That," Zushi said, "is Killua Zoldyck."

Gon waited for more, but that was all Zushi had to say on the matter. "That's... it? What's so special about him?" Gon said.

Knuckle sighed obnoxiously. "He's, like, the only bi kid in our major. That we know of."

The gates of Heaven opened. A chorus of angels swept a chorus of beautiful melodies through the air. Gon's gay heart opened like his legs manspreading in that lecture hall the way he desperately hoped for some beautiful queer boy to live in proximity to him. Initially, that daydream meant a dorm or two over from his own, but alas, he was living within the 900 square feet of their apartment.

But that wasn't for Knuckle and Zushi to know.

"So? Bi people exist," Gon said, completely chill, like he wasn't living with the sole, bi individual in their major.

"So?" Knuckle hissed. "He's hot as fuck, aced every midterm last semester, and has a full ride here. The dude got a perfect score on the SAT in high school."

"And he's super emotionally unavailable and I think that's hot," Zushi sighed dreamily, slumping against his seat.

"So... I take it you both are gay," Gon said.

"I am," Zushi sighed, wistful like a Disney princess. "Knuckle's repressed."

Knuckle gasped, horrified. "Am not! I'm also emotionally, mentally, and physically unavailable," Knuckle explained. When Gon rose an eyebrow at him, he went on to say, "I'm on the USFC track team. I don't have time for relationships."

"Ah," Gon said, though he didn't understand at all.

"Alright, class," Professor Wing declared. "This should be your first semester of theory and if it isn't, I'd highly suggest revisiting your schedule to make sure you're in the right room."

Gon thought about Killua's sexual orientation all through lecture, which consisted of syllabi being handed out, and an overwhelming sense of dread upon reading about the entire repetoire required of the course that would be graded. It was all on one page, just like Gon's mind hyperfocused on Killua being bisexual.

He thought of those girls several rows ahead of them, chattering away shortly after Killua's entry.

Twice the competition, Gon thought.

His brain followed up with, "No, I shan't," as he exited the lecture hall with Knuckle and Zushi.

"What? What shan't you do?" Zushi asked.

Gon put his hands to his cheeks, shaking his head. "Nothing. I've just been thinking too much lately."

In that exact moment, someone burst through the three of them, startling Gon and nearly tripping him out of this existence and into the next. He caught his heart in his chest, gasping, as a guy the size of Mt. Everest latched onto Knuckle with a hearty laugh and said, "Who's this slick new gal you've found?"

"Uvo, meet Gon. Gon, this is Uvogin. We call him Uvo," Knuckle said.

Gon's heart was barely restraining itself. He managed to smile lightly and shake Uvo's hand, though, as he said, "Nice to meet you. And not a gal—guy, actually."

"Ah. Sorry about that. My default is always 'gal' because men are trash," Uvo said, and Gon couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled up. He giggled, completely enamored by Uvo's stupid, crooked smile and crooked nose.

"You're despicable," Zushi said to Uvo, who put a hand over his heart, offended. His other hand was still slung over Knuckle's shoulders until Knuckle took a moment to lift it off and set it gently against Uvo's side.

"I am loveable, dammit," Uvo said. He put his arm immediately back around Knuckle, who rolled his eyes. Uvo nodded to Gon and said, "Nice to meet you, Gon, but I have to steal this idiot away for practice."

"Okay—nice meeting you both!" Gon said and followed up with an eager wave.

Knuckle sighed as he spun after Uvo. He glanced back with a half-hearted wave and said, "See you," before turning to punch Uvo in the stomach and say, "Were you waiting for me to get out of class, or was that just a coincidence?"

"Just a coincidence—unless...?" Uvo said, and Gon and Zushi snickered at the way Knuckle roared with frustration on their way out of the building.

As soon as they were gone, Gon turned to Zushi to say, "They seem fun."

Zushi rolled his eyes. "I'm glad ya like 'em. They can be kind of unbearable at times."

