Nine
Confess
Saturday mornings at The Phantom Spider were usually slow.
Most of the reporters only came to work to edit their pieces before the Monday print. And those that were smart would get their editing done on Fridays so that their weekends were completely free.
Machi, as she was beginning to discover, was apparently not that smart.
She lingered over her laptop, pressing her small framed body against her desk as if she were determined to break it. She took a deep sigh, deleting the four sentences that taunted her from the screen. She was enthusiastic to write a piece on the upcoming fall festivals, but as she set down to concoct a story, the doubts of it being interesting plagued her mind.
No one in Yorkshin would care to read about something that happens yearly.
She popped a peppermint in her mouth, stretching her tired muscles as the tingling mint painted the surface of her tongue. Her stomach growled, betraying her feeble attempts at silencing it with her mediocre meal. She frowned, patting it lightly with her hand. "Just hold out a little bit longer, and I promise I'll treat you to a proper breakfast."
"Geeze, you really need to get out of here if you're going to be talking to yourself like that."
Machi wheeled around, the squeaking of her office chair causing her to grimace. She pursed her lips at the guest at the opening in her wall, a short man with hair that intruded his eyes.
"Don't sneak up on me like that, Feitan." She turned back around, typing nonsense into the headline template on the laptop. "What are you even doing here? I thought you finished your piece on Thursday?"
"I did." Feitan entered into her cubicle fully, pressing the back of his thighs against the desk. He crossed his arms and looked at her smugly, an annoyed Machi sizing him up and down out of the corner of her eyes. "Clearly you don't watch the news."
"I am the news, idiot. And you're supposed to be too, if you consider the nonsense you sputter out and call advice news, that is."
"Well, if you're news, then you're fired."
"Get on with it, Feitan," she massaged her temples, using her free hand to point to the unwritten article in front of her, "I really need to get back to this."
"Fuck that," he leaned over and clicked out of her program, causing Machi to lift her arms in the air out of frustration.
"What the hell, Feitan!?"
"You don't need to stress yourself out on that mundane garbage. Nobody cares about fall festivals, Machi, they happen every freaking year. What people do care about is the mass murder that happened at Blimps last night."
Machi's eyes widened, her violet irises shrinking in size. "Mass murder at Blimps? When's the last time a mass murder happened in Yorkshin?"
"About thirty five years ago, according to the boss. He's the most excited I've seen him in a long time; he didn't even bring his event book in today. He's pretty focused."
A pink rose sprouted throughout Machi's cheeks, her head lowering slightly and eyes fixating on her electric purple nails. "He's here? He's been out for a while."
"Yep, well he's back now." He touched the tip of her nose with his finger, a coy grin uprooting the corners of his mouth. "And he's asking to see you in his office."
Machi wasted no further time, the words barely leaving Feitan's lips before she was scooting her chair back and rising. Feitan chuckled at the pink haired woman, raising an isolated thumb in the air.
"Go get 'em, tiger."
The inside of Chrollo Lucilfer's office was that of a brooding teenager; dark and sad.
It was the only way he could work, according to him, and considering the success of his newspaper company, the statement held true.
Machi secretly loved when Chrollo requested to see her in his office. Other than the fact that she got to spend a teaspoon of amount of time with him, the contrast between the bright and sunny newsroom was welcoming.
Chrollo sat in his office chair, fumbling through emails on his computer. His hair was down today, Machi observed, a complete change to the slicked back blackness that usually adorned his head. He was handsome; she was blushing.
He looked up as she entered further into the room, a smile slicing his face in two.
"There's my girl," he said, his low and milky tone cutting the air and jabbing her heart. Chrollo always knew exactly what to say to keep Machi wrapped around his finger, a position she was in no rush to lose.
"Good morning, boss," she smiled at him crookedly, playing with the bracelet he had gifted her last Christmas. Machi was undoubtedly his best reporter, well one out of two of his best reporters, and he liked to keep them happy. Machi never took it off, not even when she showered, but she would never admit that.
"Good morning to you, Machi. And what a morning it is. My emails are swimming with information, and you're just one of the people I need to fish it out."
"One of?" The disappointment cuddled Machi's words like a scorned lover, the obvious displeasure registering on her face.
"Don't look so sour, you're too beautiful for that."
There she was again, hugging his finger so tightly he was losing circulation.
"Besides, this scoop is so big, it has to be a two person job."
"I see. Well what's the scoop? Feitan told me about Blimps already."
"What happened at Blimps is the one of the ingredients to the stew. If my sources are right, then we just might break every fucking record in publication history in Yorkshin. Let me not get ahead of myself," he pressed down anxiously on the intercom, as Machi silently prayed button three wouldn't light up.
Of course it lit up like downtown Yorkshin during winter festival.
She cursed under her breath, as a comical voice paraded through. "Good morning, Chrollo."
"Good morning. I need you to come to my office; I got a special project for you."
"Sure thing, Chrollo. I'll be right there."
Machi took a deep breath, irritation nestling in the spaces between her teeth. She hated the way he disrespected Chrollo by calling him by his first name. Not that Chrollo had demanded it, but the staff had adopted the affectionate usage of calling him boss, an endearment meant to show him their fierce loyalty. After all, he took them in when they were all fresh out of college and barely writing missing reports on the side of milk cartons. Apparently, he felt as if he were too good to join in with the others.
"Boss—"
Chrollo put his palm in the air, cutting her off. "Don't start, Machi."
Machi sighed, her protest defeated before given the chance. Red hair danced out of the corner of her eye, a tall, muscular man with skin the color of milk standing next to her. His eyes were always mischievous, his irises painted the color of hell fire. It fits him, the fucking devil himself.
"You look ravishing this morning, Machi," he said, his eyes still focusing on Chrollo. "I appreciate a woman who doesn't always need makeup."
She frowned, letting her silence give a disrespectful reply. Chrollo cleared his throat.
