Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 42

I won't walk away from you.

"What do you mean?" I breathed, my voice revealing nothing but a shuddering wish to comprehend.

His seemingly lifeless form shrugged, still clutching tightly to my body, a remorseful acknowledgement of what was.

"Just as I've told you," he rasped, almost inaudibly. "My name isn't Kassidy."

Confusion raced on in my mind while I tried to decipher the plaintiveness in his statement, the acceptance of deceit. I had been lied to? About how much? If it was only his name, that couldn't have been so bad—I understood the desire to keep true personas shrouded, especially if it was for the sake of hunting someone. Of course—how could I have never questioned it before? If whoever he was looking for was still in the city, it would be only natural that he assume a false name, even rent an apartment for a year and live as a citizen of York New. So, why did I suddenly feel so on edge? So shaky and anxious?

And when he met me, he assumed the worst, because I am a Nen user.

I should have guessed it before. Perhaps I did trust people too easily—but what was there about him which still seemed so trustworthy? So honest? He wasn't a liar; it weighed too heavily on his conscience. If he had truly been trying to gain something from me, he wouldn't have allowed himself to let his guard down, to need me this way.

It was obvious that he couldn't bear any more of this mysterious burden alone, and I couldn't judge him harshly for it. When the imperfections of the world are made known, everyone becomes an enemy, and perhaps the greatest enemies are those we learn to trust.

"But why?"

My question was direct, and vague. It seemed to me to be an admission of my failure to understand, but looking back, it could have been a confession of my unwillingness to understand, to see what was right before my eyes for so long, what would soon tear me apart at the seams.

"I ask myself that far too often," he murmured numbly. "Why, indeed? My mission feels more of a means to an end each passing day, each passing hour, each passing second that I am unable to avenge my home, the screams of which echo always in the silence of my utter, cursed loneliness. I'm the only one left, and it feels as though I'll never be able to quiet those screams. But I can't stop—I won't allow those wretched creatures the satisfaction of seeing me give up."

The only one left. A survivor? Survivor's guilt, perhaps?

A survivor—why did that strike such an ominous chord in my soul? I could feel an avalanche beneath my feet, and I awaited it in terror, all the while holding onto this shattered human, another enemy I couldn't even perceive at the time.

He can't be an enemy.

"But I've known for some time now that you haven't to do with my never ending search," he continued, quiet and pleading again. "I'm so sorry, (Y/n)—for dragging you into this when your own pain weighs on your shoulders, for coming to trust you and to look forward to these trivial meetings of ours. It allows me some relief, though, to know that perhaps I'm not the only one with this mission, a purpose of drudgery and heartache." He breathed out, trembling and holding tighter to me. "And I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I know we haven't been... acquainted for very long, but it felt good to make a friend like you, one who understands me so well. It only makes things more difficult to admit that you've been deceived—if it helps, everything else I've told you is true. I only request that you don't despise me for this. Please, (Y/n)."

I couldn't form the words to say, words which might offer him a bit of solace; I could only feel a dismal sympathy. There was no despise in my heart for this man—how could there be? My brows furrowed over my slanted eyelids, heavy with sadness for his instant assumption that he would be rejected, tossed away.