Chrollo unlocked the door to his house with a click. Crickets chirped and an owl hooted, the sounds echoing across the spring night.
He knew the sound of footsteps well. He'd trained himself to always be awakened by them, back when an overhang made for a bedroom and he was too scared to believe in fate. Even after that belief dulled his fears, washed them away, Chrollo had never been able to shake that habit. He whirled around.
A tall figure strode up his driveway. "Ah, Chrollo."
"Illumi," Chrollo said, relaxing. "Your boyfriend isn't around, is he?"
"My fiancé's at home," said Illumi, hair swinging behind him. "I'm here concerning my brother."
"Which one now?" Chrollo gestured for Illumi to follow him inside. He set his laptop down, making a note to keep his phone in his pocket lest Illumi try to fiddle with it on his fiancé's request.
"Kalluto," said Illumi, taking a seat on the edge of Chrollo's leather sofa. "I know he still interns with you, and I'm grateful, because he needs more attention according to Dr. Yorkshire and I can only give him so much with Alluka and Killua, and Milluki when he emerges from his basement cave."
Chrollo dropped into the armchair, crossing his legs. "He's too young to intern. He volunteers. And we are glad to have him." Man, Illumi had been working on himself. It was so intriguing, a plot twist in Illumi's story that Chrollo had never seen coming, not in all the years he had known him, and Chrollo prided himself on his talent in reading people.
Illumi cleared his throat. He nodded. "But I heard from him that you are investigating Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou."
Chrollo let out a sigh. "He should not have told you." He pulled out his phone and checked it. As promised, Kurapika had texted Chrollo his number. The text simply read here it is -k.
Illumi scowled. "On the contrary. I am his brother."
Chrollo didn't feel like picking a fight with Illumi. "Okay."
"I thought you were working on Pariston Hill."
"We are. Kalluto is, and Franklin, and Nobunaga—"
"Keep him involved in that," Illumi interrupted. "Do not mix my brother up with Tserriednich. I'm warning you, Lucilfer. I don't have a problem with you, unlike Hisoka, but if you get my brother involved in this I will come for you." Illumi had never particularly struck Chrollo as scary before, but his voice sounded like a barely repressed thunderstorm.
Wow.
"I have custody," said Illumi. "If anything happened to him, I couldn't—he's capable of taking care of himself, I know, but Tserriednich is a whole new brand of person even for you and your business."
"I'll keep him working on Pariston Hill. Not on Tserriednich." Chrollo texted Machi and Feitan. They were the two who worked most closely with Kalluto. "I'm texting now about it, okay?"
"Okay." Illumi settled back. "And in thanks, I will tell you what I know about Tserriednich."
"What do you know?" Chrollo dug for his notebook. He popped the cap off his pen.
"I know my grandfather called him the most detestable person he had ever met," Illumi replied, pressing his fingertips together. "And that my parents insured Kakin employees for years."
Chrollo tilted his head. "And would you happen to have those records?"
"I wouldn't be able to give them to you, since I'm still on probation there as a holdover employee and as my parents' son," Illumi said. He swallowed. "But you might want to talk to people who no longer work there."
Like your parents. Except Chrollo was pretty certain Silva Zoldyck hated him for all the articles he'd published on Illumi's parents over the past year, when the scandal of them abusing Alluka and losing custody broke. Still, he could work out a plan to find other ex-employees. He would. Ideas already churned in his mind, sparking and sputtering.
"What do you have so far?" asked Illumi.
"Why do you care?"
He scowled, gripping his knees. "I truly don't. I just want Kalluto as far away from this as possible, so the sooner it's over, the better."
"He hates his stepmother and is oddly threatening," said Chrollo. "And he pushed his sister to her death. And he hangs around strip joints like a complete lowlife."
"You might want to check out Heil-Ly," said Illumi, mentioning one of the most exclusive nightclubs in the city.
"That's not a strip joint to my knowledge," Chrollo joked. He would never be caught dead at one of those places, but Heil-Ly… he had always wanted to check that place out, even if exclusive clubs were not exactly his scene. He had a few strings he could pull. Or people to blackmail, really, into getting his name on a list.
"He's often there on weekends," Illumi said. "Or so I've heard." He rose. "Anyways, I'm off. Make sure Machi and Feitan keep Kalluto out of this."
"Will do." Chrollo studied his notebook. A lead. Another lead, and he didn't even have to rely on Kurapika Kurta for it. He flopped back in his armchair.
Uvogin would have liked this task. He loved nightclubs, beer, laughing, and dancing. He was always so full of life. He was a cliché, bit he was Chrollo's cliché, and didn't they all have a part of themselves that was cliché?
If I go, Chrollo vowed to a ghost, eyes closed. I'll make sure to have fun for you, Uvo.
