A/N: I told you I already have it here! Regardless of the two weeks that went by already. ;D

CHAPTER FOUR

Killua stepped out onto the fire exit and leaned on the fragile railing. The metal screeched as he did so, but he paid it no heed. There was a cool breeze tonight, even though it smelled of cigarette smoke and acrid chemicals. He stayed there for a while; the breeze helped calm his tense muscles. Unfortunately, it did nothing to ease his mind from his thoughts which were already overflowing at the brim.

It must have been three years already, since that time he first met the blond face to face. The brat had the gall to sneak into the Street to search for him, only to run into some of the nastiest guys around. And it was just Kurapika's luck that said guys hit on anything that attracted them, regardless of gender. And Kurapika was actually pretty – despite being male. That was a fact. Killua had thought so the moment he first saw him.

Back then, he had helped Kurapika out of a silly whim. He was too good for the morons, he had reasoned. How he laughed his insides out when he found out that Kurapika was a detective, and that he was actually looking for him! Of course, the blond did not tell him that. He found it out by himself. Still, he pretended to be an innocent little teenager who only hung out around the Street; he was not the only person with spiky, white hair who lived there. Kurapika was oblivious that the person he thought was his accomplice was actually the one he wanted to apprehend. Killua gave out details of his own self to Kurapika, not bothering to make up absurd lies, and just enjoyed toying with the blond for a change. He would leave a very obvious evidence for Kurapika every time he killed someone; he would even stick around long enough to watch the blond work at the crime scene. After a day or two, Kurapika would sneak into the Street again, and Killua would listen to him and tell the blond things about his own self, relishing on how the other would somehow believe it all. He enjoyed those times he fooled Kurapika even though the blond was pretty smart that Killua almost gave himself away from time to time. He liked it when Kurapika complained to him,of all possible people, about his work. Sometimes – it was actually only once or twice – the blond told him something about himself.

Over time, he had come to enjoy the blond's company. Whatever the reason was, Killua simply liked seeing Kurapika and talking to him. Until it came to the point that he simply liked him.

The faintest sound of footsteps behind him brought Killua out of his reverie, and he turned around to face a man the same height as he was, dressed in a worn cloak and a sly smile on his lips.

"Can't you even knock?" was Killua's wary greeting.

"Whoever said I entered through the door?" the man replied. Indeed, Killua noticed the slight quivering of the iron steps under their makeshift porch. He mentally kicked himself; he was too preoccupied with his thoughts to have realized another man's presence sooner.

Still, it was not as if he always sensed said man beforehand. Feitan was more or less his boss in this sick business Killua had grown into, and he was far more skilled than the boy was. Feitan could kill him without the boy even noting his presence, and that was a fact. Regardless of his being infamous with the police, he was but another pawn in this sorry game the so-called leaders of the Street had started; he was merely a mask to hide the direr activities that Feitan and his associates executed.

He absently wondered how Kurapika would have reacted to that piece of information. Of course, he had never told the blond of anything about his boss; it was simply something he could not mention of. Giving himself away was one thing, betraying the main organization was another. It was like handing your own head in a silver platter, or something akin to it.

He did not want a repeat of that mess three years ago.

"Tch," Killua scoffed, irritated. "What do you want?" It was not like manners and etiquette were an issue with their kind.

"Easy," Feitan leered at him. "You're in an unusually bad mood tonight," the man said before handing a piece of paper to Killua.

"Another job? It's only been three days."

"Yeah. But some people want some people dead every second; that's what keeps the business going. And you can't help it if you're a favorite," the cloaked man jeered at him, his tone almost amused. "That one's pretty big, so you'd probably get more dough this time."

"As if my share's that big enough," Killua muttered, regarding the piece of paper with a bored look as he flipped it between his fingers. When he raised his eyes again, Feitan was gone.

