Kite was not a delicate man. He'd had many other people hate him worse than this. He was very familiar with sudden plunges into solitude.

He knew the ropes to surviving a hard life. He was used to not needing to cope.

He should've been able to sleep at night.

For one week, they led parallel lives—close but not intersecting, the other side unacknowledged. Gon spent his time at the gym, charming the hearts of all the locals fortunate enough to earn his company, and Kite shadowed him from afar. So for that week, he didn't speak at all.

One time, he accidentally caught a glance of himself in a mirror and faltered when he recognized the reflection as himself. Kite had always been on the thin side, but this… was a little much. The emaciation could no longer be played off as athleticism; his cheekbones jutted too sharply out from his face, dry skin an anemic shade of white, lank hair falling lifeless on his shoulders. All Kite did was pull his hat down over his eyes and keep on walking.

Gon looked fine, he often noted. He looked healthy. He looked happy.

Sometimes, Kite heard him cry himself to sleep, but there was nothing really to be said about it. The longer he went without speaking, the harder it was to break the streak.

He felt like they were dying.

That's why, when his phone finally rang, he skipped the hello and immediately asked, "Did you get Killua?"

"Well," Knuckle's voice said over the line.

Kite held his breath.

"We've got good news and bad news."

And his chest tightened even further.

"The good news is that the new guy—Illumi—found a hole in the ground of the area where they stored their meat. He says it's a common assassin technique to hop in a hole ya dug, cover it up with dirt, and sleep for a long time—somethin' Killua supposedly knows how to do. It's deep enough underground to get outta range of the Royal Guard's En, so he would've been safe from that. And there's evidence of a human living inside it, so it was probably him. A DNA test's being run on some white hairs we found to confirm."

"And—" His sentence was cut off by a sudden coughing fit; he tasted blood at the back of his throat. "And the bad news?"

"The hole's empty. There's no one inside. We don't know where he went."

"But there aren't signs of a struggle, are there?" he asked, growing desperate. "He wasn't forcibly removed from the hole, right?"

"… It's hard to tell a thing like that. The surrounding area has seen a lot of traffic, so most of the potential evidence has been wrecked or covered up."

Kite didn't know what to say. He'd only slept a handful of hours since Gon had stopped talking to him.

"Anyways, there's some more stuff to discuss, but I gotta jump off the line for now. We'll be back tomorrow to debrief you in person. Oh, and the Boss wants to recruit you."

"I already told you that I can't leave Gon."

"He wants to recruit Gon too, though."

Oh. That was a different story, then.

"Tch, what am I doing? I said I'd tell you everything tomorrow. Save yer questions till then."

The next day, they watched the dirt road until they could make out a cloud of dust kicked up in the distance. The air was heavy with pending rain, the evening sky dreary and grey. As soon as the truck braked to a halt, Gon jumped forward, opened the passenger door, and launched his interrogation.

"How long was Killua in the hole? What did he eat or drink? Was there enough air? Did he sleep the whole time, like a hibernating bear? Was there room to stretch out? Did you check to make sure he didn't dig a tunnel? Did he leave any messages?"

"Hell if I know," Knuckle grunted, a little off-put by the kid forcefully situated in his face. "And there weren't any tunnels or messages."

Visibly deflated, Gon stepped back to let him exit the vehicle. "Well, I'm sure he made it out alive!"

Knuckle seemed skeptical but wisely kept his mouth shut after seeing the look Kite shot him.

"But there's one other big thing we encountered," Shoot added, and Gon perked up in attention. "The Chairman was strangely insistent that we tell you."

"What is it?"

"We found signs of a Nen Detonation, and a bloody huge one at that," Knuckle revealed. "A Nen Detonation comes from a botched Nen Concentration, which is—"

"I know what it is," Gon interrupted. "What about it?"

"Well, it was big enough to completely obliterate the user's body. All that's left is this," he said, digging around in his coat pocket.

And what he pulled out was a familiar white glove. Tattered at its frilly edges, speckled with blood stains and burn marks.

And Kite's blood froze in his veins.

(She had been gone for a month, after all. There was no reason for the trip to take that long.)

