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Chrollo is the one who breaks the news.
His text finds Illumi in the middle of a bustling street. Illumi feels the buzz of an incoming message, but it takes him several minutes to unlock his phone and actually read it. His focus is on a wealthy young woman whose husband is too cowardly to file for divorce, reconnaissance for a job. His chance comes when his target is exchanging heated words with a shop assistant.
The late-summer sun is so bright that Illumi is forced to shade the screen with his hand. He reads the message five times before the meaning sinks in, needs to be sure what he’s reading isn’t a trick of the light.
Chrollo Lucilfer
Today 2:47 PM
Out of respect for our professional relationship, I thought it would be best to apprise you of the following information: Hisoka Morow is dead. I know he was one of your associates.
Hisoka is dead.
Everything else continues as though nothing in the world has changed. Illumi’s heart beats. Cars honk too loudly. Illumi keeps breathing. Shops stay open. Illumi stays standing. Pedestrians push past him on the sidewalk, annoyed that he’s blocking their path.
He types out a quick response to Chrollo.
Illumi Zoldyck
Today 3:01 PM
Thank you for informing me.
When the wealthy woman walks back out into the sun, arms laden with purchases, Illumi has already gone.
****
It takes him fewer than six hours to get to Hisoka’s apartment at Heavens Arena. Hisoka gave him a key to his place only a few months earlier, pressed it into his palm with a grin. Told him that he could come inside whenever he wanted with a wink and a mouth full of double entendres.
Illumi hadn’t stopped by.
As soon as he steps inside, Illumi bristles. The apartment is full of aura. It chokes Illumi with its familiarity, suffocating and presumptuous. It couldn’t be…
“You’re earlier than I expected.”
Hisoka grins at him from the couch, arms splayed across the back and legs crossed. He’s comfortable, as though Illumi popped over for a nightcap and some casual conversation. As though this is something they do every Tuesday night.
He looks terrible. His straight nose is broken and sitting at an odd angle, purple bruises having already taken up residence across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. The corner of his lip is split, blood congealing on the gash as dark and thick as jam.
But it’s his neck that captures Illumi’s attention. It’s slashed from side to side, angry and red against Hisoka’s pale skin. The gouge is so deep that Illumi can see all the way to the muscle of his throat, slick and sticky inside the column of his neck. Smears of dried blood cake Hisoka’s neck and disappear down beneath the collar of his shirt. Illumi runs a finger across one of his needles and wonders if he can use them to pin his throat back together, to make Hisoka whole.
“Hisoka,” Illumi says because he wants to say the other man’s name out loud. “Chrollo told me you died.”
“Oh, my dear Illumi. I am dead.”
Illumi notices it then, the emptiness behind Hisoka’s eyes. Though still the same sharp gold, their usual gleam and glimmer is gone. They’re familiar and artificial all at once, like watching a sunset on a TV screen.
“No. That’s not possible.”
“I didn’t think so either,” says Hisoka with a shrug, “but here I am.”
Illumi says, “If this is one of your tricks, tell me now. I have somewhere else to be.”
“Il-lu-miii,” Hisoka says, drawing out his name like it’s something to laugh at. “Did you abandon a mission to come here? I’m flattered.”
“Of course not. I had already completed my reconnaissance when I heard the news.”
It’s a flimsy lie, and Hisoka’s smile cuts through it like scissors. Illumi considers doubling down, explaining that he still has a few days left on the contract to complete the kill. But that will only make Hisoka more delighted, only give him more opportunities to see through him.
“Don’t linger near the door like that.” Hisoka pats the spot on the couch to his right. His knuckles are dappled with old blood, glossy and viscous like molasses. Only some of it is his. “It’s impolite.”
The couch, standard issue in all the Heavens Arena apartments, is uncomfortable and drab. Illumi settles next to Hisoka, trying not to think about when it was last cleaned.
“So?” Hisoka says.
“So.”
“Oh, come on. I know you’re curious. This is the part where you ask how I died.”
“That’s obvious. Someone slit your throat.”
Hisoka sighs, tilting his head back so he’s staring up at the ceiling. His skin moves with him, and Illumi can’t tear his eyes away from the wretched swathe of his throat. It quivers and heaves, a monster blinking out at him from the flaps of Hisoka’s neck.
“At least feign some interest in what I have to say. Or do you really have such little respect for the dead?”
“Fine. How did you die?”
Hisoka turns to look at him.
“Have I told you how spectacular your eyes are? They’re too big, you know. Eerie. I liked to think about them watching me when I touched myself.”
