Ten

Secrets

If Machi had things her way, she would have spent the weekend cuddled in a blanket on her couch, a book nestled in her lap and her lips still tingling from the sweet wine she kept in her cupboard. When her eyes became dizzy from the black and white print, she would've ordered a movie in- a romantic one of course, the kind that she pretended to scoff at with Feitan- and imagined herself replacing the main character, a love stricken Chrollo desperately trying to win her affection.

Instead, she had spent the rest of her 'time off' under the sickening weight of Hisoka, going back and forth about angles for their story that they hadn't come up with yet. Her head was pounding with the unescapable loop of finding anything about Illumi Zoldyk, and a half bottle of Tylenol didn't seem to ease the tension that lined the layer of skin on her face.

It was now Monday morning, and they were no closer to any answers than they were in their interview with Illumi on Saturday. Machi looked up from the computer, eyes glancing with tension over at the fire haired comrade across the desk. Hisoka's eyes were married with the light, his yellow irises glowing more profoundly as he read the text in front of him.

If he wasn't such a piece of trash, he might actually be considered to be attractive.

Hisoka looked up, meeting her gaze and smiling as if the words in her head had trickled down to his computer screen. "You know, Machi, when you look at me like that-"

"Don't," she interrupted, lips pursing, "whatever crap you're going to say, just don't."

He shrugged, although his eyes never left hers, and placed a finger on his lips. "My secret, then."

She rolled her eyes, shaking off the sarcasm that littered her thoughts and decided best that dealing with Hisoka meant that she should practice the art of silence. Instead she furiously typed into the search engine, spelling out the familiarity that was Illumi's surname. The page reloaded, words blanketed in purple and taunting her, a reminder that she had already been there and done that. She sighed, defeat plaguing her shoulders, and pushed back against the chair.

"I'm beginning to think," she said softly, "that this is pointless."

"Don't give up so soon," Hisoka replied, his gaze still studying the screen, "that's not the kind of journalist you'd want to be."

"Who the hell are you to tell me what kind of journalist I need to be?" Machi crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, striking daggers into the sharp lines of Hisoka's forehead.

"The kind that gets information because he doesn't give up. Besides you never know when..." his voice trailed off, his eyes illuminating the room as the shot open. "Aaaah."

Machi's curiosity was aroused as she straightened up in her chair, her lips parted slightly. "What? Did you find something?"

"A small something," the corners of his mouth twisted upwards in a sly grin, "but something none the less. You see? My tactics are good for something."

"Well?" Machi motioned her hands forward, a gesture for continuance, "what is it? Don't make me wait."

"I love it when you're assertive," he slithered, "It makes you so sexy."

"Out with it already, Hisoka."

"Well," he turned his laptop to her, a photo plastered on the screen, "the name that he gave us finally provided a match."

"Killua? I thought you said it was a dead end?"

"I thought so too," he commented through pursed lips, "but I got a nagging feeling that I needed to dig a little deeper. Something I'm sure your lover boy Chrollo isn't accustomed to. I get the feeling he never has the sense to dig deeper with any of his tools."

Machi blushed the lightest shade of pink as anger pirouetted across her face. "One day," she threatened, "I am going to gather all my energy and punch you in that smug face of yours."

"Please," he smiled, "don't threaten me with a good time. Anyways, I didn't find much on Mr. Killua; his records are just as bit as dry as Illumi's. But," he pointed at the screen, his sharp nail pin pointing the text underneath the photo, "it appears that Killua recently enrolled in Yorkshin High School. And the school keeps a class roster online for public consumption. Funny thing is, many people tried to petition for the school to keep that information tucked away for privacy reasons. But Yorkshin, being the eccentric little plum of a school it is, decided against it -even battled it out in court- so that students can look back on their time spent there forever. A virtual yearbook, of sorts, it dates all the way back to 1972."

"Well," Machi breathed, astounded, "thank god for the law." Her eyes skimmed over the print, squinting to read the tiny text. "Senior, blah blah blah, no clubs, no activities, just transferred two months ago. Kid must not care about his future much."

"Or, he can't put himself out there too much. Which is understandable if you're part of such a mysterious family."

"So what are you thinking? Another son? The brother of Illumi?"

"Precisely." Hisoka ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the sweetness of the truth coating the top of his tongue. "Killua Zoldyk. Not a common last name, so I'm more than positive he's at least a brother."

Machi lifted her hands in the air, feeling the satisfaction crawl against her limbs like spiders. "If he is, then we've got a hell of a lead. Who better to interview than the brother himself?"

"Well," Hisoka stood, glancing at the clock on the wall and tucking his laptop back in its bag, "school starts in about 45 minutes. We should hurry along, if we want to catch him before he has English."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Gon's hand squeezed tightly against Killua's, a plea for him to stay leaping from his fingers and into the knuckles of Killua's flesh. Killua sighed, avoiding the hypnosis of honeycomb eyes, instead focusing on a bird as it sang above them.

"I don't want to do this, but-"

"You have to," Gon said somberly, "I know." A low rumble thickened in the back of his throat, which he tried to hide with a smile, but the sound resonated in Killua's ears, forcing him to turn his way.

"Hey," he said softly, lifting his chin, "don't do that."

"I can't help it, Killua. This weekend was….amazing…and it sucks knowing that I can't have you here with me."

A smile softly lined the corners of Killua's mouth, hearing Gon reiterate the same sentiment that had carved its way into his bones and radiated throughout his skin with every step. "It won't be that bad, I promise." He leaned closer so that his head rested against the top of Gon's hair, tiny black follicles tickling his chin. "You just have to make it through today."

"Just today?" Gon replied somberly, "Is your mother going to allow just today?"

"Fuck her," Killua spat, his head lowering to meet Gon's gaze again, his eyes spilling all of his words before his lips could form around the syllables, "I'm going to do it."

"Do what?"

