Work Text:
That same scent of cologne again. Not his. It’s the third time this week.
Chrollo looks after her curiously as she gets to preparing dinner. Her afternoon yoga class must’ve run late again. It happens. Just like getting a new diamond necklace without any transactions happening in their shared account just happens.
He supposes it’s partly his fault. He’s been working a lot lately. Their love-making has been second-grade at best, and the pearls he got her for their anniversary the previous month could’ve been nicer. He just couldn’t find the time between his long hours.
Yes, he can be blamed for this, too. Maybe if he had helped more with the chores. If he had upgraded their car when she pointed out the old model. Maybe if he were a better lover, a better husband in general.
“Honey?” Chrollo asks softly from the living room arm chair.
She peeks from behind the wall separating the room from the kitchen, smiling wider than usual. “Yes, what is it?”
Confronting her would be a waste of time. He knows her, he knows how her mind works. He knows when she feels the need to lie.
“What’s for dinner tonight?” he asks instead, donning a slight smile on his face.
“Pork chops, dear,” she responds. After hiding back behind the wall for a moment, she looks back at Chrollo. There’s a sparkle in her eye. “Did you say you were going to be working late again tomorrow?”
“Yes, I have to finish some paperwork at the office.”
She could at least be better at hiding the way her smile stretches over her face, creasing her cheeks as if she grew thirty years older in an instant. “Oh, okay. I might invite some of my friends over for yoga again.”
Chrollo nods with a kind smile. “Of course. As you like.”
He isn’t the type to throw things around. No, his office is in tip-top shape despite the recent events. He’s rather calm given everything, but then again, he always is.
He remains calm even when he knocks on his door and enters with a wide grin.
“Hisoka,” Chrollo greets with a nod.
“Working yourself to the pulp again, eh?” the man with piercing red hair asks as he drops off some papers on the other man’s desk. Chrollo glances over at them, knowing he has more important things to do that night than look them over. “Some guys were talking about getting drinks tonight. It is Friday, after all.”
“That’s nice.”
“Will you grace us with your presence, boss?” Hisoka asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he knows the exact buttons to press to awaken a reaction within Chrollo, even if he’d never show it on the surface.
“I think I might go home early, actually,” Chrollo says with a composed smile. “I’ll surprise Marie with a home-cooked meal.”
“Ah, young love, so adorable.”
“We’re nearly the same age.”
“Do not let me stop you, boss. I’ve seen your wife, I know how much I’d hold on to her if I were you,” Hisoka says. Chrollo’s smile tightens.
If he didn’t know Hisoka’s sweet scent like the back of his own hand from all the times the red-haired man has gotten up in his personal space, he’d almost think he was the culprit. Though, if he recalls correctly, Hisoka had a partner. Or maybe they ended things. He switches playthings like he changes clothes, yet his closet is always full of new things to try.
“How are things with Victor?” Chrollo asks calmly, as unprofessional as the question is. Respect isn’t a part of Hisoka’s vocabulary anyway.
The man tilts his head with a grin. “Well, you know what they say about foreign men.”
“I do not.”
“You really ought to leave the house and workplace more often.”
“So you’re not together anymore, I presume?” Chrollo steers the topic into another direction before Hisoka gets started on teaching the man about the current trends and tribulations. He has enough problems without going out into the real world as is.
“Oh, boss, you could’ve just asked if you wanted to know if I was available,” Hisoka beams, placing two hands on Chrollo’s desk to lean against. “You know I love a forbidden romance.”
“I’m married.”
“That’s what makes it exciting, isn’t it?” The red-haired man licks his lips. “Besides… that has never stopped anyone before.”
Chrollo sighs and grabs the pile of papers into his hands. “Please leave my office, and please tell Phinks I need his report on my desk by the end of the day.”
“You got it, boss.”
Hisoka leaves behind him a blank space, a lack of presence as he always does. The room is always bigger and emptier when he’s not around, and more often than not, Chrollo is grateful for that.
Minimalism is a beautiful thing, and Hisoka threatens the raven-haired man’s beautiful bare space just by existing.
Chrollo has to admit, though; he’d rather be drowning in maximalism than be drowning in a loveless marriage.
Chrollo parks at the end of the street that day. The walk through the nice, suburban houses is rather calm. It’s not often he gets to just take the scenery in without other things on his mind, and it seems this time is no exception.
He could spot the single car in the driveway from a mile away. Not his. Not her friends’. It makes his stomach twist, and he calms himself by cracking his knuckles one by one. The clicks, the cracks, they soothe him.
Arriving at the front of the house, the windows to the living room show an empty space. Chrollo casually circles around to the back of the house, the place where he promised he’d build a treehouse on that big oak tree when they finally decided they were ready to have children.
He believes he would be a good father. He’d show them unconditional love. That doesn’t mean he’d want any little ones running around his feet all the time, though. Not with her.
The blinds on the bedroom window on the second floor have been drawn shut, even though he always opens them in the morning to let some sunlight in. Helps with releasing serotonin, or so he’s told.
She always complained about the light so early in the mornings. He found it refreshing, as much of a night owl as he is.
Chrollo leans against the tree trunk behind him and pulls out his phone from his pocket. Loosening his tie around his neck, he chooses her name out of his contacts. It’s the first one, marked with a star in case of emergencies.
He doesn’t have too many other contacts. Making friends has never come easy to him, and as he got older, everything started feeling more and more fake. Everyone who got close didn’t really mean it. They didn’t really want to connect, they didn’t want to share secrets or burdens nor did they long for the serenity of knowing someone inside out, so thoroughly that they could crawl inside their carcass and still feel at home.
So Chrollo just gave up.
For a brief moment he thought she was different, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking: a desperate wish for someone to want to know his ugly parts without turning away.
But then she did, and, well, now Chrollo is calling her to find out if she’s having an affair. Even if he already knows. He’s never been false about these things — a curse, a hex, a burden on his shoulders.
It takes a bit longer than normal for her to reply. A bit too long.
“Ah, Chrollo, hello!” she says. He can tell her breathing is faster than usual. Did he have her bent over, under him, or perhaps on top, Chrollo wonders. Carving his initials inside her. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I just missed you,” he hums. “Is yoga going well?”
“Well, yes, we were just trying the downward dog.” So that’s what they’re calling it these days. “It really helps open the kinks in your back, haha.” How classy. “Are you taking a break from work?”
“You could say that,” Chrollo chuckles softly. “I’m sorry about the car, by the way. I think we should upgrade it.”
