Chapter Text
This, thought Leorio through a layer of sweat thicker than the foundation he had worn in his very brief and even more ill-advised goth phase at fifteen, is not what I signed up for. He was sore in an existential sort of way – every joint ached, every muscle stung, and his current Nen output couldn’t light a candle on a birthday cake. He had been fighting for the better part of an hour, but his opponent stood unphased, radiating an air of tangible smugness. In his sinking heart, Leorio knew he had lost. He was outclassed and outmatched, and his lip trembled and his eyes glistened as he leveled a defiant glare at his foe.
The couch had not budged.
Leorio was hardly a weak man. Before even taking the hunter exam, he was, if he was being generous, superhumanly strong (oh, he could hear Killua and Kurapika snorting). Opening the Testing Gate had solidified that superhuman strength from a bit of a stretch to objective fact. And, although he had certainly had a slower start than any of his three best friends (not that any of them had been balancing medical school on top of their adventures), Leorio’s Nentraining had pushed him to new heights. While, frankly, he wasn’t really all that fit for his position as Boar, Leorio could still bench a solid thirty tons when he really put his mind to it. Not bad for an emitter – Hell, not too shabby for an enhancer. But he could acknowledge he ought to be stronger.
He just wished that that acknowledgement had not come with making the biggest mistake of his life. Two weeks ago, Killua had visited (unannounced) with his delightful sister (“you could stand to be more like Alluka,” Leorio had grumbled at Killua on the second day before receiving a painful kick in the shins faster than his eyes could track), and the brat, out of what Leorio was willing to wager was about an equal mix of spite and concern, had decided that Leorio was too weak. Which meant redecorating his apartment, Zoldyck style.
Really, it was Leorio’s fault for agreeing. Not that Killua would have listened to any protests. The fucking brat. He was a good kid.
At any rate, there was now not a single item in Leorio’s shitty apartment that weighed less than one ton. The butler Killua had brought in to do some awful conjuration bullshit had, at least, assured him that it was only the inertial mass of the items that was multiplied, not their gravitational weight – so the high-rise itself was safe from collapsing. It was a good thing the butler was experienced, because Leorio had thought of that danger much later than he cared to admit.
Now, none of this was a problem. Leorio had been making slight improvements in muscle strength and Nen stores in equal measure for the past five days – and while the gains over that short time frame were hardly anything to write home about, he could tell the investment would be more than worthwhile.
No, the problem was that the butler had assumed that the couch was there exclusively to be dragged, after removing the cushions. And, yes, Leorio could just barely drag 100 tons or so, inch by inch, if he was willing to spend the next day nursing an aching back. But lifting it? That was a pipe dream.
So, very naturally, the couch just had to go moldy the fucking day after Killua left. And, of course, of course, the butler had made all his things practically indestructible (how the Hell had the mold even burrowed in? Sure, he’d heard that the pressures exerted by mushroom spores could be immense, but seeing it – or maybe it was some kind of Nen fungus, in which case he was probably going to actually die if he didn’t get the damn couch out). So Leorio couldn’t cut the couch up, burning it was a safety hazard not just to all his belongings but the entire building, and he wasn’t about to push it through the window – if he hit a pedestrian…
That left one option: bring it down 20 floors, then push it into the incinerator out back of the building, and then pray that burning would even work. Honestly, it was an excellent plan. Sure, it would take all day to get it pushed into the elevator then out the lobby then around the building and into the incinerator. But it would be a good workout, and he had the three-day weekend to recover.
The elevator was out-of-order.
So, Leorio had three options. Learn to lift the fucking thing, shove it down the stairs and risk hitting an unsuspecting stair-taker and reducing them to red paste, or die of potentially nen-phagic mold and not even get a paper out of it. Leorio had faced the impossible to protect himself and others before. So he had rolled up his sleeves, grit his teeth, let his eyes flash and his aura flare with grim determination …
And gotten the couch not one goddamn millimeter off the ground in the past 43 minutes.
Help. Leorio needed help. Damn, Kurapika’s ghosting must be rubbing off on him. Leorio could call somebody, and, frankly, beg for help. He let the sweat pour off him as he took in a deep breath, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, and…
Gon – nope. The kid had undergone enough physical (not to mention emotional) trauma for five lifetimes in the past few months, and Leorio wasn’t sure he could even use Nen anymore. He was sure that he shouldn’t – frankly, Gon was grounded from any supernatural goings-on until further notice. Even if Leorio thought he could handle it psychologically right now, he wasn’t about to put him in danger. Not to mention, he was on Whale Island.
Killua – as if. The brat was already long gone, and frankly, giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had won (“are you sure you can handle this, old man? Wouldn’t want you to throw your back out.”) was not an option.
Kurapika – Ha. Kurapika had spoken to him in the past month. That was enough of a victory, and a quick, experimental text confirmed that radio silence had returned to its hallowed position as the status quo. Worth a shot, though. Any excuse to remind Kurapika that he still existed in the eyes of his friends was a good one.
Zepile – They would have a great time, not be able to budge the couch, drink a good gallon of beer, and then probably die when they passed out within the radius of the mold. He’d consider it as a last resort.
Melody – Surprisingly strong. Great company. Terrified of fungus. He’d seen the way she paled when there were mushrooms in the catering they’d brought to the hospital.
Hanzo – Didn’t answer texts or calls. Not Kurapika bad, just very busy. Odds were he was either on a mission or asleep at any given time. Besides, he was on another continent at the moment.
Bisky – Didn’t like grunt work or anything grimy. Also, she scared him.
