I'm late but I'm back! Alright so this a/n is going to be short just like this chapter, which I'm sure you'll all hate. You can all curse me in your reviews for which I thank you all.

Chapter: 16

"Peril."

The frosty breeze of December pierced through the girl's brown locks as she tightened her fingers around the cords of a coloured paper bag with her free hand, the other in the pocket of the fair-haired teenager's coat, intertwined with his. The sound of laughter and chatter all around the city streets was warm enough to divert the numbness left by the cold, deserted path that lead out of the graveyard.

A thick layer of snow covered the side of the pavement creating a golden glow on the edge, cast by the twinkling lights on the towering trees. The windows at every corner glinted with hopes and reflected dreams.

"Say something," invited the blue-eyed boy.

The brunette sighed, her misty breath easily visible in the cold air. "I had really prayed it wouldn't snow this time."

He shot her an astonished look. "Man, you're a Christmas dream-wrecker," he accused as they walked ahead.

"I'm a human with controversial taste," she defended. "I mean, you can totally make a snowman with sand."

"Except that would be a sandman, who happens to be a villain," he scoffed. "Just a sign from the universe, right there."

"We could also have sand-angels and sand-cones."

"If you were in charge, this would be a very merry world."

"Different strokes for different folks." She shrugged, looking ahead.

They took a turn, passing by the church; carols could be heard clearly from somewhere nearby that faded as they went ahead. "So, I'm guessing Christmas isn't your favourite time of the year."

There was an instant of silence after which she attempted to smile. "Used to be."

He turned his gaze away, afraid of being crushed by what he would see on her face. "I like Halloween," he confessed in order to divert her attention.

"No surprise there," she informed, following him as they sat down on the cold bench just steps away.

"Not just because of the candy; there's just something about a good scare that brings everything into perspective," he mused.

She pulled both of their joint hands out of his pocket. "There are those bone shaped cookies I don't like, it feels like eating real bones."

"Except bones wouldn't taste like that."

"How would you know?" she challenged.

The former assassin rolled his eyes and took out a small box from his pocket. "Hope, for as long as we stand by it, is our greatest strength." He exposed the glittering bracelet on her wrist, then opened the lid of the small box and fastened another charm around the bracelet, right next to the shiny K that already hung from it.

The seventeen-year-old lifted her arm to examine the newly added silver figure. "A snowflake?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled at her questioning gaze. "A symbol to show that even though winters are cold, it doesn't mean they're not beautiful."

She met his gaze and gave him a small beam. "You surprise me just about every day." She gently took out the sapphire-blue scarf from the bag clutched in her hand and tied it around his neck. "It reminded me of your eyes," she revealed. "And also, the chocolates will not be considered a proper gift, alright?"

He suppressed a smile. "Merry Christmas, Claire."

She leaned closer, feeling his warmth. "Merry Christmas, Killua." She whispered the words on his lips as silent tears fell down her cheeks.

"Would you like more sugar?" My calculus teacher offered when I was seated in his lounge with a cup of tea.

"No thanks," I declined, clearing my throat. I rubbed my thumbs nervously around it; for some reason his apartment gave me the creeps.

"So," he began after taking a sip, his tone very casual.

"So... what's it going to be? A sort of big test or something?" I inquired.

He raised an eyebrow and blinked his green eyes like he wasn't expecting that. "Oh—well, a test? You've been missing all your classes and you still think you can study for a test?" he demanded, surprised.

I gestured awkwardly with one hand. "Yeah—I can totally catch up, Killua can help me out," I stammered. "I mean, I've already got tons of assignments and this sounds like the easiest thing to do right now."

He studied my face for a second. "Alright," he agreed, his voice lacking interest. "Speaking of Killua, I didn't see him around today."

I resisted the urge to grimace. "He was busy," I said shortly.

"You two seem very close," he commented.

I stared at him for a moment; did I imagine the change in his tone? "We're good friends." I sipped some tea during an awkward silence.

"Love," he whispered finally. "It's a wonderful feeling, and of course, there is nothing worse than losing a loved one." His voice got very hard at some point while talking, as if he wasn't even addressing me anymore.

I sat still and silent, not knowing what to say.

"Can I ask you a question?" He directed his gaze to me, as if he was suddenly aware of his surroundings again.

I nodded, feeling very uncomfortable.

"If someone took from you a person you loved, what would you do to them?"

"I'd despise myself for the rest of my life," I answered honestly, shifting my legs.

