The days quickly faded, with a La Niña year bringing with it a cold summer and promise of impending drought. The longer days came and went, and the first snow of the year arrived in early September, along with a splash of red.
Killua was the only one unsurprised when they discovered his Illumi's body on the front step, mutilated almost beyond recognition. Yes, his parents had mourned, and yes his siblings were shaken, but they didn't know what had happened. It had been spoken of, by Gon and a few others who knew the real victim; the only reason Killua knew why his brother was dead.
And when he went out into the snow that night, intending to simply wander his way through the dark trees, he wasn't surprised to be starring at the face of the one who killed him, either.
The clown looked different; a little faded, like he'd been left out in the sun too long. Hisoka had stopped painting the designs on his face, but if this was an attempt to make his cheeks and eyes look less sunken, it was failing. His hair was still gelled, but it looked off, like it had been styled long ago and he'd gone for months without washing it. His clothes were different though, Killua noted: Hisoka was wearing almost all black…that was unusual.
He could have asked him so many things. He could have sounded the alarm and led Hisoka to his own death, or he could have asked if his revenge plot was worth it in the end, but none of those seemed to fit. Starring Hisoka in the face that night, Killua asked him "Are you okay?"
Hisoka seemed to snap out of a trance. For the first time he actually looked at Killua…no, he looked through him. For a moment Killua thought Hisoka was going to turn and try to kill him too, but he quickly realized from the limp position of his arms, Hisoka wasn't going to kill anyone, except maybe himself.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." Killua recited, half-genuine.
Hisoka's mouth twitched slightly; Killua assumed it was an attempt at a smile. They starred at each other for a moment longer, before Hisoka began to turn away.
"What are you going to do now?"
Hisoka tensed up noticeably. He hadn't thought of it; Hisoka hadn't thought of the new "now," because before he assumed "now," he and Machi would be finally settling down together somewhere. And after the incident…the "now" would be after he finally killed Illumi. But one "now" had already happened, and the other could never be. He was stuck, unable to return to the past, incapable of moving forward, but not fully in the present.
Killua nodded in understanding and turned away silently, listening to the footsteps in the snow as Hisoka slowly made his way down the mountain. Oh, he should have asked him how he broke in, but, again, he shrugged it off. Love could make a man crazy, and grief could make him indestructible.
Killua did, however, have a good mind to call Gon and let him know; where he'd seen Hisoka, and where it was likely he was going. Within hours, Gon and his two other friends found Hisoka sitting still by Machi's grave, half dead, nearly frozen in the snow. They tugged him up, and though he may have been unwilling, he was too tired now to resist them…
It became a ritual through the winter months−Gon and Kurapika and Leorio narrowly preventing Hisoka from joining Machi in a cold grave−until come summer, the remnants of the snow melted, and the river once again flowed past the tree, which stood beside the cliff, which towered over the fjords that were tossed with frothing ocean foam.
'Twas blood for blood without remorse,
I've taken at Oulart Hollow
I placed my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where I full soon will follow;
And round her grave I wander drear,
Noon, night and morning early,
With breaking heart whenever I hear
The wind that shakes the barley