"Punctual as always, Hisoka. Thanks for coming in."
"I assume it's a pretty big job for you to come in, a Saturday at that. I'm pretty excited."
Machi rolled her eyes, pondering how Chrollo let him get away with his sarcastic bullshit.
"It is pretty big, so I'll get right to it. As I'm sure the both of you have heard, there was a massacre last night at Blimps in which six people died."
"Yes, how unfortunate," Hisoka dryly interrupted.
"Yes, very." Chrollo gripped his pen tightly, irritation pooling through at the interruption. "If I may continue?"
Hisoka smiled cheekily, his palm pressed outwards to motion the rest of the conversation.
"Well, they caught the man who did it, although it wasn't hard considering he never left the area. His name is Illumi Zoldyk, does that ring a bell?"
Machi and Hisoka shook their heads, with Chrollo responding with a sly grin.
"Of course you haven't, because he's apparently just an average man. Well, that's what you and everyone else thinks. But according to some pretty reputable sources, he may be linked to the council on Kukuroo Mountain."
"Kukurro?" Machi quizzed, her trimmed eyebrow rising high. "No one knows who sits on the council in Kukurro."
"No one knows who sits on the council until now. Illumi is being held downtown, and a buddy of mine at the precinct owes me a favor. So I need you two to go do some serious digging and probe his mind. If he's sitting on the council, we need to be the first to uncover it. I'll be damned if some other gutter rats gets a whiff of this story before The Phantom Spider."
"Okay, boss," Machi responded dutifully, Hisoka smiling at her soldier like ways. "When do we start this, on Monday?"
Chrollo chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh no, no, no, dear Machi. You'll be starting in approximately," he checked his watch, "twenty five minutes. Fifteen, if you catch the train."
"Today?" Machi's mouth pooled her feet on the floor, and she had to pick it up before Chrollo caught the unattractive sight. "That's pretty short notice."
"I believe in you," he winked, and once again she was back on board, her posture straightening up a bit. "And you too, Hisoka."
"You got it, Chrollo." He turned, touching Machi slightly above the elbow. "Let's go, partner."
She winced at the mentioning, waiting for him to wander into the halls. She walked closer to Chrollo, his cologne that smelled of fresh waters pulling her into a hug. She pressed her palms against his desk to prevent herself from drowning in its tempting fumes.
"Boss," she said, her voice at a whisper, "you can't really expect me to work with him. You know I don't agree with his tactics."
Chrollo sighed, leaning back in his chair and tucking his hands behind his head. "I know he has some…questionable ways of going about things, Machi, but you have to admit the man is good. He always gets every ounce of the story in his pieces, and that's not something even seasoned reporters are good at. I wouldn't be sending him into the field if I didn't trust that he'd get me what I need." He sat up, letting his elbows support his weight against the desk. "And I wouldn't trust any other person to handle this job with him other than you. It can only be you, Mach."
Machi felt the heat rise up in her cheeks at the nickname he gave her, and she swallowed hard to dissipate her blush. It was to no avail, as Chrollo flashed his pearly white teeth at her sentiment.
"You know," he chuckled, pushing his body a little bit further on the desk, "Hisoka was right. You do look very pretty this morning."
Damn it, Machi thought as she felt her body coil around his index finger, the place she frequently called home, he's got me again.
Machi rolled down the window, letting the crisp, early morning air invade the pores in her face. It was threatening to rain, as the angry gray clouds enveloped the last streaks of the sea kissed sky. She stuck her head out slightly, anything to escape the toxic fumes that Hisoka was filling the car with. She gagged from the smoke of his cigarette, the poison curdling together in her throat and dripping down like acid. Hisoka laughed at her antics.
"Oh, please, don't act so dramatic. It's just a cigarette."
"It's atrocious, is what it is. Don't you care about what you're putting in your body? Or rather, what you're forcing to be put in mine?"
Hisoka took a long drag, momentarily glancing over at her and taunting her with a puff of smoke. She waved off the ghost as it caressed her face, filling her eyes with sensitive tears. When the smoke cleared, she cut her eyes deeply at him, envisioning his slow demise.
"It is my car, Machi. And a cigarette helps put me in the mood to do an interview."
"I could have taken the train. You all but dragged me to come with you."
"How professional would it look if we showed up separately?" He smiled sinisterly again before rolling down his window and tossing the half smoked stick out into the traffic. "You win, princess. I'll smoke on my own time."
"Thank you," Machi said dryly, rolling the window up and fixating herself properly in her seat. She maneuvered her skirt to face forward, the tiny slit giving Hisoka a small glimpse into her soft thigh. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at her flesh, the temptation to run his fingers down the small bumps on her skin all but too enticing. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"You know, I don't know why you pay so much attention to Chrollo. I doubt that he serves you any real interest."
Machi's cheeks turned the color of cotton candy and she played with her long bangs to distract the weight that Hisoka placed in her belly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on. We're friends; you can be honest with me. And I can be honest with you. You're doing yourself a great disservice."
"We are not friends, so don't go pretending otherwise. We are two reporters doing a job; a job that I could completely handle by myself, if the boss would trust me more."
"Chrollo trusts two things in this world: the betterment of The Phantom Spider and himself. Don't you go pretending otherwise."
Machi turned her head to gaze out the window, Hisoka's words shooting tiny bullets into her chest. She was not about to have this conversation with him, of all people. Especially when it was no secret that he didn't even fully respect Chrollo.
"What's the difference," Hisoka filled the silence, his tongue running over his teeth in consideration, "between a guy like him and a guy like me?"
"Besides the obvious?" Machi responded matter-of-factly, closing her eyes in irritation. "He's more successful than you are."
"Pssh, I could easily take over The Phantom Spider. And if Chrollo doesn't get his head out of his ass and actually show up once in a while, I just may do that. At least I would communicate with my staff directly and not via a computer screen."
