Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Illumi's brothers and sister were safe, and free, and that was enough. It had to be enough. 

It had to be, because that's all he was left with: the knowledge that they made it out. The blackness and silence surrounding him offered little comfort otherwise, sending him to a dark, teetering brink. His psyche had been fractured long before the final battle that killed his parents, his captors, and freed his siblings of a life of bloody servitude. And now his mind sat, a cracked thing, inside his head. He couldn't count the minutes, hours, or days; he could barely count to ten before the words clogged his mind, incomprehensible.

A faint drip-drip-drip of some leaking pipe came from one far corner of the cell, filling the cold, rocky space with the scent of sewage. Most likely filling the cell with sewage—slowly. He wondered if it would eventually flood enough to kill him in black water, or if he'd die from starvation first.

He couldn't even kill himself. That, too, would offer comfort: the choice to end his suffering. But it was impossible inside these nen-suppressing chains. He was as weak as a normal, average man with no training in combat or nen. If only that had always been true. What would his life have been like if he'd been normal? Born to a normal family?

Would his brother have saved him? Like he saved the other Zoldyck kids?

Illumi was no kid . That's why Killua left him, after freeing the bonds on their other siblings—because Illumi wasn't one of them. He belonged with the bloated corpses of his parents and grandfather down here, in this lightless place.

If they had been a normal family, Killua wouldn't have had to make any sort of decision like that, Illumi reasoned. They would make choices like which kind of hot dog to buy at the grocery store—tofu and all beef, because Illumi didn't eat meat, and his parents certainly didn't eat shitty meat. If they had been a normal family, they would be seated at a picnic table, and Illumi would probably have a closely-cropped head of hair, a wife, and a job in sales. He'd wear suits and he'd buy Milluki tickets to the midnight release of the next big superhero movie and he'd make sure Alluka got to attend summer camps to make friends her age and he'd help teach Kalluto how to do fractions after school.

And Killua wouldn't have left him here, in an inescapable dungeon, where he was dying, slowly, over the course of many days.

Illumi was right that the sewage began to flood, and he was also right that it was very, very slow. He slumped against the wall he was chained to. The thirst and hunger had become part of him, connected to him like two bleeding limbs. For maybe the thousandth time, Illumi tried to bite off his own tongue, to choke on it, but the cloth gag tied around his head remained firmly in place, unmoving, and he couldn't get his teeth around it enough to bite through the flesh.

He truly could do nothing—nothing at all—but patiently wait to die.

He lost feeling at some point. Not just his legs or hands, but everywhere. He couldn't feel his bare, naked skin as the sewage water lapped up, rising slowly around his thighs. It wasn't safe to stay submerged in water like this long-term, but like with all his current problems: Illumi had no way to solve it.

The hunger would get him before trench foot. But maybe the drowning would beat them both.

He moaned very quietly, stretching down towards the water. If he could just bend enough to sink his head beneath it, he could fill his lungs and die.

But there was another chain around his shoulders, and it remained steadfast.

And the thing is, Illumi really thought those were the only two options available to him, down there, in the dungeon. Either Killua would change his mind, and return for him—or Illumi could somehow manage to kill himself, and end his suffering.

It never once crossed his mind that there was a third option available, because it never crossed Illumi's mind that someone outside the Zoldyck line would care if he went missing; if his phone was found abandoned outside an airport; if he didn't make it to the biweekly brunch he had attended for several years.

Illumi had forgotten he had sort of—kind of—made a friend. Because assassins didn't have friends.

The daylight was startling, but Illumi was so drained of energy, and hope, and life, that he didn't react when it flooded down from above as the hatch opened. He simply closed his eyes to the pain of it against his dried retinas. A shadow—a figure above—flashed through the streaming afternoon sun.

"Oh. Am I too late?"

Illumi didn't speak. He wasn't sure he could. He heard—eyes still closed, and now that he closed them, he couldn't pry them open again—the shk-shk of weapons cutting through the air. Cutting through the chains. One side, then the next, and suddenly Illumi was falling towards the water at his feet.

That was fine. He could drown himself in it with the chains gone.

But as soon as the cold damp waves hit his face, he found himself pulled—

Up, up, and out. A breeze of fresh air combed through him, and it was the most comfort Illumi had ever felt in his life. Clean air, in his lungs, across his skin. Maybe he had died, and this was heaven. The cloth gag was removed from his mouth but he could do nothing other than breathe.

"Are you dead?"

Illumi still couldn't open his eyes. Soon, he thought. He'd be dead soon.

"I killed Killua," said the voice. "He screamed so nicely as he died."

Illumi felt a discordant thrum light up his veins, tensing his muscles, flooding him with new, unexpected power. He opened his eyes to see the foxish, smiling face of Hisoka Morow.

For so long—days? A week?—his thoughts had been focused on his own end. The idea of killing someone else was new, unexpected. Welcome. He felt his fingers tense. He was still naked, with no weapons, but he could fight. He would fight. He felt his nails grow sharp, pointed. He would rip out Hisoka's heart.

"Just kidding," said Hisoka. "But that's good. You're awake."

Kidding, kidding, kidding , said Hisoka. Illumi felt the tension continue to buzz beneath his waterlogged skin.

"Can you talk?"

Illumi's lips parted and it hurt—the skin pulling apart, dry, and suddenly he tasted blood. "No," he croaked.

Hisoka laughed, scooped him up, and began to walk away, saving Illumi from the precipice of a dark fate. And he moved easily, casually, like he hadn't a shit-water-stained, naked, dying assassin trembling in his arms. Like Illumi wasn't six-one, nearly as tall as Hisoka himself. Like he wasn't a hero performing a rescue, but rather an opportunist playing with a discarded toy.

Illumi's consciousness blinked to black as he was placed into the back of a car.

He blinked in and out of awareness for the next few hours—well, it felt like hours. At one point, he was placed in an enormous, luxury, jetted bath tub of warm water, and Hisoka climbed in on top of him, and Illumi found himself utterly resigned to being taken advantage of at his weakest state. Maybe if Hisoka fucked him especially hard, he would finally die. He would barely feel it, at this point, having become so utterly disconnected with his physical self.

But Hisoka didn't fuck him. Hisoka actually wore a full set of clothing in the bath, sans shoes, seemingly unconcerned with how he got soaked as he bathed Illumi. He paid special attention to his fingers and toes, cleaning them of grime with a small cuticle-scraping tool made of pink plastic. Illumi squinted at Hisoka's own well-manicured nails and supposed he kept a painting kit on himself for maintenance. 

And when the tub filled with dark, dirty, bloody water, Hisoka drained it, and filled it again, and continued on to wipe Illumi clean. He barely even touched Illumi's genitals or ass—a damp washcloth passing over them each with simple efficiency. 

And when Hisoka drained the tub a second time, and gently pulled Illumi out of it, and into a prewarmed towel, Illumi felt himself falling back into the darkness of sleep. Because his body recognized, finally, at that point: Hisoka was not going to sexually assault him. 

He was a pervert, but perhaps his tastes didn't quite align with a death-brink young man whose nails he'd cleaned of days-old shit. 

Killua had chosen to let him die; Hisoka had chosen to let him remain sexually untouched. His final thought, before the dark lull of unconsciousness, was that he simultaneously held the title for most wanted and most un wanted man alive.

The next time he came to—an hour or so later, he supposed—Hisoka paced at the foot of the bed, on the phone. He spoke in a tone of voice Illumi recognized from their brunches. It was how he spoke to the wait staff. Friendly. Unintimidating.

Odd.

"Well," Hisoka hummed. "I got some soup and water in him—" he had? When? "—and we took a nice bath." Hisoka nodded as he listened to the reply. "No, no bleeding." Another pause. "Yes. Mmhmm. Well, he nearly starved to death, I think. Honestly, I thought he was a corpse when I opened the door and saw him down there. He wasn't moving; I couldn't detect him with nen. Like a ghost." Hisoka made a noise of agreement with the person on the other line. "Yes. He's sleeping." Another silence. Hisoka smiled. "See you soon, Doctor Weiss."

Doctor Weiss must have moved with incredible speed, because Illumi blinked, and an old man—the doctor—hovered over him with a few medical instruments. "Good, good. So sorry to wake you. Just checking some vitals. No, you don't need to sit up—that's good. Just lay there for me, kid."

Illumi obeyed, but mostly because his muscles hurt so terribly that he would have struggled to sit upright. 

"This might be a little difficult, but can you access any nen for me? Maybe just a simple ten."

Illumi reached for the aura that surrounded him at all times and found it gone. He took a slow breath, tried again, and there was nothing.

Weiss gestured. "Open your mouth, please." Illumi did so, Weiss peered in with a small light, and frowned. "How odd. You've no aura at the moment. None at all, not even around your heart."

"What does that mean?" came Hisoka's low, unexpected voice from the doorway.

Weiss breathed out in exasperation. "Nothing good, typically. All living things have aura. At least some of it. Even that fern you have growing in the corner of your apartment here—that has some. But Illumi here… Nothing."

"You say that like he's not actively living. He's alive in front of you." Hisoka crossed his arms, and Illumi noticed he was wearing a sleeveless muscle-T—oversized and soft-looking, like it was well-worn. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Hisoka in anything so casual in his life. It was almost more startling than his lack of nen. 

"Well, his heart is beating. He's breathing." Weiss said, "This might be above my ability, Mr. Morow. But I've a colleague that specializes in nen-related injury. Let me give you her number." Illumi wanted to ask what he should do, but Weiss patted his shoulder and said, "Get some more sleep," and he was out again.

Illumi woke to darkness and for a moment, he thought he was still down there . In that cell, below ground, chained. The despair of it made him gasp, a sudden gut-punch of the ongoing torture he had to endure, but the chains turned to a soft quilt, and the darkness gave way to a warm orange glow from a night light plugged into the corner of the room, and Illumi realized he was fine.

He was in Hisoka's home. He'd never seen it before now, and through his tired eyes, in the quiet of the night, it seemed to suit Hisoka just right. Eclectic art hung from the walls in a tasteful variety of frames—gold ornate to clean chrome—and the furniture seemed an appropriate blend of bohemian and mid-century modern. Illumi had never liked "midmod" when he encountered it, much preferring the expensive, high-brow aesthetic of traditional or gothic styles, but Hisoka had somehow managed to make the wood accents and low-line furniture appear…cozy. The space was one large open room, warehouse-style, but was obviously renovated for comfortable living. Big windows looked out onto an enormous balcony, which was devoid of furniture, but held a number of fruiting plants. When Illumi focused, he could see the kitchen through the darkness, sitting clean and unused. Did Hisoka cook? Illumi supposed not. Whenever they went to brunch, Hisoka was always the one to pack up the leftovers to eat later.

Illumi reached a weak hand to wipe at his dry eyes, cleaning them of the crust that built on his eyelashes. He really must have been unwell for so much build up to have happened in the hour or two between meeting Doctor Weiss and awakening now.

Why did he awaken now?

Illumi listened for what woke him up, and heard it again—a ding from a phone. From his phone. Illumi rolled to one side of the bed and found his phone placed upon a nightstand, charging. The front was cracked.

It'd smashed into the pavement, fallen from his fingers as he was captured with a bag over his head and those fucking chains suffocating all his strength curled tightly around each wrist.

But the phone still worked, even if it was broken. Illumi knew he could ask for nothing more. He picked it up and checked his messages.

There were none. The ping had been a fully charged battery alert, recommending he unplug it from the outlet.

He checked his messages again, just to be sure. None had checked on him? Not even Milluki? He thought…

His heart filled his throat. He thought Milluki was his best friend. He thought Alluka worshipped his strength. He loved Kalluto, and Kalluto loved him.

He knew Killua didn't share any of those sentiments.