The two of them paused, standing just outside of the room. The door was propped open, so they could see the exact moment Killua approached to leave. Gon glanced across the hall where that same group of girls were gathered. He realized then that they were waiting for You Know Who to leave the room, and Gon found himself shocked by the sheer size of Killua's San Francisco fanbase.

He was just shocked that Killua had a fanbase, if he was being honest.

When Killua exited the room, Gon's breath caught in his throat the same way Killua's eyes caught his. Don't look at him, don't even acknowledge him, Gon thought to himself, turning away at the same exact time Killua did, looking more or less perturbed by Gon's presence there in his class.

Killua left then, eyes on the ground. When he pushed his hand to the exit door, he caught Zushi—that guy who made a point to talk to everybody in the class—whisper to Gon, "He looked at you? What the fuck?"

The instant Killua was outside, he groaned and dragged his hands over his face. Of all of the majors Gon could have been in...

Now wasn't the time to fuss, though, nor would it ever be. He just had to make it through these first couple months—perhaps sooner—until he had enough money to put down a deposit, break the lease, and move into a new place.

Easy.

Right?

At least I came to the apartment with a shit ton of my family's furniture—they won't even know it's missing, Killua thought as he headed for the nearest bus stop that would take him to work.

As Killua took a bus away from campus, Gon and Zushi hopped onto a bus in the opposite direction. Their next class didn't start until later that afternoon, and Gon had several items on his shopping list that needed ticking off.

Gon flipped open his notes on his phone and pointed to the first item on his list. "For one, I need a bed."

"That would be ideal, I agree," Zushi said. "So what are you sleeping on now?"

"The floor," Gon confessed with a grimace. Zushi winced. "But, I can stand to sleep on the floor for a while longer. That's not the priority here."

"It isn't?"

"No. This is my priority," Gon said, pointing to the next item on the list.

The two of them watched as Gon's phone loaded up a picture of the classiest guitar Gon had ever seen in his entire life. He had been waiting for this moment since he signed his lease months ago, before every piece of shit hit the fan. He would leave his old life behind and start a fresh new existence in San Francisco.

Sure, it would take a bit longer for the strings to wear in and for his hands to grow accustom to it, but boy, would it feel good to have a guitar again.

Considering what happened to his last acoustic.

That experience had, however, made him infinitely more grateful for the fact that his electric guitar was still intact. Sure, his acoustic needed an upgrade (he had had it since middle school) but that didn't mean it deserved to have its spruce body thrown out a fifth story window.

"Wow," Zushi marveled, reaching for Gon's phone. Gon beamed at the way Zushi's eyes lit up in the glow of the guitar on his phone screen. No one at the community college would have had that look on their faces had he shown them his future guitar. "That's spunky," he said.

Gon laughed. "Out of everything you coulda called it—"

"I mean, it's super cool! Where are you getting it from?"

"Haight Ashbury," he confessed, and Zushi promptly squealed with excitement.

Haight Ashbury was farther west than where Killua's workplace resided, and so there was no concern of their paths crossing as Killua stepped off of the bus and stood within view of the establishment. The neon lights were off for that afternoon, and the tinted windows at the front were pasted over with posters for music events and festivals.

The bus pulled away as Killua pocketed his hands in his bomber jacket and managed a small, relieved sigh. The tension lifted, only slightly, but he was certain he'd be back to his usual self once he was behind all of those darkened windows. He wasn't particularly inclined to be seen on this street by anyone who might recognize his face.

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, Killua tugged his backpack straps closer and crossed the street. He jogged up to the curb and slid into the alley beside the club where his key slotted into the door next to the dumpster. The brick walls were all damp from the fog that morning and Killua could feel it on his chilled fingers as he pulled on the door handle and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.

Down the long, dingy hallway, a head popped out of the lockroom door, the curtain swinging aside. Killua recognized that head of blonde hair instantly.

"Oh, it's just Killua," Kurapika said, disappearing once more.

Killua's blood boiled, fists clenched at his sides. "There's no 'just' about it! I know you missed me!" he cried, rushing to the room. He ripped the curtain aside only to find that Kurapika hadn't gone anywhere. Their foreheads collided instantly.

