A/N: Hi guys! How are you? :D
Things have been quite wild lately. In both a good way and a so-so way. I wish I could elaborate but I'm still kinda careful lol.
Story wise, chapter 26 and 27 are both done! Yay! I'm really happy about that. And well, chapter 28 is halfway there. I'm gonna keep working. I've also written a really important scene of chapter 30. (yeah, not 29. Nah. 30.)
Art wise, if you remember well, last time, I had commissioned masthya to draw hanallua. Well… I did it again. Check my profile page for a hanallua kiss drawn by my favorite artist masthya. It's SO WORTH IT. Their art is… love. Yeah. You'll also find another commission of Hana by Hebes-drawings, that's just gorgeous. Also, the lovely Hei17 made such a cute fanart of Hana! Annnnd I drew Killua! You can check it out :D On a side note, I regularly update my profile page, if you're interested in regular updates about my writing process and new art made for the story.
Life wise, as I said things are wild. One thing I can say though, is that I make good tiramisus!
Fic rec wise, check out A Thin Red Line by TearsOfNightfall – Rowan Rook! It's a great fic! With awesome thrilling and emotional scenes :')
As always, thank you so much for your support. All the times you read, follow, favorite, and especially review my fic. It's every author's joy when a review pops up, no matter how small it is.
Anyway, dig in now! I hope you'll like the chapter!
Replies to guest reviews:
Guest: Omg thank you so much for reviewing! I'm so happy you like my fic! I also followed your advice and capitalized every chapter's titles, I hope it looks better that way. And thank you so much for wanting to review the chapters omg! *A*
Chapter 25: A Flower through the Cracks
Wednesday, May 27th
9:14 P.M.
She carefully applied lipstick on her lips, eyes riveted on the rich color spread on her lips. A deep, matte red, to change from her usual light colors. The texture was comfortable, almost velvety, but it didn't smudge or stain. Perfect for eating.
And for kissing.
She put the lipstick on her vanity, next to the products she had used to perfect her makeup. Discrete foundation and concealer to harmonize her tone and hide her dark circles. A pearly nude smokey on her eyes, with hints of peach among the colors, to illuminate her gaze. Winged-eyeliner for a more defined shape. Soft red blush and discrete highlighter for sophistication. Mascara, for more volume on her naturally long eyelashes. And the setting spray.
There, she was done with her face.
She took a deep breath, checked for any flaw, then wore her earrings—golden drops matching the swirling gold armlet on her arm, a Tanalean artifact given by her mother. For courage.
She smoothed her dress, feeling more confident. She had picked a peach dress hugging her silhouette, a soft contrast against the striking golden hue of her skin. It was her color, and she wore it like an armor, an impenetrable one, with golden ornaments on the corset and soft drapes flowing behind her as she moved like airy fairy wings.
More deep breaths.
She picked a hair accessory, a deep red rose that she set in her fancy bun.
And she looked at the final result. Red on her lips, in her hair. Peach on her body. Gold at her ears, on her arm, on her feet.
And her. Pounding heart, nervous heart. She felt nothing like her fierce mother who walked in a room without a glance for the people in it. Not now, at least. Not for what she wanted to do.
But it would do.
It had to.
Because she was about to go the HCDS party.
She exhaled.
A week ago, Hana had told Killua that she wouldn't be going. Even before that, she had declined Allan's invitation. The thought alone of meddling with previous associates and people who used to know her had been too much, and it had been a categoric no for her.
But… she didn't want to leave Killua alone. She wanted to go, for him. To keep him company while he was surrounded by all this fake courtesy, to give him someone to talk to among this opulence. She had been to the HCDS parties, before. She had thought a party of hunters had to be spectacular, a gathering of eccentric souls, something like the party at the end of her hunter exam.
But none of that. It was a silent competition, doubled with the opulence needed to find new benefactors, to seduce donators for more funds, more means.
Nothing Killua liked.
She pushed the door to her workroom, checking her computers before going. She had started a gigantic download from a database of handwritings and it was taking forever to be completed.
Perhaps because the download wasn't allowed. But who cared? Not her, clearly. They needed these handwritings to find something that could correspond to Charybdis' or Scylla's. At this point, she was desperate for any hint.
(She wasn't even aware such a website existed; Elias had been the one to inform her. The boy joked a lot but his sources were unconventional and… fairly useful, to say the least.)
The downloads were going well. They were halfway done; if she counted well, they would be over in a few hours.
Then, they'd have the look through the documents downloaded. That, however, would take a lot more time.
She switched off the lights on her way out, taking her phone from the table. She unlocked it, replying to the messages she had received. She hadn't told Killua that she was going; she wanted it to be a surprise. She did, however, send a message to her mother.
'Will you be there tonight?' she asked her, even if she already knew the answer.
Her mother replied fast. Without surprise. She was probably bored beyond relief. 'Ya. You?'
'I'm coming, I think… I'm nervous though…'
'Don't be. They all suck. Lol.'
She smiled at the tiny 'lol' at the end. Her mother was getting the gist of emojis and internet slang. Unlike her father, who couldn't type in internet slang to save his life. 'I bet they do.' She hesitated. 'Killua will be there too.'
Mama is typing… 'Ohhhh. I get ittttt. You come for your boyfriend, but not for your own mother. Okay, Hana. I'm gonna pretend you didn't just betray me.'
She chuckled. 'Mamaaaa noooo,' she tried, sending her laughing emojis. 'He's nervous because he'll meet you.'
'He should be.'
'You'll be nice to him Mama, right?' she asked, twiddling her thumbs as the reply loaded.
Her reply came immediately. 'Of course.' Her mother had added a devil emoji.
Not very reassuring, Hana thought with a smile. 'I love you,' she sent to her mother, with a heart.
'I love you too, mya jamrin.'
She felt lighter, reading the last words. It was Tanalean for 'my warrior', her mother's favorite term of endearment.
Right. She was a warrior.
That was also why she wanted to go that damned party. To face her fears, trample down this idea that she was less than she really was, that the judgments of these people mattered. And show them all. She wasn't broken anymore.
It was part of her quest to conquer herself after the trauma.
And she could do it.
Because she was a warrior.
10:02 P.M.
Killua had come to this party for one reason: observe Erik Faem.
The thing was, there were hundreds of guests, none of them being the infamous golden boy. And Killua was getting tired of making conversations with people who were clearly trying to show off. Or get in his pants. Or both.
How the hell is that a hunter party? He thought with bitterness, remembering the yearly Hunter Gathering to which he had participated with a year ago, with Gon, a convivial party with actual conversations, games, and, most importantly, food.
Yes. Food. Real food. Not just caviar and foie gras with fancy decoration in fancy china. He was hungry, for God's sake. He would give anything for a huge Big Mac.
