Little (Y/n) did not have many memories of her parents, personally. She knew they were alive and that they were strong; That was all. She didn't even see their faces when she was young. All she ever had was photos.
The art of combat was a funny little thing to (Y/n). It gave her a feeling of slight amusement to see what her own strength could do— But she learned at a tender age that she mustn't misuse it.
She knew the reason why she never consciously met her parents. Every generation, taking turns, the (L/n)s and the Zoldycks would entrust each other with one of their children. This generation, it was the (L/n)s' turn.
It was a tradition that (Y/n) didn't care to understand but didn't mind. She never longed to see her parents, but she often wondered what they would say or how they were.
Would they be proud of her? Disappointed in her? Ignorant of her? Loving towards her? Are they well? Busy?
She would probably never know— Not that she needed to know.
She didn't remember anything well enough to be attached to or longing for them. Only the tones of their voices. She sensed no hesitation in their tones when they left her at the Zoldyck estate when she was merely two years old.
She came to understand that later on.
(Y/n) grew to both like and dislike her new home. Her training was torturous and challenging, but she felt somewhat accomplished by the way she endured it all. That living hell.
(Y/n) was the kind of girl to not have her pride much too large, but not too small either. She was averagely respectful and polite, but of course, growing up in the Zoldyck house, she had a mischievous side to her, but that's for another time.
(Y/n) was trained as any Zoldyck would have been.
When she wasn't training or attending to something or someone, she was studying. (Y/n) was a diligent girl, it was a noticeable trait once you got to know her.
Maybe she went on with the art of assassination because it was an art that all the Zoldycks learned since birth. Or perhaps she was inspired to take it without a single complaint by a certain someone.
—Or not.
But the feeling of pride, joy and accomplishment was pumping through (Y/n)'s veins when she mastered her first killing technique. Usefulness was also what she felt. She liked it. The strength she attained was a strength she dreamed of using to help others.
Now she sat in her room, practically buried in weapons, decoys, and books. As of now, she was reviewing the many things she had learned when she was small. Or at least, smaller than she was right now. She would stay like that for days and nights on end, reading endlessly, utterly unhooked and disconnected from reality. It was worrying sometimes, but she truly had her heart set on it.
The eight year old was utterly absorbed into the topic the book she held touched. (Y/n) held the book in her hands eagerly yet carefully, muttering some words under her breath. The information before her, though familiar, was processed thoroughly only to be forgotten later and learned again.
She was so absorbed into it that she didn't pay any heed to the door open gently to see a certain someone peek through. He had snowy white, fluffy hair and bright blue eyes. He also had very pale skin and an impatient expression on his face.
"Baka, why won't she get out of there?" He whispered to himself.
"I can hear you," (Y/n) said, finally pausing in her studies to look at him. Her voice was as clear as if she hadn't shut herself up for a long amount of time.
"I know! And it's been three days!" The blue eyed boy grumbled. "You need to eat, (Y/n)!"
"We've both been trained to be able to go several days without food, Killua," (Y/n) responded absently, flipping the page of the book she held and immersing herself in information again.
The boy known as Killua frowned as he gazed at her hunched-up back. He acknowledged that she really had her heart set on it, but this was a little extreme for (Y/n).
"It's starting to become a pain to drag you out just to make you take care of yourself," Killua said, deadpanning a little. "Baaaka! What would I do if you just passed out?"
"Wake me up," (Y/n) replied. "It's not like you to worry about the petty things, Killua."
"Petty?" Killua scoffed. "It's not petty! You haven't eaten in a week! You sure it's petty? Do you have a phobia of self-care or something? Selfcarephobia? Huh? Is that it?"
"No I don't, mom! I just want to finish this review in one go, is all," (Y/n) said.
"You need to take care of yourself," Killua muttered under his breath.
"Five more minutes?" (Y/n) asked, staring at him with a pouting-like expression.
Killua froze. You see, he was actually quite embarrassed that somewhere in his head, he admitted that (Y/n) could still use puppy eyes and look quite adorable while using them. However! He had strong resistance. He knew how to keep track of things!
