Archive of Our Own

“That’s not fair,” Kurapika insists.

“The world’s not fair,” Leorio grumbles.

It’s less than professional, but that’s all part of Leorio’s particular charm. Your sibling had recommended his services, a recommendation unsolicited by you – Kalluto’s been extraordinarily eager to help with... all this.

Across the table, diagonal from you and next to Kurapika, sits Chrollo. He’s looking down at his hands, loosely clasped, his eyes lifeless. He looks defeated, pathetic – a far cry from the powerful man you married. He disgusts you.

But you’ve found every one of Chrollo’s actions disgusting since that morning Kalluto called you, their voice shaky, begging you to forgive them.

Kurapika and Leorio are still bickering about some insignificant asset or another. If you’re honest, you don’t care that much about you and Chrollo’s shared finances, investments, or belongings, but you do care about making this entire ordeal as difficult for him as possible. Kurapika has been you and Chrollo’s lawyer for years, and you could easily have won him over to your side instead of Chrollo’s, but you wanted someone that would piss Chrollo off. Unfortunately, while Chrollo doesn’t seem to like Leorio much, there’s been a lot less barely contained rage and more Chrollo appearing to tune him out.

You’re doing a bit of tuning out yourself, gazing out of the window to the street far below Kurapika’s meeting room. There are no trees in this dense, business-heavy area of the city, but further out, the streets would be covered in brown leaves, autumn already halfway gone. It was around this time of year the two of you had met.

You’re startled back to the present by the door opening.

The man who enters seats himself sideways on the desk between you and Kurapika, his back to you, his legs crossed. Kurapika looks up at him with recognition. Another client?

“So sorry to interrupt,” he says, sounding smug, and not very sorry at all.

You assess him. His colour scheme is overwhelming – bright pink hair, gelled up; a turquoise pleather jacket over a white shirt; spotless, pale blue jeans. He’s got a pink star on one cheek, and a green teardrop on the other, and you’re annoyed that you can’t tell if it’s facepaint or actually tattooed onto his face. Clearly, he’s unafraid to bypass social norms, and that’s always something to be wary of. There’s also the muscle you can see beneath his shirt, and the way he carries himself – his stance implies confidence in his own power.

He’s interesting.

“Hisoka,” Kurapika sighs, and you make a mental note. “We do not have an appointment.”

“No,” Hisoka agrees. “But I wanted to make up for last time.”

“You’ll have to make up for this time, now. I am engaged with another client.”

“So I see.” Hisoka looks between the four of you. “A divorce? I didn’t think you dealt with things like this, Kurapika.”

“It’s none of your business what cases I take.” An edge of annoyance has started to creep into Kurapika’s voice, undermining his cool professionalism. Usually you only hear him sound like that when Leorio’s in the room.

“Unless it’s mine.” Hisoka’s voice drops low and dangerous, and you watch him very carefully. Your fingers itch for your pins, but you can’t say why. “I got your voicemail, and I must say I’m unimpressed. I don’t care how much worse prison is, I don’t want to be institutionalised. I thought I’d made that clear.”

“I think I’d better leave,” Chrollo says, and starts packing up his papers.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Kurapika snaps. “Hisoka, I will see you when I am free. Please wait in the waiting room. This will not happen again.”

Hisoka grins, and you see wildness in his eyes. “Ah, you’re so pretty when you’re angry, Kurapika! Alright, I’ll wait.”

He stands up, languid, and waves on his way out. “Good luck with your divorce!” He trills, and then the door closes behind him, and the room is quiet for two seconds before Leorio starts chewing Kurapika out.

He’s ranting, something about not keeping his clients in line, for interrupting scheduled meetings, for taking ridiculous cases in the first place, but you can’t really listen. Two minutes of Hisoka in the room were more interesting than the past three months of cleaning Chrollo out. You feel excited jitters crawling up your arms.

The meeting ends soon enough, and Leorio stays behind to talk to (which is probably code for berate) Kurapika, so you head directly for the elevator. You don’t want to look at Chrollo for any longer than necessary, and Kalluto’s waiting for you at home.

You make it halfway across the waiting room before Chrollo’s grasping at your wrist.

“Illumi,” he says. “Wait. Please.”

You look down at his hand, at his fingers curled around your arm. “Unhand me,” you say, low.

He complies, but with a sigh of frustration. “Please just- please talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“You’ve said maybe ten words to me in the past month. We shouldn’t need our lawyers to communicate for us.”

Suddenly, your anger is unbearable. You crowd up into his space, your face centimetres from his, your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You are lucky I haven’t killed you yet.”

“You know I’m stronger than you,” Chrollo says through gritted teeth.

You tilt your head. “Would you like to bet on that?”

“I would,” someone says, conversational, and when you whip your head around, almost in sync with Chrollo, the man from before is leaning forward in his chair. You hadn’t noticed he was even in the room – either you’re unreasonably distracted, or he’s very good at hiding his prescence. With the way you’re feeling, it could be either one. “I’ll bet fifty on you with the long hair.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“You’ve never seen us fight,” Chrollo says, and you notice something guarded about his tone.

“No,” Hisoka hums. “But he seems to have more control. More experience, too, probably. I don’t think either of you would shy away from violence –“ and he grins, here, sharp. “- but I think you would find something uncultured in it. He’d win.”

“Who are you?” Chrollo asks, and he hides his surprise well, but you know that this strange man has succeeded in his objective – to impress you both.

“Just a drifter,” he says, waving a hand. “And you?”

Chrollo doesn’t answer.

“Illumi,” you say. You leave out your last name, because if you’re right about the kind of circles he operates in, it’s possible that he’s heard of you.

“Well,” he says. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Illumi.” He smirks, and, yes, people have smirked at you like this before, but it’s never been quite this effective.

Chrollo never smirked. He flirted less with facial expressions, and more with quick words and lingering touches. Sometime between his childhood and the time you met him, he had learned sophistication, practiced and honed it until it had been enough to enchant you.

But that was you at twenty. Now, you’re thirty-four, and you’re not going to fall for the same trick twice.

“Are you,” Chrollo starts, and his voice is calm, even soft, but you can tell from experience that it’s layered over a well of rage, and you almost shiver. “Are you flirting with my husband, in front of me?”

Which, coming from him, is nothing but hypocrisy. He’s sat through endless meetings, given up half his belongings, slept on Machi and Pakunoda’s couch for ten weeks, and now he thinks he can talk about jealousy. It’s not fair, not after everything, and you open your mouth to tell him so, but Hisoka is already speaking.

“I think you misunderstood me.” He stands up, and approaches the two of you, cocking his hips as he walks. “Both of you are interesting enough in your own right, but I’m infinitely more interested in your dynamic. And, possibly,” he licks his upper lip, pointedly, “being in the middle of it.”

“Are you suggesting a threesome?” You ask, brisk.

“Absolutely,” he grins.

“Okay,” you say. “I accept.” The idea of Chrollo watching you with someone else holds no small amount of appeal. Hisoka, being an interesting prospect on his own, is an added bonus. This can only go well.

“What-“ Chrollo starts, turning to you, and then stops. You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t meet his gaze. Hisoka is watching him, looking pleased.

There is a beat of silence.

“Alright,” Chrollo says, voice carefully even. He’s trying, but you can see through him.

“Excellent!” Hisoka crows, and then he’s grabbed both your wrists in a single, long-fingered hand, and is leading you out of the waiting room.

Your wrist grinds against Chrollo’s. You keep your eyes on Hisoka.

Hisoka claims he doesn’t have a car, and you took a taxi, so you both end up in the back of Chrollo’s car. Hisoka gives directions, because you’re not taking them to the Zoldyck mansion, and no one wants to go to Pakunoda and Machi’s. You end up at a hotel – it’s passably nice, but several notches below any that you and Chrollo have stayed in. You find that you like it that way, for whatever reason.

Chrollo sits perfectly still at the wheel for several seconds after parking. You huff. Years ago, he would have had the guts. Ten weeks ago, he would have had the guts.

Hisoka reaches over his chair, loops some of Chrollo’s hair around his finger, and whispers something you can’t hear. Chrollo looks at him, pockets the keys, and gets out of the car.

Hisoka leads you, inexplicably, to the gym. He strides in, confident, taking off his jacket and draping it over a weight bar. The gym is empty apart from the three of you, and Hisoka’s footsteps echo a little as he pads into the centre of the gym mat, and turns to face you.

He looks expectant. Chrollo looks confused.

You shrug, and take off your overshirt, dropping it to the ground. You walk onto the mat. Chrollo still looks confused.

“What are we doing?” He asks.

“Fighting,” Hisoka says, and dives at you.

You disappear, jumping high above him and landing on the opposite side of the mat. You turn to face him, and he’s looking back, one thin eyebrow raised.

“What did you say you do for a living?”

“i didn’t,” you reply. “Why don’t you guess?”

“Hmm,” he says, circling you. “It’s illegal, of course.”

“Correct.”

“And you’ve been doing it since you were young.”

