Twelve

Lake of Fireflies

Killua scraped his finger against the cherry wood of the library desk, angry lines etched in the surface. He drew back his fingers and scoffed at the wood chips that painted a brown residue under the nails. Messy, he silently complained, rubbing his fingers on the inside of his hoody pocket, just like everything else right now.

Killua sighed deeply, sulking farther into the chair. Lunchtime was a period he thoroughly enjoyed, an excuse to chat with Zushi and Gon and not think about anything else. And since his return from his dramatic one-day departure from Yorkshin, the golden egg he nestled over had been forcefully ripped from his warmth. Now the time was spent in silence between him and Zushi, an uncomfortable weight sleeping between them.

The quietness of the library rang loudly in his ears, causing him to press his forehead against the desk. It was a cooled contrast from the heat that radiated from his skin, and he closed his fist and struck it against his knee.

"Killua, are you feeling alright?"

Killua rose instantly, hoping the voice belonged to a certain bronzed statue. To his disappointment, although he wasn't completely devastated, Zushi hovered over him, carrying a lunch tray and wearing a look of concern like a veil.

"Yeah, Zushi, I'm alright," he ran his palm down his face in an attempt to bring himself back to reality, "I just needed to get myself together."

"Tell me about it," Zushi sat down across from him, forking through his green peas. He looked over again at Killua, whose narrowed eyes were studying the fibers in the carpeting that lined the wall. Zushi frowned in sympathy, taking a deep breath. "So," he spoke quietly, forcing Killua to meet his gaze, "have you talked to him?"

Killua scuffed his shoe against the leg of the desk and firmly looked down at his lap. "Barely," he whispered, "he always makes an excuse to go do something else. It's like…" he paused for a second, afraid of the words escaping his lips and granting them power, "it's like he doesn't want me around anymore."

"Don't do that to yourself," Zushi passed his chocolate pudding cup over to Killua in an attempt to cheer him up. It didn't take Zushi long to realize that the silver haired teen was a chocolate lover, and other than Gon, appeared to be his vice. Killua smiled a half grin, reaching for the cup before devouring it. "I really don't think it's personal against you. I haven't even talked to him."

If only you knew what happened, Zush, you wouldn't rush to the conclusion.

"What really worries me," Zushi continued, "is that he hasn't even mentioned the Wing gallery this weekend. This is Wing, of all people, and he hasn't even squealed in excitement once. Has he forgotten, or-or does he not want to go?" Zushi bit into a piece of his pizza, his lips already preparing themselves to finish his anxious rant. "Is he really going to miss out on this once in a lifetime deal? He could meet him, for crying out loud. How do we fix this, I mean, where do we even start—"

"Zushi." Killua looked sternly across the table, taking the last bite from his pudding. "You can't let yourself get that riled up. It isn't good for the situation and it won't help Gon." Tell that to yourself, Killua.

"You're right," Zushi sighed, gulping down another bite of pizza before leaning back against the chair. "I'm sorry, it's just I've never seen him like this before and it bothers me." Zushi tasted the question that stained his tongue, bitter and uninviting and bothersome. "I know it may be none of my business, and I'll prematurely apologize if I'm being too nosy, but, what happened, Killua?"

Killua's eyes darted towards the beige lines in the cherry wood, his fingers mapping out their puzzled pathways. He remained silent, the answers to Zushi's question tangling in the back of his throat and forming tumbleweeds.

"I mean," Zushi said with a sigh, "you're gone one day, and Gon's perfectly fine, and then you both are gone for a few days, and when you guys come back, everything's different. Did you two…you know…is it okay to say break up? Are you officially dating yet?"

Killua shook his head, too emotionally invested in Gon's well -being to care about titles and labels. He would tell anyone who dared to stand in his proximity that he loved Gon and he was his boyfriend if it meant having him around again. Although Killua bathed in the blue of the night, it was his dance with the sun that made him a believer of the universe again.

"We're not broken up, far from it, it's just…" Killua looked at Zushi, his eyes brimming with wetness. He wiped them on the back of his sleeve to prevent questions from arising that even he couldn't answer. "Gon needs his space right now. And I'm more than willing to give it to him, but it's killing me."

"That's understandable. And while I'm no master of relationships, I can guarantee you that Gon loves you and whatever he's going through will pass. Mark my words."

"I dunno," Killua sulked in the chair. You didn't see his face, Zushi. You didn't hear the agony that laced his words. You didn't hold him when he broke.

