Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Killua throws open the door to the warehouse, panting hard and utterly desperate, just in time to see some red gust of energy toss Gon across the room as if he were merely a ragdoll.

And something comes over Killua as he witnesses Gon’s body collide with the unforgiving cement wall with a sickening thud.  A rage that overwhelms his reason, and anger so profound that he perceives it in each of his senses. His ears ring, his whole body goes hot, his vision clouds, he’s enveloped in the scent and taste of something bitter and metallic.  And before he can stop himself he’s crossed the dusty warehouse floor and has grabbed the assailant with one hand by the throat, holding him up and pressing against his windpipe with more force than is strictly necessary.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Killua demands, electricity crackling up and down the lengths of his arms.  The assailant merely snickers.

“It’s my Nen ability,” he replies, with a disconcertingly wide grin.  “I’m an Emitter. Think of it like a spell, or maybe a potion. You’ll see what it’ll do to him soon enough.”

Behind Killua, Gon stirs with a slight whimper.

“What, you’re just going to leave your buddy on the floor by himself?” The assailant clicks his tongue in mock disapproval.   “Some friend you are.”

Killua’s not stupid.  He knows this man is merely trying to distract Killua so he can make an escape.  He knows running to check on Gon would be playing right into the man’s hand. But he’s heard stories of some truly awful Emitter abilities.  Painful, disfiguring, potentially fatal abilities. What does it matter, really, if this man gets away? What does anything matter, really, besides Gon’s safety?

So, with a snarl, Killua tosses the man across the room and runs to check on Gon.  He’s aware, vaguely, that the assailant is escaping behind him, but that’s the least of his worries.  He crouches down beside Gon, using one hand to check the pulse on his wrist and the other to gently push his hair back from his forehead.  Gon’s eyelids flutter open.

“Hey, Killua,” Gon murmurs, smiling ever so slightly.

“Are you alright?” Killua demands. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.  Just fine. I’m really happy to see you.”

“Yeah, well, you should be.  You just got your idiotic ass kicked, and, as usual, I had to come to your rescue.” Somehow, the teasing is far easier to Killua than admitting just how terrified he is.

“Of course you did,” Gon says, with that same gentle smile.  “You’re always saving me.”

“Yeah, and it gets pretty old, idiot.  Next time don’t run on ahead without me.  I always cover your six, so you can’t just leave me behind.”

“Okay, Killua.  Next time. I promise.”

Killua isn’t exactly satisfied with his examination, but he’s no longer quite as frantic.  Perhaps Gon had such a strong Ken barrier around his body that the ability didn’t affect him too profoundly.  He doesn’t seem to be in any pain, appears lucid and coherent. He might have dodged a tremendous bullet.

“Can you get up or am I gonna have to carry you piggy-back style?”

“I can get up,” Gon asserts brightly, and does indeed get off the ground with remarkable agility and ease.  Killua’s heart slows just a fraction more.

Together, they exit the warehouse.  Gon is walking on his own unassisted, which is a good sign.  No indication of pain or injury, no stumbling that might suggest some sort incapacitation.  The only unusual thing about Gon’s demeanor, really, is that he won’t stop staring at Killua.

It’s not that Killua dislikes Gon looking at him.  The sensation in Killua’s insides that arises when Gon looks at him can’t be categorized as something as simple and dichotomous as good or bad.  It’s a sort of heat, a sort of tension, a sort of pressure that isn’t so much bad as it is overwhelming. And any sensation, if intense enough, can’t easily be endured for long.

“What are you staring at?” Killua finally says, when that strange heat in his gut finally becomes too much to bear.

“Just you, Killua.”  There’s an unusually soft, gentle lilt to Gon’s voice that Killua can’t quite identify.

“Well, why don’t you look at something else?”  Killua ducks his head in the vain hope Gon won’t notice him blushing from the sheer force of Gon’s gaze.

“But I like looking at you, Killua.  You’re my favorite thing to look at in the whole world!”

Killua can’t allow himself to dwell on that statement for too long for fear of that tension in his stomach overwhelming his better judgment and leading him to do something unforgivably rash. So he merely settles for scoffing, feigning indifference.

“Clearly you hit your head a lot harder than I thought.”

Gon stops in his tracks and Killua makes the mistake of turning to look at him.  His eyes are shining in that earnest, eager, distinctly Gon way of his.

“But you’re so beautiful, Killua!  You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life!”

Killua is, for a moment, rendered entirely speechless, trying desperately to find some alternate way of interpreting what Gon just said.  Surely he was joking, or meant to say something else. There must be a double entendre that Killua missed. But there’s no trace of humor on Gon’s face, just an unusual fondness.

“Really, Killua.  Your eyes are so blue.  I’ve never seen a deeper blue in my life.  And you’ve got these eyelashes that don’t even make any sense.  I mean, they’re so dark and long and perfect, but your hair is white, so I don’t know how that would be possible.  But it is. Your eyelashes are just completely ridiculous. And your nose is so cute. It’s all small and delicate, like a kitten or something.  And your smile--”

“Gon.” Killua cuts Gon off a bit more sternly that he intended.  The strange, warm tension in Killua’s stomach is gone, replaced by a bone deep terror.  Clearly something is wrong. Very wrong. It must be the Nen ability. Gon must under the influence of something extremely sinister; it’s the only reason he’d be talking like this.  Whatever’s been done to him is profound, corrupting his very capacity for reason.

“Gon, listen.  I’m gonna fix this, alright?  Whatever’s going on, I’m going to make it better.  I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m gonna call Leorio.  And I’m gonna figure out what’s wrong and I’m gonna fix it. I swear.”

The fond, gentle smile on Gon’s face doesn’t waver in the slightest.

“Okay, Killua.  I know you’ll make it better.  You make everything better, really, just by being with me.”

Killua can’t permit himself to blush at this, to enjoy Gon saying these things when they’re clearly the result of some insidious poison or infection or brainwashing.  It would be wrong, unconscionable even, to take pleasure in Gon’s suffering.

(But when has Killua ever known himself to do the right thing?)