Illumi wants to dig his fingernails into Hisoka’s wound and pinch. Wants to pick him apart in chunks, chew his gruesome flesh, and swallow. Wants to know if he tastes sweet.
He says, “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll leave.”
“See?” Hisoka purrs. “A man just wants to know that you care about what he has to say. Is it so hard to put in the effort?”
“Hisoka.”
“The Spiders killed me. They cheated, really. As soon as Chrollo got his ability to use nen back, they ambushed me. A fine thanks for all the work I did for them.”
“Eleven on one. You’ve managed more than twice as many with ease.”
“You’re mean, Illumi,” Hisoka says, lips quirked in a smirk.
“It sounds like you were sloppy and you reaped the consequences.”
“They surprised me. Which, I admit, was thrilling. I didn’t know that they had it in them. All of that power, all of those unique abilities… I couldn’t hold them off in the end.”
He licks his lips. “It was delectable.”
Illumi wrinkles his nose. “Hmm.”
“I think I was dead for almost an hour before my nen reawakened me. I woke up in an alley somewhere. They wanted me to be found. Good thing, too. Imagine if they had burned me or cut me up instead.”
Illumi imagines finding Hisoka in parts. Imagines collecting his pieces in a basket. How he would take him home and pin him to a styrofoam board. How he’d display him in a glass case over his headboard.
Hisoka says, “I’d heard that nen could be more powerful after death, but I hadn’t realized the true magnitude of its power.”
Illumi had heard that, too. His grandfather had told stories of jobs gone weird, of aura apparitions and abilities that triggered only after death. Of resurrections and reanimations and facsimiles. Of aura reverberating throughout a space as haunting and vengeful as a ghost.
If Hisoka is an echo, Illumi knows he will forever repeat his own name at the mouth of a cave just so he can hear Hisoka call back to him.
“Such a good surprise, isn’t it?” Hisoka continues. His smile is bright and genuine. “There’s still something I want, and now I have the chance to get it.”
Illumi says, “How long will it last?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a few days, maybe longer. That’s all part of the fun. Why? Are you sick of me already?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a bad liar.” Hisoka leans in close enough that Illumi can almost taste his blood. The scent of it hangs heavy around him, the salty tang of the ocean mixed with raw steak. “But that’s one of the things I like about you.”
Illumi likes the way Hisoka sees him, like he’s the sum of his parts rather than a mix of weaknesses that need to be corrected. What his family calls “odd,” Hisoka calls “bewitching.” At home, Illumi is treated like a cryptogram, something strange that needs to be decoded. They’re unsure of his motives, uninterested in learning more. But Hisoka never falters. He knows every answer, like he got the cipher in the newspaper the day before.
“So, don’t you want to know who landed the final blow?”
“Not really.”
Hisoka laughs. “Come on, take a guess. One in eleven chance that you’ll be right.”
“Chrollo.”
“Wouldn’t that have been something? But no. One of the other ones.”
“I don’t know any of the other ones.”
“The newest one. You know him,” Hisoka says. “Kalluto.”
Something winds its way around Illumi’s stomach and squeezes. Bile rises in the back of his throat. He presses his lips together, unwilling to let it ooze from his mouth. It tastes like jealousy.
“That paper of his leaves quite nasty cuts. Marvelous potential. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Zoldyck.”
Anger sizzles and pops just under Illumi’s skin. It’s almost physically painful. He considers shoving a needle through one of Hisoka’s eyes and giving it a few slow stirs so it scrambles his brains. Or maybe he would rather carve out his tongue. Let Hisoka’s mouth fill with blood so he couldn’t speak anymore. So he’d choke.
Hisoka studies him, pleased.
“You’re envious,” he says, drawing out the last syllable into a hiss. “It looks good on you. Very cute.”
“Did you come back just to gloat?”
“No, but good guess.”
Illumi fumes.
“You said there’s something you want. What do you need to do?”
“I don’t need to do anything. I have a favor to ask.”
“Then ask me.”
“Kill me.”
Illumi blinks. “What?”
“I wanted you to be the one who killed me,” Hisoka says with a small flourish. The three outside fingers on his left hand slap against each other, broken and useless. His pinky hangs from his hand by a strip of skin. Illumi sees a flash of white bone. “That’s why I came back. Isn’t that unfinished business enough?”
Illumi swallows hard. “I wouldn’t know. I do not leave anything unfinished.”
Hisoka raises an eyebrow. When he speaks, it’s as though he’s speaking to a child.
