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Illumi Zoldyck steps over the threshold into the cold, dark mansion. Mansion doesn’t even begin to describe the wide expanse of the Zoldyck’s estate but it’ll have to do. He closes the door behind him without making a sound. The lights in the Zoldyck mansion are dimmed, as usual; the long dark hallways illuminated by wall lamps that are few and far between. Illumi’s footfalls are silent on the carpeted stretch from the foyer to his room.
“Good evening, Master Illumi.”
Illumi barely acknowledges the butlers anymore. They had learned to stop greeting him with anything more than a cursory line and a sweeping bow a long time ago. They had learned an even harder way especially not to greet him once a year, on his birthday. After the first incident many years ago which had landed several butlers in the emergency room, the incident became widely known throughout the Zoldyck household and once a year on this day, the butlers are quick to make themselves scarce.
Illumi closes his eyes briefly as he rounds the last corner leading to his bedroom. Nobody ever ventures there, save for the occasional butler for regular mansion maintenance. A room in the furthest corner of the mansion, situated in the secluded West Wing. It’s perfect. No one will bother Illumi there.
Or so he thinks.
“Is he here yet? I can smell him! He smells like—”
“Shh, be quiet, Gon! Mmph—”
A large hand clamps over the mouths of the two boys as the unlikely trio lie in wait in the ensuing darkness of Illumi’s bedroom. To give a quick rundown of the events leading up to this moment, yes, it had been Hisoka’s plan, with some help from a begrudging Killua, and an overly-excited Gon. Killua had received a suspicious call from the magician a week earlier, inquiring about employing his services.
“You want to— what? Get into the mansion? No way.” Killua had snapped, getting ready to end the call.
“It’s Illumi’s birthday in 5 days.” Comes the voice on the other line.
There’s a pause.
“How did you figure it out?”
“I have my sources.”
Killua sighs. “You want to do something for him.”
“Yes. Will you help?”
“Why can’t you just go through the Gates yourself?” Killua would like anything but to get involved with his brother’s birthday celebration. He knows better than that.
Hisoka’s hearty chuckle reverberates through the call.
“I’m on your family’s blacklist, unfortunately. I can’t go in by the regular way. In fact, I can’t go in at all.”
“What?!”
This much is true. No doubt, Hisoka’s name had been placed there by Illumi himself, for reasons beyond him. This prevents Hisoka from entering by the usual means. As a result, Hisoka’s plan to infiltrate the mansion consists of perfect timings, careful subterfuge (activities that experienced magician is not unfamiliar with), and a little intel about the butler’s shift change timings from Killua. Killua had brought Gon home easily enough (most of the butlers are rather fond of the young boy with spiky black hair, though they never explicitly mention it, other than Canary of course, who gives him a wink and a small wave as the duo pass through the Testing Gates).
One might be wondering what Gon is doing here, attempting to throw a surprise celebration for Illumi. Would Gon not be holding a grudge against him, for all the terrible things that Killua’s older brother has done to him? Was Gon not angry, frustrated, resentful, even, that his best friend has been so grievously hurt by the very man they are attempting to throw a surprise celebration for? Well, to anyone watching him now, it is quite evident that all the tension in the past has long been water under the bridge in Gon’s eyes.
“I hope he likes the cake.” Gon mumbles, his voice muffled under Hisoka’s hand, firmly clamped over his mouth. Hisoka can’t suppress his smile. Even with the obvious deterrent from talking, Gon can’t keep from being excited about this surprise. Hisoka gives him a light nudge on the head, hopefully he’ll take the hint, though the magician is not hopeful that this is the case.
Hisoka feels Killua tense under his touch. Illumi is drawing near, Hisoka can sense it too. Illumi’s guard is down for the moment, but there’s no telling how he’ll react to the surprise.
When was the last time he had celebrated his birthday?
“When was the last time Illumi celebrated his birthday, Killua?”
Gon had asked a few hours earlier, taking a set of streamers from Killua and passing it on to Hisoka, who easily drapes them from the high ceiling in a tasteful fashion with the convenient help of Bungee Gum. Killua shrugs.
“We don’t talk about birthdays. Especially not Illumi’s.” He pauses his balloon-blowing to cast a sideway glance at Hisoka. “You know, don’t you?”
Hisoka returns his look with a knowing smile.
“I do.”
“Know what?” Gon looks quizzically from one to the other, utterly lost.