In his memory, Illumi watched Killua leave out the hatch, face twisted in fury from the choice he made to leave Illumi behind. At least it hadn't been an easy choice, Illumi thought, comforting himself with the idea that Killua suffered some kind of frustration—perhaps guilt—thinking he'd left his brother to die. 

Illumi wasn't sure when he should return home. Should he return home? Killua left him to die. Would part of him be disappointed that Illumi hadn't?

Perhaps he should give Killua what he wanted. Doctor Weiss had said it: he had no aura anyway. His death wouldn't register, not really, and if he died, his stomach would stop cramping in this new, painful way. He would be free of how it hurt. He wasn't sure there was an afterlife—his father spoke of heaven, sometimes, but Illumi's pragmatism meant he struggled to accept that such a place existed. But if there was a heaven, he could join his parents there.

The unworthy go to hell. Perhaps he'd die and go there. Would it be worse than the cell filling with sewage?

Impossible.

He was free enough to walk now, and he could walk straight off Hisoka's balcony, and into the traffic below. He could hear the cars passing, but barely—he was high enough for such a fall to kill him, if he let it. He would let it. He had no nen to protect his body from impact, anyway.

He pushed out of the bed and his legs wobbled unsteadily, which was a new—terrible—experience. His body was a well-trained machine, even after injury. Even after torture. He'd been raised to survive, or even thrive, in situations such as this. 

Which is why he managed to take a step. And another. And another. His muscles screamed from disuse. His stomach continued to cramp. And his vision blurred from pain, from confusion. He was trained for this.

He continued to walk. He could do it. He just had to make it outside. Then it would end.

As he approached the double doors to the balcony, the shiny glass panes twinkling with light off the neighboring buildings, he caught the reflection of Hisoka behind him.

He spun around, fast as ever, despite everything, and prepared to fight.

Hisoka grinned. "Oh? Want to kill me already? You've been awake for thirty seconds."

His body might be on the brink of failure, and his nen might be gone forever, but Illumi had years of practice for this, and the motions came to him unbidden and easily. He didn't need magic to kill a man. He didn't even need to feel well. He just had to do it. He moved with unnatural speed, hand slashing out to cut Hisoka's throat; to rip out his windpipe and shred his jugular and leave him mortally wounded and bleeding on the floor. If he could land the hit.

He couldn't.

Hisoka dodged, ducking below Illumi's hand, and Illumi brought up a knee to smash his nose up, into his brain. But Hisoka caught his knee with both hands and used the momentum to spin Illumi away from him. Illumi slashed out with his other hand. Hisoka dodged it as easily as the first time, and made a pleased little chuckle as he spun to Illumi's back.

He was faster and stronger than Illumi at the moment, and Illumi knew it, so when Hisoka's hands produced a queen of hearts card from midair, he prepared himself for it. The end. Finally.

Hisoka would cut his throat from behind, and Illumi would be the one to die bleeding on these beautifully renovated wood floors.

Instead, Hisoka flicked the card across the room. It hit the light switch—click—and the room was flooded with light from the industrial pendants above. Illumi winced at the assault on his eyes, and Hisoka wrapped a hand around his throat, from behind, and held him in place.

Illumi didn't understand why until his blood-lust vision cleared, and saw them standing before a mirror next to the balcony door. Hisoka's amber eyes glinted in the nighttime light, meeting Illumi's gaze in the mirror. "Thought so," he said.

Illumi was wearing an oversized t-shirt and socks—clearly Hisoka's own. The shirt was stretched out but buttery soft, faded pink, with a series of embroidered hearts losing threads around the high round collar. It didn't suit Illumi at all. He huffed, displeased, and met Hisoka's very focused gaze. "What."

"You'd like me to kill you, wouldn't you?"

"No," Illumi replied, automatic.

"Mm? You'd like me to cut you open and bask in your blood and watch as you go."

"No," Illumi replied, more quietly, this time.

"You don't want to die?" Hisoka's fingers, with those long, pointed nails, dug into Illumi's neck. He watched the white points of each finger bloom across his throat, and he couldn't look away. He also couldn't reply. He was about to walk off a balcony, after all, and saying otherwise would be a lie. He had attacked Hisoka so that he would be attacked in return. So that he could die.

He could lie, but Hisoka would know. I always know, said Hisoka after sipping a mimosa during a brunch one day. You have a very obvious tell.

Which is?

You smile with your teeth.

His lips moved of their own accord, corners lifting. But he stopped short of a smile; stopped sort of replying. His stomach cramped again. "Bathroom," he said, finally.

Hisoka released his throat, took his hand, and walked him to a door across the apartment. Illumi didn't ask why, though he didn't know, and was confused by the warmth of Hisoka's hand inside his own. Maybe Hisoka felt handsy, unsatisfied, having stopped himself from killing Illumi, and touching him helped sate the demon inside that lusted for death.

After using the bathroom, and rinsing beneath a cold spray of shower—he wasn't going to ask for Hisoka's aid in producing hot water—and eating a bowl of soup Hisoka pushed into his hands, Illumi slept again.

He awoke the next morning in more pain than before. That was a good sign for recovery. His body was mending itself after essentially giving up. 

"You've got a little more color today," said Hisoka, holding out a cup of coffee for Illumi to take. He looked around Hisoka, to the living room, kitchen, and bathroom door, and frowned.

"Where are you sleeping?" Because the bed had always been empty when Illumi woke up.

"My couch is a delightful cloud," Hisoka said, and he paused to take a long sip of his hot coffee. When he lowered the mug, Illumi could see it was pitch black. His own mug, the one he'd just been handed, was beige and milky and—when he tasted it—sugary sweet.

Just like he liked to drink it. His shoulders relaxed, relieved at the feeling and taste and familiarity. 

"Why are you helping me." Illumi forgot to ask it like a question. He stared at the coffee. If asked before now, would he have known Hisoka took his coffee black? Had he paid that much attention to brunch?

"I don't like playing with broken toys," Hisoka said. Illumi met his stare, in the cool morning light. His face was half in shadow, but his eyes glowed like embers nonetheless. "Are you broken? I thought you might be, when I found you."

"I am fine," Illumi said, and he offered a smile. "I appreciate your help."

Hisoka scoffed into his drink, and took another swallow. 

"I should leave soon. It is unfair to burden you with what may be a very long recovery."

Hisoka shrugged. "It's only been a week. You can stay longer. I imagine I've got better access to care than that mountain your family calls home. Besides, a nen specialist is scheduled in three days."

Illumi paused mid sip. "Did you say a week?"

"It's actually been eight days since I fished you from the hole in the ground," Hisoka said. "It's Tuesday."

Illumi's mind grew distant as he counted the days. He was captured on a Tuesday. Killua escaped, with their siblings, on Wednesday. Illumi was alone in the pit—with the sewage, and the decaying bodies of his parents—until the next Monday?

"There were no flights out; I had to charter a blimp. It was the fastest way to get to where those men took you, but it still took me nearly six hours to find a pilot and blimp to commission. It was too far for a helicopter, unfortunately. So I didn't reach you until Monday afternoon."

"Why did you come for me at all?"

"You missed brunch. It would have been a pity if you missed the next one, too." Hisoka took a seat on the edge of the bed, next to Illumi, and he cringed at the pain in his back from the shifting pillows. Hisoka misunderstood and frowned. "You can go home if you want. I'm not going to hold you captive and insist you eat soup. Though the Chinese place downstairs has a pot of egg drop dedicated just to my orders, now."

"It is not you," Illumi said, firmly. He took another drink of the coffee. "I feel…" What was it? He settled on, "Gratitude. Towards you. I do not know how I may ever repay you for such a thing. My body is sore, and when you sat, it hurt my back. My state is weakened to the point that I am unable to mask my reactions as well as I usually do. I apologize; I will do better."

Hisoka watched him with wide eyes. Which then turned to mirth; and he laughed quietly, chuckling into his coffee mug. "You're sorry for showing weakness."

"Well, yes," said Illumi. "Wouldn't you be?"

"I would be tempted to kill you, if you saw me that way," Hisoka replied, staring off.

"See," Illumi said. "I agree."

The corner of Hisoka's mouth tilted in a grin. "We're lucky that we're strong enough to survive the other one suffering humiliation."

Illumi wouldn't use the word lucky for any facet of his current situation. He chose not to say as much, though, and drank his coffee in silence.

Hisoka eventually asked, "Do you want to return home?"

Illumi fished for a reply that would be less humiliating. "I do not think I will be welcome there." When Hisoka raised one eyebrow, skeptical, Illumi said, "Killua left me behind when he rescued our siblings. On purpose. He wanted me to die."

Hisoka tilted his head as he watched Illumi explain. "Do you know what you're saying?"

"What? Yes."

"You say that Killua, your sweetest baby brother—"

"Second sweetest," Illumi said. Kalluto was the one with the soft hands, who liked it when he got the chance to hug Illumi, who held his hand as they walked through the castle grounds.

"One of your sweetest baby brothers," Hisoka amended. "He left you to die slowly, by starvation, in a bunker connected to a septic tank."

Illumi remembered his face, the way it twisted in hatred, and fury, and nodded. "I am not lying to you."

"I didn't say it was a lie." Hisoka said, "Why would he have done such a thing?"

Illumi's coffee spilled from the mug. He hissed as the liquid burned against his fingers, and tried to move his hand so that the spill hit the floor instead of Hisoka's comforter. "Shit."

"It's okay," said Hisoka, jumping to his feet, grabbing the mug from Illumi. "Did it burn you? Hold on."

Hisoka placed the mug on the nightstand and made it across the apartment, to the kitchen, near-instantly. He returned a moment later with a cold, damp rag, and an ice pack. He wiped Illumi's hands and had him hold the ice pack while he dabbed at the brown stain on the patchwork quilt.

"I am very sorry," Illumi whispered. He accidentally dropped the ice pack, and then stared at his hands in confusion—how could he possibly have dropped his coffee, and now the ice, just like that?

And that's when he realized he was shaking. Trembling.

Hisoka kneeled in front of him, looking up into Illumi's face. His stare was calculating.

"I apologize," Illumi managed to whisper. "I do not know why…"

"It's because I asked: why would Killua have left you down there?"

Illumi's shaking grew more intense. He sucked in a breath of air, and felt it grow tight in his lungs. He couldn't breathe, not really. "He hates me," he said. "He hates me. My brother hates me, and he wanted me to die, because I hurt him. I kept hurting him. I would keep hurting him. I cannot go home," Illumi said. Still your heart , he thought. 

You're an assassin.

You're stronger than this.

All his edges had been worn away down there, as he died. As he lost his nen, he lost other things too—his resilience, and patience, and strength. Hisoka didn't like broken toys, and Illumi had been utterly shattered. Just like in the pit, Illumi now teetered on a dangerous brink. He could bite his tongue off here.

One step in the wrong direction, and he'd lose his mind. And he'd lose Hisoka, too.

Illumi closed his eyes, the mask of composure sliding onto him like a familiar coat. "I cannot go home. I will not be welcome there, because my brother wanted me dead."

"That's okay," said Hisoka, reaching out to place a hand on Illumi's bare, bruised knee. "You can stay here."

Illumi felt a muffling, comforting numbness settle within. Yes, he could survive this. He was trained to survive anything. And Hisoka presented him with the ideal opportunity. Illumi would use him, gain his strength back, and leave with Hisoka's heart in his hand.  That's what Illumi was familiar with: using the weapons presented and discarding them before he could get caught.

He smiled as he said, "Thank you, Hisoka. Could you help me to the bath again?"

He'd lost an absurd amount of muscle in the last few weeks. Illumi stared at himself in the mirror of Hisoka's bathroom, at the bones that jutted from beneath his skin. He was so pale, now—his skin seemed like that of a translucent fish.

