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Gon finds Killua lying on the couch, his back against the armrest, an out of date lifestyle magazine open on his knees. He opens and closes his clammy palms, trying to quell the uneasy shake in his wrists.
“This editorial is making some good points,” says Killua. “Where would we, as a society, be without Jordan’s top ten last minute Halloween costumes.”
Killua looks up, and the coy smile on his lips fades as he catches Gon’s expression.
Killua drops the magazine back down on the hotel coffee table and opens up his arms.
Gon’s across the room before he makes the conscious decision to move. He lies down on top of Killua, wrapping his arms around Killua’s waist and burying his face in Killua’s chest. Killua squeezes against Gon’s sides with his legs, and runs his hands through Gon’s hair.
It’s warm and cozy and makes the dull, sinking weight in Gon’s chest ease. Killua tugs on his hair, just a little, and Gon squeezes tighter.
“Want to talk?” asks Killua.
Gon shakes his head.
“Okay,” says Killua, giving Gon’s ear an affectionate tug.
Killua picks the magazine back up and continues to cards through Gon’s hair with his free hand.
“Number five on Jordan’s list is a sheet ghost, but her angle is that you cut out holes and glue googly eyes onto the forehead. Which doesn’t seem super last minute ‘cause how often are you carrying around googly eyes. Or a sheet, for that matter.”
Gon can’t really muster a laugh, but it’s nice to have Killua filling the air with words, even if Gon’s too detached to follow most of them. Killua reads him articles from start to finish, pausing every sentence or two to mock the editors. His voice is comforting, following patterns so familiar to Gon they feel universal, despite being nothing more than an arbitrary, isolated rhythm.
Killua’s voice is abrasive but not unkind, reserved but not without colour. And patient, whenever he breaks to ask if Gon needs anything. Gon’s life is not dry of fortune, but he thinks that he might be most grateful for Killua’s patience.
Gon shifts so that he can look up at Killua’s face, expressive and beautiful in the blue light of an early spring afternoon. His eyes spark and his mouth twists into sharp angles as he scoffs at the magazine, smug for the sake of humour rather than as a sign of undue pride. Gon’s breath catches in his throat for a moment and Killua’s attention hops down to him, wide eyes attentive and unblinking.
Gon rolls his face into Killua’s chest to hide that he’s been staring. Killua laughs, and Gon can feel the vibration of it in his forehead.
No, Gon is most grateful for Killua in his entirety.
Killua goes back to reading. Gon presses his ear into Killua’s chest and closes his eyes, listening to the dull thump of his heart through shirt and flesh. It blends together with Killua’s voice and the waves outside the open balcony doors into a cloud of sound that borders on off kilter music.
“Killua,” interrupts Gon, looking back up.
Killua’s mouth is still open from where he was mid-word, but he closes it as his eyes meet Gon’s.
“Say something nice,” asks Gon, steeling his nerves to keep from averting his eyes down.
Killua snorts a laugh and his smile stretches from ear to ear. “I love you.”
Gon mirrors his smile, and is unable to hold back the giggle in his chest.
Killua tosses down the magazine, sits up, and pulls Gon by his armpits into a bone crushing hug. Gon laughs, breathless and joyful, as Killua shakes him gently.
“You’re amazing, and I can’t imagine being this happy with anyone else,” says Killua, muffled against Gon’s jaw. “And I love you, so, so much, you have no idea.”
Gon presses a quick kiss to Killua’s temple before resting their foreheads together. “Of course I do, Killua. I love you just as much.”