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The door swung shut behind him with an obscenely loud click. No-one in the room so much as twitched – the tension between Ging and the figure directly opposite him thrummed undisturbed, tight as a pulled string. ‘Yo.’ He murmured.
No response. It was almost as though the two of them were frozen, locked in this moment without time or movement. Shoving his hands clumsily in his pockets, Ging advanced on the figure standing prone before him. The clacks of his boots on the rough hewn stone echoed through the room, bouncing off the silent walls.
The closer he got, the stronger the urge to run became. Almost as strong as the day he had held his son for the first time. This was something so momentous, so important, that Ging’s first instinct was to turn tail and flee, better than to face the music. He forced himself to keep moving, fixed his eyes on the figure with a burning intensity. He wanted to cry, he wanted to get away, he wanted to run forward and grab the figure and never let go.
Ging sauntered to a halt, mere feet away from it. It didn’t breathe – it merely stood there, prone, waiting. ‘You look like shit.’ It wasn’t bravado on Ging’s part. What stood before him was a mockery of the beauty it had once been, a stark reminder of the cost it had taken to get it here. Ging couldn’t dwell on that. He could feel the heat pricking behind his eyes again. He needed to speak, to throw a punch, to do anything to burst this bubble of overwhelming pressure.
‘So, got yourself in a mess, huh?’ He questioned the figure. It made no response. He hadn’t expected one – he wouldn’t have got one anyway, had he been asking K- ‘Weren’t paying attention and you fucked up. Well, can’t be helped, we all make mistakes. I don’t, of course, but then you ain’t me.’
His words echoed hollowly in the cavernous room. The middle finger of the figure’s left hand twitched, and Ging felt his stomach catapult to his throat. False alarm. Must have been a cramp. ‘What did I tell you about using that ability as a backup, ha? Idiot.’ He felt his knees go weak suddenly, and he made a show of stretching out his back before he assumed a cross-legged position on the hard stone floor. Ging’s brain was racing, calculating possibility after possibility, clicking mechanically through the horror of what was before him until he felt like screaming. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, he made himself evaluate what stood before him.
Kite – or rather, the empty shell of Kite’s body, stood motionless in the centre of the room. Ging started at the feet. It was easier that way. Big shoes; he knew what that meant (he allowed himself a frantic giggle at that, before he choked up and forgot how to breathe). Legs just as he remembered them, long enough to be anatomically impossible and splayed like a baby deer on ice. A sudden memory hit him like a train, Kite stumbling around in knee deep snow swearing because it was getting in his boots-
‘Ging, are you sure we’re not lost?’ ‘I know where I’m going, Rapunzel. You stick to the cooking and the book reading and we’ll all be happier for it.’ ‘Ging-san, I think the map said to turn left back at the-‘ ‘Whadda you care, ha?! Your fuckin’ stilts ain’t have no trouble with this snow. It barely comes up to your ankles, you fucking flamingo. Stop complaining.’
Ging made a noise like a blocked drain and sunk his head into his hands. Breathe out, breathe in, don’t think about it, assess. He looked up, eyes tracing over the scarred waist and belly up to his face - no! No he couldn’t go there yet, he wasn’t ready. He busied himself by examining Kite’s left armpit intensely and began to blabber.
‘I still can’t believe you persuaded me to let you follow me around. It was such a hassle. I’m a busy man, y’know? Can’t just be taking on every goddamn orphaned bird that crosses my path, I’d be bankrupt within a week. You eat too much, you know that? I spent more on feeding you in the first three days than I’d spent on myself in a month, greedy cunt. Well, you are a skinny piece of shit, aren’t you?’
The figure made no reply. Heaving a sigh, Ging gathered up what remained of his courage and continued. ‘I pride myself on my hunting skills, you know that. Took me twelve years to learn to hide myself completely, and I know that there ain’t nobody that can find me if I don’t want to be found. So what does it say about me, huh, that I couldn’t lose you for eight goddamn years? I mean, I did, but then I let you fucking find me again. Fucking let you, bird, don’t think for one second that was off your own goddamn back.’
