Warning for a mention of sexual assault this chapter. It is not detailed and nothing that didn't happen in canon, but still please be forewarned if that could be triggering.
Please enjoy cameos from the Yu Yu Hakusho cast. :D
You are the memory that won't ever lapse
When twenty-five years have suddenly passed
Wherever you take me, it's clear I will go
Your love's the one love that I need to know
Your love's the one love that I need to know
~"Boxes," Goo Goo Dolls
I hate parties.
Kurapika glanced at Leorio. He'd come only to assure his friend that he wasn't going to spend the night curled up in his room wishing he was dead like he'd spent almost every night the past few weeks.
You are loved.
How strange the man who'd convinced him he wasn't was now insisting he was.
No, it wasn't all Chrollo. I'd always felt that way.
Why? Pairo had never done anything to convince him of that. I—I—
Am I just broken? Did fate or God or anything, anyone out there, deal him a shitty hand, a broken mind, a body beaten? But I don't want that!
Does it matter?
Kurapika grabbed a beer and sipped it. He didn't like the fizz. Carbonation sucked.
"Having fun?" a voice asked next to him. He turned. Chrollo stood there, staring into a half-empty beer as if it'd personally offended him.
Kurapika arched his eyebrows.
Chrollo laughed. He tilted the beer towards his lips. "Me neither."
"How bad is it if I said I'd rather be working on our project?" Kurapika asked. He watched as Komugi, Meruem, and Pouf, of all people, laughed together in a corner. He did not understand. But Pouf hated her.
"Clearly you're ancient and about to keel over."
"Clearly you feel the same way," Kurapika replied.
Chrollo tilted his head. "Fair. Want to get out of here?"
"Please." Kurapika set his barely-touched beer down. Youpi snatched it up almost immediately.
He followed Chrollo outside, into the damp air. It had rained earlier, but stopped now. Chrollo sat on the steps leading up to the dorm apartments, and Kurapika dropped down next to him. He hunched over.
"I always found parties stupid," Chrollo said. "But Uvo likes them, since he met Shalnark at one of them. So I hold them sometimes. But there are all these people, and everyone's more interested in drinking and dancing and fucking and sometimes fighting than each other."
Kurapika leaned back against the side railing. It jabbed into his spine. "You're now a ghost. An ancient philosopher, I'm sure."
Chrollo snorted.
"You know," said Kurapika. "For someone so interested in people, or so it seems, you sure do only want to use them a lot."
Chrollo folded his arms. "I am sorry."
"What about Hisoka?" asked Kurapika. "Were you just using him?"
"Yes. I guess there is a part of me that can—understand that kind of appeal. People are mostly useful, after all, and if they aren't, then we don't want anything to do with them."
"Not true," said Kurapika. "How am I useful to you? And yet you're talking to me."
Chrollo tilted his head. "Maybe you're interesting to talk to."
The moon broke out from behind the clouds, casting the lawn with a silver glow. Kurapika smiled. "It's peaceful out here."
Chrollo sucked in his breath. He turned to the lawn. "Yeah, it is."
"We had a huge yard growing up. In Lukso. We used to go camping."
"I never saw a yard until I left Meteor City," Chrollo said. "It was—I mean, there were yards, but they were filled with dried crabgrass and dust." He exhaled. "Lukso sounds beautiful."
"You should go, sometime," Kurapika said.
"I'd like to." Chrollo tilted his head back. The moon sparkled against his orb earrings. "There's so much I want to experience, you know. I think—when I die, I want to at least say I lived a full life, you know?"
You don't have to experience everything to live. You're alive, here. You're alive, now.
I hope so, anyways. Because I want to be.
"Yeah," Kurapika said thickly. "I know."
Chrollo studied him.
"What?" Kurapika demanded.
"Your eyes are red again."
"Oh." Kurapika touched his lids. "Well, it's automatic. With emotions."
"What do you feel right now?"
"I don't know." He swallowed. The clouds pulled back even more. "Want a picture, so you can say you saw them?"
"No," said Chrollo. He covered his mouth with his hand. "You know, Kurapika, your eyes are the least special thing about you."