"I'm going to tell her that I'm not going along with her shitty plan. I'm going to tell her she can go to hell, for all I care. I'm going to tell her…anything to get her off of my back so that I can get back to the things that matter."

"And that is?"

Killua chuckled, playfully patting Gon on the back of the head. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Gon's, a promise sleeping between their flesh. "You're such an idiot, you know that? As if I have to tell you again. Either that, or you're completely vain."

"Maybe a little bit of both?" Gon laughed, his breath tingling against Killua's lips. "You said things that matter. I know I'm one of them, but what's the other?"

Killua's eyes popped open, unaware that his words curled out of his mouth like vomit, making a mess out of a situation that he adamantly tried to keep pristine. He searched the inside of his mouth for the answer, even though the truth sat at the opening to his throat, ready to unveil itself.

"My sister," he said matter of factly, "I need to take care of her."

Gon nodded, as if the answer was one he was expecting all along. Perhaps, he knew it was there, the topic nestling between them whenever their bodies touched, the question leaping from Gon's mouth and landing into Killua's chest. "I never asked, because I didn't want to violate your privacy, but I have to know, Killua. Why is she hidden like that?"

Killua sucked in the air, tasting the cold morning that blanketed them. "I feel it," he mumbled, "No; I know that the time is coming when you'll have all of the answers you want. But right now, I can't answer that. I'm just not ready to talk about it. You just have to trust me, and when the time comes, you have to promise me that you won't abandon me."

"I would never," Gon stated, his words carrying the weight of bricks, "do that to you. I would never abandon anyone that I love."

Something lay dormant under his speech, a taste that was familiar and distant all at once, and Killua wasn't sure why it struck a chord inside of him. He had a feeling - one that was coiling deeply in his belly and moving around like a snake - that he wasn't the only one who was nearing the end of keeping secrets. The truth was swimming in the black pit of Gon's eye, and Killua could almost see a portrait of a pained memory, but Gon blinked and gone with it were the remains of mystery.

The bell rang, interrupting their secluded moment, and only then did they notice the loud chatter of students as they assembled into Yorkshin. Gon looked towards the entrance of the school and inhaled deeply, pulling Killua by the waist and burying his face into his neck. "Well," he mumbled into his pale flesh, "I guess I'd better get going."

Killua returned the embrace, wishing badly that he could cross the threshold of the entrance and gag at the atrocity of lemon floor cleaner smells. Instead he settled for the woodsy scent of Gon, hugging him tighter. "Wait for me after school, okay? I'll be by the tree in back, and we can go hang out. I just have to talk with my parents first and figure out all of this Illumi mess."

Gon brought his face to his, the sun peeking through the pores of his cheeks. It brought out a natural smile from Killua, warming him from the brisk almost-November winds. "Well then," Gon said through his curved lips, "that will give me something to look forward to."

Killua instinctively pressed his lips to Gon's, letting the heat from his skin stain his pale lips, tasting the sweetness of his tongue. He savored it, tucking it away in his cheeks so that he could taste him when they parted. He pulled away, squeezing the hug once more. "Just have a good day, okay? And tell Zushi I said hello."

"Will do." Gon slowly released himself from the embrace, until the last contact they had were their fingers slipping away from the others. He walked a short distance before turning around, his face speaking before his mouth parted. "I love you, Killua. And everything will be okay."

"I'm glad you think so, Gon. And I love you too."

Gon smiled brightly, as if it was the first time Killua had fixed his lips around the phrase, even though they spent the weekend saying the words as if they were infants learning it for the first time. He watched him as he ascended the stairs, studying his white shirt and native sack until he blended in with the rest of the students.

He sighed, feeling a piece of him walking away too, but remembered the mission that he had to keep.

"Killua?"

He turned at the unfamiliar voice towards a man and a woman that stood a short distance from the school. He squinted his eyes and tried to go over in his memory if he had seen them before, realizing that they were new faces.

"Killua Zoldyk?" The man spoke, his flamboyant red hair swaying in the wind and intruding his golden irises. Even from this distance, Killua could see that they were as golden as the sun when it slept for the day, before father moon came to illuminate the darkness.

"Do I know you?" Killua said.

"Not yet," the man stepped closer, the light-pink haired woman at his side mimicking his steps. She was carrying a notebook and cradling a pen at her thigh. "But I hope that will change soon."

"Look man," Killua said darkly, his walls rising at the risk of a threat, "I don't know what you want, but I don't have anything for you."

"Please excuse his bad manners," the woman intervened, her voice soothing with honey, "we're not here on bad purposes. We just wanted to talk to you."

"About what? You're approaching me like you're the police or something."

"Police? No, nothing like that. Perhaps," she smiled, raising her hand like a white flag of truce, "we should introduce ourselves. My name is Machi, and this is my partner Hisoka. We're reporters with The Phantom Spider."

"The Phantom Spider?" Killua rubbed his chin, "You mean the tabloid?"

"We're more than a tabloid," Hisoka spoke, smiling in a way that put Killua on edge, "we consider ourselves a news outlet, except we don't associate with the boring columns that you can find in The Yorkshin Gazette."

"Uh huh," Killua replied, "so what does this have to do with me?"

"Nothing," Machi said, stepping closer and oozing out a comforting embrace, "well, I should say nothing yet. We're here to ask you some questions about an Illumi Zoldyk."

Killua froze, the words splashing his face and burning his skin like acid. There's no way they could know. He tried his best to put on his poker face, using information that was already available to the public.

"You mean that monster from Blimps? Why do you want to talk to me about that?"

"That monster from Blimps," Hisoka repeated, the sentence sprawling out like cool marble over his tongue, "is that all he is to you?"

Killua swallowed harshly, stepping to the side to escape them. Machi moved slightly, appearing to shift her weight unto the other foot, but blocking him in. Whatever they wanted, whatever they knew, they were adamant about getting it from Killua. He felt his neck tense and sweat beads appear at the back of his hairline. He touched the area swiftly, as if he could contain the perspiration.

