Chapter 5:

"Seventeen."

At seventeen, Killua Zoldyck wasn't your typical teenager. Unlike his peers fueled by impulsive decisions, Killua was a prodigy trained by his assassin family to be a weapon. Despite breaking away, that kind of upbringing isn't something you can just shrug off. Which is why his every move, every word, was a calculated step in a carefully choreographed dance. His silver hair, often styled in sharp points that mirrored his personality, framed an analytical gaze that missed nothing. Even a casual observer could feel something unsettling simmering beneath the surface, a dangerous package wrapped in an unassuming teenage exterior. Of course, they'd never be able to really put their finger on it.

Killua Zoldyck was not a man who did things on a whim. He chased thrill, enjoyed detours, and engaged in the occasional short-term pleasure, sure. But you'd be sourly mistaken to assume that he stepped into any of those pursuits without a marathon of estimations preceding them. Which was why his and Gon's temporary relocation to this unbearable little town wasn't a spontaneous little vacation tempted by a desire for a simpler living.

No, what led the calculated Killua Zoldyck to this practically non-existent location tucked in the middle of nowhere was the seemingly unending chase for Ging Freecss. Even the ghost of a whisper about him was enough for them to dart to any corner of the world. That was what they had been doing for the past five years after all.

Five years. The number had a bitter tang on his tongue. He'd envisioned this chase as a whirlwind – a test of his honed skills, a furious sprint to uncover the enigma that was Ging. Reality, however, had been a grueling marathon, punctuated by dead ends, false leads, and Gon's ever-optimistic determination chipping away at his own cynical edges. He'd expected frustration, exhaustion maybe, even a flicker of doubt.

A solitary sigh of frustration escaped him as he ran a practiced eye over the monotonous streak of buildings. This wasn't exactly fertile ground for Ging's eccentric brand of archaeology, but in some strange coincidence, it was exactly the kind of place the one man who knew him ran off to. The man they were given intel on was a one-hit wonder of the county's most well-known intelligence. His one novelty act though made him the most solid lead they had yet.

Questions. Questions. Questions. Killua could only wonder why a man with a past like that had decided to pack up and take employment as a teacher of all things in a desolate place like this. Questions that would be no good to entertain because their answers lied elsewhere. Killua couldn't help but scoff at the cliché. Here they were, undercover as high schoolers, to snoop in a podunk town of all places.

While there were more than a handful of questions Killua needed to rely on others for answers, the one question that he should be able to answer was this: What business did he have developing a strange, unexplained interest in an unassuming girl from said-podunk town? He knew himself, and to say this was uncharacteristic was a severe understatement. How was that it that out of nowhere he found himself chasing-he shuddered-someone.

He couldn't think of a single thing she had to offer that would awaken this kind of unprecedented behavior in him. She was attractive, for sure, but had nothing striking her apart from the array of pretty girls he had frequented and enjoyed. Not that he didn't think of unchaste ideas when his gaze dropped to her feisty mouth, but he was equally interested in what it had to say and its taste. This was new because Killua usually liked to be the only smart-mouth in the picture. Any attraction that he had had in the past was settled very quickly and in a very standard way. The problem here was he could and wanted very much to do all those things— but he didn't want to risk losing her strangely captivating company in the pursuit of experiencing her in other, more carnal ways.

To top it all off he had no idea what he wanted from her, or what he wanted out of hanging around her. Not only was this annoyingly distracting, but it was also a confusing ordeal. Where was he taking this thing? What was this thing in the first place? He couldn't help but feel in some abandoned little place in his mind that he had felt compulsion like this before, but not like this, not for another person. With no answers coming even close to satisfying, all he could do was light a smoke and allow it to somewhat loosen the knots of heightened awareness in his mind, or provide a distraction trying. What a mess.

That particular morning I had decided to get a walk in before school because I wanted to see the scenic view right by the central park. The leaves had just turned crispy and acquired various hues of red by this time in early September. It was a solitary tradition I had made with myself for the past handful of years.

I was just on my way out when I spotted a beefy figure standing right next to me. It was a miracle that a shriek alerting the whole neighborhood didn't escape me. "Mr. Domoto!" I exclaimed, putting a hand on my heart to calm myself down.

The tall man stood there with a plate of cookies in his hands like he was a hired prop for our doorway. "I baked a batch of snickerdoodles and thought you'd like some," he explained, holding the plate out for proof.

Mr. Ren Domoto was our neighbor of over five years, at this point, he was pretty much family. Calling him by his surname had nothing to do with formality, it actually had become a bit of a standing joke for no reason really. He also had a bit of a tragic backstory where his wife cheating on him had thrown his world completely upside down. I had seen them together, even though briefly, and knew even then that he was really in love. Turns out that love was sadly one-sided. He had developed a penchant for obsessive trust issues ever since.