They both yelped, cursing. Killua slapped a hand to his nose and groaned as Kurapika seethed, voice raising with every word, "'Missed you?' I've just been waiting to murder you. You were gone all weekend!"

"Well, I'll be gone longer if you murder me!" Killua shouted back. They were screaming before long, and in doing so, prompted the entry of one of the bartenders peeking in to ensure that everything was okay.

Killua clamped his mouth shut at the sight of Leorio there. Kurapika was still grappling for control over Killua's hands and arms and shoved his palm right against Killua's cheek.

Leorio blinked, glasses slipping. "I heard yelling. Sort of assumed Killua was back."

"That I am," Killua muttered, voice muffled by Kurapika's hand against his cheek. He plucked it off and pushed Kurapika away, who was still rearing for a fight, bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists raised. "And I'm here to work, not duke it out. I don't have time for that anymore."

"What do you mean? You got the apartment, didn't you?" Kurapika said, shoulders slumping.

Leorio leant against the bar door, arms crossed as he shrugged. "He's gotta pay for more shit now that he's living on his own, though."

"I'm not an idiot—'course I know that," Kurapika hissed at him. Killua rolled his eyes and started towards his locker. "I just figured since he spent all summer saving up for rent this semester he might be able to take a break once in a while."

"Not anymore," Killua sighed, slinging his backpack off of his shoulders. He avoided their stares as he packed his backpack into his locker. He didn't see why he had to tell them a goddamn thing. Besides, he knew what they'd do: They'd butt right into the situation. "Leorio's right. I just need to... get more shit for the apartment. Kitchen supplies, furniture..."

"Well, I can help with that," Leorio said. "I've got all that extra shit at my parents' place."

"I have extra kitchen supplies from my last apartment," Kurapika said.

"Thanks, but I don't take handouts," Killua said, which was true.

Killua loathed the thought of getting help from them. They weren't technically his coworkers. They weren't even 'friends'. Killua wasn't sure what to call them aside from people he saw nearly every day of the week since his senior year of high school when he scored a spot on Chrollo's floor. Killua never really felt inclined to spend extra time with either of them, though he and Kurapika had gone out for coffee on several occassions before Kurapika became privy to Killua's age when he was still in high school.

"I get that you're almost eighteen, but that won't change anything for me," Kurapika had told him. He was fine with that. He didn't really picture their outings as dates anyway. Kurapika was twenty-three now, after all. A mentor of sorts.

"You've helped me enough as it is," Killua said, ducking his head. He folded his coat over his arm and glanced at Kurapika out of the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't have saved up nearly as much money had you not taught me how to actually pole-dance properly."

"Aw, cute," Leorio cooed from the door.

Kurapika and Killua turned on him with a sharp, "Piss off!" and a, "Don't you have something better to do?!"

Leorio flung his arms up in surrender and spun back around to the bar. He disappeared out of sight, muttering about how ungrateful they were. Killua ground his teeth together, only to slacken up when Kurapika dropped a hand atop his head and gave his white hair a ruffle under the blacklights in the locker room. He flinched, eyes squeezed shut until Kurapika's hand lifted.

"You'll do fine in your new place," Kurapika reassured him, and hearing it aloud nearly brought Killua to tears. He worked so hard to even get an apartment and leave his family behind. All of the stress, the work, the sleepless nights at The Phantom—they weren't all for naught. He really had worked towards something great, and he had something to show for it that he was proud of.

Except for the minor detail of the scam...

He watched from the corner of his eye as Kurapika left the locker room. They had work to do, and Killua was here to make a shit ton of money for the sake of correcting the error in his judgement. He should have known his apartment was too good to be true.

And, so, Killua locked away his school bag and started after Kurapika out onto the main floor of the club where chairs were flipped upside-down on tabletops and the florescent warehouse lights were flicked on. Chrollo had left out cleaning supplies for them behind the bar, and so he and Kurapika took their share of the brooms and set to work thoroughly sweeping the floor for a solid scrubbing with the mops later.