“You don’t need to pretend with me, dear Illumi. Not when our time is up. We can make it a trade, you kill me and I’ll give you whatever your heart desires. Isn’t there something you want?”
They’re sitting so close that all Illumi needs to do is spread his legs a little and they’ll be touching, pressed thigh to thigh. If he does, he knows Hisoka won’t pull away.
“No,” says Illumi.
Hisoka looks at him like he failed a test. It makes Illumi feel petulant and small, like Hisoka is scolding him.
“We can talk about the terms of our deal in a moment,” Hisoka says, pushing himself off the couch.
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“No,” Hisoka agrees. “Not yet. But maybe you’ll feel differently after a glass of wine. I have a lovely bottle I’d been meaning to try.”
“No, thank you.”
“You’re missing out.”
He comes back with a bottle of malbec and one glass, depositing himself on the couch a little closer to Illumi. It sinks under his weight. Illumi tenses to keep himself from tipping into him.
“You’re sure you don’t want a glass?” Hisoka asks, giving himself a heavy pour. “It might help take the edge off.”
“I’m fine,” Illumi says, hands resting on his thighs in tight fists.
Hisoka hums in the way Illumi knows means he doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t push the issue.
“Suit yourself.”
Hisoka sips the malbec. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing under his pallid skin. The slit in his throat leaks, a slurry of red wine and old blood seeping down his collarbone and staining his clothes.
“If you’re dead,” Illumi asks, “how can you be thirsty?”
Hisoka takes another drink. His shirt is the color of rotten cherries.
“I’m not. I don’t feel much at all.”
“Then why drink?”
Hisoka grins, eyes flashing in the low light. “You’re not frightened are you, Illumi? I thought an assassin would be used to looking death in the eye.”
“I am not afraid.”
“This wine is the best,” Hisoka says, as though Illumi said nothing. “A gift to the Grim Reaper from some of my devoted fans.”
Another drink, another slosh of bloody wine from his ragged throat.
“Such a waste to leave it here in my suite.” He licks a stray drop from the corner of his lips. “What a shame not to taste it.” There’s an ache deep inside Illumi, a garrote wire around his heart.
Hisoka holds out the glass like he’s making a toast. The smudge on the rim is a perfect impression of the ridges of his lips.
“Try some.”
Illumi kisses the wine from his mouth.
He can count on one hand how many times he and Hisoka had touched, each one scalded across his memory like hot tea spilled on bare flesh. Their fingers brushing when he handed Hisoka a drink. Standing shoulder to shoulder during a fight, skin sticky with perspiration. Hisoka leaning in close to whisper a secret, lips ghosting his ear so gently that it stung. Hisoka laughing with Illumi’s fist closed around his throat, eyes daring him to finish what he started.
Each time, Illumi had been startled by the heat of the other man’s body. It radiated off of him like his aura, clinging to Illumi long after they parted. That first touch had felt like being singed. Illumi had inspected each traitorous finger for scorch marks.
In death, Hisoka’s lips are cold but soft. It takes a second for Illumi’s mind to catch up with his body, for him to realize that his mouth is pressed against Hisoka’s, fingertips dusting the granite edge of the other man’s jaw. He pulls back with a start, breath coming out in shallow gasps. Hisoka doesn’t breathe at all.
“What do you want, Illumi?”
Hisoka’s voice is almost wistful, like he’s speaking about a friend who went away. And Illumi wants to slice him open, pull out his organs one by one, and make a crater in his chest. Wants to crawl inside and warm both of their bodies with the beat of his own heart.
Illumi says, “You’ve always known what I want.”
Hisoka laughs, a damp sound like the squelch of wet leaves underfoot.
“It was always yours for the taking.”
This time, Illumi kisses him with purpose. Hisoka leans into the kiss, opening up so Illumi can taste him. Illumi used to fantasize about this. He used to lay in hotel beds, under the blankets with his hand down his pants, gasping and tugging until the sheets were damp. In the mornings, he’d leave the bedding twisted up and the pillows bitten for the housekeeping staff to clean up.
Desperation climbs the trellis of Illumi’s body like creeping vines. His hands are everywhere, clawing Hisoka’s shoulder, pulling his hair, scratching at his back. He wants everything at once. Wants to devour Hisoka down to the bone. Wants to mash his bones into powder and snort him up, rub the leftovers across his gums. It scares him, this yearning. And he wonders how long he’s been starving. Wonders why he never noticed.
