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His heart is numb, and he wants it to remain that way. Anything beyond that is in the realm of the unknown, the perilous.
But something strange stirs in that dull heart of Meruem’s when he sees the sun illuminating strands of silver hair, when he sees sapphire eyes shimmer like an ocean. Meruem has explored these woods behind the palace for all eighteen years that he’s been alive, and never once has he glimpsed another boy his age.
It’s pure instinct that forces him to hide behind a large evergreen tree, watching the boy stroll by with his hands in his pockets, grace and strength lining every movement.
“Killua!” Another boy, one with dark hair and a bright smile, comes running. “No fair. I told you to wait up!”
“It was a race, Gon. What did you expect?”
Meruem doesn’t like the way Gon holds Killua’s hand, and the way Killua embraces him in return. The minute that Gon brings his lips to Killua’s, a tender kiss ensuing, Meruem feels yet another thing he’s never felt before.
It must be rage. There’s nothing else it could possibly be.
Meruem’s eyes burn into the boy who’s stolen Killua’s heart, and he wishes him nothing but ill will.
As though sensing his menacing presence, Killua’s eyes flick towards Meruem’s hiding spot. “Seems like I have a secret admirer.” Meruem has to catch his breath at that smile - it lights up his sky-like irises with mischief, making them glow brighter than any star in the sky. “If you want to come out, I’m not opposed to the idea. Are you good-looking?”
A few seconds pass, Meruem frozen where he stands, and Killua laughs amusedly before walking off with Gon into the distance.
.....
Meruem is a prince. And princes know how to get what they want.
Which is why, when the doors of the throne room open the next day, Killua enters, wrists bound together with shackles, Shaiapouf and Neferpitou guarding him on either side.
He’s more beautiful than anyone he’s ever seen before. Even more stunning than Komugi, the sweet but tedious girl he’s slated to marry soon.
In this room, Killua’s very aura shines brighter than anyone else’s. He looks like a prince, the way he commands the room, walking with his head held high and looking directly into Meruem’s eyes.
“It’s not too much to ask you to release me from these shackles, is it?” Killua says. Shaiapouf gasps dramatically, and Neferpitou seems ready to pounce. After all, it’s unheard of for commoners to question royalty.
“You aren’t afraid?” Meruem asks quietly, suddenly intimidated, suddenly wary.
“No. Because Gon will come to save me, and you’ll be dead before you can even realize it.”
Before either of the guards can move, Meruem speaks. “Pouf, Pitou. Please unshackle him and leave.”
They do so without questioning him, and Killua’s smirk only magnifies. “I know why I’m here. I’m not dumb.” He saunters closer to the throne that Meruem lounges in, and he ceases to breathe. “You’re not brave enough to run away and start a life of your own, so you brought me here to keep you company against my will. Am I right?”
Meruem doesn’t speak. He can’t. Killua’s bold, degrading words sear through him like a blade.
“What makes me so special, Prince Meruem?” Killua steps in front of him, running his fingers through Meruem’s dark hair and surveying him like a lover. No one has ever touched him like that before, and it does inexplicable things to him. “You’re easy on the eyes. Pretty like me.”
Killua wraps his arms around Meruem’s neck, and now he’s in his lap, forehead tucked against his collarbone, seeming to know that Meruem will let him get away with all of this.
And Killua keeps speaking, unconcerned about his prince’s shocked silence. “But there’s more to attraction than just looks. Or is that the only reason you’re keeping me trapped here?” Killua’s joking demeanor vanishes. There’s a harsh curve to his red lips, the color of berries in the wild. “I lied.”
“I don’t understand.”
The sound of Meruem’s voice injects pure animosity into Killua’s delicate features. “Gon isn’t coming for me. I know that you killed him.”
Meruem is no good at reacting to situations. His parents, his servants, always did that for him, while he stood silent in the background. Killua traces Meruem’s cheekbone with a finger, as though trying to memorize it.
He never wanted Killua to find out about this. He only wanted him to live here with him forever.
Then, Killua starts laughing, a harsh laugh devoid of amusement, as though he’s read Meruem’s thoughts. “This is obsession. Not love,” Killua says. “Someone like you isn’t capable of love.”
With those few simple words, with those blue eyes that may as well be daggers, Killua succeeds in shattering Meruem’s heart into millions of pieces.