“Yes.”

“Gang work?”

“Wrong,” you say, tilting your head, and now it’s your turn to attack.

You go for the stomach, intending to rip his guts out, suspecting he will stop you, testing him. He ducks, low, and parries with a blow aimed for your head. You dodge, and strike at his legs. He jumps away.

“Won’t you tell me?” He coos, bending his knees and flexing his hands out.

You attack again, this time hitting him square in the chest. He stumbles back a little, and you kick him across the shoulder. You’re using half your usual strength. You wonder why.

He grins at you as he recovers. “Okay, I’m impressed. Assassin?”

You tilt your head the other way. “Right.”

He smiles lazily, and turns to beckon to Chrollo. “Come here,” he says. “I want to see what you’re like.”

“And you can tell that,” Chrollo says, approaching the two of you, “by fighting me?”

“Absolutely,” Hisoka says, for once not smiling, for once dead serious.

But then, you have a feeling he’s always dead serious, even when he’s smiling.

You step back as Chrollo lunges for Hisoka. They take turns attacking and evading, a kind of dance. Chrollo hits first, a glancing blow against Hisoka’s side. Hisoka jumps back, easily recovering. Chrollo must not be using his full strength either.

You wonder why.

“Hmm,” Hisoka says, and then points to you. “He’d win.”

Chrollo grins, sharp, and you feel a thrill run through you, and hate yourself for it. “You sure?” He says.

“Quite,” Hisoka replies, and beckons to you, this time. “Join us. Two on one.”

The grin falls from Chrollo’s face. “I don’t think...”

“It’ll be easy,” Hisoka goads.

Chrollo looks at you, but you don’t look back. Instead, you advance, arms held loosely at your sides, casual. You’re not afraid, even if you know Hisoka will try harder this time.

Chrollo shakes himself, and gets into position, readying himself for another round. When you draw closer, you feel his eyes on you, but you circle around so you’re at Hisoka’s other side.

Hisoka hums, a little “mm” sound, almost like he’s... well. You’re not going to begrudge him that.

You and Chrollo rush at him at the same time. Hisoka twirls, lunging out at Chrollo so that he has to move around him, forcing you and Chrollo closer together, towards Hisoka’s front. You punch at Hisoka’s head – where Hisoka’s head was – at the same time Chrollo does, and you bump into each other.

He’s not allowed to touch you.

You feel blind rage fill up your stomach, crawling all the way up your throat. You shove him back, and follow where he goes, advancing, stalking his movements like a hunter, jabbing blows here and there, antagonising.

You want him to be mad. You want a real fight, a bloody, brutal fight.

Not like that morning.

For a second, you don’t realise Hisoka has stepped back, but then you see him in your periphery, watching as you force Chrollo back. He’s on the defensive, refusing to really fight back, and it frustrates you.

When you’ve had enough, you sweep your leg around to knock him off his feet, and he ends up on the floor. You advance, and then you’re looming over him, pin in hand, and when did you decide to use weapons? You lift your hand.

But Hisoka’s between you, suddenly, throwing you an unreadable look over his shoulder as he crouches over Chrollo.

You look away, and take a breath. You got carried away.

It felt just like this, in the beginning. Your eyes were quick to glaze over, your pins were quick to reach your fingers, and your arms seemed to move on their own. You’d felt constantly confused, on the edge of losing control. You feel that way now, too.

You back up, a little, and circle the two men on the ground at a distance. Hisoka is crouching over Chrollo’s torso, whispering in his ear. Chrollo is staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed, still panting from the fight. As you watch, Hisoka runs a hand down Chrollo’s side, and Chrollo twitches, clenching and unclenching his fist.

Other people may mistake this for discomfort or anger, but you were sleeping with Chrollo for fifteen years. You know what his arousal looks like.

You walk up behind Hisoka, and take some of his hair in a firm grip. It’s stiff and flaky, evidence of hairspray, or maybe gel. You pull his head back experimentally, and he moves with you easily. You swallow.

You keep you hold on his hair as you kneel behind him, placing each knee either side of Chrollo’s leg. You ghost your lips upon Hisoka’s neck, almost but not quite meeting skin, your other hand on his waist, then his hip, then his thigh.

You look at Chrollo, but he’s looking at Hisoka, not you, which isn’t good enough, so you bite into Hisoka’s neck. He makes a breathy, pleased sound, and you feel him shift on top of Chrollo, and Chrollo exhales, a little shaky. He’s looking at you, now, but you can’t read his expression. All those years, and now you have no idea what he’s thinking.

You grip Hisoka’s thigh, pulling him towards you, his back against your front. He leans his shoulders into you, but pushes his hips against Chrollo, who responds in kind.

You decide to take the initiative and start the disrobing process, relinquishing your grip on Hisoka’s hair to pull his shirt up and off. He lifts his hands up for you, and you throw the garment to the side.

“Wait,” Chrollo says. “We can’t- This isn’t a private gym, is it?”

“No,” Hisoka says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “But doesn’t that just make it more interesting?”

“No,” Chrollo says, firm.

“Fine,” Hisoka says. “I’ll take you to my room.”

His room turns out to be a few rooms, and nicer than you’d expect from what you’ve seen of this hotel. The curtains are green, and the carpet is a deep blue. The surfaces sparkle. You don’t think he’s been here long.

“This is better,” Chrollo says, and you resist the urge to huff. Even when he’s doing something like this, he has to be proper about it.

“I imagine you’re used to nicer places,” Hisoka says, opening the curtains, and without his shirt, you can see the muscles of his back shift.

“Why would you say that?” Chrollo is still standing near the door.

“Hmm,” Hisoka turns. “Just a hunch. Why don’t you take your coat off?”

He does, hanging it on the hatstand near the door. You always hated that coat. The fur around the neck itches.

“Alright,” Hisoka grins, and then he’s walking up to you, right in your space, but still looking at Chrollo. “Now, watch me,” he says, and you have just enough time to see Chrollo’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly before Hisoka is kissing you.

You’d suspected he might be the biting type, but for now he’s only grazing your lips with his teeth, just a hint of sharpness. You run your tongue along the edge of them, licking briefly at the roof of his mouth before drawing back, and he moves his mouth to your neck instead. You flick your eyes over to Chrollo. His hands are clenched again. You feel very warm.

Hisoka presses you against the wall, and you grip his hips, pulling them against yours. Hisoka sucks at your skin, and make a sound you hadn’t meant to. It’s been four months since someone touched you like this, and it’s never been someone other than Chrollo.

As if he’d read your mind, Hisoka turns away from you, toward the door. “Well? What do you think?”

Chrollo looks away. “I have no opinion.”

“Oh?” Hisoka chuckles. “I don’t think that’s true. Come here.”

Chrollo lowers his chin, determination on his face, and cross the room. Hisoka turns to him, fists the front of his shirt, and kisses him, head tilted, mouth open. Chrollo looks at you for several seconds before closing his eyes, kissing Hisoka back, hands settling on his shoulders.

You watch, still leaning against the wall, and it’s... it’s not like the last time you thought about Chrollo kissing someone else. For one thing, you have no protective feelings for Hisoka, but mostly you just like seeing Hisoka move against Chrollo, and even seeing Chrollo melt against him has you not wanting to blink.

Your hips twitch, just a little bit. You reach out, pulling away from the wall, and run your hands down Hisoka’s back, pressing your crotch to his ass.

He leans his head back, onto your shoulder, and with his head out of the way you can see him unbuttoning Chrollo’s pants, fitting a hand inside. You see Chrollo jolt, and when his eyes meet yours, you don’t look away, because you want him to see your pupils blown wide, your cheeks flushed, your hands on Hisoka.

You suddenly have a wonderful idea.

You turn Hisoka to face you. He gives you a raised eyebrow, but complies, and when you sink to your knees, he grins. You unbutton his jeans, take out his cock, and sink your mouth down over it.

It’s perfect, because Chrollo knows you don’t do this often. You don’t like the taste, you don’t like the feeling in your throat, and you don’t think you’re very good at it. Your hair is falling over your face, and Hisoka gathers it up in his fist as you suck.

You have to stop too soon, because your throat is protesting, and you lean back on your hands, looking up at Hisoka, breathing heavily. He kneels down in front of you, tugging at your pants, and you lean back, extending your legs for him, letting him pull them off. You take your own singlet off.

Behind Hisoka, you can see Chrollo, who is looking at you consideringly. He doesn’t look jealous, or even angry, but you know that doesn’t mean he isn’t.

“Wait here,” Hisoka commands, and he disappears into another room, leaving you naked on the carpet with your legs spread, Chrollo standing in front of you with unbuttoned pants and an obvious erection, and nothing between you.

His eyes slide down your body, and you feel a few things at once. You feel anger, because he has no right to look at you like that anymore. You feel satisfaction, because you are witholding something he wants. And, worst of all, you feel arousal curling through your stomach.

