Work Text:
The ocean is deceptively silent as the sun lowers deep beneath the waves. Hisoka knows what comes with the darkness, knows the sharks will come to feed on his catch. He throws down his nets into the sea one last time, the last rays of light dancing upon the waves. Water laps gently at the sides of his boat, licking up to spray foam as if to warn him of coming dangers. He finishes the last of his sandwich before tossing crumbs to the pelican perched on the starboard lip of the boat, who squawks and gulps it down greedily. He’d come to poke around for fish, and Hisoka had given him one already, shoes him off and paces the deck. Waiting. The air is frigid when he finally decides to pull in the nets, meeting little resistance. The fish had gone to the very depths, it seemed. He heaves a sigh, keeps pulling, water spraying up and into his nose. He catches a glimpse of sliver, thrashing wildly, long and diving back to the bottom of the net, enough to nearly jerk it out of his hands. It’s not a shark- Hisoka can see scales- and he nearly falls on his ass when the net gives a hearty jerk.
“What the fuck,” He growls, to no one in particular, alone save for a few hovering seagulls eyeing his catch. The moon is shimmering on the waves, illuminating just enough for Hisoka to see it again. Distinctly a tail, silver. He’s only hauled in trout, nothing large enough to put up such a decent fight. He gives one last mighty pull, straining against the slippery thing trapped in the net, and falls hard against the cabin door, tastes blood in his mouth. He blearily stands, feels wetness trickling down his temple and doggedly ignores the way his head throbs, unsheathing his knife and tentatively toes at the heap now lying on the deck. Under the moonlight he sees the tail again, follows it up, up, to pale skin. There’s arms, trapped against a slender torso, and Hisoka chokes on his breath when obsidian eyes catch his own. The man is terrified, thrashing as best he can tangled up so, and Hisoka tsks, lays a hand on the net as the man stares up at him, hair clinging to conceal most of his face.
“My apologies, mate, I didn’t realize you divers were out this late.” He’s never seen one quite like this before, but people, Hisoka had realized, never failed to surprise. Anything was possible. The diver doesn’t answer, claws at the net around him and lets out a small whimper when Hisoka starts to saw at the netting. “How did you even get caught up in this,” He tears at the hole he's made, enough for the man to start to work out of it, eyes still trained on Hisoka’s own. The man works himself free, and scrambles best he can to the side of the boat. Hisoka wants to stop him, offer him a safe warm ride back to the docks, but the moonlight illuminates gils at the man’s neck as he dives into the sea. His head oozes, blood trickling to mingle against his lips as he stares off the side into the ocean, waiting for the diver to come up for air. He has to. Hisoka doesn’t know how long he waits, paralyzed at the thought of the man drowning, counting until seconds crawl to minutes. Nothing.
“What the fuck.” He says again, forcing himself to start the boat towards shore. He doesn’t bother to even prepare the spoils of the day, dumps them over ice as if entranced and stumbles home. When he wakes in the morning his head throbs, and with each aching thud more of the events of the evening prior flood back. A cursory glance in the bathroom mirror shows the damage done. He can’t even imagine what the boat looks like. Nursing his head, Hisoka brews a cup of tea, fumbles for painkillers as the kettle whistles. He chalks up the night's events to a nasty concussion, the sea playing it’s tricks, despite the nagging voice in his head telling him otherwise.
“Hisoka Morrow! How are ya, mate?” Hisoka immediately regrets calling the dock owner, who’s booming voice is already bringing back his throbbing headache.
“Good, Silva, good. How is your family?”
“Oh, wonderful, they sure do grow up fast, I still remember when you and Illumi were just children!” Silva prattles on, lamenting about the passage of time, and Hisoka wants to rip his fingernails off, picks at a stray cuticle and considers it far too seriously.
“Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask you, did you check out any diving tours yesterday? Tourists or locals.” Hisoka thinks he’d remember seeing the man before last night if he lived in town. With a population of a mighty fifty, everyone knew everyone. One could never be too sure.
“Did you run over some poor bloke out on the water or something?”
“Hardly.”
“Well-“ Silva pauses, heaving a mighty breath into the receiver, slowly clicking away at the computer. Hisoka should have tried Illumi, who typed a freakish 110 words per minute, and loathed small talk. “Not seeing any charters except for yours and Nobunga’s yesterday, mate.”
“Is it possible someone could’ve gone out without you knowing?” Silva huffs so hard Hisoka can smell the brandy on his breath through the receiver.
“When has anyone.”
“Right. Thanks for checking.” Hisoka hangs up before Silva can ask him anything else, head spinning, and closes his eyes, sees silver and fins and obsidian behind his eyelids. There was an explanation for it. He was a rational man, and knew there were a multitude of possibilities. Unless it was a siren. He sighs, gathers himself and trudges out into the cool morning air to prepare the fish he’d caught yesterday. Machi was expecting at least two coolers of trout, and he’d promised her by the end of the week. The haul was decent, enough to more than cover the amount she’d requested, but as he scours the dock for the cooler, a sick, cold anger starts to settle in his stomach. He’d been so out of his mind yesterday someone had stolen it, of course, probably one of the local teens or kids on vacation who’d wanted free dinner. He hopes they get fucking sick. The water is choppy, unforgiving as he motors out past the outcropping of shore into deeper waters, the waves smacking against the bow as if holding a personal grudge against Hisoka and his lack of organization. He finally drops anchor nearly a mile east of where he’d fished yesterday, tosses in bait and waits until he catches a few eager fish coming to investigate. He gathers the nets, nearly tosses them over, and is smacked squarely in the face by something wet and rather scaly. Once he’s cleared seawater out of his eyes, he manages to locate the perpetrator, a large trout which is now flopping about on the deck. He recovers rather quickly, throwing the fish into the waiting ice once it’s succumbed to oxygen and tosses the nets in the sea. A gull lands on the bow while he waits, squawks impatiently at him, beady eyes blinking as if waiting for Hisoka to throw him his own treat.
“Catch your own, lazy.” He waves at him slightly and the bird honks, chattering it’s beak. A wet plop breaks their silent argument and before Hisoka can secure the fish, the gull swoops off with it safely in his beak.