The boy sighed heavily. He leaned back against the railing and raised his ebony eyes at the starless sky. A mirthless laugh bubbled forth from his lips, and for a few seconds, he laughed scornfully at nothing in particular but himself. Pathetic. Despite being able to end innumerable worthless lives, the fact was that he was a mere puppet attached to strings, unable to do anything but dance to the sorry music of death, fear and unjust.

Who said life was fair?

He lifted the piece of paper to his face and glanced at the contents written on it. The phone number of his new client was written on one side in his boss' ugly scrawl as usual; all he needed to do was to call said client and confirm the request. Most of the clients preferred indirect means of conversation instead of personally meeting with him, practically in fear of Killua himself. Not that Killua bothered with them.

On the other side of the paper was a single word, and it was the name of the person he was supposed to kill. "Nostrad, huh?" he muttered under his breath, his brows furrowed in thought. He knew that name; it was the name of a businessman who appeared in the insufferable upper class society not long ago. The man was quickly ascending the steps of wealth and influence, to the dismay of some of the other members of the society. Killua scoffed. He would not be surprised if his client wanted this person dead due to mere covetousness. In their world of greed, treachery and animosity, death was but the simplest way to rid you of your adversaries for power. It was a wonder why most of them were still alive.

Slumping on the railing, Killua sighed again. He would have to put up with washing the scent of blood off his clothes for another few days.

A loud scream echoed through the mansion, alarming all of its residents.

"Neon-sama!" The door burst open to a massive room elaborately decorated in pastel pink, albeit disorganized at the moment. At the middle of the room was a young woman, sprawled on the floor as though she had fallen from her seat, which was most definitely the case. She was clutching on the arm of a single high stool that had collapsed with her, a look of utter horror on her face which was framed by pink locks. The area around her was littered with tarot cards, along with an overturned circular table.

"Neon-sama." One of her attendants rushed to her. As soon as the servant came close to her, Neon held tightly onto her instead, clutching the front of the attendant's clothes frantically. "Neon-sama, what is—"

"Father," the frightened girl managed to utter. At that moment, tears spilled from her eyes, and her body was wracked with hysterical tremors. She buried her face against the servant's chest, crying uncontrollably. The attendants who have come to the room regarded each other with looks of confusion, utterly baffled at their mistress' behavior. The servant who held Neon tried to calm her but to no extent; the girl was evidently terrified of a still unknown reason.

Not far from them, another card lay crumpled on the floor, the picture of death flashing ominously under the dim lighting of the room.

The next morning found Killua sprawled on the floor next to the bed; apparently, he had fallen some time during the night. Sitting up, he scratched the back of his white head grumpily and let out a yawn.

"Morning, Killua!" Gon's perpetual cheery voice came from behind the kitchen counter. "I'm going out, so do you mind cooking lunch today?" The boy then appeared wearing his usual green shirt and shorts, holding a plastic bag in one hand.

The white-haired boy grumbled something along the lines of "Whatever," and crawled back onto the bed. Gon chuckled and fumbled his way towards their small bedside drawer, reaching behind it for his cane. He gave the other boy a quick tap on the head before heading towards the door.

Killua frowned at the sound of the lock clicking. How Gon was able to act freely as if he was normal was definitely beyond him. Even without his sight, the boy would insist on doing tasks that require the particular sense, and he could do them quite well to Killua's amazement. The boy blamed it on Gon's extraordinary resolution; still, it was not as if he had the right to complain.

Still frowning, he remembered that he had his own job to take care of. Sitting abruptly on the bed and snatching his phone from atop the bedside drawer, Killua quickly dialed the client's number, having memorized it already in one glance. As he listened to the incessant ringing, the boy wondered absently about Gon's reaction when he realized that Killua had taken another job. Again. He grinned at the fit the shorter boy would most probably throw.

