Work Text:
lights out
+
window facing an ill-kept front yard
plums on the tree heavy with nectar
prayers to summon the destroying angel
moon stuttering in the sky like a film stuck in a projector
and you
you
- tallahassee, the mountain goats
+
Gon’s bed is soft.
He hasn’t slept in it for six months, and yet it still smells like him. Killua, eyes to the wall, on the cusp of sleep, wonders when he became weird enough to notice that sort of thing in the first place, wonders when Gon’s scent became that much of a familiarity to him at all. (He knows deep down, of course, that he’s never really been normal anyway, but this is a different kind of weirdness that he isn’t accustomed to. This involves someone else. This involves feeling.)
Then again, it’s not just this bed that smells like Gon; it’s this whole island, this whole little corner of the world that Gon knows inside and out like a tangible extension of himself. He smells like the trees. He smells like the ocean and the sand and the colorful flowers that he knows all the names to and Killua doesn’t. Killua has never even seen flowers like these before, unless Gon himself counts as one, which he thinks might be true.
He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, suddenly restless. His mind winds back to a few hours before, reliving the memories on a vivid reel of film playing out behind his open eyes.
They’d zipped from tree to tree, sailing through the forest like winged animals before Gon had announced the clearing of the trees just ahead. He landed in the middle of a meadow, the flowers shivering giddily at his arrival. Naturally Killua had followed, landing easy and feline on his feet right beside where Gon stood. In the midst of a sea of bright petals stood a single blue flower, pale and wispy, out of place. Killua watched as Gon, smiling, knelt down and plucked it up from the earth with a strange tenderness that made Killua feel a bit lost.
“It looks like you,” Gon chirped with eyes shining, arm outstretched, and Killua’s heart had done something stupid and lame and weird, like a big hiccup in his chest.
“I’m not a flower,” Killua had said, chest hot, limbs itching to go back to sailing through the trees. “Flowers don’t put up a fight when you pluck them up like that. I’d knock someone out if they tried that with me.”
And Gon had laughed at that, a bright and honest laugh. Killua wasn’t sure if he’d been joking or not, but if it made Gon laugh, then, well…
“Well, I can’t put it back in the ground,” Gon said, looking at the pale petals of the flower between his fingers, the sun beating down on him in wild crashes of brilliant light. Then his eyes brightened and Killua’s chest did that stupid hiccup thing again and he said, “Think you can keep it safe in your pocket till we get back to the house?”
“Can’t promise that,” Killua said, watching the sun bend around Gon’s body in glowing slants of gold and orange. “It might fall out. Might get crushed.”
“Then think of it as a test!” Gon was still holding out the flower with its cornflower-blue petals, its delicate stalk swaying in the warm breeze. “Think of it like a hunter exam. Then you’ll definitely pass.”
“Nah,” Killua said, stretching his arms up to the sky until his shoulders gave a gratifying pop. “I don’t wanna think about hunter exams right now.”
“Then what d’you wanna think about?”
“Being here with you.”
And Gon’s eyes had widened all happy-like and Killua, chest hiccuping again, darted back up to the trees in a flash to keep the redness of his cheeks a secret from everyone but himself. Even the flowers weren’t allowed to know.
In between their swinging from tree to tree, Gon had stretched out his hand and caught hold of Killua’s for one brief, warm moment. The flower was exchanged from palm to palm, and then they were off again, soaring from the tree-tops high above the mossy ground below. The world flitted behind them and all Killua could see was what stretched on ahead, all colors and warmth and the scent of the earth and Gon. He only half-admitted to himself that he paid careful attention to keeping the flower from bruising in his pocket, had moved with a caution and a mindfulness as if protecting something dear and fragile and precious.
