Author's Notes:
PAIRINGS: Leorio/Kurapika (Leopika); Hisoka/Kurapika (Hisopika); Hisoka/Illumi (HisoIllu); Hisoka/Illumi/Pariston/Kurapika
RATING: Mature
NOTE: To read this story's missing scenes with sexual content, check the uncensored version on Archive of Our Own (AO3 username: lemonpika).
CONTENT WARNINGS: Major character death, eye gouging, stalking. The first two occur off-screen. Please skip this chapter if these topics are triggering or objectionable to you.
Chapter 8: Glassy world with everything reversed
In the ornately-designed bathtub in his boyfriend's luxurious three-bedroom apartment a stone's throw away from the university, Hisoka lounges, popping one bubble after another with a sharp-nailed finger.
A particularly prismatic bubble floats toward his head. Its surface reflects his own pale face, his candy red hair presently slicked back with shampoo. Rather than shattering his self-image with a fingernail, he parts his mouth and welcomes the bitterness as the bubble bursts.
He recalls a day when he was blowing bubbles down an unsuspecting crowd. How many years ago was that now? Three? Four? His hair was silver then — leeched of color overnight, without any explanation. Might this be why he's always been consumed with chasing down trophies of gold?
Hisoka's sixteen in this memory, perched on the uppermost branches of a tree by the school gate. A bottle of bubbles dangles from a string around his neck. This item's only one among the many knickknacks he's collected over the years. Who even knows from whom or why he stole it? The point is, another Hisoka in the timeline predicted it would eventually be a worthy diversion. And, oh boy, younger Hisoka turned out to be right.
Concealed by the dense foliage, he unscrews the bottle's cap and begins blowing bubbles toward the students trickling past the gates. Occasionally, someone will glance up in confusion, but no one cares enough to investigate.
Hisoka makes a game of it. Whenever a bubble bursts against a specific person, he silently rates them over a hundred. The sole rubric, of course, is the level of excitement he can potentially derive from dominating them. Will they squirm? Will they attempt to reason with him? Will they try to run away? Many of the boys passing by look like runners, but not the fun kind. Barely anyone scrapes a grade over fifty.
Then the scales in his brain short-circuit. There he is — the golden-haired boy for whom Hisoka has been waiting.
Once Kurapika has walked past, Hisoka ditches the bottle of bubbles without bothering to screw back the cap. He leaps down from the branches. Luckily, the boy doesn't turn around even as a gaggle of girls squeals in shock at Hisoka's sudden appearance.
Hisoka follows Kurapika into the school building. For some reason or another, the boy doesn't steer toward the direction of the first-year classrooms. Instead, he heads straight toward the senior wing. He pauses by every door to examine the students milling about inside before moving on.
At rare instances, when Kurapika tilts his head in a certain way, the motion ruffles his longish blond hair and reveals a sliver of his nape. Hisoka's breath catches at every lily-white glimpse. What wouldn't he give to stroke that sensitive area of skin — unblemished by the sun — and coax out goosebumps with his fingertips?
Kurapika is marching now toward the junior wing. On the way, he stops by the bathroom.
Hisoka's heartbeat skitters. Oh, how fortunate he's been this morning! To be sure, he's more than prepared to put in the work, to chip away at the countless walls this boy has constructed around himself. All the same, he's grateful for this sneak preview of his future prize.
Cautiously, Hisoka spies with a single eye through the lavatory doorway.
He realizes, with crushing disappointment, that Kurapika has opted for a cubicle, not a urinal. No matter. This affords Hisoka the opportunity to listen in to the boy's private noises. But before anything else, he should press a kiss to the slab of wood separating them. In all likelihood, this'll be the closest he'll ever get to his target in a good long time.
"The hell are you doing?"
Kurapika, who has swung open the door in one swift motion, is staring up with bewilderment at Hisoka's puckered lips.
Quickly! Do the necessary damage control! "Top of the morning to you, golden boy. I've come to greet my new bosom buddy."
"I never —" Kurapika cuts his own sentence short, then sighs. He ducks around Hisoka's body to access a sink. He's soaping his hands when he resumes speaking. "Momentarily setting aside how inappropriate it is to ambush someone who's fresh out of a piss, it just so happens that I was planning to look for you. You've saved me some time."
They were hunting for each other this exact same morning? Can this be fate?
"Is that so?" Hisoka croons. "Well, here I am at your service. What is it you need from me?"
Kurapika glances up to meet Hisoka's eyes in the mirror. In this glassy world where everything is reversed, the boy utters the words that promise to change all that follows. "Skip school with me."
