A/N: Hey all! Today is the day to tell you this fic was published as part of the Hunter x Hunter Big Bang 2019, a huge fic and art exchange that takes part on tumblr (but not only!). I don't have a tumblr anymore but I'm proud to have been a part of this event with this polyam fic. Enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 3 - Snowdrops for the Wounded Cat

"What do you mean he won't remember anything?" Leorio asked. Disbelief dripped in his voice — so did bitterness.

Bitterness that Gon shared.

"Nen curses don't erase memories," Kurapika started, crossing his arms over his suit. "Memory traders do. So if he didn't remember you when you went to Padokia, Gon, that's because his memories were stolen. Not because he was cursed. The curse was only here to control him."

Cheadle stood up, dusting her dress. "You think the curse was a bunch of counterfeit memories," she reworded. "That they were planted there after extracting his original memories."

Kurapika didn't acquiesce. He didn't need to.

Gon exhaled. He looked down onto Killua's sleeping face — even in sleep, he looked anxious, with his eyes furrowed and his lips trembling. His long hair coiled in waves over his suit — some of its white strands were stained red.

"I figured it wouldn't be that easy," Gon then voiced, his eyes lingering on Killua's face. How he had wanted to see that beloved face — chiseled and graceful and so, so soft — and now that he did, he was a stranger to him. It hurt. It hurt to think of everything Killua had endured at the hands of his family, and it hurt to anticipate the moment he would wake up and ask who Gon was.

Hana shifted on her seat, wincing as she tried to stand up. "The curse was a bunch of crap memories, that much I can confirm. They're not his, and they were all forged. I don't know if his original memories are still there though. I'm not a memory trader. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Gon assured. He managed a smile but it felt forced. "You saved him. We'll deal with whatever's next tomorrow. Now, we all need to rest."

Kurapika sighed. "Gon is right. I'm sorry for being the bearer of bad news, but we should prepare ourselves for this eventuality."

Cheadle threw keys toward Leorio, who deftly caught them. "I'll stay here a little longer with Hana. You drive the kids to the apartment and watch over Killua," she instructed.

Cheadle always considered them to be kids; never mind that Gon was almost twenty-five. Sometimes, Gon wished things were that simple.

Hana twiddled her fingers, staring at the dry blood that coated her nails. She had broken a nail during her fight and it now bled all over her torn-up dress, streaks of red mixing with the burgundy of dry blood on the pink fabric.

Pity. She liked that dress.

"So, you wanted to see me," she started, raising timid eyes toward Cheadle. The hotel room bore a thick silence now that the others had left.

Cheadle finished packing her tools. She stared coolly at Hana, but not without empathy. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm alright."

"No flashbacks? Intrusive thoughts? Urges?"

"Not too many."

Cheadle crossed her arms. "You need to tell me if it's happening again."

"You can't be my therapist, Cheadle."

"And I don't want to be. But as your friend, and as your doctor, I can't just ignore it. What you did tonight could be triggering to you, and I'm not talking about being chased by a panicked Zoaldyeck. I'm talking about the exorcism."

Hana's hand lingered on her stomach. She could almost trace the puckered skin of her scar through the fabric. "I know. I'll tell you if anything happens."

Cheadle sighed. "Like hell you will," she mumbled. Before she crossed the door, she pointed a finger toward Hana. "I will force you into a hospital if I find out you're miserable and hiding it again. So I'd advise you to come to me beforehand. We care about you, even if you don't care about yourself."

"Is that a rare 'Cheadle confession'?" Hana teased, her smile coming easy to her.

Cheadle's cheeks turned pink. "It's a threat, foolish girl."

"I'm terrified. You're so scary, Cheadle. The whole not-reaching-my-chin? Chills me to the bone."

"Don't take your genes for granted. I don't need stilts to drag you by force to a therapist."

Hana wrapped her arms around herself — exposed, suddenly, by this token of affection her friend gave her. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I promise I'll let you know if anything happens."

Cheadle nodded.

Then, she left.

Static. Uncertain shapes. Gurgles of water — sloshing around, muffling his breathing. Strings of light — fractals deployed across the darkness.