He scrambles onto Hisoka’s lap, still biting and lapping at his mouth. Hisoka chuckles low in his throat. The vibrations tickle through Illumi’s entire body. He lets out a whine that sounds almost feral and pulls with frenzied fingers at the hem of the other man’s shirt.
Hisoka slides his fingers into his hair, grabbing it at the root so he can pull Illumi’s head back. His mouth glistens with Illumi’s spit, and Illumi can’t catch his breath.
“Slow down, Illu,” Hisoka says. “Let’s savor this.”
He plants cold kisses up the length of Illumi’s pale, trembling neck. Illumi sucks in breath after breath, goosebumps erupting over his skin. If he could form thoughts, he would be embarrassed about how quickly Hisoka’s touch had reduced him to a quivering mess. Instead, he grinds feverishly against him.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” Hisoka purrs against his skin.
He licks and sucks and bites. Illumi keens and writhes, clutching at any part of Hisoka’s body that he can grab. Hisoka slips his hand under Illumi’s shirt and drags it up his chest. Illumi bites his tongue to keep from crying out when icy fingers pinch down on his nipple.
The other man’s name falls from his lips like a prayer, like a secret, like an incantation.
“Hisoka.”
Then Illumi’s shirt is off. It barely misses the half-drunk glass of wine when Hisoka tosses it onto the coffee table.
When Hisoka’s tongue traces the hard lines of his chest, Illumi lets out a noise he doesn’t recognize as his own. His skin is stretched so tightly over his bones that he fears he might shatter if Hisoka keeps teasing him. Which, of course, Hisoka does. He pulls the flat of his tongue across Illumi’s nipple and tweaks the other, relishing in the way Illumi’s back arches.
“Please,” Illumi sighs, rolling his hips against Hisoka.
“Hmm?” Hisoka bites him on his neck right above the spot where his pulse flutters, licks the underside of his jaw, sucks on his ear.
“Let me… I want to… please…”
Hisoka lets Illumi push him back against the couch, lets him slide his shirt over his head, and lets him look. His body is littered with purple-black bruises. Illumi traces them with gentle fingers, mapping the borders and trails of each wound. Skirts his fingernails up the expanse of Hisoka’s torso. Goes looking for his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breaths. Tries to ignore the macabre stillness of his chest.
“Does this hurt?” Illumi asks, pressing a thumb into an angry bruise over his collarbone.
Hisoka shakes his head.
“Good.”
Illumi works his way down Hisoka’s body, mouthing at every welt along the way. When he can’t bend over any further, Illumi slides to his knees between Hisoka’s thighs. He noses at the bulge in Hisoka’s pants. Famished. Salivating. Begging to unwrap him.
Hisoka lifts his hips and slips out of his pants. Illumi’s eyes go wide at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking. He feels almost lightheaded from need. He licks the pearl of precum off Hisoka’s slit, salty and a little bitter. Illumi has never been this hard.
He hasn’t done this before, and it takes a few tries to find the rhythm. Hisoka murmurs encouragement, stroking his hair when he sputters and gags. He figures out how to breathe through his nose, how to use his hands in tandem with his mouth, how to angle his throat. Then it’s sublime.
Illumi sucks him, swirling his tongue around the head of his cock to collect every precious taste. Illumi feels like he’s on fire, and his heat spreads to Hisoka who warms in his mouth with every stroke. Greedy for him, Illumi reaches for his own hard length. Flames of pleasure lick against his lower stomach threatening to burn him to a crisp.
He ruts against his hand. Hisoka is in his mouth. Hisoka has his hand in his hair. Hisoka is watching him. Illumi moans, swallowing as much of the magician as he can. He’s close.
“Wait.”
Hisoka guides Illumi back into his lap, kissing him. He reaches between them and takes them both in one hand. He rubs them together, kneading, hot and cold at once. Illumi drops his head forward and bites Hisoka’s shoulder to keep from screaming.
“I want to be the one to make you finish,” Hisoka says into his ear.
“Yes,” is all Illumi can say.
“Give me your hand.”
Illumi lifts a trembling hand, and Hisoka slips two fingers into his mouth. He rolls his tongue around them, coating them with spit. Illumi can’t take his eyes off him. Can’t tear his gaze away from the salacious shape of Hisoka’s mouth as he engulfs him.
Too soon, Hisoka releases his fingers.
“Is this your first time?”
Illumi says, “You’re the first person I wanted.”
Something flashes across Hisoka’s face, possessive and sorrowful. He kisses Illumi on the corner of his mouth.
“Get yourself ready for me.”