"Huh?" Kurapika jolted forward, sitting up straight. He gaped.
"I'm sorry," Chrollo said. "I fucked up. I—"
What are you up to? He couldn't fathom it. Or he could, and he didn't understand. No, he did.
You want to be heard.
His hand reached out, landing on Chrollo's shoulder. "I forgive you," Kurapika said, and as he said it, a blanket fell over him. It became true. "You don't have to bring it up, anymore."
Chrollo swallowed. "I never thought of—I mean, this—shame thing—it kinda sucks. But I never really allowed myself to feel it until you, and—"
"You don't have to," Kurapika snapped. He realized how close they were, then. Inches apart. He wanted to convince Chrollo of his words.
I don't have to. He saw himself, reflected in Chrollo's eyes, and his own irises a brightening red.
Kurapika wasn't sure which one of them closed the distance between them first. All he knew was that he felt Chrollo's hand on the back of his neck, gentle, and his lips on his, and they were soft at first, and then hungry. Kurapika broke in. Their teeth clacked, and then their mouths were open, grasping, reaching, and his arms were around Chrollo's shoulders, pulling him closer. His fingers dug through the fake fur on the top of his ridiculous coat. His other arm snaked up, digging through Chrollo's perfect hair, mussing it up. One of Chrollo's hands slid up and down his side. The other clutched his head, as if afraid Kurapika would vanish.
He was warm, against Kurapika. And his eyes, they were closed, and Kurapika wanted them open. He jerked away. Chrollo panted, gaze focusing, and Kurapika moved to his neck. Chrollo sucked in his breath.
Chrollo lifted Kurapika's chin, pressing his forehead against Kurapika's, studying his eyes as if they were holy, as if asking: do you really want this? Remember who you are kissing?
I know.
I know, and I want you.
Chrollo wrapped his arms around Kurapika, resting his head on his shoulder. He breathed deep, as if trying to memorize Kurapika's scent. Kurapika closed his eyes. His pulse pounded, and every nerve felt like it stood at attention, alive.
Footsteps echoed, heading towards the dorm. Chrollo and Kurapika jerked away from each other.
"Hey," called a voice. "Do you know where this girl lives?"
Kurapika's eyes bulged. Palm. Her hair was a mess, and her dress was torn. She leaned against a girl with a metal arm. Grad students, Kurapika realized.
"She said she lived here," said a boy with long red hair. "We found her running out of Professor Bizeff's office—she said she didn't want to call the police and then she collapsed."
"Fuck," Kurapika breathed. "She's a—friend of mine." Of his friends, but close enough. He reached for her. She stumbled.
"Did she say what happened?" asked Chrollo, eyes wide.
"Isn't it obvious?" asked a boy with a similar wrapping over his forehead. Was he concealing a tattoo too? "Bizeff is a creep."
"Isn't your dad the provost?" Chrollo asked.
"And an asshole too," replied the boy. "I'm sorry."
A boy who looked like Feitan but even shorter helped Kurapika support Palm. She moaned. "You're safe," Kurapika encouraged her. His throat closed up. He could—he could—
"If she wants to make a report, we'd help," said a girl with teal hair, holding the hand of a boy with orange hair. "But she said she didn't, but she's also not really with it right now, so—"
"Here's my contact info," said the red-haired boy. He handed Kurapika a slip of paper with numerous names on it. Kurama.
"Thanks." Kurapika swallowed.
"As another warning," said a boy with slicked-back hair. "You should know rumor has it that asshat films these things."
Chrollo swore. Kurapika gritted his teeth. He and Chrollo maneuvered Palm into the dorm. Kurapika texted Melody, who met them in the doorway. Tears filled her eyes.
Kurapika trembled. Part of him was still floating from kissing Chrollo, but he couldn't give into it, not when something this atrocious had happened. He had to chain himself down.
There's no justice.
Illumi woke up to a knock on his door. Kalluto sat up, blinking as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. Illumi staggered towards the door. It was barely seven in the morning, on a weekend no less.
