Work Text:
Killua’s been to a lot of shitty places, but he can say without a doubt that Aiai, the City of Love, is one of the shittiest.
Of course, Gon is having the time of his life; Greed Island was made, in a way, for him. Ging’s brand of tough love—if dumping your kid at home and making him chase you around the world because you couldn’t be bothered to raise him qualified as such—is one that Gon is always so damn happy to accept, so it makes sense that he would enjoy even the worst that Greed Island has to offer.
After dragging Gon away from his third accidental meet-cute, Killua gives up and decides to focus once more on the task at hand: figuring out what the fuck is going on with Hisoka.
The man in question is sitting a little ways off from the commotion on one of the less ostentatious fountains, with only three cherubs firing water out of their arrows, and no warbling music emanating from some unidentifiable source. Killua figures Hisoka already knows that he’s keeping an eye on him, so he decides to go for the direct approach, and sits right next to him.
“You’re not enjoying the city?” Hisoka sits with one leg crossed over the other, a deck of cards in his hands. He flips an ace of hearts smoothly, all liquid, and the card disappears. “Pity.”
“I’m more surprised you’re not,” Killua shoots back. “Seeing as you’re the pervert.”
Hisoka chuckles, and it makes Killua feel like he’s dipped his hand in goo. “I’m only interested in people who could kill me.” He makes another motion with his wrist, and the card reappears. “NPCs have no appeal.”
“Fuckin’ gross,” Killua mutters. Across the courtyard, Bisky is making doe-eyes at a man with tanned skin and an eight-pack, straight off of one of the covers of her magazines. (Where she gets the magazines, he has no idea—he has a horrible, sneaking suspicion that she somehow brought them into the game with her).
“And how about you?” Hisoka asks. He looks at Killua sideways. “Does anything here excite you?” He doesn’t lean closer, but he might as well have, with the way his voice goes low, almost a purr; Killua fights every instinct to run all the way to Masadora. “Does anything here—any one— make your heart pound?”
Across the courtyard, Gon is speaking to a girl with long blonde hair. He’s asking her if she knows anyone who might like to join a sports group, please, we really need volunteers and they won’t have to do much! And the girl bats her eyelashes at him and says, well, maybe, but I’d have to make some calls, maybe you’d like to talk about it over lunch—?
Killua stands. Willingly speaking to Hisoka has proven to be, as always, a mistake. He doesn’t know why he came over here. “This city is a waste of time,” he says, though he’s not sure if he’s talking more to himself or to Hisoka. “We should go.”
With a tinkling laugh, Hisoka puts his cards away. “If you insist. Only—I think we’re missing your other friend. Worry not,” he says, uncoiling himself and standing. “I’ll go find him, and then we can leave.”
Killua watches him walk away, then sits back down once he notices that Gon and Bisky have disappeared as well. Gods, this place is the worst—they should’ve come in here with more of a game plan. He runs through the familiar motions of constructing a strategy—everything Hisoka’s told them and what he might be hiding, the games that Razor and his crew had revealed, what the Spiders' plans were. Would their presence interfere with Gon and Killua's plans? Who was the Nen exorcist? And then there was the problem of the Bomber; how were they going to—?
“Excuse me? Is this seat taken?”
Killua looks up.
A boy with long and dark brown hair that falls to his waist stands in front of him. He looks a little older than Killua, maybe about fourteen or fifteen, and he has green eyes like chips of sea glass.
Killua instinctively activates Gyo. The boy seems harmless, but it’s difficult to tell whether he’s a player or an NPC—all the NPCs in the game are made of Nen, and so they and the weaker-level players sometimes give off similar vibes.
“Yeah, it’s taken,” Killua says, because he doesn’t need some rando trying to talk to him while he’s working out his strategies. “Sorry.”
The boy raises an eyebrow, then looks at the obviously empty stretch of stone to Killua’s left and right. “Right,” he says. “Well, it looks pretty empty to me, and I was looking for a place to eat this, so.” He lifts a brown sack and Killua can smell it—there’s fucking chocolate cake in there.
His mouth waters. He hasn’t had a sweet since he got here—Bisky’s training regimen had them on plenty of vegetables and meats and grains, and there was no time for dessert, not when they had mountains to dig and sparring to do.
“Well,” Killua says, feeling very generous. “I suppose there could be some room.”
