Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 81

My stomach churned sickeningly and my teeth gritted together roughly as I caught sight of the time on the microwave, and I quickly looked away, as if I could force myself to forget what had begun in that very minute.

10:01 a.m.

Chrollo's fight with Hisoka is starting.

I stared down into my cup of coffee, and then over at my glass of water, striving to swallow some of the anxiety down smoothly, but being unable to do so without aid. I gripped the cup, sipping the iced water gingerly and wishing away the dryness on my tongue. My elbows unconsciously dug into the granite of the counter; my thighs were pressed into one another with a tension that would've been painful, had I bothered to feel it. My whole body was rigid and stiff, but my muscles felt weak, trembling internally and hollowed out by the worry of the unknown.

I was alone in the kitchen at the moment, sitting up straight at one of the little barstools, and Kurapika was in the shower. He'd already made coffee by the time I woke up, which was around nine in the morning, and I'd exchanged a few obligatory words with him before he'd retreated to dress for the day. I hadn't been able to concern myself with his emotional climate at all since I'd roused from my slumber—every thought was a ticking, depleting rhythm towards a suppressed explosion; every thought was spent on Chrollo.

I hardly felt well enough to eat anything, so I'd told Kurapika I would wait until he was out of the shower. But I was beginning to think I wasn't well enough to drink coffee, either—the caffeinated acidity was harsh on my fluttering, faint stomach, driving more shudders into my fingers and fright to my mind. I wondered briefly if I would acquire a headache soon because of my lack of immediate caffeine consumption upon awakening, or if I would find the heart to eat anything at all that day, at least until Chrollo messaged me.

I hadn't called him the previous night, but there was good reason for my logic—if I were to call him, I, myself, would be kept awake all night, but so would he. I didn't care how certainly he felt as though a lack of sleep faltered in affecting him; I'd told him, as firmly as possible, to be asleep by midnight. Of course, he'd reluctantly agreed, mostly playful in his complaints, but I was endlessly glad to know that he'd actually listened to me. I'd awoken in the morning to one last text from him, sent only minutes before the clock hit twelve.

"Have you fallen asleep, my love? You haven't answered me for over twenty minutes—it's alright if you have. But I suppose that means I'll have to sleep, as well. Goodnight, (Y/n). Don't concern yourself too badly tomorrow. I promise to come back to you, and to make sure to message you before six in the evening. And I promise to dream of you. I love you."

I wanted to force myself to believe him—if I was honest, I actually already did—but I couldn't stop that involuntary expansion of anxiety. It infected my mind despite any fist of control I tried to maintain. It was so frustrating, and made me feel so helpless and foolish.

I didn't want to chance developing a throbbing headache, though, so I wrapped my shaky fingers around the mug, lifting it to my lips and taking a small drink. It certainly didn't sit well in my stomach, but ibuprofen wasn't always strong enough to fix the consequences of not drinking coffee.

I should definitely eat something with this, I noted wryly.

As much as I'd wanted to smile at the sight of Chrollo's message, I couldn't, not with the knowledge of what was happening on his end. I also hadn't responded, and I didn't plan to until I was sure the fight was over—most likely, I would make myself wait a few hours just to be sure. I didn't want to distract him in even the slightest way, but waiting did take its toll on me, as well. The minutes felt like hours.

As if in self-prompt, I looked up to the time again. It'd only been two minutes since I'd last checked, and I swore to myself I wouldn't bother looking again because it only provided further stress, though even I could hear the lie in my inner monologue. I knew I would keep checking, and I knew that simple action would torture me until I received word back from him.