He swepped the floors in long, rough streaks towards the pile Kurapika accumulated from the other side of the club. The hum and bubble of the bar sink reached them as they gathered the dirt and grime onto a dust pan. Leorio polished every last cup at the bar so that he could shake out the rubber mats beneath them and wash them down.

"It's been a while since we had cleaning duty, huh?" Kurapika commented, and Killua huffed, annoyed and sweaty.

He brushed a hand through his hair, only to think better of it with a grimace. Even if he participated in the cleaning, touching his face in this setting was just out of the question. "You say that like you were just waiting for the day you'd be stuck here with me for three-plus hours," Killua said.

Kurapika gave him a dull look and said, "I look forward to no such thing."

"The way you tackled me earlier says otherwi—oh, fuck!" Killua cursed, tripping when Kurapika smacked his shin with the stick of his broom.

Killua swatted at him, wielding his broom with both hands on the stick. He pointed it at Kurapika in warning, as if to say, I dare you to come closer. Kurapika responded with a twirl of his own broom, spinning it behind him and back around to the front. He stomped his foot down, stance wide, and turned his poised broom onto Killua.

"Oi, no anime battles in this establishment," Leorio said.

"We'll see about that," Kurapika said, and Killua leapt away when he took a jab forward.

He yelped when Kurapika did it again, just to tease Killua until Killua cried, "C-Cut it out! We have work to do! It's not every day we get paid hourly here, you know!"

"Hourly is nothing compared to a Friday night on the pole," Kurapika said, testily, and chased after Killua, who screamed in alarm and fled. "This is merely bribery in exchange for manual labor."

Killua screamed when Kurapika came at him with the bristles of the broom—as if Killua would let Kurapika touch him with someone that had scraped all crevices of the club floor.

"For someone living in my spare bedroom..." a familiar, dreadful voice sounded from the loft overhead.

Kurapika cursed, dropping the broom immediately as Leorio hummed a scandalous, "Ooooh, now you've done it."

"I literally told him to cut it out. You heard that part, right?" Killua said, pointing to Kurapika, who sneered. Killua's pointing diminished into a weak, painful smile. If anything, now I just need to watch my back more, he thought.

From the loft, Chrollo Lucilfer started down the steps and around to the landing where, poised several feet above the stair railing, mounted a caged pole for Saturday night concerts and raves. There was one on either side of the split staircase.

"But you admit it's bribery," Kurapika remarked, a hand on his hip.

"I admit that it's in your rental contract," Chrollo said, tipping his head to the side.

Kurapika leant over to Killua and whispered in a sing-song voice, "Bribery..."

Killua grinned and said, "As long as I'm in the schedule, I don't give a shit." Even from this far, he could see the snicker on Chrollo's lips before he punctuated it with a cigarette.

Speaking of the schedule... Killua thought, biting his lip. He set his broom aside and started towards the stairs as Chrollo leant against the railing, flicking a lighter over he end of the cig.

Killua hopped up around the first of the two landings and slowed halfway up the stairs to Chrollo. The warehouse's vaulted ceilings had a thin strip of windows overhead that highlighted Chrollo's stubble and the glint on his expensive, gaudy watch. When Chrollo turned to him, disinterested, Killua could see that the state of the owner's schedule was showing in shadows under his eyes. He smelled like leather varnish and smoke.

"You didn't have to come in today. We've got it handled," Killua said.

Chrollo scoffed and glanced down at the floor where Kurapika had gotten back to work, and Leorio was helping drag fresh water out onto the floor in buckets. "Not gonna sleep anyway, so figured, 'why the fuck not'," Chrollo sighed.

"There's medication for that, you know."

"I know. And I also know that I told you not to mother me," he said.

Killua grimaced. "Right, sorry." He understood that Chrollo didn't want to be treated like a boss. He was more of a landlord, except instead of renting shitty apartments (and scamming people), he rented stage time. "I wanted to talk to you about my schedule."

"Have you reconsidered?"

At this rate, Killua's face would be stuck in a permanent grimace. "I have, yes," he confessed. Whether he wanted to or not, he needed the cash and that meant leeching from regulars who were desperate for more. His moral standards were thinning fast, just like his patience.