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In this moment, Killua is warm.
He shifts slightly in the long grass, throwing one arm across his eyes to shield them from the sunlight. The other arm smooths down his shirt, and Killua thinks about the sun. The scenery around him is bathed in soft, warm light. It's the kind of heat that feels like a gentle blanket settling across the land and any creatures out in the open. It's not the suffocating heat of NGL, or the heavy-hot atmosphere of training. Just soft. Just warm.
The light touches on the grass around him, the sun's Midas touch, turning green to gold, if just for a few hours. A few, roguish windflowers dare to stand above the grasses to reach for the sun, and the trees wave their branches in the calm, sturdy manner Gon's always talking about ("Trees are so dependable, Killua!"), brushing off the playful breeze too high up for Killua to feel. Killua realizes this place is beautiful. He checks the light on his pale, pale skin, but he does not shine. His arm sucks in the light greedily, giving nothing back. He feels too cold, too out of place in this scenery over flowing with life. Once a Zoldyck, always a Zoldyck, right?
Ah, no, but that can't be it. He's nothing like his father or brother, mother or grandfather. Well...he's a bit like his grandfather. Besides, Gon has judged him and he has passed the test. Someone as loyal and sincere as Gon would never seek the company of a snake like Illumi. Killua must have redeemed himself in some way, for all the evils he has committed. He’s reformed now—tame, Illumi would probably say, but Killua doesn’t mind at all. He’s happy to bask in the glow of his friendship and the brightness of his other half, just taking him in. Gon doesn't need to seek the sun, anyway, because the two are one.
Like the forests of Whale Island, the animals on the earth and in the sky, Gon belongs to nature. The trunks of great oaks supported him, their branches holding him high; the animals showed him how to survive, how to see, how to hear; the sun and the sky gave him insight, shaped him into a person so confident and free. Gon is the sun because like all wild creatures, he desperately needs it. But somewhere along the way they blurred together until Killua couldn't tell the great ball of fire that gives life from the mortal boy at his fingertips.
Gon's skin is dark and smooth, reflecting the sun's light because he is not selfish with its gifts; he has enough. Gon gives the sun to people like Killua, who played with shadows and drank from the night sky, feeding off what little light they could grasp from the moon. It is because of this that Killua takes in Gon's presence deeply and closely. Killua wants just to touch that light, to let it drag him from the dregs of the ocean floor and into the shimmering light of the surface. Is it selfish? He supposes. But Gon gives his company so freely, how is Killua to refuse?
It feels strange, to lose that light.
Gon is not as selfless as his skin, and Killua is not as selfish as his, either. They are not their covers, shiny new or bruised and battered, but novels of trials and tribulations endured and persisted through, alone and together. Killua knows his is dripping sticky red, but also flushed pink with the purity of water: he is not who he used to be, slowly. Gon's story...there are leaves tucked in amongst the dog-eared pages, worn and loved. Perhaps a little torn, but a little wear and tear defines a person after all. But, Killua knows the stains—dark as India ink and coffee—that bleed through the pages and tarnish its innocence. Gon has changed, too.
But those thoughts are not the kind to pursue on a drowsy day such as this. Killua eyes up a shaded area under a magnificent tree, searching for the energy to drag himself over. Is that? Ah, yes, Gon is over there already! Killua chastises himself for not noticing sooner. He jumps easily to his feet, revived by the sight of his dearest friend.
Nonchalant as always, he sticks his hands in his pockets and walks into the shade. There's a twist in his stomach as he sits down, but he pushes the feeling aside. Gon's on his left, intently working something with his hands, not lifting his head to greet Killua. Killua nudges his shoulder in a much gentler manner than usual. "Hey." He tries for in between amiable and apathetic.
Gon glances up and smiles—gentle, too, not as earth-shatteringly bright as Killua had expected—and nudges him back. "Took you long enough, Killua." The tone is playful and relaxed, unconsciously smoothing the tension out of Killua's muscles in response. Killua looks harder at Gon’s hands, and for a moment he thinks he sees a clenched fist, trembling, and his body snaps back into hard steel as the memories flash to the front of his mind. Pitou's aura, Kite's broken-toy body, and Gon...all the fire and the sorrow and intensity that destroyed him from the inside out...the yelling, the confrontation, ‘it doesn't concern you Killua’, I can't help him, I can't I can't please someone anyone save him I can't I can't don't let me lose him...
But Gon's hand releases, revealing the hook from his fishing pole. If he notices Killua's sudden rigid posture and rapid breathing, he is kind enough not to mention it. "It broke somehow, while we've been away, though I don't know how, since I'm sure Mito-san wouldn't use it...I've been trying to fix it for a good while now. Kind of frustrating, huh?" He shoots Killua another easy smile, but Killua's still stuck on the part we, like Killua belongs with him, belongs at Whale Island too. He nods too vigorously, too late, and Gon huffs a laugh at him.
"It's too nice a day to really get up and do anything. Ah, I think some of the birds are clearing out their nests anyway, wouldn't want to disturb them by jumping through the trees." Gon is older now. Killua can see it in the line of his jaw, the stretch of fabric across his back, the sharpness of his gaze, and the strength in his hands. Killua's eyes trace his body and his face, trying to remember what Gon looked like when he was younger. That's the thing about growing up with someone—you never really see the change until it's too late to memorize what they used to look like.