"Why would he be anything more?"

"Well for starters," Hisoka looked down at the paper in front of him, pretending to soak in the information that he already knew, "you two have the same last name. And I don't go door to door or anything, but I'm willing to bet a year's salary that the name Zoldyk isn't very common. In fact, it's so uncommon, that you're the only thing that came up when I searched for it. I mean, other than Illumi's crimes, of course."

Killua felt his tongue swell with a lie, but when he went to part his lips, he realized they were glued shut. Lying, or rather not telling the whole truth, was affixed to him like the prints on his thumb, so why was he having such a difficult time doing it now?

Was it because, maybe, he was tired from running from something that always followed closely behind?

Hisoka took his silence as a positive, probing further. "To be quite honest, I would have never known to search for you if Illumi hadn't told me about you himself."

"What do you mean?" Killua whispered, his thoughts in a daze.

"Well, Machi and I went to interview him over the weekend. Saturday, to be specific. And boy, did he have a lot to say. Not much about Blimps, but about so many other things. Like his home life, his family secrets, and well, you."

Machi shuffled, feeling the same pressure she felt in the jail when Hisoka worked his -charm? - to get the answers he needed. She wasn't used to having to sweeten her words on the edge of the truth to get information; she relied solely on the 'just the facts, ma'am' of journalism. Maybe Hisoka went to a different college and learned different tactics, and she still wasn't sure which line she wanted to cradle.

Killua's mouth moved without his permission, speaking before he had time to assess. "What did he say?"

Hisoka smiled slyly. Gotcha. "He kept talking about how important it was for him to protect you by doing what he did. He told us that he would do it all over again if he had to, and he would completely go through with it if it meant that you would be safe in the end. He spoke of how frustrating life is in his position, how stressful it can be being in his shoes. I almost feel bad for the poor guy."

That was what sent Killua over the edge.

Anger rose in him like a python, slithering its way from his shoes to the tips of his silver hair, bursting from him like volcano fire. His eyes darkened to the iciest shade of blue, and Machi reached over to touch Hisoka's arm to prevent herself from being frozen by their gaze. "There is no way in hell," Killua spoke dangerously, his words dripping with venom, "that you or anyone needs to feel sorry for that asshole."

Hisoka feigned a look of sympathy, reaching down in his pocket and returning with a white card. "I said almost. Look, I'm here to write a story on what happened and why, and I don't feel like I'm getting everything from Illumi. I feel like he's playing victim, which isn't uncommon among sociopaths. I believe," he looked over his notes, "that's what the psychologist at the jail has determined him to be, a bona fide sociopath. And I, in my long line of journalism, believe that you can't know a person until you know the ones around him. So," he handed the card to Killua, his name and number littering the front, "when you want to tell your side, show the world who Illumi really is, you give me a call. We have to go now, Killua." He turned towards Machi, nodding in the opposite direction and walking away, leaving a stunned and angry Killua under the bare branches of the tree.

When they were far enough, Machi tugged on Hisoka's windbreaker. "Sociopath? You don't know that!"

"Maybe not," he quipped, "but that kid surely believes so. It didn't take much to figure out that Killua Zoldyk is not the biggest fan of Illumi. Or, should I say, not a fan at all."

"How do you even know that? How do you fish for something if you don't even know if it likes the bait? What if he doesn't call you?"

"Simmer down, sweet Machi," Hisoka pat the side of her hand before she harshly removed it from his grasp. "He will call, because if he even has a hint that Illumi is playing victim, then he will want to destroy the serpent's tongue. As for how I know," he looked towards Machi, a grin splitting expression emerging, "why, I could write an entire novel from the words that were painted on his face."

The air inside of the Zoldyk mansion was uncomfortably stale, tension hanging above like a scorned spirit, fangs ready to attack.

Killua shivered at the coldness as he made his way through, greeted by an unwelcomed silence. Usually Kikyo would have some sort of music protruding through the speakers to greet anyone who crossed the threshold, which almost made Killua feel somewhat at home, but today, in this hour, there was nothing.

"Hello?" He called out, hearing his voice bounce off of the walls and splatter onto the lush carpeting. If he did not know this was precisely his home, he would have figured the estate to be unoccupied.

"Hello?" He called again, hearing a faint voice from upstairs. It was a woman's, of course belonging to Kikyo.

He wished that only Kalluto was home, so that he could have a legitimate excuse from running away from his problems. But knowing the way that his family operated, Kalluto was more than likely kept in the dark, thinking Illumi was on some sort of extended vacation.

He wondered if Kalluto even bothered to turn on the television.

Making his way up the spiral staircase, Killua began to feel dizzy. Partly due to his counting of the black iron steps and partly due to the nagging anxiety of what was to come.

No matter the scenario, no matter how hot the furnace of Kikyo's eyes burned, he had to think of Alluka and Gon, and he had to do what needed to be done.

He found Kikyo and Silva in their study, two bodies that appeared to be lifeless. Kikyo stared out of the window, her eyes fixated on a sole cloud that painted the early sky. Silva directed his attention to the fine threaded stitching in his rug; one that Illumi had gifted him merely a year ago. He fiddled around with his wedding band, almost as if he were uncertain if he should wear the thing anymore, and Killua wondered if the gesture was a foreshadow of things to come.

Neither of them noticed his presence, rather if they did they were too focused in their own thoughts to look up. Killua could see Kikyo's eyes brimming with tears, and for the first time in a while, they appeared to be genuine.

He cleared his throat, catching the reluctant attention from his parents. Silva's eyes softened as he studied in Killua's features. The silver hair that he had passed down, those pale blue eyes that reminded him of winter, his snow complexion, the wise-beyond-his-years maturity that peeked through the lines in his skin. The more that he marveled at his child, the more his eyes began to relax.

