The hell happened to you?
Hisoka's phone lit up as he stepped out of the shower. Apparently Illumi was annoyed that he couldn't get an answer out of Hisoka. Of course. He couldn't control Hisoka. Hisoka had always wondered how long it would take Illumi to start trying.
He sent him a nude. I'm not dead.
You look like shit.
Rude. (*｀へ´*) Ask Chrollo what happened.
Kalluto already told me.
Hisoka snorted. Ah, right. The entire world was against him. Well, that was just fine. He could have fun wrecking it, leaving his mark at the very least. He left his hair down for now and dropped onto his couch. He did know one person with a similar grudge against Chrollo…
Pounding echoed against his door. Hisoka cussed. He hauled himself up, forcing himself to walk normally, bum ankle be damned. Nothing else mattered. He yanked the door open.
"Hi," said Illumi. His eyes stayed the same, huge and dark, as he took in Hisoka's appearance. "May I come in?"
"You're too polite." Hisoka stepped back.
"Should I pry open your bedroom window and wait for you on the bed then, next time?" asked Illumi, shutting the door behind him. He shrugged out of his dark coat.
"There are no trees by my bedroom window, Illumi, and even you can't climb up a straight wall." Hisoka leaned back, folding his arms. His shoulder screamed in pain. "Though, if that's why you're here, I wouldn't refuse."
"I came to make coffee." Illumi headed to the kitchen.
"How terribly did Killua react today at school?" Hisoka couldn't resist asking.
"He's off with Gon now, at his aunt's place." Illumi shrugged. "He seemed mad at me this morning, though. I simply tried to escort him and he—"
Hisoka snorted. "He doesn't want the same things you want, Illumi. Remember?"
"I remember." Illumi scowled as he finished measuring the coffee and pressed brew. "So, your fight with Kastro is off."
"On the contrary."
Illumi swung his hair over his shoulder. Long and thick, it shone like an onyx waterfall in the sunlight streaming through the window. "Never take a fight you can't win."
"See, that's the difference between you and me," Hisoka said. "The greater the odds for failure are, the more excited I get."
"You're stupid."
Hisoka shrugged. "Did you really expect anything else?"
"No." Illumi poured out the coffee into two mugs. He left his black and dumped three tablespoons of sugar into Hisoka's.
Hm, you noticed. Hisoka only liked coffee when it tasted like coffee ice cream.
"Then I will help you," Illumi announced, raising his mug to his lips. "I'm not Kastro nor Chrollo, but you only won against me when I was stabbed. We can practice, in my place so Chrollo won't have the chance to pull any dirty tricks."
Hisoka almost spat out his coffee. Illumi? Offering to help?
Why would I need help?
He didn't need charity. It always came too late. "What's up with you? Why are you over here acting all soft?" he jeered.
"Ah." Illumi smirked. "Dr. Yorkshire asked me to listen more to feelings. Which I don't quite understand the purpose of, but since I was thinking of you after Kalluto told me what happened, I decided to come over. And I'd rather you win than Chrollo. We sleep together. Chrollo's just someone I know from college." He recited those words as if he had been practicing so much that he now hated them, which is exactly why Hisoka believed him.
"You should assist Kastro instead," Hisoka said. "Tell him my weaknesses. Although I suppose he's too honorable to ever listen to you. So tell Chrollo, and he can find a way to make sure Kastro hears. I'm sure he'd love it."
"Hm?" Illumi blinked. "Why would I—"
"It'd be a challenge, Illumi," Hisoka said, leaning forward. "I respect your intellect, and your analyses. Despite you being the star of boneheadedboner. You could make this fight even more exciting."
"Hisoka, the odds are already stacked against you," Illumi stated.
"They always have been, and they never are," Hisoka replied. A paradox for dear Illumi to ponder.
"If I help Chrollo, will you still be sleeping with me?" asked Illumi. "I think Alluka would miss you."
Hisoka snorted. "Do you really think I'd turn down sex? Or sleeping with an enemy, if temporarily an enemy?"
Illumi set his coffee down and kissed him. He grunted in disgust. "You taste like sugar."
"You taste bitter."
Three days later, Hisoka was not prepared to open his door that afternoon and find Gon Freecss standing there.