With trembling hands, he pulls out his phone and dials Leorio’s number.  The moment Leorio picks up, Killua begins speaking, not even waiting for an answer.

“Leorio.  Listen. I need help.  Medical help. There’s something wrong with Gon.  Really, really wrong.”

For a moment, the line is quiet.  When Leorio speaks, it’s with his clinical tone, the one he uses with patients.  Calm, measured, and even.

“Alright.  Killua. Just stay calm.  Can you give me details of his condition?  Anything at all? Where the injury is, maybe?”

Killua hesitates.  He certainly doesn’t want to repeat what Gon had said; the mortification may kill him.  But he needs to impress upon Leorio the urgency of the situation.

“It’s not an injury, exactly.   He was hit with a Nen ability. I don’t know the exact nature of it, but I think he may be drugged or something.  Poisoned, even.”

“What are his symptoms?  Is he dizzy? Vomiting? Anything you can give me would be helpful.”

Leorio keeps his voice steady.  Killua knows it’s meant to be calming, but it only serves to frustrate him.  He’d much rather Leorio indicate some degree of panic or concern. At least then Killua would know he’s taking the matter as seriously as it deserves.

“He’s just… saying things.  Really weird things. Things he’d only say if he were drugged.”

“Alright, can you give me any details as to what he’s saying?  How coherent is he? Is he slurring his speech?”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s saying!” Killua snaps.  “The point is that he isn’t acting like himself!”

Leorio sighs on the other end of the line.

“Alright, Killua, I understand that you’re worried, but I’m going to need some more details if I’m going to be of any help to you.  Could you put Gon on the line, maybe?”

For a moment, Killua hesitates.  He doesn’t want Gon to start saying those ridiculous things in front Leorio.  Killua isn’t sure he could bear that. But, he tells himself sternly, this isn’t about him.  He’s being selfish, as usual. His slight embarrassment doesn’t matter nearly as much as getting Gon the medical attention he needs.  What if something bad happens to Gon, something really bad, simply because he’s too shy to let Leorio know the extent of Gon’s condition?

“Fine,” he says, mind made up, and puts the phone on speaker.  “Gon, Leorio’s on the phone, okay? He wants to talk to you.”

“Oh!” Gon’s smile grows even wider.  “Hi, Leorio! How are you?”

“I’m just fine, Gon.  But I want to know how you are.”

“I’m wonderful, Leorio.  Really wonderful.”

Gon looks right at Killua as he says it, his eyes warm with something Killua can’t quite place.

“Really?” Leorio says.

“Yes, of course I am.  Because I’m here with Killua.  I’m always happy when I’m with Killua.”

Killua’s cheeks get hot, and he’s suddenly looking anywhere but at Gon.

“That’s good to hear,” Leorio replies, unbothered.

“Yeah!” Gon says brightly.  “And I was just telling him how beautiful he is.  Like his eyelashes, Leorio. Have you ever stopped and really looked at Killua’s eyelashes before?”

Despite obvious the obvious severity of Gon’s impairment, Leorio has the audacity to snicker.

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll call someone else,” Killua snaps, swiftly taking the phone off speaker.

Leorio sighs.

“Killua, I promise I’m taking this seriously.  I just don’t think there’s anything terribly wrong here.”

“Obviously there is!” Killua is nearly yelling at this point.  Why is Leorio failing to see just how ill Gon is? “Do you even hear what he’s saying?  That doesn’t sound like Gon at all! That sounds like he’s drugged!”

“I don’t think so.  I don’t think Gon’s acting all that out of the ordinary.”

Killua can practically picture the unbearably condescending smile on Leorio’s face as he speaks, although he doesn’t understand what it might mean.

“Well then you’re as useless a doctor as you are a Hunter!”

Leorio, maddeningly, doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Listen, you want my professional medical opinion?  I think the worst that’s happening is that Gon has been hit with some sort of inhibition-lowering Nen ability.   I don’t think he’s in any danger. I just think he’s gonna be talking like that for a little while. Keep an eye on him and keep him hydrated.  If he starts sweating excessively, gets really pale, vomits, passes out, or actually becomes delirious, go to a hospital. If you don’t see any improvement in the next twenty-four hours, hospital again.  Short of that, I think it’s going to be fine and the best you can do is wait it out.”

“You’re absolutely useless.  If anything at all happens to Gon, you’ll suffer ten times whatever he does, and that is a promise.”

And with that, Killua smashes the “end call” button.  He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. As angry as Leorio made him, perhaps there was some truth in what he was saying.  Killua is well acquainted with poison, and Leorio had a point. Gon’s conscious, lucid, not vomiting or sweating, not in any pain, fully capable of walking and speaking without impairment.  Killua can’t think of a single poison that wouldn’t cause at least one of those symptoms. Perhaps he really is just under some sort of Nen ability akin to a love potion. He might not truly be in mortal danger.  It’s possible he’s merely experiencing a mere emotional alteration, as extreme as it may be.

“Hey, Gon,” he says softly, turning to Gon without a trace of his previous anger.  “I need you to do something for me, alright? I need you to let me know if you start feeling bad.  Anything at all—pain, nausea, dizziness, confusion, anything, okay? This is really important. You need to tell me if you feel anything weird at all.”

“Okay, Killua,” Gon says, with that same gentle smile.

“Okay,” Killua replies, not satisfied, exactly, but no longer quite as frantic.

“Actually, I am feeling something kinda weird right now.”

Killua’s insides go cold with sickening speed.  Damn Leorio for not taking this seriously. Gon could be seriously ill, could be on the verge of fainting at this very moment for all Killua knows.

“What is it, Gon?  Do you want to sit down?  Do you need some water?”

“No, it’s okay.  It’s just that my heart is beating really fast.”

“You’re experiencing a tachycardic episode?” Killua demands.  Gon’s brow furrows.

“I don’t know what that means.  But it’s just that my heart is beating fast.  My heart always beats fast around you, though.  You know how they talk about butterflies in your stomach?  I never really understood what that felt like. But then I met you and I get them all the time.  So those are the only weird things--my heart is beating fast and I’ve got some butterflies. But like I said, that’s normal when I’m around you.”