And even now, hours later, tucked away in bed and waiting for Gon to come back, the flower is still burrowed safely in Killua’s pocket like a little blue note written in a language that only he and Gon can understand. He should probably put it in some water, keep it living longer. He should probably put it on the nightstand so that it doesn’t break in his sleep. He should probably stop thinking about flowers altogether and stop being so weird and soft, but Gon makes him weird and soft, so maybe there’s no helping it. It creeps up on him like a sickness when he watches Gon’s eyes light up, or when his cheeks flush with excitement when he laughs, or when he takes Killua’s hand within his and radiates heat; and then Killua gets to thinking that he’s watching the sun come to life, that Gon is the sun and everything else pales in comparison to him. And if Gon is the sun, then does that make Killua the moon? Doesn’t the earth need both to stay balanced?
(But normal people always like the daylight more than the night, don’t they? People get more things done when it’s light out, they walk the streets with happy faces and they go places and they all look so pretty in the sun, like bright flowers. Then they all go home at night to stay safe because people like Killua work best in the shadows and they don’t want to die and god dammit Killua doesn’t want to hurt anyone, doesn’t want to scare people, he just wants to be like them, like those bright flower people, normal people - )
More weird thoughts. A quiet huff of breath later, Killua closes his eyes and switches off his thoughts of Gon and the sun and flower people. The flimsy blue flower is delicately extracted from his pocket and placed beneath his pillow, hidden and safe. When he settles back down again, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that his body is adjusting to his sleepiness, that maybe this means he can be normal for a night, and eventually drifts off into a dreamless sleep, limbs splayed in every which direction, the lights still on.
It would be a sound and effortless sleep for anyone else in the world, but Killua, senses sharpened to perfection, immediately jolts awake the moment he hears the bedroom door open. Logically he knows it’s only Gon, and his body relaxes at the quick realization, but there’s a nagging thought in the back of his head that he wishes he could be one of those people who can stay asleep while another soft, warm body curls up in bed next to them. But oh well. Can’t have everything.
“Sorry, sorry,” Gon is whispering, laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Didn’t scare me,” Killua mutters. “Just a habit, I guess. I was trained into it, I mean. Waking up easily when I hear things.”
“I’m the same way,” Gon says, which makes Killua feel a little less like a freak. “I think being a heavy sleeper would be kinda dangerous, y’know? So I’m glad I’m not like that.”
Killua hums, mulling that over. Still, it’d be nice to trust the world around you enough to sleep through things and have nice dreams. He sifts his fingers through his sleep-rumpled hair and peers at Gon from across the room. He spots the makeshift bed on the floor and instantly feels a strange pang of something like guilt in his chest. “Uh. Sorry I took your bed.”
Gon blinks at him with his bright, innocent eyes that make Killua feel too many things, all of them crazy. “Is that weird?” Gon asks. “Aren’t beds made for sleeping in?”
“Well, yeah, but I figured I’d take the floor or something. That’s why I set up that bed down there.”
“Mm, but floors are uncomfortable.”
Killua has half the mind to tell Gon that he’s been chained to a wall and tortured for hours on end without breaking a sweat, seriously, he can handle moving to the floor, but then Gon smiles again and the words dry up in his mind instantaneously. “You fell asleep with the light on,” Gon says, flicking the switch off before Killua can say anything. “There. Doesn’t it get super dark in here?”
Killua nods, knowing Gon can still see him through the shadows. That feels kind of nice, being seen in a normal condition like this, not skulking through pitch blackness with razors for fingernails and waiting for the target, waiting to strike and to stain and to slice clean through. Right now he’s just a twelve-year-old in his friend’s bedroom and he doesn’t have to kill anyone; he doesn’t have to do anything but just look at Gon and rest easy and look at Gon some more. He likes that. He could probably handle doing just that for a thousand years, give or take.
There’s a tense moment where he waits for Gon to either take the space on the floor or to come to his bed, and then a little thrill in his stomach when he sees Gon bypassing the blankets on the floor without so much as a moment’s pause and approaching the bed. Killua hears him humming some happy little tune, a summery song that he suspects Gon is making up as he goes. He stops his song to say, “Scoot over.”