Killua watches him talk, both of them acknowledging the fact that the white-haired boy isn't really listening. Gon fiddles with the hook while he talks, and Killua feels that stirring again. Not yet, some small voice in the back of his head whispers, not yet. He pushes it down again.
Instead, he places his hand over Gon's, stilling both it and his voice. Killua removes the hook and tucks it safely in between the tree roots. Gon watches him with a carefree grin, and Killua wants. He can't put his finger on precisely what, but it's there, eating away at him nevertheless.
Of course, he wants to kiss Gon. That desire has been a constant since before he truly understood the implications of his desires. He wants to hold him and protect him and touch him freely, in this moment as he always has. The illusion, the fantasy of that imaginary life has plagued him for quite some time. Pitou and the Chimera Ants managed to shatter the dream, but pieces of its broken entirety still stabbed sharply at Killua sometimes, as now. This wanting is something different, not completely new, but a kind of tugging and yearning within Killua's soul that he can’t really describe. It’s deep and sorrowful, and Killua wants.
Gon meets Killua's eyes, and they just look at each other for a long moment. They know each other—not like the back of their hand, but like the other half of their soul, the breath in their lungs. They are closer to each other than their Nen. Killua allows his eyes to wander a bit, over Gon's face and shoulders and the tendons in his neck, but Gon keeps his gaze fixed. "What?" Killua breathes, his voice too loud.
Gon's cheerful smile returns, the one he wears as often as his boots and jacket. "I just remember sometimes how beautiful Killua is," he laughs a little. "Sometimes I can't even take my eyes off of you, even in a fight. The way you move when your life is on the line and that look in your eyes—graceful and controlled. Like a dancer."
Killua's heart flutters and the heat rises to his cheeks on instinct, but his returned smile is bitter. "Don't look too long though; you might see something frightening." Killua knows what he looks like in a fight, the fear it instills in his opponents. He knows the malice in his stare, knows that he can drip death when it suits him, that he makes the Reaper dance to his tune, easier than falling asleep.
Gon huffs in amusement. "The most beautiful things in nature are deadly too, you know. Some as a warning to stay away, some to flaunt their majesty and power. But only the people who don't understand them need to feel fear." He catches Killua's eye. "I understand you, Killua. We are closer than brothers. I have never felt fear of you, only admiration and affection."
He looks away. "You look at me, too. I see you, watching me, and I feel crazy. My body rebels against me and I feel crazy. I don't want to look away but I don't want to get caught. It's so strange, that feeling I get when you look at me." A breath. "You called me the sun, once."
Killua's breath catches and he chokes a bit because no way did he ever say that out loud— "H-how did you—!"
Gon turns to look at him again. "Killua is the most important person in the world to me. When you say I'm the sun...it feels like dying. I'm not...afraid...but it's so powerful. Your words are overpowering."
And Killua swallows because he wants to say everything all at once. I love you. I'd do anything for you. You are the only person who matters. I give you my devotion, time and time again. You scare me. And then he swallows again because it's all true, but he doesn't want to think about it, not again, how Gon frightens him. How Gon unmakes him. He tears out self-preservation and replaces it with a desire to protect and to love and to shield. He gives everything to Gon, and he doesn't understand why. And Gon, he gives as well as he takes.
Except when he doesn't. The squirming in his stomach is getting more and more difficult to ignore, and the lingering sense of dread sits heavy in his chest.
So Killua does what he must. He takes Gon's hand again, this time weaving their fingers together. Gon lifts their entwined hands and examines them, running his face close against Killua's fingers, making Killua's stomach churn for a completely different reason. Gon's hands are larger than his, too.
"How old are you now?" Killua asks, forcing his way through a voice crack. Gon smiles softly into their hands and peers up at him.
"I'm not a child anymore," he replies cryptically. Killua frowns a little, his eyebrows pinch together, but his eyes widen again when Gon cups his jaw with his free hand.
"I miss you," Gon whispers. "I've missed you so much. Where did you go, without me? Did you make new, better friends? Alluka, is she okay? All these things I won't know because I'm not with you." It's there again, the sharp, twisting ache and Killua pleads madly with it not yet no no no I can't do it not yet as his eyes prick with tears.
"You're with me now," he manages through a strangled throat, new and terrible knowledge dawning on him. Gon smiles sadly back at him.
Killua presses his face firmly into Gon's palm, memorizing the feel of its lines against his skin, desperate to hold himself together. A thought reaches him, too late.
His head shoots up, looking panicked at his beloved. "Gon, kiss me," he demands through another voice crack, even as his vision begins to blur at the edges. Gon acquiesces without a word, leaning forward to press his mouth to Killua's.
Killua is still reaching out, trying to capture that feeling as he stirs into consciousness. He sits up in bed, one hand pressed gently against his lips, the other digging bloody punctures into his arms. He's not crying—dammit, he's not—although his ears feel kind of like they're ringing, so he might be wailing instead. The blood seeping through his fingers brings him back to reality, and he laughs hollowly. It's the hand he held Gon's in.
He doesn't say anything in the dark, just shifts on the uncomfortable bed—a cot really, and kicks at the stone floor rhythmically. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. It wouldn't really surprise him if these dreams were some kind of new psychological torture Illumi developed specifically for him. At least Alluka was safe.
You'd think after three years he'd be over it by now.