We'll have tiny boxes for memories
Open them up and we'll set them free
There'll be bad days and some hard times
But I'll keep your secrets, if you keep mine
~"Boxes," Goo Goo Dolls
When the news broke about Mizaistom's filing, Chrollo expected far more of a freak-out than Illumi gave him. Kalluto cried and Machi made him hot chocolate. Feitan offered to burn Kurapika's apartment to the ground and Chrollo had to tell him to desist. But Illumi simply tightened his jaw and nodded.
"What are you now, relieved you can't disappoint your parents?" Hisoka demanded.
"I will get my brother back," Illumi said. "At least I now know where they are. My parents will hire good lawyers, and there's no way Alluka could survive a court testimony. Killua will have to..." His voice trailed off. He rose to stride up the stairs, and that was when Chrollo noticed a slight bruise under Illumi's ear, right where hair would almost always cover it. Like a hit. Hisoka's eyes narrowed slightly, and Chrollo could tell Hisoka had seen it as well.
"You suck at comforting your boyfriend," snapped Machi.
Hisoka flipped her off as he headed after Illumi.
"Are they even dating or is it just to piss off Danchou?" asked Shalnark, fiddling with his iPhone.
"Who knows," said Chrollo. "I don't care."
Shalnark and Machi exchanged a glance. Chrollo ignored them. A certain blond with scarlet eyes filled his mind. He texted Kurapika a warning about Feitan. Idk how much i can control him.
Kurapika didn't respond, and Chrollo was almost disappointed.
After their talk that night in the library, Kurapika seemed to regret opening up. He drifted again, and as weeks slipped by and they barely talked, Chrollo felt himself increasingly irritated about the state of their project and Kurapika's ignoring of his texts and calls. Hisoka kept making out with Illumi whenever Chrollo was around and it was harder to focus on someone else now. Kalluto was basically a permanent fixture at the house and Chrollo found he didn't really mind. Oito's case seemed to be moving ahead with ease, and a restraining order against Tserriednich and Nasubi was surprisingly simple to attain.
Kurapika missed Russian Lit a week before their time to present. Pouf and Komugi presented on Eugene Onegin, and when they finished without killing each other, Pouf even smiled.
How strange. Komugi had even stuttered at a part, and Chrollo expected Pouf to pounce on that and use it to shred her. But he wasn't doing that. His lips didn't even vanish like he was resisting the urge.
Why would you change? How?
People didn't change. Chrollo knew that. Hisoka was a bitch and would always be a bitch. Illumi would be an emotionless robot forever. Kurapika—Kurapika had always—
Chrollo finally texted Kurapika. Meet in the library at 8 or I'm doing your project for you.
Kurapika didn't show. Chrollo cussed. Well, he'd made a vow. He pulled out the stupid novel and went to work outlining what Kurapika was supposed to do.
It was past nine when he felt someone kick him in his calf. He turned around, three empty teabags on the table in front of him. "I'm shocked."
"I fell asleep." Kurapika dropped down onto the plush chair across from him, tossing his bookbag.
"I already did your part."
Kurapika's eyes flashed red. "I don't need your charity."
"Of course not," snapped Chrollo. "It's not—"
"What are you trying to do? Why does it matter to you? All you have to do is go to Professor Hill and tell him I'm not pulling my weight and—"
"You're operating under the assumption we have a normal professor and frankly I don't think we do."
Kurapika nodded as if to say, fair. "Still. Let me flunk."
"Are you trying to drag me down with you? Because I want to graduate." Chrollo glared at him. "Are you that much of a masochist that you don't care what happens to yourself if you take me down with you?"
"Are you that much of a fucking narcissist to presume everything has to do with you?" Kurapika struggled to keep his voice low. He looked as if he'd like to punch Chrollo. Well, Chrollo wouldn't care. At least he'd see some fire.
Are you that much of a masochist, that you don't care what happens to yourself so long as he—
Shut up!
"Hypocrite," Chrollo choked out.
"I haven't been well," Kurapika said. "That's all. So—"
"If you're worried about me helping Illumi with—"
"I'm not."
"Liar."
"I'm not."
Chrollo gritted his teeth.
"Would you?" Kurapika asked, leaning forward. His earrings swung, rubies sparking in the dim overhead lighting. "Would you if he asked? Or are you not as loyal to your housemates as you think? Are they just people to help pay—"
"Shut up," Chrollo said.
"Do you want to earn something? Steal something? You can't," said Kurapika. "Not me. You haven't changed a bit. I know what you're trying to do."
Chrollo cussed. "Apologize?"