"Well maybe you could talk to him in art class? Maybe bring up the subject of Wing, or something? I just," Zushi took a sip of his juice, washing the liquid around in his mouth to clean up his dirtied words. "I just want my friend back," he whispered.

"Yeah," Killua responded in a monotone, "ditto, Zush."

I swear I'll try to get him back to normal. I just hope that he can trust in the power of broken things.

Gon settled into his desk, his eyes pressing down towards the white tile of a floor. He didn't bother looking up, but he could feel the lack of warmth that Killua so willingly gave off. Have I finally done it? Gon scrunched the fabric of jeans at his knee. Have I ultimately pushed Killua away too?

He wasn't sure why he couldn't-or rather wouldn't- talk to Killua. All he understood, the only process that his brain would allow, is that every time he stared into the cold terrains of frost in Killua's irises, everything hurt. The pain would twist around in his belly, making him feel dizzy until he felt as if he would collapse all together.

Killua hurt, too. There was no way that he could be fine, not after the story that he told. And Gon could feel the magnetic pull of their jointed pain gnawing at him like a hungry lion, but he couldn't force himself to be drawn in to danger.

This fact, more than most, upset him entirely. The one person in the world who had swallowed the same nightmarish poison as he, who could understand the most of what he was feeling, was the one person whom Gon couldn't bring himself to even converse with.

But why? Gon searched for the answer as he looked at the stars behind his eyelids, hoping to trace out the mystery in the vivid black and reds of his mind. He searched in the lines of his palm, in the tips of his fingers, even the bumps over his tongue all kept their secrets, providing no resolution to his hardened angst.

And until Gon could answer his own questions, how could he give them to Killua?

Gon decided that he would not be like his ten year old counterpart. He would not smother the one that he loved the most, needed the most.

This time, he affirmed, he would let his love go.

Gon was startled back to the present as a weight of a book bag caused the table to shift. He looked over slightly to see white hair cascading in front of his face. Killua's eyes were pleading, caressing Gon's cheeks with their intensity. He smiled a toothy smile, a test of the waters. Gon smiled back, his heart rising and falling in the same beat.

"Hey, Gon," Killua reached into his backpack and pulled out a juice, "I missed you today."

"Yeah," Gon reached for the juice and swallowed the lump in his throat, "thank you for the juice, Killua."

Killua nodded in response, but his frown couldn't be avoided. Why is this so hard to talk to you, Killua? You're the only one that I want to talk to, but my tongue is dry with unsaid words.

"So," Killua said, his voice shaky, "how long are we going to keep this up?"

Gon pressed his mouth to the juice top, wishing it was that easy to lean over and collide fire with ice. It is that easy, I'm just making it hard.

"I don't know," he said quietly as he pulled the bottle from his lips, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Gon," Killua reached over and placed his palm on top of his, relieved that Gon didn't pull it back like he had been doing the past few weeks. Although the hesitation in his fingers seeped through the cracks in his skin, marinating in Killua's veins. "You know that I love you. That's no secret, I tell you all of the time. With that love means that I'll be here when you're feeling like a god, or when you can barely brush the dirt from your sleeves. You don't have to push me away."

"I know," Gon whispered, his voice thick, "I know that you love me, Killua. And I love you too, but, it's….it's just hard right now."

"I know it is, Gon. And I'm not telling you that it'll be an easy fix. All I'm saying is please," Killua laced his fingers through Gon's, his promise speaking through his tips, "please let me try to fix us. I'm strong enough to do it."

"But how," Gon turned to Killua, beads of water threatening to betray his resolve, "how can you fix something when you yourself are broken?"

Killua caught the lump in his throat, his eyelids fluttering in response. How could he answer that? Tell him to shut up and trust him? There were a lot emotions that Killua could pluck from Gon's eyes, but trust just wasn't one of them.

But he had to convince him, there was no way around that.

Gon wasn't someone that Killua could just let get away.

He was….well…he was Killua's light.

And you don't swear off the sun just because the heat douses you in an uncomfortable sweat.

Bisky glided in the room, her eccentric aura ceasing the conversations amongst the students. Her long, pink flowing skirt created waves behind her, an ethereal goddess that demanded attention. She smiled warmly at the class, a fishbowl in hand.

"I bet you I don't have to tell you what this means," she rattled the fishbowl around, tiny papers swishing inside, "I'm sure most of you know that the fishbowl means an observation activity is coming. But this time, I've decided to kick it up a bit."