“What is going on.” Hisoka glances over the side of the boat, peering into the inky depths, and suddenly is met with darkness. When he comes to the net is resting against the starboard side, bursting with fish, a rather fat bass flops pitifully near his feet. He scrambles to right himself, nursing a now throbbing head and eye, crossing the short distance to the side of the boat yet again.
“I’m sorry!” A voice calls up to him, and Hisoka nearly falls in, scrambling to keep his balance. He scans the surface, whipping around to look for other boats in the vicinity.
“Uh, for what?”
“Knocking you out with a fish.” The voice is very matter of fact, as if it can’t possibly believe Hisoka is asking why.
“Unless you’re the ghost of the fish, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Well I threw it.” The voice sounds exasperated, definitely a man’s and Hisoka thinks he’s losing his mind. Given the head injuries he’s endured over the last 24 hours, it wouldn’t be surprising. “You’re not losing your mind.” The voice says calmly, and there’s still no boat anywhere near him.
“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” He’s met with silence, save for the soft cry of gulls on the horizon. He almost feels bad for the way he’d snarked, willing the voice to return to him. It doesn’t. There must have been a diver in the waters, who’d seen his boat and come to have a little fun at his expense. Still, he waits, longer than he should, gutting the fish on the deck and straining for a delayed reply. It never comes. He decides to return to the shore, thick clouds rolling in, chasing him across the sky. The rain is freezing and pelts down with abandon as he hurriedly transports the fish to his waiting truck, fumbles for his keys and nearly drops them out of numb fingers. After ringing the doorbell twice and knocking three times, Hisoka almost decides to cut Machi off of her supply of fish. He stays under the shelter of the porch, thunder rumbling lowly across the water, and knocks again. Paku opens the door, and if looks could kill, Hisoka would be a dead man.
“Is Machi home?”
Paku softens momentarily when he holds up a cooler as a peace offering and smoothes down her blouse. “You have terrible fucking timing, Hisoka.” She waves him in after a moment of making him suffer, and he trails after her down the hallway of their home. He’s only been inside a few times, usually making deliveries at the restaurant in town, but the roads had started to flood and Hisoka didn’t feel like pushing his luck any more today.
“You look terrible!” Machi greets him cheerfully, snatching the cooler out of his hands and fawning over it as if it were the Ark of the Covenant. Hisoka snatches the check from her outstretched hand and stuffs it in his coat pocket, ignoring the dampness spreading into his sleeve.
“Fish were practically jumping into the boat today.”
“Oh?”
“Took a bass to the face.”
“Fish had good aim.”
“It sure did.” He omits the part of the story wherein the disembodied voice had owned up for the fastball al la fish. Machi insists he stay, much to Paku’s chagrin, and despite his protests brews a fresh pot of coffee while the storm rages on outside.
“So, have you seen anything weird lately Hisoka?” Machi regales his stories like a child, and despite his numerous offers to take her along on the boat she always refuses, but demands a tale each time he drops off her shipment.
“Diver got caught in the net the other night.” Even Paku seems intrigued at his story, leaning forward slightly to rest her elbows on her knees.
“Was he okay?”
“Oh sure. Silva says nobody was out that day but I’m sure someone slipped through the cracks. I offered him a ride in and he just jumped back in the water.”
“Huh.”
“What.”
“Nothing.” Matchi glances at Paku, who looks more shocked than Hisoka had ever seen her, almost rattled. They wordlessly speak, Hisoka can see it, and Paku rises startlingly quickly to retrieve the coffee from the kitchen where it’s beeping incessantly.
“What the fuck was that.”
“What the fuck was what?”
“Machi.”
“Hisoka.” He gives her a look, scalding, and she scoffs, puffs out her chest and stares back. Paku shuffles back in, wordlessly hands him a steaming mug and he murmurs out a thank you, sipping at it even though it burns off the surface of his tongue. The three of them sit, random peals of lighting illuminating the dimly lit room. The silence nearly becomes suffocating, and Hisoka doesn’t know who to focus on, eyes darting back and forth between the two women.
“Don’t you believe in the legends?” Paku speaks, low and barley above a whisper. Machi says nothing, uncharacteristically silent, her gaze trained on Hisoka. He isn’t startled by the question. It’s one that’s been asked of him before, at pubs, by wide eyed tourists and local children watching him at the docks alike. His answer varies regarding the crowd he’s entertaining.
“Some.”
“Have you ever seen anything? Out there.”
“No.” He pauses, thinks of the voice, it’s melodic, soothing tone, the silver and obsidian. He has a hard time deciphering the expression on Paku’s face, a mixture of disappointment and relief. Strange. “Maybe. The sea is mysterious. There are things I can’t explain.”
“Like fish jumping into your boat.” Machi supplies, and Hisoka shrugs. Fish act strange when there’s a storm brewing, and though he’s never had one slap him in the face before, he has seen them jump.
“What did the diver look like?” Paku is like a dog with a bone, honded in and desperate for more.
“I’ve never seen him before.” Hisoka admits, setting his mug on the table.
“Dark hair, black eyes. Looked like he had something on his legs, like fins you’d see a swimmer wear.” He gestures to his legs. “Though they went all the way up, I think.” The man was fragile, pale and thin, and beautiful, like a doll, despite his oddities.
“Like a tail?”
“Are you implying that this diver was a fucking mermaid?” Hisoka snorts, waiting for Paku to start snickering, give up on her joke and assure him he hadn’t been mistaken, that he hadn’t seen gils and a tail. She doesn’t. She stares at him, focused, waiting for him to stop laughing and take her seriously.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” Paku glares daggers at him, and he glances at Machi to help. She doesn’t.
“Mermaids don’t exist.” He says it confidently, as if it’s fact. Even though he’d seen things unexplainable before, heard old captains tell tales of losing sailors overboard to the beautiful harmonies of the women underneath the waves. But men lie. Everyone lies.
Paku doesn’t even try to hide the way she rolls her eyes. “Don’t sound so sure.” Hisoka isn’t sure.The man had dove back into the ocean. He’d never known the stories to include male sirens, but perhaps.