"Hi," said Gon, staring up at him.
"Come to see if the rumors are true?" Hisoka smirked. "I'm still alive."
Gon frowned, rubbing the back of his head. "What rumors?"
Never mind. "Did Killua send you to warn me away from his brother?" Killua was more protective and more like Illumi than he would ever admit. And Hisoka found it fascinating.
"No," said Gon. "What happened to your wrist?"
Indigo and mustard bruises bloomed over it. Hisoka shrugged and cracked his knuckles on that hand. "Nothing a sparring match won't fix."
"Oh." Gon bit his lip.
Well, this was interesting. Why was the kid here? He always thought of Hisoka as creepy, that much Hisoka knew, and it wasn't exactly as if Hisoka minded. It proved Gon was not stupid, for all his paradoxical simplicity. Just like Hisoka himself.
"Um, Hisoka," Gon began. "I have something I want to ask you, but you're injured, so—"
"I just said it wasn't bad," Hisoka interrupted, his curiosity tempered by the kid's fake pity.
"Well anyways," said Gon. "School's weird. Like, everyone knows who my dad and who Killua's parents are, so they think they know us, but they don't."
"I've got some sad news for you, kid," said Hisoka, beckoning Gon into his house. "Apparently adults are no different than kids because that's exactly how society functions too. Cheers."
Gon shrugged. "They know my dad better than I do."
Hisoka had nothing to offer the kid. Milk, maybe? Did he even still have milk? Or was it expired? He usually spent his time with Illumi lately.
"Killua and I were hoping to make an impression," said Gon, widening his eyes. "Since they seem to think we're all uncool. They don't believe we know you. They all look up to you, you know. Since you're such a famous wrestler."
"Hm." Hisoka crossed his arms. A smile spread across his face and warmth inside of him. See, Chrollo? Who even knows you exist?
"Anyways," Gon said again, hopping up and down. "Killua and I were hoping you could help us."
Hisoka could only imagine Illumi's delicious reaction if Killua invited him to show up instead of Illumi.
"Like if we could go to a practice of yours and take pictures or something," Gon added.
Hisoka arched his eyebrows. Well, it could definitely be interesting, and help Illumi help Chrollo. Maybe. If that was Gon's motivation, because the kid was definitely lying about something, which was hilarious to Hisoka because Gon absolutely sucked at it, and an honest person shouldn't lie to a liar. "Sure. I'll be practicing tomorrow afternoon." For the first time since his injury. And if that stupid old Netero tried to yell at him, Hisoka would kick him in the balls with his stilettos.
Gon, you liar. He wondered if he should tell Illumi. Nah. Why spoil the surprise, whatever it could be?
But before he could go and practice the next day, he had to talk to a certain golden rage mushroom.
"Oh no," said Kurapika, stopping in his tracks when he saw Hisoka waiting for him as he left what sounded like an incredibly dull art history class.
"Oh yes," Hisoka replied.
"How the hell did you find me? What are you, some kind of stalker?" Kurapika pushed past him, book bag slung over his shoulder. But Hisoka caught a glimpse of his eyes, covered in a small circle.
Contacts. They were red right now, weren't they? He still couldn't control himself, could he? Hisoka wet his lips. "I have my ways."
"Well, now you're just being creepy. Leave me alone. You're bad news." Kurapika hurried across the quad.
Hisoka followed. "I know you haven't given up," he said in a singsong voice.
Kurapika skidded to a halt. He turned to gape at Hisoka. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean," said Hisoka. "You're not the type, are you, Kurapika Kurta? You'll never give up. Not until you have what you want, and you don't care what you have to do to get it. At least now you're not living with Killua or Gon so you won't drag them into your brewing disaster."
Kurapika's chest heaved. A loose leaf blew through the air, catching on his hair. Kurapika batted it away. "I'm not going to kill Chrollo," he hissed. "I'm—not that person. Not anymore."
"Ah, but you are. We're always the same."
Kurapika gulped. "I've switched my goal."
"Oh?" Hisoka waited.
"It doesn't matter! You didn't help me last time!"
"I think I saved you from spending the rest of your life in prison for premeditated murder, so I'm quite certain that counts, Kurapika."