The boy sits with smile. “That’s very kind of you,” he says. He opens the bag and Killua tries not to look too interested—okay, he thinks, so they have eight players so far, and so they still needed seven— is that hazelnut? They’d probably be able to find some weaker guys in Masadora, maybe put out an ad— oh, that’s definitely hazelnut. His mouth waters, and he shakes his head. Then there was Tsezguerra and his men—
The boy offers him a fork. “Would you like to share?”
Killua looks at the fork, then at the cake, set in a bright white paper box between them. It looks fucking delicious: hazelnut curls atop dark creamy frosting, with strawberries lining the base.
Well. It can’t hurt; he’s worked his ass off these last few months. He deserves a little treat.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the offered fork as casually as he can.
The boy takes the first bite. “So,” he says, his mouth full of cake. It should be gross, but for some reason, Killua finds it a little charming. Gon does the same thing when he eats. “What brings you here?”
Killua takes the next bite and he nearly groans; it's delicious. Damn, he’s missed chocolate. “Looking for some people to join our group,” he says, which is both vague and close enough to the truth that it should be fine to say to a stranger. “Although I don’t think we’re gonna have much luck here.”
The boy hums around his fork; it dips up and down as he speaks. “Yeah, this probably isn’t the best place. People here don’t really like to leave once they’ve arrived.”
“I’d like to leave,” Killua mutters. He takes another bite of cake.
The boy doesn’t appear to have heard him. “Is this for a challenge?” he asks, his tone friendly.
Killua pauses—the question’s vague enough that Killua could probably answer with some bullshit. He debates the pros and cons of lying completely out of his ass, but Bisky had been, as she often infuriatingly is, right; he really only lies when he needs to.
“Yeah.” He takes a strawberry next; it’s cold and perfectly sweet. “’S for a card. Can’t say more than that, sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” the boy says easily. He smiles. “Just how the game works.”
Killua gets a closer look at him—he doesn’t seem to be an NPC. He’s wearing loose joggers and a white hoodie with the sleeves rolled up; on his wrist are a few bracelets that seem to be made of several black threads, with the exception of one which is entirely bright pink.
He catches Killua looking at it and grins sheepishly. “My little sister made it,” he says, holding up his wrist. He has freckles all up his arm. “She’s been really into bracelet making lately, and it makes her happy when I wear her stuff.” With a conspiratorial glance around them, he leans a little closer. Killua doesn’t move. “Don’t tell anyone, but I pretend to lose them so she’ll make more. She’s really talented. Her name’s Micky.”
Sharply and suddenly, for a reason he can't explain, Killua feels like he's going to cry. “I have a little sister,” he says. He doesn’t know why he said it—it’s not exactly a secret who the Zoldyck family members are, but…it feels important that this boy knows. He has a little sister.
The boy smiles again, and this time there’s something warm in it that wasn’t there before. To his mortification, Killua’s face heats up.
“What’s your name?” Killua asks, before he can stop himself.
“I’m Sal,” he says. He holds out a sun-tanned hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Killua takes it; Sal’s hand is warm, and Killua’s immediately aware that his own hand is probably sweaty, dirty, and now streaked with melted chocolate. “I’m Killua,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” He finds, to his surprise, that he means it.
“Well, Killua,” Sal says. He lets go of Killua’s hand and looks down at the box, which is now empty. “We sure polished off that cake fast.”
Killua smiles. “Yeah, it was good. Where’d you get it, by the way? You might’ve just redeemed this whole city for me.”
“I run a bakery,” Sal says with a grin. “So I made it.”
“You’re a baker?” The chances of Sal being an NPC increase exponentially. Not that Killua still can’t enjoy talking to him, but if he’s not a real player, then he can’t be recruited for Razor’s game. Damn.
Sal nods. “We moved here a few years ago from Soufrabi. Things were getting kind of dangerous, and Micky had just been born, so we moved out here.”
“Where are your parents?” Killua asks. He wonders about the merits of moving to a city where people were programmed to trip over their own feet every five seconds; he’d honestly prefer to live in a city overrun by pirates, if he’s being honest.
At this, Sal’s smile gets a little smaller, and sadder. “I dunno,” he says with a shrug. Killua recognizes the tone of his voice as one that he uses himself—when something is a big deal but he doesn’t want anyone else to think it is. “I don’t remember them. They weren’t part of my backstory, so I just…never found out.”