Screams. Cries. His breathing picked up — flowers dotted his sight. Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.

"Kil, do you know what forget-me-nots symbolize?"

The beast. Flowers with teeth and claws. The teeth sank in his skull — poison filled his mind. Lies and truths merged into one and they piled, grew, spread across his entire being — ivy crawling and claiming him in their suffocating embrace. People vanished and others appeared and his story was rewritten and scrapped and rewritten and erased and rewritten and torn apart again and again and again.

Without the lies that masked his real self, who was he?

"You're home, Kil."

He burst awake with a sharp inhale, like someone emerging from a river after nearly drowning.

Killua's wide eyes couldn't settle on anything. The bed, the sheets, his tattered suit, bruised hands, the white wall in front of him, the paintings of eglantine roses on that white wall, the mirror — his exhausted face, the dark circles under his eyes, the wound on his lip…

He closed his eyes. Massaged his temples as a headache kicked in.

The door of the room opened — Killua's eyes snapped open. A woman with green hair and a navy blue dress came in.

Killua stared at her.

She stared back at him. "Finally."

He narrowed his eyes; those apple-green eyes, the grass color of her hair, she reminded him of… "Cheadle? Cheadle Yorkshire?"

Cheadle widened her eyes beyond what should be possible. She cleared her throat, adjusted her glasses, frowned, then examined him with suspicion. "I'm honored that you remember me of all people, but, excuse me?"

Killua ignored her, scrutinizing her face instead. Her big, innocent eyes, her small mouth, her… her nose? "Holy shit. You… You don't have a snout anymore?"

Cheadle sighed. Killua wasn't sure she was relieved or disappointed. "Right. You remember me from when I was the president of the Association."

"Wait, you mean you're not anymore?"

"I retired years ago," she explained, as if he was supposed to know that.

"What?! Why?"

"Had a bit of a rat problem."

Killua looked at his torn button-up shirt. His pale veins stared back through slits in the fabric. "What am I doing here?"

Cheadle sat down on a nearby armchair. A lab coat was thrown across it back. When he turned toward her, his reflection stared back at him from the jade jewel fastened around her collar. "What do you remember?"

His mouth hung open as he rummaged through his memories, but he snapped his eyes shut as his migraine got worse. "Not much… my mind is blank. I was on a mission, and I… was set up."

"And?"

"Why am I even telling you this?" he asked, more to himself than to her. "We have no connections whatsoever."

"You've made me wish in the past that we didn't, but unfortunately for both of us, we do."

"How?"

"I'm dating someone close to you, so as an unlucky turn of events, we got to know each other."

He frowned. "I don't remember you dating anyone 'close to me'. You don't look like you'd be into my brother."

Cheadle visibly shuddered. "Thank god, I have much better taste in men."

"Well, unless you know anyone in my family, you're not related to me," he said as he pushed the bedsheets away.

Cheadle didn't stop him when he put on his shoes and wore his jacket. She watched him as one would a peculiar flower, though with more annoyance than Killua could ignore.

"Where will you go?" she finally asked, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows dipping on her forehead. "You can't exactly go back to your family."

"And why is that?" he challenged, though deep down, he knew she was right. You're home, Kil.

He shivered.

"Don't play dumb with me. You might be amnesiac and an asshole, but you're not stupid on top of that, are you? You do realize your family is the cause of this, right?"

The forget-me-nots danced in his mind, a garland of snickering little beasts. They snaked around his neck and scattered across his hair.

And the beast of thorns and claws, the flower with teeth.

He reached for his forehead — the scar was still there.

He turned toward Cheadle. "What do you know?"

She crossed her arms. "You were cursed," she explained. "By your family. Your friends did everything in their power to save you."

"Save me…?"

"Gon hired a friend of ours to exorcize you. We faked a contracted assassination request and she passed herself as a target. It was the only way to get to you."

Killua bumped on a single word — a single name — from her explanations. "Gon," he repeated. The name tasted new and yet like déjà-vu. It made his heart ache.

Cheadle pursed her lips. "You should meet the others."