Killua does just that, scooting so that his side touches the wall. Gon hops into bed next to him and goes back to humming, making himself comfortable in the nest of blankets. Killua swallows once, then two more times for good measure. It’d be nice to sleep next to someone, he thinks, but he didn’t expect it to feel this monumental, this much bigger than it really is. If he’s to be practical, he knows it’s nothing more than simply sharing space with another body, that’s all - but there’s something else tugging at him and it feels important, a quiet alarm coming from some place deep inside of him that he hasn’t explored just yet. But he’s too tired for exploration and he can feel the heat pulsing from Gon’s body the way heat emanates from the sun and Killua figures that’s more than enough reason to stop thinking, or obsessing, or whatever the hell it is that he’s doing.
He hears Gon let out a yawn, feels him wriggle a bit to get more comfortable. Then, laughing quietly, Gon says Killua’s name, and Killua jumps as if he’d shouted it. He turns his head to look at him in the darkness, blinking. “What?”
“You’re all plastered against the wall like a bug.”
Killua scoffs when he realizes Gon has a point - he’s all but squashed against the wall, barely taking up a fraction of space on the bed. “I kick in my sleep,” he mutters.
“So do I.”
Killua shoots him a challenging look, brows raised. “No, Gon. I mean I kick in my sleep. Not little baby kicks. I’d send you flying across the room.”
Gon shrugs. Killua can see his eyes glowing round and golden up close and then he starts thinking about the sun again. “And I’d send you flying through the wall,” Gon says, ever casual and chipper. “So we’re even.”
Killua considers that for a moment before deciding Gon is right and slowly detaching himself from his flattened, squished position against the wall. He relaxes down into the softness of Gon’s bed again, sighing with relief and shivering as the tension ebbs out of his body limb by limb. He hears Gon give another one of his happy little hums, and then an excited whisper of a question: “Today was a good day, wasn’t it?”
Killua sniffs out a laugh through his nose, shoulders bobbing. “Yeah,” he says, tucking his hands under his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Definitely.”
“What was your favorite part?”
Killua glances at Gon out the corner of his eye and sees him curled up on his side, facing him, his eyes giddy and round and expectant. After a moment’s pause, Killua looks back up at the ceiling and murmurs, “Feeling normal, probably.”
In the silence, Killua can practically hear Gon smiling. His face heats up. “Plus your aunt’s a good cook,” he adds quickly. “Actually, yeah, that was my favorite part.”
“Much better than vending machine food, huh?” Gon scoots a bit closer to Killua, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “But I don’t know, I find it hard to believe you’d like anything more than chocolate robots.”
“That’s because nothing’s better than chocolate robots,” Killua says, more seriously than he’s ever said anything in his life. “Nothing in this world.”
Gon laughs. “Not even tonight’s dinner?”
Killua puffs out his cheeks, ruminating, then lets out a big gust of breath in defeat. “Well, maybe they’re equal. Don’t make me pick.”
Gon nudges Killua’s foot beneath the covers with his warm toes, and Killua nudges him back as they both break into a fit of quiet, sleepy giggles, the sort of laughter that falls upon young things when their bodies grow tired but their minds remain awake, when everything is much funnier than it really is. Then again, maybe it’s because it’s Gon, and Gon makes Killua happy, and people laugh when they’re happy, right? He’s overthinking again. Crap. Stop it.
Killua listens closely to how Gon’s giggles fade out into pleasant sighs, maps out the distance between each of his breaths, commits that distance to memory just because. He feels those eyes on him again and glances side-long at Gon. “Hm?”
“Just thinking,” Gon says.
“About what?”
“I really like laughing with you.”
Killua’s eyes widen a fraction, and then Gon smiles that sunny sort of smile that makes him feel overwhelmed, and his eyes flit back up to the ceiling for the hundredth time tonight. His face feels hot again as he grumbles, “I think you just like saying things that freak me out.”
“No, no, I really mean it,” Gon says, earnest and sweet, only worsening the redness of Killua’s face that the shadows luckily conceal. “I mean…you’ve been laughing a lot more lately. And that’s a good thing. I like hearing it. Because then I know you’re happy, and if you’re happy, then so am I.”