“Birthdays aren’t particularly pleasant for us. Our parents were jerks.” His sentence is punctuated with a loud pop, as the balloon Killua had been pumping explodes. He reaches for another one and fits it onto the air pump without missing a beat. “Every birthday is just a step up for our training, our torture gets kicked up a notch.”
Killua ties his balloon with a squeaky pop and hands it to Gon, who takes it solemnly.
“That’s horrible.” Gon shakes his head.
Killua nods. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but yeah, it was super messed up. I think it was because of this.”
He points to a spot in the middle of his forehead, indicating the invisible needle that had once been planted there by his eldest brother. “I never realized, but I think Illumi’s needles made it easier for me, for the rest of my siblings too, to accept the—” he hesitates for a split second, “the pain.”
Killua drops his hand and looks down. “I can’t imagine how he must have felt. Many years ago, before I was born, something big happened. He landed several butlers in the hospital or something. Ever since then, birthdays have been kind of taboo.”
Silent footfalls draw even closer. Sitting in the tense darkness, the trio hold their breath. The footsteps halt right outside the door. The two boys glance at each other, then at Hisoka, who starts to mouth the countdown. Remember, just like we rehearsed.
3…
There is the sound of a doorknob turning.
2…
The door cracks open a slit, and light from the outside hallway lamps shine through, a tiny wedge of pale yellow illuminating a patch of Illumi’s bedroom floor.
1…!
The trio jump up from behind their hiding place and flip on the lights, feeling rather pleased with themselves as they belt out a synchronized (and well-practiced) birthday greeting.
“Surprise! Happy Birthd— Aaaah!”
Gon leaps several steps backwards in shock and terror as a blur of green and black shoots into the room at inhuman speed, pinning Hisoka to the opposite wall.
“Happy birthday, my dear Illumi.”
The magician doesn’t seem at all fazed by his present predicament, despite having just been roughly hurled into the wall behind him. There's a fresh crack in the wall, just faintly visible, outlining Hisoka's figure. Illumi has his hand on Hisoka’s neck, his nails having been sharpened to a razor sharp point (just another one of the good old tricks of the assassin trade).
“What are you doing here?”
“Celebrating, of course.”
“What?”
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
Illumi shoots a pointed look at his younger brother, who appears affronted by his accusatory glare.
“Hey, I didn’t do it.” Killua grumbles a retort, avoiding eye contact with Illumi. He points a finger at the grinning magician. “It was all him.”
Hisoka? How did he know? For a split second, Illumi drops his deadpan expression to reveal momentary surprise. He lowers his hand from Hisoka’s throat, to which the magician looks slightly relieved, massaging his throat. Purple marks have already begun to form where Illumi’s fingers had left indentations on the soft flesh.
How had Hisoka figured it out? Details of the Zoldycks’ lives are kept top secret, even more so than the average person belonging to the upper echelons of the black-market underbelly. Illumi’s thoughts are interrupted by Killua getting to his feet.
“C’mon Gon, let’s leave them to it.” The boy’s fluffy white hair bounces as he makes a face at the half-amused magician, grabbing Gon by the arm and hauling him up.
“Ah—but we haven’t wished him properly yet, Killua!” Gon whines, struggling against Killua as he turns to face Illumi with the brightest smile.
“Happy birthday Illumi! I hope you have a fantastic day!” Gon blurts out in his usual cheery tone, waving his arms around happily, already glossing over any tension that had previously been present in the room. “Leorio and Kurapika send their love! They couldn’t make it but here, they sent flowers!”
Gon proudly produces a bouquet of gorgeous roses from behind his back and presents it to Illumi with gusto. Stunned, Illumi takes it and stares at it. Of course, Gon leaves out the part about how Kurapika and Leorio were vehemently objecting to the celebration, still having not gotten over how Illumi had treated Killua in the past. They couldn’t seem to say no to Gon, however. Just something about his earnest expression, and wide puppy eyes melted their resolve and they relented. Flowers were their compromise.
“Also, Killua and I made the cake together using Aunt Mito’s recipe, I think we did pretty good! It’s a cute strawberry shortcake with yummy sponge cake, and cream and icing!” Gon grabs the cake that’s been sitting on the nearby table and thrusts it at Illumi, who takes it without a word, seemingly dazed by the boy’s radiance. “Gotoh and Canary helped us out too, and—"
“Okay, Gon! Let’s go already.” Killua cuts in, slightly embarrassed by Gon’s insistent oversharing. He turns and juts his chin out at Hisoka.
“Hisoka, don’t forget how much you owe me.”