"We think it belonged to someone called Biscuit Krueger," he said. "Don't know how the hell she got in the country—they're still looking fer the security breach—but she managed it, and then she blew herself up. There's no way any human could've left a carcass after that explosion, let alone survived it. I guess she must've been cornered, in the end."

Kite looked down at the pink lipstick smudge on his sleeve, still visible from where he'd wiped off her goodbye kiss.

"Bisky's… dead?" Gon whispered.

"Looks like it."

He shook his head vigorously. "But that's impossible," he stated. It was a voice full of conviction, and hearing it was like playing knives on a chalkboard. "Tell them, Kite—it's impossible! She wasn't even in NGL. She was at Headquarters. She…" He trailed off as he looked up at Kite for confirmation, and it dawned on him all at once. "Kite, you… lied to me?"

"She asked me to," he said very quietly. "We didn't want you to worry."

"But she's not… Sh-she's not… Can't be…"

"She did a brave thing," Shoot remorsefully observed. "Destroying herself so the Queen couldn't harvest her body."

"I-I-I-I—I-I-I—I," Gon stuttered.

Faced with the imminent breakdown, Kite made the snap decision to grab Gon and drag him back to the inn.

Tears were falling by the time the door slammed shut.

"She's not dead—she's not dead—"

Kite sat them down on the doormat and drew the boy into a fierce hug. Comfort was never his strong suit, but he needed to—

Something.

"I'll kill it," Gon hissed against Kite's shoulder.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, okay."

"Let go of me, Kite."

He shook his head.

"I said, let go."

No. That wouldn't work. There was a whole world out there for Gon to rail against and fuck up. There were a million ants to swarm a Nen-less body. There was something Kite had to do for him. There had to be something he could do for him.

Gon began to push back. "I'll kill it, Kite! I'll kill it!"

He just tightened his arms in response. "Not right now."

"No—no, I-I-I'll…!"

Gon stopped struggling and instead clung to Kite for dear life, his boyish legs locking around his waist while little hands fisted at his shirt.

"She's not," he choked. "She can't…!"

"I'm so, so sorry," was what Kite ended up saying.

And that's when Gon began to really, truly cry.

"I w-was gonna bring Killua back for h-h-h-h-her, not the other way around," he sobbed.

But the truth was that it wasn't Gon who should've left to find Killua. It wasn't Bisky, either.

It was Kite.

It was Kite who should've—

Should've been me who—

"H-how could you let her go, Kite? How could you let her w-w-w-walk into that place with… with those things…?!"

And that's when Kite got up, set Gon down on the kitchen counter-top, and rummaged around the hotel mini-bar refrigerator for the vodka that the innkeeper kept in stock. This was not like him. He did not usually drink. But he still pulled the bottle out with a cold clink and poured enough for a half-dozen shots, downing it in one go.

"I don't know," he said.

Gon stared at the bottle with an odd expression, cheeks painted with stagnant tears.

"Rhubarb margarita."

"What?"

"Bisky told me that… that her favorite drink was a rhubarb margarita," Gon breathed, and the memory had him raking his nails down the sides of his bare arms.

Kite took to the pantry and scoured its contents; there wasn't any rhubarb, but he had seen some oranges on top of the refrigerator. Did they have a blender…? No, they did not. Using two nested cups as an impromptu juicer, he crushed the orange slices into paste and siphoned the juice off into an empty glass. Did they have tequila…? No, they did not. Kite poured a mix of vodka and water into the glass and stirred it with a spoon.

And then he got a bad idea.

"Do you want to try some, Gon?"

Because he wanted to drink with him. To induct him into this portion of manhood. And maybe it would calm the boy down.

Or maybe he just didn't want to drink alone.

"Miss Mito s-said I can't have alcohol until I'm eighteen."

Kite would not press the issue, even though he wanted to. He would not pressure him.

"But I'll… I'll try it," the boy brokenly gave in; the scratches on his arms were long and red.

So Kite retrieved another cup and poured half of his drink into it. "To Bisky," he said, raising the glass for a toast.

Gon let out another wet sob and slowly met his cup to the tribute. "To Bisky…!"