"Son," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's good to see you."

Killua nodded, looking down at the floor so he could pretend his knees weren't buckling at the complexity of Silva's emotion. "Yeah, I needed to get away this weekend."

Silva nodded, his eyes still embraced with the hair that hung over Killua's forehead. "I don't suppose I need to ask you if you've heard the news."

"I did." Killua sighed, forcing his feet to make their way to the small couch in the corner so that he could see both of their faces directly. "Have either of you gone to see him?"

A sickening sad sound resonated in the back of Kikyo's throat, causing Silva to wince momentarily. She clicked her teeth and turned her head to look back out of the window. "There is no way," she said, voice thick, "that I could stand to see my own son locked away like some animal."

Killua half scoffed and half chuckled, the amazement of his mother's ironic words as amusing to him as a clown stretching balloons. "That's rich, Mother. It's almost as if your own daughter wasn't being caged."

Kikyo snapped her neck towards Killua, anger decorating her brown eyes. "It's not the same thing and you know it, Killua."

"You're right, Mother. It isn't the same thing. Illumi had a choice in the matter; Alluka didn't. You can't expect me to feel any sort of sympathy from him."

"Then why," she whispered, "are you even here?" Tears formed in the back of her throat, and she choked before pressing her fist in her mouth to swallow them down. "Can't you see that we're grieving?"

Killua shook his head, trying his best to remember his main mission for coming back in the first place. If anything, I didn't come back to argue about whether or not Illumi is some sort of golden child.

"So what does this mean for us? What are you going to do?"

Silva sighed, running his hands through his silver almost white hair. "I wish I had the answers, son. I really do. Illumi refuses to see anyone, so I haven't been able to contact him. They say that he hasn't spoken since Saturday, which is good, the less he says the better. But I just don't know. If anyone finds out that his name is linked to ours, I suppose that it could be nothing but ruin."

Saturday? Killua thought, that's the same day that the man -Hisoka- said they talked with him. He probably stopped talking because he's already said too much.
"Is that," Kikyo replied to Silva, her voice screeching in disbelief, "all that you can think of at a time like this? Your son is rotting away like some… some criminal, and all you can think of is his last name and how it will affect us?"

"He is a criminal, Mother!" As soon as the words crawled off his tongue, they pleasured Killua, the essence of relief in the admittance of what Illumi truly was swallowing him whole. "He killed six people for no damn reason! Even with everything he's done to this family, to strangers, you still take up for him! He's not a child; he's a grown man who is more than capable for being held accountable for his actions! You're only upset that you can't protect him this time!"

Kikyo stood, anger rising out of her like a phoenix. Tears were streaming down her face, and Killua wasn't sure if it was due to his weight of the truth or the comfort of her lie.

"You don't know anything, Killua! He's your brother, for crying out loud!"

"My brother," he spat out like venom, "is exactly where he belongs."

"Where did you come from? How could something from me turn out to be so cold?"

"You have successfully managed to answer your own question within the same sentence, Mother."

"Silva!" She shrieked, her body shaking as she pointed a finger in Killua's face, "Talk some damn sense in your son!"

Silva's eyes rolled slowly over to Killua, taking him in. They were soft and understanding and something snapped within his irises. He nodded and turned towards Kikyo.

"He's right."

Kikyo placed a hand over her chest, gravity forcefully pulling her back onto the couch. Her mouth fell open, circled around Silva's name, although she couldn't breathe out the syllables.

"Illumi," Silva continued, "can't be saved this time. Nor does he need to be. In fact," he stood, walking towards the window and lifting one of the blinds to peek outside, "he should've never been saved in the first place."

"Silva," Kikyo breathed, "have you gone mad? Are you that stupid to say something like that about your own son?"

"I was stupid," he said bluntly, "but not anymore. Illumi is the product of your coddling and warped priorities, Kikyo. I swooped down to save him like the hero you needed me to be, and where did that get us? Everything that I worked hard for, that my father worked hard for, is crumbling to ashes. And your son," he emphasized his word, placing the ownership solely on her, and turned to look Kikyo in the face, "the perfect son that you worship, is the one who lit the flame. So no, I absolutely will not save him this time."

Killua stared in amazement, his father becoming more of a giant in his eyes. This was the Silva that Killua always knew existed, the man that he respected and admired. He had hoped, in the deepest corridors of his heart, that the whipped puppet that Kikyo had created scattered in the wind and spiraled away in a tornado from the Zoldyk home.

"I can't believe you. I can't believe that the man that I married, the man whose children I carried for years upon years has the nerve to tell me that he won't step in to defend his flesh and blood!"

"And what makes you," he said softly, an eyebrow rising in question, "any different than me?"

She had nothing else to say, the rest of her retaliation lodging in her throat and creating a soft choking sound. She stared at him, trying to piece the puzzle of the man she thought she knew. He stared back, wondering if she was always this woman, and was he too caught up on the beauty of her looks to see otherwise.

"Mother, Father," Killua interjected, deciding that now was the time to make his announcement, "I refuse to go along with the plan you set out for me."

They both whipped their faces towards him, Kikyo's eyes rising with astonishment and Silva's lessening to a plea. "Son," Silva whispered, "don't you see now more than ever that you're all this family has left?"

"I don't care, Father. I don't want what this family has to offer. If this is what it means to be a Zoldyk, then please keep it as far away from me as possible. I won't do this."

"You selfish piece of shit," Kikyo whispered, slowly walking towards Killua. He arched his shoulders back, poking his chest out to firmly stand his ground. "With everything going on, with every acidic word that came out of that ungrateful little mouth of yours, you have the audacity to sit here and tell us something like that at a time like this?"

"And when would be a perfect time, Mother? At Illumi's trial? His sentencing? How about when they send him to fucking death row for his crimes? Would you rather me say it on the witness stand? Because believe me, believe me, I have so much to say to anyone that is willing to listen. But then, where would that leave you, Mother? Who would you answer to?"