Meanwhile, said boy was now walking through the crowded Street, unmindful of the activities around him. He could hear the usual bout of curses that rang through the area and smell the obnoxious odor of cigarette smoke and stale sweat. He did not need his eyes to know the scenes presented in front of him, for the image painted in his mind by the noise alone was enough. He trudged forward carefully with his cane as his guide, and was thankful that the people around him knew better than to make fun of him or block his path. Almost everyone knew of his connection with Killua, and that was enough to prevent them from laying even a single insult on the boy, lest they wanted their miserable lives to end in a second. Gon sighed at that fact. He truly wished Killua would stop his senseless job. He knew the exact reason why Killua would not quit, for he was that reason. But of course, there was nothing he could do in his state; regardless of how many times he tried to pound some sense into the other boy's head.

With another sigh, Gon continued forward. After a few minutes or so, he felt the air around him significantly change; he had already left the Street and was now more or less facing the stretch of road that separated their district with the rest of York Shin. They were considered outcasts, unsurprisingly, and Gon smiled bitterly at that notion. Only a few vehicles traveled through this particular road, for fear of being assaulted by those of the Street, making it a fairly easy task for Gon to cross it.

He reached the other side of the road and made his way blindly through a few dark alleys with nothing but stray cats for company. It was not long before he heard the bustling city noise, and a moment later he stepped out into the busy shopping district, careful not to get hit by a passing pedestrian. A huge grin drew on his lips at another trip well done. He marveled at how he could go to places almost effortlessly despite his sightlessness, having mapped out his paths with Killua's help before. With only a few turns he would reach the grocery store that he always went to, and in less than half an hour he would be finished with his errand.

"Ah, Gon-kun, grocery shopping again?" greeted the skinny bearded man at the counter as Gon stepped into the store. He was but one of the individuals who were amazed at how the boy could come and go as easily as if he was not blind.

"Good morning, Netero-san!" the boy said, giving a huge grin at the direction of the old man. He fumbled his way from the door to the counter; oblivious of the stares the other customers in line were giving him. "I am. I hope you don't mind." He took a piece of paper with some bills from his pocket and held it in front of him, along with the plastic bag.

Netero took the paper, the bills and the bag from the boy's outstretched hand, smiling thoughtfully. "Hohoho," he laughed softly. "Of course not, dear boy. Ponzu, come here!" He gestured to one of his helpers.

A young lady with green hair and wearing a pink cap appeared from behind one of the shelves. "What is it, Netero-san? Oh, Gon-kun!" she said when her eyes fell on the boy. "It's been a week." Ponzu smiled and Gon did the same.

"Hope you don't mind me bothering you again."

The young lady shook her head and took Gon's list from Netero, the old man returning to manning the counter. "You know you always got help here, Gon." And it was true. Despite being a total stranger, Gon's cheery disposition earned him a good reputation with the store's owner and his staff. Gon simply needed to hand a list of his groceries and one of the staff would pick them up for him while he waited at the side like a good little boy. And well, he actually was.

After about fifteen minutes, Gon felt a hand ruffle his hair and he raised his unseeing eyes in front of him. Ponzu took his hand and made him hold the plastic bag, now full of the groceries he had asked for. "Here you go, Gon," she said as she placed Gon's list and change on the boy's other hand.

"Thanks, Ponzu-san!" the boy replied cheerfully.

"No problem. Now you take care on the way home, ok? I still don't get how you manage to come all the way here on your state, no offense meant."

The boy chuckled. "It's a secret." He grinned and felt Ponzu ruffle his hair again. Of course, they did not know that Gon lived at the Street; the boy knew better than to tell them that. "Thanks again, Ponzu-san, Netero-san." He bowed lightly at the direction of the old man and Ponzu helped him towards the door, his cane in tow. With a last wave, he exited the store and stepped onto the sidewalk.

He started retracing his steps towards the alley that would take him back to the Street. As he turned on a corner, he noticed that it seemed as if fewer people were walking alongside him. Blind as he was, he failed to see the "Danger" sign on the side of the road and the workmen currently hauling a grand piano to one of the upper floors of the apartment block. The busy workmen also did not notice the boy as he continued to walk under them, and it was only when the cable snapped that they did so.

