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bubblehorse · 2 years

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The Tiger's Cave | Chapter 1

Welcome to the introductory chapter of my first Hunter x Hunter fanfic! This is an OC-driven story, with that OC being my own Brioche Kavaro -- the eldest sibling of Banana Kavaro, as well as Kite's friend, partner, and romantic interest. It will intertwine flashback chapters alongside those focusing on the "present-day" of the Chimera Ant arc (and, ideally, the Chairman Election arc and beyond). Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1 - IN THE BEGINNING

The sun has scarcely started to rise over the banks of the Kobwuge River, it is a crisp spring day, and Gon Freecss has just learned more about his estranged father in the last twelve hours than he had in his previous twelve years of life, which was all he had up to that point. Gon leans back with his legs forward, supporting his weight with his hands on the rocky ground behind him. It’s not exactly comfortable, but his limbs are grateful for the stretch. He feels the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and it dawns on him that he’s missed an entire night’s sleep.

One could hardly fault him for that, though. Expecting to meet Ging but finding Kite instead, the welcome wagon of flesh-eating ants and gunfire, and that boisterous slot machine clown to boot...the combination of it all practically makes Gon’s head spin. Of course, that could also be the sleep deprivation. He’d been running on pure adrenaline, at least since his final confrontation with Genthru, and that had been how many hours (days?) ago now? Gon manages to tear his gaze from the sun glinting gently over the trees on the opposite bank, giving his own face a few good wake-up slaps before looking back at their new companion. “Hey, so what kind of work do you do, Kite?”

“Biological surveys,” Kite answers, sweeping a stray piece of his waist-length silvery hair back over his shoulder. Gon and his best friend, Killua, had learned last night that the gangly man was a Hunter just like them, one who had even learned Nen under Ging. “My main focus is discovering and researching new species. For instance, have you heard of the Camp Tiger?”

“Can’t say that I have,” says Killua. Gon nods in agreement with his friend, urging Kite to continue. Kite rummages in the knapsack by his knee, pulling out a laptop. He clicks through a few folders and pulls up a video to show the two boys “They’ve mastered fire. They use tree branches that were ignited by lightning as kindling.” His eyes, normally half-hidden under the brim of his blue newsboy cap, are exposed briefly, sparkling with excitement. Kite continues as he hands the small computer over to Gon. “Other than certain bipedal magical beasts, they’re the first of their kind—a wild animal that prefers its meat cooked, as opposed to raw.”

The fuzzy video recording is dim at first. It must have been shot late in the evening, Gon assumes. Two large orange cats soon stalk into view. They’re essentially identical to ordinary tigers—until the scene is lit by the ignition of a small campfire, and the two boys can see the single horns protruding from the crown of each cat’s head. Both of them have speared fish on their horns, and crane their necks to roast their kills over the fire.

Killua’s face lights up at the same time as Gon’s. “Hey, check it out! They’re actually cooking it!”

Kite allows himself a small smile and sits up a little straighter. He goes on about how it may not show on film, but it had taken him three long months camping in the forests of the Kakin Empire, setting up perimeters, collecting and testing scat samples, checking and rechecking trail cams, just to capture the thirty-second clip Killua and Gon were now watching. “So what else is there?” Gon asks eagerly, looking up from the screen. He could only begin to imagine the fantastical kinds of creatures Kite must’ve encountered in his travels with Ging.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Killua’s hand drifts down to the scabs on his shin, a set of twin puncture marks—unusually vicious, given the size of the creature. “You said the thing that attacked me was a Chimera Ant, right?”

“Yes, the Chimera Ant,” Kite answers flatly, offering the Ants none of the same enthusiasm that he had for the Camp Tiger. “It’s under a designated quarantine, level one. It’s a dangerous insect that normally no one’s allowed to be near.”

“So were you the one who discovered them?” asks Gon. “No, I usually specialize in larger creatures,” Kite says, “but right now, I’m investigating these insects. Something has been bothering me lately…” Kite trails off, a shadow crossing his face as he warily surveys the decimated Chimera Ant nest a short distance away. After a long pause, he snaps himself back to the present. “As it stands, it looks like I’ll have to move to a different location now.” Kite shifts in place once more, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. It’s a rectangle with a single elongated screen and no keypad, a much sleeker model than Gon and Killua’s Beatle-07s. “I need to make a call, but I’m not getting a signal here,” Kite grumbles down at his phone. Gon has to suppress a small snicker when he notices that, much like its owner, Kite’s cell phone is equipped simply—his only installed applications are a video browser and a GPS map.