"In college, I was friends with a woman who was an art major. And I could tell you all how unbelievably talented she was," she pulled out a canvas from behind her desk, "or I could just show you." The canvas depicted a woman with an elongated neck, swirls of yellows, oranges and reds replacing her flesh. Grays and blacks were stroked impatiently at her neck in smoke, the colors colliding into an ombre of fire. The woman had a determined look in her electric green eyes, contrasting the burned skin that was emphasized with maroons and purples. Flames trickled out of the sides of her mouth in a fury of reds and yellows, while several brown wisps of hair were falling to the sides of her face. Bisky looked at the painting for a while and smiled before setting it back down. "Amazing, right? True story: she painted this after she escaped an abusive relationship. When I asked her about it, she said that it was her take of rising through the ashes, making one with your pain instead of letting it defeat you. I was completely taken aback, and for good reason. Without even trying, she held a mirror to my face and made me tackle my own flaws head on. And she gave it to me without much begging from my end. All because she thought it was terrible."

"How?" Gon whispered, "How could she ever think that something like that was terrible?"

"What was that, Mr. Freecs?"

"Oh, um," Gon cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck, "I was just wondering how someone could look at that and think that it's terrible."

"Oh?" Bisky took a seat on the stool and crossed her legs, her hands clasped around her knee cap like a tight necklace, "Are you saying that you don't agree with the artist, Mr. Freecs?"

"I mean, yeah. I guess I don't agree." Gon narrowed his eyes in Bisky's direction. "Is that a trick question?"

"No, absolutely not," she laughed, her body vibrating against the metal, "I want your honest opinion."

"Well, I think it's magnificent. Her color choices and overall scheme seems so flawless, but effortless like she didn't spend too much time worrying about it. It's like she was suffocating and now she can breathe, like she made her own freedom instead of waiting around for it. I dunno, I guess I can see her emotional state when she painted it, but I get the feeling that there's so much more that she wants to say."

"All of that," Bisky smiled, "just by looking at it? You have a quizzical mind, Gon. And you've also helped to prove my point. You see, sometimes as artists we feel the need to always be perfect, as if we're immune to failure. Because we're literally painting our souls and putting it on display like some sort of freak show, we have this self-obligation to only put out what we think is beauty. But therein lies the problem: art is not only for us. My friend here painted this to get over a bad situation, but I'm willing to bet that she never assumed that I'd be using it years later to show a class of art enthusiasts. It's bigger than perfection; it's bigger than the final picture. You see, there's beauty in the flawed and the spontaneity of a piece. What I'm trying to get at here is that there's a wonderful piece in each of you if you just learn to trust yourselves. And I know that's easier said than done, so today you and your partner are going to do a little exercise. The left side of the tables, please pull out your drawer."

Gon slid the wooden compartment and unveiled a black handkerchief. He stared at it puzzlingly, wondering if he should tie it behind his ears.

"Okay for those of you who found the handkerchief, I want to you to blindfold yourselves. Don't be shy, now, I promise you it's for a good reason," Bisky hopped down from the stool, humming Hello Darkness My Old Friend.

"I didn't realize it was that type of classroom," Killua chuckled, prompting a playful grin from Gon. Killua fought back the urge to sketch the small gesture so that he could look at it when he was alone, a reminder of what he was fighting for.

"Okay little adults, so now that you're all nice and blind, I'll explain the task. Each of you that are blindfolded will get a topic that your partner will read to you. It will be your job to explain to your partner exactly what it is that you want to be painted on the canvas. Your partner, in turn, will guide your hand, using only three clues that you can give them. This will show you a few things about yourselves: how well do you listen? How well do you convey messages? How much time have you been spending getting to know one another? All of these will be crucial for you to get the results you're looking for. Most importantly, how well can you trust each other to cross the finish line? This involves you to be able to trust yourself and your partner. I believe the results will be interesting, and grading will be done on effort. Alright, everyone, I'll be walking around with the fishbowl, you all start setting up!"

Gon tightened the knot in the back of his head, the darkness being welcomed as it suffocated him whole. He turned to the last memory of Killua, feeling around for his paint brushes.

"Here," Killua bent down and reached Gon's sack, "let me help you out."

"Thanks," Gon said quietly, his mental distraction floating away like an abandoned balloon. He could feel Killua's shadow behind him and he shivered at the sudden warmth. Killua's radiating warmth hugged him tightly like an old friend, pulling Gon in closer until he wanted to drown in its abyss. But the frightening chill that pulsated through his spine pulled tightly back on his reins, ceasing his fantasy.

"So," Killua scooped down, his cheek grazing against Gon's ear, "it's been awhile since we've been this intimate, huh?"