“Oh, that’s— That doesn’t matter. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
He’s not. His blood is gushing into his lungs, filling them until he’s drowning in himself.
Is she nude right now? Skin glistening with a coat of sweat on her? Is he perhaps stroking her thigh, trying to coax her back to bed?
“No, no, seriously. I’ll get us a new model.”
Perhaps there’s already a trail of semen on her back. Inside her. Maybe a few weeks from now she’ll announce her pregnancy, and Chrollo will happily support her out of obligation, only for him to look after another man’s child.
“...Well, if you insist. I kind of have to go now, the girls are calling for me, haha!”
Chrollo stares at the window. Some kind of shadow moves behind the blinds. “Yes, I understand,” he says, and as soon as he has finished, the line goes dead.
He might just have to take Hisoka up on his offer to go drinking with their coworkers. Beer, wine, whatever will have to do. Even if right now Chrollo’s craving blood.
“Look who showed up,” Machi says when he walks in the bar. They’re all around a long table, but Shalnark and Shizuku swiftly move around to make space for him.
“Take a seat, next round’s on me!” Uvogin states, already getting up from the table, and Chrollo quietly slips into the seat between the blond man and the glasses-wearing woman while the others greet him as well.
He didn’t expect such a warm welcome. Perhaps he should get out more often.
“What inspired the boss to join us?” Hisoka asks from where he’s seated directly opposite of Chrollo. “Did I make such an inviting offer?”
“It’s not that. It’s never that, in fact,” the raven-haired man says. “I just needed something else to think about, I guess.”
“It’s always good to drown your sorrows in cheap liquor,” Pakunoda says in a rather stoic manner. She’s still finishing her glass of something dark.
“That sounds like a great plan, actually.”
Uvogin soon returns with a round of drinks. Just plain beer for Chrollo because it’s not as if he could’ve known what was the man’s favourite, but Chrollo will happily gulp it down like a parched dog. Anything that will make his brain grow quiet even for a second, even if it takes four or eight or twelve of these.
His restraints snap in half one by one with each drink and shot he downs. Most of his coworkers begin leaving as the clock keeps turning, and it feels as though hours and days blend into each other while Chrollo finds himself all alone at the table, the burn of alcohol forgotten in exchange for getting absolutely shit-faced.
He should probably be a better role model for his underlings, but right now he’s too drunk to care.
Chrollo rubs his eyes. He’s the last one left, he ought to get back home before she gets worried. Whoever she had over must be gone by now, and she’s probably wondering what is taking her second choice so long to get home.
“Down for another shot?” someone asks, and Chrollo looks up from his hands to see Hisoka taking a seat next to him. The raven-haired man was under the impression that Hisoka had taken his leave a while ago, but he must have been by the bar.
The red-haired man places two shots of some kind of glowing, golden liquid on the table between them. Chrollo does not ask. He does not wonder or even consider for a moment if Hisoka could have done something to the drink, because at this point death does not seem so bad. No matter whose head is on the line.
Chrollo feels the sting as he downs the shot down his throat, and Hisoka looks at him with curious eyes, leaning on his hand.
“...What?”
“I figure that home-cooked meal didn’t go over too well.”
“What do you know?” Chrollo scoffs and watches as Hisoka chuckles and grabs his own shot, gulping it down in one smooth movement. The glass clinks against the table full of empty bottles and glasses.
It’s gotten dark outside: the artificial yellow spotlights above them are rather irritating, as if they were making them the centerstage in this otherwise rather empty bar. People are walking past the windows in front of them, under the soft streetlights, laughing and talking. Inside, though, it’s suffocating despite the lack of people. The minimal black-and-white decor is making him nauseous. Not even the few occasional green plants help his case.
A place like this is not where Chrollo would usually go, but work gatherings can’t be at bustling clubs with blasting music and flashing lights and drugs and such tight spaces that one can’t see their own feet without someone inevitably embarrassing themselves.
“It’s just a matter of deduction, boss,” Hisoka responds with a small smile. “Come on, tell me your woes. I can be a good listener.”
“But not without certain ulterior motives, I presume,” Chrollo says, followed by an embarrassing hiccup. He swallows and grabs the half-full glass of water someone left behind, downing all of it.
“You always assume the worst of me. Don’t you believe I might just want to help you?”
“No, not for a second.”
While Hisoka frowns, Chrollo smooths out his clothes and gets up from his seat. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.”
Though he turns away from the red-haired man and makes a beeline for the men’s room, he can feel steps behind him even if he does not hear them. And yes, when he pushes the door open, someone stops it from closing behind him.
Chrollo takes place at an urinal, and Hisoka follows suit with one empty porcelain between them. Unzip, take it out.
Did he just take it out, too, with his wife? Did they even make it special, or is it just a bit of casual fun? Is just a hookup worth ruining their marriage over?
“My wife is cheating on me,” Chrollo blurts out. He does not spare a glance at Hisoka, but he can feel his narrow, golden eyes staring at him.
“Oh? Do you know for sure?”
“Sure enough.”
“I wonder which lucky bastard got there before me,” Hisoka laughs. Chrollo sighs and tucks himself back in, moving to wash his hands at the lined up sinks. “Oh, that was just a bit of fun. Come on, tell me how you found out.”
Chrollo grits his teeth. The alcohol is making him say things he’d rather keep to himself. “New jewelry that I didn’t get her. Frequent yoga classes. She’s happier than ever. She lied about having friends over today and a strange car was parked in our yard,” he explains.
Hisoka dips his hands under the faucet next to Chrollo. In front of each sink is an individual mirror, reflecting the tiled white walls and the black stalls behind them. Chrollo’s skin is starting to feel hot from the warm water and soap.
“I wouldn’t take any drastic measures before you find out for sure that you’re correct. You don’t want to make a final decision and then find out that you were wrong,” Hisoka explains. “Go through her phone, her texts and contacts to see if you find anything suspicious. If you find something, you might want to start thinking about getting a lawyer and finding a place of your own.”
Chrollo scrubs his hands so hard he’s sure his skin is peeling. The foam is washing away, leaving behind burning red palms.
“But, if I was in your shoes,” Hisoka continues, and suddenly every mirror reflects him, his expression so calm that Chrollo gets chills, “I would just kill her.”
Chrollo sits on the bed, hair still wet from his shower. She’s changing into her robe on the other side of the bed, but he just stares at the window with open blinds. He came home early that day. The sun has set and the room is dark but he can make out the oak tree’s lush green leaves outside.