Kite notices the questioning look on Gon’s face. “I’m working with others. There are eight of us on the team, including myself and—” he starts, then interrupts himself. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for them to show up. They’re mostly amateurs, but all extremely skilled Hunters,” he continues brightly. “I’ll introduce you to them.” No sooner had Kite finished his sentence than four distant figures cut through the early morning fog, striding out of the woods to the north. The largest of the group—who, in the limited visibility, appears to have white, bear-like ears protruding from their head—waves towards them and bellows in a deep, echoing voice to get Kite’s attention.

At this, Kite turns around. “Well, speak of the devil,” he smiles to himself. He stands to greet his approaching companions, brushing himself off as Gon and Killua follow suit. Gon wasn’t sure what he was expecting Kite’s co-workers to look like, but the mismatched group before him seems a perfect fit for their jobs. As he looks them over, he notices that they’ve all got patches of dirt and grass stains all over their pants, and the stout man who had called out to Kite has more than a few leaves stuck in his dense, curly hair.

“Hey Kite. Who are these kids?” The first to speak is a young woman with a spiky pink undercut, and a puffy-sleeved yellow turtleneck under blue denim overalls. Over her shoulders is a brown leather backpack, which appears to be squirming slightly.

“Some brand new friends of mine,” Kite says, gesturing towards the two young boys. “Dropped by for a short visit on their travels.”

“Is that so?” says another young woman with long, reddish hair and piercing green eyes. “Nice of you to come all this way. My name is Spinner Clow—Spin for short.” Spinner’s voice is brisker than the first girl’s, and she wears a hat like Kite’s, but in a yellow plaid pattern and skewed to the side. Gon figures she might be the one who takes charge when Kite’s not around. “Pleasure to meetcha,” she says, extending a hand to Gon and blowing a bubble with her gum at the same time.

“Hi! I’m Gon Freecss,” he says, shaking Spinner’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Spin.” Spin’s gum bubble pops against her face as she blinks incredulously at him. “Hang on...Freecss?” she repeats aloud before she remembers to release Gon’s hand from her grasp. “Wait. Does that mean you’re—?” “Yep,” Kite cuts in, a hint of pride in his voice. “This boy is Ging’s son.” A couple of excited murmurs run through the small group. Gon beams, fidgeting behind his back with the Greed Island ring still around his finger.

“What about you?” grins the last newcomer, a young man lanky enough to rival Kite, wearing a raglan shirt with dark blue sleeves, his hair styled in a large, sandy brown afro. “Are you Ging’s kid too?” he asks eagerly, pointing at Killua.

“No, that’s just Gon. My name is Killua Zoldyck.” “Zoldyck? R-really?” The young man’s face falls as he visibly shrinks back from the boys. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you a part of the famous family of assassins?” the girl in the yellow turtleneck speaks up again nervously. “Mm-hmm. That’s right, but I quit the business,” Killua says, with the same tone one might use to discuss the weather, or a mildly interesting magazine article.

“That’s not all,” Kite interjects again. “They’re both professional Hunters, so that makes them your seniors.” At this, Spin’s jaw drops, and her gum from it. She discreetly kneels down to pick it up and stow it away for proper disposal later as the rest of the group exchanges more excited chatter.

Once Spin and her friends have all rearranged themselves on a more comfortable patch of grass, the other three finish introducing themselves properly. Gon learns the large, bearish man—who, up close, is a lot friendlier-looking, and resembles a koala more than a bear—is Monta Yuras, also called Mon; the young man with the afro is named Stick Dinner, who informs them with a hearty guffaw that his name dictates he handle all of the group’s meals; and the pink-haired girl in the yellow turtleneck is Banana Kavaro.

Gon opens his mouth to ask about her wriggling knapsack, but his question is preemptively answered by a small white dog nosing its way out of the canvas bag and eagerly scampering over to lick his face.

“That’s Stinky!” Banana laughs. “He travels everywhere with me, and you won’t find a better tracker anywhere. He’s like our team mascot.” “Podungo and Lin complete the team,” adds Kite, “along with Banana’s older sibling, Brioche. Where are they all now?” he asks, turning back towards his proteges.

“They’re heading toward the area of the sighting,” Monta tells him.

Kite smiles fondly, “Those three always move so quickly.” He looks to Gon like he wants to say something more about their three missing companions, but stops short again.

