A/N: "Weeeee it's update day!" Says the author who is way too happy to update, probably happier than any of her readers.
But who cares! I'm happy! Hey guys! I MISSED YOU!
I know this is technically chapter 9 but fanfiction dot net is marking it as chapter 10 so YAY TEN CHAPTERS! I'm so happy. So, so happy. One year ago I was so doubtful about this fic and my writing in general, and now I'm here. I have such a long way to go but I'm happy for this tiny progress of mine.
Okay, time for some "news":
First, to all the people who couldn't access the link to havanatitiana's lovely fanart, I found out why! Fanfiction dot net has pretty strict regulations for links in chapters, so until I find out how to make the link appear without being erased (I suppose brackets could help? Anyone knows?) so I put all the links to the fanarts/drawings I made on my profile anddd you can copy them here!
Second, I just finished writing chapter 14! It's still the first, roughly unedited version, but it's still something (and it's big lol). A part of chapter 15 is also written.
As always, a big thank you to all the sweet people who favorite, follow and read this story, who follow me on tumblr and send me messages and reviews! I love all of you readers, silent or chatty, because every little view on the traffic graph counts and makes me happy. So thank you!
To the lovely guest who left a review to the last chapter: Thank you so, so much! I'm so glad you liked the tension and Gon's scene! And thank you for the feedback—you rock! I hope you find money on the ground and then eat your favorite dish!
Anyway, I'm gonna stop talking and let you read the chapter. Just one minor mini-spoiler to reassure you: there's no cliffhanger.
Enjoy!
Chapter 9: Constellations
Monday, April 6th
9:20 A.M.
The Delexo hotel was the first obvious stop to Killua's investigation. If Elias hadn't lied, which Killua was sure of, then the Anonymous had called from there. It was very likely that the caller's identity had been hidden by the hotel since VIP customers were offered absolute privacy about their transactions and calls with the hotel's services.
But there was hope, because the billing was directly linked to the customers' bank accounts, so Killua figured it couldn't be impossible to figure out their identity. Not necessarily through legal means, but he didn't care, especially with a lawless opponent.
His thoughts drifted towards Elias then, as he got into the elevator. He wasn't sure he had survived the attack, but if Killua was right, then the explosion had been caused by one of Elias's weapons. It wouldn't be too farfetched to assume he had survived. Where was he, then?
His thoughts were interrupted by someone calling his name, just as he was about to cross the gate. He turned around and saw the janitor waving a piece of paper. "Oh, hello. Anything wrong, Ms. Sora?"
"Ah, Killua! I've been waiting for you all day," she explained, even though it was still morning. "There's a package for you, it arrived today."
"A package?"
"Yes. It's too big, so it didn't fit in your mailbox. Are you in a hurry, or can you pick it up?"
"Oh, I can. I'll take it upstairs."
"Great, that would help. I don't need more boxes in my storage."
He refrained a scoff, following her to her office. He waited while she looked in her storage, his eyes wandering over the photos she had hung on the wall. It was hard to imagine her as a sentimental person, given how gruff and unpleasant she was. Yet, these photos had no professional edge to them.
One photo, in particular, caught his attention. He found himself instinctively walking toward it, examining its familiar benches, its tall fence, its hoop with the red borders. Only, the benches were full, the fence wasn't covered with vines, and the red paint hadn't cracked on the edges. A few youngsters were even playing on it, and the photo had been taken right when one of them dunked a ball in the hoop.
"Ms. Sora?" he called right when she came back. "Is that the court in the back yard?"
Her sullen expression brightened, if only for a second. "It is. Back when it was still used. That was at least twenty years ago," she counted.
"Oh, okay." A question prodded his curiosity. "I had heard it would be destroyed some years ago. Was that true?"
She glared at him. "It had been planned."
"What happened?" he insisted, even though he could see she didn't want to even mention the potential destruction.
"A petition." She scribbled something on her transcript of received packages. "There was a girl who was strongly opposed to the destruction, so she made a petition against it and won."
A girl. "Hana," he guessed aloud. Surprised by the pleasant revelation.
She abruptly stopped writing. "Yes, her." Her gaze softened. "Are you a friend of hers?"
"I am." He signed the notice the mailman had left with her. "Are you?"
Ms. Sora smiled—a sight Killua had never seen—and handed him his massive package. "I've known her since she's a tiny girl. She would come here every day; her grandma lived down the street. She bribed me with candies to let her play on the court," she reminisced with a maternal tone.
A smile brushed his lips. "That sounds like her."
"Right?" She chuckled, yet another brand new sight for Killua. "I'm glad she found someone to play with." She patted his shoulder. "Tell her hi. Now go."
He barely had time to reply that she had already closed her office, leaving him with questions and puzzles of Hana's childhood. And, well, the massive package.
Killua took the elevator, his mind wandering back to Hana and the court. Her court. Now that he knew she was behind the court's salvation, it seemed almost obvious to him. Who else would have cared enough to deploy such great efforts? To scour the whole building, perhaps even the neighboring houses, and knock at every door to convince people to sign her petition? To do that every day on top of managing criminal cases and a personal life? And who else would have had the guts, the means, and the skills to do that? The determination, the confidence, the motivation and the smile, her trump card—and definitely one of his weaknesses?
Hana. It could only be Hana. And the more he thought about it, the more he wondered just how much she would keep surprising him.
The elevator halted with a light ting. He walked to his apartment, closing the door with his foot after struggling to unlock it. It was only when he put the box on the table that he saw who had sent the package.
Gon Freeccs.
A grin took over his face. Gon had sent him a huge package, and God only knew what he had put inside. All Killua knew was that it had to be quite grand, because Gon wasn't the type to half-ass anything.
Killua tore the tape to open the package.
The first thing he noticed was the number of objects. The box was full. As in, Tetris-full, with every side and every angle occupied by a smaller box, a book, a plastic bag with food inside, and so on. He started going through the items, his grin widening with each object he found. Photographs of places Gon had visited, of Gon with villagers, of animals Gon had discovered or healed, of dishes Gon had eaten. Spices from the Grand East and the villages of the Tawny Valleys, herbs from Tona Riva, sweets and cakes and syrups from Lebeni and the Sugar Snows, dried grapefruit from Tanalea. Souvenirs from all the places he had been to; drawings, statuettes, books, postcards. Tawny fabric from the Tawny Valleys' artisans, wool from the Great East's Titan Mountains… There was even a nutcracker painted in bright blue, a specialty from North Tona Riva.
And a small handwritten card, deep inside the box.
See, I'm taking you on a trip with me!
Enjoy (but not too much),
Gon
PS: do not drink the atyr…
He laughed at the post-scriptum. He was well aware of what atyr was, but it had become an inside joke between them ever since they had been to Lebeni together for the first time and Killua had tried to serve himself a glass of atyr.
"You can't drink that," Gon had hissed then, casting looks around him as if to make sure no Lebanese person had seen Killua pour the atyr in his drink. "It's literally sugar. Just sugar syrup."
"Sugar syrup?" Killua had repeated with an excited glint in his eyes. "That's your argument to stop me?"
He smiled at the thought. You're never gonna forget, huh? He thought, his grin softening when he looked at all the objects on his table, all the times Gon had thought 'Hey, Killua would like that!' during his journey. He had even remembered about the white musk perfume Killua had loved when they had visited the Tawny Rivers, the twin city to the Tawny Valleys. Killua was pretty sure he had only mentioned it once. His own white musk perfume was almost empty—and it was nowhere as delicious as an original white musk perfume from the Tawny Rivers.
He took the small bottle of white musk, spraying some on his wrists and his neck. Then, he took his phone, snapped a picture of his table covered with Gon's presents, and sent it to Gon.