He wanted to ask Shalnark to come. Shalnark would love this kind of undercover job. But Shalnark was still staying over Nobunaga's, and Chrollo didn't want him taking on difficult assignments just yet, not when he'd just been released from prison.
It was so shitty, feeling like he had broken limbs. Chrollo broke his ankle once, and his wrist. A group beat him, throwing him down in an alleyway. He was twelve, and he remembered the crunch and the splat when his chin hit the rain-dampened pothole. But he learned from it, and so it was just another chapter for him endure in his story.
Chrollo pulled out his phone again, staring at the message from Kurapika. Do you have plans for Friday? It seems our mutual interest has a habit of visiting Heil-Ly downtown.
"Hot date?" called Leorio as he exited his bedroom.
"Huh?" Kurapika adjusted his blue shirt. His red diamond-shaped earrings swung. They used to be his mother's, but when he had to pick out her outfit for her funeral, he couldn't bring himself to hand them over.
"Why are you dressed up so spiffy?"
"I'm not," said Kurapika, though it was a lie and the way Leorio sighed told him he knew that. He reeked of cologne and Leorio could no doubt smell it. "I have—something to take care of."
Leorio moaned. "Please tell me you aren't going to wind up in a jail cell, because I don't think my internship with Dr. Yorkshire pays me enough to bail your ass out of jail."
"Of course not!" Kurapika turned scarlet.
"Well then." Leorio rubbed the back of his neck. "Have fun on your… not-date."
"Have fun studying." Kurapika checked his phone. A missed call from Killua. He could check it out later. He shoved his phone into his pocket and strode out the door. The ride over on the subway was lonely, the din of lovers flirting and children whining and schoolgirls giggling hitting his sternum, setting off a hollow echo that sent memories of defending Pairo from bullies mocking him for his eyesight, of the time he met Gon and Killua in an alleyway, of Leorio and him almost coming to blows at first before they realized they made a better team than enemies.
I'm so lonely.
He stepped off the subway and checked his phone again.
You're late, texted Chrollo.
I'm here, he responded.
Chrollo stood in a small convenience store across the street from the nightclub, a cloth tied over his forehead tattoo again. "If you don't want people to recognize you, why did you even get that tattoo?" Kurapika greeted him.
"I was sixteen, and I still like it," Chrollo answered, thumbing through a volume of Tokyo Ghoul. Without his favorite coat, he looked almost normal.
Kurapika scowled. "Ready?"
Chrollo slid the volume back onto the shelf. "Ready as ever. Talk to people who know him; don't let him see your face. I presume you did turn eighteen, so when they check ID, you'll be all right."
"Exactly." Kurapika followed Chrollo out the door and pulled to his side. He would not walk behind this man.
"Of course, what would be helpful was if you were more aware of your surroundings," Chrollo commented, staring at the bright, blinking lights of the club across the street. "For instance, I just stole your ID."
"What?" Panic shot through him. Kurapika reached into his pocket. Empty. You—
Chrollo held the card up in the air, between his middle and index fingers. "Oops."
"Give it back!"
"Well, I wasn't exactly keeping it as a souvenir." He handed it over as they waited for the light to change so they could cross the street. "But did you really never pickpocket when you lived on the streets?"
Kurapika studied his shoes. "I worked odd jobs. I never stole."
"How did you feed yourself?" Chrollo cast him a look that said he doubted many were eager to hire a mangy kid.
"I went hungry more often than most, but I never stole." Kurapika met his eyes. Hunger was his friend in those years. Stirring his anger, reminding him of what he didn't have. He combed through dumpsters, ate food that made him sick, but he wouldn't steal.
Chrollo's mouth fell open. "I can't decide if I'm impressed or disturbed. But you have no value for your own wellbeing. How unsurprising. Tell me, Kurapika, when you tried to arrange for me to die, was it to kill me or to put yourself behind bars because you already feel like that's what you deserve?"
"Bastard!" He never really wanted Chrollo to die, not exactly. He wanted—he wanted—
Someone to make it stop.
The little walking man lit up the sign across the street. Kurapika couldn't speak. His legs moved, taking him into the club. The guards checked their ID and let them in. Kurapika did not want to ask what strings Chrollo had had to pull to get them on a list.
"He's not here," Kurapika observed, squinting in the aqua and lavender light.
"It's early," Chrollo said, surveying the room. "Though, I suppose you don't get out enough to know about this." He paused by a bar. "Want a drink?"
"I'm not of age for that yet."
"I didn't ask that."
"Fine." Kurapika crossed his arms over his chest. Wasn't there a saying about accepting a drink from an enemy?
Chrollo said something unintelligible to the bartender and turned back to him. "What do you do on weekends?"
Kurapika swallowed. "I study."
"What's your major?"