“Oh,” says Monta, digging into a pouch of his backpack, which was probably large enough to fit Gon and Killua comfortably, if they were so inclined. “What you told me earlier was accurate, Kite.” He pulls a small, tightly corked vial out from within the bag’s depths. “This thing right here, it looks exactly like the claw of a Chimera Ant Queen. We ran some computer analyses, and it came back a ninety-nine percent match.”

A shiver passes through the group, as though the warm breeze playing around the riverbank had taken a double-digit dive as soon as Monta says that phrase, Chimera Ant Queen. One look at Kite’s grim expression makes Gon’s stomach flip-flop. But Kite says nothing, so Gon stays quiet too.

“Can I see?” asks Killua, standing up and sauntering closer. Monta nods and hands him the vial. “So this is a Chimera Ant claw?” he lets out a low whistle. “It’s as big as a human finger.”

Gon shoots up from his spot on the grass. “Does that mean there are huge ants?”

“We’re not certain,” says Kite. “Could one have mutated that big?” Killua voices a disturbing possibility that nonetheless had been weighing on Kite’s mind for days.

“It is possible,” he answers gravely, “although it may also belong to a completely different species. Regardless, we just don’t know right now. That’s why we’re investigating.”

Spin begins, “It all started with a wonky assignment—” And then the group is off, taking turns telling stories about their time conducting biological surveys for the Kakin Empire. Kite had already spoiled Gon and Killua on the Camp Tiger, which the whole group had already agreed was the most impressive find of their adventures. Monta told them all about the August Bullfrog, a species of saltwater amphibian that sparkled golden in the sunlight, and the largest of which could swim powerfully enough to kick up cyclones.

Every one of the aspiring Hunters had come away with a staggering number of new species discoveries credited to their names—Lin, who Gon is quickly understanding to be something of a genius, had racked up over one thousand alone. Stick claims they were credited with two hundred years’ worth of work altogether, completed just under the deadline of their three-year contract.

“It wasn’t literally two hundred years,” Spin frowns, the bubble from her new piece of gum popping with frustration, “but it may as well have been that much, for how eager the guy was to get out of paying us our bonus.”

“The work itself wasn’t bad or anything! The complete opposite, actually.” Banana pipes up sheepishly, “but Mr. Wong, for real, tried to pay us in exposure.”

Kite swallows anxiously and furrows his brow, which only Gon notices. This was the first either of them had heard of any disdain for Mr. Wong, or the outcome of their Kakin assignment. Kite casts a furtive glance around his students. He hadn’t disappointed them, had he?

Unbeknownst to Kite, there had been a hushed debate in Monta’s tent that same night between the six of them. No one had argued with Kite at the time, when he had graciously thanked the head of the Kakin Environmental Conservation Agency for promising to recommend his team to other friendly nations—he was their leader, Banana had said, and the only one with an actual Hunter’s License. Plus, as Podungo had pointed out, Kite was hardly the confrontational type if he could at all avoid it, a trait they were largely thankful for in a mentor. Of course he wasn’t likely to argue their case unprompted, though they could hardly hold that oversight against him when Kite was always fronting the start-up costs of their operations. Stick had then wondered aloud if Brioche’s presence could have changed the outcome. Ultimately, a shared frustration still lingered amongst the Amateur Hunters, a feeling that they’d been cheated by a nebulous someone several rungs higher in the bureaucracy—even if their three years spent in Kakin had been the most interesting and ambitious project they’d undertaken yet.

“Mr. Wong must’ve noticed how the vibe shifted, because after that he mentioned, off the record, some body part from an ‘unregistered species.’ Something even Southernpiece couldn’t touch, and they were looking to sell it off to a Hunter rather than get it confiscated.” Another pop of her gum from Spin. “I assume giving us that lead was his way of saying thank you,” she glances towards Kite, trying to be charitable.

“We had to travel to the warehouse where Southernpiece was keeping the segment ourselves,” says Monta. “And that claw you’ve got there,” he says, gesturing to Killua, “that was just a small piece off of the limb they had.”

“You guys keep calling it a ‘limb’ or a ‘segment,’” Killua says, turning the vial over in his hand pensively. “So was it an arm, or a leg?”

“That’s the question we all had. Let’s see, I sketched a diagram of it before we left, so you’ll see what I mean,” Banana says, pulling a notebook bound in mustard-yellow leather from the knapsack previously housing Stinky. Gon catches a few glimpses of other drawings and cramped notes as she thumbs her way quickly through the worn pages. “Aha, there we are!”