When Hisoka retuns, he is naked, and holding a bottle that he tosses to you. He pulls Chrollo down to the floor, and takes his pants off, and you look down at the bottle in your hands. It’s lubricant.

Hisoka settles on his hands and knees between Chrollo’s legs. You watch, for a while – you can’t see what’s actually going on, but you can see Chrollo close his eyes and tip his head back, push his hips toward Hisoka, languid and pleased. You can see the pale skin and hard muscle of Hisoka’s thighs and ass, close enough to touch, to sink your fingers into his flesh.

“Well?” He says, turning around. “What are you waiting for?”

So you coat your hand in lube, and push a finger into Hisoka, slowly, carefully.

The sound he makes is muffled by Chrollo’s cock, and a thrill runs through you. You lean forward, gripping Hisoka’s hair again, pushing his head down. You keep it there for a few seconds, until he pushes against it, and when you let go, he pants for air and pushes back onto your other hand. You add another finger, and he groans.

You stick with two fingers for awhile, stretching them inside him, feeling the muscle contract. You don’t think he’s ready yet, when he raises his head with a pop and turns to you.

“Come on, come on,” he says, breathless but still grinning, and you can’t really say no to that.

You lubricate your cock, and press against Hisoka. “Come on, come on,” he chants, “please,” and you slide into him.

He’s too tight, you know it must be hurting, but he’s arching his back, pressing against you. You stroke nails down his back, just grazing, just experiementing.

You look up at Chrollo, and he’s watching you. He’s flushed, breathing heavily, and you can see him trying not to thrust into Hisoka’s mouth. He’s got a hand in Hisoka’s hair, now, and you watch that hand, his grip relaxing and tightening and relaxing again, as you start to move your hips.

Hisoka makes a lot of noise, and Chrollo tries to stifle himself, but it’s not always successful. You’ve always been quiet during sex, but you like listening to them, and to the wet sound of Hisoka’s mouth, and the slap of your hips connecting with Hisoka’s. You feel fiery, again, in a way you haven’t felt in a while.

You place a palm on the junction between Hisoka’s neck and shoulder, curl your fingers around his throat. You can feel it working, and your hips stutter in their rhythm a little.

Chrollo starts making broken little sounds, and you recognise it as a sign that he’s close. Hisoka’s head moves lower, and to the side a little, and you can see Chrollo’s cock now, curved like you remember, glistening with Hisoka’s spit.

“You know,” Hisoka says, almost conversationally, “I still don’t know your name.”

Chrollo makes a strangled sound, and Hisoka laughs and sinks his head back down.

“Chrollo,” you say, unthinkingly, and Chrollo keens, his head hitting the ground with a painful-sounding thump as he falls back. Hisoka groans, and you feel him swallow, once, twice.

Hisoka pulls off, and hangs his head, his breathing ragged, but you’re not done. You pull him up by the hair, until his back is pressed up against your front. You slide your hand down his hip, down his thigh, and hold him there, and you’re using too much nail, but you can’t quite help it. You pump into him, exaling onto his neck, and he rests his head back onto your shoulder, vocalising senselessly in a way that only makes you move faster.

You reach for his cock, and he comes with a cry after only a few tugs. Some of his come splatters against Chrollo’s thigh, and that has you biting into Hisoka’s shoulder and releasing into him, eyes squeezed shut.

When Hisoka pats your arm, you open your eyes and release your teeth. You broke skin. You reach a finger up to touch at it, almost curiously.

Hisoka collapses onto his side and curls a hand around Chrollo’s ankle. You remain on your knees until he reaches out a hand – when you take it, hesitantly, he pulls you down half on top of him. It feels a little undignified, but you’re too lethargic to care too much. You lay a hand on his chest, and bury your face in his prickly hair.

*

The sky is dark when you wake up, but the streetlights outside the undrawn curtains illuminate the room well enough. You’re in a bed, facing the ceiling, arms stretched over your head. You can hear voices in the next room.

You sit up, and wince when you run a hand through your hair. You hadn’t tied it up before you slept, and now it’s tangled, snagging on your fingers.

You find your clothes folded up on an armchair in the corner of the room, and as you dress you decide not to think about whether or not you made a good decision. It happened. You can’t exactly take it back, and you’re not sure you want to.

You follow the voices, and they take you out of the bedroom, through the living space, and into the kitchenette. Chrollo is sitting at the table, fully dressed, his legs crossed underneath him and a steaming mug in his hands. Hisoka is cooking something at the stove, wearing nothing but a very small pair of shorts. Chrollo’s got a soft smile on his face.

You pause at the doorway, and Hisoka turns to you. “You’re up,” he grins. “Sit down, I’m making eggs.”

You comply, sitting to the side of, and a seat away from, Chrollo.

“Chrollo was just telling me about Paris,” Hisoka says, cheerful. When you slide your eyes over to him, Chrollo’s looking up, alarmed, as if Hisoka wasn’t supposed to mention that. “Sounds like you two had a lot of fun.”

When you say nothing in reply, Chrollo looks over to you. Not for the first time today, you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I’ve never been, myself.” Hisoka comments. “Never been out of the country. The way you described that hotel room, though,” and you hear a smirk in his voice, “makes me wish I’d been there.”

An awkward silence follows, until Hisoka sets full plates down and sits, lacing his fingers under his chin and grinning.

“So,” he says. “Tell me how you met.”

You load some egg onto your fork delicately, thinking about what you could possibly say. Chrollo seems too unsure of how you’ll react to say anything at all. “Work,” you say, simply.

“What do you do for work?” He asks Chrollo.

“He’s a crime boss,” you say between mouthfuls. The egg is actually... really good.

“Hmm,” Hisoka says. “You’re a Zoldyck, aren’t you?”

You look at him, and nod. Not really any point in hiding it – you’re proud of your family.

“Tell me the story,” Hisoka goads. “Of how you met.”

You shrug. “He needed an assassin. My father sent me.”

“Someone with a grudge was coming after us,” Chrollo says suddenly. “I wanted them disposed of, but quietly. No fuss. Illumi did a good job, and I... liked the way he worked.”

“Ooh,” Hisoka grins. “Just something about those needles?”

Chrollo nods shortly, and looks away.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty,” you say, just as Chrollo says, “Twenty-four.”

“And when you got married?”

“Two years later,” Chrollo says, sounding a little far away. “In Japan, like Illumi’s parents. It was... an odd collection of people.”

Hisoka laughs. “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” Chrollo says, smiling at him.

“Too bad you fucked it up,” you say, lightly. You could help it – you always can, except for when you’re drunk – but you really don’t want to.

Chrollo’s smile melts off his face, and you feel the urge to smile yourself. It’s a victory.

“Hmm,” Hisoka says again, and he looks positively delighted.

You push your cleaned-out plate away. “Thank you for dinner,” you say to Hisoka, politely. “I need to go call my sibling.”

As you walk out into the hallway, Chrollo looks at you like he wants to stop you, to hold you in the room, to cage you. But you’re free now. He can’t even beg.

Once you’ve closed the door to Hisoka’s hotel room behind you, you pull your phone from your pocket. Kalluto’s in your favourites, so it doesn’t take a lot of thumbing through your phone before you’re placing it to your ear and listening to it ring.

“Hello, Illuni,” Kalluto says, voice measured like it has been recently.

“Kalluto,” you greet. “How are you?”

“Fine,” they say. “I’m just heading back from Shizuku and Franklin’s.”

You wish Kalluto wasn’t still part of the troupe, but you know they love them like a second, less important family. At least, they had better be less important. “How are they?”

“Good. How are you?”

“I’m...” Fine, you mean to say. If it was anyone else, you would say it, but Kalluto is family. “I’m confused.”

“About what, Illuni?” Kalluto’s voice is laden with concern, but still... distant, in some way.

You frown. You don’t quite know what to say.

“Where are you?”

A good place to start. “In a hotel. I met someone.”

“What?” Kalluto’s voice sounds odd, and you know that they only drop their politeness when they’re feeling something uncomfortable. “You...”

“Chrollo’s here, too,” you say.

Kalluto is silent for a few seconds. “Did you...”

“Yes.”

“Uh, okay. That’s. Why?”

“I wanted...” you trail off.

“To make him jealous,” Kalluto sighs. You can just picture them, hand over their face like they do when they’re exasperated.

“It’s not the same,” you say.

“I know that,” they say, and they sound pained.

“But it’s close,” you conclude. “How’s Killu?”

“Ah,” Kalluto says. “Actually, Killua told me not to give you updates anymore. He was... kind of upset.”

You lean back against the wall. “Why not?”

“He says he doesn’t want you finding him.”

“He’s my brother,” you say.

Kalluto’s voice, when they reply, is gentle. “You know that doesn’t fix things.”

“It should.”

Kalluto sighs. “I’m almost home. You should come back too. Mother wants to know how your meeting went.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you, Illuni.”

“I love you too, Kalluto.”

When Kalluto hangs up, you stand in the hallway for a few more moments. Killua doesn’t want you to find him. Killua doesn’t want you to know how he’s doing.