To say the trio finished their coffee in tense silence would be an understatement. Hisoka isn’t sure what to say as he gets up to leave, giving both women a brief hug. It’s stiff, and awkward, and as he darts through the steady downpour he feels the urge to go see for himself. The docks are dark, a sign reading CLOSED flaps against Silva’s office door. He barrels past it, nearly slips on the deck as he sprints to the captain's quarters. She’s a small craft, the only thing Hisoka could afford when he’d relocated. She’d proven to be a strong ship, despite her size. The engine sputters to life after some coaxing, and despite the calm waters of the marina, the further out he goes the larger the waves get. A voice in his head tells him to go home, sleep off the idea and awake level headed in the morning. He can’t. Hisoka isn’t sure why, but he’s compelled to push out further. He’s lived a great deal of years surrounded in mysteries, secrets and deception were what he knew. He liked being unknown by the town, the elusive fisherman who lived on the hill and looked more like a traveling carnie than a sailor. The waves are crashing onto the deck, hard, and Hisoka cuts the engines when he’s far enough out, scans the water for a sign of silver. The sea doesn't calm, raging against the boat, spraying up into his face. He tries to keep his eyes open, seawater crashing against his face, and he closes them, just for a moment, to wipe the spray and suddenly it’s cold.
He can feel himself drowning. It’s faster than he’d expected it to be, the stories always made it out to be long and agonizing. He’d be fine with agonizing. Through the storm he can barely make out the boat, bobbing on the waves like a toy in a bathtub. The water takes him under again; longer this time, and he can’t help but gasp for air, swallowing salt and freezing. He shouldn’t give up. The boat is close, he should swim to it, cling on until the storm subsides. Hisoka is tired. He can hear the gulls, squawking above him, circling. He lets the ocean pull him under once more, chest burning as though it’s going to burst. It’s impossible to see what’s beneath him, or even next to him. He knows the sharks will enjoy him at least. He doesn’t particularly want to die, at this moment. There’s much to do, and yet, as his eyes close in the salty water he thinks it’s not so bad. Hisoka wakes up violently to say the least. The water he’d swallowed comes surging up out of his mouth and nose with a vengeance, and while he’s never believed in the afterlife there really shouldn’t be such a taxing, painful start.
“Are you okay?” A voice cuts through the haze, one he thinks he recognizes, and suddenly the sensation of a finger being poked into his eyeball jolts him upright.
“Ow.” He can barely make out the hazy shape of dark hair, dark eyes, a furrowed brow hovering in front of him. Before he can ask the important question of if he’s dead or not, he passes out. The second time he wakes he's in his home. It’s dark, save for the beam of the lighthouse cutting into his windows. A cursory glance at himself let’s him know his wet clothes have been removed, and he’s lying naked under his scratchy wool sheets. He really hopes whoever the good Samaritan was that had saved his life was also a goddamn stranger.
“I didn’t mean to poke my finger in your eye.” The owner of the familiar voice is back, a vague shadow at the end of his bed, and Hisoka fumbles for the lamp, clicks it on. The light casts over the dreary room, landing squarely on the man hovering near the footboard. It’s the diver. There’s no silver, not that Hisoka can see, just pale skin sneaking out from a sweater and trousers far too large for the man’s frame. Hisoka's clothes.
“I’ll forgive it, since you just saved my life. Thank you for that.”
“What were you doing in such a powerful storm?”
“Trying to prove a point.” The man snorts through his nose, a ghost of a laugh.
“Must have been some point.”
“I was trying to prove you weren’t real.”
“Oh but I am.” The man cocks his head, and Hisoka strains to locate the gils, of course, that aren’t there. “Why would I not be real? I’ve been talking to you.”
“You got tangled in my net, and then jumped back in the water like some sort of maniac. I don’t remember you speaking at any point, though.”
The man sighs irritatedly, as if Hisoka is missing some point he’s trying to convey. “And as thanks I tried to throw some fish into your boat- which was not easy, thank you very much- and I distinctly remember talking to you then.” Hisoka’s head throbs dully, and he makes to get up for a glass of water and painkillers, before realizing he’s still naked, casting a scathing look at the man across from him, who simply glares back at him.
“You took my clothes off.”
“They were wet.”
“And you couldn’t have at least waited until I woke up?”
“You would’ve been mad then too.”
Hisoka opens his mouth to retort and snaps it shut. The man smiles softly, or at least it’s something adjacent to a smile. He suddenly feels at peace, a feeling he hasn’t felt since childhood, unease and general irritation melting away. As soon as he feels it, it stops. The magnetic pull is yanked away brutally as the man glances at the clock on Hisoka’s bedside table.
“I should be going.” Hisoka unthinkingly grabs his arm, clutching the fabric of the sweater as if his brute force can keep him there.
“Wait a minute.” He’s intrigued by this pale, dark featured stranger, the way his wrist feels so delicate against his calloused palm. He’s afraid to use any force, fearful the man will crack apart like fine china at the slightest touch.
“Try not to drown again. You’re rather heavy.” The man easily slips out of his grip, briskly heading to the doorway.
Hisoka trails after him, naked and cold, and grabs a blanket off the back of his ratty couch to wrap around his waist.“What’s your name, at least? I’m Hisoka.” The rain is still pouring down, and Hisoka doesn’t even really register that he’s splashing mud all across himself as he follows the man to the outcropping of rocks near the shore.
“Chrollo.” He speaks barely above a whisper, voice tickling across the wind, sweet against Hisoka’s ears. A sliver of the moon peeks out from behind the thick cloud cover and Chrollo starts to peel off Hisoka's clothes, folding them on the rocks, pale and slender and naked in the rain. Hisoka wants to touch him, every inch, and Chrollo casts him one final look. It’s then Hisoka can make out the faint glimmer of scales, silver and whispers against his cheek, his chest, covering his legs. He looks sad, almost, before jumping headlong into the water.
“Hey!” Hisoka snaps out of the trance he’s in, stumbling forward, ignoring the way the shells and coarse sand cut open his bare feet. He gathers his clothes in his arms, shivering, forcing himself to look over the cliff at the rocks below. There’s no body, no broken man sprawled at the bottom. He feels sick. He throws up until the taste of seawater is emptied from his mouth, spits a few times for good measure and trudges back towards his lighted doorway. He doesn’t go out to the docks the next day. Or the next. He’s inexplicably sullen, the gloomy weather leaving the skies to reside in his head. Silva calls, once, twice, and Hisoka picks up on the third try, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.
