"S-Silver! What are you doing here?" Leorio stammered in the face of a handful of patrons at the bar.

Killua wasn't exactly sporting his Sunday Best—in fact, he was still in his clothes from class that day and wearing an equally dreary expression. If his head cold wouldn't get the best of him, dealing with patrons certainly would.

He ignored the urge to sniff and cough at the same time. "I'm here to talk to Chrollo. He's not in his office, though. Know where I can find him?"

One of the patrons—a familiar lad who had a habit of bringing his work friends around—leant back in his chair, eyed Killua, and said, "Barely recognized you with all those clothes on, sweetie."

Killua offered a tight, restrained smile and said, "Unfortunately, I'm never in a good mood when I have clothes on. Let's chat again when I'm feeling less restricted ."

He moved on down the bar to chat with Leorio, and his comment gave the customers enough content to keep themselves busy with laughter and lewd commentary that made Machi crack her knuckles threateningly at the end of the bar.

Killua propped his elbow up on the edge of the bar top as Leorio said, "There's a bachelorette party happening in the VIP room. He's friends with the bride so he's paying her a visit."

Killua could have rolled his eyes. Chrollo had plenty of " lady friends " from his past life as a bartender at a standard strip club. Now all of the strippers he made contact with had either A) successfully swindled a rich gentlemen in their youth and was now happily married, B) making money through online gigs, or C) graduated with a PhD.

And Chrollo wasn't a bartender for nothing: he was handsome, charismatic, and a manipulative bastard. Plenty of his " lady friends " were past conquests twisted to seem like she bested him .

At the thought of Chrollo, Killua's eyes slid across the floor to Kurapika's stage, which was empty that night. "Are you and Kurapika talking at all?" he asked, turning back to Leorio.

Leorio shook his head. "No, but I've heard he's been staying at someone else's place. Has he talked to you? I saw he helped you to the hospital the other day."

"Yeah, and I'm still pissed about it," Killua said with a groan. He rubbed at the back of his throbbing head and said, "Now my sister knows where I live. It's just... super inconvenient, to be honest."

"That's not Kurapika's fault, though," Leorio said, and rationally, Killua knew that. He understood the terror of accidental head traumas and Kurapika and Gon just wanted to ensure Killua did have, oh, you know, a subdermal hematoma go unchecked.

He could make all of the excuses he wanted, but the fact of the matter was this: That Killua wasn't ready to talk to Kurapika. Not yet.

"I'm... gonna go see Chrollo now. About that thing," Killua said, gesturing to the stairs.

"Right. That 'thing'," Leorio teased, and Killua flipped him off before making his way to the stairs.

He hurried up to the VIP section of the club where, beyond the railing, the room was enshrouded in red lighting and deep, violet shadows from the black lights. The state of Killua's drabby appearance didn't matter quite so much there, not when his hair did all of the work for him as it glowed white under the black lights.

Killua crossed the room where a group of girls were downing blowjob shots off of a stripper's stomach. Impressive , he thought to himself at the sheer level of expertise at which the girls conducted the shots. Killua was impartial to downing blowjob shots like that—it tended to make him gag, no pun intended.

Much to his surprise, though, Chrollo was the silver platter on which the shots were being balanced.

Killua stilled at the image of Chrollo stretched out on the table, his hands clasped behind his head, looking more or less like a Greek statue come to life. Chrollo glanced over at Killua, only to startle at the sight of the last worker he expected to see that night.

"What are you doing here?" Chrollo said, ignoring the liquor that spilled across his stomach when one of the girls failed to balance a shot glass on his pectoral.

"I... came to talk about that party I was booked for this weekend," Killua said.

"Oh, I've already taken care of it," he said. "Scheduled someone else to take your place."

That was the opposite of what Killua intended. "No, I can do it," he said. "Which is why I came in to show you that I am, in fact, all right."

"I don't care. You aren't performing, especially when it entails going to someone's house where we can't keep an eye on you in case you faint again," Chrollo said.