'It's a trap, Killua! —She asked for five more minutes four hours ago!' Killua thought to himself.
He walked over and snatched (Y/n)'s wrist. "No one told you to review, so you're going to go eat lunch with me," He said in an authoritative tone, internally cheering when (Y/n) didn't resist of complain.
Killua Zoldyck. The snowy-white haired middle child of the Zoldyck family, and, rather proudly, one of (Y/n)'s most trusted friends. She wouldn't dare confide or even have a playful conversation with the older Zoldycks.
Though Killua would get embarrassed and flushed if (Y/n) were to declare that openly, he wouldn't exactly deny it.
"Only because you told me to," (Y/n) said, waving her index finger back and forth. "I'm only eating because." That's a lie — She had become aware of her hunger the second that Killua grabbed her attention and she tore her eyes away from the book. (Y/n) was away from reality for the past three days.
"You better, baka," Killua said in a similar tone, keeping a firm hold on her wrist as he took her out of the room. He would never admit that he felt a little lonely with (Y/n) shut up in her room for three whole days. Never. Nope. Not a chance. Nada. Why would he miss her? It's not like it made training any harder without anyone to cheer him on and help tend to any wounds or bruises later... Nope! Nada. Killua Zoldyck was independent!
(Y/n) followed without much hassle.
When they arrived in the kitchen, (Y/n) picked up one of the chocolate sandwiches that were on a plate.
"Who made these? Did you make them, Killua?" (Y/n) asked, shifting her (e/c) gaze to the blue eyed boy who was most well known to have a love for sweets.
A small blush made its way to Killua's face, a blush which he managed to force down. "So what if I did? Baka."
(Y/n) gave a small, soft smile before eagerly taking a bite.
"Mm, oishi!" She hummed.
"Of course they are! I made the sandwiches. What did you think, they would taste like garbage? You sound so surprised that it's insulting, baka!"
"Cooking and making snacks isn't your strongest point, but sandwiches are fairly easy for anyone. And it's chocolate. It's bound to taste good," (Y/n) said between mouthfuls. "Plus, you made them."
An awkward silence came from (Y/n)'s honest speech.
"It's not like I made them especially for you! This is my food, too!" With that, Killua grabbed a sandwich from the plate and gobbled it down in an instant. "You're right, it's good! I didn't expect that..."
"You're contradicting yourself," (Y/n) laughed softly. When they were done eating, (Y/n) stood up from the chair no one noticed she was sitting on. (Not even the narrator.)
"Don't you dare tell anyone that this happened," Killua whispered.
"Roger that," (Y/n) said, also in a whisper, as she made a mini salute.
The bond that these two shared seemed deeper than how one may see at first glance. Despite her mannerisms, (Y/n) respected Killua highly, and wouldn't hesitate to rely on him should she need to. She was also willing to take a scolding for him or go to the Isolation Room in his place. The same terms would go for Killua. They shared the same pain and endured the same training when they were little, thus strengthening their understanding of each other. Both were capable combatants, yet never saw the other as a rival, rather, they saw each other as someone to support and rely on. They were each other's improver, cheerleader, encourager and friend.
"In exchange for me not telling anyone, you better tell me when you're hungry so that I can whip up something for you," (Y/n) said in a demanding tone. "That way, I can return the favor."
"Roger that," Killua imitated her, also making a mini salute.
The two laughed a little at each other's antics before growing a little quieter.
"So did you read anything interesting today?" Killua asked while walking with (Y/n) back to her room.
"Why else would I be so immersed in it? 'Course I did. I kind of regret it too. Because now I know that if I put lava in ice, it'll explode. I'm tempted to do it," (Y/n) confessed.
"Now I am too," Killua admitted. "Well, it wouldn't hurt if I joined you in your reading, right?"
"Be my finest guest, Killua-sama," (Y/n) said overdramatically.
"Don't call me that, baka—!"