⭐️ Ari’s Doodles ⭐️

“Love was never in our cards.” Illumi said, onyx eyes almost brown in sunlight. He turned to his little brother with an unflinching determination. “You knew this, Killua.”

Killua swallowed back everything he wanted to scream. Why not? Why couldn’t it? Was it so wrong to want Gon, to want him every way that mattered, in every way Gon once promised him?

He wanted stupid mornings spent lazing around in bed, rolling and cuddling and horribly stinky morning kisses. He wanted to pass out bread to the people of Twelve and go to the markets to look for chocolate. He wanted to learn more Twelve recipes and spent evenings together cleaning up their experiments. He wanted sundown chats on the patio, old and wrinkly but hands tightly held as they rocked back and forth, back and forth on stupid fucking rocking chairs.

That was supposed to be his life, wasn’t it? Didn’t he deserve it, after all the blood, tears, the war, the vomit, the deaths, the roses, all of it. Didn’t he deserve a happy ending too?

“I wish it was, Killua.” Illumi murmured. “I wish love was in your cards.”

He wondered if Retz would get those mornings, those afternoons, those evenings. If Gon found her a pretty stone in the mines and asked her to be his wife in their garden of weeds and tomatoes.

“Let’s go home.” Killua said tiredly.

Killua collected the frost on the tips of his nails, etching squiggly lines into the long windows that spanned his room. The air was cold and dry today, leaving icicles dangling from the roof and a light snow dusting the grass grey.

Everything seemed that way, these days. The pages he read from, the sheets of his bed, his own, tired eyes and ashy cheeks.

Winter was never his favorite season. It often got too cold in District One to go out; he had nowhere to hide except his room. But even that was too small, too closed off to escape from that awful feeling.

After six long months, Killua finally put a name to the sensation: dread.

He dreaded a lot of things: going into town, going to breakfast, going to lunch, going to dinner, going out of his room, calculated footsteps, long hair, Killu, cameras, planes, trains, fruit, snow, winter.

Winter marked halfway from July 4th. Halfway from July 4th meant bad things. Another reminder from the Capitol, more photos, videos, interviews, faces, eyes looking at him. He couldn’t even stomach the words to say it out loud.

He used to resent his brother for the way he changed. He detested the Capitol for making him that way—for stripping Illumi of his smiles and his jokes and his hair ruffles and everything that made Illumi his Big Brother.

But how could he now? After going through it himself, everything was so grey. He understood it now. The Games took away color.

“Brother?”

Killua snapped out of it quickly, looking away from the frost and back to the warmth waiting at the threshold.

Right, there were a couple things he didn’t dread. He liked weighted blankets, and the hot cocoa left at his door occasionally, and especially

Alluka leaned against his doorframe, her crystalline eyes reflecting sunny ocean waves and sweet wild blueberries. She gave a gentle smile before crossing over to him, sitting beside him at the window. “What’s on your mind, Big Brother?”

Killua sighed, returning her smile with a weak one as well. “You know.”

Her gaze softened as she reached for his hand and squeezed. “It isn’t for another week. You have a bit more time.”

No time would ever be enough, he thought distantly. He sighed again. “I know.”

“You’ll get to see him again too.”

“I know.”

“That’s something to be excited about,” Alluka insisted. “I’m sure he’s excited to see you.”

Killua thought back to the last time he saw Gon, getting on their respective trains while the rest of the world photographed it. Bright white flashes in their faces, laughter and talk behind the barricade. No privacy for goodbyes. Of course they couldn’t have that either.

So what? We’re not a couple, Killua told himself. Their relationship belonged to the public; each kiss was for a camera, each smile and whisper was meant to be speculated about, every promise to each other was an affirmation to the people.

He did it for survival. He had to act like a lovesick fool, that’s what the people wanted. How else would he have survived a broken hand and a stab wound? How else would he get a blanket if he didn’t act like he was freezing, or new sets of clothes if he didn’t cuddle up against Gon late at night? They wanted a coldblooded killer turned soft, a boy with everything on the line to give it up for another who had nothing.