Illumi knows what to do. He’s watched porn, seen the type of comics that Milluki likes to hide under his bed, stumbled upon targets in the throes of passion. He whimpers as he slips a finger inside, eyes fluttering closed.
“Keep them open,” says Hisoka.
Illumi does as he’s told, holding Hisoka’s gaze as he stretches himself. It burns a little. And it takes Illumi a while to feel ready. Hisoka licks his lips and strokes himself through the entire process, enjoying the show.
“We eat first with our eyes,” he says when Illumi is finally ready, his flushed skin covered in a sheen of sweat and his lips swollen from kisses. “And you’re a feast.”
“Fuck me,” Illumi breathes out.
Hisoka laughs. “So impatient.” But he slides inside Illumi without further teasing.
There’s a pleasant throb of pain as Hisoka stretches him out. A feeling of fullness. Of being complete. In this moment, Illumi surrenders himself to Hisoka. Gives himself wholly and willingly to the one person who understands him. To the one person who sees him for everything he is and keeps coming back for more.
Hisoka starts to move and Illumi loses himself. Each thrust of the hips sends Illumi careening closer and closer to the edge. He slides his hands up Hisoka’s chest and closes them around his neck, fingers jabbing into the raw meat of his throat.
“Illu,” Hisoka says as he moves inside him, “tell me how you’ll kill me.”
Waves of pleasure beat Illumi against the rocks. He flounders, struggling for air, struggling to keep his head above water.
“Will you stab me?” Hisoka is pushed inside as deep as he can go. “Will you cut me up?” Hisoka’s hands grip his waist. “Will you scramble my brain?” Hisoka squeezes his cock.
Illumi’s toes curl. He can feel himself sinking into ecstasy. He’s so close.
“Cut off my head,” Hisoka says against his ear.
“I’m close,” Illumi chokes out.
“Disembowel me.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” He screams, vision swimming.
“Draw and quarter me.”
Illumi comes all over both of them, spilling thick, white stripes on their stomachs. Hisoka follows, emptying himself inside Illumi who relishes the shock of it and is thankful for the chill.
“Is it always terrifying?” Illumi asks, lifting himself with shaky legs and plopping on the couch next to Hisoka.
Hisoka kisses his wrist. “Not always. Only with you.”
****
In the afterglow, Hisoka runs his unbroken fingers through Illumi’s hair. He pulls it just hard enough that Illumi’s scalp prickles in protest, tiny sparks of pain crackling under the surface of his skin.
“I always wanted to touch your hair.” He winds the ends around his fingers until the black strands dig into his skin. Hisoka lifts his fingers to his mouth and slides the back of his tongue across Illumi’s hair. Illumi watches him with blackhole eyes, shivering at the phantom touch as though each strand is a raw nerve.
“Does it feel how you expected?”
Hisoka unwinds the strands, watching them settle back into the mass of Illumi’s hair until they are lost in a sea of black, impossible to distinguish from their neighbors.
“I imagine it does.”
Illumi closes his eyes. “I should leave soon. It won’t be long until Heavens Arena learns of your passing and takes away your suite. They might know as soon as the morning.”
Hisoka agrees. “If you kill me now, I’m sure it won’t take long for someone to find my body.”
Illumi bites the inside of his cheek.
“Now isn’t the best time. I told you, I have someplace to be.”
Disappointment hangs on Hisoka again. Another test failed.
“If not now, when?”
“When I’m ready.”
“I’m ready, Illumi.”
Illumi is already searching for his clothes.
“Let’s talk about this another time,” he says.
Hisoka is quiet.
Even though Hisoka has explored all of him, Illumi steps into the bathroom to get dressed. He considers showering, but decides against it. He can already feel his resolve weakening. The desire to head back to the couch is overpowering. He needs to leave now or he’ll do anything Hisoka asks. And he can’t do that, not today. Not right after.
He still feels exposed when dressed. When he catches his reflection in the mirror, the look in his eyes scares him. They’re wild and wanting, alien and familiar. He slips a few needles out of his jacket and pierces his face in the usual places. Seconds later, a long-faced, mohawked man blinks back at him. His unabashed need is harder to see through the smaller eyes of Gittarackur.
He glances at the vanity as he turns to leave, his eyes drawn to a flash of red. Hisoka’s comb sits on the edge of the counter. Inside its teeth is a mass of vermillion hair.
Illumi runs his fingers between the spokes of the comb, releasing the strands of Hisoka’s hair into his palm. When it comes free, he strokes it like a small animal. Then he slips it into his pocket.
“Goodbye, Hisoka,” he says at the door.
