Chapter Text
The outskirts of Meteor City were a graveyard of discarded things. Under a sky the color of bruises, Kurapika moved through the skeletal remains of old machinery, his steps silent on the hard-packed earth. He was following a whisper, a rumor. He then froze. A familiar, oppressive aura prickled at the edge of his senses.
He wasn't alone.
Hisoka leaned against a rusted metal beam, building his house of cards with meticulous care. He didn't look up, but a smirk played on his lips. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you out here."
Kurapika's hand instinctively went to the chains. "Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice low and sharp.
Hisoka destroyed his house of cards before glance up, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "Why, I think we're both after the same thing, wouldn't you say?"
The name hung in the air between them, unspoken for only a moment.
"Chrollo," they said in unison.
A delighted giggle escaped Hisoka. He pocketed his hands and took a slow, deliberate step closer. "And what will you do when you find him, hmm?" he purred, tilting his head. "Going to kill him this time?"
Kurapika met his gaze, unwavering. "I have forsaken my revenge. I'm going to make him talk. He will tell me the names on his client list. Every last person he sold my brethren's eyes to."
"Ah," Hisoka breathed, his expression shifting into one of intrigued disappointment. "And how do you plan to achieve that? By ambushing him again? Snapping those pretty chains shut and turning off his Nen like a light switch?"
"It worked before."
"Yes, it did. Which is why," Hisoka said, his voice dropping to a dangerous caress, "I hope you'll let me have my turn with him before you do that."
Kurapika's jaw tightened. "And why would I do that? You'd kill him before he could speak a word to me."
Hisoka's eyes narrowed, but the smile remained. "Ah, that is a distinct possibility, isn't it?" In a flash of motion too fast to track, Hisoka closed the distance between them. His hand closed around Kurapika's throat, not squeezing, but holding. A reminder. Kurapika felt the insane strength in those fingers and knew, with absolute certainty, that Hisoka could crush his windpipe before he could even blink. "But if you interfere with my fight with him again," Hisoka whispered, his face inches from Kurapika's, "I'm going to crush your neck. Right now. Do you understand?"
The memory of their last encounter flashed in Kurapika's mind. the raw, murderous frustration on Hisoka's face when he'd been robbed of his prize. This was not an empty threat. Kurapika gave a single, stiff nod.
Hisoka's grip vanished instantly. Kurapika stumbled back, dropping to his knees as he coughed, dragging air back into his lungs.
"Besides," Hisoka continued, his tone light and conversational again as he examined his perfect nails, "let's be realistic. If your little ambush fails, and Chrollo is far more cautious now, you can't beat him in a one-on-one duel. You'd need me to incapacitate him first, wouldn't you? Then you can have your little chat."
Kurapika looked up, his throat aching, his pride stinging. But Hisoka, for once, wasn't wrong. Against a prepared Chrollo, his chances were slim. He hated the logic, but he couldn't deny it. "I understand," he rasped.
Hisoka extended a hand. It was an offer to help him up, but also the offer of a deal, a handshake. After a moment's hesitation, Kurapika took it. Hisoka's grip was warm and firm.
"A pleasure doing business with you again, Kurapika."
They walked together into the wasteland, two predators united by a single prey. The silence between them was tense.
"You've grown," Hisoka mused, his gaze sweeping over Kurapika appositively. "Quite impressively since we last met." He leaned in, close enough that Kurapika could feel his breath, and inhaled slowly, almost sensually, near his hair. Kurapika's entire body went rigid, every nerve ending screaming, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
He was too close. Always too close.
They moved with care, stalking their prey through the ruins. Kurapika's focus was absolute, his senses attuned to any sign of the Phantom Troupe. It was why he never saw it coming.
Chrollo materialized from behind a stack of corroded barrels like a ghost. There was no aura, no warning. A blade, glinting with a sickly wet sheen, sliced across the side of Kurapika's neck. He gasped, stumbling forward as a fiery, numbing cold spread instantly from the wound. He clapped a hand to his throat; it came away slick with blood that was already turning a dark, unnatural color. Poison. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, the world swimming.
"I didn't expect to see you working with the chain bastard again, Hisoka," Chrollo said calmly, stepping over Kurapika. He points the knife at Hisoka.
Hisoka's smile was wider than ever, his eyes blazing with unrestrained glee. "Working with him? Oh, no. I just let him tag along. A bit of entertainment before the main event." He reached up, slowly taking off his top and letting it fall to the ground. His aura exploded outward, a malignant, shimmering force that distorted the air around him. A flush of pure ecstasy crossed his face, a soft, pleased sigh escaping his lips. "Now, let's have some fun."
"Wait, Hisoka." Chrollo held up a placating hand.
Hisoka paused, his predatory focus narrowing.
"I'm currently in the process of collecting a new series of abilities," Chrollo explained, his voice even. "Abilities compiled specifically to defeat you. If you can wait just one month, I'll be waiting for you at the top of Heaven's Arena. It will be a far more... stimulating fight for you, don't you think?"
Hisoka's head cocked, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. A month. It had already been so long. His patience was a frayed wire. He could feel the fight he craved being dangled just out of reach again.
But the promise... the promise of facing Chrollo, armed with abilities custom-made to counter his own... The thought was intoxicating. The challenge, the uncertainty, the potential for exquisite violence... Hisoka's lips parted, a thin line of saliva threatening to escape the corner of his mouth. The anticipation was almost as good as the act itself.
"Besides," Chrollo added, gesturing with the knife, "it seems your pretty little friend needs some help."
Kurapika was on the ground, his skin ashen, his breaths shallow and rattling. The poison was spreading fast. He was losing consciousness, his vision dimming.
Hisoka glanced at him, then back at Chrollo. He gave a small, curt nod. "You'll keep your promise? You won't run?"
"I will."
Satisfied for now, Hisoka knelt beside Kurapika. Without hesitation, he put his mouth to the bleeding gash on his neck and sucked, drawing out the poisoned blood and spitting it onto the dirt. He did it again and again until the blood flowing from the wound ran a healthier red. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he stretched a thin, pink strand of Bungee Gum over the cut, sealing it to stem the bleeding. He slipped one arm under Kurapika's shoulders and another under his knees, lifting the younger man with surprising gentleness against his bare chest. Kurapika was limp, his breath faint.
"See you later"