He left the woman who was trying to start a conversation, excusing himself with a crisp smile. She feigned to be offended but he didn't bother with an apology. He needed some champagne; perhaps if he got drunk, he would forget just how bored he was.
(It didn't matter that he could hardly get drunk. He had hope.)
I miss her, he thought as he made a beeline toward the main hall where the sad excuse for a buffet stood. Hana. He pictured her spring eyes, her ridiculously cute grin, her lips that he could kiss for hours.
He stifled a sigh.
Would it be considered rude if he left the party as soon as he saw Faem?
Did he care?
All he wanted was go home and be with her. Chat with her, about anything. Hold her. Kiss her. Anything but stay there with people who didn't two shits about him—and people he didn't give two shits about.
In the main hall, he picked a glass of champagne from a waiter standing there, thanking him after the man nodded at him. It was almost sad, the flicker of surprise when Killua had thanked him. How invisible did he feel in this swarm of people who saw him like a walking tray?
He took a sip of champagne. He had always liked luxury, no matter his taste for simple things. He liked the sleek comfort of wealth, the practicality that came with money, the aesthetical aspect of it. But he hated the idle mindset associated with wealth. The dehumanization of people, the hierarchic system, the insubstantial small talk.
It pissed him off.
"Ah, there you are! Mr. Zoaldyeck!"
Started away from his thoughts, Killua swiveled to meet the owner of the voice. It was Allan Fox, as tall and confident as ever, gesturing him to come.
A man was standing next to him, observing him with interest.
It took Killua a few seconds to recognize him. When he did, his eyes imperceptibly widened. He forced a smile, knowing it looked natural as he walked toward Fox, his gaze fixed on the man next to him, the angelic face hiding a cunning mastermind.
Sand blond hair. Cerulean eyes. Golden skin. Sunny smile.
Erik Faem, in all his glory.
Finally found the target.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Allan said, patting his shoulder with sincere affection. The truth was, for all the years that had followed their cooperation, Fox had always showed admiration and support to Killua, even more now that he knew he was a friend of Hana. It always felt like he wanted to show Killua off to anyone who would listen. "Erik, please let me introduce Killua Zoaldyeck. We cooperated on a complicated case and he saved me so much trouble. A gem, this boy."
Wow. A gem?
Faem smiled, a delicate smile. "A pleasure," he said as he offered his hand.
Killua took it. "The pleasure's mine," he replied, staring in Faem's eyes. I know who you are.
Faem held his gaze. Good. Remember it.
"Allan!" a woman called, waving at them from the other side of the hall. A vague look of weariness crossed Fox's face. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. "I have to leave you two, I still have to welcome more people."
"Good luck, Allan. You'll need it. Don't forget to smile," Faem joked, not bothering with etiquette or courtesy.
Fox just shook his head, plastering a smile to meet a new guest. He had surely been doing this the whole night. Meeting people, doing small talk, praising the president. As a higher-up of the HCDS, he had surely been assigned this tiresome job.
Killua glanced at Faem. Strangely enough, with his offhand jokes and his simple attire—a pristine suit, nothing more, not even a watch—Faem looked like the most authentic guest Killua had seen that night.
Which was ironic.
Killua called a waiter standing near them and took two glasses of champagne. He thanked the waiter, then gave the second glass to Faem.
Time for some questioning.
With Allan gone, Faem's joy withered a bit—his smile didn't. "Enjoying the party?" Killua asked, keeping a keen eye on Faem as he took a sip of champagne.
Faem didn't drink. "No. Bit too noisy for me."
At least he was honest.
Killua glanced at the untouched glass in Faem's hands. "I didn't poison it," he said, nodding at the drink. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be ten feet deep in hell already."
Faem chuckled, coating his venom with honey. "I like to think the same, Mr. Zoaldyeck," Faem replied and took a sip.
"If you can talk beyond the grave, that is."
"Is that a threat?"
"Nah. It's dark humor." Killua gestured toward Faem, still blasting a fake smile. "You of all people should recognize a threat when you see one. From years of practice."
"I don't use threats. I prefer to stick to gentle persuasion."
"With a warped sense of gentleness," Killua sneered.
Faem's smile was venomous, his gaze cruel and determined. "To each person their own interpretation. Universality lies in mathematics. Hard facts, theorems, observations. But language is relative. Each person reinvents it, redefines it with their own boundaries." He tilted his head. "Where you see threats, I see gentle persuasion. Because my interpretation of cruelty exceeds the common definition."
Killua tipped his chin up, looking at the man in front of him with a sharp gaze. "So what's torture to you? Rough play? A sweet chitchat around a whip?"
"Oh, please. Whips are so outdated." More cunning smiles. "Are the Zoaldyecks that old-fashioned? I always saw them as a revolutionary family."
"You're not revolutionary, Erik. Forging new ways to inflict the oldest brutality doesn't make you a revolutionary, it makes you an asshole."
But Faem simply smiled. "Allan was right when he said you were one of a kind. What word did he use again? A gem." He emptied his glass. "Too bad you can't be polished."
"I'm not for sale." He narrowed his eyes. "You're a close friend to Allan?"
Faem rose indecipherable eyes toward him. "Allan doesn't have close friends."
"Neither do you. Not alive, anyway."
A flicker of hurt passed in Faem's eyes. Gone as soon as it had appeared. Who was it for? Ziam Torana? Eugene Priman? "Tell me, how much do you know about me?"
"Just enough to sort you in the trash. Eugene Priman? Rings a bell?" Killua mocked, careful about the info he relayed.
Nothing transpired in Faem's composure. "A very unfortunate disappearance."
"In which you played a special role," Killua hissed, just loud enough for the two of them only to hear. "You hired Mulgrad to get rid of him. You provided the men and the means. Why act innocent? I know you're full of shit." And much more than you could imagine.
Faem's cerulean eyes peered deep in Killua's. "Who hired you? Priman's wife?"
"That's none of your business."
"It is, actually. But it's none of yours, yet you offer your rude participation. Does Arashi have anything to do with that?"
"Why does it matter?"
Threat pooled in his eyes. "I know a drastic way to nullify a contract."
"I don't sign contracts. Leaves too many traces. My clients are usually honest when it comes to payments; nobody wants to owe a Zoaldyeck. Besides," he paused, his aura deepening with dark intent. "This became a personal case as soon as you threatened those close to me."
"So it was effective," Faem mused with an innocent smile.
Killua flashed a wicked smile. "Careful with the threats," he warned, and gestured toward the plump woman with wide blond curls and sweet brown eyes standing by the banquet, laughing wholeheartedly with two other women. Olivia Faem herself, Erik's wife and his one weakness. "The recoil would be painful."
For a split second, fear passed through Faem's eyes. But soon enough, it was swallowed by the intense hatred radiating from him. It was perhaps the most honest expression he had shown that night. Just pure, intense hatred.