Now years after the fact, he had finally really started dating again. Despite how different his current relationship was from his past one, his struggle with trust tended to show up announced over and over again. It was a few weeks ago that he had first asked me to quote 'get into his girlfriend's phone with my laptop thingy and steal her messages, but also put them back before she notices.'

"Wow, the first time you bake something, and by the way those are some questionable-looking cookies," I informed, not feeling tempted to grab one, "and it's to bribe me for your evil agenda."

"It's just one small favor, I checked online, and this hacking thing-" he was in the middle of recounting, when I jolted in genuine agitation,

"Shh!" I whisper-shouted with a finger on my lips. I was looking around like I had a bounty on my head. "My mom could hear you!"

I grabbed his arm and led him a few paces away to his door. The thing was my mom would kill me if she found out about the 'hacking thing' and then she'd go on to commit a double murder when she chased and located my dad. His working in a super-intense security company, and my being joined at the hip with him for the past seven-plus years had created a bit of an addiction with us where understanding and using tech was concerned. The irony of him working in tech security but getting involved in the opposite wasn't lost on either of us.

The rhythmic clack of the keyboard was a familiar lullaby in my childhood. My dad, a man who guarded the digital vaults of prestigious companies, would return home after work, grab a mug of coffee (always two sugars), and settle in next to me at the computer. Officially, it was "internet safety training." Unofficially, it was the most thrilling secret adventure we shared.

Lines of code scrolled down the screen, a cryptic language only we understood. We had navigated firewalls like explorers in a jungle, giggling as we bypassed basic security measures. It was all harmless– practice runs, we assured each other–

It all went south the day we stumbled upon a weak link in our neighbor, Mr. Henderson's, home network. Curiosity, a double-edged sword in our arsenal, got the best of us. A peek into Mr. Henderson's seemingly mundane online life turned into a rabbit hole of embarrassing shopping habits, a crude searching history, and a questionable online poker addiction. The laughter died in our throats when a notification popped up, confirming Mr. Henderson's next poker game– at our house. To this day we're not sure how he caught us, my guess was his nerdy brace-face grandson who Mr. Domoto's nephew and I had given an unprompted wedgie many moons ago. He certainly had motive.

Coming back to the point, the ordeal ended in Mr. Henderson's loud barging in at home, a streak of (true) accusations, and my mom's horrified eyes as she realized the sketchy things the remaining two residents of her house had been up to. She went all Solange Knowles on our asses- my dad spending a week on the couch, and me being grounded for twice as much time before that whole incident was put in the past.

"I'll give you anything," Mr. Domoto offered desperately, and, in that moment, I felt really bad for him.

I sighed, feeling that using my secret evil superpower for questionable good was my only option. "Okay, here's what I need."

After my impromptu session violating my neighbor's girlfriend's personal data, I decided the time and my mood for a walk were long past. I had snuck into my house quickly to change, deposit the sketchy cookies in the fridge, and grab my cello case. When I left, I had just reached the end of my driveway, mentally convincing myself for the journey I was going to have to make to the bus stop with the load on my shoulder, when I spotted the sleek black car that stood there unannounced.

It took me an additional minute to see Killua sitting in the driver's seat, with shades on, and looking like he owned this particular block of my neighborhood. I was confused because this was not the car he drove yesterday, and also because I had no idea what he was doing here.

I lowered my head to look at him better and to figure out if he could see me. He turned like some director had yelled action from close by, and lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. I couldn't believe someone could be so fucking pretentious— and also make it look this hot.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd give you a ride to school this morning."

"Why?"

"It's Thursday," he said like that was the most natural explanation in the world. On seeing my dumbfound expression he continued, "you've got your orchestra thing today, I thought I'd give you a break from carrying that around," he explained pointing at the humungous case I was sporting.

For several moments I was speechless. When I eventually managed to open my mouth, nothing but incoherent stammers came out. He was so… thoughtful.

"Okay…" was all the genius I could manage with the wave of emotion I was trying to fight.

He was out of the car and took the case from me to place it on the backseat. That little action didn't go past me unnoticed either. Nor did his holding the door open for me again.

When I got in I decided I liked the interior of this car even better. It also helped that it had a quiet luxury thing going on for it on the outside, contrary to its flashy predecessor.

"You changed your car?" I asked when he was back in the driver's seat. "Or are you just that insufferably snobby to have two cars?"

