You are Darkness

Chapter 13 - A Cure

This chapter has Content Warnings!
(If you don't want spoilers, skip the warnings but otherwise please keep them in mind)

CW/TW:
Self-harm
Description of suicide

Everything was exactly the same. From the pale-blue curtains to the quiet buzz of the refrigerator in the background. The morning sun was dripping through the open blinds creating a pattern of light on the maroon carpet. For a second, Hisoka could only focus his sight on the minuscule particles dancing aimlessly in the sun rays. Yes, everything was exactly the same, except, not quite.

The big couch had been pushed a little closer to the TV in the living room. There were a few ceramic bowls and plates settled on the kitchen counter, and his bed was poorly made, especially on the opposite side of where he usually slept. That's right, he remembered, the last time he had been at his apartment in Heaven's Arena was before traveling to Greed Island. And now, the place had Illumi's presence all over.

The thought assaulted him like a surprise shot to the chest. Burning, at first, so hot it almost seemed freezing. Then, it became paralyzing, spreading across his body, like an infection. Illumi felt like a tumor that kept growing inside his body, no matter how much or how hard he tried to carve it out.

His satin bedding was cold to the touch, and, as he sat there, Hisoka fought the urge to cradle Illumi's pillow in his hands. He always knew the assassin was troubled and damaged, but a small part of him wanted to heal him, to stitch him up piece by piece hoping that maybe he'd remain by his side. What an idiot he was, he thought, what a childish dream to have. Illumi was a cold-blooded killer, a Zoldyck, and Hisoka's most precious being in the world. But lowlives from Meteor City couldn't possibly dream that high. He should have died on the streets when he was a child or at the hands of his keeper who took away his hope for a family along with his innocence. Hell! He should have died merely a few weeks ago when those fuckers gutted him alive. Yet he didn't.

After being in the hospital for barely two weeks, Hisoka had been released by his weary doctor. She was afraid he might not be completely healed but considering his mind-blowing regeneration and resilience, she finally agreed to his request. Truth be told, he couldn't stand lying there for another second, feeling hurt and useless like a broken toy, discarded just like one too. And being back home was not helping him feel better.

Still, a shower would be a smart move to keep his mind busy and his body relaxed. And he was urging to get that hospital smell out of his entire self. Shuffling around his closet he found some simple black pajama pants, some boxer briefs, and a red t-shirt, and then headed to the bathroom with everything bundled up under his arm.

There was a mirror covering almost an entire wall inside his bathroom. Hisoka used to spend a lot of time watching his reflection, perfecting his make-up, and covering up every single thing he'd find that wasn't perfect. But the image staring back at him now took him by surprise. His natural hair was peeking out from his roots and the once-vivid red dye was dull and faded. There were dark circles around his tired eyes, and freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks. And of course, there were the scars, all of them, like a timeline of his pathetic existence. The newest one was as long as his abdomen was wide, and it was still fresh and tender to the touch.

"Me, kill me," he remembered vividly as the gangster drew a line across his abs. The excruciating pain followed by the warmth of his own blood reaching his legs, soaking his feet. The weight of his organs being pushed outside of his body and onto the ground. The cold of certain death drawing near and suddenly, a gust of wind, a well-known threatening aura, and the screams of his executioners creating the horrid lullaby for his eternal sleep. A hand to his forehead. The smell of almonds. A broken voice. "Don't you dare to die"