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Gon is acting weird.
Well, weirder than usual. The guy is always pretty weird anyway.
It takes a while for Killua to broach the subject though. At first, he keeps waiting to see if Gon will stop since the first incident was innocent enough; Gon buys him an armful of Chocorobos not long after they part ways with Leorio and Kurapika. It’s seemingly random but Killua will never turn down chocolate, so he doesn’t think much of it. But then, Gon keeps doing it.
He doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. Any time they go out to eat, Gon insists on buying dessert, and if Killua refuses or lies about being too full, he somehow still manages to get something sweet for his friend by the end of their outing. When they pass through a new town and browse the market, Gon never fails to try to buy Killua a gift or souvenir, despite his protests that they don’t need the unnecessary baggage. He learned quickly not to let his gaze linger too long on any one thing lest his best friend immediately try to purchase it for him. They’d gotten into quite a few arguments over it, leaving Gon to puff out his cheeks in frustration when he didn’t get his way.
It’s bizarre, Killua thinks, it doesn’t make sense. Why is Gon suddenly trying to buy him everything he laid eyes on? Not only that, but he consistently places himself between Killua and any perceived dangers—even easily avoidable ones like walking on the side of the road closest to traffic. It’s become equal parts ridiculous and sweet, but is quickly approaching borderline infuriating.
Have the recent events with Omokage and his Illumi puppet caused Gon to lose faith in him? Or worse—pity him?
Killua grits his teeth, brow furrowing at the thought. He wouldn’t exactly blame Gon if he’d lost faith—Killua had run away—but he won’t tolerate any pity.
“Killua, the bath’s ready!” Gon calls from the bathroom of their shared hotel room, towel already slung around his bare shoulders. He peeks around the doorframe expectantly.
“Gon, I told you to go ahead. I’ll take mine after you,” Killua insists from his spot on the bed. Gon’s brow furrows, the slightest of pouts on his lips.
“But we need to clean up your back. Besides, it’s more fun this way!”
“You don’t—ugh,” Killua grumbles petulantly, climbing off the bed to make his way towards the bathroom anyway since Gon didn’t bother to stick around for his reply. He pokes his head through the doorway to continue grumpily, “I told you, my back isn’t—hey!”
Gon interrupts him with a handful of water to the face, grinning triumphantly as it soaks Killua’s hair and shirt. Indignant, Killua sputters, “Gon!”
“Well you’re already wet so it’s fine, right?” Gon’s grin widens into a smirk, hands on his hips. Killua levels a glare at him that’s not nearly as potent as he intends it to be, evidenced by Gon simply turning his back to finish undressing.
“Hurry up and close the door, Killua, the warmth is leaking out!” Gon admonishes in a half-whine, frowning over his shoulder when Killua still hasn’t moved. Making a point to sigh as heavily and loudly as he can to express his irritation, Killua resigns himself to having lost this battle and steps into the bathroom, obediently closing the door behind him.
“You’re ridiculous,” he grumbles as he undresses, snatching up a towel and tying it snuggly around his hips before throwing himself on the stool near the detachable showerhead with more force than necessary. It’s not really fair to take out his frustration on Gon like this but he’s still a little miffed from his earlier thoughts.
Gon though, ever unfazed by Killua’s snark, promptly splashes water from the tub in a perfect arc to drench his friend completely. Killua groans, unable to see past his dripping fringe, and snaps his name again.
“It’ll be easier if Killua joins me,” Gon chirps, splashing him again, “Then I won’t have to waste water trying to wash you from all the way over here.”
Shoving his bangs away from his eyes just so Gon can see the intention in them, Killua flings himself into the bath in response, splashing water everywhere. Of course, Gon just laughs at the mess and splashes him again, initiating an impromptu water fight, until there’s more water on the floor than in the bath. By the end of it Killua’s laughing along, self-inflicted irritation having ebbed away as if it never existed.
Once they’ve caught their breath and refilled the tub, Gon instructs, “Turn around, I’ll wash your back.” His smile remains, but the tone clearly indicates his words are not intended as a request. Killua quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Gon, it’s really nothing,” he says for the umpteenth time that evening because it’s true. They’re only scratches from having skid across the ground in their most recent fight against a group of overconfident bandits. He’s had worse, Gon knows he’s had worse even if Killua refuses to go into detail about his assassination training. Still, his friend’s stubbornness is unrivaled, even for Killua sometimes.
“I believe you,” Gon assures him with a soft smile, not a hint of dishonesty in his wide brown eyes. “Now turn around.” He makes a rotating gesture with his finger, insistent. Killua doesn’t move for a moment longer, searching his best friend’s expression for—something. He’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for but he doesn’t find it, so he complies with a put-upon sigh.
He doesn’t flinch when Gon pours warm water over his shoulders, barely even registers the minute sting from the scratches littering his back, but what he does notice is Gon’s hands when they reach around either side of his throat to cup his jaw.
“Tilt your head back,” he instructs needlessly, gentle hands already maneuvering Killua on his own. He obeys, more out of surprise than anything, though not without scrunching his nose in confusion. He’s no expert, but this doesn’t seem necessary for back washing.