Chrollo stood there, bags under his eyes. "Can we talk?" he requested.
Illumi nodded, stifling a yawn.
"Downstairs," Chrollo added, a meaningful glance past Illumi towards Kalluto.
Illumi followed him down to the kitchen. He headed for the coffee machine. Chrollo filled the tea kettle instead. Whatever.
"If Kalluto is too expensive, I am more than happy to pay extra rent," Illumi said, breaking the silence.
Chrollo's eyes widened. "Oh. That's—not it at all. Kalluto is—we like having him around. I don't know him well, but I know Feitan and Machi like him, and Oito—"
"Then what's wrong?" Illumi frowned. "I know Oito said—" He exhaled. "Or is it Hisoka?" He was still irked with Hisoka's temper tantrum the night before. For fake dating, Hisoka sure was taking it seriously. He wondered if he would have to come clean with Chrollo. Would that make Chrollo angry?
"It's nothing to do with them. I have a favor to ask." Chrollo cleared his throat. "But you cannot repeat this to anyone."
The coffee machine bubbled. "What is it?"
"Your brother's a hacker, right?"
"He fancies himself one," Illumi allowed. Truthfully, he had no idea of Milluki's abilities and their extent. He just knew what Milluki said, and that Milluki had missed half his classes again this week, and when Illumi knocked on his door he found the boy still asleep at three in the afternoon.
"I need him to hack into someone's computer. Someone—assaulted a friend of a friend last night, and there may be video, and if there is—"
Illumi almost dropped the mug he was holding. "You are kidding."
Chrollo met his gaze, jaw set and Adam's apple bobbing.
You're not. Illumi turned away. "I can tell him to contact you."
"Thank you." Chrollo rose, pouring himself a mug of tea. "And Illumi?"
He poured the coffee, sipping it boiling. The sting felt familiar.
"If Hisoka makes you happy, I'm happy for you." Chrollo turned and headed for the stairs. Somewhere in the house, someone else threw up. Probably drunk.
Happy? Illumi studied the mug of coffee. He didn't even know what that meant. How was he supposed to be happy, with his family shattered, with his own joints stretched and cracking form the strain of trying to hold them together?
He pulled out his phone and called Milluki, intending to leave a voice message. To his surprise, Milluki answered. "Aniki?"
"I have something to ask you," said Illumi. "And—"
"Is it what Killua just called to ask me? Little brat finally gets in contact and—"
Illumi deflated. He leaned back against the cabinet. "Killua just called you?"
Killua…
I want to hear your voice. His jaw tightened. He bit back a cry. Don't I matter, Killua, to you? Don't I matter? Don't I matter at all, to anyone?
"Yeah, asking for help for a friend of his whom Professor Bizeff—"
"Chrollo just asked me to call about the same thing," Illumi said.
"Oh. Well, I guess Kurapika asked Killua, or whatever. Kil's got so many friends now."
I was trying to do the same thing as you, Killua. I'm not awful, see?
Why can't you see me?
"What'd they offer you?" Milluki laughed. "We all know you wouldn't do anything unless there was direct benefit for you in it. You're like me."
"Is that why you don't leave your room anymore? No direct benefit?" Illumi snapped. His throat throbbed.
"Fuck you."
Illumi hung up. Chrollo's voice still echoed.
Happy.
If I was happy, I would be—I would—matter.
But Killua mattered to him, and Killua refused to let that make him happy. Illumi's head stung just thinking about it. He had no idea. No clue. What on earth would make him happy? Could anything?
I—think I want to be.
He liked spending time with Hisoka. Sex, and talking. Joking. He helped. He tried. In his own way.
Mom, Dad, did I ever make you happy? When you found out you were having me? Or did I just make you sick from the get-go?
Killua doesn't love me. But if you do…
His throat stung as he remembered burning coffee surging down his throat, how he tried to scream and instead choked, how Grandpa came into his room and stroked his hair, tried to get him to eat ice cream, and he couldn't because his throat was too raw and bloody. They wouldn't let Killua see him, and he couldn't talk enough to ask. But Killua had snuck in in the evening, anyways. He wanted to see Illumi then.