“Morrow, I have a favor to ask.” Silva skips the pleasantries, perhaps for the first time in his life, and Hisoka hates fucking favors. But he owes Silva, knows it, and listens anyway. “There’s a group of tourists wantin’ to go out and catch some fish, and I got nobody to take em.” Hisoka sighs, scribbles down the appointment time and after they’ve hung up, morosely forces himself to shower.
It’s a small group, thank the gods, and they seem pleasant enough. A few honeymooners, and a family with a young daughter. He tries to make his spiel about life jackets less boring than it really is, doesn’t even glance twice at his boat, safely docked in its place. Like the storm had never happened. He knows it had, knows he’d almost lost her, and when everyone is chattering excitedly aboard he whispers a few words of praise to her before sputtering out. The sea is calmer than it has been in weeks, the sand visible from the surface. Cool, inviting. He drops anchor at his usual spot, assigns each couple to a rod with a bucket of bait and kicks back to watch. Despite his usual loathing of these outings, watching people who’d come from the city, lured by the call of the true wild, try to catch fish was wildly entertaining. A few seagulls land on the bow, honking and chittering for scraps, much to the child’s delight, and Hisoka swears he catches a flash of silver. He watches hard, in case he sees it again, but nothing. Of course. The wind picks up slightly, rocking them gently, and he hears it. His name. It’s coming from the bow, and he casts a cursory glance, to make sure nobody is on the verge of tipping over the side, and slowly makes his way up.
“Hi.” He hears him a moment before he sees him, concealed in the shadows beneath the wood and iron. Hisoka hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not like this.
“Hello.” He tries to pointedly ignore the shimmering of silver against the crystal water, stares straight into those obsidian eyes and the feeling is back with a vengeance, tugging at him. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Why?”
“You just-.” Hisoka crouches, out of view of his passengers. “You jumped off a cliff.”
“You saw I was out of time, though. I know you did.” Chrollo sinks beneath the surface like a crocodile until only his eyes are visible, for a moment. “I couldn’t have stayed forever.” Hisoka realizes he’s struggling to breathe, keeping himself submerged.
“What, so did you make a deal with some old sea witch in exchange for legs?” Hisoka doesn't know how he’s just okay with this, the fact that a mermaid is under his boat in broad daylight and he’s making jokes. Even worse, he’s hoping the mermaid will think he’s funny.
Chrollo rolls his eyes so hard Hisoka fears he might give himself a concussion. “You humans are so narrow minded. And know little about us.” It’s Hisoka’s turn to roll his eyes. “We can walk among you for short periods of time. If the moon is full, I can be out for as long as a full day.” He explains, and Hisoka can slowly but surely feel his reality fizzing away. Chrollo eyes him, just above the surface, still pale and beautiful and scaly as the last time Hisoka had laid eyes on him. He’s tempted to jump in the water, the crystalline surface inviting, but knows the frigid waters are hiding dangers he can’t compete with.
“I caught one!” He’s jerked out of the trancelike state Chrollo seems to invoke as the little girl squeals with delight at the fish wriggling on her hook. Hisoka glances back, one last time at the black eyes staring through him, and holds up a finger. Wait. Please. He helps the family with the fish methodically, takes a photo for them and the girl giggles happily as the fish frantically swims back to rejoin it’s school. He checks on the other passengers, none who’ve had any luck, and makes his way back to the front of the boat, crouching again.0
“I didn’t know you took people out on your boat.” Chrollo says, still motionless where Hisoka had left him.
“I don’t.” Hisoka slowly inches his hand down, close to the surface of the water. “Usually. A favor for a friend.” He keeps still, as if trying to calm a spooked horse, as Chrollo slowly inches toward his outstretched hand. His skin is frigid from the temperature of the water, but Hisoka can feel it warming against his touch.
“Tomorrow is a full moon.”
“You know where I live.”
“I do.”
Hisoka squeezes, subconsciously. “I’ll make dinner.”
“And he cooks too.” Chrollo smiles, baring sharp teeth behind pale lips.
“Just fish.” Hisoka releases him, slowly stands, and Chrollo departs, swimming down, down until he’s no longer visible.
The day drags. He gets a decent amount of tips from the tourists, sends them to Machi’s restaurant for dinner and busies himself with cleaning the boat. He’s never named it. Had thought about several, none fitting it’s personality. Silva often threw out suggestions, even offering to paint the name on the sides when Hisoka had decided on something. He leaves half his tips from the day on Silva’s empty desk, locks the office behind him. The gulls squawk with abandon as he pulls into a parking space at Machi’s, lined atop the restaurant waiting for a french fry to be lost. He slips in with a small group of people, heads to a small booth in the back and contents himself with watching the passerby.
“You’re alive.” Machi comments dryly, handing him a menu before sliding into the booth across from him.
“Unfortunately.”
“Are you here to eat or just watch?”
“I’ll eat. Whatever you decide.” Hisoka tears at a sugar packet while she scurries off to warm him a plate of whatever she’s got in the kitchen. She sets down a mug of coffee as she makes her rounds, greeting people and ushering them to seats. A young couple sits catty corner to him, gazing at each other with stars in their eyes. He can see the ring dazzling on her finger when the man let’s go of her hand to direct his attention to the menu.
“Hope you’re in the mood for a sandwich.” Machi sets a plate in front of him before taking her seat again, waits expectantly for him to take a bite.
“It’s good, Machi. Thank you.”
“Tell me a story, Hisoka.” She demands, taking a drink of his coffee while he chews. He thinks about telling her one she’s heard before, something about the gulls stealing his fish. She loves those.
“I drowned a few nights ago. Well- came close, I suppose. Went out to prove you wrong once and for all, almost died; and you were right.”
“I was right about what? You being a fucking moron for going out in that tiny boat of yours during one of the worst storms on record?” She narrows her eyes until they’re just luminous slits. “Silva knows all about it. Told me.” Of course Silva “Nobody gets past me” Zolydck knows.
“Wasn't a diver, Machi.”
“Don’t you fuck with me.”
“He saved my life. I woke up and he was in my house, wearing my clothes- and then he dove off a cliff like a maniac. So I thought he’d died, but I went out today and he was there.”
“Is there more of him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh.” She doesn’t speak for a moment, sneaks a few of his fries and chews longer than necessary.
“Does he have a name?”
“Chrollo.” She stops probing him to smile widely.