Looking at the notebook, Gon and Killua quickly understood the Amateur Hunters’ confusion. Banana’s notes on the charcoal sketch, based on her and her friends’ observations, pointed out that while the bone structure most closely resembled a leg, it was too large to match any recorded species. Furthermore, it had six claws—three times the usual number found in an insect leg—leading Banana to hypothesize that the cluster of bones making up the mid- and hindfoot had instead evolved into something like fingers. Someone else’s loopy handwriting in a pink gel pen noted that an odd spiny segment might have been the tibia.

“You’ve been unusually quiet this whole time, Stick,” Banana says as she turns to their friend reclining on the grass. “You thought all this was really weird too, didn’t you?”

Stick sits up, bringing his hand up to his mouth in mock-deep thought, trying to hide the telltale curl of his lip. “Well, I guess…” he says, stretching out the last vowel sound as long as his lungs will allow, “Whatever creature that belongs to must be pretty LEG-endary!” He throws back his head with a victorious laugh, not bothered in the slightest when Spin delivers a punch to his shoulder. “Were you just sitting on that the whole time, Sticker?” Spin sounds exasperated, but everyone else knows she’s only groaning at the atrocious quality of Stick’s puns. Even Kite can’t help but crack a smile as Gon and Killua’s laughter joins in with the rest.

“Let me give this back to you. Before he,”—Killua jerks his thumb towards Stick, still rolling on the grass and easily amused by his own antics—“makes me drop it.” Killua leans over to Monta and deposits the vial in his enormous hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Monta says easily as he stows the vial back in his bag. “They let us take two samples to study, actually. Lin and Podungo have the other one with them.”

“So where did Podungo and Lin go off to?” Kite finally asks. “And with Brioche?” is implied.

“Somewhere south of Yorknew City, I think,” says Spin.

“The person who found the leg apparently lives in a city pretty close to the ocean,” Banana tacks on.

“I realize you just got back,” Kite says, lifting himself from the grass, “but we should really hurry after them.” Yorknew was an entire ocean away, and they had no time to waste if this Queen theory had any truth to it. “Hey, would it be okay if we came along with you?” Gon’s excitement is palpable.

“Yes, of course.” Kite doesn’t hesitate to invite them both. The group could benefit from some new faces, and he knew his students would shine with the chance to flex their knowledge for the young pro Hunters. The rest of the group stands, while Banana gently coaxes Stinky back into his traveling perch in her backpack.

“It’s funny,” says Killua, as the group sets off, having gathered all of their things. “We were in Yorknew not too long ago. Before you guys though, during the auction.”

“We were trying to buy Greed Island, this game that Ging made, but first we had to make a ton of money to buy it, so we searched through all these market stalls for items with traces of Nen on them, and THEN one of our friends needed help with a kidnapping, and—”

Killua gives Gon a soft tap on the shoulder, and Gon pauses, taking a quick, deep breath and smiling sheepishly before he returns to recounting their adventures in Yorknew City six months prior, more slowly this time. Killua links his arm with Gon’s, and the two fall into step effortlessly. Kite, bringing up the rear, is the only one in a position to witness this subtle moment, and smiles to himself, straightening his cap again.

Good Hunters are well-liked by animals. They’re often blessed with good friends as well.

Ging’s words ring ever truer in Kite’s mind, and in observing the two boys as they trot along the dirt path back through the woods, and eventually to Stick Dinner’s van, he’s distinctly reminded of himself and Brioche Kavaro as children. Kite had given Gon a largely abbreviated account of his life prior to meeting Ging. There had been plenty before that, and plenty after, but it hardly felt right to tell that part of the story with only half its participants present. Brie would want to tell their own story to Gon, anyway.

NEXT CHAPTER

#hunter x hunter #hxh fic #hxh oc #kite hxh #suziwrites #the tiger's cave

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bubblehorse · 2 years

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The Tiger's Cave | Chapter 2

Flashback the first: A glimpse into Kite's once-lonely childhood, and his first meeting with Brioche.

CHAPTER 2 - MAGPIE

Kite cannot help but feel taunted by the bright, flashing lights of the neon jungle of signs lining the street. The loudest of them all belonging to a building called The Happy-Go-Lucky Harlequin. A luminous white face, a round red nose, and a mouth split into a grin so wide, it’s almost grotesque. The triple reels of a slot machine, each displaying the number seven, form its teeth. Worse still, is the slogan it blares, at precise intervals of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds—Kite had actually bothered to time it one evening past—"Every One a Winner!"

