My Assassin (Killua X Reader) [COMPLETED]

Shatter

I know this is short, sorry, but this is just a continuation of the previous chapter. Thank you for reading, love you all! Please tell me your thoughts and feedback 💔

Killua remained planted where he stood, his eyes darkening. Even though we were beside each other, we seemed miles away. He had gone somehwere distant, where I couldn't reach him. But I knew that he could still hear me. "I know this is sudden," I continue, "But I've decided that I want to become a hunter."

His face twisted into realization, neon lights sliding across his face and mine. "Why?"

I shrugged, feeling numb. "I've been thinking about it ever since you were taken. If I was stronger. . . they wouldn't have taken you, Killua!" I choke, my eyes holding his gaze. I could tell he wanted to break away, to ask more questions.

"That's not true." He muttered, eyebrows furrowed, glaring down at me.

"It is and you know it! All this time you've been the one saving me because I'm too weak to do it myself! I'm tired of holding my friends back." I release my gaze, looking away. At the sky, the stars. There was no moon. "I'll come back." I promise, lips quivering.

He sneers, crossing his arms. "What was the point of saving me when you were going to walk out of my life anyway?"

"I didn't decide this until yesterday! Why can't you just support my decision?" I flap my arms helplessly.

His eyes soften, frowning. "I'll go with you."

Unbeleivable.

I laugh, the only thing that would keep me from breaking down right now, here, in front of all of these people going on about there night. "We both know that you can't do that. Now that you have Alluka, your responsibility is her. I won't make you choose because I don't want you to pick me." Smiling sadly at him, I begin walking away. He lets me go with me feeling his eyes pierce my back. I pause.

"Don't wait for me."

Waiting is torture. This was goodbye. For now. Maybe forever.

I stayed awake all night, huddled next to my wet pillow with sore eyes the next morning. My flight was at seven. Not caring to bring a suitcase, I left at six, stopping by for one last breakfast. I was served a plate of scrambled eggs, grapes, bacon, and orange juice handed to me by a bald waitress. Her looks aside, she was beautiful, making small talk to the customers.

Nerves spread throughout my body, and the last thing I felt like doing was eat. No matter, I forced myself to take in every bite, taste the sweatness and biterness and prepare for a new day. My first day alone in a world filled with strangers and upcoming obstacles.

I tried keeping the thought of the ex-assassin as far away as possible from my main thoughts, shutting anything related to the subject in a locked, forgotten strorage at the back of my mind.

I glanced at my watch, six twelve. Hurrying to grab the attention of a taxi, stretching a single hand out, I hoped inside a vehicle with fading yellow. The driver gave me a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. "The airport." I instruct, slouching against the rough cushions of the back seat. Understanding, he kicks the engine, taking the wheel as we drove around a black volvo.

The roads weren't exaggeratly filled and neither were the streets. It was a Sunday, everyone resting inside the cosy, warm, welcoming comfort of their homes, enjoying a day off.

On the other hand, I was about to take a big step of my life. Or a big mistake. Either way, I couldn't take anything back.

The airport was the opposite, packed with various peolple struggling to get to the other side, pushing and bumping into each other, some with phones in one hand and their children's fingers wrapped around the other. Some individuals carried suitcases in fancy work suits. Then, there were the flight attendants, gesturing for us to move foward. That we were clear. You can get in the airplane now.

A line progressed, I was in front of seven different people. I held my head high, eyes gleaming so that I wouldn't give anything away, so my imaginary glass crown wouldn't drop by accident.

On purpose.

A hand grabbed my wrist and in an instant, I was facing a boy who looked like Killua. His hair was messy, lips cracked and hitched breathe. "Don't go." His eyes pleading for me to follow him and lie to myself further.

"Let go of me." My voice was firm, unbending. I was tired of crying, of feeling sorry for myself.

The white haired boy's eyes were glossy, blurred. "Please, Bitsy."

"Go home, Killua."

Two more people had moved, with other flyers in front of me narrowing their judgemental eyes at us. Silence floated above our heads.

"You are my home."

I didn't want to feel this way. How was it possible that he could make me the happiest, most merry person on the planet and then kill all of that with one facial expression flashing a pang of hurt? In that moment, I pulled my hand out of his grip and sprinted away without another word, or thought. There was no reason. No point. No Killua.

I felt myself begining to shatter.