A/N: Tumblerers, fanfictioners, and lurkers, thank you, thank you, thank you so much for your reviews and messages and the love you continue to show for this story! You guys, it blows my mind sometimes how long some of you have stuck with me. When I feel like writing is too hard and that I want to rip my hair out and hide my weak mortal body under the covers, you pull me back by reminding me of how fun this could be and I love you all for it.
The two chapters of Red are all about pulling some covers from Yuki's life before the events of this story to get to know the person she was better, so the chapters will have new-old friends, fluff, games, crime stories, more fluff, some wild secrets, and a whole lot of wine.
I should remind you that the story's tumblr is Beastied and I'll be there for the whole time after updating for your questions or the instant thoughts that you have while reading, after reading, or whenever really. Hit me up.
And hey, download the app "relax melodies". It's a reader and a writer's paradise. Thank me later.
The quote mentioned in the flashback is by Ivan Turgenev.
Now get your favorite drink and let's have a picnic.
51. Red: Part I
There were many things that Yuki Kudo valued in life. Things that caught her attention and made her happier about being a part of the world. Art. Nature. Exploring new places. Puppies. Beauty products. Sunny days. Dimples. The color of skin. The shape of lips. The exhale after reaching the peak of something, a tree, mountain, a song chorus. The rush of bringing a criminal to his knees. The sweet muscle burn after a good training. Her wide, wide collection of jackets. Small towns where people knew her by a nickname. Her bustling city from the highest viewpoint. People that could make her smile. Integrity. Equality. Diversity. Mortality. A new sunrise.
But still there was nothing in life that she loved and valued more than her freedom. It was the one thing that she wouldn't trade for anything.
By the age of seventeen she had accomplished so much in her life already, more so than most people do in one lifetime. Some would say she lived her seven lives at once. She'd traveled half of the world, hardly ever staying in one city for more than a couple months. She'd note herself that her best accomplishments were learning over three languages, trying over twenty different global cuisines, breaking wild mountain animals, and catching Lloyd, a pro mercenary that had been wanted for war crimes in over a decade. She was only fifteen and it was her first official job as a Hunter. That was when she'd become one of the five youngest Blacklist Hunters and the only female ever featured in Headhunt's "Blacklisters Under 18" list. She didn't show up to that interview because she was too busy creatively pissing off a reclusive underground Hunter dynasty at the time.
That, along with some of her other wild shenanigans, was what earned her something of a reputation in the Hunter Association. Tittle tattles and hearsays.
Yuki Kudo, extremely driven, but also extremely unreliable and flaky.
Worst team player.
Can't tell which side she's on.
Very ambiguous loyalties.
Always capped with a warning: Probably Shouldn't Trust Her.
Those who'd heard of her or got the chance to meet her had formed their own impressions of who she was. Some knew her as the snarky, kickass girl who didn't take crap from anyone and walked over boys' hearts in her chunky heeled boots. Some said she was a snobby bitch who was constantly mocking, herself especially. Some called her the uncompromising cosmopolitan who was impossible to belong anywhere. Some said she was annoyingly witty with a humor "drier than the martinis she orders when she's alone at bars". Some called her "the ratty-ass punk that stole TWELVE of my apples!" But that was just Mr. Shan who lived in a small town near the mountains and that was a great story for another time.
Point blank, Yuki had it all—the street knowledge, the reputation, the success, the money, the lack of responsibility for anything but to her own happiness, the cool jacket on her shoulder, and the free road. And she didn't need more. "Many things interested her, and nothing satisfied her entirely" were words that fit her perfectly.
She always, always had a journey. It was said that the journey mattered more than the destination, but would the journey still be a journey if it had no destination? No sense of direction? No sense of urgency?
Because if there was something missing in Yuki's life, it was that. It was that she didn't care if she took the wrong train. It was that she thought of herself as an accessory in her own life, an observer from the edges. It was that if the world was a stage, she didn't think that she was meant to be on it. Around it, maybe. Managing it. Looking after it.
Only without being a vital part of it.
"Where are we laying this again?" Killua asked as he lifted my folded picnic blanket above his shoulder. His hand carried the picnic basket and he was swinging it as we hiked up Bond's hill, weaving between sky-high pine trees and using the flashlight of my phone to light up the dark road ahead of us. "Because if you need my opinion, I think here is fine. I bet it'll get muddier if we go any further."
"No." I was lagging behind him with my teeth scratching the foil off the pinot noir's neck. The bottle kept slipping through the smooth leather of the biker gloves I was wearing and I had to stop twice to catch it over my knee—hence why I was lagging. "We're not stopping until we're at the very top!"
He groaned. "How about you remove that one earbud out of your ear because you're yelling. I can hear you perfectly well. We're literally the only two idiots around this place."
I spat out a tiny piece of foil off my tongue and rolled my eyes at his whiny silhouette in front of me. It'd been ten minutes and that was literally his seventeenth complaint over the fact that I'd made him drive all the way up here in the late December cold and short after midnight. The whining began from the moment he arrived and parked behind my bike. He started with, "hey, weirdo" once he got out of his car, continuing with, "it's a beautiful day to freeze in the wilderness" as he took the basket out of my hand and led the way.
Having enough of it, I pulled the earbud out and let it dangle into the low neckline of my shirt. "You run every day for almost two hours, you take the stairs when everyone else takes the escalator, and Gon told me about the time when you guys were in LS last year and he lost you for fourteen hours at the beach skateparks because you wanted to try all of them. All around the city. But now what? A ten-minute bunny-hike is too much for your royal legs?"
He glared at me. "No, I'm just picky about the things that I put my efforts in. A hike on a freshly muddy trail when it's expected to snow in few hours and you're surrounded by every member of the bug family doesn't exactly scream good idea. In fact, on a scale from co-op horror games to crocs, this hike, on the quality of an idea scale, will fall somewhere near fake pockets, and that should give you the extent of how terrible—Hey, do you think that I can't see you putting your earbuds back on while I'm speaking?"
"Look! We get it!" I said, shoving his arm away because he'd turned the blinding flashlight pointed directly at my face. "We get it! Winter hikes are too much for your diva ass. But once we reach the top, you'll see that it's worth it, okay?"
"Unless there's a hot tub there, I highly doubt it." He paused, then groaned again. "We could have been skinny dipping in a hot tub right now," he lamented, exaggerating a sigh. "Warm. Naked. Happy."
I laughed at his dramatics despite myself, quietly so he wouldn't hear it. I was supposed to be taking a firm stand.
After another pause, he turned to me, and I stopped smiling, arranging my face into a coolly stern expression.
"You know, it's not too late to—"
"No."
"You didn't let me finish."
"You didn't have to. We are not turning back and sneaking into that private school's swimming pool. Again."
"It's not sneaking in if you own the key." He ducked his head under a poking tree branch before stopping to twist it protectively high above my head and shooting me a skeptical look as I walked past him, mumbling my 'thank you' around the foil. "And what's with the finality in that tone? You're a damn liar if you deny how much fun you had that night. You drank three beers and jumped into the pool while doing every trick in the book, including fucking cartwheeling."
"I did have fun. Plenty actually. But that was until I found out how you'd got the key to the pool. And I'm a woman with dignity who refuses to have my fun off the benefits of your past smutty liaisons."
He laughed beside me. "My what? 'Smutty liaisons'?"
"That's nerd talk for sexapedes. Skylarking. An illicit sexual episode. Try to keep up, Prettyboy."
"First, who the hell uses these words in real life? And second, there was nothing smutty about my beneficial and purely platonic association with that teacher. You can't just assume things, Yuki. You know what assuming does? It makes an idiot out of the person."
I snorted. "Yeah, because people just give you things in this time and age. That teacher gave you a copy of that key out of the goodness of her heart and not the goodness in her clothes."
He stopped, cursing when his sneaker landed in a puddle of melted snow, and said, "That wordplay, while clever and appreciated, barely makes any sense. Why are you assuming that her goodness had to do with anything? It could have been my goodness."
Leaning sideways and upwards to his ear, I hissed, "Same. Fucking. Thing."
"No, no. I meant to say that people are pretty lonely in this world, Yuki. You'll be amazed by how far a kind word can get you through. Sometimes that's all it takes." He looked at me, a smug smile had crept over his smile. "Not that you'll understand what that means, beastie."
I clasped a hand over my chest, feigning a heartbroken voice. "Oh, no, I'm roasted. How could I possibly go through my day knowing that Killua Zaoldyeck doesn't think I'm nice? How would one live in peace without his verbal validation and approval?"
He stared at me, straight-faced, for a few seconds before breaking into a grin. "You know what would be fun? If we—"
"No."
He threw his head back at the sky and let out a huffy growling noise. "Why do you say no before even hearing what I'm about to say? I wasn't even going to suggest anything that has to do with turning back this time."
"Then let me guess, it has something to do with carrying me Tarzan-style and jumping from one top of a tree to another," I said, glancing up to see him pressing his lips together, a scowl firmly in place. I gave a triumphant smirk. "That's your problem, Killua, and the difference between you and me. You have to make fun happen, but I like to see fun in what's happening. Your miraculous speed has got so far up in your head, you now feel the need to skip through things instead of enjoying them. That's why people like me live longer than people like you." I spread my arms theatrically. "Live in the now, Killua. Get your head out of the clouds. Let your feet touch the ground."
Scoffing out a little pissed-off laugh, he stuffed his free hand in his pocket and looked straight at the road. He sighed. "Why can't we do that, though? Imagine the wind moving through your body, your hair. Your feet won't touch anything and you'll feel the complete weightlessness." He leaned over and at my shoulder, whispering into my ear like the devil himself. "You like that, don't you? You know you want it. It'd be like that movie you love. With the man and his ugly moving? I know you secretly enjoy roleplay—"
"Ugh, no. Stop it." I shook him off. "The beauty of the hike is the moment you reach the end of it. Jumping that high will spoil the view for you and it won't be as beautiful. Listen." I stopped walking and rounded at him, placing myself in his way with my free hand flat across his broad chest to stop him as well. His brows lifted and his smile slipped, his eyes tripping down to my hand then trailing up my face. "You need to trust me on this and suck it up for the next few hours, because I think you're going to have so much fun tonight."
"Oh, yeah?"
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug, the corners of my mouth twitching with confidence. "Hell yeah. I plan the best picnics."
He waved a dismissive hand. "I've been to good picnics before."
"Yeah, but not with me. And not to my picnics. You're still going to like it, even if it's not your favorite getaway."
His smile curled up his lips, quiet and knowing and deadly. Distinct flutters of wild anticipation started in my chest and below just from that smile alone. He ducked his head down to be at my eye level, his gaze pinning me in place. "You're my favorite getaway."
I was thankful for the semi-darkness because I was sure that I had the dopiest grin over my face. I curled away, my fingers finding the zipper of his hoodie and pulling it faintly with me as I walked backward, my smile thrilled and inviting. He licked his lips before biting the bottom one, straightening to his full height as he watched me. His legs moved to follow me.
As we started walking again, I had to ask, "You could've said no when I asked you to come here, you know that, right? You had every right to decline the invitation, so why didn't you?"
"I don't fucking know. Apparently you have my balls right here in this basket."
I barked out a shrill, utterly unfeminine laugh. He turned his head at the sound to throw me an over-the-shoulder glance, letting me see that he was smiling, too.