"No. You steal people because you don't want to face the truth: no one would want to be around you if they had other options." Kurapika kicked back and let out a barking laugh, something too crunchy and cynical to fit him. "Aren't you Kirillov? You'd give anything, even your own life, to prove something, right? That you matter? That you're god? That you're not alone?"
"You're a fucking drama queen," Chrollo snarled. "You—you—"
You're the same.
So many nights he curled up in the attic, filled with lots and lots of objects stolen, and what he focused on wasn't the antique carved wood or the jewels, but the sounds echoing from below, the murmurs, the safety blanket he felt enveloping him woven from laughs and the clinks of dishes.
But you believe you are.
If you sleep, then you'll forget it. For a little while.
"I'm sorry," Chrollo said.
Kurapika gaped.
"You know, for someone so self-aware, you're remarkably dense sometimes," said Chrollo. "You're talking to yourself, aren't you? And to me."
Because you don't want to be alone.
"I'm sorry I treated you like that," Chrollo said. "I was—wrong. And I want you to not fail—"
"Because you want to atone?"
"Because I don't think you're just a brain or just your grades, and I think you—" You're not someone I can steal, or control.
I'm not a god, with you.
Why?
You are me.
I never was a god.
But I don't have to just be a street boy, either. Chrollo rubbed at his eyes. "I'm—I envy you."
Kurapika let out a guffaw. "Why?"
He met his eyes. Kurapika's were red, but his cheeks were flushed, the lights glowed against his golden hair, and his lips were full and trembling.
"My parents are dead," Kurapika pointed out. "And I—" He covered his face. "I killed them."
Chrollo froze. His breath deserted him. What?
"I was so worried about my grades," whispered Kurapika, clutching his cheeks and jaw so tightly his hands shook. It looked as if he was trying to fold up his face. "I was panicking. They were—driving to see me and—they went off the roads—it was icy." He doubled over. "It was my fault. I killed them."
"No," Chrollo managed. Kurapika's words sat like a rock in his stomach, pinning him down. "No, you didn't." His own words trying to drag the rock away.
"I did. I—I was trying to be pre-med then—I'm only literature now—I wanted to to cure Pairo's eyes—he's only impaired because of me, because he shoved me out of the way before a car—I always make foolish choices and they pay the price—I—"
"That isn't your fault," Chrollo whispered.
"How would you know?" Kurapika demanded, tone lacerating him. "You don't have anyone."
But. He thought of Machi, Feitan, Uvo, Shalnark, Kortopi, Phinks. "I do."
I hated you, Hisoka, because you made me realize that. That it would hurt if someone used me. That I could be hurt. That I could bleed. He clapped his hands over his mouth.
"I killed them," Kurapika croaked. "I did. It's on me. And then—now I'm letting Pairo down by—and I yelled at him when he warned me about you, and now I switched my major, and—"
"Do you resent him?" Chrollo eked out.
"Huh?"
"Pairo," Chrollo said. "Do you resent him, for keeping you chained with this guilt?"
"No!" Kurapika glared. "Of course not! I—I—I want to help because—"
"You want to atone."
"No! I mean—" Kurapika gulped. "Maybe, but I also—he's my cousin—he's my dearest friend—I love him."
There it was. Chrollo swallowed. "And can't you imagine, then, that maybe they feel the same way about you? That Pairo doesn't care what you can do for him, but he just cares about you? That your parents, had they survived, wouldn't resent wanting to help you? That they just want you to be happy? That that's why they drove to meet you? That you didn't pull them here via a magical spell but they just wanted to, because they loved you?" His voice rose in octaves. He planted his hands on the desk and glared at Kuarpika.
"Quiet!" bellowed the librarian from around the corner.
The wind whooshed out of Chrollo. He dropped back onto his eat. He should apologize. No. He didn't want to.
I want—that.
I can't steal it. I can't earn it, even. You surely haven't.
I'm so jealous.
Kurapika covered his eyes. His shoulders shook. A sob broke through his lips.
Chrollo got to his feet. His legs felt weak.
"I hope so," Kurapika managed. "I really, really hope so."
Chrollo looked down. He reached out, and wrapped his arms around Kurapika, and Kurapika didn't push him away. "I'm not wrong."
Kurapika snorted.
"You're loved," Chrollo said, his voice cracking. "They love you. They all do. You are—loved. You are so loved."
If someday, I can be so loved—
Either way.
Either way, I'm—
If it can come to you, maybe someday. Maybe. For me, someone will.
This was it. She had her one shot to get this to work. She needed to try.
But he just told her, "good job."
And it wasn't enough. Palm stared after Professor Knov.
"You have talent," he'd told her when she toured the campus. "You should apply here."