Horror dawns. “You…” Killua says, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. “You know you’re an NPC? You know Greed Island is just a game?”
Sal shrugs. “Yeah? Just because we’re made of Nen doesn’t mean we’re not people.” He huffs out a laugh, good-natured. “You don’t remember everything about your childhood either, right?”
Actually, Killua doesn’t say, sometimes I wish I didn’t remember any of it. “I guess so,” he eventually settles on, his mind swirling. “Still feels weird, though.”
“If you like,” Sal says easily. He looks at Killua's face and must find something amusing, because he laughs. It’s a nice laugh, Killua thinks, bright and pleasant. “Don’t worry though; I don’t think everyone is self-aware. Like, most of the coding for NPCs in the big cities is a lot simpler.” He gestures to the courtyard before them, at the picturesque alleyways and brightly colored buildings, which at first had seemed cliché but now seem almost charming as Sal continues. “Aiai is special; it’s smaller, and since a lot of its residents are meant to be romanceable, they need to be able to adapt. Hence,”—and here, he makes a sweeping gesture at himself, at once self-deprecating and charming—“the self-awareness.”
Killua stares at him. “And you’re…a resident.”
Sal looks at him sideways, something bright and amused in his green eyes, like a spark of sunshine off a wave. “Oh yes.”
“Well, what’ll happen to you when the game ends?” Killua doesn’t know why he’s asking this—he shouldn’t care. NPCs are simply that—non-players. Anything and anyone not pertaining to him or Gon doesn’t and shouldn’t matter; they’re here to win, and once they’ve won they’ll find some clue that’ll lead them to Ging, and then…
Sal shrugs again. “I don’t know what’ll happen after. But it doesn’t really bother me that much? I have everything I could ever need right now.” He gestures to one alleyway a little ways off from the main road that leads into the courtyard. The surrounding buildings are painted all sorts of colors—brassy brown, rich carmine, summer-sky blue. Billowing white sheets hang on criss-crossing lines across the open air, and people chatter and laugh and call out to one another as they walk or bike-ride past.
“See over there?” Sal says. “You walk down that alley for about five minutes, then take a right: That’s where my bakery is. I get to wake up every day and watch the sunrise from my bedroom and not have to worry if pirates are going to break down my door. Micky helps me with the cash register when we’re busy and makes me bracelets when we’re not, and every month we have the whole neighborhood over for a potluck.” He smiles at Killua again, and Killua feels a little like the time he and Gon rode in an airship together; like he’s looking out at something vast and beautiful. “I know it’s probably boring to you, as adventurous and exciting as your life must be, but I love it here. Just being alive, here with people I love, is a gift.”
“But,” Killua says. “Don’t you ever…” He searches for the words and finds them more easily than he thought he would. “Don’t you ever feel like something is stopping you from doing what you want? Like…like you’re programmed to feel a certain way, or like…” He swallows. “Like something isn’t meant for you?”
Sal tilts his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, and for some reason Killua despairs—this is something he thought they might have shared. He doesn’t know why it feels like a rejection, or why it cuts him so deeply—perhaps that’s why his next words are so cruel.
“But you’re not real, ” he says bitterly. “You’re just one of the Game Master’s Nen puppets.” Probably the Nen of one of the women who ran the entrance and exit points—they seemed to handle a lot of the programming. But it's hardly their fault he feels like he's broken. No, for his present shame and disappointment, Killua blames only himself; he should've known better than to ask if someone felt the same.
Hurt flashes across Sal’s face, and Killua feels a pang of regret. He squashes it down immediately; he doesn’t owe this guy anything.
Then Sal sighs, and smiles wryly. “And you’re just the product of two people who had sex,” he says lightly. “Nen is a part of someone, right? Just like your physical body is a part of you. I came from somewhere and someone, same as you.”
Killua wonders if it’s possible for anyone’s head explode through sheer fucking humiliation. He discards the notion of his parents…yeah, no, fuck that. He focuses instead on what Sal is proposing: that he’s a real person. A player character. Someone who isn’t a puppet; that despite his programming, he can still find things to enjoy and people to love.
It…makes sense, he supposes. In a familiar way.
“I guess,” he eventually mumbles. “That chocolate cake seemed real enough,” he offers, a weak attempt at a joke. “It was really good.”