"As if we'd let you," Machi cut her eyes towards him, tiny daggers cutting the side of his cheek, "We would never let someone like you take over the boss's company."
"Hmmm," a dangerous smile curved over his mouth, his narrow eyes squinting in mischief, "I'm willing to bet otherwise."
Machi felt her annoyance awaken like a sleeping beast lodged in her body. It coiled through her skin, until it poured out of her mouth after unspoken truths.
"The real difference," she confessed, "is that you're a tiny house cat. Territorial, stubborn and selfish, only moving to the beat of your own idiotic intentions. He is a mighty lion; the leader of the pack. You could never compare."
Hisoka pouted, his milky knuckles turning red as he gripped the steering wheel. "Ouch, you're so cruel."
"Someone has to be."
The ride to the precinct, Machi internally thought, would best be spent in silence.
Illumi Zoldyk did not look like the monster that Machi had internalized.
She had expected a hardened face, full of stories and tragedy and words that exuded from his flesh like a strong cologne. She did not imagine coming meeting with a clean faced adult, his head adorned with beautiful jet black hair that was smoothed into a ponytail. He was handsome, and doubled more as a rich kid turned model than a suspected murderer. But edged in the crevices of his skin -the color of fine china and other breakable goods- were many secrets that left a bitter taste on her tongue.
The closer the duo approached the table, the more Machi was taken aback by the severity of his eyes. They were distant and cold, dark brown- almost black- irises that seemed to take up the entirety of the two craters in his face. Something lay underneath their void; a detachment to reality.
Hisoka's face was animated with amazement; his demeanor screamed that he accepted the challenge of pulling words from places that Illumi wouldn't show the sun. Illumi studied them both, an eyebrow cocked towards their presence.
"I don't need lawyers," he said automatically, his voice low and threatening.
"I beg to differ," Hisoka pulled out the seat for Machi before plopping down beside her, his sharp chin resting on the back of his hand, "but lucky for you, we're not lawyers."
"We're from The Phantom Spider," Machi interjected.
"That tacky tabloid?" Illumi scowled, looking off into the corner. "You should have just said you're lawyers."
"Now, now, no need for hostility, Mr. Zoldyk. We're just here to gather some bits to a story, and you have quite the story to tell." Hisoka's eyes burned into the voids of Illumi's irises, the corners of his mouth curving into a lopsided grin.
"I have nothing to say. You watched the news, I'm sure you can figure it out."
"The news isn't reputable; you and I both know that. For example, they're calling you insane and a monster. But you aren't either of those things, are you Illumi? With a face like that, I suppose you're simply misunderstood."
Machi peered at Hisoka out of the corner of her eye, her face twisted into a disgusted confusion. Are we detectives or reporters? Get in your lane and stay there, Hisoka.
Illumi's eyes hazily wandered back to Hisoka's, appearing to latch on to the line that he was reeling. Be my fish, Illumi. All you have to do is bite the bait. "I believe you are - and excuse my language- bullshitting me. That statement is just as about as believable as you pretending that red hair on your head is natural."
Machi swallowed down the laugh that threatened to escape her throat, amused by the assertiveness that Illumi was throwing towards Hisoka. If he is in the council, I more than believe it.
"I can guarantee you, this hair color is not real. I like to rebirth myself once in a while; it's a part of my charm," he flashed him a toothy smile, one that he saved on drunken Saturday nights at the bar, "And now that we know each other better, maybe you can take what I say verbatim. I'm only here to tell your side of the story, Illumi- can I call you Illumi?"
"You already have."
"Perfect." The word slivered out of Hisoka's mouth like a snake, another indication that he was a demon in crafted sheep's clothing. "Well tell me a little bit about yourself, Illumi. I'm sure there's more to you than meets the eye."
"I am me, and right now I am bored. I'm not sure what exactly you want from me- what did you say your name was?"
"Hisoka." Hisoka leaned forward, his smile dangerous yet inviting, and leveled his head to Illumi's orange collar. "The only thing I want from you is a simple conversation. My partner here, Machi, will be recording what we talk about, if that's all right with you."
"I suppose, but as I stated, I don't know what you want from me." Illumi's eyes darted over to Machi, sizing her up and down. "You're very attractive."
Machi nodded, refusing to play into Illumi's game. He's very careful with his answers; calculated at best. I don't know how we're going to pull anything from him. Maybe I should just jump the gun.
"I appreciate the compliment, but I believe it would be in our best interest if we kept the focus on you, Illumi. Maybe you could start by telling us about your home life, you know, your family."
Illumi's jaw tightened as he swallowed roughly, a lump crawling slowly down his neck until it disappeared under the neon orange fabric. Machi had apparently hit a nerve, causing Illumi to crack under his carefully constructed façade. Hisoka looked at her briefly, letting his eyes radiate his congratulatory message.
"I don't have a family."
"Everyone has a family," Hisoka picked the ball back up, refusing to let Illumi score. He was determined to get this story. "Even if they aren't ideal. Hell, my family could be a part of a circus by now for all I care, but it doesn't change the fact that they exist. Why do you deny them so?"
Illumi's eyes pierced to the ground, silently cursing its existence. "I do not wish to discuss such things."
"I see." Hisoka sat back in his chair and crossed his left leg over the right. He played around with the pen in his hand, clicking and retracting the tip. His lips were pursed as he eyed Illumi carefully. "I'm sure they don't care that you're tucked away in a place like this. An exquisite porcelain doll in a jungle full of beasts. It must be hard for someone like you."
"Someone like me," Illumi repeated, "What does nonsense like that mean?"
"It means that you're pristine; pure. You don't belong here; anyone with a hint of vision can see that. Even the color of your fine skin is contrasting this dreary wall. You deserve to be in a place of rich tones and people waiting on you hand and foot. Have you ever lived such a lavish life, Illumi?"