A victorious grin splits Hisoka's face in half. Perhaps his prize isn't as far away as he originally envisioned. "Not long ago, you were maligning me for being — and I quote — a delinquent. Is the word hypocrisy ringing any bells for you?"
Kurapika's eyes drift down to his hands again, engulfed in flowing water. Even though no soap suds remain, he neglects to turn off the faucet. "I've checked everywhere, but I can't find him. I don't know what else to do. Where else to go."
There's a pause, then Hisoka says, "Your cousin, you mean?"
Kurapika finally twists the faucet's handle. "Yes. I can only surmise that finding those people is the key to finding Pairo. You told me they have plans for him. They're not in any of the senior classrooms, so take me to all the places where I'm likely to locate them."
"Hmm." Hisoka taps his index finger against his bottom lip as he thinks. "I may have some ideas. But I have to ask — what exactly am I getting out of this? I already gave you information for free. This can't be a proper friendship until there's some semblance of balance between us. A give-and-take relationship."
"I can pay you for your information."
"With what? I have no interest in money or any such mundanities."
Just then, two boisterously laughing boys barge into the bathroom. Kurapika steps toward Hisoka to give the new arrivals some space. When the strangers turn to face the urinals, Kurapika reaches up and clutches Hisoka's sleeve. Silently, he's imploring Hisoka with his brown eyes.
"There's something I want that only you can give," Hisoka whispers. "But we'll leave that a mystery for now so we can prioritize finding your cousin."
Kurapika's looking over Hisoka's shoulder as he nods. He clearly doesn't want this one-sided conversation to be overheard.
"Eyes on me, Kurapika." Hisoka waits until the boy accedes to his command before speaking again. "I have to hear your answer. After this is over, will you pay me back with what I want the most? Yes or no?"
"Yes."
The first place they visit, of course, is the Spider's headquarters. Hisoka's swung by their hideout so many times that he has no trouble navigating through the monotonous woodland. Neither of them speaks during the journey, but the silence radiating from Kurapika is becoming more and more tumultuous the closer they get.
Hisoka decides to hack at the tension with razor-sharp words. "So? What are you going to say to Chrollo?"
Though the boy doesn't respond, Hisoka persists. "If the Spider has indeed ensnared your cousin in its web, there's no chance of ever recovering him unless you can give up something that Chrollo desires more. As long as you meet him on common ground, he's reasonable enough. He might be open to negotiation. Any ideas about what you can trade?"
Nothing's forthcoming from Kurapika, so Hisoka decides to kick up the interrogation by a notch. "What if he asks you for the same thing he almost took last time? What will you do?"
In truth, Hisoka already knows Chrollo won't attempt anything like that. Kurapika's untainted purity is a prominent term in the agreement Hisoka hammered out with the boss a week ago. But it's still worth bringing up that illusory possibility, if only because it finally incites the boy to speech.
"Don't," Kurapika spits out. "Don't even go there."
Hisoka clicks his tongue. "No need to be so uptight. Breathe in, breathe out. Realize that I'm only thinking of you. I'm trying to prepare you for the worst-case scenario."
They've arrived now at the warehouse. Legend goes that Chrollo selected this place as his gang's hideout because of the eccentricity of its architect. Spanning the beige-painted walls, there are a number of entrances and exits, but none are immediately apparent to the naked eye.
Hisoka burrows his fingernails into an inconspicuous rectangular groove on the building's facade. He hesitates when he notices that Kurapika looks ready to keel over with the slightest breeze.
"Breathe," Hisoka reminds him.
"If they've been hurting Pairo —"
"Regardless of what they're doing, you can't help matters by unraveling," Hisoka points out. "Perhaps you should let me do the talking. You're in no state to negotiate. Just relax. I've done this before."
With this, Hisoka yanks open the door.
The warehouse, while empty, exhibits the aftermath of a gathering. The air reeks of tobacco, booze, and blaze. Toward the center of the interior, chairs are arranged in a punctured circle. A used but empty ashtray is positioned by one chair's leg. Over some of the seats, playing card hands are precariously balanced, still fanned out as if the players intend to pick up the same game upon their return.
"The gang had a party and didn't think to invite me?" Pouting with false indignation, Hisoka kicks at an empty beer can close by.
It belatedly occurs to him that they're better off leaving this location undisturbed. As he's fetching the rolling can, he stops and studies a spot on the floor.
"Come check this out." Once the boy has joined him, Hisoka points. Some ash has scattered on the floor in a distinctly angular shape. "See that? I think something squarish was spread over there earlier. A rug, perhaps. Or a blanket."
