illua Zoldyck never twerked a day in his life before The Phantom. Honest to God, hand on the bible, in front of the court, Killua Zoldyck could safely say that he barely knew how to dance before The Phantom happened. And it certainly wasn't like he had an ass suitable for a strip club. It was all flat back there before The Phantom, and then the training started.

But before training, and before Killua could even dance, he did his research and found himself on the doorstep of The Phantom at the ripe young age of seventeen. He was barely over that seventeen-year-old threshold, but he was so goddamn done with the Zoldyck life.

If he wanted his own life and his own college degree, he needed to make cash for it, first and foremost.

The first person Killua ever met at the club was Machi—The Phantom's best and brightest bodyguard. Killua would soon learn that when Machi was on duty, there was bound to be some form of shenanigans from newcomers underestimating her prowess. The dark side of Killua loved to stand and watch Machi bodyslam guys who made her dancers uncomfortable. The look of abject horror on the clients' faces... Priceless.

"This ain't the school yard, kid. Buzz off," Machi said from the doorway before Killua could even approach the hostess.

"You don't even know how old I am," Killua snapped. "Just because I'm Asian doesn't mean—"

Machi pointed to her own face, leaning in to go nose-to-nose with him. Killua leant back, startled, as Machi said, "Yeah, and how old do I look, pipsqueak? A day old?"

Killua, being the dumb bastard he was, rolled his eyes and reached for his fake ID. Milluki was a goddamn genius when it came to fake IDs, but in other areas—most areas, actually—he was an idiot. So, Machi took one, two, three looks at Killua's ID before handing it back, unconvinced, and gestured for him to get inside.

The second person Killua ever met at The Phantom was the host: Hisoka Morow, otherwise known as the bane of Killua's existence and the blessing to his wallet. That godforsaken idiot knew the kinks of every rotten bastard in the Bay area and by God, he knew who was willing to pay.

"Aw, what a sweet little thing," Hisoka purred, a hand on his cocked him and the other on the banister overlooking the warehouse.

Killua's eyes were everywhere but Hisoka until that moment because holy shit, this place was the real deal.

Amidst the spiraling blue and pink lights, Killua cleared his throat and his vision of one of the dancers nearest the entrance. That initial walkway only then opened up after a narrow foyer with blacked-out windows to avoid onlookers from peering in.

Killua put his hands in his pockets to avoid touching anything. The action had that cheeky host grinning. "I, um, I'm here to talk to your boss," Killua said.

"Oh? And on what grounds."

"The grounds that say I'm looking for a job."

"Oh, hun, we don't hire," Hisoka said, and Killua rose an eyebrow at him. "We audition. If you want a stage, you gotta earn it."

"Fine, whatever. I'd like to schedule an audition."

And then, Hisoka was walking Killua up to the bar where he met his third Phantom member: Leorio. Leorio was at the bar that night and was there to greet Killua when Hisoka pulled him up, clasped a hand onto his shoulder, and said, "Have you seen our dear sweet boss around by any chance?"

"I think he's in his office," Leorio said. He pointed to Killua and asked, "Who's this kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Killua snapped.

"Sounds like something a kid would say," Leorio said.

Hisoka laughed as Killua clenched his teeth to keep from making another biting remark. Killua followed after Hisoka as they rounded the bar and slipped through the curtains that blocked off an archway to a back corridor. Killua glanced back at the main room of the warehouse, where the blue spotlights cast silhouettes against the sheer curtain and blurred the face of Leorio leaning over to peer after them.

The music was fainter back here but just as dense in Killua's chest where the bass throbbed in his ribcage. He followed Hisoka down a blacklit hallway where cement-brick walls blocked off what appeared to be one long locker room. Killua nearly looked in until he saw a guy fully butt-naked across the room.

Chrollo's office didn't look much different from how it looked now. It was in one of the small cement-block rooms that likely served as a storage space back in the day, but was now transformed and disguised behind red velvet curtains and a desk that was mostly there to mimic some sort of superiority.