Gon swallowed thickly, the urge to crumble in Killua's arms electrifying his insides. I can't do that, he berated himself, he doesn't deserve what I could do to him.

"Gon," Killua interrupted, sighing and placing his palm on to of Gon's shoulders, "talk to me, please. I'm more than just a hot body, you know."

Gon chuckled lightly, the unease still swimming deep in his chest. "Is that how you see yourself, Killua?"

"No, but it got you to laugh, so it was worth the bravado."

Gon twiddled his thumbs around each other, biting gently on his bottom lip. "Killua," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't you know anything, Freecs?" Killua wanted to turn Gon around and yank the handkerchief from his eyes and force him to gaze into the promise of absolution that was his soul. "I told you before, you don't have to go through anything alone. I don't want your apology; I just want you to stop pushing me aside."

"Here you go, boys," Bisky waved the fishbowl in front of Killua, demanding his attention, "go ahead and pick a topic."

Killua stuck his fingers inside, praying to whomever would listen that the topic would break the walls that protected Gon's emotional dam. Pulling back the slip of paper, he read the question in slight disappointment.

"It says," he read to Gon, "to paint your favorite dream as a child."

Gon stuck out his thumb, clearly indicating that he had no plans to return to the previous conversation. "I'm ready."

"That fast? You don't want to think about it?"

Gon shook his head instantly, the corners of his mouth uprooting. "There's only one place," he said softly, "that I used to dream about. I would like to paint that place, if we can."
"I believe," Killua pulled out his tin can and paint supplies, walking towards the sink, "that depends on how well you give me your clues."

Gon pictured it vividly in his mind, clasping on to the colors and scenery that existed in the shadows of his eyelids. He tried to pull out three distinct things about it to convey to Killua.

"Okay," Killua set the water filled tin can on the desk and hovered over Gon, "I'm going to wrap my hand around yours now."

Gon nodded, bracing himself for the pleasurable touch. Killua's fingers were silk feathers; his milk skin gliding softly against Gon's wrists. He missed Killua's touch, and was secretly glad for any excuse to feel it again.

"So I guess the first thing I would tell you," Gon bit his lip in apprehension, his words colliding together in a helix of inflated tones, "is that there are a lot of fireflies."

"Fireflies?" Killua swirled the paintbrush that pressed against the whites of Gon's wrist in the water, watching the ripples manifest in its wake. "I don't remember you ever telling me a story about fireflies."

Gon's lips curved into a half smile, and he took a deep breath, feeling his belly warm with the intrusion of air. "It's a dream that I've had more than once as a child. After everything-" he swallowed roughly, feeling his throat constrict with phantom tears that threatened the inner corner of his eyes, "It was a nice dream, afterall."

Killua glanced over briefly at his counterpart, watching the subtltly of Gon's restraint under his scarf. He knew, and would surely bet, that Gon was more than relieved that he had the mask to hide his true emotions. How badly did he want to yank the thing off, toss it to the side, and force him to see reason! Instead he choked down his own resolve, hoping that Gon would continue.

"Killua?"

"Yes, Gon."

"Are you ready for the next clue?"

Killua chuckled, his gesture vibrating against Gon's sleeve. "Of course. After all, we can only continue if you steer the ship, captain."

"Well," Gon smirked, "if you insist on watching me drown…"

"As if I'd let you, Gon," Killua hoped that Gon could read the undertone of the true intentions of his words.

"I'd say the next clue would be water." Gon's voice turned back to its deep robotic tone, and Killua felt the hope that danced inside of his chest collapse with exhaustion. "A beautiful body of water. Serene and unattainable, like a hidden wonder of the world."

"What kind of dream is this?"

"My dream, Killua. And I hope that you take good care of it."

Killua chuckled again, dipping the paintbrush into an ocean of blues and ivory greens before taking the

virginity of the canvas. He relished in how easily Gon allowed his hand to be corrupted by Killua's touch, the same way he let his body be corrupted…

"Killua," Gon interrupted his thoughts, "you're painting already? I haven't given you the third clue yet."

""S okay. I can see it in my mind. This is the part where you're supposed to trust me, remember?"

Killua felt Gon squirm underneath his arm, and chastised himself in case he said the right thing prematurely. The air became thick with tension, threatening to suffocate the both of them until they were reduced to star dust. He cleared his throat and trickled the anxiety away, concentrating on perfecting the painting.

"Killua," Gon whispered, his voice betraying his stubbornness, "are you going to see Wing this weekend?"

Killua ceased the brushstrokes, looking down at Gon. He was wondering how he should ease the topic into the conversation, but it appeared that Gon had beat him to the punch.