“Thanks for dropping by,” Hisoka says, all trace of frustration gone from his voice. “I’m glad you finally saw the place.”
As Illumi steps into the hall, Hisoka calls after him.
“Next time, be ready.”
****
He executes the kill the next day. It’s quick and clean. The dead woman’s husband thanks him over the phone, and Illumi can hear a female voice in the background. He hangs up in the middle of goodbyes.
When he returns home, the house is empty of all save the butlers. None of them ask him where he was. None of them question the red rims around his eyes. None of them ask him how he is.
When he gets to his room, he slips Hisoka’s hair inside his pillow case. Then he crawls into bed.
He is too exhausted to sleep. He stares at the ceiling until his alarm rings, the taste of Hisoka still on his tongue.
****
Illumi has a small headstone placed in the family plot on the Zoldyck estate. It sits on the edge as far from the family graves as possible. It’s the best he can do without getting formal permission from his parents. He doesn’t have words for the obsessive need to document that Hisoka existed and that he was someone important. Doesn’t know how to ask for somewhere to mourn.
It’s a nice grave, anyway, close to the trees. Illumi asked that a star and a teardrop be etched under Hisoka’s name. He didn’t know what else he would put there. Colleague? Ally? Soulmate?
Illumi isn’t sure they have souls.
He feels Hisoka’s aura long before he sees him. It crawls up the mountain on webbed feet, sticking to every surface it passes. When it reaches Illumi, it clings to him, smothering his own presence with something that screams Hisoka, Hisoka, Hisoka through every cell in his body.
He doesn’t look at Hisoka when he saunters through the trees. Instead, he leans down to light the incense at the foot of Hisoka’s grave. A ribbon of bitter smoke unfurls itself, disappearing into the clear sky.
“A grave in the Zoldyck family plot,” Hisoka says, running his fingers over the edge of the headstone that bears his name. “You are sentimental.”
“I can be.”
“I’m not a Zoldyck.”
“No.”
Hisoka peers at the grave markers nearest to his and says, “Hachi… Jiro… Akira… none of these have your family name on them.”
“Oh,” Illumi says, embarrassed to be caught so easily. “These are for my family’s guard dogs.”
Hisoka blinks at him, and Illumi worries for the first time if this gesture isn’t respectful at all. Then Hisoka laughs, a wheezing thing that clatters in his chest.
“My father has a soft spot for the dogs. He likes to remember them.”
“I was your pet all these years,” Hisoka says in his familiar purr, “and I had no idea.”
“No, not like that,” Illumi says, frustration creeping into his voice.
“I came whenever you called. I suppose we went on several walks together.”
“The rest of the spaces are reserved for immediate family,” Illumi scrambles to explain, “children, siblings, spouses.”
“Spouses.”
The tips of Illumi’s ears are turning pink. “I picked this spot because no one would ask any questions. My family wouldn’t understand.”
Hisoka says, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
His skin is a marbled, seasick green punctuated with angry, purple bruises. Illumi wonders if he could bite into each one and suck the old blood out like snake venom.
“I considered it,” he says.
Hisoka snatches Illumi’s chin, icy fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks as he turns Illumi’s face into the light.
“You should. You’re a beautiful man, Illumi. Dangerous, too. You need someone who can keep up with you.”
There’s a maggot in Hisoka’s neck, wriggling in the flaps of skin that strain to cover his throat. Illumi pinches it between his fingers, flattening it so its guts leak onto the pad of his thumb before he flicks it into the grass.
“I always wondered what it might be like being married to you.”
Hisoka grins, skin tugging dangerously at the corners of his lips, so tight that it might snap at any second.
“Ask me.”
“What?”
“Ask me to marry you.”
“No.”
“Do you want me to ask?” Hisoka leans in close. The inside of his mouth smells like peaches forgotten in the sun for too long, putrid and cloying. “Do you want to see me begging on my knees for you?”
Illumi feels too hot. He shifts, sinking a little into the ground softened from overnight rainstorms. A beetle crawls over his foot.
“You don’t have a ring.”
Hisoka smiles like they’re both in on a private joke. He offers Illumi his left hand. His pinky is missing, its tether of skin having finally given up and shriveled away. Illumi wonders where it is now. Wonders if it was chewed up by field mice or carried away by ants.
Hisoka turns his hand so his fourth finger is on top. The skin on it is peeling and black, barely clinging to the bone.
“Take it.”
Illumi looks down at the finger.
“My ring finger,” Hisoka says. “It’s yours if you want it. It’s the best I can give you.”