“You fucking like him.”
“Fuck off.”
“Oh, you totally do. You’re gonna be the first man to bone a mermaid!” She giggles, scrubbing her hands across her face. “I wish you all the luck with figuring that out.”
“Jesus Mach, fuck off.” He eats the last of his sandwich, presses a kiss to her head before dropping some cash on the table.
“You don’t have to pay! Just bring me extra good fish! And more stories.” She waggles her eyebrows at him as he walks out, stuffing the cash in the tip jar.
The night air is cool, clouds slowly starting to form in the darkened sky. The house is cold and silent when he arrives back, a choking kind of silence that he normally doesn’t notice. Tonight, it threatens to swallow him whole. He brews a pot of tea, broods over it, thumbing through some faded novel he hasn’t picked up in years. The wind howls against the windows as he tries to sleep, tree branches thwacking against the shutters noisily.
Hisoka wakes up irate and exhausted, a soft knock sounding at the door. He stalks through the kitchen, nearly yanking the door off its hinges to put the fear of god in whoever had decided to wake him up.
“Hi.”
“Uh. Hi.” Hisoka immediately softens, Chrollo standing in the still swirling wind, hair blowing flat back against his head. When he smiles there are no sharp teeth, only a perfect row of dull, white, human. Hisoka doesn’t know how he’s wearing his sweater again. He’d sworn it had been thrown in the wash, along with his overalls and a few pairs of socks.
“Twenty-four hours, remember?” Hisoka steps aside to let him in, closes the door behind him and stands stupidly in the doorway for a moment, scanning for any sign of a tail.
“Thought that started at night.”
“Starts whenever we choose it to. As soon as the moon phases, I’m free to walk on land for exactly twenty four hours.” Chrollo picks at a loose string on the sweater sleeve, threatening to unravel. “Very scientific, magic is.”
“Uh huh. And what happens if uh, you don’t go back?” Hisoka motions for him to sit on the couch, flops comfortably into the large recliner and only feels sort of remorseful for staring. Chrollo tentatively sinks into the couch, drawing one pale leg underneath himself.
“I’ll die.”
“That’s morbid as fuck.”
“Isn’t it?” Chrollo pins him with a dark gaze, shy and unsure and commanding all at once. “When I was little the elders wouldn’t even let us leave. Lost a few too many that way, I suppose.”
“Humans don’t always know how to handle something they’re taught doesn’t really exist.”
“Do you all try to drown yourselves when faced with uncertainty?” Hisoka catches the hint of a joke in his tone. Chrollo’s eyes never change, black and expansive.
“Just us particularly stupid ones.” Hisoka combs his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling as though he’s under scrutiny.
“When you dragged me onto your boat I thought for sure I’d met my end.” Chrollo tilts his head, observing harder. “But you’re different.”
“Am I?” “There’s something about you. I keep feeling drawn to it.” Chrollo shifts, scooting himself closer to Hisoka on the couch. He thinks about grabbing his hand, holding on and never letting go. He grips the chair instead. “After that night I searched for your boat. I wanted to say thank you. I haven’t been around humans in a long time.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Hisoka can’t stop looking at him. He knows staring is impolite, borderline creepy, but there’s just something.
“I graduated top of my class in Human Interaction.” Chrollo smiles, with his eyes this time, trying for a joke and Hisoka actually laughs. He doesn’t laugh much.
“Well.” He stands, stretching until his back feels like it’ll pop. “There’s not much to do here but I could show you around the town if you’d like.”
“You promised me dinner.” Chrollo looks up at him, suddenly serious. Hisoka wants to die. He can’t be feeling this way about a goddamn mermaid. It’s a sick joke from the universe at his expense. He thinks briefly about kissing him until his frown turns into that lilting half smile, keeping him in his house happy and human forever.
“I’ll make you dinner when it’s dinner time. Right now it’s-“ He pauses to crane to look at the stove clock. “Fucking seven in the morning.”
“Did I wake you?” Chrollo suddenly seems to take in Hisoka’s loose t-shirt and boxers and puts the pieces together. He very cautiously reaches out, fisting a pale hand in the bottom of Hisoka’s t-shirt. He’s going to die. Hisoka slowly leans down, until he’s nearly nose to nose with Chrollo. It’s faint, but Hisoka can see the blush tinging his cheeks.
“Yes, but it’s alright.”
“You can go back to sleep, I can come back at ‘dinner time’.” He stands as if to leave, lips almost brushing Hisoka’s as he rises. His gaze never leaves Hisoka’s own, unreadable pools of black. Hisoka traces the line of his face, down across his throat where gils should be.
“Stay.” Chrollo nuzzles into the hand now back upon his cheek, hand still clutching the hem of Hisoka’s shirt and as if struck by lightning, pulls back.
“Show me around your house.” He asks, voice shaky, and Hisoka blinks at him before gesturing to the living room.
“This is really it. There’s a bathroom down this hallway,” He takes a few short steps, accentuating his point. “And my bedroom is right over there.” Chrollo follows his pointing like a cat tracking a laser light, eyes darting across the walls.
“Do all humans live alone?”
“No. Most of them have families, or live with friends.” Hisoka crosses the hallway into his room to sit on the bed. He’ll never admit it to the mermaid but he’s tired.
“So why don’t you live with friends? Do you not have any.” Chrollo sits beside him with little prompting, stiff as the bed sinks under his weight. Hisoka debates if now is really the time to introduce Chrollo to sarcasm.
“I just like being alone.” He lays back on the bed, closes his eyes. The light from the ceiling fan burns behind his eyelids, great red spots outlined in white.
“So you don’t want a family?” Chrollo is lying next to him now, Hisoka can feel the warmth of his body. He keeps his eyes firmly closed, dodging the question. “I can tell you aren’t asleep.” Chrollo sounds mildly frustrated, and Hisoka gives in, peeling one eye open to glare at the man next to him.
“You did wake me up at seven am.”
“I said I would leave.” Chrollo seems to pick up on tone, teasing back. A hot slash cuts through his stomach at the thought that Chrollo’s probably done this before.
“Have you done this before?” The words tumble from his lips of their own accord. Chrollo briefly looks surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting Hisoka to even think of the possibility.
“Done what?”
“Spent time on land.”
