Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one remembers how the war started. Some, the more practical, say it was due to economic reasons— a land or resource dispute. Others, those more romantically inclined, say it was due to rejected love—made worse as the two were soulmates. Still others, those intimately aware of each family’s pride, say it was due to an insult—either of skill or ancestry.

None of these theories are correct. Neither are they wholly incorrect, but none speak to the full truth. The fact is, that the war between the Zoldycks and the Freecs had started, as most family driven wars do, as a blood feud.

But no one remembers and so the rumors swirl, the truth lost to the passage of time, small grains of it scattered like seeds across the land; and the war continues.

* * * * *

In Killua’s opinion, his family were, and still are, idiots. 

Who cares about the war when no one can remember why it was started? When day after day he and his siblings are forced to risk their lives for, what exactly? What are they even fighting for anymore? 

Killua is sick of war, especially this senseless one against the Freecs family. But family is family and Killua is bound by the same rules as all the others: fight for the family or be disowned, which is as good as a death sentence really.

As he sits and listens to Silva’s current assignment, Killua keeps his face neutral while his thoughts drift towards treason: At this point I’d rather be disowned….

“Do you understand, Killua? It is vitally important that we get sound information. If you can infiltrate the Freecs fortress and secure us that information we can make a move to end this war once and for all.”

Killua looks down at the map on the table, spread open with markers for both sides’ forces and glances at where his father is pointing to. Whale Island. The heart of the Freecs family stronghold—and so very far away with no way to get home should things go south. Barely withholding his scowl, he nods tersely.

“Yes, Father. I will go.” Even though this is a suicide mission.

Piercing blue eyes bore into Killua’s skull, searching for any sign of discomfort, discontent or mutiny, before lowering back down to the map. “Good,” says Silva firmly. “You leave at first light tomorrow.”

Killua bites back a curse, nods in acknowledgement with one arm pressed across his chest as a sign of respect for his father’s rank, and then he is gone, slipping out of the war room and down the hall to his little used room. Once there he starts methodically packing. First light will be here in four hours; he has no time to waste.

He packs light—only a few bandages, some pocket change, and a spare pair of clothes go in his backpack, while everything else he needs gets strapped to his body. Small knives, needles and wire get tucked away, hidden underneath his black leggings and shirt; various poisons, antidotes and medicines vanish into his overcoat’s pockets along with a map of Whale Island. Killua quickly surveys his room as he re-ties his combat boots, then once he’s done he grabs his black leather bracers from off of his dresser—can’t be forgetting those now. Not only are they a vital piece of protective gear for Killua, who more often than he’d like finds himself in situations where he has to block incoming blows with his forearms, but they also have wicked sharp blades sewn into the underside which can pop out at a moment’s notice, giving Killua an extra set of inconspicuous weapons. 

Packing done, Killua checks the time—half an hour to go. He eyes his bed longingly once, then shakes his head. Better not risk it, he decides before tiredly slipping down the hallway. The last time he accidentally overslept his father had punished him by stringing him up in shackles and leaving him for a whole day to hang with electric pulses triggered every hour on the hour and half hour marks so that he would “get a better sense of the passage of time”; he’d been twelve then and hasn’t overslept a day since. Even now, when his body is running on a sleep deficit deeper than the oceans and screaming for relief, he doesn’t dare lie down for a nap—who knows what his next punishment might be.

When he reaches the bend in the hallway, he heads for the staircase. Hoping none of his siblings are awake so that he can leave the house without alerting them, he masks his presence. No such luck. There, at the top of the steps waiting for him, is Illumi, his eldest brother. Killua stops and waits for Illumi to speak. When he does, his voice is quiet, soft as silk, more a murmur than anything else, but to Killua the words are loud and clear.

“Be careful out there, Killua,” is all Illumi says before letting Killua pass by.

Surprised, but doing his best not to show it, Killua nods tersely and then pads quietly down the gleaming hardwood stairs, careful to skip the second to last one so that it wouldn’t creak. At the bottom, Killua goes on autopilot, dancing his way across their heavily trapped foyer, mind stuck on Illumi’s farewell. Illumi isn’t normally one for soft words with thinly veiled worry, favoring harsh words of advice designed to keep Killua alive in the field instead. That he would speak words of caution sets Killua on edge and makes him wonder just what, exactly, Illumi knows that he doesn’t. Then Killua trips and his focus snaps back into the present, dodging left and right, catching the arrows he accidentally triggered mid-air. A few moments later and he’s at their front door, the hallways and foyer quiet once more.

Killua exhales quietly, glad none of his other siblings woke from the commotion and then gently pushes the front door open. Two steps and then he’s outside, the night sky bleeding into dawn. Killua inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of wet grass and mud. Then he starts to run, flitting from shadow to shadow, tree to tree, until he finds himself at the bottom of Kukuroo Mountain in front of their main gates. To his dismay, his mother stands barring his exit, his younger brother, Kalluto at her side, both of them with their arms crossed.

“Mother, Kalluto,” Killua sighs. “What brings you here?” I thought I had avoided everyone but Illumi…

Kalluto stiffens at the question but Kikyo just scoffs. As if reading his mind, she says, “As if you could disappear without all of us knowing after that racket you made in the entryway.” Then she softens, arms coming up to enfold Killua in a hug. “Why? Can’t your mother want to say goodbye and good luck to her son?”

Killua freezes. Yes , he wants to say, yes you can’t be here. It’s not right; it’s not what we do as a family. But then he realizes she’s trying to distract him, has enlisted Kalluto to help her as a second pair of eyes to make sure Killua doesn’t run off, that she’s now placing a tracker on his back, that she still doesn’t trust Killua not to run away from his duty, even after all these years. And Killua’s heart turns to ice. Gently, he steps away from his mother’s embrace and asks her to move. “The timeline Father gave me is quite tight, Mother. If you don’t move I’ll be forced to take action.”

Kalluto tenses, one hand hidden in the depths of his sleeves no doubt grasping for his concealed knives, the other clenching the handle of his ornate war fan hanging from his waist, waiting for Killua to make one wrong move, but Kikyo just scowls. Then she steps back, all smiles again. “Of course, dear. Do be careful, Killua,” she says as he makes for the small door in the side of the gate, then adds at the last moment, “and don’t forget to give them hell.”

Killua nods, muttering, “Of course,” just barely loud enough to register as a response, and then he’s gone, stepping through the door and into the wider world once more, his mother and brother’s gazes hot on his back. Kikyo’s words echo in his head, so similar to Illumi’s. Be careful. Not for the first time, Killua wonders if his family wants him dead.

* * * * *

Gon hates war in general, hates that his family has been mired in one against the Zoldycks for forever now even more so, but still he fights. He’s not sure if anyone on the Zoldyck family’s side remembers why the war started, but in Gon’s family—well, they still remember. That’s not the reason why they still fight though.

Gon still fights not because of some tragic love story that spurred their families into war so many years ago, but rather because he hasn’t been given much choice not to. He fights under duress and for survival. After all, Ging said he’d sent envoys over to the Zoldycks multiple times now, as had his father and his father’s mother and so on, to ask for a truce, a ceasefire if not peace, only for said envoys to disappear and never return. 

“After a while, we’ve got to take that for the sign it is Gon,” says Ging now, a week after having sent out yet another envoy with no word back, Gon’s father staring at their battle map spread out on the table, curling at its edges and well worn. “Besides, we have to keep fighting in the meantime so that our people can live in some semblance of peace away from the front lines.”

Gon frowns. “I’m not so sure I agree, Father, but I do understand the need to keep fighting.” When it comes time for Gon to take power, he vows to never give up on the hope for peace. He wants to ask if he could be spared as an envoy, perhaps that would work instead this time, but he holds his tongue, knowing his father would never go for it. Survival is more important right now than peace, and Gon knows Ging considers him too valuable an asset to risk. Instead he asks, “What do you think our next plan of attack should be?”

Ging runs a hand tiredly over his face, eyes gritty from the long nights they’ve all been pushing themselves through. The most recent attack from the Zoldycks had utterly destroyed several acres of precious farmland that the Freecs family’s tenants heavily depend upon for food and the resultant flurry of activity in order to make accommodations and preparations has had everyone pulling double shifts. Then he sighs and leans back in his rickety old chair. 

“Nothing, right now,” Ging finally states. “We can’t afford to make any big moves now, nor can we spare the manpower for a targeted attack. We will just have to wait for them to something next.”

Gon reluctantly nods. “What do you want to do next then?”

Ging huffs a laugh, looking up at his son, his eyes tired and sardonic. “Well I want to take a long nap and wake up to all of this mess just being a nightmare, but we don’t get what we want now do we?”

Gon rolls his eyes. While he sympathizes, they both know that neither can really afford to shirk their duties. Although…Gon looks closer at Ging’s face and withholds a sigh of his own. Ging’s eye bags have deepened again, which means he’s been skipping his rest times and working extra shifts on top of everyone’s doubles again. “You could at least take a nap,” he offers. “You look like you need it.”

Ging grimaces. “Not enough bleeding time in the day,” he mumbles, not meeting his son’s gaze.

Gon smiles, hearing the token protest for what it is, then asks, “Do you want me to tell Aunt Mito?”

Ging scowls and shakes his head. “No, I’ll take one as soon as we’re done here. Damn brat,” he adds under his breath.

Gon’s lips tug upwards in a smirk when he hears his father, satisfied at his win. There’s no way Ging will be skipping his nap now. Ging ignores him and just huffs in exasperation once before he turns back to his pile of paperwork to consider the work they have in front of them. 

Gon grimaces and hopes against hope his father won’t make him work on the pile while Ging takes a nap.

Gon can, like Ging and only when absolutely necessary, do paperwork. It’s one of the first things Mito taught him how to do, but it doesn’t mean he takes to it gracefully. No, Gon tends to go stir-crazy after half an hour with paperwork and he knows his father knows this. Their organization skills are also totally different. He just really hopes Ging will take these two facts into consideration and decide he can’t afford the time it will take to reorganize everything after Gon gets his hands on it, and give Gon a different but equally important job. 

Ging considers the battle map in front of him and scowls again. This time Gon knows what he sees, because it’s been on his mind for the past few days too. They really can’t send anyone out, not even to scout, right now—it’s too dangerous and too risky and they are simply too hard pressed for resources to spare any of them on outside forces. 

As Ging stares at the map, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table, he hums in contemplation. He does this for a while, changing the pattern of his tapping as he considers different parts of the map and then, all of a sudden he stills.

A sly smile creeps across his face and Gon very carefully does not shudder; that expression never bodes well and often signals mischief at everyone but Ging’s expense.

“I have the perfect idea for what you can do next, son,” Ging says, eyes alight with an unholy glee. 

Gon blinks and tries to maintain his composure. By the way Ging’s smile grows wider, he’s sure he’s failed. “Oh?” 

“You can live up to the title the troops gave you and finally take them on that fishing trip!”

Gon stares at his father as he tries to make sense of the words coming out of Ging’s mouth. “Fishing trip?”

“Yes, yes! They’re calling you the Fisherman right? So take the navy, set them up close enough so that the Zoldycks can see them, but far enough away that you aren’t in firing range, and take them fishing. It kills three birds with one stone!”

Gon blinks again, then sighs exasperatedly and asks, “How?”

Ging grins, smile slightly manic. “One, we show the bastards we have a fighting force ready to go and in place should they launch an attack by water, that we are still a threat and not nearly as impacted by their last attack as they might think. Two, should your fishing be productive we get our hands on more food to feed the people, thus helping to supply what we lost from the Zoldyck’s attack. Three, if they get out their spyglasses and look to see what sort of maneuvers you’re doing on board the ships all they’ll see are our men fishing! Which they’ll take as an insult and drive them up a wall! Which they deserve after this week of hell they’ve put us through!”

Gon takes one look at the manic-turned-feral grin his father is sporting and decides the better part of valor would be to just agree in this situation before grabbing Mito to force Ging into a bed. Clearly, sleep deprivation takes a toll on one’s health and Ging needs sleep desperately. Like, now. Besides, his father’s plan does have some merit—their food supplies dwindling faster now with the loss of acres of good farmland on the cusp of harvest—so Gon nods, then backs out the door slowly, leaving Ging to cackle maniacally to himself at the image his mind’s no doubt conjured.

Five steps down the hallway, Gon runs into Aunt Mito carrying laundry and sporting a suspicious look on her face. “What’s going on in there?” she asks, clearly having heard the cackling.

Gon sighs in relief at her voice. “Thank the Maker you’re here. Please get him to sleep, Aunt Mito. I’m pretty sure he’s running solely on fumes and will power right now. He doesn’t look like he’s slept in days.”

Mito huffs and hitches her laundry basket higher on her hip. “Honestly, your father. Why is he always like this? Don’t worry,” she turns away from Gon, smile promising retribution on Ging, “I’ll make sure he rests.” Then she’s off down the hallway, pushing open the door to Ging’s study, laundry basket still firmly on her hips, and then disappearing into the room. A loud crash later, and Mito returns to Gon, smile wide and cheery, dragging an unconscious Ging behind her. “Help me get him to his room?”

Gon grins and nods, picking Ging up by his feet and together the two manage to lug the man down to his bedroom a few doors down. Once Ging’s been tucked into bed by Mito, the two co-conspirators leave, Mito wrapping Gon into a brief hug before retrieving her laundry. “You be careful out there, okay, Gon?” she states, all the worry of a mother in her voice. “Make sure to stay out of range.”

Gon smiles, a genuine smile full of happiness and warmth. “I will! Take care of dad for me?” 

Aunt Mito rolls her eyes, but with a small smile of agreement. “Always, Gon.”

Then she moves off down the hallway so Gon follows suit, making his way down the stairs and out of the house. Taking a glance up at the sky, he sighs, shaking his head over the memory of Ging’s antics. “The Fisherman? Really?” He turns down their well-worn dirt road towards the docks. At least today’s a nice day, Gon muses. I might actually get people to go with me. Hope we catch something!

Chapter Text

It takes days for Killua to reach Whale Island, his mission and identity requiring him to stow away on a merchant vessel which makes three or four stops before finally docking in Whale Island’s harbor. When he exits his tiny little corner where he’d been hiding to slip off into the landscape he’s never been so glad for his assassin’s training as right now. His stiff body groans in protest after having been cooped up for hours on end in the same position but luckily it doesn’t take long for it to readjust, a few stretches limbering him back up albeit with cracks and pops that aren’t usually present. With the crew ashore and no one around, Killua can afford to take his time to stretch, but since this is enemy territory after all, he doesn’t do anything more than the bare minimum. Then he quietly disembarks the ship, slipping into the alleyways nearby, hoping that they will provide some sort of cover and shadows for him to blend into. 

He spends the better part of the afternoon people watching from various corners of the darker alleys, but soon determines that while he may be clocked as an outsider, the people here are most likely to view him as some sort of tourist or passing traveler than an enemy spy. You’d think these people weren’t in the middle of a war by the way they act, he muses to himself as he idly walks past a cafe into the main marketplace where he exchanges some of his coin for a few apples and a loaf of bread. The locals are cheerful and welcoming, only slightly tense at Killua’s appearance due to his status as an outsider, but even that tension dissipates after he talks with them for a while. In the face of such congeniality, Killua finds himself wondering how, and more importantly why, the people living under the Freecs are so carefree and trusting. Also, where the hell are their forces? This is their main town, their main stronghold of power. Shouldn’t it be better protected than this? With their headquarters here somewhere? Killua thinks to himself, even as he has yet to see any evidence that this sleepy, fishing village actually has any sort of military operations being run out of it. Everywhere he looks there are row after row of charming little houses, but no looming tower or walls or fortress to denote a headquarters; no training grounds, no barracks, no soldiers practicing or marching, waiting for their orders. No sign that the war exists at all and yet there must be something here. All their intelligence points to this village as the Freecs family’s main base of operations. Information Killua begins to doubt after he passes yet more houses and finally reaches the road that leads out of town. 

“Great,” he mutters to himself under his breath once he’s sure there’s no one around to hear. “Now I have to go looking for it.”

He turns to make his way back through town when he realizes he is utterly lost. Each street looks the same and with dusk creeping up on him, Killua decides not to risk getting even more turned around than he already is. Instead, he follows the path out of town and up a hill, climbing until his legs are numb. To his surprise, at the top of the hill lies another house, cozy and well-lit; beyond it, in the field below, are rows and rows of training dummies. Killua blinks, dumbfounded. No, it can’t be. There’s no way this is their headquarters, he tells himself but even as he thinks it he gets the sense that no, actually, this was the Freecs’ family headquarters and yes, their training grounds are relegated to one single field, their base of operations a tiny, two-storied house instead of a fortress. And these are the people my family has been desperately fighting for so long? 

Killua shakes off his disbelief and moves through the shadows across the yard until he can fold himself up under the first floor window. He hears muffled voices through the wall so he stills and presses closer, stretching his hearing to its limit. Once his hearing adjusts, snippets of conversation float through the air and he cannot believe his luck. He has, by complete accident, found the Freecs family’s house. Which doubles as their headquarters. Where all their plans lay about upstairs…in Ging’s (?) studio, if he heard that correctly. 

Killua bites back a laugh at his luck and slowly crawls two feet over so that he is no longer directly under the window, then straightens. Looks like this mission will be easier than I expected, he thinks with a grin. Then he slips back across the field to a nearby oak tree to hide in its shadows until the night deepens. Once everyone’s asleep, I’ll make my move. In and out, a whisper on the wind.

Of course, nothing is ever so simple.

Killua waits for the hours to pass and gradually the lights in the house go dark, the voices quiet, and everything stills. Then he steals back across the ground to the side of the house and starts to climb, hand over hand, gripping onto the bricks by his fingertips, slowly but steadily pulling himself up the house’s wall. Reaching a shuttered window on the second floor, Killua pauses, then gently works free a knife from his boot, holding onto the wall by one hand, swaying slightly as his grip and strength is tested. Placing the knife between his teeth temporarily, Killua gently swings himself upwards so his left hand can once more grab onto the wall and provide enough of a purchase for him to pull himself up into alignment with the window. As soon as Killua moves, however, the window flies open with a drunken, “Hah! I see you moon! Tonight it’s just me n’ you!” and Killua finds himself falling, a throbbing pain in his head, fingers scraped and then a blinding flash of pain radiating from his left ankle all the way up his leg. It is all he can do to not scream. As it is he has to bite down on his hand to keep a low whine from escaping, hot tears pricking at his eyes and threatening to spill over all the while. He bites harder as the heat and pain build, a scream crawling its way up his throat—hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste of iron blooming in his mouth. A long few moments longer the initial pain subsides from a fiery sharpness to a low simmering heat and it’s enough to withdraw his hand from his mouth. Having bitten hard enough to draw blood, Killua knows his hand will bruise, dark purple and ugly; he’ll need to wear gloves when he next crawls his way back into town to avoid the questions. Taking stock of where he’s landed, the thought At least I’m partially hidden in this bush springs forth, his mind doing its utmost to rationalize and make the best of a poor situation.

It’s a cold comfort though as next he hears, words slurred but filled with awareness, “What wazzthat?” come from above. “Thought I heard somethin’ crash below.”

Bangs, scrapes and curses float down through the air from the still open window and Killua feels panic start to press in. He must move and move quickly or risk being discovered, so gingerly yet as quickly as he can, he straightens his left leg, a small hiss of pain escaping despite his best efforts, to assess the damage.

No bones sticking out at odd angles; bruising and swelling present. Possible fracture; definitely sprained. I need a splint, he finally decides after a few minutes—minutes that seem to drag and take twice as long, his brain sluggishly trying to locate the words he needs. And a nap, he adds before pinching himself on the leg. Focus, Killua. Splint. Moving. Hurry.

As Killua looks around for possible splint materials, he thanks his lucky stars that he hadn’t landed at a worse angle or a few paces over where there was no bush to hide or pad his landing. Finding a loose branch the right size to make a splint he snaps it off, hoping no one inside hears, then wastes no more time, ripping the bottom of his shirt off for a binding setting his ankle into position. The house behind him lights up and Killua works faster, fingers tripping over knots he should know how to do in his sleep.

Finally, finally, he’s done and he presses himself to standing, one pained inhale at a time. Hobbling, he starts to move, still sticking to the shadows and doing his best to blend in with the landscape. The oak tree he’d hidden beneath is almost in sight when he hears the house’s door slam open behind him. Killua freezes in place, hoping against all hope the moon’s light doesn’t shift, that whoever stands at the door cannot see properly with the house’s lights behind them. One minute passes, then another. Killua waits with baited breath, not daring to move a muscle for fear that the people in the doorway will notice. After an agonizing few moments more, the door shuts firmly, an irritated woman’s voice berating another for disturbing her rest over nothing. Killua waits, breathing softly through the pain that threatens to overtake him, for a minute more then quickly limps over to the oak tree. Once there he lets himself breathe more normally, resting against the oak’s broad trunk for a few minutes.

If he could, Killua would sink to the ground and lay beneath the oak until his body fully heals, but he knows he can’t—he’ll be discovered within the day. No, he needs to move, needs to find another spot to rest far, far away from the Freecs’ strong…house…and far away from town. He needs isolation. He needs…his vision blurs then rights itself, coming to land on a cluster of trees off to his right. The opposite direction from the house and the village. Perfect.

