Title: Silence
Author: Cherrie (kurapikasama@yahoo.com)
Chapter: 1/1
Genre: Angst, death-fic
Rating: PG13
Disclaimers: Hunter X Hunter and all its characters © Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation.
Summary: He sat there quietly, and played the quiet ritual one last time.
Notes: This may or may not be Hisoka x Illumi. Personally, I think it's just a piece that borders on intimate friendship. The idea came from a dream. It has nothing to do with gravestones or cemeteries though. But if anything, it was a peaceful dream. I'm weird that way, I associate peace with death. I suddenly thought of Hisoka for goodness knows what reason. To whoever finds this short fic peculiar, I plead momentary insanity.

* Just a short message to all possible writers out there. Come on people, I'm running out of ideas for Hisoka and Illumi! Come on out and write your own down. I mean, Hisoka x Illumi is as famous as most yaoi pairs in HxH, it's not even difficult to write for them. Please please please? I'll include anyone who writes HisoIllu in my bedtime prayers ^^;

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?

Above him, the moon cast him an ironic smile, a grim contrast to the firm line that was his pale lips. It was a mockery that he intended to ignore, yet failed to somehow. Every now and then, he would look around him, and he would look up eventually, and he will see the moon looking down on him with that very same smile that it would cast every time he would sit there.

He never smiled back.

The wind was cold, a gentle whisper that rubbed against the ashen pearl of his skin. Only the leaves that sat peacefully atop their tall sanctuaries paid it heed, their rustling the only sound that graced the quiet woods. Pressed together in their own little groups, they ignored the lone figure below them, favoring him only with the tranquility that he sought from them.

The cold stone behind his back stood there, quiet as always, his sole companion during those moments. The distinctly smooth, flat surface of the stone was adorned with slender curves, inscribed by the hard metal used constantly to cut through the refuge of life, a bloodied tip that suited the man underneath the sacred stone so perfectly.

Hisoka
"No longer will the noises of the world be there to haunt you."

He had written it himself, those words. He didn't know what else to say to him. He never mourned the loss of a life. He never had the reason to. But it seems as though Death wants to be noticed this time, his eternal arrogance the very factor why Fate goes the way it does.

But no, he didn't mourn for him, this man whose company he constantly seeks. He did not regret his departure. As the blood completely left the magician's face, as he breathed his last, he did not cry out for him. He did not beg him to come back, for he knew that this was what the other man had wanted.

Listen to them, Illumi. Aren't they annoying? Their voices ring through my ears, as if they want me deaf. They will drive me mad for all the wrong reasons. I wish they'd go to Hell.

He never believed in Hell. He never believed in Heaven either. They were just there, intangible beliefs graced with complications so the innocent minds of the good would stop questioning their existence. They're merely the protectors of Death, the very reasons why the circle of life should not be manipulated.

He wasn't sure about the existence of souls either. But Hisoka, he believed they're there. He said that they speak to him, haunt him continuously, chase him even in the deepest recesses of his sleep. He once asked him if the voices bother him. Hisoka just shook his head and dismissed them carelessly. He said that he just found them irritating, but they didn't scare him.

But he did want them to stop. So badly that sometimes, he'd go on killing just to drive them away, to anger them as much as they angered him. But the voices, they went on screaming, pounding through his head like unending drumbeats, threatening to push him down the cliff of insanity.

Noises.

Hisoka always spoke of noises. Not many people bothered to know him. But if they did, they would know that Hisoka likes the quiet. He would always seek the momentary peace that his withering sanity would lead him to. But he once mentioned that every time he would be alone, there would be noises that would echo through his ears like a distant siren.

So loud. So much that pain would go through me, through every limb and finger. They engulf me whole, and I become so angry with them that I just want to kill whoever is responsible for their voices. But they are intangible, these spirits. This, I know, but the madness of which they bring to me makes me see a face in every person. I want to kill him. I want him to stop.

Does he ever bother you too, Illumi?

He wasn't quite sure. The noises, he could understand. He hears them sometimes, a punishment perhaps for being responsible for the death of a thousand lives. Some people may even call it guilt. It didn't make him bitter though. Through the years, he had been so used to it that he hardly pays it any heed. So much had he been taught the insignificance of life that he hardly finds anything wrong with taking it away.