He kissed Gon because that meant living. That was it.

“Yeah, I guess.” Killua said.

Alluka looked saddened by his bleak response, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more.

“He’s gonna be really sad if you’re not happy to see him,” She said softly.

“You haven’t even met him yet,” Killua shot back, giving her a look. “You talk about him like you already know him personally.”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly a closed-book during the Games,” Alluka recalled with a twinkle in her eyes. She cleared her throat and deepened her voice: “Oh Killua, I don’t want to win if it means losing you! Killua—”

Killua scowled, cheeks warming against his will. He shoved her away by her cheek. “I already told you to quit doing that!”

Alluka laughed louder, unable to stop. She latched onto his shirt as she howled loudly, slapping his shoulder and collapsing against him in a fit of snorts and giggles. Killua grumbled curses under his breath as she wiped away happy tears.

“Ah,” She giggled, “It doesn’t get old.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Killua groaned, finally standing. He glanced back at the frosty outdoors, the light snow falling down. Alluka’s gaze followed his.

The Parade started in a week. Seven days exactly. Canary would come in six. Gon would come in three. He didn’t know if was ready to face any of them yet.

And even after that. Was he ready to face what’s after? He didn’t want to think about it. He really, really, didn’t want to think about it.

He preferred this little snowglobe he’d made for himself. Quiet, isolated, but peaceful. Some could see it as being trapped in a bubble, but Killua saw it as protection from the outside.

He didn’t have to think about who was watching him from a screen, or what type of smile he should be doing for the occasion. Should he act smooth and charming? Cute and naive? Cold and ruthless? Ugh. It was too much of a pain to think about.

“I think Dad bought that cocoa powder today,” Alluka nudged him gently, trying to lift his spirits. Ah, was he drifting again?

“Oh,” Killua said, trying to sound interested. “That’s good. We should have some tonight.”

Alluka brightened. “I’ll make it extra sweet.”

He almost smiled. The expression tugged at the corner of his mouth before he caught it and swallowed it back down. Sweet things tasted strange nowadays, like guilt coating his tongue.

Alluka straightened and tugged at his sleeve. “C’mon. Dinner’s soon. Mom keeps asking where you are.”

Killua groaned internally. Of course she did. While he loved his mother to some extent, her constant coddling was getting to him. “Let her ask,” he muttered.

“Killua,” Alluka said gently.

That was enough.

He let out a soft sigh and pushed himself to his feet. His body felt heavy and sluggish as he stood. He brushed his fingers against the frost he’d smeared onto the window, then turned away from the world of icicles and grey and stepped out his room.

Alluka took the lead, walking a few steps ahead of him. Killua followed, hands stuffed into the sleeves of his sweater. The hallway was warm but too dim, golden lights flickering in the old sconces lining the walls. Shadows stretched long across the carpet, swallowing his footsteps.

He heard the rest of his family before he saw them. Milluki and Mom were fighting about something rather loudly in the kitchen, pans and pots clinking obnoxiously. Kalluto was rocking back and forth in his chair at the dining table, waiting to be served like the spoiled little brat he was. Killua waved briefly before sitting across from him next to Alluka.

“MOM!” Milluki yelled, “ Why can’t Kil or Alu do the dishes?! They’re not fucking babies! I did them yesterday!”

“And you’ll do them today too!” Kikyo yelled back. “And don’t you dare curse at your mother!”

Milluki and Kikyo’s shouting continued, clattering in Killua’s skull like loose screws in a tin can. He groaned softly and pressed harder into the table, wishing he could melt straight through it.

“All of you are giving me a headache,” he muttered into the wood.

Kalluto glanced up from his slow rocking, eyes sharp. “You should rest more if you’re so fatigued, Brother. You’ve been very… delicate lately.”

“Don’t start,” Killua said without lifting his head.

“Delicate is not an insult,” Kalluto sniffed. “Just an observation. You get snappy when you’re nervous.”