Killua hauls himself upright, doing his best to ignore the throbbing in his head and ankle, and starts making his way over to the trees. Sometime between one blurry moment and the next, the trees turn from a cluster into a full forest and when Killua next glances up to see where in the sky the moon is he sees the bright blue sky of day instead of the dark velvet of night. Frowning, he glances down only to see he’s no longer walking but crawling, hands scraped and dirty. When did that happen…

“Hello? Are you okay?” he hears dimly from somewhere above him, the words fuzzy and hard to focus on. Killua opens his mouth to answer but finds himself unable to, his head throbbing and vision swimming. The voice asks him something further, repeating itself perhaps…but Killua cannot answer, save for a whine of pain. Gently, something picks him up, cradles him to its chest, smelling of pine and warmth and safety and Killua loses the will to fight against sleep further. 

“I’ve got you,” the voice whispers as Killua’s bleary eyes slide shut. “You’ll be safe now.”

* * * * *

Gon’s fishing trip lasts three days. Three days and results in, luckily, no attacks from the Zoldycks, an abundant catch of fresh fish, and, unfortunately, tons of teasing from the troops.

“Really, now,” laughs Gon’s second-in-command, Kurapika, when Gon complains to him about his nickname, “you can’t blame them. You carry that fishing pole around all the time, sometimes even into battle, and now here we are, fishing! You should be thanking them for not coming up with something worse.”

Gon pouts and sticks out his tongue in retaliation, but knows Kurapika is right. It could have been so much worse than ‘The Fisherman.’ Then he sighs. “You’re right. I just wish they wouldn’t constantly tease me about it.”

Kurapika’s smile turns rueful. “If it bothers you that much I can talk to the men about it.”

Gon shakes his head. “No, don’t. Who knows, maybe our enemy will hear it and think it a fearsome title instead. Besides,” he grins now, a little sheepishly, “it’s good that they feel comfortable enough in my presence to joke around and tease me. I wouldn’t want that to change now.”

Kurapika nods. “If that’s what you wish to do, Commander, then so be it.” Then he turns to the piles of fish that the men have just finished cleaning with the help of the local fishermen. “How do you want all this fish to be distributed?”

Gon turns with him to view the fish lying in bins and frowns. His gaze lifts to the village he calls home where his people watch the army’s proceedings with thinly veiled curiosity, hunger in their eyes. “Hm…Prioritize the hardest hit areas first, Kurapika, as that’s why we went fishing in the first place. Then whatever’s left over we’ll distribute to the others based on level of need, starting with the homeless, poor and elderly. We’ll work our way out from there.”

Kurapika nods, then turns to give out orders to the gathered men. When he’s done, Gon clasps him on the shoulder and bids him farewell, stating, “I’ve got to go check on my father and Mito now, see if any new intelligence has come in yet. Can you take care of things from here?”

Kurapika just smiles in response, so Gon smirks back. He knows his officers inside and out, and both know Kurapika is more than capable of directing the troops in Gon’s stead. With an impish grin, Gon stretches, saying, “Right, I’m off then. Say hi to Dr. Leorio for me!” before dashing down the road leaving behind a spluttering, red-faced and mortified Kurapika behind him.

When he reaches home, he immediately makes a beeline for the kitchen, half expecting his way to be barred by Mito demanding he wash first but no one is there. Frowning, he skips past the kitchen, climbs the stairs to his room on the second floor, calling out for his dad and aunt, but no one answers. Figuring they must be busy with some other task, Gon shrugs then quickly heads down the hallway to bathe, Mito’s disappointed face should he not popping up in his head. As he slips into the bath and the warm water envelops him in a tender embrace, Gon feels all the tension, grit, grime, and salt of the past three days ebb away. When he steps out, finally clean again, he feels rejuvenated and at ease. Once he’s dressed, he slowly traipses back downstairs to look for some sort of snack, eventually settling on a roll, an apple, and a hunk of cheese. Then he steps out the door and down the path that leads to the woods nearby, taking in the beautiful scenery of the day. 

Knowing it might be all day before Gon sees Ging or Mito back at the house, Gon lets his feet wander where they will, mind adrift and thinking on a wide range of topics, but eyes still alert to any danger that might lurk in the underbrush. Soon he finds himself walking deep into the forest, feet on a path that will take him, if he doesn’t deviate soon, to the very edge of the woods where his little cottage, his home away from home, lies. Glancing at the sky, Gon figures it’s most likely noon now and he has time to make a trip out to the cottage and back if he picks up the pace. His brow furrows as he mulls over his options. One one hand, the cottage is a far ways away still and it will be late into the night if he should go, even with his increased pace. On the other, it’s been a long time since he’s made the trip and the cottage probably needs cleaning. One one hand, he’s not left a note. On the other, Ging knows how to find him if need be since Gon’s not been covering his tracks. What to do, what to do…

Gon’s just about made up his mind to return home when he hears labored breathing up ahead and a whine of pain. Alarmed, Gon picks up his pace and lets his gaze rove, searching for the injured party. When he comes upon the man, Gon nearly misses him so well does the other man conceal his presence. Stopping just out of range should the injured man lash out in self-defense, Gon asks, “Hello? Are you okay?”

The man glances up and Gon feels his world stop as the man’s ice blue eyes meet his, a jolt of electricity running up through the ground and up his legs. Blood pounds in Gon’s head and he can hardly think, barely remember to breathe. Inhale. And….Exhale. Then he notices the lack of focus and pain clouding the other’s eyes and he crashes back down to reality, frowning in concern. The man’s mouth parts slightly and Gon strains to hear any sort of answer but no words are forthcoming. 

Gon tries again, “Hello? Sir? What’s your name? Are you okay?” hoping the other might answer, but instead the injured man lets out a tiny whimper of pain and winces.

Clearly the man needs help, Gon decides, and while it would be nice to know who I’m helping, that can wait until later once he’s had a chance to rest and heal. Mind made up, Gon bends over to scoop the other man up when he realizes that not only has the man hit his head but his ankle has seen better days too, what with it wrapped in a makeshift splint. Gon’ll have to be extra careful while carrying the other if he doesn’t want to cause further injury. Taking a deep breath, Gon gently slides his hands under the other man’s form and lifts, cradling the man to his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Gon whispers as the injured man’s eyes slide shut. “You’ll be safe now.” Then he begins to weave his way through the woods towards his cottage, careful to not jar the unconscious man while also increasing his pace so that he could reach his little home before nightfall. 

Gon makes it, just barely—the bright light of day melting into soft oranges, pinks and purples, that moment just before the blue of dusk and night takes over. 

Gingerly, Gon places his precious burden on the bed, again doing his best to prioritize the man’s comfort, then searches for his cache of medical supplies Leorio had pressed on him one day.

“If you’re going to be out in the woods, all alone and far from town, you must have a med-kit, Gon! Who knows how long it would take for you to get to us or vice versa should you get injured!”

Gon shakes his head at the memory. Leorio was right and thank goodness for it, because otherwise I might not have the supplies to help this guy out. If only I could remember where I put the darn thing! 

As soon as he thinks it, a glint of silver catches his eye off to his right. There, in the closet, underneath a pile of clothes is Leorio’s med-kit. Grinning in success, if a little sheepishly for having both forgotten where he’d placed it originally and said location, Gon unearths and places the med-kit on the nightstand next to the bed. He turns, intent on looking at the man’s head wound when he frowns. Outside the remnants of day are fading fast and the moon has yet to rise, leaving a dearth of light for Gon to work by. Grumbling at the delay, Gon hunts for the candles he knows he left behind last time, lamenting yet again that he does not swing by his cottage more often. Really, he ought to come once a week, at least once a month to make sure the cottage is fully stocked and well-maintained, but with the recent uptick in Zoldyck attacks he had gotten lax, his time consumed by battle reports, battle preparations, training and the battles themselves. 

It takes much longer than he wishes, but eventually Gon finds his wayward candles, hidden below the kitchen sink of all things. Then he sighs, straightens up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor, and makes his way back over to his patient who still lies asleep. Setting down the candles on the nightstand next to the med-kit, Gon asks himself, anything else, and thinking of no further preparation he must complete, lights the candles. Then he turns to attend to his patient and finds himself dumbstruck once again, the awe he’d felt for that split second in the forest returning full force. He’s gorgeous.

The soft glow of the candlelight gently outlines the injured man’s face, making him seem delicate, full of an otherworldly beauty. The strands of his wispy, white hair, catching the first glimmers of moonlight, seem to float and glow, luminous against the dark of the room. Gon stares, spellbound by the image, and would have continued to do so until time faded away if not for the soft, pained gasp that shatters the still silence. 

Holy hells, Gon. Get a grip, we’ve got work to do, he berates himself, moving quickly to address the man’s head wound now. As he first gently mops blood from his patient’s brow, then cleans and stitches the wound shut, finally wrapping it gently but firmly so that it can heal, Gon begins to sing, soft and low, hoping it’ll bring comfort and soothe the man’s dreams. 

Instead, his patient wakes, wild-eyed and wary, and lunges at Gon with a hidden knife. “Who are you?” he growls.

Chapter Text

Killua’s head throbs incessantly, drawing him back into wakefulness ever so slowly as wave after wave beats a steady tattoo of pain across his skull. Off to his side he hears shuffling, but it barely registers through the haze of pain. It is only once he hears the singing that his consciousness slams full force back into him. Two things register in his mind. One, he is in pain, injured badly enough that he had passed out; two, he is at another’s mercy, likely his mother if the singing is anything to go by. A shudder runs through Killua’s body at the thought. If it is his mother…and she’s singing… only more pain lies ahead; unbidden, the memory of his latest punishment at her hands rises to the forefront of his mind—his mother, singing softly and kindly even as she whips him bloody, crooning all the while how strong it would make him, how he was her precious baby boy, how he would learn his lesson now wouldn’t he? Killua waits half a beat for the singer to pause and then he lunges, sliding his concealed knife from his bracer into his right hand.

Bright, shocked green eyes blink at him and Killua growls, “Who are you?” aiming his knife at the others’ throat. Before he can make contact however, the other man grasps his wrist in an attempt to stop the knife, his hand warm and dry against Killua’s cold skin. Killua’s knife pauses, but not because the other man is stronger, not because Killua couldn’t drive the knife through the other man’s neck in a heartbeat. No, Killua pauses because a cheery warmth spreads from his wrist all the way up through the rest of his body; he pauses because a radiant silver light bursts forth in a flash between his wrist and the other man’s wrist, flaring so brightly it lights the entire room, then fades into symbols curled around Killua’s wrist and the man’s hand.

At a complete loss for words, Killua looks down at his wrist still clasped in the other man’s hand, then at the man’s hand where he sees the shimmer of bright silver symbols that hadn’t been there yet a moment ago, then back down at his own wrist—his wrist which bears matching marks. Finally, he looks up and repeats his question, albeit a little less harshly, but does not lower his knife. Soulmate or not, Killua’s situation hasn’t really changed—he’s still injured and at this man’s mercy.

Jade eyes blink in surprise and the man blushes. Awkwardly, he coughs and rubs the back of his head with his free hand. “Um…could you lower your knife first?” he asks. “I’m not planning to hurt you, ya know. I was trying to clean up your head wound before you woke.”

Killua’s eyes scan the man’s face for any sign of deceit but find none. Either the man is a highly skilled liar or he doesn’t have a single dishonest bone in his body. Guess I’ll find out soon either way, Killua muses as he reluctantly lowers his knife, knowing he doesn’t have much choice in the matter. Holding himself taut and braced on his good leg in a lunge may look impressive but Killua’s pain which he had duly been ignoring now demands his attention, his lower body crying out for relief and his vision blurring again. So he sinks back into the bed, back to the wall, right leg tucked in towards his body, left stretched out in front of him. “Your name?” he asks for the third time, eyes never leaving the other man.

Fey-like in appearance, with sparkling green eyes and ebony hair standing straight up in gravity-defying spikes, the man smiles, his countenance lighting up with pleasure at Killua’s withdrawal of the knife; Killua feels his heart skip a beat and he sternly tells himself not to give in, even as his whole being cries out Trust him! Trust him! He’s our other half! Trust him! Distracted by emotion warring with practicality, Killua nearly misses the man’s reply.

“My name is Gon! What’s yours?”

“Killua,” he blurts, his true name slipping from his lips without a thought, his fake name for the mission completely forgotten. As soon as he says it he wishes he could recall it, knowing Killua isn’t that common a name and sure Gon will draw the correct conclusions of Killua’s family—while he’s in enemy territory no less. 

But Gon’s only response is, “Killua?“ smile growing wider. “Nice to meet you!”

Killua blinks, taken aback by the lack of recognition but immediately grateful. Some of the tension seeps from his body and his lips quirk in a small smile. “Nice to meet you,” he echoes. 

Gon stares at him and Killua wonders if he’s as lost for what to do next as Killua is when Killua’s injuries flare up again, making him wince. Immediately, Gon moves, careful to telegraph his movements so Killua doesn’t startle, yet also confident and purposeful, warm washcloth in one hand and bandages in the other.

He leans in close, chest hovering near Killua’s head, the smell of pine and salt and sun of all things wafting off of Gon. Killua blinks, dazed, and Gon asks if he’s alright.

“Fine,” he mumbles, cheeks heating with embarrassment. It isn’t his fault that Gon smells like home and safety, but he does wish his body wouldn’t betray his distractedness so easily.

“Are you sure?” Gon asks with a hint of…is that worry Killua hears? “You look like you’re hot. Oh blast, where is my thermometer?” he blurts out, frantically searching his med kit. “Leorio always complains that fevers kill more than anything else because people don’t bother to treat them right away. What if you have a fever? What if your brain is inflamed and you’re going to die? Oh god….where is that thermometer?” he groans.

Face flaming now, Killua grasps Gon’s wrist and forces himself to stutter, “I-I…I don’t have a fever Gon.”

Gon continues to search for the thermometer, only looking down at Killua once Killua tugs at his wrist. “Gon,” Killua repeats, putting all the emphatic force he can behind his words, “I don’t have a fever.”

Gon pauses his search for the thermometer and frowns. “But what if you do?” he stubbornly insists, barely meeting Killua’s eyes.

Killua shakes his head, gritting his teeth to prevent another wince. “I don’t. My head just hurts. And my leg.”

Gon pales as he gasps. “I completely forgot to check your leg! Killua!” he wails as he rushes to take care of Killua. Again, Killua grabs him by the wrist.

“Calm down, Gon. I’m fine. I’m just…a little banged up is all. Some rest and all will be fixed. Trust me,” he adds. “I’m sturdier than I look.”

Gon stares off over Killua’s shoulder for a long moment, out the window into the blackness of night, before sighing in resignation. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll trust you. But,” he adds, eyes full of fierce determination, “the first sign of you worsening and I’m taking you to an actual doctor. Okay, Killua? Can you promise me this much?”

Killua smiles and silently vows to get better as soon as possible to avoid all contact with any doctors Gon might drag him to. “Promise,” he replies with a smirk. 

Satisfied that Killua isn’t going to keel over dead any time soon, Gon slumps in relief and quickly finishes bandaging Killua’s head, gently tucking the loose end in, fingertips featherlight brushing Killua’s forehead as he withdraws. Then Gon sinks to the stool beside the bed and rests his chin in his hand, eyes wandering over Killua’s face. Killua wonders what Gon sees. Gon opens his mouth and Killua waits for the verdict of Gon’s cataloguing. Instead, Gon surprises him and says, “So.”

Killua raises an eyebrow at him and Gon’s lips twitch in a smile. “So,” repeats Killua, his voice lilting up at the end and drawing out the last syllable into a question. Killua can think of any number of questions Gon might ask: how did you get injured, why were you in the middle of the forest, where do you come from, who are you really? But Gon asks none of these. He asks, instead, something that Killua really should have anticipated but somehow thought he would have more time to come to grips with.

“So,” Gon repeats, eyes filled with strength and determination and Killua braces himself for the worst. Whatever Gon’s question is Killua knows there’s no running from it; Gon’s look forbids evasion and Killua knows, despite only having met Gon less than an hour ago, that Gon will press for answers. “Turns out we’re soulmates. Want to talk about it?”

* * * * *

Killua freezes, ice-blue eyes blown wide open in shock and Gon can tell that this question must have been the last to cross the other’s mind. A flash of hurt darts through his heart, but he presses it aside. Gon had figured, what with Killua’s avoidance of the topic as the light had faded from their joined hands leaving them irreversibly marked, that perhaps Killua was too concerned over his physical safety to consider the topic. So Gon had done his best to set Killua at ease again, then he had panicked over Killua’s flushed face, thinking Killua had a fever (which he very well still might, despite what Killua insisted) and now, after finally dressing Killua’s head wound, Gon felt the time was right to bring it up. Apparently not, his mind supplies, heart sinking as Killua’s expression never shifts past shocked.

Sure, finding out he has a soulmate comes as a total surprise, but then, Gon wonders, when isn’t it a surprise? Incredibly rare and with very few documented cases, soulmate bonds are deemed sacred by all, a gift from the gods bestowed on a favored few. There are those, Gon knows, who view the bond as less of a gift and more as curse, but they are few and far between. Although, he morosely considers, it would be just my luck that my soulmate is one of them.  

Just as he’s about to tell Killua never mind, forget it, Killua opens his mouth to speak, a blush present on his cheeks. Cute . 

“Y-yes,” Killua stammers, “we-we should talk about it.” Killua looks down at his hands, holding his wrist, looking so uncertain and shy, nothing like that defiant warrior he had been just a few minutes ago, that Gon wants nothing more than to wrap him in a large hug. As it is, Gon waits for Killua’s eyes to meet his again. When they do, Killua’s confidence comes back full-force, eyes commanding and determined. “First, you should know,” Killua starts, “that I am not from Whale Island.”

Gon nods his head. “I know. I would have remembered seeing such a pretty man in town before.”

Killua’s face turns bright scarlet and as he sputters over the compliment, Gon holds back a smile and files away the knowledge for later: compliments make his soulmate blush. 

Regaining his composure, Killua glares at Gon before continuing. “Thank you,” he mutters, then adds, “but that’s not quite what I meant. I’m not from Whale Island but it’s…it’s more than that. I…” 

As Killua trails off, his eyes shifting down and away from Gon, hands fidgeting in his lap, Gon takes note of Killua’s apparel for the first time. Practical, non-descript and black, Gon would usually never think to look twice, except now that he is he can see all of the extra pockets, the slightly bulky look. His eyes narrow as he remembers the hidden knife that Killua whipped out from nowhere. Running his eyes critically across his soulmate’s form he notes the higher than usual collar, possibly hiding either wire or smaller knives; the simple silver detailing on the arms which glints bright in the moonlight, more likely to be needles tucked away for easy access than thread-work; the delicately wrought bracers that nonetheless look incredibly sturdy and would serve as yet another hiding place for knives; and finally Gon’s eyes land on Killua’s combat boots, durable and well-worn and most definitely military-grade. Ah. Not from around here, indeed.

“Okay,” chirps Gon in response, doing his utmost to not let his face betray his apprehension. “So where are you from then?”

Killua startles and finally glances back up at Gon. He takes in the acceptance and lets out a short, bitter-sounding laugh. “I’m sure you can guess.”

Gon forces himself to smile widely, his gaze never once wavering from Killua’s. “Humor me? I’m not a mind reader, ya know?”

Killua grimaces. “Really? You’re going to force me to say it?”

Gon’s smile softens, understanding what Killua must be feeling, but he just nods encouragingly. If he and Killua are to have any sort of amicable relationship there can not be the specter of secrets hanging over them, especially not something as large as this. If Killua truly is his enemy as his actions and appearance insinuate, then Gon needs to know, needs to discuss with Killua what it means for them and what steps they ought to take next. It will probably be the most awkward and charged conversation ever, but needs must.

Killua sighs heavily, then mutters, “If you insist.” He straightens up to his full height as best he can while in bed, fingers stilling on his bracer and says, “I’m from the Kukuroo Mountain area. The area controlled by the Zoldycks... I’m your enemy, Gon.”

Gon shrugs, not entirely sure how to best answer that response. Guess that’s that theory confirmed. But it changes nothing. Killua is still Gon’s soulmate and Gon will not give Killua up without a fight. If Killua thinks that being on opposite sides of a war will be enough to separate them, he’s in for a surprise. “I suppose you are,” he settles on and waits to see how Killua will react.

Killua gapes. “You supp…You suppose?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Gon shrugs again. “Well, logically you’re the enemy of Whale Island and the Freecs family because you live under the Zoldycks and, I’m guessing, are employed by them. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re also my soulmate.”

Killua grits his teeth so hard Gon can hear them creak and he winces in sympathetic pain. That has to hurt. “We’re on opposite sides of a war that’s been going on for decades, Gon. We have to be enemies.”

Gon scowls. “Says who? The Freecs family has been trying for years to bring about the end of the war only for all our envoys to go missing. Besides,” he waves off the protest and counter-argument already forming on Killua’s lips, “as soulmates you know, or at least I hope you do, that for either of us to attack each other would sign our own death-warrants.”