From the look on his face, Gon obviously did not enjoy the taste—and it did taste awful, Kite found as he took a swig of his own. It was a good kind of awful, though. A good kind of hurt.

"Here," he offered, extending his hand. After a beat of incomprehension, Gon handed him his glass, and Kite channeled some Transmutative Nen to sweeten its contents. "Better?"

Gon nodded as he chugged, his Adam's apple bobbing almost hypnotically. Wow, look at him go. Kite finished off his cup to keep up with him.

And holy shit, it was really hitting him now. He hadn't eaten—hadn't slept—and shit was blurring out fast, right down to the tips of his fingers. There's tipsy, and then there's drunk, and then there's feeling like you're drowning when you've got nothing left to swim in.

"Ready for more?" Kite managed to say.

"Y… yeah."

So Kite prepared another two drinks. Gon's cheeks had gotten pretty flushed, he noticed. He was really such a simple boy; Kite could see why Killua liked him.

"B'fore Bisky left, she asked me out on a date for when she got back," Kite said, staring into the murky orange of his glass. "And I would've done it, too. Just to humor her, a little. I was going to say yes. I told myself that when she got back… I was going to say yes."

"Kite…"

He cleared his throat. "This isn't actually a margarita, y'know. We need tequila for that."

"What's the difference?"

"Between vodka and tequila? E'erything," Kite slurred. "Tastes a world apart."

Gon's big eyes were half-lidded, and he seemed reluctant to drink any more, so Kite took the cup from him and belted the rest himself. Gon looked on with a sleepy note of bewilderment.

"Do you… wanna… want me to go buy us some tequila?" he asked. "Then I could show you what a real margarita is like."

"Okay," Gon hiccupped.

"Alright. I'll be back soon," Kite promised. He absentmindedly ruffled Gon's hair on his way out. "Wait for me."

And it was raining outside, Kite realized as the wind slapped against his face, his hand reflexively clamping his hat down to his head. This was good news, since it meant there wouldn't be many passersby to notice him totally hammered. Still, he wanted to keep up appearances, trying to walk in a straight line—he wanted to walk in a straight line—but he couldn't tell if he was doing it right.

"Kite?"

Oh. Spin was there.

"What are you doing in the rain without a coat? You're gonna catch a cold!" she called out to him.

Kite had left his coat in NGL.

"Kite?"

He had left Killua in NGL.

"Hello…?"

He had led Bisky to her death.

"Come on," Spin said, oh-so tentatively taking him by the arm—touching him for the first time ever. "Let's get you out of the rain; my hotel's right over there."

Kite let her lead him through the front doors, up a few flights of stairs, and into a small apartment. It was comfortably warm inside, and something about it made him sick. God, he was so fucking tired.

"Holy shit," Spin uttered. "You're drunk."

She had only just now noticed?

"What's wrong, Kite?"

"What's wrong?" he echoed. "You really don't know?"

She looked confused.

"God," he laughed. "You've got such a—a small mind. Such a narrow outlook. You really don't get it."

Spin obviously didn't know how to react to that.

"Always chasing after me," he muttered. "Always making everything awkward and complicated."

"Uh…"

"Always making me worry about how to let you down easy, stepping around your stupid little crush…!"

"W-wait—"

"Making me feel like a jackass for not reciprocating—for not caring!" he shouted, bloodshot eyes wide with a sudden fury. "Like I'm heartless! Like I'm a bad person! Well, it might be news to you, but I don't want to hurt you!"

And he hated Spin for making him hurt her.

"I… I know, Kite," she whispered. "I know you don't want to hurt me."

With a resounding crack, he slapped away her encroaching hand to prove his point: because she kept this ridiculous crush, he had to hurt her. And in the back of his mind, he knew this had to happen now. It had to be now, or else he ran the risk of snapping around Gon—or, even worse, at Gon. It had to be Spinner, because she was complacent. She would just sit there and take it.

"It's okay," she said softly, and it was almost the hardest thing he'd had to look at all day.

"No, it—it's not," he faltered.

"This is about Killua, isn't it?" Spin guessed. "You found out that he's dead, didn't you?"

