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Kalluto rarely gets the chance to play outside, but today Silva was in a terrible mood: Killua had rubbed everyone the wrong way yet again.
Seeing his father marching off with his middle brother in tow, Kallu knew this was his chance. He quickly ran to his room, stripped out of his kimono, and put on something light and easy to move around in.
Silva will undoubtedly be busy in the dungeon with Killua for at least an hour. His other siblings have scattered, wisely disappearing in the face of their father's cold rage.
Slipping out a side window, Kallu feels the warm summer air whoosh through the loose seams of his jinbei set as he slides down a drainpipe with practiced skill. Once on the ground, he brushes dirt from his pants, then rapidly makes his way deep into the Zoldyck property.
He comes to his favorite spot, the clearing on the east side of the manor, about half a mile into where the area grows heavily wooded. A shimmering, small pond is the jewel of the small meadow. Sun beating down on the boy's back, he begins to prance toward the water, picking handfuls of wild violets.
After some time, he casts the flowers away in search of more boyish pursuits. Searching the ground, he fills his pockets with rocks. At first he simply throws the stones into the water, satisfied with the messy, loud splashes, but then attempts to finesse his throws. Skip-skip-skip.
Skip-skip. He claps his hands in glee. The sun is becoming a bit crawly-warm, so, unfettered in the knowledge he is all alone, the boy strips off the top half of his set. His pale, slightly too thin upper body has visible ribs and little shoulder blades that poke out.
Skip-skip-skip-SKIP. Four in a row this time! The boy raises his hands, fists clenched, in an impromptu victory gesture. His little waist is so slender; stretched out as he reaches for the sky.
Feeling a trickle of sweat go down his back--the afternoon really is quite humid—the boy looks around for his top, thinking to dab the uncomfortable dampness away. Squinting, he realizes it's not where he'd tossed it down. Unconcerned, he empties his pockets of the remaining rocks and runs in the direction the wind is blowing, thinking the breeze may have carried it a short ways.
"It really must have gone far," he mutters to himself. He should have kept an eye on the garment, made of such feather-light material as it is.
Confused and a bit concerned--the set is his mother's favorite, she will know if something has happened to it, she always is cooing about how adorable her youngest looks in the print she'd ordered custom made just for him--he finds that he has reached the perimeter of the woods.
He doesn't want to cry. He's 8 years old and that's for babies.
A small slick of hot liquid stings his lids, despite his efforts. He chokes it down.
"Are you looking for this?" A chilly, familiar voice.
One white hand snakes around a tree. A crumpled pink scrap of material, adorned with smiling kittens, is in its grasp.
Kalluto’s stomach seizes up a little at the sight of big brother. Illumi’s eyes are always either blank or mean, depending on the day’s outcomes. They go mean on the days when he’s working with Killua, which are most days.
Silva has put Illumi in second command of hammering Killua into some sort of mold; Kalluto, at only 8, is not cognizant of what exactly they want to do with his middle brother, but he knows it’s something important and a degree or two—at least—outside of what he himself endures.
“You’re running around without your shirt.” Illumi’s voice is flat, and his eyes are mean.
Kalluto reaches for the kitten-printed cloth. Illumi holds it out of range. Not sure what to do, Kalluto grasps at familiar territory. “Was Kil being bad today?”
The black pools of his brother’s eyes go even colder. “Why are you out here?”
Kalluto ignores the fact that Illumi has not answered his question about Killua. It’s best to go in the direction Aniki engineers, when he gets that look on his face. Sometimes—Kalluto stuffs down the thought, because he loves Illumi, loves riding on the muscular lean shoulders, loves Illumi’s attention when he deems to bestow it—his brother can be worse than Silva.
“Answer, Kallu.”
Kalluto tries not to let his breath heave. He doesn’t want to call any more attention to his delicate, exposed ribcage than necessary. Glancing down at himself, he fixates on a purple bruise blooming on his sternum: Silva.
Illumi leans against the tree he was initially hiding behind. “All right. Fine. You are a Zoldyck. We don’t give up information readily.” The little blouse he holds is dangling from one finger. A swirl, a swoosh.
Kalluto loves Illumi, but he has never seen this exact poison in his brother’s eyes to date. “Aniki. What is wrong?”
Illumi tilts his face downward and frowns. Kalluto braces himself. Any time his brother lowers his chin, there is a storm approaching.
Kalluto waits. One minute, two. Five.
Finally, with a sweep of one large hand, Illumi surrenders the cheerfully colored scrap of material. “Put your shirt on,” is all he says.
Kalluto obeys, but pins his gaze to Illumi’s face. When he is properly covered, he reaches out his small, fine-boned hand.
Illumi slaps it away.
“No, Aniki.” Kalluto’s voice rises to a high, indiscreet plea. “Let me kiss you.”
They kiss, with moss and violets growing around them.
When Illumi breaks the kiss, he tells his youngest brother to run.
Home. Fast. Now.