A/N: Sorry for the long wait. One—FF wouldn't load, Two—I didn't have internet, Three—My mom wouldn't let me use her laptop.

Gomen-ne~

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the song part below, and I don't own HxH either.

OWC: 3,153

"Did'ya boys here the noise?"

Killua and Gon were forced to look up from the book they were reading—"A History of the most amazing Hunters"—to face the voice. They saw a big, bulky man with thick muscles. He was wearing a t-shirt with a large showy print saying, OUTCAST. To Killua's opinion, he looked like someone from a powerful, we-beat-up-little-boys mafia gang, and so his suspicion made him narrow his eyes at the man.

"But isn't this the library? And the only kind of noise that's allowed here is the noise that's turned on mute." Killua said, hoping to intimidate the man. But it obviously didn't work since the man just shrugged it off.

"No, I didn' mean that kinda noise. Ain't that kinda noise, kid. Im'ma sayin', the noise from yesternight, did'ya hear 'bout the wreck? Tch, old boys in the town couldn' make one step fuss 'bout the murder."

Raising an eyebrow, Killua asked, "Murder? Last night?"

"But last night there was an opening launch for the Hunter Artifacts museum!" Gon said, sounding almost like he was whining.

"Yeah, right there, kid. A rich dude was murdered there last night. Uh-huh, poor dude, considerin' the last person he saw was a pretty lady," the old man shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest.

Killua's assassin self perked up with interest. "Lady Killer, eh?"

"Yeah. My sources, close friends, said she said she was Rachel Frost. Nice description o' 'er was given i' the paper. Black hair green eyes. She would've made a nice gal, eh?"

Gon leaned his chair backward, toward the man. "But who got..." he gulped, considering the topic wasn't as soft as he thought, "...murdered?"

"Meh, old man. Well, he was rich 'fore, but now he's gone bankrupt. Too bad, too bad, he was this high the mafia ladder"-he extended his arm up over his head-"like that high, almost to the 10 Dons. Meh, rotten luck."

Killua nudged the man's giant leg. "Oi, big dude. We were asking you who, not his bankruptcy status. So break it off, man," he said, like the rowdy teenager-to-be he was.

"I fuggo' the name, kid. Bu' I think it sound'd aristocrat, y'know what I mean, right? N… os… no… not…"

Killua's purple eyes glinted in surprise and shock as it widened. "Nostrad… right?"

The big man nodded. "That right. Got it right on the dot, kid. D'you know—" He looked around, but the kids weren't there anymore, the book's sheets flipping madly with the wind the speed of their departure caused.

The book's pages landed to a picture of a very young looking man, and the big man, being uneducated, had a hard time reading the words. But after a few, he managed to read it.

Ging Freecs.

"You really want to call their attention, don't you?"

She ignored him, and just went on to continue on what she was doing. She slipped a robe over her bare shoulders and went toward the mirror to rake through her shower-wet waist-long hair.

"I didn't want to call their unnecessary attention. I work for you. It's like I had a choice."

Her brushing became rougher, stronger. She was very frustrated. But since the scale's been altered and now, instead of equal, she was under him, she couldn't—and definitely wouldn't—show the frustration and prove it out directly in words.

Oh, how she loathed the feeling of being under his very watchful eyes 24/7.

"I asked you. I gave you the chance to back out. But you didn't and just went on."

Crystal sighed, straining herself to calm down and clear her head of the growing annoyance toward the older man. She turned around to face the older man. She turned around to face him, but with closed eyes as she answered in a cold-and-straining-to-be-calm voice: "He had more worth dead than alive. See how everyone's at him now?"

She opened her eyes, feeling her cheeks suddenly feel hot. She was too old for things like that, she knew—so she passed it all off thinking it was all a mere figment of her imagination. They flashed, quickly passing her mind like she was on Removal—Memories and recollections of a far and forgotten, distant past. But no, she realized that none of it was made up by her ridiculous mind when she felt her cheeks literally flush when he grabbed her chin.

She cursed in her mind, Damn this man.