“Well, that’s. Hm. That’s.” Killua’s words die out on a frustrated huff. They won’t piece together in the right ways. He glances at Gon again, sees his honest eyes, immediately reddens again. “So that’s how this whole ‘being friends’ thing works, huh.”
“I think so. It feels about right.”
“Guess we don’t really have much experience to speak from.”
Gon nudges Killua’s foot again. “Yeah.”
Killua nudges him back. “Yeah.”
“I don’t really want a bunch of background experience, though,” Gon says with a stretch of his arms, letting his wrists pop in tiny cracking sounds before settling down again. “I like figuring things out with you. I like us.”
I like us, too, Killua wants to say, I like you so, so much, but instead he opts for a satisfied nod and a quiet hum that doesn’t even touch the surface of what he’s thinking and feeling.
They fall into a comfortable silence, thinking their own thoughts within the same warm space. After much grueling consideration, Killua rolls over onto his side to face Gon, tugging the edge of the blanket up to his ear so that only his eyes peek out. That makes Gon smile for whatever reason, but then again Killua supposes any reason is more than enough. “Hey,” Gon whispers, “can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“You come from a…a rich family, right?”
Killua nods, silent, not wanting to think about his family.
“So did you ever have, like…teddy bears and toys and stuff to sleep with?”
Killua nods again. “Yeah, lots. My mom liked to spoil me, thought it’d convince me to become what she wanted. It was actually pretty funny. The more toys she gave me, the more worried she was that I’d up and leave. Turns out she was right.” He pauses, taking a breath. “Why’d you ask?
“I dunno. We’ve never really had much money, so we couldn’t really afford that sorta stuff for me. Which is okay, I mean, it’s not like I needed those things. And if I wanted something to hold onto, I’ve got pillows and stuff, so…”
Killua watches Gon quietly, barely breathing. Gon’s gaze drifts off into space for a few moments before he comes back to the present moment and breathes out a goofy laugh. “Sorry, I guess that’s kind of a weird thing to talk about.”
“It’s not weird,” Killua says, despite the feeling in his chest that’s definitelyweird. “What brought it on?”
Gon gives an innocent shrug. “I was looking at you and I thought you looked like something cuddly.”
Killua just about chokes on his breath, not sure if he should laugh or scoff or maybe do a little bit of both. “Gon,” he says flatly, “you’ve seen the things I can do. They’re not ‘cuddly’ things.”
“Well, yeah, but…” Gon shrugs again, laughing. Then he reaches out and his fingers touch Killua’s hair and Killua stops breathing. “You’ve got this fluffy hair like a kitten, y’know? In fact pretty much everything about you looks like a kitten.”
Killua’s throat bobs in a nervous swallow. “Kittens have sharper teeth than you think. It hurts when they bite you.”
“They’re still cute, though.”
Gon’s palm is a gentle thing as it sweeps across the floppy, sleep-tousled mess of Killua’s hair, the touch of his fingertips thoughtful and light. Killua can feel a delighted purr rising in his chest that he has to swallow down lest he prove Gon all too correct in his assessment.
“Sometimes I wish I could be a little like a cat,” Gon muses, strands of Killua’s pale hair slipping through his fingers. “Cats are neat. They do things quietly.”
“But dogs are cool, too,” Killua murmurs. “They’re friendlier than cats, at least.”
“Maybe you’ve just met only mean cats before.”
“Maybe I am one.”
“Nah,” Gon says with a soft, warm smile. “You’re not mean, Killua.”
Killua feels his eyelids becoming heavy, and he tentatively lets them close as Gon keeps playing with his hair. “Is this also a friend thing?” he asks quietly.
“Hm?”
“The hair-touching thing.”
“Oh. Well, I think it is. It’s fun.” Gon’s hand goes still for a second. “But I can stop if it bothers you.”
“No,” Killua says too quickly, lifting his head to look at Gon. “It’s nice. I mean, it doesn’t bother me, no.”