Killua’s stomach tensed at the word. Nervous. Dread. He couldn’t deny that part.

Before he could fire back, the kitchen door swung open. Kikyo marched in with an apron dusted in flour and a wooden spoon clenched like a weapon, Milluki dragging behind her like a sulking mastiff.

“Oh, Killu! There you are.” Kikyo beamed, her smile a little too bright, a little too stretched. “I was beginning to worry you’d locked yourself away again.”

“I was in my room,” Killua sassed. “Not dead.”

“All the same,” she said, fussing with his hair, “it’s important that you’re present. With what limited time we have left with you, we should be spending it as a family.”

Killua stiffened. Alluka’s hand found his under the table and squeezed once.

The door at the far end of the dining room slid open quietly. Illumi entered. Killua sat up instinctively, tension zipping down his spine.

His eldest brother’s gaze swept the room, lingering on Killua just a second too long before he took his seat beside Silva, who had just appeared behind him. Their father placed a heavy hand on Illumi’s shoulder and then moved to the head of the table.

“Kil,” he greeted. “Glad to see you rejoining the family.”

Killua slouched deeper into his seat. Why did everyone in this godforsaken family have it out for him? They treated him like he was some sort of hermit. That wasn’t true.

Silva spoke their dinner prayer, droning on about something Killua couldn’t bother to listen to. His eyes stayed glued to the table. They said “amen” and lifted their utensils.

At the very least, Kikyo’s food wasn’t half bad. Mom could be a b-word from time-to-time-to-time-to-time, but she was consistently a good chef. He stabbed the ham slice straight in the center with his fork, chomping down obnoxiously. Sweet, with some sort of pineapple sauce.

“So, Kil,” Kikyo said, ruining the peace. “Tell us more about Gon. What type of food does he like?”

Killua grimaced, spitting as he spoke, “I don’t know Mom. We ate what we could.” He pondered longer, thinking back. “...he mentioned he liked miso, maybe. He doesn’t like sweet stuff much.”

Kikyo hummed, tapping her long nails against the table. “Then a traditional One meal would be a nice welcome, no? It’s settled!”

Killua barely made a sound of agreement, too busy eating. It was important to him to shovel as much food in his mouth before another family member ruined the peace.

“Killu,” Illumi said. Fuuuuuuuuuck. “You haven’t started packing yet.”

“I will, I will.” Killua muttered, poking at his broccoli. “I have a week.”

“Less than,” His older brother remarked. “If you take into account the time spent hosting and mock-interviewing.”

“Leave him be, Illumi.” Silva said gruffly. He turned to his middle-child. “Killua, he’s right to an extent. You can’t keep up this moping. You’re not in the clear yet.”

Killua placed his fork down, swallowing the last bit of broccoli stuck to his teeth. He glanced up at his father with a partial glare. “I know, Dad. I’m not stupid.”

“I never called you that,” Silva replied. “The problem is—as it always is—you’re letting your emotions get the better of you.”

Killua gritted his teeth. “I’m not.”

Illumi and Silva exchanged a glance in a way that made Killua want to foam at the mouth.

He pushed out of his seat, standing up abruptly with his plate.

“Kil!” Kikyo cried, reaching out to stop him. “You barely ate!”

Alluka gave him a worried glance, but he paid no mind as he trudged back to the kitchen to put his plate in the sink.

Emotions getting the better of him. Like hell they were. He scrubbed at his dish with a quiet fury, letting the almost-scalding water pinken the sides of his hands. He placed his plate in the dishwasher carelessly before taking the other exit out back to the hallway.

He thought maybe, maybe his father and brother might understand. Hey, we all went through a traumatic life event where we all killed at least nine innocent kids, how cool is that?

Yeah, but maybe Killua was the only one that felt bad about it.

Killua was back in his room before his mind could catch up, legs collapsing as the back of his knees hit the bed. He fell back into his plush bed, staring at the constellations of cracks on the ceiling.