"He's a strong kid," Dad said. "He'll be all right."
And in that moment, he was happy. Because to his father, he was strong. Strong enough to endure coffee being poured down his throat.
He reached out and brewed another cup of coffee. Not for himself. He dumped cream and sugar into it, enough to make his nose wrinkle.
Killua liked cream in his, too.
He couldn't fight for Killua now, and it'd been forever since he fought for himself. But this—this might make him happy. Milluki would be proved wrong, even if he never knew it. He carried it up the stairs and into Hisoka's room. Hisoka was asleep, reeking of vomit. Drunk. Illumi placed the mug on the nightstand.
Illumi turned to leave and suddenly realized golden eyes were watching him. He scowled. "You could have told me you were awake."
"I feel like I'm dead." Hisoka moaned, sitting up. Leaves stuck to his hair.
"What time did you get back?"
"Two hours ago." Hisoka scowled, grabbing the coffee. "Thanks."
Illumi nodded.
"Did Chrollo see you making the coffee?"
"No," said Illumi. Well, Chrollo had, but not this cup for Hisoka.
Hisoka frowned.
"I called Milluki," said Illumi. "To ask a favor, and Killua had already asked." He explained, though he left the details out.
"What do you want me to do?" Hisoka asked.
"I—" Illumi shut his mouth. I don't know.
Listen.
Be here.
Breathe.
"At least that means you are not so selfish as Killua might think," Hisoka said, swallowing. "You could ask Milluki to tell him. Or you could tell him yourself."
Illumi didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he wanted to, and he couldn't explain that. Am I giving up? Am I dying?
"It's good coffee," Hisoka muttered. "Thanks." He exhaled. "Illumi, I need to tell—"
Illumi opened his mouth. His phone buzzed, and he checked it.
An unknown number. Isnt this your bf? And a picture. Of Hisoka kissing some blond girl, in the clothes he wore last night, the clothes he wore still.
Oh.
Well, it wasn't as if it was a big deal. They were fake dating anyways. Of course Hisoka went out looking for somewhere else, someone else, to make love—to—
"Look," he said to Hisoka, showing him the text. "Guess we convinced another one of your enemies, though I'm quite certain this isn't Chrollo. Do you even know which enemy it is?" His voice came even so easily. No hesitations. No breaks.
"Fuck," Hisoka breathed. "Illumi, this is what I wanted to tell—"
"You've nothing to report," Illumi said, getting to his feet. His legs felt heavy, as if his bones had been replaced by metal rods. "It was only fake dating anyways. You're free to enjoy yourself with other people."
Hisoka gaped at him. "Illumi—"
"You don't have to act like you cheated," Illumi said. "You didn't."
"I pushed her away."
"Why? She's pretty."
"Don't you care?" Hisoka burst out.
"No. You set the rules yourself." You don't care. You don't. You never did. I shouldn't have.
No one cares.
I matter to no one and nothing.
That was okay. He could still keep going. He'd made it thus far. And presuming Hisoka was right and Killua had not loved him, maybe not ever—well, he was still here, wasn't it? Still breathing. Still a Zoldyck.
"I don't—" Hisoka swore. "Illumi, you—I—don't give me that half-assed shit; that's not the Illumi I want to see, okay? If you're upset, I—"
"I'm not," Illumi said. "It doesn't matter, Hisoka. We'll still kiss and fuck to annoy Chrollo." His body didn't matter, his heart didn't, nothing did.
"Stop it!" Hisoka grabbed him. "You care, Illumi! I fucked up, and I—"
"It's fake dating," Illumi said. "I never thought otherwise."
Hisoka released him, clutching his head. "You're a fucking liar, you know that, Illumi?"
"This whole arrangement was for a lie. I don't see the insult there. And you're a narcissist."
Hisoka tightened his jaw. His chest heaved. "She kissed—I pushed her away."
"I said it changes nothing," Illumi said. "I'll still do what you want, so long as you help me with Killua."
"I don't want you to do what—I want you to do what you want!" Hisoka shouted. "I want to be—what you—"
"You are not making sense."