That made his current task a little more difficult, but only a little. Hisoka liked him. Had always liked him. Hisoka was the one who wanted to be friends, after all. Hisoka was the one who flirted, incessantly. Hisoka was the one letting Illumi take up his bed, and his time, and his money. He chartered a blimp for Illumi's rescue.

He was the perfect mark. Illumi combed his hair. It'd thinned in the last few weeks, too, falling out from a lack of nutrients, but it was still an impressive head of hair for any man (and even some women). He pulled it around his shoulders, framing his chest—pink nipples he pinched to hardness, that remained pebbled as his naked body was exposed to cold air.

Illumi squared his shoulders and walked out of the bathroom in a confident stride. A stride interrupted, almost instantly, by a cramp in his leg. Illumi winced as he fell to his knee, the thunk of his fall like a crashing of cymbals to his ears.

Hisoka appeared at his side, and helped him to stand. Illumi ground his teeth together, suppressing his shame, and said, "Thank you."

"No, thank you," said Hisoka, voice a purr, as his eyes dropped to Illumi's exposed legs. 

Oh, good. It had worked anyway, his plan of seduction. Illumi peered at him through messy strands of his fallen hair. "I have nothing to wear."

"There are robes in there," said Hisoka, eyes flitting across Illumi's chest.

"They are too big for me. Everything that is yours is too big for me," Illumi said. He let his gaze drop to Hisoka's body.

Hisoka's responding grin was exactly as Illumi expected. But the next words out of his mouth weren't expected at all. "Are you trying to get me to fuck you, Illumi?" He thought it would take more finesse than this. He paused before he nodded once, feigning shyness, and suddenly Hisoka was pressed up to his front, very close, and their noses nearly touched. "Why?"

Another thing Illumi had not planned to respond to. He didn't know the best thing to say; how best to lie to someone that would know he was lying. Because he couldn't say, "I'm going to use you, so that I may protect myself as I heal." Instead, Illumi closed the gap between their mouths, and kissed Hisoka with soft lips and a wanting sigh.

He'd been told, more than once, that he was a terrible kisser. Which made sense. He didn't particularly enjoy it—it was a means to get to the fucking, usually.

Hisoka pulled back and said, "No."

Illumi leaned in again, despite the warning, and Hisoka placed a hand upon his neck, around his throat. Illumi hadn't lied before: Hisoka was bigger than him. And the way his fingers encompassed the entirety of his throat, holding him in place with one single grasp, made it incredibly apparent. They were almost the same height, but Hisoka was bigger in every way. Well, probably every way. Illumi would find out soon enough. He'd had his suspicions, for some time, that Hisoka had a sizable cock. 

Not that he spent any time thinking about Hisoka's cock. No.

"No," Hisoka repeated himself. "If you want to do this, you should know how to do it better," he said.

"I do not understand."

"Put out your tongue."

Illumi looked into Hisoka's eyes. Was he winning? Was this another step in his plan? He had only one way to find out. He opened his mouth, and rolled out his tongue.

Hisoka said, "Mmhmm," and the breath of his response coated Illumi's damp tongue. "Like that." Illumi could taste him, even though their mouths didn't touch. "Close your eyes."

Illumi did so. The hand on his throat tilted his head back, and then Hisoka's hot, wet tongue met Illumi's. A slow, methodic slide, so intense that Illumi's skin shivered and pebbled beneath Hisoka's touch.

Hisoka's mouth covered Illumi's, and they were kissing again, tongues sliding together with a more practiced familiarity, and suddenly Illumi couldn't breathe. His lips moved slowly against Hisoka. His mind buzzed, and his hands, limp at his sides, grew tense with the need to touch. 

Hisoka pulled back to kiss the corner of Illumi's mouth, allowing him to suck in air again. He kissed his cheek, cheekbone, ear, and down his neck, and Illumi was losing the thread of his task at hand.

He nearly told Hisoka to stop, but this is what he wanted, right? He was seducing Hisoka, to use him for his own protection. But why did it feel like the task had been reversed? Hisoka's hands roamed from Illumi's back to his waist and then down his bare legs, which began to shake.

Illumi was hard, and there was no hiding it, because he was naked in the middle of Hisoka's living room. But he hadn't the chance to balance the scales, not before Hisoka fell to his knees, and sucked a kiss to the inside of Illumi's thigh. 

He fell back, against a tall piece of storage furniture. He gripped the smooth wood veneer surface, and gasped as Hisoka kissed his cock, and then took it into his hand, and stroked him. 

Illumi nearly said wait. He'd meant to do it the other way—to have Hisoka within his hand, to stroke him to completion, to emphasize the obvious want he'd harbored for Illumi in all the years they'd known each other. But Illumi couldn't explain any of that. He could barely think it, because Hisoka swallowed his throbbing cock, and the tight wet heat of his throat made Illumi cry out in shock.

Hisoka pulled off, and he and Illumi met eyes. "Like this, Illumi," Hisoka said, opening his mouth, and pulling out his tongue like he had when they kissed. He held Illumi's cock in one hand, and pressed the head of it against the smooth, wet surface of his tongue, and he rubbed it. Small, shifting movements that made Illumi see stars. "I can taste you like this."

A bead of precum pooled at the slit on the tip of his cock, and Hisoka leaned in to lap it up, onto his tongue, and he hummed in pleasure. Like it tasted of anything other than semen.

"Manipulator cum tastes herbal," Hisoka said. "Have you tried it before?"

Illumi had never let anyone finish in his mouth. But he was meant to be seducing Hisoka—his mind reeled with the task of it, how far he'd come off the plan he laid out. He need Hisoka to think he was hot. That he wanted this. That Illumi wanted him. So he nodded.

Hisoka kissed his thigh before lifting it over his shoulder. "I'm gonna make you come now."

Illumi could do nothing but hold the furniture more tightly beneath his fingers as Hisoka took his cock into his mouth again, and sucked. Illumi released a groan from deep within his chest, close already. His toes curled as the hot feeling of Hisoka's mouth pulled on him. In and out of Hisoka's throat—head bobbing like he wanted Illumi to fuck into him. But he couldn't move, not with this knee hooked onto Hisoka's shoulder like this. Illumi did nothing except feel, and gasp, and moan, and finally—

"Stop, or I'll come," he exhaled, words soft despite all the intensity.

Hisoka's hands moved from Illumi's thighs to the soft swell of his ass, and they encouraged him to jerk with what little movement he had available. Deeper into Hisoka's throat.

Illumi came with a gasp, head thrown back, hands nearly slipping off the furniture with the build up of sweat. Hisoka swallowed his spend, every drop of it, humming as he did so. And when it was all done, he pulled off, and peppered the soft smooth texture of Illumi's pubic hair with kisses. And then did the same along his raised thigh, paying special attention to the bruise forming there.

Illumi began to shake again. He wasn't done. The mask he'd donned felt like it'd slipped off, somewhere, and he had to find it soon. He had to return the favor to Hisoka, and now. He said, "Okay. You now."

"No," said Hisoka, shifting out from beneath Illumi, and rising to his full height. He smiled, eyes falling shut, as he said, "I'm fine."

Illumi took a step forward, and fell to one knee—well, nearly did. Hisoka caught him, and lifted him bridal style with an amused laugh. He marched toward the bed and Illumi exhaled. Now. They'd fuck now. He hadn't lost the plot. Not yet.

But when Hisoka deposited him on the bed, he turned away without looking at Illumi's naked body, and began to fish a fresh quilt from a trunk he kept nearby. Illumi, confused, watched him in silence. Hisoka unfolded the quilt and deposited it on the bed. "The other one's in the wash downstairs."

Illumi, still nude, still seated atop the bedding, laid back. He knew he painted a picture that way. Exposed, damp from his orgasm, face flush. Nipples still hard in the cool air. "Lay with me," he said.

Hisoka stepped forward, and Illumi's stomach did a swoop of victory. But instead of climbing onto the bed, Hisoka reached over to turn off the lamp, sending the evening into darkness. "Hmm. No. I like my couch. It's a very nice couch."

Illumi remained stunned atop the covers for quite some time—long enough that he unintentionally fell asleep. When he woke up a few hours later with the need to pee, he noticed he'd been covered by that fresh quilt, and had his hair combed back off his face.

Chapter Text

The loft was empty when Illumi woke up. He paced around—opening a few drawers here or there, just to see the types of things Hisoka kept hidden away. He was completely unsurprised to find lube and condoms and a number of sex toys in a variety of colors—several of which Illumi wasn't entirely sure how he'd use. One was shaped like a rose. What sort of sex did Hisoka have that included use of a soft plastic rose?

Illumi also took the chance to peer into each door of the loft to see what lay beyond. A pantry, a coat closet, a shoe closet ( of course Hisoka had a closet dedicated entirely to shoes ). One door hid an enormous walk-in closet, big enough to be a bedroom, but it had no window. It did have a skylight, though, and the warm golden sunlight outside poured down so that Hisoka would be able to style his clothes with natural light. 

But when Illumi peered up, at the skylight, the walls closed in. He froze, incapable of moving. His breaths grew shallow; his knees locked in place.

He couldn't move, not with the chains around him. He was down there , in that cell, far from where he could escape, and he was going to die slowly. He could smell the shit and gore, and because the skylight let light in, he could see the gray, swollen skin of his parents decaying nearby. His stomach grew tight and his mouth went dry and one moment, he was standing—the next, he collapsed on the floor, gasping for air.

Illumi curled in on himself, hands grasping at his face, to pull the cloth gag off, but he couldn't find it. He couldn't get his fingers around it. He needed to pull it off. He needed to choke himself, to kill himself, to free himself from the slow pain that coursed through every vein.

But then he couldn't move again.

His hands went numb, squeezed against his face. The captors had taken his strength away. They'd told him, if he moved— if he moved —

"Illumi?"

Distantly, he heard a familiar voice. Then the familiar click-click of boot heels on hardwood floors. 

"Illumi. I'll be quite mad if you've hurt yourself. I was gone an hour ."

Hurt himself? He couldn't even move, because if he moved—

The closet door opened and Hisoka released a long, relieved sigh. He kneeled at Illumi's side and said, "Well. You're alive. That's a start."

Illumi peered up at him and all at once, everything that was wrong disappeared. He could move. He could breathe. He didn't smell decay; he smelled Hisoka's spicy, fruity aftershave. Illumi pushed himself to sit upright. "I apologize. I do not know what happened."

Hisoka reached out with one hand and Illumi flinched. Hisoka hesitated, hand hovering midair, and then even more slowly placed it upon Illumi's cheek. He wiped a trail of tears with a thumb.

Illumi didn't even know he'd been crying. He sniffed and reached up to wipe his face with both hands. "I am sorry."

"Are you hurt?"

Illumi shook his head.

Hisoka stood up and offered his hand. Illumi ignored it, pushing himself to his feet. His legs cramped, but he didn't fall, or even wince—he stifled the feeling of it behind a cool mask. 

Illumi asked, "Where did you go?"

"I had to go out. Bought a few things." Hisoka walked out of the closet, holding the door for Illumi to follow. He led him to the living room, to the long wooden coffee table, which was covered end to end with shopping bags.

" A few things," Illumi mumbled.

Hisoka gestured to the soft-looking brown leather armchair and Illumi sat primly, his calves still cramping and uncramping as he moved. Sitting helped, at least. "I don't think you like my clothes."

"They are fine," Illumi lied, offering a polite smile.

Hisoka smirked, but didn't say anything else. He dug into the first bag and produced a hanger of new underwear—black and beige briefs. Cotton, with silky-looking waistbands. He placed them on the couch and pulled, from the same bag, a hanger of socks. They were a gradient from white to black. Then, a second hanger of socks, similar in color—but more satin-looking than the first. 

From the next bag, he pulled out several crisp white shirts. Illumi recognized the label on the back collar and said, "Tiere? Those are designer."

