#rdrango

Kalluto is content. He looks at the paper sprawled all over the floor and clicks his tongue softly, satisfied. To his left, Killua holds up a sheet with silhouettes of tiny figures, all lined up in perfect chains. He asks, “Which half do you want?”

Kalluto pauses before taking the bottom strip. It is the more complicated one of the two, with more curves and sharp edges and corners that only careful hands can cut. It is definitely a challenge but Kalluto doesn’t mind; he knows that simply pulling Killua out of his busy schedules and spending time cutting paper dolls with him is a rare miracle in itself, so the younger boy gladly takes on the more difficult task all but willingly.  He also knows that it won’t be long before his brother loses his patience—he always does eventually—and gives up.

They cut in silence and it isn’t long before Kalluto finishes his first strip and moves on to his second, then third, then fourth. He treasures these moments when he finally gets to sit down in the company of his brother to do something he enjoys. These sessions are usually short and brief but Kalluto always looks forward to them.

And, of course, they are almost always interrupted.

A boy, the boy Kalluto dreaded would appear, walks into view. Between the two of them, they both have the same dark hair and both dress in a feminine fashion—though for completely different reasons—but the similarities end there. While Kalluto’s eyes have a hint of purple mixed in the grey, the newcomer’s eyes are endless pits of black. Where Kalluto is calm, reserved, and mature, the other boy is loud, attention-hogging, and childish. In reality, they are polar opposites of each other; they are rivals with the same goal: to get closer to their elder brother, Killua.

“Onii-chan!” Alluka runs up to the Zoldyck heir with his arms stretched out for a hug. He invites himself onto Killua’s lap and giggles. “Pat my head, onii-chan!”

Kalluto is forced to watch as Killua looks down affectionately at the one person he probably loathes the most. Kalluto himself is nothing now; he’s not even there. He’s faded into the background, blending in with the white walls and scratched floorboards and bland furniture. Partially due to his quiet nature and partially due to Alluka’s appearance, Kalluto finds himself to be a bystander when he should be part of the group. But what’s the point of even trying anymore? To Killua, his presence is gone and there in only Alluka.

Kalluto wants to plead and beg at his older brother, to remind Killua that he is there to play with him today, to yell at Killua to pay more attention to him: what about all the unfinished work that they had so diligently worked on for the past half hour? He wants to shout, but Kalluto isn’t like Alluka. So he keeps his mouth shut, presses it into a thin line, and watches the Zoldyck heir obey all of Alluka’s wishes one-by-one.

“Onii-chan, bring me to Mike!” Alluka’s dark eyes are swirling with anticipation, but they only look manipulative to Kalluto.

The white-haired boy doesn’t hesitate to pick up the second youngest Zoldyck sibling. “Sure!” He ruffles the top of ALluka’s head, pinches his cheeks gently, and walks off.

Kalluto, now forgotten, sits in the middle of a pile of untouched paper. His gaze follows his brothers all the way until they are out of sight and has to push away the jealous voice in his head that whispers to him, Killua always chooses Alluka over me.

ii.

There is: one light. Five years into the future. One screen and eight pairs of watchful eyes and four Zoldyck members crowded around in one room.

Kalluto doesn’t want to look at the glowing screen in the middle of the dark bedroom; he doesn’t want to see what’s on the other side. Gone is the small, secretive smile that had formed on his lips earlier when he heard the news of his brother returning home. Gone is the rare happy sensation of excitement that had taken over his body for a mere two minutes before it has dissolved completely. Kalluto welcomes back his neutral expression and clenches his hands into fists underneath the cloth of his kimono.

He is shaking; trembling like a little girl who is scared of the monster under her bed—the monster on the opposite side of the computer screen. The monster that is Kalluto’s sibling. The monster that is Alluka.

“I’m not staying here,” a familiar voice—too familiar—calls out from the speakers attached to the computer and shakes Kalluto to the core, the sinking feeling in his chest deepening. There is determination in the voice. Resolve. A plan being followed through. An underlying threat that nothing and no one will be able to change the course of the boat that has already sailed. “I’m not staying here,” the voice repeats, “and I’m bringing Alluka with me.”

A desperate scream escapes Kikyo’s mouth but the ten-year-old boy doesn’t register it—won’t register it. A frown shapes itself over the curve of Silva’s lips and it is the first time Kalluto is oblivious to the slight change in his father’s facial features—he simply doesn’t care. The rhythmic sound of teeth against chips comes to an abrupt stop when Milluki’s hand freezes on its way to deliver a Dorito to his mouth, but Kalluto’s ears are ringing and his heart is pounding and he can’t seem to take enough breaths to get a decent amount of oxygen into his system.

Killua is leaving, a thought creeps into Kalluto’s mind, again.

iii.

There is: one demand. Four threats. Twenty minutes before Killua is outside of Zoldyck property and fifty meters to the exit and one boy rushing to catch one last glimpse.

Kalluto runs. The trees are a blur as he sprints down the side of Kukuroo Mountain, enhancing each step with a layer of Nen. He blows out short breaths of air with each stride, and, for the first time, curses the tight fabric hugging his legs that prevents him from being as mobile as he would like to be. There is an undeniable desperate need to get to the entrance first—to get there before Killua can disappear again—and for that, Kalluto is willing to sacrifice his pride.

He reaches the gate just a second before a bright blur of light that is Killua comes to a stop in front of him. Admittedly, Kalluto is not in his best condition: his hair is sweaty and loose strands stick to the sides of his face; his breaths come out in rhythmic huffs as he gasps for air after the long sprint; and his kimono is slightly ripped near the bottom, scratched by hanging branches on the way. He is a wreck and he’s sure that his mother will scold him for being so reckless after this.

But he can worry about that when the time comes. Later. Right now, he is facing his brother, confronting Killua—something he hasn’t done since ever.

And so he hesitates. And Killua beats him to speaking.

“Move out of the way, Kalluto,” Killua all but snarls, his grip on Alluka tightening as sparks of electricity flash around him dangerously.

The boy in the kimono stares at his brother. His breathing has evened and he opens his mouth, fully prepared to let the words flow out—to say that he is not there to stop Killua from leaving—only to shut his mouth again. He clenches his fists tightly by his sides and is in an internal debate with himself over something that seems to have started years ago—but has never been resolved.

Reluctantly, when he finally seems to reach an understanding of what the older boy’s determined blue eyes are trying to tell him, Kalluto lowers his head, ignores the sinking feeling in his chest, and steps aside.

iv.

There is: one boy. Ten quiet footsteps. Two loose kimono straps and one soft howl of the wind and one thought lost in the silence between the growing distance of two brothers: take me with you.