Kurapika cussed. He yanked at his book bag. "I'm going to get the rubies back. The ones Chrollo and his troupe stole." He swallowed. "They're heirlooms. I can—bury them with my family. Even if I couldn't get them back in life, for them, they can still have them—" His voice broke.
You're even stupider than I thought. "So instead of killing Chrollo, you'd like to kill yourself on a pointless chase?"
"Chrollo must have sold them somewhere," Kurapika said, glaring at him. "I can find them. I'm sure. He must have files on everyone he's ever met. That's the type of person he is." The term "person" came out cold, forced.
"He does seem like that kind of bitch," Hisoka agreed.
"So what are you offering?" Kurapika finally said. His shoulders slumped, as if he couldn't believe he was lowering himself to this level again. To the level of having anything to do with Hisoka. Pretty typical.
"That we work together, of course," said Hisoka. "Or mutually exchange information. Like before. Except this time without murder involved."
"In all fairness," Kurapika admitted, studying his stained flats. "I never told you about that."
"In your defense," said Hisoka, because watching Kurapika lacerate himself grew tiring after awhile and he'd seen the kid cry too many rivers already. "I knew."
"Do you want revenge on him too?" Kurapika asked.
"Of course," said Hisoka. You just want revenge on yourself, don't you?
"So what are you asking for specifically?"
"Give me any seedy information you can find on Shalnark," said Hisoka. "And Kortopi. He was there too." He didn't want to hurt Machi. She was too pretty, and by pretty he meant scary.
"Drugging you was wrong," Kurapika said, meeting Hisoka's eyes.
Hisoka shrugged. That kind of talk made him uncomfortable. And he didn't like it, that feeling, like Kurapika was pitying him. This was exactly what fueled his rage, the petty bitterness streaming from a wound he shouldn't have received. But because he was stronger than that, not because of any sort of moral high ground like what Kurapika was imagining.
God, the brat's insufferable with that kind of thinking. Kurapika might as well accept that he's soiled and get on with him, but no, he'd scrub his hands until they were raw because then at least he'd be in pain and be able to judge others. Hisoka'd rather have dirt on his hands than be missing the skin off his palms.
"Okay," Kurapika agreed. He held out his hand to shake on it. Hisoka rolled his eyes but complied.
Chrollo wouldn't care about his own reputation. His friends, on the other hand… you have more weaknesses than you think you do, Chrollo Lucilfer.
"Yo, Hisoka!" Gon trotted up to him.
"Where's Killua?" asked Hisoka, walking through the gym parking lot. He still refused to limp no matter how much the bones crunched against each other in his ankle. He'd die before Chrollo got that satisfaction, that bastard.
"He had therapy." Gon shrugged. "But he said it was fine for me to come."
Sure. Hisoka still wasn't certain what Gon was up to, but the kid could probably only lie for so long. He was too pure to withstand Hisoka's prodding. Hisoka would have his answer soon enough. Maybe by the end of the day.
"Aren't you not supposed to be here?" called Netero's voice when they entered.
That was it. Time to kill. Hisoka whirled, narrowing his eyes. His earrings slapped the side of his throat. "My, my, you—"
"He's just sparring with me," Gon interjected. "Since I'm a kid, I can't do too much damage, right?" He gave a wide, toothy smile.
"Be careful, Gon," Hisoka warned as Netero gave a weak nod. "You might become just like me, you little liar."
"I really think we could spar, though!" Gon insisted. "Like, if you were to show me some moves, that could be really cool—that'll help us make friends—"
Hisoka didn't quite understand. "I don't go easy on people I spar with." Of course, in all honesty, Hisoka knew he wasn't at full strength and shouldn't use the arm with the dislocated shoulder and broken wrist.
"I wouldn't want you to," Gon snapped. He sounded offended that Hisoka would even consider it.
"Your stance is wrong," Hisoka said the moment Gon went to start.
"Huh?"
Hisoka rolled his eyes. "You're asking for me to hit you like this."
Gon yelped. Good thing Hisoka wasn't using his full strength, or like, even twenty percent of it.
"You need to work on dodging," Hisoka informed him. Or else there was no point to sparring with Gon.
"I want to land a punch on someone's face," Gon said.