Before she could think, her open palm stung across his cheek with such ferocity that it silenced the room, the only sounds echoing the chambers were the squawks of the birds outside of the window. "You," she spat, her voice tight and hushed, "are not my son."

Killua sat there stunned momentarily before turning his head to his mother, his eyes raging with fire. "Good," he hissed and stormed out of the study.

Kikyo studied her palm, reading the lines and words that were etched into her skin as if it was foreign to her. She had already lost one son, did she just force out another? "Silva," she whispered, "do something."

He stood for a moment, trying to piece what was left of his wife. Memories crashed down of their wedding day, the day she birthed Illumi and cradled him for hours before letting Silva hold him, the day she became obsessed with the eldest and made him her own personal project. He may have had a hand in the conception, but it was Kikyo who had breathed life into the dragon, and she didn't care who got burned by his rampage. "I believe," he said flatly, "that you have done more than enough." And with that, he left her there alone.

Killua walked in a daze towards the front door, desperate to leave. He couldn't wait until graduation; he needed to set the plans in motion for his and Alluka's escape now. And it appeared, that Silva was somewhat on his side.

"Master Killua."

Gotoh walked briskly behind him, his arm concealed under his vest. His face was pained, and it softened to sympathy when he approached Killua closer.

"Please, Gotoh, not now."

"Master Killua," he quickly bowed out of respect, "If I could have just a moment of your time outside," he raised his head to meet Killua's gaze, "please."

Killua sighed, leading the way to the gravel and leaned against one of the limos. He touched his reddened cheek where Kikyo's hand had greeted him, wincing at the sting that lingered behind.

"Master Killua, I won't be long, but I have a lot to say, and all I ask is that you listen."

Killua nodded, looking at Gotoh curiously. In all of the years that he had known him, Gotoh was always calm and collected. Now he seemed rushed and unsure, and desperate to convey his message to him.

"Master Killua, I have known you since your parents brought you home from the hospital. As you know, there are five butlers here, each one assigned to directly protect one of you. I know that we haven't succeeded," he winced, memories painting his mind, "but I hope you trust me when I say that I have always taken my job as your protector very seriously. I think of you as my own son."

"I know Gotoh. But—"

"Please," he raised a palm, "allow me to finish?"

Killua nodded.

"I won't pretend like I haven't failed you before, nor will I make excuses for my shortcomings. I hope you understand the difficult position that I was put in during that time, and I had to do what was best for you, young master. If I could go back, believe me I would. Anything to save you from this spiral that I've seen you descend. But I am no genie, and I do not have the power to fix what is already broken. What I can do," he pulled out a piece of paper from his sleeve, tucked tightly into an envelope, "is atone for my sins."

Killua accepted the mail, looking at it inquisitively. "What is this?"

"Last week, Mistress Kikyo came to me with a request. She needed me to find out information regarding a certain visitor that had graced her home. As instructed, I did just that. She was convinced, you see, that this visitor had plagued her son, the heir to the Zoldyk name, with ill will."

Killua stared at the paper as if it held the key to the wonders of the world. "Gon," he breathed.

Gotoh nodded. "I know what's in that envelope, and I ask that you proceed with caution. I will tell you that it is nothing easy to swallow, but if this is even a piece of what I can offer to give you the sincerest of my apologies, then by all means take it."

"You heard," he whispered, "you heard what was said in the study."

Gotoh looked at the ground, hands tightly clasped behind his back. "The mansion is very quiet at this hour, Master Killua. And the walls are thin."

Killua nodded, breathing deeply before opening the envelope. He stopped, wondering if it was right to read the information without hearing it from Gon first. But his interest got the best of him, and his eyes swooped over the print. They enlarged as they read each line, soaking in the news and swallowing it whole. He turned his head to Gotoh, irises swaying in disbelief.

"Gotoh," he said thickly, "is this all true?"

"I'm afraid so, Master Killua," he replied somberly, "but you will have to speak with him to get the rest of the story, as I'm sure there is more than what is on that paper."

Killua read it again, feeling a heavy weight sinking in his stomach and he clutched it to prevent himself from getting sick all over the place. He folded it up and put it in his back pocket. "Thank you Gotoh," he said softly, "Really. Thank you."

"It has been a pleasure, Master Killua." He bowed, hearing the gravel shuffle as Killua walked away, grabbing his skateboard from in front of the gate. "Master Killua?"

Killua ceased his walking but did not turn around.

"I feel," Gotoh said, emotion curling around his words, "that this is goodbye?"

"Not yet," Killua said, resisting the urge to turn and embrace his father figure of sorts, "I still have things I must do. But soon."

Gotoh nodded, breathing deeply with acceptance. "When the time comes," he promised, "I hope that you will accomplish all that you need to. For your sake and for Mistress Alluka's sake."

Killua smiled, impressed that Gotoh -who although never said much in these regards- knew his true intentions.

And possibly the only living soul that resided in the Zoldyk estate, whom he could trust to keep it locked away; a secret to cradle as he slept.

Gon blew hot breath into the palms of his hands in attempt to warm them.

Because the sun was setting earlier, getting out of school meant that it would be unbearably cold, especially for a warm spirited soul such as Gon.

The students piled out of the building in a frenzied excitement, the talks of hanging out and not studying brewing from their lips. He scanned over their heads, nodding and smiling to those who said their goodbyes, occasionally entertaining the common plea for some sort of small advice to those who used him as a counselor.

It seemed like forever -certainly not the actual fifteen minutes- before he felt hot breath graze his neck and causing him to shiver. He turned his head slightly only to greet electric blue eyes and a hearty grin.

"Killua," he said, turning around further until their breaths mingled in a waltz, "I missed you so much today!" He threw his arms around Killua's neck, hugging tightly and pretending not to notice the low stares and hushed mumbles of 'are they finally together?'