She stared fully, slowly, and cautiously at his figure. He stood in front of her, all 5 foot 10 of him, with his trademark coat loosely hanging on his frame, completely unbuttoned—and no undershirt beneath it, for that matter. To Crystal, it was all just leather, fur, and Kuroro.

And muscles.

"Don't touch me!" she said, forcefully pushing him away. The spontaneous reaction from her made him smile amusedly, and it irked her. "Don't. Touch. Me. No fingers, no hands, arms, legs, no nothing." Her guard was very much up, and her muscles and everything was tensed. Her face was deep tomato red, but the look she saw on his face made hers drain white, whiter than paper. She didn't like that knot-twisting-her-stomach feeling. Her heart beat wildly.

What do you plan on doing? But nothing happened. "Right, he murmured, then finally moved back to lie again on the couch, like he had no responsibilities in the world. "Why so cold?"

Because you taught me to be, she wanted to answer, but she couldn't—and didn't. She, instead, just looked straight at him, glared daggers, and then finally turned away.

"I'm getting dressed," she said, puffing angrily, and turned her back to him. But she didn't move an inch, for a reason Kuroro knew.

Ahh, he liked that even though she had her own personal strength—and she hated being handled—she still waited for his permission. He knew it was growing in on her… but she had to bare it. Now, she had to pay the consequences. A part of him felt bad doing such to her, but the heartless Kuroro went ahead of that and just smirked at her very pitiful situation.

"Wise decision," he said, with 'that' tone in his voice. 'That' very mocking tone that irritated Crystal… very much. She walked off, determined to be as far as possible from him, her eyebrows knitted together as she clutched the robe tightly near her chest, her heart still pumping frantically.

She started to ponder again, as the very dark thought came back to her mind. Why does she even bother to bear staying with the man?

She shrugged the thought off, knowing she didn't have an answer at all.

"Maybe we should cut off the mission."

"And what? Leave Neon? Just because we won't get paid doesn't mean we'll have to give this mission up."

"What will we get upon finding that sister of hers?"

"I—I don't know."

"That's the point, blondie. Look, we get nothing. Best we can do is leave Neon back in the mansion and make her fend for herself."

"But it's not righteous!"

"Nothing is, Kurapika. It's not like you haven't learned anything in life."

~donna toki no kimi no koto wasureru hazu mo nai datte itsumo sou kimi ga konna ni mo yuuki kureru kara~

"I'll take this," Kurapika murmured silently, moving away from the arguing group of bodyguards who really couldn't decide on what to do with their boss. Who couldn't make a wise and rightful decision out of the choices they had. Who continued to argue.

He walked out of the cottage to the porch before he finally answered the waiting call. "Hello?"

[Kurapika.]

"Killua. Is something the matter?"

[Don't play innocent, blondie. So did you hear?]

"Yeah. We got the paper. And everything."

[You got the Rachel Frost detail?]

"Clear, Kil. You can go back with Gon. I'll be able handle this."

[That's the same words you told us when we asked you about York Shin… Shit, Kurapika, don't leave us in the blue again. Here we are ready to put our lives in the line—]

"That's the point. I don't want your lives risked again, so don't bother. Killua."

[…]

FLIP.

He snapped his phone shut, looking out the view, wishing to take it all in. It was beautiful, with green trees everywhere, with the bright yellow sun shining over it all, the blue sea reflecting the deep opaque-yet-transparent blue of the sky. If anything, Kurapika could've sworn the entire natural world was shining with life.

Completely opposite to the reality thrown right in front of their faces.

He looked out and started to wonder how long they'll be able to hold the sad truth from Neon. Not long, he knew.

...

"SOMEONE NEEDS TO GIVE ME AN EXPLANATION!"

Neon's voice was horrifyingly loud, squeaky, and tantrum-sounding... but it was pretty hoarse, too, like it was just dried up with shouting. Kurapika was forced to drag himself back inside the cottage with heavy legs.

Out of the pan and into the fire.