Killua doesn’t love you anymore.

You head for the elevator, leaving Hisoka’s hotel room far behind.

*

Kalluto is pleased to see you, even if they look a little stressed, and your mother is pleased to hear about the latest developments in your divorce settlements. Milluki won’t come out of his room, your grandfather makes a brief appearance and then makes himself scarce, and your father is away for work.

All in all, a regular evening at the Zoldyck household.

You check your phone as you lie in bed. New friend request from Hisoka Morow. You open it, and your finger hovers over the accept button for a few moments before you click it.

*

A week passes. You spend most of it at home, in the Zoldyck mansion, and a portion of it in Leorio’s office. You don’t see Hisoka. You don’t see Chrollo. You don’t see Killua.

You call Kalluto often.

A week passes, and at the end of it, your phone lights up with a message.

Hisoka to your group: its an awfully lonely hotel room without you two there to brighten it up ♦

You open it. The group chat includes yourself, Hisoka, and Chrollo. You should have known.

The icon at the bottom tells you Chrollo has opened the message too. You consider what you should say.

Hisoka to your group: i had an exciting time last thursday ♥ what would you say to making it a regular thing? ♣

Chrollo’s icon moves. He’s seen this message, too. You close your phone, because you don’t know what he’s going to say, or what you’d want him to say.

No one’s in the kitchen when you get there, and you eye the liquor cabinet. It’s probably not acceptable to start drinking at four pm. You sit at the table, and stare blankly at the family portrait above the stove.

You must have been around twenty-five - Killua and Alluka are not present, and Kalluto’s a teenager, grinning with lined eyes and wearing a purple, flowing skirt. Milluki stands next to Cecilia. It would have been the early stages of their marriage, when they still shrieked at each other and threw things around almost every day. Cecilia had been so cultured and polite to your parents, enough for them to almost order Milluki to accept the match, but as soon as the ring was on her finger she’d become a nightmare. None of you knew if things would ever calm down, but now they’re the very picture of wedded bliss. You’re glad for them.

Chrollo is beside you, a hand on your shoulder. He’d always been so comfortable around your family – he’d known your father longer than he’d known you, anyway. But even with your mother, who yelled more than she talked, and Milluki, who was rude to him from the start, he was nothing but polite and gracious. That had been a big part of your decision to marry him.

You pour yourself a glass of Merlot.

Two hours and six glasses later, you open up your phone. The message swims a little in front of you, Hisoka’s words blending together. Chrollo still hasn’t replied.

You drunken mind attempts to weigh up the pros and cons. Kalluto might not approve. Chrollo might think he still means something to you. Hisoka will probably continue to ask needling, uncomfortable questions. You’ll have to keep remembering what Chrollo did.

But your drunk self does love to take risks. Maybe that’s why you wanted to drink in the first place.

Ok, you message to the chat. Simple. Done.

Chrollo and Hisoka’s icons move to the bottom at almost the same time.

Hisoka to your group: wonderful ✮^_^ ♦

Hisoka to your group: chrollo, dear? ♦

Chrollo to your group: I don’t think this is a good idea.

Your head swims with frustration. Not a good idea? What on earth does he have to lose? You’re the one that should have been agonising.

Your fingers tap over the keyboard with lightning quickness. You would have had the courage ten years ago. Now you are small and pathetic. I am not surprised.

You feel satisfaction when the app informs you he has read it.

Hisoka to your group: illumi, that was rude. ♠

Chrollo to your group: It’s okay. He’s drunk.

Chrollo to your group: I am more confused by your willingness, Illumi. What are you hoping to achieve?

To feel good again, you think. To feel better. I do not need to explain myself to you, you say instead.

Hisoka to your group: look at it this way, chrollo ♥

Hisoka to your group: you get to see our lovely illumi again~ ♣ on the regular, even. ♦

Chrollo does not respond for a long fifteen minutes. You imagine him sitting on that drab couch Machi bought years ago, staring at his phone, almost the same way you are now. Your phone alerts you of its low battery level. You dismiss the message, and continue to stare at the screen.

Chrollo to your group: Alright. I suppose I’m in.

Hisoka to your group: excellent!!! ♠ then what are we waiting for ♥

Chrollo to your group: Right now?

Hisoka to your group: why not~ ♣

Chrollo to your group: Illumi’s drunk. He can’t drive.

Hisoka to your group: pick him up for me, would you? ♦

No. I will take a taxi, you type.

Hisoka to your group: see, chrollo? ♠ nothing to worry about ♥

Chrollo to your group: ...Alright. What time?

Hisoka to your group: whenever you get here ♣

*

Twenty minutes later sees you knocking clumsily at the door to Hisoka’s room. He opens it with a flourish, and you stumble inside, clutching at the kitchen counter for support.

“Chrollo was right,” Hisoka says, neutral. “You really are drunk.”

You make no reply, but straighten up and reach out for him. He goes willingly, letting you snarl a hand in his loose blouse, and pull him in to kiss him.

He stops, and puts a finger over your mouth. “That would hardly be fair. Chrollo’s not here yet.”

You wrap your lips around his finger, and lick the pad of it. He allows it for a few moments, but then withdraws his finger with a pop and steps back.

He perches himself on the arm of the couch, and you wobble over to the opposite armchair. “Anything to drink?” You ask. It’s not polite, but you’re drunk enough to not care so much about polite.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Hisoka says, oddly gentle, but then his smile turns sharp. “Any more, and you won’t be able to get it up.”

“Crude,” you say.

He hums. “So, Illumi,” he says, conversational. “What’s the most interesting place you’ve had sex?”

You think about it. “A public changing room.”

“Oho. What kind of clothes did you try on?”

“Fancy ones. Dresses, mostly. Expensive underwear.”

Hisoka’s mouth curls into a smile. “And how did you do it?”

“He,” you clear your throat. “He bent me over on the seat, in front of the mirror.”

“Did you watch? Through the mirror?”

You feel a thrill run down your spine. “Yes.”

“Did you like it?” Hisoka says, and his voice is sultry, seductive. He’s shuffling around on the arm of the couch, like he can’t seem to get comfortable, or...

You let yourself be overtaken by the memory. Chrollo, behind you, thrusting into you, fist clenching and unclenching in the satin of your skirt. He’d mostly been watching his own cock disappear into your ass, but when he’d looked up, met your eyes in the mirror, he’d hit just the right spot, and both of you had come, eye to eye.

“Yes,” you say, simple. You feel your cock straining at the inside of your pants.

Hisoka looks down at you, and groans softly. “You want to feel that way again, don’t you?” When you respond with silence, he keeps going. “His cock inside you, hitting that spot, his hips grinding against you... Wouldn’t it be nice?”

Your cock twitches.

“I want that too,” Hisoka says, a little breathless. He hasn’t touched himself yet, and you won’t until he does. “I want to feel him fuck me, raw and barely stretched. I want it so badly. Don’t you want that, too?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, and your hand twitches, about to grasp yourself through your clothing because you can’t even help yourself, like some hormonal teenager-

There is a knock at the door.

“It’s open,” Hisoka calls, and Chrollo steps inside, closing the door behind himself.

He looks at you in the armchair. Your legs have spread a little, and your erection is obvious. He looks at Hisoka, who would never bother hiding his in the first place.

“Don’t feel left out,” Hisoka says, sing-song. “We were just... talking.”

“Talking,” Chrollo says, wide-eyed. “Okay.”

“Touch him,” you say, suddenly. The words fall from your lips without you ever telling them to. “I want to watch.”

Hisoka grins lazily, and propels himself from the couch, hips first, towards Chrollo. “Now that all the guests are present,” he says, wrapping his hands so gently around Chrollo’s neck, “I think we can get the party started.”

Hisoka pulls the coat from Chrollo’s shoulders, letting it drop to the ground unceremoniously. He kisses him, and you watch Chrollo shudder, reaching a hand to Hisoka’s hip. Hisoka presses his hips into Chrollo, deepening the kiss, goading him. You exhale carefully at the sight of Chrollo’s hips twitching.

Hisoka moves his mouth down to Chrollo’s neck, and Chrollo makes eye contact with you, face a little flushed. He closes his eyes, tips his head back – Hisoka must have sunk his teeth in – and your hand slips to the inside of your thigh, the outside of your wrist rubbing against your clothed erection.

You watch Hisoka sink his hands into the back of Chrollo’s pants, gripping his ass and pulling him against him, and remember how that same ass felt under your fingers. You watch Chrollo rut against him, letting out soft, breathy moans when things seem to align just right, and remember when he made those noises for you. You watch Chrollo’s hand clutching at Hisoka’s bicep, and remember how he used to apologise for the bruises in the morning, regardless of the bite marks you’d left on him.

Then Chrollo seems to have had enough of the foreplay, and starts disrobing Hisoka, strong, driven hands pulling fabric from skin. You remember this, too – his hunger, his need. He’d ripped some of your garments, in the early days – you’d almost been too in love to care. Almost.