Morel – On vacation. Very on vacation, and frankly he deserved to be. Even assuming he was in a part of the ocean remotely near a port, he would be too busy napping in the sun and fishing for terrifying leviathans to pick up the phone.
Any of the Zodiacs – Awkward as hell. No.
Ging – God no. He would actually rather die. He only had his number to send him the most cursed images he could find. The bastard just replied “haha yep :)” to everything, but Leorio knew he was getting to him. The fucker would crack. All Leorio needed was time. And wi-fi. Data wasn’t cheap.
Pariston - No.
Dozens of normal, nenless people, friends from classes and family and so on – obviously not. As many of them as he would trust with his life, emotional connections did not superhuman strength make – not physically, anyway.
And one unknown number. Somebody who had sent him a single text a few days ago, simply saying, “thinking of you,” followed by a heart. He had texted back, “I think you have the wrong number.” This unknown person had texted back, “Oh, I don’t think so~.” And Leorio had left it at that, because to be quite honest this person had given him the shivers for a reason he could not place over the course of eight words, an emoji, and a tilde.
To Hell with it. This couch might actually kill him, and if this creep could use nen, they might be his only chance. “Who dis,” he texted in a wave of sheer fuck-it.
“You don’t remember me from the exam?” was punctuated with a sad face.
“School exams?”
“Hntr Exam,” and an honest-to-God winky face. Something distantly nagged at Leorio’s subconscious, but in his languid, sore state he ignored it. If this person was a Hunter, it was possible that they would have the strength to help him.
“Can u help me move a couch? like a rlly heavy 1”
“Of course~~~” Leorio cringed in almost painful revulsion.
“Ill be rite over”
Spade emoji.
Leorio’s phone hit the wall hard enough to dent it as a very manly and high-pitched squeal of raw animalistic terror erupted from his lips. No. No, this could not be happening. It had to be a prank. This – it absolutely – no. Not him. He had to get out. Away. Somehow. Anywhere. Not here.
God no.
From its perch in the newly-deformed wall, Leorio’s phone buzzed. He reached for it with the dread of a patient reading a terminal diagnosis.
“I hope u aren’t going to bail. You know I hate rudeness.”
Heart. Smiley face. Diamond.
Twenty minutes, three existential crises, and a quick write-up and mass-texting of his will later, Leorio heard a soft, almost sensual knock on his door - somehow, the cheap wood managed to sound like thick, plush velvet as “shave and a haircut’s” beat dripped through his cramped apartment with seductive malice.
So this is how I die. Leorio took a deep breath, reached for Nen stores he hadn’t known he had, and opened the door.
The Hisoka that Leorio remembered had seemed larger-than life. Dressed in clothes out of a circus-themed nightmare, surrounded by an aura of a power he had not begun to imagine, radiating waves of cocky ease, that Hisoka had been a monolith, a monster.
Now, Hisoka, Leorio could see, was shorter than him – just a couple inches. His arms flexed as he gave a jaunty wave, but his supernaturally-toned muscle (BUF23 post-translational protein modification pathway for anomalous “superhuman” strength, Leorio’s brain helpfully supplied) was not all that much denser than Leorio’s, really. His aura, simmering beneath his skin – well, there, he had Leorio beat by a fair margin, but it wasn’t unimaginable that the gulf might one day be bridged. He was wearing a Lady Gaga T-shirt and skinny jeans. His hair was in a ponytail.
Now, Hisoka was a man, not a nightmare, and the ice-cold fear running in Leorio’s veins became liquid nitrogen, because the fact that Leorio could see Hisoka as a mere mortal meant that –
“Well,” purred Hisoka, “you’ve ripened.”
“I know I fucking smell,” grumbled Leorio, surprising himself. “You don’t need to point it out. I’ve been trying to move a couch that weighs more than a fucking dump truck.”
Hisoka’s smirk dropped like a hundred tons (ha) of bricks. “Wait,” he breathed, “I’m talking about –”
“I know it’s rude to be smelly when a guest arrives, but if I got in the shower I would never get out right now.” He ignored the way that Hisoka’s eyes narrowed with hunger at the mention of a shower – bad idea, change the subject. “Let’s get this thing down the stairs.”
“Surely,” Hisoka crooned, “there’s no need to be in such a rush –”
Leorio levelled his best “I-need-a-fucking-nap” look. “Hisoka. It’s great to see you,” he managed through gritted teeth, “but I have a take-home final and a Zodiac meeting to prepare for on Monday. We can catch up while we move the couch.”
Hisoka stared at him, more than a little gobsmacked. “Well… alright,” he said, at a bit of a loss. His aura no longer danced beneath his skin, and the lustful breathiness in his voice had lessened. He seemed… frankly, he seemed to not know what to make of this.
This was Leorio’s plan, brilliantly devised over the course of five seconds: Hisoka despised rudeness. Hisoka had agreed to come to move a couch. If Leorio needed the couch moved and didn’t have time for socialization, Hisoka wouldn’t be willing to impose. After all, doing so would make him a poor guest. And that meant that, so long as Leorio had a good reason for this to be a rushed meeting, then Hisoka had no choice but to comply. Quod. Erat. Demonstrandum.
Leorio ushered the magician (clown) inside, noting that the pointy-toed abominations that normally graced his feet had been swapped for Converse. Converse.
“Anything to drink?” he asked, the picture of brusque, rushed thoughtfulness.
Hisoka gave a smile so raw and predatory that Leorio had to fight not to shiver. “Well, I was thinking maybe we could go out and have a glass of –” he trailed off as Leorio shot him his best “finals are tomorrow and I needed to study yesterday” look. “…water is fine.” His voice sounded almost… small.