One of Killua’s most distinct memories of his torture training was of a particular starvation exercise.  He was seven years old and was going on his second week of hardly any food. He was weak and trembling with hunger, desperate for anything to eat.  He would’ve killed for food. Would’ve died for it. And one morning, his parents chained him up and put a hot, steaming bowl of soup right outside his reach.  It was agonizing. The food was right there, perfect and fragrant and hot, and just out of reach. And he’d wept, wept for hours with sheer desperation. It was everything he wanted, everything that had occupied his thoughts for days, right in front of him.  And he couldn’t have it.

Hearing Gon say these things to him, claim to feel for Killua the way Killua feels for him, and knowing none of it is real?  It’s a bit like that.

But Killua won’t permit himself to be selfish.  This isn’t about his pathetic longing for Gon, his unrequited, agonizing love.  This is about Gon. Keeping him safe. Ensuring the Nen ability doesn’t have any adverse side effects.  That’s all this is. A mission. A mission to save Gon. He can do that. He can complete a mission. Just get Gon back to the hotel, let him rest, make sure he drinks enough water, and stay with him until it passes.  Killua can manage that.

So Killua flags down a cab and gently ushers Gon into the back seat.  The ride is quiet, mercifully. Killua’s not sure he could stand hearing Gon say those sorts of things in front of the cab driver.

Back in their hotel room, Killua helps Gon into bed, fetches him some water, prepares a cool towel in case he starts feeling too hot, and manages to find some crackers buried deep in their suitcase in case Gon’s stomach gets upset.  It’s not much, but it’s the best he can do. And then he settles into the chair in the corner of the room, pretending to read a comic book, to keep an eye on Gon.

“Will you come lie with me, Killua?” Gon asks after several long minutes, his voice so sweet and tentative Killua could die.

“Gon, I… I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

Gon’s wide, brown eyes get impossibly bigger.

“Please, Killua.” His voice is approaching a whine.   In anyone else, it would be annoying, but Gon somehow makes that particular tone endearing.

“Gon, listen, I’m just trying to do right by you.  I know you don’t really mean the things you’re saying.  And taking advantage of that… it would be really wrong. I think it’s better if I stay here.”

The pout on Gon’s face would be comical in any other circumstances.

“Please, Killua!  We get these double rooms when we travel and it’s so hard because I just lie there at night and I listen to you breathe and you’re so close and I just want to reach out and touch you.  I just want to lie with you and hold you and stroke your hair until you fall asleep, But I know I can’t. So you’re close but not really. And it’s awful. So I just want to lie with you and maybe touch you if that’s alright.  Is that okay? Please?”

There are a thousand things Killua could name that would be less agonizing than this.  He’d rather have his fingernails torn out one by one. He’d rather have a bone twisted until it snaps.  He’d rather have a cigarette snuffed out on his skin. He’s well acquainted with the pain of all of those experiences, more acquainted than he’d like to be, and none of them can touch how deeply and acutely he’s hurting right now.

And at his core, Killua is selfish.  He’s always known this. So when Gon talks to him so sweetly, invites him to come lie in his arms, Killua knows himself.  And he knows he isn’t good enough to say no.

Wordlessly, he stands, closes the comic book, lies it on the chair, and walks over to Gon.  Gon’s whole face lights up in the most awed, delighted way and it just twists the knife all the deeper.

Killua slips off his shoes as Gon pulls back the blankets, the invitation so painfully clear.  And Killua obliges—goddamnit, of course he does—and lies back on the pillows beside Gon.

Gon doesn’t hesitate for a moment.  He reaches out and pulls Killua flush against him and wraps his arms around his shoulders and guides Killua to lay his head on Gon’s chest.

And it’s perfect.  It’s more than perfect.  Gon is so warm and his arms are solid and gentle and Killua could cry if he let himself, could just lie here and weep because he’s never felt anything quite this exquisite before.  He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have the strength to get back up.

Gon sighs, so clearly contentend.

“This is so wonderful,” he murmurs.  “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, you know.  And I thought about it and I thought about how it might feel and it’s better, somehow.  I don’t know how it is, but somehow, it’s even better than I imagined.”

The knife Gon’s twisting is serrated.  It’s barbed and sharp and utterly wicked.  It tears at Killua’s insides, rips right through his vital organs, and he can’t bring himself to care.

All he can hope is that when tomorrow comes, Gon will forgive him.  That Killua’s explanation that he was acting solely out of altruism will suffice.  That Killua’s bone-deep, aching, completely unforgivable love won’t be as painfully obvious as he imagines it will be.

And then, after several long minutes, Gon’s hand is in Killua’s hair, stroking as gently as one might pet a newborn kitten.  The irony of it all doesn’t escape Killua—he was bred and raised to be a killer, a ruthlessly efficient machine designed for the sole purpose of dispatching with lives as quickly as possible.  And here Gon is, stroking his hair as if Killua were something small and delicate and vulnerable. Killua shouldn’t love it as much as he does.

“Your hair is so soft, Killua,” Gon murmurs.  “And you’re so small and warm. You just fit so perfectly right against me, like I’m meant to hold you.  Do you think that’s possible? Do you think we were meant to be together like this?”

This is not about you, Killua chants to himself.  This is not about you.  This is not about you. Answer neutrally.  Placate Gon. But goddamn it, this is not about you.

“I suppose anything’s possible, right?”

Gon makes a contented sort of humming noise.

“Well, I think it’s true.  I think you and I were meant for each other.”

Killua stays silent.  It’s only thanks to the discipline he cultivated his years of brutal training that he’s able to avoid crying, to keep his muscles from tensing too obviously, to avoid leaping up and running away entirely.

“Gon,” Killua says after several more minutes, when all of it finally becomes too much to bear.  “I bet you’re hungry. How about I see what there is to eat nearby and bring you some food?”

It’s a plausible excuse, and true.  Gon has a voracious appetite. He probably is hungry after today’s battle.