"So?"
"So where have all the cigarettes gone? Were they bundled up in the blanket and thrown out? I have to tell you, these people aren't the types to clean up after themselves, especially after a bender like this." Hisoka picks up the beer can he kicked. "These littered cans are proof of that."
But Kurapika isn't paying attention to Hisoka's speculative process. "Let's visit their next hangout, wherever that may be. We have to hurry."
They leave the warehouse. Rather than retracing their path through the woods, however, Hisoka walks around the building's perimeter.
Kurapika hurries after him. "Hisoka? Shouldn't we get going?"
"Just trust me. Call it a gut feeling."
Whatever protests Kurapika keeps up dies down once they round the corner. A shovel is propped against the back stretch of the building.
Hisoka snatches up the tool and sets it on his shoulder. "Just as I suspected."
Kurapika says nothing. He can only stare at Hisoka as a series of emotions flits over his face. Shock. Disbelief. Terror. The beginnings of a boundless grief.
Hisoka trains his amber eyes on the ground. "We should follow these footprints. The enormous ones, to be the exact. Only Uvogin would be dense enough to leave this shovel here, out in the open, for anyone to find."
They track Uvogin's path through the woodland behind the warehouse. Where the giant's footprints end, the ground has been freshly disturbed. It's all Hisoka can do not to sigh — he's been harboring fantasies of spending days and days going on a wild goose chase with this golden boy. Curse that giant and his bird brain for making this hunt too damn easy.
Just as Hisoka starts attacking the ground with the shovel, Kurapika staggers off. Bracing against the trunk of a leafless tree, the boy regurgitates his breakfast over its roots. He remains there for a minute, eyes affixed on the peeling bark as if it might reveal answers other than what lies behind.
Kurapika traipses back toward the dig site. Hisoka offers him the shovel, but the boy gets on his knees and begins scooping out clumps of soil with his bare hands.
Once the shovel comes into contact with something that clearly isn't dirt, Hisoka tosses the tool aside. He crouches so he can also dig with his fingers. Side by side, they soon unearth a long object wrapped within a sheet.
Kurapika's face is turning greenish once more.
"Move aside, Kurapika. You'll make yourself sick again."
But Kurapika's fists only ball up the sheets as if he can't bear to ever let go.
With some difficulty, Hisoka rolls the object upward, out of its fairly shallow grave. He sits back on his heels to watch as Kurapika, with trembling fingers, peels back the sheet.
Wailing. While it isn't the first time Hisoka's stared death in the face, the wretchedness of the wailing beside him chills him to his core.
Kurapika gathers the corpse into his arms, but he seems to be holding more absence than substance. The bare chest is riddled with countless stab wounds and slashes. The eyes are gouged out and replaced with stubbed-out cigarettes. Brownish blood besmirches a mouth with all its teeth knocked out.
Eyes screwed shut, Kurapika is rocking back and forth. Through an outpouring of tears, he's murmuring the same name without stopping, almost as if he's ushering its owner into eternal sleep with this demented two-note lullaby.
Then his eyes flutter open again. They gaze at the swollen face resting on the crook of his arm.
Hisoka's entire being jolts as he glimpses, through the glimmer of the boy's tears, the blazing irises he's witnessed once before.
That fateful day in the hideout, even as the dead boy's red glare seized everyone else's attention, Hisoka could only ogle at Kurapika. As shaken as Kurapika was by the assault, his face rippled with an intensity that had nothing to do with fear. A rosy color was suffusing over his eyes, deepening as the seconds went by. By the time his cousin finished berating the others, Kurapika's eyes were glowing like the rarest of rubies. More profound and more dynamic than the raging color displayed by his cousin.
At that moment, Hisoka decided he would waste no time and spare no expense in his mission to obtain those gems to the exclusion of everyone else.
He's as captivated now as he was then. Kurapika's sorrowful eyes are a crimson cage locking Hisoka in place. The mourning goes on. It continues for so long that Hisoka eventually loses all feeling in his limbs. It's only when the fiery color fades — reverting to the brown of fallen leaves — that Hisoka announces it's time for them to go.
News of the Spider's legal embroilment spreads across the school like wildfire. Since it's a closed trial, the specific details of the murder case are very hush-hush. Hisoka, however, is privy to this information, given his links to the accused individuals and to the cousin of the deceased.
During the proceedings, the spoon used to empty the dead boy's eye sockets is introduced into the evidence. The Spiders mechanically maintain that they have no idea where the eyeballs went. Every time this question is presented, all thirteen of the accused assert once again that they only acted out of self-defense.
