urapika pulled a joint from between his lips and, as white smoke drifted from between his teeth, he said, "Hold still. I'm still studying my canvas."

"I'll punch your teeth in. I swear to God I'll do it," Killua seethed, squirmy under Kurapika's stare. "Just—Just do it. I don't give a fuck if it looks bad. It's just for tonight."

"Excuse you—it's for at least two weeks unless you plan on exfoliating your stomach off every damn day," Kurapika said, setting the joint on the dish next to an assortment of semi-permanent tattoo pens. Kurapika held the picture up as he crawled forward on the bench until he had to drop his feet on the ground and straddle the bench, effectively straddling Killua as well.

Killua put his eyes to the locker room ceiling and swallowed hard.

"Hold still, baby ," Kurapika teased with a little purr that made someone laugh at the locker room doorway. Killua didn't recognize the guy, but considering he was holding an amp, Killua assumed he was part of the band.

"Fuck off! Don't you have a job to do?" Killua seethed.

"Ooh, kitten's got claws," the band member quipped, licking his teeth. One of his buddies pushed him along as Killua cussed him out and went back to lying on the bench, covering his hands over his nipples.

"Just hurry up, God," Killua huffed.

"Give me a second. I'm relaxing so I'm not shaky," Kurapika said, taking deep, meditative breaths as Killua laid there on the locker room bench in nothing but his sweatpants and underwear. As if he couldn't be any more pissed at Kurapika, the idiot started humming under his breath as he dragged his hands up and down with each inhale and exhale.

As Kurapika uncapped the pen and placed the reference photo on Killua's chest, he sang a little under his breath. As he started to punctuate dots along Killua's would-be happy trail, he sang, " 'h, she's sweet but a psycho, a little bit psy-ycho, and she's singing oh mamai-mama-mai... '"

"I don't think those are the lyrics..." Killua sang.

Kurapika matched Killua's sing-songy tone with, "And you better shut the fuck up or else I'll scribble the shit out of your stomach..."

It was a simple, minimal tattoo with delicate, fine lines and dots that accumulated into an abstract arrow pointing directly down to Killua's dick with curved points that Kurapika said looked like, "a pair of ovaries", which Killua punched him for.

As they were finishing it up, some performers for that night were already gathering in the locker room. A few of them complimented Killua's tattoo, which always prompted a snarky, unnecessary response from Kurapika along the lines of, "Yeah, you better like it, bitch. That shit's gonna save our boy's life tonight." Try as he might, Killua couldn't shut the guy up.

Among the performers, Leorio waltzed in, unannounced and unfazed by the dirty looks the dancers gave him. "I heard y'all were doing belly shots off of Killua's abs," he said, hands on his hips.

Killua rolled his eyes, hands fanning his stomach to dry the ink. "Right, and I'm guessing you came to get in on that action, huh?"

Leorio gave him a fake smile and said, "Don't flatter yourself. Actually came to deliver some goods for all you beautiful bitches. Dig in."

From the basket he set on the bench, he pulled out two massive bottles of vodka. The dancers all whooped in excitement, and Killua thought to himself, Thank God someone came in clutch tonight . As he got up—albeit carefully to avoid smearing the ink—he saw the rest of the basket's contents.

"Masks?" one of the dancers said.

"Holy shit—Chrollo said it was okay?" Killua said, eyes wide.

"Well, technically the band said it was okay," Leorio said. "Sounds like masks are, like, their thing so consider these gifts from the main attraction tonight."

Killua dug into the basket with the others. The pickings thinned out quickly, and as everyone tried them on, it became abundantly clear that no one wanted to wear the full-head masks.

Except for Killua.

It was a blessing, truly, that the band performed in full-on helmets because holy shit , it was perfect. Killua could kiss his itchy wig goodbye at this rate.

Kurapika strapped on a glossy, all-black mask and purred, "Ooh, kinky." He mimicked having a whip and snapped it at Leorio, who shook out his hand as if struck.