But that never stopped him from knowing that it was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but sometimes death poses to be the best choice. The right choice isn't always the best one sometimes. Whether or not he held the right to kill, it wasn't his concern any longer. It was what he was made to do. Maybe that was why the voices still haunted him. Maybe that was why the voices still haunted Hisoka.

Life isn't as wonderful as most people think. It isn't peaceful. It isn't quiet. And so I wait for Death to come. I refuse to take my own life. I don't consider it to be Death. Partly, perhaps the reason why I kill is for Death to notice me.

What do you think, Illumi? Do you think I've angered him enough?

Cold, hard truth masked by the playfulness of child-like questions.

He never answered that question. He didn't know the answer. He remembered a time when Hisoka told him about what he thought of his life. Like him, Hisoka was rich, his wealth enough to last him a lifetime. But unlike him, Hisoka didn't want to work, he found it useless. Hisoka doesn't have anybody to protect, or anybody to share his life with. He wanted it that way, to live his life without having to worry about another one. But then he had nothing else to do, every single second plagued by the lack of life's usual challenges.

And so, each day he would merely play around, with Death as his invisible playmate. A seemingly never-ending game of tag, where Hisoka would run away from Death, and yet taunt him enough to keep the game going. This was the challenge that kept Hisoka breathing.

One night, he found Hisoka on his bed, his face so pale and thin that he could hardly recognize him.

'Hi. I'm sick, see? My blood is leaving me. You can see, I'm very pale.'

'Have you gone to the doctor?'

'Hell no.'

'Have you tried nen?'

Laughter. No malice. No bitterness.

'Don't you understand, Illumi? This is it.'

Hisoka held out a hand to him. He took it. He allowed himself to be taken near, Hisoka's weak breath brushing lightly against his cheek.

'Listen. Do you hear it?'

'Hear what?'

A smile. Patient. Relieved. 'Silence.'

Hisoka had the strangest of minds. He spoke of things that he could hardly understand. Hisoka never spoke of himself, he didn't speak of what he likes or what makes him happy. He only spoke in riddles. He once told Hisoka to stop going in circles, but the magician only told him that he knew that Illumi would understand.

There are noises, Illumi.

The moon was so high, its smile still unwavering. Midnight. The wind still brought its music, the leaves still danced with the song.

He closed his eyes and dove deep inside his mind. Searching.

'Are we the only ones who can hear them? Don't you think it's selfish of me to leave you now?'

'You're dying, and all you think about is how selfish you are? Besides, I thought you don't hear them anymore.'

'Oh, that's right. I'm so selfish.'

It's so quiet now. Was this the very same quiet that made Hisoka smile?

A weak hand came up to touch his left shoulder. He looked down as his hand parted with the sticky cloth, and beneath the light of the moon, he could see the crimson lifestream staining the whiteness of his skin. He took note of the shallowness of his breathing, and how his eyes started to feel so heavy.

He had done everything that he should. He had even called home to tell them what had happened to him. His mother must be hysterical by now, but knowing her, she'll eventually get over it. He thought about his father and grandfathers, his brothers, his younger sister. They'll mourn for him perhaps, but they'll all go on. He held no connection to them now. In a few seconds, he'll cease to be Illumi Zoldick.

Do you hear it, Illumi? This is Silence. And it's so beautiful.

He rested his weary head on the flat surface of the gravestone. He understood him now.

Therefore, to thee this night
I will no requiem raise,
But waft thee on thy flight,
With a Paean of old days.

* * * * * The End * * * * *

Whatever it is with sickness and Hisoka that I find fascinating to connect, I have no idea. But I really don't think Hisoka would die through any outside means, say a sword or a bullet or what-not. Neither is he the suicidal kind. I really have no idea how he'd die. Neither do I know what he thinks. But I'm a fan author, we do have certain privileges ^.^

The poem stanzas at the beginning and at the end of the fanfic are from Edgar Allan Poe's, A Paean.

This is the first time that I've written a death-fic, so be kind ^^; For those who read, thank you for your time!