The boy had red eyes like a demon, the Spiders swear on the stand. He was threatening to curse the gang to an eternity in hell. What else could they all do except head him off and send him there first?
In the end, the Spider's claim of self-defense fails. Because they're all under eighteen, every gang member is sentenced to detention in a juvenile institution. Upon completion of their sentences, their records will be expunged and their names will be changed. They'll each be sent to a far-flung location within Kukan'yu Kingdom.
A restraining order prevents them from getting in touch with their fellow gang members or with anyone in the family of the deceased. This includes the dead boy's parents, who learned of the tragedy through a long-distance telephone call. Neither parent touched down on Lukso for the trial of their son's slayers. But it's not like they'll ever have a reason to visit the province again, for pleasure or otherwise.
Both during and after the trial's progression, Kurapika regularly shows his face in school. He doesn't miss a single day. He attends all his classes. He does his homework. He takes his tests. He silently accepts the applause as teachers announce that he has, once again, ranked first in the batch, obliterating every academic record of which the school keeps track. He returns to his residence upon being dismissed. Rinse and repeat.
On the surface, nothing has changed. But beneath the surface, nothing's left there anymore. He's going through the motions. No rhyme or reason. A pendulum swinging back and forth only because it knows not how to stop.
Almost as soon as the bell rings, Hisoka's standing outside Kurapika's classroom to fetch him. The junior observes by the doorway as Kurapika's classmates flock toward him, inundating him with tight-lipped smiles and bracing pats on the back. If Hisoka didn't know better, he'd have guessed that Kurapika himself was on his deathbed — that would certainly explain how his classmates' words wither around his blank face like petals from store-bought sympathy bouquets.
They only spare the boy from their condolences when Hisoka comes to claim him. Hisoka suspects that's the primary reason Kurapika tolerates his presence. In the library, he allows Hisoka to sit beside him and drape a long arm over the back of his chair. Kurapika makes no attempts at conversation as he first studies his textbooks, then the assigned readings for the years ahead, then the rest of the library's books.
"Ever considered inquiring whether you can skip a year or two?" Hisoka asks him once. "Perhaps we can be in the same class for senior year. Wouldn't that be fun?"
Kurapika doesn't reply. Then again, he never does. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the humongous book he's currently plowing through.
Hisoka slides down his seat, only stopping when their heads are on the same level. As slowly as humanly possible, he leans sideward so that his lips are a hair's breadth away from the boy's ear. He whispers, with his tone almost loving:
"They're missing because they were eaten, you know."
Hisoka's dream from before is finally fulfilled. As his breath diffuses and as his fingernails scrape over the delicate skin of that slender neck, gooseflesh arises on the boy's nape. He doesn't even appear to be breathing.
"I know because their leader told me himself," Hisoka continues. "He scooped out your cousin's eyes with a spoon, sliced them up into thirteen, and fed them to his followers, who dutifully lined up for this unholy communion. He's got a penchant for bastardizing religion and all its rituals. You understand that better than anyone, don't you?"
A crash echoes in the closed space as Kurapika's chair topples backward. Before Hisoka can blink, the boy's already racing out of the library. Heart pumping hot blood to every extremity, Hisoka gives chase.
There's his target — a flash of gold whipping around the corner. Hisoka bounds into the bathroom and catches the door of the chosen cubicle before the boy can lock him out. Kurapika whirls around and drops to his knees. Gripping the tank of the toilet, he heaves whatever's left of him into the bowl.
Hisoka has to stifle his laughter as he leans against the door jamb. "You sure don't have a stomach for much, if anything. Weren't those murderers considerate? If nothing else, at least they didn't force you to partake of their last supper together."
Eyes flickering with their former brilliance, the boy turns toward Hisoka. Breathtaking. Hisoka has to remind himself not to ravage the target then and there. Victory may be in sight, but the timing has to be right.
"Don't you get it yet? The way you're looking at me is a problem." Hisoka points over his own shoulder toward the bathroom mirror. "This commonality you have with your late cousin — it's a goddamn time bomb. Your life will go up in smoke once it detonates."
Kurapika's response is raspy, as if he's mostly forgotten how to use his voice. "I can't help what I am. If it happens, it happens."
"Drop the defeatist attitude," Hisoka chides. "How unbecoming for a golden boy like you. Tell you what, I'll see you after school. It's high time for your real schooling to commence. Someone's got to whip you into shape, and I'm only too happy to volunteer my services for the role."