‘Ging-san!’ Ging sighed, spinning slowly on his heel. Sure enough, his lanky bird-ass student stood before him, wearing the same expression that Ging wore when he found an extra Cheeto in the bag after he thought he’d finished it. I shouldn’t encourage the poor bastard, he thought, I’ve strung him along far enough as it is. ‘Yo.’ Ging smiled his sweetest smile. ‘I hear you met Gon, ha?’ Kite’s face twitched, a look of consternation flashing across it brief as a thundercloud. ‘I-I did.’ No explanation was forthcoming. Ging sauntered forwards, violently suppressing the urge to throw himself bodily at his companion. ‘Thank you for hitting him.’
The figure before him might as well have been made from wax, for all the life sense Ging could feel from it. There was no telltale thrum of Kite’s nen – like the man himself, his nen-sense had been deep and calm, like a stone hitting the surface of a well. He would have given anything at that moment to feel it again. Ging even found himself longing for the grating screech of Crazy Slots, the strongest ability he had ever seen manifested, an ability he strongly suspected was based on Ging himself.
He found his eyes wandering down the figure’s not entirely skinny arms to his hands; his favourite part of that particular body, not that he would dwell on that ever again. Maybe he would let himself think about how it felt to grasp those perpetually icy, spider-like fingers while Kite blushed down to his roots later in his hotel room. Damn, there was the heat again - pricking at the back of his eyeballs, demanding to be let out. His hands.
‘Just – just give me the fucking tablet, ok?!’ ‘Ging-san, you can’t read Urdu. I know what I’m talking about, if we-‘ ‘Bird, give me the fucking tablet before I make you eat it. Mind, your pelican gullet could probably swallow it whole, ha? Don’t swallow the tablet, Kite.’ ‘G-Ging-san!! I’m not a bird!’ They grappled for it, screen flickering wildly from their frantic touches. With a sudden flash of inspiration, Ging let go with his left hand and instead grabbed Kite’s where it obstinately gripped the other side. ‘Are ya gonna let go, punk?! Hey-‘ Kite flushed a shade of red that most tomatoes would be proud of. Ging’s eyes traced its spread from chin right up to the tips of his ears, down to the roots of his scalp. They were holding hands. After a heavy few seconds, Ging coughed roughly and pulled his fingers free. ‘Look, just gimme the goddamn tablet, alright?’ He murmured, well aware of the heat creeping gently up his own cheeks.
Ok, move up from the hands, make it easier for yourself, you can do this. Ging found himself staring resolutely at Kite’s neck. He couldn’t quite bring himself to move his gaze upwards. They sat frozen for a good length of time, Ging’s shuddery breaths being the only sound penetrating the silence. A soft breeze whispered through the room, shifting the figure’s (he couldn’t bring himself to think of the travesty in front of him as his Kite) hair gently.
His hair, quite frankly, had been the eighth wonder of the world, at least when he was alive. The once shimmering and impeccably clean ivory had dulled to a greasy beige, matted and unkempt. Where it had once fallen in a smooth waterfall to the back of his knees, strands of it now stuck haphazardly to his fingers, his back, falling over his shoulders in messy tufts. Ging didn’t want to think about what Kite would think seeing his hair in this condition. It had been his pride and joy – god forbid anyone going near him with anything resembling a pair of scissors.