"The others?"

"Leorio and Kurapika are waiting outside. Gon, too. They all stayed up to wait for you. Alluka is on her way."

"Alluka," he breathed. The name rolled on his tongue — a promise, a new hope. "My sister."

"That's one thing you got right."

"Illumi told me she was dead," he thought out loud. He sat back on the bed, recalling the day he had found the empty room with plushies piling on the floor.

"Who does it belong to?" he asked Illumi, picking up a bunny in a frilly dress from the floor.

"A child who was born dead. Mother had a miscarriage. You were too young to remember."

"Alluka," Killua read out from a sticker on the plushie. It was handwritten, in pink.

Illumi said nothing.

The next day, the plushies had been disposed of.

"Illumi lied," Cheadle stated. "Just like he and Silva lied about everything else. That's something you'll have to accept."

His shoulders sank.

They had betrayed him. They had forced him to believe lies to control him.

This whole time, he had been a mere puppet.

He followed Cheadle almost mechanically. Disoriented and lost. They passed by pictures on the desk and on the corridor walls where he recognized himself as a child, and then as a teenager, and eventually an adult, but not the people who were with him. One picture had him grinning toward Cheadle, pointing toward fake cat ears on his head while she glared at him.

When did he meet those people?

When had he been so close to them?

Cheadle opened a door with an embedded stained-glass window. Three heads turned toward them as they entered the living room, mixed expressions on their faces — from surprise to relief to sorrow. And hope.

Killua's throat tightened.

Their scrutiny exposed him. It burrowed through his inmost self. Instinctively, he braced himself.

"You're awake," the tallest man said, standing up. His blue eyes shimmered, but Killua didn't share the enthusiasm. He remained wordless, switching from the tall man's tired but hopeful face to those of the others. The blonde man sitting on the couch looked grave, exhaustion written under his eyes. He said nothing, as though he was resigned.

And then, there was the last one.

The sight of him shook something in Killua. His heartbeats picked up, his hands quivered. He closed his fists, dug his nails into his palm to stop the trembling.

Brown eyes, warm and gentle, drowned into his, drowned him with emotions he didn't know what to do with, with pools and pools of love — endless affection.

That man was light. Everywhere, and within himself, light.

Killua's breath hitched. Embers of longing blazed in him, yet all he saw was a stranger.

"You worried us sick, going on and about with that loud island kid."

Pain struck him — in the back of his head, spreading like a disease through his brain. He took a step back — his shirt and his body and this room and all these people and everything, everything suffocated him. "Let me out," he heard himself say, avoiding their gazes, raking the room for an exit.

He heard protests. Shut them out. Only registered the clack of the door unlocking.

When Cheadle opened it, he stormed out of the room. Bumped into someone in the building corridor. Locked eyes with her — a young woman, soft and beautiful and familiar. With the same blue eyes as his and the ink of his mother's hair.

He picked up his pace, his heart in his throat.

The last thing he heard was the young woman calling him.

"Killua!"

Leorio was pacing in the room. Kurapika was his usual gloomy self. Gon looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. Alluka was consoling him, gently patting his shoulder. And Cheadle… Cheadle had removed her glasses, claiming she didn't want to see any of them anymore.

What kind of mess had Hana landed into.

"Well isn't that… sorta good news?" she started, piecing together the little info Gon had given her — that Killua had woken up, walked into the living room like a ghost, had only recognized Cheadle but still believed she was an executive of the Hunter Association, and then had stormed away at the sight of his beloved, nearly fainting when he crossed ways with his sister. What a freaking drama queen. "The sight of his boyfriend shaking him? I'd say it's kinda good; means some part of him remembers you, no?"

"Not if that makes him run away. I don't want to think of what could be happening to him right now," Gon mumbled. "Next thing we know he'll be throwing himself under a bus."

"Please, I've only known him for a few hours and I'm pretty sure the worst he could do is find a secluded place to collect his mind. And cry, probably. Besides, I'd worry more for the bus than for him, honestly."

Gon frowned, exhaling soundly. "I'm worried to death."

"I can see that."

