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Killua feels miserable, but he won’t admit it to anyone, least of all his professors. He knows he should probably be staying in bed, but honestly, he’s not running a fever, he’s not contagious, and though he’s a little achy he can manage. He’s not entirely sure how he’s going to get through his Lit Crit class with no voice, but he’s going to make it work because there is no way in hell that he’s missing this class. Not when the prof is best friends with his father and will report on his absence. Not when he’s already skipped twice because he’d had other, more pressing projects due for his other classes. Not when they are a week away from finals, and Killua really can’t afford to miss a class for a subject he needs to ace.
It just sucks, because, well…no voice. If he’s lucky the professor won’t call on him to comment, but knowing his luck it’ll happen and then it’ll get back to his family that he’s sick. Again. He shudders at the thought, remembering the last time they’d found out he’d fallen ill and not told them right away. Illumi had hounded him with baskets full of tea and cough drops and sent five different recommendations for doctors near campus. Mother and Father had each sent over a doctor to check on him, which had gotten him called in to the Dean’s office and questioned in regards to whether or not he was healthy enough to continue classes that semester. Alluka had sent over a huge bundle of soft blankets and fuzzy socks which Killua had then had to distribute to his friends because while soft blankets and fuzzy socks are all well and good, that many of them just got to be overwhelming.
Entering his classroom, he makes his way to the back, hoping his sullen glare would keep the more chatty of his classmates away. Of course, he forgot to factor for Gon.
“Hey, Killua! How was your weekend?”
Killua bites his lip and shrugs, hoping Gon won’t press, but Gon knows him too well.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Gon asks, dropping into the seat next to Killua, face and voice both serious. “Did something happen with Alluka? Did your parents call to bug you about grad school applications again? Did Illumi say something?”
Killua wants to laugh, but knows that will just make his throat ache worse. Instead, he types out on his laptop: Sick. Lost voice.
Gon leans over to read it and then leans back into his seat, blinking in surprise. “You hardly ever get sick though.”
Killua shrugs. Gon’s right, he doesn’t usually get sick, but this year’s freshers’ flu had hit late in the season and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’d caught it because his body wasn’t expecting it. If it’s not that, then maybe it’s because last night he went out for a late night workout and by the time he left the gym the temperature had dropped, leaving Killua shivering as he trudged back across campus to his dorm, too tired to run and keep himself warm before hitting the showers.
Gon frowns again, then asks, “Have you told the professors about it yet?”
Killua rolls his eyes and types What do you think? which makes Gon laugh.
“Okay, yeah, I remember last time. Still though, how are you planning on getting this past them without telling them?”
Killua shrugs because, yeah, still hadn’t quite figured that one out, but just then the professor walked through the door so he was saved from having to figure it out and tell Gon just then.
Thankfully, the professor does not call on Killua, nor is today a debate or discussion day. Instead, Killua sits through a mind-numbing lecture and sends notes to Gon via Messenger. At the end of class, they sneak out the back door, neatly avoiding the professor’s path, Gon shielding Killua from view as well, and then make their way down to the student union for lunch.
The next few days Killua manages to get through most of his classes by keeping his head down, but at the end of the week he can’t avoid it any longer. His professors are going to find out, which means his family will find out one way or another, and he’s going to have to deal with their oppressive form of love once more, making campus-wide news, because when Friday rolls around, Killua’s throat is still scratchy and his voice hasn’t fully recovered and he, unfortunately, has a presentation to give.
He stands at the front of his class, PowerPoint up on the screen and begins, voice weak and strained, “In 1542, the—“ but gets no farther as the professor stops him.
“Mr. Zoldyck, why did you not inform me you were sick? You are clearly in no state to give a presentation and I must ask you to sit down. Zushi, you were also due to present today, are you able to—“
Killua slams his hand down on the table, and smiles coldly at the professor, interrupting him as he never would have dared to before. Taken aback, the professor halts his question as Killua presses a button on his computer and text starts scrolling across the screens and an automated voice begins reading out Killua’s presentation. The professor huffs, but sits back down and the class continues on, but afterwards, he corners Killua.
“Mr. Zoldyck, what you did here today was most unprofessional. If you would have just informed me that you weren’t feeling well, I would have rearranged the schedule.”
Killua stares at the professor, nonplussed, then types out a text message on his phone: But I had it covered, didn’t I? Then as his professor sputters behind him, he walks out, hoping that his grade isn’t going to drop too severely for the disrespect but also not about to sit through a lecture he’s already heard one too many times about informing the professors when he’s sick. It’s not as if he’s even sick anymore! Just his voice is still gone, barely even there, and he can get through classes fine. His parents do not need to be informed. He gets it, they’re one of the biggest donors to the college, but that doesn’t mean he should get special treatment, that doesn’t mean his every move should be reported to his family. It’s stifling, and if Gon and Zushi weren’t also attending here, Killua would have dropped out a long time ago and enrolled somewhere else under a pseudonym. As it is, he just hopes that his voice comes back soon so that when his family calls to berate him, he can yell back. For now, he’ll let his voice be heard in as many other ways as he can manage. He’s done playing the dutiful child. Let them hear him roar.