'I wonder who's responsible for that,' said the text. 'I'm so impatient to drink that atyr. (thanks Gogoon, you're the best-est)' with a thumbs-up emoji—and a star, because Killua liked stars. When he was sure the text had sent, he slipped his phone in his pocket and left his apartment. He wasn't grinning anymore, but he still felt the smile in his whole being.
Just as if he had swallowed sunshine.
10:38 A.M.
The bar was loud when he arrived. He hadn't intended to come there at first, but he had figured that if he went to the Delexo hotel, he might as well check if Hana was there. Besides, he needed to ask her something, as he had realized on his way to the hotel.
Hana was indeed there. Making cocktails at the counter, alone. He had barely seen her that his heart missed a beat. He had never noticed how good that button-up shirt looked on her, with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows, or how much that hairstyle suited her, with the free lock that moved with her head. There were too many things he had never noticed, and he was starting to get overwhelmed, now that he did.
Her face lit up when she saw him—such a strain on his heart. "Hey there!" she greeted. She still looked tired, and part of him wondered if she had slept much, but she looked genuinely good.
"Hey. What's up?"
She motioned toward the counter. "I work, unlike some people."
"Heh, I came here for work, actually."
"Oh? Meeting a client?"
"Nope. Questions."
She tilted her head, the same alluring gesture that discovered the obsessing puppy paw on her neck. "Do you need help?" she asked, more seriously.
He sat down. He had come to the hotel to possibly get hints about the Anonymous who had called Elias, but the process would be long. People didn't usually remember their clients from months ago, and if it didn't raise suspicion, then it would most certainly spread the knowledge that he had come to the Delexo hotel and that he knew about the call. Which was why he needed Hana's help: surely she knew who was the right person to go to. "I do, actually." He lowered his voice. "I need to trace back a call made six months ago. But I can't ask just anyone; I'm dealing with a resourceful enemy. Do you know who I could ask?"
She frowned, pondering his question. "You can't trace back calls made by VIP clients, and I'd say that'd be your enemy's profile." She hung a glass above her. "The Hotel provides anonymity to its VIP clients. Even the Police doesn't have access to them."
"So there's no way to know who called?" he continued.
"That's not what I said." She leaned in close. "You need to hack their database." She took another glass to dry it.
"So it's possible," he said to himself. "I know a hacker hunter, but they told me their boss seemed wary lately." Ophelia was rarely worried about what her boss might do. If she had told him she needed to stay discrete, it didn't mean good news for her. "I don't think I can ask for their help. Do you know anyone trustworthy?"
She shrugged. "Depends. Do you consider me a trustworthy person?"
His jaw nearly dropped. "You can hack their database?" he said in a low voice.
She flashed a proud smile. "One of my many skills," she replied. "Not even the best."
"Okay, that's… really cool." He nodded with appreciation. "I'm lucky."
"You are, to be honest. Come with me once my shift is over. I'll see what I can do for you."
"Thanks," he breathed. He couldn't believe he could be so fortunate. "Tell me what I can do in exchange."
"I don't need anything in exchange, but I appreciate the offer."
He smiled. "Could I get a Special, by the way?"
"Sure."
He put the coins on the counter and watched her mix the drinks together. "You make awesome drinks, kick ass, rock tight shorts and flower dresses, play basketball and hack databases. I can't believe you're that cool. You're practically forcing the compliment out of me."
She gave him a strange, confused look. "Wow, chill. I'm not used to you complimenting me. It's disorienting," she argued. "Please call me a nerd again, so I know it's you."
"Oh, you're still an annoying ass nerd. But a cool one. The whole hacking thing? You just became ten times hotter thanks to that."
She tried to shrug off his compliment, but she was clearly liking it. "And you haven't even seen me on the field. A walking supernova."
"Too hot."
"Hot damn," she sang, wriggling her hips while she added her final touch to the Special.
He groaned. "Okay, you just lost ten hot points."
"Call the police and the firemen," she kept going, making that face she made every time she knew she was being annoying.
A server arrived at this moment. "No," he simply said, interrupting her singing. "Anything but Uptown Funk."
"You are so rude, Yazel," she whined.
"Is she always like that?" Killua asked while the server named Yazel removed his plate's content on the counter.
"She's worse," Yazel replied, taking the cocktail she had just finished. "Don't trust her. She's the kind of girls who will sing the most annoying gum commercial song in a loop just so you have it in mind the whole day."
"That's not even true," she fought, even though her cheeky smile was betraying her.
"And don't get me started on Disney songs!" Yazel continued, widening his eyes at Killua. "I've had Make a man out of you every day for a week, a month ago."
"Let's get down to business—" she started, swirling around to grab two glasses for her next cocktails.
Yazel groaned. "Okay, bye," he interrupted her and strode away, casting one last glare at her while she snickered behind the counter.
"A friend of yours?"
"Yeah. He's cool."
"Poor guy. I feel bad for him," Killua commented, amused.
"I have no idea how he bears with me, to be fair with you."
A customer sat a stool away from Killua. While Hana greeted him and took his order, Killua thought again of the picture in the janitor's office, of the court, of the things she had told him about it and about Hana. A picture of a tiny Hana with a missing tooth and hands full of candies popped in his mind, one of the many pictures on her Wall of Fame.
"I didn't know you were the one who'd saved the court," he said once she was done with her customer.
She swiveled, surprised. "Who told you?"
"Ms. Sora."
She stared at him, unflinching. "Oh."
He studied her expression, trying to understand it. She was frustrating sometimes because he couldn't always read her, and he was used to excelling at reading people. "You never told me."
She shrugged. "I don't go around saying things like this all the time."
"I did ask you why it hadn't been destroyed. You chose not to tell me."
She dried a glass and hung it above her. "It's not something to boast about."
"You saved the court, how is that not something to be proud of?"
She looked at him this time, and something serious had lodged in her gaze. "Nobody liked this court. I saved it for myself." She looked away. "It was selfish."
"I gotta thank that selfishness, then. I like this court," he said.
She finally smiled. "At least it got me a friend." She blinked, her cheeks taking a rosy hue. "I like it. Calling you my friend, I mean. It sounds right."
A smile played on his lips. She always had these random bouts of affection that came from nowhere, and it always took him aback—in the best ways. He liked the sound of 'friend' from her mouth. Like it was new and precious. "Of course it is, you dork."
She grinned. "What's that perfume, by the way? I can't seem to put a finger on what it is," she changed the topic.
"White musk. A gift from Gon."
"It smells really good. Soft and raw. Suits you really well."
"One of your weaknesses?" He smirked. The memory of her naked back popped in his mind. His ultimate weakness.
Seduction laced in her gaze. "I'd need to smell it in your neck to know."
"Oh?"
"In the neck, on the wrists, behind the ears. That's where you wear it for a sexy effect. In your cleavage, too, if you have boobs."
"Nice. You know a lot about seduction."
"That's basic. I can show you better things," she teased, the smoky edge back in her gaze.
"Whenever you want."
She chuckled, then changed the topic. "By the way, my best friend, Thomas, invited me to a gala on Sunday 19th and he said I could invite people. Would you like to come?"
"A gala?" he repeated. He liked the perspective of going out to a party with her and meeting her friends.
"Yep. As in, formal wear and all." She grinned. "There'll be food. Tom's sister will be performing."
"Sure. That sounds cool."
"Awesome. You'll meet Thomas and his boyfriend June. They're so cool. But don't tell them I said that."
He pretended to zip his mouth shut. "Not telling anyone."
She crinkled her nose. "And while we're at it, I wanted to make a dinner on this Saturday. As in, cook something. And you are formally invited to this dinner."
"I'm free." The corner of his lips faintly quirked up. "Thanks for the invitation. I'll be there."
"There will only be us. You and me." She gave a cheeky smile.
Too effective, he thought. "I wish I could be you, so I could be alone with someone like me too."