And now she was really trying his patience.

"How dare you," he said. "Just deciding that he's dead—how the hell could you claim to know something like that? Do you have any idea what you're saying?! What that would mean?!"

"It means that you have to get over it, Kite."

He slapped her away again, a little harder this time, knocking her to the floor.

"Don't touch me."

And that's when he noticed what she was wearing: a grey camisole and pair of jeans, both completely drenched from the rain. The thin material clung tightly to her body—from the curve of her hips to the individual swells of her breasts—leaving nothing to the imagination. Her ropy hair fanned out like a splash of blood on the tile floor, and the forest green of her bra straps was stark against the pallor of her clavicles.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Take it. Let me help you. Please."

"You—you've got to be kidding me," he laughed incredulously. "You want me to fuck you?—fuck you while Gon's waiting for me, probably crying his eyes out?"

And maybe he wanted to.

"Fine," Kite muttered, yanking her up from the floor. "Fine."

So she peeled away her jeans while he fumbled with the button of his pants, and God, already he just wanted this to be over with. He'd planned to jerk off after Gon fell asleep, but now that Spinner had shown up and was so fucking eager…

"A-ah," she whimpered as he fingered her roughly, pinning her against the wall, and she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck.

"'M sorry," he said, which was not like him, because he most definitely was not a talkative man during sex. "Just hate how you make me sorry."

But everything was wrong today, it seemed.

"Why?" he demanded, voice cracking, and fuck—oh, fuck…!

"Because I love you," she weakly moaned.

"I—I didn't ask for that," Kite choked. "I never asked for that. I never wanted that."

And as he found his rhythm, he remembered how Bisky had looked right after she kissed him, her smile and the sunlight so warm on his face, running out and waving goodbye.

A few droplets fell on Spin's cheeks, and Kite realized that he was crying.

"Never… never asked for…"

The lipstick stain on his sleeve.

"Didn't mean to…"

Didn't want to.

"Fuck," he sobbed when he finally came, burying his face in the crook of Spin's neck. She was quiet as she held him through it; all that could be heard was the patter of rainfall and his shuddering gasps.

And when he finally came back down, Kite pulled himself away, fixed his pants, and stumbled back.

I didn't bring you along because I felt bad for you, Ging had once lectured him. I did it because you were wasting your life, and I could see that your life would be a shame to waste.

"You're wasting your life," Kite told the woman collapsed against the wall. "Find something that you want instead of waiting for me, because you'll be waiting forever."

With that said, he walked out.

(This was how he mourned her, one closed door at a time.)

"Gon?" he called to the quiet room, staggering toward the kitchen; the alcohol was taking more and more from him, like trying to keep time with a broken metronome. The darkening of his vision told him that his body was about to give out, but there was nothing he could do about that. "I'm back," Kite hoarsely called again.

He flipped on the light—the smell of liquor suddenly overpowering him—but Gon wasn't there, for some reason. Not in the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, the parlor. Their cups lie discarded on the tile floor, and Kite blindly reached down to pick them up but then found himself falling over in the process. Everything came to a dizzying halt.

He… must've left.

Oh God, he must've left.

With all his nerves on fire, Kite scrambled to his feet, gripping the countertop for support while the blood rushed away from his head. How could he have left him alone? He'd promised Bisky that he would look after him, and then he wandered off to get laid? What kind of horrible person—?!

Kite was all that Gon had, and he'd abandoned him.

But there wasn't time to hate himself. He needed to go out and find Gon before he got himself killed. But first, call for help—Knuckle and Shoot, tell them that Gon was afoot and dangerous. Where did he leave his phone? It wasn't in his pocket…? Did it fall out? Did he… leave it with Spinner…?

And the room was spinning, and then Kite blacked out.

Author's Note:

In case you're wondering, Bisky was the intruder that Pouf and Pitou were talking about last chapter. If you want to know more about how exactly Bisky killed herself, refer back to Kite's explanation of Nen Concentration in Chapter 4. And the hole that Killua dug was like what Illumi did during the Hunter Exam, when he burrowed underground after he got his target's number-tag.