Killua pressed his cheek against Gon's neck, opening his eyes slowly and using the hidden solace to frown. He wanted to press Gon tighter to his own body, as if they could merge in to one, as if he could somehow draw Gon's pain into his own stomach and regurgitate it when no one was looking.

Gon tried pulling away, and noticed that Killua wasn't ready for the embrace to end yet. Killua's hands clasped tighter around his mid-section as he placed a small kiss against Gon's neck. Usually, the gesture would cause an erotic reaction out of the bronzed teen, but instead it made him cautious, as if Killua was letting sadness bleed from his lips and spill into Gon's flesh.

"Killua," he said against his eardrum, "are you all right?"

Killua blinked rapidly, as if shaking off one persona to engage in a new one, and finally withdrew from the hug. He smiled brightly, beaming with as much as he could muster. "I'm fine," he said threw a curved line in his face, "I've just really missed you too."

Gon pressed a hand to the back of his neck, crimson spreading across his cheeks. "So how did it go? With your family I mean?"

"About as well as you would think," he sighed deeply, a hand running down the spot where Kikyo had left her mark, "my mother is still bat shit crazy, and my dad…well he seems to kind of be on my side, but who knows."

"So what did they say," Gon asked anxiously, "when you told them about not going back to your old school?"

Killua smirked, allowing the amusement of Gon's hurried expression to outweigh the sympathy that anchored in his chest. "My mother flipped. She slapped me."

"Slapped you!?" Gon's eyes widened as if he had been dealt the blow personally. "I can't believe she'd go that far!"

"'S not so bad," he palmed his cheek again, "it's not the first time, but I'm sure it will be the last."

"Does that mean," Gon tried to swallow down his enthusiasm, "you're finally getting out? You and your sister?"

"Yes. I still need a solid plan, but later is no longer an option. It's imperative that I free us of the situation- and fast."

Gon nodded, looking down at the scattered brown patches of frosted grass. "Where do you think you will go?"

Killua shrugged, sucking a deep breath in. "That's a bridge I'll have to cross at another time. I have enough in my college fund for a place, but I can't use it until after I graduate. I suppose I could early withdraw it, but-"

"No," Gon shook his head fiercely, "don't tap into your college fund. Didn't you say before that you wanted to go to Leorio and Kurapika's school? It isn't cheap, you know. And I might plan on going there too, so you'll really need to make sure your ducks are in a row."

"You are?" Killua couldn't hide the biased smile that emerged on his face. "I thought you were going to that fancy-schmancy University that Wing went to?"

"Well," Gon smiled and grabbed Killua's hand, "I guess some things change."

It was supposed to make Killua smile, make his heart burst with satisfaction that the person he loved was willing to alter his plans to fit Killua snuggly in. Instead he frowned, the words echoed in Killua's mind, vibrating through his head until he felt a small ache. Things change…

"Killua?" Gon asked worriedly, lowering his head to meet Killua's bended gaze. "Are you all right?"

Things change.

"Yeah," a lie slithered from his lips, "I just haven't eaten all day."

Things changed.

"Do you want to grab something to eat?"

"Like what?"

Things changed for you.

"How about the café spaghetti!"

Things changed you. They must have.

"Sounds good."

Things change.

Gon stood to the side of Killua, who barely noticed due to the drowning in the tide of his thoughts, and beamed. "Let's go! I can fill you in on what you missed today."

How will things change now? Now that I know?

"And I'm not really sure how, but Zushi completely managed to pull it off. You would've thought he tripped on purpose!"

Killua forked his spaghetti around, carelessly moving the meatballs and sauce to one side of the plate. The truth is he wasn't really hungry, but the he welcomed the change of scenery and the elated stories of Yorkshin -minus Killua- from Gon.

"You know," Killua interrupted, placing an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm, "this is the first place that we've ever hung out."

Gon smiled, closing his eyes and radiating sun beams. "You might as well just call it for what it is, Killua. This place was the first date I've ever taken you on."

"No it's not," Killua stammered, "you idiot. We weren't even dating then!"

"Who cares? I paid for it, didn't I? And can you honestly sit here and tell me that you didn't feel anything at the time?"

Killua set back, eyebrows moving in recollection and crossed his arms. "I think I was more surprised back then that I actually had a friend. I wasn't sure what I was feeling."

"Uh huh," Gon slurped down a noodle, spaghetti sauce drizzling down his chin, "sure."

"Well I guess it's my turn now," Killua scoffed, raising his napkin and reaching across the table to rid the stain, but stopped. He took in the teen sitting across from him, perfectly imperfect, face stained with red sauce, a painting without a canvas. Honey eyes looked at him questioningly, and immediately Killua was drawn in. The amber irises sparkled marvelously under the dim lighting of the café, thick black eyelashes fluttered with every blink accentuating the innocent eyes. Killua's face softened to a slight pained expression, for under those big innocent eyes that he loved so much was a broken story that Gon had never told. Has he ever told anyone?

His eyes wandered down the golden tanned arms and he wondered how many times Gon's tears had pooled down, leaving traces of secrets in the pores until he soaked them back in his memory. How many times had his fingers covered those eyes, hid that smile until he was nothing more than a ball of misery? How many times, before Killua came along, did Gon look at the sun and saw nothing of the heavenly rays that pulsated against his skin, looked at the promise of the sky and felt betrayed?

How many times, did Gon feel the same way Killua felt all those years ago?

"Killua," Gon said, his eyes sparkling with worry, "there you go again with that look. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just wanted…..I just wanted to look at you, is all."

"But you see me every day."

"Sometimes," Killua said tenderly, "it's as if I'm seeing you for the first time all over again."

Gon blinked in retaliation, unsure of the hidden message that loitered when he ceased speaking. It was if Killua was sad for him; and Gon couldn't figure out why.