Everyone else told her she was crazy, that she'd never get anywhere thanks to her personality, her habits of scratching herself until she bled, the weird scar she had on her forehead.
I just want to matter to you. I want to be special. Is that so wrong?
"He said 'good job,'" snapped a voice to her left. "What more do you want or need?"
She turned. An overweight boy from her class glowered at her. "You're blocking the door."
Palm backed away, clawing at her wrists. A prick, and some blood dribbled out. She tried to trace a teardrop with the crimson liquid, a fake tattoo, a fake wound, on her alabaster skin. "You're Killua's brother."
He gaped at her. "You know him?"
She nodded. "Gon is my friend."
"Well, if you see him, tell him to go fuck himself, the spoiled brat." Milluki snorted. The sound echoed in the empty lecture hall.
Her backpack hung heavy on her shoulder. "I will not tell them that!"
"I meant Killua, not Gon, and as a college student if you have a crush on him that's creepy, but then again, don't you have a crush on a professor?"
"I don't!" Gon just trusted her. And he didn't treat her like a sideshow freak. And he said he would help her. Killua didn't trust her. "I don't even like your brother. He's a rude little brat. Your sister's nice, though." She reminded Palm of herself, in some ways. Constantly begging Killua for approval, for a pat on the head and a hug and a game of shiratori.
Milluki snorted. "Maybe you're not crazy after all. Though that's blasphemy in our family." He marched past her. "I got a video game to play."
"I hope you lose!" she hollered, not even certain why. "Why do you hate your brother?" She didn't have siblings. If she did, she didn't think she'd hate them. It just kind of seemed antithetical to the point of having a family.
"I don't!" yelled Milluki. "He's just a bitch who only thinks of himself and our parents only think of him, so. And my other siblings only think of him, too, and my grandfather, and no one gives a shit about anyone else. He's talented but he's not all it means to be a Zoldyck."
"A dick with a soul? That's what Gon jokes."
"Hey!" Milluki glared at her. "No, as in Zoldyck Industries."
"I don't know what that is," Palm said, rubbing her wrists together. They stung, old scratches opening up. "Killua doesn't like it, at any rate. And I don't care."
Milluki left then, without another word, leaving her standing there. Palm contemplated throwing her phone after him but decided it was better used to text Gon, tell him she'd talked to Killua's brother. He might see her as trying for something good then. He might see her as good, then. He might believe she could be good, then. Maybe. May it be.
"You're stupid," said a voice behind her.
Palm spun. A blond girl with two scars over her face stood to her left, a sad look on her face. "Who are you?"
"Morena Prudo," said the woman, holding out her hand. Palm shook it, leaving Morena's smeared with blood. Morena didn't seem to mind. Apparently she didn't care about AIDS or hepatis. Not that Palm had those. Not that she knew of, anyways. "You like people you can't be with, is that it?"
"Huh?" Palm frowned.
"I think it's because if you were with someone you liked, they wouldn't like you. Because they'd get to know you, and if they knew you, they'd know you're trash." Morena smirked.
Palm grabbed her switchblade, flipping it open.
"Don't bother," said Morena. "Look, I'm just talking to you because I need you for something."
"Huh?" Palm's hand shook.
"Someone told me they'd get me something I need if I get them something they need," said Morena. "So you see, really it's a chain of helping each other if you're an optimist or using each other if you're a pessimist or a realist." She leaned forward. "I need to get into Meruem's party this weekend, and I don't have a key to the dorm and Meruem hates the guy I'm going with. Komugi's your roommate and his girlfriend, so I figured it's the perfect excuse. I'll sit next to you in class next week so you won't be alone."
"Killua doesn't want to see me either!" wailed Kalluto. "Not as long as I'm with Illumi!"
Oito turned from where she had been making chai for herself and hot chocolate for Machi, who was trying to study for an exam and recover from the flu at the same time.
"I understand about Illumi, but me? What did I do to him?" Kalluto dropped onto the floor and sobbed.
Oito swallowed. Truthfully, from what she knew, the Zoldycks had better not ever get custody of their kids back. And Killua probably couldn't trust Kalluto. Illumi seemed to be doing a good job of parenting him so far, and certainly wasn't hitting him, but—
"He only cares about Alluka," Kalluto sniffled as Machi offered him chocolate. He slapped it away. "I keep—I try to dress like her, but right, properly, and he still—likes her more—I can't—"
"I know how you feel," Oito said. "I used to try to earn my older brother's respect, too." And then she couldn't, so she focused on finding someone to save her.
