Chapter Text
Sometimes, when Killua was younger, he’d fall into these “phases”, as his mother and Illumi called them. He wouldn’t struggle or fight. I mean, he never did– that would only ever make it worse.
(He’d learned a long time ago that trying to fight something he couldn’t would only make it worse. He learnt to play along.)
He may have seemed not particularly different in performance, maybe a little less motivated, though not enough to cause himself a punishment– which would give Illumi free range– but he wouldn’t sleep, even if he was allowed to. Instead, he’d stare at his ceiling for hours, his plush, expensive bedding making sleep feel close, he could almost grasp it with his bloodied claws, but he would never catch it. There was a hollowness in his chest. But when you grow up in a house such as his, any empty space was filled with the ideas and instinct his family instilled in him. Sometimes though, instead of just killing and training, the darkness travelled elsewhere, giving his heart and lungs a break. But there was nothing else to go there. Nothing good to fill it back up with. So he lived with the emptiness– the lack of something that pained him so bad he couldn’t breathe sometimes. But never was he off his guard. No matter how empty he was, fear was always so thickly ingrained into his very being, every cell of his skin, every piece of hair on his body, every groove of his brain. So of course he trained just as hard, missions were just as easy to him, no matter what challenge his dad sent him off to.
When these episodes weren’t happening, he was always vigilant. Any training he endured, he was wishing for it to be over in his mind. Every electric shock zipping and zagging up his body, and back down, made him scream in his mind and wish for his bed, or for his sister. Just get it done with, quickly. Don’t irritate them. However, whenever the emptiness swallowed him whole, he stopped thinking. He still performed perfectly, of course, there was no way he could get away with not trying, not if he wanted a chance to live a life that every other kid his age was used to. But with every whip, the wish for it to stop didn’t increase. Maybe he even welcomed the pain, not that he’d seek it out, but he didn’t brace for the snap of the whip, he didn’t flinch.
Killua was always a… different kid. Where Kalluto did what they were told, always a step ahead but stayed half a step behind, Killua was full of doubt. He hadn’t always been so loud about it– when you’re three and learning how to kill people, you don’t have words to express why you know it’s wrong when you’ve never been taught as such. He was always destined to leave. (But Silva wouldn’t stand for that. He was the most promising, he knew Killua was supposed to lead. It was natural.) He was different. His striking white hair identical to his fathers, vastly different from his siblings’ darkness. His eyes showed a deeper level of understanding, you could even say compassion. Sometimes it hurt to see Killua and Illumi side by side.
But that understanding in his eyes would dull. Almost sickening to see. He couldn’t think, could barely feel anything with this gaping emptiness inside him that also seemed too full of emotion for him to even recognize it.
Now though, now that he’s out of that house, living with Leorio and Kurapika and Gon, it’s harder for that emptiness to just come back. Because Gon attacks the dark stuff inside of Killua, it retreats to the corner to hide, and where the emptiness could’ve been, Gon just fills it with light. Now, instead of an agonizing emptiness preventing him from breathing, it was Gon who took his breath away. His heart light and beating violently, and his stomach fluttering with butterflies (which was only because his body wasn’t yet used to this weightless matter inside, no other reason).
But sometimes, not even Gon could push the ravenous hollowness away. He couldn’t fill it all.
Which is why Killua is laying in his bed in their shared house at 4pm. The curtains are shut and he can smell the clean scent of his freshly washed blankets. He hasn’t gotten up yet, he can’t even think about it, because the hole in his chest is attracting all the bad. He couldn’t stand up if he tried. All he’s done is lay on his side, looking at but not seeing his room, hearing but not listening to the noises coming from downstairs. He hears the knock on his door, but it doesn’t register in his brain, nothing’s there except for the familiar fear. The fear that makes his mouth dry, and his breathing steady and silent though the void inside him is crushing his lungs. He can’t think when he’s like this.
“Killua? I’m going to come into your room if you don’t answer. I just want to know that you’re there and okay.” It was Kurapika, but it didn’t matter to Killua, it may as well have been Illumi. It didn’t matter. Nothing matters, the piece of Killua he would’ve despised a week ago supplies.
With no response for a solid minute, Kurapika slowly opens the door, their eyes quickly surveying his room, jumping around until they find Killua on his bed. Kurapika hesitates. They’ve learnt a lot about Killua, about how to deal with him, but this was uncharted territory. The look on the kid’s face matches only when he would kill. His eyes as empty as when they first met at the Hunter Exam, when Killua ripped a man’s heart from his chest.
Nonetheless, they take a gentle step forward. Killua was pretty big on privacy, specifically that his room was his place. Gon was allowed in anytime, but the older two needed a good reason and permission to enter. Neither of them were opposed to this– who cared if this kid needed some privacy he was never provided with before?
Kurapika didn’t have permission exactly, but there was a reason and Killua had a chance to stop them. They took gentle steps until they reached Killua’s bed, where he was laying and staring blankly still. His breathing was silent, it was like he was trying to fool Kurapika into not noticing him. But Kurapika sat on the edge of his bed, and brought up a hand to go through Killua’s hair like they did when he decided to be even the least bit vulnerable with them. Before their hand could reach his hair, however, a rough voice stopped him.
“Don’t touch me,” Killua’s voice was somewhat inexplicably clear. Kurapika knew he hadn’t talked all day, but even though it was a little rough, Killua always had a way of denying any “weakness” or “imperfection” any human would have.
Immediately, of course, Kurapika retreated their hand and placed both that hand and the other where Killua could see them.