didn't really know what caused this phenomenon, not even Chrollo, a total stranger who picked him up from a dank corner of this dumpster city where he was thrown and currently living in.

He kept wondering why he was like this. Was it inborn? Was he a failed product of some mad scientist's experiment? Was he the only one? An oddball amongst the normal civilians? Sometimes Kurapika would think he was thrown away to Meteor City due to this peculiarity. Perhaps because of this ability that he couldn't even tell if it was a gift or a curse that came from his genes or an experimental defect, he was seen as a freak. A demon child, even. He was curious as he was fond of solving mysteries, but truthfully he did not really care about his real origins.

Because Kurapika did not exist anywhere else anymore. Meteor City was the only place he believed he belonged.

Chrollo straightened his back, dangling the book in between his legs, "How are you feeling now?"

"Fine," he replied curtly.

"How many days did you stay awake?"

"Two."

Chrollo's eyes were probing, extracting the truth from Kurapika with his huge dark eyes. The boy tried to non-verbally negotiate his honesty by retaining his stare on the guy. But he'd always concede in the end, he had never won their unspoken staring contests with each other.

He released the breath he'd been holding ―a mannerism he still failed to remove from him whenever he would lie to Chrollo. "Five days," he said.

"You left our quarters while I was away in those days," Chrollo began.

His tone was neutral, neither lecturing nor mad; he was simply stating his observations. But still, it sounded intimidating to the kid. Kurapika was not really fond of this 'Danchou mode' of Chrollo. The kid would always feel like an outsider, and he hated that. (He thought it was really cool when he heard Chrollo's friends call him 'Danchou.' But Kurapika never called him by this name. Maybe someday, when his guardian would tell him more about the 'Genei Ryodan' he would mention sometimes, and maybe luckily, he would even allow him to join their group.)

With reluctance, Kurapika nodded at Chrollo's accusation.

"Even when I have constantly warned you not to go outside without me, or without a passable usage of your Ten."

Kurapika gripped the sheets, "But I've been practicing my Ten every day! Just the other day that big, fat bully Matthew punched me and it didn't hurt me even a bit!"

Chrollo raised a brow, "And why did he punch you?"

"Because I called him 'uglier and fatter than a pig' after he called me 'girly.'"

Kurapika saw the vague crease in between Chrollo's eyebrows, "I am honestly disappointed that you stooped down to his level of senseless, childish taunts."

"Of course not! I was practicing my Ten on him, so I needed him to get really, really mad at me that he would use his full force into punching me."

A pause. Kurapika knew he was gauging the truth of his words.

"Good," said Chrollo, a tinge of amusement in his tone. " I would have to see your progress then, when you have fully healed. So have your proper rest, Kurapika."

'Can you sleep with me so I won't have nightmares? Even just tonight? ' Kurapika thought, but he refused to speak them even when the urge to let these words out was so strong. Instead, he bit his lip and replied, "Yes, Chrollo-niisan."

Kurapika saw him opening his book once again, and he knew that was the end of their conversation. He laid down on his bed once again, his back was on his guardian.

He had gotten used to Chrollo's indifference, to his emotional detachment about everything. Every action, every decision must have a logical reason behind it. Chrollo had this hammered in his young mind, which he had adapted little by little. But there were still those times when Kurapika's emotions would overwhelm his logic, resulting to life threatening situations and sporadic debates about their differences in moral values.

Just like when Kurapika insisted on burying the corpse of the man he just murdered. The kid knew Chrollo was against his decision, that he couldn't see any benefit of doing such useless action. His guardian just sat there, watching Kurapika do all the work, offering no help. And once done, Chrollo just told him, 'Just to let you know, emotions are going to be your greatest flaw in this place,' then they went home as if nothing happened.

The man did not ask him about his nightmares afterwards, even when it was too apparent not to be noticed by someone as perceptive as him. The blonde would always see Chrollo observing him, gauging him or waiting for his next actions. And in some rare instances, there would be that distinctive crease in between Chrollo's eyebrows; probably a sign of ruminating, or ―as hopeful as the kid could be― concern. Chrollo might just be waiting for the kid to take the initiative of speaking about his situation, but Kurapika's stubbornness and pride prevented him from doing so.