He gave me dazed look. "Yourself—you would despise yourself?"

I sighed. "Yes, because I know that whether true or not or whether possible or not, I would find a reason to blame myself for losing that person, for not being able to do anything or for not being there." It wasn't hard at all to explain, since all I had to do was state what I felt every day after losing my dad.

Keitomaro's shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes. "No hate towards the killer?"

"That's not humanly possible," I replied, forcing a small smile.

He exhaled deeply and looked at the floor. "What if you had the opportunity to do the same to them?" The timbre of his voice was rough now.

For a second, I thought I saw water in his eyes. "Even so, I can't see myself doing that," I responded. "I wouldn't want my regrets to, ultimately, kill me."

He didn't speak. After rubbing his eyes twice, he bore his gaze into mine; there was a wild glint in them now. "Have you ever felt remorse?"

The question was brief, simple, yet terrifying.

"Seriously, Killua, I can't do this," complained the brunette as she attempted to steady herself.

The silver-haired boy glanced at her as he put one hand on her shoulder and another around her waist. "Don't worry, if you die, I'll make sure you're remembered in good words."

She threw him a skeptical look and took a deep breath as she stood on the skateboard. "The last thing I am is athletic."

He rolled his eyes. "No one's sending you off to the skateboarding Olympics, take a breath."

"I'm as positively sure that I'll suck at this just as much as I am sure that there is no skateboarding olympics."

"Humor Claire, humor," he said patting her back.

"You're just doing this so you can laugh at me, you know I can still recall the time you almost drowned me very clearly." She emphasized the last words.

He sighed. "I regret that to this day; now keep your balance."

She flipped her hair to look at him. "Wow, good one."

He couldn't help but smirk. "That wasn't intended."

"Killua, let me get off this thing."

"What are the odds of that?" he asked, caressing her cheek.

"Just as many as there are that I won't fall."

"You won't fall," he assured.

"I will."

"I won't let you."

"What if I do anyways?"

"I'll catch you," he said, taking her hand.

"Do you promise?" she said, holding his gaze.

"I promise, I won't let you fall."

"Remorse?" I repeated.

He leaned his head against the couch. "See, Claire, sometimes in life we have to do things we don't want and crush innocent things just because of the deep influence they have."

I looked up at him.

"How do you destroy a strong rival?" he questioned, changing his position and fixing his sight on me. "By striking their weak point," he retorted to himself.

I ripped my gaze away from his and looked out the window, trying to control the sudden trembling of my hands. "I think it stopped raining," I whispered.

He didn't move an inch. "It's still raining."

My stomach felt very hollow all of a sudden. "I should get going, it's pretty late."

He signaled with his hands for me not to move. "You're a very smart girl Claire, with such a unique mindset. You amaze me."

I tried to keep my breathing steady.

"A life like yours isn't worth wasting, I would never hurt you," he said convincingly.

I sat there completely motionless, suddenly hyper-aware of my clammy hands.

"But I'm helpless," he added. "Believe me, if I had any other way—" he continued with his head in his hands.

I tried to keep calm and think rationally. Very carefully and soundlessly, I slowly moved my hand to my pocket. If I could just reach—

"Don't bother," he advised, breaking off his tirade. He raised an object in his hand until it was clearly visible: my cell phone.

I shut my eyes and tried to inhale, my throat felt too tight now.

"You're very easy to distract," he remarked, standing up now. "Judging the way you're not demanding any reason for this, I believe you already know everything; has he told you?"

I wanted desperately to say something, just ask him to make sense of all of this, but I couldn't seem to find my voice.

"But then again, if you did know everything, you wouldn't have been foolish enough to follow me here." He ate up the distance between us and knelt down before me.

My fingers shivered so violently that the porcelain cup in my hand, which I didn't even seem to remember holding, escaped my hands and shattered as it fell to the floor. The sound of it appeared to be echoing from every direction.

He stared down at the fragments with an empty expression and then directed his attention back to me. "Don't be scared," he consoled. "I don't want to do this, I have nothing against you—It's him, it was all him," he explained in a hysterical voice. "He took my family from me, he murdered them all—it was all him," he repeated.

I mustered the strength to clench my jaw and stop the whimper that nearly escaped my lips.

