Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 79

"See, honey, I saw love;
You see, it came to me.
It put its face up to my face so I could see.
Yeah, then I saw love disfigure me
Into something I am not recognizing."

"Song for Zula" - Phosphorescent

I awoke slowly to the faint scent of wispy, sour smoke. My brain dragged through the last few layers of unconsciousness, pushing away the remaining images of a quickly fading dream, one I couldn't remember many details from, but one I was inherently reluctant to leave. There was no indicator in my thoughts as to what it might've consisted of, but I'd felt comforted in my sleep, and I wanted to stay there—I was loathe to come back to reality, to twitch open my eyes and adjust to the darkness of the drab apartment setting I was placed in.

I laid still for a moment longer, closing my eyes again and hoping to return to that distracted realm, to shut away the lurking shadows of responsibility and truth and fact, but the odd smell of singed herbs continued to penetrate my lungs. I couldn't persist in ignoring it—eventually, I gave up, a frustrated sigh releasing in a hiss from my lips, and my brows dug deeply into my forehead as I heaved my body weight onto my elbows, rubbing furiously at my cheeks.

What in the world...?

I knew it was familiar to me, but it was so weak that I couldn't immediately decipher any specifics. My initial worry was that something was burning—perhaps the stove had been left on, and gas was escaping into the air. My muscles jolted into action at the thought, and I wrenched myself up off the couch, feeling too warm and disoriented and perspired.

My legs were unsteady as they carried me to the kitchen in a near-sprint, but I fumbled in the darkness for the light, unable to find it. A frantic, hushed groan grew in my chest; I whipped around and raced back to the sofa, touching blindly for my phone. The slick, smooth surface made contact with my fingers, and I shoved out a relieved exhale, tripping back over to the kitchen and blaring my flashlight in the direction of the oven.

None of the knobs were twisted in the direction of being on. But as I checked and rechecked, just to be sure, I realized the smell was even fainter in the kitchen. I hesitated, bleary-eyed and confused, by the stove, forcing my pounding heart to slow by enough to allow me a soothing inhale so that I could pinpoint the aroma.

That's not gas. A cigar...?

My gaze narrowed—who on earth would be smoking a cigar?

Kurapika.

My limbs locked into place. Blood ceased flowing in my veins for a minuscule second. Goosebumps threatened at the back of my neck.

...Is he still here?

My chest expanded gradually, a jagged, half-falling sequence of breaths struggling to draw and release. I couldn't believe it—he'd been so dead-set on leaving. I'd been so heavy and despondent with the acceptance of this turn of events, this premature divulging of the secret I despised viciously. I was unmoving and rigid for an agonizing minute, inching my line of sight towards the short hall, zeroing in on the hardly cracked-open door at the end of it.

Then, my hands flinched with panicked life, and I snapped my head down, blinking rapidly before noting the time.

4:09 a.m.

I hadn't received a call from Chrollo yet. But if he hadn't called me, he surely would've sent me a message. I bit my lip roughly, torn between wishing to see the words of my lover versus forcing my body forward to check on the strange scent, to see if it was real. Perhaps I was dreaming again, though this felt surely more lucid than any dream I'd ever experienced.