Sal sniffs and crosses his feet at the ankles, rolling his sleeves down and readjusting his bracelets. “You’re damn right it was.” He smiles over at Killua, implicit apology accepted. Killua, almost against his will, feels a wave of relief that Sal hasn’t stormed off.
He finds that, against all odds, he really likes the guy.
Then it dawns on him.
“Are you…?” His face burns. Stupid, stupid game. Stupid Ging for making it, stupid Gon for playing it. Stupid him most of all. “Is this…?”
“A City of Love scenario?” Sal says, and this time the warmth of his smile has a little bit of an edge to it; a little rugged and all-too-knowing. Mortified, Killua blushes even harder. “Maybe. Is it working?”
“Fuck no,” Killua mumbles, shoving him with his shoulder. Sal doesn’t even budge; he only laughs harder, which of course makes Killua blush deeper. “Shut up.”
“I’m kidding,” Sal says, holding his hands up in appeasement. Killua looks at his sneakers, his ears aflame. “You can’t blame me for trying, though. You’re very cute.”
“Say I’m cute one more time and I’ll kill you,” Killua says, without any heat. He feels…well, it’s not a bad feeling. It’s new, that’s for sure—it’s not quite the same as Gon’s earnest honesty, but it’s still nice. To be complimented.
“Easy there,” Sal says with a laugh. “Don’t worry; I knew you weren’t up for grabs the minute I saw you. Your heart already belongs to someone, I can tell.”
Killua whips his head up, his eyes wide. His bloodlust oozes out for just a moment, but he reins it in sharply. No one can know he thinks wildly, but of course anyone with a pair of eyes who isn’t Gon probably already does. Case in point.
Sal’s eyes are so green. “For what it’s worth,” he says, apparently not having noticed Killua’s momentary slip. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Killua frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” Sal says, and he leans in a little closer. Killua finds himself doing the same; he can smell the chocolate on Sal’s breath when he speaks. “He’s heading this way right now.”
Killua looks away from Sal to see Gon, indeed walking over, with a frown on his face.
“Shit,” he mutters. His bloodlust—Gon must’ve sensed it, bloodhound that he is. Killua plasters on a smile. Gon cannot under any circumstances know what they were just talking about; he would actually not survive it.
“Hey, Gon,” he says. He tries not to panic; he gives Sal a look that says you talk, you die.
Sal winks.
Gon smiles back, easy and warm. Killua finds himself relaxing instinctively; something, as it always does, slides into place. “Hey, Killua,” he says. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Killua says. He leans back and gestures at Sal. “This is Sal. He runs a bakery here.”
Gon looks at Sal and seems to realize only then that he’s there. “Oh!” He smiles, blindingly bright as always. “Hi! I’m Gon. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Gon,” Sal says pleasantly. He knocks a sneaker against Killua’s foot. “We were just sharing a cake I made.”
“You had cake?” Gon groans. “Maaan, Bisky hasn’t let us eat dessert for weeks now. Was it any good?”
“It was delicious,” Killua says smugly. “You missed out, Gon.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Gon says. He looks put out, and Killua feels a little guilty that he didn’t save a least a bite, but hey, you snooze you lose. “Some guy was bothering one of the flower-selling ladies.”
“Gon, you know they’re not—” Killua stops. He looks at Sal, who tilts his head. “I mean. Yeah. Sorry about that. Maybe next time we can swing by your bakery, Sal, and Gon can have a piece.”
“I’d like that,” Sal says. He uncrosses his ankles and puts the empty cake box back into the paper bag. “Then you could meet Micky. You two would get a long, I think. And you could bring your sister, too—we can have a party.”
Killua snorts. Under no circumstances is any member of his family coming anywhere near here, but he isn’t opposed to coming back himself. The cake was pretty good, after all. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
“It’s a date,” Sal says. He stands, holding up the bag. “Gonna go throw this away real quick. Be right back.” Killua nods, and he walks away.
“Did Hisoka find Goreinu?” he asks Gon, once Sal has disappeared around the corner. He stands and brushes the last of the hazelnut curls off his shorts. It takes him a second to realize that Gon hasn’t replied. He looks up.
Gon is staring at nothing, his expression one Killua recognizes as the one that means he’s five million kilometers away.