"It's quite an experience," she admitted, instead of saying something snarky.
"How so?"
She didn't reply, her lips still stretched in that same insufferable cheeky smile. "My shift ends at 1 P.M. by the way; we can go to my place afterward so I can check what you need."
He held back a sigh. She had this way of messing with his brain when she said those suggestive things and refused to explain. His imagination was a messy place when it came to her. "That would help a lot." With a single gulp, he finished his drink and got up. "I'll come back at 1 P.M.; I'll take care of something else in the meantime."
"Alright. See you!"
"See you."
2:07 P.M.
"The process of getting into the hotel's database will be fairly quick since I've already hacked it before and I have a sort of backdoor in the database."
Killua nodded, not quite sure about whether 'backdoor' was a technical term or just something she had come up with. They had just arrived at her apartment, after having lunch together at the hotel, and she was serving two glasses of homemade lemonade for them.
"What will take more time is getting the encryption key to decrypt the files I'll find," she went on.
"Are they all encrypted?"
"Not all of them," she said, putting the bottle of lemonade back in the fridge. "But VIP clients' calls and actions, in general, are kept secret in encrypted log files. That's how they ensure anonymity."
He frowned. "Wouldn't the key have changed in six months?"
"Oh, it has. I think it changes every month or so to avoid security breaches, but so does the encryption itself, or else it would be impossible to exploit the log files. When they say 'anonymity', they don't include admins who do have access to the files, just in case something happens."
"Wouldn't it be easier to make the admin decrypt the file?"
"We could do that," she confirmed. "That would be social engineering, and that's pretty much how I stole his password some time ago—I can pass as a decent technician. But even he doesn't know the key and convincing him to decrypt a file made six months ago will be hard. He can just access the files."
"Right. That was a dumb question," he admitted.
"Nah. There are no dumb questions."
"Haven't there been leaks before?"
"I believe there was a rumor of a corrupted admin selling data to some Mafia leader, two years ago, but he suspiciously disappeared right after that. I think it was the last time it happened."
"… Drastic." He took a sip from his glass. "I trust you on this anyway. You know more about this than I do anyway."
"Everyone's got their thing." She emptied her glass in one go. "Okay, shall we work?"
"Yep."
He followed her down the corridor to her room, only then noticing that she wasn't going there. Instead, she went to the far end of the corridor, to a room he had never been to before.
"My workroom," she introduced as she switched on the lights.
The room was about as big as her bedroom, and he guessed that it probably used to be a guest room.
His eyes fell on the rifle sitting on a table, in the middle of the room. A few screws and tools lay on the table in a semi-organized way, on top of some notes. He recognized her bubbly handwriting, with some rough drawings of the rifle and its internal system.
"A rifle?" he asked while she sat on her desk chair. He hovered near it, inspecting her precise notes. Length, depth, solidity, composition… She had dissected this rifle.
She swiveled, tucking her knees under her chin. "Yep. I'm trying to see how it works."
"Why?"
She gave him a cryptic smile. "It's for my ability."
"You're a conjurer, right?"
"Yep."
"You're aiming to conjure one?"
"I'm conjuring different parts, to begin with. It's a long process. But it helps when I dismantle an actual rifle to see how it's built." She crossed her arms. "I had actually conjured and built a first rifle but it exploded when I tested it. It wasn't solid. So I'm trying to improve it—and I'm actually getting somewhere after my third attempt."
"One more thing to add to your numerous talents." He took the chair she was showing him. "Rifle plus weapon conjuring plus weapon dismantlement? Fifty hot points."
She chuckled. "Fifty points to Gryffindor."
"Nice." He nodded at her. "One more thing in common with me."
"Being hot or being Gryffindor?" she asked.
"Both. Both alright."
She turned toward her computer, after scrunching her nose—a lovely sight, he thought. She had such a… poke-able nose. "Ready to hack?"
He moved his chair closer. "Go."
She launched a terminal and started typing a command. "I'm gonna find the IP address of the hotel and telnet my way into it—that is, remotely access it from my computer."
He absent-mindedly nodded, focused on her work. He liked watching people work, even if he didn't understand everything. "I'm no expert, but why are you using telnet so many times?"
"Footprinting. I telnet toward some computers in the same network to hide my steps. There's always the risk of exposing myself, so I have to be careful. Scrambling your IP and footprinting are two common measures."
As he leaned on his elbow, he watched her fingers move on the keyboard. To think that she was currently hacking a secure database with a few words typed on a screen… Technologies were such a wonder.
The command window suddenly asked her for a login and a password. "You're there," he noted.
"I am. Just a few minutes and I'll look for the file."
His eyes were riveted on the screen. Symbols and letters all the same unfolded before him, none of which he really understood. Until she disconnected. "You're done?"
"I've got the files." She opened another window. "Now I need the key."
"How will you take it?"
She shyly smiled. "I wanted you to ask this question so bad." She loaded a file on her new program —Matlab was how it was called. "Some years ago, a few scientists discovered that it's possible to steal an encryption key by analyzing the high frequencies emitted by your computer's CPU. I believe it took some time, but the technique has been studied and improved by hacker hunters who have sped up the process. It takes a few hours now for the program to detect the frequencies, parse through the signal with a high pass filter and recompose the key. It needs to iterate quite a few times to minimize errors—especially that we'll have some information loss since the frequencies will be caught through a detector I installed near the admin's computer."
He blinked, slowly. "I didn't understand everything, but I got the gist of it, I guess. It sounds quite… genius?"
Her smile broadened. "That's not all." She patted her computer. "I've got a friend, a hacker hunter, who's specialized in conjuring electronic components and computer parts. He focused all his nen ability in that. He is a genius. He built this computer for me in exchange for a mission. Which means that it's a lot faster than a regular one."
He arched his eyebrows. "How fast?"
"An hour, instead of at least five." She crossed her arms, victorious.
"Impressive," he commented, staring at the seemingly normal computer. So unassuming, for a supercomputer built a by a genius hacker hunter with a genius ability.
"I know!" she exclaimed, excitement shining in her eyes. "He's so cool." She glanced at the program. "We've got an hour now, before the results." It wasn't long before she stood up. "You want cookies?"
"Sure," he said. They had barely eaten—and had had a dessert, with that—but could he, Killua, really refuse cookies? Tiny holy pastries should never be rejected.
In a minute, she had gone to the kitchen and come back with a jar of chocolate-chipped cookies. She moved a folder and a leather diary from the desk, putting the jar on the spot she had just freed.
He saw it, then. In a white piece of silk, a comb. He reached for it, a delicate rose gold jewel with pearls and gems. He turned it in his hand, moved by something raw and instinctive.
A picture flashed in his mind.
Bloody hands.
"Killua?"
He flinched, darting his eyes to her. He put the comb back where he had taken it. "Sorry, I just felt like I had seen it somewhere."
Her eyes widened; with hope or surprise, he didn't know. "If you know where it comes from, please tell me."
But he shook his head. "I think I was imagining things. I don't remember seeing a comb like this anywhere. I'd have remembered."
Bloody hands. A rose gold comb.
"It belonged to someone named Leanaj. I can't seem to find anything about her," she explained, her eyes on the comb. "I just know that some people are after it."
He frowned. "Things could get dangerous if they find it with you."
"They won't. At least, not until they realize where it was hidden."
"How did you find it?"
She untucked her knees from under her chin, finishing her cookie. "I'm working on a disappearance, and the guy who has disappeared had hidden it. He had left hints in his apartment. Apparently, he was caught up in some big shit."
"Such as?"
"No idea. Some people were after him because he had this comb." She frowned. "He had a double life too."
"… Huh. That's definitely not reassuring. How can you be sure his pursuers aren't after you?"
She smiled. "I'm a big girl. I made sure no one was following me when I went to his apartment and looked out for any spying device. My ability made it easy to find the comb's location, but that's because of its unique features."