“Chrollo?” she asks. He looks over his shoulder. She’s in her light pink robe, towel in hand. “Is everything okay? You seem tense.”
“It’s just work things, don’t worry,” he smiles. “I ordered a new car, by the way.”
“Oh, you did…?”
“Yes. It has a wide backseat, good for little ones.”
Her tight smile falters. “Are you implying that you suddenly want kids?”
“Wasn’t that the plan?” Chrollo asks.
“I just… I don’t know if now is a good time. It’s a big responsibility, and we can’t just—”
“I thought you were the more enthusiastic one about the idea.”
She sighs and leans over to the bedside to plug her charger into her phone. It lights up with a new notification on the screen, but she quickly closes it and looks back at him with a forced smile.
“Maybe when work is less stressful for you. We’re still young, Chrollo, we have time to wait,” she says before leaving for the connected bathroom. The door locks and soon the shower turns on behind it.
Chrollo takes only a moment to stare out the window with blank eyes before hopping up and circling around the bed to grab her phone. The notification on the screen is from a man he’s never heard of before with the word “WORK” next to his name, but it doesn’t display the contents of the text.
He slides up to open the device, but a passcode is needed. She didn’t have a passcode before. Chrollo doesn’t hesitate; he just enters her birthdate, and it opens up.
She certainly could’ve made it harder. He didn’t know he married an idiot.
“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!”
the text from the man reads. And Chrollo here was under the impression she was going shopping with lady friends the next day.
The more he scrolls up, the more his stomach turns.
“Wearing my best for you tomorrow.”
“You were amazing today. Love you.”
“Send me another pic?”
“Don’t tell your husband.”
Her responses aren’t much better. Flirting, intimate pictures, jokes about Chrollo not knowing… He wonders for just how long this has been going on. Just how foolish he has been.
He must spend an eternity looking at the texts, because soon he blinks and already hears the shower turning off. He closes the texting app, leaves the phone in its original place and hops over to his side of the bed to bury himself under the sheets. Sleep won’t come easy, but that is irrelevant at the moment.
She leaves the bathroom, and Chrollo closes his eyes. All he sees are those text messages, popping up in his mind like viruses and there’s nothing he can cleanse himself with. The water from his hair seeps into the pillow, leaving it cold and wet when he turns to rest the side of his face against it.
“You’re already going to sleep?” she asks from behind Chrollo’s back.
“Long day tomorrow,” he mumbles. “Goodnight, honey.”
“Goodnight, then.”
Chrollo doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He never quite saw this coming. Maybe he thought too much of himself, that he’d ever be able to satisfy someone completely. He thought that love was real, and that love could last. Turns out it just burns like holding his skin over a candle and letting it cook. Like sticking his hand inside a pot of boiling water.
He might just have to look into getting that lawyer.
Though, it’d all be easier if he just turned around now as she was getting into bed and climbed on top of her. She would think he was making a move, but when they kissed, he’d wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze tight. He’d keep squeezing until she was coughing up blood and white foam, until her eyes were popping out of their sockets, until her voice was nothing but a desperate croak. Until he heard something snap inside her neck and her hands stopped scratching at his shoulders.
She’d be limp, and his problem would be gone.
But it’d be mighty difficult to hide evidence of choking when people eventually found her body. He’ll have to think of something different while at work the next day. If he ever falls asleep, that is.
“Don’t you look like shit.”
“Thank you.”
They’re the last two in the meeting room as the door has just closed behind Chrollo’s higher-up. The raven-haired man is still gathering his papers, looking over the diagrams and charts to make sense of where the hell it all went wrong.
“So Marie’s really a dirty, lying adulterer,” Hisoka hums. Chrollo hates how he’s still smiling even when he knows. The shorter man doesn’t need to confirm or deny anything. Hisoka knows. “Did you stay up all night looking for a lawyer?”
“That’s not enough,” Chrollo says. The piece of paper only slightly crumples in his hand as he speaks. “Our union was sacred. She can’t just get out of that.”
“Oh? So, what’s the new plan?” the red-haired man asks with a grin. “Do you want me to hit her with my car and drive off?”
“Would you?”
Hisoka blinks, his devilish expression faltering for just a second. “Are you serious?”
“Do I seem serious?”
“Terrifyingly so.”
Chrollo looks at the man and smiles, gathering all of his papers into one pile. “I’m glad,” he says.
A majority of the previous night was spent going over different schemes, ways to get rid of a body and clean all the evidence. Chrollo fears all of his plans from blunt force trauma to dismemberment came down to one necessary, major factor.
“Do you think you could help me?”
Hisoka isn’t smiling anymore. He’s staring straight at Chrollo.
“Are you sure you want to cross this line? There’s no going back once you’ve done it,” he claims.
“Since when have you ever asked anyone if they’re sure of something?”
“Since my boss told me he wants to kill his wife with my help, I suppose,” Hisoka shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against it, not at all. I just… I’m not sure I took you for that kind of man.”
“I didn’t know I was that kind of man,” Chrollo agrees, “but it seems I’m not quite as good as I thought I was.”
A silence settles between them, though it’s not quite as heavy as one would expect. Chrollo slips his files into his briefcase while Hisoka interlaces his own fingers and stretches them out.
“So. Any plans yet?”
“I was thinking about suffocation.”
“Classy.”
“We could drive up north and bury her in the woods. Say it’s a work trip.”
Hisoka leans on his hand, a curious look in his eyes. “You’ve really thought about this. For how long exactly have you wanted to murder her?”
Chrollo furrows his brows. “You planted the idea into my head.”
“Sure, but you’re being very casual about this. As if you’ve thought about it before. As if it has never been off the table.”
He never really fought with her. She’d end arguments with silent treatment and whenever he got upset, he’d isolate and work himself to a pulp until he nearly forgot the reason he was angry in the first place.
Thinking back, Chrollo’s not sure what he saw in her. The swing of her hips? The cleavage? The fact that she wanted to settle down in a normal neighbourhood and he just wanted a quiet life to distance himself in without necessarily dying alone? The options are endless, yet now they all just feel pointless.
“I suppose I never was really interested in her ,” Chrollo shrugs. “And when you’ve got someone you don’t care about whining into your ear all the time, you get tired of it.”
“Wow. I wonder why she cheated.”
“Will you help me or not?”
Hisoka smiles. “Arrange a work trip for us, boss.”
Chrollo nods. “I will.”
