Chapter Text
Illumi celebrated his twelfth birthday by travelling to a small circus and snapping the ringmaster's neck behind one of the worn looking caravans.
It was a small contract, one that barely paid well enough to justify the trouble, but Zeno argued that Illumi needed practice on solo jobs. He couldn't always pair up with Silva afterall.
He found his target smoking outside what was arguably the most garish of the caravans- though none could truthfully be called anything but inches away from dilapidation. Illumi approached silently, unseen, and while his small hands gripped the man's stubbly jaw and twisted, feeling the snap and crunch vibrate down his arms, his only thought was that the mustard coloured velvet suit was reminiscent of dried vomit.
The body hit the floor with a dull thud. Illumi stared down for a moment; the only sound the faint cheering from the crowds as some act performed under the bright tent in the next field over, and the quiet rustling of grass in the gentle breeze.
He pulled out his phone and text his father, letting him know the ringmaster was dead. He received no reply, but he hadn't expected one.
Illumi wondered, with a vague, distant kind of interest, if anyone had remembered his birthday. It didn't matter. Twelve wasn't an important age anyway, and now the family had baby Killua to look after.
"Oh my! What did poor old Philipe do to you, hmm?"
Illumi's head snapped up at the honeyed voice, eyes focusing on the boy stood only meters away- all messily dyed red hair and ragged clothing and big bubbles blown pale pink from gum. His yellow eyes laughed even as his mouth continued to chew and blow methodically as he stared at Illumi.
Meanwhile Illumi was trying to think of how to handle the boy. He'd never had a witness before. Father always said to never leave any witnesses, but to avoid killing outside of the contract if possible. But only weeks before Zeno had assured Illumi his nen was developing well, and he couldn't figure out how the too skinny boy with his intense eyes had approached without Illumi noticing.
And the boy wasn't scared. He just kept staring at Illumi in a way that would probably have made him squirm if he wasn't preoccupied with thoughts of the best way to kill him.
The man- Philipe- was between them, facedown in the grass, and Illumi truly didn't know what to make of the situation. He stared down at the body a little hopelessly, then looked back at the boy to find him still staring.
"Well?" The boy asked eventually.
"What?" Illumi's voice was quiet and dull. He looked at the boy's hands, loose and swinging slightly by his sides. He seemed perfectly relaxed, but Illumi could feel the tension in the cool autumn air; he knew, somehow, that if he were to attack, the boy would fight back. Would fight well.
"What did Philipe do to you?" The boy's eyes wouldn't stop dancing, and now that he was no longer blowing bubbles his mouth was stretched into a wide smile, pearly white teeth clearly on display. He looked happy, or amused, or delighted, or some other kind of pleasant emotion that Illumi really couldn't relate to.
"Nothing."
The boy cocked his head, smile still firmly in place. "He did nothing? Then why kill him?"
"It was my job. My contract." He didn't know why he was replying. Maybe because the only other person remotely his age is Milluki; whiney, spoilt Milluki who sulks when they train because Illumi refuses to hold back. This boy was smiling, at Illumi, which was something he hadn't experienced in months. Just a simple smile, though it was clear from the sharpness in his gaze thag there was nothing simple about the boy.
The boy raised his eyebrow, expression curious. "Assassin?" He guessed, and Illumi found himself nodding, despite the warnings drilled into him from birth. DO NOT REVEAL YOUR IDENTITY. DO NOT PUT THE FAMILY AT RISK.
"Aren't you a bit young to be an assassin? What are you, ten?"
And that dragged Illumi out of his thoughts, because yes he was a Zoldyck and an assassin, but he was still a boy insecure about his height and his baby face.
"I am twelve." He said, and his voice would sound empty to most, but the boy with the messy dyed hair grinned like he know's exactly how easily he got under Illumi's skin.
"Well, I'm fifteen. My name is Hisoka." The boy said in reply, and Illumi felt his mouth twist down into a frown before he could stop it.
"I didn't ask."
Hisoka laughed, long and slow and warm, and Illumi looked away, pink.