Neon's eyes were bloodshot with her crying, eyes welled with more impending tears. Her fragile, smooth hands grasped the newspaper so tightly it crumpled. Her eyebrows were knitted together, her eyes showing agitation that rivalled Kurapika's.

"'NEON, NEON, NEON!' WOULD SOMEONE TELL ME SOMETHING!"

She looked around-but no one responded to her. None wanted to. All her bodyguards' heads were hung low, none willing to answer. They didn't want the 'honor' to be the one to break the news to her. There was pin-drop silence, save for the suffocated hics of the agitated girl and the haunting rhythm of the clock ticking.

And that's when the dam broke.

She collapsed to the floor, on her knees. Kurapika made a step forward with the thought of helping her up-in all meanings of it-but Senritsu blocked him with her arm. Kurapika gave her a questioning glance, but she just looked on at Neon.

Neon was covering her face with her hands, the newspaper lying face up on the ground before her. From where he stood, Kurapika could still see the bold, brave letters in which the headline was engraved in the front page of the accursed paper. MILLIONAIRE-GONE-BANKRUPT FOUND DEAD IN VIP OPENING PARTY OF NEW HUNTER MUSEUM!

He noticed Neon start to murmur, but it was too weak for Kurapika to hear. Senritsu, However, heard it all, and the sudden change of her expression from shock to grief to sympathy betrayed how what Neon was saying broke her heart.

It was crystal clear to Senritsu's ears.

"Please," Neon had murmured in a weaker voice than anything Senritsu's ever heard. "Someone... explain this to me... This can't be true, right?" She paused, hiccuping, as more tears gush down her flushed face. "I promise... I'll be a good girl... Just tell me... This is a lie, right?" She started to sob, very faintly, but then as quickly as it came, she sighed. "No... it can't be."

Senritsu would've wanted to tell Kurapika what Neon said, knowing Kurapika would know exactly how to comfort her.

Only... Senritsu didn't have the heart to tell them.

...

Kurapika finally broke the silence. He decided the air was becoming too stuffy... for reasons none of them could comprehend and resolve. "Neon..."

"Who did it?"

Everybody was suprised at her sudden-serious-reaction. They were all left to gag on their own spit for several awkward and embarrassing seconds... save for Senritsu, though. They stared wide-eyed, suprised, shocked, at Neon.

"I know this isn't a joke."

She sniffled and wiped the tears off her eyes. Her pink, untied hair made a curtain hiding with its shadows her eyes and expression, so none of the people around her could tell if she was really serious. Not even Senritsu-Neon's heartbeat seemed to have calmed down, like a miracle.

"Sorry if I acted that way... I'll change, I promise."

Kurapika took a nervous gulp. He knew something was wrong with Neon. Again. Neon never said sorry-Neon never made way for other people. Only to herself, unless she gets something back. No, something was really, really wrong.

Senritsu could see the obvious change in Neon's personality. Was she really willing to fix up her personality?

"Please... I just want to know who did that to Daddy..."

Neon hiccupped again, and Bashou's strong will started to melt. He couldn't help but feel bad for the girl! What could he do, anyway? He was human, after all.

He was only human.

"...So can you tell me?" Neon looked up. Her green eyes were still very much bloodshot, but it was calmer than earlier, without the agitation. She was really pleading like a kid-and Kurapika had to bite his cheeks.

He needed to think it over, before he made a bad decision. He wouldn't be able to handle Neon becoming more of a pain in the neck. So he had to say it as careful and sensitively as he can. "Reports said it was Rachel Frost," he said in a soft voice. Neon's eyes immediately shot up to him, and he was surprised. And terrified, inside. But then Neon shook her head.

"That's not possible. That... that just isn't possible, really."

"Why?" Senritsu asked.

Neon stood up, finally, and sat on the couch. They heard the crunch of the old sofa's leather squishing together with her weight.

"Rachel Frost was the name of the last character Crystal played for Theater Arts class."

Crystal sat quietly on a park bench in an abandoned park. There was no one-no kids flying kites, no dogs running around chasing frisbees, no babies wailing for their mummies, no mothers talking about any random issue.