We walked out of the embrace of thick, needle pine trees and into the open space at the very top of the hill where they hid all the light. We were finally there. Killua stopped, looking down at the view before us, which was absolutely breathtaking. Greens, blues, purples, and lights surrounded us from every angle. It was better to see the this place for what it was in the moonlight. Bond's Hill was the only spot in the country—and third spot in the world—that had pine trees with lavender leaves. They were an extremely rare type of trees, discovered by a Botanical Hunter nearly three decades ago. She had to pick three places in the word to plant these magic seeds, and this place was one of them.
The cliffs of the hill were carpeted in green ankle-deep blades of grass. The ground was shaded by the tall trees of green and purple that stood behind us, as if crowning the hill. The summit had a high panoramic view of York Shin's running West River, and on a clear day, it showed the maroon mountains beyond the stretch of buildings facing the firm and steady stream of water. The river reflected the hazy afterglow of the moon in the sky, along with the twinkling lights of the buildings, yellow and white with the garish neon colors of a Ferris Wheel in the long distance. With the air smelled faintly of rain and wet ground, the sound of crickets and the background murmur of the river, I was reminded why I loved being here. It was the most naturally colorful place that I'd ever been to.
Killua looked down at me from over the cutting edge of his shoulder blade. I raised my eyebrows with a tiny, smug you were saying? smile. He was too proud to admit that hiking up here was worth it after his spectacular bitching. His lips twisted wryly though, his own version of a white flag.
In the light, I could now see him more clearly, and as he looked around the field, I did a calm inspection. Last time I saw him he looked like a casino royale high roller, but now? Extreme opposite. He was wearing his favorite slit-fit black jeans, a plum hoodie that was perfectly time-worn and half-zipped over a black band T-shirt that had the word KISS written with two lighting bolts for the SS, and leather slip-on sneakers. His hair looked like it always did, entirely too good to be true. He'd tied most of it up tonight, and I swear, the bun sticking out of the back of his head was taunting me. It was ridiculous how simultaneously cute and sexy that messy coil of hair was.
Just like him his outfit was based on a contradiction: a melange of carefree nonchalance and high-end fashion. He would wear a vintage jacket with two holes near the hood and designer pants and make it look as if these two items were always meant to be worn together.
He looked meticulous. Deliberate, but not rigid. Like everything in his head was pre-planned and approved and orchestrated.
His attention diverted back at me, seemingly realizing that he could see me as well. He cracked the gum inside his mouth and craned his neck slightly to get a better angle, completely unashamed by the way he was thoroughly checking me out. I took over an hour to get ready tonight, putting extra effort into my looks. I even took the time to do my nails over the kitchen counter while sipping my frappuccino from two straws, but it'd take a special brand of torture to make me admit it.
"Stop looking at my ass," I told him.
Looking back at my face, he gave me a devilish half smile. "Only when you stop having such a nice ass."
Laughing, I yanked at his arm and moved forward. "Here, I want to show you something."
"Hey—easy, easy. There are precious items getting disturbed in this basket."
I smirked at him behind my shoulder. "Besides your balls?"
He narrowed his eyes at me and smiled, growling, "Yes, beastie, besides my fucking balls."
"Alright, here. Stand like this." Excited, I made him stop at the cliff's edge and brought both hands up to his back and chest, adjusting his posture so he was standing more comfortably straight. He set the basket down and I set the bottle of red inside it. "I want you to try something cool. It's gonna feel like a transcendence. A religious experience. A vision of Mufasa—"
"Get to the point."
"Okay. Close your eyes," I instructed gently, and he immediately did as I said, eyes fluttering closed shut with an amused smile. The moonlight cast the shadows of his long eyelashes on his skin, and I imagined how they felt them against my cheeks. And my neck. And up my thighs.
He opened one eye. "And?"
I cleared my throat and blinked down to where my hand patted at his sternum. "Now take a deep, deep breath, and hold it in."
His eye closed again as his chest rose on a deep inhale, a lungful of fresh air, and he breathed in the quiet and the night. "Like this?"
"Yes," I said, smiling. "Good job. Now open your eyes, look ahead and let it all out."
It seemed to simple, but doing so had always made me feel weightless, like I'd left the whole world far, far behind.
His chest fell and his eyes opened slowly, taking a leisurely look at the view in front of him with awe, like he was really seeing it, seeing beyond it, appreciating and unable to look away for a moment. Then he smiled, just a little, barely there at all. His eyes reflected the lights and I found myself unable to stop looking at him then. His smile was soft, simple. It was one of his rarest smiles because it wasn't for me or anybody else, it was for him. A smile that wasn't meant to be shared or understood. It was a private thing, between him and himself alone. I could stay here forever, looking at him smile. I wanted to take him to all of my favorite spots in the world.
A chilled breeze passed by and Killua's eyes closed against it. That tiny smile was playing on his lips again.
"Verdict?" I whispered.
He opened his eyes and finally looked at me, his smile turning wicked. "Not so bad."
I shook my head and smiled, elated as I stepped away from the edge, walking away. I didn't know if it was the view, his smile, or the memories of the person I used to be back when I used to come to this place, but I felt lighter on my feet. There was lightness in my chest, my head, and we'd barely broken into the wine. "Now let's go."
"What do you mean 'let's go'? Where now?" he complained from behind me. "Isn't this where we're supposed to outspan or whatever?"
"We are, but there's someone I want you to meet first."
"There are actual people here?" He followed me over to one-story building that sat on the far edge of the hill, hidden behind needles of trees. "Is that—is that a bar?"
"It is."
"Seriously? A bar, here? Who'd in their right mind build a happy-hour destination in a spot that you could only reach after a miserable hike in the woods? Or is it supposed to be like, 'Surprise! There's a bar here' for wanderers? Because how would people actually get there—Wait." His eyes widened as he noticed, finally, inevitably, the car trail connecting the bar with the city down below. I saw the exact moment that sheer betrayal took over his entire face. "Tell me you didn't make us walk up here when there's been a fucking shortcut this entire time?" Killua looked away from the trail and back at me, his smile almost psychopathic. "Oh, you're in a world of hell."
I climbed the three steps of the bar's porch, standing under the florescent sign as I looked at the trail and batted my lashes innocently. "There is a shortcut?"
Killua's eyes narrowed, contemptuously, at me. "I was fine when Gon made me walk the boring hundred miles from the ship to his house because his village had no modes of transportation. You, on the other hand, have no excuse."
"Oh, come on! Driving downtown during the week? That roads are clogged! Traffic at this time? Major bitch."
He didn't look convinced, because he set the basket on the ground, and I knew it was serious. "You know I have fifty-percent of my nen back. Give me one reason why I'm not ditching you and zapping my way back to my king-sized bed right now."
"Because I'm cute?"
He was still glaring. "Not good enough."
"Because I packed some top-notch food in that basket?"
He shook his head.
Frustrated, I rolled my head back, suddenly understanding why some people separated friendship and sex. Sex is great and easy. Friends get to annoy each other and get away with it. "I always hiked up here on foot! Is it so bad that I wanted you to feel what I always felt because I didn't want to break the tradition?" I asked, then pulled the One Fool-proofed Move that never misses: the puppy dog eyes.
Killua jerked, eyes so wide and alarmed, you'd think I'd aimed a weapon right at him, or worse, unbuttoned my shirt to show him my lace bra. "Fine…whatever… just stop doing that with your face."
I wiggled my eyebrows, satisfied. "Every time, like a charm."
He rolled his eyes and hoisted the basket back up, muttering, "I feel so easy," as he gestured for me to lead the way. "Who are we meeting with?"
"An old friend of mine."
"You're actually introducing me to someone from your world? Like a normal girlfriend?"
I paused outside the door of the bar, at the porch under the florescent lights, and looked up at his cocky smile. I was on the tall side but he was still a good six inches taller than me, and I could tell he enjoyed that quite a bit. For his own egotistical reasons. I didn't know if I enjoyed it. Being looked down at by him—by those eyes made me feel… pinned down, centered, like I couldn't escape or go anywhere. It made me feel a little intimidated, a little thrilled.
Swallowing, I gave him a dry look. "Lose that smile and don't make me regret this."
"Alright. I'll be on my best behavior." As if to prove it, he brought his bubblegum out in between his perfect teeth, then reached up to get rid of it the trash bin by the door. "How's that?"
I smiled wryly. "Polite and classy. But you might wanna be more yourself inside."
He narrowed his eyes at me, firing back, "Try to hide how much you're balls deep in love with me in front of your friend."
We glared at each other for a minute before breaking into matching grins.
"Let's go."
The bar was called Rouge. The door chimed as I entered through a cloud of weed-smell. Stellar view aside, Rouge was like any other bar, with a TV, a dartboard, warm wood, and high-back booths. Only three of its tables were occupied tonight. A smoky group of college kids that looked our age who followed us with their eyes as we entered. There was one guy sitting alone in the corner with a haphazard mess of textbooks and markers, and a couple star-gazing in the very back booth that directly faced the river.
"Hi, gorgeous," I called out, loud enough for the bartender to hear. The man in question, whose arms were folded on top of the bar, snapped his head away from the game on TV and toward my voice. His smile was the same as I left it: free and exuberantly boyish for his twenty-five years.
That was Levant, one of the friends I'd made on the road that I actually managed to keep around. We met in his hometown years ago when he was a senior in college and I was a freshman Hunter. I remembered that year very well; every Hunter recalled the year in which they passed their Exam with vivid clarity, but that wasn't the only reason for me.
That year also marked the day that I was first banished out of York Shin, in the practical sense, of course. I came home to my city, proud of my shiny new license and four years of perpetual training and feeling myself. Only one person wasn't too pleased with it. Gary found out that I'd become a Hunter and he, lo and behold, banished me by locking me out of his mansion. Literally so. He kept the gates closed and refused to let me in. He didn't even allow Lucca—my housekeeper who raised me for two painful years of my life and taught me how to braid myair when I was nine—to even approach the gate and say hello to me. He wanted to send the message clear: you're on your own now.
Bearing the brunt, full of spite and teenage angst, I carried myself away from the gates, bought a one-way ticket with the last money I had on me and went as far as I could get from the city.
For six months, I was homeless, jobless and broke. I had yet to prove myself as a capable Blacklist Hunter worth of hire, but it wasn't so easy at first because I was short of a mercenary before my license. I'd had individual jobs here and there, but nothing too solid or official.
I met Lev in the coffeehouse where he used to work part-time. His first words to me were in his native language and they literally meant a respectful version of 'get the fuck out of here'. He wasn't all too happy to find out that I'd seduced his colleague into serving me free coffee every morning that week, and by 'seduced' I meant popping out a button of my shirt and rubbing up on his frail man ego.
Long story short, Lev saw the chip on my shoulder, I saw the weight on his, and after an all-night chat in the closed coffeehouse after hours, we became friends. I was there through every milestone in his life: when he graduated from Law school, when he moved into the city, and the biggest one yet, when he finally married the love of his life. After nine years and thousands of miles between them.
"Mizi!" he said, looking incredibly surprised to see me there. It was a reaction I was used to see—people who'd met me on the road were always surprised to see me anywhere, even the few of them that I considered friends. After all, I used to be a capital-M Mechanic; a pin on a map; blink once and I was somewhere else. They weren't only surprised to see me anywhere, but surprised to see me again. I was filed under Guest Star or a comet in their lives—memorable cameo, but at the end, I didn't quite belong in the show.
