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SIX
“Shh,” Killua hisses, voice pitched low and urgent, although a smile threatens the corner of his lips. “Mom and Dad will kill me if they find out about this.”
With that, Killua pulls a cupcake out from behind his back with a flourish. It’s vanilla, piled high with a mound of white frosting, and crowned with a single large strawberry. Killua was right to warn her–it’s all Alluka can do not to shriek in awe.
“It’s gorgeous!” she whispers.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” Killua says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “If I’m gone too long, they’ll get suspicious, and…”
Killua doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Alluka knows exactly what they’ll do to him if they discover his smuggled gift, and she doesn’t want any more bruises adorning his already battered face.
“It’s alright.” Alluka’s proud of how steady her voice sounds. “You go on. And thank you for the cupcake--it’s absolutely beautiful.”
Killua smiles, but it doesn’t totally reach his eyes.
“Of course.” He presses a kiss to her hair. “Happy birthday, Alluka.”
Somehow, without Killua’s company, the cupcake becomes cloyingly, intolerably sweet, and Alluka can’t manage more than a few bites.
NINE
Sad? Nanika prompts. A strange uneasy concern begins to churn in Alluka’s stomach, and she knows the feeling is Nanika’s, not hers.
No, I’m alright, Alluka replies, but even though the words aren’t spoken aloud, they still manage to sound unconvincing.
Sad, Nanika says again, and this time, it’s not a question. Why sad?
For some strange, shameful reason, that’s enough to push Alluka over the edge, her mouth tensing as the tears well hot and stinging in her eyes. It’s something about how Nanika’s the only person ever to ask her why she’s upset. Something about how Nanika’s the only person to talk to her at all, ever since Killua disappeared.
It’s silly. You don’t need to worry about it. We should play instead, alright?
Nine, Nanika says simply.
Nine what?
Years , Nanika says insistently. Nine years old today.
All at once, the tears spill down Alluka’s cheeks and the inside of her nose burns like it always does when she cries especially hard. She tries to calm herself with a deep, steadying breath, but it stutters and hitches the whole way.
That’s why sad, Nanika continues, and again, it’s not a question. Nine years old and alone.
“I’m not alone,” Alluka replies, answering aloud and more forcefully than she intended. “I have you, Nanika. As long as I have you, I’m never alone.”
Not the same.
Alluka giggles a bit, although the sound is distorted by her tears. She can hear Nanika’s stubbornness even inside her own head.
Fine, Alluka concedes, maybe not. But there’s no use crying over it, is there? We have each other. That’s not nothing.
Deep in the recesses of her mind, Alluka senses Nanika centering herself with the calm focus she always uses to grant a wish.
What are you–
But then there’s that familiar bright glow of golden light, and suddenly Alluka is holding an enormous pink peony in her hands.
Present, Nanika says simply. Happy birthday.
All at once, Alluka lets out a desperate, anguished sob, and cries until her eyes are swollen and raw.
TEN
“Here, Sir Charles,” Alluka offers, pouring the tea Nanika had conjured into the small porcelain cup, forcing cheerfulness. “Thank you for joining us for today’s party.”
Sir Charles, a large gray stuffed cat, stares up at Alluka with unblinking, embroidered eyes.
“And for you, Miss Angelica,” she continues, pouring another cup, her hand tensing so hard around the handle of the teapot she worries it might crack.
The beige bunny remains wholly immobile on her seat at the table.
“A-and you, L-Lady Dalia,” Alluka says, voice beginning to break and hands trembling so badly she spills the tea onto the table, which runs over the edge and onto Lady Dalia’s pink fur.
“No!” Alluka shouts, surprising herself with her urgency, tearing a napkin from the table, silverware clattering onto the floor, to dab frantically at the quickly staining fur.
“No. No no no. Please, no,” she murmurs, as the tea seeps deeper and deeper into the fabric. “Please, I just wanted– I just–”
A desperate, anguished sob claws its way out of Alluka’s throat, so harsh and violent she’s certain it draws blood as it does. She grabs the half-full teapot off of the table and hurls it at the wall with all of her strength.
The moment it shatters is a thrilling, indescribably satisfying explosion of porcelain shrapnel and aromatic tea, but the next moment, Alluka claps a hand over her mouth with a gasp, horror flooding into her veins in a hot, thick rush.