"Yes. They're my favorite plain basic supplier on the market, at the moment. Look." Hisoka lifted the arm on one short-sleeve T, and ran a thumb along the hem. "Faced hems from fabric one shade lighter. It's subtle, but pretty, I think."

Illumi raised an eyebrow and said, "Yes, they are nice. But they are also hundreds of dollars per shirt."

"And?"

Illumi shrugged. If that's how Hisoka meant to spend his money, then…

"What? You don't like them?"

"Considering how expensive they are, these all seem a bit small for you," Illumi said. "I suppose if you plan to wear them as undershirts, they will be fine."

Hisoka was quiet for a second, lips thinning. "Illumi."

"What?"

"These are for you." Hisoka placed the shirts on the couch, next to the other things he produced, and said, "I went out to buy you some things to wear."

Illumi squinted. "All of this is for me."

"Yes."

Illumi eyed the couch, and then the remaining dozen bags, and said, "Why."

"You don't like wearing my clothes. Even though you look delicious in them." The emphasis on delicious made Illumi's gut grow tight, and he focused back on the bags, instead of on Hisoka's smiling face. "We can go out together for some more later on. I figured you could use some basics to last until then."

Illumi couldn't reply. His stomach began to climb to his heart. His heart climbed to his throat. He simply stared, unsure of how to feel, as Hisoka continued to go through each bag. New slacks. A dark blue pinstripe suit. Several button-down shirts. A few sets of athletic wear—shorts, pants, tanks. A warm gray cashmere sweater. And then, in the final bag, several sets of pajamas. Silk satin, long and short, in colors ranging from black to forest green. Oh, and a red plaid scarf.

"I think you're between sizes, at the moment," said Hisoka. "You'll have to forgive my guess on most things."

Illumi could speak for the first time in minutes, and he replied, "Because I starved for so long that I lost weight. I have lost all my muscle mass. And I cannot get it back, right now, because I've not got nen to help heal me." Between sizes? "I may be this small forever."

"You aren't small," said Hisoka.

"I am nightmarish to behold," said Illumi, and he feigned a smile; he didn't care. He didn't care what he looked like. It didn't matter. "You do not need to cater to me. With words, or with gifts."

Hisoka stalked closer, a sly smile pulling at his mouth. He placed his hands on either armrest of the chair Illumi sat in, and leaned in close. His eyes, very obviously, focused on Illumi's lips. "I've not done all this out of a sense of charity, Illumi."

That's right. Illumi let the cool, collected reality of his decision settle on him, and he tilted his head up and closed the distance between their mouths. He still had yet to return the favor for the orgasm Hisoka gave to him the day before. It was time to secure his safety; his position within Hisoka's home, at least temporarily.

Hisoka broke off the kiss by standing up and holding his hand out. Unlike on the closet floor, Illumi opted to take it, this time. He was startled by how warm Hisoka's palm felt against his fingers, until he realized it wasn't Hisoka that was hot— Illumi was running very cold. He was only wearing a single shirt, at the moment, but he hadn't even noticed how chilled he'd become. Pulled to his feet, Illumi found himself wrapped in Hisoka's arms before they kissed again.

Hisoka guided him to the couch, and pushed him onto it. He grabbed the careful piles of clothing and placed them back atop the coffee table before leaning in to kiss Illumi again—but Illumi wasn't going to let what happened the day before come to pass yet again.

He grabbed Hisoka's biceps, one in each hand, and pushed him to the side, onto the couch. Hisoka chuckled, and Illumi knew Hisoka was letting him do this; he hadn't the strength to force him to do anything. But that was fine. He just needed to get Hisoka beneath him. To touch him. To make him come. To make him want.

Illumi straddled him as they laid horizontally across the sofa, and let their tongues meet in a slow, sensual, wet glide. It was Illumi who made a noise, first, frustratingly—he moaned, unable to help himself, as the feeling of Hisoka's mouth overrode his senses. He tasted like coffee. He felt like sex.

Illumi's hands slid onto Hisoka's chest, pressing into the round, firm shape of his pecs, then down to his muscular torso—defined through the thin black satin shirt he wore. 

Hisoka's hands, in turn, slid down Illumi's back, until they reached the hem of the shirt he wore at the back of his thighs. He pulled it up, and Illumi paused what he was doing to sit up and allow Hisoka to pull it off. Naked, now, he shivered. Hisoka grabbed a remote from the table next to the couch without even looking, and pressed a red button at the top. The space-age looking fireplace in the corner, a few feet away, beeped before flames roared to life inside. Hisoka let the remote fall to the floor, reaching up to hold Illumi's jaw in his hand, and to guide him back to another deep, mind-blanking kiss. The temperature began to rise and Illumi felt the relief of it across his skin.

Illumi was losing his place, again, in the story. He was supposed to be—he was meant to be the one—

Hisoka sank down against the plush blue cushions of his couch, slipping low, and he used both hands to guide Illumi up, until his chest was even with Hisoka's face. Illumi said, "What—" before Hisoka stroked his tongue across one of his nipples. And that answered all the questions Illumi had.

He began to gasp into the quiet air of Hisoka's home, unable to move while Hisoka held him in place by his waist. He could do nothing but feel the hot wet sting of arousal pulsing through him as Hisoka sucked and bit and kissed each nipple in turn. He could already feel bruises blooming; an ache that made Illumi feel alive.

He tried to bite the words down and failed. "I need to come," he said. Because he did, and once he did, he'd repay the favor—he'd drink Hisoka's cum in return. He'd lick and kiss him just like this, too, but right now he just needed it. He needed the release.

Hisoka slipped out from under Illumi, and for a brief, heart-pounding moment, Illumi thought he might be walking away. But instead, he came around to Illumi's back, and peppered kisses down his spine. All the way down his spine. Illumi gasped into the arm of the couch as Hisoka kissed his hole, and then licked it slowly with the flat of his tongue.

He ate Illumi out patiently, calmly, while his hand gripped his cock and jerked. Illumi muffled his voice into the sofa, hands white-knuckling the couch arm. He was overwhelmed quickly, pushed to the brink more suddenly than he thought possible. No , he thought, pleading with himself to hold on. To keep control. 

But he lost, even as he tried to fight it, moaning with no small sense of desperation.

He came for the second time in twelve hours—this time with Hisoka's thick tongue inside his hole.

"Mm," he breathed into the couch, body trembling. He had to pull himself together. Hisoka was already pulling away, chuckling in this self-satisfied, graveled voice. "Wait," Illumi said, almost too quiet to be heard.

But Hisoka heard it, because he went, "Hm?"

Illumi swallowed hard, composing himself, and he looked over his shoulder at Hisoka as Hisoka wiped his hand off on a tissue from the box on the coffee table. Illumi wasn't sure what to do—how to return to the plan. He fished for something until he said, "Please?"

Hisoka dropped the tissue on the floor and returned to him immediately, and that sated something else in Illumi that wasn't just lust. Illumi rolled over, onto his back, and reached for Hisoka at the same time Hisoka lowered down onto the couch. With Hisoka in his embrace, Illumi kissed him again.

He slid his hands into Hisoka's hair, down his neck, across his shoulders. He spread his legs. Hisoka's tongue had done enough; he could get fucked like this. It would only hurt a little. "You can fuck me if you want," he whispered against Hisoka's mouth.

Hisoka kissed Illumi's cheek, and then his brow, and returned to his lips. "Can I?"

Yes. Yes. He had done it. Illumi closed his eyes, and let his tongue dance against Hisoka's. He could feel Hisoka's hard cock against his thigh. He just needed to free it, to touch it, to put it inside himself. "You can go ahead," said Illumi. "I'm wet enough."

Hisoka smiled against their kiss. "Let me kiss you more."

"More?"

"Mmhmm," said Hisoka. "You taste good."

"Okay," Illumi agreed.

Hisoka's hands climbed up and down Illumi's body as they made out, and Illumi realized they were making out. Like teens. And it was the first time, in his life, that he'd experienced such a thing. Kissing came before fucking, and which meant it was usually a brief stop. Never had he laid there, tongues sliding, teeth biting, breathing into someone's mouth like this. His hands slid from Hisoka's neck to his back, down his arms, back to his jaw.

They touched and kissed and sighed. And sighed. And sighed.

At some point, Illumi's eyes closed against the warmth of Hisoka's caress, and didn't open again.

His first thought, upon waking, was that Hisoka hadn't lied. His couch was incredibly comfortable. He felt wrapped in a velvet cloud. 

Part of that was Hisoka himself, though. He slept, one arm and one leg slung across Illumi's body, cradling him. A big, warm, still-dressed spoon. The light coming off the balcony suggested it was evening, and the hunger pains suggested Illumi needed to tend to his needs before trying to seduce Hisoka again. Third time's the charm, said many.

Did those first two times count as failures? Illumi didn't know what to think, so he didn't. He climbed out of Hisoka's embrace, and fished through his new selection of clothes for something to wear. 

Hisoka hummed as he woke. He sat up, stretching, back popping audibly. "Are you hungry?"

Illumi said, "Yes," as he picked one of the white designer Ts to wear.

"What if we go out for food?"

Illumi paused his movements to look at Hisoka directly. "Out."

"You've been cooped up for a while," said Hisoka. "Would you like to get something to eat at a restaurant in town?" He gestured to his front door. "We can walk."

Illumi didn't know why he hesitated. He loved fine dining. It was one of his most favorite indulgences.

"We don't have to," said Hisoka. "I can order in."

"No, we should go."

"Should…"

"I would like to go," said Illumi. "I will shower first."

"Okay," said Hisoka. He patted around the couch until he found his dropped phone. "I'll make a reservation."

Dinner went so well that Illumi had nearly felt like his old self. Ordering from the waiter, sipping champagne, chatting with Hisoka about inane things like the merits of throwing stars against simple daggers.

They walked back to Hisoka's loft near midnight, a cool breeze ruffling Illumi's hair. And when they turned onto Hisoka's block, Illumi felt bold enough to reach out and take his hand. Hisoka didn't react to it except to lace their fingers together and say, "You really should borrow my copy of Babel. I think you'd enjoy it. The big brother is sort of a bad guy."

"You suggest that I would relate to such a thing," Illumi said.

Hisoka grinned. "You? A villain? Never."

Illumi couldn't help his laugh. As they rode the elevator up, he finally said, "I knew Killua was afraid of me. It makes sense. But I did not think he hated me."

"Better hatred than indifference," said Hisoka.

"Why is that better?"

"Hate and love hold hands, standing side-by-side. You could go from one to the other without even noticing." Hisoka lifted Illumi's hand within his own, and kissed the back of his knuckles a few times. Short, gentle pecks. Against his fingers, he added, "Indifference means there's no hope at all; it's far, far removed from love. Or hate. Or any feeling at all."

"I think I am a very indifferent person," Illumi said, speaking honestly. "I think, even long before recent events, that I have been incapable of feeling any emotion in the way other people do."

"And I think you're quite wrong about that," Hisoka replied. He released Illumi's hand to unlock his door, and he held it open for Illumi to go inside.  

As Illumi shed his scarf, Hisoka said, "I'm going to shower and head to sleep."

Illumi hung the scarf on the hook near the door and said, "Are you going to jerk off in there?"

Hisoka paused mid-step, and blinked at Illumi a few times before saying, "Champagne does make you bold."

"You have not let me suck you. Or fuck you. Or touch you at all. Is there something wrong with your cock?"

Hisoka's smile curled his thick, wine-stained lips. "No. It's quite nice, I think."

"Let me see it."

Hisoka laughed, and took a step back. "No."

"Let me see your dick, Hisoka."

"Why—"

"I want to make you come."

"You don't need to do that, Illumi."

Need, need, need. "I want to," he said, taking a step towards Hisoka. And then, before he could stop himself, he asked, "Why do you not want me?"