Leorio walked purposefully to the fridge and fished out a bottle of water. He lobbed it through the air to Hisoka, who caught it without looking. His eyes widened and his arm was yanked downward for a split second before he adjusted to the weight. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. You know,” said the monster in his apartment, “I can tell that you’ve grown quite a bit.” He sounded… sincere. Certainly still lustful. Certainly still like death wrapped in silk. But, sincere.
“Er… thanks,” replied Leorio. “I’d say you have too, but I really couldn’t tell. Wasn’t that sensitive to Nen when we first met.”
Hisoka smirked, every bit the cat that had just slaughtered the canary seconds after allowing it to think it had a chance of escape. “I have. A benefit of never…” he gave a breathy noise that would make a prostitute blush. “settling.”
Leorio felt his aura frizz at the edges, but forced it to still. In the space of a second, Hisoka’s presence was dripping off of every surface in his home, a clear goading – not an outright one, nothing so insistent as a demand for a fight, but the intent was obvious. It seemed that Hisoka didn’t mind trying to push him into a fighting mindset, as long as doing so wouldn’t expressly violate hospitality.
Was – was Hisoka a vampire? Leorio, deciding that he was not walking that particular road to madness today, took a deep breath, ignored the murderous clown’s bedroom/graveyard eyes, and grabbed a water bottle for himself. He took a long sip, focusing on anything but Hisoka’s writhing aura.
“So,” murmured Hisoka, “show me the couch. Let’s, as they say, get this bread.”
Leorio pointed to the couch. It sat like a paperweight against the wall behind Hisoka. It was a striped, chunky sort of couch – it looked as if it had been carved with a bread knife out of pinstripe suits left in a trash compactor. It was broad, boisterous, and insultingly ugly. Frankly, the suspicious black fuzz improved it.
Hisoka made a gurgling noise, not unlike a cat confronted with a cucumber. “I… see.” He swallowed thickly.
Leorio paled, picking up on the primal fear that flashed across his guest’s face. If Hisoka was afraid… “Is the mold that dangerous? I fucking knew it. It’s a Nen thing, isn’t it?”
“…yes,” lied Hisoka, not taking his eyes off of the couch-shaped act of blasphemy before him. He sauntered over to the offending item, freed of its cushions, and gave it an experimental pull. It budged a few inches at his yanking, before stopping as he let go. It was an odd feeling – the couch’s “real” weight was a mere few hundred pounds, which meant that the friction was not in the least difficult to overcome. But because of its strange mass in the hands of a human, it glided over the floor at a glacial pace, and halted almost immediately when released. “That,” he muttered, “is quite the parlor trick. For training, I take it? You’re dead set on growing, aren’t you? Why don’t you come train with me sometime?” He shot Leorio a hungry glance.
Leorio elected to ignore the latter question, simply grunting, “yeah, for training. But it’s moldy. I have to get rid of it, and the elevator’s out. The only way is carrying it down the stairs.”
Hisoka, paused for a long second. In his mind, two primal urges struggled. Spend twenty flights of stairs struggling, straining, and quite likely dying if his grip failed – a hundred-ton couch barreling into him would convert his ribs and organs to a chunky sort of pate even with a shield of Bungee Gum – all while spending time with the now-almost-ripe Leorio sounded quite like heaven to him. But being in the proximity of an item clearly forged by some devil with no motive dearer than the destruction of all good taste… Hisoka didn’t mind the unaesthetic. Chrollo’s horrid earrings – the man wearing them more than made up for their ungainliness. Leorio’s brusque words – they had the same rough charm as their speaker. Illumi’s horribly bland expression – as long as Hisoka could tease out a half-smile or murderous glare every now and then, so very worth it. But this couch… Oh, this couch.
“Hisoka?” Leorio considered waving a hand in front of his unwanted houseguest’s glower, but thought better of it. Hisoka had been silent for a good ten seconds, staring into the void of the couch. Leorio began to sweat – this mold must be truly frightening, to give one of the most dangerous people he had ever met such pause. Or was Hisoka somehow already in its grip? In the span of a second, the Hippocratic oath burst through his distaste. Whether or not the bastard deserved to die, Hisoka had come into Leorio’s home at his request, and if he was killed now – by disease of all things – Leorio had failed as a doctor. “Hey, are… are you okay?”
Hisoka started, then looked at Leorio. He gave a shaky smile. “Peachy.” He rolled an arm, nodded at the open door, and purred, “I believe that I said it was time to get the ‘bread.’”
Leorio moved into action, taking the other end, and the two looked at each other. The raw experience of coordinated, unhesitating action – internships, emergency first-aid, Nen drills, and serial killings – moved them into perfect sync as they nodded at each other, and counted, “one, two, three.” With a flare of enhancement and a heavy exhalation on both ends, the couch was aloft.
The trek began, the couch swaying dangerously as the two maneuvered around Leorio’s ankle-high coffee table. Tripping over it would mean certain injury and likely death, and brushing it aside with a foot was not an option – the squat surface weighed a good twenty tons. After a tense half-minute, the pair managed to clear it.
“I’ll go backwards,” said Hisoka as they headed for the door. His voice held a teasing, flirty lilt. “I’m much more likely to survive if you drop it.”
Leorio gave a curt nod, not willing to waste breath when practically every ounce of strength was devoted to keeping the monstrosity in his arms aloft.