“Alright.  Thanks, Killua.  You always take such good care of me.  I never have to worry when I’m in a fight if you’re there.  I know whenever you’re around, that I’ll be okay.”

Killua doesn’t trust himself to keep his voice steady when answering, so wordlessly, he gets up, tucks Gon back under the blanket, and silently leaves the room.

Killua comes back with a pizza, topped with what Gon likes best—mushrooms and hot peppers and spinach.  Gon is sitting upright in bed, idly flipping through a magazine, and when Killua steps into the room, his whole face brightens.  Like the first few golden rays of a sunrise. And God, how Killua wishes it could be real.

“How are you feeling?” Killua asks, kicking off his shoes by the door.

“Wonderful,” Gon says with a warm, beautiful smile.  “You’re back, so of course I’m wonderful.”

“I brought pizza,” Killua replies, in lieu of actually responding to that.  “Why don’t you have some? And I’ll refill that cup of water.”

This Killua can do.  Just focus on taking care of Gon.  It’s one of the few things besides killing that comes naturally to him.  Keep Gon happy and safe and comfortable. That’s the closest thing Killua’s found to a calling.

So he sets the pizza box down on the bed, grabs the glass of water, and refills it from the bathroom sink.  When he returns, Gon’s halfway through an enormous slice of pizza, greedily licking the grease off of his fingers.  Something about that action makes heat pool low in the pit of Killua’s stomach. He tries desperately not to think about Gon’s mouth.  About touching it, and how warm and soft it would feel beneath his fingers. About kissing it, and how Gon might gasp slightly in surprise.  But the good sort of surprise. The happy sort. And Gon might reach up and thread his fingers through Killua’s hair and he might like kissing Killua so much that he forgets himself for a moment and he might insistently push Killua’s head even closer to his own.  And one of his hands might find its way to the small of Killua’s back, and he might push him closer there, too, until they’re flush up against each other, and so warm, and—

“Do you want a piece, Killua?”

Killua breaks from his reverie.

“I’m okay, thanks.  Not that hungry.”

“Okay,” Gon says.  “I’ll save some in the fridge just in case you want some later.”

Killua nods.  Not quite sure what else to do with himself, he takes a seat on the same chair as before and resumes his feigned reading of the comic book.  This is an endurance match. A test to see just how much torture he can take. They were a frequent feature of his training as a child. The key is to relax, to slow his breathing, not to focus on the pain.  Just relax and breathe. In and out. Nice and steady. In and out.

“Killua, can I say something?”

In and out.  In and out.

“Sure, Gon.”

Gon smiles as if Killua had just given him a wonderful gift.

“I just wanted to say that I love you.  It’s been so long that I can’t really remember what it felt like not to love you.  I just love you so much. So much it almost hurts. I just love you.”

Killua goes very cold and then suddenly very hot.  He’s vaguely aware that he’s supposed to relax, supposed to be breathing, but he can’t.  There’s a vise around his chest, constricting tighter and tighter. He can’t get enough air.  His vision swims. His ears ring. His mouth goes dry.

In and out.

No, it’s useless, he can’t get any air.

Breathe, goddamnit.  It’s not that hard.

He can’t.  He’s trying but he can’t.

It’s the easiest thing in the world, you idiot.  Just breathe.

How does it go again, though?  The breathing. He can’t quite recall.

In through your nose.  Come on. This is pathetic.  Get a grip. In through your nose.

In through his nose.  He can manage that. In through his nose.

There, there’s the air.  Blissfully cool and sweet.  There it goes. He’s breathing again.  The world comes back into focus. The ringing in his ears subsides.  He can breathe. He’s okay.

And then, because his strength is failing him, and because there’s a limit somewhere, even for him, to what a person can endure, and because goddamnit, he’ll never have the chance to say it again, he replies.

“Yeah, Gon.  Me too. I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Killua wakes the next morning with a terribly stiff neck.  He’d slept in the chair in the corner of the hotel room, much to Gon’s consternation.

“Please, Killua!” Gon had whined.  “I just want to hold you until you fall asleep.  I’ve thought about it for so long. I know you have some trouble sleeping some nights and I know you get nightmares and I think I could make that better, maybe, if you’d let me.”

And it was tempting.  Of course it was, to lie beside Gon and just for one night imagine it could be real.  But Killua had to refuse. Sleeping in each other’s arms was entirely out of the question.  Because it would inevitably involve waking up in each other’s arms, and that Killua couldn’t bear.  He can imagine it. Gon would be kind about it, of course he would, because he’s Gon. But he’d hate it.  He’d be so repulsed, knowing Killua had allowed himself to be held all night, being forced to wake up with Killua curled up against him.  And Gon would slowly disentangle their limbs and Killua would wake up and he’d see Gon lying beside him and for a moment his stomach would go so thrillingly, deliciously hollow, like in a free fall, because he’d finally have it, everything he’d wanted for years now.  But Gon of course would smile apologetically and he’d say something like, “Listen, about last night. I’m sorry to have put you through that. It was just the Nen ability, you know? I know what I said but I didn’t really mean any of it. Surely you understand, Killua.  Surely you know I’d never feel that way about you.” And Killua would be forced to nod and smile and nonchalantly say “Of course, Gon. I was just playing along to keep you happy. Don’t worry about it. Of course I know it wasn’t real.” And Killua would feel as if every inch of his skin was scraped raw and slowly oozing blood.  And Gon would get out of bed quickly. He’d try not to look too hasty about it, so as not to hurt Killua’s feelings, but Killua would know just the same.

The whole thing, it’s simply too unbearable to think about for long.  So Killua had chosen the chair, slept hugging his knees tightly to his chest and imagining it was an embrace. A stiff neck was nothing compared to the pain of Gon’s gentle but unmistakable rejection, of the warm spot on the bed beside Killua slowly and inevitably cooling again.

The key now is to minimize the damage.  Killua can’t undo last night. He can’t take back every unforgivable thing he’d done.  He can’t un-tell Gon he loves him. But he can gather the shattered pieces off the floor and attempt to glue them back together.  He can go buy Gon breakfast and have it waiting for him when he wakes up. He can lie. He can explain that he was just playing along.  That he was just trying to keep Gon happy and calm and that of course he didn’t mean any of it. And if he is especially, undeservedly lucky, Gon just might believe him.