Machi gripped the tape recorder tighter, her leg shaking slightly in irritation. Why are you coddling this murderer, Hisoka?
"It's possible," Illumi said dazed, "but how could you possibly know that?"
Bingo. "I know a lot of things, Illumi. I know that yes, you killed those people. That's not a secret and you said so yourself. I also know that you didn't intentionally walk in there to do it, I believe you were pushed. A person can only take so much," Hisoka shook his pen swiftly, his fingers punching its sides as he ferociously clicked the tip until ink exploded in his hands, "until he just bursts. And considering that it's been reported that you have no known criminal history, a pretty thing like you just doesn't wake up in the morning and decide to hurt people, does he?"
Illumi's eyes softened as he met the suns in Hisoka's eyes. Machi was tense, awaiting his answer. She didn't agree with half of the bullshit that Hisoka was spewing, including his blatant flirtation with Illumi, but was it possible that he was cracking the mold?
"I have never," Illumi whispered, appearing to talk to a ghost in the room rather than the pair, "hurt anyone for no reason. Everything I do is for a reason; everything I have done is to help those that means the most to me."
"Who means the most to you," Machi said, softening her tone to a motherly one, "Who did you have to protect?"
Illumi's eyes darted back to the wall in defiance, his face stoic as if he realized he said too much. Hisoka turned towards her in agitation, mouthing for her to let him handle it. Machi's shoulders slumped; clearly Hisoka did know what he was doing.
"Illumi," his voice came alive, coercing Illumi to meet his gaze again and lock him in with his hypnotizing eyes. It was easy considering that Illumi appeared to be in a different state of mind, and Hisoka was prepared to do whatever necessary to keep him talking. "I understand exactly what's going on here. I know who you have to protect. You won't tell us about your family because of who they are and the position they hold, but I already know. You've bent over backwards to keep them safe, keep them happy, and I bet you they don't even acknowledge you for it. Is it wrong to assume so?"
Illumi shook his head slowly, his eyes locked into golden irises. "No, it's not wrong to assume so."
"And I bet that hurt, doesn't it?"
"You have no idea. Everything I do is in the name of family, and yet I'm looked at as if I'm horrible."
"You're not horrible," Hisoka reached over and placed his hand over Illumi's stroking his knuckles. Machi looked on in disgust. "Like I said before, you're just misunderstood. But I understand you, Illumi. I know it must be hard to be in the position you are, in such a prestigious family. It must be a lot of pressure."
Illumi's mouth was sealed shut, a thin line sitting directly in the center under his nose. His eyes said everything Hisoka needed to hear, but if they wouldn't escape his lips, then this was all pointless.
"It is a lot of pressure," he said quietly, "and if I had known it would all boil down to this," a tear escaped the side of Illumi's eye, his resolve appearing to break. Machi held her breath, mentally noting how his face appeared strikingly different from when they had first arrived. "I would have just finished what I started so long ago. Killua would have been better for it."
"Finish what?" Machi couldn't help herself, "Who is Killua? Does he have anything to do with Kukurro, Illumi?"
Her words knocked him back to the present, his face scowling again as he snatched his hand back from Hisoka. "This interview is over."
"Illumi, I believe we have so much more to-"
"I said," he scooted his chair back and rose, turning his nose down at Hisoka. "This interview is over. I have nothing more to say. Guard!"
The cell opened as a brute man handcuffed Illumi's hands behind his back. When Illumi disappeared again, Hisoka slammed his hand down on the table. "Dammnit!" He growled, angrily looking over to Machi. "Why did you have to say that? I almost had him!"
Machi raised her hands in defiance. "It just slipped out! He was so close, I was sure he would tell me."
Hisoka ruffled his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath. "It's obvious that he is on the council, but if he doesn't say it then this is a dead end. At least we have something to go off on. That name, Killua."
Machi nodded her head and stood. "It's a start, so I suppose we should grab some coffee and head back. It'll be a long night." She waited for Hisoka to stand before continuing, "Your methods are an absolute mockery to journalism."
He smiled and grabbed his notes. "Possibly, but they got us farther than anything you had to say."
The rain pressed down into Killua's hair, soft droplets apologizing for the invasion of his otherwise dry skin. Killua has forgiven them as he lets them fall with no protection from their shower.
Gon eyed him as they walked hand in hand, his gaze desperately trying to figure out the sentences that paint themselves underneath the ocean inside his irises. Killua walked with his head down, studying the cracks in the cement as their silent strut continued; the rain acting as their only melancholy soundtrack.
Gon squeezed his hand, a silent message pouring from his fingers into Killua's palm. Killua looked up, the message magnetically heard loud and clear. His eyes were clouded with emotion, and not even his open eyed stare into the sun could brighten them.
Gon flashed him the best smile he could manage, and Killua mirrored one back, but it was clear that his tongue would not betray his sentiment. There were secrets that were locked away in his cage of a mouth and Gon wondered what-or who- held the key to pry it open.
"I was thinking," he said, voice colliding with the rain, "that I could ask Aunt Mito if you could stay the rest of the weekend. I think she'll be visiting my grandmother until Monday."
"You don't have to do that," Killua's head kept its low position, the weight in his chest crushing down like a thousand bricks, "I don't want to bombard you with my problems."
"Hey," Gon stopped, forcing Killua to pay attention to the sentiment etched in his face, "haven't you learned by now that I care about your problems? You could never bombard me."
Killua sucked in air through his teeth, the sharp sound stinging his gums. "You say that because you don't know what all of this means."
"I don't care about that. I mean, I care about it if it affects you, but if you think that this will magically push me away or something, then you haven't been paying attention." Gon tugged on the sleeve of Killua's hoody, their foreheads coming together in an unspoken treaty. The heat that flooded Gon's face emptied into Killua's, generating a warm smile from the silver fox. Their breaths visibly mingled against the gray abyss. "I could never do that to you, Killua. You mean too much."