Hisoka lets him, grinning all the while, stepping out of his leggings and underwear obediently. You remember you hand in his hair, Hisoka letting his head be moved around, and your cock twitches a little. You like his obedience.

Chrollo’s all over him, then, grasping at his ass and palming his cock, sucking Hisoka’s lip into his mouth. Hisoka groans, long and low, and you give in. You touch yourself, just a hand pushing down against yourself, but it’s relief, blessed relief.

When Hisoka leans to the side to whisper something you can’t hear to Chrollo, his hands stop working, and he freezes, eyes going wide. He flicks his gaze over to you, then back to Hisoka, and nods quickly.

Chrollo’s clothes come off slower. You suspect Hisoka is the patient type, ready to wait for what he wants.

Hisoka pats Chrollo’s hip, and disappears for a bit, returning with a familiar bottle in his hand. He smiles at Chrollo, turns him around with gentle-looking fingers, and pushes him down so his hands are leaning on the kitchen counter.

Chrollo lets out an audible breath at the first finger, and hisses at the second. Hisoka presses a kiss to Chrollo’s back, and goes slower, and soon enough Chrollo’s rocking back on his fingers, obviously wanting more.

Hisoka looks back at you, eyeing your hand, now moving fast against your still-clothed cock. “Just like that time, isn’t it?”

“No mirror,” you say, and are surprised to find your voice a little hoarse.

Chrollo gasps as Hisoka twists his fingers. “That’s what you were talking about? Le Bon Marché?”

“Paris again? Hisoka says, thoughtful, as he stretches his fingers out inside Chrollo. “Did you two go anywhere else?”

“Many places,” you say.

“But Paris was the best,” Chrollo chokes.

Hisoka’s crooking his fingers, now, and he must be doing something right, because Chrollo’s legs are shaking, and he’s gasping for air, making those small noises again. Hisoka’s taking him apart. You shiver.

You fit your hand inside your pants, grasping your cock, pulling upwards, and you let out a little whine.

At some point, Hisoka’s added a third finger, and Chrollo’s sunk onto his elbows, curling his right hand into a fist and stretching it out again on the counter. He’s loud, you note – he was always louder when he was the one taking it. As you watch, his muscles tense and his back arches, and he comes with a cry.

You watch his come slide down the side of the kitchen counter, and hold your cock at the base, your hips twitching upwards.

Hisoka strokes a hand against Chrollo’s back. “Let’s move to the bedroom,” he says, soft, and Chrollo nods.

For a moment, you’re confused about whether you should follow, but Hisoka beckons to you, so you unhand yourself, rise from the chair, and follow the two of them into Hisoka’s bedroom.

Chrollo seems to have collapsed onto the bed, and Hisoka is beside him, patting his hair. “Are you ready?” He asks, not unkindly, and you wonder with a thrill what exactly he needs to be ready for.

Chrollo nods.

Hisoka kneels with his thighs apart, and helps Chrollo up onto his lap. “Take your clothes off, Illumi,” he says, and produces the bottle from before, squirting some of the lube into his hand.

You do so, and Hisoka beckons you onto the bed behind Chrollo. He reaches around him and coats your cock with the lube, and you think you might know where this is going.

Sure enough, Hisoka places his hands on Chrollo’s hips, rises him up, and reaches beneath him to guide your cock to his entrance. “You know what to do,” he says.

You do. You just don’t know if you’re willing to do it. But the alcohol is still muddling your brain, still making you reckless, so you slide inside Chrollo, and it’s both the easiest and hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Chrollo whines, and grips Hisoka’s shoulders so hard his fingers go white. “Halfway there,” Hisoka mumurs into his ear. “You’re doing very well.”

You wonder what he means by that, but you don’t have to wonder for long, because then Hisoka is coating himself in lube and lining himself up to press into Chrollo.

You didn’t know where this was going, after all.

“Are you... sure?” You ask, confused. You can imagine this being... painful, to say the least.

“Yes,” Chrollo gasps. “Definitely. Please, please, I want you to.” He’s still holding onto Hisoka’s shoulders for dear life.

Hisoka raises an eyebrow at you, barely supressing a smile.

You shrug. “Okay.” You can’t really argue with that.

Hisoka and Chrollo both moan as he pushes in, slowly and carefully. It’s tight, very tight, so tight it kind of hurts, and you can feel Hisoka’s length pressing up against your own. Your breath hitches as he moves experimentally.

“How do we do this?” You ask.

“What do you want?” Hisoka asks Chrollo, leaning into his ear but looking straight at you.

“Alternate,” Chrollo manages through laboured breathing, and Hisoka nods at you.

You thrust up, not too hard, not too fast, and feel the tightness and friction around you. Just as you begin to pull out a little, Hisoka pushes in, and the two of you alternate.

Chrollo seems gone on the sensation, leaning his head on Hisoka’s chest, his arms around his neck. Hisoka’s fingers are laced with yours, both gripping Chrollo’s hips. Just as you’re thinking that it’s weirdly intimate, Chrollo tips his head back, and...

“Illumi,” he whispers, as the two of you make eye contact. “I’m so- I’m so-“

“Shh,” You say, half to soothe, and half because you can’t stand the way he’s looking at you with so much love. You’re scared of what he’ll say, when he manages to say it.

Chrollo stops trying to speak, instead making those broken noises again. He’s still looking at you, eyes wide and glazed over, mouth open. His lips are shiny with spit. His cheeks are flushed.

It’s almost like the first time you’re seeing this.

You come not too long after, buried in Chrollo, sliding against Hisoka. Chrollo follows soon after, and then Hisoka pulls out and paint’s Chrollo’s abdomen with white. The three of you collapse onto the bed, still panting, still sweaty.

“I want to be in the middle next time,” Hisoka says after a long while, but gets no response. You look over, and see him turn to look at Chrollo, who is still and quiet, eyes closed. “He’s asleep,” Hisoka says. “How cute.”

You don’t respond, and look back to the ceiling. Your head is swimming a little.

“So,” Hisoka says, his voice silky, “what was the first time like?”

“The first time?” You don’t know what he means. You’re groggy, both from the alcohol and the orgasm.

“The first time you and Chrollo has sex,” he clarifies, and you wish he hadn’t.

You think about it, unwillingly, and the memory rushes through your head. “It was... slow.” Tender, you think, gentle, but you don’t say that.

“Romantic,” Hisoka sighs. “Who topped?”

“Chrollo,” you say, and look over at him, sleeping peacefully on his back, head lolled to one side. Your side. “I hadn’t ever...” But that seems like too much to admit, that Chrollo was your first, that you’d only ever had sex with one person until now.

“Never?” Hisoka says, seeming to know what you meant anyway. “Weren’t you twenty?”

“Yes,” you respond, blank.

“Well,” Hisoka says, taking it in stride. “I guess that makes me your second.”

“Correct.”

“He’s sincere, you know,” Hisoka says, almost playful, like he knows he’s pushing at a boundary, and enjoys it. “He’s sorry.”

“That does not matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” Hisoka says, thoughtful. “I wonder. He could barely admit it to me, you know. Almost cried. I had to soothe him. Did you learn to soothe him?”

You think about Chrollo, about his immaculate self-control, about his endless ability to present a bold face to the world. Then you think about his vulnerability, about night you held him gently in the hallway just inside the door, wiped blood from his face and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He is forceful, strong. He is gentle, cautious.

You think to yourself that you have all the self control that he has, but nothing to be revealed beneath. You cast it all aside, years ago, when you were still a child in body but not in mind.

“That does not matter,” you repeat.

“It interests me,” Hisoka says simply. “The two of you are very interesting, you know. Alike, yet different. In love, yet separated. Immaculate, yet... messy.”

“I am not a mess,” you say, after a long while gazing up at the ceiling, turning over what he’d said.

“You’re more than you know,” Hisoka says. “Goodnight, Illumi.”

You hear the rustle of the bedsheets as he turns over.

It takes you a long time to fall asleep, mostly because you can’t get the way Chrollo had looked at you out of your head.

*

You dream of a city skyline, gold dripping out into the horizon.

You’d had a nice view, and you’d made the most of it, spending drunken evenings sipping champagne and smoking long, thin cigarettes on the balcony of your hotel room. Barely any stars in the sky, but so many below and in front of you. It had been beautiful. He had been beautiful. You’d been beautiful together.

You’d danced, of course, as often as you could. In ballrooms at parties, in lavish bars, in the privacy of your hotel room, just the two of you, spinning and dipping and each taking turns to lead the other around.

He’d been quiet, one night, sitting on the balcony by himself while you read on the lounge, and you’d been worried.

“Do you want to go home?” You’d asked, unsure what you wanted to hear in reply.

“I never want to leave,” he replied. “Paris, yes, but more importantly, you.”

You’d shifted your weight against the doorframe, and said, “You do not have to.”

You wake, and your first thought is of Kalluto, hearing them cry through the phone, hearing them tell you things you never wanted to hear. You remember Paris, but you also remember that morning, cold and cruel.