“Gon?”
Gon blinks. He seems to shake himself, then nods. “Sorry! Yeah. I found Bisky and the others; they’re all waiting at the entrance now.” He looks at Killua and clears his throat. “Are you…um. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” Killua says. “Just gonna say bye here first.”
“Of course,” Gon says just as Sal returns, trash discarded.
“It was nice meeting you, Sal,” Gon says. He holds out a hand, which Sal shakes.
“Nice meeting you too, Gon,” he replies. “You should visit too; I’d be happy to make something for you. Sorry we ate all the cake.”
“Thanks!” Gon says. Then he laughs sheepishly. “And no worries, I’m glad Killua was the one who got to try your stuff first.” He looks at Killua and smiles at him, soft. “He loves sweet things.”
Sal looks between them, something a little wistful in his gaze. Killua wonders then if the residents of Aiai ever find love themselves. He feels a surge of sympathy for Sal; it can’t be easy, always watching people come and go. At least he gets to stick around Gon all the time, even if…
“He sure does,” Sal says. He lets go of Gon’s hand and grins at Killua. “He doesn’t seem the type though, does he? Like, he’s so cool.”
Gon brightens, and he nods his head so fast Killua’s afraid his head is going to fall off his shoulders. “He is! The absolute coolest.” He beams at Killua, all sincerity.
Killua flushes again, this time all the way down to his toes. “Idiot,” he says, and for once he’s not sure who he’s speaking to. “Gon, I’ll meet you at the entrance. Tell Bisky I’ll be right there.”
Gon nods, then waves goodbye to Sal. “See ya!”
Sal waves back. “See you, Gon.”
Killua watches him walk away. He smiles.
Yeah. He gets to be with Gon. That’s more than enough.
“Nice guy,” Sal says. He kicks his feet, his sneakers scraping on the cobblestone. “Sweet.”
Killua hums. “He really is.”
Sal raises an eyebrow at that, and Killua blushes again. “Oh, shut up. Anyway.” He scratches his cheek and looks approximately at Sal’s shoulder. “Thank you for the cake.”
“Of course,” Sal says. He stops kicking his feet and puts his hands in his pockets, rocking up on his heels. “It’s always nice when I get to share the stuff I make with others.”
Killua has never learned how to make anything in his life that wasn’t for the express purpose of killing someone. He thinks, once this is all over, that he might like to try. “And thank you,” he says. “For all the…other stuff. The advice.” He clears his throat. “What you said about, you know. Enjoying what you have now.” He rubs the back of his head. “That made a lot of sense. So thanks for saying it, I guess.”
Sal smiles at him. “You’re very welcome, Killua.” He holds out a fist. “And I meant what I said. You’re welcome to visit anytime.”
Killua grins and fist-bumps him back. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and he’s surprised to find that he actually means it. “Maybe after we beat the game.”
“Ooh, someone’s confident.” He gives a little mock-salute. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Killua says again. He grins.
Sal turns before he leaves. With a bit of embarrassment, Killua realizes that in profile, with his arm raised in farewell and his easy smile on his face and his freckles all lit up by the sun, he actually looks quite handsome, and oddly enough, a little familiar. Maybe it’s the eyes, or the freckles—does he know anyone with green eyes?
“Oh, and Killua!” Sal calls. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Killua grins. “Thanks!” he shouts back. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find at least a few guys who are willing to join the team.”
Sal laughs. It rings through the courtyard like a bell—loud and knowing, a marker of something—though what, Killua’s not sure. “Not what I’m talking about!” he shouts.
And before Killua can puzzle that one out, he’s gone.
Killua turns the corner to find Gon, looking rather guilty.
“Um,” Gon says.
“Oh, you waited?” Killua says. He tries not to look too pleased. “Let’s go, then.”
They walk back towards the entrance. Gon is oddly quiet.
“Okay, what’s wrong.” Killua can still taste the chocolate cake and the strawberries; he gives his mouth a quick go-around with his tongue. “Did you get in a fight protecting the flower lady?”
“Huh?” Gon blinks. “Oh! No. I just...”
He stops walking. Killua stops just a few steps ahead. He turns and looks at Gon, quizzical. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t know,” Gon blurts out.
“Ha?”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Gon says quietly.