"It wouldn't feel right," he swallowed thickly, "if you don't come. Besides, I wouldn't even know who the guy is if it wasn't for you." He paused, turning the next sentence over in his tongue to taste if it was sweet enough to brew. With a sigh, he blurted out, "I want to go, Gon. But I only want to go with you."

Gon took another deep breath, and with a hidden chuckle Killua contemplated telling him that he would make a nice yoga instructor. "I would like to, but I don't want to meet him like this."

Killua sighed, his grip around the paintbrush weakening. He skimmed his fingers lightly over Gon's, hoping that the touches could say the words that lodged in his throat. Gon's lips were drawn into a tight line that curved downwards, and Killua knew that honey irises were tainted with worry underneath the scarf. "Gon," he started, breathing a new life around the syllables, "if you let this opportunity pass you up, you'll always regret it."

"I know, Killua, but-"

"No." Killua crouched down so that his eye level met the sharp lines of Gon's jaw, his blue orbs flickering in determination at the flesh. "Gon, I know that it's tough for you, having to finally come to terms with everything that happened. I know that you weren't expecting to have to live in the truth, and you weren't expecting to do it with someone else. But I refuse to let you miss out on something so important out of fear." Killua's voice became shaky and his breathing unstable. He swallowed for composure, wondering if he should drop the subject before Gon broke completely, but the promise that he would bring Gon back to reality swirled inside of him like a typhoon, and he could no longer provide the dam of stubbornness. "I care about you too much to let you do that. As a friend and as your partner."

Gon's position did not change, and Killua silently admitted his defeat on the topic. He scratched his head anxiously, feeling the electric surges pulsating through his scalp at his butterfly touches. He mentally cursed Gotoh for even handing him the stupid paper in the first place before correcting himself. Gotoh wasn't the problem; life was the problem, and the inadequacy to properly handle its curveballs fell on the shoulders of the two teens. But where did that leave him now?

And more importantly, where did that leave Gon?

He looked back at the half finished canvas, the speckles of paint barely forming a finished piece. Greens and blues that contrasted each other as they fought for completion; a competition to display their nature. A metaphor, Killua thought sullenly, before sighing again.

"Peace," Gon whispered, breaking through his thoughts.

"What?"

"The last clue." Gon's other fist clenched tightly against his shorts, creating darkened green lines in the fabric. "The theme of the dream, if you want to call it that, is pure peace. Like when you look at it, it should calm you down, make you feel like all of your worries melt away."

Killua stared at Gon unmoving face, aside from the clenching of his teeth momentarily, and slightly grinned. He needed a little more pushing, he decided, but all appeared to not be lost. He wasn't running away, and he never declined the invitation all together, and a balloon of hope swelled in his chest. He regained his posture, gripping Gon's hand over the paint brush and mixing it some more paint. The colors that he chose this round were a stark contrast to the darkened hues on the canvas; purples and yellows leaving a heavenly grace in the negative spaces.

"Peace, huh? Is that what your dream represents to you?"

Gon nodded, his grip tightening underneath Killua's. "It's all that it ever represented to me. It used to be my happy place, where I would mentally escape to, until…" he drifted off, as if the rest of the sentence choked on the back of his throat and threatened to seal the hole in his mouth.

"Until?" Killua briskly painted the background with detail, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Gon swallowed, why was this hard to say, as if I never said it?, and turned to where he thought Killua's face would be. It was then that he realized that he was holding on the stubbornness of his drifting cloud, as if he expected it to transport him somewhere safe. But when he looked back, he understood that he was leaving his safe haven of bliss, and purposely heading to the solitude of hell. And what purpose did it serve? What good would come out of tormenting himself, for the sake of saving someone who was never in danger?

In his act of redemption, was he unknowingly repeating the past, forcing himself to relive his own mistakes?

No, a voice within argued, your blatant ignorance and desire for naïve bliss will cause you to repeat the past. And Killua doesn't deserve to burn for your own selfish fire.

"Until?" Killua's voice teetered with anxiety, and it was then that Gon noticed that the painting motions had stopped.

"Nothing," he breathed, "is the painting finished yet?"

Killua frowned, looking at his own progress. His speed had improved, and the colors had finally started to take shape. He went back to his work, feeling the pressure of Gon's clenched fists pulsating against his palm. "Almost," he mumbled, "it just needs a little more work."

Gon resumed his silence, and the lack of words were louder than anything Killua had ever heard. If only Gon would say the words that Killua knew he wanted to-help me!- he would swoop down in his cape and rescue him, flying him to a place where not even his own thoughts could get to him. Come on, Freecs. All you've got to do is let me .