Killua's eyes locked on Gon's amber orbs, the truth in his words embedded in their hue. Killua imagined the brush strokes against his canvas as he mentally painted a picture of their intensity, but no color could capture their beauty. "Thank you," he said lowly, closing his eyes to keep himself composed. "For keeping me sane."
"There's no need," Gon caressed the side of Killua's face, his fingers wiping away the wet trails of rain to find the truth in his skin, "to thank me for something I should be doing. You have got to keep up, Killua."
Killua chuckled lightly, his eyes opening to a half lidded position to paint Gon's face in his mind. He pressed his lips to his, an electric sting tingling through to his teeth. Gon reciprocated the gesture, passing along all of his emotions into Killua's mouth.
Killua pulled away, missing the warmth as soon as he was free from the hold, smiling slightly at the heat coiling in his belly. "Okay, I'll come along."
"You will?" Gon eyed him curiously, a comical accusation expressing on his face, "was that all it took to convince you?"
"No," his intentions ribboning his words, "but if I get to have that to myself this weekend, then how could I say no?"
The house was empty upon their arrival; the ghost of Mito's recently departed presence lingered in the air.
She had left Gon a note, sitting next to a pot of spaghetti that was prepared for him.
Gon,
I left already; I thought you would be back by now. Please give your grandmother's house a call so that I know that you're okay. You're going to make my hair gray with worry.
I made some spaghetti to get you through the weekend (the good spaghetti and not that junk you insist on getting at that atrocious café.)
I'll be back Monday evening, take care of yourself and eat properly!
Love,
Aunt Mito.
Gon couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped his lips. Even through her letters, Mito's personality still shined through. He recalled Leorio reading them in a love stricken teenage phase-one that apparently had held over into his adult hood.
He turned around to see Killua studying photo frames that decorated the top of his mantle. Gon hesitated before approaching, tucking in secrets under his tongue so that he could swallow them when Killua wasn't looking.
"Who is this?" Killua pointed to a shadowed picture in the far back. It was apparent that his stoic expression was to be hidden as toothy smiles of Gon stacked in front like dominos before they fall. "You look just like him."
Gon nestled the answer that he wanted to give Killua in his mouth, washing it around from cheek to cheek before letting it spill out. Hopefully that way, by the time it came out, it was watered down and poised.
"That's my dad." It came out simplistic, void of any urgency or emotion. Killua turned slightly and stared at him, a question coloring his face.
"You've never mentioned your parents before. I thought it was just Aunt Mito."
"It is." The answers to Killua's unspoken questions cloaked itself tightly around Gon's abdomen, restricting his free will to breathe. If he wasn't careful, he would suffocate and be responsible for the cleanup. Get it together, Gon. "Aunt Mito is my guardian-well, she's pretty much my mother. My dad isn't in the picture."
"Clearly," Killua turned back to the metaphoric picture that lay in front of him; so many pictures of Gon and Mito sprawled in their home and his father was a lone wolf who slept in the black shadows. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, if you don't want to. I was just curious."
"It's not that, Killua, it's just-" the screeching ringing of the phone cut Gon off, much to his approval. He felt the relief blanket him in comfort as he apologetically smiled at Killua. "Be right back, it's probably Mito." He flew out of the room at such ferocity that Killua was left with the dust of unresolved angst falling through the spaces in between his fingers.
I wonder, he inquired, studying the darkened picture again, what it is about the topic that makes him that frazzled? Is that the story?
Killua plopped down in the sofa, feeling his weight sink in to the cushions. He let out a long sigh and drew his head back against the pillows, letting the feelings that he neglected wash over him finally. How could you be so stupid, Illumi? I'm not sure if I'm surprised or disappointed, but do you understand what you have just done? Do you even care?
As he lost himself in his troubled thoughts, Gon walked back into the room, taking a seat on the empty place next to Killua. He shifted slightly, placing an elbow on the back of the couch and resting his head on his head, facing him. Killua stared at the ceiling as if he were mapping out phantom constellations that littered about. Gon took in the sight, wanting to dig deeply inside of Killua and breathe life back into his soul. As if he had the power to fix when he himself is broken.
"Killua," he treaded lightly, "do you want to talk about it?"
Killua shook his head before turning and capturing Gon's gaze, his fatigue mapped under his eyes like art work. He forced a small smile to let Gon know he was all right, even if every time he breathed it felt like fire was dancing in his lungs.
"On Monday," he breathed, "I know that I'll have to deal with this. I'll go home and it'll be written on the walls like graffiti. There'll be no escaping it then. But for now," he grabbed Gon's palm and brought it to his lips, imprinting his name on the flesh that covered it, "I want to take a vacation from all things Zoldyk. For now, I just want to be Killua, who gets to have some time with Gon."
Gon smiled, removing his palm to play with the silk of Killua's hair. "That sounds fantastic. Mito called; she just couldn't wait to make sure I'm alive. I told her that I stayed over at Kurapika's."
"Does she know that I'm here too?"
Gon nodded, a peaceful smile stealing his mouth. "Aunt Mito likes you. She says you're good for me."
Killua pressed his lips to his skin again, lingering longer past the normalcies. "Little does she know," he spoke against the skin, "that it's the other way around."
"You're cute," Gon smiled as he closed his eyes, "I never would have thought you could say such cute things. You're so emo at heart."
Killua chuckled, the vibrato making its way to Gon's ear and sleeping there so that he could listen to it as he went to sleep. "You're an idiot, Freecs, but I dig it." He sighed again, leaning back on the couch, his fingers still laced with Gon's like chains, resting on top of his chest. "I wish Monday didn't have to come at all."
"I bet. I wouldn't want to go home to that either."