"You don't need to be afraid," he resumed. "You won't suffer—I—I'll make it as painless as possible; you'll forgive me won't you?" he pleaded, widening his eyes. "You have a very kind soul, you won't hold anything against me—" He placed his hands on my knees. "—you won't—"

As a reflex, my leg shot up and my boot made contact with his arm, causing him to fall back to the coffee table behind him. I couldn't help the tears rushing out of my eyes now. "Get away from me! You're insane!" I shouted.

He got up and steadied himself, his expression was completely inhumane. In a matter of seconds, he caught both my arms and pushed me against the couch. "Yes! I'm insane! I'm crazy!" His voice was unrecognizable now.

I couldn't help but sob; my body failed to obey any of my commands anymore.

"Why aren't you screaming?" he bellowed. "Why aren't you asking for mercy? Do you still think he's going to rescue you?"

I struggled to pry his fingers away from my arms. "Go to hell," I hoarsely cursed, my voice barely audible. The only thing I was praying right now was for my mother to be strong enough to handle one more loss.

The violent wind repeatedly struck against the window glass, producing a tapping sound, but the sound seemed to be inaudible to the two figures sprawled on the couch, their attentions held by the scenario playing on the television screen.

The silver-haired boy directed his gaze to the girl lying in his arms, most parts of her visage covered by her brown locks. "Well, you're awfully quiet. I was expecting a major, verbal essay after that dialogue."

She didn't respond nor did she move; he realized she wasn't breathing.

Raising an eyebrow, he held her shoulders and shifted her position as to face him. "Are you crying?" he asked, astonished.

She immediately covered her wet eyes. "No," she lied.

He gave her an affectionate glance and wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Claire?"

She took a deep breath and removed her hands from her face. "How dare do they do that to her? I mean— just why did they decide to kill her off in the end, after all she's been through and— and— that lying jerk-face of a boyfriend she has, who loves her but is too coward to tell her the truth, I mean—"

"She's not dead," he reminded her.

"But she's going to be, I mean there is no fucking way that he's going to save her," she argued.

"He's going to save her."

"That— okay let's consider the absurdity of that happening, will he be man enough to tell her everything?"

"Yes," he paused, "This movie is a total cliche, I honestly can't believe you actually felt something while watching it."

She finally relaxed and threw him a skeptical look. "You've watched this before, haven't you?"

He smirked as he looked back to the screen. "That might be a possibility."

She groaned. "You're such a jerk." She picked up the remote and shut it off.

"What the— you could, at least, have watched the ending."

"So, he totally rescues her, right? And they have a happy ending, right?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's a bliss; except instead of telling her himself, she sort of finds out on her own."

"And accepts it?"

"Well— I'm not gonna tell you," he concluded.

"What? Why?"

"Because, I want you to see it for yourself."

She huffed. "You could just tell me."

"And spoil your fun? Nah, everyone likes a little thrill and a good mystery."

"Not me, I totally want you to spoil it for me."

"No way," he shook his head, smirking. "Find out for yourself."

Killua's P.O.V:-

I drove past the main street with my fingers angrily clenched on the steering wheel. I honestly couldn't believe we wasted a whole day on utter and complete shit. I took the last turn and parked in front of her house.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head against the car seat and quickly texted for Claire to come out. I held my head in my hands and waited for her reply for a minute; when that didn't happen, which I found very unusual since she always answered within seconds, I hit dial and was surprised to be sent to voicemail. Maybe she left her phone in her room and was downstairs,

I got out of the car and knocked lightly on the front door. After a few minutes, her mother answered the door, her eyes looking tired.

"Oh Killua, I'm so glad you're here. Is Claire with you? She isn't answering her phone. I'm sure she's out of battery, as usual," she said, quickly rushing through the words.

My muscles tensed on their own. Claire didn't come back home from school and wasn't picking up her mobile. I tried to process the information in my head.

"Killua?" Hana addressed, concerned.

"Y-yes," I stuttered. "She's at my place, sorry, she forgot to tell you," I lied. The last thing I was going to do was tell a pregnant woman who had just recently lost her husband that her only daughter was missing.

"Oh, okay. Do you need something?" she asked, keeping her balance by holding the door-frame.

"Yeah, actually we're working on an assignment and she needed her laptop, so she asked me to get it." I lied fluently.

"Sure, can you get it yourself, honey? I'm not supposed to climb the stairs," she apologized.

"Of course," I assured as I went in and tried to keep my face composed. Once I was out of her sight, I quickly grabbed her laptop from the side-table and rushed down. "I'm off okay?" I called from the door, just about to leave.

"Killua, wait a minute." She stopped me.

"Yeah?"