Hisoka was silent for a moment before he reached down, grabbed the hem of his own shirt, and pulled it up. And off. He then unbuckled his belt. Illumi watched, brows pinched close, as he shed his shoes, pants, socks, and then finally, he reached for the dark briefs that hugged the thick round shape of his soft cock. His body was a sight to behold; he was so tall and lean, but he had defined, punctuated muscle across every inch of smooth, scarless skin.

Hisoka stepped out of the briefs, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor, and then stood nude in the center of his home. He stretched out his arms, tilted his head, and spun in a slow circle so that Illumi may look at every part of him. His ass was tight, muscular; he hadn't a tan line to speak of, which made Illumi wonder how he got sun. Perhaps he laid in the sun on his balcony, in the buff. 

Though he wasn't hard, his dick was enormous, and Hisoka had no body hair to speak of, and Illumi was unsurprised. The shape of his cock was perfect; sculptural and dark at the tip. He was cut, which was unexpected. The Zoldycks didn't engage in that particular practice. He wondered if Hisoka was surprised the first time he touched Illumi and he had extra skin. Illumi took a tentative step forward, but Hisoka didn't move except to lower his arms again.

Illumi closed the space between them, looking into Hisoka's eyes. He leaned in for a kiss, which Hisoka gave. They both breathed into it. Illumi tilted his head—

Hisoka stepped back, kissed the corner of Illumi's mouth, and said, "I need to shower."

"Okay." Illumi reached for his hand again. "Will you let me bathe you?"

Hisoka didn't reply, but instead curled his fingers around Illumi's, and pulled him along to the bath.

It was nearly the opposite of that first bath Illumi remembered, after he had been rescued. Hisoka had barely touched Illumi's cock at all, merely wiping it clean before moving onto the rest of his body. Illumi, for his part, focused on Hisoka's cock—after efficiently washing all other parts of him—with the focus of a sculptor crafting a piece of art. Every touch led to something new.

He and Hisoka sat facing each other in the tub—lucky that it was as large as it was, so that they both fit. Hisoka's legs caged Illumi in, and Illumi's bent knees sat out of the warm, steamy water, cold but utterly ignored. Because he had Hisoka's cock in both hands, and he stroked it, marveling at the smooth skin that pulled over thick, purple veins.

Hisoka watched Illumi's face, instead of his hands, eyes half-lidded. "What are you thinking?" Hisoka asked, eventually, his voice lower than usual—a feat, since his voice was quite baritone on any given day.

"Truthfully," said Illumi. "I am glad you did not fuck me this afternoon, when I asked. You are too big; it would have torn me."

Hisoka's cock twitched at that, and Illumi used a thumb to spread the dot of precum across the swollen, red head. Hisoka breathed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling. "I would not have fucked you without lube."

"Which you have," said Illumi, nodding.

"Dear Illumi. Did you go snooping through my things?"

Illumi tried not to smile. "I was alone."

"Mm, that's fair. What'd you find?" Hisoka began to grin in reply.

Illumi slid his fingers up and down the veins of his cock, lightly, feeling the shapes against the pads of his fingers. "You have many implements, I guess. Oh. What is the rose used for?"

Hisoka chuckled and the sound of it ran through Illumi like a shudder from an orgasm. Hot, unexpected. He felt himself suck in the warm, damp bathroom air involuntarily. Hisoka said, "For women, usually. It feels like a tongue against them. But better. Lasts longer. Lasts forever, if they want."

"Do you have a lot of sex with women?"

"I have a lot of sex with everyone," said Hisoka.

"Then why won't you fuck me?"

Hisoka laughed again. "What are we doing right now?"

"I am barely holding your cock between my hands, and asking you inane questions. This is not sex. I have had sex. This is not it."

"Well," said Hisoka, sitting up. Illumi's eyes traced the defined shape of his abs, impressed and envious at once at the amount of muscle Hisoka carried. "You've never had sex with me."

Illumi released Hisoka's cock from his hold and wrapped his hands around his knees. He met Hisoka's eyes, that cigarette-tip stare, and said, "I have been trying."

Hisoka reached out to place a piece of Illumi's hair behind his ear, and then stroked the round shape of his cheekbone with one finger. "Have you?"

Illumi narrowed his stare. "I very obviously have." He'd pursued a plan several times, now, of having Hisoka fall beneath him in sexual worship; he'd tried again and again to make him overcome with desire for Illumi. "I have tried. Several times."

"What have you tried?"

Illumi pinched his lips. "You ask this question like you were not present for it; like you were not there when I tried."

"Maybe I'm oblivious."

"You are not, and you know you are not. You have sucked me off and eaten me out each time instead."

"Instead of what?"

"Instead of fucking me like I was goading you to do," Illumi snapped.

"Why would you goad me into such a thing, I wonder?" Hisoka said. "I don't think it's subtle that I've had romantic thoughts about you for our entire lives."

"We only met when I was ten. That's not our entire lives."

"You're right. I've had romantic thoughts for only sixteen years," Hisoka leaned in, gazing more intently into Illumi's eyes, down his face to his mouth, and back up again. "I'll do my best to make up for those first ten. Double my efforts over the next decade."

"Double nothing ," said Illumi. "I have been trying already for two days. You may have me. You may fuck me. Go on. Do it already."

"No," said Hisoka, and he leaned back, suddenly, lounging against the back of the tub with a cheshire grin.

"Why not," Illumi grit out behind bared teeth.

"I'm not very good at being goaded to do anything. Especially not that." His eyes fell down Illumi's body.

Illumi reached out with a hand, hesitated, and said, "Is it because I'm uglier now, after what I went through?" Because he was a broken, unfixable toy?

Hisoka's laugh didn't make Illumi feel better—no, in fact, Illumi felt hideous. Pale, thin, sickly. But he also felt stupid. His plan was a failure. He was an idiot, weak, incapable. He stood up, to climb out of the bath, but Hisoka's hands found his legs, and held him steady. "No."

"Let me go," said Illumi, straining.

"Lay on me," said Hisoka, tugging him down. Illumi didn't argue—couldn't, really, as he truly was too weak to strain against Hisoka's hands. Slowly, Illumi lowered back to the warm, floral water. This time, his back was pressed to Hisoka's front, and he faced the green tiled wall instead of Hisoka's handsome, infuriating face. Hisoka said, quietly, "Spread your legs."

Illumi blinked a few times. Hisoka had just said—

"Spread yourself for me, Illumi."

His knees parted, shaking just slightly.

Hisoka slid down, behind him, and Illumi felt the hard line of his cock move from his back, to between his cheeks, and down between his legs. Hisoka reached between them, pulling his tall, dripping cock from the water. He wrapped a hot hand around them both and pumped.

"Oh," Illumi said, heart thumping. His head dropped back onto Hisoka's shoulder.

Hisoka's other hand stroked the inside of Illumi's thigh, then up his hip, and to his chest. His nipples were raw and bruised, swollen still from Hisoka earlier in the afternoon, which meant when Hisoka pinched one, Illumi couldn't muffle his cry.

Hisoka kissed his ear, then licked it, and Illumi felt himself taken. The sensations, all of it—so much, at once, that his mind went blank to everything other than this. He didn't even have enough sense to muffle his voice. For the first time in his life, he said every stupid thing that came to his mind.

"It's good. It's so… God, fuck, your hands are so big. I want you to finger me one day." Hisoka continued to pump them both, the hot wet tunnel of his hand driving Illumi utterly mad. "Please? Please. I'll come from it. I know I will. Sometimes I hear your voice and I think I might come from that, too. The way you say my name. I love it. I love it. l—" He gasped, unable to keep speaking then.

"Illumi," Hisoka whispered, into his ear, hand tight on his cock, fingers pinching his nipple, tongue hot against his skin.

"I'm coming," Illumi gasped. He pumped into Hisoka's hand, eyes rolled back, as it crashed over him.

Hisoka groaned as he moved. And then bit his earlobe as he focused his grip onto himself, instead. A few hard, brutal strokes later, and he too came. He sighed with it, like he'd relieved some intense pressure within himself, and again whispered, "Illumi."

Hisoka got a call the next day from a number he didn't know, which he remarked on before answering. "Hello?" he greeted, cheerful, putting the phone on speaker. He placed it on the kitchen countertop, where he stood unloading the dishwasher. He had not put a shirt on so far that day, which Illumi had not complained about, but had continually noted as the hours ticked on.

Was Hisoka the one seducing him now? How absurd. He had nothing to gain from it.

"Hello?" said a voice on the line. Illumi, curled up on the couch with Babel, looked up. "Hisoka?" Illumi knew the voice immediately, even if Hisoka did not. 

Hisoka replied, "Yes. Who is this?"

"Killua."

Another voice in the room with Killua whispered, loud enough to hear, "Zoldyck, Killua Zoldyck."

"He knows who I am without the last name, idiot."

"There could be other Killuas."

"Who else would be named Killua? It's a weird name."

"I don't know!" Gon shouted. "It's not weird. I like it. It's cool."

"Shut up," grumbled Killua.

Hisoka laughed before he said, "He's right. I know who he is. Hello, Killua."

"Hi."

An awkward pause filled the room, which allowed Illumi time to recognize the tightness in his chest. The utter horror, the pure fear—feelings he didn't understand having begun now. He wanted to leave. He began to stand up, and stopped himself, because where was he going? He needed to hear this call. But his heart began to beat like hummingbird wings within his chest. Killua hated him. Killua was calling Illumi's only friend.

"Look, uh, Gon is making me call you, because—I don't know."

"Because Illumi was his—I don't know. Illumi was someone important," said Gon, "I think."

"I would have sent a letter, or something more formal, but obviously I don't know where you live. I didn't even have your number, but Gon—"

"I kept it from the exam," said Gon. "I hope that's okay."

"I'm delighted," said Hisoka. "I kept yours too."

"Whatever, weirdo," said Killua, sounding exasperated. "Look. I don't know how to say this. Illumi died."

Another silence stretched over the call, but this one wasn't awkward. It was…thick. Palpable. Illumi met Hisoka's stare with wide eyes. What would he say? No, he's alive. He's right here. Instead, Hisoka said, "I see."

"I…" Killua sighed. "I don't know what to say."

"You say 'sorry for your loss.'" Gon huffed.

"It's not his loss," Killua said, more quietly.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Thank you for telling me," said Hisoka. "Can I ask what happened?"

Killua sucked in a breath of air and didn't reply. After a beat, Gon had clearly picked up the phone, his voice clearer now. "Someone targeted the family. Captured them all. Illumi, and Kikyo, and Silva, and—um, Grandfather—"

"Zeno," Hisoka supplied.

"Yes, Zeno died. They all didn't make it out. But Killua is okay. Milluki, Alluka, Kalluto."

"And you," said Hisoka.

"Yeah, and me. I didn't get kidnapped. Killua, either. They came for him but we were together so—well, they failed."

"Who is 'they'?" asked Hisoka, tapping his foot upon the floor.

"They called themselves The Lofee Family. They made slaves out of children with nen. Sold them on a marketplace online."

Killua took the phone back, the rustling audible on the line. "They're all dead. I killed them all," he said, pointedly, voice biting.

"Are you okay?"

"What do you care?"

"I care," said Hisoka. "Who's taking care of you? Of Alluka? Of Kalluto?"

"Milluki's the oldest now," said Killua.

"Milluki's a teenager too," Hisoka pointed out. "Where are you?"

"None of your business, creep," Killua snapped. There was a brief struggle, grunting and scratching audible through the phone. Then Gon's voice came through again.

"Killua was the heir so he's taking care of everything now. And he's doing, uh. He's doing good."

"Give me the fuckin' phone back or I swear—mmph!"

"He's hosting a wake for the family. We weren't sure if you should be invited, but I don't know."

"I would be happy to come," said Hisoka. "When?"