The two staggered the rest of the way to the door, at which point a new issue presented itself: the width of the couch. “Let’s – let’s set it down and slide it through,” rasped Leorio. Hisoka made an affirmative noise with the sort of fake ease that takes more effort than it’s worth. Four quivering arms set the couch down on its side, and Leorio and Hisoka pushed it out into the sprawling stairwell.
Immediately, regret coursed through both hunters: they could see exactly how long of a trip was ahead of them.
“Well,” grunted Leorio, “no sense delaying the inevitable.”
“If you’re going to say that,” purred Hisoka, “you may as well fight me already.” Nonetheless, though, with a dramatic shaking-out of his arms, and rolling-up of his sleeves, he bent in time with Leorio to begin the journey in earnest.
The first flight of stairs was torture. While Leorio and Hisoka fell into surprisingly comfortable sync, and Hisoka’s choice to move backwards allowed the stronger hunter to bear the brunt of the weight, neither was quite ready for the sheer magnitude of the task before them. Twenty painful steps later, and they set the couch down to take a break in wordless agreement.
“So,” said Hisoka, “you’ve been making quite the name for yourself. Almost elected chairman without even being a single-star. You’d be the first not to be a double-star, you know, not counting the founder. Not to mention becoming Boar.”
Leorio waved a dismissive hand. “It was politics. I was being used as a tool by the Zodiacs, and besides, they only liked me ‘cuz I punched Ging.” Honestly, how had he gotten that far? He had very explicitly told them just how corrupt he would be, and they nearly handed him the world’s most powerful organization on a silver platter. It would almost be flattering if his memories of the election weren’t completely overshadowed by everything going on with Gon.
“I would have voted for you,” said Hisoka, without a trace of mockery, and Leorio started. Yes, the magician was flirting, certainly, but he sounded quite candid about it.
Leorio snorted. “Why?”
Hisoka began to count on his fingers. One. “You have potential. Real potential. You’d be surprised how much.” He licked his lips. Two. “You have a solid head on your shoulders, but you’re hotheaded enough to keep things interesting.” Three. “People listen when you talk, and you get across what you mean. Even if we do get to learn about your self-entertainment habits along the way.” Leorio flushed at the memory of his speech. Four. “I like you. You’re fun to watch.”
“Oh.” Said Leorio. His brow furrowed in thought. “Thanks.” He was surprised to find that, despite himself, he meant it.
The two stood, breathing deeply for another minute or two, before deciding to continue with a nod. They gripped the couch, and, with a rough heave, set it airborne once more.
The next two flights of stairs were still hellish, but the pair of hunters pushed through the first landing. By the time they reached the third floor from the top, they were thoroughly drenched with sweat, but the balance was significantly less perilous than it had been on the first flight. They set it down smoothly.
Hisoka immediately leaned against the wall, keeping his graceful poise and posture, like an extremely murder-happy ballerina. Leorio, on the other hand, gripped the railing and made noises not unlike a suffocating goose.
Hisoka’s eyes crinkled at the corners, fixed on Leorio with cold, hungry intensity. Against his will, Leorio felt himself shivering. He stamped it down, but it was too late. The only option was to bluff his way through, he realized, as Hisoka’s eyes scanned him up and down with cruel efficiency.
“What?” He growled through his wheezing.
“Oh, nothing,” said Hisoka far too casually, “just wondering if those are noises you’d make if you were being strangled. They’re good noises. I’d give them an eight out of ten.” He shot a mocking smirk at Leorio’s face of horrified disbelief. “You did ask, Leorio. What did you think it was?”
“Do you…” Leorio, try as he might, couldn’t stop his heavy breathing – his body was desperate for oxygen, and it wasn’t taking “there is a murder-sexual clown within murdering range of me” as an excuse – “ever… think before you speak?”
Hisoka cocked his head, his smirk now markedly shit-eating. “Occasionally. If I have to behave. If somebody makes me behave, for instance.” His eyes flashed dangerously.
Leorio did not have the energy nor the patience to respond to that. He breathed for another good minute, Hisoka doing nothing but lounging and basking in his discomfort like a snake sunning itself on a rock all the while, then grabbed his edge of the couch.
Two more floors followed – a little bit more slowly, but with more ease this time. This time, the couch was set down with a fluid grace – the easiest part of the trip by far, and the pair even had a few Rydbergs of energy to spare by the time they got to it.
Leorio was careful to not make quite so much noise with his breathing this time, at the price of sweating even more like a stuck pig – like an even more stuck pig? Like a stuck even more pig? No, that last one couldn’t be right, could it?
“Leorio.” Leorio looked up from where he was sweating a hole into the floor and contemplating the grammatical intricacies of simile with a start. Hisoka was staring at him with an odd intensity, as if he had just realized something. “Come to think of it, I never saw you in Yorknew, did I?”
Leorio gave a noncommittal grunt, partially owing to his exhaustion and partially to the fact that he did not particularly want to discuss Yorknew with Hisoka.
“I thought not,” murmured Hisoka. “I was just thinking a bit about Kurapika. If only I had stayed a Spider.” He gave a dreamy sigh. “He can hardly fight at full force against me after I quit.”
“He’d kill you anyway. Like squashing a bug.” Leorio responded far too quickly, and voice held a mixture of conviction, threat, and white-knuckled terror. “Kurapika’s smarter than any of us. It wouldn’t even be a fight. He wouldn’t let you get that close to him.”
Hisoka gave a stretched-thin leer. “We’ll find out, Leorio.”