He did not want to be a burden to Chrollo. He wanted to overcome his problem by himself.

Nevertheless, the traumatic incident was not discussed any further afterwards. They lived their usual lives like it never happened.

'Struggle for existence,' Chrollo explained to him, and killing that man was neither right nor wrong; it was human's nature, a mere competition for one's survival.

Because for Chrollo, it was just another death. An inevitable end that would happen to everyone.

But for Kurapika, it was an irreplaceable life that he ripped away from the man. A mortal sin that would be etched in his being as long he lived.

He knew Chrollo would never pamper him. He would not get the affection he secretly wanted from the man, just like those kids from the books he had read; where their parents would sing lullabies or tell them stories in their sleep. They were not blood-related in the first place. He was simply a complete stranger who picked him up from the garbage one day, might be on a whim or not. He was just a burden for Chrollo, with his unconventional ways of raising him up.

But for him, Chrollo was his only family: his father, brother, comrade. The only person that he would care about and the only one he knew and he could lean on.

Kurapika turned his body; the blanket shifted with him as he faced Chrollo. He then dangled his feet on the ground, taking off the fabric that covered him. Chrollo was still reading, but he had almost consumed the whole book in his hands.

He was giddy; he gripped the edge of the mattress to gather his courage from there. He was not sure if Chrollo would allow him, but Kurapika would still take his chances. He pushed the soles of his feet to the floor, raising, and he began to walk. Can you sleep with me so I wouldn't have nightmares? Even just tonight? These words kept repeating on his mind, and he was scared that they might spill anytime if he tripped or bumped onto something. But he still kept moving.

Step by step, each was done on a gradual pace. He didn't want to make even the slightest noise, even when he knew Chrollo was conscious of his actions. With the greatest caution, Kurapika stepped beyond the lines of candles, crossing the flickering lights. Chrollo was unmoving even when his proximity was within his reach. Kurapika fiddled with the hem of his shirt, looking on the floor as he bit his lip and stole glances on Chrollo.

Kurapika breathed in and out, calming himself, and raised his head. Courageously, he faced Chrollo.

'Why didn't you sell me when I was a baby?' He remembered his curious four-year-old self ask. 'They do that always. I saw them.'

'Because it would be a waste.'

'Why?'

'Because you are a unique treasure and I don't want anyone else to have you.'

Chrollo meant 'treasure' as an object, but Kurapika would also like to believe that it was his way of telling him that Chrollo indeed cherished him in his own unorthodox way; that for the man, Kurapika was also his family.

Kurapika heard that small thump when his guardian closed his book. Chrollo was silent, but his eyes were directed to him. The boy felt intimidated and almost stepped back to return to his bed. But he held onto his determination and remained standing beside the man.

A moment of stares passed, and then Chrollo suddenly tapped his leg. One, two, three light taps; and Kurapika knew it was his cue. He failed to halt the smile forming on his lips as he soundlessly climbed the offered seat. Just a little jump and there he was, sitting cozily against the warm human cushion. Chrollo closed his legs then, pulling Kurapika along so the kid could sit back and lean on him comfortably.

Kurapika rested his head on Chrollo's chest and felt how protective his guardian was with the way he had loosely wrapped one of his arms around him. Then, Chrollo resumed reading his book.

There were neither stories nor lullabies to lull him to sleep, no soothing words to tell him that it's okay, we're here with you, the monsters will leave you now, but he knew he preferred this.

He preferred this wordless assurance he felt in the arms of Chrollo, the dim light and faint warmth the candles had provided, the sound of pages being turned, of Chrollo's even breathing above him, and his soothing whisper of 'Sweet dreams, Kurapika.'

For the first time, he could close his eyes in ease because he felt safe and confident that he would be able to defeat the monsters in his head this time.

This was better. Being normal was boring, anyway.

He closed his eyes and finally, he fell asleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chrollo stopped reading soon after Kurapika peacefully drifted off to slumber, taking away the book from his hand. Looking closely, he noticed the signs of the boy's sleep deprivation ―the growing bags under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the prominence of fatigue in his expression.