Killua sighed. Sure, there were dangers associated with attending bachelorette parties as a foreplay spectacle, but it was good money and enjoying, for the most part. It thrilled the people who hired him—primarily women—and he had fun indulging in their opulent lifestyles for a night, especially with liquor was involved.

It wasn't often that Killua was selected for such affairs. He didn't have the bulky physique of a body-builder who could double as a pseudo police officer just to satiate a horny woman's fantasies—that tended to be the go-to for such affairs.

It was interesting how being selected for a bachelorette party made Killua feel infinitely more special than being oogled at by gay men at a bar.

"The last thing I want is you giving our clients the flu."

Killua rolled his eyes. "I don't have the flu," he said, and immediately coughed into his elbow.

One of the girls gave him a gentle pat on the back and said, "It's better than giving your clients chlamydia."

Killua gave her a weird look as she walked away and said, "Uh, thanks? I guess?"

Chrollo plucked the glasses off of his stomach and offered one to Killua as he straightened up. Killua took it, still frowning from the news that he wouldn't, in fact, be working that night. Chrollo clinked their glasses together before downing his shot and saying, "I know that hospital run wasn't ideal—"

"Yeah, pushed be back a couple grand," Killua muttered.

"But that's no reason to work yourself ragged again," Chrollo said. He shrugged and added, "We'll figure it out— after you stop sniffling."

"I'm not sniffling," Killua muttered, voice thick with mucus. God , he hated being sick. "Thanks, though. I mean it."

"Any time," he said.

The girls came back and one was wearing the wedding veil. She plopped it on Chrollo's head and passed her phone to Killua, saying, "Could you take a picture of all of us?"

Killua agreed, stepped back, and waited for the group to consolidate around a shirtless Chrollo. He focused the camera on the lot of them and said, "Okay, three... two... one—!" and snapped the photo.

He left shortly after. The Phantom was one check on his list of errands to run, and the next would take him downtown. He hopped on the next bus heading in that direction and, with his backpack secured squarely on his shoulders, he made his way to the address listed on his messages with Pariston Hill.

He wandered around a block of brightly-lit store fronts and elegant jewelry. Down the row of shops, he found his target: a men's apparel store, specifically for suits.

Killua hadn't been fitted for a tux in a while, but he remembered the experiences well enough to know that he would automatically be targeted as a newbie based on his appearance alone. Bleached hair, backpack, and a hoodie—ah yes, the epitome of class.

He could articulate what he needed, though, and the materials he preferred, so it was only a matter of obtaining the measurements. With his backpack and hoodie set aside, Killua stood on the platform in nothing but his jeans and tshirt while the tailor tallied off the length of his arms, his waist, chest, and neck. The man stretched the tape measurer over the back of Killua's shoulder blades, and then again down the length of his torso. With Killua's arms stretched out, he measured the circumference of Killua's biceps, which seemed more intimidating in the foreign mirror standing across the platform from him. He wasn't used to seeing himself under florescent lights—maybe that was it.

He lowered his arms after the tailor finished. He rubbed a hand over his bicep and down to his forearm, massage the muscles as the tailor gave him an estimated pickup date, as per Pariston's request.

" So the fitting was a success? " Pariston said over the phone that evening as Killua left the store.

"I'd say so," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to collaborate on colors?"

" Colors aren't really my forte ," he said, and Killua rolled his eyes. He supposed not all queer men were adamant fashionistas. He wouldn't even consider himself all that inclined to—

The image of Gon trying on clothes in the dressing room came to mind.

Killua caught himself staring across the street just as Pariston said, "— sound good? "

Killua shook his head, clearing his throat and mind of Gon's graphic tees. "I- um, yeah. Could you repeat that for me?"

" I'll be back next weekend. Both of our suits should be in by then. Does Saturday morning sound good? "

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'll put it in my calendar," Killua said. "I'll talk to you soon."

" Have a nice night, Silver ," he said before hanging up.

