Chapter Text
Chrollo had the feeling sophomore year was going to suck.
His summer break had been full of back and forth with financial aid over the status of his scholarship; growing up a foster child was not enough to overlook the fact his first semester GPA was a 2.7. Really he should’ve tried harder in class instead of numbing himself with whatever substance he could get his hands on at whatever shithole spot they could find for the night. Seriously, he shouldn’t have let his missing assignments pile up once class started to feel optional.
He really had to play up the sad, parentless, lost and confused teenage boy act. The first financial aid worker, a man with sagging eyes and grey hairs despite being no more than 35, wasn’t falling for it. He’d seen thousands of students just like him walk through his doors with wide, pleading eyes, and a sob story to match. He’d told Chrollo his tuition wouldn't be fully covered due to his “lackluster” GPA as he called it.
Chrollo left with his head held high and returned the following week. The man wasn’t working and he was ushered into the room of a woman fresh out of her master’s program, still trying to figure out the job.
“Please, have a seat,” She said, not looking him in the eyes. She frantically organized her desk, looking for something. “What was your name again?”
“Chrollo Lucilfer,” Her nose scrunched up at this. She found the file she was searching for and her gaze finally met his.
“Oh,” Her eyes scanned him, taking in his toned figure, medium-length black hair, and grey eyes surrounded by long, feminine eyelashes.
“Is there an issue?” Chrollo said with a teasing smile. Her cheeks reddened as she pushed her long strands of blonde hair behind her ears. She never made eye contact with him again.
“No, no, of course not. What brings you in here today?”
“I’m sure it says it somewhere in my file, but I’m on a scholarship. When I was reviewing my aid for this semester, I noticed my tuition and rooming weren’t completely covered like they were last year, and I’d like to fix that issue.”
“Well, scholarships usually get cut when you don’t meet the GPA requirement. According to this, you landed far under it last year.”
“Yes, I’m aware. I had a bit of a hard time adjusting. Going from foster home to foster home to a large university in a city I wasn’t familiar with was a jarring change.”
Her mouth widened at the words “foster” and “home. He could see the pity seeping into her expression. “Those are tough circumstances. And you don’t have a stable foster family now?” She asked.
“Not since I was fourteen. Nobody wants the older kids.”
She placed a hand to her heart, a gesture Chrollo found phony. “Well, in that case, I’ll see what I can do,” She began to type furiously on her computer. “Okay, I removed all charges on your account.”
“Thank you.”
“But a bit of advice: try to get that GPA up this year. I hope you’ve adjusted to university and have a better year!”
“Thank you, Ms…” He scanned her desk for a nameplate. “Ms. Krueger,” He winked, causing her heart to flutter even though she knew it was wrong to crush on a student as a faculty member.
He returned the next week to request more accommodations. First, the earliest slot to register for classes. She made that happen. Secondly, a single dorm with his own bathroom. He’d hated sharing a communal bathroom with every guy on his floor the previous year. When he’d gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, they’d stare at the water dripping down his abs to his pelvis, just quick enough to not be called gay by other bathroom occupants, or Chrollo himself. The fight wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t able to do this, but she did upgrade him to a double with a bathroom, moving his roommate, Shalnark, with him.
Which Shalnark was immensely grateful for.
So really, he had no reason to worry about his sophomore year. Everything was laid out so he would have minimal issues and have a higher chance of succeeding. Yet, he had the itching feeling this year was going to come with trouble. He tried not to focus on that. He was going to listen to everyone’s advice and actually attend his lectures and finish his work before he did fuck-all. He was going to be an academic weapon.
“You okay, Chrollo?” Shalnark asked from his spot on the floor.. “You look lost in thought.”
Chrollo hadn’t realized he’d stopped in the center of the room, gazing off into the distance, his hand rubbing his chin tenderly.
“Yes, I’m fine. Do you need help with that?” He gestured to the bookshelf pieces sprawled out in front of Shalnark. With his books in boxes behind him.