"Well, yeah…it's that and," Killua stopped, carefully choosing the words that he knew would hurt the teen sitting next to him.
"What? I don't like that tone, Killua."
He took in a deep breath, his cheeks filling up like a chubby infant, before releasing it as if were a poisonous gas. "On Monday, I have to return to my old school."
Gon's hand dropped from their embrace, his body scooting closer until his knee poked daggers into Killua's thigh. His facial expression was one that Killua did want to engrain in his memory, so he kept his gaze focused above.
"What do you mean have to? Why are you going back anyways?"
"Because," the truth to that question made its way to the front of Killua's lips, but he tucked it into his cheek, a lie spiraling past it, "I just have to."
"That's not enough of a reason, Killua. I can't accept that."
"My mother," he began slowly, "is forcing me to do it. She and my father talked the other morning and I have no choice."
Gon's eyes were opened in disbelief, his face the epitome of what happens when the sun sleeps behind the moon. "That's not the Killua I know. The Killua I know is more defiant than that."
"The Killua you know doesn't have a choice."
"Killua," Gon's voice was firm, yet gentle, an approach to coax the honesty that slept in Killua's brain, "it can't be that simple. There's something you're not telling me."
"I'm telling you all that I can tell you Gon; all that I know. Anything outside of that, I can't. If I could," he finally turned, his eyes shifting until they settle on the humanity that was lodged in Gon's irises, "then I would tell you."
Gon lifted his pinky finger, his face hardened. "You have to promise, Killua."
Killua looked at the finger that challenged him, lingering in the air like an unspoken threat. "Are you seriously making me pinky promise?"
Gon snatched Killua's pinky with his own, coiling around it like thread, no intentions to let go. "I take them seriously. So you have to promise me that if there is anything else, you will tell me the moment that you know."
Killua swallowed hard, hoping that his true feelings wouldn't break his resolve. It wouldn't exactly be a lie. "I promise," he whispered, "that anything I know, you will know too."
This seemed to appease Gon, his face settling into a natural grin that Killua dreamed about a night. "Good, now you have to keep it or swallow a thousand needles."
"How old are you again, Gon?"
Gon chuckled, his pinky still intertwined with Killua's. "My Aunt Mito and I pinky promise all of the time. We Freecs don't mess around with that."
"Whatever you say." Killua looked down at his lap, another memory surfacing. His face betrayed his resolve and Gon sighed when he noticed the change in demeanor.
"What now, Killua? It hasn't even been five minutes."
"There's just one more thing, Gon. And it's pretty terrible, but you have to promise you won't get mad."
Gon closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Go ahead, I'm listening."
"After high school, there is a chance that, I'll have to marry Rozlyn."
The silence that engulfed the air threatened to suffocate them both.
Gon sat still, his gaze burning a hole in Killua's cheek. Killua's stoic face remained glued to the carpet under his feet, as if they were posing for a painting. A small moan escaped Gon's lips, the miniscule sound adding to the already tense environment.
"You can't," his said, voice thick, "you just can't."
"Gon-"
"No," Gon's face dropped with a voice barely above a whisper, his pinky pressing harder into Killua's flesh leaving behind angry pink marks, "No. Killua, I can live without you going to the same high school. It would suck, but I could do it. But there's no way I could live with that."
Killua's stomach felt heavy as if he was being punched. The severity of Gon's tone was crippling. He expected him to get mad, not sound broken.
"Killua, you have to tell them that you can't."
"I tried, Gon."
"Try harder!" Gon's voice climbed several octaves, his balled hands punching down in his lap creating an angry sound. He breathed deeply, trying to maintain some ounce of dignity. But how can he do that, when he's already jumped off of the cliff as if he's insane?
"Gon," Killua turned his head, hot tears flashing in his eyes before he blinked them away, "if you really understood, then you would know that I have—"
"Don't say that again, Killua!" This time, tears are racing down Gon's cheeks like lava, and Killua doesn't need to turn to see it. The quavering in his voice gave it away and Killua felt a choke in his throat. "Don't tell me that you have to. Why," his voice broke completely and Killua wanted to reach out and glue it back together, "why did you even catch me if you were going to let me fall anyways?"
"It's not like that," Killua stated ashamed, "I don't want to hurt you, Gon."
"This hurts Killua. You're sitting here telling me that you're going to marry someone else? Marry her? Someone you don't even know? Where does that leave me, Killua? We graduate in a year! I know that we aren't anything official, but," Gon stopped, taking a deep breath in composition. "I'm sorry."
Killua turned briskly, shock layering his face. "You're sorry? Why are you apologizing, idiot?"
"Because," Gon looked at him with sincerity, a river pouring out of his eyes and staining his cheeks, "maybe I'm not being fair. Maybe I'm involved too deeply in this, and you never told me that you wanted me in that way. So I'm sorry that I'm being unfair."
"Gon-"
"No, Killua. I'm sorry. We kissed and, then last night at Kurapika's, and I always tell you how much you mean to me, and I didn't realize I was putting pressure on you. I'm so selfish sometimes. I love someone and I smother them with my love and they pull away, so maybe I loved you too hard before you were ready and-"
Killua pressed a finger tightly to Gon's lips to lock in the secrets that were spilling out. His eyes were glazed over, and he blinked to gain some sense of focus. "What did you just say?"
The apples of Gon's cheeks never looked as ripe as he realized his confession. He wanted to pull the words back inside and cage them like the wild beasts that they were.
"Gon," Killua's voice was firm and unmoving, "What did you just say?"
Gon looked bashfully away, now afraid to mutter the words that had shown up uninvited. Now they circled around them like fireflies, reminding of their presence and unforgiving in their weight. It was too late to take it back.
"I said," he looked at Killua again, swallowing before speaking, "that I love you."
It was all Killua needed to hear.