Kalluto sobbed into his arms. Machi cussed and eased herself off the kitchen chair and onto the floor, patting his shoulder. "I'd do anything—to just have him as my brother again."
"Even if that meant accepting Alluka?" asked Oito.
Kalluto blinked. "She's—"
"If Killua likes her, maybe try to see why," Oito suggested. From what she heard, Alluka was a sweet girl whose parents couldn't stand that she was transgender and mentally ill. They couldn't risk their reputation, and locked her up and were surprised when she didn't thrive. And yet according to Cheadle, Alluka was doing well in Mito Freecss' home. She was sweet, and kind.
You just weren't what your parents wanted, sweet girl. It wasn't you. You are what the world needs from you, though.
And same to you, Kalluto.
It's so lonely without people to comfort you, though. Oito swallowed.
"Then my parents won't want me," said Kalluto, folding his arms around himself. "I just want—"
To be wanted.
Kalluto headed up the stairs to find Illumi.
"Sucks when you think his parents are shitty but you also want him to be happy," Machi commented.
"He deserves better," said Oito. "You all did. Do." No one here had a happy childhood, that much she'd gathered. Hisoka's inability to talk about it only confirmed it for him.
Machi shrugged. "Either way, we've got what we've got."
"Yes," said Oito. "But you deserve more. That's why I'm—I'm going to give Woble what I can. I won't be a perfect mom, but if she knows I love her no matter what she does—"
Machi snorted. "Is that even possible?"
Oito swallowed. She used to answer yes, unequivocally. And now… Nasubi promised to love her, and he didn't. "I want it to be. So I'll do my part."
Machi studied her. "Huh." She poured herself a glass of water and dumped the rest of the hot chocolate down the sink. "Too rich. Damn flu."
Oito sipped her chai.
"Did you love her from the moment you knew about her?" asked Machi. "Or did you see her as a way to get Nasubi, or—I'm not trying to offend, I'm just—"
"No," said Oito. "I understand. I don't know. I didn't want to get pregnant. I wanted to finish school." She looked at Machi. "But I can't imagine my life without her. Nor would I want to."
"If you could go back," Machi said. "Would—"
"I wouldn't have a kid so young," Oito said. "So I'm glad I can't go back." Too many choices wouldn't be a good thing, she supposed. But the choices she could make—she left Nasubi. I'm trying, Woble.
Please don't resent me when you get older.
It was her worst fear. What if her love for Woble wasn't enough?
Machi nodded.
"You know," Oito said. "When I found out—I was terrified. My parents told me to have the abortion or not to bother coming home because they sure as hell weren't going to support me and a kid. I told them Nasubi wanted me to marry him and they said all the better then. They didn't visit when I had her."
Why did you have me, then?
She didn't understand, still. Did they want to love her, but life got in the way? Or was she a tool to keep her parents together, or just an inevitable product?
But she wanted them to love her.
I never want Woble to question that I love her.
I can do better. I will.
I have to.
The bickering was getting annoying. Hisoka scowled up at the glow-in-the-dark stars he'd bought when he first moved in here and stuck to the ceiling of his room. They'd never really worked, which was somewhat disappointing. Kids everywhere must cry about it.
"But I don't want to!" protested Kalluto.
Time to rescue Illumi. Besides, Illumi had said he'd go out with Hisoka that night. "Coming to the party?" Hisoka asked, pausing in Illumi's room. Illumi and Kalluto had been arguing loudly about Killua.
The past few weeks, Illumi had repeatedly shied away from him, but still put on a show around Chrollo. And twice more, he'd kissed Hisoka, and then lost control and fucked him or let Hisoka fuck him. Hisoka could no longer tell if they were fake dating or friends with benefits, or if Illumi liked him or now was too distracted with Killua. He wasn't sure it mattered. They were both still doing it to irk Chrollo. As long as Illumi held up that end of the bargain, there was no reason to get upset. And Illumi was fun to be around.
"I can't," Illumi said, gesturing to Kalluto, who pouted.
Hisoka narrowed his eyes. "Chrollo will be there."
"I apologize." Illumi turned away.
Fine. Hisoka sighed. He didn't know what to do with this situation. Illumi didn't seem to understand that Killua wanted nothing to do with him. "Why are you so afraid that having a little fun will make Killua hate you more? That'd be kind of hard."
Illumi stiffened. "He does not hate me."
Hisoka played with his earring. Kalluto glared.
"I need to be a responsible brother with—"
"Kalluto? Tell me, did you spare a thought for poor Alluka? It seems like Killua's quite the headache and quite the risk to your family reputation as it currently stands, and yet I don't see any conversations about locking him in a basement whenever or if-ever your family gets back together."