Gon watches Killua’s face shutter and wonders if perhaps he should have asked Killua what he knew about soulmates before asking what Killua wanted to do. Tentatively, Gon asks, “You do know about the—“

Killua cuts him off with a curt, “Yes.“

“And about the—“

“Yes, Gon,” bites out Killua, bristling with indignation. “Believe it or not the Zoldycks do teach about soulmate bonds and both their benefits and dangers. We’re not so different from your part of the world as you might imagine.”

“Fine,” huffs Gon, hurt that Killua would assume Gon thinks of Killua as less educated because of where he lives. “I was just checking. Not every landowner supplies the masses with information on soulmates these days since they’re so rare.”

Killua huffs back lightly, but lets his posture relax just a hair. “It’s fine,” he mumbles. “I guess I’m just used to people assuming the Zoldycks live in the dark ages still. But yes,” he continues, voice deceptively even and light, “I know about soulmates and the particular…dangers that might arise.”

Gon rolls his eyes at the avoidance of the topic, but can’t say that he blames Killua all that much. Hanahaki—the curse of flowers, a retaliation upon one who would strike a killing blow against their other half, deadly save for the forgiveness of their soulmate—was never pleasant to think about. Before he can address it with Killua, Killua moves on and Gon mentally files the topic for another day.

“It doesn’t make too much difference I suppose,” Killua states, “so long as we avoid each other on the field.”

Gon takes the olive branch for what it is and agrees. “True and we can easily come up with some sign or signal to let each other know who we are behind the armor.”

Killua hums lightly in consideration. “It would have to be something small, something no one else would take care to notice.”

Gon can tell that if he lets Killua, Killua will pursue this topic all night to distraction and they will not get anything of real consequence determined. “We can come back to it later,” he states firmly, tone brooking, he hopes, no disagreement. To his surprise Killua smiles and nods his acquiescence. 

“Sure,” says Killua with a yawn. “We can come back to it later.”

Gon suddenly remembers the time and the state he had found Killua in and curses. “You must be tired. Come, let’s get you re-settled properly in bed so that you can sleep and in the morning we can talk more.”

Killua protests he’s fine but Gon shakes his head firmly. “Your injuries say otherwise. Come, rest.”

“No, seriously, Gon, I’m fine. I rested earlier.”

“That was earlier and that wasn’t you resting, that was you passing out. No, you need your sleep and I won’t hear no for an answer.”

As Killua goes to protest yet again, Gon glares at Killua, causing the other man to quiet instantly. “I will not,” Gon growls at Killua with a fake smile plastered on his face, countenance as pleasant as possible while his tone betrays his irritation, “be known as the man who let his soulmate die within a day of meeting him because said soulmate would not rest. I will not . So into bed with you and we will talk more in the morning.”

Killua wisely says nothing further and lets Gon tuck him into bed, left hand never straying far from his bracer all the while. Once Killua is situated, Gon goes to his closet and pulls out an extra set of blankets and lays them down on the floor next to Killua’s bed. “I’ll just be down here if you need anything,” he says before blowing out the candles and sinking to the floor. 

Killua grunts once and then the cottage descends into silence. Within seconds, Gon is fast asleep, dead to the world.

Chapter Text

Killua waits until Gon’s breathing evens out, then sits up in bed, careful to hold his weight evenly so as to not make the bed creak. Once he’s fully upright, he takes stock of the room; it’s of a modest size, neither cramped nor expansive, but with its sparse furniture it feels wider than it is. Besides the bed he’s lying in there is only the nightstand with its candles and medical supplies and the closet by the door, bursting with whatever items Gon holds dear and barely closed. On the other side of the bed, past Gon’s sleeping body, lies the door, shut fast, and made of what looks to be a dense, heavy wood. Killua feels what little strength he has left sapping away just at the thought of trying to move the door and knows there will be no escape this night via the door. He turns to consider the window off to his left, the only other exit from the room, and reassesses: there will be no escape this night at all; the window is high on the wall, too high for Killua to pull himself up and through, and, moreover, too narrow. 

Repressing a sigh, Killua looks down at his wrist where silver lines glint against his alabaster skin. At least it’s small and easy to hide, he muses, turning his wrist over in the moonlight, trying to get a better view of his soul mark. A cloud passes over the moon, casting the room back into shadow, the only light coming now from his and Gon’s shared marks. When his eyes readjust to the newly darkened room, Killua’s breath hitches ever so slightly. For a moment, he fears Gon will wake, but upon hearing no change in Gon’s breathing Killua’s whole attention becomes consumed by his mark.

Delicately intertwined with curls and flourishes, Killua’s mark consists of a sun and a moon, wrapped so thoroughly up in the other that it’s nigh impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. It’s beautiful, and heartbreaking. 

Killua knows, has known his whole life, that he cannot afford any romantic attachments; his family sees love as a weakness and worse, with the war still on, as a liability. Killua cannot, despite how much his heart yearns for it, have a soulmate; he cannot, and yet he does. Visions of what might be were there no war dance across his mind—Killua and Gon picnicking and taking strolls along the beach, holding hands beneath a tree as they watch the sun set or rise, laughing at each other’s jokes as they cuddle by a fire— visions that can never be, thinks Killua furiously, eyes welling with tears. 

Angry at himself for indulging in pointless daydreams, Killua turns his attention back to the door and thoughts of escape. 

One thing is clear: he can’t stay here. If he stays here, with Gon, he’ll be tempted to stay forever, abandoning his family and his mission, abandoning the war, and his family won’t tolerate that. When they come to hunt him down, for it’s a matter of when not if, they’ll find him blissfully happy at Gon’s side, weak and vulnerable. At best, Illumi will retrieve him, then drag him back to the mansion for punishment; it’ll be brutal (he’s seen and heard stories of what the family does to traitors and knows it’s worse than how they treat their prisoners) and it’s possible his body will never fully recover, but it’s better than the alternative. Gon may be Killua’s enemy by virtue of the war, but he is, as Gon said, still his soulmate and Killua very much wants him to stay alive. 

Yes, Killua decides, glancing down at Gon’s peaceful sleeping figure, I must leave. The sooner, the better. Reevaluating the door as a viable escape option through the lens of necessity, Killua quickly comes to the conclusion that his past self was weak and a wimp. 

It’s only a door, he firmly tells himself. It’s just a matter of mechanics. If I leverage the door in just the right way I should have no trouble opening it and escaping that way.

Determined now to go forward with his escape plan, Killua gently slides the bed covers off his legs to one-side and lets his feet dangle over the side of the bed. Just as he’s about to put weight on his left foot, a hand grabs his right ankle and he yelps in alarm, arms flailing out to the side before landing with a thump on the bed as he tries to regain his balance.

Killua glares down at Gon, for who else could it be, only to find himself being glared at.

“Kill.U.A,” grits out Gon, voice no less menacing even as sleep-laden as it is. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Killua can’t help but pout; he’s caught now and he really doesn’t have a good answer. With a sigh, Gon heaves himself upright then gently gathers Killua’s legs up and tucks them back under the covers. Once that’s done, Gon fixes Killua with a stern stare, hands clasping Killua’s wrists in a gentle cage. “You are in no condition to be leaving this bed, mister. Besides, it’s night, it’s dark out. If you go outside in your current state you’ll trip over a tree root and damage yourself further. Please, Killua,” Gon yawns, hands growing heavy and slipping some so that his grip shifts from Killua’s wrists to his hands, their fingers tangling together, “please just get some rest and heal?”

Killua’s heart beats fast and strong and he’s surprised Gon can’t hear it, but he manages to stammer out, “Y-yes, alright…fine.”

Gon fixes him with another sleepy stare, then nods and sinks back to the floor, satisfied his job is done. Within moments he falls back asleep, his breathing evening out remarkably quickly. Killua, on the other hand, does not sleep well; sleep evades Killua even as he desperately grasps at it, rest only coming as dawn begins to break, his mind awhirl with thoughts, heart rate still elevated, cheeks still flushed. Damn it, he thinks just as he starts to finally drift off, I think I like him…what am I supposed to do now?

Once asleep, Killua sleeps well, but only for a few hours. He wakes to a fresh bouquet of hawthorn and yellow water lilies in a vase on the nightstand with a note which reads:

Good morning, Killua! Just wanted to let you know I popped down to the town for a few minutes to grab some food and other necessities for the house. Be back soon! -Gon P.S. Hope you like the flowers! 

Killua blushes, heat rushing to his cheeks and he fights the urge to bury his face in his hands from embarrassment. How is it that even when his soulmate isn’t present, he still manages to make Killua blush?

His cheeks are still bright cherry red when Gon walks in, only moments later, arms laden with bags of food, clothes, and more medical supplies. Gon grins when he sees Killua and chirps, “Good morning! How are you feeling this morning?” as he sets down his burden. 

Killua mumbles back, “Fine,” but he isn’t sure Gon even hears him as Gon rifles through the bag with fresh clothes. After a minute, Gon hums a “glad to hear it!” then tosses a bundle of black and blue cloth at Killua.

Killua looks down at it, perplexed, but Gon just grins in response. 

“Go on,” he urges, “see if you like them.”

Killua unfolds the bundle to reveal a black pair of leggings and a blue t-shirt. He holds them up against his body, gauging the size, and, upon discovering that they look near perfect, he looks at Gon suspiciously. “When did you take my measurements?”

Gon blushes and scratches his head sheepishly. “I didn’t? I mean, I had to carry you here from outside and it wasn’t that hard to guess…you’re kinda on the small size…”

Killua blushes furiously and looks down at the clothes to avoid eye contact with Gon. Then he clears his throat with a light cough to say, “Yes…well, thank you, I suppose.”

It’s horribly embarrassing but Killua finds himself thinking it’s worth it when Gon’s face lights up in delight. “You’re welcome! You’ll have to let me know how they fit once you try them on!”

Killua smiles softly back at Gon, and hums a response, “I will.”

“Listen,” Gon starts and Killua immediately feels the ease he had fallen into vanish, muscles tightening up in apprehension at the other’s tone, “I was wondering if we could…get to know each other more. I know we spoke briefly yesterday but… well, we didn’t get very far.”

Killua isn’t surprised Gon’s brought the topic back up again. He’d been lucky last night that Gon was willing to let their status as enemies go, more in favor of letting Killua rest, but now Killua’s fully rested and he has no pressing medical emergency to hide behind. Steeling himself for an awkward and potentially dangerous conversation, Killua meets Gon’s hopeful gaze. “What do you want to know?” he asks, tone resigned.

* * * * *

Gon smiles weakly at Killua’s question. His soulmate’s expression had shifted in a matter of seconds from open and carefree to wary and defeated, and it makes Gon’s heart hurt. He never intended to cause his soulmate grief but here he is, doing just that, by asking a simple question. Now what do I ask him? he wonders. I was going to ask what he thinks of soulmates, what he wants to do next, but given that reaction it might be too much. Hmm…guess I’ll start simple then. “Ah,” Gon says, stuttering slightly and blushing in embarrassment as a result, “I um…was just, y’know, wondering…”

Killua’s lips start to twitch upwards towards, Gon hopes, a smile so he continues. “What’s your favorite color? Or your favorite food?”

Killua blinks, mouth slightly agape. Clearly, Gon has taken him by surprise…again, a trend which Gon could easily get behind if only his soulmate wouldn’t freeze every time it happens. It takes a few seconds for the questions to sink in and then Killua’s shoulders relax, followed soon after by the rest of his body.

“My favorite color and food?” Killua asks in a tone of slight disbelief. “Really, out of all the questions you could have asked you go for color and food? How foolish are you?”

Gon feels his face heat in embarrassment and he starts to stammer out an apology, an explanation, or some odd combination of the two when Killua bursts out laughing. Gon stares, he knows he does, but he can’t help it. Killua’s laugh is full-bodied, yet delicate, a sound akin to chimes sounding in the wind. 

When Killua finishes laughing he rolls his eyes then responds to Gon’s questions. “My favorite color is blue, so thank you for getting me the shirt you did, and my favorite food…I love sweets. I don’t get them often since we’re in the middle of a war, but I love candies and cakes of all sorts, pastries filled with cream and chocolate, tarts with fresh fruit, ice creams and sorbets, anything sweet really. And you?” he asks, eyes smiling with mirth.

Gon blushes. “Green,” he mumbles before finding his voice again. “My favorite color is green because it reminds me of the forest and I’m partial to homemade food but I suppose, particularly, seafood dishes.” When he sees Killua’s curious gaze, Gon shrugs. “We live on an island, y’know? One of our main food sources here on Whale Island are the fish we manage to catch in the surrounding bays and ocean. So yeah, seafood.”

Killua nods in understanding and Gon considers his next question. Not wanting to scare Killua off again, he hesitates, mouth opening to ask only to close a second later as he second guesses himself. Killua notices his indecision and sighs. “Just go ahead and ask,” he tells Gon, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll never get anywhere if you don’t.”

Gon swallows nervously, then nods. “Okay then, Killua. Next question for you,” the question that has weighed on my mind since last night, “what do you know about soulmates?” Killua frowns and Gon starts to panic, desperate to prevent this question to turn into a rehash of the contentious conversation about Zoldyck education, so he quickly forestalls any commentary by adding, “I don’t mean to imply a lack of education! I just…want to know what you know, what you feel, what you believe, so that we’re on the same page in regards to what’s happening here…between us…”

Killua fixes Gon with a hard stare. “That’s an awful lot more than ‘what do you know about soulmates.’ Where do you want me to start?”

Heat suffuses Gon’s cheeks. Damn it all, he can’t win, can he? “What you know,” he eventually mumbles, figuring if nothing else he’ll at least get a basic understanding of where Killua’s coming from. 

Killua waits a beat then begins to answer. “Soulmates…they’re incredibly rare, like one in a thousand rare, one in a hundred thousand, one in a trillion…so rare that very few remember these days that they exist. As a result, the bond between soulmates is considered sacred, taking precedence over…” Killua pauses and takes a deep breath but meets Gon’s eyes squarely, practically daring him to comment on his next words, as he continues, “taking precedence over all other claims of relationship.”

Gon wants to break in and ask why Killua persists in claiming them to be enemies then, but knows if he does Killua will get defensive like he did the night before, so he holds off. Besides, if Gon lets Killua talk he might get the answer he craves anyway.

As if Killua knows the direction Gon’s thoughts have taken, Killua adds, “Theoretically, soulmate bonds take precedence over all other claims of relationship, but in practice this has never worked out well for the soulmates in question. Take Ilya and Caros for example, two lovers from vastly different social classes. When Caros went to ask for Ilya’s hand in marriage he was turned away on the grounds that his being her soulmate wasn’t enough; he wasn’t wealthy enough, didn’t have the same status, so he could never marry their daughter unless he proved himself. He died trying to fulfill the outrageous tasks they demanded; Ilya was forced to wed another she didn’t love and then she died shortly thereafter. And there’s others too,” Killua says, forestalling Gon’s next comment.

Gon closes his mouth with a pout and waves a hand at Killua to continue; Killua smirks at having proved his point, but to Gon it seems a bit bittersweet. Gon can’t help but wonder what kind of childhood Killua has had to grow up so cynical of the world.

“Anyways…besides that, let’s see…there’s hanahaki…which we’ve established we both know about…” Killua trails off hesitant, silently asking if Gon wants him to go on, but Gon just nods and Killua smiles in relief that he won’t have to go further into depth on the subject than that. Killua hums in thought for a moment then picks up his train of thought again. “Then there’s the soul marks, permanent marks that only appear at the first brush of skin-against-skin contact between two soulmates, which are visual reminders and signs that two people are soul bound,” here Killua cuts off again, clasping his wrist with his hand. Gon smiles. That must be where his mark is. Ah, I wish I could see it!  

Gon knows that their marks are a perfect match, the marks always are, but he can’t help but want to know what the silver moon-twined-sun looks like against Killua’s pale skin. Does it shine as brightly as it does against Gon’s skin? How far does it spread? Gon’s mark covers his whole palm and part of his lower wrist after all. Does Killua’s take up the same amount of space, spreading around his wrist like a bracelet?

Gon suddenly notices Killua’s blushing again, staring out over Gon’s shoulder in embarrassment. Abruptly, Gon realizes he’s been unabashedly staring at Killua’s wrist for several moments now. 

Ahhh! So embarrassing! Gon clears his throat with a small cough then says, “Yeah, that um…that about sums up soulmates I guess…So um…how do you…feel…about soulmates?”

Killua’s eyes laugh at Gon’s expense, but thankfully Killua himself just quirks an eyebrow before replying. “Ambivalent…I guess? Why?”

Gon shrugs, glad to get the conversation moving again. “Well, there’re some cultures out there that think of soulmates as…less of a blessing and more of a curse and act accordingly. I know we on Whale Island see them as a blessing, but I wasn’t so sure what the Zoldycks believe about them.”

Killua rolls his eyes. “We’re neighbors aren’t we?”

Gon huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “That does not mean that we believe the same things, nor does it mean we automatically have knowledge on your belief systems. Especially with how long we’ve been at war; lots of things have gotten lost to time and destruction.”

Killua nods somberly. “That’s true, I guess. I mean, I’m not sure our side even knows why the war started in the first place anymore.”

This time it’s Gon’s turn to be taken aback. He gapes, but he can’t help it, the news is so unexpected. “Wait. You don’t…no one on the Zoldycks’ side remembers why the war with the Freecs’ family was started? And you’re still fighting? Why? How? Do you know? Please tell me you know, Killua,” Gon practically begs, clasping Killua’s hands in his. 

Killua blinks and immediately Gon knows: Killua doesn’t know how the war was started. He groans, head falling on top of their joined hands for a moment before he whips it right back up again. “Killua. Do you or do you not know,” he demands, needing Killua to say it aloud.

Killua rolls his eyes, face a little flushed, and refuses to meet Gon’s eyes. “What does it matter?”

Gon shakes his head furiously. “Of course it matters! Come on, Killua! Just tell me!” he pleads, staring up into Killua’s face, silently willing him to look back at him once more. Killua stares off to the side for a few more minutes but then he glimpses at Gon and Gon sees the moment his willpower crumbles. 

“No,” he mumbles, still refusing to meet Gon’s eyes for more than a few seconds. “I don’t know.”

Gon sags in disappointment and sighs in resignation. “You don’t know. Oh my god, how do you not know.”

Killua wrenches his hands out of Gon’s, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. “No,” he repeats, this time firmly, “I don’t know. And I don’t see what the big deal is. Obviously, you do. So are you going to tell me or keep lamenting my lack of knowledge?”

Chapter Text

Killua’s beginning to feel a little annoyed at his soulmate. First, Gon asks him what he knows about soulmates, insinuating that Killua might not know as much as he does. It was cute how quickly Gon backtracked on his words, desperate to clarify and not cause offense, but now that they’ve come upon a topic Killua knows nothing about, Gon’s acting as if its the end of the world. So he crosses his arms over his chest and waits with a scowl. “So?” he asks after no response from Gon comes forth. “Are you going to tell me or not? Or is it some big secret that only the Freecs’ family knows about?”

Gon turns scarlet and scowls. “I was just shocked, y’know?” he mutters. “D’you really not know about Myst and Ellion?”

Killua wracks his brain but neither name rings a bell. Ellion sounds familiar but not familiar enough. “No,” he eventually settles on. “But let me guess. One was from the Freecs family and the other was from the Zoldyck family.”

Gon nods solemnly and Killua wonders how often he’s heard this tale, wonders if what Gon is about to tell him will change his perspective on the war yet again. “They were,” Gon states, then leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together in front of him. His head bows forward, his eyes solemn, then he lets out a breath— something halfway between a sigh and a simple exhale. “So…Myst and Ellion…” Gon starts before pausing again. Killua wants to shake him and ask him to get on with it, to stop procrastinating, but before he can Gon heaves a sigh and runs a hand restlessly through his spiky hair. “Look, I’m sure the Zoldycks have their own version of this story, but I only know the Freecs’ version.”

Killua nods, unsure of where Gon plans to take this conversation. “Yes…”

Gon purses his lips, searches Killua’s face for what seems to take an age and a half, then continues with a nod. “Right. So just bear with me, okay? If it gets a little…unflattering towards the Zoldycks?”

Killua narrows his eyes at Gon but concedes the point. It would hardly be fair to ask him to tell the tale he’s no doubt heard all his life in one way any other. “I understand, Gon. It’s war after all and we’re on opposite sides…”

The tension in Gon’s body relaxes just a fraction and Killua knows he’s said the right thing. He smiles brittlely at Gon and shrugs. “War isn’t pretty Gon, I know that.”

Gon smiles tentatively back. “Right,” he murmurs softly. “Right…okay then. The story of Myst and Ellion is one and the same as the story of how the war between the two families began.

“There have been many theories on why the war was started; some, the more practical, say it was due to economic reasons— a land dispute. Others claim the jilted lovers and revenge angle,” Killua snorts at that and Gon rolls his eyes. 

“Hey, it could happen!”

Killua shakes his head. “Yeah, but how likely is that scenario really?”