"What about the case? Who requested it from you?" he asked. He couldn't help being worried; he sounded like an overprotective parent but the thought that something could happen to her… was not pleasant at all.
"Lynd did, but unofficially so. She asked me to look more into it after finding some fishy stuff. She hired me as a detective, but it's not officially written anywhere that she did because she wanted to give me some leeway. The police investigation only found that someone was after this guy, and she wanted me to investigate without being burdened by a possible pursuer."
He frowned. "So basically, the police are taking the spotlight so you can work in the shadows."
"Exactly."
"She sounds like a smart woman," he noted. He had never met Megamshill's Police Chief himself, but he had seen her quite a few times on the TV, answering questions during press conferences. He had always been mildly impressed by her determination and her intelligence.
"She really is. I think she's aware that some officers in her ranks could be corrupted. There could be spies anywhere, even within the Police, and she's prudent about that."
"Yeah. There are spies everywhere," he muttered. "Hence the danger."
"You sound like you can relate."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm working on a disappearance too. There are some spies who keep ruining my plans and are starting to get on my nerves. I caught one once, but the others are notably better."
"Whose disappearance?"
"Eugene Priman."
"The Renaissance collector?" she guessed. "His disappearance caused quite a ruckus."
"Poor guy had a tough enemy against him. I've no idea what he did to make them go after him."
"Priman wasn't the kind to mess with people."
"I know. It makes the whole issue worse. What could he have done?"
She shrugged. "Or what did he have, or know, or say, or think."
"Exactly. And that's harder to investigate since he's most likely dead somewhere and his wife doesn't know anything." He took a cookie. "The only people who knew about him are either dead or missing. Just a few days ago another one might have died." He thought of Elias, again. For some reason, he didn't want Elias to be dead. He had questions to ask him—and a glass of gin to give back.
She shifted on her seat. "That sounds fishy. If your enemy is powerful enough to hire strong nen users, they could seriously harm you."
He pondered her words. Ray had been a trained spy, but not strong enough to handle him. The two fast spies, however, had managed to outrun him, which was not that trivial. Could it be that the Anonymous had more people with similar abilities up their sleeve? "I'm aware," he finally said. "Some of their spies managed to escape while spying on me. Fast spies, with that. Faster than me. One of my abilities is designed to be the fastest thing ever, and yet they managed to outrun me. As if they were teleporting."
She crossed her arms. "An ability like that can't be missed."
"I wanted to ask a hacker hunter I know at the HCDS to find their ability, but they're being watched at the moment. I don't want to involve too many people in this; it could get dangerous."
"If she's not available, then don't ask anyone else. It's safer if the HCDS doesn't know what you're looking for," she warned
"Why?" he asked, astonished by her vehemence.
"If your Anonymous has some reach in the HCDS, it could give them the upper hand on you if they know what you're up to. You need to indirectly get your info."
"Hacking," he guessed.
"That's the safest way, for you." She leaned back. "I'd propose my help if I were sure to get you somewhere. But there are extremely good hacker hunters at the HCDS. They would notice my attempt to break into their database, and it would expose both you and me. I can hack but I'm nowhere near the level of a strong hacker hunter."
"Nah, let's avoid that. With some assholes after us, we better stay low key. But thanks for suggesting. You're already doing a lot."
She shrugged. "Thank Matlab, not me. I'm literally devouring cookies with you, not doing much."
"Psh, shut up. You know you're helping." He then narrowed his eyes. "Did I ever mention the hacker I know was a she?"
She gave a forfeiting smile. "Ophelia is the only hacker hunter who personally knew me at the HCDS and still works there. She worked for my mentor when I became an apprentice at the HCDS."
She stopped talking after that, raising a wall around her past. As she always did when they brushed the topic. There was something mysterious in the way she kept it a secret and only let through as little information about it as she could. Mysterious, and fragile. As though thinking about it tickled some memories she'd rather forget.
So, he changed the topic and joked about something silly. She looked uncomfortable enough and he didn't want to push her to talk about something she didn't want to share. He was confident that she would eventually open up, but it was too early. She was still trying to defend herself against something he wasn't sure of. Whether that was the vulnerability of exposing herself or the threat of her memories haunting her, he wasn't sure, but he wouldn't push her. He didn't want her to be wary around him.
The hour was quickly over as they talked about their professional successes. It turned out that it had been her who had shut down the entire Standford Luxury building's electricity to arrest Dr. Philphil —some insane but insanely rich man who had claimed to be a scientist and had carried gross experiments on human beings and animals.
"He was about to fry a woman when I arrived. Heaven knows how he managed to get an electric chair. If I hadn't cut the power, she'd be dead."
"Ew. That's worse than the Wonderland serial killer."
"Well, the most shocking is that no one noticed." A window popped on her computer. "Wait," she said. "I've got the key."
"Awesome," he breathed as he moved closer.
She decrypted the file with another program and the encryption key she had found, and created a text file. After that, she skimmed through the log file. "When did you say the call was made?"
"September 21st, last year. Around 10 P.M. I think, from the bar."
She stopped in front of an entry and grabbed a pen and a post-it. "Room 88." She opened another file she had just stolen and decrypted. She searched for the room number on the file until she found one that corresponded to the right date. "Robert C. Mulgrad."
"Bingo," he said, his eyes studying the name. He took the post-it she was handing to him. "I could kiss you right now."
"Whenever you want."
He chuckled. "You're amazing. Thanks."
"No problem."
He gathered his stuff. "I won't take more of your time."
She walked him to the door. "I wouldn't mind. I just have a meeting with Maya at 6 P.M., but all I'm gonna do is read some nice, sweet journal in the meantime."
"You're meeting Maya?"
"I'm gonna disappoint her," she said in a resigned voice. "I won't take the case, now that I know the Whisper is involved. I'll have to close the case of her brother."
But he just shook his head. "She'll understand. Trust me on this."
She grinned—the best goodbye he could hope for. "I'll see you tonight, at the court?"
"Yep. I'll be there," he assured as he opened the door.
"And, Killua?" she called before he left. Then, as he turned around: "Be careful."
He blinked. Of all things she could say, he hadn't expected this one. But he just poked her nose. "I'll be fine."
He left her with a new name in mind. Mulgrad.
Now all he had to do was find out who that Mulgrad was.
Friday, April 10th
2:35 A.M.
He brought a cookie to his mouth, taking it between his lips while he turned a page of the record he had been reading, and pushed it his mouth. As he munched on it, his eyes swept over the page, catching the important parts, ignoring the trivial ones.
Robert Creos Mulgrad,
Born on June 9th, 197X.
Place of birth: York Shin City, Sahelta.
A visa application to Tanalea issued four years ago. Killua narrowed his eyes. It was the third visa application for Tanalea he had found; the two others had been issued respectively two years ago and eight months ago.
And that, without a doubt, was the fishiest thing ever, considering that Mulgrad's father had been suspected of weapon trafficking quite a few times, according to the articles Killua had found. It seemed that he had played his part in the Kumotori issue, by supplying the Tanalean rebels with advanced weaponry. He surely wasn't the only one, but it was because of people like him that the rebels and opponents had gained power, until they finally tried to pull a coup d'état—and failed.
Killua sighed, crossing his ankles as he put his feet on the table, leaning back in his armchair. As fishy as that sounded, that was nothing new for him.
Four days.
He had been scouring for information about Mulgrad for four days, and all the archives he had seen had revealed the same thing: he was a weapon smuggler. I get it, geez, he thought.
Now, it would make sense that he'd contact Elias, since Elias made his own—excruciatingly annoying —weapons, and Killua could easily deduce that the Anonymous was affiliated with Mulgrad, but there was no hint as to who the Anonymous was in Mulgrad's files, and that was the only thing Arashi Kareha-Priman needed and wanted to know. There were only reports and reports about Mulgrad being suspected and accused of smuggling weapons in York Shin, in Megamshill, in Les Anges, and so on. Without ever actually going to jail, but that went without saying.