‘BIRD!’ Ging shouted, kicking impatiently at the bottom stair. ‘WE HAVE TO GO!’ ‘Just one second, Ging-san!’ Came the faint reply. Huffing angrily, he stomped up the stairs (kicking a few for good measure) before barging unasked into Kite’s room. His apprentice sat cross-legged on his bed, hair cascading over one shoulder. Armed with a comb and what looked like the world’s supply of coconut oil, Kite frantically attempted to pull out the last knots from his hair while backing away from the angry man at the door. ‘I-I’ll be five seconds, just let me-‘ With the longest sigh known to man, Ging stomped over and snatched the comb, ignoring Kite’s stuttered protests. He flumped on the bed and gestured wildly at his hair. Kite froze, wearing a look not dissimilar to a deer in headlights. ‘Give me the fucking. Pass me the. GIVE IT HERE.’ He flapped his hand impatiently, before reaching over and grabbing a fistful of Kite’s hair. His student jerked, mouth flapping silently like a fish out of water as he watched Ging begin to comb his ends with a practised hand. Muttering something vaguely obscene about birds and hair, he made short work of one section, before reaching out and grabbing another.
‘S-stupid bird.’ His forehead rested in his hands. The floor, as it turned out, was a lot easier to look at than the man in front of him. ‘Hey, ya wanna hear a joke?’ There was no reply. Ging hadn’t expected one. ‘Hey. Hey Kite. What do you call a sick eagle?’
‘Ging-san-’ He twitched in surprise. Spinning on his heel, he raised his eyebrow at Kite. ‘Haaa?’ The bird had stopped following him, and was staring at his feet with a deep blush and the look of someone who wanted to die. An awkward silence stretched out between them. ‘So ya gonna talk or ya gonna take up a career as Kakin’s newest landmark, huh?’ ‘G-Ging...’ ‘Look, my dude, we ain’t got all day. These two-headed wolves ain’t gonna tag themselves, you know.’ ‘Ging.’ The sudden urgency in the other man’s voice drove the acid teasing from Ging’s mouth. He cocked his head and regarded his apprentice with sudden sobriety. ‘What?’ ‘Ging, there’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about for a long time.’
‘An illegal, Kite. You call it an ill-‘ He choked out a sob and clapped his hand to his mouth. Ging’s whole body was shaking with the effort of keeping his emotions under control. The heat behind his eyes had intensified to an unbearable pressure, and hot tears began to slide down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing himself dead. Then he snorted. A shudder ran through his body, and he began to giggle. ‘That was a fucking good one, huh? Owl bet you didn’t seagull that one coming! Fuck!’
The sound of his laughter rang out through the tiny room, echoing hollowly off the cold stone walls. He gasped for air, clutching his stomach. This was so cruel. All of it.
‘... Oh.’ Kite resumed staring at his feet, looking as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. ‘I-I’m sorry. Truly. I understand if this means you want me to leave, o-or-‘ ‘Kite.’ His head shot up at the sound of his name. Their eyes met, and Ging felt his heart fall down through his stomach. ‘Look, I... I...’ For the first time in his life, he was lost for words. He took instead to vigorously scratching his turban. The silence stretched out again, filling the gap between them. Ging took inspiration from this, and strode forwards, snatching the bird by the front of his shirt.
It was time to be brave. Ging had never considered himself a brave man, more a realist – and realistically, there wasn’t much (if anything) that he should be afraid of. Pariston’s smile. The Chairman. His son... And this. His eyes clawed past the figure’s chest, up his neck, onto his face.
Ging pulled away, breathing like he’d just run a race. Kite’s eyelashes fluttered like a captive butterfly on his cheeks, which blushed a dusty rose. What a pretty face. He almost wanted to reach up and touch it, but he feared he would mar what was already perfect – and Ging was far from perfect himself. ‘Look, we – we can’t do this.’ At once his eyes flickered open, and Kite stared at him with baby doe eyes of pain and betrayal. ‘Ging-san?’ ‘No, look, you’re... And I’m... It wouldn’t work, bird, bad idea-‘ He found himself kissing him once more.
‘C’mere, baby. C’mere.’ Ging rose to his feet and closed the distance between them, reducing his nen to a mere whisper. He reached out and took Kite’s wrists gently in his hands. At once, he launched for him, writhing manically against Ging’s iron grip. He felt bones crack, but refused to let go. After what felt like hours (but was probably barely a second), Kite halted and flopped lifelessly against Ging’s shoulder. With a practised hand, he slid his hand up Kite’s arm to his waist, and, using his ankle as a pivot, lowered the body to the floor.