Leorio very, very nearly threw himself at Hisoka before he realized he was being provoked. He gave a too-calm shrug and muttered, “think what you like. But you should know.” Leorio didn’t know exactly what was pushing him to say this, here, now. It wasn’t as if he could enforce the threat he was about to make, but he found that didn’t really matter to him at the moment. “If you go after Kurapika – or the kids, for that matter – he won’t have to kill you.”
Hisoka stared into Leorio’s glare, looked him up and down, and gave another awful smile. “It’s a date, Doctor Paladiknight. I’m looking forward to it.” He clapped his hands, once. “Well! Shall we continue?”
“Need another minute,” grumbled Leorio with a petulance that betrayed the steel that had shone in his eyes mere seconds ago.
To his surprise, Hisoka did not smirk, sulk, or radiate murder. Instead, Leorio heard what could only have been a short bark of laughter. “Fine,” Hisoka said with the shit-eating undertones of a personal trainer who is having entirely too much fun pushing a client out of their comfort zone, “but we’re doing three floors without stopping.”
“If I drop it on you,” Leorio growled, “it’s your own damn fault.” Hisoka shrugged in response.
Another minute of rest, and the pair grasped the couch with grim conviction and began the journey downward anew. The first floor went smoothly, but by the second Hisoka had to slow his gait to keep from pulling Leorio along. Leorio mustered the breath to choke out a “please” as they stepped onto the second landing, but Hisoka’s eyes flashed murderously as he upped the pace, leaving Leorio a choice between risking mangled limbs if his grip on the couch slipped and continuing on.
“Bastard,” Leorio managed to wheeze, but he pressed on. The third consecutive flight of steps was torture, a burn in the arms and lower back that forecasted a sore tomorrow, and Leorio’s aura was crackling and flickering by the time the two stepped onto the landing of the eighth floor from the top. Hisoka’s seemed to still be smooth, elegant, and under control, but his face was just a bit too tight, the ease of its flow just a bit too deliberate.
They dropped the couch in wordless agreement, not bothering to set it down carefully. Leorio, having stopped giving a shit about Hisoka’s reaction to the noises he made as he gasped for air, bore a not insignificant resemblance to a fish out of water. Even Hisoka’s breathing was visibly labored.
After a long moment that felt even longer, and to his own surprise, Leorio spoke. “So, uh… Lady Gaga?” Hisoka gestured at his shirt in response, and, with a smirk that almost seemed to have a touch of humanity to it, spoke. “Guess my favorite song.”
“No.” Said Leorio, and Hisoka’s eyes crinkled with a mirth that hardly even had any murder in it. “Poker face,” breathed a grown-ass man who fought children for fun and sometimes even profit.
To his horror, Leorio laughed. “You’re – you’re a fucking serial killer. What the fuck, dude?” He couldn’t help it – he dissolved into giggles.
Hisoka looked mildly scandalized. “I’m allowed to have hobbies.”
“I’m talking about the pun!” Leorio spat through reluctant chuckles.
“Oh, so I’m not allowed to make jokes?” Hisoka’s lip curled in amusement.
“Well,” said Leorio, “you are a cl-“
Hisoka hissed between Leorio’s words, razor-sharp, “I’m a magician, Leorio, and not a – the c-word.” He coated his anger with a pleasant, almost sickeningly sweet smile. “And you’d do well not to mistake that.”
Leorio wisely closed his mouth. Then, he opened it again. “What, do you do card tricks as a side gig for the murder for hire?”
Hisoka shrugged. “Occasionally. But the killings are more of a passion project. I don’t like taking payment for them unless it’s a tight month. Nor my sleight of hand, for that matter.” He looked a bit downtrodden, as if saddened by the very thought of sullying his art with money.
Leorio, against his better judgement, couldn’t help but ask. “A – a tight month of what?” Endless possibilities flashed through his mind – drug dealer, arms supplier, porn sta- nope, he was not finishing that thought. “What kind of fucked-up shit do you do if you don’t take money off of killing?”
Hisoka stared Leorio dead in the eye. “I’m a cashier. I suppose,” he shrugged, “that it’s rather fucked-up if you consider the evils of capitalism.” Leorio gaped. “Not all of us can go to med school, Doctor Paladiknight.”
Leorio gaped harder.
“You’re. A cashier.”
“Yes.”
“You – check people out at Walmart?”
“Kroger, actually.”
“And you – you wear your cl-“ Hisoka’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Leorio swallowed his words, “your magician getup?”
Hisoka leveled a droll look. “Don’t be tiresome, Doctor. It doesn’t become you. I wear sturdy jeans, a dark shirt, and the cute vest they give us. There’s a dress code.”
“And you – what, do you try to murder your customers?”
“What?” Hisoka’s face twisted in disgust. “No. Why in the world would I do that?”
“Because you… kill people?” Leorio stared incredulously. He was getting a bit too used to doing that.
“I kill people who have a chance against me. Not Mrs. Fitzgerald, whose closest thing to a Nen ability is that she never forgets a reusable bag.”
Leorio goggled. “You know your customers by name?”
Hisoka narrowed his eyes. “I’m very good at my job, Leorio.” He gave a smile exactly civil enough to coat the surface of his murderous intent. “I wouldn’t recommend implying otherwise.” He brightened. “But! You should visit me on the clock sometime. I don’t fight if I haven’t punched out for the day.” He licked his lips. “Pinky promise.”
“You know what?” said Leorio. Hisoka cocked his head gracefully, indicating that he did not, in fact, know what. “I don’t think I’m going to process this today, so let’s keep going.”
Hisoka clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “An excellent idea, Doctor Paladiknight. I’ll even be nice enough to keep it to two flights this time.”