She scrambles to the floor, gathering the shards of the teapot into her hands as hastily as she can, paying no mind to how the jagged edges slice into her palms.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, over and over again and shakier each time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please, forgive me. Please, let me out just once. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. And I’ll never do anything like this again. Please, just let me out. I–I want to see the sky again. I j-just want to smell the fresh grass. I–I–I want–I just–”
Alluka can’t catch her breath, the hysteria finally overtaking her fully. She has to imagine someone is watching her in here. She has to imagine that if she’s good, if she just stays unfailingly cheerful and kind, if she just pushes the fear and rage and loneliness somewhere deep and quiet enough, she’ll earn her freedom. Isn’t that how it works in the fairytales she likes so much? Doesn’t a person just have to remain uncorrupted, no matter what they suffer, to be rewarded at the end? Isn’t that the very essence of justice? What sort of world would it be if it weren’t?
Tears, hot and stinging, and the warm blood from her palms both drip onto the floor in steady, staccato beats.
As of today, she’s ten years old.
TWELVE
The afternoon should be perfect.
There’s a cake on the center of the table, her favorite tea set with the tea brewed just how she likes it, and a large bouquet of flowers. It would be hard for Alluka to imagine a better birthday party.
And yet every time she catches a whiff of the flowers, carried towards her on the breeze, something clenches deep in her gut. Each bite of cake threatens to choke her. Every time she pours the tea, she’s overcome by the inexplicable urge to smash the pot to the ground.
But she can’t. She has to at least keep up appearances. Killua worked so hard planning her birthday party, and Gon, Leorio, and Kurapika all came dressed in their Sunday best to celebrate with her. It would be the epitome of ungratefulness not to at least enjoy herself.
But as Leorio and Kurapika begin to bicker with each other goodnaturedly over the last scone, Alluka’s careful facade begins to crack. She lifts the teacup to her lips with trembling hands, but her throat has gone so tight that she chokes on the tea, coughing and sputtering.
Instantly, the lively conversation at the table quiets, and everyone turns towards her with looks of gentle concern. But whatever they see must not be reassuring, because in an instant, those looks of concern morph into something akin to panic, and Killua immediately at her side, rubbing at her back gently.
“Alluka?”
Alluka goes to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled sob.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Killua says gently. “You don’t have to try to explain anything right now. As long as it’s not an emergency, we can wait until you feel a little calmer.”
Alluka nods weakly, clinging to Killua with all her might, and, before she knows it, Gon’s joined in on the hug as well. Leorio follows quickly behind, and after a moment’s hesitation, Kurapika does as well. It only makes her cry harder, having been so alone for so long, only now to be held by the four people in the world dearest to her in the world.
Nanika is dearest, too, comes an indignant voice from within her. Alluka can’t help but laugh, however shaky and near-hysterical it may sound.
Of course, Nanika. You’ll always be the dearest of all to me.
Eventually, between the solid, comforting weight and warmth of her loved ones pressed around her and Nanika’s constant soothing in the back of her mind, Alluka calms. Once she manages a few breaths that don’t tremble violently on the inhale, she pulls back, wiping at her eyes roughly with her hand. Everyone, understanding the signal, steps back to give her a bit more space.
“Better?” Killua asks gently.
Alluka nods.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to ruin the party.”
“No,” Killua says firmly. “You don’t need to apologize for those sorts of things anymore. Not here. Not with us.”
His simple, straightforward insistence is enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. Gon pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to her.
“That’s the thing,” she begins softly. “So much has changed. I’d sort of resigned myself to all of it, towards the end. To only ever having Nanika. To never feeling the sun on my skin again. I can’t ever remember a better birthday. I’d always spent them so sad and so lonely. It just hit me, all of the sudden, and I guess it was too much. I realized how much things have changed, even when I was certain they never could.”
“That’s the thing,” Kurapika says softly. “Things always change. For better, sometimes, or for worse. But they change. Nothing lasts forever.”
“I wish this would,” Alluka says, surprising herself with her urgency. “I’d be happy to live in this one moment for the rest of my life. I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Oh really?” Leorio chimes in, a mischievous grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. “If you really have everything you could want, I guess you don’t want these concert tickets I got you.”
He digs them out of his pocket with a flourish.
“That’s not what she meant, old man, and you know it,” Killua gripes.
But Alluka merely tips her head back and laughs and laughs.