Work Text:
“Please, Fei, please – don’t do this.” You grab Feitan’s arm tight as he turns to walk away, out of the tiny, rundown shed you called a home and to whatever promises that…bastard had made to him. “You’re better than this. I – I know you are.”
Feitan looks you over, up and down, not trying to wriggle out of the grasp you have on his arm. Your eyes, threatening to spill over with the tears that fill them, are locked on the person before you, the one you’d grown up with here in Meteor City, befriended, and – fallen in love with.
He sighs, as if pitying you. “You can come, too,” he says, finally. “Chrollo offered long ago, you know.”
Your face falls and your grip and Feitan’s arm loosens, as you pull your hand away slowly, in shock. Go with him and join this…Phantom Troupe, was it? It had been tempting at first, you would never deny otherwise. All those months ago, when Fei had come and told you all about this strange and supposedly wonderful man with the nice clothes and food and knowledge of the world outside Meteor City.
Until you learned how he’d gotten it.
Lying, cheating, killing, stealing. Everything you were against and what you’d thought – foolishly, it seemed – that Fei stood against, too. He’d never been much of a talker, growing up, and still wasn’t. You’d only get glimpses into his mind if he was in a particularly chatty mood, and that was rare.
Meteor City united people or pitted them against each other; there was no in-between. For the two young children, barely four years old, who found each other 15 years ago, you and Feitan had fallen in the former category. He’d spoken in funny words you didn’t understand, and seemed content with or without your company, but you’d taken to digging through the mounds of trash together to find food to eat, warm clothes to wear, trying to avoid the gangs and assassins that took advantage of young children’s supposed innocence.
There was no innocence in Meteor City. Even the games you played were based on survival: who could find supper the fastest? Who could find the first piece of clothing without some sort of rip or hole in it? And even when he finally started speaking normally, much of your pacts and bonds remained unspoken. You learned over the years how to fight, what spots were best to avoid raids and shootouts, and you did it all together. It was a friendship of necessity, but a friendship nonetheless.
“What do you think it’s like, to be rich?” Feitan asked you one day, while the pair of you sat and picked scraps of food off the dirt. “The assassins here always talk about it. I think it sounds cool. Rich people can do whatever they want, whenever.” He shrugged, but grinned. He was in a talkative mood today, a typical chatty kid. You liked him this way.
“It sounds boring. They have to work all day for money, you know.”
“Nah, you just take whatever you want. That’s what the good assassins do.”
“I don’t wanna be an assassin.”
Feitan shrugged again. “I don’t really, either. I just wanna be rich.”
“You’re silly,” you giggled. “Can I be rich, with you?”
“Sure.”
It turned into something more as teenagers, when you’d kissed him one night, right after he’d slit the throat of another Meteor City resident, who’d been sneaking behind you, about to steal your hoard of food. You’d been terrified, unprepared, and in shock, and as a confused and terrified fourteen-year-old, grabbing onto Fei and pressing your lips to his was the first thing you’d thought to do.
He hadn’t said anything one way or the other about the kiss. But he never said he was against it, and you considered that as much of a relationship as you’d ever get.
More recently, as you’d turned 18, you’d started to make plans to leave Meteor City. Someday, soon. You were admittedly scared, but Fei was not.
“I’m not coming with you,” you answer. “I won’t do it. I’d rather live out my life here than kill people for their money.” You stood tall, firm, trying to look more confident than you felt, wanting so desperately for him to change his mind.
You remember, a few years ago, when curiosity had gotten the better of you, when you and Fei had packed enough water and food for three days and ventured out to the nearest city, where a street market was open and bustling. Everyone was clean and their clothes were smart and pretty and all of the food was bright and fresh. You didn’t realize how much you stood out, dirty and dressed in rags.
You had no money, of course you didn’t, but Feitan, ever braver than you, had tried to swipe an apple from one of the vendors, only to be met with a swift, harsh thwack to the face with the shopkeeper’s broomhandle. You stood, just footsteps away, frozen in shock.
“Shitty Meteor City brats. Don’t they teach you there not to take what isn’t yours?”
Fei had glared at the man, not saying a word, a bright red welt already forming on his cheek. He tried to turn to finally leave, but the shopkeeper struck him again, this time knocking Feitan to the ground.
“Don’t think you’ll ever make it in the real world like that. You’re gonna end up a fuckin’ killer for hire or a bum on the streets, just like everyone else from that dump!”
Finally, you willed your feet to move, and rushed over to help Feitan to his feet. He resisted your touch and walked past you, back in the direction of Meteor City.
“Fei?” you called out after him, starting to run and catch up to him.
“Go away.”
“I just – “
“Shut up.”
If you were honest with yourself, he was never the same after that. He talked more and more about leaving, his mind much louder than his voice. It was clear he was always thinking, contemplating a way out. And although over a decade of friendship had kept Feitan going – kept both of you going – nothing you could give him would heal the wounds left by that excursion.
You’re gonna end up a fuckin’ killer for hire or a bum on the streets, just like everyone else from that dump!
The shopkeeper’s words had cut deep. You couldn’t fix them.
And then Chrollo Lucilfer came along.
“I won’t do it,” you repeat at Fei’s blank stare. “I’m not going with you.”
He cocks his head a little at your words. “That’s a shame,” he replies. Was that…disappointment in his voice?
That settles it. He was leaving, wherever that group was headed, and you were staying here. Alone.
“Please,” you beg, voice barely above a whisper, “be careful.”
He looks you over, curiously, as if your concern was foreign to him. Then again, you’d never had to tell one another to be careful – you had gone everywhere together.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Feitan says bluntly, finally, turning away from you, walking out the door, into the night, and he was gone.
Once he’s out of sight, you let the tears fall from your eyes, dripping down your cheeks. Your friend, partner, the one person you thought had given a damn about you…
You suppose, in his own way, he did.
His invitation to join him, to experience everything he considered great, the riches of the world. He valued you enough to want you to come along.
Your only fault was not wanting to have those riches as badly as he did.