He’s looking at Illumi with something akin to earnestness. There’s dried blood under his nose, black and cracked like soot. Illumi remembers when Killua was little, when they were building up his immunity to poisons. Remembers the day they gave him arsenic. How he coughed up blood. How blood leaked from his nose. How Illumi wiped his face clean with a damp cloth.
There is something heavy and hungry in his chest.
Illumi takes the finger, squeezes it in his palm before turning it with a sharp jerk. The sound of the bone breaking rumbles across the grounds. Illumi wonders how long it will be before a butler is sent to investigate.
Hisoka smiles, teeth shiny like pearls against the plum-colored bruises that mar his nose. A blood clot oozes from the new break and drips onto Illumi’s shoe.
“Part of me will always belong to you.”
“I know,” says Illumi. He slips Hisoka’s finger into his pocket.
“Part of me already did.”
“I know.” A smile tugs at Illumi’s mouth, soft and pink and just for them.
“Make me a vow,” says Hisoka, “that you’ll kill me. Promise me.”
Illumi responds without hesitation.
“I do.”
There is no applause, no wailing sobs from his mother, no handshake from his father, but Illumi feels changed all the same. He pats his pocket, wanting to feel the reassuring weight of Hisoka’s finger, the proof of their union.
“You could kill me here,” Hisoka says, tilting his head. The angry red of Hisoka’s throat screams at him from the slice in his neck. Illumi can see larva writhing inside his tissue, getting fat off his decay. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Illumi knits his eyebrows together.
“Let’s consummate our marriage.” He’s too close now, good hand snaking around Illumi’s waist and pulling their bodies together. “My grave can be our honeymoon suite.”
“Kiss me,” says Illumi.
And he does.
This kiss is softer and less hurried than the others. Illumi sighs into it, letting his fingers tangle in the hair at the back of Hisoka’s neck. He shivers against the chill of Hisoka’s skin and the autumn breeze that rustles the trees.
“Do it now, Illu,” Hisoka says against his lips. “Send me away with a kiss.”
Illumi pulls him back in, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. When he tongues at Hisoka’s mouth, Hisoka opens for him. He tastes like salt and blood and old meat. Illumi forces himself to taste all of it, to separate the flavor of death from what is uniquely Hisoka. He whines as Hisoka bites down on his bottom lip and wonders why they didn’t do this sooner.
“Not yet,” Illumi says when he pulls back for air.
Hisoka’s gaze is flat. Illumi remembers when it would spark with mischief, remembers how it could make him feel like prey.
“You need to give a little,” Hisoka says. “You can’t just take.”
“I know.”
“You made a promise.”
“I know.”
Hisoka presses a kiss into his forehead. It’s so tender that Illumi’s eyes burn.
“I’ll find you in a few days,” Hisoka says, untangling their bodies and stepping back. “Maybe you’ll be ready then.”
“Where will you go?”
“Nowhere. Anywhere. You know I get restless. Did you think I’d stay with you and play house?”
He’s teasing him. Illumi doesn’t take the bait, keeps his face neutral and passive. Hisoka smiles. His mouth is full of sharp teeth.
“Don’t worry. I’ll always find my way home.”
****
When Illumi returns to the manor, he wonders if he looks different. Wonders if being newly married and freshly widowed on the same day, in the same moment, can be seen in the way he blinks or tucks his hair behind his ears.
He finds his mother sitting with Kalluto in the parlor. Illumi lingers in the doorway. If they ask him what he did today, he’ll tell them. He’ll say the word “husband” out loud.
“Illumi,” Kikyo says, barely glancing at him, “there you are. Your father has another job for you. Run down and let him know that you’re home.”
Kalluto looks up at him with inquisitive eyes. Illumi waits a few seconds for his question, but Kalluto turns back to the book he’s reading without saying a word.
“Of course. I’ll see him right away.”
Before he goes in search of his father, Illumi stops in his room. He removes Hisoka’s finger from his pocket. Its skin is already sloughing off, the bone visible at the knuckle. He places the finger in a jar and sets it on his nightstand.
It’s better than a ring, he thinks. More personal.
****
True to his word, Hisoka always finds his way back to him. He comes around whenever he pleases, a cat scratching at the door. Illumi lets him in every time. He leaves Illumi gifts, too. Fingernails left on the windowsill, a tuft of hair on the TV remote in a hotel room, and once a tooth left on his pillow like a chocolate.