It’s a late Thursday afternoon when Chrollo and Hisoka park at the front of his house and step out of the car. This is the first time Hisoka has been over to his home, and he sure hopes it will also be the last.
If Chrollo had to imagine where Hisoka lives, he’d imagine either the underneath of a bridge or a fancy penthouse. Probably with a double bed, perhaps it’d even be heart-shaped.
“Are you ready?” Hisoka asks him from the front seat.
Chrollo’s hands are still on the wheel when he looks back at the other man. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They nod at each other before turning to their respective car doors in sync and stepping out of the vehicle. It feels orchestrated, somehow, the way they work in tandem as they walk to the front door in their work suits. Chrollo opens it and lets Hisoka step into the entryway first.
“Shoes off,” he tells him.
“I’m not an animal,” Hisoka responds.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Chrollo? Whose voice do I hear?” she asks from the depths of the house. Before the man can respond, she’s already walking to the hallway from the living room to see for herself. “Oh. Hello.”
“Well, hello, Marie,” Hisoka responds with a smile that comes off more sinister than charming.
She blinks in surprise, probably taking in Hisoka’s creepy features. That is often the case with new people. “...How do you know my name?” she asks, and Chrollo notes that her dress is much simpler than the one she’s often wearing when he gets home from working late. The brown plaid is rather… uninspiring.
“I believe we’ve met at our company’s holiday parties a few times now.”
“Oh. Oh,” she says, connections being made in her pretty little head that soon won’t process anything anymore, “I didn’t realize Chrollo was bringing over a coworker! He didn’t tell me!”
“It was a last minute decision,” Chrollo joins in, stepping past Hisoka to place his briefcase on the hallway cabinet. He smiles at her kindly as if he were doing it for the last time. “Would you mind preparing us some tea?”
“I suppose not. I’ll be right back.”
She disappears into the kitchen through the living room, and Chrollo and Hisoka turn to each other. They share a nod, and Chrollo opens his briefcase with a click. He takes out one of the multiple plastic bags they got for disposal purposes.
“I suppose you’re doing the honours,” Hisoka hums.
“You know me so well. I might need your help holding her arms back, though,” Chrollo whispers.
There isn’t much more exchanged. Most details were discussed during the previous days. This is happening, and Chrollo has no second thoughts. He does not care.
He retreats to the living room with the bag in hand while Hisoka follows farther behind. The red-haired man stays behind the wall separating the room for the kitchen for the time being, but Chrollo takes his place behind his wife who’s standing in front of the stove with a kettle on it. He places his free hand on her hip and leans his head over to her ear.
“You’re looking prettier than ever today,” he lies.
“Hah, what are you—” she starts, gently trying to shake him off, “we have company, Chrollo.”
Chrollo chuckles and murmurs: “What, I’m not allowed to touch my wife?”
“Well, it’s not a given, you know. I have my own body and my rights. I get to decide who touches me. And he looks really creepy— I remember him acting creepy at those parties too, so I’d rather your guest didn’t see anything he can fantasize about here.”
Who’s she to badmouth anyone anymore? She should be the one condemned and talked down upon. She is the one who should be bleeding from the scarlet letter on her chest.
“Right. You decide who touches you.” Chrollo pulls back his hand. This is it. “And you chose Oliver from work for this position.”
Her eyes widen and she’s about to turn around, but Chrollo is faster. He grabs the black bag with both hands and throws it over her head, tightening it so no air is left inside. She immediately starts flailing her arms, trying to reach him.
“Hisoka, help me!” he demands, and the red-haired man does not need to be told twice. She’s yelling, screaming, her sounds only slightly muffled by the plastic as she scratches at her neck to get it off. Hisoka grabs her arms, effectively trapping Chrollo between both their bodies while she starts gasping for breath, the plastic getting sucked into her mouth when she tries.
Chrollo notices the fact that he’s smiling when her body starts shaking, her head twitching from the lack of air. It’s almost over, he’s sure, and he’s gotten rid of his biggest problem at the moment, or perhaps ever.
“Fuck—” Hisoka whines suddenly, and before Chrollo knows it, her hands are free and despite nearly passing out, she grabs the kettle from the stove and flings it over her head.
Chrollo can barely shield his eyes before the boiling water lands all over his hands, some drops hitting his face. “Fuck!” he yells from the burn that feels like it reaches and melts his very core while she scrambles away, tugging at the bag on her head to get it off.
He turns to catch her, but Hisoka is faster. Though Chrollo sees some drops of blood dripping down the man’s palms — did she scratch him? — he’s not weakened, and he tackles her roughly on the floor just as she gets the bag off and gasps for breath.
Chrollo stares while Hisoka pins her down, holding her wrists so tightly that he’s surprised they don’t snap in half just from his touch.
“Why are you— Why are you doing this!?” she screams, and Chrollo has to admit this is much more burdensome than he expected. It’s louder, too, and he fears their neighbours might hear.
So he grabs the knife from the holder on the counter despite his hands glowing red and feeling raw.
“Because I cheated? Chrollo— I love you, you know that!” she wails, kicking at Hisoka to no avail. “Please don’t hurt me, I swear, I’ll be good again!”
“It’s too late,” Chrollo whispers, walking up to her from behind Hisoka’s back. He can feel cold sweat on his skin and sharp, burning pain on his forehead and palms. He tilts his head at her. “You already did it. You can’t take it back.”
Tears stream down her face, and as much as Chrollo would like her to be ugly in this moment, she’s probably the most beautiful he’s ever seen her now that she’s sobbing with mascara everywhere, still out of breath.
He wonders if this kind of beauty carries over to death.
“Fuck! You can’t do this!” she screams. “I have a right to be happy! I have a right to live my life! You can’t take that from me!”
“Ah, she’s changing tactics,” Hisoka chuckles, still holding her down.
“Our union means nothing to you?” Chrollo asks.
“Don’t humour her, just put that knife to her chest already.”
“It means everything to me,” he continues with empty eyes, staring at her straight in the puffy and wet eyes.
“Maybe because you don’t have anyone else! You have no friends and no life and all you do is work! You don’t have anything beyond this, and if— If you hurt me, you’ll have nothing once again!”
Chrollo pushes Hisoka off her to take his place, sitting on top of her thighs. Hisoka moves to hold her arms over her head while Chrollo raises his knife, eyes boring into hers.