Gon pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you telling this story or am I?”

Killua waves a hand at him magnanimously. “Go on. I’m just saying it’s not that likely to have been jilted lovers.”

Grumbling, Gon continues, shooting a mild glare in Killua’s direction as he does so. “ Some, say it was a lovers quarrel,” he repeats, “while still others, intimately aware of each family’s pride, say it was due to an insult of skill or ancestry.”

“Now that’s more likely,” Killua mutters under his breath, quieting when Gon glares at him again.

“However, none of these theories are correct. Well…not fully correct that is.”

Confused, Killua interrupts again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” ‘Not fully correct’…perhaps each holds a piece of the truth, Killua muses. But why not just come out and say that then?

Gon huffs, irritation bleeding into his voice as he answers, “You would see in just a moment if you let me tell the story!”

Killua gives him the flattest, most unimpressed look he can muster and waits for Gon to cave. After a few seconds, he does. “Look, storytelling isn’t exactly my strongest trait; I’m doing my best to mimic the storytellers I remember from the square!”

“But what does ‘not fully correct’ mean?”

Gon ignores Killua, perhaps recognizing that Killua won’t give up the topic until he has a satisfactory answer. Surprising how well he can read me and I him after only knowing each other for less than a day… Killua considers, but then he realizes Gon has resumed his story and forces himself to pay attention. It wouldn’t do to miss a vital part of the story due to carelessness now would it?

“Most simply put,” Gon states, staring at Killua in determination, practically daring him to comment, “the war between the Zoldycks and the Freecs started, as most family driven wars tend to do, as a blood feud.”

“You’re joking,” Killua deadpans, but Gon continues to ignore him, jumping right into the heart of the story.

“It’s said that the Zoldycks, being one of the foremost assassin families in the land, had been hired by a neighboring family to kill the then-heir to the Freecs family estate. For some reason this family thought they could then swoop in and snatch our land, which is fairly fertile, while the Freecs family was in mourning.”

“Naturally,” mutters Killua.

“However, what the Zoldycks and their clients didn’t know is that underneath the easy-going and mild manners of the Freecs family lay a hidden strength—spines of steel honed by years of wilderness survival training on the waves and in the forests of our fair island. The Freecs family of the time, and still to this day I might add, were no pushovers, and nowhere near the easy prey the Zoldycks thought they were.”

Of that Killua had no doubt, considering their families were still at war. He could see where Gon’s story was heading though and wasn’t entirely sure he liked the implications. For a Zoldyck family member to have failed an assassination mission…it would have been the greatest shame and dishonor. If we started this stupid war due to pride I swear…no…it makes sense, almost too much sense, but…something feels off. Agh, what is it? 

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Killua nearly misses the next part of Gon’s story, tuning back in just in time to hear, “…they send their heir, Ellion, after the Freecs’ heir, Myst, and Ellion is totally shocked when Myst fights back. I don’t know why,” Gon says with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Killua pointedly, “anyone with any common sense will fight back if they’re attacked.”

Killua just gapes at Gon. “…you do realize that this wasn’t just a common street fight or a duel, Gon. We’re talking about assassination here. Where you sneak up on your victim and kill them before they’re aware you’re even there. The best assassins are known for getting in and out before anyone notices them, and if Ellion was the Zoldycks’ heir he would have been the best. The best of the best, second only to the head of the family at the time. Of course Ellion’s shocked Myst fought back!”

Gon rolls his eyes as if he doesn’t believe Killua and Killua knows Gon has no way of truly understanding how shocking the event would have been for Ellion. For Myst to not only have noticed but evaded and then fought back against Ellion… Killua’s only heard of something like this happening two or three times in their family’s past. 

“Anyways,” Gon continues, “Ellion’s so shocked that he lost focus for a split second, leaving his left side open, but that split second was all Myst needed. Myst didn’t hesitate and plunged his nearby hunting knife deep into Ellion’s side, dealing him a fatal wound, before twisting away in avoidance of Ellion’s own set of knives.”

Killua’s mind feels like it’s spinning. Not only did Myst know Ellion was there that night, not only did he fight back, but he also dealt Ellion a fatal wound? No wonder their families have been fighting for so long! That alone, no matter what Gon says next, would have started the war, Killua knows. But there has to be more to the story because Gon is still talking. Something about an accord or blood payments being exchanged to settle the blood debt.

“But that didn’t happen did it?” Killua asks, forcing himself to pay attention.

Gon shakes his head. “No, unfortunately not. See, when Myst went to twist away from Ellion…their hands…well they brushed.” Killua gasps at the implication and Gon nods solemnly. “Yeah, just the barest thing, featherlight, soft skin against hardened calluses, unremarkable in all ways save one—the silver light that burst forth revealing them as soulmates.

“Ironic isn’t it? Ellion came to kill Myst, but Myst succeeded in killing Ellion instead and in doing so sealed Myst’s own fate.”

“Hanahaki,” Killua breathes, eyes wide with horror. He tries to block out the image in his head, but the picture comes so clearly he can’t avoid it. Ellion lying on the floor, slowly bleeding to death, blood seeping into the floor, drawing closer to death with each rattling breath. Myst across from Ellion, eyes wide with shock, flowers rapidly growing in the lungs and heart, breathing growing ever more labored and painful as Ellion’s life-force fades.

Gon bows his head. “Hanahaki,” he whispers in agreement, staring at his hands. Killua wonders if he too can see the image of Ellion and Myst in his mind’s eye, if he sees the carnage and wonders will this be us, will this be our fate too?

Almost as if Gon can read his mind, Gon looks up at that very moment and shakes his head minutely. Logically, Killua knows Gon’s likely clearing his mind of the gruesome image, but he can’t help but take it as an answer to his unspoken question: No, this fate will not be ours. It can’t be.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” Gon says with a grim smile, “the scene well enough without me going into too much depth, but for thoroughness’s sake…” Killua wants desperately to stop Gon, but can’t seem to find his voice. Gon pauses, closing his eyes briefly as if to steel himself before blinking them back open, and just as Killua opens his mouth to protest, Gon continues, voice full of emotion. “Ellion lay dying on the floor, Myst lay opposite with flowers growing larger by the minute and then, as Ellion gasped his last so too did Myst, choking on petals and full flowers that tore their way up through the throat and lungs, piercing the heart with their roots. Bloody and beautiful, Myst’s bouquet was of anemone and tansy. … Their bodies were found the next morning, pale and cold and hard…the sickly sweet stench of blood mixed with petals heavy in the air…War was declared immediately, of course.”

Killua inclines his head. “Of course,” he murmurs, head awhirl. Of course war was declared after all that. Both families grieving their children? With the injured pride of his own family to be taken into consideration as well? It was bad enough before that Myst had fought back against Ellion, but to kill him? On an assassination mission? That would have severely damaged their reputation and standing in society, pouring salt into the gaping wound of loss from Ellion, their heir’s, death. 

It was a story that made all too much sense. But why then had Killua never heard of it at home? Why did the Zoldycks no longer speak of Ellion? Was the shame and dishonor felt by the family truly so terrible that they would wipe his story from the records, yet continue to wage a war against the Freecs’ family so long after the fact?

Half of Killua wants to cry out, no, there’s no way his family would ever do that, not to one of their own! The other half, the one that remembers every torturous punishment—the lashes, the poisonings, the electrocutions, the starvations and water boarding—that half whispers firmly, oh yes, they would, they would do it in a heartbeat and you know it.

Mentally exhausted and tired beyond belief from all the revelations Gon had just dumped on him, Killua looks up at his soulmate and states, tone brooking no argument, “Thank you for telling me, Gon. I’m going to go to sleep now.“

Gon’s face falls in disappointment but before he can apologize or say anything further, Killua adds, as he’s sliding down the bed frame to lie properly under the covers and shutting his eyes, “After I get up we can talk about it. And…and anything else you wanted to know. I don’t think I ever got around to fully answering your questions about soulmates after all.”

Gon beams; his whisper is the last thing Killua hears before drifting off to sleep again. “Thank you, Killua. I can’t wait. Sleep well.”

* * * * *

When Killua says, “I’m going to go to sleep now,” disappointment crashes over Gon. Sure, he knew that Killua still viewed them as enemies, at least to some extent, but he had hoped that in telling the story of Myst and Ellion maybe Killua would see how pointless the war has become. He had hoped that they could talk through things, could figure out how to get around their being on opposite sides, could find a way to coexist peacefully—together. Killua must see his disappointment writ large on his face though, because then he adds, “After I get up we can talk about it. And…and anything else you want to know,” and Gon feels his heart beat faster in joy and anticipation. Killua really is just tired! As Killua drifts off to sleep, Gon makes sure to thank him, silently berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

Of course Killua would be tired! He’s still injured after all and the story of Myst and Ellion isn’t exactly a cheerful one. Gon remembers the look on Killua’s face when Gon revealed the two were soulmates, the utter horror and dismay, and wonders what it was that Killua saw in that moment. Gon suspects it was awfully close to what he was imagining at that point—Killua in the place of Ellion, Gon in the place of Myst. Anyone would need time to process something so gruesome, especially something that hits so close to home.

So Gon lets Killua sleep, trying to curb his impatience by doing household chores. Besides, it’s only gone twelve in the afternoon so Killua shouldn’t sleep for too long right now; his stomach will no doubt wake him, begging for lunch, if nothing else. 

When Killua wakes a few hours later the two do talk, covering a wide range of topics, some heavier (like soulmates and the war again) and some lighter (hobbies, games, and beverage preferences). Gon quickly loses track of time and it isn’t until both his and Killua’s stomachs rumble that he realizes they’ve been talking for hours non-stop, the sun having set hours ago and the time for dinner long past. 

It sets a trend for the rest of the weeks to come during Killua’s recovery. Gon will wake first, go to town, shop, get an update from his father on the war and their troops, do whatever task he’s been assigned for the day, come back to the house in the woods to Killua, have breakfast together, and then spend the rest of the day chatting. Sometimes Killua will clam up, not talking for hours, just brooding, arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place, as he lies in bed healing. During these times Gon reads news articles aloud to pass the time and fill the silence; he makes a point to never hum, having finally gotten the story out of Killua. Gon knows Killua’s brooding over his injury and how he’s so far from home, but Gon can’t help but be slightly glad for it. Not that he wants Killua to be injured, but the injury is what brought Killua to Gon in the first place. The injury keeps Killua here, with Gon. With Killua’s arrival, Gon finally has something joyful to look forward to each day, whether that be teasing out a new story, sometimes literally and making Killua turn bright crimson in the process, or laughing together over stupid articles he’s found. Before Killua had arrived, things weren’t bad per se…but the pressures of being Gon Freecs, of being a major player in the war, the weight of his responsibilities, did weigh on him. And while it’s not been long since they met, around Killua Gon feels his actual age, feels like he can pause and breathe and put aside the war for once. Feels like he can live. Once Killua’s healed though…then he’ll leave and Gon isn’t sure at this point whether or not Killua will want to stay in touch or not. He may never see his soulmate again after this, so Gon makes the most of the time he’s been given and does his utmost to get Killua to open up.

It works, kind of. 

Gon starts bringing flowers back each morning from his trip down to town and back. Sometimes they’re wild flowers he sees on the side of the road. Daffodils and daisies, clover and this blue flower Gon’s pretty sure is salvia. At least, he remembers Mito mentioning it once so he’s hoping it’s salvia. Other times he buys fresh flowers from the florist, enduring gentle teasing each time he does, flowers like peonies, dwarf sunflowers, and yellow tulips. It’s there that he refreshes his memory on flower meanings, there that he asks the florist for any advice on wooing someone subtly, there that he confesses that while he hasn’t known this person long he thinks he may be in love. The florist, a kind woman named Melody, smiles and hands him a book on flower meanings, tells him he’s doing great so far, and informs him that there’s no timeline on love. Sometimes you just know.

Gon returns the smile, purchases some more flowers, and makes his way back through the woods. When he’s about ten minutes away he hears a grunt, then an exclamation of frustration. Shaking his head, he increases his pace.

There, outside their house, lies Killua in a heap on their front doorstep, just as Gon knew he would be.

Rolling his eyes, he hands Killua his newest bouquet, then hauls Killua to his feet.

“What were you thinking?” he gently chides.

Killua snarls at him, clearly frustrated. “I was thinking that it would be nice to go for a walk!” Then he slumps in defeat. “Sorry,” he grumbles, “I just want to be healed again. I miss my mobility.”

Gon tries to keep his tone light. “You’ve only been recovering for a few weeks Killua, and it was a really, really bad sprain. You’re lucky you didn’t break something, but that means it’s going to take longer to heal. Weeks, if not months.”

“I don’t have months,” Killua bites out under his breath, looking off towards the path that leads back to town. Gon’s sure he wasn’t meant to hear the comment, but now that he has he can’t help but ask Killua what he means.

“It means, Gon,” Killua says, crystal blue eyes sharp and unyielding, “that I need to get home. Or at least send a message back home. So that they know I haven’t died if nothing else. I didn’t come to Whale Island for a vacation trip you know.”

The reminder that Killua will soon have to leave, as soon as he heals, hits Gon hard, but he does his best to smile and cover up his pain. It’s not like he can force Killua to stay with him forever, to choose Gon over his family. It wouldn’t be right, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when Killua makes these kind of statements. Maybe Killua doesn’t know what affect his words have on Gon, but Gon wonders…does Killua still see him as an enemy, even after all this time? They’ve grown closer for sure, but there’s still distance between them, a hesitance on Killua’s part to ask for help, the flinches when Gon draws near to rewrap his ankle, Killua’s insistence on leaving on his own two feet without Gon’s assistance.

Gon pushes these thoughts to the side and instead helps Killua over to the bench next to the door. The bench overlooks Gon’s little vegetable and flower garden and is, not that he’ll admit it to Killua though he’s sure Killua already knows, a recent addition, something he installed for Killua while Killua was asleep those first few days. “Well,” he says, tone deliberately neutral, “if you want to write them a letter I could mail it for you.”

Killua stays silent and Gon fears for a minute he’s overstepped in some way yet again, but then Killua asks, hesitantly, “…You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Gon replies.

“…and you wouldn’t look at it before you sent it?”

Gon sighs and rolls his eyes. “No, Killua. I don’t read other people’s mail.”

Killua sniffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well you should. At least with your enemy’s mail. It might contain vital information. What kind of soldier are you?”

Gon stifles a laugh. Typical Killua, always contradicting himself. Although…that does answer that question, I suppose, Gon thinks morosely. I’m still an enemy to him… “Do you want me to read your mail then, or not?”

Killua freezes as he realizes just what exactly he’s said to Gon then groans, a blush rising out dark against his pale skin. Sinking his head into his hands he moans, “Not. Please don’t read my mail.”

This time Gon does laugh and when Killua whips his head up to glare at him he laughs all the harder. Soon Killua is also laughing and the somber mood that had settled on them dissipates like fog in the bright noon-day sun. 

Later, after lunch, Killua writes his letter, seals it, and hands it to Gon, fingers lingering on the envelope as he passes it over. “Thank you again, for mailing this for me,” he murmurs, eyes locked with Gon’s. “I know you’ll send it off safely,” and unread.  

Gon’s chest fills with emotion and it’s all he can do to say, “I will.” Then before he can second-guess himself, he flings his arms around Killua in a hug, squeezing him tightly to try and convey the depth of his emotions. “Thank you for trusting me with it,” he whispers, then he draws back, notes Killua’s widened eyes, and walks out the door down towards town.

They never speak of it, but when Gon returns with the response from Killua’s family, envelope unopened, Killua starts opening up more in their conversations, starts leaning into Gon’s personal space of his own accord, and starts to joke around more with Gon. Yes, Gon thinks happily to himself, this is how it’s supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Six weeks. Six weeks. That’s how long Killua’s been stuck in this tiny little cottage in the woods with no company other than his soulmate. Six weeks in which he’s done nothing but heal. Six weeks which he can now rank as some of the happiest in his life. Killua frowns down at his ankle. It’s healed now, he knows, which means he can leave. He should be thrilled; he should rejoice. He should take the chance to flee while he can, spare his soul mate the danger of being by Killua’s side, but he can’t. 

When Gon had taken that first letter four weeks ago, sent it to Killua’s family at his request, and returned with an unopened, untampered letter in response, Killua had finally given in to the urge he’d felt since day one of their meeting and began to trust Gon. Now, six weeks later, that trust has only grown, laying the foundations for a companionship that runs deeper than friendship. They’re not quite…an item, as Alluka would say, but Killua knows he and Gon hover nearer to that designation every moment. It should horrify him, fill him with anxiety—they’re still enemies on opposite sides of a war after all—but all Killua feels is anticipation because, to quote Gon, “we’re soulmates; why shouldn’t we belong together?” As of right now, what with the flowers Gon keeps giving him, becoming an item feels inevitable.

If he leaves now, though…what will happen? Will I ever see Gon again? he wonders and glances at the man in question where he stands, pulling weeds from the vegetable garden. Killua studies Gon’s back intently, memorizing the way his muscles tense and bunch as he digs, twists, and pulls on the offending greenery. Gon has a strong back. One Killua can depend on. One he wishes to curl up against. These past few weeks Killua’s found the desire to do so grow harder and harder to resist. Gon makes him feel safe, what with his little projects designed to help Killua around the house and his gentle care. Killua’s known care before— in the form of harsh words, punishment, and poison doses— but he’s never known it to be soft like this before. If he isn’t careful he could get used to being taken care of for once instead of harsh self-reliance. Shaking his head slightly, Killua turns his attention to the blue sky above and watches the clouds pass by, thoughts returning to Gon as he does so. 

What will happen? he asks himself again and tries to imagine it. Tries to imagine a scenario where they get a happy ending, either as friends or lovers, and draws up blank. Instead, his mind provides grisly images of them meeting on the battlefield, their weapons drawn and waiting for the other to make a move. One of them will lunge and pretend to attack the other, but the gentle, faked stab will be seen by the other as a betrayal, an actual attack, and they will retaliate in kind, landing a mortal blow. Flowers will spew forth from their mouths, soaked not only in their blood, but the blood of their fallen comrades around them.

Killua shakes his head, trying to dislodge the image but another rises up to takes its place almost immediately, and another, and another, until Gon notices Killua’s distress and calls out to him, “Killua? What’s wrong?”

Killua blinks and stares up at Gon in surprise. When did he get over here so quickly? And why is he swaying? No, Killua realizes as Gon reaches out a hand to steady him, he’s the one moving, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Killua stills at the touch, warmth suffusing his body, radiating from his shoulder outwards.

“…Just thinking. How’s the garden coming along?”

Gon gives him a sideways look and Killua knows Gon won’t rest until he gets a more complete answer. For now though, Gon just replies, “It’s doing nicely right now. The cucumbers and tomatoes are starting to pop up and the berries should follow them shortly. I may need to cut back the mint though. It’s starting to get overgrown again.”

Killua smirks. “That’s what you get for planting it so near to the other plants. I warned you when you planted it that it would soon take over the rest of the garden.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gon says, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. Anyways…what were you thinking about?”

Killua stiffens imperceptibly, but Gon must notice because his eyes narrow ever so slightly in response. “Killua,” warns Gon and Killua sighs, knowing there’s no way around this conversation now.

“I don’t suppose we could talk about it later?” he asks, trying to stress with his tone how much he would rather talk about anything else. But Gon knows him well enough now to know that if they avoid the subject now, Killua will do everything in his power to make sure it’s never brought up again until Gon forgets about it entirely. So Gon shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” Killua mutters with another sigh. There’s no way he can tell Gon what he was really thinking about. Besides being utterly embarrassing, his visions for the future would just cause the other man to worry and fret over him more. No, he can’t tell Gon, but he can deflect. And it’s not like he’ll be lying, he just won’t give Gon the whole truth. Killua represses another sigh. If he wasn’t who he was, on opposite sides of a war with his soulmate, he wouldn’t have this problem. He would be able to stay. If only… He really doesn’t want to go home, but there’s no other choice. After all, as the saying goes, “An idle assassin invites death.” He fights the urge to sigh again. Then slightly louder but not by much, he says, gesturing to his ankle, “I really ought to head home soon.”

Gon frowns but Killua continues before his soulmate can say anything. “I mean, my ankle’s healed now. I have no major lingering concussion symptoms and what few minor symptoms I do have are not enough to keep me from traveling. Besides,” he says with a bitter smile, “I’ve been lucky so far that no one has found me out here but you, but the unfortunate truth remains that I am an enemy soldier. Should anyone find out about me, well…let’s just say I fancy my chances with the concussion rather than the Freecs’ army.”

Clearly unhappy with Killua’s statements, Gon refuses to hold eye contact with him, but nods anyway—a short, terse nod. “I understand,” he says softly, staring over Killua’s shoulder, his balled hands shaking ever so slightly. A minute passes, then two, then three. Silence. Why won’t he say something? The silence cuts Killua to the core, the waiting more torturous than when he was left strung up in isolation for a week. What do you want him to say you idiot? he silently berates himself. You want this, you want to go home. Home, Killua. Where you belong. Maybe if he repeats it enough times, it’ll be even be true. Finally, after what seems an eternity, Gon unclenches his hands, takes a deep breath, and meets Killua’s gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, falters, then tries again. 