Which left one option: meet Mulgrad himself. If the archives couldn't talk, then Mulgrad surely would. Or, at least, with sharp claws under his chin and some electric current sizzling near his throat, he probably wouldn't mind spilling the beans.
That meant breaking into his highly secured mansion—no big deal— and making him talk —hopefully not much of a big deal. The problem was, Mulgrad wasn't in town. He was currently in York Shin, according to Killua's sources. He had left for a 'business trip', whatever that meant, and would come back on April 26th. That forced Killua to wait, and Killua didn't like waiting. He needed to feed his curiosity and quench his need to find that goddamned Anonymous. He needed some action, dammit. Not some idle archive checking. That was Maya's forte, with her plump owl, not his.
A beeping sound suddenly echoed in the archives room. Killua jolted, swiftly taking all the files on the table—and his most precious cookies—and disappearing behind a shelf.
"You heard something?" a man asked, flashlight beams sweeping over the room.
"No," a woman replied, and sighed. "Kyle, it's impossible for anyone to be there. We're the only ones to have the code. Let's check the reception room instead. It's not code-locked, and I'm sure Jimmy forgot to lock it again."
"That asshole," the man grumbled, closing the door as they left.
Well.
A few seconds passed, and Killua finally moved from his spot, returning to the table. He cracked a smug smile as he eyed the door. It was technically impossible to get there. The armored doors were secured with a code that Killua didn't know at all. But what kind of electronic lock, no matter the code, could resist some sweet electric manipulation à la Killua? Just a spark with a decent intensity and an acute perception of how the system responded to his electric impulse… and the door opened to him.
There were no locked doors to Killua. No security cameras, no electric traps, no Taser, nothing. Electricity was his field—pun absolutely intended.
After one last look at the record he had been checking, he put it back in the shelves and picked another. He sat back on the armchair, opening it and flipping through the pages.
Until he found an interesting article.
A new one.
His interest was piqued. The article was showing a picture of Mulgrad near a grinning blond man, shaking his hand. He read the headline.
MULGRAD STEEL AND FAEM CEMENT WORKS MERGE TOGETHER
Quickly, he read the article, his eyes darting left and right repeatedly until he reached the last full stop.
Faem?
Killua had never heard that name, and after all the articles he had read, he had never seen one about Mulgrad's steel factory. Yet, as he read the other articles in that record, he realized Mulgrad actually had quite a few associates and had bought some smaller companies. This record seemed based entirely on his public profile, the image of the man with a big factory and a lot of money; not the weapon trafficker. Nothing groundbreaking, but it was new, and Killua was quite lucky since it was the last record.
Still, it was quite a change of mood. Some light reading, compared to all the—justified—accusations. So, Killua made copies of those articles as well and put them in his satchel, along with all the other copies of all the other articles. Then, he put the records back and gathered his stuff, grabbing another cookie in the process.
He was done for that night. It was over three in the morning and he had some sleep to catch on. Especially that he was about sure he wouldn't head home early the next day, since he was having dinner with Hana.
The thought was pleasant, stirring something giddy in him—giddy, he grimaced. A word he had always hated to use to qualify himself. Whatever she was doing to him, it was turning him into a cheesy and sappy —and turned-on— mess. A mess with… not-so-innocent-nor-platonic-nor-innocuous thoughts.
Yep. A mess. A mess he'd rather not try to put words on because chances were that would result in an even bigger mess.
A little electric manipulation later and Killua was strolling in the corridor with his satchel and his cookies. Not the least bothered by two security guards patrolling and arguing right at the corner. Why would he be? He could walk in front of them and hide in the shadows and they wouldn't notice a thing.
Yet, a part of him kind of wanted to fool around a little bit. Something fun and harmless, that would give them a little fright and a scary tale to tell their grandchildren—'a ghost ambushed me, but I, your most amazing grandparent, defeated it!'
He circled around the corner, then jumped behind a pillar.
"I'm telling you!" the man from earlier started. "Pigeons actually spawned from hell."
"Please, Kyle."
"Maricia, have you ever looked at a pigeon? Have you ever looked at their gross tiny eyes and their gross way to bob their head back and forth? They look like they're constantly invoking Satan. Hell devices. They want chaos. I'm sure they shit on us on purpose."
"They're birds, for God's sake. I can't believe someone with a decently sized brain could talk shit about birds for two whole fucking hours. Get a hold of yourself, you idiot."
"That's mean. You talk shit about Jimmy all the time."
"Jimmy isn't a pigeon, for all I know—though he has the looks for it."
Killua held back a laugh. Those two were quite a pair. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.
In a split second, he emitted a wave of nen at them and ran away, smirking when he heard the man yelp and the woman smack him. "Are you scared of the wind now?" she scolded him, and their bickering faded away as Killua ran, his footstep muffled by years of training.
He took a deep breath once he was outside, finishing his cookies on his way home.
He had a feeling he would dream of pigeon smugglers that night.
Saturday, April 11th
8:30 P.M.
Killua arrived on time at Hana's place. As usual. He was never early because chances were people weren't ready before the due time, but he tried not to be late either. Perhaps because he was too impatient to see her, or because he was a punctual person in general, he wasn't sure which one it was.
When she opened and greeted him, though, she had a spoon in her hand, and he quickly saw that she wasn't entirely done. Which wasn't so like her; she was a neat freak, a punctual and organized girl. Being late wasn't in her habits. It was only when he had arrived in the living room that he understood that she actually wasn't late.
She was just a tiny bit overwhelmed by the quantity of food she had prepared.
"Hana, what's all this food?" he asked, staring at the nems and the spring rolls, the rice with the caramel chicken, the Vietnamese salad and the bowl of lettuce laid on the table. "Is this what having a grandma feels like?"
She scrunched her nose. "I don't want any leftovers. You're gonna bring some of those back with you."
"Wow." His eyes fell on her spoon. "What's the spoon for, then?"
"Dessert."
"There's a dessert after that?"
"Of course there is, duh."
"Duh," he repeated. Now that she had mentioned it, he did smell the baked crust of something sweet in the oven. And he couldn't help staring at the food with anticipation. His stomach was rumbling. "Everything looks so good. I can't believe it."
She grinned. Such a big, bright grin. The Hana Grin. "I'm glad."
"How much time did you spend on that?"
"I didn't make the nems and the spring rolls. I ordered them from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant —Wonderwonem, it's the best. They make the best Vietnamese crêpes —I freaking dreamt of them, because of how good they were. So yeah, it didn't take me that long in the end."
"Holy shit. I can't wait." He looked at her. She was still grinning. "You know, I've been thinking about this, but you're such an intense person," he mused.
"Where does that come from?"
"I've thought about this a lot. I couldn't find a way to properly qualify you and give justice to your exuberant personality. But I think that might be it. Intensity."
She leaned against the table. "I might need some help to understand."
"Well," he started as walked closer, "when you laugh, you laugh loudly. When you grin, you grin brightly. When you focus, as in really focus, you focus so intensely that nothing can make you snap out of it."
"Really?"
"Yup. There's doing something, and doing something the Hana way. It's like considerably intensifying the action. Partying, and partying the Hana way. Working, and working the Hana way. Organizing a dinner, and—" He showed the table with the entries, the meal, the drinks, the fruits… "—organizing a dinner the Hana way." He smiled as she chuckled. "Caring, and caring the Hana way."
She bit her lower lip, blushing that rosy hue that looked so her. "I might cry you know."
"Don't," he warned. "I'm not sure I can handle Hana-tears just yet."
"You're not even far from the truth."