Illumi treasures each one and adds them to his growing collection. Hisoka’s finger has long-since liquified in its jar, the bone sitting in a puddle of amber jelly. Illumi likes to stare at it. When he’s awake for too long, he wonders if the jelly tastes like brine, if it tastes like Hisoka.
Hisoka looks worse every time Illumi sees him. Two more fingers rot off, all of his fingernails fall out, and his skin turns the color of old olives. And near the end of autumn, Hisoka visits him on a job without his nose.
The worst part, though, is his body. He’s gaunt, almost skeletal. It’s as though someone took a vacuum to him and sucked out his muscles, fat, and sweetbreads. He creaks and scrapes when he moves, the sound of bone on bone.
When the time comes, it finds Illumi in an alleyway. Afterwards, he wishes they had been somewhere more sentimental, back home or someplace they’d traveled together. Instead, Hisoka stumbles upon him behind an office building after loading a body into a dumpster.
It’s winter in Yorknew. Even though it hasn’t snowed in a few days, the streets are covered in slush. It’s soupy and filthy, soaking through Illumi’s shoes and wetting the hems of his trousers.
“It’s nice to see you getting your hands dirty,” Hisoka says when Illumi shuts the dumpster. His eyes are frozen in their sockets.
“I agreed to dispose of the body,” Illumi says.
“You always follow through on a contract.”
“It’s nice to see you,” says Illumi, studying Hisoka’s face for new damage. His skin is starting to thin around his jaw. Illumi can see his molars through the sides of his cheeks.
“You know why I’m here. Don’t make me ask again.”
He does. It’s been the only thing Hisoka has asked for the past three visits. Wants to know if it’s finally time.
Illumi wants to steal more moments together. He wants to add to their number of kisses, he wants more phone calls, he wants to fall asleep again with Hisoka’s hand in his hair. He will never be ready.
Hisoka says, “I thought of you when it happened, you know. When I bled out and I knew it was the end, I wished I could have seen you one more time.”
He touches Illumi’s cheek with his left hand. His remaining fingers, spidery and lank, trace the curve of his jaw. His rice paper skin crackles with annoyance at the movement, threatening to rip.
“It worked,” Illumi says. “You willed yourself back to life. You’re so strong.”
“I was.”
“Yes,” Illumi says, feeling like his heart is rotting out of his chest. “You were.”
When he kisses Hisoka, he knows this will be their last.
“I love you,” Illumi says against his husband’s lips. When they’re this close, he can pretend that it’s Hisoka’s breath he feels against his skin. That it’s not his own.
“Illu, I lo–”
Hisoka’s body crumples, a needle sticking out of the back of his head.
Illumi has killed hundreds of people. Killing Hisoka is unlike all of them. There is no exhale of hot breath. There is no tremble or whine of pain. There is no light draining from his eyes. There is only the sudden weight of Hisoka’s body in his arms, as cold as it was the only time they had sex.
Illumi shivers. He is well and truly alone, and he is freezing.
****
Whenever Illumi is home, he takes special care to visit Hisoka’s grave. His ashes are there now, buried in a hole that Illumi dug himself with little ceremony. If he hadn’t administered the death blow himself, transported what was left of his body back to Kukuroo Mountain, taken care of all the necessary arrangements, he would swear that Hisoka still watches him from the corner of the grounds.
He tries not to go home often.
Instead, he takes every job that comes through. He travels all over the world, spending nights in shitty motel rooms and on red-eye flights. He discovered early on that if he stayed awake for days on end he could enjoy dreamless sleep.
Illumi thinks he must have been fine before Hisoka. He had an entire life before Hisoka. He spent those years waking up every morning, training, working, sleeping. Predictable. Steady. Illumi hadn’t felt it creep up on him, the need for the other man. Hadn’t felt Hisoka saturate his DNA so completely that he could never wring himself dry, could never go back to the Illumi that existed before.
Tonight, he’s in Jappon. He makes it to his hotel after midnight and carries his own luggage to his room. When he arrives, he unpacks Hisoka first.
The envelope full of his hair gets tucked into the pillow case. Small jars holding his fingernails are placed along the windowsill to catch the morning sun. The tooth sits on the vanity in a small jewelry box, cradled in blue velvet.
Hisoka’s finger always goes on the nightstand. Illumi likes to stare at it. He likes to know that this part of Hisoka belongs to him forever. Likes to imagine Hisoka watching him as he sleeps.
As sleep finally takes hold of him, Illumi thinks that he might get the bones fashioned into a ring. Wouldn’t that be nice, to always feel Hisoka pressed against his skin?