“No, I’m fine. I think Kortopi and Bonolenov might need help. Or they might just be glad to see you. Everyone missed you this summer.”
Chrollo had spent the summer charming his way into bars, and the pants of whatever woman he’d targeted that night, for a place to stay. When morning came, he emptied out their wallets and swiped whatever valuables were out in the open into his coat pocket, and fled. He sold these items to pawn shops, sketchy businessmen, and people who lurked in the shadows. On the rare occasion he was confronted by one of the women he stole from, he’d feign confusion and offer to find the items for them. His act was believable enough that they often dropped it and told him they didn’t want to trouble him. Then they’d add a compliment. Usually about his kindness. If they were particularly bold, they’d say the sex was great and he’s going to make someone very happy one day.
He could’ve kept in touch with his friends at this time, but it was easier for everyone if they weren’t caught up in his bullshit. Uvogin, with his petty fights that always ended with the other person writhing on the ground, blood dripping from their broken nose, while he stood triumphant over them, was already enough to deal with.
The only ones he’d kept in contact with over the summer were Feitan and Shalnark. The former caught on to his wrongdoings when they’d ended up at the same club one night, Feitan’s sleight of hand being used to pass bags of pills and collect cash, Chrollo’s being used for lifting wallets as he passed through the dense crowd of people, crossing paths with Feitan, who’d glanced at him, silently acknowledging him, and moving on. Feitan was usually the confrontational type about everything, but Chrollo thought that maybe, just maybe, Feitan respected him. But he was probably wrong. Feitan didn’t respect anybody. His interactions with the latter were much simpler, consisting of things like “hey do we have an air purifier for the dorm? don’t want to end up with the flu again” and “what day and time are you moving in?"
“We should get together next weekend then,” Chrollo said. “All twelve of us. Should be fun,” He added with a smile.
“Okay!” Shalnark cheered and took out his phone, maroon and shaped like a demon. Chrollo wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it from, and briefly thought about the weirdness of it, before brushing it off. His fingers flew across the screen, and before long, Chrollo could feel his phone, which was a regular rectangular shape, vibrating in his back pocket. He ignored it.
“I’m going out. I’ll be back. Enjoy building your bookshelf,” Chrollo considered wearing his coat, a deep purple and lined with fur, but realized it was far too hot outside, and the coat was too extravagant for the daytime. He emptied the contents of the coat’s pockets: a roll of condoms, pomegranate Chapstick, a stolen wallet, his own wallet with a fake ID inside (the picture on it featured a particularly handsome eighteen-year-old Chrollo with overgrown bangs that hid his eyes), and his dorm keys. He put everything but the stolen wallet and condoms in his pants pockets and headed out the door.
He took the stairs; the elevators were packed full of freshmen moving in, their parents close behind with moving bags, retaped boxes, and loose items like trashcans, lamps, and posters. The second his right boot hit the outside pavement, he was hit with a wave of sticky, hot air. He realized he didn’t know where he was going, standing awkwardly in front of the double doors.
“Excuse me,” An older man, hunched over with his hands behind his back, spoke. His white hair was pulled back, reaching towards the son, and his mustache was long and sharp. Chrollo thought he looked eccentric and unlike any grandfather he’d seen before. The old man gestured at the door, and Chrollo realized he was blocking the way.
Stepping aside, he muttered an apology. “Sorry, sir.”
The old man didn’t acknowledge him, simply strutted past, an overweight teenager with chip crumbs covering the neck of his tightly fitted shirt following behind, his voice a whine.
“Why did I have to come, Grandpa?” He droned on.
“Family supports family.” The door shut behind them.
Chrollo looked to see the source of these strange-haired individuals, locating their spawning point. A sleek limo guarded by two men in form-fitting suits and scowls that dared anybody to approach. Coming out of the car was a girl with sleek black hair that matched the limo. She sensed Chrollo’s presence immediately, her wide, bug-like eyes shooting daggers into Chrollo’s. Her button nose was turned up, like she could smell the poverty radiating off of Chrollo. She could be a model; beauty like that is few and far between.