Killua was too busy staring at the helmet. Thank fuck for weirdly-branded bands.

He pulled the helmet on. The visor was raised just a touch, leaving a gap for airflow—which was perfect considering how he'd be exerting himself on stage. The last thing he needed was to have his visor fog up. He knew, however, that at the end of the night, he'd be dying to get out of it.

But it would do the trick.

______

Meanwhile, Gon Freecss could be found panicking after having wasted the rest of his day performing intermittent Netflix-binging with a side of Nap Time. By seven-thirty, he was in a panic trying to get ready for that night because Zushi was asking to be picked up at the dorms—along with Uvogin and Knuckle.

"Sorry I'm late! I'm an embarrassment to humanity!" Gon cried as he waited for his friends to flock into his car. Once all the doors were closed and people were buckled up, they moved on to the venue.

"Did you get everything done?" Zushi asked.

Gon groaned, thoroughly embarrassed. " No . I just watched Netflix all day and slept."

"You're living the college dream, dude," Knuckle said, leaning over the center console to clap Gon on the shoulder. "In other words: You're doing it right."

"Yeah, tell that to my stomach. I am only suffering right now," Gon said. It took both Zushi and Knuckle to navigate them to the club where they found event parking for the low price of twenty entire dollars and their will to live. Gon paid it, pouting as he did so, knowing that the cost would be reduced to five dollars after his friends paid him back.

The Phantom was on the block of several bars and a club that stood kitty-corner to it. The sidewalk was crowded with people waiting in line, and the four of them walked down the row and along the brick wall where event posters were printed and framed down the length of The Phantom .

They reached the end of the line beneath a poster that was mounted under the glow of two spotlights that illuminated a professional photo of a guy halfway up a pole and doused in dramatic back-lighting. Gon didn't look at it long enough to read the context.

"You don't think it's gonna be, like... super risqué , do you?" Gon asked, warily as Zushi vibrated next to him, an absolute bundle of excitement.

"It better be ," Zushi said, wiggling his bum.

Gon rolled his eyes and reminded himself that they were here for the band , not the dancers. He made a point to catch up on their latest album—which he then processed during Nap Times—so that he wouldn't be entirely lost that night after having his ticket scanned at the door.

They followed after the stream of people flocking towards the main room of the warehouse: a wide open, several story-high atrium with exposed beams and an elaborate lighting system that had Gon hesitating at the edge of the balcony, his hands clasped together over his stomach.

The warehouse was massive and, down the center of it, there were cages mounted on stages that separated them from the dancers. The stages glowed through the rainbow, rising up and collecting on the smokey particles in the air from where fog machines spilled white residue out onto the dance floor.

The balcony encircled the warehouse perimeter, and from up here, Gon could distance himself from the cages.

"This place is incredible! " Zushi screamed, thrusting both fists into the air. "I'm living the dream, baby!"

"I second that motion," Uvogin said.

"It's huge ," Gon said, voice hoarse beneath the music playing on the speakers across the warehouse, echoing through the stream of people slowly flooding the floor below them. The crowds of people swarmed the cages with fascinated eyes illuminated under the spotlights and the glittering light underfoot.

At the far side of the warehouse, there was an elaborate staircase that split off at the base and converged at the top, perfectly framing an inlaid cage where a set of drums was positioned for the concert. At the two points halfway up the staircase, there were dancing cages arranged with LED light pillars at each corner, and as one of the opening bands started up, dancers stepped into the cages skantily dressed and sporting masks over their faces.

Gon thought his heart might explode out of his chest. He clutched at it through the fabric of his plain white tshirt and let out a shuddered breath. He let Zushi take him by the hand and, with Zushi as his support system, they descended the stairs together to become one with the mosh pit.

The opening cover band blasted songs from the 80s that had everyone on the floor chanting the lyrics, thrashing about under the strobe lights. The air was cold, though, despite all of the hot, sweaty bodies around them, pulsing to the music. Zushi took Gon by the hands, his figure flitting in and out of focus between bursts of vibrant, red light.