Unfortunately for Faem, his wife felt their gazes on her. She grinned, a grin so bright it could rival her husband's—except hers was genuine.
Tenderness flashed in Faem's eyes as she beamed at him. Real, sincere tenderness.
She excused herself and approached them. "Dear, I was looking for you," she said, her voice like honey, a fitting voice for a woman that joyful, with her pretty round face and her twinkling eyes.
"I was here the whole time," he said.
She looked at Killua, then blinked. "Oh, I'm so sorry, did I interrupt you?"
"Not at all," Faem said, turning murderous eyes toward Killua. "My wife, Olivia," he introduced, and if Killua wasn't a master of disguised composure, he wouldn't have felt how forced the words were.
Killua smiled, poised and polite, and bowed his head slightly in respect. "Killua Zoaldyeck. A pleasure to meet you."
At the mention of his last name, she paled a bit. She managed a smile, thanked him, and joined a friend who was calling her after placing a quick kiss on her husband's cheek.
A cruel thought hit Killua. "She's charming," he said, torturously satisfied when Faem scowled at him. The sun was long gone, concealed by layers and layers of black clouds.
"She is," Faem replied. He wasn't smiling anymore.
Then, he excused himself and left.
After casting one last wary glance at Killua.
The hall was crowded when she arrived. Dozens of people dressed in elegant outfits mingled around the main room, clinking glasses of champagne as they laughed together. She swept past a few faces that rang a bell to her, elicited a few indiscrete whispers on her way to the center of the room.
"… Isn't that…"
"… I remember her; I think…"
"… The Freigo Whisper…"
"… Left shortly after…"
Hostile gazes followed the whispers and the rumors. Indignant, shocked gazes. Those widened eyes, those subtly condescending arched eyebrows, those crossed arms, those brief 'look!' on her way; she was aware of them, she had expected them. Nothing groundbreaking. She knew she wasn't welcome in the HCDS. She knew she was rumor material. A girl giving up a privileged position in the top Crime Hunting facility, fleeing after her first big mission. Of course people would talk, make her into the butt of the joke. Nothing had changed.
Except this time, she was holding her head high, even smiling brightly at some of those who recognized her and showed their most disapproving faces. Inside, she was trembling. Terrified. Naked. Desperate for a hole to crawl away from their gazes.
But outside, she was a queen.
And the more she held that composure, the more she started believing that. Her initial nervousness dissolved into a vague detachment. She was a queen. She had reasons to be proud, to hold her head high and walk through the place like she owned it.
They didn't matter. She hadn't come for them. She had come for a certain boy, and she wasn't going back before she saw him.
She stopped walking, scanning the crowd for his tall figure. Craning her neck to see past the guests and the servants, past the whispers and the rumors.
Her heart skipped a beat. She saw him. She spotted him in the crowd. Holding a glass of champagne, absent-mindedly running his finger on the edge of the glass. He had swept back his bangs, discovering his forehead, and he was wearing a deep red button-up—the one he had worn when they had gone to the Italian restaurant—with a black suit and tie.
She reminded herself to breathe. Her heartbeats echoed in her ears. She couldn't peel her eyes off him, couldn't help tracing the graceful line of his neck, the carved planes of his face, the defined edge of his jaw. She felt the same pull she always felt around him, the same giddiness dancing in her stomach. But she didn't miss the disinterest plastered on his face. The sheer boredom.
She took a deep breath, praying all the gods for her heart to stop drumming so damn hard in her chest, and started walking toward him. Her eyes riveted on him. The one face she wanted to see, the one person she wanted to talk to, the one boy she wanted to be with. The one gaze she wanted to feel. The one smile she wanted to see. The one laugh she wanted to hear.
The one. Just the one.
He turned his head, and she abruptly stopped. Then, he saw her. And the drumming resumed, twice as fast and frantic, when his whole face lit up and he slowly smiled and suddenly all the boredom was gone and gone for good. Because of her. And he was so beautiful. So damn beautiful. A familiar and beloved masterpiece she couldn't stop contemplating. She beamed at him, risking a small wave of her hand as he gave his glass to a waitress and weaved his way toward her.
"Hey," he breathed when he finally reached her, and smiled a little wider.
"Hey. I, um... I came."
He nodded. "I see that. I'm glad. I didn't think you'd come."
"I hadn't planned to, at first." She glanced at a man who was whispering something to the woman next to him. He followed her gaze, glaring at the man until he looked away. She chuckled. "You have a long way to go if you're gonna glare at them."
"Come with me," he said. He led her outside, to the back gardens, his hand pressed on the small on her back. Her body shivered with his touch, delightfully so. She relished in the warmth that spread in her body when he was near her. How she wished for his arms around her, soothing her safe.
He sighed once they were out. "Much better," he noted. And grinned. Again, she realized. "So, you're here to suffer with me."
"I'm such a good friend, right?"
"Yeah, actually. You are."
She sat on a marble bench near rose bushes. They could hear the low hubbub coming from the main room, but the gardens were empty, save for a few couples strolling farther from them. "How long have you been here?" she asked, taking his hand, and intertwined her fingers with his.
"Too long."
"And what's 'too long' in numerical values?"
He feigned to think, shrugging in that deliberately clueless way of his. "A lot." His gaze dropped to her lips. "Would it ruin your lipstick if I kissed you right now?"
She chortled, stealing a light peck on his lips. "No. I wore matte just to kiss you without smudging red all over your face."
"How thoughtful," he murmured against her lips, bending to kiss her again, lingering a few seconds. Tasting the moment. "My night just got a hundred times better."
"A side effect of my presence."
He got up. "Wanna go for a walk? The garden's nice." He nodded toward the party room. "And empty," he added with a cheeky look.
She took his hand and followed him in the back gardens, strolling by his side.
They walked for at least ten minutes before they found an empty, lit, intimate little place to sit. It was a little square with a wide-edged fountain in the middle, shimmering with lights. She ambled toward it, admiring the details of the dreamlike scenery. The ripples of water that swirled and curled, mirroring the light in bright moving patterns on her skin. The marble mermaid in the middle of the fountain, hair cascading in the water, her fins so thin they were translucid. The crystal jar she was carrying, sprouting water in a regular stream, glittering like a night sky.
And the earthy scent of grass and dew. The songs of crickets pealing around. The cold air seeping through her pores.
"Let me look at you," he said, his voice a low murmur.
She turned around, warm under his gaze. Smiling, as always. And she let him look at her in the light, marveling at the wonder in his eyes, the sheer awe. Because she was the reason for it.
He made her feel precious.
"You're gorgeous," he said in a breath. "You're so gorgeous I almost can't believe it's you."
She burst out laughing. "Just when I thought you had finally learned how to be romantic!"
"I'm romantic alright. Look where I brought you, a magical place straight out of a Disney."