“Why?” he questions, gaze tracing a faint crack in the ceiling plaster above him.
“M’gonna wash your hair,” Gon replies, like it’s obvious. He slides his hands away to pour and lather shampoo in them, the scent of citrus wafting through the humid air. Killua’s still processing those words, this entire situation, and he blames his distraction for how Gon’s granted plenty of time to have his way. Fingers weave into his hair in the next moment, massaging with tender care, and only Killua’s past training keeps him from visibly melting at the touch. A deep, silent sigh leaves his chest in one breath as Gon smooths his bangs away from his eyes.
They’re quiet as Gon works, threading his fingers through Killua’s long locks with purpose, each press of his fingers relaxing Killua’s shoulders until his guard is entirely lowered. It feels nice; he can’t even dredge up his earlier frustration that all of this is probably a result of Gon’s pity for him.
Gon moves his hands from Killua’s hair to smooth them over his shoulders, thumbs pressing purposefully into tense muscles. He works out any kinks he finds, humming beneath his breath, as if he’s content to keep this up all night if it helps Killua relax. Knowing Gon as well as he does, Killua thinks he probably would. But—
He can’t indulge himself in Gon’s careful, callused hands when his gut twists with bitter apprehension. He needs to know, needs to understand why Gon has been treating him like this recently, treating him like he’s something fragile.
Like he’s weak.
“Gon,” he sighs, keeping his eyes closed as if it can shield him from this conversation, “I know what you’re doing.”
Gon hums in acknowledgement, palms sliding across Killua’s shoulder blades, ever so careful of his fresh wounds. “I’m washing your back.”
“Not that, idiot,” Killua huffs.
“Then what am I doing, Killua?”
“You’re,” he pauses, bites his lip. Part of him doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to speak it into the open and make it real. Make it true. But he has to or it’ll eat him up inside. “You’re babying me.” He spits the word like a curse; it feels similar on his tongue.
“No,” Gon’s answer is immediate, tone firm but—soft, too. Fond. There’s no trace of dishonesty, “I’d never insult Killua like that.”
Killua opens his eyes wide and glances over his shoulder with a perturbed frown. Gon doesn’t meet his gaze but there’s an affectionate smile on his lips, like he’s—he’s proud of Killua for bringing this up. Like he’s been waiting for it, expecting it. And that’s when Killua realizes—Gon was never trying to be subtle in the first place.
Gon doesn’t know how to be subtle, even, and Killua feels an embarrassed flush crawl up his neck to stain his cheeks as comprehension starts to dawn on him.
“Try again,” he encourages, tawny eyes flickering up to meet Killua’s before focusing again on his task. He glides his hands over Killua’s skin, entirely unbothered by the ugly array of scars littering the surface. Instead, his eyes roam over them with something akin to being impressed.
Killua truly thinks about the implications of Gon’s actions over the last few weeks—the catering, the protectiveness, the gentle touches, however brief—and about the look in his eyes now, as if when he looks at Killua, gazes at his scarred flesh and guarded eyes, he sees not only strength, a survivor, but something—precious. He thinks of all the times Gon has gushed over how cool he thinks Killua is, how often he’s thanked him for staying by his side, how the first thing he’d done after tackling Killua off that train track had been to ask if he was hurt, when his own eyes—and realizes how stupid it was to ever think Gon would treat him with pity.
He feels his face flush hotter as another, softer word for Gon’s actions comes to mind, and he murmurs hesitantly, “You’re…spoiling me?” It’s more of a question than an observation but Killua can’t quite wrap his mind around the sentiment. He’s never been pampered in such a selfless way; or, more truthfully, he’s never been pampered at all.
“Mmh!” is Gon’s shameless agreement, smile widening at Killua’s baffled expression.
“Why?”
“Because Killua deserves to be spoiled,” Gon answers matter-of-factly, eyes lifting to meet his again and staying. Killua’s certain his face is way too red to blame on the lukewarm bathwater, so he turns away from the earnest look to face the wall again. Gon giggles knowingly behind him.
“I don’t,” he mumbles, wishing his hair wasn’t slicked back with suds so he could hide behind his fringe. He feels especially vulnerable right now, even with Gon at his back.
“You do.” Gon insists, tone brooking no argument as he starts to rinse the soap away. He reaches forward to tilt Killua’s head for him again. “Killua helps me all the time. The least I can do is wash your hair now and then.”
Killua’s throat constricts; he feels strangled by all the words that want to come out in response to that—feels suffocated by all those that won’t. He hadn’t helped with Omokage, hadn’t helped when Gon’s eyes had been stolen by the puppet wearing his brother’s face—he’d seized up at the sight of Illumi, despite knowing it was impossible for him to be there, and he’d abandoned Gon, betrayed him, just like Illumi said he would. Heart heavy with guilt in his chest, he grips his knees beneath the water and says nothing while Gon rinses his hair.
Once they’re done with the bath, clean and drowsy from the warmth, Gon leads Killua to the bed and sits behind him again with a towel and a brush.
“Gon,” Killua tilts his head back to stare at him pointedly, “I get it. You don’t have to keep this up.”