Gon smiles like he’s relieved and goes back to his light touches that make Killua feel heavy and hot again. He sinks back down, his cheek touching the coolness of the pillow and his fingers curled at the edge of the blanket just to have something to hold onto. Gon makes another one of his thoughtful, tiny sounds. “It’s weird to see you sleepy,” he says. “I’m not used to it.”
“Me neither,” Killua admits. His mouth stretches in a wide yawn, and he hears Gon laugh very softly, little more than a pleasant breath of a sound. “Beats staying up for days on end. That gets old pretty fast.”
“A lot of people think sleeping is boring,” Gon says. “They’d rather be up doing things, going places. They think sleep is just wasting time.”
“Are you one of those people?”
Gon gives a bashful smile like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. “Maybe just a little.”
Killua closes his eyes again, rubbing his head against Gon’s palm to make him keep up with his petting. “I envy people like that,” he murmurs. “Must be nice to find normal things boring.”
“Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I like sleeping. Especially when I haven’t been in my own bed for a long time…”
“I’m not blaming you or anything,” Killua adds. “Just…nah, I don’t wanna think about that sorta thing right now.”
Gon is quiet for a few beats before asking, “You mean thinking about back at your home?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t call it ‘home’ though.” Killua lets out a short sigh, shaking his head. “But I don’t want those thoughts in my head while I’m here with you trying to be normal. They mess everything up.”
Gon’s eyes are steady and contemplative, gleaming with a silent sort of knowing that makes Killua feel as though he’s just been cracked wide open and all of his secrets and ugly thoughts are pouring out of him for Gon to sift through until he finds gold. You won’t find much gold in there, Killua thinks. Only bad things. Dirt and coal and blood.
But then Gon pats his cheek and gives him a smile and Killua thinks, Okay, fine, bad things but also you. You’re a good thing to think about.
"I think you’re just fine the way you are, Killua," Gon says, touching Killua’s bangs with the very tips of his fingers. "The things you think are bad about you, well, they’re still a part of you, right?”
Killua huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Only you would say that, Gon.”
“And we get along well, don’t we? And I know about those things you think are bad, but it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change what I think about you.”
“That’s because you’re weird as hell,” Killua laughs out. “You didn’t even blink when I told you about my family being assassins, or when I said I’ve killed people. You just accepted it like it was nothing and carried on.”
Gon shrugs. “I’m not scared of you, Killua.”
Killua’s laughter dies out almost immediately as all the breath zips right out of his chest and is replaced with something that feels too big for his chest; it’s something hot and overwhelming and ridiculous, something that renders him speechless and only able to stare at Gon with wide eyes as he waits for the catch. But when the catch doesn’t come, and when Gon’s expression remains rooted in its earnest, open warmth, Killua is suddenly stricken with the feeling that he needs to hide his face, needs to burrow down into the blankets and not come back out. When he tugs the blanket up over his head with a little groan, Gon laughs and asks, “What’re you hiding for? I thought you already knew that?”
“I did,” Killua says, his voice muffled by the pillow that he buries his face into, “but it’s…it’s different to actually hear it, I don’t know…!”
Gon only cracks up harder, the sound of it pure and musical, and then Killua feels arms around him from above his makeshift blanket cocoon, holding him in a little bundle. It feels nice, feels safe.
“You’re so silly,” Gon says, still laughing, curling himself around the little knot that Killua has tucked himself into.
“Am not,” Killua mutters. His face is so hot that it hurts. “I really mean it.”
“And so do I!”
“Weirdo.”
Gon keeps laughing that summery laugh and Killua listens, smiling softly beneath his safe den of blankets. Like this, he can smile and let his face flush hot and Gon doesn’t have to see it; or at least this is the case until Gon pulls the blanket up and wriggles underneath, his body heat a tangible, physical thing even when the two of them aren’t touching. Killua sucks in a quick breath when he sees how close their faces are, how Gon’s sleepy eyes are still so bright and innocent and everything Killua isn’t. The moonlight sighing through the window looks misplaced and alien on Gon’s face, the curve of his shoulder, his unwavering smile; that dark space is where Killua belongs, in the shadows and the sparse light of the moon that creeps hungrily through it in cold breaths. Gon is nothing but light. He should never have to know darkness.