The next forty five minutes passed in this manner, the only sounds coming from the duo being the sloshing of paint and the hurried strokes of the brush on the canvas. Killua exhaled as he marveled the creation, convinced that Gon would too be pleased when his scarf had retreated his face.

"Alright, everyone, that should do it for today!" Bisky's eccentric voice pierced through the room, bringing Killua to the realization that he was adding unnecessary detail to an otherwise finished piece. He reluctantly let go of Gon's hand, placing the paint brush in the water and watching it swirl around and cloud the cup. Gon removed his scarf, his lids droopy and pressed to the ground. Killua watched him carefully, his heart beating at an intense rate as he waited for Gon to see the results of his work, hoping that he could create a visual to the place that Gon called home.

Bisky walked past, glancing at the works of their peers. "Very nice, Kojo. I appreciate your use of colors. Your sunset is blended perfectly, Yuri, excellent." She walked in their vicinity, and felt her breath catch in her throat. She studied that painting for several long seconds, in complete awe of the masterpiece that lay before her. "This…this is…" she struggled to find the adjective, not wanting to offend the artist(s). "Wow, just wow." She ran her hand up to her mouth, cupping it lightly before tearing her eyes away from the finished work. "The colors, the scenery, the overall tone and mood, this is wise beyond a high school students years." She smiled warmly at Killua and Gon, feeling a familiar sense of pride beaming at her core, radiating through the pores in her face. "Forgive me for being so emotionally me, but it's been years since a student of mine has wowed me like this!"

"You think so?" Killua bashfully asked before finally hearing the sound that he needed to. Gon gasped, his honey suckled eyes being drawn into the scene in front of him.

"Do you…do you like it, Gon?"

Gon's mouth formed over his next words, a hazy recollection brewing in the blacks of his pupils. "Killua…it's perfect. It's….it's my dream," he breathed out the last word, as if saying it made it any less true.

Killua looked at again, fully grasping the serenity of it himself. The canvas was a picturesque sea of colors: blues and black intermingled to create a midnight backdrop, a concoction of greens, yellows, blues and whites merging into clear waters. The highlights in the lake that Killua made gave the impression that the water was pure in its form, a fountain of heaven of sorts. Yellows and whites were scattered throughout, perfecting the illusion of fireflies, with paler yellows used for the reflection of their lights. But the true beauty of the painting stood in the very middle: two fireflies, with more detailed bodies and lights that shone brighter than the others hovering over the lake. The viewer could realize that it was indeed their light that illuminated the lake, and the others were white noise. They lingered close to the other, giving the impression that they were a complete set, and one would not shine as brightly if the other were not present. The added, intricate details of flower lilies and moss along the banks of the river made it seem so real, yet the blending of colors made it unattainably dreamlike. Killua decided that if there was an afterlife, a direct form of some sort of heaven, then this was surely it. He prayed again to whomever, that he could venture there himself, with Gon at his side, shining brighter than any other souls present.

"I know this is a little sudden," Bisky said, her face contorting to a child's glee, "but can I please borrow this? I have a very good plan for it soon, and I don't think I can take no for an answer."

"I don't mind, do you Gon?"

Gon shook his head, his eyes still stuck in the serene picture before him. He was hypnotized by the outcome, but more than this, he relished in the fact that Killua had been able to recreate this place for him, almost as if he had picked the dream straight from his skull.

The exercise, he concluded, had indeed worked. In his full trust of Killua, he had gotten the results that he didn't know he needed.

Perhaps, he realized, the same could be true for his current predicament.

He waited for the voice of reason to let him know that he was indeed doing the right thing, but it never came.

"Thank you both!" Bisky removed the canvas, looking at it again before smiling. "Excellent job, the both of you."

"I can't take any credit," Gon mumbled, "Killua did the work."

"Mmmnn," Bisky shook her head, looking warmly at Gon, "not true at all. Killua might have helped you arrive at the destination, but without direction, you both would be lost."

Killua saw the words contort a change in the lines of Gon's face, the shadows under his eyes softening out to blend in with the rest of the hues of his skin. Perhaps Bisky was able to…

"I would need a title, of course," Bisky exclaimed, "for the purpose of my plan. I would tell you both what it is, but I'm a firm believer in surprises."

Killua watched Gon's brain rattle over different ideas before his face settled into a satisfied answer. He looked up at Bisky, his amber eyes sparkling with happiness and warming the insides of Killua's chest.