Killua yanks on Gon’s arm urgently, pulling him towards the door, desperate to leave as soon as he physically can.
“Of course, I’ll wire the money via the usual way.” The magician winks at him knowingly.
Money?
Illumi whirls around to confront Hisoka.
“What do you mean, ‘wire the money’? Have you been engaging Killu in business?” His tone rising in shock and defensiveness, protective instincts taking over.
“I thought it wouldn’t be a problem, considering how you’re so open in your transactional relationship with me.” Hisoka shrugs it off, just like he shrugs off most things Illumi throws his way. Nothing really fazes him.
“That’s different and you know it.”
Hisoka makes the brave decision to take hold of Illumi’s hands and flashes the sweetest smile, putting them to his heart.
“Cross my heart I did nothing untoward with Killua. After all, he’s a professional too. Anyway,” He nods to the room, adorned with adorable streamers and balloons in every corner. “I thought you might enjoy this. Some alone time, just the two of us.”
Illumi remains silent. Hisoka smiles. He produces a knife, seemingly from nowhere, but most probably from the waistband of his pants (not sure which one is more disturbing), and proceeds to carve out a hefty slice of cake.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Who said it was for you?” Hisoka carries the slice over and sits down beside Illumi, digging in with a large fork.
“You sure you don’t want any? It’s delicious. Gon and Killua made it, didn’t you hear?”
Hisoka drops the plate into Illumi’s lap, licking the fork. The latter merely stares at it.
“I don’t fancy cake.”
“Not even once a year?”
Especially not once a year. This thought Illumi keeps to himself. It’s been a while since he’s celebrated a birthday, he’s almost forgotten what it feels like. His birthdays used to be days with extra special torture, a new brand more horrifying than the last; every birthday marked a single-minded march towards a world with unspeakable, excruciating pain, and beyond that- endless numbness. Looking down at the innocent slice of cake sitting in his palm now feels almost foreign. Birthdays were not an occasion for celebration; they were a mark of maturity, the green light for his parents to experiment with the latest kind of torture on him.
All this, Illumi keeps to himself.
“I don’t like cake.” He repeats. Hisoka sighs and digs a generous helping of cake, bringing it to Illumi’s lips.
“Open up.”
“No.”
Hisoka tries a different approach. He takes the forkful of cake in his mouth and leans over to Illumi, his mouth half-open, revealing the cake sitting tantalizingly on his tongue. He gives Illumi a sultry look, staring at him through half-lidded eyes.
“Oh please, do you really think that I’ll—”
The magician shuts him up, pushing himself onto the other man as Hisoka takes Illumi’s lips in his. Illumi resists slightly, but the sweetness of the cake and Hisoka’s tongue works magic on his senses. He’s not used to being this vulnerable around anyone, but Hisoka somehow always manages to take his walls down. He relents, opening his mouth wider, granting the sly magician greater access. Hisoka accepts the invitation, easing Illumi onto the bed behind them as he continues the kiss, transferring the soft sponge cake into Illumi’s mouth. Hisoka breaks away for a moment, using his thumb to wipe the sides of Illumi’s mouth, running it gently over tender lips.
Illumi closes his mouth and swallows the cake.
“Too sweet.”
Hisoka rolls his eyes.
“Admit it, you liked it.”
“You vex me.”
“And yet, here we are.”
They fall back into their usual habits, Illumi taking his comfortable position on the carpeted floor, and Hisoka assuming his ever-so-familiar position behind him. The assassin’s jet-black locks cascade down his back in a luscious wave. Hisoka threads his fingers through casually, as they talk, weaving the locks together in a synchronized pattern with expert fingers. He has done this thousands of times.
Illumi relaxes into his touch. A few minutes of quiet braiding pass before Hisoka breaks the silence.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing much.” Illumi’s eyes remain closed.
“You of all people should know that lying to me never works.”
“I have no reason to lie.”
“And yet, the lies continue.”
They fall into a heavy silence, the only sounds being the gentle swish of hair on skin as Hisoka continues to work on the thick French braid. He’s halfway through when Illumi speaks again.
“I’m thinking about what I would be if I never met you.”
Hisoka lets out a tiny chuckle. In the split second that follows, Illumi whirls around, his hair coming undone in Hisoka’s hands, and this time, it’s Illumi who pushes the magician back down onto the bed behind them with such force, that the bedframe creaks and groans. He holds a needle between his fingers, pressing it dangerously close to Hisoka’s neck. Throughout the entire exchange, the smile never leaves Hisoka’s face. He gazes lovingly into the assassin’s obsidian eyes.