Gon’s voice pulls Killua out of his web of thoughts, the sound of it soft and very close. “Hey, Killua?”
Killua swallows and goes very still. “Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
There are a thousand things Killua could say, half of them joking, half of them denying, but the heat in his cheeks is already a permanent fixture and he’s too far gone to care about pretenses anymore. “I’m really glad I’m here, too,” he says quietly, the tenderness of the words foreign on his tongue, the softest things he’s ever spoken. They feel foolish and wonderful and true. They feel like not having to hide.
“I’m sure we’ll figure out what it is you wanna do,” Gon says, closing his eyes and snuggling down into the pillow. “And I bet it’ll be something really great.”
“I hope so.” Killua watches Gon rub his sleepy eyes with his palms. He wants to reach out and touch his forehead or something, or the bridge of his nose, his round cheek, anything. Gon’s hand is very close to his own, and he supposes he could touch that, maybe with just the tips of his fingertips, that would be enough - but then Gon outshines him immediately when he reaches out without warning and slings an arm around Killua’s shoulders to drag him closer. Killua’s breath catches in his chest at the shock of it, but his body yields to the touch on its own, subconsciously curling into Gon’s hold so that his forehead touches the other’s chest and their legs entwine beneath the covers. An unplanned sigh of pure, unfettered relief ghosts past Killua’s lips and onto the warm skin just above Gon’s collarbone.
Gon shifts a little, his chin resting atop Killua’s fluff of hair. “You don’t mind being a teddy bear for the night?”
Killua swallows. His throat feels tight and strange, his breath stunted in his chest and not coming out as it should. “It’s fine,” is all he’s able to say, hoarsely.
Gon lets out a happy hum of a sigh. If there were any sound in the world that Killua wishes he could bind with invisible strings and keep for himself, he thinks that would probably be it.
“Feels a lot better than just hugging a pillow,” Gon says with a sleepy laugh. “What d’you think?”
Killua’s mind reels with the effort of trying to sort his thoughts into words. “It feels like…” No, wrong. Try again. “I just…” Still not right. “It’s…”
“Yeah?”
Killua’s arm is shaking as he lifts it with the tentativeness of something inhuman having just gained its own body for the first time. When he drapes it over Gon’s side, he’s barely touching him, hovering just within the realm of contact. “It’s just nice,” Killua whispers.
“Just nice?”
“I’m…I’m just not used to it, I don’t know.”
“Not used to what?”
“Being touched softly.” Killua’s face flushes horribly at the confession, but Gon doesn’t even flinch; he just keeps his chin tucked atop Killua’s head, holding him close against his chest, and it’s just enough reassurance that Killua needs to go on. “Or even just…touching something else softly. I feel all messed up, like…like that sort of thing doesn’t really belong to me. Like it’s not really happening.”
Gon is silent for a few moments, thinking something through, which Killua blearily thinks isn’t like him at all since Gon is supposed to be the simple one, the one that moves and acts, and Killua is the one who does the thinking and the sorting - but then Gon reverts back to his prior nature and gives Killua a firm pinch on his forearm, making him yelp. Just as he’s about to demand an explanation, Gon says, “See? That means it’s really happening.”
“You didn’t have to pinch so hard…!”
Gon chirps out a laugh. “Of all the things we’ve been through and you say a pinch hurts?”
“I-I had my guard down for once!” Killua huffs, hiding his face in Gon’s chest again. “Won’t be doing that anymore, clearly.”
Gon’s next giggle is muffled in the mess of Killua’s hair. Killua shivers at the touch and the feel of the other’s breath as his body flares up uncomfortably hot, but if he kicks off the blankets then he feels as though something would be lost or broken between the two of them, and so he stays fixed in place, his arm settling back along Gon’s waist and his fingers curling in the thin, worn fabric of the boy’s shirt.