“Oh.” Killua shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.” Something nicks at his brain for a moment, so fast he can’t parse it, but then it’s gone. He shakes his head. “Just my family.”
“Exactly!” Gon says. He looks upset, his brow furrowed and his eyes downcast. “I feel like. Well, I should’ve known you had a younger sister, is all. I should’ve asked.”
“Why?” Killua tilts his head. “I mean, I guess you’ve met Illumi?” He feels the familiar rush of shamefearhatred at the thought of Illumi. He wonders how he’s doing, then casts the thought aside with a vengeance. He doesn’t give a fuck what Illumi and the rest of them—( not all of them says the pinprick, but he shakes his head)—are doing.
“Because!” Gon’s lip trembles. “That guy knew and you’ve only known him for like, a day!”
“Okay first of all, we’ve only been here for the afternoon, and second of all—I mean, yeah , but—”
Wait.
Killua feels his eyes bug out of his head. “Gon, are you jealous?”
“What?” Gon says, looking so confused that Killua wants to laugh, or maybe cry. “No! Why would I be jealous?” He looks down at his feet, his hands fists at his sides. “I just. I feel like a bad friend, I guess. Like I missed out on something important.”
A lump forms in Killua's throat. “My family,” he says, feeling very fragile, “is not important. Not anymore.” He bites his lip. “This—” He gestures and wills Gon to see what he’s seeing: the summer sky, the trees, the city, the gate, the fields just beyond it, the sea just beyond that, and before him: Gon, and Gon, and Gon—“This is what’s important. Winning the game. Finding your dad.” He remembers Sal’s words— Just being alive, here with people I love, is a gift . He swallows the words Being here with you down into his belly and says instead, “Everything before is just—it’s in the past. That’s why I don’t bring it up, honest. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
It’s not quite the truth, but didn’t Bisky say that Killua doesn’t lie unless he has to? Because he certainly can’t tell Gon the truth now. He can’t tell him that he’s selfish, that the real reason he doesn’t bring up his family is because Gon is untouchable. Gon had accepted that he was an assassin, yes, but the less of Killua’s past that follows him here, into the light of their friendship, the better.
Because Killua is done killing. He decided that a long time ago now. Illumi can’t touch him or Gon here—he won’t let him.
Gon’s eyes, when Killua finally meets them, are wide. “Oh,” he says.
“Yeah, oh, ” Killua mumbles. “Do you get it now?”
Slowly, Killua watches the words sink in. “Yeah,” Gon says, looking up. He smiles, and Killua wonders if this is what Sal meant, about not caring what might come after, if it means he can have this now. “Yeah, I think I do.”
He’ll do everything he can to deserve it— him .
“Good,” he says. If his voice comes out a little choked, Gon doesn’t remark on it. He turns back around and starts walking, knowing Gon will follow. “Now let’s go before Bisky kills us.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Hisoka asks. His voice is as smooth and slimy as an eel’s, and Killua knows he’s up to something. “In the City of Love.”
Gon and Bisky and Goreinu are talking beside the flowerbeds just outside the city walls, discussing next steps. They'll all probably go to Masadora next. “Screw you, pervert,” Killua says without much heat. He and Hisoka are standing beneath a tree a few paces away; Killua is once again trying to figure out what the hell is going on with him, and regretting it. Gon is gesturing animatedly as he speaks; he has a leaf in his hair, and it reminds Killua of the time they went swimming off the cliffs right behind Gon’s house, and Gon had jumped into the cold, green-blue water with an olive branch in his hand for some reason; he’d re-emerged from the waves with his hair matted down, and leaves around his temple like a crown.
That’s where he’s seen that shade of green before, Killua realizes. Whale Island.
“I’ve been trying,” Hisoka moans. “But it’s so hard to do long distance, you know?”
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Killua says flatly. “Actually, you know what—I don’t care.”
“I wonder how he’s doing,” Hisoka muses, as if Killua hasn’t spoken. “He hasn’t been answering my calls ever since Yorknew—do you two still talk? Has he said anything about me?”
Killua stares at him. “What?”
“Your brother,” Hisoka says patiently, as if this should be obvious. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“Oh my god,” Killua says. “Oh my god.”
He flees back to where Bisky and Gon and Goreinu are, Hisoka’s laughter following close behind.
“Ah,” Hisoka sighs. He twirls a card and smiles. “Young love.”