“I saved you, Chrollo, you can’t, you can’t—”
A blood-curdling scream escapes her when he plunges the knife deep inside her chest. It’s warm when it splashes all over him, the blood, but at the same time, it kind of helps the burn in his hands.
He stabs her again. And again. And again, until her screams stop. Blood pours out of her, all over him, even reaching Hisoka, and soon she’s quiet and Chrollo is out of breath and her eyes are wide and lifeless.
The crimson drips from his raven hair. He can taste the metal on his tongue.
She’s gone.
Hisoka lets go of her arms, and they limply fall onto the tiled kitchen floor. Her lips are still parted. Her skin is still warm.
But she is no more, and Chrollo feels nothing at all.
The afternoon sun has gone down, leaving them in the dim kitchen, splattered with blood. Hisoka is not fazed, and he yawns and says: “We better shower and get going before it gets too late.”
“Yes,” Chrollo replies, dropping the knife onto the tiled floor, “we better.”
He stands up on shaky legs. It’s no good walking over to the shower only to drip blood everywhere they go, so he sighs and slips off his suit jacket. Hisoka’s eyes widen for a moment before he realizes what Chrollo is getting at, and he too starts stripping.
They get naked in the same room where his wife’s corpse lies. Crimson-stained dress shirts, black slacks, polished dress shoes… they all get scattered over the floor until they’re nude and Chrollo swallows roughly.
“Let’s use the downstairs bathroom.”
Hisoka follows him, avoiding blood stains with their steps and eventually feeling the sticky way their feet separate from the hardwood floors. Chrollo’s hands ache, still red and hot underneath the drying blood.
He slips his foot between the cracked-open bathroom door and pulls it open so they can enter the neat and white bathroom, mainly used by her guests when they occasionally slept over. The shower with glass walls can fit two people — they tried during their honeymoon phase.
Chrollo looks at Hisoka only to see him smirking.
“What?”
“Are you presuming we share a shower, hm?”
“Am I wrong to do so?”
“No. Not at all, I just figured you might want some privacy after such an act,” Hisoka hums, but goes on ahead and slips inside the shower, a bloody hand print left on the inside of the glass when he steps in.
Chrollo sighs and steps in after him, closing the glass door behind them. It’s more cramped when a man of Hisoka’s size is in there with him, but they can manage with minimal touching.
“Strangely, I don’t feel much. If anything, I feel relieved,” he mutters as he turns the shower on with cool water. When the droplets touch his hands, it’s heaven.
“Yes, the old ball and chain is finally gone,” Hisoka laughs over the water.
“...I suppose so.”
The blood slowly washes off them, spinning in a red whirlpool around the drain before going in. Chrollo just stares at the way their pale feet get covered in the diluted red dripping from their bodies.
He truly has no one now. Maybe he never had her at all; maybe he was always all alone, and maybe that realization hurts far worse than losing the only person who ever was by his side.
He’s glad there is water running down his face. He doesn’t have to decipher if he’s tearing up or not.
“Chrollo,” Hisoka says, and the use of his real name catches Chrollo off-guard. He looks up to meet Hisoka’s eyes. “You can’t start having second thoughts now.”
“I’m not.”
“Then act like it.”
Chrollo grits his teeth. Getting sense talked into him by Hisoka of all people is as insulting as one would imagine, but he sighs and starts scrubbing the blood out of his hair nevertheless, because the red-haired man is right.
What’s done is done, and he has to get rid of the evidence before having a personal crisis.
The two finish rinsing off as well as cleaning up the inside of the shower and they step out of the glass box. Chrollo hands Hisoka a fluffy white towel before taking an identical one to dry himself with. The bathroom mirror shows two murderers. It doesn’t feel much different from before.
Soon they’re standing with towels wrapped around their pale waists, and Chrollo looks Hisoka up and down, trying to figure out if any of his clothes are going to fit a man of his size.
But Hisoka can’t control himself even at the most trying of times, and he smirks: “Like what you see?”
“My wife is growing cold on the kitchen floor,” Chrollo retorts dryly.
“We could just have a quickie.”
“I say you get her body in a bag as well as our clothes while I start scrubbing the floors.”
“You’re no fun, boss,” Hisoka whines, but still pushes open the bathroom door and exits into the dark hallway. Chrollo sighs and starts going through the cabinets to find the bleach and some rubber gloves.
When he arrives in the kitchen, there is dried blood everywhere. The black-and-white floor tiles are almost matt with the brownish substance. She’s there, in the midst of it all, her skin ghastly and eyes still open. Staring into nothing, as there is nothing to stare at anymore. It’s over.
Chrollo gives Hisoka the gloves, and in their white towels, they get to work.
It’s around nine in the evening when the two emerge from the polished house, carrying a big, black plastic bag from both ends in the darkness of the night. They scurry over to the car and dump her rather light body in the trunk.
Hisoka’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, the sleeves and legs of which are just a tad bit too short, while Chrollo has a casual sweater and jeans on. They move in the night, next up carrying their bag of bloody clothes as well as a bag full of necessities for a road trip and throwing them in the backseat of Chrollo’s car.
His back still hurts from all the cleaning and scrubbing, but he’s sure he got all the nooks and crannies clean. At least that’s what he tells himself.
He locks up the house and gets in the driver’s seat while Hisoka is already connecting his phone and turning up the music.
“...Seriously?” Chrollo asks him, looking at the man with dull eyes.
“You got to pick the victim, I get to pick the music. Fair, no?” the other says as the tunes fill the car. Chrollo looks back at the front of his house before reversing out of the driveway.
“Who else would you have wanted to kill, then?”
Hisoka smiles. “I can’t make work awkward on Monday morning, so I’d better not say.”
Chrollo holds back a small smile of amusement as they drive through the dark suburbia. Some lights are still on in the houses while some are off: the lights being restricting, oppressive barriers that separate them from freedom. What freedom is, Chrollo does not know.
The music almost gets Chrollo to zone out, just driving according to the GPS system of the car with no thoughts passing through his mind. They get onto the highway, finally seeing other signs of life other than their own hearts beating. It’s both relieving and terrifying. The thought of being found out. Chrollo wonders if it’d purify him in some sense, getting caught. Getting to play the martyr.
For now, though, he prays that they’ll get to their destination in peace. He’s a good driver, so he has been told by his dead wife, so it should go smoothly.
“Could you pull over at the next gas station?” Hisoka asks at one point. “I need some caffeine and a bathroom break.”
“You didn’t go before we left? It’d be for the best to avoid any unnecessary stops.”