When they stepped into the room, it all seemed empty until a blanket rustled off to the side, and Killua thought they just walked in on two people fucking. Instead, it was just that dark-haired scum lounging on the couch, the blanket over his face, and his legs too long to fit beneath it.

Chrollo peered over the hem of the blanket and, voice gruff with sleep, said, "What is it."

He stretched his arms over his head as Hisoka gestured to Killua and said, "Fresh meat. I'll leave you two to it."

Chrollo grunted as he sat up, pulling his feet back onto the couch from where they were dangling over the armrest. Killua rose an eyebrow at him and, once Hisoka was gone, said, "You're the boss?"

"I take it I don't look like it, do I?" Chrollo sighed. He stretched a hand out to Killua, who gave it a firm shake. "Chrollo Lucilfer."

"Killua. Just... Killua."

"Looking for a stage then? And if you say you're a bartender, I'll have to politely disagree."

"Not a bartender," Killua agreed.

Chrollo looked him up and down, eyes lingering heavily with every ounce of judgement Killua had never felt outside of his the Zoldyck estate. Killua resisted the instinctual urges to swallow, clear his throat, straighten himself, and fix up his hair. Instead, he stood, eyes dull and brooding.

Chrollo pushed his feet to the ground, elbows to his knees, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Too pretty to be a janitor..." he hummed, and Killua's ears turned pink. Were it not for the red lighting in that office space, it would have been abundantly obvious on his alabaster skin.

Little did Killua know, though, that most of the janitor duties were performed by the dancers anyway. The cost of hiring cleaning companies to scrub the surfaces of a strip club were far too pricey for Chrollo to care for.

"Host?" Chrollo asked, only then meeting Killua's eyes.

Killua narrowed his eyes. "Dancer."

Chrollo laughed. It just soured Killua's expression further. "Right, and where did you last perform."

"D-Does that even matter? Your host said you accept auditions."

"No where then," he concluded, and Killua thought he might burst into flames. Chrollo leant back on the couch, arms crossed, and stared a bit longer at Killua's face, and then gave a little gesture for Killua to turn around. Killua rolled his eyes and complied, facing the opposite wall as Chrollo checked him out.

He heard the springs on the couch creak and, a moment later, felt a hand on the back of his neck. He shivered at the cool, icy touch of Chrollo's hands pulling his shaggy hair up.

Killua shuddered a little when Chrollo's fingernails grazed his scalp. He twisted around and slapped Chrollo's hands off. "Oi, watch it," Killua hissed.

"What'll it cost to touch it?" Chrollo asked, and when Killua did nothing but stare, Chrollo offered a crooked grin and leant back against the armrest. "That's what you'll hear on the floor. Everyone's got a price out there. Customers talk, too, but they'll be willing to pay for... certain privleges with you."

"I'm not a prostitute. I thought this was a fucking strip club," Killua said, running his hands through his hair. He pulled at it, fervently, and glared when Chrollo's smile only grew.

"You're right, but everything that happens on the floor would be up to you. You decide how much it costs for a lap dance, for them to touch you..."

Yeah, no, no touching, Killua thought to himself, but he could already tell that was a boundary that would have to break here. He let out a low sigh and said, "Right, well, I'll figure that out. I take it the other dancers have ideas for that. So how does pay work?"

"Pay? Well shit, if only I knew," Chrollo laughed, only to hesitate, clear his throat, and reiterate since it seemed Killua was in the dark. "Whatever you make? That's yours to keep. This isn't an hourly gig—it never is, except for... Well, we'll get to that. At the end of the night, I recommend tipping the bartender, the host, and the bouncer mostly because they send clients to the dancers they like. The more you pay 'em, the more they'll like you, so the more customers flock to you."

Killua nodded, knowing that this would all preface the fact that he may or may not even be working at The Phantom. "So... what's this whole audition thing about?"

At that, Chrollo pushed off of the armrest and gestured for Killua to follow him out of the door. Killua trailed after, hesitant and altogether concerned about Chrollo's silence that followed them back out to the bar.