So Killua heads out and finds a stand on the street a few blocks from the hotel where a man is selling gorgeous miniature golden-brown doughnuts coated in cinnamon sugar.  Killua has no desire to eat much of anything right now, but hopefully Gon will enjoy them, so he gets a bag. Once he’s bought them, Killua doesn’t permit himself to dawdle on the street.  Delaying Gon’s rejection won’t make it any less painful. Better just to be done with it.

Outside their hotel room, Killua forces himself to smile, trying again and again until he finally manages one that feels natural.   There. He’ll stroll into the room, relaxed and nonchalant as anything, he’ll smile, he’ll give Gon the doughnuts, and it’ll all be over before he knows it.

With the grim, determined resignation of a man approaching his own execution, Killua opens the door.

Gon’s sitting up in bed and he turns his head as Killua opens the door.  There, now the smile. Killua doesn’t know how it looks, but at least it felt convincing.  Gon doesn’t smile in return, and Killua’s insides go heavy and cold. Clearly he’s upset about the events of last night.  It’s alright, though. Killua will fix it. He’ll smooth things over and Gon won’t be angry. He won’t leave him.

“Feeling any better?” Killua asks.  Thankfully, the brightness in his tone doesn’t sound entirely false.

Gon pauses for a long moment.

“I… um… yes.  I am. Thank you.”

The heaviness in Killua’s insides only grows.  Gon’s so clearly upset, likely some awful mix of angry and disappointed and disgusted and deeply uncomfortable.  But Killua will make it okay again. He will.

“I brought you breakfast.” Killua holds out the small brown paper bag to Gon, who hesitates a moment before taking it.

“Thank you.  These smell really good.”

He reaches into the bag, selects one, contemplates it, and takes a bite.  Killua forces himself to walk calmly and casually towards the chair and sit down.  He pulls out his phone and pretends to send a text as they sit in a tense silence. Gon eats one of the doughnuts, and then reaches for a second, which Killua wants to take as a good sign.

“Killua,” Gon says at last, folding up the paper bag with the remaining doughnuts.  His body is hunched forward ever so slightly. He’s having trouble meeting Killua’s eyes for long.  “I thought we should talk. You know, about last night.”

There.  Now. This is your chance.  Just like you practiced. Make things okay.  Convince Gon to stay.

“It’s alright,” Killua says, his voice steadier than he had anticipated.  “I know it was just a Nen ability. You were being compelled to say those things.  It wasn’t you. And I was just trying to keep you calm and comfortable until it wore off.  We can talk if you want, but I’m fine just moving past it. Neither of us meant the things we said last night.  I know that. So really, it’s no big deal.”

Killua’s proud of himself.  His voice doesn’t break. His eyes stay dry.  He’s always been good at masking pain when it really becomes necessary.

A strange look passes over Gon’s face.  Killua can’t quite place it, the slight tightening around the corners of his mouth, the strange tension in his brow.  But it only lasts a moment before Gon’s smiling again.

“Okay, that’s good to hear.  I just didn’t want you feeling awkward about what happened.  But if you’d rather just ignore it, that’s fine with me. Like you said, you didn’t mean it.”

“Okay,” Killua lies.  “Sounds good to me.”

Killua should be happy.  He got what he wanted, didn’t he?  Gon’s willing to ignore the whole thing.  He isn’t repulsed by Killua’s behavior, isn’t demanding he leave immediately.  It’s all working out just as he had intended.

But a very small, very honest part of him admits that he had hoped for more.  He had hoped Gon’s eyes would get especially bright and his cheeks would flush and he’d suddenly become uncharacteristically shy.  And he’d tell Killua he meant all of it. He’d tell Killua how much he loved him, how he really had wanted to hold him, how he really did think Killua was beautiful.  And perhaps he’d ask if Killua wanted to kiss him. And he’d say it so softly and hesitantly that Killua would have no choice but to oblige.

It’s stupid.  It’s ridiculous.  And it’s entirely ungrateful.  Killua should be happy with the enormous gift of Gon’s forgiveness and understanding, and not selfishly long for any more things he doesn’t deserve.  He should be grateful. He is. He is grateful. And yet he can’t forget the feeling of Gon’s arms around him, holding him tight and safe and so blissfully warm.

For all his reassurances, Gon isn’t quite himself for the next few days.  He’s quieter, more withdrawn. He’s usually so free and generous with affection, clapping Killua on the shoulder or taking him by the hand to lead him somewhere or shoving him gently in the chest when Killua teases him, but he hasn’t been touching Killua very much anymore.   And he’s hardly smiled for days now. Killua sometimes catches him staring morosely off into space, or frowning to himself as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He gets the strangest look on his face when Killua steps into the room--something disappointed and despondent and entirely resigned.  He’s just been far too reserved and small, hesitant in a way totally unbefitting of him.

He must know.  He must know how Killua feels, must know it wasn’t all a lie, that Killua does love him.  And it’s ruining him. It’s as if Killua were a slow but undeniably corrosive acid, steadily wearing away at him.  It’s Killua’s fault, all of it. Gon’s whole personality is changing, everything that makes him so beautiful and special fading, because Killua is making him so deeply uncomfortable.

There’s only one option, of course.  Killua has to leave. It will be like tearing off his own right arm, ripping right through the sinews and muscles and splintering the bone in half.  It will be agonizing. But he can’t stay here. He can’t keep draining Gon’s very vitality out of him. It’s the right thing to do, and goddamnit, for once, just once, Killua isn’t going to act selfishly.  He’s going to do right by Gon. He’s going to save him, however painful it may be.

And it’s fair, after all, isn’t it?  It’s Killua’s fault. If he had just restrained himself, if he hadn’t greedily taken everything Gon offered, if he had just managed to do the right thing, they wouldn’t be in this mess.  If he hadn’t been so hell bent on playing make-believe for an evening, on indulging in the ridiculous fantasy of Gon wanting him, on reveling in what he so obviously didn’t deserve, Gon wouldn’t be feeling so wretched now.