Chrollo suddenly felt self-conscious, shifting his weight back and forth. Everything about this family screamed danger, yet Chrollo was completely fascinated by them. The girl switched her attention back to whoever was in the backseat of the limo.
“Kil, stop being stubborn and get out of the car,” She hissed. Her voice was a sharp whisper, delicate yet ruthless at the same time, and male. Oh. It’s okay, I thought he was a girl. Any attraction I had towards him is gone now. Besides, it’s not so wrong to understand another man is attractive. Chrollo reasoned with himself.
The boy in the limo, Kil, ignored the model boy. “Get. Out. Of. The. Car.” He repeated, grabbing the boy’s arm and yanking him out of the vehicle. He had sharp cat eyes, like the other strange child, and white hair like the Grandfather. Tucked under his right arm was an orange and yellow skateboard. Chrollo found it strange to carry around a vehicle–well, not quite a vehicle but more so a mode of transportation—but the boy couldn’t have been any older than thirteen, and at that age everyone is a bit unusual.
“I’m not touring campus,” Kil said, spitting at his brother’s shoes. The beauty’s lips spread open, scrunching up the rest of his face.
“Mother says you have to,” Mother? Chrollo knew rich people were different, he just didn’t expect them to be so proper. And bizarre. “You got lucky last year by getting sick. It’s time to get serious and think about your future.”
“I’m not going to college. Especially not one that you attended, idiot.”
A laugh threatened to escape Chrollo’s mouth, but he held it in.
“I get that you’ve been feeling particularly rebellious-” The model said that word the same way he’d say hemorrhoids, hushed and disgusted, like it physically pained him to release that word into the air. “But your path is laid out. Admission to this school is already guaranteed. Four generations before you have graduated from here with honors. It's the only way Father will let you into the family business. He always says you’re destined to be head of the company.”
“I don’t care about the family business, and I don’t care about school, and I don’t care about you!” Kil hopped on his skateboard, darting through the pathway, and disappearing behind full, green trees that swayed contently with the breeze.
“Killua!” He made an attempt to follow his brother, before a seductive, playful voice cut through the air.
“Illumi~!” Called a voice from the parking lot. A man with pulled back hair dyed the color of a fire hydrant came into view. He was a hulk of a man: broad shoulders, every muscle tight and toned, towering height. His crop top revealed his six-pack. Or was it an eight-pack? Chrollo attempted to count the number of abs before realizing what he was doing, and how perverted he must look analyzing another man’s body. The man had a star and a teardrop painted under his eyes. Chrollo couldn’t tell if he was dressed up as a clown for Halloween–despite it being early August–or if he was seeking attention. With the way the man moved his hips and glided towards Illumi, it had to be the second one.
“What, Hisoka?” Illumi hissed, still reeling from the headache that was his younger brother.
“Aw, come on. That’s no way to speak to me after we didn’t see each other all summer. You tucked away in that mansion, me staying with a friend…” He trailed off. “You can’t tell me you didn’t miss me.”
“You don’t have friends and why would I miss you?”
“I’m your only friend.”
“We’re not friends.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Illumi sighed. “Do you want to unpack your stuff or not?” He gestured to the two duffel bags Hisoka carried.
“Yes,” Hisoka led the way, stopping in front of Chrollo. He took in every inch of Chrollo, staring at his boots and working his way up to his eyes, a smile creeping across his face. “Handsome.”
“I’m not gay,” Chrollo declared.
“Nobody said you were,” Hisoka grew closer, his breath hot on Chrollo’s face. It smelled of bubblegum; the cheap kind you get as a child that grows stale within minutes. Hisoka was a mammoth of a man up close, his body enveloping Chrollo’s. Chrollo wasn’t a small man by any means, but compared to Hisoka, he might as well have been a scrawny teenage boy on the verge of puberty.
Hisoka trailed a sharp, manicured finger across Chrollo’s chest before walking into the building. Chrollo’s eyebrows lowered as disgust overtook his body. The action felt violating. Or maybe Hisokas as a person felt violating. He said a little prayer that he would never encounter Hisoka again.