Killua lowered his phone with a vague sense of confusion muddling his senses. He stood there long after the walk signal chimed, simply studying what had to be frayed wires in his brain that brought that image up in such startling clarity. He really should not be thinking about his roommate right now in the middle of San Francisco.

"Fucking hell," he decided, and hurried across the street before his time was up.

Killua's trip back to the apartment would have been uneventful had Gon's day not been so eventful. He didn't expect his day to get worse after being grouped up with Killua and Retz for an essay project, but God decided to throw him a solid bitch-just-you-wait move.

Gon wandered up the stairwell to the second floor of his apartment complex, yawning with exhaustion. He had an entire set to plan for the coffee shop, dinner to make, and homework to start. Because of this, he grew too distracted to look up from his set of keys to realize that someone was waiting outside of his apartment door, perched on the windowsill at the very end of the hallway.

Gon sifted through his keys only to drop them the instant his name was called from the end of the hall.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Gon squeaked, terrified, as his keys slapped to the ground.

He looked up and found Alluka Zoldyck standing there, dressed magnificently, and concern etched on her brow.

"A-Alluka!" Gon cried.

Alluka's eyes dropped to the keys on the ground, which Gon swiped up, only to freeze at the realization of what this must have looked like.

"I... came to check in on Killua," she explained as Gon straightened back up, the teeth of the keys biting into his palm. "Which begs the question: Why are you here with a set of keys to his apartment? I thought he's renting a studio."

"He is! I mean—"

Fuck , Gon thought. Killua doesn't want people to know we live together. That's the number one priority here!

Right?

"I just... have his spare key," Gon lied through a feeble smile that could have been snapped in half by Alluka's stiletto heels.

Instead, Alluka studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing just a fraction. To diffuse the situation, Gon hurried to the door and started opening it, stumbling through the motions of inviting her inside. "I-I'm sure Killua wouldn't mind if you came in. As long as you take your shoes off, I mean—"

He opened the door wide and stepped aside. The instant he did, Alluka leant in, close enough for Gon to smell her flowery perfume.

A squeak escaped him. Alluka rose an eyebrow at him before leaning back with an amused grin. She folded her arms over her chest, cocked her hip to the side, and said, "I can only picture Killua giving his significant other a key to his place. You two are dating, aren't you?"

"Oh! Um, I—"

Alluka let out a thrilled laugh and sidled over the threshold, exclaiming, "So that's why he moved out! You must spend a lot of time here, huh?"

"I-I don't know about that—" Gon stammered, tripping over the entry step. He cursed under his breath as Alluka continued on, heels clicking across the floorboards. "Could you maybe take your shoes off? I don't—Killua doesn't like shoes on the floor—"

"Oh, he won't mind," Alluka said, hands now resting firmly on her hips.

Gon's shoulders slumped, and he only then realized that he missed his opportunity to dispute Alluka's theory. He had no alternative ideas as to why Killua would give him a spare key. It was only a matter of time now before Killua's fury came crumbling around him for encouraging Alluka's preposterous notions.

Gon wanted to gag.

Killua's significant other? he thought, resisting the urge to throw up and laugh at the same time. He'd rather eat dirt!

It was a miracle that Killua's bedroom door was shut. Since it was off from the kitchen, it looked like an extra pantry. As for Gon's room, the door was still open and Alluka strode right in with her heels clicking beneath her, skirt swishing around her ankles.

"Wait! Wait—Killua doesn't like people going into his room—" Gon started, frantic, as Alluka started going through the boxes he had his clothes stored in.

"He really doesn't have a dresser for these? How sad," she hummed. She dropped to her knees, pouting, "I should have taken him furniture shopping. That's what older sisters do, right?"

Gon picked the clothes out of her hands and stuffed them back into the boxes. "I don't really know. I don't have older sisters. Could you please take off your shoes?"

Alluka got to her feet and went to Gon's mattress. She lifted it off of the ground and said, "No bedframe... No mattress cover... This just won't do—"

She dropped the mattress down and left the room. Gon hurried to fix his sheets before chasing after Alluka as she said, "As Killua's older sister, I have to make sure he's properly taken care of."