They’re here on a job, hired by some do-gooder philanthropist to stop a drug smuggling ring in the city.  They’d been on the mission when Gon had gotten hit, and the assailant whose ability started this whole mess him was one of the smuggling suspects.  Killua had foolishly let him go, had compromised their mission because he had seen Gon hurt and lost any capacity for rationality. They could’ve been done with it all by now had Killua not been so unforgivably stupid.  Yet another reason it’s better for him to leave. He’s holding Gon back as Hunter. If Killua had just done his damn job, not been distracted by his feelings for Gon, they’d have collected their fee and been on their way by now.  So when they’ve finished the job, when the drug smuggling ring is all safely in police custody, Killua will leave. He won’t make a fuss. He won’t be dramatic, he won’t whine and complain. He’ll finish the mission and he’ll leave and Gon will be able to be happy again.  He’ll do right by Gon. He will. At least once.

They pack supplies that morning, that same strange tension hanging in the air, Gon still not quite himself.  Killua tries not to get too sentimental over it all, but he can’t help it. This is the last mission he’ll be running with Gon, at least for a while.  This is the last time Killua will see his face, those warm, honey-brown eyes and the determined slope of his jaw. It’s the last conversation they’ll have, this strategizing and deliberation over the mission.  It’s strangely anticlimactic. The final conversation before they part should be more profound. Killua should get to thank Gon for everything, to tell Gon he was the best thing that had ever happened to Killua, to try to somehow articulate the way in which Gon changed every last part of Killua’s life for the better.  But he doesn’t. He simply talks about potential escape routes and their opponents’ abilities and avoiding civilian casualties and only just manages not to cry.

All things considered, the mission goes smoothly.  Their opponents don’t have any really insurmountable powers.  Their organization is shoddy. Were Killua not to have panicked the other day, apprehending them would’ve been a cinch.

They’ve rounded all of them up.  Well, nearly all of them. The assailant with the love potion ability is the last of the lot.   He isn’t particularly good at concealing his aura and his control keeps slipping, so Killua’s managed to track him to the edge of the city.

Killua’s only a few blocks away, and he leads two other Hunters a quarter mile behind him, agilely darting and leaping across rooftops with hardly a sound.  The team is five in total, but they’d split up. Gon and the final member had taken the two smugglers to the west, and Killua and the other three had headed east.  Killua had divided them that way on purpose--he knew if he worked alongside Gon, dwelled on their inevitable departure, he’d likely make an enormous mistake and compromise the whole mission for the second time.  Out of sight and out of mind. That’s the only way Killua’s going to complete the job successfully.

The man’s aura goes stronger, and Killua leaps off the roof, landing with a cat-like silence.  Quickly and stealthily, just like he’s been trained, he dashes around a large building and into a dingy, dilapidated alley.

And there he is.  The assailant, leaning against the wall of the alley to catch his breath.  He’s unmistakable--the unruly mop of red hair, the copious freckles, the tall, lanky frame.  Fury rises hot and thick in Killua’s throat. He knows what happened was his fault and he doesn’t mean to shirk responsibility, but if it weren’t for this man, none of it would have happened.  He was the catalyst. Yes, Killua ruined things, but this man certainly helped it along.

So Killua doesn’t hold back.  He crosses the alley as fast as he’s ever gone and pins the man to the wall by his wrists, slamming him into the brick.

“Oh, someone’s angry,” the man says with a smirk.  Killua tightens his grip on the man’s wrists, fingers tight enough to bruise.

“You’re done,” he says through clenched teeth.  “We captured the rest of your team. It’s just you, and I’ve got two others waiting to bring you in.  That’s it. You’re finished.”

It’s not at all satisfying, apprehending the smuggler.  It doesn’t feel like a success or a victory. Just a step closer to leaving Gon.

“Let me guess--his feelings were for someone else, huh?” the man continues, as if Killua hadn’t spoken.  “So unfortunate when that happens.”

“Just shut up!” Killua snaps.

The man continues, entirely undeterred.

“It’s a useful ability, actually.  More useful than you’d think. But it does tend to cause some, well, complicated interpersonal situations.  When you think it should be you and it ends up being someone else…” The man sucks air through his teeth.  “That can be problematic.”

 All the pent up hurt and desperation and frustration and misery of the past few days expands in Killua’s chest, pressing tighter and tighter until there’s hardly any room for air.  Tears spring hot and wet in his eyes.

“No, you bastard!  It was me, goddamnit!  It was me.”

The man clicks his tongue. 

“Oh, and you didn’t feel the same?  Did it end up spoiling the whole friendship then?  That’s so unfortunate.”

“It’s cruel!” Killua shouts.  He’s crying in earnest now and he can’t even find it within himself to be embarrassed.  “It’s just cruel! To make someone say those things, to act in a way they don’t mean. It’s awful.  I don’t know what the point of it is, other than some sort of sick entertainment. I don’t know why you’d ever do that to someone!”

The man throws his head back and laughs uproariously, as if Killua had just told a fantastic joke.

“Oh, sweetheart, I think you fundamentally misunderstand what it is my ability does.  It doesn’t produce false feelings of love.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Killua shouts.

“I’m not lying.  Pay attention, alright?  ‘Cause I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll find this important.”

Killua has no desire to discuss this, no desire to dig the knife that’s been stabbed through his gut since that night any deeper.  But the man continues before Killua has a chance to tell him to shut up.

“My ability doesn’t produce false feeling of love.  It just intensifies feelings that are already present.”

“No!” Killua shouts, throat tight with tears. “I know it doesn’t!  I just know!”

“Sweetheart, with all due respect, it’s my power.  I think I know it a bit better than you do. So, like I was saying, it intensifies already present feelings of love.  It lowers inhibition. It puts in the target’s mind a singular focus on the object of his affection. I started with fake love, that whole ‘falling in love with the first person you lay eyes on’ science fiction type thing.  But I found that the real stuff is stronger. I can create obsession, infatuation, desire, sure. But real, genuine love? No Nen in the world can produce that. So I merely help along what’s already there.”