Kurapika glowered. "I thought small talk was beneath you."
Chrollo threw his hands up in the air. "Look, we can pretend to be strangers, but I don't trust you not to draw attention to yourself if I leave you alone, and if you compromise my investigation, I swear—"
Kurapika considered punching him right over his disguised tattoo. "I'm taking history."
"Seems fitting for someone who can't leave the past." Chrollo took two matching drinks from the bartender. He held one out to Kurapika. "I took literature and philosophy. Wrote my thesis on determinism."
"I'll take the other one," Kurapika said, gesturing to the drink Chrollo hadn't offered to him.
"Fair." Chrollo handed it over. Kurapika stared at it. "It's a White Russian. Enjoy."
Kurapika took a sip. It was sweet, creamy, and the alcohol gave it a slight twinge on the back of his throat. Not bad. "Determinism is boring."
"Oh, you know what that is?" Chrollo stirred his drink and tasted it. He nodded as if in approval.
"I'm not stupid." Kurapika frowned, drinking more. He liked this. Is that why you don't seem to hate me? he wondered. You think that what you set in motion had to result in something, and it is what it is.
I guess by that logic, we're both on a course to—to what?
Chrollo cleared his throat. "Look who's made an entrance."
Kurapika stole a glance at the door. Tserriednich. Three others swarmed him immediately. The man laughed. The sound set the alcohol dancing in Kurapika's stomach.
"Will he recognize you?" Chrollo hissed.
"Probably." Kurapika turned a ring over and over around his finger. He wore five on his right hand, one on each finger. They were his father's, and his mother's.
"Make sure you don't get seen. Talk to other people who might know him." Chrollo finished his drink. Kurapika didn't understand how he drank so fast. Chrollo pushed through the room, finding a woman with fair hair pushed back from her head who had just greeted Tserriednich.
What do I do? Kurapika gripped his glass. The icy cold melted against his palm. But he couldn't let Chrollo do all the work.
"Your first time here?"
Kurapika turned to see a woman with a scar over her eye, holding a beer in her hand. "This is my first time, yes."
"Morena Prudo. I own this place." She held her hand out. Kurapika shook it, setting his glass down.
"Your boyfriend seems to be interested in flirting with someone else," observed Morena. "Will you still have a good time?"
"We're not dating," Kurapika said instantly.
"Oh?" She frowned.
"Not—exclusively," Kurapika clarified, fumbling to lie. Fuck. He should have just let her assume.
"Theta's a cute girl," Morena observed, gesturing to the woman Chrollo was chatting up. "Though, the fact that she works with Tserriednich makes her unappealing to me."
Kurapika grabbed his drink again, if only to have something to distract his hands. "Who's that?"
"My half-brother." Morena smiled at him.
Kurapika almost choked on the White Russian. He blinked, setting his phone down.
"Our father doesn't acknowledge the illegitimate children, though," Morena said. "Shame. He's the one who cut up my face." She stepped away. "I imagine your special friend can run with that information, for his newspaper."
You know who Chrollo is. You know who I am too, don't you? Kurapika gaped at her.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," said Morena. "Tell your friend to be more careful." She vanished into the crowd.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Kurapika grabbed his phone and wove his way through the bodies sweating on the dance floor. He had to get to Chrollo before Tserriednich got them both—
Chrollo was now dancing with Theta. Kurapika hesitated. Oh, why not? He jumped in. "Mind if I cut in?"
"Huh?" Theta looked confused. Kurapika ignored her.
"You better have a really good reason for doing this," Chrollo stated, eyes dark.
"This club is owned by Nasubi's illegitimate daughter whose face he scarred," Kurapika hissed. "And she knows who you are. And Tserriednich probably does too, and—"
Chrollo's eyes bulged. "Okay, that's a good reason."
"Her name's Morena Prudo." Kurapika stumbled. His head felt like it was floating. He hadn't even finished his goddamn drink; how could he be drunk?
"Oh, shit," said Chrollo, staring past Kurapika. He turned to see Theta's gaze darting away from them—and her hand waving over Tserriednich.
"We have to get out of here!" Kurapika gasped. If Tserriednich caught him here, he'd make Oito's—and Woble—I'm not losing any more people I care about!
"If we run, Theta will—"
"I don't care! He can't see my face; he'll recognize me!" His heart pounded and blood roared between his ears. Why hadn't he worn glasses, or a wig? Why am I so stupid? It's always his fault, every single time, because he was so goddamn incompetent and—
Chrollo grabbed Kurapika and yanked him closer, moving like they were dancing, except it was a fast song, music pulsating through the floor, and Tserriednich was still coming closer and closer and now Theta was looking at them again and he needed to look away but he couldn't and his brain wasn't functioning and why didn't he think of this before and—
Chrollo's hands yanked Kurapika's face back towards him. Kurapika only realized what was happening the moment he felt Chrollo's elbow close around the back of his skull, hiding his hair. His lips pressed into Kurapika's.