Kite slumps against the wall and sighs. Weekend nights like these were his one regular escape, lurking in the shadows of the leisure district and stealing—like he did so many other things—glimpses of a life that had passed him over.

He invents backstories for passers-by. One woman in a mink stole is newly widowed and had come to the casinos to fling part of her late husband's fortunes to the roulette wheels and blackjack tables in a final tribute to him. A giggling young couple has sweet-talked their way into the honeymoon suite, though their wedding had been done and dusted six months ago, in a quiet ceremony missed by both sets of parents. Each tale Kite narrates to himself is more fanciful than the last, yet, he observes in a moment of self-awareness, none without their own notes of grief. Something in him feels inclined to leave holes in the tapestries he weaves of other people's lives.

The clink of coins shakes Kite from his stupor, and he automatically glances down to his newsboy cap, overturned on the curb to act as a pitiful offering basket. Had someone actually bothered to throw something his way?

A grope around the inner lining of his hat dashes his hopes so quickly, he barely has time to recognize the small bubble rising in his chest as a cheerful one. With a grimace, Kite realizes he’s been fooled by the chime accompanying the deluge of flashing lights from the Happy-Go-Lucky Harlequin’s mouth, miming the winnings of a slot machine to mark the half-hour. Ruling spending his evening as a beggar just as fruitless an endeavor as the gambling itself, he pulls his cap back on his head and turns on his heel, away from the crowds of rich folk and that gods-forsaken clown.

The whole of the city’s nightlife seems to have descended on the casinos and bars lining the Promenade, and as Kite rounds his second corner there’s already a noticeable change in ambiance. The leisure district gleams ever more brightly as the sun sets, and in its lengthening shadow the true nature of Rongé-Belle is revealed. Brick roads give way to cracked cobblestone and then to dirt, weaving between densely nested buildings. Beyond the towering, glittery facades of its carefully manicured center, the city sprawls out haphazardly, built in tottering terraced layers directly into the mountainside. To those merely passing through, the twists and turns and dizzying stacks of buildings might seem hopelessly confusing, even hostile, but Kite has spent his whole life on these streets. He doesn’t need to know where he’s going, but always seems to have an innate sense of where he is—an internal compass of sorts, with a few more bells and whistles.

Kite finds his feet leading him away down a quieter side street. The dull roar of the leisure district had been enough to distract him from his third day on an empty stomach, but without it, the hollow pain of hunger has returned with a vengeance. He idly curses the human body for not yet evolving the ability to subsist on smell alone.

A tray of savory tarts lay cooling on a windowsill, the open cedar wood shutters allowing the inviting scent to waft through the night air. He inches closer. Egg and cheese and onion—and one fruity scent that he can’t quite recognize, alluringly intertwined—nestled lovingly within a flaky pastry crust. Kite vaguely registers someone humming about the brick oven in the rear of the room, back to the window. Surely they could spare just one.

He strikes before he can even fully consider it. Pastry in hand, at his lips, in his throat, scarfing it down in the blink of an eye. But he is still hungry. Another. And another. Each one equally delicious, and, before long, equally vanished. The tray now stands desolate on its lonely wooden counter.

“Hey!” A shriek shatters Kite’s momentary peace. “What do you think you’re doing?! Put that down!” Naturally, Kite shoves the last remaining half of a crumbling tart into his overcoat pocket, and flees. He does not bother with looking over his shoulder to glimpse his pursuer. Escaping is all that matters.

Clack clack clack—The rhythm of his boots hitting the cobblestones.

Huff huff huff—The belabored noise of his irate companion keeping pace.

Kite is far too crafty, and much too quick to be matched for long. He can lose the tail at this next fork, darting through outer Rongé-Belle’s notoriously winding alleys... Left, right, left, double back in the shadows to make sure you’ve lost them, left again, right, right, left...

At the end of a side street flanked by abandoned homes, Kite skids to a halt, sliding his lithe form feet first into an open storm drain.

Here, surrounded by stagnant water and dimly flickering lanterns, he finally lets himself relax. A pile of rags and other pilfered linens serves as his nest, of sorts, against the far wall at the crux of the isolated sewer passage. Home at last.