At the bar, Chrollo asked for a drink and Leorio poured him a whiskey on the rocks. Chrollo gestured for Killua to get something, and before he could even consider saying no, Killua looked out at the stages and decided that the only way he'd be getting through this night would be drunk.

They took their drinks to one of the booths away from the stages, where they could watch the dancers from afar amidst streams of light fog and colorful lights. The fog turned the light into white rays that fanned the figure on the pole as they reached a lithe hand high over their head and pulled themselves up on strong, lean arms.

Their head tipped back, blonde hair spilling over their shoulders as their legs walked up overhead, splitting into a long, straight line. Killua's jaw dropped. He couldn't imagine doing the splits like that, especially upside down like that whilst spinning in circles.

He felt Chrollo's breath on his ear, saying over the music, "Just watch for a while. I take it you've never set foot in a strip club, anyway."

"Don't be so presumptuous," Killua huffed so he wouldn't have to answer that. Chrollo laughed and took a sip of his whiskey as Killua nursed a Tom Collins, knowing full well that it looked like a Kiddy Cocktail. At the very least, he could drink vodka's classy superior—gin—and come across as older than he was.

He crossed his legs and watched through several performances with the blonde guy on the stage. Through five songs, the guy only performed one pole dancing routine. Killua wasn't sure why he expected more, but after the fifth song, the blonde dancer went to one of the patrons who had been tipping throughout the performance. Killua watched, sipping the lasts of his drink where the cherry syrup settled at the bottom.

The blonde guy nodded along with whatever the client was saying. Killua had already acknowledged the guy's platform heels, but holy shit, Killua didn't realize how tall they made the dancer until Killua saw him twisting his hair around his finger in front of a client. The dancer looked like a goddamn caucasian Amazonian.

The dancer took something from the client and, taking the client by the hand, walked him towards the staircase that split down the middle at the far side of the room, circling up and reconnecting at the second floor of the warehouse.

Killua pointed after them. "Where did they go?"

"VIP rooms," Chrollo said, leaning an elbow against the back of his chair as he faced Killua. He leant in to shout over the music. "One-on-one time with the dancers. Privately, but also pricey."

"What... do they do in there?" Killua asked, eyes wide.

Chrollo shrugged and said, "Whatever they want—with consent, of course, on top of a hefty dollar sign."

Killua nodded, eyes wide. He stared up at the VIP section balcony, where the blonde dancer was pulling the client through a crowd of what appeared to be a bachelor party dancing behind stained-glass windows overlooking the warehouse.

Chrollo sighed next to Killua, and when Killua looked, Chrollo gestured to the empty stage and said, "Alright then. Up you go."

Killua laughed. "Yeah, right," he said, but Chrollo merely rose an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat. "You weren't joking. Well shit. I've never—"

"What, pole danced? You saw him up there. You don't need to suspend yourself seven feet in the air to get people looking, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Killua seethed as Chrollo took a drink and said, "Then prove it. You get up there now or you don't get a stage here."

____

Now, Killua loved the warm, quivering ache in his muscles after a long night of work. He loved to feel his muscles stretch from the dense weight of his quadriceps working in harmony with his warmed and flexible hamstrings when he hugged his arm around his extended calf at eye-level. His other leg curved around the pole beneath him, stretched into an oversplit that he curved with each rotation around the pole, twirling like the stripe on a candy cane.

He dragged one hand up through the radiant purple light that grew thick in the air where smoke curled in dense, nearly opaque stripes with the spotlights. He released his calf, bracing his dominant hand lower on the pole. With one smooth inhale, Killua put his weight onto it, his legs swinging gently in arcs behind him.

He rotated his center of balance, twisting until his hair fell over his head, and his eyes looked out at the patrons—all upside down and watching, enrapt by the grace of every muscle in his toned body on full display.

It took years for him to be able to do this—two years, in fact, and two years was certainly not enough to be an expert at this craft.

It was one thing to do an oversplit, and an entirely other matter to perform a Bird of Paradise just for a couple of bucks for guys who couldn't possibly comprehend how easy it would be for Killua to split their skulls between his thighs.