“Why are you smiling.”
“You’re so cute.” He breathes, reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of his face. “I never took you for the sentimental type, Illu.”
Illumi sighs, and sits down on his bed, sinking into the many pillows. Hisoka joins him. Illumi never understood the need for that many pillows, it was excessive. But Hisoka loves them. And on those fateful nights when passions run high with sexually charged chemistry between their naked bodies, the pillows provide a shelter, a comfort from the violent, raging thunderstorm in his mind. Illumi keeps the pillows for those nights. For Hisoka.
“You never finished.”
“What?”
“You were thinking? What if we hadn’t met?” Hisoka smiles, venturing a soft kiss on Illumi’s forehead.
The assassin sighs and leans into his companion, resting his head on Hisoka’s shoulder. His long ebony locks fall over his shoulder and cascade down his back and splay haphazardly over the mountains of pillows. Hisoka sighs in kind, resting his cheek lightly atop Illumi’s head, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He runs his fingers through Illumi’s silken locks; Hisoka never tires of this. The serenity in these moments between the two of them almost beats their high tension, high stake duels. Almost. Hisoka turns his head ever so slightly and takes a soft breath. Illumi smells faintly like vanilla essence and lavender shampoo.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
Hisoka regards the past with a distasteful lens. Illumi knows this. They speak no further on the matter.
They sit like this for a long while, in silence, each one enjoying the other’s quiet company. Such a standalone occurrence is rare; usually they end up like this after the night of raging sex. Tonight, is different, though. Hisoka can tell the change in Illumi’s demeanour, the moment of tension when Hisoka touches him, the split second of hesitation. Something is different. Illumi feels different. Tonight, is not one of those nights; it’s not the time. Even Hisoka can respect this. He simply waits.
A few more minutes pass.
Illumi does not say it but he loves Hisoka’s hands in his hair. Be it when it’s balled it up in Hisoka’s fists and yanked on hard during a heightened exchange of passion or simply the light caressing, short of gentle purrs; it’s comforting. Hisoka is comforting.
A few more minutes pass.
The sounds of Killua and Gon’s laughter are long gone, they must have been holed up in Killua’s room on the opposite end of the mansion. Killua is rarely around at home, and when he is, Gon is almost always sure to be with him. Illumi has seen the way Killua looks at the young boy in green, with spiked black hair and a radiant smile of pure light; his younger brother can’t seem to tear his eyes away. Illumi glances at the magician beside him now, with his hair of bright red and dazzlingly sinister smirk. Illumi supposes that he and Killua are similar in more ways than one, ways that genetics simply cannot explain.
A few more minutes pass.
“How old are you, Hisoka?”
Illumi finally breaks the silence with a question so innocent that Hisoka can’t help but be slightly taken aback.
“28.”
Illumi doesn’t expect such a straightforward answer from the usually slippery magician.
“Do you know how old I am?”
“24.”
Hisoka answers without missing a beat.
“Creep.”
“You asked.”
Illumi bites Hisoka’s ear playfully and the latter lets out a soft moan. Illumi rolls his eyes. He rests his head back down on Hisoka’s shoulder, nestling comfortably in the crook of his neck. He smells faintly like roses and the leftover sweet cream from the strawberry cake.
“18 years.”
Hisoka looks down at the man beside him. Illumi seems to have shrunken, his knees curling into his body. He is tiny, dwarfed by Hisoka’s muscular frame flushed next to his, amidst plentiful pillows.
“It’s been 18 years since I’ve celebrated my birthday.”
The room is quiet. Shadows are long, cast in multiple directions from the single light dangling from the high ceiling.
“It was too much.” His voice is almost imperceptible now, barely above a whisper. “They—”
His voice breaks as the words catch in his throat, choking him. Choking. Chains. Leather straps and metal clinking. Flashes of silver and a red-hot poker cut through his vision. His breathing grows shallow.
“They tortured me.”
Hisoka immediately sweeps Illumi into a heartfelt hug, wrapping his arms around the other man tightly, as far as they would go. God knows, he’s been needing this for a long, long time. Hisoka can picture it so clearly, 6-year-old Illumi, petrified, and so, so terribly alone. Locked in an underground basement with Silva, a stunningly horrific array of unspeakable tools, knives, blades, and weapons lining the cold brick walls. Most of them, Illumi has had the grimacing pleasure of experiencing firsthand, on more than one occasion. Hisoka shudders. It takes a lot to shake him but the thought of young Illumi, his Illumi, experiencing such trauma at his young age is simply unthinkable. Hisoka refuses to believe that anyone else should go through the trauma that he did as a child. That is why he doesn’t look back. Alas, Hisoka’s childhood is a story for another time.