You leave silently, passing Hisoka sipping coffee at the kitchen table. He says nothing to you, just smiles. You look away.

You look away from everything, these days.

*

The next time, you forget to move from the kitchen, and end up cleaning semen off the tiled floor. The time after that, Hisoka manages three consecutive orgasms, and the time after that, you’re all too drunk to manage more than two between you all.

Sometimes, you pretend to sleep, and listen to Hisoka and Chrollo talk. They talk about you, mostly, and Chrollo says things like I miss him and I love him and I wish I hadn’t...

But he never completes that sentence.

One night, however, Hisoka falls asleep first. You have your suspicions, of course, and decide that you will pretend to sleep too, to avoid the conversation Hisoka presumably wishes to occur.

“Illumi,” Chrollo says, and your eyes snap open against your will. “Do you remember our hotel room?”

“Yes,” you reply, almost against your will.

“The curtains,” Chrollo says. “What colour were they?”

“Salmon,” you say.

“Salmon,” he repeats. “That’s right. And the carpet was red.”

“It was soft,” you say, your mouth moving and your vocal cords sounding without you even making them.

“We spent most of our time on that carpet,” Chrollo says, laughing a little.

“We should take Hisoka there,” you say, without thinking.

You hear Chrollo move, and sense his eyes on you. “You’d go back?”

“Maybe,” you allow, and allow nothing more. You close your eyes, meaning to go to sleep, but you can’t summon any real tiredness.

The room is quiet for a few moments before Chrollo speaks again. “I remember,” he murmurs, as if he’s not sure if you’re awake or not, as if he might just be speaking to himself. “You came with me to a function once. The troupe was planning to steal a painting in the house, so Paku and I decided to go to their party. She brought a man I’d never met as her date, and the whole night, he kept- he kept looking at you, like he wanted you. I hated it. I could have killed him.”

You remember that night, too, but you don’t remember anything about Pakunoda’s date. Chrollo had been especially intense when you’d gotten home.

“But now, it’s different. Somehow. I don’t mind Hisoka looking at you. I like to watch Hisoka looking at you.”

You can admit that you know what he means. All of this started because he slept with someone else, but now you’re actually watching him sleep with someone else, and enjoying it. You get thrills seeing Hisoka’s pale hands on Chrollo’s body.

There’s so much going on in your usually quiet, focused head. You’re not used to confusion. You’re not used to contradictions. None of what you’re doing here makes sense, and yet here you are, almost... almost enjoying it.

“I don’t forgive you,” you say, abrupt.

“I accept that,” he says, softly. “I know. But what... what would it take?”

You think about that. What would it take? He’s said sorry, and meant it. He’s given you space, let you take his money, let you dictate the terms of this new...whatever it is with Hisoka. If he apologised to Kalluto? If he promised never to do that again? It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

“Nothing you can do,” you say, precise, “can make this go away.”

He’s quiet for a minute. “What’s this, Illumi? What happened? Or what you feel?”

I don’t feel anything, is your first thought, is what you were trained to think. But you challenged that by marrying him, even if you never admitted that was the whole truth. You’re challenging that by being here, in a bed with Chrollo and Hisoka, and by calling Kalluto every day just to check if they’re okay. You challenged it the day Killua was born, and the day he left you. You feel tiny pinpricks at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t feel anything,” you whisper into darkness, as if by saying it, you could finally make it true.

“I’ve known you for fourteen years, Illumi,” Chrollo says, gentle. “You feel many things, and all of them are important.”

The tears slide down your cheeks to wet the cotton of the pillow beneath your head. You’re not meant to cry.

You don’t say anything in response, because you don’t trust your voice, and, in the end, you hear Chrollo’s breathing even out and slow, and soon you’re drifting off to sleep yourself, tears still flowing.

*

Hisoka to your group: lets go out!!! ♦

Chrollo to your group: I’ll be free after eight.

Hisoka to your group: big night? ♣

Chrollo to your group: Work.

Hisoka to your group: sounds fun ♥

You tilt your head from one side to the other, considering your reply. I am also free, you tap out, and send.

Hisoka to your group: wonderful!! meet me at the rousemount in montgomery ♠

And so you meet Hisoka, at the Rosemount in Montgomery. You arrive fifteen minutes early, and he’s there, wearing a purple suit that goes well with his hair. He’s standing outside, smoking a cigarette. You could really go for a cigarette.

He ends up lending you one, and you feel the headspin running through you as you greet Chrollo and move inside. You order drinks, make smalltalk, go through the motions. It’s not unlike any other night out, and, despite yourself, you start to relax.

Hisoka asks Chrollo about his work, and Chrollo tells him about the troupe.

“How are the troupe?” You ask, curious, unthinking. Kalluto tends not to talk about troupe business these days, and you were Chrollo’s husband for twelve years. You knew them well.

“Good,” Chrollo smiles. “We’re laying low after the April raid, but Shizuku and Franklin are building a project up north, and Bono’s off doing... well, something. He was a bit tight lipped about it. And Kalluto’s...” He trails off. “Well, you know what Kalluto’s doing.”

“They don’t really talk about troupe business anymore,” you say, simply, feeling yourself close off, feeling the rage bubble up inside you again.

“And Kalluto is?” Hisoka says, looking between Chrollo’s expression of shame and your own blank face.

“My sibling,” you say, pointedly. “They’re twenty-two.”

“That’s quite an age gap,” Hisoka says.

“Yes, it is.”

“Hmm,” Hisoka says, looking at Chrollo, who’s looking firmly at his drink. “Another drink, anyone?”

You end up letting your anger be swallowed up by alcohol. It puts up a fight, certainly, but you’re also so tired of being angry. You’re tired of being anything at all.

You let yourself chat with them, even laugh a little, even smile. You let your eyes linger on Hisoka’s hickeyed neck, and on Chrollo’s fingers wrapped around the stem of his wineglass. You throw everything out of the window, and just focus on being here, tonight, with them.

When Hisoka slips off rather suddenly, Chrollo frowns a little but says nothing. You fiddle with the straw in your drink, avoiding Chrollo’s eyes. You feel just the slightest bit awkward.

You look up at him, however, when the next song starts playing. He’s looking at you, too – wide eyed, a little worried.

This song was the first dance at your wedding.

Hisoka slides back into his seat, looking smug.

“You didn’t,” you say to him.

“I most certainly did,” he grins.

“How did you know?” Chrollo says, and his face is impassive.

“I watched your wedding videos,” he says airily. When you cock an eyebrow at him, he puts his hands up innocently. “They were sitting right in the middle of Chrollo’s desk. I was curious.”

Chrollo closes his eyes for several seconds.

“You’re meant to be dancing,” Hisoka pouts. “Go dance.”

It would be hard to express how much you do not want to do that, but you try anyway. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” Hisoka says, slyness in his voice. “It’d be just like old times. Chrollo’s even wearing black.”

“Chrollo always wears black,” you reply.

“What if Hisoka comes with us?” Chrollo asks, and...that’s unexpected.

Hisoka turns to you, and then they’re both looking at you, and you feel very exasperated and just a little enamoured. “Okay,” you say.

Chrollo’s eyes widen a little, like he didn’t expect you to say yes. Hisoka smirks as if this was his plan all along, and stands, extending one hand to each of you.

“Shall we?” He says.

You spend the rest of the song trying to figure out how three people can slow dance together, but by the next song, you’ve worked it out. Chrollo has his hand in yours on your right, and Hisoka is between you, his arms around Chrollo’s neck and his head leant back on your shoulder. Chrollo’s other hand is on his shoulder, and yours is on his waist. It’s awkward, you’re avoiding Chrollo’s eyes – it doesn’t escape you that you feel more comfortable nowadays with your cock inside him than with his hand in yours – and the three of you are getting your share of odd looks, but you’re a little drunk, so you decide you don’t care.

*

You end the call, fingers not trembling, palms not sweating.

Almost finalised, Leorio had said, you’ll get a letter in the next few days. It’s almost over. It’s almost done.

You look around at the lounge of your family home, and wonder why you don’t feel satisfied, or vindictive, or even angry.

You think, maybe, you finally feel nothing at all.

Surprisingly, it’s not a nice feeling.

After hours of pacing and sitting extrememly still you decide on what is probably the worst possible thing – you go back home. It’s a bad idea – there are still pins in the wall, in the bedroom. The bed is unmade. There are clothes on the floor. Everywhere you look, there is evidence of you and Chrollo’s life together.

The liquor cabinet, too, is just as you left it. Your eyes settle on a bottle of expensive red wine, given to the two of you as a gift from Shizuku and Franklin. One couple to another. You’d been saving it for a special occasion. You take it, and seat yourself on the couch.

You call Kalluto at around two am, two bottles later. They pick up on the third ring, and greet you with only your name.

“Kalluto,” you say, and you don’t slur, not even a little. “Do you remember when you were really little, and you got sick, and you slept with Mother, and I slept on the floor in her room, and I got sick too, and Father called me a fool?”