So Killua relented at that as the song drew to a close. He'd perform a Bird of Paradise one day, just not for a crowd of horny guys. Besides, Chrollo always did say that Killua didn't look so prim and proper in those extreme poses. Patrons weren't looking for a powerplay. They didn't want to know that Killua could snap their necks with his feet alone.

Which he had thought about.

On more than one occasion.

It was late into Killua's shift and by now, only regulars were left. Killua resumed an upright position, dragging his hands down from where they had been gripping the pole above him. He pulled his hands smoothly down from his shoulders, across the bare planes of his chest, and down to his hips as he surveyed the remaining few guys in the club watching him.

He gave a dramatic bow, laughing as they clapped. Despite the texture of the remaining powder residue on his hands, he kissed his fingers and sent them out to the customers with a smile on his lips. It was natural, now, to act fluffy on the stage.

As he stepped off of the stage with a sway in his step—mostly to avoid any more chafing—one of his first regulars was there to compliment him. "You've improved a lot," he said. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Oh, thank you. Lot of practice," Killua said, thinking to himself, Maybe a bit too much, as he rubbed at his inner thigh. He put his hands on his hips and asked, "But enough about that—came all this way to see me, so I might as well hear about how you've been."

As he listened to the guy talk, he was vividly reminded of what it was like to be on the stage for the first time. Unexpectedly, Killua had stripped down to his underwear like he was at some ridiculous frat party he never experienced before.

That night he had pretended he was on a pool table in the middle of a house party and the entire time, that regular customer was there, looking at Killua like Killua was actually good at it. Granted, he was a shit dancer at the time, but the encouragement was enough to stroke Killua's ego a bit and boost his confidence up on the stage. That, and also the very first tip he had ever recieved was from that guy that very same night.

And then, that same night, he got his first VIP room booked for fifteen minutes—five songs, and private space for Killua to find out that people didn't, in fact, have sex willy-nilly in the VIP rooms. At least, not all of the time. That night that same client made Killua feel like he had what it took to be a dancer all while making nearly five hundred bucks in just under an hour.

It was the end of Killua's scheduled stage time, so he took to the bar with the client at his side and sat there, listening to his day, and acting like he retained a word of it.

When the conversation lulled, Killua circled his finger around the rim of his glass. The germs didn't bother him, not when the alcohol content would be enough to burn them all into oblivion.

"You know, Hill," Killua said, looking up at the client, "I still think about my first night a lot. I don't think I would've kept dancing if you hadn't... you know..."

"Bribed you into it?" Hill said, and Killua laughed with a nod. "I like amateurs."

"Explains why you don't stick around me anymore," Killua teased, grinning at the cheeky way Hill looked down, lidded eyes glancing up at Killua. "I can always pretend I suck at dancing—for you."

The guy stood with a sigh. He was still dressed in his business casual attire despite it being so late at night—or rather, early in the morning. "You'd be better off at your best, Silver. I'll buy you a drink next time."

Killua scoffed, leaning against the bartop as Pariston Hill left him to his own devices. He took another drink and, after polishing it off, sent it off to Leorio's waiting hand. Along with it, he slapped down a tip for Leorio's sake. "That's for tonight," Killua said.

"Thanks man. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Nah, Saturday."

Leorio rose an eyebrow at him. Killua rolled his eyes and gestured towards the steps, where the dancing cages were. "For the concert," he said, begrudgingly.

"A momentous occasion indeed," he chimed with a hearty laugh.

"Maybe for you," Killua seethed, fingers clenched around the glass. "I'm dreading every second of it."

"I seriously doubt anyone you know is gonna be there."

"You don't know what music liberal art kids are into, dude," Killua said, shuddering at the thought. The only thing keeping USFC kids from this concert was likely their parental funding and country music. And since country music wasn't on the roster, Killua had to hope and pray and make sacrifices to the gods that everyones' parents will simultaneously collapse their children's bridge to an excessive allowance.

This will either be interesting or atrocious, Killua thought, studying the center cage that was pushed back beneath the VIP balcony. He looked over at Leorio, who wished him good luck and went back to work.