The nightmares were back to haunt the boy, though Chrollo could not determine why or how he was triggered once again. It had already been half a year, after all. Chrollo was certain that the boy had stabilized pretty well for the last three months.

Kurapika was still a kid, he rationalized. He still needed more time to progress and adapt fully in Meteor City.

He had to admit though, he didn't quite expect Kurapika to last this long in this city. Then again, Chrollo knew Kurapika was different from any other child he had seen in this place when he saw him for the first time.

And Chrollo wanted it that way. He wanted Kurapika to grow strong and learn how to defend himself because it was a tough world out there. Be resilient and hard, to be more objective rather than depend on his emotions, because Chrollo believed it was the best way to stay alive, especially when you were living in this kind of environment.

'The only one you could trust is yourself, Kurapika. Do not ever give your trust to anyone.' Chrollo told him one time when Kurapika was betrayed by the first 'friend' he had in this city. He believed it was a good experience for Kurapika to personally learn this harsh reality of life. Its effect on Kurapika greatly pleased Chrollo. After all, he had lasted this long having that principle in mind. Because truthfully, anyone could turn their backs to those who trusted them so much no matter how close they were anytime.

'Including you, Chrollo-niisan?' Kurapika asked him, then.

'Including me. '

And he was perplexed, mostly to himself, when Kurapika had responded, 'I can't. I trust you the most in the whoooooole wide world, Chrollo-niisan.'

Because it felt good. It was a complete contradiction with his words but he did wanted Kurapika's trust to be his only. He was, as strange as it was, genuinely happy to hear those words. A proud father, perhaps? But it was more complicated than that. Kurapika was not a family for him; he was his possession. A possession Chrollo was most indulged in, devoting himself into watching and shaping his intriguing growth. He was his most beloved treasure he would never hand to anyone else.

Because really, those scarlet eyes were so beautiful. Chrollo liked them very much, though obsession might be a more appropriate term. It was a simple fascination that he had failed to control. Not that he was against it. But he was not the only person who would be interested in those eyes, there were the greediest people in Meteor City, especially those deprived ones who littered all over there. And what more if they knew the real worth of those crimson eyes? That they were considered as the most beautiful colors in the world? A rare jewel that would definitely cost billions of jennies in the black market. He had not researched properly yet, all he knew was that Kurapika came from the Kuruta Clan who resided in the Rukuso Village. A place no one had ever known its exact location yet. Chrollo deemed it unnecessary to disclose this information to Kurapika, the boy did not seem to be that interested in his origins. And the more people who knew about it, the riskier it would be for Kurapika.

He just wanted to protect those eyes. No, he wanted to protect the boy. Truthfully, Kurapika's life was more important than those crimson jewels. He still failed to rationalize this thought, when he was sure the first he saw them, he kept Kurapika for those eyes. But he felt uncomfortable thinking about Kurapika's cold corpse with those lifeless eyes staring into him. Chrollo would keep the boy alive no matter what. So he encouraged him to be tough, to learn not to trust anybody but himself. Kurapika was apparently having a hard time though; his first ever kill had been haunting him too much.

Still, Chrollo wanted him to grow out of it on his own. That was why he was often leaving him alone.

"I can't wait for you to grow up," Chrollo whispered so lightly. He wondered what kind of person Kurapika would be when he grew up. Would he stand as a dignified man or be lost and taken by the darkness, just like what Chrollo had become? Either way, would he still feel secure with him once Kurapika learned who truly he was? And once he learned what his very own true self was, would Kurapiika resent him and go away or worse, kill him?

'I want you to grow up, yet I don't mind if you'll stay young forever and live with me, feeling so safe in my arms.'

The boy looked very peaceful as he slept, as though the nightmares were completely annihilated. Maybe they were, in Chrollo's comforting presence. Kurapika sank deeper into the warmth of his chest just like a kitten seeking for its mother's familiar protection. There was the littlest of curve in Chrollo's lips, smoothing the stray hairs on Kurapika's face. He then brought his lips near Kurapika's head and planted a soft, affectionate kiss on a side of his forehead. Still, Kurapika didn't wake up.

He tightened his embrace on the blond.

"Good night, Kurapika. Sweet dreams."