“Well, yes; mermaids live quite a long time. I’ve been to the surface once or twice.”
“When was the last time you were here?” Chrollo stops looking at him, drops back against the mattress. “A long time ago. I was young, still a child. I’d met two boys playing along the shore and when I was able I spent hours with them.” He sighs deeply. “When I came back they’d grown up and didn’t want to play anymore. They didn’t remember me. That’s when I stopped coming to the surface.” He falls silent and Hisoka let’s him, done with his questioning. He can hear Chrollo’s breathing slow, his eyes screwed shut, and Hisoka closes his eyes too. Only for a moment.
When he wakes Chrollo is still sleeping soundly beside him. He fights the haze of drowsiness, cutting through the fog and realizing at some point their hands had found each other’s, loosely interlocked on the quilt on the bed. He can faintly hear his phone trilling on the kitchen table, probably Silva calling in another favor or Machi to pick his brain about mythical sea creatures. He lets it ring, content to lie back and savor the quiet breathing of the man beside him. He isn’t sure how long he lays still, in limbo between his world and dreamland.
“Is it dinner time?” Chrollo rolls onto his side, dragging Hisokas hand until his forearm is resting against Chrollo’s chest. Hisoka wants to kiss him then, until he’s fully awake and curling into every touch lavished upon him. He settles for grazing his fingers along Chrollo’s collarbone.
“Not quite.” He tips his fingers along Chrollo’s jaw, across his chin.
“I don’t want to intrude on any plans you may have had today.” Chrollo speaks softly, betrayed by the way he tilts his head, allowing Hisoka to touch more.
“You are my plans for today.” Hisoka curls a strand of black behind his ear, tracing the shell of it. Chrollo smiles, soft, moves a minute inch forward, hand slowly creeping out to catch the hem of his shirt again. Hisoka can’t stand it, the faint smell of the ocean air against his skin and his smile and his eyes, kisses him softly, a whisper, and immediately is offered an invitation for more. He feels as though their lips move according to memory, as if instead of a first this moment is a millionth. Chrollo melts against him, warm and gentle, tangles a hand in his hair and pulls him closer still. Hisoka can’t stop his hands from moving, down the planes of his back and across his ass, gripping his thigh to pull him onto him further; until Chrollo is pressed upon him like a second skin. Seconds turn to minutes into hours and Hisoka is lost, biting at the soft skin of his neck, trailing his fingers across goosebump pale flesh.
“You’re beautiful.” He hears himself saying, caressing the raised scars across Chrollo’s ribcage, scattered about on the expanse of it. Chrollo sighs, as if the weight of a compliment is too much to bear, burrows his head deeper into the crook of Hisoka’s shoulder and kisses warm and soft until his veins course with fire. A heartbeat later they’re removing their clothes. In another their kisses turn frenetic, as if they’ve wasted too much time already; and Hisoka takes Chrollo by the hip to flip and pin him to the sheets. Chrollo claws at Hisoka’s shoulder blades as he presses a finger in, hard enough to draw blood, silent and meeting the pressure.
“Have you done this before?” It slaps him in the face suddenly that Chrollo, despite his travels beyond the sea, may have not ventured this far. He looks at Hisoka with a small smile gracing kiss swollen lips.
“A few times.” Hisoka ignores the way his stomach wrenches at the thought of someone else fucking the beautiful creature beneath him, tamps down the feeling and adds a finger, scissoring and curling until Chrollo is audibly gasping, rocking back against Hisoka’s hand. He removes his fingers, much to Chrollo’s frustration, blankets him with his body to root around in the drawer next to the bed for lube. Chrollo wedges a hand between them, stroking Hisoka’s cock jerkily, and despite their position it’s getting hard to focus on what he’s searching for.
“Forget the lube, Hisoka.” Chrollo murmurs, licking the shell of his ear, sly little minx, and Hisoka just raises an eyebrow at him. “Please? Just fuck me.”
“Jesus, okay, where the fuck did that come from?” He slowly pushes in, tries to gauge the pain crossing Chrollo’s features, sparking behind half lidded eyes.
“I’m not a virgin.” Chrollo sasses, moans as Hisoka buries himself fully, panting, thighs straining as he tries for gentle.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Hisoka kisses him again, longing for the taste, slowly building up a steady, gentle rhythm. He can feel Chrollo keen against his mouth, tangling his hands in Hisoka’s hair, scraping his nails down the nape of his neck. He loses himself in the quiet, the soft panting, Chrollo’s skin. He feels as though they’d done this exactly the same way before, like deja vu, Hisoka knowing the very spot to make Chrollo come undone, tracing the arch of his spine. It doesn’t take long before Hisoka can hear himself moan out Chrollo’s name against his cheek, sloppily catching his mouth as his hips stutter. Chrollo cries, tears mixing against their lips, following suit. Neither of them make any moves to get up after, sweaty and naked, breathing hard against each other’s skin. Hisoka finally rolls over to glance at the clock, blinking red digits, 9:03.
“It’s late.” He comments, suddenly starving, and Chrollo sighs, resting his head on Hisoka’s heart.
“I have a few more hours.” He’d almost forgotten that Chrollo would leave. A wave of regret at how their time was spent washes across him. He should’ve offered to take him into town, something. He’s loathe to get up, silently begging whatever higher power that controls them for just a little more time. He senses his pleas go unheard.
“Let me make you dinner like I promised.” Chrollo follows him to the kitchen, hair mused and staticky against yet another of Hisoka’s wool sweaters. He looks so small, defenseless, and Hisoka wonders how he hasn’t already been shark food. He pushes the thought away, throws a few slabs of trout into the pan heating on the stove, and once it begins to sizzle, crosses the tiny space to cup Chrollo’s face in his hands. He doesn’t kiss him immediately, nearly, pressing their foreheads together. Chrollo just looks at him, staring through as though he can capture Hisoka’s soul just by focusing.
“I want you to stay.” He whispers, suddenly feeling the pull again, the peace, the calm hiding in Chrollo’s dark eyes. Chrollo doesn’t say anything, tilts his head up for a kiss, innocent. The fish somehow comes out perfect, despite that he pays little attention to it. Chrollo seems sated, for the time being, contented with his promised meal.