"No, you didn't. But how can we be friends when we don't know each other' names?"
Illumi was thrown back into reality by that sentence.
Friends.
Illumi didn't have any friends. He wasn't allowed any. He swallowed, noticed his mouth was dry. If his father were to find out about his interaction with Hisoka... he couldn't even imagine the punishment.
"Don't worry," Hisoka said suddenly, voice somehow a cross between mischievous and earnest. "I wont tell anyone about you killing old Phil. If the other's find his body like this later they'll think he fell out the door and caught his neck on the steps or something."
Illumi fought down the curdling heat in his throat and the shaking in his arms that was telling him to kill Hisoka. He was torn. He didn't know why he was fighting the instinct.
"I need to go." Illumi said after a moment of silence, fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly. One of the needles holding up his hair slipped out, and a the long fall of black obscured his vision for a moment before he tucked it back behind his ears. Hisoka's eyes followed the swing of hair, and Illumi couldn't read the secrets hidden in his golden gaze.
"You're leaving? So soon? But I was just starting to have fun!" Hisoka complained, and the strange leer in his eyes was still there, more intense now, and Illumi could smell bloodlust in the breeze, felt his own nen start to expand as a result, the black writhing mass in his chest trying to leak out of his skin. There was slim needles between his fingers and he wasn't sure how they got there, only that his arms and hands itched to throw, embed them in Hisoka's bright eyes and the hollow of his pale throat.
Hisoka watched Illumi struggle to fight down his instincts like he knew exactly what was happening. He laughed again, quiet and warm. "It looks like you don't want to play though. Maybe next time?"
Next time. Hisoka knew Illumi didn't want to kill him. He knew.
The crescendo of the crowd from the far away tent made a faint roar that carried in the wind, and Hisoka looked back towards the makeshift arena just long enough for Illumi to put one foot forward, push, and Hisoka turned back around just in time to see Illumi's hand slam into his throat and closes like a small vice, throwing him backwards into the grass.
Illumi fell atop Hisoka, hand squeezing tighter even as Hisoka bellowed a laugh; a loud, crazed sound, eyes delighted. He looked like he'd won, and Illumi was confused for the second it took him to realise he hadn't watched Hisoka's hands, and then there's something sharp pressed against the small of his back, pressing into his spine.
Hisoka grinned, as blinding as the sun, and hiccuped a gasping breath. "Truce?" He wheezed, and Illumi scowled down at him, completely frustrated. Checking the hands of your target was vital. How had he forgotten? His insides were all twisted up and Hisoka's smile was making it so much worse.
"Why did you make me do that?" He asked, and Hisoka feigned innocence, shrugging in what was probably meant to look a helpless manner.
"Why did you provoke me?" Illumi asked more distinctly, hand tightening until his knuckles cracked and Hisoka's pale face started to deepen to a bruised purple. He still wouldn't stop that smirk, and he was tracing something sharp up and down against Illumi's spine; gentle but threatening.
"Wanted-" a choked rasp, "- to see if you would fight me." Illumi ripped his hand off Hisoka's throat with a vaguely annoyed sound, standing up and brushing off his leggings and long shirt. He yearned suddenly for his Kimono, his mother's soothing voice telling him about targets as she brushed his long hair.
"I am leaving." He said down to Hisoka, who was still sprawled on the grass, gasping and grinning like an idiot. An open pack of playing cards is in one hand, the queen of hearts in the other.
"What's your name?" He asked after a moment of heaving breaths. Illumi's handprint was a deep, blooming red against the unmarred skin of his neck. Illumi stared down at the strangest boy he'd ever met and wondered what harm a first name could do at this point.
"Illumi." He said eventually, turning and walking away without waiting for a reply.
He was halfway across the field when he heard a distant shout, giggly and excited.
"It's a pretty name! Like you!"
Illumi certainly did not pause and turn. He certainly didn't give a hesitant wave when he saw Hisoka stood waving both arms like a malfunctioning windmill. And when Hisoka blew a kiss, Illumi certainly didn't blush all the way home.
All in all, its was interesting birthday, even if his family had forgotten.