"Sunday at noon, at the Zoldyck Manor. Can you come?"

"Yes. I'll be there."

"We didn't say we would invite him," Killua barked distantly.

"Whatever. What does it hurt?" Gon replied. 

"Give me the phone or I'll kill you," Killua said.

"Fine. Fine."

Killua took over the call once more and said, "That's all. Goodbye."

"Bye-bye, Kill," said Hisoka. The line went dead.

Illumi, standing next to the couch, squeezed the hardcover of Babel between his hands so hard that the spine creaked beneath his fingers. "He does not feel guilt," said Illumi, mostly to himself.

Hisoka looked from the phone, frowning, up to Illumi. "What?"

"He carried very little guilt. You could feel it. I can feel it. In the way he spoke. He is not ashamed to have left me to die. He does not care." His heart slowed until it felt like a rock within his ribs. "You said—indifference is worse than hate. Did he sound like he hated me on this call?"

Hisoka's fingers tapped the kitchen counter in a steady rhythm before he said, "No. He didn't."

"Indifference," said Illumi. "He is indifferent to my death."

"I don't think so," said Hisoka.

Illumi was still dying slowly, he realized. Just—even more slowly than in the cell. But his heart was decaying within his chest. He had no nen. He had no brother. He was nothing, now. He looked at the book in his hands, dazed at the revelation. "I do not know what to do."

"I don't think you understand what Killua is thinking, right now," said Hisoka. "He's a teenager, too. They're impossible to know."

"I know Killua," said Illumi.

"Do you?" Hisoka approached, bare feet padding on the floor. He reached out and tucked Illumi's hair behind his ears and said, "Do you?"

Illumi met his gaze, still feeling dazed by everything. He didn't understand the question, at first. Then his brows pinched together and he said, "Of course I do."

"The Killua that you know—would he have left you for dead?"

Illumi couldn't reply, because the answer was no, but also—that's what he had done.

"You don't know what he's thinking, Illumi. But you will. We're going to go to the wake."

"I do not think I should."

Hisoka leaned in, and smiled, and said, "You're a ghost to him, Illumi. If what you think is true. If he did what you think he did. Then you have a divine right to haunt him for it. Don't you?"

The nen healer came the next day, but the first thing out her mouth, when she saw Illumi: "I'm not a healer."

Both Illumi and Hisoka paused at that, and met eyes, and she huffed.

"I'm a specialist that can tell you what's wrong, but the fixing it part—that falls on you. See?"

"I understand," said Illumi, bowing politely.

She bowed in return and then eyed Hisoka. "Are you going to be here for this?"

"Do you need me?"

"It would be easier if you're gone, actually."

"Then I'll be downstairs. I have laundry to fold," said Hisoka, approaching the door. "Call if you need me."

The door clicked shut behind him. Illumi stood opposite the woman. She had straight black hair cut into a bob around her pretty, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were dark brown and cold; like she could see Illumi's skull through his skin and nothing more. "My name is Yaya."

"Nice to meet you. I am Illumi."

"We should sit while we do this. The couch okay?"

"Yes, of course." He gestured for her to sit. And then she held out her hand and he said, "Oh."

"Do you not like touching people?"

Illumi said, "I do not mind," and placed his palm against hers.

A flood of nen surrounded them both. She said, "I have to ask you to describe some things. It'll allow my hatsu to find where things have gone wrong, so we know where to repair. It'll be unpleasant but you can't hurt me, or else the power stops, and I can't get it back."

"You cannot?"

"No. She doesn't like being wounded."

"She…" Illumi began to ask, only to stop short. "I cannot see her because I cannot see nen at the moment."

"Correct. My hatsu takes the form of a woman named Brass."

"I see. You may go ahead. I will not hurt you. Or Brass."

"Thanks," Yaya replied, sounding unconvinced. "Please describe what happened before you lost your nen."

Illumi's mind was blank as he looked back. He said, "I do not remember losing my nen."

Yaya squinted. "Okay. Tell me what you remember happening… Two weeks ago. Three, even."

"I can describe what happened when I was captured."

"Oh, right. You were kidnapped. I forgot; Weiss mentioned. Yes, describe the capture, and what happened while you were there. I'm sure the loss has to do with that." She nodded, looked up, and shrugged. Brass must have said something, but Illumi couldn't hear. "Go on."

He arrived at the airport early for his blimp. He could get a cocktail at the airport bar and relax—the next week had quite a few kills on the docket, so it was Illumi's opportunity to unwind. And perhaps he leaned too far into the concept, because he didn't see them coming. Granted, they'd clearly blocked their powers, and the number of them—twelve against one—meant Illumi had the bag over his head before he could react. And when he could react, the chains were already around his wrists.

But it wasn't like he needed hands to fight. Or his head. His legs were free, which is how he pinned one assailant. And just before he cracked her head clear off her body, one of them said, "If you do that, I'll kill the youngest one. We have him already. He's the weakest out of you Zoldycks, right? What was his name again?"

"Kalluto," a different person supplied.

"Yes, little Kalluto. He's very pretty, right? You want him to die?"

Illumi hesitated, and then loosened his legs from where they grasped this anonymous girl. He didn't get to see any of their faces at first. His legs were wrapped in chains after that, and he realized belatedly that they were not normal chains. They drained his nen, and then his strength, and by the time they arrived at the compound the kidnappers called home, Illumi was completely weak. But he had no worries, yet. The idiots were targeting the whole family—and the Zoldyck family was far too gifted to be caught.

Usually. When the bag was removed from his head, Illumi blinked out to see everyone. Mom, Dad, Grandfather—all his siblings, save Killua. "How?" he asked, impressed more than afraid. Everyone was chained to the wall of a windowless white room with tiled floor. The kids were on one side, while Kikyo, Silva, and Zeno were attached to the other.

"They planted a bomb inside a butler," said Milluki. "Sick fucks. It released gas, so even though we dodged the explosion…" He huffed. "We passed out."

"Not all of us," said Zeno. "But I had to come, or else they were going to kill Kikyo."

"That is how they got me, too," said Illumi. "Either I came, or they would kill Kalluto."

Kalluto had a blooming bruise across one eye. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize," said Illumi. "It will be fine." His eyes flitted over Alluka, who was already gagged, and wrapped in twice as many chains as the rest of them. Could Nanika escape such a thing? He was never quite certain how her power worked. Was Nanika even a creature of nen? Perhaps it would fix things. "It can help us," he nodded to her. Alluka's big blue eyes watered, and she began to nod.

"Will it?" asked one assailant. He walked through a doorway, through this mostly-empty home, and crouched in front of Kalluto. He had blond hair, curly at the top, shaved short on the sides, and blue eyes that were a little too wide to be normal. He turned Kalluto's head one way, then another. "We are gonna have to let that heal before we take pictures."

"Pictures?" Milluki asked.

"Yeah. We're gonna sell each of the kids. You're young enough for a mind wipe to work. You won't even remember being Zoldycks when we're done. And then you'll be little nen helpers for the rich and famous. Isn't that nice? Some might even treat you like their own kids." He laughed, like he heard a joke. "Some will not, though."

"You should let us go," said Illumi, patient and calm. "We will kill you quickly, painlessly, if you do. The longer you make us wait, the more it will hurt."

The assailant smiled. "Man. You're wild to look at in person. The photos were always weird to me. Like, something was off. You don't photograph right."

Illumi tilted his head and blinked.

"But in person…" The stranger stepped forward. "I'm Seval."

"Get away from my son," said Silva, voice a low, threatening rumble.

"See, Dad gets what I mean. Like, you're not my type on paper, or in pictures. Way too weird. But in person," he emphasized again, and whistled. "You're really pretty. I'd like to see your body, if I can. I thought I liked girls. Maybe if I see your member, it'll clarify some things."

"Are you asking permission?" Illumi asked, surprised.

"I guess I don't need to do that, huh?" Seval walked closer, and reached out—

Baited like Illumi hoped he would be. But just before his hands were close enough for Illumi to snap with his teeth, another kidnapper walked in.

"The fuck you doing, Sev?"

Seval jumped back and said, "Uh, well. Nothing, I guess."

"We have to kill the older ones. It won't work on them."

"Yeah, I know. I was just curious about Illumi's, like… You know." He gestured vaguely over Illumi and said, again, "You know?"

The second kidnapper rolled her eyes. They were the same blue as Seval's, and her hair was similarly blonde—though she wore it straight, and in pigtails behind each ear. "Whatever you want, Sev."

"Now, Killua's the only one of you guys that doesn't have a tracker at the moment. Why's that?" Seval asked. "Come on. Answer. Or else." None replied. He turned to Kikyo, pointed a finger at her, and said, "Bang."

Her head exploded with an ear-ringing pop.

The ringing continued, on and on, as Illumi saw his mother's body slump in the chains, bright red blood painting the wall she was hanging from, and dribbling onto the gore-splattered floor. His body moved on instinct, snapping a link of chain between his wrists, but then Seval pointed that finger at Silva, looked at Illumi with a wild, manic stare, and screamed, "Stop."

Illumi did.

"If you move, I'll do the same to him."

"Don't listen to him, Illumi," Zeno hissed.

Seval pointed to Zeno this time and said, "Bang."

The explosion came from Zeno's neck instead of his head, which meant half of his skull collided against the floor and half against the ceiling. Illumi's muffled mind put it together: Seval could create superhot bubbles of air, could place them within bodies, and cause them to pop. He could do it near-instantly.

But he could not do it more than two—perhaps three—times. Because he now panted for air, his skin went pale, sweat dripping from his brow. The woman kidnapper grabbed Seval by the shoulders and began to shuffle him from the room, while another man stormed in and tightened the chains around Illumi. He put an extra one around his shoulders and said, "Do I need to gag you, too?"

Illumi pulled out of his shock and went to bite into the man's neck. He succeeded, but it wasn't a fatal blow—the chains were too tight for him to move far enough in. Instead, he'd just ripped the kidnapper's skin. Still, he fled the room screaming, and distantly he could hear the group of them arguing.

"Who are these people?" Milluki asked, voice deep with rage.

"The Lofee Family," Kalluto said, gasping for air, trembling in his chains. "That's what they said before."

"I don't know them."

"Me either."

Illumi spat the blood from his mouth and looked down at the bodies of his mother and grandfather in horrified, furious awe.

It wasn't long after that when the female kidnapper returned with a bucket and mop and began to tidy the space. She eyed Illumi for a minute and said, "This should have been you."

Illumi watched her, wary, and didn't disagree. His mother held incredible value for the family. Her loss would be utterly devastating in the long term. And Zeno was the most powerful nen-user they had. His training of the kids was part of how the Zoldycks became Zoldycks. Nothing would ever be the same without him.

"You're only chained up on that wall and not splattered across this floor because Seval wants to fuck you. You should remember that."

"I do not care if he desires me," Illumi said.

"Yeah, it's not like this is the first time a total psycho has taken to him," Milluki added. "Seval better get in fucking line."

Kalluto scoffed a quiet laugh.

"I'm just saying. If you want to help your family, you'll listen to him," said the girl. She slid the mop through the wet blood of Zeno and made a face as it pushed from one side of the room to the other. "He's only going to help you out for as long as he thinks he can use you for sex."

"If he touches Illumi…" Silva said quietly, raising his head from where it was bowed. "I will end him, and you, and all of you. It will hurt. You will beg for death."

"You will beg for death," the girl repeated, mockingly. "Don't shoot the messenger. I'm just letting Illumi know what he needs to do to survive. Fuck or die." She shrugged, and then left.

"Don't listen to her," said Kalluto.

"You should not have had to hear any of that," Illumi rumbled in response. His stare grew distant as he considered her words. "None of you will need to worry for me. Do you understand?"

"Do not let that fucking psycho touch you, Illumi," Silva snarled. "That's an order."