"I want you to hate me, be mad at me, I know you have—"
I want to matter.
You do too.
We can't. I don't. I hope you do. This heaviness settling into his shoulders… you do matter, Hisoka.
"For fuck's sake, Illumi—"
"I think you need to calm down," Illumi told him. "I'll be in my room." He turned to sweep out and almost bumped straight into Chrollo, who was gaping at the door. "Oh dear."
"Fuck," said Hisoka from behind him. "Illumi—please—"
"I suppose the jig is up," Illumi stated without glancing back at him. "If you enjoy it enough, I'll still sleep with you if you help me." He slammed the door and found Kalluto gazing at him in horror.
Fuck!
I have no one's respect.
I am…
I want…
"Time to study," Illumi said to Kalluto, but when Kalluto made no move towards the books, his jaw wouldn't open again. He stood there, staring at his bed, rumpled from the rush to get up when Chrollo had knocked.
"Illu-nii," said Kalluto, voice trembling. "I'm sorry."
"No need," Illumi stated. Stop! Stop sto p st op s top. I don't want this!
And then he felt arms around him. He stiffened. Kalluto, hugging him.
They did not hug. It was not necessary.
"I want my brothers back," Kalluto said. "All of them. I like this—I like this house, I like you in this house, I like this fake family and I don't even care if it's fake because to me what I feel is real, and I like it. You feel too, don't you, Illumi?" He was crying. "You like it here. I'm sorry I told Mom and Dad. I'm sorry Dad hit you. I'm sorry I'm not enough for Killua or you or—"
"Don't say that!" Illumi grabbed his youngest brother. "You are enough. You are."
I'm—thank you—you're here and I—
He felt something wet on his cheeks. Huh?
And then he was kneeling and Kalluto was embracing him, and the both of them—they were crying.
Machi found Chrollo sitting on the couch when she staggered down the stairs to leave. Her stomach still felt as if a typhoon were loose in it, tumbling the remains of whatever she'd tried to eat the night before. She'd actually been feeling well enough to go to Feitan's room, and then woke up with nausea still shackling her.
"You okay?" Machi asked.
Chrollo pulled his knee to his chest, resting his chin on it. He didn't answer.
"Well, have fun brooding," Machi said, heading for the door.
"Machi?" asked Chrollo.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Machi's jaw dropped. "Huh?"
"Don't laugh," Chrollo said. "And don't repeat this or I'll kick you out. Am I—"
"Sure," Machi said. "You are, but not nearly as much of one as, say, Hisoka. And you're the kind of idiot I trust."
Chrollo smiled, but his eyes seemed glazed over.
Someone's hungover, Machi thought. She left and walked the full two kilometers to the nearest pharmacy. She froze the second she entered and saw a familiar face. Melody.
The ugly woman turned to her and smiled. "Hi, Machi."
Machi arched her eyebrows when she noticed the box in Melody's hand. "Wild night?"
"It's not for me."
"You're one of the only people I'd actually believe that excuse from." Machi pushed past her and grabbed her own kit. She paused, shoulders shaking. She felt like she was going to throw up again. Someone notice. Someone help me.
"Machi," Melody said quietly.
"Not a word," Machi said, turning to her and lasering the woman with her gaze. "Not a word."
"I wouldn't."
And she somehow believed her, anyways. Even though Melody had nothing to gain from keeping her secret. Or from telling. You're one of the few good people in this world, aren't you?
"Well," Machi said. "Good luck. To your... friend."
"Good luck to you, as well."
She bought the kit and walked back. Feitan texted. Want me to pick u up some hot chocolate? Ill burn if try 2 make
She bit back a smile. Ok
She got to her house and staggered into the bathroom, dripping in sweat from the long walk. She shut the door and took the damn test, and hopped in the shower to rinse off while she waited. She also needed something for her hands to do instead of waiting for a fucking line or two.
She didn't want to be tied down. That was why she ran away in the first place. No, she ran away because it was all a sham, nothing like a family. And she wanted one.
I can't leave! I don't want to leave!