"I suspect that." He thought of her, six days ago, shutting herself out from all her loved ones. He brushed the thought away. "Intense Hana. Doing everything the intense way."
She paused for a few seconds. An idea seemed to flash in her eyes. He saw it in the spark burning deep in her eyes. "You know, I'm an intense lover, too."
There she was. Flirting, a predator on the prowl, tilted head and killer smile and smoky eyes. Exposing her delicate neck, a seductive edge in her posture. Cheeky, tempting, and way too pleased with herself.
Shivers coursed down his arms. It worked too well on him. He smirked, looking unfazed. "Not sure I'm gonna let you have that one. We might need to fight for that title."
She took a step toward him. And another. And another. Until she was close, so close —within his reach. "Wanna try me?" she challenged, her gaze so intense it might as well be touching him.
And he held it. Sucked in by her passion. "You're dangerous," he breathed.
Something changed in her expression. The air around them tightened, tense with attraction, and her cheeky smile had disappeared. Slowly, she laid a hand on his chest to smooth a wrinkle on his shirt. Warmth spread through his whole body under her touch, as small as it was, a wave washing through him as blood pulsed in his temples—slowly, at first, then more resolute. His heart accelerated, fueled by her delightful touch, by the green gaze that bore in his eyes.
A thousand questions were warring in her eyes. A thousand 'can I' and 'I want' and 'should I' and so much more he simply couldn't read them all. A thousand echoes to his own questions.
And he wanted to tell her 'you can' and 'take it' and 'you should' but his mouth was shut and he couldn't think and each second was a new urge to the swarm in his head that grew and grew and stifled his reason with so, so many wants.
He wanted to reach for her. Touch her. Glide his fingers down to her waist. Grab her hips. Pull her closer. Feel her against him.
His eyes fell on her lips. Peach pink. Lush. Full. Delicious.
Kiss her.
He wanted to kiss her.
She opened her mouth.
And the oven's timer rang. She didn't say anything, her mouth open, gaping. "The cupcakes!" she exclaimed and rushed to the kitchen, leaving him alone with a nebulous head.
He breathed out, as discrete as he could. Still in a strange trance that numbed his thoughts. He felt ridiculously dumb, unable to think about anything.
(Except one thing.)
(One person.)
He passed a hand through his hair as she fretted with the oven. Recovering from the phenomenon that was Hana, his brain suddenly understanding that, no, he wasn't going to kiss her tonight, but, yes, he had wanted to.
The atmosphere loosened up. He took this opportunity to look at his reflection in the mirror. His neck was a bit flushed—and his pupils dilated. He couldn't even hide them—his eyes were too fair. He frowned and took a deep breath. Flirting the Hana way was definitely very intense.
"Move, move, move," Hana warned as she came back, clasping baking gloves around the handles of a baking plate. "Hot stuff on the way, move!"
"The cupcakes or the cook?"
"I love how you catch all my double-entendre," she said in a singsong voice, putting the cupcakes on the dining table.
He sidled up to her. "Mood-killers," he mumbled to the cupcakes.
"Says the one who will eat them all."
He stealthily picked one and took a bite from it, both thankful for the change of mood and disappointed to be far from her touch again. "Delicious."
"Killua!" she scolded. "I haven't even added the toppings, and they're too hot!"
"Hot damn."
She cast a surprised look at him. "It's usually my job to reference song lyrics," she noted as she grabbed the pastry bag, filled it with the icing, and carefully applied it on the remaining cupcakes. "I'm having a bad influence on you."
"Shh. I'm living the Hana way of life."
"Singing at inappropriate times is also part of the Hana way of life?" she joked. "I thought overdoing stuff was the only thing."
"Overdoing isn't the word."
"So you're not choking just yet from all this intense caring?" she asked. Her tone was playful but he could guess that she was genuinely checking on him, too. Chances were she wasn't always aware of how passionate she was.
"Nah. I don't mind the intense attention," he reassured her. "It's cool. Makes me feel as important as I should feel."
A grateful look passed in her eyes. "I'm glad. I wouldn't want to scare you away."
"You won't."
She smiled. "Okay, I'm done." She moved the plate to the counter to let the cupcakes cool down and went back to the table. "Shall we eat?"
"Finally."
They sat down together. She filled their glasses with water. "Let's tear down all this food."
"I'm so ready," he said.
And he was.
The heat was then long-forgotten as they devoured the food and exchanged witty jokes. Glasses emptied and filled back with water, juice and the occasional wine, food plates disappeared in their rumbling stomachs.
Soon enough, his body relaxed in its usual casualness.
(Though somewhere in the back of his mind, there was still the distant call for her lips ringing and ringing.)
(And ringing.)
"I ate too much," he said, patting his stomach. They hadn't been able to finish all the food but had torn down the cupcakes. There wasn't a single left.
"Glad you liked the meal," she watched him, only now understanding what her grandmother must have felt when she came over. That satisfaction when someone ate your food to their heart's content. "Wanna go to the balcony? It's warm tonight."
"Sure."
They got up with their mugs of tea. When she slid the balcony door open, she switched on fairy lights, put her mug on the small coffee table by her side, and sat on the big couch that took most of the balcony. He did the same, testing the seat before flopping on it with a content sigh.
"A couch in the balcony. Best idea ever," he said.
"There's a nice view of the stars from here," she said.
He sat up. "Wow, you can see the Soledad today."
"The constellation? Where?" she asked.
He pointed up. "The seven dots shaped like a broken fork."
She squinted her eyes, searching for anything that remotely looked like a fork. "It's hard to see it. You have good eyes."
"I'm used to it," he said. "I used to have a boyfriend who was obsessed with stars and he taught me a thing or two about them. He even nicknamed them, like they were his buddies. Soledad was 'Dinglehopper'."
"A Disney enthusiast? We'd get along. He sounds cool," she said. "You sound like you liked him a lot."
"I did," he admitted.
She moved her legs up, crossing them to warm her feet with her thighs. "I'm curious about your love life. Would it be indiscreet to ask?"
"I don't mind. What do you want to know?"
"I don't know, so many things. How many relationships have you been in?"
"Officially, three. Two girls and a guy. The first girl was a waitress at a café I liked going to. I thought she was cute, and I noticed that she kept looking at me when I went there. Eventually, I went there just to look at her. It didn't work well between us but we had a good time."
"Why didn't it work?"
He pondered her question. "We were really young. Fifteen. She was really shy and awkward around me and I didn't know how to make her feel better—I sucked at handling awkward people at the time. Even when we dated, she was really intimidated."
"Aww, cuties."
"She was cute," he mused. "And so tiny, god, she barely reached my shoulder, and I wasn't six feet at the time."
"She sounds adorable."
"She was the embodiment of the 'Aww' sound you always make."
She chuckled. "What about the others?"
"The second girlfriend was my most recent relationship." He pouted. "I think we dated on a shaky ground so we didn't do a good job with this relationship."
"And the boyfriend then?"
He smiled at this moment, and she knew then that his ex-boyfriend had been a big deal. "His name was Weran. He liked space and stars. And he was terribly cheesy too."
"How come?"
"He looked for stars on my skin and drew constellations. Can't be cornier."
She grinned at the thought. "It's so romantic, though."
"He was very romantic," he said with the hint of a dreamy spark in his eyes. "I can't say I disliked that. I did get cheesy constellation tattoos because of him."
"What happened, then?"
He paused, and she was afraid for a moment to have stepped in something too private. "He didn't want a long-distance relationship. So we broke up in good terms."
"Oh, okay… I'm sorry."
He searched for her eyes. "Hey, don't make that face. We had a fun time together. Besides, we're still good friends."
She shifted, careful to not hurt him. Weran had been special to him, and she knew what it was like to lose someone special because of uncontrollable circumstances. "But don't you feel weird when you talk about him?"
"Nah. I don't feel bad talking about the past."
