In Neon's dreams, she chases after scarlet Kurta eyes, and even when she wakes up, it's impossible to forget the vivid red that captured her heart while asleep.
Right now, Neon is alone at the hotel with Kurapika, who has agreed to keep an eye on her while her maids and other guards carry out some undercover mission that she isn't allowed to be part of (not that she didn't already throw a temper tantrum about it). She slumps over onto her desk, scrolling through fashion catalogs on her phone, gazing at Kurapika out of the corner of her eye every so often.
He kept his silence when she took a seat next to him an hour ago, only glancing up briefly before continuing to read his novel. Since then, he's only had eyes for that book, completely unconcerned about the threat of potential intruders. It's like a part of him thinks he's invincible, untouchable.
Each strand of hair is a golden thread, brushing against his cheekbones and spilling across his forehead in effortless waves. The light seeping in through the curtains highlights the shocking ivory of his complexion, as smooth as the petals of a white rose.
He always has that look on his face. The one that reads, I'm lost in my own world. That's what sets him apart from all her other guards. He wants to be somewhere else, doing something else. She wants to know what her dutiful, polite bodyguard sees when he closes his eyes, what he dreams of.
"Miss Neon, is something the matter?"
She startles, realizing that Kurapika is gazing straight at her, before adamantly shaking her head.
If he finds her response strange, he doesn't let it show. He cups his chin in his hand, face blank and only faintly curious. "Are you sure? After all, you were staring for a quarter of an hour."
There's a hint of vibrance in those dark eyes. The teasing words, I caught you, are threatening to leave his lips. She's seen him act like this before around his friends when they visit him at work. Maybe underneath all the seriousness, he's really just a normal boy.
She blinks, and that trace of liveliness vanishes as quickly as it came.
"Can you teach me to dance? My birthday's coming up next week, and there'll be a dance floor, and I just . . ." Neon trails off, surprising her own self with her impulsiveness and out-of-the-box idea. Around Kurapika, she usually says nothing. She never knows how to speak to someone like him, someone so closed off and lost in his own thoughts.
A beat of silence passes.
Kurapika stands up. "If that's what you would like, Miss Neon."
It dawns on her that Kurapika has never failed to follow an order before. Never.
He extends an arm, observing her like she's a puzzle to assemble. Funny - she could almost swear that the real puzzle here is him.
Even funnier is that, once she takes his arm, he doesn't do anything. He's . . . waiting for her to make the first move?
She has no idea what he's thinking, with that blank stare. Is he even human?
A knock sounds from the door that they've both forgotten has been left ajar.
Kurapika's irises, the color of steaming coffee on a chilly day, flood with surprise. Like Neon, he must acknowledge how this looks to Killua. A boy and girl, standing face-to-face, close enough to kiss. They can't really blame him for making assumptions about what he's walked in on.
Neon's never spoken to Killua before. But she's seen his usual demeanor. If everything were okay with him, he'd be smirking right about now. He'd have already made some teasing remark.
Killua's ocean-filled eyes are paired with a frown as he takes in Neon and Kurapika's proximity. She's well acquainted with the emotion stirring in his irises, and it doesn't bode well.
"Is everything okay, Killua? Where's Gon?" Of course that's the first thing Kurapika wants to know. Seeing Killua without Gon is like seeing a flower without its petals – it will always look like something's missing.
Killua shrugs, turning his head to the side. "He's busy. I just came to say hi." His true thoughts are written all over his face. She expects him to turn around and leave at any moment.
And Neon knows that Kurapika would let him leave. He's not heartless, but he's prone to acting like it.
Good thing she knows just what to say. "Do you want me to predict your future for you?"
That's jealousy in those sapphire eyes. When Kurapika leaves to guard just outside the door, Killua's bitterness only subsides somewhat.
Killua stands in front of Neon, squinting at the fresh sheet of parchment. "This thing doesn't make sense. There's a reason no one reads poetry anymore."
If you ask anyone, they'll tell you that Neon is a ditzy airhead. But she notices a lot - enough to put the pieces together.
"Looking for anything specific in that fortune?" Oh, it's clear to her what he's scanning the poem for. Maybe he thinks love will find him if he can decipher the obscure words correctly, instead of the other way around.
"Not really. Anyways, I should be going –"
"Killua. Gon won't know unless you tell him."
Sometimes, a few simple words can set into motion a chain of events.
Five years later
If there's anyone Hisoka finds fascinating, it's little Alluka Zoldyck. Ah, but she isn't so little anymore, is she? When he first saw her, she was a thirteen-year-old with eyes that were a sweet, subdued sky.
Now, she's seventeen, her harnessed aura crackling around her in violet sparks. Whatever her ability is, it should be enough to rival Illumi's.
Hisoka stands next to the fireplace in the Zoldyck manor. Shards of glass glimmer on the carpet from the broken window, and amidst it is Alluka. Her dark hair billows with the gust of wind pummeling through, and her sapphire orbs are jewels in the near darkness.
Hisoka has a knack for reading people. He told Illumi this before, but alas, he wasn't believed.
She looks like the sort of child who relishes witty banter and playing pranks on Killua. All Zoldycks have a streak of mischief in them, after all. And a Zoldyck wouldn't be complete without ambition - perhaps she spends her days studying nonstop, looking up to Leorio as a role model for the sort of doctor she wants to be one day.
Hisoka could be entirely wrong, of course. But where's the fun in being right?
"I'm afraid Illumi isn't home, darling. You've chosen the wrong time to kill him."
The girl goes completely still, her guard down. Killua can train her up all he wants, but no one can tell her how to adjust to the unexpected. What a shame. "Who are you?"
Oh dear. Someone's been coddling his sister far too much. What else hasn't Killua told her? Hisoka chuckles. "It's a good thing you're here, little Alluka. I'll let you leave unharmed, if you deliver a message for me."
Having anticipated Alluka's arrival, the letter is already in his hand, folded into a perfect square. It's been years since he stole it from Killua in Greed Island, and now it will be sent to its rightful recipient. With a flick of his wrist, the paper flies to Alluka, who catches it with the graceful swiftness that only a Zoldyck could have.
Oh, how he loves the way she looks at him with such wariness as she unfolds the letter. Such a smart, vigilant girl.
Hisoka smiles. He might have just done a good deed for once.
Killua hasn't heard from Gon in five years. He pushed him away a long time ago.
Which is why Killua doesn't expect to come face-to-face with him today, while walking along the boardwalk just outside of the hotel he and Alluka are staying at.
And Killua recognizes his neat twelve-year-old handwriting on the piece of paper clutched in Gon's hand.
He still remembers how Neon's words convinced him to put pen to paper that day. (Saying his feelings aloud would have been . . . mortifying). In the end, he was overcome with such embarrassment that he stashed it away somewhere, never to be seen again.
"Killua." Those eyes. Those sun-colored eyes know everything now. Now Gon's aware of the real reason Killua took their separation so hard. The real reason Killua stuck by his side for two years. The real reason Killua's gaze sometimes lingered too long whenever Gon would smile at him as a child.
And now comes the moment Killua has always pondered, but never actually expected to happen. It's the moment in which Gon's words might break him in ways he didn't think possible.
Just before Gon speaks, Killua thinks of those three little words he finished the letter off with. God, how embarrassing.
"Did you know?" Gon says, and Killua's never been so confused before.
"Did I know what?"
Gon steps forward. They're so close. "That the feeling was mutual."