I saw Lev a lot through the screen of my phone and the random visits I made to this bar, but the last time I saw him in the city was three years ago. His daughter had just arrived to our world and I was in the city for exactly four hours to pass out the customary new father cigars, which we smoked together on his balcony. We caught up on the last months that we didn't see each other in; I listened to him gush about his life, took a couple pictures, and skipped out partly to prepare for my mission on the next day. But mostly before somebody offered to let me pick up little baby Lila.
Snorting as I walked up to the bar with a wide smile, I said, "Are we still on that? I'm not fifteen anymore. Make me look good. No reminders of the dark days."
Lev's nickname for me— 'Mizi'—was a variation of the word 'red' in his language, because of how often I used to be seen wearing the color in the past. For some reason he refused to let it die down.
Lev smiled, big and happy, leaning halfway in when I stretched across the bar to air-kiss his stubbly cheeks. "It's so good to see you, you piece of shit!"
I couldn't stop smiling, hopping down and moving back to Killua's side to do a formal introduction. Lev then noticed Killua, his eyes moving from Killua's face, to his smile, down to his body and back up before turning to me with barely-contained excitement as if to say Well, well, well. I shot him a subtle warning with my eyes to be cool, but that only made him brighten even more.
Shit. You see, what was more surprising than seeing me anywhere, was seeing me with somebody. Working and traveling solo for years had given people all kinds of impressions on me, but none of them included me being a part of anything. No squad or crew or a partnership of any kind. I was always the girl that showed up alone to the party, and they got used to seeing me as that girl just as much as I was used to being on my own.
"Lev, this is Killua Zaoldyeck. He's a Hunter like me. Killua, this is my good friend, Levant Vural," I said. "He moved to the city just last year and he already has two successful jobs, a husband, and their new bundle of joy."
Killua set the picnic over the table of one empty booth and took a courteous step closer to the bar to hold his hand out for Lev, smiling. "Nice to meet you. And congratulations."
"Thank you. You, too." Lev grinned back, shaking Killua's hand firmly across the bar-top. "Though by 'moved to the city', she meant 'brought to the city by me'. If it wasn't for Miss Matchmaker over here, I'd still be single and lolling around and slinging drinks to baby boomers in my village."
Mid-handshake, Killua looked over at me, raising his eyebrows with his very own teasing Well, well, well.
I waved it off. "Lev is also the best lawyer in town," I flaunted, and Lev shook his head at that, mouthing 'I'm not' to Killua as the two men broke the handshake. "Yes, you are. Shut up." I looked at Killua. "He graduated first in his class while supporting two families, having a nine-year-old long distance relationship, and he already has a running vision on how to revolutionize the entire law school curriculum. He's kind of a genius."
Killua smiled at my blatant bragging.
Lev gave me a stop-that-now look and scratched the bridge of his nose, his single bashful tell. "I'm a lowly corporate sell-out now, but ultimately, I wish to teach law someday," he told Killua. "In a good school, of course. I enjoy the academic and vocational appeal of law, and I'd love to make others enjoy it as well. Teach something that effects change in society and acquire the skill of reasoned argument."
"Wow." Killua blinked, impressed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and flashing me a quick grin. "You've got your own Leorio."
"Holy shitcakes." I blinked, grinning delightfully at this fantastic epiphany. "I do! Holy shit, I've been friends with a Leorio before I even met Leorio."
Lev leaned forward curiously with his plaid-clad muscled arms folded on the bar and looked between us, rightfully confused. "Who is this Leo-ri-o dudebro?"
With a little smile, Killua gave him a brief impromptu description of his mental doppelganger doctor, using words like "family man", "entrepreneur" and "crazy ambitious" to paint a close image. Lev was less spunky than Leorio, though. But then again, I don't think anybody in the world was as spunky as Leorio.
"In that case I'm flattered, because he sounds like a pretty decent fella," Lev commented with a satisfied nod before teasing, "I bet you're better at keeping in touch with your Leorio than she is with hers."
I gasped. "Hey, I keep in touch." Well, I kind of do. Really, I suck at it. No, I do, but in my own way. "I… mentioned you in my recent snap story?"
"Which one, your dramatized storytelling of that centipede story or when you were venting about bad drivers?" Lev continued to tease me.
"Might have been her three-minute rant about annoying children," Killua joined in, "and their—what was it? 'Secret underground meetings to make the world suffer'."
"She has at least four of these."
"They're more of a weekly thing."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling, thrilled about watching Lev and Killua hit it off so quickly, even if what they were bonding over was giving me an appropriate amount of shit. "You gotta give me the driving thing. I had valid points to be angry about that asshole driver."
Killua shook his head. "Because you wanted to move from the middle lane to the left lane and he beat you to it is not a valid point to be that enraged."
"He didn't just beat me to it! I had priority and he was so far behind me—practically in another continent, but once he saw me turn my left signal, he was glued to my ass. He came to stand next to me so fast like a frickin' Road Runner, an Olympic Sprinter, a Schumacher," I said dryly, hearing quiet masculine laughing, but I wasn't done. "It's discrimination against motorcycle drivers. People see us and think we're bad news and we don't deserve nice things like love and respect and passing through."
Killua and Lev exchanged a smile of unspoken agreement over something, before Killua crossed his arms over his chest with a little hum, eyes fixed on my friend as he said, "Our girl has charm."
Our girl.
"She does." Lev nodded, eyes glinting at me. "You should cut some time off your insane schedule and come over someday. Miguel misses you. Pizza misses you, too."
"'Pizza'?" Killua looked at the two of us.
I nodded. "She's the bombay cat that I gave Lev and Miguel when they moved here."
Seconding with a smile, Lev told Killua, "I've always wanted one but couldn't have one back in my hometown. I lived with my anneanne and was afraid of every living thing that is bigger and smaller than a fly."
Killua looked at me with discreet confusion, and I quickly mouthed, "Grandmother," in translation. He gave a tiny nod before directing his eyes back at Lev, listening intently to him tell a little short story about his grams and her intense animal phobia. But since I already knew it, I skipped listening and instead focus unconsciously on watching Killua interact with my friend. There was something so attractive about the way he listened to people talk; with undivided attention, eyes carefully inspecting their expression and neutrally understanding, nodding them along and smiling when they smiled.
I didn't realize they finished chatting until I felt Lev's eyes on the side of my face. I felt like I was caught red-handed for a second, looking at Killua like I was, probably like I was falling balls deep in love with him.
"You piece of shit…" Lev said in the most loving voice possible. He was smiling at me, eyes riveted and soft on my face. "It's so good to see you. And you look so good. Different. Older. Steadier."
"I am kind of different. I'm just happy," I said, crossing my arms and glancing sideways at Killua as I said that. When he caught my eyes, I gave him a little wink. He arched an eyebrow as his eyes widened the tiniest bit like he couldn't believe I did that. His cheeks flushed like he was a taken off guard, and maybe a little turned on. A tiny smile skittered across his lips, knowing and conspiratorial. His eyes lingered a second too long until the air in the room seemed to hum quietly, and I looked away before we were too obvious.
But Lev was already staring quietly between us with very interested eyes.
Divert topic.
"What about you, new papa? You look too good," I told him, appreciatively eyeing how well he was wearing new parenthood. Lev always looked like a cross between a global soccer captain and a real Ken doll: deeply tanned, dark-lined blue eyes, a present smile, and the most adorable chin dimple I'd ever seen. Being a dad had somehow refined his already good looks, gave them a lasting polish. "You're sporting that whole rugged, quintessentially mature new-dad look."
"New-dad look?"
"Oh, yes. A lot of men look hotter after they've become dads. I'm sure you'll find that somewhere in the origins of the kink term 'daddy'."
Killua and Lev both groaned, both at the exact same time. Fondness was gone. Now they were both looking at me with an oddly synchronized cringe.
Lev half-laughed, half-shuddered. "Why'd you have to ruin it like that?"
"You don't just say the D-word out loud," Killua agreed, his face all twisted up with disgust. "That's just bad manners."
I laughed. "Oh, calm down, trigger fingers. I was just using it for demonstration. I didn't come up with it. It's a thing."
Killua looked at Lev, and as if wanting to further demonstrate my weirdness, he said, "We were on a mission last weekend, and some of her first words to our target mafia heir were about how DILF-y his uncle was."
"I'm pretty sure I used the words 'silver fox'," I said, ignoring Lev laughing. "But yes, the uncle was the DILF-y type. It's not my fault he looked so doable at his age." I popped more almonds into my mouth. "I'm serious; really think about this hot dad thing and you'll come to appreciate it."
Lev was smiling at me, as if he was telling me how much he really missed me with that expression, and that he appreciated my visit, no matter how short it was. It made me smile and my heart tighten with it, cursing my tragic incapability of keeping a good communication with my friends like normal people do.
"On a more appetizing topic than demented kink terms," Lev said, straightening up, back to work mode. "Can I get you anything to drink? First glass on the house."
"Actually, we're picnicing right outside on the summit." I gestured to the basket on the table behind me.
Lev's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Who goes for a fucking picnic in this weather?"
"Fantastically ballsy people like us," I answered quickly just as Killua was about to beat me to it and shout into his window of sass that Lev had opened wide for him. I put my hand gently on his bicep in a show of affection, but really it was an affectionate threat for him to please stop bitching. He understood, giving Lev a forced sweet smile that made him look a bit constipated. His eyes were practically saying Save Me like a Bat sign.
Lev laughed hard. "I know she dragged you into this, but don't worry, she'll find a way to make it the best night of your life."
I gave a proud lift of my chin. "That's all the ego boost and support I'll ever need in a friendship."
With a wink at me, Lev nodded his head at Killua. "It was really nice meeting you, uh…" he trailed off, frowning. "I'm sorry, we've covered families and kink terms but I don't think I got your name."
Killua smiled, uncrossing his arms. "Killua," he said. I loved the way he said the second syllable of his name, pushing his pink lips out slightly, like he was kissing the sound.
Moving to where the basket was, he picked up, still smiling. "I'm gonna set the picnic up outside," he announced. "It was fun meeting you, Lev."
"Yeah, you too, man," Lev said and brightened up, clearly picking up on the vibe that Killua wasn't the kind of person that said people's names in conversation quickly and too much unless he liked them. "Next time you should retaliate by dragging her here for a longer visit. It'd be more fun, and I love to get to know you better."
"I will," Killua promised. His last subtle wink at me before he turned to the door told me that he was leaving to give me some privacy with my friend. In his turn he picked up on how I didn't introduce him all too well because I'd more likely want to talk about him when Lev and I were alone.
It was unnerving sometimes, how often we didn't need words.
I watched his very fine ass as he walked out of the door with that confident, easy swagger he had, muscles in his broad shoulders and bulky lats moving and teasing under the soft cotton of his jacket.
That was the thing about Killua in general. Even beyond the physical level, he made it clear that he was hiding so much tricks and wonders inside, making it more exciting to dig and find them.
As the door chimed gently when it closed, I forced myself out of my haze just in time to see Lev turn to me, his eyes wide with awe. "Wow. He's… intimidatingly pretty. Those cheekbones and that jaw. Those eyes. You didn't mention you were hanging out with the head cover of a male modeling catalog."