There would only be one reason for Killua to be acting this way, but there was no way that he could possibly know…could he?

"I'm sorry," Killua said, sitting back down in his seat and looking down at his barely touched spaghetti. "I'm sorry if I'm acting strange, it's just that today has been pretty heavy."

Gon nodded, turning his head to watch a waitress pour water into another patron's glass. Killua swallowed the lump in his throat, reprimanding himself to act as normally as one could act given the circumstances.

"Well," Gon said, his vision still tunneled at the waitress, "I have something that could get your mind off things for a while."

"Oh?" Killua raised his eyebrow seductively. "I think you just might be right."

"Not that," Gon chuckled, "you pervert. In art today, Bisky was telling us how she would like to see progress on our final painting for the semester. Given everything that's been going on, we haven't really had time to get to it. But," he said affectionately, smiling in a haze and turning back to Killua, "I know exactly how I want to paint you."

Killua's breath caught in between his lips, his mouth forming over the invisible circle.

"All I have to do," Gon whipped out his cell phone, his fingers typing fast, "is get the permission from Kurapika."

"You need to ask Kurapika how to paint me?"

"No, I need to ask Kurapika to use the art studio. Waiter!" Gon raised his hand, signaling two boxes and a check. "So we'd better get going, because this could take a while."

"You want to paint tonight? Geeze, what kind of serial date are you taking me on?"

"What better time to start? When you're inspired, you're inspired. Besides," Gon took the black book from the waiter and handed it over to Killua with a grin, "it's your turn to pay."

By the time Kurapika had responded to Gon's text, they were walking in to the main building of the art studio at the university.

Kurapika had the trust of the deans and art teachers to use the studio whenever he felt the itch to pour his soul out to paper, and they never questioned how often he used it, or if he used it at all. With all the recognition he had gotten from his galleries and paintings, they were more than happy to lend it to such a charismatic student.

Gon had sat through Kurapika's creative madness in the vicinity a few times before, but had never used the space personally. What better way, he thought, to christen it than with the maddening genius that was Killua?

The room was spacious and white, dried painting chips littered the floor as if it was an intention piece of art itself. The windows were clouded with off white thin curtains, as if to keep the outside world separate. If someone wanted to lose themselves to the insanity of their fingers, then this was the place to do it.

They sat their items down, plopping to the floor and adding the only sound to the room. Killua screeched over two easels across the white and paint spackled tile, setting them across from one another. Gon set up the blank canvas, instantly frowning at how their bare skin contrasted the accidental color decoration of the room.

"Well," Gon pulled out his pack of oils and sat on the stool, tongue wiggling its way out in preparation, "let's get started."

The colliding of paint to canvas stifled the personal conversation as they concentrated on perfecting their piece. Killua would stop every so often, glancing over at Gon, pulling out a sketch pencil and adding to already intricate piece. He smiled as he noticed Gon's trademarked look of concentration, studying the way his skin moved as his fingers tightened over the brush. Gon did not look away, as if Killua was a permanent stamp in his mind, ready for viewing at his own disposal. Killua looked at his own beginning of his piece, a clear and concise sketch of exactly how he saw Gon, and how he would always see him, even when father moon recollected his child and called him home.

His fingers itched in anticipation, wishing that he could spill the piece the way he envisioned it in his mind onto the canvas in its entirety. How was he supposed to finish something so monumental, when his own personal story had only just begun?

He glanced over at Gon again, noticing the white streak that stained his nose, and the blue that colored his face like ocean water. Gon was finally as Killua had always pictured him: a literal work of art.

"But," he said out loud, "you're not finished yet."

"Hmm?" Gon said through his stuck out tongue, "What did you say Killua?"

Killua's silence answered him, his stool squeaking against the floor as he rose, making his way over to Gon. Gon's gaze never left the portrait, even when Killua was breathing against his shoulder. He forced the brush out of Gon's hand, setting it gently on the easel. Gon looked at him dumbfounded, but straightened his face when he saw the determined look in Killua's eyes.

"So," Killua cradled his cheeks, "let me help you."

"Killua?"

The name had barely left his lips when Killua's mouth stole his, savoring everything that Gon still had to say. With one of his hands, he removed Gon's shirt, momentarily breaking the kiss before hungrily devouring his mouth again.

He smoothly forced Gon out of his stool, using one arm to guide him to the ground. Their mouths never parted, and by now Killua was using his own tongue to create his own personal piece inside the walls of Gon's cheeks. He unbuttoned his pants, slowly moving them down his legs as his fingers ran over the warmth of his skin.

"Killua," Gon said through the kiss, "you want to do this here? What about the paintings?"

"Sssh," he replied, raising his body at a level to look down on him, "just let me study you, Freecs."

Killua's eyes roamed over Gon's perfection. The way his chest rose and fell in his short bursts of breath, the dip in his stomach every time he wiggled against the cool air of the room. The way his eyelids were drooped, all of it was enticing to him.

"Be my work of art," he whispered.

He reached behind him, grabbing the paint from the floor and dipped a different finger in each color. He meticulously ran his fingers down his chest, creating a kaleidoscope of colors across his skin.

"Perfect," he admired, "you're so fucking perfect."

He captured Gon's lips with his own again, his fingers still creating their own masterpiece. He planned on using every color readily available to them to capture his true image of Gon, until they both drank the paint dry. Killua's chest gave way, marrying the colors and creating another piece between them. Gon moaned, dipping his own fingers in paint and rainbowing across Killua's back.

It went on like that for some time, mouths exploring and paint replacing skin. They were creating their own paint chips on the floor, dirtying the white tile with the mark of their passion. Gon felt inclined to try something new, forcing Killua on his back and moving his mouth past the dips above his thighs.

Killua sucked in a tight breath of air as the heat of Gon's mouth circled his erection, restraining his early release even though the softness of his wet tongue was causing him to lose his restriction by the minute. Gon had no apparent rhythm; rather exploring the taste of Killua and enjoying the reaction his journey gave.