"He didn't recognize me either," Alluka started in a hushed voice. Sorrow coated her words — it weighed on her eyelids. "I've never seen him so afraid."

Kurapika sighed. "I'd be terrified, too, if I woke up with no memories in a place I don't know, surrounded by people who claim to know me," he started. "You have to understand that this is the same situation that happened with his family. We had to do it, and it was the only way to save him, but from his point of view we abducted him, bound him, and forced him to go through something he didn't want."

"He's aware he was cursed," Cheadle added. "That's a start. But I also agree; he had no reason to trust us before, and he certainly doesn't now, so we'd better give him a reason." She scrunched her nose. "You'd better give him a reason."

Leorio patted her knees — they were both on the couch, and her legs were flanked across his lap. "Never knew you cared about the boy."

"I don't."

"Yeah, right." Leorio smiled. "I'm not too worried," he affirmed — earning himself surprised looks from his friends. Hana raised an eyebrow. "I trust him. He'll get through it. We just need to go slowly with him; he's always been a bit of a scaredy cat, especially when it comes to getting out of his shell, and right now he must be completely lost, so now more than ever we gotta be patient. He needs space."

"Leorio is right," Kurapika said. "He needs time, and space. But he also needs a place to stay. He can't just meander and live on rain and hope and the power of friendship alone."

Gon straightened his back. "Would he accept to go back to our apartment? I could go somewhere else in the meantime if he needs time alone."

Leorio exchanged a glance with Hana — who promptly looked away; 'tell him yourself,' she seemed to say. "I don't know, Gon," he dodged. "If just the sight of you put him in that state, what about all the memories you had in your apartment? He'd combust on the spot."

"That's unfortunate. Means he can't stay at either of our places," Cheadle said, almost cheerfully.

Alluka crossed Hana's eyes, her gaze fraught with desperation. "I don't know what to do. I just imagine how scared he must be… It breaks my heart. I didn't even have time to talk to him. And Nanika misses him too…"

Gon pulled Alluka into an embrace. "He'll be fine. Killua is stronger than that," he consoled, his eyebrows knitting together as though he forced himself to believe his own consolation.

"He's strong, but he's not invincible," Alluka breathed. "And right after an exorcism, he's going to have nightmares and fevers; the thought of him alone while going through that…" Her shoulders sank.

Her grief touched Hana. She could only imagine how torn Alluka felt — to see her brother in so much anguish and yet to be unable to help.

A memory brushed Hana — rising from the past. Alluka's quivering hands gently pressing on the wound that slashed across Hana's abdomen, humming quietly to calm her wounded friend's cries and control her own tears.

"I've got you," she had told Hana in a wobbling voice, drying her friend's tears as well as her own, stroking Hana's hair as she wriggled and sobbed and agonized on the floor. "Cheadle is on her way, but until then, I'm here with you, Hana. Hang in there."

Hana bit her lower lip; her fingertips brushed her scar through the fabric. "He doesn't know me," she started, comforted as Alluka widened her eyes. "And he doesn't have any memories at my place. I happen to have a spare room."

Cheadle stared at her. "You do realize he's like a wounded cat, right now, right?" Do you really need that right now, Hana? was what Cheadle's eyes were saying.

Hands on her hips, Hana grinned. "Well, I'm pretty good with cats."

The evenings were cold in York Shin — even more so in April. The wind slapped Killua's hair across his face and slipped through the tears into his shirt, making him shiver. Some of his scratches stung against the cold breeze. The wound on his lip pulsed, still hot and sore and painful.

Above him, the sky was dotted with little stars, a twilight veil with scattered pearls enveloping the city. The sun had dipped behind the sea and its last remaining rays licked the horizon with streaks of gold. Purples, pinks, and blues of various shades smudged the watercolor sky.

A scenery of buildings cut through the horizon with their geometric shapes, casting shadows of lines and edges, and soon enough the windows glowed as the sunlight dimmed. He couldn't see the residents, but he knew they were out there, living their lives, coming back home to the comfort of their bed or the embraces of their loved ones.