"Sex in exchange for liberation is not too high a cost."

Silva said, "It's not worth it."

"You are objectively wrong," said Illumi. "I am willing to trade such a thing. It is not ideal, but I am fine with it."

"I'm not!" Milluki shouted. "I'm not fine with it!"

"Well," said Illumi, "It is my body."

"It's my life," Milluki cried. "And I don't want to trade it for your rape. It would be rape , Illumi."

"It will not be rape if I consent." Illumi then said, "It will not be rape if I start it."

"Do not," Silva shouted. "Do not go down this path."

"Illumi, don't," Kalluto begged. "You don't need to."

"I need to do whatever it takes to protect you," said Illumi. He then smiled at each one, teeth white in the pale artificial light, and said, "It is just sex."

Illumi hadn't expected Seval to undress him in front of his family, but he was depraved, and Illumi should have known something like this would happen. Still, he had to at least try to move from the room—perhaps there would be an opening for him to kill Seval in the process. "Do you mean to fuck me in front of them?"

Seval peeled Illumi's scissor-sliced shirt back from his body, and stared at his chest, and stomach, and then down to his groin. He glanced up at Illumi's face, then out to the others in the room. All watched with mad, homicidal rage. Even Alluka looked as if she'd peel back Seval's skin and enjoy it. "I'm not gonna fuck him. You all can calm down. I just want to look."

Illumi thought perhaps Seval was delusional—in denial of his desires. And when said desires overwhelmed his mind, yes. He would fuck Illumi. And he'd do it in front of his siblings. At least Illumi knew Milluki and Alluka and Kalluto had the manners trained in them to look away when it happened. And Illumi was very good at being quiet. He could endure without a sound; of this he was certain. He had bad sex before. He just needed to close his eyes and see—

Seval cut through Illumi's pants, and underwear, and pulled everything away to leave him naked against the chains.

"Wow," said Sev. "You're like a statue." He reached a trembling hand out, to touch one of Illumi's muscular thighs.

That's when Silva ripped through the chains. Despite the suppression, the draining of his strength—he managed it. Illumi watched with wide eyes, and though everything took only a split second to unfold, it felt like an hour of slow-paced action.

Silva's arms grabbed Seval around the collar. They tightened, crack—snapping Sev's neck. And he continued to pull, until his skin and muscles and bones split apart, and he threw the halves of Sev's body across the room.

But that's when he exploded in turn. The female kidnapper stood in the doorway, eyes wide, hands trembling, finger pointed at the space Silva's body occupied before it had exploded out through his gut. He and Seval both bled across the floor in two halves, faces blank. Dead.

Kalluto and Milluki screamed. Fat, terrified tears fell from Alluka's face. 

"Shut up," screamed the girl. "Shut up! Shut up! Enough!"

She collapsed to her knees next to Sev's upper half, and held his head in her hands. She cried, just like Alluka, her big eyes flooding down her cheeks in pain. 

"Why? Seval. Please."

The rest of the family flooded in shortly after, and that's when they fastened cloth gags over the faces. But Illumi was poised to attack again, ready for it—he had to end this. He had to.

"If you stay perfectly still," the girl said, her rage turning her face cherry red, "If you stay still, you fucker, then I won't kill him." She pointed to Milluki with that finger, the one like Sev's. "You stay still while they dump these bodies. You stay still while they dump you. And I'll let him live. Otherwise, he dies. I'll kill him. I want to!" She screamed, voice cracking, "I want to kill all of you."

Illumi remained limp. He allowed the gag. But everything else—being removed from the wall, still wrapped in chains, being dropped down the hatch of the cell with his parents' and grandfather's bodies—he couldn't have fought that if he wanted to. The chains were too strong. Even as he was fastened to the wall of the cell, he couldn't move.

From the top of the hatch, the girl said again, "If you stay here. If you don't move. They'll survive. You understand me, Illumi?"

She pointed her finger towards him down there, and Illum resigned himself to die.

"You'll beg for death, in the end," she whispered. "But if you dare to move, I'll kill them. I'll kill them all. You stay there. And you stay still."

Distantly, he heard Alluka's sobs. As requested, Illumi remained limp, chained to a rocky, cold wall. The hatch closed.

"Oh, then that's it," said Yaya. She snapped the fingers on her free hand and gave Illumi a grin that made him shift with discomfort. "You traded nen, and your life, to save your siblings."

She seemed utterly unmoved by the revelation, by the story Illumi had shared. Illumi could not say the same.

No—he had not thought of the events since he went into the hatch. He had forgotten the gory details. Until now. He found that he had no more words to share. He stared down where their hands were linked. 

"Did it work? Did your siblings make it out alive?"

Illumi hesitated before nodding once.

"I think you think—well, not you, but the nen you—you've given up nen so that they'll be alive. But she's dead, right? I'm making a leap. Because you survived, and your siblings are all alive, so The Lofee Family is dead."

Illumi nodded again.

"So the deal's done. You can use nen again."

Illumi reached for ren, and found it absent.

"I mean, I'm not an expert on fixing these things, like I said. But you should probably see your family. They'll help you heal this, uh, block. Yeah, you can consider it a block. You are the block."

Illumi withdrew his hand and Yaya stood up.

"Great. That'll be a million jenny." Illumi looked at her, surprised. He hadn't expected to pay. But that made sense—this was his problem, not Hisoka's. He stood up to fetch his phone, and then Yaya snapped her fingers again. "That guy already paid, I forgot. Sorry. It's been a long few days. Lots of broken minds 'round these parts. Good for the wallet, bad for the brain." She exhaled, and started towards the door.

Illumi walked with her, and looked down at his feet as he took every step. Every movement had his mind flash. His grandfather's broken face. His mother's grape-popped head.

"How did your siblings get free, anyway? Maybe if I hear that part, I'll sleep easier tonight." Illumi had the impression none of this bothered Yaya, that she'd heard a million of these terrible experiences in her life, but he didn't want to harm her unintentionally.

It took a moment to find his voice again. "My younger brother, Killua."

"The one they couldn't track as easily?"

"Yes. He found us. Freed my siblings."

"And?"

"He opened the hatch and came down. He saw the bodies of Mom and Dad and Grandfather." Yaya didn't say anything while Illumi looked back up, into her face. "And me. He saw me, chained to the wall down there. He watched me for a minute before climbing back out."

Yaya's face twisted in confusion. "Huh?"

"He then left. Left me there. Closed the hatch."

"No way."

"Yes."

"Shit. That's so cold," she said. She hesitated before patting Illumi stiffly on the shoulder. "Well. Good luck with all that."

How had he forgotten Seval's name?

It was like his time in the cell blackened his mind to the recent past. The problem of surviving without food or water had become so much more intense than the problem of watching his parents explode in front of him; than the problem of him being stripped naked in front of his family. 

A hand pulled the book Illumi held out of his grasp. He blinked and looked up to see Hisoka hovering over him on the couch. "Come now. Bed," said Hisoka.

An entire day had passed in a daze. The wake was tomorrow, and he didn't know how best to prepare for such a thing. So he sat with Babel on Hisoka's couch and tried to read. He had tried for nearly six hours. Darkness had fallen outside, and his ankles were sore from where he'd sat with them crossed. "Are you sleeping with me?"

"Only if you'd like," said Hisoka, folding the page Illumi was reading—had been reading for hours. He took Illumi's hand and walked him to the bed. He laid him down, and leaned over him, and said, "I already set an alarm for the six AM flight."

"Okay. Thank you." He hesitated before leaning up, and kissing Hisoka upon the mouth.

Hisoka returned the kiss as a simple peck before pulling away. He circled the bed and climbed in on the other side. He said, "You haven't tried it today."

"It?"

"Seducing me like you have."

Illumi watched Hisoka's face, trying to gauge if he was disappointed. Or relieved. Or even amused. But his expression was blank. "Would you like to have sex?"

Hisoka's smile loosened something tight at the center of Illumi's chest. "When you ask things like that, it's—" he laughed. "It's always surprising to me."

"I shouldn't have asked," Illumi said softly, turning his stare to his hands atop the comforter. "We need to sleep. Our flight is early."

"Okay," said Hisoka, settling against the pillows. Illumi did the same. Hisoka hit something on his phone, and all the lights went dim, and they fell into silence—but not sleep.

A half hour passed before Hisoka spoke again.

"You know how I said I've wanted you for sixteen years?"

Illumi rolled to his side to look at Hisoka. "Yes."

"You know how you haven't?"

Illumi's lips pursed. Hisoka rolled over, too, so that they faced one another, a few inches apart—not touching. Hisoka's bed was big enough for that. Blankets wide enough for them to share like this.

"If ever I'm fucking someone else, it's you."

Illumi squinted, not following.

Hisoka's smile was slight; thin. "It's a terribly mean thing I do. When I'm with someone else. I've got my dick inside them, and they're beneath me, or riding me, or pressed up to the shower wall. It doesn't matter what they look like, or sound like, or smell like. I close my eyes and it's you."

Illumi tracked his eyes across Hisoka's face, across his arched brow and defined cheek and long, straight nose. "That is mean," he whispered.

"I know."

"It cannot be every single person," Illumi said, raising an eyebrow.

"Every single one," Hisoka said, nodding. "But not the whole time. Just sometimes."

An odd indignant feeling swelled inside Illumi's chest. Like he was offended that Hisoka wouldn't think of him all the time. Every time. For the whole time. He exhaled and closed his eyes. "Why are you talking to me about this?"

"Because I would like you to know it's not a fleeting thing I've done every now and again. That I'm not just considering fucking you as a dalliance I can do once. That you might be a toy to me, but you're one of those toys you keep forever, that sits somewhere that you may see it every day, that you dust weekly, and touch for good luck."

"I do not know what the fuck that means," Illumi said, flatly.

"I love you."

The silence of Hisoka's loft wasn't really silent at all. The city streets below rumbled with cars. Horns honked. A neighbor, through one of the walls, laughed uproariously at something on their television. The refrigerator clicked a few times, filtering water. And Illumi's heart, it thundered. It was so loud to his ears that he was sure Hisoka could hear it too.

"When we go to your home tomorrow," said Hisoka, "You may stay."

"No," Illumi said, immediately. "I will not be welcome."

Hisoka smirked. "You may stay. So I wanted to say this now. To tell you that I love you."

Another silence that wasn't quiet filled the air. And then Illumi said, "You know, we are missing our brunch to go to this wake."

"Two brunches in a row," Hisoka said, clicking his tongue. "I've all but forgotten what a mimosa tastes like."

Illumi fished for Hisoka's hand beneath the cover. He brought it up, and looked at his pointed, manicured nails. They were black—for the funeral, Hisoka said earlier, when he painted them. "If you love me," he said, "And you've imagined fucking me every time you've had sex. Why have you not slept with me?"

Hisoka curled his hand away from Illumi's touch. He leaned in, kissed Illumi's mouth, and then his nose, and then the point where his hair met his face. "That is why."

"Let's have sex now," Illumi mumbled.

Hisoka leaned in to kiss him again, more deeply this time. Illumi fished for his tongue, and found it, and sighed into their mouths at the warm bliss of it. And just as he started to fall into the feeling of want, Hisoka pulled back enough to speak against his lips. "No. Good night, Illumi."

At least Hisoka spooned him as they slept, even if they didn't actually fuck.

Illumi ordered two mimosas on the blimp ride back to Kukuru Mountain. He presented one to Hisoka and got a catlike grin in response. They tipped the champagne flutes together and took a sip, and Illumi watched as Hisoka swallowed, admiring the muscular shape of his throat.

"It's so funny that you think you're indifferent," Hisoka said, placing the empty flute on the table between them. "Your eyes are such a dead giveaway to your thoughts. Every time."

Illumi blinked a few times, frowned, and said, "That is not true. I am very good at masking."

