ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ？(An HxH × MHA/BNHA AU) !HIATUS!

𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

Japanese terms: furisode (a type of kimono with long sleeves), obi (a belt worn with traditional Japanese clothing), zōri (Japanese sandals), arigatō gozaimasu (Formal way of saying "thank you")

TW: bl**d, v**lence, descriptions of g*re, ab*se and mentions of it

          The bell rang, indicating it was time for class to start. However, there were many students who didn't really seem to fully grasp such a concept.

          "Alright class, settle down," Aizawa Shōta told the class, sounding like he had gone without sleep for several years. Even though the teacher said this, he did not really care. Though, if they did not shut up, then it'd be hard for him to take a nap. Aizawa just wanted to escape from consciousness.

          Killua just wanted to escape from his family—the abuse, the manipulation—their despicable, twisted definition of familial love. The way his family obsessed over him—it felt as if everything revolved around him. The silver-haired boy's life was planned out for him in advance by his family—and he did not want that. He most certainly did not want that.

          It was the third of February, and most of the kid's family members were out on assassination missions. The only ones home were his mother named Kikyo, his older brother named Milluki, and his younger brother named Kalluto. This would have been the perfect time for him to make a getaway—however—there were still the butlers. On top of that, he still had a broken leg and arm. I might as well take my chances, he thought. If successful, I can be free. But, I am considered a villain to the public and the heroes. Maybe I'll be shown some grace because of my age and circumstances. If  I attempt to escape, but don't make it out, I will be punished again.

          Killua put on a dark blue turtle neck, then put on a baggy, off-white, V-neck t-shirt over it. For pants, he wore long baggy shorts which were a shade of purple. He also wore purple boots which rose to just a little bit above his ankles. The boy brushed his silver hair which—no matter how much he wrestled with—would always remain looking messy and somewhat unkempt. He grabbed his yellow skateboard. It had red wheels and a red arrow pointing forwards painted on the body.

          For some reason, in Killua's twelve and a half years of living, he hadn't been as determined to be a runaway as he was then. I assume that the reason behind this was because of all the new kids he had been meeting—they inspired him to do something about his crappy life. It could have also been because of the weird feelings he had been experiencing on a daily basis. Killua always felt like he was forgetting something—someone. This feeling was a very painful, migraine-inducing one. The boy wanted to extinguish this feeling by finishing the puzzle which was his memory. He would find the final puzzle piece—no matter what—for something told him that his was a very crucial thing which should be remembered. Curiosity killed the cat, but it would—hopefully—not come to that.

          As Killua walked down the dimly lit corridors—every step excruciating—he braced himself for any possible outcome. I will definitely be confronted by the butlers, he figured, and maybe my family members that have remained at home, too. Eventually, he made it near the exit of the home—he still had the whole yard to go through. 

          "Kil," he heard—the source being his mother, Kikyo, "where do you think you're going?" The woman was accompanied by his brothers, Kalluto and Milluki. Her hair was black with a purple tint, her skin was pale, and she wore a technological visor that covered her eyes. A red dot glowed on the middle of the visor's screen. The mother was dressed in a bustle gown that was dark purple, and a large pink hat. This hat was coated with fuzz, and had a wide brim that was embellished with flowers and feathers.