"Question: can you cite three Disneys with fountain scenes?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "Am I supposed to know the answer?"
"Yep. We watched them together."
"… Huuh… The Little Mermaid?" he tried, feigning to wince.
"There's a lot of water in that movie, but no."
"Okay, Hercules?"
"That's one. You still need two."
He sat on the edge of the fountain, then patted his lap. "You think if I dramatically touch the water, the answer will come?"
"Nope." She sat on his lap, sighing when his lips were in her neck and his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.
"Then what if I bewitch you? Will you give me the answer?" he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing that sweet spot beneath it.
Pleasure rippled through her. "If you do more of that, perhaps."
He chuckled, the sound low and all to pleasing to her ears. And let his lips tickle her neck with feather-light kisses, dropping them like murmurs. She arched her neck back, sighing a long sigh. He was back in her ear. "And now?"
Her eyes were closed. She was adrift in her own world, a world where there was only them. "I don't even remember the question." He laughed, and kissed her on the neck without restraint, making her laugh in turn. "You're tickling me!"
The elation faded into silent comfort. He said nothing, just nuzzled his face in her neck and held her close. She rested her hand on top of his, her thumb stroking it. "It feels so good to be with you," he confessed, his voice light with sincerity.
She took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his knuckles. "Tell yourself that I haven't been this happy in years." She exhaled. "You make me feel worthy."
"Don't say that," he whispered. "With or without me, you'll always be worthy. You don't need me to be awesome."
She smiled. "But I'm more awesome with you."
"And me with you. It goes both ways, Hana. I'm the happiest I've been in years. I know I don't often say it, but what we have is precious to me."
She noted his word choice, but then found her old insecurities resurfacing in the pool of emotions. Gurgling masses to swallow her whole. "Why me?" she found herself asking, and regretted her question when she felt him flinch, even though it had bothered her for a long time.
"Why not you?"
She nuzzled closer. "I have so many issues. There are so many people who could be better for you."
He exhaled. "What better? You're smart, kind, caring, witty, curious, beautiful, both in and out. You're spilling with love and wonder for the world and for people. And… And you have this thirst for action, for knowledge, for life, that can't be quenched." He sighed. "Hana, you're so intense. You're a breath of fresh air. You pull me toward you; hell, you fill me with warmth and energy. You see beauty in everything and yet you fail to see how beautiful of a person you are, not just in appearance. Sometimes, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
She drank his words, letting them wash through her. The insecurities didn't disappear, but they were silent under the flow of his words. "You're so good to me," she breathed. "I can barely see what I did to deserve this."
"You deserve even better," he said in a hushed voice.
"Don't say that." She squeezed his hand. "I didn't tell you, but the other reason I came tonight was because… I wanted to face my fears. To tell myself I could do it, I could face the rumors and the judgmental gazes. And even though I'm barely starting, it still feels like I did something worthwhile. And it's all thanks to you. You made me want to face my fears, to stand straight and keep going. You give me courage."
"Then I did something worthwhile. Your wellbeing is all I want."
"I want the same, for you. And yet I…" Her voice trailed off, thinking of the things he didn't tell her. The things hidden deep in his heart, the secrets behind the flinches and the flashing fear in his eyes at times. "Killua, sometimes, I can feel that there are things that make you feel bad. Things you haven't told me, deep things. Like insecurities or negative feelings or… bad memories. I can feel they're here, and—"
He tensed up. It was so controlled, if she didn't know him better, she wouldn't have felt that slip-up. Alarms rang in her head when she realized his breath had hitched, though very slightly. "What do you mean?"
His voice was poised. Too poised. It felt calculated, the amount of calm he'd need to coat his voice in to appear collected. Like a shield.
She detached herself from his embrace, turning around to see him, still sitting on his lap. He looked a little dazed, worried. Gently, she cupped his face, hoping he felt she was genuine. "I'm not reproaching anything," she said in a soft voice. Gentle, always. "You're allowed to have your secrets, and I of all people understand that. But I just want you to know that you can talk to me. You said yourself it was nasty for you to keep the bad stuff in, and… I'm here for you, Killua, whenever you want to pour the bad stuff away."
He stared at her for a moment, with a little sadness in his eyes. Then, he just wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her chest, hiding in her neck. "Don't worry about me."
She pulled him closer, stroking his hair. She didn't press, but she was more than sure that something had happened in his past, something that had awoken with this pull between them.
But she wouldn't force him. It wasn't her right. One day he would tell her, when he was ready.
A little bell sound coming from her bag made her open her eyes. He shifted, reaching for her bag to give it to her. "Your phone hates me," he stated as she took it from her bag.
She stared at the message she had just received: 'Where's your boyfriend?'
She grinned.
"What is it? Why are you grinning?"
She looked up from her mother's text. "Killua, are you ready to meet my mom?"
His mouth fell open. "Shit. I had completely forgotten." He fumbled a bit, running a hand through his hair. "Does she know we're… a thing?"
"You mean, does she know we made out like there was no tomorrow? On multiple occasions? Yeah. She does. I finally told her."
He crashed his head on her chest as though he were hiding. "Noooo. Now all I'll think about while talking to her is 'I made out with your daughter and grinded with her' and it's gonna be embarrassing as hell."
She giggled. "Think instead of the things you'll do to me tonight," she said in his ear. "When I slip your hands under my shirt."
He looked up, eyes stuck in hers. A thrill shook through her as his hand snuck up her thigh, as she saw the want aroused in his eyes. "You'll let me see?"
Her breath was hoarse. A dreamy smile stretched on her lips as her thumb brushed his lower lip. "Perhaps. If you're good to my mom."
He smiled at the challenge. "Don't worry. She'll love me." He switched to her inner thigh. Still going up. She sucked in a breath, grabbing his shoulders. His hand stopped, resting in the warmth of her inner thigh. "Just like you will after the party," he breathed in her ear, his voice low and sultry and burning slowly, consuming her with throbbing desire. She wanted to take his hand and lead him between her legs and let him do whatever he wanted, everything he wanted.
"Let's go," he said instead, and the moment burst with frustration. He gestured her to stand up. "Your mom's waiting."
He was smirking.
"Asshole," she hissed as she took his hand. It was still warm.
He chuckled, leaving a little peck on her cheek. "Looks like I'm not the only one with my head full of sins."
She took a deep breath, chasing the hundreds of fantasies bustling through her mind. Ones where his hand didn't stop and his fingers did wonders to her.
"You're really not."
They found Hana's mother, the 'dragon', in the main hall near the dancefloor. A tall, muscular man, with a long blond ponytail was talking to her.
Killua studied the short woman. Standing in all her glory in an all-black suit when she noticed them.
And boy, now he knew where Hana had taken all that beauty from.