Killua let his mouth linger until he was on the brink of insanity; the familiar heat moving around in his belly and making its way downward. He pinned Gon down, wanting to take an odyssey of his own, his mouth mimicking the same actions Gon's did.

It wasn't long before Gon was begging for the warmth of Killua, turning over on his stomach and spreading his legs apart. At this angle, Killua could see the colorful mess they made, and he licked Gon's back on the only places that weren't soiled. He wrote his name with his finger against the paint, as if it were a tattoo that he could look at every time they made love. As if he needed a visual reminder that Gon was indeed his.

He entered Gon with such anticipation that he almost came; instead slowing down his rhythm to make sure that Gon could feel every ounce of what he wanted to say. Every stroke translated to an I love you or I need you, every caress was an unspoken message of commitment and his right to claim. Gon apparently heard it; his back arching in response and lips forming around the syllables of Killua's name.

They came together, both lost in each other, both shaking in the beauty behind the madness.

When it was over, Killua hopped up, going to get a clean towel for he and Gon. He bumped the stool his pants were sitting on, causing them to fall to the ground.

"Careful," Gon said, voice still caught on the high of an orgasm, "you don't want these to get dirty."

He reached over to pick them up carefully so as to not get paint on them. A piece of paper flew out slowly, a white paper bird that instinctively landed at Gon's palm. He picked it up, the paper unfolding as he carefully tried not to get it soiled with paint.

"Killua…."

Killua snapped on cue, the pain in Gon's voice being one that he had never heard before. He soaked in the image: Gon's hand across his open mouth, his eyes watery with realization, and the paper he wasn't supposed to see.

"Where," his voice was thick," where did you get this?"

Killua reached out his hand, as if he could touch the scene and make it go away, or recreate it into something more beautiful. He had the power only moments before, and he was begging for it to come back.

"Gon—"

"You knew?" He said tearfully, refusing to meet Killua's gaze. "You knew this whole time?"

"It's not like that…."

Gon put his head in his lap, tears racing down his cheeks. Killua's heart snapped in two, a choking sound forming in the back of his throat. He walked over to Gon, kneeling down and pulling him into a hug. Gon didn't resist, but he made no move to reciprocate.

"I just found out today, Gon, I swear." He swallowed the tears that threatened to cascade out of his eyes, tilting his head back and blinking them away, "please, just talk to me."

"What am I supposed to say?" Gon said through broken words, "I wasn't ready, Killua, I wasn't ready."

Killua sighed, remembering the conversation he and Gon had.

Do you think, there will ever be a day when we can have those kinds of conversations?

One day, Gon, we will expose our demons to each other. But some demons are so evil that they should never see the light of day.

But Killua knew, finally knew and accepted, that the sun had finally risen on the day.

"It's time, Gon," he said, one finger lifting Gon's chin to look him in the eyes, "for us to have a talk."

We have to make sure that we are strong enough on our own, and together before we make that leap….

"And this time, we have to tell the entire truth."

… I don't want to destroy myself from the fall.

HI GUYS!

SORRY FOR THE DELAY. LAST WEEK I WAS AT ANIME CENTRAL ALL WEEKEND IN CHICAGO, AND IT WAS LOADS OF FUN! (AND ALSO TOOK MY ENTIRE FOCUS) IF ANY OF YOU LOVELY READERS WERE THERE, I WAS DRESSED AS OUR BEST UNCLE HISOKA, AND BULMA FROM DBZ (I DIDN'T REALLY NEED TO SAY WHERE SHES FROM, DID I? LOL)

ANYWHOO, YAY FOR CHAPTER TEN BEING DONE! WHICH MEANS WE'RE ALMOST TO THE END OF THE STORY! (KIND OF SAD TBH) AND ALL OF THE QUESTIONS THAT I'M SURE YOU GUYS HAVE, WILL BE ANSWERED NEXT CHAPTER.

I HAD A DEADLINE THAT I REALLY WANTED TO MEET, SO I HOPE THIS CHAPTER DOESN'T SEEM TO RUSHED, IM REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WRITING THE NEXT CHAPTER! (HINT: IT'S A FLASHBACK)

NOW FOR SOME FUN FACTS:

THE LINE NOTHING BUT THE FACTS MAM IS A REAL MOTTO OF JOURNALISM. EVERY JOURNALISM CLASS I HAVE EVER TAKEN ALL SAY THE SAME THING, TO MAKE SURE YOU AREN'T PUTTING YOUR OPINION OR UNFACTUAL INFORMATION, WHICH TURNS IT INTO THE TABLOID

THE LINE 'UNTIL WE DRINK THE PAINT DRY' IS FROM THE OPENING OF TOKYO GHOUL SEASON 2. I LOVE THAT ANIME, AND I DEFINITELY RECOMMEND IT, EVEN THOUGH ITS SO SHORT

THERES QUITE A FEW FLASHBACKS FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTERS WRITTEN IN HERE ;)

OKAY ENOUGH CHIT CHATTER, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART FOR THE AMAZING REVIEWS, FOLLOWS, KUDOS, FAVORITES AND ALL THAT JAZZ. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! I SAW A POST ON TUMBLR ON HOW FIC WRITERS DON'T CARE ABOUT CREATING STORIES TO NOT GET PAID, WE CARE BECAUSE WE'RE SHARING OUR LOVE FOR WRITING AND TELLING STORIES WITH OTHERS, AND THE ONLY "PAYMENT" WE SEEK ARE REVIEWS! SO TRUE! (BTW IF YOU GUYS HAVE A TUMBLR, FEEL FREE TO FOLLOW ME AT BITCHII-USA. I LOVE TO TALK WITH PEOPLE ON THERE!)

UNTIL NEXT TIME, FRIENDS,

BITCHII-USA