The red-haired man — whose hair is down from the shower. What a peculiar sight — sighs and says: “We’ll be fine. I’m sure you could use a cup of coffee after such a day, too.”
Chrollo inhales and exhales calmly before nodding, because yes, he could. They could also use more gas.
Soon, in addition to the streetlamps and the headlights of oncoming cars, the sign of a gas station can be seen in the distance. Chrollo turns on the blinker before making the turn and parking by the pump.
“Don’t take too long,” he says. “I want a black coffee and a sandwich.”
“You got it, boss,” Hisoka says and leaves the car. His phone stays in, playing music until Chrollo turns off the engine and slips out of the car as well.
He refuels the car under the dark blue sky. No stars can be seen. He supposes they’re all dead.
He gets back inside and sighs, letting his head drop back against the headrest. Exhausted by it all, if he didn’t fear that Hisoka would wreck his nice car, Chrollo would almost let the red-haired man drive.
But he can’t possibly lose both his wife and his car in one day, so he must persist. He loves this car. He doesn’t know why he ordered a new one.
Chrollo grips the wheel and stares towards the doors of the station. Bright lights shine from the inside, emanating such warmth and familiarity. For some reason, this gas station feels more like home than Chrollo’s own home.
If home is where the heart is, Chrollo’s is six feet deep. It’s dead, gone, buried, and he fears it cannot be revived.
To have someone who sticks by his side no matter what, who sees him for himself, who can make their hearts beat in sync just from being by each other’s sides… At his age, it all appears impossible.
Hisoka emerges from indoors, arms full of snacks. Chrollo wouldn’t be surprised if the man’s shoppings surpassed the fuel in price. Hisoka approaches and opens the passenger side door with his elbow.
“Isn’t this a bit excessive?” Chrollo asks when a plastic-wrapped sandwich is dropped into his lap and a coffee shoved into the cup holder.
“You’ll be thanking me when you get hit with extreme hunger from not eating all day.”
“I haven’t—”
“I know you’ve been skipping lunch at work, boss,” Hisoka says. “That’s what cheating does. It takes away your appetite. But now it’s over, and you can eat.”
Chrollo grunts in disapproval as he drives off, getting back on the road. The streets just keep getting darker even with the cars passing by, snacks getting eaten and the trash compartments by the doors getting filled, and when Chrollo finally makes a turn onto a small road after what feels like hours and hours, it’s all abandoned.
It’s so quiet, no street lights in sight — even Hisoka turns down his music to figure out where they are.
“How’d you know about this place?” Hisoka asks as they pass by empty, worn down houses with no signs of life inside them. The wood is rotting, gates off-hinges because of trespassers.
“This is where I grew up,” Chrollo hums, and Hisoka goes rather quiet. The raven-haired man parks by the end of the road, only thick forest in sight, and says: “Not here exactly, but in the neighbourhood. She never wanted to visit.”
“Now she gets to grow old here. How romantic.”
Chrollo smiles at Hisoka. “Isn’t it?”
The two get out of the car into the darkness. Hisoka turns on his phone’s flashlight to even make his way to the trunk. She doesn’t smell yet, the black plastic bag completely still when they open the back.
“Grab the shovel,” Chrollo instructs.
They take hold of the bag from both ends, starting to drag her body to the woods with the shovel nestled under Hisoka’s arm. It’s so dark they keep almost tripping on tree roots, but eventually the dark outline of the car disappears from sight and they find a small clearing in the midst of untouched trees, and Chrollo decides that this is enough.
Her body falls with a thump inside the bag. Hisoka places the shovel against the ground and steps on it to break the soft ground. Chrollo shines the light on the ground to see how the hole grows bigger and bigger. Hisoka grunts a lot during the process, arms flexing as he shovels.
“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” Chrollo comments. His eyes meet Hisoka’s, whose smile appears more sad than it does cocky, which is unusual.
“You do what you have to do to survive,” the man replies, kicking the shovel once more for more ground to break off. Suddenly, though, he stops and hands Chrollo the shovel. “Your turn.”
“...Fair enough.”
Chrollo starts digging the grave of his wife, arms growing tired not even five scoops in, but he’d rather not come off as weak to Hisoka, so he persists.
“Why’d you marry her then?” Hisoka asks out of the blue. Their eyes meet in the harsh light of the phone flashlight. Hisoka clarifies: “If you weren’t interested in her? Was she just a cover so no one would find out the real you?”
“...What’s that supposed to mean?” Chrollo asks with a grunt.
“I mean… It’s not unheard of that certain people choose to marry a woman when in reality they want to be with a man.”
“I’m not gay.”
“It’d be fine if you were. I mean, I go for anyone, not just men—”
“I know it’d be fine, but I’m not,” he scoffs. He’s getting chills on his arms, his sleeves rolled up. “I guess I just… wanted someone to care enough. And I thought that she did, but… she didn’t.”
“Ah, so you just crave affection. Got it,” Hisoka hums.
“No, I crave connection,” Chrollo claims.
it’s strange to say it out loud, especially to Hisoka of all people. That he’s so desperate to share a spark with anyone that he’d kill someone over being betrayed.
The breeze inside the forest brings shivers to his skin. Being out this late, he should’ve brought a jacket. Or headphones to protect from the stabbing silence in his ears.
Chrollo looks at Hisoka, and Hisoka looks at him, and Chrollo’s sure this will be used against him in the future. He darts his eyes and gets back to digging, eventually having to step into the grave in order to keep up with the depth of it.
“But that’s over. I doubt I’ll ever find anyone who sees me for who I am. I just have to focus on my work until I die,” Chrollo mumbles.
“That’s optimistic,” Hisoka laughs from above.
“You know me. I’m always full of positivity.”
“I think you’re just scared.”
Chrollo looks up. Hisoka has taken a seat on the ground above, legs crossed right next to the edge of the grave.
“What do you mean?” he questions.
Hisoka shrugs. He shines the flashlight to the bottom of their hole. There’s still some way to go.
“I think that you’re terrified of connection, actually,” he says. “I think you don’t want to trust someone and then be let down like you just were. That’s why you never socialize at work, and why I always have to force your barriers down when I talk to you.”
Chrollo’s shovel halts once more. He glares at Hisoka.
“Don’t act like you actually care to psychoanalyze me like that. You barely know me.”
“Yeah?” Hisoka asks, raising an eyebrow. “If I don’t know you, why am I here with you right now?”
“I don’t know, because you get some sick and twisted pleasure from murder?”