"I think it should be called A Lake of Fireflies."

A tall gentleman with sunflower petal hair made his way through the jail, clutching a briefcase and a manila folder. He waved a hand off of his forehead at the correctional officer, inciting a nod and access through the gate. His smile was the only dazzling thing in this bleak place, and other inmates watched carefully as he proceeded down the long corridor. Most of them scoffed, mumbling lawyer trash under their breaths at his obvious title, and scowled at his cheerful demeanor.

The man chuckled at their abrasiveness, mentally noting that they wish they were so lucky to have his council. He whistled a tune and stuck his hand in his pocket, his grin spreading as he reached his destination. A correctional officer that was balding met him at the last gate, pressing a clipboard in his hand.

"Lawyers have unrestricted time with their defendants, but please be aware of the rules. You still gotta follow the normalcies, fancy titles or not. We're still allowed to monitor every visitor that comes through here, and especially when it comes to this one. Sign here, here and here if you oblige, and don't get this guy all wound up like those other two. I don't want to deal with his prima dona attitude anymore, the son of a bitch. The last time we had to restrict his food so he would know who's really in charge around here. Until his overly entitled family showed up."

He signed the necessary spots and handed the clipboard back with an over-dazzling smile. The guard scoffed and looked over the paperwork. "Oh, so you're that guy that the media talks about. My wife hates you."

He laughed heartedly, clutching his barely existent belly. "Is that so?" His voice had all the bravado of a politician, unusually warm and conniving. "Well, you win some, you lose some."

"Eh, she's a crazy bat anyways. The only reason she cares so much is because you keep taking on the cases of the bad guys."

"Is there such a thing? Either way, it shows I'm doing my job. The world can think they're bad guys, but it's my job to prove the world wrong." He stepped through the gate and looked over his shoulder as he resumed his walking. "And I don't intend to fail now. Make that the last time you talk about my client in such a corrupt way. I'd hate for you to tell your disillusioned wife that you'll be standing in the unemployment line."

He reached his destination and was greeted by a raven haired woman. They turned in his direction, revealing the source of his arrival: Illumi Zoldyk.

"Well, good afternoon to you all," he straightened his tie and took the available seat. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long. Traffic and all of that."

"Mmm," Kikyo mumbled, her distrusting eyes peering into his coal ones. She had an overprotective hold on Illumi's hand, and Illumi appeared rather bored with the entire endeavor. "I pay you good money, and I expect you to be here as appointed."

He took out a yellow notepad, his pen gliding across the paper. "Be on time as appointed, check. Anything else?" He retracted the pen tip and placed in under his chin, a smug smile plastering his face.

Kikyo scoffed and waved him off with her free hand. "You're still a snotty little insect, aren't you Pariston?"

He smiled and closed his eyes. "And you still let your emotions get the best of you, eh Kikyo?"

"Mother," Illumi said robotically, his eyes appearing more withdrawn since she had last seen him. She was afraid to look to closely, a caution of being sucked into the void of space. Often times she looked at him and wondered where she had gone wrong to make him end up here.

With a frown, her mind went to the source of all of her problems: Alluka.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"Let him tell the news. I don't want to be bothered by this nonsense for much longer."

"Oh?" Pariston chuckled sarcastically, "do you have better things to do, Illumi? Why, I would hate to keep you from your eventful calendar. Is there a walk around the security-heavy fence coming within the hour? A designated shower, perhaps?"

Illumi's face darkened in a frenzy of anger, his irises shrinking into threatening planets. "You wouldn't speak so freely if I wasn't a prisoner."

Pariston threw his head back and laughed. "Lighten up, Mr. Zoldyk. This situation can't get any worse afterall."

"This isn't time for your ill equipped jokes, you brute!" Kikyo shrieked, her chair creating angry squeaks against the tiled floor. "My son needs results!"

"Do you think," he sat his briefcase down and opened the folder, revealing a stack of paper, "I would be here if I didn't have results?"

Kikyo inhaled, a grin slowly spreading throughout her face. "Are you telling me it worked?"

He nodded, licking his top lip and moving to the second document. "Precisely. A few calls and a few favors and presto!" He lay a single document in front of them. "A very real and unarguably bogus doctor form."

Kikyo looked over the paper, greedily consuming the words before them as if she were starving. Her eyes sparkled and marveled, and she released a tiny spurt of air. "I guess the money is worth it after all! This looks so legit even I almost believe it!"

"I would like to see," Illumi's voice murmured, accepting the papers. He scanned over them before looking at Pariston, his face portraying no changing sentiment.