"Oi, kid! Get out of there!" one the men shouted at him but all it did was make Gon stop right below the piano.

"What—"

There was the sound of something snapping loose and the workmen exclaimed in horror as the ropes binding the piano broke and the massive instrument fell – directly towards Gon.

"KID! GET OUT OF THERE!"

It was then that Gon sensed that he was in danger, but not knowing what his situation was, he merely froze on the spot. All of a sudden, he felt someone grab him by the waist and he was thrown roughly to the ground. The next second, there was a deafening crash as the piano smashed to the ground, horrified screams echoing around him.

"What the—?" Gon managed to articulate as he tried to lift himself from the ground. He then noticed that someone else was beside him, the person's arms still wrapped around his waist. "Who—"

"Are you all right?" the person beside him said and Gon felt the arms circling his waist disappear.

The boy blinked uncertainly and nodded slowly, turning his face to the direction of the voice. "Y-Yes… I think I am," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. But you really should pay attention to the things around you; didn't you see the Danger sign?"

At that, Gon shook his head. "No, because I'm… I'm blind, you see." He gave a weak smile to the stranger that saved him. The other seemed to realize this and gasped, apologizing profusely. "No! It's all right! I don't mind," the boy quickly added.

"I'm really sorry," the stranger said. "But what are you doing alone? You should have someone with you, especially with your state."

"I don't really need someone to accompany me. I always walk by here and this is the first time this has happened." A thought suddenly came to Gon. "Oh, so that's why there seemed to be fewer people earlier," he mumbled, more to himself. He heard the stranger sigh and felt the other move, then a moment later he was being pulled to his feet as well.

"Oi, kid," another voice rose and Gon turned toward it. "You all right? Not hurt, aren't you?" The boy noted the hoarse quality of the voice and the hint of worry in it. He shook his head and was about to reply when the person beside him suddenly intervened.

"You should really be mindful of your job, mister," the stranger snapped. "This boy could have been dead by now."

"We know that," the other man retorted. "But it's not like we could keep an eye on every person passing by and we already put up a sign!"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, this boy is blind; meaning that your sign is completely useless and—" The stranger stopped when Gon put a hand on his arm.

"It's all right, mister," the boy said. "It's my fault, anyway." Gon could practically feel the heated stare that the stranger was giving him. "I'll be more careful next time." Without another word, he pulled his savior away and hurried down the block.

"Why did you—"

"It's fine. Really," Gon insisted. "You don't need to put yourself in an argument because of me. And it's clearly my fault because I couldn't see the sign," he added. If Gon was not blind, he would see how baffled the other was at his behavior.

"You almost got killed and you're just fine with that?" the other asked, incredulous.

"Well, you saved me, didn't you? And I'm still alive, so there's nothing I could complain about anymore." The boy grinned widely and the other simply stared at him, apparently bewildered.

"You're strange," was his reply.

Gon laughed merrily at him and said, "You think so? Still, if it wasn't for you I really might have died back there. So thanks a lot, uh…"

"Kurapika," the stranger supplied.

The boy nodded. "And I'm Gon." He held his hand out which Kurapika shook willingly. "Thanks again, Kurapika."

Kurapika smiled at him, then, remembering that the boy was blind, quickly said, "No problem." Gon grinned back at him and Kurapika could not help but feel at ease with the boy. There was something about Gon that made him trust the boy regardless that this was the first time they met. As he wondered why a sightless boy would be left alone in the midst of a hazardous and crowded city, a sudden yelp from the boy jerked him from his appraisal. "What's wrong?"

"My groceries! Oh, and my cane!" said the boy and he turned to gather his things, which were most probably strewn across the road by now, but Kurapika held him back.

"You stay here, Gon. I'll go and get them for you," Kurapika offered and Gon simply agreed. He basically could not do the task on his own. The boy stood by the side and waited for Kurapika, unaware of the countless stares that people were throwing at his direction. Kurapika, however, did not fail to notice this, and he glared back in frustration at the bystanders who merely stood still when Gon was about to be crushed. Really, some people could be infuriatingly indifferent to others as long as they could save their own necks.