He hugged himself. His hunched figure shuddered against the cold. He passed a hand through his hair, removing it from his face. He usually had a hair tie around his wrist for when his hair became impossible, but he had lost it during his fight with the fake princess — Hana.

The day had gone by in a blink. One moment Killua was out of Cheadle's apartment, and the next it was already sunset and he was still at the same point, petrified and lost. He had spent all his time wandering by, avoiding the main streets where people gathered, sticking to dark alleys where no one would see or mind a bruised young man in a tattered suit looking like death itself. His feet had led him there, on the top of a tall building that overlooked the city, and ever since he had been brooding alone, watching the sky and rewinding the same questions in his head.

How could he forget everything?

Who were these people who claimed to care about him?

How could his family do this to him?

Where did he go from there?

Who was he?

"Family is always there for you," he murmured, quoting his oldest brother. He scoffed. "Yeah right, my ass."

The metal door of the building roof creaked open, its old, rusty hinges squeaking and resisting as someone pushed through.

His first instinct was to disappear — quiet his aura into a Zetsu and blend in the darkness — but when he sensed the familiar aura, he relaxed.

"How the hell did you find me?" he said, without looking at her.

Hana sat next to him, not bothering with manners or permission. "Gon told me I'd find you here."

"And how did he know?"

"Apparently your dramatic ass likes coming here when you're sad."

"I'm not sad," he lied.

"Yeah, right. You radiate with joy. A true beacon of happiness."

He glared at her. "If you came here to mock me, just go away. I'm sure you've got other things to do, like your gorgeous boyfriend."

She sighed. "Never knew you'd be the jealous type."

"You don't know me," he muttered, closing his jacket on himself as a gust of wind slipped under his shirt. I don't even know myself, was what he didn't say.

Hana handed him a coat. "Here. From Gon."

Killua leveled her gaze, his eyes never leaving hers as he cautiously took the coat. Its fabric was rough on the outside but its inner coating was soft and fluffy.

And its scent. Heady, like grass right after you cut it, or a forest during fall. A hint of lily of the valley powdered the scent.

It smelled terribly good. Unique. Mostly, it smelled like home. Like arms that embraced him and held him close, so close. Never letting go.

He threw the coat away, his heart a skittering beast.

Hana gawked, outrage written all over her face. "You don't have to behave like a caveman, you mannerless moron," she accused. "You're gonna freeze at this rate!"

"I don't want it," he argued, though his body shivered and craved that scent.

"What a fucking baby," Hana mumbled under her breath, removing her own coat and throwing it on him. She then wore Gon's — it was too big on her, and the sight was almost cute.

Killua raised an eyebrow at the peach pink clothing thrown on his lap. "I'm not cold. And it's too small on me."

"Yes you are, and no it won't be." She jumped to her feet, bending over him to place the soft garment around his shoulder. "I gotta do everything for you, huh? There. It doesn't need to fit, just to protect you from the wind."

"You seem to care a lot for someone who nearly killed me."

"I care on behalf of people who actually care about you."

He rolled his eyes, but grabbed the edges of the pink coat anyway — though he would never admit it, he was cold.

Hana then sat back next to him with a sigh. She said nothing for a long while, and in the meantime all he did was steal glances in her direction, matching that new, maskless image of her with what he had seen at the party.

Her disguise had been rather genuine. Princess or not, she did radiate with warm and assertive energy and was every bit the colorful fashionista he had imagined her to be — with her floral high-waisted shorts, sheer tights, and the black lace on her corset top drowning under Gon's coat, one would think she came right out of a magazine and not a near-deadly fight the night before. Thinking back to the party, everything she had said had probably been controlled; she had mixed just enough sincerity into her role for it to be believable while learning her other identity's lines.

However, without the pretense, she appeared with an air of caution, of prudence — a security around her. She showed a lot and talked a lot to distract from what she didn't want others to see — and that was why he had believed in her disguise. That woman was an excellent liar.

With that in mind, however, he could pinpoint all the lies she had told and that he had believed during the party — for having had no other reference to compare. Which also meant one other thing: she hadn't lied a single time since she had stepped on that roof. Not when she had said Gon knew where Killua would be, and not when she said his friends cared about him.