"Really?"
"Yeah. What's done is done. It's useless to dwell on it. I enjoyed our relationship but it's over now."
She fell silent. Kai irrupted in her mind like he always did when she thought about what could have been. "Would it have lasted, though, if it weren't for that one thing?"
"Nope," he laughed. "We had fun because it didn't last long. Weran really isn't the type to settle down for too long, and I knew that when we dated. He wanted something fun, exciting, short-lived. That's his view on relationships, and it's not compatible with mine—at least in the long run. Pretty sure I was his longest relationship."
"You don't love him anymore?" she asked, then jolted. "Wait, perhaps that's too personal."
But he just waved her off. "Nah. I'm not in love anymore. I have affection for him, but nothing romantic anymore."
She looked away, irked by the twitch in her chest that wouldn't leave. "I see what you mean," she finally said. And she did relate to that, except unlike him, she didn't like the remnants of affection she still bore for Kai.
He had probably noticed the change in her mood because he sat up. "I still have the tattoos," he changed the topic. "Wanna see?"
Her face immediately brightened. "Strip! Strip!" she chanted.
He burst out laughing. "That change in your mood was phenomenal. Wait for it," he started, grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled up until he removed it. "Good thing the night is warm."
But she wasn't listening. She was staring. Biting her lip, grinning, burning. "Holy fuck."
"How's the view?"
Her eyes coursed down the perfect lines of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the teasing "V" peeking above the hem of his pants. His body was as sculpted as his face was, a graceful cutout of strength and leanness, a refined masterpiece of ripped muscles elegantly sewn together. Oh, what she would give to touch him. "Perfect."
"Do you even see the tattoos?"
She suddenly looked at him. "What tattoos?" She followed his finger, which showed a constellation near his hip. It occurred to her then that she hadn't seen any tattoo before. "Hip bone?" The tattoo didn't stop at his waistband, instead teasing her as it disappeared under his clothes. It had to be wrapped around his hip. Yet another fantasy she could think about.
"Yep. I have more," he kept going, gesturing to his clavicle and his chest.
"I hadn't even noticed them the first time you showed me your abs..."
"My abs are quite the sight," he boasted.
She watched him, refraining an urge to trace the thin lines between the stars on his skin. "Here too." She pointed at his side, right below his pectorals. "And here." His triceps. His ankle. His shoulder.
He moved on the seat to give her his back. "The bests are here."
His back was covered with small constellations. From his nape to the small of his back, discrete lines that linked his scattered beauty spots with black ink dots. Her eyes followed the maze of tiny stars between the valleys on his back, wishing it were her fingers, her lips instead. "It's beautiful," she admitted.
"I think so, too." He put his shirt back, much to her disappointment. "More than the tattoos, actually, Weran gave me a whole new view on beauty spots. I find myself looking for constellations on people more than I should. It's fun. You see space maps on people's bodies and it's so cool."
"You can recognize them?"
"A few. Actually—" He stopped mid-sentence, hesitating. "I saw a few on your back," he finished.
"My back?"
"Want me to show you?"
She turned around and pulled her shirt up, just enough for him to see her whole back without showing the front side of her bra. "Go ahead."
His fingers brushed her skin. Tentatively. A spark fused from his touch, thrilling her body with delicious heat. She slightly jolted when his fingertips traced the first line on her back, leaving a trail of shivers, when he stopped, changed the direction, and again, and again, each turn a new line of shivers, a new fit of goosebumps. Her heart pounded against her chest, wild and furious, but she kept her mouth shut, her eyes wide staring at nothing, seeing nothing. Her whole attention was on his fingers on her skin and the sparks they stirred.
"Leo," he said with a raw nuance in his voice. He knew what his touch did to her.
"What?"
"You have the Leo constellation on your back."
She chuckled, but it came out raspier than she'd expected. She sounded drunk. "Funny, I'm a Leo."
"There's another," he said. He moved lower, near her waist. She jolted again but laughed this time. "I'm ticklish," she explained.
He traced one last line and lingered. "Pegasus."
"Woah." She readjusted her shirt and sat back correctly. She still felt the ghost of his touch electrifying her back. The constellations vibrated on her skin, everywhere he had touched her. "So I have a lion and a winged horse on my skin."
He snorted. "Very roughly. Whoever came up with constellation maps really couldn't be nitpicky."
"You see that dot here? With those two other dots? Yeah, definitely a sea goat with massive horns."
"Pretty much." He took a sip of tea and put his mug back on the small table. "Okay. I've told you about Weran, you tell me about one of your exes now."
"You're in for a long ride," she joked. "I've had a lot of boyfriends."
"Nah, not them. The one that mattered the most. The one you think about when I say 'ex'."
She tilted her head. "Kai, then."
"Kai it is. It's Kai for Weran."
"My memory of Kai isn't half as pleasant as yours with Weran is, though. We're not in good terms anymore."
"What happened?"
"God, so many things," she sighed. "And at the same time too few." She thought of Kai's evasive eyes, of the way he made her do all the things she never did, without even meaning to. Fighting. Demanding. Opening up. All because she had clung to him, had cared so deeply she had lost herself on the way.
"What do you mean?"
She took a sip of tea. Kai was one of the subjects she didn't like talking about—her intimate topics. She glanced at Killua, at his patient eyes and his relaxed stance. For some reason, she felt like she could talk to him, without any shield this time. It wasn't like the first time she had confided in him about her doubts because then it had been because they didn't know each other well enough for him to care. At this moment, it was precisely because they were getting to know each other, and it was a whole different kind of confession.
"Our relationship was an emotional disaster," she started. "He didn't want a relationship. He felt like they stripped him from his freedom, and no matter how much he loved me, he never managed to feel comfortable enough to open up and trust me—even, or especially when we officially dated." She scoffed. "I blamed him for everything my other boyfriends blame me for: emotional distance and aloofness."
"Do you know why he was that way?"
"I believe it has something to do with his father, though he's never admitted it. His father suffocated him and trapped him in all the possible ways. I've met him, actually. I've seen him emotionally abuse his son in front of me, though Kai never wanted to listen to me when I told him. I think it warped his view on relationships. He was convinced they would steal his independence. Any ties to anyone is too much for him to bear."
"He sees relationships as restricting," Killua deduced.
"Exactly. We were obviously incompatible in that sense. He saw relationships as limiting, I see them as expanding."
"Expanding?" he repeated. Interest sparked in his eyes.
"Yeah. A real relationship, in the long term, adds two wholes together. Not a fusion, but an addition. You work together and perfect each other and make each other feel good, and you get to share so much that in the end you always end up with more than you started with."
He smiled. "That's cool. I like your insight."
She returned his smile, finding comfort in the softness of his expression. "Me too. But Kai didn't agree. He thought relationships canceled people out." She leaned back against the seat. "Though I guess that's all he was taught. To cancel himself out for his father's sake. Abuse is vicious and it's hard to break the vicious circle." She glanced at him then. She wondered if he carried any deep scar from the abuse he had to sustain. (But she mentally scolded herself then, because it wasn't her place to poke any potential bruise he could bear. Not when he had respected hers.)
"You were better off by yourself," Killua commented. "You can't fix people who don't want to be fixed."
"Yeah," she absent-mindedly replied. His words echoed in her mind. That was what she would have needed to understand, at the time. What Thomas and her mom had said and repeated. What Lynd had agreed to, a few months later, when they had talked for the first time about their past. What Hana couldn't seem to wrap her mind around, even now.
Killua smirked then. "Is there anything else I should know about your view on relationships?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Asking for a friend," he joked.
She laughed. "Wow! Okay. That's an original way to ask me out."
He tutted. "Don't jump to conclusions. Answer my question."
"Well, tell your friend that I'm very clingy, stubborn and annoying."
"Huh. Nothing new."