He replaced his finger with his mouth, his tongue forcing Gon's lips apart and searching for other secrets that he kept inside of the spaces of his teeth. Gon struggled to keep up, his hands madly clutching on to Killua's shirt, pulling him closer with impatience. Their bodies threatened to collide in to one atom, and neither cared if they combusted from the explosion.
Killua explored the insides of Gon's mouth anxiously, as if he had never tasted sweet freedom before. All of the answers to his troubles were spilling into his hands like running water and he rushed to scoop it back up.
Gon moaned as Killua painted over Gon's tongue with his own, his hands moving over sculpted chests and toned abdomens. Gon tasted of the sweet nectar of a melon and Killua planned on savoring every last drop.
He pulled back swiftly, watching the intricately crafted sculpture underneath him struggle to catch his breath. Gon's lips were swollen, face flushed, and Killua felt dizzy as he marveled his creation of a beautiful mess.
Gon pressed his lips back on Killua's, disliking the way the draft of the room felt when he left his body. Now that he had seen what happened when fire collided with ice, he couldn't go back to being a lone element.
Gon's fingers fumbled against Killua's clothing, messy and tangled and lost but with a purpose, stopping as soon as he reached the buckle of his belt. Killua slowly pulled his lips away, sucking on Gon's bottom lip before looking down at his hand.
"Gon," he breathed, voice low and deep and aroused, "do you know what you're doing? With your hand, do you know what you're doing?"
"No," Gon whispered, "I don't. I've never done anything like this before, but it feels so natural. It has to be you, Killua. It can only be you."
Killua smiled, biting his lips at the radiant glow that became Gon's face. "I've never done anything like this before either."
"Then let's," Gon reached out for another small kiss, "venture to the unknown together."
Killua pressed his forehead against Gon's, his breath creating tiny sparks against Gon's lips, his hands gripping the back of emerald black hair and pushing it forward. "Tell me again."
Gon settled his eyes steady, wanting Killua to feel everything that lie dormant beneath tanned skin. "I love you, Killua."
"I love you too, Gon."
The corners of Gon's mouth stretched so wide that they threatened to stick that way, glowing brighter than the celestial sphere that was setting. His hand reached up to caress the side of Killua's face, touching him as if would dissipate into smoke right in front of his eyes.
"Let's go to my room, Killua."
By the time they lay in the comfort of Gon's bed, clothes were already detached and lips were already exploring. Killua found out that his name was permanently drawn on Gon's skin, and he tasted it every time his tongue danced on the flesh. Gon's fingers laced in his hair, completely able to lose himself in the pleasurable bliss.
Killua continued to map out the stars on Gon's chest, tracing every constellation of his nipples to his belly button. Gon's hips arched upwards as he teased his waistline, his underwear still in an unnecessary predicament. Killua rose back up and wrote his name again, this time on Gon's tongue, marking his spot so that no other could nestle in its cave and seep out of his lips. It was like Gon said, it can only be you.
His hand made its way downward, sneaking past the tight elastic waistline of his briefs, softly running his finger over the tip of Gon's bulge. Gon broke at the butterfly touch, his mouth temporarily leaving its locked home to create a sweet sound that makes Killua's heart beat faster.
Killua used it as motivation, his palm circling around the base with just enough room to move it up and down. He teased, going slowly uuuup and doooown until Gon whimpered, urging him to move faster. The tip was slicked with preconceived wetness, and Killua used it as lubrication so that he didn't hurt him with his swiftness.
Gon moaned louder, Killua's name coming out in hushed murmurs as if his name was a secret he didn't want to defile. Killua locked his lips around Gon's bottom, his hand never stopping its crescendo. Gon's hips met his movements, his body being lit like fireworks. Killua knew it was only a matter of time before he exploded in the sky, leaving a colorful trail to find him in case he got lost in nirvana.
Killua became so fixated on Gon's own pleasure that he failed to notice a hand slip through the slit in his boxers, grabbing ahold of his own erection and repeating the same mannerisms. He froze against the heated epithelium of Gon's lips, his body quickly adjusting to the warm softness of Gon's hand.
They began to breathe into each other's mouths, each one relishing in the delight of the pleasure, the rapidness of hands going up and down increasing in speed.
"Wait, Gon," Killua forced out breathlessly, biting his climax back and threatening his body to listen, "I don't want to come yet."
"Why not," Gon ran his tongue down the curve in Killua's neck, causing him to shiver, "don't you like this Killua?"
"I love this," he whispered, "but I want to know what it's like to be inside you."
Gon's eyes widened, the apparent hesitation of being entered as a virgin resonating clear. But the more that he thought about it, the more he wondered what kind of bliss he could taste when Killua and he were connected as one?
He nodded his head, kissing Killua again before turning over on his stomach. "I'm ready," he breathed against the sheets.
Killua could not force back a laugh, reaching down to kiss in between his shoulder blades. "I don't think it works like that, Gon."
Gon looked back, innocence swimming in his irises. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I would hurt you, I think, if I just did that. I think you have to be prepared."
"Oh, I'm plenty prepared."
"Not like that, idiot. I mean," he put a finger in his mouth, letting his saliva moisten it before leaning down to the cusp of Gon's ear, "I have to prepare you."
He started off slowly, pressing against his opening before gradually putting his finger in. Gon winced underneath his weight, and Killua kissed the back of his neck for reassurance, running his tongue to his shoulder blade. Gon relaxed afterwards, as Killua guided more of his middle finger. He relished how warm he felt, his bulge throbbing at anticipation of finding home inside of him.
Gon moaned, adjusting to the familiarity. Killua was a bit of a gambling man, and he treaded the water by pressing another finger to the opening. Gon winced again at the intrusion, but relaxed as Killua gave his other finger company. Gon was losing himself now, his mind becoming hazy as colors paraded underneath his eyelids. Gon became Killua's canvas, his fingers creating brushstrokes to create the ravishing art.