I propped my elbows on the bar with a smile, feeling uncharacteristically like I had nothing to say.
Lev leaned in on his folded arms until our faces were closer and we were in our own private zone. I smiled more when I caught a waft of his smell: traditional strong coffee, lemons from the drinks he mixed, and the homemade laundry detergent that his grams made for him and insisted on sending it to him overseas so he would never forget home. The smell reminded me of my travels and the times we had together. I'd always preferred scents to candid photographs; photographs were frozen moments, but scents were interactive, sneaking, reaching the middle of your bones and the deepest parts of your mind. More provocative, more private and suggestive.
"Hey, Miz."
"Hey, gorgeous."
"Targeting mafia boys now, yeah? How did that turn out?"
I made a lazy gesture of opening a can with a tongue-click followed by another gesture of an explosion of worms everywhere.
Lev looked at me with sympathetic pain. "I'm sorry."
I shrugged, looking up at the TV. "It wasn't pretty."
He watched me, sizing me up before asking: "You doin' okay there?" Which was the customary friend code of conduct for: 'I can tell you're not doing totally okay but I'm asking to see if you'd want to tell me why.'
"No. Yes. I guess?" I made a face, reaching for a corn nut and speaking around it. "Strange things are happening to me and around me, and I can't control them, but it's not something I can't handle. Well, still, I'm not gonna lie, I was angsting for a while there. Sitting around moping and wallowing in my new place in the past two days. Can you imagine? Me, wallowing?"
I didn't know how to be a wallower. I was a fixer. I was a doer and a cover-up. If I fell and broke my legs in the process, I'd still keep moving forward even if I had crawl.
Lev snorted. "The only time I've seen you wallow was when Bakers decided to stop making the sour cream donuts that you had every breakfast. I remember that I saw you that morning, you held up your hand, and very seriously told me, 'I'm not in the mood today, Lev, don't talk to me'."
I laughed at the bratty flourish he added to my voice. "It was rude. I won't forgive him for it. Fucking Bulent Bakers, taking my sour babies away from me. I felt jilted."
"It was a great day though," Lev said with a grin, going behind the bar to grab out a shot glass for me anyway. Reinforcements. "Remember? We ditched work and went around town trying to find decent equivalents to your sour creams and it only took three hours of wandering around before we finally found the place."
"And then we took that picture of us having a celebratory hug. I still have it on my account."
Lev shelved out a tequila bottle and poured me the shot, grinning more fondly now. "I know, and it still has Miguel's sulky comment."
"Oh, my god, I forgot about that. I loved his sulky comment, acting all jealous. He was like, 'ehem', dot dot dot," I said and we both burst out laughing at the memory.
"And you replied to him, 'you snooze you lose bro'."
"Well, I'm glad to have snoozed and lost to him." I lifted my shot glass in his direction, earning another fond smile before I tossed the drink back.
Here was another reminder of my travels, of my world before I came to the city. It was nostalgic, having all these reminders—the hike, the awe-inspiring views, the road friends, the brief adventures, the tequila shots—but at the same time, it was bittersweet. That used to be my world before Killua. In a way I didn't feel like it was my world anymore.
As if sensing where my thoughts had escaped, Lev said, "Are we not going to talk about the fact that you walked in with a guy on your arm? Looking like you do?"
I took the slice of lime he handed me and sucked on it briefly, smiling noncommittally. "What do you mean looking like we do?"
"You and him look at each other like you have a secret."
"Are we going to pretend that Marcus didn't fill you in? I know he did. He dropped by to give me his housewarming gift last week and told me he'd been here."
"Yeah." Lev shifted his eyes guiltily at me as he compulsively wiped the bartop clean off. Of course Marcus had told him about my past months in the city. Marcus and Lev weren't exactly the best buds, but they were in that awkward intersection between friendly acquaintances and casual friends, which left them with few topics to discuss. Sports, family, and me. For someone who investigated for a living and was probably trusted with government secrets, Marcus could be awfully gossipey. "He'll get over it."
"What did he tell you?" I pried. I could be quite the busybody myself.
Lev shrugged, in that way that confirmed he knew everything. "He kept referring to Killua as 'this fucking guy'. He said that you're only 'trying him on' and this is just a winter romance and soon you'll be bored and anxious and leave the city again."
"'Trying him on?'" I asked, eyes widening. "That's… horribly offensive."
"Don't worry. I told him so. He made the poor guy sound so disposable."
I laughed, a little pissed off, especially since I knew how often Killua felt that way before from his sexual past. "I don't know if I'm more offended by that or by him thinking of me as someone who'd dispose of people like that."
"He doesn't. Hey. Look," Lev said, leaning in meaningfully. "What he said was awful, I'm not saying it wasn't, but don't think about it too much. Marcus doesn't…get your Hunter world too well. Plus he's going to be petty and have a problem with anybody you show interest in, even if that person was a saint. That's what friends do sometimes. Give him time. He'll come around. He'll understand that anybody you have interest in has to be amazing."
I smiled. "Aw. That's pretty sweet—and pretty narcissistic considering that you know I have interest in you, too."
Lev laughed outright. "Well, shit. I guess it is."
We were silent for a moment, reveling in the rare moment of sentimentality we were having and smiling at each other. When he looked away to throw a questioning thumb-up to the table of college kids nearby, waiting for them to assure him that they were still good and in need of nothing, I knew that was my cue to leave. He was working and I had someone waiting for me.
"I gotta go now." With my palm pressed to the bartop, I hopped up once again to slide a hand around Lev's head and kiss his cheek. "I'll come back next week. I have so much to tell you about, but now's not a good time. Do you still get off at…"
"Three? Yes. Come around then; I'll close off and we'll have the bar all to ourselves. Just like old times."
"Fabulous," I said, perking up at the idea of hanging out with Lev again the way we used to in the past—in a closed coffeeshop or bar, not so much of a light, our voices echoing around the walls. "If you need anything, you know how to find me."
Lev moved around the bar to walk me to the door, and I saw that he was still wearing his favorite old 501s, the color of them fading from his grams' brand detergent. That was one of the things I adored most about Lev. I'd come and go and he'd still be the same. His jeans, his smile, his love for Miguel, always the same. Even his hair was the same since he was fifteen. His favorite soccer player had retired three years ago but Lev was preserving the man's trademark haircut on top of his head like an archaeological dig.
Lev was stable in that way that was foreign to me, and completely endearing. He knew who he was and what he wanted, and he wasn't willing to change any parts of himself to fit anywhere. For someone who never had one stable ground for years, I always found him inspiring.
"Actually there is something I want to ask you. Well, now that you're in the city…" he said, pausing to give me a second to guess his next words. He looked at me with hopeful eyes, and my eyes already started to widen with horror. "There's this one tiny piece of paper that I'd love for you to sign. You know… about Lila."
I was already on my way to the door. "Nope. Nope," I said, pointing a warning finger at him. "For the third time, no. We talked about this. Nope."
He laughed and followed me to the door without pushing his case. The first time Lev asked me to be his child's godmother was few years ago after he got drunk off four glasses of raki, the national drink of his hometown, when we were celebrating my first successful job as an official Hunter. I laughed at him then, carried him home, and naturally, thought the request was an alcohol-induced brain fart. Until he asked me the second time last winter after he got the approval from the adoption company.
I was flattered, of course, but look at me. If there was a list of people who were not fitting to be godparents, I wouldn't be on it. I would be on the scale of reference that people used on the list to warn people off, as in: Here's why this person isn't fit. They're too much like Yuki Kudo.
"Will you at least think about it?" His smile sobered. "I know I met you when you were practically a zygote, but I always felt like you were an older sister to me," he said, cracking a wan smile out of me and into a warm spot in my heart. Fuck. "Besides you're the reason I'm where I am right now. Without you I'm not even sure me and Miguel would've made it together."
"I wouldn't say flying you to York Shin was the reason why you're where you are right now. You're where you are right now because you're you."
Lev put one hand on the doorframe and leveled me with a look. "You and I both know it took more than that."
I stood there with my hand on the bar door's handle, my shoulders sagging with the building defeat I had against disappointing him. "Dammit…" I could have real troubles saying no to a face I liked. I used to think it was a part of the reason I led an attachment-free life for the past years. Once I cared, I was a goner. To an embarrassing degree. "I'll think about it…" I said with a sigh, cursing when I saw him grin, all beautiful chin dimple and happy eyes. "Hey, I'm not saying yes. I said I'll think about it."
"Good enough for me."
I opened the door, telling him on my way out, "You and Miguel better not die before me."
"I promise that we won't!" he was yelling out before the door chimed closed.
I walked along the outskirts of the hill where I was closest to the edge of the cliff, and thought about how that was the most fitting allegory to my life.
That was how I used to be, only four months ago.
For many years I lived on the outskirts of people's lives. I never let myself get too deep into a person's world, and never had them get deep into mine. I'd made a hundred of acquaintances along the years, worked around dozens of pro Hunters, and I'd only let less than half a dozen of them know me well enough to call me friend. With the rest I was skim surfacing, only toe-dipping into relationships. I'd kept people at an emotional arm's length. I was content with playing the role of the charming stranger in other people's life, and I excelled at it. I was a fun time, the unexpected non-friend that gave pleasure in the aesthetics of some short-lived adventure. I was the late-night walk in the city, the three shots of liquor before midnight, the mystery helpful hand that pulled someone up, the good laugh of a good conversation, the dance of a hot debate, the actual dance, and then? I was gone. Picking up my bag and skipping out of the door of their life.
To them I was fun little Yuki, always up for adventure and chaos. But it was never a long-term enjoyment because I always found a way to scare them off or push them away. That had been my life for years ever since I was whisked away by the man who changed my life and gave it meaning. I took what I wanted from life, bit off the pieces that appealed to me, and gave a piece of me in return. I wasn't interested in giving away more pieces that I could handle. Maybe because I was scared of people throwing these pieces back at me, and I was happier in my possessiveness of them.
No strings attached. I cut them all off.
I used to eat, travel, sunbathe, work, sleep, eat again, sunbathe, meet new people, try new food, work, travel. That was all. I did that for all my past teenage years—that was almost half of my life—and for all those years I managed not to get too attached to anything. My life was total serendipity. Nothing but work and the adventures and the thrills that came with it.
I wasn't much interested in analyzing myself psychologically and finding out how I'd become as elusive and easily spooked by permanent connections as I was. I was just, you know, a complicated person like you and most people, folks.
But if I really wanted to put my finger at the core of the reason, then I'd say it might have had something to do with my relationship with Gary. It'd made me develop a more subconscious belief that somehow, I'd eventually—and epicly—fail people's expectations of me. It was far easier to trick people into defining me for my fallback persona—the scrappy girl with the windblown hair and the fantastic jackets, always up for two things: whip-smart sarcastic jokes and wild fun. The decidedly fly-by-night girl. Unreliable and flaky; only after what she wanted. Nobody sets expectations for that type of girls. She wouldn't stay long enough for it.
I was good, easy, fun; I just wasn't long-term in people's life. More than enough, I was just a stop in the way. I was okay with it. My life was easy and wild, one adventure after another, and I loved it the way it was.
But there was an undeniable initial sting about being that girl in Killua's life.