The blond hurriedly picked up what remained of Gon's groceries. Thankfully, the boy's cane was still intact. He walked back towards Gon holding the lighter plastic bag and the cane. "Here, Gon. Sorry, but I couldn't salvage some of your groceries," said Kurapika.

Gon shook his head, a radiant smile on his face. "It's all right, Kurapika. We'll just have to manage with fewer groceries this week."

"We?"

"Me and my best friend," the boy replied. Kurapika wanted to inquire further about his friend, but decided that he did not have the right to. Instead, he simply offered to buy what was missing in Gon's groceries, but the boy frantically shook his head at him in response. "No need to! You've done a lot, already, Kurapika. I don't want to bother you further," the boy said hastily. "I'm sure you have your own things to take care of. I'll be fine by myself now."

But Kurapika replied, "I can't just leave you in your state, Gon."

"I'm fine, really," the boy insisted. Kurapika was really kind, he thought, but he did not want to cause him any more trouble. "Please. I know how to get home from here, even if I'm blind. Trust me."

Kurapika regarded the boy thoughtfully. Before he could reply, however, his phone went off. Pulling the phone from his coat's inner pocket, he glanced at Menchi's flashing name on the screen. Senpai? What for? He thought before remembering that he was not alone. "Are you sure you can manage by yourself, Gon?" he asked as his phone continued to ring.

The boy nodded at him. "I'm sure. Don't worry," Gon said as he pointed his cane in front of him. "We're in front of a pet shop, right?"

Kurapika blinked. Indeed, they were. He was surprised at how Gon knew of their location, but then he noticed the constant barking of the puppies on display and figured that the boy must have based his assumptions on that. "We are," he replied.

"Then I'll just have to take this alley here and I'll be home," the boy stated, and Kurapika realized that the boy's cane was now pointing at the direction of an alleyway between the pet shop and another store. The blond blinked again.

"You amaze me, Gon," he commented. Then, his phone still incessantly ringing, he smiled and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "All right, but make sure you get home safe, will you, Gon?" The boy grinned back at him and thanked him again. He watched as Gon led his way towards the alley with his cane, then the boy turned back at him and with a last wave, he was gone.

Kurapika smiled. It was not every day that he met someone like Gon, and he silently hoped he would be able to meet the boy again.

Turning back to his phone, which had rang for possibly the twentieth time already, he pushed on the Answer button and held it to his ear. He was met with an ear-splitting cry of "Kurapika!" from none other than Menchi herself. Scowling, Kurapika replied, "W-What is it, Senpai?"

"Why won't you pick up your phone?" It was apparent that Menchi was in a really foul mood, given that she was shouting even at Kurapika.

"Sorry, I was busy with something," was Kurapika's excuse. "What's wrong, Senpai?" He silently hoped that the chief would not want him to return to the police station for another conference; he absolutely did not appreciate the idea of having to face again those hoodlums which were here subordinates. But the words that Menchi said next were enough to turn Kurapika on his heels and make him rush towards the station:

"We've received word about a probable assassination tonight. And we're guessing, Kurapika, but we think it might be Killua."

... To be continued ...

A/N: Yes, I know. It's very obvious who's going to die next. ;D

And alas! Another chapter, folks. I'm getting addicted to this story that I literally can't sleep with all the ideas flowing into my head. I'm starting on the next chapter right after this is published. But I dare say: I'm not getting my expected number of feedbacks for this one so PLEASE REVIEW! I know there isn't much action between the pairing yet but it's well underway, and it's really important for me to know if this is being read or not. But thank you so much to those who have put this on alert/favorites! And to MARYLOVER for always giving her reviews! ;D

I've got one more week before school starts so I'll try to put in as many updates as I can before hell swallows me whole again. Ciaossu! :)