"Killua," Gon was untangling, waiting for the final tug of the string that would leave him unraveled at the seams, "I want you."
Killua graced his skin with another kiss before turning Gon's head sideways and kissing him deeply. He lifted himself up, unable to contain himself any longer. "Are you ready?"
"Please, I'm ready."
That was more than he needed to hear.
Killua had never done drugs; never saw the appeal of being clouded in a high, but maybe now he understood.
Gon felt like home, his body had made the necessary adjustments for him to cuddle away from the dangers of the world, and it was a welcoming escape.
He had never felt this heat before, not even when he first looked into the sun and wasn't blinded by the light. Not when the moon settled and he was forced to sleep under the fire of his emotions. This heat was more than a bodily arousal; every inch of him, even the insides where Gon's name slept so peacefully, was screaming for more of Gon, if it were possible.
He wanted to breathe him, inhale his intoxicating fumes and become dizzy with the lightheadedness that engulfed his head. He didn't care anymore how much it would hurt on the way down; he would break himself if it meant that falling would land him here all over again.
He loved him; his mind said it with such clarity and rawness and relief that he said it over and over again until he saw the words like neon lights. The harder he thrust inside, the more vivid the words became. Gon was a maddening fool under his weight, his hand crushing the sheets in a balled fist, the other wrapped tightly around Killua.
Killua couldn't stop even if he wanted to, and it wasn't even the sex. It was the fact that it was sex, with Gon.
Gon's name rolled around on his tongue, every letter leaving a sweet taste behind, coating his pink snake like honey. He couldn't keep it to himself, and his mouth stretched open as it spilled out like it was the only word he was trained to know. It came out so marvelously, as if he -and only he- was made to say it.
Gon mumbled his name in retaliation, his climax just teetering over the edge. "Killua, I can't hold back anymore, is that okay?"
"Together," Killua said in between his three letter phrase, "let's do it together." He dropped his weight and wrapped his hand around Gon's pulsating erection, moving swiftly to bring him to the border with him. It wasn't long before the white flashes consumed the both of them, their bodies having their fill and collapsing from a pleasured exhaustion.
Killua removed himself, laying on the side of Gon and stroking his face, Gon's half lidded eyes smiling with serenity. He kissed his forehead, and then down to his lips, and to anywhere else he felt like he needed to taste.
"Killua," Gon sleepily said, his eyes blinking slower and slower, "that was amazing."
"Good," he said as his lips parted from his cheek, "and ditto."
"But," Gon's eyes fluttered open once more, becoming more serious, "what are we going to do?"
Killua looked up at him, wrapping his arm underneath Gon's neck and bringing his body closer with the other locking his waist tight. He pressed his chin into Gon's hair, circling him into a hug that was safe and territorial.
"Don't worry," he breathed with unsure certainty, "we'll figure it out."
FUN FACT: THIS CHAPTER TITLE WAS ORIGINALLY GOING TO BE CALLED KILLUA & GON, BUT THAT'S JUST A LITTLE TOO OBVIOUS. :P
JUST WANT TO REMIND EVERYONE, THAT THESE SWEET, SWEET BABIES, ARE 18.
BTW, OOOOH….ITS A LITTLE HOT IN HERE ;)
IN ALL SERIOUSNESS, I WAS DEBATING IF I WANTED TO INCLUDE THIS CHAPTER IN THE FIC, BECAUSE I WANTED TO FOCUS MORE ON THE LOVE THAN THE SEXUAL. BUT, JUST LIKE ANYONE IN LOVE, EXPRESSING HOW MUCH YOU FEEL ABOUT A PERSON ONLY TEETERS INTO A MORE PHYSICAL ASPECT. AND LETS BE HONEST, THERE'S NO WAY THAT THESE GUYS CAN KEEP THEIR HANDS OFF OF EACH OTHER. (PLUS I LIVE FOR KILLUGON LOVE, SO I HAD TO PROVIDE SOME FLUFF. WHY MAKE THESE BABIES WAIT ANY LONGER TO DECLARE IT, THEY HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS GOING ON.)
I WANT TO TAKE THIS TIME OUT RIGHT NOW TO THANK EVERYONE FOR THEIR COMMENTS. IVE READ THEM ALL, AND YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS. IM NOT SURE IF YOU ALL ARE FIC WRITERS YOURSELVES, BUT GETTING CRITIQUE ON YOUR WORK IS THE BEST. NOT ONLY IS IT SOOOO DELIGHTFUL TO HEAR SOMEONE APPRECIATES YOUR WORK, BUT ITS ALSO MOTIVATION FOR ME TO KEEP BUSTING OUT THESE CHAPTERS FOR YOU GUYS. (MAYBE A LITTLE MOTIVATION FOR YOU TO KEEP COMMENTING, EH?) ;)
WE'RE NOT TOOOOO FAR FROM THE ENDING, BUT STILL A NICE WAY TO GO. THERE WAS GOING TO BE MORE TO THIS CHAPTER, BUT ITS ALREADY SO LONG, (WORD COUNT 9,300+!) AND I WANTED TO GIVE THESE GUYS THEIR…AHEM…TIME TO SHINE.
ALSO, HOORAY FOR HISOKA AND MACHI AND WHOEVER THE HELL ELSE WANTS TO SHOW UP FROM THE TROUPE. (HUGE HISOKA FAN, FTW!) TO ANYONE WHO ASKED IF HE'S GOING TO BE AROUND, HE'S HERE, AND PLAN ON HIM BEING IMPORTANT.
OKAY IM SORRY FOR THE LONG RANT, ILL LET YOU GUYS GO NOW. PLEASE COMMENT YOUR CARES AND CONCERNS, AND I HOPE I DID THIS CHAPTER SOME JUSTICE (PROB MY FAV SO FAR) AND I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT.
TILL NEXT TIME, FRIENDS,
-BITCHII~USA