He pursed his lips.

"I think I should apologize," Hana broke the silence. He flinched, wondering if somehow she had read his thoughts. "I went a little hard on you yesterday. I just figured talk-no-jutsu wouldn't work on you, so…"

He relaxed. "I didn't go easy on you either. And I guess I should thank you, for ridding me of the nen curse."

She twiddled her fingers — he glimpsed a ring on her smallest finger. "It's nothing; your friends asked me to."

"My friends," he said, testing the words on his tongue. "How do you know them?"

She blinked, her mouth opening slightly. "Uh, I met Alluka first. Then she introduced the others to me."

"You two are friends?"

"We're pretty close," she carefully answered.

He nodded. Without meaning to, he closed her coat around him. It was warm — a scent of grapefruit and rose tea wafted around it. "Cheadle told me they hired you," he started. "That you faked a contracted kill to get to me."

"Yeah. Again, I'm sorry that we tricked you. I hope you won't resent us — them — too much."

He smiled, a bit ruefully. "I'll live, but you're on thin ice."

"You don't have to forgive me," she resumed. "I was just a means to an end. It's hard to reason someone whose memories were changed, so we had to do it by force. But if you gotta hold someone responsible, then it should be me."

"That's honorable. But right now that's not the issue."

"I know."

"You do?"

She twirled a strand of her hair around a finger — twisting and untwisting. "I mean, you must be disoriented after all this."

"That's the least you could say, yeah."

"And I suppose you don't want to see your friends right now."

He shuffled uncomfortably. Thought of the heat in those brown eyes — the way they peered at him with concern and an impossible amount of love.

"Well," she continued, pausing in between her words as though she thought of a correct wording. "You could stay with me."

He narrowed his eyes, shot her a confused glance. "Huh?"

"... No?"

"Nuh-uh, excuse me but I've heard enough of you for one night. You and your stupidly beautiful boyfriend."

She huffed, puffing her cheeks in offense. "He's not my boyfriend! And maybe don't stand in front of my bedroom door next time!"

"Maybe don't fake-hire me to kill you if you don't want me to stand outside your bedroom," he retorted. "Where else do you expect me to be? In your sewers?"

She tipped her chin up. "Okay, I guess you won't mind sleeping in the cold night. With all the wild animals that proliferate. Like rodents. And spiders."

"You done?"

"And cockroaches."

Killua shuddered. His lips twisted, and he looked away, shielding his face from her. He hated cockroaches.

"There are no cockroaches at my place," she insisted. "But there is a free room for you, if you want it."

"Why would you so readily offer a room to a guy who tried to kill you?" he sighed, frustration — and confusion — palpable in his voice.

She played with the ring on her smallest finger. "I'll be upfront with you; I owe your sister. And beyond that, I just love her a great deal and she's worried to death about you. You need somewhere to go and she doesn't like the thought of you alone and wandering off to wherever amnesiac ex-assassins wander to."

He shyly turned toward her. "My sister?"

"Alluka."

"Why do you owe her?"

She tutted. "You haven't unlocked my tragic backstory yet."

A smile tickled his lips. "How do I unlock that? Which boss do I have to fight?"

"First, you come with me. Then we'll see all about that. What do you say?"

He looked away. "I don't have anything to offer in exchange."

"That's fine; tell yourself I do this for her."

"Hana — that's your name, right? — I don't remember a thing about her, or about any of these people. I can't accept help on their behalf when I don't even know what they mean to me."

"Then tell yourself this is just about a girl offering help and a shelter." She stood up, facing him. "You can't just waste away and wait for your memories to come back to you. You need a new start, and you need to recover from what happened to you before you can even think of looking for your memories. I'm here to help with that start. That's all. You don't have to trust me, or to understand why I do that or why Alluka is important to me. I'm just giving you a place to stay." She extended her arm toward him. Her hand was scarred with small wounds, and one of her nails was bandaged. "Deal?"

He stared into her eyes and all he saw was honesty.

Just look me in the eye. You're gonna be okay.

He took her hand.

"Okay."