I knew for a fact that he didn't think of me as easy since he was one of the few people who got a full exposé of how unnecessarily chaotic and frustrating I could be. And I knew he thought me of as a ballbuster—which wasn't exactly every guy's type. But Killua wasn't like any guy. He wasn't like anybody I knew. I could be anybody with him. Really any and every version of me. And it always baffled me how he never seemed surprised by any side of me that I showed—no, he usually smiled at me like, 'ah, there it is', like he'd known it had been there the whole time. Like he knew me, on a freaky cosmic, deeper level, in a parallel universe or from a past life. I didn't like it.
Or maybe I didn't like how much I liked it.
He could finger-tap as many chinks into my shell as he wanted, and he could do it with a knowing smile.
And he knew he could do it, but he didn't. It was a part of his personality to want to make the people that he liked feel at ease around him. He never pried, meddled, asked about my past, or pushed farther than I could handle. He only asked me once about my necklace, but never about things like my nen ability or my jobs or my relationships with other people before him. We'd lived around each other for four months and he'd only just found out about Lamar and Lev, and I saw how he acted the same way around Gon. He waited for me to tell him, to crack my own shell, to take as many tiny steps as I needed. Killua was easy-going and he didn't even try to be.
Me, on the other hand? Exact opposite. As I said, I could be one hell of a busybody if I cared about someone. Meddling was how I showed my love. I liked to know things. I could be an impulsive meddler, to the point where I could practically feel it killing me if I didn't know something about someone important to me. It was an urge that I had to restrain, sometimes physically. And it got worse if I felt like they didn't want me to know that something—on purpose. And with Killua, it always felt like he was showing so much less from what he was hiding. Even his smiles hid more than they showed. He smiled like he had a secret.
I wasn't the type of people who kept things away on purpose. Hello, I sucked at keeping secrets. And the masquerade party, after feeling like I was on the outskirts of my own life; a stranger on the bench of it, I was officially done with the secrets. From now on, I was only interested in what was real. I wanted everything to be out in the open. Yes, I liked it when people didn't know everything about me, but it was only because I cared more about being that girl. When it came to being me, I liked to think of myself as an open book, at least to whoever was interested enough to ask me the right questions. But I'd never meant to hide who I was, what I'd done, or what I felt.
That was why we were here. I wanted to be some other girl tonight. The one that didn't find her freedom in running around the world, but instead allowed herself to find it in one special place. The one that showed her hand, easy and simple, and finally let someone see her.
Walking my way back to the picnic spot, I found that Killua had rolled the blanket out on the grass, nearest to the edge where the view would be best seen. He'd also unpacked the contents of the basket. On the gingham blanket there was the mustard-yellow camping lantern with a compass that I'd overused for years to provide both light and heat on hikes, bread, cheese, two burgundy wineglasses, Red Vines, a jar of Bonne Maman strawberry jam, two mini blackboards with their liquid chalk pens, and Killua's bag. He was standing in the middle of the blanket, all six feet, nearly two inches of his frame… and he had a claw that looked nearly half of his height speared right inside the bottle of red. Okay, not quite nearly that long, but it was quite long.
"I know you were hired in the past to assassinate expensive people," I said as I approached, "but can't we make an exception for Miss Noir?"
He smiled, without interrupting the tune he was whistling or looking away from where his finger was moving in a circular motion in the bottle. "You didn't pack a corkscrew, you goof. I had to get creative. Don't worry, the cork will come out in one piece. I was trained to be gentle with these," he said, meaning the nails.
"You were trained to kill with these."
"I meant gentle as in precise, sunshine," he clarified with a single up-glance at me.
"You know where I think you should put those cute little nicknames?"
He paused to flash me one flirty look, but said nothing.
"By the way, you brought the wine. What kind of person brings wine to a picnic without a corkscrew?"
He fully looked at me then, eyebrows pulled down in offense. "The kind of person that didn't know he was bringing wine to a picnic," he shot back.
"You knew you were bringing wine to something and that something couldn't possibly be indoors. I brought all of this!" I motioned at all the goodies on the blanket.
"Exactly my point. You're the person who planned the whole thing, the least you could've done was do it decently. When you invite someone to a barbecue, do you ask them to bring the meat? Same thing."
I opened my mouth and closed it, pursing my lips, realizing I had nothing witty to say to further this enriching argument. Killua tilted his head to the side and smiled, raising his eyebrow victoriously. I held up a hand. "Hold it, I'm sure I can think of a comeback, jus' give me a second."
He laughed quietly next to me, eyes on his work as he twisted the cork all the way out of the bottle with a 'pop'. It was pierced at the tip of his claw like a roasted marshmallow. "I'm feeling particularly generous so I'll give you five seconds," he said as he playfully made a gun shape with his hand and aimed it at me, giving me a cheeky grin. "Five, four, three…"
I looked at the cork and then up his face, grinning. "We're grownups, Killua. Don't you dare."
He mouthed "two, one," through a wider grin. I winced slightly in advance just as he 'fired' the cork at me with a small puff of nen. It bounced off my chest, into the air, and I took a step back to catch it with my knee, but it bounced off again, this time all the way to the edge of the cliff.
"Shit." The logical part of me said the heck with it but the sentimental part that had been collecting all kinds of crap from every adventure made my legs move forward, and I ran after it. Sliding on my knee, I caught it just before it dropped and dove the 150 feet into the river. I dusted off my pants as I blew the ground-dust off of the cork.
A gust of wind came from down under. My eyes closed as the cool evening breeze ruffled the hairs at the back of my neck, crisp with the carried, lung-seizing scent of grass and clear water.
I smelled Killua's faint cologne from behind me before I felt his hands go under my jacket and splay on my waist. His head poked above my shoulder, his chin brushing my temple when he murmured, out of nowhere, in my ear: "Did you know that the majority of the stars in the universe, all the billions of them, are much bigger and brighter than the sun?"
I gazed up to follow where his finger briefly pointed at the dark night sky, my eyebrows lifting high. "Really?"
Warm lips brushed my ear. "I'm not sure. I just wanted to have an excuse to hold you like this," he whispered, his arms folding around me, and I shook with silent laughter. Satisfied, he smiled against my temple and added, "Kidding. That's actually a true fact. The sun is considered a 'dwarf star'. Doesn't that blow you away? That something could look so deceptively small when in fact it's bigger than you can imagine, but it's way too humble to show its true self."
I smiled. "That's cute. Shy little stars."
"And that narcissistic yellow scorching orb called the sun puffing its chest and thinking it's the hot shot," he said, making me laugh again. "Only fifty stars are observable to our human eye, and Alpha Centauri, the least intrinsically bright star, is still brighter than the sun. Isn't that fascinating?"
"Wow…It is." I paused. "…You space nerd."
He shrugged and looked at the cork in my hand and I heard the skepticism in his voice when he asked, "Was it so necessary to save that?"
"Of course it was. For memories." I passed the cork through my fingers as I leaned back into him out of instinct, which made his arms grip me tighter, almost like a reflex. I felt the cool feel of the silver ring he was wearing on his middle finger on the bare sliver of skin of my waist.
He pushed my ponytail out of the way and pressed a covert kiss to the back of my neck. "Why do you need memories when you can have the real thing?" he said, and just before I could protest to that, his lips stopped just below my ear as he breathed in. "Fuck, you smell so good. Are you kidding me with this perfume again? This has to be what people smell at heaven's doors."
I laughed, already starting to feel a little dizzy from his closeness, the way it always seemed to suck all the coolness and the air from around me. "Wait. Didn't you once say that you were agnostic?"
"No, I'm a spiritualist, but I'll believe in a heaven if it feels this good…" His head tilted as he pressed his lips fully to my neck, and my pulse tripped and thundered. My nerve endings seemed to come alive all at once, everywhere his body met mine in the middle.
I brought my arm up and tugged at his hair, gently pulling his head back just as he was about to open his mouth and distract me completely. I heard his tiny grunt of protest, and a bit of pleasure, as I turned around in his arms to face him and oh, wow. I thought it was impossible to miss his beauty under the gritty, garish streetlights of the city and mosaic-honey lights of the bar, but on a cliff's edge and under the moonlight and starry skies, he was lethal.
Ugh.
I shook my head clear because I had to ask, "What do you mean you don't need memories? You don't believe in memories?"
"It's not that I don't believe in memories," he said, looking below my face as his knuckles stroked feather-light over my stomach. "There's a difference between believing in something and believing that it could be… pointless sometimes. There's no point in dissecting and obsessing over memories because—either good or bad—they're gone and can't be different."
I blinked. "That's a depressing way to think."
"It's pragmatic," he corrected.
"Way too pragmatic. Too much of anything is never good, and being too pragmatic is just depressing and harmful."
He looked at my face and grinned. "I thought you wanted my feet to touch the ground."
"That's why I'm surprised!" I looked all over him as if trying to locate the place where that ridiculous way of thinking was possessing him. "This is… not you. What even are we without our memories?"
"Now that's depressing," he told me, still smiling. He wasn't taking this as seriously as I was. "Tell that to my friend, Octopus, who can't remember anything from his past life. Not even his own name."
I was incredulous. "And you don't think that's sad at all?"
"I guess. But he's doing okay," Killua said, wincing. "That's the thing, he can't feel how sad it is because he doesn't remember whatever there was to be sad about."
"You sound jealous of that."
He laughed un-selfconsiously. "I'm not jealous of that. Look, let's stop talking about it."
"I just think you're more sentimental than what you're trying to put on," I told him. "What about the memories that you have of everything that you've lived in the past few years, though? Can you imagine losing them? Your name, your battles, all the crazy adventures you've had with Gon? Or all little adventures we've had in the past two months alone?"
He stopped smiling and looked confused, his eyes wide and heavy with sudden anxiety. "No," he said quietly. "I don't need to have memories of you. I have you."
Oh...it dawned very slowly on me. I had my head so far up my ass for a minute that I couldn't see what this really was about. It wasn't about me or Gon or the past few years or even that wine cork in my hand; it was everything before that. Way before that. Killua never complained about his child background or felt sorry for himself, despite it all, but it made sense for someone like him would have decidedly formed a slight aversion to memories. Especially when these memories had to do with another child that he loved who would never grow up and live his life the way we did.
I shook my head, laughing a little at how slow I was, and pocketed the cork. "You do," I reassured, smiling up at him. "Let's not talk about it. We're not here for the heavy talk anyway."
He looked genuinely surprised. "We're actually here for a reason?"
"Of course we are. What the hell did you think?"
"I thought it was one of your spontaneous, impulsive, out-of-your-ass decisions. Like the one with the wedding cake."
Oh yeah, the wedding cake. That traced back to three weeks ago on a Saturday. We were slowly walking down the streets of York Shin around ten in the evening, enjoying the night street performers, buying cheap accessories, kissing in dark alleys. Typical city night. We were just done chasing the churros guy when I suggested that we should crash a wedding just to eat the cake. Killua looked at me like I was a genius. We scouted the best three wedding venues, counted our blessings, and found The One, all for the sole purpose of trying out the wedding cake. It seemed like we told a hundred lies within the first five minutes into arriving at the reception, most of which were stupidly half-assed.
We're Joe's students from college.
Joe who? Ask the groom. Oh, shit, I guess he's too busy being attached to the bride's face.
That DJ was a splendid idea.
It's nice to see them all grown up, huh?
Your daughter's dress is really pretty.