They lie there in silence, bodies twined together in an eternal embrace. It’s difficult to tell where one’s limbs end and the other’s begin. Red and black meld well in the 3am darkness, a limbo in time, the witching hour when most people sleep. They exist, together, but not quite. Two people, broken beyond measure, in different ways, and different parts, yet somehow, they make each other whole. But only for one night. It’s always only for one night.
In his final waking moments, Illumi looks over to the magician lying beside him. His usually bright red hair is a muted dark cherry tone, bathed in the multiple shadows of his dark room. His eyes are closed, and he looks almost peaceful. His hands are still wrapped around Illumi’s waist, pulling him close even in slumber. It makes Illumi feel warm and fuzzy. Illumi rests his head on Hisoka’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of the magician’s chest, timing his breathing with his. Between the rhythmic rise and fall, and the one-two beat of their synchronized heartbeats, Illumi thinks to himself.
If all his birthdays could be like this, that wouldn’t be so bad. Illumi raises his head slightly and plants a soft kiss upon the magician’s lips. They’re soft, tender, and taste vaguely of cherry chap stick.
In all their time together, through countless nights of sex and passionate exchanges, Hisoka has never once spent the night. He always arrives after dark and leaves by the time first light shines through. Sometimes, he leaves when Illumi is still asleep, leaving only traces of cherry red bite marks on the tender skin of Illumi’s collar bone, and his signature rose-scented perfume on the mountain of pillows and billowy sheets.
“Hisoka.” Illumi leans close to the magician’s ear and whispers quietly. He’s almost certain Hisoka is still awake.
And he’s right.
“Yes, darling?” Hisoka’s eyes open slowly, golden yellow irises peering curiously back at Illumi.
“Will you stay the night?”
Hisoka looks down at Illumi, with his wide eyes, strands of hair falling stylishly over his porcelain face and shoulders, covering their barely clothed bodies in his soft locks. He looks like a doll, a porcelain doll, prone to breaking at the slightest touch, yet his insides are coated in the toughest steel. Hisoka knows this, and yet, how can he say no to that face?
He tilts his head to one side, considering the question.
“Do you want me to?”
Illumi hesitates for a second. Does he?
“Is it… are you okay with that?”
It’s rare that Illumi’s voice takes on such an uneasy tone, but only Hisoka can make him feel this way. Illumi is always in control, but tonight it seems like he is anything but. Rather, any time he’s around Hisoka, the control he’s established in the orderly hierarchy in his head simply flies out the window. Hisoka, with all his chaos and catastrophe, brings a different kind of calm to Illumi.
Illumi wants him to stay.
Hisoka leans close and plants a butterfly kiss on Illumi’s forehead, brushing stray locks of hair out of Illumi’s face.
“Of course, my love.”
The pair of them remain like this, an unlikely duo, yet somehow making perfect sense together. Tonight was different from the others, tonight is a night with the soft pitter-patter of rain drops against the window pane outside, tonight is a night with starless skies, blotted with ink splotches across the wide indigo canvas. Tonight is a night of change, of an unspoken milestone in their relationship. Hisoka stays the night.
He never lets himself stay out of fear of the attachment, the commitment, and the inevitable responsibility that comes with it. Hisoka is a free spirit, untethered to anyone. Tonight changed things. Looking down at the man in his arms, soft and fragile, the broken shell of a man finally becomes clear. Illumi’s façade had dropped for the first time tonight, a silent invitation to Hisoka; to stay the night, to stay forever.
The magician understands this. He runs his fingers through Illumi’s hair, an act that he’s repeated countless times before, but this time he truly feels every dark lock, every strand, the fibers that make up his being. He memorizes every curve, every dip of Illumi’s body, the way his hips feel on his, his tongue in his mouth.
Hisoka finally sees Illumi for who he really is; just a young boy, broken in parts, breaking in others, bearing the bone-crushing weight of his family responsibilities on fragile shoulders. He feels the soft sadness of a young boy who has never learned to love another, in the way his lips fit just nicely onto Hisoka’s own.
They fit together in a strange mash-up of puzzle pieces, falling perfectly in imperfection.
For the very first time in his life, Illumi makes a birthday wish: He wishes that he can feel this way for the rest of his life; comfortable and safe, with Hisoka by his side.