The red-haired man chuckles before leaving his phone on the ground and hopping into the grave. He pushes Chrollo against the wall of it, reaching his mid-back by now, and Hisoka peers deep into his eyes with his own dark and golden ones.
“If that’s the case, we were carved from the same wood, you and I,” he whispers. “You’ve wanted her gone for years, don’t try to lie to me. You were probably just waiting for an excuse to get her out of the picture.”
Chrollo shivers, leaning back right against the ground behind him only for Hisoka to push even closer, until all he can smell and breathe is Hisoka. Despite everything, he still smells sweet.
“That’s not—”
“Right. It’s not the reason, because yes, a normal and sensible person kills their wife when they find out she was cheating.”
Chrollo finds it difficult to come up with a response, but Hisoka continues for him, voice low and quiet: “I know you like the insides of my pockets, Chrollo, just like you know me. And I know that that sends shivers down your spine every time you think about it.”
Hisoka’s so close Chrollo fears he might kiss him with the way he’s looking down at him like he was his prey. But what Chrollo fears the most is the fact that if the other does, he might just reciprocate.
The embrace never arrives. Hisoka’s hands leave the man’s body, and he pulls away and lets Chrollo breathe. Chrollo wishes he didn’t, because drawing in breaths proves quite difficult at the current moment, with him being over three feet deep in the ground and all.
“I’ll take over now,” Hisoka says nonchalantly as if the previous event had never occurred at all. “You can rest up.”
Chrollo would rather live in a lie rather than confront Hisoka about this matter, so he climbs out of the grave and sits down next to Hisoka’s phone, flashlight shining up. His hands are muddy and he feels dirt inside his shirt, but there’s not much he can do about that now. His eyes just follow Hisoka as he continues digging, shoveling the dark ground into a pile on the surface.
Chrollo parks at the front of the roadside motel at around two in the morning, his clothes muddy with dirt, the scent of smoke in his clothes and his wife dead and buried. He looks over at Hisoka who he’s been avoiding talking to for the past hours and says: “I’ll go check in. You’d look too suspicious with your looks and the dirt all over you.”
“I get that a lot,” Hisoka hums and finally turns off the god-awful music on his phone.
Chrollo gets out of the car while Hisoka gets their things from the passenger seat, and the former continues his way to the reception of this shady place.
There’s a blond teen by the front desk, looking awfully bored to be working at this time of the night.
“Hey, could I get a room with two beds for one night, please?” Chrollo asks, and the young boy looks him over carefully. His blueish eyes appear to take in every detail of him, judging and contemplating.
“...Sure. We only had one room free, anyway,” the boy says and turns to the wall where all the room keys are hanging. “One or two keys?”
“...One should be fine, thanks.”
The blond returns to the front, and Chrollo pays for the room while the younger boy continues staring at him as if he knew every detail of what he had just done in the woods. But he doesn’t say anything, and just hands Chrollo the key once the payment has gone through.
“Have a nice night,” the blond says.
“Thank you.”
Chrollo leaves the warmth of the reception to see Hisoka leaning on the side of the car in the dark, smoking a cigarette as if he didn’t get enough of the fumes of the fire when they burned their bloody clothes in the woods. The faintest thought of the man tasting like smoke enters Chrollo’s mind, but he shakes it out of his head and walks up to him.
The red neon sign of the motel as well as the light from the reception guide them to the second floor of the building to their room. Chrollo unlocks the door and lets Hisoka in first to carry their things in.
Right as Chrollo starts walking in, though, Hisoka stops and the shorter man bumps into his back.
“I didn’t take you for a romantic, boss.”
“What do you mean?” Chrollo asks and leans past the red-haired man. There is only a double bed in the room, illuminated by the neon light of the motel sign shining in through the only window. He sighs. “...I asked for two beds.”
“Guess you have to go ask for another room,” Hisoka says.
“The receptionist said this was the last room available.”
“Well, in that case…” Hisoka slips off his shoes and walks over to the bed, hopping down to sit on it. He pats the spot beside him with that usual devilish smirk. “We’re both grown men here. Perhaps we’ll survive one night.”
“Yes, I guess we must,” Chrollo replies before leaning down to take off his shoes. He enters the small room and becomes rather aware of how dirty he is, how dirty Hisoka is, too. It feels like worms are crawling all over his body: slimy, muddy worms.
“I figure we should shower,” Hisoka starts first as if he were able to read Chrollo’s mind. “Want to do it together again?”
“I’d rather not. I’ll go first.”
The other man shrugs. “As you wish.”
When Chrollo returns, having slicked back his hair with water only for black strands to fall right back over his face, Hisoka has drawn the curtains to their room. However, they’re thin and the red neon light manages to penetrate them. It seems this night is going to be long.
“Your turn,” Chrollo says with the towel around his hips.
Hisoka stands up from the bed, his wrists bare from the hoodie he’s wearing. There are brown dirt stains and red scratches on the pale skin. “Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone,” Hisoka murmurs as he passes Chrollo, who can’t help but to roll his eyes.
He opens their bag of necessities and gets changed into a fresh pair of boxers before slipping into their bed, the side away from the window that wasn’t dirtied by Hisoka’s behind.
The shower turns on behind the wall. Chrollo plugs his phone in to charge. The red light coming from outside is nauseating even when he’s facing away. When he closes his eyes, he sees guts, blood, darkness, dirt, but also clean bathroom tiles. Serenity. Peace.
He doesn’t know if he’s more glad about the fact that she’s gone or the fact that she cheated in the first place. That he finally got an excuse to bring that knife to her chest. After years of waiting, staring and observing, it finally happened. She slipped up, and she had to pay with her life.
Hisoka’s words work in Chrollo’s head like recently oiled bicycle chains. They roll on with nowhere else to go. He hates that Hisoka knows him that well. He hates that he trusted the man enough to ask him to go on this journey with him. He hates that Hisoka is still here, by his side, and Chrollo hates that he doesn’t want him to go away.
It’s hell, staring at the old, flowery wallpaper of the room while waiting for the shower to turn off and for Hisoka to return to the room all freshened up. An eternal inferno, this motel room of theirs, and Chrollo burns within it when he feels Hisoka slip into bed beside him. It must be past three in the morning already, and he can feel bags stretching underneath his eyes.
For a while it’s quiet, just the hum of the air conditioner somewhere far away. But then Hisoka shifts, rolling over to face Chrollo’s back, and the man feels obligated to turn as well until they’re face to face. Hisoka’s hair is down, strands falling over his forehead as they still darken the pillow with water.