Killua's ability to lie on the spot was a superpower, but not as impressive as his ability to charm middle-aged women into fits of giggles and blushes, which came smack into our advantage. We were magnificently pulling the whole scheme off until Killua found me by the buffet piling more buttery sweetness onto my plate, grabbed my hips, pressed his chest to my back, and said, "Feed me some cake" into my ear. After I did just that, popping the bite into his mouth from over my shoulder, he swallowed it whole with an appreciative hum, and then, very calmly, added, "Now put more cake in there because the bride's dad is getting suspicious and I think he's on his way over here."
I filled my plate more quickly, Killua took my hand, and with an apologetic grin at the very angry dad, I let Killua pull me off the door. We ended up right where we started—walking down York Shin's streets, but with wedding cake this time. As I said, typical city night.
"I can see why you'd think that, but no." I walked back to the picnic spot. "We're here because I'm about to break one of my rules, and I wanted it to be special because this is an incredibly personal decision."
Killua grumbled, "Rules again?"
"No, no, these are my cardinal rules, ones that I'd made for myself some time ago. Pretty standard stuff, like: don't cry in front of anyone. Don't take yourself too seriously. Don't trust people that take themselves too seriously. Be good, but try not to let a lot of people know it. Don't let anyone know what you can do with your nen. That kind of rules."
"Don't let anyone know your nen?" Killua came from behind me, stopping at the blanket and contemplating what I said, hands on his hips. "Ah, yeah. Right. You Manipulators can get away with that. You're not showers like the rest of us."
I toed my white chucks off, my eyes involuntarily glancing down at the crotch of his pants then back at his face. "Is that a penis reference?"
"Yeah," he said without missing a beat, as if the linkage between penises and nen types was a general knowledge. "Listen up, 'cause I'm about to impart some wisdom."
I mirrored his pose, hands on my hips, and frowned with exaggerated seriousness.
"Specialists are excluded from all the rules, okay?" he said. "Because they're the most versatile, but yeah, the shower-grower reference works on the rest of the nen types. I'm a shower because once my opponent sees my electricity, they'll know that I'm a Transmuter, easy. And once they see Gon's punch, they'll know that he's an Enhancer. Actually, Enhancers show themselves as Enhancers usually by just walking into the room—their big personalities rat them out, pronto. Conjurers are obvious showers because it's literally an object showing itself out of nowhere. Almost the same thing with Emitters. It's all right there."
"You know what you're working with."
He fought a smile at the innuendo as he nodded. "Manipulators, however, are the sneaky ones. You usually can't see what they're packing until the damage is done."
"Oh, my god," I laughed. "This is one goddamn amazing metaphor."
A slow grin rose up on one side of his mouth as he shrugged with mock frustration. "It's a shame there's no one writing down everything I come up."
For once I didn't feel like arguing with him just for the sake of arguing with him. I just smiled, looking at him. "I have good memory. Maybe one day I'll put a book in your name into writing."
"You do that. The world will thank you for it. I'm definitely the kind of person people write books about." When he said that, he smiled, sly and smug, but there was a wry and self-deprecating undercurrent somewhere behind that smile. I was just starting to uncover the secrets of his smiles, and I could decipher the secret behind this one. He definitely believed he was someone worth writing about, but not for good reasons.
"Can't argue with that." I smiled back at him, holding his eyes with challenge, making sure he knew that I was arguing with whatever he wasn't saying out loud. That was the best way to deal with him sometimes, by playing into his little games and secrets, without pointing out his tricks outright but letting him know that I could still see them. He could smile at me like he knew me all he wanted, but I could look at him like I knew him.
He raised his eyebrow a little higher like he always did when he knew he was being challenged, but he didn't look away from me and his smile tugged at the corners. It said, You want to play these game with me, don't you? We stood there, smiling at each other, and the air started to crackle again between us. "Are you going to show me your nen now?"
I shook my head. "I need to be a little tipsy before I start oversharing. Last time I showed my nen to someone I trusted they ended up using me, so this is not particularly easy for me." Killua's smile faded out, his eyebrows going down and shoulders tensing at the idea of someone 'using me', so I added, "I'll tell you all about it. Just get me a little drunk first."
"That can be arranged." His smile returned and he made a sweep with his hand at the blanket. "After you, boss."
I curtseyed with my head, taking my shoes all way off and making a happy sighing noise at the feel of the cool, spongy grass under my socked feet. As I plopped down on the blanket, settled and ready, I handed the wineglasses over to Killua as he was still standing over me. He held them both with one hand.
As he gave me my glass of wine, I lifted it to my nose and inhaled before taking a swallow. I was switching the lantern on when he dropped himself on the blanket to my right, carefully as it might seem, with one arm reaching back to catch his weight. His smile slipped away and he groaned.
I looked at him. "You alright there, hoss?"
"Agh, no. My abs are killing me." He winced and stretched his mile-long legs out in front of him, bent slightly at the knees, trying to get comfortable. "Leorio," he explained with a quick glance my way. "He made me do these killer crunches as a punishment. I feel like I've done a million of them."
I liked Leorio. "A punishment for…?"
"Being out of focus. Training fuck-ups. Dirty jokes—even when he high-fives me for them." He swallowed half the wine in his glass in a single gulp like it was water, licking his lips. "He's an evil bitch of a doctor, taking so much pleasure out of torturing me while he sips glasses of chardonnay."
I grinned. I really liked Leorio. "I get him, you know? On a spiritual level."
"That's because you're just as diabolical as he is."
"Don't hate the players, Killua…"
"Hate the game?"
"No, hate the players' friend who started the diabolical game. Leorio and I just try to keep up with you."
"Oh, but see." He clinked his glass with mine with a smile that looked nearly wolfish. "The difference between you two is that I wouldn't mind it if you gave me sore abs. In fact, I suggest you try your best to accomplish that next time."
I took a sip of my wine and smiled over the rim of my glass, looking in between his eyes but not directly into them, at least not until I was tipsy enough to handle it. "Don't be cute."
His smile stretched on one side, his eyes moving sideways over my face before settling on my mouth as he took a long sip. "What are those for?" he asked, motioning with his glass to the mini blackboards
"Oh! These." I reached out for them, giddy. "See, I've been stewing over plenty of things this week, and one of them being the fact that there are a lot of stuff we still don't know about each other. Important stuff. So I figured, we could have fun playing a game about the fun stuff we know, before I tell you the important fun stuff you don't know. That'll help me ease my way in."
"Gotcha." Killua nodded, swilling another sip of wine in his mouth as he considered. "Is it just me or this whole relationship is based almost entirely on dares and games?"
He was right. Ever since the beginning of time, our dynamic seemed to have consisted of dancing in between two teasing phrases: 'Oh, yeah? Prove it' and "Oh, do you now?" and somehow that usually ended with neither of us winning or losing. Our cheap thrills were the silent bets and dares, making rules and breaking them with constant roasting sessions on the side.
I shrugged. "Is that bad?"
"Not really," he said, shrugging with me. "What are we playing?"
"'How Well Do You Know Each Other'. Kind of like the one we played at the beach, but this time I get to play, too. I'll ask a question and you'll have to write down what you think would be my answer, and I'll write down what I think would be your answer."
He broke into an excited smile. "Alright. Trivia games are my specialty," he bragged with a long swallow from his glass, sliding one of the blackboards onto his lap. "Just don't get grumpy when your ass gets unceremoniously kicked."
I handed him his liquid chalk pen and patted his shoulder. "Aw, you're already giving yourself a pep talk. That's good."
He flashed me a side you'll see smile. "Where are the questions?"
"I've pulled some up on my phone." I rose up on my knees with my glass to take my phone out of my back pocket. "You can help yourself into the food while I set some music."
I selected a playlist for a series of movies that we'd marathoned last month with Gon, but I was momentarily distracted watching, with wide-eyed fascination, as Killua tore off a piece of bread loaf with one hand, used the knife to spread a layer of jam over the bread before spearing a slice of cheese into the knife and holding it over the lantern. He waited until it melted into perfection before he placed it on top of his bread bite and took it in his mouth, washing it down with a sip of wine.
Swallowing and licking his lips, he noticed me gawking. "What? You said break into the food."
A little laugh burst out of my throat as I looked at my screen again. "Nothing. You just eat bread and cheese like a gourmet champ." And it's kind of really cute.
"How did you think I'd eat the bread and cheese?" he asked, smiling and reaching out to make another bite.
"I don't know, but seeing a guy in a hardrock band shirt and eating bread and cheese so regally is just fascinating."
He angled his body slightly towards mine and put an elbow on his knee, smiling at me.
"You're like a modernized version of the handsome prince who've just escaped from the castle," I continued, "for some mindless fun, because you were so sick of your king father and the cycle of royal falsities so you're now trying to blend with the humble peasants but you're still a sophisticated prince at heart and you can't help it when that side shows itself." I frowned. "Jesus. That sounds so much like your actual story. How does it feel being such a fairytale stereotype?"
He laughed, handing me the bite he'd made. "Where are you in this fairytale?"
"I'm the traveler," I said, as I took the bite and bit into it carefully without ruining my lipstick. "Passing through the town and forming an unlikely bond with the undercover prince."
"Oh, I see. The bored classic prince and the kinky sophisticated diva. If you wanna roleplay so bad, all you have to do is ask."
I rolled my eyes, smiling through the slight blush as I finally clicked play on the playlist and set the phone down with the list of questions on display before settling back on the blanket. "First question—ready?"
"Hit me."
"Okay, we're starting easy—'what's my favorite food'?" I'd barely got the last syllable out before he was dusting bread crumbs off his fingers and pulling the pen's cap off with his teeth and typing his answer. "Oh, my God," I muttered. "Show off."
He finished writing with a flourish. Three seconds later, I did, too. "What did you answer?"
I turned the blackboard around, showing him my answer. Breakfast food. Killua nodded and laughed, a little burst of breath, before he showed me what he'd written on his board, and Jesus on a cracker, I'd never seen the word Sandwiches written with a handwriting that glamorous before. It was clear and legible graffiti-type calligraphy, flourishes and curls here and there, flowing together with a flair. It made my own handwriting look funky in comparison. "Holy shit. How'd you learn to write like that?"
He wiped his blackboard clean. "My father made us all learn how to write using the same ancient practice books. They're like a family heirloom. Everyone had to have the signature Zaoldyeck font."
"Hm," I mumbled around a drink and swallowed. The wine was already rushing to my head. "One point for each. Next question: 'if I could live anywhere in the world, where would it be'?"
Killua scoffed at that as he wrote his answer with vehemence.
"Should I be worried?"
He showed it to me. Private jet.
I hated how accurate that sounded then, but still. "That is absolute bullshit."
"In case you don't know," he said, mindlessly decorating around his answer, "you've got a reputation and I'm a Hunter. I have access into the website. I've heard the birds and read the gossip."
I felt my face go blank, slowly asking, "Like what?"
"'Yuki Kudo: extremely flaky and unreliable. Worst team player. You shouldn't trust her—'"
I wagged a finger at him. "Hey, there's a 'probably' there."
With a deep chuckle, he looked at me. "Congratulations, you just won the prize for the flimsiest argument."
Perhaps I should be offended by what the Association generally thought of me, but I wasn't, not really. I'd built up a degree of apathy where it mattered. I didn't care to correct anybody's perspectives of me. In fact, I kind of enjoyed hearing them, as they occasionally elicited a little eye roll and a laugh out of me, because I found it hilarious how people tried so desperately hard to fit a woman into a single word or dimension when she didn't cater to their needs and expectations. I never felt the need to explain myself to anyone, or the need to impress anyone for that matter.