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers and Killua feels his heart clench, chest tightening as it does, and the act of breathing becomes suddenly that much harder to do, requiring Killua’s whole focus.

“I’ll…I’ll miss you too,” Killua stammers, voice choked with emotion and his eyes burning with salty heat. 

Gon’s lips quirk in a small, sad smile and he moves closer, leaning in until their foreheads gently rest against each other. “Promise me you’ll stay in touch?”

A lump forms in Killua’s throat; he can hardly breathe. Mind wholly focused on Gon and words escaping him, Killua settles for a firm nod. 

Drawing back just enough to properly see each other again, Gon lets his hands fall from Killua’s shoulders to Killua’s hands, twining their fingers together. “Do…do you think…” Gon starts, hesitant but voice strong and clear, no stutter in sight, “do you think that after the war we could maybe…be something more than just friends? Would you….want that?”

After the war. When Gon says it, instead of Killua, Killua can imagine a hopeful future. Perhaps, if I’m with Gon, it’ll turn out alright. Perhaps my worries will come to nothing. Yet he still hesitates. What if I’m wrong?

For all that his indecision lasts a split second, Gon takes Killua’s silence as answer enough and visibly wilts. Immediately, Killua makes up his mind. Giving Gon’s hands a gentle squeeze, he meets Gon’s gaze squarely and says, in a soft but firm voice, “Yes. Yes, I think I would.”

Gon’s countenance radically shifts from morose to awed and joyful. Then he flings his arms around Killua’s shoulders in a big hug. “Thank you,” he whispers before drawing back, voice choking with tears. “Thank you.” For giving us a chance.

* * * * *

While thrilled Killua’s willing to take a leap of faith with Gon, risking his military career for what will definitely be seen as fraternization with the enemy, Gon can’t help but be greedy for more, can’t help but want to plead with Killua, beg him to stay. Logically, he knows Killua must leave and as soon as possible; he’s known since first meeting Killua and discovering Killua’s status as a Zoldyck soldier after all. Additionally, Killua has family to return to and, even if the Freecs’ forces don’t come this far into the woods, Ging and Mito, heck even Kurapika, have been asking with increasing frequency what exactly draws Gon to spend so much time in the woods at his cottage when he hadn’t before. They ask things like, ‘When are we going to meet the lucky lady who’s captured our Gon’s heart?’ or ‘What sort of crazy animal are you taking care of illicitly this time?’ (Gon isn’t sure what this says about him as a person but he’s sure it isn’t anything flattering.)

So Killua leaves.

Late into the night, stealing away like a shadow, Killua leaves, all traces of his presence swept up and gone except for the silvery mark on Gon’s hand and a handwritten note he finds the next morning on the kitchen table.

As we discussed, I’m leaving now, in the middle of the night, to give me the best chance at stealing away without notice. … I know you said you want to meet up from time to time and while I’m still not convinced that it’s the best idea (or the safest) it would be… nice to see you again. So, if you are able, and nothing happens before then, let’s meet at the Valley at dusk three weeks from now. That should give both of us plenty of time to explain ourselves to our superiors and finish whatever punishment they have in store for our unsanctioned leaves. 

Love,   Yours , Sincerely,

-Killua >^._.^<

Gon laughs at the cat, knowing Killua put it there in direct reference to their conversation a week ago about how he walks quieter than most cats, grins at the prospect of meeting up again so soon, and then squints, trying his hardest to see just what exactly Killua had written out as a closing before settling on ‘sincerely.’ He fails, the words heavily crossed out to the point of nearly bleeding through the paper, but it’s no matter. Killua cared enough to write a note!

However, Gon’s happiness at the note dies a swift death as the truth of Killua’s absence sinks in. Where there was bickering back and forth the past six weeks, now there’s only silence. Where Gon once made breakfast for two, now he has to consciously remember to only fix food for himself. Once cheery and full of life, the cottage now feels desolate and oppressive, nevermind that the cottage remains the same as ever; it’s Gon who has changed now.

Gon flees to town, in hopes of finding distraction at Kurapika or Leorio’s hands. Instead, he runs straight into Ging.

“So, you’ve finally come back to live among us? Or are you just making another supply run?”

Gon flushes in embarrassment but his father just laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “It doesn’t make a lick of difference to me son, so long as you make time for your duties as Commander. Speaking of which, the Zoldycks look they’re finally about to make a move. How fast can you get your troops sorted out and ready to sail?”

Snapping to attention, Gon quickly runs some calculations based on the day prior’s trip into town to handle the day’s duties and replies, “Two hours. We should be ready to sail in two hours per yesterday’s report.”

Ging nods. “Good, good. Let your second know and then come meet me in the war room so that I can fill you in on mission parameters.” Then Ging is off, dashing down the road before Gon can ask a single question.

Sighing, Gon makes his way down to the docks to try and find Kurapika. For the first few minutes he weaves his way easily through the crowd, but then Melody spots him from inside her shop.

“Gon! We just got in a new order of flowers, fresh from the mountains. Want to come take a look?”

Shaking his head sadly, Gon goes to reply when all of a sudden he finds himself assaulted from behind, stumbling forward.

“Yo, Gon! How’re you doing, little buddy?” crows Leorio.

Gon grunts, Leorio’s full body weight pressing down on his back, and manages to grind out, “Well I was doing fine until the weight of an elephant came crashing down on me.”

Affronted squawking fills the air, but it’s a small price to pay as the weight on Gon’s back disappears. “Elephant? Elephant?!?” he cries, hand against his heart, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

Gon smirks and nods, chirping out a single “yep,” causing Leorio to narrow his eyes in mock anger. “Why I never!” he gasps dramatically and it’s not long before both of them are gasping for air with laughter.

Once they regain their breath, Leorio holds his arms out wide and says, “Come on then, it’s been ages since I saw you last, cuz. Where’s my hug?”

Gon rolls his eyes but smiles as he does, then steps forward to hug his elder cousin. As they part, Leorio ruffles Gon’s hair fondly. “I’ve missed you, Gon. So, what’s new?”

Feeling his smile falter Gon does his best to shrug and feign nonchalance. “Oh, you know. Not much,” he says, hoping his tone won’t betray him, but Leorio’s not fooled.

His eyes scan Gon’s body looking for injury first and foremost, for body language second. Unsure of what Leorio sees, Gon says nothing, but that in and of itself must tell Leorio that not all is well. Within seconds of examining him, Leorio moves, grabbing Gon firmly by the arm to drag him off towards the local pub. Gon makes token protests, saying he needs to find Kurapika to mobilize the fleet, but Leorio waves his excuses off. “That’s where I’m taking you,” he states, tone brusque. “To see Kurapika. Maybe you’ll tell him what’s wrong instead of me.”

Guilt courses through Gon’s body and he digs his heels into the ground, obstructing Leorio’s progress and eventually causing Leorio to stop, whirl around and snap, “What Gon?”

The words come slowly, but come they do and soon the whole story, minus some key details like Killua’s name and allegiance to the Zoldycks or the fact that he now had a soulmate…, comes tumbling out.

“So let me get this straight…while I was away at a conference, you managed to fall in love with a total stranger who you’re not sure you’ll ever see again?”

So maybe it’s less than the whole truth… Gon thinks to himself, but how else would I explain it? Anyone who listens to the whole thing will think I’ve gone crazy!

“Have you gone mad?” Leorio asks, proving Gon’s point loud and clear. “Do you even know this person’s name?”

“I know their first name,” Gon mumbles, avoiding Leorio’s knowing gaze. 

“Did you get their last name too, Gon?”

“…No,” Gon says with a sigh as he realizes he and Killua had never actually exchanged full names with each other. Renewed determination wells up in him. No matter what happens, Gon vows to himself then and there that he will meet with Killua three weeks from now; he must, or risk never seeing his soulmate again. “No,” Gon repeats looking back up at Leorio, “but I have a plan to find out!”

Leorio chuckles and shakes his head, no doubt thinking Gon’s a lost cause but still says, “Okay, Gon. If you need help tracking this person down, let me know. I’ll be on your side no matter what. Anything for my littlest cuz.”

Gon pouts, like Leorio expects him to, and huffs, “I am not that short!”

“I know, I know,” Leorio says, eyes full of mirth. “You’re the big-shot commander.”

“Right. About that. I actually do need to meet with Kurapika. Ging wants the fleet to move out to Kukuroo Bay within,” he checks his watch and swears under his breath, “an hour and a half. Damnit all Leorio, I need to move!”

Leorio winces, claps Gon on the arm, then says, “Follow me, Gon. I wasn’t joking around earlier when I said I’d take you to Kurapika instead. Last I saw him, he was on his lunch break just a few shops up at that cafe he likes. You know the one.”

An image of a cutesy cat-themed cafe floats across Gon’s mind. “Yeah,” he says hesitantly, “I think so.”

Leorio takes one look at Gon’s expression and must decide that no, Gon really doesn’t know which cafe it is, and sighs with a roll of his eyes. “Come on. I’ll show you.” Then he starts walking down the hill, not bothering to wait for a response and Gon finds himself trotting along after him, hoping Kurapika will indeed be where Leorio left him. Otherwise their time-frame to get the fleet in order is going to get a lot more tight, very quickly.

Chapter Text

When Killua returns home, he slinks up the backside of the mountain, doing his utmost to avoid all of Milluki’s spies. The longer he can avoid the inevitable punishment, the better. To his surprise, however, once he arrives at the house only Kalluto is there to welcome him.

“You’re late, brother,” Kalluto says, arms crossed over his chest, standing on front steps. “What took you so long?”

Scowling, Killua moves to push past him, but Kalluto bars his way with a snap of his war fan. Grumbling, Killua answers, “Got injured in enemy territory and couldn’t leave until I’d healed up enough to drag myself back.”

Kalluto frowns, eyes raking Killua’s form for any remaining tell-tales of an injury. His frown deepens when he sees the splint on Killua’s ankle. “…Did you find the intel Father requested?”

“Why are you fishing for information, Kalluto?” Killua asks, eyes narrowing at his youngest sibling. “You should know by now that I sent Father a letter weeks ago and he replied a few days later. Perhaps I should be the one asking you. What’s going on?”

Illumi materializes from the shadows to stand behind Kalluto, causing both younger brothers to wince; neither had seen or heard him coming and undoubtedly, Illumi would be reporting their failure to their parents shortly. Which means more training, Killua thinks morosely. Illumi’s lips twitch, which on anyone else would be a full-on smirk, and Killua knows that Illumi surprised them on purpose. The bastard . 

“Hello, Kill. Long time no see.”

“‘Lo, Illumi,” Killua mumbles back. Kalluto says nothing but stands still as a doll, stiff and wary, waiting to see what his older brothers will do next. 

Illumi idly pats Kalluto on the head, Kalluto’s eyes betraying his irritation, but he remains silent as Illumi addresses Killua. “To answer your question, Kill, war.” When Killua doesn’t react further than a raising of his eyebrows, Illumi drops his hand from Kalluto’s hair to cross his arms over his chest, drawing up as tall and straight as he can so that he looms menacingly over Killua. Killua represses the urge to roll his eyes at Illumi’s posturing, knowing it’s more intimidation tactic than anything else, but also not wanting to draw Illumi’s ire down on him should he be in a serious mood. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut and waits for Illumi to continue. When he does, his tone shifting from the teasing playfulness just moments prior to what Killua likes to call Illumi’s death and destruction voice, Killua knows he chose wisely. “Father left not an hour ago, mobilizing all available troops to spring a surprise, decisive attack on the Freecs’ family’s southern supply chain. Kalluto and I were ordered to remain behind to greet you should you arrive before the rest of the family returned home.”

“Ah,” Killua mutters. That would explain it. He drops his eyes for but a heartbeat and immediately feels the air shift, predatorial pressure pressing in on him from behind. Unconsciously, he straightens his spine, tension vibrating through his frame, and reaches for the hidden knives tucked under his bracers. A low chuckle comes directly from behind him and he does his best not to shudder. Fighting the instinct to flee, Killua starts to rotate his position ever so slightly around, but stops dead in his tracks when he feels a gentle poke against his neck. Across from him, Kalluto’s eyes seem to laugh at Killua’s terror and Killua feels irritation well up within him to do battle with his primal fear. Illumi.

“Why so tense Kill?” he asks, voice low and soft, breath whispering across Killua’s neck. Killua freezes, not knowing what Illumi will do next. No matter how many times they play this game of his, Killua remains unsure of what, precisely, the rules are and he’d rather not lose his head due to a rash movement—not now after so long. 

When no response comes, Illumi sighs and withdraws to the side. “You should rejoice, Killua. Father has decided to overlook your failure this time. Instead, you are to join him on the field, leading an elite attack squad into battle against the Freecs’ forces.” Then he turns to Kalluto and says, “Come, Kallu. We have our own preparations to make. We should let Killua restock before he heads out again.”

Together, his brothers walk back inside the front doors, leaving Killua alone, outside, and trembling faintly. When both have vanished from sight, Killua finally lets himself relax, tension bleeding from his body and adrenaline crashing, leaving him bone-tired. One step forward sends him to his knees, thudding into the ground as his knees buckle. 

Ah yes, he thinks as he struggles to regain his strength and stand, home, sweet home.

Once he gets back on his feet, Killua hurries up to his room to change out his dirty clothes for fresh ones that look exactly the same. In a matter of minutes he re-supplies, strapping knives back onto his body, tucking away wire and poisons, and this time, adds a pair of gloves to wear under his bracers so no one might see his soulmate mark. Around his waist and legs he buckles on his short sword and greaves respectively. Then he dashes off to the kitchens, filling a satchel with apples, cheese, bread and anything else that’s small enough to stuff inside it for the road ahead. The butlers try to slow him down, to get him to rest and eat, but Killua refuses to rest, refuses to give his father any further reasons to punish him.

Illumi’s words on the steps may have seemed like good news, what with Silva declaring he’d pardon Killua of his failure this time, but all three siblings know nothing’s ever so cut and dry with their parents. The assignment to lead an entire elite squadron into battle, while not uncommon given Silva’s predilection for giving Killua command over the troops as his heir, makes Killua nervous what with the timing. An elite attack squad…a major battle…another suicide mission most likely, Killua thinks with a sigh. Father’s outdone himself with the punishment this time. A high chance of injury if not death and the loss of life under my command…Father knows exactly where to place his punches to make them hurt the most. Killua shakes his head and makes himself focus, double checking his bags and his weapons before leaving the kitchen. Just as likely to endure further punishment, in whatever form Silva devises, on the battlefield as at home strung up to the ceiling by chains, Killua knows he has no time to spare if he wants to avoid making his punishment worse.

Hurrying down to the front gate, Killua triple checks his supplies, knowing he’ll most likely be arriving to a live battle with little chance to pick up anything extra at camp. Once he’s leaves, he’ll be on his own again. Weapons fully restocked, medical and food supplies replenished, and a fresh set of clothes on his back, Killua departs from their home, heading south to meet his father, taking to the trees for faster travel.

As he runs, jumping from tree top to tree top, Killua turns his thoughts to Gon. Hopefully, he’s nowhere near the upcoming battle. Hopefully, he’s safe in the cottage, gardening and oblivious to the danger Killua’s about to enter. Hopefully, he never finds out how much death and destruction Killua rains down on the Freecs’ army. Hopefully, hopefully…

Hopefully, I make it to our meeting spot in time, Killua thinks ruefully, slipping past sentries along the road and slitting their throats for good measure. Hopefully, I survive, he thinks as he weaves in and out on the battlefield later that evening. Hopefully… a blade narrowly misses his head by an inch and then there’s no time to think.

“Ahhh!!! It’s Thundersnow! RUN!!!” screams a Freecs’ soldier as Killua spins, cutting him down mercilessly, blood splashing hot and sticky across his face. Alight with electricity, Killua’s short sword cuts a blue pathway through the battlefield, Killua himself a black blur, only visible but for his shocking white hair and the trail of blue light left behind by his sword.

“Thundersnow? Thundersnow!” laughs Canary beside him, grin manic and eyes wild with battle-fever. “That’s a new one, my Lord. Almost as good as our title for you!”

Killua grunts, blocking a blow from overhead from an overzealous Freecs’ soldier before Canary darts in and slashes the enemy’s legs from out underneath him. The man screams and she finishes it off with a knife stab to the throat. “Thank you,” he grumbles as they continue to cut their way across the field to the Freecs’ supply wagons. “I had that but thank you. And I never asked you guys to call me anything but by my name!”

Canary cackles, rapier flashing and takes out another five men. “But it suits you so well, my Lord! Besides, what would your father, Lord Silva, say if he heard us peasants call you by your name? You wouldn’t want us to suffer undue punishment for us deigning to call you by your name rather than your title, now would you, my Lord?”

Killua growls, knowing she’s right, and focuses his attention instead on the growing number of enemies that surround them. Snarling, he switches hands, holding his short sword now in his left hand, while his right unclips his chigiriki from his belt. The chain unfurls, the spiked tip dropping to just above the ground and Killua shifts his grip ever so slightly, fingers brushing up against a small indent which in turn turns on the electric current for the weapon. Chain now sparking with vicious blue energy, Killua shouts to Canary, “Let’s give them something to really talk about then!” before he lunges, swinging the long chain out in a wide arc. Canary ducks, just as he knew she would, just in time, while their enemies collapse around them with screams of pain and terror, bodies spasming and burnt from experiencing a jolt of electricity equivalent to a bolt of lightning. Killua quickly switches off the chigiriki’s electric current and re-clips the flail to his belt, passing his sword back over to his right hand while Canary cleans up after him, quickly ending their enemies’ suffering by slitting their throats.

Silence falls on the battlefield in the wake of such a sight. If Gon were to see me now, Killua thinks to himself bitterly, he would never want to speak with me again. White hair standing straight up from all the electricity he’s been using, bright blue eyes cold and hard like frost, the blood of his enemies dripping from his sword and splattered like paint across his black armor, Killua knows he looks like a nightmare straight from a child’s fairytale. 

Silence and stillness, every soldier frozen in horror, the world holds its breath. Then the silence shatters, enemies fleeing in a frenzy, swords abandoned, armor clanking as they try to outrun the monster standing at their backs. Over the din comes the shouted order, “Retreat! RETREAT!” and Killua watches dispassionately as the Zoldyck forces surge forward to claim the battlefield. If Gon could see me now…

* * * * *

Gon looks at the carnage around him, the carnage he helped facilitate, and grimly hopes Killua never finds out his role in the Freecs’ navy. Bodies lay strewn, bloodied and broken, on the streets; buildings smoke and crumble before his eyes, crushing hapless innocents underneath them; and the smell of rust, smoke, and gunpowder clings in the air. Just a half hour ago this town was a bustling port, one of the Zoldycks’ main ports at that, full of life and energy. Now it’s a smoking wreck, rubble everywhere and more dead than Gon can count. All of this, by his order.

As if sensing the dark turn of his thoughts, Kurapika comes up behind Gon to stand by his side, hand briefly clasping his shoulder in consolation, before snapping off a salute.

“We’ve carried the wounded civilians off to the makeshift field hospital per your orders, sir, and all the remaining enemy soldiers have been secured in the square.”

“Thank you, Kurapika.”

Kurapika’s face softens slightly. “Yes, sir. Any further orders, sir?”

Gon sighs and turns to his second, the weariness he feels reflected in Kurapika’s face. “For now, keep a guard on our prisoners so as to prevent their escape, but otherwise, no. Tell the men to rest up and eat some dinner before turning in for the night. We’ll keep the standard watch rotation unless the situation changes to give the men as much rest as possible. They’re going to need it with the amount of work we have ahead of us.”

Kurapika salutes again, then turns to relay the orders to their men. As he does, he whispers, “Don’t forget to rest yourself, Commander.”

Gon grins faintly and nods before Kurapika moves off, knowing his second is right, but as he turns back to survey the wreckage he’s caused the weight of today’s bombardment crashes down onto him. I did this. Me.

In an effort to not let his thoughts spiral into a darkness he knows he’ll have a hard time climbing back out of, he faces the sea instead, watching the rise and fall of the waves beat gently against the shore. Overhead seagulls cry as they play amongst the thermals and Gon closes his eyes, focusing on the calming scent of the sea and her soothing rhythms. He breathes deeply, once, twice, then re-opens his eyes.

I hope Killua’s doing alright, that he wasn’t caught up in the bloodbath down in the Southern Fields. Or, dread courses through him but he quickly shakes it away, or here, but no, I would know already if that were the case. If he was anywhere in battle today it would have to have been the Southern Fields. Although…I suppose he had a better chance than our soldiers, what with that Thundersnow leading the Zoldyck forces.

Thundersnow. The bane of the Freecs’ army, general of the Zoldyck elite forces, a man more ghost-story than reality. Gon’s heard so many conflicting tales about the man that were anyone to ask him to identify the man on the street Gon wouldn’t be able to. Some say he’s a giant, others that he’s of middling height. Some say his voice is deep and gravelly, others that it’s sweet and youthful. Some say his eyes glow blue with the same electricity that lights up his weapons, others say they are as pitch black as his soul. The only thing anyone can agree on in regards to the man seems to be that he utilizes electricity with deadly efficiency and has brilliant white hair.