No, there was only her, and isolation.

They were supposed to meet there, but he still hadn't arrived. It wasn't usual of him to be late, but he was, so what could she do? All she could do was wait. And she closed her eyes, melting into a dream of a far forgotten past.

xXx

The sky was a very excellent shade of blue. White cottony clouds danced under it, creating several shapes and figures. The sun hid behind them, as if finding a cover for the rain that was about to come, as foretold by the black, heavier splotches hovering in the blue heavens. The wind blew lightly and strongly alternatively.

She sat there on a wooden outside her little apartment in the small, silent town of Vylkar, separate from reality. The 17-year-old was silent, and she sat there without a trace of emotion in her pretty little face. She just sat there, looking up silently, solemnly, at the sky, watching as the weather changed rapidly, unnoticed by others.

The light, bright, white clouds began to settle on top of the more ominous and heavy black ones. The wind that blew strongly against her face was much colder than earlier. She calculated the time of change-5 minutes?

Oh, but she didn't make a move to flee. Fleeing? That's all she's ever done in her life. She didn't want to run anymore, to flee-she wanted to stay and fight now, for what she thought was right.

So she stayed. She ignored the distant rumblings and claps of thunder as she sat there, earphones slipped in. Under her right hand were loose sheets of paper-composition sheets.

In her mind, the melody of her slow, sad song echoed right into the chambers of her empty, bleeding heart. Sorrowful, pitiful. She ran out of words, her throat felt dry, her mind numb.

From her earphones rang the song with the words she wanted to tell; perfectly crafted, the way she wanted to tell it. But she couldn't.

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there.

I was playing back a thousand memories baby

Thinking 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still, and I had you.

(If this was a movie, Taylor Swift)

The rain poured heavily, suddenly, on the town. It pounded heavily on the galvanized iron rooftops of the poor houses. It wasn't fresh, natural, happy rain. It was a very sad, solemn, lonely and cold rain. And she was immediately sick of it.

It made her shiver, the cold breeze it brought along with it. By the strength of the first five minutes, she somehow knew that it was more than rain-it was storm. And she could barely imagine the damage it would cause.

She knew, however, that it would damage her the most. Every drop cracked her heart a little bit more. Every drop, she could hear his fleeting footsteps, walking away from her. Making the gap between them, mentally, socially, physically.

She knew, not emotionally, though.

Her composition sheets were wet, the ink she used to put the notes becoming splattered splotches, like tears.

Smudges of her memories, none good enough to read.

To be remembered.

But she knew she wasn't a kid anymore. She had to fight now. She had to fend for herself, she had to be stronger.

And no one will ever see her cry.

She raised her face to look up at the dull, sullen gray sky, the drops of cold rain hiding the tears that cascaded silently down her pale cheeks.

This time she would fight.

xXx

"Day dreaming again?"

She looked up to see him again. He had this careless look sprawled on his handsome face, and it annoyed her. His bangs fell down like orchids from a tree down his face.

His scent, she could smell it again. She was overwhelmed again. But no. She wouldn't hurt herself anymore.

"You're late. And that's odd enough, but I'll ask. Why?"

He didn't answer her, and instead walked down the lane that circled around the park. She followed him. He had his hands deep inside his pockets, as if he was thinking about something big. "You know, there's this one thing that's been bothering me lately."

She looked up at him. Bothering him? No, there was no record of anything happening like that before. So she asked again, "What is it?"

"If you didn't want to bother and don't want yourself to be under any attachment to your father, why bother killing him? If you say he's of no use, why waste your time?" he asked her, trying to intimidate. She just blinked, turning away from him, and soon her curious face started to melt into an indifferent, unemotional one—one that she got from him. "I could've always done it by my own, yet you yourself pushed yourself to do it 'personally.'" He stepped closer. "No lies this time, Crystal. Why?"

"You never learned, have you, Kuroro?" she said, finally turning to face him with cold, almost lifeless, bored eyes. "Life here is always rough. It's the survival of the fittest."