She caught her breath and smiled at me. "Thank you."

I raised my eyebrows. "What?"

"You know, Claire was a mess after—after Hachiro—" She broke off. "—and you just pulled her back together and—gosh, I really don't know how to thank you and just thank you doesn't cover it, but thank you." I wasn't expecting it when she lowered to my face, kissed me on my forehead and embraced me.

For an instant, I just froze until I awkwardly put my free arm around her and wished this moment would last longer than it did. It was the first time in five years that I realized that, even though I was repeatedly denying it, I missed my mother.

I put the laptop on the passenger seat as I got in the car and drove a block ahead before parking by the local park. I pulled out my cell and dialed Gon's number.

"Hey, Claire isn't there with you, is she?" My tone was a bit too hopeful.

"Uh—was she supposed to be here?"

I sighed. "I can't find her anywhere and she won't pick up."

"I'll look around the block, okay?" he assured me.

I felt exhausted. "Thanks, man."

I quickly searched the area and then drove to a place I thought it was highly unlikely she'd be. I knocked several times before the brunette with the unbearably high-pitched voice answered the door.

"Killua?" she asked, startled.

I didn't blame her, this was probably the first and last time she'd see me here. "Nora, please tell me Claire is here with you," I pleaded.

She grimaced at me. "Why would she be here?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Did you see her at school?"

"Yeah, she didn't talk to me, though," she said in an offended manner.

"Where did she go after school?"

"I don't know," she retorted, uninterested.

"Nora." I breathed and chose the word that I had never used with anyone in my life. "I beg you, if you have the slightest idea where Claire is, please—please just tell me."

Her expression softened. "I—I did see her on the school ground, she was with Mr. Keitomaro, probably discussing how to catch up her grades and—"

My eyes widened and for what seemed an eternity, I felt numb. I found my feet dragging me away even before I made a conscious decision to do so. My body felt too heavy as I strode forward. Please, let her be okay. Let her alright. I chanted in my head as I drove forward into the endless night praying, begging that she'd be safe and pushing back all the horrifying thoughts that my mind threw at me as I bolted in the direction of the setting sun.

Claire's P.O.V:-

My wrists were covered in bleeding marks that I didn't have the strength to look at. A deep pain surging throughout my arms from where his nails had pierced my skin. His berserk voice was ringing throughout the room, I could barely understand what he was saying; I barely had any energy left to breathe. There was a loud noise—things being slammed forcefully together until there was a complete silence, the kind that was ominous.

Once again, the man approached me; his hair looked frantic and his eyes were wild. Very slowly, he revealed the item in his trembling hand and brought it closer to me. The handgun made contact with my forehead and I just closed my eyes waiting for it all to finish.

"I will make it painless," he repeated. "I just want him to feel the agony I felt; I want him to hold your lifeless body and feel as helpless as I did."

I coughed, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my throat. "Who the hell do you keep talking about?" I finally asked weakly. I felt the cold metal that was touching my skin move away. I opened my eyes and saw him observing me with his hollow gaze.

"You ask me who I keep mentioning?" His voice was empty and lost. "You are here, approaching death because of him and you don't even know who he is?"

"Who don't I know?"

He dropped the pistol from his hand and remained silent for a moment. "Killua Zoldyck," he disclosed in a whisper.

My head jerked straight instantly. "What?"

He grabbed my hand and nodded. "Yes, the heir, that is who I speak of; Killua Zoldyck."

"Z-Zoldyck? You're—wrong, they—the Zoldycks killed my—" I freed my hand forcefully, unable to comprehend my own actions. "Don't touch me—you're lying! You're a maniac!"

He tittered in rough breaths. "Yes, the Zoldycks, they are responsible for every loss. They are to be despised, that boy is a peril; he is a killer."

The last word echoed in my ears like a painful cry. I wasn't breathing, I needed air. I wanted to tell him he was wrong but felt barely conscious. He was wrong. He was wrong.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a moment later, the door fell to the ground in pieces. The figure standing there was only scarcely visible. My lungs were hurting.

Before I could even understand the occurring events, the shadow of the newly entered person vanished in a blur and Keitomaro's form disappeared from before me; the next thing my eyes registered was his feeble shape thrown on the floor as he let out unbearable screams of agony.

The last thing I remembered seeing were the bloody claws of a killer, that I thought I knew, standing motionless beside the headless body of the man who nearly killed me.

Death is a reality, considered surreal,

to whom it horrifies and to whom it appeals.