But Hisoka doesn’t say anything. He just stares, and that is the most horrifying thing the man could ever do. His golden eyes scan over Chrollo’s face, taking in his dark eyes, straight nose and quivering lips.
Chrollo can’t take it; he needs to break the ice.
“...Who was the first person you killed?” he asks.
Hisoka chuckles a bit. “Does it matter? Saying it out loud won’t bring them back to life.”
“But I want to know.”
The man’s gaze grows more serious. He shifts to rest his cheek on his hand.
“It was my step-dad. I was twelve.” Chrollo grows cold as Hisoka continues: “He… wasn’t the greatest, and it definitely had some consequences, but I don’t regret it. I see no point in living with regrets.”
“Was he abusive?” Chrollo asks. Hisoka laughs.
“Oh, he was a lot more than that. But I feel you’re only bringing this up to divert the attention from you.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a coward.”
Chrollo blinks. He sees flashes of squirting crimson and his hands muddied with blood, and knows that despite it all, Hisoka is right. He’s been running away long before he settled down with a woman he didn’t love.
“That’s true, but I think this day is going to be the end of my cowardice,” Chrollo claims.
Hisoka raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t think I’m scared to have you know me anymore. Body and soul.”
“I guess murder really does bring people together,” the other man hums, unfazed. “Or was it my enchanting AUX skills? Or the size of my cock when we showered together?”
“...Can you be serious for one second?” Chrollo sighs. “You… are really fucked up. But so am I, and for some reason that comforts me. I could confide in you during a difficult time, and I believe you would do the same.”
Hisoka smiles. For the first time perhaps ever, the smile is gentle.
“You flatter me, Chrollo,” he whispers. A hand sneaks under Chrollo’s sheets, a big hand resting against his bare and shaky chest. The raven-haired man feels the sharp nails on his sensitive skin.
If Hisoka wanted to, he could rip Chrollo’s heart right out.
He doesn’t. He lets it beat in the silence.
The pounding is so loud that Chrollo forgets about the nasty neon light shining in from behind Hisoka’s back. He just sees narrow, golden eyes, and a person who’s just as awful as he is.
“Can I kiss you, Hisoka?”
It slips out before he can even consider his words. He never expected to release those words in relation to Hisoka, but some strange sensation is taking over him. It makes him want to entrust his entire body into someone else’s control.
But Hisoka just smiles with a faint chuckle. “You don’t know how long I’ve tried to get you to do just that,” he mutters as his hand starts making its way up, brushing Chrollo’s collarbones and neck before settling on his jaw.
However, Chrollo won’t let him make the first move. He surges forward and grabs Hisoka’s cheek with his hand, smashing their lips together.
He’s not surprised their first kiss is anything but gentle. Neither of them is that kind of a person. With Chrollo’s eyes drawn shut, he feels Hisoka’s hand fall back down to his waist, pulling him close until their bodies are nearly sewn together. Their mouths move in sync, passionate kisses exchanged with Hisoka’s tongue rubbing against Chrollo’s own.
The red-haired man indeed tastes like smoke. Chrollo was right. He sucks the taste into his system, dips his tongue inside Hisoka’s mouth to explore the extent of the smoke. Hisoka’s arms wrap around his shoulders to hold him tightly, as if he is planning on never letting go, his nails digging into Chrollo’s shoulders.
Chrollo sighs into the kiss, forgetting how to breathe but figuring that if this is how he dies, buried under the butterflies in his stomach, he’s happy with it.
When he eventually has to part their lips with a gasp for breath, he does so with regrets and a string of saliva stuck between their mouths. Hisoka licks it back into his own. Something awakens on the lower side of Chrollo’s body at the sight.
“...We’re murderers,” the raven-haired man says as if it were funny.
“You get used to it,” Hisoka replies with a smile. He brushes dark hair off Chrollo’s face with a gentleness that Hisoka of all people should not be able to master and looks at him as if he were the moon in the night sky.
“Do you think we’ll get caught?”
“I would never get caught. I don’t know about you, though.”
Chrollo rolls his eyes. “If I get found out, I’m taking you down with me.”
Hisoka smiles, hands still on Chrollo’s back as he rolls them around so he’s on top of the shorter man. “I’m willing to go down on you— I mean, with you.”
Chrollo furrows his brows playfully. “I doubt that was a slip of the tongue.”
“Yes, it was. You don’t know the extent of what my tongue can do.”
“I do,” he claims.
“How?”
“Because I know you.” Chrollo pulls Hisoka down by his shoulders, until red hair is tickling his forehead and a sharp nose is brushing his own. “Inside and out.”
Their lips brush when Hisoka speaks: “How intriguing.”
The night rolls on until the early morning hours, not much sleep caught between the two of them. But when the morning arrives, Chrollo wakes up somewhere he’s never woken up before.
In someone’s arms. Protected by Hisoka’s muscles and his fresh, soapy yet sweet scent.
They get dressed in a comfortable silence, Hisoka donning Chrollo’s clothes once more. The destination ahead is a factory a bit farther away, just to prove the authenticity of their work trip, but Chrollo has one more worry on his mind.
“I think my house will be full of ghosts when I get back,” he frowns.
“With the size of it, I’d be surprised if there weren’t any ghosts there,” Hisoka hums back from where he’s sitting on the edge of the messy bed. However, he leans forward to hug Chrollo’s waist. “If it comforts you, I’ll be there with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I mean, who wouldn’t want a little vacation to the suburbs?”
“I think I’m going to sell it once we’re in the clear. As well as my new car,” Chrollo says, one hand caressing Hisoka’s hair. “I never really wanted to live there, anyway.”
“I’d invite you to live at my apartment, but it’s kind of a dump.” Seeing Chrollo’s raised brow, the red-haired man says: “I guess you don’t know everything about me after all.”
“But I’m going to.” Chrollo leans down and kisses Hisoka on the lips. It’s too soft for his liking, so he does it again, harder. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Hisoka just chuckles. He’s the worst possible person to end up with, to live out his happy ending with, but Chrollo would be lying if he said he wasn’t ready to jump into the deep end of the pool just for Hisoka.
He fears he might be playing with fire now, and perhaps for the rest of his life. It’s even worse that he loves the burn as he holds Hisoka’s face in his hands. It’s a beautiful feeling, the burn. Perhaps it’s everything he’s ever been searching for.