Ew! Get away from me! Kurapuka gagged. He struggled to breathe, breathe air he wasn't sharing with Chrollo. Except—this was hiding his face, and Chrollo wasn't going too far, just enough to make it look realistic. Or so Kurapika assumed. He had no idea how to kiss. He tried to copy Chrollo's movements, tilting his head, moving his lips.
I don't know what I'm doing I don't know what I'm doing I don't know—
"Sorry," Chrollo hissed to him, finally pulling away but still keeping his arm around him. "He's preoccupied elsewhere now."
"I need mouthwash," Kurapika managed.
"It was closed mouth."
"I don't care." Kurapika felt his brain sloshing around inside his skull. He moaned.
"Kurapika?"
Chrollo felt badly, but he had no idea how else to hide Kurapika's face. Now as Tserriednich moved towards the other side of the room, Theta following, he could breathe.
But Kurapika's face stayed a brilliant red hue, and he stumbled. "Are you drunk?" Chrollo demanded.
"No—get away." Kurapika pressed his hand to his forehead. "I have to go—I want to—go home."
Chrollo peered across the room, at the bar. Kurapika's drink still sat on the counter, unattended. And a vision of another time, another place, filled Chrollo's mind. Hisoka, when Chrollo fought him, the way he mumbled and taunted, the jerky accent his movements took. The drug Shalnark slipped into Hisoka's drink to ensure Chrollo won.
Goddammit.
"We're going home," Chrollo decided. He grabbed Kurapika and dragged him down the stairs.
"Don't touch me!" Kurapika yanked his arm away, shoving Chrollo. He staggered outside.
"Farewell then." Chrollo strode down the street. A few paces in and he stopped, turning.
Kurapika had dropped to his knees on the sidewalk. "Pairo—Pairo—I want—I'm sorry—"
"Kurapika," Chrollo tried, heading back over. He yanked out his phone. Whom should he call? Illumi would hang up. He didn't have Leorio Paladiknight's number. Fuck.
"I hate you," Kurapika told him, glaring up at him. Sweat shone on his face, the streetlights sparkling against his earrings. "Hate. You."
Dammit. Chrollo raised his hand, flagging a cab. He grabbed Kurapika by the waist and hauled him up. "I know you hate me. I don't exactly have a fond opinion of you, either."
"You're evil," Kurapika slurred.
"I'm me." The cab pulled over. Chrollo shoved Kurapika into the backseat and climbed in after him. He gave the cab driver his own address.
Kurapika leaned his head against the window as they drove. "Can't."
"Can't what?" Chrollo asked.
"Can't," Kurapika whispered. His eyes rolled around.
You are like a rash at this point. You're that level of annoying. The cab driver pulled up at Chrollo's house and he hauled Kurapika out of the car. He shoved the door open.
Kurapika tripped the moment they stepped inside. He planted his hands on the floor and gagged, violently vomiting all over the floor.
There goes my hardwood. "Lovely."
"Huh?" Kurapika panted, looking up at him. He gagged again.
"Fuck!" Chrollo grabbed his hair, holding it back. Kurapika moaned.
Some people were graceful when they vomited. Chrollo, for one. Kurapika was not. Each heave sounded like he was exorcising a demon. And he was crying. Or water was streaming from his eyes from the force of it all, but Chrollo couldn't tell the difference at this point.
"Stop," Kurapika choked out. He slumped back against Chrollo's shoulder. "I want to—be—home."
"What's Leorio's number?"
"Huh?" Kurapika's eyelids were sliding shut.
"I'm trying to get you home."
"Can't," mumbled Kurapika. He doubled over and Chrollo had to grab him to keep him from falling into his own vomit. "I want to see Pairo."
"I don't know who that is."
"We snuck alcohol once. It was fun." Kurapika fell back again. "Why..."
"Okay." Chrollo gripped him under his arms, dragging him to his feet. He slung Kurapika's arm over his shoulder and hauled him up the stairs and down the hallway, towards Chrollo's room. He shoved the covers back. "Don't make a mess of my sheets, please." They were red satin and he was proud of them.
Kurapika flopped onto the bed like a dead fish. Chrollo dumped the trash bin next to him and stormed to his kitchen, filling a glass of water. When he returned, Kurapika's eyes were closed, but he was whimpering. Chrollo set the water down next to him.
"Come back," Kurapika eked out, breaths shallow and sharp.
Who are you talking to?
He knew.
Chrollo shut the door behind him. He'd sleep on the couch tonight.
He didn't sleep much, and it wasn't for the lack of a comfortable couch.