Two flights passed in a daze, Leorio’s mind elsewhere. After what seemed half like an hour and half like ten seconds, they hit the halfway point, dropping the couch with a dull thud. The two caught their breath for a moment, as Leorio stared at Hisoka, brow furrowing.
“Do you like what you see?” Purred Hisoka, flexing.
Leorio opened his mouth. Closed it. Furrowed his brow further. Opened his mouth again. Closed it. Finally, just as Hisoka was beginning to get bored of watching his wordless expressions, Leorio spoke.
“Fuck it. I can’t believe I’m asking, because, frankly, you don’t deserve someone to care about your reasons. You’re a monster and a literal serial killer.” Hisoka nodded along reasonably. “But – and again, I don’t know why the fuck I’m asking – but – why? Why the fuck do you do this shit?”
“I presume you mean the killing?” Not waiting for a response, Hisoka put a finger to his chin and thought for a second. “The thrill, I suppose. Fighting life-or-death with somebody… it’s awfully fun, don’t you think? Exciting in a way that nothing else is.” He smirked. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”
Leorio felt his hackles rise. “I don’t know what I ever did to give you the impression that I’m as much of a freak as-”
Hisoka waved a hand, dismissively. “I already know you’re a stick in the mud. I’m talking about the Hunter Exam, Leorio.”
“You’re asking me,” Leorio’s voice rose slowly, arcing from slow disbelief to incredulity to outrage, “if I enjoyed the hardest week-odd of my life? If I enjoyed fighting for my life at every turn, being hopelessly outmatched, never knowing what was coming next – if I enjoyed that death-around-every-corner, you-or-me-only-one-gets-out-alive hell?!” He was practically spitting now, his hair bristling with indignation.
Hisoka, face plain and empty of its usual teasing hunger, simply raised a single, immaculately-plucked eyebrow. “Well?”
Leorio took a heavy breath of righteous anger, then deflated. “…yes,” he admitted, softly, tenderly. “It was the best time of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He glared at Hisoka through his glasses. “But I would never choose to go back. I have things to do with my life, people to help.”
Hisoka gave an oddly guileless grin, “And I don’t, Leorio. That feeling is all that I want. I don’t need anything else. That’s all there really is for me.” At Leorio’s look of intense discomfort and wariness, he continued, “Oh, you shouldn’t feel bad for me. It’s a good life.”
“I-“ Leorio looked down. “I think you need professional help, Hisoka.” He said it without ire or accusation. It was a quiet, almost guilty, declaration of fact.
“Probably,” Hisoka agreed cheerily. “But I don’t particularly want it.” He smirked, and his aura simmered. “After prying this much, I hope that you’re prepared for three floors in exchange.”
Leorio grit his teeth. “Four.” He practically growled it, pushing through his better judgment. “Four, if you agree to see a therapist this week.”
Hisoka barked a laugh – a rough, sudden sound that seemed to surprise even him, before he corralled the cackle into a low, refined chortle. “You really are amusing, Doctor Paladiknight. It’s very cute.” Leorio felt a vein thump in his forehead. “Fine. You have a deal, although I don’t know how you expect me to afford that on a cashier’s pay.”
“Perform at an extra birthday party,” Leorio countered, before he could think better of it, but Hisoka just barked that odd laugh again, covering his mouth after.
“Maybe I will, at that.” He was very nearly smiling, again, the smirk half-unfurled into something honest.
They lifted the couch again. One floor. Two. Three. Leorio’s arms were aflame as they reached the landing, but no sooner than he opened his mouth to complain, he snapped it shut, and his eyebrows furrowed. Hisoka raised an eyebrow – teasing? Amused? Impressed? as Leorio upped his pace through his aching legs and back, and they rushed through to the fourth flight. As soon as Leorio’s feet hit the landing, the two Hunters dropped the couch as if it were covered in crawling maggots – the way Hisoka wiped his hands on his pants, leveling a glare of distaste at its pinstriped bulk, it might as well have been.
Leorio hacked and coughed and spluttered, managing through breath shorter than Kurapika’s temper on a bad day, “done.”
Hisoka gazed at Leorio - the look on his face would have been a leer on anyone else’s, but compared to his usual malice it was soft and fond. “Done,” he replied, giving a smile that looked remarkably human - no bared teeth, no stretched-thin lips. He stared at Leorio, who was stumbling from the railing to the wall and stretching his back with an immense crack. “You know, Doctor Paladiknight…” he trailed off, chuckling.
Leorio managed to turn to face him with a rusty creak. “What?” he asked, caught between exhaustion, irritation, determination, and bewilderment at the genuine lack of guile in Hisoka’s voice.
“I was just thinking that losing to you wouldn’t be so bad. That it would feel…” Hisoka shook his head with good humor at the word he was about to say. “Right.”
“Like… morally?” managed Leorio after a couple seconds of flabbergasted staring.
Hisoka shot him a droll look. “What do you think? No, Doctor Paladiknight. I suppose I mean…” Hisoka shrugged. “Because you’re different.”
Leorio, surprising himself, shot back, “what, not kill any emitters lately?” He wasn’t sure if it was a reward or a punishment, but Hisoka gave another short bark of mirth.
“No, I’ve killed plenty.” Hisoka shook his head. “It’s much more than that, Leorio. It’s got nothing to do with your abilities. It’s about the kind of Hunter you are.” Something odd, and a little bit dangerous, even for him, flashed in his eyes.
“...a disease Hunter?” Leorio was, in fact, pretty sure that was not what Hisoka meant, but something instinctual told him that the conversation was going in a potentially catastrophic direction.