I did everything for one person only: me.
Okay, but again, I didn't want to be just that girl anymore.
"Hey," I interjected, a little annoyed, "I can settle."
"Sure you can."
"I know how to stay in one place."
"Sure you do."
"Killua."
He didn't startle, instead he surprised me by reaching up with his hand and briefly touching his thumb and forefinger to my chin with a sweet smirk. "Yes, baby?"
I smacked his hand lightly. "You're rattling my argumentative bone. I don't wanna argue tonight."
"We're not arguing." He tipped his wineglass in a derisive salute. "We're just playfully disagreeing like the happily partnered old sports that we are."
Smartass fucker.
"Sunshine. Baby. Old sports. You're in a good mood tonight."
He draped a long and sinewy arm over his knee, wineglass held at the end of it, and smiled a little at the view. "I'm not," he admitted, surprising me. "I'm pretty tense and edgy tonight."
You don't look tense and edgy, I wanted to say. I looked at his body, slumped chill and languidly beside me, and quickly decided it was a bad idea to look at him for too long in this light. It accentuated his gorgeous contradictions—the monochrome clothes against the pale-white skin, the sharp lines of his face against the softness of his mouth, the mess in his hair against the steadiness of his smile. If only there was a light that showcased how he looked as opposed to how he felt.
I sat up straighter, crossing my legs. "Why aren't you in a good mood?"
He shuddered, eyes still catching the lights ahead of us. "Do you really want me to go there? You said no heavy talk."
"I don't care what I said," I said, my voice low. "Tell me."
Killua drank slowly, swallowing even more slowly before he answered. "The healing sessions were intensified, and they're not as easy as I thought they'd be. This nen poison thing turns out to be like a tattoo; removing it is more painful than having it put on, or so I've heard." He sighed, taking a casual sip. "Things aren't good with work either. And I went to see Quon last night. His parents got into an ugly fight over something ugly his sister is going through. He looked pretty shaken by all of it and I didn't know how to comfort him. I just… sat there. And Aunt Mito is leaving soon, and I can tell Gon is slipping into one of his quiet depressive moods but wouldn't talk about it. Don't know how to help him either."
"Killua…" I sighed. "You don't have to know what to do all the time."
"And this hot girl that I'd been shacking up with," he continued like I hadn't said anything, turning to me with a cute flick of his eyebrow, "and sneaking into places with all around the city, had hot sex with me every day for two months, then suddenly moved out and I haven't seen her in a while."
I laughed under my breath, looking out at the Ferris Wheel ahead. "Barely two days."
"Like I said, a while." He drained his first glass and licked the taste of wine off his lips, making them look peachy-red, more maddening. I was momentarily hypnotized and missed hearing the first half of what he said next. "…do what you want and have your own space. I don't mean to make you feel guilty for moving out."
I smiled, lightly bumping my knee with his. "Maybe a little?"
He looked at me and smiled back, playfully scandalized. "Just a little."
I leaned closer, and without thinking, brushed my fingers over the soft, floppy hairs that didn't make it into his bun, feeling his tiny shiver. "Come stay with me," I murmured, watching my hand. "At my place. At least until the sessions are over. My house is closer to Leorio's anyways and the change of scenery will take you a little out of your head."
I looked down at his face to catch his eyes as they blinked away from my mouth. He gave a small shake of his head as if to clear it and reached for the bottle to refill both of our glasses, shrugging the sentiments off with his easy smile. I knew he was done sharing. The sneak peek he'd offered out of his thoughts was over.
"Let's just play the game for now," he told me, pouring more red into my glass. "Being with you will take me out of my head." He looked at my board. "What did you answer as my answer?"
"Right." I showed him what I'd written on my board. Los Selegna.
He nodded with dry satisfaction. "Not bad."
Killua was such an LS guy. I could picture him in his own beach house someday, with the valleys, the mountains, the vistas, the canyons, the open spaces all around him. I could see driving down the nice flat and clean freeways where he could speed as much as he liked, stopping at different food joints every couple of hours, shopping at Rodeo Drive, relishing the perpetual summer because he didn't like to wear much clothes. And most of all, I could see him in the deep lavender sunset over the beach with the luxury of its oxygen-rich air. York Shin was too full to contain him.
"Oh, well, I'm not gonna deny. The city withholds the memory of being nen poisoned, but I like it there. It has great weather."
"And great food," I added. A girl has to have her priorities.
"And the skate parks are neat, and there's this smell. I can't tell you what it is in words, but the city has this nice smell of…"
"The ocean early in the morning and the unpervasive scent of jasmine that you have to slow down and breathe deeply to enjoy?"
He snapped his head at me, his eyes going wide and grateful. "Yes. Yes, exactly. Damn, woman," he said as he started to make himself another gourmet bite. "It's like you're right there in my nose."
Smiling around my glass, I told him as an afterthought, "I can't skate, but I can rollerskate. This is embarrassing, but I had heelys on during my Hunter Exam."
"You did?" His eyebrows shot up high, looking equally shocked and delighted. Dusting his fingers off, he broke into a grin. "I had a skateboard on me during my Hunter Exam."
"You didn't," I said, laughing and reaching for a slice of cheese.
He stole it out of my fingers. "I fucking did."
"In what world did that sound like a practical idea to you? With all the grass and the mud and the dead bodies everywhere?"
He waited until he finished chewing. "I didn't know I'd be taking the exam; I decided that on a whim. The skateboard wasn't the best idea, but at least it looked cool, unlike some lame heelys."
I laughed, not even the least offended, because damn they were lame. "I also had a pixie haircut. I actually had it for years."
"Oh, yeah?" Killua's mouth formed a little O around a crooked grin as he straightened his spine and looked at my hair like he was trying to picture it. "Would you cut it that short again?"
I shrugged, finding the knife and licking the remnants of the strawberry jam off of it. "Maybe when I'm in my late twenties and I'm on my way to meet up with my gal pals because that's the age where you have gal pals."
"And where would I be in that, uh, scenario?"
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and smiled. "Wherever you want to be."
Eyes narrowed, he smirked and took the knife out of my hand, dipping it into the jar, out of my reach. "I'm glad we didn't take the Exam together," he told me with a little scoffing laugh. "You wouldn't have liked me back then. I was a mouthy brat, and I'm guessing you were probably short of a nightmare."
"Excuse me, sir, pubescent-me was a pleasure to be around. I was the Vanellope von Schweetz of pleasantness. Those were my golden years before I got the bitchy reputation."
"Don't worry." He wiped a trace of jam off my lip and licked it off, giving me a little wink. "You're still a trip, beastie."
If there was anyone that deserved to be called a trip, it was him. I looked back at our boards. "Does that mean I got one point for the question?"
"You do, but—"
"—and you got nothing?" I teased. "That's rough."
He glared.
"Oh, no, look at that smolder," I chirped brightly. "You're getting majorly slayed so far, my guy."
This made his smile grow, all teeth, but I could tell his competitive soul was a tad bit wounded. "Shut up and ask your next question."
"Okay"—I leaned over the phone screen—"'What would I be if I weren't a Hunter?'"
"Like a job?" Killua asked as he laid down on his back, his stuffy bag pillowing his head, his board up against his legs and his hand balancing the foot of his wineglass over his stomach.
"No, like a circus freakshow."
He snorted as he was writing down his answer. "You obviously haven't met a lot of Hunters because there's almost no difference."
I smiled as I finished writing. "Yes, like a job. A regular job."
"Okay. Ready when you are."
"I'm actually not so sure about this, but here goes." Laughing, I flashed him my answer. Casino owner.
He threw his head back against the bag and laughed, his signature raucous, short-lived laugh. His eyes flickered down at his board. "I've got 'ringmistress'." I pinched his thigh between my fingers, and he laughed again. "Kidding, kidding. I've got 'some famous artist'."
"'Some'."
"Yeah, unspecified. You like to play music, right? Drawing—"
"Doodling faces and body parts," I corrected.
"—and few weeks ago, you said something about wanting to be a comic book artist at the game of charades."
I scoffed. "Yeah! When I was fourteen and books and comics were the only thing that kept me company when I was training on the mountains. It's like a child wanting me to be an astronaut because it looked cool, but I am no artist right now."
"I have to disagree. You're already an artist." He pulled his upper body forward and sat upright, grinning as he brought his index finger to my eye. "You've got a Salvador Dali painting here on your eyelid."
I laughed, swatting at his hand. "That's eyeshadow, you nerd."
"It's more than just makeup. There at least three colors in there. I don't know how you girls do that, but it's impressive." He drew his finger back to my eyelash, tickling me and making me laugh again when he said, "I'm sure if I looked closely, I'd see Dali's tiny signature somewhere."
My stomach cramped slightly from laughing. I drained the rest of my glass to ease it up.
"Just admit that you would do something with art," Killua said, swerving us back to the game.
I gazed at him, smiling my own private smile. Man, he was probably going to gloat at the end of the night. "Yes, Killua, I would do something with art."
"One point for me, and zero for you, then. Seriously, Yuki? A casino owner?"
I threw my arms up. "It's not that far-fetched. And excuse me, but it's hard to figure out what you'd want to do in life. I doubt you even know yourself. You don't even know what kind of a Hunter you are."
He shrugged, smirking. "I do know what kind of a Hunter I am. I'm whatever-the-fuck-I-please Hunter."
I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it shut, not even bothering to fight the smile. That was one of the things I admired about him. It was the essence of what made him who he was. It wasn't that he didn't know what he wanted to do; it was that he didn't want to be just one thing. He knew that he could do anything, be anything, and he didn't let anybody stop him. He was versatile, boundless and limitless. He walked into the world lightly like he had it in the palm of his hand. Like the world was his runway or his stage or his game board and he was ready to take over.
I loved that.
"My eyes are up here."
I realized that I'd been staring at his lips and down at his neck. With a flutter of blinks, I looked up to meet his eyes. "Hi."
He laughed back his, "Hi" as he handed me a bite of food. "Wanna ask the next question?"
"Yes." I stretched out my legs, wanting to get my blood flowing everywhere and not centered in one place. Alcohol was heavier in my blood, my limbs, and my head, but it wasn't enough to sober me down. Not that I was a lightweight, but I hadn't been eating or sleeping well lately and it was making the alcohol spread like rapid fire in my system.
"Alright. 'What do I usually carry in my pockets'?" I read out loud. "Ooh, this should be good." I took a long sip, glancing at him and seeing he was matching my conniving smile.
"We don't have to write for this. Just empty your pockets." He nodded his head at my teddy jacket since my biker leggings had no roomy pockets. "I'm gonna start. First, gum," he started listing, waiting for me to bite into a Red Vine and fish out the two sticks of gum out of my inside pocket. "Two credit cards—regular and Black. Lipstick. Eyeliner. Emergency condom." I snorted, ignoring his raised eyebrow while pulling the other items out as well, but I should know he wouldn't stop there. "It's interesting to know you're keeping that in there."
"Well, after that incident with Gon, I learned to come prepared."
"Right." Killua balanced his glass on his knee and looked at the river with so much contempt I laughed. "The bastard almost broke my nose."