"At last. I've been here for like, three years," was the first thing she said when he and Hana reached her.
Hana casually laughed at the joke—and he tried a little smile, a token of politeness. He had to make a good impression, right? "Hi Mama," Hana said, and hugged her mother—who hugged her back. "I missed you!"
More affection and kisses followed. In a way, it reminded Killua of the first time Aunt Mito had hugged Gon and kissed his cheek—how surprised he had been watching such displays of affection. He knew his family was completely dysfunctional and shouldn't be held as references, but going from whips to warm embraces had been a positive shock for him.
"You've got the boy?" Hana's mother then said in a low voice, eyebrows dipped low as she flashed a mischievous smile.
A smile that Hana perfectly replicated. "I've got the boy."
'The boy' in question blinked as they both stared at him, unsure of whether he was supposed to join in on their little joke or just submit to it. So he just stood there, a little gawky and lost. "Um, I suppose I'm 'the boy', right?"
"Damn right you are," Hana's mother said as Hana let go—and threw herself in the arms of the man next to her mother, whose stern face broke into a wide smile.
He extended his arm. "Hi, Hana's mom. I'm 'the boy'. Nice to meet you."
She laughed as she took his hand and promptly shook it. She had a firm grip. "The name's Natsu. Natsu Torana." She let go of his hand.
"Killua Zoaldyeck." He turned toward the man Hana had just hugged like a long-lost friend. He looked nothing like her father—he did remember meeting him at her building, two months ago—with aquamarine eyes instead of the Torana's green, and a scar barring his face.
Natsu gestured toward him. "My friend and subordinate."
The man briefly nodded. "Lenaic Thalassis," he introduced himself, looking a little grim. Until Natsu elbowed him.
"Stop acting like a tough guy, you big marshmallow." She pointed toward him with her thumb. "He's been working with me for years and was Hana's very first friend. I was almost scared her first word would be 'Lenaic' instead of 'Mama'."
Hana giggled, blushing slightly. Killua loved that sight on her, the shy blush when she knew someone was about to say something embarrassing about her.
"She was my hardest mission," Lenaic confessed. "I was only sixteen. Working as Natsu's apprentice. Then she had Hana." He exhaled soundly. "It was… an experience."
"She made him run through the entire building, used him as a model for her make-up practice, styled his hair with her greedy little toddler hands, and pretty much drove him crazy." Natsu huffed, then turned toward Lenaic. "I knew babysitting her would forge you into a real fighter."
"Both of you, stop," Hana managed in between two laughs. "I didn't bring him so you could fill him in on my embarrassing toddler moments."
"Aw, mya najram, that's what my duty as a mother is. To make you look like an absolute moron in front of your boy."
Killua smiled at the term of endearment—it meant something like 'my baby' in Tanalean. "She doesn't need you for that, trust me."
Hana flashed her most outraged face as Natsu burst out laughing. "I like him!" Natsu exclaimed. "I like this boy!"
And he showed his smuggest smirk to Hana. I told you she'd love me.
Her lips stretched into a warm smile. A genuine one. And then she took a petty face. "Anyway, I'm not gonna listen to you two roasting me together. I'm hungry. Lenaic, you come with me?"
"Once a babysitter, always a babysitter," Natsu mused while Lenaic and Hana went toward the buffet. She turned her head, wordlessly examining him. "I'm curious about you. Let's get to know each other."
"Sure," he replied, though that last sentence had boosted his nervousness to high levels. All he could do was thank God for his controlled emotions. "But first, how should I call you? You don't look like the type to like being called 'ma'am'," he risked.
"Yeah, I'm not. Natsu is fine." She tapped his shoulder. "And relax. I'm not gonna chop your head off."
He chuckled. "Yeah? You sure about that?"
"My girl has finally found a boy she's ready to show me. I'm not gonna ruin him that early."
"Not 'that early' huh? But later yes?"
She smirked. "If you hurt her, I'll end you."
"If I hurt her, you're welcome to end me."
She arched an eyebrow. "You sound just like my husband." She stopped a waiter passing by and took two glasses of champagne. Right before he left, she chatted with him a little bit—turned out she knew his wife. Killua recognized Hana in that little quirk; she too could start conversations with people like she had always known them, and more times than she would admit, she'd find a friend in common with them.
And the resemblance didn't stop here.
They didn't look alike at first glance. Where Hana was golden and spring green and a warm shade of greige, her mother was olive and shimmering blue and a deep inky black. And well, Hana definitely hadn't taken her tall genes from her mother. Natsu was almost a head shorter than Killua—while wearing heels. And still looked intimidating as hell, with her piercing gaze and sharp eyebrows, sharp enough to cut.
But the more he looked, the more their similarities struck him. The delicate button nose. The full pout of their lips. The grace of their hands. The elegant arch of their neck. And that tendency to scrunch their nose when they were telling a joke or reacting to one, to laugh loud and clear, to smile brightly and without any restraint. Both bold and brave and bright.
Clearly, she was her mother's daughter.
The waiter finally left with a big smile on his face.
"Okay boy, first question," Natsu immediately attacked, blue eyes studying him, and he unwittingly squared his shoulders. "Cliché one: how do you like the party?"
Was that a trap question? "Honestly, it sucked until Hana joined me." He looked at the spot where Lenaic stood before he went with Hana. "Is your husband here?"
"Nah. Haru doesn't like big gatherings." She looked away. "Neither do I, but I have to be here."
"Have to?"
She gave a wry smile. "It's 'highly recommended' we participate to the HCDS events. Not as a rule per se but, you don't want the Vice-President to be mad at you."
"Even you?"
"I'm not scared of him. But he will lash out on my subordinates if I'm not obedient. In his own way, you know."
"Yeah, by giving them murderous cases," he whispered.
She looked straight at him. "How do you know?"
"Rumors. I heard he wasn't a particularly pleasant man. Emre Nightowl right?"
"Right." She scowled, but not at him. "Pleasant is a foreign concept to him." She finished her glass in a single long gulp. "At least the champagne is good."
"My thoughts exactly. Though this is at least my fourth glass."
"How are you not drunk?" she chuckled.
He opened his mouth. He had been about to say 'Zoaldyeck genes'—a punchline he would have been very pleased with—but joking about being part of the world's most infamous assassin family probably wasn't gonna make a good impression on his girl's mom. "Um, alcohol tolerance."
She scoffed. "More like Zoaldyeck genes, am I right?"
To which he just laughed. "Okay, you win."
"Stop trying so hard to make a good impression, it's not working," she joked. "Relax. You would know if I disliked you. You'd feel it. On your left cheek, precisely."
"Good to know," he said after a chuckle, and relaxed.
"So what kind of hunter are you?" she asked, changing the topic.
"Crime hunter. Freelance."
She nodded. "Good, very good. Are you working on anything right now?"
