A Life Foretold

Chapter 8: And A Future to Retouch

A/N: NOTES TO SAVE CONFUSION BEFORE READING THIS CHAPTER! As you have probably already noticed, there are some canon differences. Because this relates to a true story, I needed this to be the case, sorry. Here are the differences: I changed Graham's name to Bizeff (because I just realized that's a perfect character for Graham to correspond within hxh), Illumi is Killua's uncle (because in this story, the only sibling Killua has is his younger sister, Alluka), and Kalluto is Killua's cousin and a girl. I didn't make this change to change the important themes of gender within hxh, but I did it for the sake of this story only-- in no means do I not support the excellent ways Togashi incorporated gender and sexuality into his work. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

 3012 words.

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle bell rock..."

Music blared from the stereo as my entire family gathered around the Christmas tree, holding a toast to everything they're thankful for with a clank of crystalline wine glasses. Mother laughed and passed around presents while Alluka tore the wrapping paper to shreds in whimsical delight.

It's all wrong, I thought.

I absentmindedly checked my phone for any messages from Gon, scrolling through hundreds of my texts-- all with zero response. Suddenly, the phone slipped out of my grasp, and Mom snatched it, "you don't need this on Christmas."

I stared at her like a stranger had just stolen a possession of mine; a stranger she was. She knew about Gon, but she didn't care. It instantly reminded me of the three individuals who turned their backs towards my call for help. The situation was an inconvenience to them, such as Gon was an inconvenience to Christmas for my mother.

They're all the same... even my family-- especially my family.

Sighing, I wandered to the piano. My left hand struck a low octave C, resonating the beginning of the Chopin Ballade in g minor. I hummed along mindlessly as my pinkies latched to the melody, caressing the keys with tender touches.

'I want to be a songwriter with you by my side.'

My lips quivered.

Chopin: the language of loneliness, from the light presses of the sustain pedal to the resonating melody accompanied by sub-voices of harmony.

Suddenly, the bench creaked. I side-glanced to see my father listening with his head tilted back and eyes closed in content. When I stopped playing, he stared at me with a warm smile— oh-so-welcoming. "That song is beautiful," he said.

My voice wavered, "Y-yeah, I remember you mentioning that during the last recital."

He hums, "it's like an entire movie within a single song. A story. It goes from a sad, melancholy beginning, to a small moment of paradise with tragedy in between."

My mouth fell open slightly. Father never cared about music— let alone piano. It's strangely comforting knowing we had the same mindset.

There's a moment of silence. I simply stare at the keys, feeling lost.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your friend."

I bit my lip, tears threatening to fall, but I wouldn't cry in front of Father.

"I- I had a best friend who committed suicide. We grew up together; I regret not doing something sooner. He hinted towards killing himself, but... I never imagined he'd actually do it." My eyes widen when I hear his voice crack. Father is... crying?

With caring touches, he threaded large fingers through my hair, patting my head as he did when I was young. "The song, play it again, please."

So I did. Over and over again.