Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 50

*Chrollo POV*

No wind disturbed the vacant night air as I stood over the edge of the balcony, my elbows leaning on the rail and my eyes looking unseeingly out at the blackened forest. The moon wasn't shining—perhaps she was beneath the clouds, or perhaps it was the time of month when shadows were cast over her light, stifling it. Smoke billowed from my lips and scorched through my throat in an exhale from the bitter cigar, the only noticeable shift in the still atmosphere around me, expanding and curling, a white, misty fog.

No thoughts permeated my consciousness, ironically. I'd only left the bed because sleep hadn't yet pulled me under, not because of my usual midnight pondering. In fact, I almost wished a few thoughts might come—about anything, really—but I couldn't focus on any in particular. Each time I made an effort to travel down an analytical rabbit hole of wonder about Hisoka, about our impending fight and the dreaded moment of my next leave from (Y/n), my mind seemed to shut off, unable to hold onto the slipping calculations, as though there were cracks in my ability to lose track of time and wait for the morning, causing each subconscious word to fall through and the minutes to drag endlessly.

Drawing again from the cigar, I looked down at my hands, silently studying the black paint on my nails. A smile almost broke through the deadpan of my expression at the memory of the childlike wonder (Y/n) had held towards the small bottle of nail polish, and the muted passion in her eyes each time I wrapped my fingers around her neck or pressed her body against mine. Perhaps it was selfish, but I absolutely loved the fact that only I could elicit those reactions from her, that only I held that sway over her heart. But it was just as true for her—no one else carried the power she so easily obtained over me, the power I wanted only her to have.

Sweet little vixen.

I hadn't known what time it was when I left the bed, and I couldn't tell how long I'd been outside—it could have been fifteen minutes, but it could have been an hour. Either way, my mind remained a void, and I found myself no more, and no less, at ease by the isolation of the quiet, dark world. With one more inhale from the cigar, I blew out the smoke in a sigh and stood straighter, turning slowly towards the ash tray on the velvet chair and putting out the flame, carelessly leaving it there.

I closed the doors as noiselessly as possible, hoping not to disturb (Y/n). But as I faced the bed, I paused, staring at the empty blankets, the disturbed sheets, and the impressed pillows, unoccupied. My brows twitched lower, a minuscule difference in my features, as I stepped closer, examining in further detail.

Where is she...?

Gradually, I swept my gaze over the extent of the room, searching with only mild worry—perhaps she had gone downstairs to get water. The bathroom door was opened, but no light indicated that she would be inside. Still, an odd emotion that I couldn't place urged me to move closer; her energy felt nearby.

But why would she be in the dark?

Suddenly, however, I froze at the sound of a high-pitched whimper, and uneven breathing, my jaw involuntarily tensing. My body jerked forward before I could decide why she might be crying, the only rising instinct being to comfort her, to protect her. She hadn't been upset or stressed before she fell asleep—had I triggered anxiety in her subconscious by leaving the bed?

Gently pushing open the door, my concern increasing at the clearer sounds of her quiet sobs, I flipped on the light and zeroed my gaze in instantly towards (Y/n), my brows slanting in a heightened unsettledness. Her body was hunched on the floor, tilted with her side up against the drawers beneath the marble countertop, and her head was crumpled between her knees with her arms trembling and gripping viciously around her legs. It felt as though I couldn't move fast enough when I shot forward and stepped around her, my chest expanding in an accelerated fashion as a response to her agitation.