"A disappearance." That turned out to be a savage death plotted by the HCDS's most important benefactor, Erik Faem, but that was irrelevant. "Tricky but interesting. I became far more involved that I first intended to."
"That's how you know a good crime hunter from a mediocre one. The interest and the curiosity. The need to know." She shrugged. "Didn't expect less from my daughter's boy."
It wasn't the first time she called him that, but each time, a little fuzzy feeling tickled him—joy, or pride, he didn't know. To be called 'Hana's boy' left him with a sweet satisfaction in his chest. Yes, he was her boy. "What about you? Are you working on anything now?" he asked, genuinely curious. Natsu was one of the HCDS's top agents; surely whatever she could be working on had to be fascinating.
"The dreaded usual. Drug trafficking, pedophilic networks, sex slavery. They take time." She lowered her voice. "Everybody's so hung up about the Whisper they forget bigger monsters are still lurking. Monsters who pimp kids and call it a fetish and ruin lives for the sake of their nasty business."
He winced. "That's a rough routine." He nodded toward her. "So you won't catch him," he deduced. "The Whisper."
She peered in his eyes. "No. You know what will happen if I do. And that's the last thing I want."
He slowly rolled the glass in his hand, watching the champagne twirl in the glass. "You think she'd chase after him if you did?"
"I wish I could say 'no' but she's my daughter. And just like me, she's nothing short of a loyal idiot."
"Self-deprecation runs in the family," he noted.
"Nah. I'm a fantastic person. But I also happen to be an idiot."
"Sometimes being an idiot for the good cause is what makes you fantastic."
She rose her glass toward him. "Spoken like a true loyal idiot."
He mimicked her gesture. "Busted."
"One more good point for you. I'm starting to see why she likes you."
Allan Fox sidled up to them as Natsu finished those words. Even though he looked pristine, Killua could feel he was a little out of breath. "Natsu, hi. And you too, Mr. Zoaldyeck. Did I say hello already?"
Natsu patted him on the shoulder. "You did, Al." Then she gestured toward the banquet. "By the way, guess who came tonight?"
He blinked, then widened his eyes as he broke into a grin. "Hana came?"
"The one and only," Natsu replied. She nodded toward Killua. "Gotta thank this boy for that."
Fox let out a little laugh of relief. "You should have told me! I have to find her. Where is she?"
"You know what's the only thing Hana likes as much as boys?"
Allan tilted his head. "The buffet?"
Killua snorted.
"I heard that," Hana's voice called out to them. She was laughing, her cheeks a little red from the champagne, even though she had only had two glasses. She was going slow with the alcohol—he suspected he was the reason for that. "Did you just make a squad to make fun of me?"
"Your biggest fan is here, Hana," Natsu said, gesturing toward Fox.
Hana giggled a little, and Fox shook his head in disbelief with a dreamy smile on his lips. "I'm speechless," he said. At this moment, the musicians started playing an agreeable waltz, welcoming the guests on the large dance floor. Killua could almost see the lightbulb switch on above Allan Fox's head. He took Hana's hand. "You know, I always say, a dance is worth a thousand words. Will you offer me this dance, Hana?"
Hana laughed, Natsu whistled, Lenaic smiled a little—and Killua, though he was a little jealous, was gloating. At last, Hana was comfortable with her former teacher. Despite all her distance, she had missed him.
"You know I can't say no to that," Hana said, letting him lead her toward the swarm of twirling dancers. Then, a woman invited Lenaic, and he left them.
"You're alone with the dragon again," Natsu called, forcing him to detach his eyes from Hana's swirling figure.
"I don't mind. I don't dance."
She dubiously raised an eyebrow. "Sure." With a small smile, she stared at her daughter laughing with Fox while they waltzed together, mentor and student reunited. "I haven't seen her that happy in a long while," she admitted. A dark veil fell on her eyes. "Not genuinely, at least. I don't know what you did to her, but it's working."
He shrugged. "I did nothing special. She's recovering of her own will. I'm just trying to support her the best I can."
"That's what she needs." She smiled, a thankful smile. "I'm glad she's managed to make such a positive connection with you."
The corner of his lips tipped up slightly. A connection was exactly what was between them. Deep and intricate. Real and intimate. As though they had always known each other when they had barely met a few months ago. "Thanks. We just—we clicked. And I'm glad that we did." He changed the topic after clearing his throat. "Tell me, you're the one who infused the Hunter culture to her, right? She told me she was born in that atmosphere and I… kinda always found that fascinating. Growing up surrounded by hunters."
She smiled in recognition, as though she remembered something pleasant. "I was only a vector. Deep down, Hana was a child of the hunter world, not just because of me. All the people here, my friends and colleagues, they took part to her upbringing as much as I did."
"How come?"
"Well, Allan played with her when she was still in the crib. Lenaic looked after her when she begged to come to my work. Some of my students even pretended to fight her and always let her win when she was a toddler. She was the little mascot. Imagine how thrilled they were when she became a hunter of her own, when she joined us on equal footing..." She frowned, holding to her last words, refusing to speak them. And then she was gone. "Ever since she was a little girl, she's showed this attraction to our world. And I believed she could make a good hunter. I mean, she's brave, curious, versatile, with a strong will and a thirst of knowledge that all hunters need. No matter what she thinks of herself."
"Is that why you supported her decision to become a hunter? Or did you give her the idea?"
"I didn't want to push my own views on her, so I never openly asked her to take the exam. But she asked me to train her of her own will, and spent more and more time at the HCDS with me and my colleagues—as a student, then an apprentice. Eventually, I just felt she was burning to be like us." She paused. "I always supported her decision, but I know I would never have accepted if I didn't believe she had all the keys to success—and survival. I would never risk her life if I wasn't a hundred percent sure she'd be fine. But still, I always tried to go her way when I figured it wouldn't be dangerous."
He listened to Natsu as she spoke, picturing his father repeating that family came first, shoving the family's traditions down his children's throats since their mother stopped breastfeeding them. The chains, the violence, the big plans awaiting them with their whole life plotted out for them. The great expectations and greater punishments. "Sounds ideal to me," he said in a low voice. "Letting your kids explore life while protecting them from harm."
"And explaining. Talking. Children learn the world with their own sets of tools. Your job as a parent is to help them explore and stop them before they eat worms or throw themselves down a cliff thinking they can fly. And then explain why, unless you want them to do it again. Scolding only works when the child understands why it's bad to do something."
He chuckled. "You're speaking from experience?"
She sighed. "God, yes. Hana was born an explorer. Except when you're a parent, that usually means you'll be kissing a lot of bumps and bandaging a lot of wounds."
"And buying a lot of ruined dresses, apparently."
She laughed. "That too. That and scolding her." She slightly tilted her head, examining him. "Now, about you, Killua."
"What about me?"