“Tell me about where you grew up.” Chrollo asks him, when they’re back in Hisoka’s bed, the lighthouse beacon sweeping across the darkness. He threads his hands through Chrollo’s soft hair, runs his thumb along his cheek, imagines silver.
He doesn’t particularly like talking about his childhood. But Chrollo had asked, and he obliges. “I grew up not far from here. My father was a seaman and my mother died when I was far too young to remember her. My father was at sea often, grieving, and I grew up alone.” Hisoka pauses. “I went to school with another boy who’s father took me in as his own. When my father never returned from a trip, I stayed with them through the winter. And as I got older I left, left this tiny town in search of something and yet; I was drawn back to it.” Chrollo stays silent, and Hisoka thinks perhaps he’s said too much.
“What did your friend look like?” Hisoka thinks briefly that it’s a bizarre takeaway from what he’s just said, shrugs in the darkness.
“He’s got dark hair and dark eyes like you but it’s much longer. He never blinks, and he’s quiet. But he’ll always tell me what he’s thinking.” Hisoka doesn’t know how to describe Illumi. They hadn’t changed much since they were children, closer than anyone could know. And yet they rarely saw each other. Hisoka should pay him a visit.
“I remember him.”
“Remember who?”
“Your friend. He always played with a smaller boy and one near his age, with blonde hair. They would build sandcastles near the rocks and his father would collect them when the sun lowered.” Hisoka sits up so he can breathe, props himself on an elbow.
“When did you see them?” It can’t be possible. He would remember. Illumi would remember. Killua would’ve been too young- still is too young.
“A long time ago.” Chrollo sighs, as if the thought of the memories is painful to even conjure up. “I broke my promise to them, that I would come back. I wasn’t allowed- and when I could, they’d forgotten me.” He sounds as though he’s mourning a great loss. Hisoka wishes he could remember. False hope is a tricky thing.
“I-I think that those kids were me. And Illumi. Silva would always have to drag us from that beach every night. We went there all the time.” His voice can barely raise above a whisper. Even in the dark Hisoka can feel the way Chrollo is intensely focused on him. It’s bizzare to think that after all that time they’d find each other again. The ocean was vast. Chrollo doesn’t speak, simply curls into Hisoka’s shoulder and hugs him so tight Hisoka thinks he might suffocate, his heart constricting. They lay together in the darkness, quiet, for hours, light touches and kisses to fend off the slow rising sun.
Hisoka wishes momentarily that of all the magical creatures he could’ve stumbled upon, he could’ve gotten a vampire. That way there could be a loophole in the magic, a way for them to be together as they were. The waves lap gently against the rocks, freezing against his feet as Hisoka stands next to Chrollo on the shore.
“I’ll be out near where we met to fish tomorrow.” Hisoka tells him, holds him fiercely, thinks about giving the Gods a cosmic scale Fuck You and figuring out a way to keep Chrollo in his scratchy sweater for even just a moment longer.
“I found you once,” Chrollo reassures him, trails freezing fingers across his face. “I’ll find you again.”
The gulls squawk above them, circling the shoreline as the sky starts to take on a pinkish hue. Hisoka can’t understand why his heart feels like a hole has been stomped through it. They’d really only met a few weeks ago. And yet. Chrollo kisses him softly, lingers, before staggering into the water. It’s painful to watch at first, as though he struggles against it before succumbing.
“Hey.” Hisoka wades out, ignores the sharp cut of rock and sand, the water like a thousand needles against his shins. Chrollo pops his head above the breaking waves, eyes glittering. “Do you feel it?” It’s inexplicable and overwhelming, a deep sense of deja vu in every moment.
“Yes.” He halfheartedly raises a hand in farewell, disappearing into the ocean. Hisoka feels frozen. He stands in the water until the sun creeps over the horizon, suddenly realizing the tears flowing down his cheeks. He doesn’t cry. He wipes them away angrily, stomps inside and mentally fires off every curse to the powers that be he can think of. He gets no answer, as expected.
Chrollo keeps his promise. He finds Hisoka wherever he ventures, swims beside him and tells him about the beasts swimming just below him as he tosses in his nets.
“There’s no whales nearby today.” Chrollo grumbles, holding onto the stern of the little boat. His scales catch in the evening sun, casting rainbows across the dark water.
“They’re all leaving to search for warmer weather.” Summer was waning, giving itself to dried leaves and cool winds. The fish would be leaving too. He’s been out every day to compensate for the inevitability smaller catches soon to come.
“Are you leaving too?” Chrollo pulls himself up to rest on the lip of the boat. He can’t stay like this for long, but it’s long enough. Hisoka kisses him, runs his fingers through his wet hair. His eyes narrow into slits at the attention. “Answer me, Hisoka.”
“I’m not leaving. I never leave.” He doesn't. Illumi tells him he’s traveled enough for two lifetimes already, not that he has anywhere in particular he’d like to go. Everything is here. Chrollo softens under his touch just a fraction.
“Then why do you look like there’s something you’re keeping from me?” Hisoka doesn’t want to tell him that he’ll hardly be out on the water during the winter months.
“The fish leave too. I can’t work every day, in the winter.” Chrollo understands him then. He falls back into the water, gone for several minutes. Hisoka waits.
He re-emerges a moment later with a fistful of wriggling fish, dumping them onto the deck.
“I can find them for you.” It’s a desperate, last resort. He’s not saying it, but Hisoka knows what he means. Don’t leave me again. He stays on the water long past nightfall, the alternative is an empty house with a cold bed. The full moon rises in three days. Chrollo promises him three days, and Hisoka charters back towards shore before sharks start circling.The days are agonizingly long, hours feeling as though they’ll stretch on for eternity. He waits as the full moon rises, expecting to see Chrollo come up the rocks, in the sweater Hisoka always leaves for him. He doesn’t come. Hisoka can’t bring himself to move from the steps. He barely blinks, waiting, scanning the horizon. He isn’t sure how many days have passed.
“You waited.” His voice carries across the damp air, strained. He’s barely over the rocks before Hisoka rushes to him, gathers his body into his arms, holding him tightly. When he pulls back to scold Chrollo for making him worry he feels blood. It’s sticky and wet against his skin, his shirt; dripping across Chrollo’s temple, maring his pale skin in the lighthouse’s never wavering gaze.
“What happened?” He tries to keep himself level, holding tighter, and the blood keeps coming. Sluggish now.
