And in the end, the Love you take is equal to the Love you make.

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A/N: I wrote this completely on instinct, meaning for it to be like a paragraph, but no, I wrote like 25 pages, so here it is. I'm putting it all into one chapter so it flows better. 

"What do you mean, you aren't going home for Christmas? You always go home for Christmas." Hisoka's voice, so familiarly sly, was suddenly offbeat, puzzled and questioning.

"I've been thinking," the reply came, "that maybe Kil was right."

"Oh?" Hisoka said, lips curling. "And why is that so?"

"My family is... pushy," Illumi said. "Going home would only result in uncomfortable questions, especially since Kil definitely won't be coming and Kalluto is with the Phantom Troupe. I'd be stuck with only Milluki, my parents, and my grandfather," he wrinkled his nose in slight distaste, "and that scenario is not one that I would willingly put myself in."

Illumi thought some more, his eyes wide and soulless as usual, boring into Hisoka's own. "... And frankly, I'd rather stay with you than have awkward conversations with my parents."

"Well, my apartment is open to you anytime," Hisoka said, his voice taking on a suggestive tone.

"I believe I'll take you up on that offer," Illumi replied. "But if you attempt to spring me in the middle of the night I will not hesitate to kill you in the most brutal way possible."

"But of course," came the reply.

Hisoka's apartment– if one would call it that– was as much of an apartment as Zeno Zoldyck was young. Perched at the top of Heaven's Arena, surely the benefits of winning Battle Olympia, it boasted a gargantuan kitchen, king-sized living room– and of course, only one bedroom. Hisoka had requested it himself: he had no need for more than one bed, especially since he happened to share with whatever guests he was blessed with. Illumi had taken one blink at the bedroom, stared for an instant at Hisoka's seductive leer, and dropped his belongings on the couch, claiming it as his own.

"The bed is more comfortable," Hisoka protested as Illumi unpacked, pulling out clothes from the bag he held and setting them on the dresser he had dragged to the living room.

"Comfort is not my concern. My concern is your... habit, and the number of people that have slept and done who-knows-what with you in said bed."

The magician pouted. "I wash the sheets after. And it's been more than a week."

"I don't care." And without further ado, the oldest Zoldyck plopped down on the couch and started surfing through TV channels, stopping at a corny sitcom and settling in.

Hisoka stared at him, eyebrows raised. "I have to go to a match this afternoon."

Illumi grunted in response. "I will stay here."

"Don't do anything... naughty while I'm gone, all right, Illu?" Hisoka murmured, catching the pin that flew at him, missing the center of his eye. "Don't like the nickname?"

Illumi held up a hand without eye contact, revealing his hand full of pins pointed directly at the magician. "Call me that again and you'll be dead before you hit the floor."

"Oh, how I love your empty threats, Illu," Hisoka said as he walked out the sliding doors.

----------------------------

"I watched you fight," the Zoldyck's first words as Hisoka returned, sweaty, but without a scratch on him. "Your opponent's Ren was skilled."

There was no response. Hisoka stared at Illumi. The Zoldyck's inky waterfall of hair was swept up messily. He wore sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking more vulnerable than Hisoka had ever seen him.