When she stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, she checked.
Two stripes.
Fuck.
I hurt him. The last thing she wanted to do was be an inconvenience for anyone. She had always been self-sufficient. And she never wanted to hurt someone. A part of her always wanted to heal.
Others or yourself?
It didn't matter. Either way, she was hurting, now. Hurting Feitan, someone she cared for, hurting Chrollo probably if she decided to keep it and moved out, hurting her own career, hurting. And yet she still...
I want...
I'm such a fucking idiot. Machi bit her lip so harsh blood leaked out. She couldn't stand this. She didn't want to be a burden, and she didn't want to want.
I can do this.
I can't.
She didn't realize tears were leaking down her face until she heard a knock on the door and Paku's voice. "Machi? Are you okay in there?"
"Fine," she called, getting to her feet. She grabbed the box and stuffed the stupid stick inside, hesitating as she held it over the trash can. She could wipe her eyes, and Paku wouldn't press.
Press. Press. Help me, fuck me, I hate me!
"Machi?" asked Oito's voice. Machi bit her lip, and then decided she didn't care. Use it as a weapon. She had to. She flung the door open and held out the test without warning.
Paku's eyes bulged.
"Oh, Machi," said Oito, holding Woble. Her voice sounded almost motherly, like the tone she used with Woble when Woble fell, or dropped something.
Mistake. A shield made of cardboard. She felt her eyes welling up. "Not a word," Machi managed.
"Obviously," said Paku.
"Do you want to talk about what you want to do?" ventured Oito.
"Rewind time and use a condom," Machi said. She dropped onto the side of the rtub, head in her hands. At least she was graduating this year, so if she decided to have it, she could.
But what kind of parent could she even be? She had no fucking clue what a mother was. Feitan didn't even know his own birthday. And a child was not a house.
I can't succeed.
No, fuck that. Fuck me!
"When I found out I was having her," Oito said. "I was scared. If Nasubi had wanted me to terminate it, I would have—I wasn't thinking about what I wanted then, only what he wanted, because I wanted him to want me." She swallowed. "What do you want to do?"
I can't make a decision. I'm not sufficient. I'm held together by thin threads that are about to break, and I'll fall into a rancid puddle of trash right on this very floor.
Oito held her hand.
"Don't pretend you don't care," said Killua. "I know you do."
Palm crossed her arms. They sat on a campus bench, Killua trying to persuade her to talk to that rude brother she had a class with.
"Don't you think I had it coming?" asked Palm. She'd finally escaped her apartment after Melody gave her the morning-after pill. She needed to clear her head. She needed to breathe, and yet when she breathed, she could still smell him.
Killua recoiled. "No. Of course not."
"He said I could talk to Professor Knov." And she froze. She couldn't push him off. When she ran out and into those grad students, she still wasn't sure whether she was dreaming or not.
"You deserve help," said Killua. "Gon was crying. He wants to help you too, but he can't, so he asked me to ask you to. None of us want to see you suffer more."
"Not true. You don't like me. You just want Gon not to suffer more and he likes me so he'd suffer if I suffer." Palm dug her nails into her forearm.
Killua threw his hands in the air. "I don't know how to convince you. For someone who wants people's love, you don't seem to believe people care about you."
Palm let out a harsh laugh. Maybe that's what love is. Forcing someone. Hurting someone.
I don't want that to be true. She wanted a fairytale. She'd always wanted a fairytale, a magical kiss to wake her up from this nightmare she was living in, cursed with a brain broken, someone to sweep her into their arms and promise that no one would hurt her, not even herself. Instead she was lost in a forest of thorns, and no matter where she turned, some part of her snagged, tearing.
"I wanted to believe my parents cared," Killua said, voice cracking. "I sacrificed so many years thinking they did approve of me, but it was all just favoritism and they still hurt me. And all the while my sister suffered, and I thought I was enough. I was so fucking narcissistic. I was mean to you, Palm, when I first met you because you were me." His voice trembled. "I can be enough for her, but I shouldn't have to be, and I thought I was... I thought it was all on me." He doubled over. "You don't have to make people like you, Palm! Gon likes you. You're his friend. You're mine. We want to help you because we care. Not romantically, but we care."