“No,” Kalluto says. “Are you drunk, Illumi?”

“You know me very well, Kalluto,” you reply, and you feel bereft, alone. “You are so intelligent. You’ve done so many things. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks?” They say, and it sound like a question. “Where are you?”

You sigh, long-winded and even dramatic. “I’m home.”

“You’re not. I already checked for you.”

“Not your home. Mine.”

“Oh.” A few beats of silence. “Is Danchou there?”

“He is not allowed.”

“He’s on the deed.”

“So am I.” You swipe your thumb down the neck of the bottle you’re drinking from. “Did you call him Danchou? When you screwed him?”

“Illumi-“ Kalluto draws in a breath, and it sounds pained.

“Tell me,” you say, and it was meant to be a command, but it comes out too soft, too vulnerable.

“I didn’t really say anything. I was- I was really drunk.”

Your grip on the wine bottle tightens, and a crack runs down the glass.

“Illumi,” Kalluto says, and they sound close to crying, now. Kalluto always cried the most, out of all of you. “I’m so sorry. I wish I’d never gone out that night.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry. He should be sorry.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t blame me.”

And that sends a jolt of pain through you, because Kalluto is so young. They’re twenty-two, an inexperienced drinker, a kid who wishes their mother still treated them like a baby. Chrollo should never have looked at them, let alone touched them, let alone taken them home and...

The bottle is in pieces, now, dark red seeping into your pants and the couch like so much blood. You feel nothing, looking at it, and you wonder what Killua would see. If his lip would curl in distaste. Maybe, you think, this is why he left – because, after a lifetime of fighting and killing, you’re sitting on a couch you used to feel comfortable on, drunk and small and crying.

“Illuni?” Kalluto says, and their voice is as small as you feel. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” you say, tightening your grip on he phone. “Stay. I love you, Kalluto.”

“I love you too, Illuni. I’m-“

“It’s not your fault,” you say, and you mean it.

Twenty minutes later, when Kalluto’s yawning has become progressively more obvious, you tell them to go to bed, and that you’ll be fine. They agree sleepily, and you tell them you love them once more before hanging up.

You look around the living room, and find the cord for the stereo. You thumb through your phone for awhile before seeing the one Hisoka had played at the bar, the one that you had danced to, not for the first time. You’re drunk enough to handle it, you think.

You dance, for a bit. You dance alone. Swaying, stumbling a little, waving your arms wide and singing the lyrics softly.

Then the first tear slips out, and you sink to the ground, holding yourself tightly as you cry.

You fumble for your phone, and message Hisoka. Come over.

The Zoldyck house? He responds within seconds.

No, you say back, and rattle off the address.

By the time he rings the bell, you’re partway through another bottle, and you answer the door with it in your hand. “Hello,” you say, and hiccup.

He frowns, and reaches out to run a thumb through the teartracks on your face. “Oh, Illumi. Whatever’s wrong?”

“Come inside,” you say, and take his hand.

He must notice the pictures on the walls, the pieces Chrollo’s displayed and the decor that rings so loudly of you and him. He must know that this was your house, your home.

You sit him down on the couch. The same song is still playing – you’d put it on repeat after finding yourself wanting to hear it again, over and over.

“Interesting choice,” Hisoka says, gesturing at the stereo.

You hum in reply.

“Do you miss him?” Hisoka asks, and you wish he hadn’t.

“No,” you say, vehemently.

“Ah, wrong question. I meant... do you miss it? This life? How it was?”

You are silent.

“Do you miss Paris, Illumi?” Hisoka says, and he’s so capable of being gentle, so capable of pulling you apart to look at your insides.

“Yes,” you say, truth motivated by alcohol. “Very much.”

“We can go back,” he says. “You and I and Chrollo. We can be something different, something new.”

“Why don’t you and I go?” You ask, and your head fills with images of you and Hisoka, together, exclusive. Seeing Paris with new eyes. Seeing the world with new eyes.

“No,” he says. “It has to be all of us, or there’s no point.”

He’s right. Somehow, it feels incomplete.

“It’s all up to you, Illumi,” Hisoka says. “It’s your choice to make.”

“I’m so tired,” you say, and notice you’ve begun to lean your head on his shoulder. “So tired of everything.”

“Sleep, Illumi,” Hisoka says, still so gentle. “I’ll stay.”

So you sleep.

*

“You want to what?”

Hisoka grins at Chrollo from where he’s perfectly positioned on the armchair, one leg over the side, one arm gripping the side of the backing over his head. Only Hisoka, you think, could make this arrangement look casual. “I want to watch,” Hisoka repeats, and you feel chills run down your spine.

“You can’t- you can’t expect-“ Chrollo is, clearly, lost for words.

“I think it’s time,” Hisoka says flippantly. “Isn’t this what you signed up for in the first place, Chrollo?”

You tilt your head to the side. Sure, Hisoka’s to-the-point, and unafraid of bringing things to the forefront, but he’s not usually this blunt. What’s he angling for?

Could this have something to do with the other night?

“It’s not going to happen,” Chrollo says, almost desperately. “You know it’s not going to happen.”

“Do I?” Hisoka asks, and hums a little, grin still fixed on his face.

It’s all up to you, Illumi. It’s your choice to make.

“Ah,” you say. “You’re asking me.”

Hisoka just nods.

“Then I’ll do it,” you say, without really thinking about it.

“Wait,” Chrollo says. He seems to be saying that a lot lately. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm.

“Really,” Hisoka laughs.

The two of you just kind of stand around for a while. Distantly, you note that it’s kind of awkward, but you never had much of a sense for awkwardness. “Are you waiting for me again?” You ask Chrollo, and he nods.

So you roll your eyes and walk towards him, around him, so you’re at his back, almost touching. You pull his hair to the side, exposing the soft skin of his neck, and you bite, like you always did, like you remember.

Chrollo shivers, and reaches a hand up to pull some of your own hair over his shoulder. You allow it, and lick over the bite mark, soothing, almost gentle. You run your hands down his sides, across the front of his hips, reaching down to his thighs. He trembles beneath your hands.

He reaches a hand to your face, a calloused palm caressing your cheek. You pull away.

You press your nose to his neck for a second, just a second, before you turn him to face you. He smells just like you remember.

You keep your hands on his hips as you bite at his neck, just nips, over and over. His hands are on your shoulders, one hand grasping and releasing, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Illumi,” he says, soft, and that’s enough. You lead him to the bed, press him back until he falls, and retrieve the bottle of lubrication from the drawer beside the bed, it’s location learned during countless other nights in this very hotel room. You put it on his chest, and begin to disrobe.

He sits up, and coats his hand, and by the time you place your knees on either side of his hips, he’s ready. But he makes no move.

“Stop waiting,” you say. “I’ve already told you yes.”

“I just want to be sure,” he says, his face inches from yours, that face you know so well.

How times have changed, changed the both of you. He’s asking for permission at every turn, timid where he once was confident, and you’re letting something other than your rational mind guide you, something you’re not even aware of. You wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t there.

“Be sure,” you say. “Sure like you were.”

He blinks wide eyes, and presses a finger into you, slowly, carefully.

It takes less than a minute for you to be shivering and aching for him. He’s watching you, so he must know – know from years of practice, years of knowing you inside and out. His eyes are soft.

“I’m ready,” you say, breathy. “Come on.”

He retracts his fingers, and you work on unbuttonning his pants, but you’re to eager, too excited-nervous. It’s almost like the first few times you did this, young, still learning each other, still learning how to love. You remember, suddenly, that he’d never had a serious relationship before you, either.

When you finally manage to free him from his pants, he holds himself steady, and you sink down on him eagerly. You’re chest to chest, face to face, and to avoid looking at him, you bite at his neck again, although burying yourself in his scent is, you think, not much better.

You distantly note Hisoka moaning in the background, and maybe, you think, it doesn’t matter that much.

You look up at Chrollo as you’re bouncing on his cock. He’s looking back, intensity in his gaze, and you shiver. You press a hand to his cheek, without even thinking about it, and he leans into it, so you put your other hand on his face as well. He’s so beautiful. He’s so...

You breathe into his mouth, lips millimetres away from his. “Fuck me,” you say. “Like you used to.”

His eyes widen, and he complies, fucking you just like you remember.

You come undone merely a minute or two later, and you don’t close your eyes. You look at him as you gasp, as you shudder and writhe on top of him. He clenches his hand on your hip, and you feel him come still inside you, hot and wet.

You look at each other for a moment, panting and almost shocked. Then you’re kissing, desperate and needy, and you’re not entirely sure who leaned in first. It’s mutual, you think, a shared need, for closeness and intimacy and each other.

It’s just like you remember.

And that scares you.

You break away from him, looking at him with wide eyes, and then Hisoka’s there, tilting your chin up so he can kiss you. After, he kisses Chrollo, and watching them is almost like being kissed yourself. This is new, you think. This is different.