How ugly, Pariston thought, a man with no glow behind the sharp features. What a waste of genetics.

"So will this be enough?" Illumi's voice was void of any concern, and yet Pariston could see the anxiety crawling underneath the snow of his skin, leeching off of his stoicism.

"This will be more than enough," he retorted, his mouth giving way to show off his brilliant white canines. "No judge would have the heart to lock away the mentally unstable."

"So what happens now?" Kikyo asked impatiently, her fingers creating music by drumming the hollow table. "What does this exactly mean?"

"As we discussed before, I can argue that my client has been diagnosed as having a mental illness, recently of course. The doctor in question is paid handsomely for his testimony, and he will say that he was in the process of medicating his patient when the unthinkable happened. Under his advisement, he will state that it will be in the best interest if Illumi spends his sentencing in an upstate six month treatment facility, the best that money can buy. Not only will this provide Illumi privacy and protection under HIPAA laws, it will also mean that he will walk free afterwards, the testimony of the facilities 'state of the art curing system.' He can successfully bow out of this with grace, and no one will ever know you Zoldyk's secrets."

"A mental institution?" Illumi's spat the words out as if they were poison, disgust painting the lines in his face. "Are you mad? Places like that reek of insanity!"

"That is the point, Illumi," Pariston retrieved the paper and placed it back in the folder. "Would you rather spend the rest of your life here?"

Illumi said nothing and sulked back in his chair, a deflated ego spilling out of the soles of his feet.

"As I thought. Besides, I wouldn't send you anywhere. The institution is luxurious, after all. It would be like a private apartment for you, people waiting on you hand and foot. It would be like you were at home."

"Except he's not," Kikyo squeezed Illumi's hand and looked at him with the sickening concern of a delusional mother, "but soon you will be, my love. As long as you let Pariston do his job, then everything will be okay. Mother won't let you rot in this filthy cage."

Illumi's eyes met hers, and for a second she was reminded of a bubbling two year old that followed her around like a shadow, mimicking her movements and not realizing that he was a boy yet. In a fleeting second, it disappeared, and the hardened eyes of the son she had grown to know emerged, obliging and obedient. He nodded once, studied the lines in the tile.

"Well now that we're all on the same page, there's only one thing left to do." Pariston pulled out an empty check and placed it before Kikyo, with the same charm as a used car salesman.

"The doctor won't pay himself, afterall."

AAAAAH I AM SO SORRY FOR MY ABSENCE!

I WISH I HAD A REALLY GOOD EXCUSE, BUT THE TRUTH IS, I'VE JUST BEEN WORKING AND BUSY, AND HAVE NOT HAD ACCESS TO MY COMPUTER LIKE I'VE WANTED.

THIS CHAPTER WAS SHORTER THAN INTENDED, BUT FOR THE SAKE OF PLOT, I'VE DECIDED TO SPLIT THIS COURSE INTO AN APETIZER AND ENTRÉE INSTEAD OF TRYING TO FEED YOU A SICKENING AMOUNT OF FOOD.

THANK YOU ALL WHO ARE STILL ONBOARD, AND THE NEW COMERS WHO HAVE LIKED, REVIEWED, FAVORITED, ETC. THIS STORY. IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME!

I APOLOGIZE IF THIS CHAPTER WASN'T 'ACTION' PACKED, BUT I WANTED TO SPEND SOME TIME WITH GON HERE, POOR BUDDY.

THE REVIEWS OF LAST CHAPTER WERE SO GREAT! YOU GUYS REALLY SHOWED ME THAT I ACHIEVED WHAT I WAS LOOKING TO DO: MAKE Y'ALL FEEL.

I HOPE TO GET ANOTHER CHAPTER OUT WITHIN THE WEEK.

I WON'T DRABBLE, BUT I DO ONCE AGAIN ENCOURAGE REVIEWS! FEED THE WRITER! IT ALWAYS HELPS MOTIVATE ME WHEN IM FEELING WRITER'S BLOCK AND A LITTLE FUNKY (AND I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT A LACK OF A SHOWER)

ONLY 3 MORE CHAPTERS, GUYS!

YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!

-BITCHII-USA

PS. I HATE PARISTON. IF ANY OF YOU READERS HAVEN'T WATCHED SEASON 6 OF HXH (WHICH ISN'T ON NETFLIX ALONG WITH THE SECOND HALF OF SEASON 5) YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE HIM EITHER. EXPECT ME TO DIG AT HIS STUPID CHARACTER FROM TIME TO TIME IN THE UPCOMING CHAPTERS.