The incident was the time we ran out of condoms and Killua sneaked into Gon's room at the suite in the middle of the night, almost naked, to see if he kept any condoms in his nightstand. We learned an important lesson that night: never, ever, EVER, come any close to a sleeping Gon. Because when he felt Killua's presence, his spidey senses went highwire and so damn berserk, he nearly sleep-knocked Killua across the room. The stream of profanity that followed the punch woke a very confused Aunt Mito, and Killua had to explain what happened to her… with a pillow held tightly at the front of his boxer briefs. It was a mess.
For them, at least. I'd laughed my ass off.
"Anyway, back to the game," Killua said with renewed vigor, looking at the items I'd pulled. "Where was I? Okay. That should be all. Although… this is a shot in the dark, but I'm gonna say, you have an earring in there."
Impressively enough, I did happen to have one conch earring there, the one that was cheap enough to make my ear particularly sensitive. It sparkled as it caught the moonlight in my palm.
I blinked down at it. "Okay, just how in the shit world did you guess that?"
Looking exceedingly proud of himself, Killua took a swallow from his wine before clarifying. "You don't remember? I saw you take it out twice in front of me and complain about it. I have no idea why you always put it back on if it hurts your ear too much."
"Beauty has a price," I said, even though I honestly had no idea either. I flipped the earring onto the blanket. "But yeah, good job. I'll give you that. Screw you though."
He leaned in and bit half of the Red Vine dangling from my mouth, pulling back with a smirk. "Majorly slayed."
I watched him through narrowed eyes, but I was smiling as I chewed the other half up into my mouth. He was being too irresistibly adorable tonight, and with the wine and the dirty fantasies already swirling up in my head, I didn't know how I was going to survive tonight. "Alright, let's see what you've got." I sat my wineglass down before cracking my knuckles and reaching into his pockets myself.
"Money clip?" I pulled that one out of his right pocket, anodized and blue, all hundred bills clipped inside. Why, of course. Killua was so weird about that. I would never understand why he never carried any singles because he liked to stop at literally every drink and food machine that he saw in sight and always ask either Gon or me for money.
He smiled with smug delight, the spread of his legs widening as he stretched his long frame back on his elbows to make it easier for me to search his pockets. His pants were tight enough to outline and show off the cuts and grooves in his quads, but loose enough that his pockets were gently accessible. Trying not to look directly at his button fly, I guessed my next item before digging for it. "A few coins. Keys. And probably a wrapper… of some candy."
Killua caught my wrist before my fingers went deeper in. "Nope. You have to guess a wrapper of what."
"Hmmmm." The guest bowl at the boys' hotel's suite was always refilled by Mrs. Pie every two days. There was a moment of silence as I tried to remember what I saw Gon eating the last time we video-chatted. "Oh! BUTTERSCOTCH!"
"Fuckit," he whispered, letting go of my wrist.
Pride took over my entire face. "Ugh, god, I'm good." My hand came out with four butterscotch wrappers, crumpled deep in his pocket. Killua would stuff so much garbage in his haute couture pants because he'd never litter. "Earbuds? No phone. Think I saw you leave it in the car."
He nodded with a sigh, taking his tangled earbuds out of the pocket of his hoodie. "Whatever, that question was too easy."
"Oh, now it was too easy? Anyway, last item: condoms." My hand fished deeper into his pocket, but my moment of smugness was cut too short because I didn't find anything. I let my hand fly to the other pocket and then to the two in his hoodie. None. Zilch. Nothing. I started looking for hidden pockets. He made a disgruntled, laughing noise because I was making him twist in strange positions. His pockets were all emptied. It was strange because he usually had a strip of five condoms in his pockets. Sometimes it seemed like they popped into his hand when he needed them like the coin-through-fingers magic trick.
"There are no condoms in here." I pulled back to study his face, seriously asking, "Are you sure those are your pants?"
He laughed and started to sit, wincing once for his abs. "I was going to tell you about this."
"That you're sick? Pregnant? Dying?"
"You're very hilarious. But no, the thing is…" He winced again. "I'm not supposed to have sex today or tomorrow."
"What."
"Doctor's orders. Leorio wants me not to burn off any of energy and save it all for the sessions because it's supposed to be a part of the healing process, which basically consists of drawing energy from the air around me and into my body for hours and not being allowed to have any form of… release. So until I finish healing, he thinks it's best if I keep it in my pants."
Okay, maybe I didn't like Leorio as much as I thought I did.
I scrunched up my nose. Retrieving my wineglass, I lifted it to my lips and took most of the dark red liquid down with a large, crisp gulp. I knew they were two days, but it felt as though I was reliving the moment of being told I couldn't have my sour cream donuts, only ten times worse.
"Technically I have to abstain from any stimulating physical activity for four days," he told me. "I've already gone through two, so that leaves today and tomorrow."
"So you're not carrying condoms in your pockets to…"
"Behave? Yes. That's also why I'm wearing these shoes." He jerked his chin pointedly at his slip-ons. "They were not made for labor, but since I like them too much, I can resist not running in them." Turning his head, he saw the silently mocking look on my face and sighed. "Look, I'm doing my best, okay? It hasn't been easy. Do you know the torture of not being able to release the tension of the aura you keep inviting into your body all around the hour? I've never gone a day without moving so much and working out. I couldn't sleep last night because of how restless I was feeling. I'm so fucking wound up I can barely sit still."
So that explained why he looked lowkey ready to kill someone last night through Gon's screen, why he was cranky earlier tonight. I'd come to notice that he was a restive person by nature. He needed to be doing something with his body at all times, and he was prone to wasted movement—stress snacking, stress smoking (in the past), popping gum, twirling keys, always seeming unsure with what to do with his hands.
Biting back a smile, I let my eyes wander over his body. "You're sitting perfectly still right now."
"That's because being around you is a workout by itself," he groaned, pulling my reluctant grin free. "And while we're on that subject…" He leaned close to my face, so startlingly close my breath caught in my throat. His gaze was wild and stormy in the way that made my heartbeat trip all way to my fingertips. "How about you behave, too? No licking jam off knives or looking at my mouth. And how about you button up your shirt a little higher? Because I can see that fucking cocktease of a bra underneath and that tiny little thing is barely containing you and none of it making anything any less… hard on me."
A tiny smile tugged at my lips. I barely skipped a beat, steadily holding his gaze, even though every muscle in my body was tight and my insides were liquefying. Heat slid into my veins, potently fierce and delicious, when he used that bossy, almost menacing tone. It made me want to rile him up even more just to free more of that side of him.
"Please," I said, scoffing. "You can't ask me that. All we do is play."
As he leaned away from me, he made a low grumbling noise, tipping his head back and drinking everything in his glass. I watched the smooth lines of his throat work on a deep swallow and I reached up to run my thumb across a thick vein on his neck, moving it mindlessly over the white, perfectly horizontal scar next to his pulse point. Either from a whip lash or a sharp blade.
With a warning look, he caught my hand and gently put it in his lap, his thumb sweeping across my long nail. He set his empty glass aside and pulled at my legs until they were draped over his thigh, his other leg bent at the knee directly above my ankles, interlocking our legs together.
"Ah, but while that's true," he said with a dark, knowing smile, "you'll have a harder time playing with me now. Ask me why."
I gave him a look as I shook the nearly empty pinot noir and drank the last sips directly from the bottle. "Why, Killua?"
"Because I'm used to being teased by you, but you're the spoiled one. I never say no to you. I give it to you whenever you want, wherever you want. In the bedroom, the living room, a dressing room, the bathroom of a restaurant, the dirty alley behind that local bonfire on the island—"
"You know what?" I just stretched back on the blanket, balancing on my elbows with an evil little smile. "I was going to be nice and make it easy for you to behave, but you always take that cockiness one step too far, making it hard for me to be nice."
He turned to smolder at me, looking down at the length of my body for a long moment before finding my eyes again, and I briefly wondered if I'd ever known thrill before I felt what it was like when he looked directly at me. "You don't make anything easy for me."
I raised my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
Even though deep down I knew.
He looked back at me with an expression that read, really? You don't know what I'm talking about? "You're stubborn with me, almost decidedly so. You have those practiced silences and comebacks, like you're reading out of a mental guidebook. You don't let me to see too much or know too much. You make sure to keep my ego in check. You don't let me get away with too much shit and you have my ass handed back to me at all times. Which I don't exactly hate," he admitted, and the lights from all around us accented the way his face softened. His voice, too. "You're so guarded all the time. You're always holding something back, and it makes me feel like I have to chase after it. I'm always chasing after you but you always keep yourself slightly out of reach."
I let my head fall back and looked at the scars. That was too much deep, honest talk for my slowing, wine-heavy brain.
I turned my eyes toward the view ahead with a wince. "Yikes. I'm a lot of work."
"You are. But it's okay," he told me, and dug for my ribs, making me squirm and look at his face. At his smile. "We're people, not robots. I like working you. And I'm not exactly a cakewalk myself."
I laughed, my eyes downcast to his hand on my thigh, feeling my anxiety surfacing. "Don't you wish it was easier with me?"
His eyebrow knitted down, his face twisting into what I'd call an adorable confusion. "Where's the fun in that? Listen," he said shortly, fingering a Red Vine out. "You know how a game's difficulty levels are a fun Easy, a happy Medium and a classic Hard?"
I grimaced, slightly horrified. "You're not going to compare me to a game, are you?"
He considered that, matching my grimace. "Too creepy and sexist?"
"Too creepy and sexist," I agreed.
"Ah, well. I wasn't going for that anyway. What I was going to say actually was that playing with you sometimes has the difficulty level of Master, and it's my favorite." He frowned. "That was supposed to be flattering, but it came out sounding more depressing than I intended. I didn't mean to say that our relationship was that difficult to me or that it made me a master." He shook his head, shuddering to himself. "Never mind, I think this game analogy is falling apart."
"It's kind of going tragically," I confirmed, grinning. "But I think I caught the nice—if not slightly fleeting—flattering part."
"What I meant to say was that it can be a challenge," he said quietly, looking right at me. Stormy eyes. A shadow of a smile. "It can be intense. It can scare you, frustrate you, push you out of your safe, comfort zone. And a lot of times, it can feel like a risky gamble…"
"Make you feel too much too fast?" I added, watching his face, his eyes. The potent heat of him and the moment was like fire licking down my spine.
He hummed. "But at the end of the day, it makes you feel…"
"Like you can do anything?" I finished.
He paused, silently scanning my face for a single heartbeat. "Yes," he whispered.
I stared at him with a smile, feeling his words sinking through me warmer than the buzz of wine we'd had.
Silence rang out for several deep breaths, and all around me the breeze whipped past the tall pine trees and into the inches of space between us filled with the scent of canopy and crisp snow and words and short memories wrapped around us like a comforter.
I closed my eyes, breathed in, then hauled my upper body up, sitting up straight so I was level with his face and enveloped in the warm scent of wine and sugar. I brushed my nose against his. "I think I'm ready to talk now."
"Important stuff?"
"Important stuff." I smiled at his lips. "I think I wanna tell you everything. Maybe show you too if you want. Are you ready?"
He pulled back to look at me, his lips twitched in a suppressed grin, eyes searching mine. "Not even a little bit," he said, "but I've never let that stop me before."
A/N: If you have just finished reading this, honestly thank you for putting up with my extra long chapters, I can't tell you.
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