[ 13 ] Past Curfew

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Before Illumi, Itadori had no frame of reference for Earth. His world was a nucleosynthesis at the core of his heart—everything in him belonged to the sun, but he had never seen it so...

Small, he thought, staring up past the clouds without a care in the world.

Between boxy silhouettes and gridded lines through bright blue skies, Itadori's focus tilted. A cloud rolled over the sun, and a chill filled the air. He closed his eyes and breathed for the first time perhaps ever. After all, collapsing his wings on Earth and adapting to the human form left his newfound lungs aching.

He took another deep breath and held it. And then, in the middle of a crowded New York street, he thrust his arms up and screamed, laughed, and dashed to the nearest storefront.

Approximately five shopping bags and a slice of pizza later, Itadori could be found basking in the light of his masterpiece through Central Park's dappled canopy. He beamed, leather gloves now thoroughly greasy from the food.

He dropped back against the bench, head tilted over the back of it.

"Best city ever! No wonder Illumi lived here!" Itadori said to no one in particular, arms up and then falling out.

The angel's bucket list was increasing in size and scale. He wanted an apartment just like Illumi's; he wanted to work! What were human jobs like? And now, surrounded by people, Itadori wanted to talk to them all. What would they say if he asked them how their day was? What parts would they reserve for him to know?

It was a thrilling endeavor to embark on, and as he continued about his day, he dismissed the prick of contempt that came from his counterpart's discovery of his absence.


ִ ࣪𖤐


Illumi's brain was overheating. Chrollo's confession left him overwhelmed by the knowledge that, like Illumi, Chrollo hadn't stopped thinking about the two of them for the past five years. All the time Illumi had spent believing that he was the insane one, the one thinking and feeling the most, Chrollo had been trapped in his domain unable to fill the space with Illumi's face.

The next best thing: Illumi's body, apparently.

Chrollo stammered, "I—I would have finished the paintings, but I can only paint the faces of souls that have died and sold themselves to me. By the time you died..."

"I no longer belonged to you." Illumi's hands muffled the words. They sat across from one another, a mixture of adolescent embarrassment filling the air. Through the turmoil, a great sense of relief washed over Illumi. He dropped his hands. "You do love me, then."

Chrollo flinched. "I can't have you, though."

H-Have me! Illumi vied to shriek it at the top of his lungs. Instead, he coughed to the side and covered his mouth with a closed fist. "Just don't tell Pride I'm here."

"With his wings gone, I'm sure he'll discover you here any minute now," Chrollo confessed. "And your alleged reincarnation... I've given Pride a lot of space, and Astaroth is more familiar with softer forms of love. Romance. It always puzzled me that the two of them were so friendly..."

Illumi paled. "So you think it's true?"

Chrollo cupped a hand to his chin. "It's hard to say... I can't manifest the same way I used to—but it's clear to me that Pride harbors some sexual desire in several of his human interactions—"

Beyond the Grave [ILLUMI X CHROLLO]Where stories live. Discover now