"The last one was a rental," he clarified, pushing his shades on the top of his head, "apparently, getting a decent car shipped across the country takes longer than, you know, actually buying one."

I made a face at him. "Are you secretly loaded or something?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Secretly? No, obviously." His answer did nothing but leave me confused. "But it's rude to talk money in polite company, present one excluded, of course."

"Funny," I taunted, in a monotonous way. "Are you done?"

"No, actually," he admitted and then proceeded to turn to the backseat to seemingly retrieve something. "Here." He handed me a paper bag with the logo of the nicest breakfast spot in town.

I was at a loss of words again on peeking inside it and seeing an overloaded bagel sandwich. The smell was absolutely heavenly, the gesture even more so. "You- got me breakfast?" I confirmed, not sure how to process this.

"I thought you might not have had time to have any," he explained, speaking as if this was barely worth any mention as he turned to start the car.

The moment was very intense, and it didn't help that he leaned towards me. It took me a minute again to figure out that he was fastening my seatbelt. Yelp, I was bad at remembering safety protocols.

"You know, I'm confused," I admitted, "I just can't seem to reconcile the various parts of your personality… supermarket asshole," I said holding one palm out sideways, "guy who does thoughtful things." I held out the other. "How are these alter egos co-existing?"

He was focused on the rearview mirror seeing as he was backing the car out. "Simple," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The world isn't black and white. People have complexities, hidden depths even. Besides, candy is serious business."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "But I thought you said you weren't nice," I reminded him.

"I can be a little nice…" He relented, his eyes moving sideways to look at me. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

"Ah… I think I'll indulge in this later," I scheduled, holding the bag closer to my chest.

His gaze was darting between me and the road several times now. "You're not one of those girls who pretends to be too dainty to eat in front of a guy, are you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh my God, are you one of those weirdos who get a boner from watching other people eat?"

A snort escaped him, turning into full-blown laughter. I swear I saw the hint of tears in the corners of his eyes.

I stared at him concerned. I was beginning to suspect that part of the reason he was so hell-bent on engaging with me was to hear my responses when we bickered. "Again, confused," I pressed, "brooding guy who goes stiff anytime he's asked anything about himself," I said repeating the same motion with my hands, "dorky guy who snorts while he laughs."

"Hmm," he contemplated, passing one hand through his hair like he was shooting for a commercial for hair gel. "You just say unexpected things."

I rolled my eyes at his grand explanation. "And what about your allergic reaction to exchanging any kind of personal details?"

"What's wrong with being reserved?"

"There's a fine line between being reserved and turning into a human pretzel at the slight mention of anything about yourself."

"Not creative," he remarked, maneuvering the wheel.

"I'm just saying, seeing as you clearly want us to spend time together, I should at least know the bare minimum about you. Like if I say I know this guy, you," I clarified, gesturing at him, "I should be able to say a few basic details about you if asked."

"And who would ask?"

"Who wouldn't? Everyone stares at you, and I'm sure they see us around each other. You've also met my mom; she asked about you, I really know nothing."

He processed that for a minute. "Okay, we'll go through the basics, but you have to tell me the same things too," he granted, sounding pained.

"Alright," I agreed, "how old are you?"

"Seventeen, you?"

"Me too. Where are you from?" I progressed, making sure to see the changes on his face as the questions got more invasive.

He took his time with that one. "The Dentora Region," he gave up eventually. "And you?"

That answer rang a faint bell in my mind, like I knew of someone from there, but I couldn't recall who for the life of me. "I don't remember where I'm really from, but my parents were born and raised here, if that counts."

He nodded, accepting the response.

"Why'd your family move here?" I furthered.

That one hit a nerve with him, I could tell. He was probably going to backhand me and put an end to this. "I… don't live with my family," he revealed, focusing on the road even though I could tell now that he didn't really need to.

"So, you're like… emancipated or something?"

"I guess you could say that," he said with a sigh. At this point, I knew I should have probably stopped, but I couldn't help myself.

"So, why are you here? You don't look like someone who'd enjoy the idea of living in a small town," I confessed, trying to read his face like it was my calling in life.

"I needed a change in pace, and yes, I wasn't exactly partial to the idea of coming here before…" he admitted, sounding awfully like he had changed his mind since then.

"And now?"

"And now," he began, boring his eyes into mine, "we're here."

It was like a button was pressed and I could feel the pull of gravity again. I hadn't even realized that the car had stopped or that we were parked in the school lot.

I exhaled to gather my wits and refused his offer of carrying my cello case all the way in. He didn't press further and we parted ways at the entrance. I could tell he was a bit unnerved, but all that did was pique my curiosity further.