He puts one hand on your cheek, and the other on Chrollo’s, and whispers to the two of you, “Well done.”

Hisoka’s breathing evens out first, as the three of you lay side by side in his bed, Chrollo is the middle. You feel relaxed, calm, peaceful, for the first time in months. You wonder why.

Chrollo turns his head to face you. “Goodnight, Illumi,” he says, quiet.

“Goodnight,” you reply, half-asleep, half-dreaming.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” And you smile, just a little bit, as the truth of it runs through you. It’s so nice to be in love.

Then your eyes snap open, and you sit up, straight and sudden.

“Illumi?” Chrollo says. And then, when you’re halfway out the door, “Illumi!”

You can’t stand to hear his voice right now.

You dress hurriedly in the kitchen, and leave, looking away from what you don’t want to see. You catch a taxi, and give them the address of the Zoldyck house. You want to sleep, and sleep, and maybe see Kalluto inbetween.

Instead, an hour later finds you pulling out an old photo album from your mother’s extensive collection of them.

When the light flicks on over the staircase, you sniff hurriedly, hoping against hope that it isn’t your father. The face that peers around the banister, however, is Kalluto’s, and you breathe a sigh of relief, because, even if a tiny part of your mind wants Killua right now, after all these years, Kalluto is probably the only person you’d want to see you in this state.

“Illuni?” Kalluto says, rubbing at their eyes. “It’s late.”

“I know,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Are you crying?” Kalluto says, looking more alarmed than asleep now. “Illumi, what’s wrong?”

You look away from them as they descend the stairs and peer over your shoulder. “Illumi,” they say. “Why are you looking at your wedding album?”

You scrunch your nose with distaste at yourself as fresh tears roll down your cheeks. You don’t answer Kalluto’s question, exactly, but, in a way, you almost do. “I feel... I don’t feel so angry, anymore.”

“Is that bad?” Kalluto asks, kneeling down beside you.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” They say nothing, for a while, just letting your answer settle. Then, “There’s no shame in forgiving him, Illuni.”

“But I don’t!” You raise your voice in frustration. “I never will. I promised myself, and I promised you.”

“You were angry,” they reply, gentle. “It’s okay to change your mind.”

No, it’s not, your mind whispers. But you don’t say that out loud. Instead, you say, “How could I?” And leave it at simply that.

“You trust what you feel,” Kalluto says, equally simply. “Instead of what you think.”

You are silent for a moment, digesting that. Feelings have always been vague annoyances to you, something to push aside and bury and forget about. You can count on one hand the times in your life they had been so strong that you couldn’t do that. It comes naturally to you. It’s what you were trained to do.

You suppose you don’t often know what to do with wanting something difficult.

“Thank you, Kalluto,” you say. “You are very kind.” And understanding, and loyal, and sweet. Everything Killua never was.

“It’s okay,” they smile. “I hope it doesn’t trouble you for too long. Can I show you my favourite picture?”

You nod, and hand them the photo album, and Kalluto flicks through it until they find the page they want. They hand it back to you, and lean across you to point at a picture on the bottom left.

It’s of you, dark green tuxedo, glass in hand, mouth curved upwards just the slightest bit. It’s of Kalluto, beside you, beautiful in full makeup and kimono. This was only a few years after Killua had left, a few years before Kalluto joined the troupe. It had still been rare, in those days, for Kalluto, at twelve, to be seen without your mother, but the two of you had already started building a relationship of quiet, unconditional support. Despite everything, they had been good days.

“It is a good picture,” you say. It’s the most you can say.

“Isn’t it?” Kalluto says, turning to look at you, smiling. “We both look happy. I think we can be happy again, in whichever way you choose.”

You control your facial muscles, and smile back at them, when all you want to do is crumple and cry.

*

Can we meet? We need to talk.

You send the message, not even hesitating. You’ve made your choice.

Chrollo to your group: Of course.

Hisoka to your group: ooh, scary. im nervous. are you nervous? ♣

No, you tap out. When and where?

Hisoka to your group: im always free ♦ and so is my room ♥

You think of Paris, golden and overcast and so untouchably pretty.

*

Twenty minutes later sees you standing in front of Hisoka’s hotel.

Chrollo’s waiting at the elevator, and you say nothing as you stand to wait beside him. As it arrives, and the two of you shuffle in, he says, “You’re going to break it off, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” You ask, curious.

He turns his head to face you. His face is serious. “I don’t want to lose you a second time.”

You say nothing in reply, staring straight ahead. Eventually, he turns back around.

You walk to Hisoka’s room together, and you set a brisk pace. You’re not holding hands, you’re not walking close. It’s not like it was.

Hisoka answers the door in those same small shorts he wore the first time he made you breakfast. You look at them, purse your lips, and shoulder your way inside, sitting on the single armchair and crossing your legs.

“So what’s this about?” Hisoka says, once he’s settled himself and Chrollo on the main couch.

“I’ve made a decision,” you say.

Hisoka nods. “And?”

“I think...” You pause, digging your finger into the arm of the chair. “It had been months since I felt calm, before I met you,” you say, looking at Hisoka. He narrows his eyes, and you know what he’s thinking. “I’ve noticed I don’t like being alone.”

“But?” Chrollo says.

“And?” Hisoka says, at the same time.

“And,” you say, a little irritated. “I’d like to go back home.”

“You can,” Chrollo says, looking frazzled. You rarely see him looking frazzled. “I gave the house to you. It was part of the agreement.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” He asks, looking desperate, but too scared to hope.

“Hmm,” you say. “I suppose I meant I don’t want to be alone there.”

“And?” Chrollo says, at a slightly higher pitch.

“I’m getting sick of this hotel room,” you reply. “I’d like the two of you to come with me.”

Hisoka laughs, and Chrollo’s jaw drops.

“Do you really mean that?” Chrollo asks.

“Of course he does!” Hisoka cries, putting an arm around him. “We’re just that loveable.”

You nod, still looking down at your finger, pushing relentlessly into the fabric of the chair’s arm.

Chrollo smiles, slowly. Hisoka puts his hands together and coos.

“I formally accept!” Hisoka says. “So kind of you, Illumi.”

You look up, then, at the both of them smiling, leaning into each other, and you allow yourself to smile a little, too.

Then you get up, not even a little unsteady, and walk over to Chrollo. You put both hands on his cheeks, and look into his eyes.

“You know what you did wrong, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, solemn.

“And you won’t do it again?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I forgive you,” you say, and kiss him.

*

“Illumi, would you get the basil from the fridge?”

“Sure,” you say, and open the fridge, taking only seconds to locate the basil in the familiar organised chaos the three of you call food storage. You pass it to Chrollo, and he passes it to Hisoka, who sprinkles it into the mixture in the bowl he’s whisking.

“Thank you, dear,” Hisoka trills. He’s wearing those shorts again. You hate those shorts, but in a fond kind of way. At least there’s no one around to be embarrassed in front of.

Hisoka passes the bowl to Chrollo, who pours it into the pan he’s gotten ready. You peer over his shoulder at the eggs slowly solidifying, wondering why you feel like it reminds you of something.

After Hisoka shoulders in with a spatula, and starts shifting the eggs, you remember.

“Ah,” you say.

“What’s wrong?” Chrollo says, turning to you. His face is only inches from yours.

You look him full in the face, unflinching. “It’s just like the first time Hisoka made us dinner. Do you remember?”

Chrollo smiles.

“I sure do,” Hisoka says, loud. “You walked out on us, Illumi.”

You turn your gaze to Hisoka. “I had to call my sibling,” you say. “And we weren’t dating, then.”

“You two were married,” Hisoka exclaims.

“Divorcing,” you correct him.

“We’re not married anymore, though,” Chrollo says, looking down at the eggs.

“No,” you agree.

“Couldn’t we...” Chrollo trails off.

“Couldn’t we what?” You ask, fingers absentmindedly curling around his hip.

Chrollo bites his lip, and then says, “Get married again?”

“Ooh,” Hisoka says.

“I don’t think that’s currently legal,” you remark.

“I wouldn’t mind if it was just you two,” Hisoka says, thoughtful. “I’m not really into formal commitment. But I’d like to be there.”

“Of course,” Chrollo says seriously, touching his arm. “You’ll be right up the front with us.”

Hisoka smiles. “You’re into formal ceremonies?”

“I love formal ceremonies. Who are we inviting?”

“No one from my crowd. The troupe, though. Illumi’s family.”

You smile, at that. You can’t help yourself. You watch the two of them making plans together, and compare it to the first time you made plans to get married. This time is far more relaxed, and you think, even though you were happy, you and Chrollo might have been incomplete before, like Hisoka had always had a place in your lives. Even if you didn’t know you were keeping it open.

“Where should we hold it?”

“We could travel. The troupe and the Zoldycks could afford that, right?”

“They could. I like that idea.”

“I like it too,” you say, and the two of them look over to you. “And I have an idea of where we could go.”

They look at you, wide-eyed, excited, waiting.

You tilt you head. “We could go to Paris.”