Hisoka snorted. "You're never going to have a chance if you go about it like that."
He wasn't certain if this was practice after all, or if it was some kind of lesson. Ah, well. It didn't matter. Seeing Gon's plucky side come out in fighting, the language Hisoka knew best, was at least a distraction and a trailer for perhaps better things to come. The kids at that high school better watch out.
Of course, Hisoka managed to knock Gon down a few times. Not too hard. "Tell you what," Hisoka said. "If you manage to land a punch on me, in my face, I will let you take a picture with me. Not a moment before." At the very least, Gon was less predictable than his usual sparring partners, barring Illumi, who was too busy trying to plot against Hisoka right now.
Gon's jaw dropped. "But you said—"
"You never wanted that," Hisoka said. "You liar, you. Takes one to know one. You wanted me to train you for some reason." He had a few guesses, but they were irrelevant.
Gon threw his fist at Hisoka. Hisoka held up the palm of his injured arm and blocked it, twisting that arm of Gon's enough to make him uncomfortable but not enough to actually hurt him. Gon yelped.
"Deal?" Hisoka asked, digging his fingers in.
"Deal," Gon gasped.
"Good." Hisoka let him go. Gon glowered at him.
When they finished for the day, Hisoka swiftly dodging each of Gon's attacks, Hisoka was tempted to tell Gon to walk home. Except he really should take the kid back to Mito's on his way to Illumi's.
"Why do you like Illumi?" Gon asked. "Killua wonders."
That's too adult of a conversation for the likes of you. "Because he's fun."
"Hisoka Morow!" The voice boomed across the parking lot. Hisoka squinted in the dying sunlight. A chill skipped down his spine, exciting him. A huge man built like a linebacker and with a mop of snow-white hair marched towards him. Ooh, this could be interesting.
Gon gasped. "That's—"
"I know, Gon." Hisoka leaned back against his car, jangling his keys. "Why are you here, Zoldyck? Are you merely trying to keep up for physique? It is attractive, I'll admit, though not nearly Illumi's level. You're a mite old for that, I'm afraid. Or is this one place your restraining order doesn't cover since—"
Gon covered his ears.
"Don't talk to me like that," Silva snapped. His face burned red with anger. He looked nothing like Illumi. Hisoka wondered if that was partially why Silva didn't love Illumi, why he favored Killua—because Killua was the only child who resembled him.
"Considering Illumi's basically disowning you, you're not a future in-law anymore, so I'll say whatever I please," Hisoka informed him.
Gon frowned.
"I want to talk," Silva said. "That's all I want."
"Too late." Hisoka jabbed his thumb at Gon. "Get in the car, Freecss."
"He's my son," said Silva.
"I mean, your sperm created them, but then that wasn't even enough for you, was it?" Hisoka asked as Gon obeyed. "You still had to mold and carve them into—whatever you wanted of them. Dumb puppets. How dull. Tell me, what do you hate so much in yourself that your kids can't reflect? Actually, on second thought, spare me your sob story. They're never very interesting, anyways." He might have one. Maybe. But it didn't matter to him, and he had chosen that, chosen to write his own story however he saw fit, and fuck the past. "Or was it your wife's side that wasn't quite enough?"
Silva looked as if he'd love nothing more than to punch Hisoka, and Hisoka wanted nothing more than for him to try. Do it. Do it. "It's important—we need to—for Illumi's own good—"
"Oh, bull," said Hisoka. "Boring. Goodbye, Zoldyck." He jumped into the car and sped off, leaving Silva Zoldyck in the dust.
"What did he want?" Gon asked.
"His kids back, I presume," answered Hisoka. "Tough luck for that one. Can't face any consequences."
Gon snorted.
Should he tell Illumi? Illumi might then be provoked into helping Chrollo even more—or helping Hisoka if he heard he told Silva off again. Hisoka sighed. Why were these decisions so difficult?
Then again, if he said nothing, maybe Silva would go away. Illumi didn't like him around and that was one brand of angst Hisoka didn't find particularly fun. The Zoldycks were shit. "Don't tell Illumi, Gon. Or specifically, don't tell Killua."
"I won't."
Good. He wanted Illumi to focus on him, not on his rotten parents.