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Killua could hardly look at him sometimes, he shone so bright. Soft tan skin, dark freckles, wide and ever-caring smile; he bled joy, contentment, satisfaction. He radiated warmth, and Killua had always been weak to the cold. He'd grown up in it, and where once he'd barely managed to hold his ground in frigid isolation, now he flourished under Gon's gaze, his touch. They were together always. For a reason, Gon said. To protect each other.
Mostly, for Killua to protect Gon.
He lay now, claws extended and breath running ragged, under Gon's gentle fingers. The wound in his gut wasn't fatal, not for him at least, but Killua wasn't as used to pain as he once was and each beat of his heart sent shocks through his veins and radiated agony throughout his core.
The body strewn about the room was in three parts, mutilated and ruined. Killua hadn't been too careful this time.
"Oh, Killua," Gon said softly, "You can't keep doing this."
Guilt stabbed through his chest, more alarming than the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Gon's hands in his hair, cradling the back of his head. He knew. He knew. Life was precious. He didn't belong to his family anymore.
But Gon had been so hurt, so angry, so scared. And someone had done that to him. He'd looked at Killua like he could solve this.
And now the person responsible for that was out of the picture.
He knew he'd fucked up, but he would do it again.
A thumb stroked his cheek, and Gon's forehead met his own. "You're sick, Killua. You need to let me take care of you. Look at you, you're hurt. You got yourself hurt because of this."
Soft lips met his, undeserving.
Killua clutched at his stomach like he could hold the blood in and whined into Gon's mouth. The kiss was fleeting, not enough, and Killua whined again when Gon leaned back and stood, silhouetted by the overhead lights. "Let's get you to Leorio."
Killua managed to stay conscious until Gon dropped him roughly into the passenger seat of his car. His eyes closed as the engine started.
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Leorio looked at Killua differently, these days. He looked at him with pity now, shame. A wariness that wavered between critical and fearful. He looked at Gon the same way too, and when he did it always made Killua's heart leap into his throat and his nails sharpen just the slightest. He knew Leorio would always be there for them - or at least for Gon - but that didn't do much to take the edge off.
He stitched Killua together again with practiced ease, administered his fluids, and rushed them out of his house while lying that he wished they could stay longer. He hugged them one after the other at the door, grip tighter and more desperate than it needed to be. Killua collapsed into the passenger seat with a paper bag of painkillers and antibiotics crushed in his grip, and Gon stopped outside the driver's seat to take a smoke break and chat with someone on the phone. Another friend, no doubt. Or a colleague, a boss, maybe someone he'd developed a bit of a crush for. Someone who would eventually hurt him in some way. Killua used to feel jealous. He used to lay awake at night seething, needing to know why he wasn't enough, why he couldn't just be it all, before he realized it wasn't his place to. His place was to keep Gon safe, to be his one and only. Gon didn't need him to criticize his social life. And Gon had reassured him, so sweetly and softly, with kisses and touches and love, that Killua would always be the most important. That he knew Killua would always be there to watch out for him.
Killua killed again, not long after. Two months and thirteen days, to be exact. They'd been on a paid mission together, and one of Gon's friends - though Killua was loathe to consider her so - had gotten in the way. She'd been calling and calling and calling the past few days, asking why Gon wasn't answering her texts anymore. She thought things were going well, she'd said. She hadn't understood that she was too smothering. That Gon didn't need her as badly as he needed Killua.
She'd followed them from their house, walked in on them at their employer's place demanding to know what she'd done to deserve this, who Gon was fucking behind her back. Gon had cringed, fists clenching at his sides. She'd clearly taken it too far.
Their work was confidential, anyways, a heist on a corrupt politician in a war-torn country. Their employer surely would have had her offed by one of his goons to protect his uprising if Killua hadn't stepped in. He'd been lightning quick, merciful. She dropped before she'd even realized he moved. Her eyes had fixed on Gon in her last moments, and Gon cried over her body.
He screamed at Killua, shouted curses at him. He dragged him off to a side room and their coworkers parted nervously to let them through. Inside, Gon whispered, “I understand, Killua, I know what you’re trying to do, thank you,” while pressing their lips together.
"You're sick, Killua," he'd said.
Killua felt sick, really. He shook and was washed with guilt and shame, heavy like a cloak dropped over his shoulders. He knew something was wrong.
But then the next one would come along. Someone that would hurt Gon. And he would look at Killua like he could solve it.