"Hey!" exclaimed Kalluto. Illumi just gaped at him.
"Or are you just jealous Killua would rather be with Alluka than you?"
Illumi rose. "Hisoka." His voice sounded dark. "I am worried Killua has a misplaced sense of responsibility—"
"My God, look in a mirror," Hisoka retorted.
"I care about my brothers," Illumi snapped. "You care about nothing and no one besides your dick."
Kalluto's jaw dropped. Illumi's face colored. Hisoka rolled his eyes. "I'll see you later."
"Make sure you're in a better humor," Illumi told him.
"Why do you even care about him?" asked Kalluto.
Hisoka ignored them as he pounded down the stairs. He didn't need anyone to care about him. As long as he was satisfied, and happy. Being cared for was overrated. He'd survived thus far without a trace of it.
Survive. Survive. Exist.
Hisoka made it to the party and chugged two beers. They barely tinged his head with any giddiness. And he wanted it to. He wanted to be so drunk he felt like he was floating, he wanted to have the sensation of flying in dreams, that feeling he was constantly chasing, the feeling that he used to have when he slept in a safe place or stole brandy or bungee gum as a kid, the feeling that it would all be okay, just because he had something to make him smile.
He wanted to smile.
Killua's not making you smile, so why are you bothering? Kalluto isn't, Alluka isn't, Milluki isn't, your parents hit you, and still.
Are you so desperate? What for, Illumi? Sparks of frustration stung as Hisoka tried a third beer.
A girl with long, dark hair glared at him.
"Did we do it once?" Hisoka asked, exasperated as he remembered Illumi striking the man who whined before classes started.
"No. I'm a friend of Gon and Killua's," said the girl. "Palm. You hang out with Illumi. I don't like you."
"Join the club." Hisoka raised his cup. "Bye."
"Why don't you convince him to do the right thing?" Palm asked. "And testify against his parents. You know he hit—"
"What do you care?" demanded Hisoka. "And you clearly don't know Illumi. That would humiliate him." He stopped himself. Illumi wouldn't treat Alluka well, anyways. And if he told Illumi to do that, he'd lose Illumi and the man was continually surprising him and he was—he still believed everything would be okay. In spite of overwhelming evidence that his family was over.
I can't tell if you're an idiot or a miracle.
Where was it, that goddamn feeling? He'd have to chug another drink and he didn't feel like it.
Palm was gone. Instead, a woman with two scars over her eye smiled at him. "Did we do it?" Hisoka asked.
Behind her, he spotted someone else. Chrollo. Looking for—someone. Something.
I want everything to be okay.
I want to be distracted, because it's never been okay.
"We could," said the girl, and that was when Hisoka leaned down to kiss her. Illumi wasn't here, but at least she was, at least lips were warm on his and he was getting hard, and Chrollo was watching, and why why why was this fucking pinching feeling still pressing into each one of his joints instead of the feeling of smiling, of freedom, of nothing but—but—me—nothing—
"Someone like you is nothing but trash," his high school guidance counselor told him, so Hisoka hacked his computer and spread the news that the man had been using school hours to watch porn.
"Nothing but fighting, fucking, and fun," he'd responded, already formulating his plan.
The girl pushed him away, and that was when Hisoka saw, of all people, not Chrollo but fucking Tserriednich, and a cell phone videotaping.
"Now," said Tserriednich as he approached. "How about you give me access to that whore shacking up at your place? She can't be good enough for someone like you to—"
Oito. "Or what?" Hisoka demanded. "You'll tell Illumi? We're just—it's an open relationship." A fake one. Friends with benefits.
Like him and Chrollo…
Fuck. He hated this. He felt fucking trapped. This wasn't right. He wasn't allowed to be caged up. Never, never—fuck you—
He looked for Chrollo, but he was gone. Good—Hisoka couldn't turn to him anyways, but—
It didn't matter.
"So," said Tserriednich. "Why don't you text me—"
"No," Hisoka said. "Illumi will be fine. You can't control me, and I'm not a rapist, and someday someone will cut off your dick and I'll laugh." He pushed his way through the crowd, and now his head was spinning, and the floor undulating, and he woke up when dawn's orange fingers pawed his face, face-down on the grass on the edge of campus.
"Dude, you're lucky no one called the cops," called a landscaper.
Hisoka sat up, head pounding. He rubbed his temples. And all he could think of was that he was glad Chrollo hadn't seen him, and Illumi's taste when he lay pressed against Hisoka, the way his eyes stayed open.
Revenge on Chrollo. By taunting him with his feelings.
I created the exact same situation. No, not quite the exact same.
The joke was on me.