'
Chrollo awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and dry eyes. He checked his alarm clock: 4:05 am. He’d gotten a mere three hours of sleep. He didn’t bother going back to sleep; this happened frequently enough that he knew it was a waste of time. No matter how much melatonin he took or how much white noise he listened to, his body fought sleep like it was an intruder.
His first class wasn’t until 10. Fuck. He didn’t want to wake Shalnark by leaving, so he opened his laptop to his courses. He read every syllabus, read the few first chapters of assigned readings, and then completed them. His fingers sped across the keys as his brain buzzed with energy. Now was the time to get ahead. By the time he was finished, the sun rose, light peeking through the blinds, waking Shalnark who groaned into his pillow.
After snoozing his alarm three times, he turned to Chrollo. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Shalnark yawned as a response before heading into the bathroom. Chrollo heard the drawing back of a shower curtain, the pattering of water hitting the floor as Shalnark stepped in, then the curtain closing.
There was nothing for him to do until 9 and so he watched TV until he brain rotted, and got ready for the day.
His first class was on the other side of campus. A thirty minute walk. He could have taken the bus, but he found leisure in long walks throughout campus,soft classical music playing in his ears, the wind gently caressing his face. Besides, the buses were crowded and often he;d foul odors.
Construction blocked the main pathway to his class; construction workers idly standing around on their phones behind a tarped fence. Useless. Chrollo thought. The detour added time to his walk, but he was still fifteen minutes early to his class.
The lecture hall held a smattering of students, with their computers opened and eyes focused forward, though the teacher wasn’t there. The overachiever group. Chrollo vowed to beat them.
He took a seat in the middle, sitting on the end chair. He didn’t see much point in pretending to be productive, and chose to finally answer his text messages that had built up.
He sent a message to everyone: Friday at 7pm in me and Shal’s dorm works for me if everyone’s available.
Within seconds everybody gave him a confirmation text that they would be there.
Students began to fill the lecture hall, shoulders hunched over, gazes facing the ground. Chrollo didn’t pay them any mind until he heard a seductive voice next to him and felt a menacing aura entrap him.
“May I get through?” The red-headed pervert from earlier spoke, eyes dancing with mirth as he looked down at Chrollo.
Before a ‘no’ could escape Chrollo’s lips, Hisoka pushed past him, firm ass at eye level. Chrollo turned his head to avoid looking at it. Out of all the available seats on the row, Hisoka chose the one directly next to Chrollo, setting his bag down, propping the pathetic slab of a desk, and spreading his legs until they touched the other man’s.
“You know there’s other available seats right?” Chrollo glowered.
“I like this one.”
“I like my personal space.”
“I like your personal space too.”
Chrollo’s face scrunched up. Eyebrows knit together. He considered getting up and moving, but the professor was walking down the aisle with a tall, blonde man wearing the most flamboyant pink suit Chrollo had ever seen. Besides, he was sure Hisoka would follow him wherever he went.
“Good afternoon everybody. I am Professor Netero and this is Philosophy 101. If either of those don’t sound familiar, you may awkwardly exit class now. We won’t judge,” The professor gave a cheeky smile, which cut through his face full of wrinkles. Nobody moved an inch.
“What’s your name?” Hisoka asked, peering at Chrollo, who ignored him.
“Ok good. Everyone’s where they’re supposed to be. The man next to me is my TA, Pariston Hill,” The blonde man waved. “You better start praying he isn’t the one grading your work because he is much stricter than I am.”
“I’m Hisoka.”
Chrollo’s gaze towards the front of the class was unwavering. “I know.”
“You know my name? I thought it was weird you were just standing in front of the dorm building, but now I know you were being a stalker creep,” Hisoka’s words didn’t hold malice, they were light and airy, like a perfectly baked pastry.
“I wasn’t stalking.”