It was so obvious, what she wanted to talk about. "I'm not sure you like talking about your family but… You're 'him' right?"
He frowned. "Him?"
"The rebel," she clarified with a playful light in her eyes. "The one Zoaldyeck who's ever refused to bend to his family's authority."
His lips quirked up. "That's a very cool way to call common sense."
But she shook her head. "What you did wasn't common sense. It's fucking bravery. Don't reduce your achievements to nothing."
He looked away. "It's nice, put this way."
"You're not in contact with them anymore?"
"Nope. And I've made clear that I didn't want them to reach for me." He smiled. "I think it's safe to say they finally understood, after all these years. They still think I'll come back one day—that's why they're so lenient. But for now, they're leaving me in peace." He paused. "Hana is safe, too. I made them promise they wouldn't harm anyone I love."
"I'm not worried about that. If I believed one second that my daughter wasn't safe with you, I wouldn't have supported your relationship." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm curious, though. What was the price of such a promise?"
He arched his eyebrows. "Well—I may or may not have beaten up my older brothers and threatened to kill my mother. Until my father accepted."
She laughed. "How it all backfired in his face! The son he so intensively trained using that training to free himself. Now that's good plotting."
He smiled. "Pretty much," he agreed.
"Are you sure he's gonna keep his promise, though?"
"Zoaldyecks are dangerous assholes, but they always hold their promises. They're serious business among them—called blood promises," he explained. "It's tricky though, because when you make a promise, you have to make sure there are no loopholes that they could exploit."
"Like straight out of a fantasy novel," she mused.
"And just as thrilling," he deadpanned.
She had a bit of a sad smile then. It was strange, seeing it on her. Such a motherly, sorrowful smile to a boy who was barely more than a stranger.
Yet he couldn't relate to it. There was nothing sad about his godforsaken family, because he had found his own. Gon, Leorio, Kurapika. Mito. Mag. And now, Hana.
The music changed to a slow waltz. Lenaic came back with the woman who had snatched him away, both of them tired from the dance. Killua let his eyes fall on Hana mingling in the crowd, her laughing figure reflecting Fox's. Again, that same twinge in his chest.
He gave his glass to a waiter.
"Natsu, it was a pleasure meeting you," he started, readjusting his suit. "I enjoyed this conversation with you."
"Same goes here, Killua." She offered a knowing smile. "Sad to see you go so early, though."
"Well, I'd stay longer, but it's the second time I watch her dance with another man and I think it's about time I step on that dancefloor."
"I thought you didn't dance?" she teased.
He smirked. "What wouldn't I do for your daughter?"
If someone had told her that she'd be waltzing with her long-lost nen master after avoiding him for nearly three years, in a place where she felt like more of a joke and outsider than a guest, she wouldn't have believed them.
And yet.
"I was right, Hana," Allan started as they twirled around with the other dancers. "Dances speak better than words. Can you feel what I'm feeling?"
"I'm feeling that you're trying to be inspirational and cheesy—and failing."
He laughed. "You felt right. I'm as good with inspirational speeches as I am with waltzing," he admitted. "It's a miracle I haven't stepped on your foot."
"You better not ruin my pedicure," she warned.
"I wouldn't dare." He made an ample movement, gliding along the ballroom with his hand on her back. "But cheesy or not, I need to say it." He sighed of relief. "I'm proud, Hana. So proud of you. For being here and being you. And so proud to dance with you and show everyone how brave of a girl, of a student, of a hunter you are."
She chuckled, letting his words soothe her. How she had missed the simple flow of their conversations, the delight bubbling through her when he encouraged her. He had watched her grow, had raised her like a member of her own family would have.
God, she had missed him.
"Thank you," she breathed. "I… It wasn't easy to come here at first, to show myself to the others. I wouldn't have found the strength if it weren't for Killua. So this victory—it's not only mine."
"You did find the strength by yourself, because you had it in you. What he ignited was already here, Hana. He was just the spark you needed. And I'm sure he would agree with me on it."
She broke into an easy smile. "Thank you for being so patient with me," she said, peering in his eyes. Soft blue and serene, nothing like his usual steely gaze. A lump lodged in her throat. How long had it been since she had seen him so peaceful? "Thank you, and… and I'm sorry, for all this time avoiding you. You too needed support—from me, because I know best what it was like to lose Feri. And yet I let you dow—Oh my God!" she exclaimed as he dipped her and pulled her back up, all the while twirling. "We're waltzing Allan, not pulling stunts for God's fucking sake!"
Allan laughed, falling back into the traditional posture—his left hand on her back, her right hand on his upper arm, their remaining hands clasped together, her right side against his right side. "I was hoping the dip would wash some sense in your head."
"That was a terrible pun."
"My favorite." His eyes searched hers. "The point is, you didn't let me down. You weren't obligated to take care of me, Hana. And although I do wish we had stayed in contact, the past is in the past, and I regret nothing of it. You emerge from this ordeal, bright and beautiful as you are, and that's all that counts."
Gratitude pooled in her chest, until she felt so moved she could have swayed with tears. "Thank you," she let out, her voice breaking.
"Don't cry," he said, voice soothing like that of her father. "Hold your head high, release the tension, and stare right at me. You've got this, and you always will."
She did as he instructed. She tipped her chin, relaxed, and stared in his eyes. Let him guide her through the ballroom, all the while holding her head high and keeping her tears inside until they dissolved in her pride. And he smiled, because he had taught her right.
He always had.
The orchestra died in a long moment, violins holding their last notes for a few seconds. A few guests left the dancefloor, others joined in for the next song.
Allan carefully let go of her, but not before taking hold of her hand between both of his and gently patting it. "Thank you for this dance, Hana. Be brave."
She put her hand on top of his. "I will."
"Sorry Mr. Fox, I'm taking over."
Her eyes darted toward the voice, the beloved voice she had least expected in the middle of a ballroom.
And yet, here he was. Gentle smile and pretty blue eyes and his strong frame towering with elegance. "Killua?" she called, joy and surprise ringing through her tone.
"Who else?"
Allan chuckled, letting go of her hand to pat Killua's shoulder. "I believe the next dance is a slow one. Make the most of it."
"We will," Killua replied as Allan left, bowing his head one last time as he joined her mother. Killua turned back toward her. "If you want to."
"Of course I want to! I thought you didn't dance so I didn't ask you, but I've been dying to dance with you," she chittered, blushing at the excitement in her voice.
"I don't dance—not usually." He smirked. "Except the lewd ones at nightclubs."
Heat surged in her neck at the thought—gliding against his body, her back to his chest, writhing with his hands on her hips pressing her against him and his lips in her neck. Bad idea. "We have to do that one day," she breathed. "But then why are you dancing?"
He smiled. "You."