Killua’s vision tunnels, growing smaller and smaller until all he can see is the man’s mouth moving.  All he can hear is his voice. It can’t be right. It can’t be. Killua’s head swims and his heart pounds hard against his sternum.  There’s no way Gon really loves him. It can’t be true. The man has to be lying.

“It’s more useful than you’d think, actually.  Hit someone with my Love Potion and they’re unable to focus on anything else.  It’s disorienting. They lose discipline and organization. Forget all their training and plans.  I had a man turn around and run away from a fight because he missed his son. I had a woman sacrifice herself in the stupidest, least effective way when she thought her best friend was in danger.   Once I’ve undone everyone’s organization, my teammates come in and finish the job. Works like a damn charm. Love makes you stupid, kid. All I do is give it an extra push.”

Killua is trapped under water, tossed about by the waves.  He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He doesn’t know which way is up, doesn’t know how to get to the surface and get air again.

“So… it’s not always romantic love?” he asks.  His own voice sounds strange and foreign, as if he were hearing someone else speak.

“Not always, no.  That’s the fun part, actually.  The only real limitation is that it’s always the person my target loves most.  And sure, sometimes that’s a husband or a girlfriend, but it’s just as often friends or siblings or children.  Once it was a dog. And there’s always fallout when someone thinks it should be them. They think should be the most deeply beloved and they’re not.  It’s hilarious, really. So I hate to break it to you, honey, but you’re far from the first person to get angry at me because of my power. That’s the whole damn point.”

“How would I know?” Killua demands, pressing the man’s wrists harder into the wall.  “How would I know if he loved me as a friend or as… something else?”

“What do I look like, an advice columnist?  Your relationship woes are not exactly my chief concern right now.”

“Killua!”

Keeping his hold on the man firm, Killua turns around.  His two teammates have caught up. That’s right, he was on a mission, wasn’t he?  He was supposed to be rounding up the smugglers. He’d entirely forgotten.

“Here you go,” Killua says, voice strangely hollow.  “You guys can take him in. You can have my share of the fee, too.  I, uh, I have somewhere I need to be.”

“What?  Are you sure?” one of them begins, but Killua doesn’t hear the rest of it.  Because he runs. With every ounce of energy and speed and power he has, he runs.  His feet hardly even touch the pavement and his pulse pounds in his ears. He’s practically flying, pushing himself faster and faster.

There’s only one thought in his head.  Gon.  He has to find Gon.  He has to talk to him.  He has to ask. He has to know.   Yes, it sounds ridiculous, Gon ever loving Killua.  Yes, he knows it’s likely not true. But there’s a glimmer of hope shining in his chest, just a faint, flickering light.  There’s a chance, a chance he’s never had before. He has to know.

Gon’s aura is as familiar as Killua’s own by now, maybe more.  So tracking him across the city is easy--finding his way back to Gon is what Killua’s always done.  He can sense him, faintly, in the hotel room, and so Killua forces himself to run faster and faster.  Gon’s aura grows stronger, that distinct, warm glow. Killua races into the hotel, flies up the stairs, and throws open the door to their room.

And there he is--Gon, packing his things into his suitcase.  Gon, as perfect and beautiful as Killua’s ever seen him, folding up a pair of pants.  Gon, turning his head and looking at Killua.

“Hi, Killua.  Are you alright?  You kinda flew in here pretty fast.”

Killua isn’t sure how to begin to ask, how even to imply, to dare to suggest Gon might have feelings for him.  He hadn’t really gotten this far.

“He said… It…” Killua can’t find the words. “You... It was real…”

The notion still seems impossible, Gon truly wanting him.  But perhaps everyone is granted one impossibility, one true miracle at some point in their lives.  Perhaps Killua’s is Gon.

“What?” 

“The other night, what you said.  You meant it. Maybe. Did you?”

Terror flashes in Gon’s eyes for just a brief moment, but Killua continues.

“That guy, he explained his ability to me.  And he said it mostly just lowers inhibition.  He says it doesn’t make people feel anything they don’t already feel.  He says what you say and do, it’s real. The ability just makes people intensely focused on the person they…” He can’t bring himself to say it.  It’s still a ridiculous idea, Gon loving him. He worries that if he says it aloud Gon will just laugh in his face. So he doesn’t.  

“Anyway,” Killua continues, “did you mean it?”

Gon sighs, sounding far older and more tired than he should at sixteen.  His gaze drifts down towards Killua’s shoes. When he speaks, his voice is subdued.

“Killua, I’m sorry.  I never… I never wanted you to find out.  And especially not like this. Please, just know I never intended to say any of that.  If I could, I’d take it back in an instant. Just know that, at least. That I’d never do that to you on purpose.  And if you maybe want some space right now, I’ll give you that. I’ll do anything you ask. I’m just really, really sorry.”

Killua is dizzy with something.  Perhaps delight, perhaps confusion, perhaps the sheer overwhelmedness of it all.  Most likely a combination of the three. His heart races and his hands tremble at his sides and he could scream. He could laugh.  He could sink right to his knees and cry.

“No, Gon, listen.  Listen, okay?” His voice is high and shaky.  “Me too. I… everything I said, all of it. All of it, okay?  Every word. Do you understand? Me too. Completely and totally.  Me too.”

Killua knows he’s being inarticulate and talking around the actual words and stumbling through the whole thing.  But surely Gon knows. He has to know.

For a moment, Gon stares at him in silent confusion.  But then the realization dawns on him. His eyes get wide and he breathes in sharply.  And he looks, Killua would like to think, hopeful.

“You.  Uh. Wow, okay.  Okay. Wow.” Gon pauses for a moment.  “Really?”

“Really.  Absolutely.”

Killua isn’t sure where they go from here, so he just stands, hands limp at his sides, and stares at Gon.  Gon stares back, looking bewildered and surprised and utterly delighted. In the whole world, it’s just the two of them.  The two of them looking at each other, breathing fast, hearts pounding in their chests. There isn’t anyone else, not in the whole of creation.