"Rude."
"But what do you seek in a serious relationship?"
She arched her eyebrows. "I can't believe this is some mere curiosity. You totally sound like an awkward nerd who doesn't know how to ask his crush out and beats around the bush in a meager attempt to seduce her."
He hit his chest. "Ouch. Busted. You totally figured me out. But now you're supposed to play your part and act like my clueless crush who thinks this is an innocent question and doesn't see any hidden intention in it."
She chuckled. "I seek safety."
"Safety," he repeated.
"What about you?"
"Is that part of the script?" he asked.
"Of course. That's when the shy nerd forgets he was trying to gather info about his crush, and gushes about his principles, carried away by his need to express his beautiful philosophy. And then, I, the crush, am so dazzled by your view on life that I fall in love with you." She snapped her fingers. "This is a perfect plot."
"So corny," he said. Then, he paused to think. "I seek stimulation."
"Sex?"
"Not necessarily sexual stimulation, goddammit Hana." He rolled eyes as she snickered. "Intellectual and emotional stimulation."
"Oh, okay." The words rewound in her mind. Stimulation. "You need to talk, express, feel and share basically."
"Yeah. It can't be boring. If it's boring, I lose interest. Also—" he started, and flashed a sheepish smile—a sight she rarely saw. "I like spoiling and being spoilt."
She blinked. "That's so cute. I'd never have guessed that from you."
"I'm cute as fuck, come on."
"Well, I can understand. I mean, I'm the same. Sort of. I love giving and receiving attention. Especially receiving. And giving. Whatever. Make me the center of your attention and I'm all yours."
He crossed his hands behind his neck. "Seems like we're compatible," he noted.
"We should definitely date," she joked, although, in a part of her mind, that did not play out as a joke. The possibility felt strange. Foreign, in a way, like a concept she couldn't even picture yet.
"Definitely. Imagine the amount of hotness that would radiate from us."
"Power couple."
"Yup. Could provide heat for the coldest Swedish winters," he mused in a playful tone.
"Could provide heat for my boss's cold dead heart."
"I wouldn't go that far."
She laughed. "Right. He's beyond saving."
He was watching her, with this gentle expression he sometimes wore when she laughed. It shook something in her stomach. She loved when his features softened, when his sharpness soothed to show his tender core. He was so beautiful.
"I should go," he announced, and her bubble exploded. "It's getting late."
"Alright," she said, masking her disappointment with a smile. She hadn't felt the time fly. She didn't want him to leave, and she didn't want to wait until the next day to see him again. She wanted to stay with him the whole night and talk about anything and everything.
But she couldn't do that, so instead, she walked him to the door, already starting the countdown to the next time she would see him.
"Next time, we do it at my place," he said when they reached the door. "With a movie. A nice movie. Okay?"
"Sounds good," she replied, her eyes riveted in his, unable to look away. "I'll see you soon."
"Yeah, see you." He opened the door. "And thanks for the meal. And the talk. I had fun."
"No problem, I had fun too." She shrugged. "I always do when I'm with you. I really like being with you."
He didn't reply, staring at her instead with his crooked smile. A surge of affection seized her at the sight. "Good night, Hana," he said, walking away in the corridor.
She watched his back as he moved away, already missing him. "Good night, Killua."
He turned before disappearing in the corridor, and she waved at him. He gave a brief wave to her, the way he usually did it. Then, he was gone.
She closed her door. Even though he wasn't there anymore, she couldn't think of anything else but him. While she did the dishes, cleaned, prepared for the night… he was there, with his beautiful face and his silvery laugh and the discrete constellations all over his body, the map of stars tattooed on his skin.
She finally flopped on her bed, sighing.
She knew where this was going.
The whole countdown to the next meeting. The giddiness when they hung out. The sparks and the shivers and the fireworks when he touched her. The way her mind played his laugh on repeat and plastered his smile all over her thoughts. The rush of warmth when he was near her. The wild heartbeats and cartwheeling stomach. And the way her eyes wandered all over him, always looking for more skin.
She wanted his gaze on her while she talked. She wanted to be the reason of his laughs. She wanted to surprise him and care for him. She wanted all his attention, all his smiles, all his stolen glances at her lips and her cleavage and her neck and her beauty spots.
With a groan, she turned over. She knew very well where this was going.
But while a part of her was excited at the thought, she wasn't sure it was a good thing. After all, it was so foreign to her.
She wasn't sure she was ready for that.
Sunday, April 12th
7:02 A.M.
He woke up the next day to her bare back under his touch. When he found himself in his bed, alone, and not on her balcony with her, he realized he had just relived the moment in his dream. The map he had drawn on her skin. The fairy lights dancing on her back. The burning and the yearning in his fingertips. The way he had been so transfixed by the feel of her skin that he had nearly forgotten how to talk.
He got out of bed with a sigh, heading to the kitchen to make a hot chocolate. Confused thoughts started foaming in his mind, questions popping through the sleepy fog.
One certainty arose from that confusion: there was something different in their friendship. Not in a good or a bad way, but different. It was perhaps the uncalled for—but much appreciated—fantasy of kissing her in the neck that sometimes popped in his mind, or the obsessing picture of her full, lush lips when she talked. He had wanted to kiss her at some point, and that was nothing innocuous.
(There was still a dull call for her lips echoing in his head.)
She had changed, too. There was a new subtle undertone to her flirty jokes, an invitation slipped between the layers of her seduction. He felt like she was testing the ground, or testing her luck, or both, but he couldn't be sure. Only one thing was sure: there was something new between them. And that something made him crave her presence more with each passing day.
The doorbell suddenly rang, piercing through his thoughts. He looked at the clock, confused. It was way too early for anyone to come. He got up, checked in the peephole, but saw no one.
He opened the door. His eyes fell on a basket with a red ribbon, sitting on his doormat. He picked it up, frowning.
Happy Easter!
Enjoy these lil' treats! :*
─Hana
Of course.
A smile broke on his face. The basket contained a huge chocolate hen with a bunch of tiny eggs and a box of macaroons from the fancy pastry shop down the street. He looked in the corridor for any trace of her. As he found none, he went back to his apartment and put the basket on the table.
He picked a raspberry macaroon and bit in its delicious mixture of soft and crunchy.
She really knew how to make him melt.
A/N: Fluff, fluff, more fluff. Yay for fluff. I love fluff. I hope you do too. (Also yay cheese.)
So yeah. I hope you liked the hacker part because I had to do some extensive research to know how it worked (it's pretty cool btw). Oh, and, the part about encryption keys being stolen thanks to CPU's high frequencies analysis is an actual thing—I didn't come up with that. You can google it and find a lot of cool info about it—it's realllllly cool. Obviously, I took the liberty to bring in hacker hunters to make the thing more HxH-ish.
Annnnnd the Matlab part with high pass filter and shit… well… that was just me making some good use of a course that nearly killed me (I'm not friends with Matlab, like, at all). So far, it's the only use I've found for it because it's a course I had to take even though I definitely don't want to specialize in that.
But yeah. I used it for a fanfiction. What a useful thing.
Anyway, how did you like the chapter? The Hanallua moments? The parts about their pasts? Gon's package to Killua? I also tried to show you some of my world-building, I hope it sounded HxH-ish enough.
(Feel free to kill me for the pseudo-kiss-interruption. The actual kiss is a lot more fun than that though, so you'll thank me later.)
(Yes, the kiss is written.)
What was your favorite moment? I'd really love to know! Your feedback makes me so, so happy. I'd really love to know what you thought or if there's a part that particularly caught your attention, or if you have any question.
I'm gonna end this A/N with a hint for next chapter: it's called Spilling and it's 15k long and… a lot happens. (Also, Thomas and June will be there for most of the chapter! If you like them then you'll be happy.)
Thank you again and see you in two weeks!