Hisoka did not, however, take the bait. “You know something about really good Hunters, Leorio?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Every last one of us is insane. Your friends - Gon’s done something truly drastic.” Hisoka pursed his lips at the waste. “Kurapika, too - he’s hobbled himself against anyone who’s not a Spider. Killua would burn the world to ash for the people he loves. Genuinely. Truly and genuinely. But you…” he stared into Leorio’s soul, his smile growing so wide and cold that Leorio had to take a step back.
“I know.” It was an admission of guilt, quiet, rough, and heavy. “I’m not like the others. I can’t hold a candle to them. I’ll never have what it takes as a Hunter.” Leorio met Hisoka’s gaze, and grit his teeth. “But I don’t need to. I’m here to help people, not to be some kind of big shot.”
“Beautiful,” breathed Hisoka, and he meant it. “But that’s not what I’m getting at, Leorio.” He stalked forward, pupils filling his irises like black holes, sucking the warmth from the room. Leorio froze under the weight of Hisoka’s madness, a frog in the gaze of a snake, but he did not dare take a single step backward - something deeper than rational thought told him without a hint of exaggeration that reacting would be his death.
“My point, Doctor Paladiknight, is that you have all that potential - every ounce what your friends have - and you’re sane. Not even a little bit of a monster.” He was close enough to slit Leorio’s throat, now, or to kiss him, and the look in his eyes made it clear that the urge to do both was nearly boiling his frontal lobe. He whispered, practically into Leorio’s mouth as he put his arms over the taller man’s shoulders, “do you have any idea how special you are? How much you mean to us?” His voice dropped to a breath quieter than a cat’s footstep, a whisper that nonetheless could have been heard over an earthquake, “we’d kill for you, Leorio. Every one of us. Love you or hate you, every last truly great Hunter would slaughter thousands for the idea of you. That there’s one of us who stayed human. And that somehow, he still sees the human in every one of us.”
Leorio avoided gaping like a stunned fish with every ounce of his will, mainly because he was terrified that if he left his mouth open, Hisoka’s tongue would declare it free real estate. He did his best not to show fear as Hisoka’s adoration bore into him through void-hungry eyes.
“I think…” he managed, trailing off before remembering that a pause right now could lead to death or, worse, Hisoka kissing him, “I think that you’re projecting onto a lot of people right now.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Hisoka. “Perhaps that’s something I’ll talk over in therapy.” He gave a wry little smirk, but the twist in his mouth was odd. It was - honest. Human.
Leorio couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, and was nearly shocked out of it when Hisoka joined him, withdrawing his arms and shaking as tears formed in his eyes from mirth. Leorio’s laugh was booming, raucous, rough, and Hisoka’s was quieter, almost-but-not-quite elegant, punctuated by snorts that he could no longer hide. Every time Leorio seemed ready to stop laughing, Hisoka met his eyes and gave an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows that started the cycle again.
After a solid minute, Leorio clutching his stomach and Hisoka clearly wanting to do the same, the laughter faded off into an echo in the stairwell. Hisoka wiped the tears from his eyes, careful with his makeup, and threw a lazy, lopsided grin towards Leorio. “Is this the part where you say…” he chuckled, suddenly switching to a disturbingly passable imitation of Leorio’s baritone, “you’re alright, Hisoka. You’re alright.”
Leorio snorted. “Absolutely not.”
“Thank God,” huffed Hisoka. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to kill me anymore, for a second there.”
Leorio stared at him. “Did you just say-?”
“What?” Hisoka’s grin tried to shape itself into a mask of exaggerated offense, but his good humor was obvious enough to ruin it. “I might not be religious, but I’m allowed to use expressions.”
“No, not like that,” Leorio grumbled. “I just thought you’d… burst into flames or something.”
Hisoka couldn’t help it. A long, drawn-out snort escaped him, not unlike a balloon being allowed to deflate. “Are you saying I’m the devil, Leorio?”
“I don’t know if you have hooves in those or not.” Leorio gave a nod towards Hisoka’s Converse.
“Is this a ploy, Doctor Paladiknight,” Hisoka smirked and waggled his eyebrows gratuitously, “to see my feet?”
Leorio choked on air.
“Because,” continued Hisoka, fully aware of and deeply enjoying the fact that Leorio was actually, physically dying from shock and embarrassment, “you only really have to ask.” He cackled as Leorio, through sheer force of will, managed to salvage his respiratory system.
“I -.” Leorio shook off a thousand-yard stare. “Three floors. I need to get back to my apartment and take a fucking shower.”
“Oh?” Hisoka quirked an eyebrow. “Wan-”
“No.”
Hisoka gave an exaggerated pout. “Fine. Three floors, then.”
Despite having taken a somewhat longer break, three floors immediately after four was hell. Every muscle ached, every joint complained, and the couch pulled at Leorio’s grip with the stubborn intensity of a dog intent on eating something specifically and dramatically toxic to dogs. But, at this point, Leorio was surprisingly used to it.
Used to it enough, in fact, that he spoke as soon as they set the couch down.
“What if it were just me,” he said, shaky through lack of breath but no less determined.
Hisoka cocked his head. “There are several things that could mean, Leorio, and I’m quite sure that you don’t mean any of them.” He smirked. “Unless…”
Leorio shook his head. “I mean, what if you didn’t kill anyone else. Until me. What if you waited for me?”