“Most men are not as kind as you, my love.” Chrollo cups his face weakly, blood staining his dull teeth. Hisoka doesn’t speak anymore, carefully guiding them to the ground, gathering Chrollo into his arms further. His tears fall fast and hot against cool skin. Chrollo whimpers as Hisoka finds the offending wound, slashed across his stomach, pressing both hands across it.
“You should have returned home, Chrollo.” He weeps, perhaps for the first time since hearing of his father’s death. This, this feeling of his world cracking and shattering into tiny, fractured pieces in his arms is unbearable.
Chrollo smiles weakly at him, as he’d done when they’d first met. Shy and beautiful. “I wanted to spend my last moments with you.” He shakily wipes at Hisoka’s cheek, catching the tears on a thin, bloody finger. “Don’t cry, Hisoka, please.”
“I love you.”
“And I you.” He closes his eyes briefly, grip on Hisoka’s hand weakening. “I found you once, didn't I? I’ll find you again.”
“I’m holding you to that promise, Chrollo.” He smiles at that, closes his eyes again. Hisoka screams, a sound of agony so guttural the gods turn their backs to mourn with him. He can’t bring himself to leave Chrollo’s side, not now. He sobs, sobs until the air no longer enters his lungs.
He’s heard stories about “past life phenomena” and if he were a more book learned man, perhaps he’d be able to determine if it were really true. However he isn’t, prefers blood and carnage and broken bones to reading. Hisoka is smart in the ways that count. He’d had dreams as a child he could hardly remember now, storms and a blinking, monotonous light, and deep seas. He’s never liked boats. In his 28 years of life he hasn’t given any of it much of a passing thought. But waiting was boring and none of the other spiders paid him any mind from where he sat perched in the natural window, so he had plenty of time to think now. He hums some old lullaby stuck on a loop in his head, fights the strong urge to pick a fight with Phinks- who makes him feel an ungodly amount of rage, and waits. He is not the target. Hisoka prefers strength close enough to his own to make things interesting.
“Danchou!” He can hear murmurs ripple through the members, ears pricking to the sound of soft footsteps echoing through the compound. He swivels slightly to catch black hair, shrouded by a large purple coat. The man is smaller than he’d expected. Nonetheless, Hisoka can feel the nen rippling off of him, even at this distance.
“Who are you?” Black eyes narrow on him, and Hisoka doesn’t blink, stares into them. There’s something familiar, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He’d heard stories of the legendary thief, a manipulator, shrouded in mystery.
“Hisoka.”
“He killed Omokage.” Shalnark says, excitedly darting his gaze back and forth between them. The man doesn’t look away, holding his gaze, and Hisoka sees a flicker of something cross his face. It’s brief, a slip before he rights himself, seemingly satisfied with the answer and turning to the rest of the Troupe. Hisoka doesn’t bother to listen, and doesn't hear his name in those being dispatched to the auction. He focuses his attention on Chrollo, observes his tattoo and his clothes and his voice. He was a well kept secret of the Spiders, hardly ever seen, and yet. Hisoka can’t shake the way he feels as though they’d spent a great deal of time in each other’s presence, despite the impossibility of it all.
As if he can read Hisoka’s mind, Chrollo fixates on him. “I know you.” Chrollo is suddenly closer than Hisoka’s preferred distance, but he can’t bring himself to back away or even turn. He’s vulnerable in this state, open to an attack from any side.
“Do you now?” Hisoka purrs, leaping to gracefully land close enough to the thief that he has the upper hand. “I feel as though I’d remember meeting you.” He punctuates with a lazy scan of Chrollo’s body, stopping pointedly at his trim waist. Chrollo just stares at him, unbothered, still focused on his eyes.
“Yes. We’ve met. I know it.” Hisoka can feel it too, but he rather likes this game, wants to see how far it can take them. He doesn’t sense any real danger, the other members of the troupe milled about, ignoring them. Machi keeps a watchful eye, her gaze never faltering as she scans the open room.
“And where would we have met then, danchou?” Suddenly his vision spots, rocks melting away to open ocean, gulls chittering, and those eyes glittering up at him. Chrollo, or some apparition of him, smiling, touching. As soon as it comes it fades into black, the melodic sound of his name a whisper.
“You just saw it too.” Chrollo demands, composure cracking, poking a finger hard into Hisoka’s chest. “I just saw you on a boat in the middle of the water.” He sounds desperate, a man losing his mind to visions unexplainable. “Is this your doing?” Hisoka can’t speak, perhaps for the first time in his life. He mutely shakes his head, unable to move, frozen in place.
Hisoka stares at him. “I found you.” He croaks, mouth dry, each passing moment a new memory, a new vision, flooding his senses. He isn’t consciously sure why he’s said that, the words spilling across his tongue of their own volition. Chrollo and his pale skin, arching into Hisoka’s touch, the smell of him, the soft crinkling of his eyes, his laugh. “I found you once before.”
“And you found me again.” Hisoka feels like he’s swallowed cotton, utterly taken aback, and Chrollo just stares at him, tears slowly welling in his eyes. “Do you feel it?” His voice cracks, and Hisoka feels himself breaking, a porcelain doll being crushed under tremendous pressure. He can’t explain it. Every plan, every well thought out way to defeat this Chrollo Lucifer, the only worthy opponent, is vanquished with every second they stare at each other. Chrollo clutches his shirt, dragging him impossibly closer, until Hisoka can feel the heat of his breath, smells lavender and cedar. “Yes.”
Chrollo rushes him, floods his senses, paying no mind to how the others now have piqued interest in their conversation. Hisoka doesn’t hesitate to hold him, warm and familiar and small, feels tears soaking into his shirt. One by one the spiders trickle out as they embrace, a silent understanding rippling through each member that Hisoka means their leader no harm. Fragmented memories flood back each passing second, short bursts that crash into his chest.
“I think we’ve loved each other for a long time.” Chrollo shakily says against his shoulder, holding so tightly Hisoka can feel his breath coming in short bursts. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until salty tears trickle down into his mouth. He doesn’t cry.
“I’ll love you forever, in this life and the next.” He whispers, carding his fingers through Chrollo’s dark hair, drawing him in even closer still. In the stillness he swears he can hear the crashing of waves, gulls squawking in the ocean air.