Professor Netero continued. “I’m sure you’re all aware that this class will be difficult. Past students have created the legend that I’m a tough teacher, but I think this class is quite easy to pass if you show up and complete the work.”
“Then how did you know my name?”
“I overheard it.”
“So you’re not a stalker, but you eavesdrop on others' conversations?” Hisoka grinned like he’d trapped Chrollo right where he wanted him. He almost added a ‘gotcha’, but felt like that was childish and on the nose.
“Luckily for all of you, this class doesn’t have a midterm and a final. Not in test form at least. You will have to write two, handwritten, papers about topics discussed in this class, both of them worth 25% of your grade for a total of 50% of your final cumulative grade. Weekly quizzes make up another 25%. Attendance and participation make up the final 25%. I know this is a big class, but by the end of it, I should know everybody’s names.”
A few students walked out following this, deciding it would be easier to drop the class and try again with a different professor.
“You and that boy were loud. That’s all,” Chrollo said.
“Now, I don’t see a point in going over the rest of the syllabus. You’re all adults and should have access to the internet. Accessing it should be no issue. Instead, we’re going to do icebreakers-” A few people groaned. “It’s not going to be difficult. I’m sure you’ve all played two truths and one lie before. When I point to you, say your name and two truths and one lie about yourself, and we will all guess which one the lie is. Simple. Stand.”
The class obeyed. “I’ll start. “I’m over 100 years old, I’m proficient in Kung Fu, I’ve never met a prince before.”
The class took a second to ponder this, all of these sounded like lies, before deciding their answer. He was not over 100 years old. He was old, but not ancient and immobile. They shouted this out, the excitement among the class growing.
“WRONG,” Professor Netero yelled. “The lie was that I’ve never met a prince before. I met one of the Kakin princes many years ago. I am in fact over 200, but I’ll never tell you my actual age, you’d probably have a heart attack,” He laughed, straight from his belly.
One by one he began to point at his students, who all gave boring anecdotes about their lives, until it was Chrollo’s turn.
“My name is Chrollo, um, Lucilfer,” He ignored the way Hisoka’s eye lit up as a lightbulb went off in his head. Probably some obnoxious comment or joke Chrollo had heard a million times before. “Ok, I have matching tattoos with eleven of my friends, I was born here in Yorknew City, and I read at least 100 books a year.” He struggled with coming up with three facts about himself that would be acceptable for a classroom setting.
The rest of the class decided the tattoo one was the lie. Nobody is close enough to eleven people to get matching tattoos with all of them. “It’s true,” Chrollo clarified. “We all have a spider tattooed somewhere on us.”
“I’d like to see where your tattoo is,” Hisoka whispered.
“Is there a reason I’m the target of your sexual harassment?”
“Let’s not use legal terms.”
Professor Netero rubbed at his scraggly, white beard. “Interesting,” He pointed at Hisoka.
“Hisoka Morow. One, I sunburn easily. Two, I don’t have a sweet tooth. Three, I met Chrollo after catching him stalking me,” He winked at Chrollo after the last statement.
Everyone in the class went silent, Hisoka’s words hanging in the air. “Well, I hope the last one is the lie,” Professor Netero broke the tension.
“Unfortunately the lie is that I don’t have a sweet tooth. I do.”
Before Chrollo could defend himself, Professor Netero moved on to the next person. A group of girls in front of him had their eyes locked into Chrollo, whispering amongst themselves about how the cute boy a few rows back was a creep.
Once the icebreaker was over, class was dismissed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have some kind of kink for humiliating strangers?” Chrollo spat.
“Hm, maybe a little. I wouldn’t say we’re strangers anymore, Chrollo,” He hated the way his name dripped off Hisoka’s tongue like honey.
“I’m sorry for being in the same area as you at the same time, but that doesn’t give you the right to call me a stalker and harass me with your flirting.”
“I wouldn’t call that flirting. Unless you want it to be.”
“Don’t be gross.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Just leave me the hell alone and we won’t have any problems.”
“Right,” Hisoka threw his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Chrollo.”