The music started, a slow pace with low notes. He brought her against him, his right hand gripping her waist. Instinctively, she put her left hand on his shoulder, took his left hand with her right, and rested her body against his, leaving only a few inches between their faces. "This is why I love slow dances," she said. "I can pretend I can dance while staring at you the whole time."
"It's hardly dancing," he whispered, leading her in the masses of dancing couples. "Which is why it's the perfect dance for me."
"I thought your mom had taught you how to waltz."
He scoffed. "She did. But I prefer slow dancing. At least we can talk and—" He bent slightly, stealing a peck on her lips. "—And kiss."
She grinned. "I like how you think." She squeezed his shoulder, loving the way he felt under her hand. She could picture the strong curve of his shoulder, the warmth of his skin, the ridges of his muscles connecting. "How was mom with you? Did it go well?"
"It did actually. I like your mom."
"What did you talk about?"
"You, mainly. She told me a lot of sweet things about you."
She groaned. "... Like what?"
"Like the fact that toddler-you fancied worms."
"Nooooo," she whined. "Look, I was tiny, okay?"
"Tiny and already adventurous."
"Shut up. Or else I'll rub my foundation all over your suit."
"And then I need lessons of romance."
She scrunched her nose. "Did she bring up your family?"
"A bit. She was cool with it."
She searched for his eyes. "You know, when I told her you had cut ties with your family, she was admirative of you."
Finally, he looked her in the eye. "Why?"
"Because you escaped a glass labyrinth, that's why. That's what abuse is. And not any abuse; what you went through, what you outgrew, is hell, Killua. It takes colossal strength. I think it's admirable. And she thinks so too."
He remained silent, though his gaze was fraught with reserve. "I don't know," he finally said, weighing his words. "It was all I knew so I can't realize. When you're so deep into something you don't realize how fucked up it is until you're out of it."
"Don't say that," she shushed, stroking his neck.
"It doesn't even anger me," he argued. "What they did to me. I grew numb to it. I feel so distant from it, it's like it never happened."
"But it did, and you saved yourself from it. You shattered their goddamned cages and mended yourself."
He pressed her closer against him, his palm warm on her back. "I think I never had a proper reaction to what they did to me," he exhaled. "People get shocked, sad, horrified. And it doesn't reach me. No matter how fucked up I know it was, I can't feel anything, any anger toward what they did to me. All I can see is the… use I have for it." His face grew dark. "Except the needle."
"Why do you think that is?" she prompted. "Why do you think the needle angered you that much?"
He opened his mouth. "Because it made me doubt my loyalty to Gon. It made me forget my sister. That's why."
"Yes. Because that was how you coped, Killua. They tortured you, but in your mind, you were free. Free to like and think whatever you wanted." She tightened her grip on his shoulder. "That's why they used the needle. To try to control the one thing about you they couldn't control, the one thing that made it impossible for them to get to you. You see how fucked up that is? That's what makes me so angry. The way they made you feel so helpless and alone and fucked up. The way they messed up your perception of yourself in hopes that you would submit to them."
His hand moved from her waist to her back. "Don't anger yourself over it," he softly said, tenderly stroking her back. "They're not worth it."
"I'm not angry." She sighed. "I try to imagine what you went through, what you survived. I try to imagine just how strong you are. I can't believe someone can have that much love inside of them." She closed her eyes, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "You know what you remind me of?" she murmured in his ear, moving slowly along the rhythm.
"What?"
"The flowers that grow through the cracks in the paving. You know, those tough little lives that thrive against all odds and grow into something beautiful. And even though they were trapped they still broke through. That's you."
A fond smile slowly formed on his lips. Warm, delicate, flooded with gratitude and awe. His eyes shone with wonder and emotion. He sighed of delight. "You're incredible," he chuckled, letting his lips linger on her temple. "Thank you, Hana."
His voice, no louder than a murmur, faded into a breath. Silence embraced them in a small bubble—their own, with their mixed breaths and their shared gazes and their slow movements guided by the music. He said nothing more, instead just smiling that sweet, shy smile of his. That rare, deliberate expression of vulnerability when he bared his feelings for her to see. The confusion, the joy, the bliss. As though she had moved something in him with those simple words, those tiny confessions that barely began to express her love and her admiration for him.
So she stayed silent, too. Let herself bask in his presence with her gaze lodged in his and her body moving with his. Enveloped in blue quietude in his eyes, the warm aura around him. Touched to the core by his vulnerability so willingly exposed to her.
They spoke more than any words would.
Something flickered in his eyes, then. It lasted a split second, but it was enough for her. The bubble burst, the silence waned. His timid happiness died into pure horror as he stared at something behind her, behind the crowd, far behind.
Something that would soon erupt into chaos.
A/N: Ahahaha. I wonder what that thing might be. Oh shoot, looks like Yui has planned to ruin it all again! :D
I hope you liked the chapter! My personal favorite part was the fountain scene, when they start getting hot. It was very funny to write too lol. What was your favorite moment? Did you like the chapter? Please review! It boosts an author's story when you review, and their self-esteem. Even just a few words is better than nothing. Nothing means we assume no one read actually lol…
Next chapter is called Shadows and Smoke, and yes that sounds like a total Young-Adult book title, but I love YA so :D (yes like a mashup of Shadow and Bone and Daughter of and Smoke and Bone lol. Both really great btw if you want to read new stuff.) I think you'll like it. You'll find a lot of revelations about Hana.
Until then, I'll see you! Check the little preview below. And stay awesome ;)
Bye!
"Help me remove my dress," she asked, giving him her back, pushing her hair over her shoulder.
He exhaled, sidling up to her. He slowly unzipped her dress then, pink fabric giving in to golden skin. The slit in her back grew until he reached her lower back, the base of her spine. For an instant, he forgot everything, gently glided the back of his fingers on the sliver of skin revealed, relishing in the sensation against his skin. The heat of her skin, the delicateness of it. The bump of every vertebrae, of any muscle.
With infinite care, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his breath hitching ever so slightly as the dress slid off her body. And he pressed his lips on her nape as she sighed and nuzzled into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, brought her close, closer. And buried his face in her neck.
She was silent, resting her back to his chest and stroking his hand with her thumb. And they stayed this way in their bundle of warmth for a few long minutes. Two bruised dancers in torn costumes, muscles seething from the effort, minds racing from the shock. Still catching up, because it was all they could do, with the things they had seen and heard and done and felt. People falling, screaming, dying. Spilled blood, spilled tears. Columns of smoke, fireless smoke. Hunters cooperating to save what could be saved. To choke the fire and chase the curse away.
And him. The fear ringing in his head, the whole time, knowing that the smoke nen user was among them. That he had seen Hana. That if he hadn't reacted fast, she would be yet another corpse in the pile of charred bodies they had gathered.
He tightened his embrace, frowning in her neck.
He couldn't bear the thought.