When Gon asked those under his command how they knew it was the same man, they all looked at one another and then back at Gon before bluntly answering, “Sir, if there’s more than one of them we’d be long dead by now,” which…what could he say in response to that?

Forcing himself to turn his mind to pleasanter topics, Gon imagines what Killua would say to him if he knew how much Gon worries about him. He’d probably scoff, maybe, if I’m lucky, even blush as he stammers out a reply, Gon thinks with a smile. Just a few more days, then I’ll see him again. Gon can’t wait. He’s already picked out the next three bouquets of flowers he wants to gift Killua and has an idea for a courting gift he’s been working on ever since they parted ways two and a half weeks ago. 

Still unsure of where exactly he stands with Killua in terms of their budding relationship, Gon had decided the best way to show Killua how much Gon wants their relationship to be a success was to woo him, using traditional courting gifts. The flowers are part of it, but Gon wants to give Killua more, to shower him in presents so that the other man will know how much Gon cares for him. In preparation for their meeting, Gon’s already picked up several little things to gift Killua, practical and unobtrusive, things he can hide away or claim as his own rather than gifts. Knowing the subterfuge is vitally necessary to secure Killua’s safety before the war ends, Gon has made his peace with limiting his gifts to easily hidden items, but he still wants to gift Killua one present which stakes a claim on him. So ever since they set sail two and a half weeks ago, Gon’s been designing a pair of unobtrusive gauntlets for Killua. They’ll be black of course, since that seems to be the color Killua wears most, and extra durable, able to block any blade that should come too close. Most importantly however, they’ll cover Killua’s soul mark, protecting him from prying eyes, but also have a special design on them so that, should the two of them ever cross paths in battle, Gon will easily be able to identify Killua. 

What the design will be, Gon doesn’t know. He hasn’t gotten that far yet, but knows that whatever design he goes with will need Killua’s approval first. Besides, he has plenty of time to make that decision. First, I need to get closer to Killua. And get his measurements!

The rest of the week flies by in a blur, Gon holding off three retaliatory attacks by the Zoldycks’ forces and running himself ragged as he holds war room discussions in his captain’s quarters aboard their flagship, Fortune’s Favored, late into the night. Finally, though, the end of the week comes and with it a lull in the hostilities, allowing Gon to station a fighting force to hold the town so he can in turn sail home. 

With a fair wind behind them, Fortune’s Favored makes good time, entering Whale Island’s harbor earlier than expected by a whole hour and a half. Gon makes the most of the time, quickly getting the fleet into harbor and organized before reporting to Ging.

“Good, good,” mutters Ging as he paces about their war-room at home. “You’ve done well, son, taking the port and the town as you have and managing to hold it against attacks. Take the next three days off and rest. You deserve it, and,” Ging pauses, eyes trailing over Gon’s face, “you look like you need it desperately. Did you not stop to sleep these past few nights?”

Bone-weary, Gon smiles wanly. “I grabbed a few hours here and there, but that’s about it. I couldn’t afford any more rest than that, what with the surprise attacks in the middle of the night.”

“Take four days then,” Ging says, clasping his son by his shoulder. “Rest and recover your strength. The war can run itself without you for a few days.”

“Thanks,” Gon says, stifling a yawn and then he troops out of the room, down the hallway for a nice, long, hot bath before taking a nap. Several hours later, he awakes, refreshed and with renewed purpose. Two days to get to the Valley. Two days to get back. Wait for me, Killua. I’m coming.

Chapter Text

Fog carpets the Valley floor, dense and thick, and fat drops of rain pelt Killua where he stands vigil near the entrance the day he’s to meet with Gon. He curses his lack of foresight and hopes he will not miss Gon, or Gon miss him, in this miserable weather. Shivering against the seeping cold, he wraps his travel cloak more snugly around his body, tucking either end under his arms in an attempt to keep warm, if not dry. 

Hours pass and Killua’s body goes from being wet and chilled to soaked and freezing, teeth chattering as he shifts from foot to foot, eyes blinded by the pouring rain. Eventually, someone approaches with a lamp, the light muted by the rain but still shining out warmly through the gray fog.

“Killua?” calls Gon, voice slightly out of breath.

“G-Gon,” Killua croaks out weakly. “O-over h-h-here.”

As Gon nears his form grows more defined and soon Killua can make out the worried frown crinkling Gon’s brow. “Killua!” he gasps, eyes wide with shock when he finally catches sight of Killua’s bedraggled and bent form. “Oh my gosh, you’re drenched! Why did you— ugh. Let’s go find some shelter for you and get you dried off before you die of cold.” Gon moves into Killua’s space, lifting one of Killua’s arms over his shoulder to help him walk and Killua gasps at the surge of warmth that radiates off of Gon. Groaning softly as Gon’s body heat sends pinpricks of pain through his chilled limbs, his warmth too much for Killua’s system to take right away, Killua does his best to stay upright as they make their way down the path, back towards town. It’s a battle he soon loses, his body melting into Gon’s side, sucking up all the warmth it can get, until Gon’s practically carrying him.

“Oof,” Gon grunts as Killua nuzzles into his side. “Not that I’m not glad to see you too, Killua, but what were you thinking standing out in the cold and the wet for this long?”

“Didn’t want you to miss me in the fog,” Killua mumbles, face pressed against Gon’s shoulder, mouth full of Gon’s woolen cloak. “Said I would give us a chance, didn’t I? ‘N ‘ts not like I’ve got any way to contact you t’ say, ‘Sorry, change of plans,’ or schedule ‘nother meeting…”

Killua feels Gon sigh but doesn’t pay too much attention to it, eyes growing heavier by the minute. “Gon…” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“Gon, I think…I think I may…” he doesn’t get a chance to finish, eyes slipping closed, the world fading to black. Distantly he hears Gon curse and call his name, feels him shake him slightly, but then Killua gives in to the beckoning darkness and all thoughts leave him.

The next time he wakes, he’s in a small room on the second floor of a building and Gon stands before him, arms crossed and looking out a window. When he hears Killua wake, he smiles brightly in relief before visibly changing his mind and glaring a hole in Killua’s skull.

Killua wants to laugh, but the dull throb of a headache makes him hold off for now. “Good morning,” he mumbles and Gon scoffs lightly.

“Good morning, he says,” Gon mutters under his breath. “Good morning, indeed. What the HELL were you thinking standing out in the rain for that long?” he asks, raising his voice, eyes blazing with indignation. “Were you trying to kill yourself? When I found you your body was like a block of ice Killua!” 

Killua winces, seeing underneath Gon’s righteous fury just how worried he must have been. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but refuses to hang his head in shame no matter how much he feels he ought to. “I didn’t want to miss you in the rain. I wanted…I still want to give us a chance, a fighting chance at figuring this soulmate thing out, Gon, and I knew that if I moved I might not get that chance back. Can you say you wouldn’t have done the same?”

Gon’s glare softens as Killua speaks, eventually disappearing altogether and leaving behind exhaustion. “No,” Gon rasps, sinking into a chair that had been placed next to the bed, gaze weary. “No, I can’t. But Killua…please. Please, promise you won’t do something like this again.”

“What, stand out in the rain for hours, waiting for my soulmate to show up? Waiting and not knowing if you were dead or alive or even coming at all?” Killua asks, unable to prevent the hurt and insecurity and indignation from bleeding into his voice. “I didn’t know what your answer was going to be, Gon. I didn’t know if you were alive or not, with the two major battles that occurred in the past two weeks. I didn’t know what to expect or how long to wait. Frankly, I’m shocked you showed up at all, given how long I was waiting for.”

Hurt flashes across Gon’s face and Killua winces again. “…Sorry,” he mutters before Gon can reply. “That was uncalled for.”

Shaking his head, Gon takes Killua by the hand, loosely, enough to comfort Killua but also enough that he could pull away should he wish to. “…It’s okay. I understand where you’re coming from. I’m sorry I was late.” Killua’s eyes are locked on Gon’s so he startles slightly as he feels Gon’s thumb gently glide over his knuckles. Gon hesitates briefly until Killua squeezes his hand to let him know it’s alright, then continues, visibly mulling over his next words. “…The last few days have been hard for me, and I’m sure you as well, and you’re right…you didn’t know what my answer would be, if I was alive or dead. And I…I would have done the same too. I would have stood and waited until there was no hope of you coming to me. I would have stood for weeks, months even, if there was the possibility of you being held up somewhere along the way, causing you to be late.” 

Killua’s eyes well up and hot tears start to roll down his cheeks in the face of Gon’s love. Gon smiles tentatively and somewhat sadly before gently wiping the tears from Killua’s face. Seized with emotion, Killua catches Gon’s left hand as it starts to pull away and presses a light kiss against Gon’s wrist. Gon flushes, but lets his hand fall to his lap to tangle with Killua’s again. He coughs lightly and then begins to speak again, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “Right…well…what I need you to understand, Killua, is that while I would have done the same…I can’t begin to describe to you the worry I had when I saw you there, doubled over and shaking at the entrance, leaning against that boulder for support. My heart dropped when I saw you there. I thought for sure you were mortally injured. When I realized it was just the cold and the wet I was momentarily relieved until you curled up next to me. You were….Killua, I thought…I thought I was going to lose you to the cold…to the wet… You were like ice and I wasn’t sure I could ever get you warm enough again. Then you passed out on me and I thought…I thought the worst. I thought I had lost you. Before we even had had a chance to begin, I thought I had lost you and Killua…I know we’ve only known each other for a short while…that we’re just starting on our journey together, but Killua. I…I can’t lose you. My heart nearly stopped when you collapsed. I can’t, truly can’t lose you. …I’m not sure I’ll survive.”

Now Gon’s the one crying, tears silently running down his face while Killua watches, heart aching like it never has before. Unsure how best to offer comfort and reassurance, Killua simply lets Gon cry, tightening his grip on Gon’s hand and gently running his thumb over Gon’s hand like Gon had done only moments ago for him. Gon laughs, a wet, self-deprecating sound, and shakes his head as he wipes his eyes furiously with his other hand. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it. That I’m this shaken over someone I barely know. Who in any other circumstance would be considered my enemy.”

Killua’s heart skips a beat and he tenses, ice running straight through his veins. Does Gon consider him an enemy still? But then Gon launches himself forward and throws his arms around Killua in a big hug. “It’s ridiculous, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve never been an enemy, Killua, and I know you never will. I don’t care that we’re on opposite sides of this godforsaken war. You’re my soulmate and that’s all that matters to me.”

* * * * *

Underneath him, Gon feels Killua gradually relax, sinking into the embrace until he too clings to Gon tightly. Eventually, Gon pulls away, sinking back onto his heels, eyes searching Killua’s face for any indication of Killua’s current emotions. He blushes when he sees Killua smile softly at him, the first real smile his soulmate has deigned to give him. Unsure of what to say next, Gon looks away, surveying the room for inspiration when his gaze lands on his abandoned cloak by the door.

“Ah!” he murmurs and jumps up to grab it. As he searches the pockets, he returns to Killua’s bedside, explaining, “I picked up a few small things for you on my way here and I completely forgot about them until just now. Hold on a minute and I should be able to find them.”

With all of his attention now focused on finding the gifts, Gon finds himself surprised when Killua reaches out and grabs his wrist. “Hm?” he asks, perplexed.

“It’s okay, Gon. You don’t need to. It was gift enough to see you and for you to rescue me. Again.”

Gon starts to shake his head, but Killua cuts him off before he can speak. “Seriously, Gon. I don’t have anything for you. Well, not anymore that is. I had flowers for you but they got drowned in the rain. Besides, like I said, you’ve already given me gift enough by showing up and taking care of me, nursing me back to health. Honestly,” he adds with a roll of his eyes, “we really must stop meeting this way.”

That startles a laugh out of Gon. “Killua!” he cries in mock exasperation. Then he resumes his search, saying, “It’s fine, I already got them for you so you should have them! Besides, my flowers got drowned too so we’re even there,” but Killua pulls the cloak out of his hands and stuffs it behind his back, stubbornly glaring Gon down when Gon pouts at him.

“Gon. It’s fine,” Killua reiterates. “Just let me have this moment with you, okay? That’s enough for me.”

“But I wanted to give you presents,” Gon mumbles under his breath petulantly.

A blush so fierce and red suffuses Killua’s face, turning even his ears red. Spluttering, he replies, “W-well so did I! But I didn’t expect you to actually get me anything! Besides maybe flowers!” His voice drops in volume and Gon has to strain to catch his next words. “How was I to know you’d bring presents,” he sulks.

Gon can’t help but smirk at that until he remembers Killua’s holding not only his current presents hostage but also the designs for the gauntlets. Panic at Killua finding the sketches before Gon’s ready to show them to him seizes Gon’s body and he lunges, desperate to grab the cloak from behind Killua’s back. Killua startles, with a grumbled “Hey!” but manages to hold the cloak just out of reach of Gon. Gon flails for a few minutes, still struggling to reach over Killua’s body and just as he grabs a corner of the cloak he abruptly realizes the position they’ve managed to get into. Blushing furiously, he scrambles backwards, forgetting for a second that Killua still has a hold of the other end of the cloak. 

“Gon!” Killua cries in exasperation as Gon tries to stand upright. Then the cloak flips and the pocket containing the gauntlet designs upends its contents into Killua’s lap. Immediately, Gon freezes, barely even registering Killua’s concerned voice asking, “Gon, are you alright? Gon?”

He must look utterly terrified or hesitate too long before answering because within seconds Killua’s tracked Gon’s gaze to the papers in his lap and identified them as the source of Gon’s worry. Slowly, ever so slowly, Killua starts to unfold the design schematics and Gon holds his breath, nerves causing his hands to tremble. Killua pauses, searches Gon’s face for…what he’s not sure, but whatever he sees there causes him to put the papers back down and ask, “Gon. Are these intelligence files?”

“What? No! Of course not, why would you think…” he trails off as he sees Killua raise an eyebrow at him. “Ah,” he says, scratching his head sheepishly. “Yeah, no. These aren’t those.”

“But they are very obviously something you don’t want me to see,” Killua responds, voice dry and inscrutable.

It feels like he’s been backed into a corner. Does he tell Killua and ruin the surprise or does he risk Killua misunderstanding his reluctance to show him the papers? When he thinks about it, it isn’t really a choice at all. Sighing, Gon picks Killua’s hands up in his own and wraps them around the schematics. “You can open them. They’re for you after all.” Under his breath he adds in a mutter, “Guess I’ll be getting those measurements sooner than I thought after all.”

Killua blinks then slowly unfolds the papers fully, eyes searching Gon’s face the whole time. When he has them open Gon nods his head towards them and says, “Go on. Tell me what you think.”

When Killua figures out exactly what he’s looking at, that the gauntlets are for him, he gasps. At least, Gon hopes that’s why he’s gasping and not because his soulmate thinks the gauntlets are ugly or he’s mocking Gon. Nervous, Gon twists his hands in his lap, waiting for Killua’s verdict, but after a minute or two of silence he can’t help but ask, “So? What do you think?”

Voice soft and full of wonder, Killua murmurs, “They’re wonderful.” Then he drags his attention away from the designs in front of him and locks gazes with Gon. “I love them.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Gon says, and it’s like a weight’s been taken off his shoulders. “Can you help me with the design? I have a few ideas I was tossing around as an identifier but since it’s for you I wanted you to have final say. And I’ll need your measurements too. That is…if you want them?”

“…Are you serious right now?” Killua demands, voice incredulous and Gon blushes furiously in shame. Of course Killua doesn’t want them. Why would he? He can probably commission gauntlets from the Zoldycks’ armorer that would be better quality. Gon starts to say, “Ah, nevermind then—“ but is cut off by Killua, who cries, “Of course I want them, you idiot!” and all of a sudden Gon finds his arms full of Killua, his soulmate hugging the life out of him. 

“Killua. Can’t. Breath,” he gasps and Killua loosens his hold, but only enough so that Gon can catch his breath.

“You wonderful, idiotic man,” he hears Killua murmur and then his soulmate pulls out of the hug to flick him on the forehead.

“Oww,” Gon whines, making sure to keep his tone playful as he pretends Killua’s done him great harm. To his delight, Killua plays along and although he rolls his eyes at Gon before doing so, Killua presses a featherlight kiss to Gon’s forehead to “make it better.”

Heart full of emotion, Gon blurts out the question he has had on his mind ever since meeting Killua, despite it being way too soon to ask. “After the war, will you…” he hesitates but Killua pokes him none too gently and motions him to get on with it so he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and clasps Killua’s hands in his own. Then, he starts over, eyes locked on Killua’s. “After the war, will you marry me?“

Shaking with adrenaline, Gon cannot believe he just asked that question. It’s too soon. He’ll hate me. He’ll definitely say no. Why did I ask? Why did I ask now of all times? When he’s just agreed to try a relationship with me? When we’re still on opposite sides of the war? Why, oh why, oh why did I ask? 

From Killua there’s nothing but silence so Gon opens his mouth to say, “The gauntlets…they were meant to be a final courting present you see. But they don’t have to be if you don’t want them to! They can just be regular presents if you don’t want to, to marry me. I know we hardly know one another, and I know this meeting was just to see if we could be something more, but I think we can and ever since I saw you I knew—“

Gon’s spiraling thoughts and nervous rambling are brought to a screeching halt as Killua surges forward, pressing his lips against Gon’s. Shell-shocked, Gon freezes, body still as a statue, his mind taking a moment to process that yes, Killua did just kiss him. Then the reality kicks in and his thoughts run a mile a minute, heart pounding heavily in his chest. Just as Gon’s mind finally catches up to Killua’s action, Killua starts to pull away. No! he wants to cry. Where are you going? Come back! So Gon wraps his arms around Killua’s back, gently caging the other man in against his body, and presses into Killua’s kiss firmly, reciprocating Killua’s fervor with his own.

When they draw back for breath, they are both panting, Killua’s eyes glassy and dazed. Mine are probably no better, Gon thinks as he gasps for air, lips tingling and warm, his cheeks twin spots of heat. A fierce joy wells up in Gon’s heart, manifesting itself as a warmth that suffuses his entire body, from head to toe; if he had a mirror, he’s sure he would catch sight of himself grinning like a loon.

Abruptly, or at least abruptly to Gon, Killua starts to withdraw again. Unwilling to let his soulmate leave his arms so easily, Gon tightens his grip in the hopes that the added pressure of his hands on Killua’s lower back will dissuade him from leaving him. It works, but a little too well. Killua relaxes against Gon, letting his full weight rest against Gon’s chest as he lies sprawled over him. Gon wants to say, “oof,” and joke about Killua’s weight, but doesn’t want the conversation they need to have get sidetracked or pushed to the side, so he settles for a huff of exasperation instead. He feels Killua smirk against his neck in response and rolls his eyes. Imp .

Opening his mouth to ask if Killua’s kiss counts as an agreement to his impromptu proposal, Gon finds himself again taken by surprise by his lovely soulmate. Killua moves before he can get a word out, quick as a viper, pointer finger pressed lightly against Gon’s lips, hushing him.

“Yes,” he murmurs, eyes watching Gon’s expression closely. “I would like that very much. To marry you. To be your husband. To have and to hold you forever and ever. After the war.”

The war. Reality comes crashing back in with a cold, heavy sledgehammer and Gon deflates at the reminder. So does Killua who also winces at his own words.

Shifting Killua off his body just enough so that Killua can sit upright in the bed, Gon considers what to say. Again, before he can say anything, Killua speaks.

Chapter Text

Gon’s proposal, as sudden and surprising as it is, comes as a relief to Killua. Heart pounding heavily in his chest, Killua stares at Gon in a daze as a weight he hadn’t even known was present lifts from his shoulders. It’s as if the world realigns itself, clicking into place, and Killua knows deep in his bones, this is right. So without thinking of the possible ramifications or how little he knows Gon, Killua surges forward, pressing his lips against Gon’s, cutting his rambling soulmate off. 

At first there’s no response, Gon’s body still as a statue, and then, just as Killua is about to pull away and see if he’s broken his soulmate, Gon’s lips move against his, responding with a warmth and fervor that Killua feels down to his bones. His mind and heart purr in satisfaction as he sprawls against his soulmate’s chest until he realizes he never gave Gon a proper answer. So he pulls back to tell him so, but manages to completely bungle it. 

After the war. Damn it all, Killua curses himself. Why did I have to go and mention the stupid, bloody war? We were having a pleasant time, a nice moment just the two of us and I had to go and ruin it by mentioning the stupid war. 

Gon shifts Killua off his body and panic seizes Killua’s heart. He’s never wanted something to go right so badly in his life, so before Gon can take back his proposal, Killua speaks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pushing as much contrition into his voice as he can manage. “I didn’t mean to put a damper on things. I just…we can’t…not until it’s over…what if…what if I have to face off against you on the battlefield?”

