// self-harm , suicide themes

"What are you doing here?"

Illumi's knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the door, his feet rooted on the spot.

"I came to find you."

The red-haired magician is standing before him, his wide shoulders taking up too much space in the doorway. Illumi tries to shut the door but it won't budge.

"Go away."

"Illumi."

"My love is not a game, Hisoka."

"Let me in."

"I said /leave/."

It takes a lot for Illumi to spit out the last word. It comes as a choke; a croak. How dare he stand there, shamelessly, how dare he beg to be let in. How many nights had Illumi gone to bed with eyes stained in the painful hue of his former lover's vicious mane.

How many times had Illumi raked the skin of his forearms until hangnails wedged in the crevices of paled flesh. How many times had he screamed into his pillow until his lungs deflated, burst like balloons with pins. Pins. Needles. Hisoka. Pain.

There was nothing.

"You're the only one I love."

Illumi wants to die.

"Liar. You're a liar."

His voice is no longer his. Whose is it? The slight quiver, barely audible, the petulant comeback. It is foreign; it is not him.

"Look at me, Illumi."

Hisoka pushes his way in and Illumi is powerless to stop him. The magician takes Illumi's face in his unnaturally gentle hands. This is wrong. It feels so wrong; Illumi had convinced himself that these are not the hands befitting of a scoundrel.

Hisoka's hands were coarse and full of trickery; they bore leather-woven lies. He donned knuckledusters and dealt the cold, calculated blows of a trained killer to the heart.

He struck where it hurt most.

And Illumi had let him in. It was all his own fault. And now, as Hisoka cups his face with warm hands, Illumi begins to cry. He's doing it again, letting him in. Illumi pushes against him, but Hisoka's hands remain firm and insistent, guiding his chin upwards and suddenly,

Illumi is once again staring into strikingly familiar honey golden eyes. He knows them better than he'd like. Looking into them now dredges up memories from their murky depths, tainted with tears and screams. He shudders involuntarily.

/Hold it together/

"Look at me."

Illumi feels the sudden urge to throw up.

"No."

Tears stream silently down his cheeks. He no longer cries with sound.

"I would never hurt you."

/Lies/

"You did."

"I'm sorry."

There is no emotion in the magician's voice. It's almost laughable. What kind of apology is that? Not one that Illumi needed nor cared for.

/You're not/

"Leave now."

"Illumi, listen to me--"

"I won't say it again. Leave."

The skin around Illumi's knuckles tighten around the cruelly gentle hands that hold his face.

"I was doing fine without you," He whispers. "I was healing."

For the first time since stepping over the threshold, Hisoka's face softens.

His expression is a clear mixture of sympathy and sadness. Illumi is not buying it for one second.

"No, you're still hurting." The magician murmurs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Illumi's ear and sighing sadly.

Illumi is cynical enough to admit that Hisoka's acting has indeed improved by leaps and bounds. The deception is almost impressive, flawless, even. But he knows what to watch for, now. He knows the tells. He is not falling; not this time.

"Stop talking like you know anything about me."

He spits the words into the magician's face, and relishes in the flecks of saliva landing on his powdered nose. Such behaviour is usually considered uncouth, but Illumi will make an allowance for tonight. Hisoka doesn't flinch.

"Oh, but I do, Illumi.

I know your worst fears, your deepest secrets, your darkest traumas. I was there. I helped you."

"You hurt me." Illumi throws the accusation like a wounded child.

"A necessary evil."

Though he knew it was coming, the pain of Hisoka's admission to his manipulation was no easier to swallow.

"Of course, I had to break you down, to build you back up." There it is again, the cruel smirk. Hisoka has dropped his pretense now and Illumi sees the truth, clear as day.

// non-con , kissing

"Did you get what you wanted? Did you have your fun? When will you stop treating me like a game, a prize to be won? I've had enou--"

Lips. His lips. They are softer than he'd remembered, but harder too. What? No. They're sweet, impossibly so.

The signature cherry chapstick so disgustingly artificial, Illumi nearly gags. Hisoka takes the opportunity to force his tongue in, just like he forces his way into everything, without care nor concern.

He takes what he wants, then leaves a trail of broken things, scattered shards, and empty people. Hands begin roaming his body, caressing, and groping. It could only be pleasant for him.

Illumi doesn't want this. He pushes against Hisoka's chest, furious at this unwelcome intrusion, into his home, into his life, into his lips. Hisoka, as always, ignores him.

When he finally relinquishes Illumi's lips, it is only when Hisoka is satisfied.

But still, he holds onto his body, an arrogant predator, possessive of its wounded prey.

"Oh, how I've missed that."

There is not a hint of regret or shame in his voice. Illumi feels hollow now.

It had taken a long time for him to patch the gaping hole in his chest when Hisoka had left the first time, but now the kiss had sucked the air from his lungs and gouged raw flesh from his insides.

But he will not give Hisoka the pleasure of watching him crumble. Not again.

"Why did you come here."

Hisoka shrugs.

"I wanted to see if you still loved me."

Even the statement itself is so bizarre, that it shakes Illumi out of his muddled daze. Love? Did Hisoka really think, Illumi could still /love/ him after all that he'd done?

"You're out of your mind."

Hisoka laughs. It resembles a hyena's, shrill and mocking.

"Sure, darling. But I got what I came for."

Hisoka releases him and turns to leave. Illumi can only look down at his hands, his mind still reeling.

"Thanks, love. I'll be seeing you again soon."

Hisoka steps over the threshold, and is gone without a second glance, or another word, the door closing with a final, ominous click.

Illumi sinks down to his knees and cries. But no tears come.

He feels nothing, nothing but the ghosts of unwelcome hands on his body and a choking tongue in his throat.

Illumi prays desperately that the nightmares don't find him when he sleeps tonight, if at all. He is not hopeful that this will be the case.

He hugs his knees towards his chest and cries a mute man's tears without wetness, the ugly taste of red still lingering on his tongue.

—————— end

here is the sequel to this thread ! read at your own risk https://twitter.com/hisokasecret/status/1311696236852858883?s=20