Chapter Text
Illumi finds himself pressing his hand against Hisoka’s throat. He could feel the soft vibrations of his strained inhales against his palm and blood oozing between his fingers from an open gash.
His love doesn't look anything like himself, he’s been defaced.
His nose has been cut clean off, and the only thing left of his lips are shreds of flesh clinging onto exposed gums. His somehow still perfectly straight teeth are stained red with blood and gore.
Illumi’s thumbs are against both of his cardiac arteries and he’s pressing just hard enough to feel the blood flow in rapid pulses. He knows, with the knowledge of human anatomy he's gathered up through the years, that if he applied a little more pressure he’d stop the blood flow.
Hisoka would pass out in a matter of seconds due to the lack of oxygen going to his brain.
It would take a mere five to seven minutes to kill him.
This is his chance to finish his part of their contract.
Illumi’s straddling him, and the blood around Hisoka’s laid-out body steadily grows. He could feel cold blood seep into the knees of his pants as he adjusted his position. The blood that had dried on top of his slender fingers flaked off as he tightened his grip, putting the majority of his weight into choking.
If the suffocation didn't do him in, the blood loss would.
The jester’s eyes unexpectedly snapped open and they’re as round as saucer plates as they stare up at the raven-haired assassin. Those pale irises pierced into Illumi’s retinas with an intensity that burned like a raging fire. Like a wild animal cornered in a cage, his pupils began to constrict. Illumi isn’t sure if it’s anger or instinctive fear he’s seeing but settles with assuming it’s both.
His muscles lock into place as Hisoka’s hands come up to latch onto his wrists. Their hold is bruisingly tight, but it’s shakey. Hisoka’s hands are shaking, clammy, and his fingers are unpleasantly cold. It’s such a stark contrast to Hisoka’s natural strength and heat that it helps Illumi dissociate.
He isn’t killing his fiance and he wasn’t strangling the air out of his lover.
Hisoka’s nothing more than another broken, defeated vessel. What little fight that still there will die in the very hands that humbled this prideful, haughty jester.
Hisoka’s hold soon began to weaken and it's almost like his fingers were gently caressing Illumi’s wrists now.
Illumi knows better than to think Hisoka had given up yet. Hisoka’s fiery spirit is still present in the way his body is still fighting. His abdomen dips with desperate hiccups, and his neck tightens with choked half gasps as his lungs stubbornly try to pull in much needed air.
He shouldn’t, but Illumi couldn’t stop peering into Hisoka’s glassy, red-rimmed eyes. He leaned over and his hair fell elegantly away from their spot pinned behind his ears. His face is close enough that their foreheads nearly touch and their lips hover over each other.
Hisoka’s eyes never left his as they began to go half-lidded, his auburn lashes fluttering as his pupils relaxed, swallowing up bronze, gold, and flakes of brown. The flames in Hisoka's eyes sputter and fade like smothered embers before they finally close. It was akin to the experience of putting a lid over a lit candle and watching the light sizzle out and smoke fog up the glass.
Illumi felt something . It was a tingling, numbing feeling that ran up his arms and filled in the hollow spaces in his chest. He had this feeling only once when he was too young and unfit to hold a baby bird he had tempted to aid. He had crushed the poor creature in his hands, unaware of how to control his own abnormal strength. He tried to comfort himself, back then, with the notion that what he did was mercy in the end.
Was this the death you deserved?
Was this that childish, useless feeling called guilt creeping back up? How laughable.
He couldn’t even tell if Hisoka was really going to be dead, or if this act of submission was a trick.
How ignorant of him.
Stupid. Stupid. You knew what you were doing. Don’t start acting like you cared whether that damned little creature lived or died now. All you cared about was having something to manipulate, being the one to snuff out a pisky flame.
Illumi's mother had scolded him that day when he had come up to her with a dying bird in his hand. He doesn't remember seeing anything behind the blurred colors and light. Illumi had nearly forgotten that he used to tear up when being yelled at, but he was sure to not be foolish enough to let tears fall in front of mother. It was a rare moment when he had asked for help, but it was one that taught him not to do so.
He was gonna die throwing himself into every fight that piqued his interest like that helpless little bird was going to whenever it decided to chunk itself out of its nest.
It was mercy.
This is mercy.
Illumi reasons with himself, without any logical thinking. He wants to make some sort of sense to the ache throbbing deep in his chest.
For yourself, of course, because someone, something like you, can't have friends.
You would have never been able to process the idea.
You would have died too Illumi if you betrayed your own nature as a Zoldyck and even considered him as your . . .
Illumi swiftly tightened his grip, and a sickening crack followed. Fragile bones beneath his fingers give away. After his neck had been snapped, Hisoka’s head limply fell back and his head dangled there with only the support of slack muscles and the iron grip Illumi still had on his crushed neck.
Static replaced the silence and he doesn't breathe. Illumi held on, he kept holding on for several minutes after Hisoka’s lips had turned ashy blue.
He couldn’t let go… He can’t let go.
He can’t breathe.
His vision blurs, his face is hot, and his heart pounds painfully in his chest.
What the hell is wrong with him? He wasn’t a child any more. He shouldn’t be like this, he shouldn’t be acting like that little kid that killed and had the nerve to cry about it later.
Illumi clenches his jaw and his lips tremble as a single angry tear slid down his face.
What did you do to me?
He drops the body, letting it limply crumble to the ground. He doesn't look at it, or at anything else but the wall in front of him. He’s not even looking at the wall, but rather he’s looking through it as if he could see all his unasked questions being answered.
More tears follow, but his face relaxes.
Maybe… he should allow this. Mother wasn’t here to witness his weakness.
If he let’s it out now, he’ll get over it and go back to normality.
He’ll come back home to momentarily proud parents with money in his hands.
He mentally smiles a little at that, before shaking his head. No, he couldn’t go back home.
Not when Illumi was no longer their empty little puppet.
Perhaps… This was why Killua couldn’t come home either.
Humans, at least the feeling kind, don’t belong on Kukuroo mountain.