Gon’s eyes take on a determined glint and he takes Killua’s hands in his own, pressing a gentle, but firm kiss against the back of them. “After the war,” Gon vows solemnly. Then he smiles and presses a chaste kiss against Killua’s forehead. “After the war is over, Killua, we can take our time. We can tell your family and mine, have a small ceremony, and then travel the world and help out those in need we find along the way if that’s what you want to do. Or stay at home and live quiet lives. Whatever you want, Killua, as long as I can have you as my husband, I’ll be happy.” Then he smiles sadly, looks down at his hands, and murmurs softly, “After the war. Do you think….no, never mind.”

Killua’s heart clenches as he hears what Gon’s left unsaid. Do you think the war will ever end? Do you think we’ll live that long? They’re questions Killua has asked himself before, but now they’re imbued with new worries.

“I don’t know,” he replies softly, “but I have to hope so.”

They spend the rest of the day wrapped up in each other, trading stories of their childhood back and forth. Killua’s careful to not mention his family’s surname, despite Gon first hinting then outright asking what it is. Killua subtly changes the subject, focusing on stories of his siblings and their antics, before finally shutting Gon up with a kiss.

“You’ll find out when we get married,” he breathes against Gon’s lips and while he can feel Gon pout, he knows that the subject’s been dropped for the time being when Gon gently kisses him back with a sigh.

As night falls, they talk late into the night about when they should next meet and how to set up a system to let the other know if they’ve been called away or will be late, so that neither ends up bed-bound like Killua again. The best they can come up with is to meet the day after a major battle because they’ll be less likely to be sent back out again and to send up a flare if they don’t think they’ll make it. 

“It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do I suppose,” Killua says with a sigh.

“We’ll make it work,” Gon replies, leaning his forehead to rest against Killua’s. “We have to.”

It takes a few tries and near disasters between the two of them (Gon nearly sets his sails on fire because he has to set the flare off on his ship, Killua nearly gets caught by Kalluto and has to explain to a worried-sick Gon why he was so late when he never set off a flare) but they make it work. 

Each time they meet Killua falls a little more in love with Gon and soon he’s designing a courting present of his own for Gon. It’s a coat of chainmail made out of the finest steel, attached to a gorget on which Killua has painstakingly engraved a K with a set of flowers creeping up it’s side to remind Gon of him each time he looks at it. When it’s finally ready, two months later, and Killua hands it over to Gon, he hopes for a gasp of admiration or a crushing hug for the hours of labor he’d put into it if nothing else. Instead, Gon laughs when he sees it and Killua’s feels his face fall.

“You don’t like it,” he says flatly, trying desperately not to cry. 

At his tone, Gon looks up from the armor and immediately his laughter dies and he frowns. “What? No, I love it.”

Killua looks away, hands clenched by his sides. “It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Gon gently places the mail and gorget back down on the rock they’re standing by and picks up Killua’s hands instead, cradling them in his own as if they were made of glass. 

“Killua,” he says, voice gentle and kind. “Love. Look at me. I love it.”

Killua looks and his conviction that Gon hates his present starts to slip at the earnestness he sees in Gon’s eyes. “…Why did you laugh then?”

Gon shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Do you remember what you said when I asked you what design I should choose for your gauntlets?”

“I told you to surprise me,” Killua says slowly, unsure where this line of questioning leads.

“You told me to surprise you,” Gon agrees, eyes twinkling with mirth. Then he pulls out the gauntlets for Killua to unwrap. “Guess what I decided to put on them.”

Curious, Killua unfolds the gauntlets and there, on the inside of the wrist aligned with Killua’s soul mark, is a G engraved to match Killua’s K. His eyes fill with tears of happiness even as he chokes out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my gosh,” he breathes, voice full of mirth. “We really are soulmates.” 

Gon’s lips quirk up at the edges as he says, “Now you know why I laughed!” and soon the two are laughing again together, both in happiness and wonder that they should have had the same idea for their engraving designs.

Heart full of love for his soulmate, Killua vows silently to himself, then and there, that no matter what, within the year he would see the war come to an end. Silva and Illumi have been pushing for Killua to take a more active part in the war now for years and Killua has held off this long only because he doesn’t feel they ought to be fighting the stupid war in the first place. He protested even more at his involvement once he found out about Gon and then how the war really started. Now, though, as he looks into the loving gaze of his fiancé, Killua decides to do what he should have done months ago. 

“I’ll do it,” he tells his father later that night after he returns from his date with Gon. “I’ll assassinate the one our forces call Meteotsunami, the Freecs family’s foremost general. Then the war will end. Right?”

Silva’s blue-violet eyes narrow at Killua, but Killua holds his ground. “You’ve always said that if their general was out of the way, it would be a matter of days to finish this war. So I’ll do it. I’ll kill their general. And then we’ll end the war.”

“Why now, Killua?” Silva asks, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes boring a hole into Killua’s very soul, trying to work out why his son, so reluctant prior to this, has suddenly agreed to commit to the one act he had so vehemently protested against before. 

Killua meets his gaze evenly and tries not to shake or cave under the pressure his father exudes. “Because,” he eventually says, voice miraculously not quavering, “I am sick of war. I want it to end and I want it to end now, before I wake up one day with little time left to live and realize my whole life has been tied to the battlefield. I want to live, Father, not just exist. And if I have to end this war myself, if I have to assassinate the enemy general myself to bring about the end to this war, I will.”

Silence as heavy as a boulder settles on them, crushing in its weight.

“Very well then,” Silva says, clasping a hand on Killua’s shoulder. “Let’s end this war once and for all then. With a Zoldyck victory. If you should need anything for your preparations, do not hesitate to ask.”

Killua bows, arm crossed over his chest. “Yes, Father,” he replies as Silva walks away. “I will not fail you.”

* * * * *

As far as days go, Gon’s starts out quiet enough as it has all week—both a blessing and a curse. The last major battle was a week ago and thus, as a result, so was his last meeting with Killua. On one hand, Gon enjoys the quiet; on the other it means further delay in seeing his fiancé again. Worse, Gon knows the quiet is just the calm before the storm. The Zoldycks have been almost too quiet recently, as if they’re gearing up for some major attack. The only conundrum is where? Both Ging and Gon have spent hours pouring over their spies’ reports but neither can make heads nor tails of what their enemy’s next move might be. There’s been no escalation of training or forging of weapons, no major movement of troops or increase in supply demands, and yet, the Zoldycks are quiet, barely responding to the few skirmishes Ging had sent their troops out for. It’s almost as if they’re waiting for something to occur.

Trying not to worry about it too hard and pushing his lingering unease away, Gon heads down to the docks after yet another meeting with his father, to determine what maintenance needs to be done on the ships and speak with his sailors. If the Zoldycks are gearing up for a major battle it won’t do to have their own troops unprepared. While there, he speaks with Kurapika about further training for the fleet and what preparations they can make so that if a surprise attack comes they can immediately deploy their ships. It’s a long morning, but a productive one.

Just as he’s wrapping up, ready to grab lunch, Kurapika calls out to him; Gon suppresses a groan and replies mildly, “Yes, Kurapika?”

Kurapika grins at him, the bastard, and Gon hopes whatever this is about he’ll make it quick. To his surprise, Kurapika says, “Hey, Commander. You know how you were so upset by what the men were calling you?”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes, mildly glad that Kurapika’s not asking him for more administrative details, but still irritated at the delay, stomach growling at him angrily. “The Fisherman wasn’t it?”

Kurapika laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah. Well, guess what. Our enemies have a nickname for you too!”

“Oh?” Gon asks nonchalantly, trying not to let his curiosity get the better of him, but probably failing miserably if the smirk Kurapika gives him is anything to go by.

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll like theirs better than ours once you hear it. They were calling you—oof!” Kurapika’s cut off by Leorio draping over his back and hanging off his shoulders, leaning heavily on him with his whole weight if Gon guesses rightly.

Eyes twinkling, Leorio ignores Kurapika’s struggling and curses beneath him and interjects, “They were calling you Meteotsunami! Isn’t it cool?”

“What?” Gon asks, bewildered. “Why?” Of all the preposterous names…

Finally divesting himself of Leorio with a glare, Kurapika turns his attention back to Gon with a shrug. “Why do our troops call the Zoldycks’ general Thundersnow? Because they saw something when they faced off against you that reminded them of one, I’m guessing.”

Gon rolls the word around in his mouth, meteotsunami, but can’t see how anyone would be reminded of one when facing off against him in battle.

While Gon struggles to wrap his mind around the image his brain has conjured for him at the title, Leorio shakes his head in exasperation.

“Gon. Dearest cousin. When you descend on the battlefield, jumping from the height of Fortune’s Favored’s deck down to the ground, raining arrows down from on high before landing and cutting a path through our enemies, you look larger than life. I’m not surprised they compare you to a meteotsunami, especially with the billowing sails behind you on a windy day. You look like a huge wave descending from the heavens.”

Leorio’s words strike a chord in Gon, resonating long after he’s left the docks behind. They chime incessantly in his mind later that afternoon when he’s leading his fleet into battle and cutting down his enemies mid-scream, the Zoldycks finally having made a move. It’s probably not THE move, the battle is too small a scale, the town too insignificant for it to have been the reason for their silence, but it is significant enough to require Gon’s attendance as Commander of the Freecs’ fleet. 

The battle drags on all afternoon into evening, the last light of day fading long before the battle ends, and Gon wonders as he sees body after body piled before him, whether or not this battle can truly be considered a victory. The Zoldycks had lost, true, but they had lost far fewer men than Gon had today. Good men, men he knew well and will mourn for quite some time, men with families he will have to break the news to. Face blackened by gunpowder and streaked with grime and mud from the battlefield, Kurapika approaches him, eyes simmering with rage at the loss of life, body half-wired with adrenaline still and half-slumping into exhaustion. Gon’s sure he himself looks no better.

“Commander,” Kurapika says, voice clipped and devoid of emotion, saluting Gon sharply. “All bodies have been moved, all missing sailors accounted for. Your orders, sir?”

“How many, Kurapika?” Gon asks, voice quiet as he stares out over the battlefield, waves lapping at Fortune’s Favored’s hull with a gentle slap-slapping noise.

Kurapika’s breathing hitches, but when he speaks his voice remains even. “Too many sir.”

Gon waits for the number and eventually Kurapika tells him, voice barely there. “Two hundred, sir.”

“…And on our enemy’s side?”

“Around fifty. Maybe more, but not over one hundred, that’s for damn sure.”

Gon hangs his head, leaning over the gunwhale, his hands clenched against it. “…Damn it,” he curses under his breath, eyes burning, heart aching in the worst way. “Damn this whole misbegotten, godforsaken, pox-riddled, ghastly, folly-bound, plague of a war to hell.”

“Yessir,” Kurapika whispers. “I fully agree, sir.” He pauses a moment, then asks again, voice louder. “Your orders, sir?”

Gon straightens to his fullest height, sets his grief aside, and then turns around to face his second. “Secure the town, Lieutenant. I will not have us lose the ground we’ve gained at such great cost today.”

“Yessir.”

“After that, we sail for home. We have many to break the news to.”

“Yessir.”

“And Kurapika,” Gon adds as the images of row after row of shrouds invade his mind, just as the other man starts to move out, “make sure our fleet makes time to eat and rest. The last thing we want to do is add to the causalities on the basis of neglect.”

“…yessir.”

When Gon finally makes it home two days later, it is again night. Bone-tired and weary from the battle, the sail home, the breaking of the bad news to each family, the after-battle maintenance on the ships, and the long walk up the hill to his home, Gon wants nothing more than to collapse in bed straight away, but he knows he can’t. He’s still covered in dirt, grime, gunpowder and blood—most of it his enemy’s not his own. He needs a bath. Desperately. Even if drawing a bath is the last thing he wants to do right now, yet another task standing between him and sleep.

Nevertheless, he trudges up the stairs of the house to the second floor, dragging his feet along until he gets to his bedroom, and begins to undress. A flash of silver darts in his peripheral vision and trusting his instincts, he dodges. A knife goes flying past him, thudding into the wall behind him with a vicious snick !, and Gon flies back around, guard up, catching his assailant’s follow-up blow before it lands, hand clamping down firmly on the man’s wrist.

“Who are you?” he growls, voice low and gravelly from overuse.

The assassin doesn’t answer, just adjusts his grip and presses forward, knife descending just a little lower. Glowing blue eyes, cold and hard as ice, full of steel and fury, stare down at him, never giving an inch. The man’s eyes are just about the only defining feature of the assassin Gon can see, the rest of him shrouded in the darkness of the room, his body blending into the shadows with the black clothing he wears.

They struggle together, equally matched, neither giving any ground to the other. Gon maintains his hold on the assassin’s wrists even as the assassin writhes, trying to escape, then the assassin presses forward, using his body weight as leverage against Gon, hoping it’ll become too much, but Gon stands firm, even as his back starts to bow under the weight.

“Why?” he grinds out, teeth gritted from the strain of holding the assassin’s weight.

The assassin says nothing and only the narrowing of his eyes indicates he’d even heard the question.

As if the world still around them, Gon’s focus narrows down to his assailant’s eyes—still hard and unforgiving, merciless—and he knows that had they two the strength they would likely stay locked in their struggle for an eternity.

Then the clouds shift and a beam of moonlight streams in through the window behind the assassin, glinting off his forearm. Shock courses through Gon’s system and the earth tilts beneath Gon’s feet. His grip on his assassin’s wrists falter momentarily and though it’s but for a split second, it’s all the opening the other man needs. The wickedly sharp blade comes plunging down towards Gon, force pushing against him relentlessly. Weakened by the shock, his knees give out from underneath him, sending him crashing into the floor with a thud, the assassin looming large over him, knife aiming for his neck. Then the light shifts again, illuminating Gon’s gorget. Mid-stab, the assassin abruptly turns his wrist aside, causing the knife to skid, screeching across Gon’s armor as wide sapphire blue eyes stare at Gon in shock. The knife bounces, no longer controlled with skill by the hand that wields it, and lodges deep within Gon’s side, tip finding a weak spot in the mail under his arm. He groans as the tip digs deep and he can’t help but double over in pain. 

The assassin stands dumbfounded, terror writ large across his face, mouth contorting in a silent scream of disbelief, as he looks down at the scene he himself orchestrated.

Pain growing more intense by the minute and breathing becoming increasingly labored, Gon gasps out a single word. 

“Kil…lu…a?”

Chapter Text

Two days. That’s what Killua has to work with according to both Illumi and Kalluto who pull their most devoted and dauntless soldiers for the trap.

“Two days at most,” Kalluto stresses. “The soldiers have all been trained on how to drag out the battle for as long as possible, but the location we chose is still only a two days sail away from Whale Island. It’ll be tight time-wise.“

“I’ve done tighter,” Killua clips out in response, pulling on his gauntlets and then his combat boots. 

“Yes,” Illumi drawls from where he leans against Killua’s bedroom’s doorframe. “But nothing with such high a set of stakes as this.”

Killua glances up at that, reading in his brothers’ postures their worry for him and bites his lip to keep from commenting. He finishes lacing up his boots and stands, grabbing his pack from beside him as he does. “I know,” he says, eyes locked with Illumi’s. “I won’t fail.” Not this time.

“No,” Illumi murmurs. “You won’t.”

Killua hears the statement for what it is: a declaration of truth rather than confidence in Killua’s abilities. Failure isn’t an option here; failure equals death in this equation and all three of them know it. Killua will not fail. He can’t.

He slips away later that afternoon, taking a much more direct route than the last time he left to infiltrate Whale Island. He knows the terrain this time and besides, it’s not as if he plans on sticking around long enough to be recognized. He still takes precautions of course, he isn’t stupid, but he prioritizes speed which means he arrives just as night starts to fall on the second day. He waits in the shadows of the ship he arrives on until dusk falls more fully and he has more shadows on the street to blend in with, then weaves his way through the throng of mourning civilians to the other side of town. Each guttural sob, each weeping child sends a lance of pain shooting through his heart. I ordered this, he thinks bitterly as he passes family after bereaved family. Me, not my father or brothers. All this death for a diversion… What does it say about me that even Illumi and Kalluto hesitated before agreeing to my plan? That the only time Father has ever deigned to give me his approval comes on the heels of such a cold, pragmatic, ruthless decision which led to so much life lost?

He shakes his head firmly and glances around, looking to see if his target is anywhere in sight. He can agonize over his lack of morality later. Right now he has a job to do. According to Kalluto’s timeline estimates, Meteotsunami should have arrived in just before Killua, so he should be somewhere in this chaos. Just as Killua’s about to take to the roofs in order to better scout the area, he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. There, in full armor stands the man he’s been sent to kill. Or so Killua assumes, as no one really knows too much about this Meteotsunami character. All Killua has to work off is the armor description and the company the man keeps, but the liuyedao with the rapier hilt hanging by his side serves as Killua’s best clue to the man’s identity. Only two people in the Freecs’ army carry a sword with a hilt like that and Meteotsunami is one of them. So Killua trails the guy, keeping well away and sticking to the shadows until the man eventually turns down the road that leads out of town, and starts to make his way up the hill to the house Killua had cased last time. Knowing where his target lives, Killua bides his time and lets some distance build up between them. Then after a few minutes, he follows, hiking up the long hill until he reaches the top, then sinks into the grass to better hide his presence. Just because Meteotsunami hasn’t clocked Killua yet does not mean he won’t if he’s too close; better to be safe than sorry.

Sneaking across the yard in much the same way as the first time he had approached this house, Killua times his crossing with the movements of the clouds and shifting shadows, only this time he creeps along on his belly, low to the ground instead of dancing across the grass. Once he draws near to the house he hides in another set of bushes—these ones flowering and, if Killua recalls his botany correctly, rhododendrons—until the house quiets and darkens. Remembering the last time he was here, Killua marks which window was the loud drunk’s and makes sure to stay clear of that side as he starts to scale the brick wall. The last thing he needs tonight is another badly sprained ankle. Hand over hand he drags himself up the wall, fingers finding rough handholds in the mortar that holds the building together until finally he arrives under a window on the second floor. He double and triple checks to make sure the window he’s chosen this time doesn’t belong to the drunk, listening very carefully for any sign of life, before he determines there’s either no one in the room yet or they’re sound asleep. Levering himself up parallel to the window he peers in, but the room is completely dark. Nothing moves, so Killua carefully shifts his weight to one hand and reaches for his lock-picking set with the other. Once the simple lock on the window’s taken care of, Killua replaces his kit and gingerly lifts the window open, hoping it won’t creak on him. 

It doesn’t, so Killua pushes the window open the rest of the way and slips into the dark bedroom. Immediately, he’s hit with a waft of dirt, sweat and a saltiness he’s learned to associate with Gon and the sea. He frowns, because why the hell would Gon be anywhere near the Freecs’ HQ, but he pushes the idea aside quickly. It’s probably just what any sailor smells like after a two-day stint on a ship and a battle, which is exactly the situation Meteotsunami’s returning from. Any similarities in scent are just that—common smells of a sailor returning from war.

From the hallway comes the sound of footsteps nearing the room so Killua quickly covers the window with its drapes to hide the fact that it’s open and then tucks himself behind them. Within moments the door creaks open and the figure of Meteotsunami drags himself into the room with a weary sigh. He closes the door, rubs a hand across his face and disarms himself, laying his sword down on the bed, before turning to disrobe.

Killua gauges the man’s physical condition—tired, probably weary to the bone from the battle—and weighs the pros and cons of biding his time or attacking now. As his target’s shoulders start to tense, almost as if he can sense he’s being watched, Killua makes a split second decision to attack now rather than wait—if he attacks now at least he has the element of surprise, but if he waits, with such a perceptive man like Meteotsunami, there’s a greater risk that he’ll be discovered and detained. So he silently reaches for his hip and withdraws one of his throwing knives. Then he inhales, drawing back his arm, and with his exhale lets the knife fly through the air, bright silver against the darkness of the room.

Alerted by some sixth sense or catching the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye, Killua’s target dodges and the knife goes flying past him, wedging itself firmly into the wall, quivering with the force Killua had thrown it with. Before it lands, Killua’s moving, rushing forward with his new, specially made, twisted blade in hand. The weapons’ smith he visited before leaving for this trip had seemed almost gleeful to have Killua test his new creation, saying with an awed reverence, as he looked up at Killua from a low bow, “I’ve named it jadgkommando, in honor of the elite troops you lead. If my Lord finds it acceptable, perhaps I could make more for your unit?” Killua had thanked the man and told him he would pass the message along to his father; if it serves him well today, he might even actually agree to commission more of the knives. 

Killua lunges, sweeping his knife down towards his target’s neck with precision but the man turns around just in the nick of time to prevent the blow from landing, catching Killua’s wrist in a vice-like grip. 

“Who are you?” Meteotsunami growls, voice low and gravelly but also vaguely familiar.

Killua tries to place the voice, but can’t and so dismisses it, mind more preoccupied with landing his blow and the creeping deja vu sensation he’s experiencing. Killua adjusts his grip on his knife and presses forward, putting a little more weight behind his arms, but the knife doesn’t move more than an inch. He glares at his target as he tries to figure out why the situation seems so familiar and work out how to kill the little pest when it hits him. Myst and Ellion’s story! Of how a Freecs managed to resist an attack by a Zoldyck assassin. And then killed him, Killua remembers abruptly, mood darkening from mild irritation at the delay to anger. Well, this is one time I will not let history repeat itself, he vows, even if it seems to want to! I will not be the one to die! Not today! I have to live; I have the world ahead of me to see with my soulmate! 

