He was lost. Completely bewildered. Growing increasingly flustered. Nothing in his torture training or Nen training had prepared him to face this challenge.

"Big brother Killua~! It's too long!"

What kind of top do you pair with a floral maxi-skirt?!

"O-okay! I'll find another one!" Killua shouted from the other side of the dressing-room door. Alluka handed him the unflattering top underneath the door, the hem of her skirt curling around her ankles visibly when Killua grabbed the top and threw it into an increasingly-heaping "no" pile shoved between the wall and the chair Killua designated for non-shopping (yet no less tortured) family members. The dressing room attendant seemed to be irritated by the mess they were making, but Killua didn't have time to pay her any mind; he had a mission.

She'd said it was too long; well alright then, Killua supposed. He'd find her a shorter one.

He darted around the store like a madman, and yes, teenaged girls were giving him some nasty looks because seriously, what was he doing here?

Shorter top… Shorter top…

He managed to come across a fitted black blouse that, while shorter than the last one, had longer sleeves. It would be perfect, Killua thought, for preserving heat if they ever got caught in the wilderness at night.

The problem was, there were several teenage girls swarmed like bumble bees around the top. It was clearly a popular choice, but shoot, a girl with honeycomb hair was reaching for it, and then it'd be gone, and Alluka wouldn't get to have it.

Killua took a step, a small one to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Rhythm Echo…

At once, he'd swiped the shirt from her hands and was safely positioned behind a mannequin sporting cuffed overalls as the girls whipped around in startled alarm.

"It literally just disappeared!"

He rushed back to the dressing room. "Here," he said, reaching under the door yet again. "Try this one."

He stood up and prayed to whatever God was out there that this one would work. For a Forever 21, this dressing room was rather small; it had four changing rooms, a rack for any discarded clothing (and Killua was aware that the fact he wasn't using it was annoying the attendant, but he really didn't have time to hang shit up when he had to help his sister), and a full-length mirror in the back. Beside his chair was a middle-aged woman, presumably the mother of the girl in the dressing room across from Alluka's. Her lips were tight when Killua looked at her (she was probably uncomfortable with a fourteen-year-old boy being so close to her naked daughter, but what was he supposed to do?), and lain across her folded arms were several dresses, which she handed to her daughter whenever she emerged from her dressing room with a frown.

"Whattaya think, Mom?" the girl emerged from her stall and spun around in a daisy-colored shift dress. The woman's expression softened significantly.

"It's beautiful, honey," she said, then walked to the mirrors with her daughter. Killua watched from his isolated corner. She pinched some of the fabric around the girl's waist. "It could be even more flattering if we get it taken in about a size."

"Yeah, it's a C but my waist is a 30," she remarked, and the mother hummed knowingly.

…I literally have no idea…

"Brother, it's…"

Killua pounced up. "It's what? Does it fit?"

"It's… I don't know…"

Killua stood outside of her door, heart pounding, waiting and hoping. Alluka stepped out of the room, which was a good sign, because she'd yet to show Killua anything she'd tried, but her eyes weren't meeting his, and she didn't approach the mirror at the end of the hall.

"I don't look right…" was all she said. She stood in the hall, looking at the teenage girl by the mirror, twirling, mother pulling at the fabric until it sat on her just right on her hips. Killua stood behind Alluka, seeing how starkly the edges of her silhouette contrasted with the soft curves of the women by the mirror.

"It doesn't look right," Killua corrected. He turned Alluka to face him. "I'm sorry. I'm picking all the wrong colors — that skirt is perfect, why would I overshadow it with long tops or put some sad black with it?"

Alluka nodded, but her expression didn't change.

"Take that off, I'll go find you something better."

She went back into the dressing room. Killua sighed, resting his forehead against the shut door.

"Hey," said a light soprano. Killua turned: the mother, an edition of Teen Vogue in her outstretched hand, daughter smiling at her side. "Try this."

Eyes wide, he took the proffered magazine, and smiled uncomfortably as they left.

(Naturally, Killua wondered how it had come to this: how it had come to him, reading Teen Vogue, in a Forever 21 dressing room.)

Flipping through the magazine, he came across a section about "daring fashion choices," (which, granted, he was kind of an expert at, but whatever), which discussed matching two supposedly clashing patterns based on colors.

If a pattern consists of mostly lines, for example, try pairing it with something that will round out the edges, like pairing stripes with polka dots. This will only work if the tones of the colors match up, so pay attention to your color-wheel! An easy way to find a match to a patterned fabric is pick a clothing article whose main color is the secondary color of the first one, with its own secondary color as the tertiary of the first or one that complements it. See some fashion-forward examples below!

Killua repeated it like a mantra all the way to the blouse section.

But shorter, and fitted, and… there!

"Alluka," he said once he returned to the dressing room, soft, definitely-impractical seafoam green-and-blush striped top in hand. "Try this."

Killua listened to the shuffling from behind the door, and the small gasp when Alluka finally had the top in place.

She opened the door and jumped into his arms.

"I love it, big brother! You're amazing!"

So, yeah. Killua Zoldyck, expert ex-assassin, killer of countless men, heir to the Zoldyck family business, wielder of lightning, and pro-Hunter, was now the proud owner of a monthly subscription to Teen Vogue magazine. And every month, when he received his new edition, he'd take notes.

… because being a big brother means giving more than you've ever gotten.