“Wow, okay,” Gon repeats.  “Okay. Can I just… ask something?”

“Anything.”

“Why?  Why me?”

For a moment, Killua’s speechless.  Of all the things Gon could say, he would never have expected that.

“Gon,” he says slowly. “Who else would it possibly be?”

“Anyone, Killua.  You’re just--you’re you.  You’re amazing. You could have anyone.  So why me?”

Killua laughs in outright disbelief.

“Seriously?  You don’t see how exceptional you are?  In every possible way? Gon, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Gon gets a strange tension in his brow for a moment.

“Okay, then answer this instead,” Gon says.  “When? When did you know? How you felt, I mean.”

Killua hesitates.  What should he say?  Should he really reveal his hand, tell Gon how long and how intensely he’s loved him?  Perhaps he’ll find it pathetic. Or weird. But Gon’s eyes look so young and vulnerable and expectant, and Killua decides he deserves the truth.

“Just after the Hunter Exam,” he beings.  “When I went back home and you came to get me.  When I saw your face, how beaten up you got just trying to reach me.  No one had ever done anything like that for me before. Nothing even close.  And to you, it was a given. You were coming for me, regardless of what anyone did to you.  End of discussion. You hardly knew me, honestly, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that we’d only known each other since the exam or that you kept getting hit in the face over and over again or that my family kept threatening you.  It just didn’t matter. Because you wanted me.”

At least Killua’s voice doesn’t crack until the very end.  For a moment, Gon looks like he’s going to say something profound.  But the look passes.

“Killua, we were twelve.  That was four years ago. You just sat on that for four years?”

Killua suddenly feels very exposed and breaks eye contact.

“Okay, fine, then when did you know, huh?” Killua asks, staring at the ground.

As soon as he asks it, he realizes he doesn’t really want to know.  What if Gon has only felt this way for two weeks? What if it’s just a brief, passing phase?  What if Killua had been taken with Gon for years now, and until very recently, Gon hadn’t even looked at Killua twice?

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, honestly.”

Gon draws in a deep breath.

“When we ended up in that penalty room during the exam.”

It’s Killua’s turn for disbelief.

“Seriously? Gon, we’d only known each other for a few days at that point.”

Gon blushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, but I guess when you know, you just know.  I’d never had more fun than when I was with you. It didn’t matter that the deadline for that phase of the exam kept drawing nearer and nearer.  All that mattered was that I was spending time with you. I could’ve failed right then and there, and as long as I got to stay with you, I’d be okay.”

Killua’s face grows very hot.

“Gon!  You can’t just say stuff like that!  It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah, but it’s the truth.”
They aren’t touching, and that’s very suddenly unbearable to Killua.  So he crosses the room and sits beside Gon and takes Gon’s hands and presses them to his own chest.  Gon can likely feel how frantically Killua’s heart is beating, but Killua is too awestruck and happy to be embarrassed.  For a moment, they’re silent, Killua just staring at Gon as if seeing him for the first time. The golden flecks in his eyes.  His thick eyelashes. His strong jaw. His slightly upturned nose. They’re suddenly so new and excruciatingly beautiful.

“I… um… You… I… I don’t really know what to say now,” Killua admits at last.

Gon smiles softly and then drops his gaze to where his hands are held against Killua’s chest.

“I think I might.”

“Yeah?”

“Um…” Gon pauses, going very red.  “Gosh, it’s really hard to say it.”

“That’s okay,” Killua says softly, and brushes Gon’s hair back from his forehead because he thinks that’s something he’s allowed to do now.

“I, uh, was going to say that…” Gon takes a deep breath. “That I wanted to kiss you.”

Killua feels as if he’s jumped out of an airplane.  The air is punched from his lungs and it seems most of his insides have disappeared, leaving him wonderfully empty.  The air blows back his hair and the ground draws nearer, nearer.

“Yeah,” he says, and he isn’t proud of how low and gravelly his voice is.  “Yeah, okay.”

Gon’s whole face lights up.  His eyes brighten and his head lifts and he smiles.  I did that, Killua thinks, utterly thrilled.  He looks like that because I said he could kiss me.

All of the most terrifying experiences of Killua’s life have happened in slow motion, and this is no different.  Slowly, so slowly, Gon closes his eyes and brings a hand up to rest on the back of Killua’s neck and leans in. He’s so close and his mouth looks so warm and Killua’s heart is beating so hard he swears the very room is pulsing with it.  Never in his life has he wanted anything like he wants Gon right now. Not food when he was starving or relief when he was in pain or sleep when he’d been awake for a week. He’s never wanted like he wants now, and so he leans in as well, and closes his eyes, and cradles Gon’s face with his hand, and presses his lips to Gon’s.

It’s only their mouths and hands touching each other but Killua feels the kiss on every inch of his skin.  He can’t think of how to describe it because he’s never felt anything like it before, nothing quite so warm and soft and gentle and thrilling and so, so good.  It’s all too much and yet it isn’t nearly enough.  Killua’s always prided himself on his restraint, but it fails him now, utterly and completely.  He threads a hand through Gon’s hair and presses him closer because he needs more and he needs it now.  And Gon laughs against Killua’s mouth and pulls Killua into his lap as if he didn’t weigh a thing. And because that isn’t enough, because Gon is just determined to be the death of him, he presses a kiss to Killua’s jaw.  And then his neck. Killua gasps and tenses at that because it’s so good and he doesn’t have the first idea how or why. And Gon laughs and presses a kiss to the tip of Killua’s nose and pulls back, smiling. It takes enormous control for Killua not to demand Gon kiss him again, right now, immediately.

“You are just amazing,” Gon whispers, reverently.  Killua isn’t sure why he says it, seeing as he didn’t do much but sit there and get embarrassingly overwhelmed by a few seconds of Gon kissing him, but he’s too happy to question it.

“Four years,” Gon says, nonsensically.

“What?” Killua asks.

“We’ve wanted this for four years.  Both of us. I think I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for,” he says, before insistently pulling Killua down into another kiss. And Killua has never been quite so happy for lost time.