She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth.
"I'm talking to a brother I fight with all the time for you." Killua shook his phone at her.
Palm scowled. "Don't hurt yourself for me."
"It's a hurt I'm willing to take."
Why?
"Can I walk you to Milluki's? Then you can give him the time stamp. You can trust him not to do anything with it; he's a piece of shit but not that kind of shit."
"Is he you, too?" Palm asked, but she rose.
Killua swallowed. His eyes darted about.
"Killua!" came a shriek.
Palm's jaw dropped. A boy in a kimono raced up to Killua, sobbing. Killua took a step back, like he was afraid, but the boy dropped to his knees. "Please don't leave! Nii-san... please don't hate me!"
"I'll find Milluki," Palm said quietly. This boy just wants you too, Killua. Like Alluka. And you don't hate him. You hate yourself for failing him even more so than you failed Alluka.
She glanced over her shoulder as she walked across campus. Killua knelt across from his brother, and they were talking. Finally.
It's not too late.
Killua texted her Milluki's number, and she called. He let her in the dorm room but didn't seem to know what to say.
"If you think I deserve it, just say it," Palm said. Her sword. Cut first. Aim it at someone else, so it wouldn't be aimed at herself, and yet her scars showed where she usually aimed it.
I am unlovable. I deserve the worst.
"I don't," Milluki said. "I just need the time and I can hack into his computer."
"Everyone will say I asked for it," Palm said, entering Milluki's dorm room. It smelled like trash, and she spotted a doll on his bed. "Gross."
Milluki scowled. He left the door cracked.
Thanks. "Plastic's better than a person, I guess," said Palm. "Can't hurt you."
"More like plastic can't reject me no matter what I weigh." He refused to meet her eyes. Milluki dropped down in front of the computer. "Are you going to the police?"
"Like I said. No point. They'll say I knew what I was doing or I'm crazy so no one will care."
"Dumb," commented Milluki. "I'm surprised Kil called me. And Illu-nii, too. They both usually have such sticks up their asses. Sorry." He shut up.
"Huh?" Palm asked. "Killua can be stuck up, I think."
Milluki smirked. "Usually everyone loves him." He didn't have to add, "and not me." "Illumi drives himself insane trying to control him as if he thinks being liked is contagious, but we were born too much like our mom. Like you. I mean, the driving insane to be loved part."
"And you've given up," Palm said. "You're even trying to get me to dislike you even though you're helping me." Your doll is your scars.
I want to live. I want to have control over my life. I fucking hate this man for taking that from me!
I'm scared. I'm so scared. She shook from head to toe, her teeth chattering. Someone see me! Someone... talk to me, someone help me, someone understand.
Killua had. Palm rested her chin on her knees. Tears ran sticky down her cheeks.
"I have tissues," said Milluki. "Nothing else, though, sorry."
"That's fine." She sniffled and reached for the tissue box.
"While I'm at it," offered Milluki. "I could, you know, mess with his finances or his grading system or something of the like. Maybe the latter so I won't go to jail. My parents wouldn't like that."
"I thought you said your parents didn't like you anyways."
"They don't, but they tolerate me." He pressed his lips together.
"I wish I could give up," Palm said, voice wobbling. "I wish I didn't have to care." Then I never would have gone with Bizeff.
It's hopeless, isn't it? Knov will never care.
But Killua said he did. And Gon, too.
Milluki powered up his computer. He closed out of a video game. And another. And another.
"Lot of them," Palm commented.
He glared at her. "I can at least win at something then."
"Do you have any killing ones?" Palm asked. "Hurting a fictional character doesn't sound bad. Or else I'm going to hurt someone real." Bizeff, only in her dreams. Herself, really.
"When I'm done," said Milluki. "We could play one. If you wanted. They distract me, anyways, when my parents used to kick the shit out of me for taking the easy way out or ragging on Killua."
"Your parents suck."
"I suck," said Milluki. 'But not at video games."
"We'll see."