"R-Right," Gon said, only to startle when Alluka ground to a halt. Gon skidded into her back and scrambled away, flustered and red in the face when she eyed him.

"And clearly, he has someone half-decent on his side for once," she said. Gon blinked. Who could that be? he thought.

He cursed internally.

Shit, that's me. She's talking about me , he realized.

"He hasn't had the easiest life, you know," she explained before Gon could dispute it all, come clean right then and there. He wasn't at all the person she thought he was.

But at the mention of Killua's life, the intrigue was there and too tempting for Gon to ignore.

"O-Oh. Really?" Gon said, the lilt in his voice prompting Alluka to continue.

"Yeah, I mean, what with our mother grooming him to be the heir to the family fortune..." she started, walking towards the kitchen as Gon stumbled over that nugget of information as he chased after her. "So he didn't even go to university for what he wanted . It was a good thing he graduated early from high school, you know. He's on track now and all that—"

Graduated early?! Gon thought, eyes wide.

Alluka sifted through the cabinets. She was swift in her search, and, high above their heads, she found her target tucked away behind a collection of travel mugs and water bottles. They clanked and clinked and out popped a bottle of wine.

Where did that come from? Gon wondered, seeing as neither he nor Killua were above the drinking age.

Alluka went on, raising her voice so Gon could hear her. "Don't get me wrong, Killua loves marketing and business. He's got such a knack for it, you know? But he's not exactly the type to invest in Big Pharma. He'd rather invest in talent . He's really dedicated in that regard."

Alluka took the bottle with her to the kotatsu where she plopped down and plucked her shoes off at long last. As Alluka cracked into the bottle of wine and drank it with her hand around the neck of it, Gon gathered her shoes up and hurried to deposit them in the foyer.

"Big Pharma?" Gon repeated, eyes wide. He hurried back to the living area as Alluka propped her elbow up on the table and sighed. "What do you mean?"

She waved a dismissive hand and said, "That's what our family does. Old money, stock investments, funding pharmesudical research. Soul-sucking bullshit, if you ask me."

Gon took a seat across from her at the kotatsu. "So Killua left to enroll in his own major?"

Alluka set the bottle down as she hummed, "Perhaps," and plucked the cap off of a tube of lipstick. She ran it along her bottom lip before popping her lips together. "Or perhaps it was for you. I'd like to think that it's because he's learning what love is. Canary and I aren't the greatest example."

"Wh-What makes you say that?" Gon stammered, eyes widening at the mention of Canary again. He could vividly recall Killua's lips on his, the strong tension at the back of his neck when Killua's hand pulled him forward—

"Ah-ah," she scolded, waving her lipstick at Gon. She put a finger to her lips, smiling, and said, "Questions you shouldn't ask a girl."

Gon rolled his eyes. "And here I thought gender was nonexistent."

"A social construct, if you will," she agreed. She put her hands down and sighed. "Then I suppose I could tell you. A futile excuse. You saw right through me."

"Only because some might say I was once a girl. I know all of your tricks," Gon teased, and that piqued Alluka's interested.

"Oh? Do tell."

"You're changing the subject."

"Only because I'm older, ergo I decide the rules. That still counts, doesn't it?"

Gon grumbled internally. Gender may have been a social construct, but age made sense to him. "Alright, fine, you get a pass. I'm actually... trans, I guess."

"You guess?" she laughed. Gon blushed. "Ah, well, that makes two of us."

If Gon was standing, he would have fallen over right onto his back. Instead, he started choking on nothing but air. He coughed into his elbow, gasping, "Y-You—! I didn't—"

"Yes, well, isn't that the point," Alluka hummed, an amused grin tugging at the corner of her lips. She shrugged before taking a sip of wine and adding, "Well, for me, that is the point. I transitioned nearly a decade ago. Perks of having a wealthy family who doesn't care much what you do. I was on the lower rung of my parents' concerns."

Gon cleared his now-sore throat and said, "O-Oh, and what about Killua?"