They threw their hands up and pretended they weren't, in fact, at a strip club. It was just a concert.

Just a concert.

The four of them bopped to the music all through the opening band and into the filler sequence of EDM rave music. Gon had never been to a rave before, so the overstimulation was spinning his head in circles and turning his brain to mush. Their voices sounded muffled in his ears over the bass. He put his hands in the air and rocked to the music with a giddy smile on his face that felt all too real in this surreal venue.

At some point, Uvogin convinced Gon to get on his shoulders after Zushi very adamantly refused. Uvogin crouched down and, with Knuckle's help, Gon weaseled himself over Uvogin's back with his legs dangling off of Uvogin's shoulders. Knuckle held Gon's hands firmly, steadying him as Uvogin started to rise.

Gon's head swam with the lights that circled overhead. He swayed, laughing, as the two of them got their balance in order. He hooked his feet back around Uvogin's broad torso as Uvogin held onto him by the knees.

Gon high-fived people as they navigated through the crowds and called attention to themselves from across the floor. Someone threw him a necklace of festive beads, and if he wasn't so paranoid about touching things, he would have kept them. Instead, he dropped them to the floor and rubbed his hands off on his skinny jeans.

It wasn't until Uvogin turned that Gon realized that he had essentially been kidnapped in order for their group to come close to one of the dancing cages.

Gon turned and startled at the sight of a dancer directly in front of him, just beyond the stage's metal barrier.

Below him, Uvogin whistled and whooped a little, startling Gon all over again with the realization that he was within proximity to an actual professional stripper .

Gon swayed back, shrieking. He floundered until he felt Knuckle's hands on his back, steadying him. He fell into Knuckle's arms, his legs haphazardly strewn over Uvogin's shoulders until he more or less performed the splits to slide them off. He slumped to his feet, eyes wide and frantic. Sure, he could try to mentally prepare himself for this day all he wanted, but nothing could actually prepare him to see a guy in a g-string several feet in front of his face.

There was cash strewn across the stage, unreachable through the metal bars, and the stripper's platform heels glided through the paper like water as they turned their back to the pole. Gon's eyes slid up the smooth, pale texture of their calves and thighs where thick straps of black fabric plated up and around the black cup over the crotch and—

"Hoo, boy, I'm lightheaded," Gon said, staggering a little. He put a hand to his head and turned away.

Only to turn back a whole two seconds later to eye up that navel tattoo—

"No! I can't!" Gon cried, whipping back around and putting his blinders on (two hands on either side of his eyes like a common carriage horse).

"No, no, you have to," Zushi said, slapping Gon around on the arm a bit. Gon fought him off to no avail, because the entire time, Zushi was spitting truths at him that he couldn't handle: That he thought the stripper was doing an amazing job, sweetie, and they deserved a tip for having to put up with Gon's bullshit.

"Now I know why you made me go to the ATM," Gon muttered as he slapped a twenty into Zushi's hand with a huff.

Zushi slapped it right back into his hand. "You give it to them!"

"No! I don't wanna—"

"Oi, you two, quit being a bunch of pussies," Uvogin snapped, taking Gon by the wrist and holding it out through the bars. Gon shrieked in terror—what if there were booby traps? and he just thrust his hand into a slicer of some kind?

Instead, before Uvogin could pinch the nerves in Gon's wrist to get him to drop the twenty, the dancer swept down, legs wide apart , and Gon stared them right in the slick black helmet that reflected every dazzling part of that warehouse rave that Gon couldn't see beyond the stage. Gon and Uvogin stood there like a bunch of complete dumbasses as the dancer dragged the twenty out of Gon's fingers with nimble, calloused hands that sent shivers up Gon's spine.

Gon couldn't breathe for several, painful seconds when the dancer rose, turning on their heels as they went, and gave Gon and Uvogin a mighty view of their bulbous ass-cheeks.

And from that moment on, Gon refused to look at any other dancer on the floor. In fact, he refused to move. Period.