‘What d’you mean, ha?’ Kite grinned that awful toothy grin of his, hands planted firmly on his hips. ‘I only meant that we should probably share a room now. It has been over a year, Ging.’ Cleaning the inside of his ear with an index finger, Ging snorted. ‘A year since what?’ His bird smirked and pulled the brim of his hat. ‘A year of being boyfriends, Ging-san.’ ‘I’m not your goddamn boyfriend!’ He snapped, with a whole lot more force than he had intended. Regret instantly shot through his body, and he opened his mouth to reply, but the look on Kite’s face silenced him. ‘No, you’re right.’ His eyes were dark. ‘I forgot. I apologise.’ He brushed past him lightly, the touch feeling heavier than a fist to the face.
He made a show of brushing his hair out, tucking it behind his ears, sorting it the best he could. The figure sat neatly in a kneeling position, freakishly long legs bowed like the branches of a young tree. Ging ran a gently thumb over his face, massaging the tense muscles at the corner of his mouth, sliding a gentle hand over his eyelids to bring them shut. ‘S’ok, baby, don’t fret. Say, Kite, ya hear this one? Two birds walked into a bar. The third one ducked.’
‘Well what did you think would happen, genius?! You can predict anything, so tell me, did you fucking predict this?!’ Ging didn’t know what was worse – the cursing out of that gentle, kind mouth, or the fact that Kite was throwing his stuff into his bag in between wracking cries. ‘You said this wouldn’t be a good idea, right? You still went ahead and did it! How long, Ging? How long were you planning on stringing me along for, you goddamn selfish bastard?! Did you ever even care?’ He had. Oh god, he had. ‘Ya just gonna sit down and stop making a scene?’ ‘Making a-‘ Kite let out something between a curse and shriek. ‘Oh, no, can’t tarnish your perfect reputation, can we? Can’t have my goddamn feelings getting in the way of you and your fucking quest for a good time, can we?’ It wasn’t about that. Not anymore. ‘That ain’t got shit to do with it. Stop being a fucking drama queen and-‘ He paused to dodge a mug that went hurtling past his head to shatter against the back wall. ‘FUCK YOU!’ Ging couldn’t bear to see the tears running down his face, couldn’t bear to see the way his shoulders shook as he turned from him towards the door.’ ‘Bird-‘ ‘Don’t you dare call me that, not ever again! My name is KITE!’ His sentence was punctuated by the slamming of the door behind him.
He ran his fingers lightly down an angled cheek, glad for once for the tears that blurred his vision. He wouldn’t have his last memory of him be this, couldn’t let the pretty smile in his head fade from view. Pressing two fingers to his neck, Ging waited. Seconds passed, then a minute. No pulse – something he had known from the moment he had heard what happened, the moment Morel had handed him that godawful blue hat with downcast eyes, but still he had had that one last thread of hope. That last golden strand of hope faded with a hollow acceptance, following Ging’s heart into the pit in his stomach. Nothing but a puppet now, controlled by forces outside his reach. Better to put an end to this farce than let it continue.
‘Hey, Ging-san!’ Ging glanced up from his book to see a young Kite, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat, eyes sparkling. ‘Whaddya want, sparrow brain?’ ‘You want to make bird puns?’ ‘Haaa?’ ‘Toucan play at that game!’ His student grinned so wide that his smile almost fell off his face. He felt anger, then frustration, then an almost paralyzing affection.
Ging raised his hand. He could make it quick – Kite wouldn’t even know what had happened. He wouldn’t feel a thing, he was past that now, and all that was left was an empty shell, a husk - With a sob, Ging lowered his arm and sank his head to Kite’s shoulder. It was so cruel, all of it, so unfair.
He left his boyfriend kneeling, alone, while the candles guttered in a whispering breeze.