A home that, until about three seconds later, had been utterly unexplored by the other inhabitants of Rongé-Belle. Kite’s moment of relaxation is once again interrupted, this time by the dull thud of someone dropping to the ground after squeezing through the same storm drain that served as his front door.

“You,” a familiar voice growls shakily, in between deep, exhausted gulps of air, “have about two seconds to give me those back.” A shuddery pause. “Or I’ll kick your damn teeth in.”

As they step into the light of the nearest lantern, Kite finally gets a good look at his dogged pursuer.

A child, hardly older than himself. Blonde hair, now damp with sweat, plastered against their forehead. Freckled face, streaked with mud, as are their pink blouse and denim pinafore. Despite their introductory attempt at an authoritative tone of voice, their weight shifts uneasily back-and-forth between feet clad in clunky leather work boots.

While Kite sizes them up, his opponent seizes the opportunity to strike. They seize a fistful of fabric from the front of his frock, tugging him forward.

“You don’t even know what you took, do you?” Kite blinks wordlessly. Between fight or flight, he had opted to freeze.

The intruder regards him with a hardened glare for a few long moments. Their thumb rises to swipe a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

“Wait a minute, you...you ate them?” Before Kite’s eyes, their entire demeanor changes. They drop their handful of his turtleneck, only to clap their hands on both scrawny shoulders, shaking him exuberantly. “So how’d it taste? Did the rosemary help or hurt it? No, wait, don’t say anything! Let me pull out my—” Their hands fly off his shoulders to pat themselves down. “Crud, it’s in my other apron,” they say with a huffy exhale that momentarily blows a lock of hair off of their forehead.

Free at last, Kite scrambles away, pushing his back into the furthest corner and affording himself a wide vantage point.

The intruder looks up at him. “Sheesh, guy, I’m just looking for my recipe notebook. Not gonna hurt ya. Anymore, at least,” they add sheepishly. They cast their blue eyes about the damp, squalid space, and then back to Kite, furrowing their brow. “You don’t live here, do you?” Kite allows himself a nod.

“But you’re my age,” they intend to sound matter-of-fact, but Kite can hear an undercurrent of concern in their tone. “Then you must be…” their gaze rests on him again, softened. “No wonder you’re swiping food off windowsills,” they say in a low voice.

Kite now feels more exposed, more vulnerable in the sewer, than he ever did above ground. Sure, it didn’t take much to connect the dots just by looking at him. But no one had ever said it so openly, nor offered him the discomforting tone of pity.

The stranger sighs, catching their lower lip between their gapped front teeth, chewing thoughtfully. “Say what, little magpie, I’ll make you a deal.” A smile pulls at the corner of their mouth. “Help me gather enough Chromatic Fungi for a new batch, and we’ll call it even.” The child offers their hand to Kite.

Tentatively, he extends his own clammy hand to meet theirs— it’s warm, calloused, and faintly sticky. Their iron grip seizes him immediately, nearly tugging his arm out of its socket with an exuberant handshake. Kite does his best to pretend he isn’t relishing the only friendly touch he’s experienced in the last…

He doesn’t want to think about how long ago the last time was.

“I’m Brioche, by the way,” Kite’s new friend says, yanking his mind back to the present. “Brioche Kavaro. What’s your name?” “Kite,” he offers stolidly, his voice only slightly hoarse for his first spoken word of the entire evening.

“Well Kite, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly, friend. And I’m sorry for giving you a hard time earlier.” Kite does his best to approximate a genial nod. Neither his brain nor his throat feel up to speaking again so soon. “Meet me at the signpost right before the forest south of town. You know, the one shaped like a pointed finger? There, at daybreak.” Another nod from Kite, and Brioche Kavaro turns to leave markedly happier than they had been when entering. Despite beginning his night resigned to his position of a shunned and lonely beggar, Kite feels another flicker of hope in his chest. One that is not immediately snuffed out, as before, but tentatively rises, spreading warmth to each of his limbs. He sits on his makeshift sleeping mat, keeping a keen ear to the distant sounds of Brioche wiggling their way out of the sewer.

They had called him a friend. A friend. He has a friend. One he was going to see again tomorrow. Kite lies back, pulling his cap down over his eyes, and letting the steady rush of the waterways usher him to sleep. It comes much easier than it has in a long time, now that he has a full stomach.

#hunter x hunter #hxh fic #hxh oc #kite hxh #suziwrites #the tiger's cave

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