They’re both silent for what feels like ages until Gon, on the precipice of sleep, suddenly whispers, “It’s not fair.”
Killua lifts his head a fraction and sees the underside of Gon’s chin, his mouth slung in a lazy, tired frown. “What’d I do?” he whispers back.
“Nothing,” Gon says with a small shake of his head. “It’s what other people did to you. It’s not fair you’ve never been touched nicely before.”
To stave off another rush of embarrassment, Killua merely shrugs, ducking his head again so that it fits just under Gon’s chin. “Nothing I haven’t handled before,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering to a close. “Things have been that way since I was a baby. It’s no big deal.”
“It makes me mad,” Gon protests. Killua feels his hold tighten around him for a moment, and he’s glad for it, wants more of it. “And that’s why I’m gonna make up for it.”
Killua’s eyes snap back open in an instant. All he can see is Gon’s shirt and the bare skin of his throat up close, the thrum of his heartbeat pumping softly at the space just between his collarbones. It would be very easy to kiss that little space, but Killua doesn’t know how to do things like that, wouldn’t know how to control himself if he wereto do things like that; and so he keeps himself leashed back tightly, always far too aware of just how easily he could snap beneath the weight of his own wanting and never come back from it.
“That sound okay?” Gon asks in a slow, heavy voice, just barely awake now, hanging onto the edge of the wakeful world by a single fraying string.
Killua stares and stares and stares at the beating space of skin at Gon’s throat. Beneath that skin is a fresh stream of blood, ever flowing, full of life. Killua has torn throats open with his bare hands before but this is the first one he’s ever wanted to kiss.
It suddenly feels hot and wet behind his eyes, and he closes them tightly, letting out a shaky breath through his nose. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That sounds okay, Gon.”
“Good,” Gon says drowsily, yawning wide. “Now stop being all shy and stuff and hold me like I’m holding you.”
Caught. Killua’s lips twitch in a tremulous smile, confused tears burning behind his eyelids as his arms wind tightly around Gon’s warm body and his head tucks lower against the other’s chest to hear his heart beating. “Not shy…”
Gon gives a quiet snort of laughter but says nothing to refute Killua’s words, only nuzzles himself closer and lets out a long sigh, a precursor to his effortless descent into sleep. Killua counts the length of each of his breaths, feels them beginning to deepen and even out, until Gon slips off into slumber and leaves Killua behind to catch up with him. But Killua’s body is buzzing and alight, his senses catlike and focused to better take in the feeling of Gon’s arms cradling him against his chest, the soft heat of his skin radiating in invisible pulses and sinking into Killua’s body like a spirit. He thinks of the sun warming the earth. He thinks of tiny things hungry for light, stretching up towards the bright sky to grow. He thinks of himself as one of those tiny things, always stretching towards Gon, eager for warmth, needing it to survive.
In the darkness, Killua’s eyes open again to stare at the thrumming pulse at the hollow of Gon’s throat. There’s blood beneath that skin - fresh, warm, red blood. Killua knows blood better than he knows himself, knows it intimately, knows the feel and smell of it. Gon’s face is peaceful as he sleeps. His arms feel so nice around Killua’s shoulders. There’s blood beneath his skin. The black swallow of Illumi’s horrible eyes flashes through Killua’s memory like a bad dream, and Killua, burning all over and drunk off of Gon’s heat and the closeness of their bodies, stares down the image of those eyes head-on, holding Gon tighter in response to the curling cold that swells within his chest every time Illumi intrudes on any peaceful moment. The dark cloud of his brother’s face lingers for an awful moment, expressionless, taunting in its apathy - before the vision dissipates into a pale fog, leaving not a whisper behind.
There’s sweat on Killua’s forehead. It drips down his temple, rolls down his cheek, and sinks into the pillowcase like something forgotten. His chest jumps with a stunted, pent-up breath that aches on its exhale. His body trembles.
Killua leans in to the soft stretch of Gon’s throat, right where his blood beats in a visible pulse. Rather than tearing it open, he presses a kiss there instead.