“I want to!” Gon smiles, pushing Killua’s head forward with one hand as he takes the towel with the other. He rubs it gently over the damp curls at the base of Killua’s neck, humming again.
“But why?” Killua persists, exasperated. He’s beginning to feel like a petulant child, asking why why why so often, but he doesn’t get it. His chest feels strange, like his heart is trying to escape from his ribcage, and his face feels like the sun is blistering beneath his skin. He’s glad his back is to Gon because there’s definitely no bathwater to place blame on right now.
“Because, I love Killua!” is Gon’s happy exclamation. Killua’s vision blurs with how quickly he becomes lightheaded; he burns.
“S-Stupid,” he croaks, since he can’t seem to inhale enough air all of a sudden. He reaches up to tug the towel out of Gon’s hands so it covers his eyes, ignoring his protests that he isn’t done yet. “Don’t be embarrassing!”
“Eh? But it’s the truth,” Gon replies. Killua doesn’t have to see him to know he’s tilting his head like a confused puppy. “I love Killua, so I want to make you happy. That’s all.”
The noise that escapes him is a kind of wheezing choke that has Gon scrambling to kneel in front of him, hands fluttering around in concern but unsure of what to do. He takes a moment to collect himself, tugging the towel further so it covers his burning face from all sides.
“Killua?” The mattress lurches as Gon leans closer. “Did I say something wrong?”
“N-No,” Killua rushes to assure him, loathe to have him believe for even a second that his words caused Killua anything other than happiness despite his embarrassment over Gon’s candidness. “It’s just—you’re so…” He huffs, frustrated with his sudden lack of vocabulary. Tries again. “You have no filter.”
Gon laughs at that, causing Killua to peek out from beneath the towel just enough to see him rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, if it’s Killua, I don’t need one. Right?” Tawny eyes meet his easily.
Killua holds his gaze for a second before flitting away. “I guess.”
“Ne, Killua,” Gon shuffles closer, their knees brushing. He leans down to peek at him from under the towel. “I’d like to do this more often for you, if you want.”
Unsure of how to respond, Killua swallows hard. He hadn’t disliked the pampering, not at all; he just isn’t used to it, doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s left him feeling unbalanced, like he owes Gon something back now that he’s indulged in his kindness. He knows that’s not how Gon views it, that he’d protest vehemently if he knew Killua felt this way, but he wants to return the favor regardless. It won’t make up for abandoning Gon back then, but it’s something.
“Do what you want,” he mumbles with cheeks that feel like they’re on fire. He watches as Gon’s grin broadens at his backhanded agreement so before his best friend can say anything more embarrassing, Killua throws the towel so that it covers Gon’s face instead.
“Wah! Killua!”
“Shut up, you’re dripping water all over the bed,” Killua declares, getting to his knees to scoot behind Gon and rub none-too-gently at his hair. Gon laughs lightly and settles into the action like he’s used to it. He probably is, Killua thinks with a fond image of Aunt Mito in his mind.
He gentles his touch after a moment, less of a noogie and more of an actual attempt at drying Gon’s wild hair. Silence settles between them, easy and contemplative. Killua hesitates as he takes in the dark strands, curious as to whether they’re as soft as they look; Gon’s hair spikes naturally when it’s dry, so it always seemed coarse, but he wonders if that’s true now. Eventually, he can’t deny himself the curiosity—Gon will stop him if he’s uncomfortable with it, he’s sure, but he doubts that’ll be the case considering how touchy the guy is—and slides the towel down so it rests over Gon’s shoulders. He tentatively runs his fingers through his hair, marveling at the contrast between his pale skin and those dark strands, damp against his fingertips and much softer than he expected.
Gon makes a sound not unlike a purr, shoulders drooping instantly as he leans into the touch. A quick glance shows Killua he’s closed his eyes, lips tilted up in a sleepy, satisfied smile. Emboldened by the positive reaction, Killua sits back on his haunches and delves his fingers deeper into the thick strands, combing out any tangles he finds.
“Feels nice,” Gon breathes after a while, voice gravelly with sleep. He sways a bit, then fully leans his back against Killua’s chest. Killua chuckles, threads his fingers through one last time before settling his hands on Gon’s slack shoulders.
“C’mon, we should probably sleep,” he says quietly, not wanting to stir his friend out of his content stupor. His flush long ago faded into a pleasant warmth in his chest, cozy and comfortable; he likes doing for Gon what Gon had done for him. He decides he wouldn’t mind if they did these kinds of things again.
Gon whines when he slips away to turn off the light, flopping over onto his side to snuggle his face into his pillow. Killua snorts at him, folding down the blankets to slip beneath them. He turns on his side to face Gon, only to find him already watching Killua.
His eyes are heavy-lidded but warm, like the smile he wears. He reaches out a hand to take Killua’s, eyes slipping closed with a pleased sigh and a good night wish on his lips.
With a contentment he didn’t know was possible, Killua settles into the blankets and drifts to sleep; it’s the first night in a long while that the dark void of his brother’s eyes don’t plague his dreams. And when he wakes, he finds Gon’s hand still grasping his.