Hisoka stared at Leorio with intense, hungry fondness. “Doctor Paladiknight. You must know that that’s a useless request. I have other people I can fight, even if you refuse to fight back when I come to kill you. People I’m looking forward to almost as much. Besides, I have all the cards here. There are people I can go after to make you fight back, Leorio.”
Leorio shook his head again, gritting his teeth, refusing to rise to the taunt. “A contract.” Hisoka’s eyes narrowed, and Leorio took it as a cue to continue. “I don’t want to fight you. I really don’t. How much stronger do you think I’d get if I made a contract with myself to kill you, under the condition that you stop hurting anyone else until we fight? If my loss freed you to hurt the people I love?”
Hisoka’s mouth made a little “o.” He silently gazed at Leorio for a long moment, wiped what looked suspiciously like a thin trail of drool from the corner of his lips. And then he gave a small, melancholy smile. “No.”
Leorio grit his teeth, bristled, and glared. “What do you mean no? What was that whole spiel about wanting to lose to me for then?”
Hisoka shrugged. “It just doesn’t feel right. It isn’t you. Besides, I doubt it would work. We both know that you’re going to have to fight me eventually, one way or the other.”
“Fine.” spat Leorio. “But I still have a condition. Me first. Out of the people I care about. Maybe I can’t stop you from killing. But… go after me first. You don’t have to hurt them to make me fight you. You win, okay?”
Hisoka shrugged again, smiling ruefully. “I’d promise that if I could, Leorio. But circumstances change. Times change. Opportunities present themselves. People ripen when they ripen. But rest assured. Gon’s ground his potential to dust. Killua’s god-knows-where - believe me, I’ve checked. Kurapika and I share a picked bone or two with the Spiders. You’re at the top of the list, at least for now.”
“Good enough.” Leorio grunted, as he gestured to the couch. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner I can go back and forget that I just asked you to go after me first, the better.” He knelt down and gripped the couch’s base.
“I have to admit, you’re the first to have done that,” murmured Hisoka as he bent to lift his share.
Leorio felt as if there was something he ought to say to that. But he couldn’t tell what.
The last leg of the journey was quiet. Easier than before, for both of them. It was impossible to tell whether the Hunters had just gotten used to the exertion, if their ability to cooperate had increased, or if their Nen reserves had actually grown from the trial. Either way, though, they cleared the first two flights smoothly.
They pushed through the last flight, and made it halfway, when Leorio slowed, until he ground to a stop a mere seven steps from the floor of the lobby.
“Something the matter?” called Hisoka lightly, breath ever-so-slightly strained by the pressure holding the couch was putting on him.
“Hisoka.” Leorio managed to grunt, as he took another plodding step. “I know you said that I’m probably the first of us you’ll go after. But that’s not a promise. So I want you to know something.” He took in a rattling breath, and another step, this one slightly faster. “I’m a Disease Hunter. I’m a future doctor. There are people in this world who are like tumors. People who need to be cut out.” His next step was far more sudden, and left Hisoka stumbling, nearly losing his grip. “But I’ve taken oaths, and even people like that deserve to die with dignity. With as much mercy as possible.” Another step. “But I fucking swear. If you kill one of my friends.” Another step, accompanied by a slight shove. Hisoka gasped with effort as he nearly tripped. “I will fucking lobotomize you, Hisoka Morow. I will chain you to a motherfucking cot and cut out your liver and show it to you.” Another step, so sudden that the stair under him creaked. “I swear to whatever and whoever will listen that I will give you the most miserable, pathetic death that you can imagine.” One more step, and Leorio hurled the couch towards Hisoka.
The lobby was, thankfully, empty – sure, no doubt someone would have called the police had anyone heard Leorio’s threat. But that wasn’t the reason why the lobby’s emptiness was a direct act of mercy from whatever higher power may have existed – no. The police being called would have been a disaster, but a mitigatable one. The lack of others – even the receptionist was out to lunch – was a miracle because, as Leorio shoved the couch at Hisoka, leaving the magician to barely fumble the couch to the ground in time to not lose any limbs – Hisoka made a noise. That kind of noise.
Leorio stared in disbelief. “Did you just –” try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to finish that awful thought.
Hisoka, hair disheveled, limbs loose, and looking far too pleased with himself, purred, “and you’re the one who got me there. Doctor Paladiknight. Beautiful threat. Extraordinary. I’ll even consider heeding it, if only because your eyes when you realize that you won’t be around to protect them will be so very, excruciatingly lovely. By the way,” he gave a cheerful point to a spot a bit to the left of Leorio’s head. “Bungee gum has the properties of both rubber and gum.”
It was then that Leorio realized there was a thin thread of pink aura attached to him, leading from his shoulder up and up and up the stairwell. He swallowed thickly. “No.”
“I’ll take care of the couch from here, Leorio!” Hisoka sang as he waved goodbye. “You need to get back to work.” He smirked. “Have a safe trip up!” Leorio’s indignant, furious, and terrified scream was Doppler-shifted music to his ears as the medical student vanished up 20 flights of stairs at a velocity heretofore known exclusively to the noble peregrine falcon.
Hisoka pulled the horrid couch out the building, every bit the industrious renter getting rid of a moldy piece of furniture, and, whistling a fast flamenco tune, dragged it out back, following signs to the garbage disposal area. He shoved it into the incinerator with some effort, smiling as he thought about the Zodiac. Leorio would survive, Hisoka knew that much. He was clever, resourceful, and tougher than nails. He’d be furious, though. Furious enough to text Hisoka just what he thought. Furious enough to keep texting when Hisoka flirted outrageously in response. And maybe, next time, they could grab that drink.
It was nice to have friends.