Hisoka glanced between Illumi's champagne-damp lips and his eyes and back again. And smiled. "Whatever you say, Illumi."

It was not difficult to sneak into the wake; almost none alive were as fast or silent as Hisoka and Illumi—even with Illumi in his weakened state. There were altars set up for all the fallen Zoldycks, behind a closed door in the manor, where only family was meant to access. With photos. Trinkets. Poetry, even—written by Alluka. Illumi and Hisoka looked over each one until they reached Illumi's altar at the end.

The photo used was one from nearly ten years ago, where he was seated in the family's living room, holding toddler Alluka on one hip, infant Kalluto in his arm, and had Killua tugging at his hair off to the side. Milluki frowned over his shoulder. But Illumi's expression was bare—happy. He smiled not with his teeth, but with his lips closed, and eyes narrowed with visible joy. He was at home with all of them, in pajamas. 

"I think that was Christmas," said Illumi. "Kalluto's first Christmas."

"You're very cute," said Hisoka.

"You think that because you love me," Illumi said. He gestured at his mussy, baby-grabbed hair, in that middle-stage between short and long, where it just looked awkward. His knees were gangly then, too. "This is not the finest I've looked."

"Why would Killua have picked this photo, then?"

"I think I was the happiest I've ever been. At that moment."

Hisoka tapped his fingers upon the altar's surface. "He seems to know you well, doesn't he? To have picked such a moment in particular."

Illumi's stomach twisted and he walked away, overwhelmed with the memory of Killua's pinched, unhappy face as he closed the hatch. "I think perhaps we should go."

"Really?" said Hisoka. "I think perhaps we should talk to Killua."

"No." Illumi stepped back, towards the back exit of the room. It would lead through the kitchen, then into their backyard. He could leave without having been detected at all. "No. We should go."

"The nen expert Yaya said you should see your family, though. You said so."

"I do not care. I do not want to see them. I do not want to see Killua."

Hisoka raised his phone, showing an exchange of messages from Killua's newly saved number. He said, "Then I shouldn't've told him to meet me here right now?"

Well-timed, the front double door to the room slammed open. "You are not supposed to be in here, you fucking disrespectful, loud-mouthed, murderous creep," Killua barked, storming in with a finger extended. At his heels, Gon noticed Illumi first, and froze with wide doe eyes and a gasp.

The reaction is what clued Killua in, his rage narrowing his stare at Hisoka. He blinked away from him, to the back of the room, and pinned Illumi with an expression gone utterly blank. Then he said, voice cracking, "Illumi?"

Illumi squared his shoulders and said, "I was leaving. I am leaving. I am sorry. I'm sorry, I—"

But before he could say anything else, Killua was around him. His arms, his legs, he squeezed Illumi in a hug so all-encompassing that it took Illumi's breath away, and he stumbled back, barely able to hold Killua's weight. Killua stepped back, grabbing Illumi's arms, and his eyes were wide and filled with tears. "How are you here?"

"You mean—" Illumi fished for words, confused, heart thundering again. "You mean how am I alive?"

"Yes," Killua nearly shouted, and he rushed forward to hug Illumi again. And he kissed him, on the cheek, and he turned to look at Gon. "Go get—"

"On it!" Gon said before he could even finish the thought, zipping out of the room with unnatural speed.

Illumi swallowed hard and said, "I did not think you would be happy to see me." He looked up, meeting Hisoka's stare from across the room. Hisoka, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shrugged. "You left me to die."

Killua's wide eyes grew even wider. "What?"

"You left me."

"I left you dead," Killua said. "You were dead. I saw you. I saw you with my own eyes. You were—you were already dead."

Illumi's mouth opened and closed a few times before he said, "Oh."

And then everything very suddenly made sense.

And he laughed. He couldn't help it. It was the first sound that burst from him—it wasn't a sound of joy. Or discomfort. It was the sound of his nearly-broken mind having mended something deep within. "You did not want me dead. You thought I was dead."

"You were," Killua cried, grabbing Illumi's arms again, squeezing.

"No. I was not moving, because I was told if I moved, Milluki would die. I made a deal. I made a deal with nen. I thought I did, anyway."

Killua looked confused and hurt at once. "But I used nen; I looked down there. There was no aura. There was nothing. You were limp. Unblinking."

"I did not think I could move. As I said, I made a deal. I thought I had."

Killua began to sob in earnest as he too understood the gravity of the exchange. At the utter misunderstanding. "You were alive? I left you—alive?"

"You did not know," said Illumi, gently. "You misunderstood."

"You could have died for real. It would have been my fault." He hiccuped, breathing picking up, hands trembling.

Illumi hugged him against his chest, laughed again, and said, "I did not die. I was fished from the cell not too long after."

Killua sniffled, stepped back, and turned his head to Hisoka.

Hisoka gave him a small smile and an even smaller wave with all his pretty painted fingers.

Killua wiped his face, seemingly realizing he'd fallen off the deep end of emotion in front of someone he didn't trust. He cleared his throat and said, "Then. Thank you, Hisoka. Sorry I called you a creep."

"You're welcome," said Hisoka, tone airy. "I had my own reasons to help Illumi out, really."

"Obviously," muttered Killua. He rolled his eyes.

"It is not that obvious," Illumi said. The option of Hisoka rescuing him had not even crossed his mind until it happened.

"You kidding?" Killua scoffed. "You two being in love is one of the most obvious things I've ever seen. It's gross." He paused, pinched his lips together, and said, "But useful, I guess, because it saved your life."

In love, in love, in love, said Killua.

Illumi blinked owlishly at Hisoka from across the room.

Once again, like with Killua, Hisoka gave Illumi a small smile and even smaller wave with all his pretty painted fingers.

Everyone cried—even Gon—at the reunion of the siblings. Well, Hisoka didn't cry. He actually slipped from the room for some time, leaving the family alone to talk, and Illumi found him a few hours later on one of the balconies that looked down the mountain, into the misty town below.

Illumi joined him there with a mug of tea. He knew, now, having been inside Hisoka's home—he loved a good green tea with mint. He offered it to Hisoka, and Hisoka took it with a grateful nod. He sipped, looked out upon the view, and they stood in side-by-side silence for several minutes. The only sounds were that of the wake attendees gossiping downstairs, the birds whooping in the trees around, and, once more—Illumi's deeply beating heart.

"You could have told me you suspected it was a misunderstanding," said Illumi.

"You weren't in the state to listen to me. Or any reasonable thought."

"I am a very rational person. I would have understood."

Hisoka snorted into his cup.

Illumi drummed his fingers on the stone fence surrounding the balcony and said, "You know me better than I know myself, I think."

"Maybe."

"Because you love me."

Hisoka mumbled into the cup, "I'm not sure I made the wisest decision telling you this. It's like a throwing star every time you say it like this. Shk, shk, into my ribs." He smiled, and met Illumi's eyes. 

"I thought you were on the side of daggers," Illumi said.

"My argument is that daggers have more use than just an attack."

"I do not mean to attack you. I owe you my life."

Hisoka shrugged. "I rescued you for my own selfish wants, really."

"Wants that you've not acted upon. You could have had me, Hisoka. I would have let you fuck me all over your home. The whole time that I was there."

"'Let you,' you say," Hisoka said with a sigh. He placed the empty mug on the balcony fence and turned to face Illumi straight on. He opened his mouth to speak, but Illumi beat him to it.

"Do you think I love you?"

Hisoka's brows closed in over his eyes. 

Illum pressed on. "You know me. What do you think?"

"I think you find me objectively sexually appealing. I think you think I'll protect you more if we connect that way."

"So it is not love," Illumi said, tilting his head. "You think that it is not love."

"Perhaps not," Hisoka replied. Though he spoke calmly, slowly, Illumi could tell it hurt him to say. 

Illumi stepped forward, into Hisoka's space, so that their faces were but a few inches apart. "Last night, you told me that you see me when you sleep with other people."

"Yes," Hisoka replied, glancing down at Illumi's mouth like he couldn't help himself, before watching his eyes again. "I wasn't lying."

"I know you weren't." Illumi placed his hands upon Hisoka's lapel. "I know you weren't, because I've done the same thing." A rush of something—fear. Shame. Humiliation—made his hands shake, and he gripped the fabric to keep himself steady. He whispered, lips nearly brushing Hisoka's. "Every time I've ever had sex, Hisoka. I imagined it was you." He was going to let the psychopath that killed his mom fuck him, and he was going to close his eyes, and imagine the same thing he imaged every time he had sex.

Hisoka.

Hisoka's eyes went wide. He wasn't often left speechless—Illumi knew from sixteen years of experience—and it was clear there were no words available for him to reply with.

"I know that you love me," Illumi said. "Because I now understand: I love you the exact same way."

Hisoka still had no words, but neither needed to say anything more. They kissed as the sun set over the distant mountains and Illumi knew: this was enough.

Chapter Text

They stayed the night in the manor—planned to stay for several nights, actually, while Illumi helped Killua sort out the Zoldyck estate.

The first time Illumi ever had sex, it was in his childhood bedroom inside the manor. There was something poetic to him that the last person he ever had sex with—because he'd never love anyone like Hisoka, ever again—would fuck him in the very same place—on the very same bed.

But of course Hisoka didn't match the energy of Illumi's first awkward encounter, which lasted all of fifteen minutes from door closing to awkward post-nut shower. Hisoka had, in his own words, waited his entire life for this, and Illumi came to understand why he phrased it that particular way.

He fucked Illumi like it was a marathon. He ate him out first, for an hour, until Illumi's legs were shaking out of control, and Hisoka's saliva dribbled onto the bedding below. And then he used his fingers, and Illumi loved his fingers—he knew he would. They were long and strong and pumped in, and out, and in, until Illumi had to plead for more.

Hisoka gave him more. First, face-to-face, because he wanted to kiss Illumi as he slid inside for the first time.

"Okay," Illumi agreed, breathing heavily. Hisoka held him by the back of his knees, folding him in half, his thick cock spearing him. It was thicker in the middle, slowing their pace for several minutes as he worked himself in, watching every minute reaction across Illumi's face. The way they stared at each other felt incredibly intense. Almost too much. Illumi didn't know how he'd ever move on from that look; the adoration. The want. The need. But once Hisoka was in all the way, once Illumi had relaxed around the thickness of him—

He fucked Illumi through the mattress like he'd been paid to do it.

And after that, they came to realize Illumi's aura returned. Weak, but present. Because he used it to recover his stamina, just enough—for them to fuck a second time. Illumi bounced on Hisoka's cock, head thrown back, sliding him inside so that he saw stars with every move. When Hisoka came this time, it dribbled immediately down Illumi's thighs, and Illumi's spend painted Hisoka's chest.

They had to shower, but that devolved, just like everything else: Illumi held onto the bar across his shower's glass door, bent over while Hisoka pounded into him from behind. The water went cold from how long they fucked beneath it.

And again at the sink.

And then against Illumi's computer desk in the corner of his room.

Then, next to the curtains—which is when the sun began to rise, and Illumi slurred, mind utterly fucked out, "Hisoka. It's morning."

"Mm," he said, kissing a visible bruise on Illumi's throat. "Then we have to stop."

Illumi peered down at him and said, "Yeah. We do."

But they managed one more quickie before getting dressed. It wasn't Illumi's fault that Hisoka looked particularly good in nothing but a crop top.

At breakfast, they sat side by side, quietly eating toast. The rest of the family sat at the same table, silent.

Gon was the first one to speak. "So, like, are you two going to get married or something?" Hisoka barely managed to hide his laugh behind a hand while Illumi's lips flattened into a line. Killua shot Gon a glare, which was returned in kind. "What? It's a normal question."

"I do not know," said Illumi. He then said, "Probably." And smiled, mouth closed, eyes narrowed in joy, as Hisoka choked on his toast.