Energy renewed at the thought of his future with Gon, Killua increases his attempts to break free of Meteotsunami’s grip and when that fails, he leans further into his target’s space, forcing the other man to support Killua’s body weight if he doesn’t want to be crushed.

“Why?” Meteotsunami asks, voice short and tense, but Killua sees no reason to answer the man. Soon he will be dead, the war will be over, and Killua will be able to live with his soulmate freely.

Then the clouds shift and everything changes in a matter of seconds. Moonlight lands on Killua’s arm, illuminating the engraved G on his gauntlets, and Killua hears his target inhale sharply even as he feels the man’s grip on his wrists weaken ever so slightly. Killua twists his wrists free and plunges his knife down towards Meteotsunami’s neck, the man’s knees giving out on him as he does so and for a split second Killua feels the vicious joy of victory. Then the light shifts again and his world unravels. 

There, on his target’s armored neck is an engraved K.

Gon.

Killua’s grip on his wickedly sharp, spiraled, and deadly knife loosens ever so slightly in shock and he abruptly twists his wrist away, hoping to avoid connecting with Gon’s armor, but the damage is done. The knife skids across the gorget, Killua’s control of it gone the moment his grip loosened, and bounces into Gon’s chainmail, the tip lodging deep in Gon’s flesh after finding a chink between the links under Gon’s arm.

What have I done? You stupid, foolish idiot! Why oh why did I not listen when my senses told me his smell, his voice were all too familiar? What have I done? What have I done? 

Gon doubles over in pain, his groan lancing Killua’s heart and lodging deep, then pulling with a sharp tug. Hanahaki. Horror at having attacked his soulmate quickly turns to terror. Not Gon, please no, not Gon. Not his soulmate. Please, please, please. I didn’t know it was him. Please, not Gon, he begs. Then quietly, come the afterthought, no less desperate but mildly resigned, I don’t want to die…

The sharp tug turns into a blossom of pure pain, running from his heart into his lungs and Killua fatalistically wonders what kind of flowers his betrayal will lead to as his breathing grows more constricted, timed to match Gon’s. 

“Kil…lu…a?” 

Heart screaming in pain, Killua turns to his soulmate and opens his mouth to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to explain, but instead of words pouring forth, he finds himself doubling over in pain and retching as a flower pushes its way up his throat, thorns of some sort tearing up its sides. He doesn’t have a chance to see which flower it is before another one follows on its heels, writing out a message for his soulmate in gory flower glory, blood trickling from his lips and staining the petals as each cough delivers another furled blossom. 

When the constriction on his lungs and heart ease just slightly, Killua knows he’s been granted respite, no matter how small, and he weakly straightens himself, standing tall and takes in the damage. 

Geranium, purple hyacinth, aloe, and a single crimson rose so dark it might as well be black are the first flowers he clocks. Then the red carnations and salvia, both blue and red. His heart, written out large for Gon to decipher; his soul laid bare. All covered in bloody mucus from tearing up his throat, all scattered over Gon’s slumped form.

Tears stream down Killua’s face as he sees Gon gently pick up each bloom, as if each are a treasure, and all of a sudden it becomes more than he can bear. Unconsciously, he takes a step backwards, then another and another, until his back is right up against the wall, next to the open window. I can’t stay here. I….can’t. He’s dying and it’s my fault and he should hate me right now but he’s just sitting there picking up my bloody petals even as he’s bleeding out and….I can’t stay here .

* * * * *

“Kil…lu…a? W-where…are you….g-going?” Gon asks, but by the time he’s finished gasping his words Killua’s already gone, vanished into the night.

Groaning, he tries to lever himself into a more upright position, tries to push himself up off the ground so that he can move, but as he does the knife digs deeper into his side, the twisted blade snagging on his flesh and pressing the metal chinks of the mail into the wound. His nerves feel like they’re on fire, the pain so great it rips a scream out of his throat, and he collapses back to the floor, chest heaving for breath. Hot and sticky blood drips slowly from the wound onto the floorboards, a puddle of dark crimson pooling beneath him where he lies. Footsteps thunder down the hall, heavy and panicked, and suddenly his father and aunt are there, eyes wild with terror as they assess the situation.

“Call Leorio,” Ging snaps to Mito and when she doesn’t move right away he adds, harshly, “Now!” As if startled from a daze, Mito jumps to comply, dashing from the room and down the stairs to the phone in the kitchen.

“What happened?” barks out Ging, knuckles white and hands clenched by his sides, wanting to reach out but afraid to move Gon and further injure him.

“Assa…sin,” Gon coughs out between gasped breaths. “Acci…dent,” he adds because it was. Killua would never try to kill him. Never. He must not have known his target was Gon. Or he was given incorrect information. Yes, that must be it. It has to be. He’s my soulmate. He’s agreed to marry me. We’re going to live together after the war.  

Of course, a sly voice adds, that was before he knew who you were. That you are a Freecs. One of the main family at that. You are his enemy. 

No, Gon forcefully banishes the idea from his mind as soon as he’s thought of it, no, no, no. Killua would never. The look of shock on his face was evidence enough that he had had no idea that Gon was his target. Though it does raise the question of what exactly Killua’s role in the Zoldycks’ army is and  how much his soulmate has been keeping from him. But that’s a conversation for later, once he recovers and tracks Killua down. Ging’s penetrating stare draws Gon back to the present. “Got me…in the….side.”

“Show me,” Ging orders and it takes all of Gon’s energy to shift his arm from where it’s fallen over the wound up in the air to reveal the knife. Ging inhales sharply and Gon represses a sigh. Guess that confirms how bad a wound it is. He holds his arm in the air for but a moment longer and then has to let his arm drop back down, energy spent.

Ging opens his mouth to ask another question, but the reappearance of Mito in the doorway stops him. 

“Leorio’s on his way. He’ll be here in a few minutes,” she says, breathless from running up and down the stairs, her hands trembling. 

“Good,” Ging mutters before starting to pace. “That’s good.” Then he pauses by the open window and abruptly turns back to Gon, voice sharp and tight as he asks, “Which was it Gon, assassin or accident?”

Gon smiles weakly but when he doesn’t answer Ging curses, eyes quickly scanning the room. Finding nothing other than what he’s already seen so far, he closes the window, making sure to latch it tight, then returns to his pacing.

Hearing the question, Mito gasps, hand flying to her mouth in shock and eyes welling with tears. She surges forward to embrace Gon, needing to have that physical confirmation that he’s alive, but Ging clotheslines her before she can reach him. 

“Wait,” he hisses, staring down her murderous glare. “We can’t move him until Leorio gets here. We might make it worse.”

Thankfully, Leorio arrives a minute later, bursting into the room with his doctor’s briefcase, Kurapika hot on his heels, his arms full of bandages and other equipment.

“Move,” Leorio barks out to Mito who’s blocking the way and she darts quickly to the side as Leorio drops to the ground in front of Gon.

“Location of wound?” Leorio asks, directing his question to Ging as he scans Gon’s body.

“Under the arm, left side. The knife’s still lodged in him.”

Leorio gently lifts Gon’s arm and curses when he sees the knife. “Fucking Zoldycks and their fucking, cursed, twisted, new fangled knives,” he growls and Gon wants to laugh but knows the pain isn’t worth it. Besides, he barely has enough energy to keep his eyes open much longer. I should probably warn Leorio…

“L-Leorio?” Gon whispers, eyes growing heavier by the second. “I’m not…sure…how much….longer…” he trails off, energy waning quickly and each word punctuated with a new wave of pain.

“Stay with me, Gon,” Leorio demands. “I’m not losing you yet, cousin. You’re far too young to die. Stay with me.”

“I’ll…try…”

Leorio curses under his breath again. “Kurapika, wood,” he barks, hand outstretched, eyes never straying from Gon. Seconds later his hand has a dark block of wood placed on and then he’s placing the block between Gon’s teeth. “Bite,” he orders and then motions for Kurapika to get into position.

Gon would wonder what they were doing except he already knows and he fights to stay awake for this next part so he doesn’t accidentally bite his tongue instead of the wood.

Kurapika braces Gon by his shoulders, holding him firmly in place as Leorio grabs the hilt of the knife. “On three,” he says and then slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Leorio twists the knife out of Gon’s body one inch at a time.

Black spots dance across Gon’s vision as he clenches his teeth down hard on the wood, an unleashed scream building in the back of his throat, and Kurapika curse softly as Gon writhes underneath him.

“Hold him steady!” Leorio barks. “Or it’ll tear him up more. Steady, I said!”

Gon thrashes and Kurapika grunts with effort as he works to pin Gon’s arms behind his back, then, finally, the knife comes free and Gon’s body immediately goes limp with exhaustion and blood loss, the blood now flowing freely from his side. After that, he can’t remember much besides the pain and the dizziness, vision spotty and body going cold.

Eventually, sometime between Leorio shouting and Ging panicking, he loses consciousness and when he wakes he discovers he’s been moved, the bed underneath him familiar but not his own at home. If he were to guess, he’s pretty sure they’ve relocated to their summer villa in the center of town which is more defensible than the little cottage up on the hill. The room he’s in lacks windows, something he’s sure his father had a hand in, but despite the lack of natural light the room manages to exude a sense of coziness rather than oppressiveness, what with the cream color scheme and lamps. 

As Gon struggles to pull himself upright in bed he lets out a hiss of pain, the bandages wrapping his side pulling on the tender, healing skin. 

“Ah, I see you’ve decided to join us, cousin,” comes the dry, flat tones of Leorio’s voice from above him and Gon startles, cursing up a storm as pain jolts through his body at the unexpected movement.

“Steady there,” Leorio cautions, helping Gon to sit up and adjusting the pillows behind him. “We don’t want you to pull any stitches. Not after we just barely managed to save you in time.”

Gon grimaces and lets himself sink into the cushions behind him, as if they’d hide him from Leorio’s disapproval. “Sorry about that,” he mutters, but it’s the wrong thing to say. Leorio’s mouth immediately shifts from mildly amused and joking to a thunderous scowl.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? Gon, you nearly died! What the hell happened, cousin?”

Gon opens his mouth to reply when a horrifying thought strikes him and he rapidly pales. “Leorio, what day is it?”

Leorio’s eyes narrow at him in suspicion. “…why?”

“What day is it?” Gon repeats, eyes wide and darting back and forth wildly. “How long has it been since I was attacked?”

“…two. Gon, what—“ Leorio breaks off his question as Gon tries to heave himself out of bed, arms straining and shaking with the effort. “What the hell? Where do you think you’re going?” he demands, as he pushes Gon gently but forcefully back into bed. “You’ve just barely recovered!”

“I have to find him.”

“Him? Who, the assassin? Ging’s already taking care of that, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, what would you do if you did find him? Keel over from exhaustion and let him finish the job he started?”

Killua. Panic seizes Gon and he turns even paler than before. Again he tries to lift himself out of the bed only to be stopped, again, by Leorio. “Let me go! I have to find him! Please, Leorio! He’s out there and he’s dying and I don’t want him to die! I have to find him!”

“Okay! Okay,” Leorio repeats, much softer, gentling his voice to soothe Gon. It’s a technique he’s used many times in the past and usually it works, but right now Gon doesn’t want to let it work, goddamnit. He wants to find Killua. He wants his soulmate to be safe! 

“Leorio! Let. Me. Go!”

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I have to go after him. He’s my soulmate!” Gon wails, slumping forward against Leorio’s shoulder which cages him in on the bed, tears of frustration and worry rolling down his face. “He’s my soulmate….”

Leorio blinks then calls out towards the door, “Kurapika? Get Ging and Mito! Now!” Then turning back to Gon, he says gravely. “Kid, you’ve got some explaining to do. Now what’s all this about a soulmate?”

Chapter Text

Darkness obscures his way, the moon retreating behind its clouds once more, but Killua presses onwards, across the field from Gon’s house towards the forest, towards the path he heard Gon describe so many days in a row each time he left the cottage to head for town. Unforgiving as his pace is, Killua still has to stop every so often to disgorge yet another flower. Luckily, they’re not full blooms yet and he’s still around to cough them up at all instead of lying dead in a ditch, which means Gon still lives. 

Thank God he’s still alive, thinks Killua as he drags himself off the path yet again to cough up another flower, this time purple and red columbine. Drawing a shaking hand across his mouth, he wipes away blood and spittle from his lips and does his best to breathe shallowly, each inhale strengthening the roots that curl around his lungs and heart, tendrils slowly reaching out and digging deeper into the tissue. Thank God Gon’s still alive because that’s about the only thing salvageable from this situation.  

Earlier this night Killua had expected his world would change in a heartbeat—specifically the dying heartbeat of his enemy—for the better. The war would end, he’d be declared a hero, and he would be able to go off with Gon to travel the world, live together, marry, do whatever it is they decided they wanted to do—whether that was relax, take over a small country, or do good deeds to all they passed by on the road. And change it had, just not for the better.

Instead of the war ending, the war is still very much alive and well, perhaps even more so than a few hours prior, the Freecs’ family now having ample cause to annihilate the Zoldycks should they wish to do so. Instead of a hero, Killua’s now the main villain and a coward to boot since he ran away, leaving his task unfinished. Oh, but how could he have finished? How could he, once he knew who Gon was, let the knife sink into his flesh at a vital point, a sure kill? How could he turn his hand against his soulmate?

And that’s probably the worst change of all. Before this evening, Killua had dreams of him and Gon living peacefully together after the war. Now, he’s not sure either of them will live to see the morning. 

What have I done?

Mind stuck on the image of Gon kneeling in pain before him, gasping for breath, Killua’s feet go on autopilot and bring him to the doorstep of Gon’s cottage. The sight of the door snaps Killua out of his waking nightmare and he falls to his knees, gravel biting into his skin through the fabric. 

“Gon…”

He can’t stay here. Not only is he too close to Gon’s house on the hill and likely to be found within hours, but the memories between him and Gon loom large in his mind, threatening to drown him. But where else can I go? he wonders bitterly. He can’t return home, having failed his mission, nor can he summon the will to leave without first finding out how Gon’s faring. He can’t stay in town, not with his lack of money, but neither can he risk staying outside in his tenuous condition. A spasm rocks his frame and he coughs up a marigold, its bright golden hue spattered with blood contrasting sharply with the dark gray of the path. At this rate it won’t matter where I stay, he thinks wryly as he pushes himself to his feet and stumbles into the cottage, letting the door swing closed behind him and leaning against it heavily once it latches. I’ll be dead before anyone finds me.

A week passes, then another. Killua settles into a routine after three days figuring his presence has gone unnoticed for long enough that roaming might be safe. Each morning he wakes coughing, body making up for the time lost while he sleeps, buds and blooms dripping from his lips onto the floor. Once he regains enough energy to exit the bed he sweeps up the flowers, saving one bloom for his growing collection in the living room, and disposes the rest, usually burying them behind the house if he has strength enough or tossing them in the trash when he doesn’t. Then he documents the date and type of flower he’d coughed up in a journal, which he’d found left in one of Gon’s cupboards, before adding the saved bloom to the ever-increasing bouquet. When he finds Gon’s book on flower meanings he starts adding the meaning of each flower next to the date. Some days it makes him laugh at the irony, but most days it just reinforces how stupid Killua’s been and makes his heart ache even more. On those days, everything feels heavier, his body more sluggish and he frequently finds his face wet with tears. He struggles on, in an effort to move and be active but, well…it’s hard.

After he finishes with the flowers, he eats breakfast, forces himself to push through at least his basic stretches if not his full conditioning regime, and then retires to the garden to sit and think. He lets his mind wander as he sits surrounded by trees and flowers not stained with blood, always landing on the same topic eventually, at which point he stands and returns inside to write out yet another apology letter which he will later discard, shred to pieces or burn. 

And the rest of the time he waits. Waits for someone to find him and arrest him. Waits for Gon’s condition to worsen and send Killua spiraling as well. When it becomes clear that Gon’s safe and healing if not whole, Killua spends all afternoon sobbing with relief, sobbing so hard he collapses with exhaustion and can barely move the next morning. Then he waits to die.

Hanahaki has no cure after all. Just because a soulmate recovers from their injury dealt by their other half does not mean the one who attacked their partner is exempt from their punishment. Killua attacked Gon, his soulmate who should have been placed as sacred and above all else. He knows he deserves to die; he knows he will die. He just doesn’t know when.

Honestly, I thought I would have less time, he finds himself musing as he cleans the house one day, pausing here and there to run to the trash can before he produces another flower. I mean, as soon as I realized it was Gon, I thought that was it it. So why…Nevermind, it’s not worth worrying over. Gon’s safe. That’s all that matters.

Two days later he finds himself unable to rise from bed, the pain too great to move. Ah, he thinks grimly, it’s begun in earnest.

The flowers he coughs up that morning are so covered in blood that he can’t tell what they are until he gingerly wipes them clean with shaking, too pale hands, all strength sapped. Sweet pea. 

Well then. Nothing more to be said or done now. I just wish…I just wish I could see him one more time. Tears roll down Killua’s cheeks as lies reclined in bed, the same bed that Gon had nursed him back to heath in, chest stuttering with each breath, all the various flower roots fighting for dominance. Gon. I…love you….dearest. Please, forgive….me.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the front door slams open and Killua hears his beloved’s voice ask, “Killua? Are you here? Please tell me you’re still here. We’re running out of time.”

“In…here…love,” he croaks out in a voice no louder than a whisper, throat both parched from having decreased his water intake as well as sticky with blood, his throat one bleeding and scratched mess at this point, hoping against all hopes that this isn’t yet another hallucination come to taunt and torture him with visions of things he can never have. 

It’s not, but that almost makes it worse. In strides Gon, arms cradled around an elegantly carved silver pitcher, eyes burning with purpose. As soon as he enters the room his eyes roam for Killua and, upon finding him, Gon falters, missing a step, nearly dropping the pitcher he so carefully holds. His grip on the pitcher tightens, knuckles turning white, and his face blanches but he pauses only for a moment before crossing the remainder of the room to come next to the bed.

“Hi….Gon,” rattles Killua, a weak smile on his face. “I’ve….missed…you.”

Sorrow flies across Gon’s face so quickly Killua thinks he might have imagined it, were it not for his next words. “I’ve, I’ve missed you too, Killua,” Gon replies, voice choked with emotion.

Before Killua can speak further, can beg perhaps for forgiveness or Gon to put him out of his misery, Gon thrusts the silver pitcher into Killua’s face.

“Here. You need to drink from this.”

Killua blinks, once then twice. Well, that’s one way to speed up the process I suppose. 

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken aloud until Gon’s face contorts into a grimace. “No, Killua. It’s, it’s not like that. Please, Killua. Just drink. It’ll heal you, I promise.”

Killua’s skepticism must show on his face because Gon lets out a frustrated growl and rapidly begins to explain. “There is only one cure for hanahaki ever documented, Killua. One. This is it. I could go into the history of it all and I will, but not right now. Later. When you’re recovered and not dying in front of me. Please, Killua. Drink from the pitcher. We’re running out of time. You’re running out of time and Killua, I told you once before, but…I’m not sure I can live without you. The grief alone will kill me. So please, if not for yourself, drink for me?”

That’s a low blow and unnecessary, if there’s a chance at life of course Killua will grasp at it, but Killua nods his acquiescence anyways and the stark relief on Gon’s face makes him wonder how long his soulmate spent searching for this “cure.”

Gon helps Killua to sit up in bed, sitting behind him for support, and gently cradles Killua’s head so that he can tip the water into his mouth. It’s an awkward position but after a few tries they get the right angle and Killua begins to drink.

The water is cool and sweet at first taste, relieving his poor throat and washing away most of the blood. The second sip tastes no less sweeter but the water grows colder, almost as cold as ice, and Killua can feel it rush through his veins numbing his body. Internally, he starts to panic, but then gives in to his fate. If Gon’s cure turns out to kill instead of heal at least he’ll go out cradled in the arms of his beloved. He brings his lips to the pitcher’s spout and partakes of a third sip, this one tasting of flowers, a sword cutting through his insides, attacking all in its way. Biting back a curse he drinks a fourth time. This time the water feels like a raging fire, so cold it’s cycled back around to hot, as it sweeps through his lungs, the spiderweb of roots shriveling as the water fills up his veins, lungs tearing anew as the flowers fight for their survival. His fifth and sixth draughts are no less painful but by his seventh he feels the last of the root bundle ground into dust and swept away by the water. The seed lodged in his heart is last to disappear, taking another five pulls from the pitcher, but eventually it too dislodges and vanishes. Gon insists on Killua drinking more after it’s gone, just to be on the safe side, but when Killua drinks the next few times, the water returns to being just that—water. Delicious, cool, refreshing water, but just water.

When he pulls his lips away from the pitcher for the last time he barely has a moment to breathe properly, for the first time in a month, before the breath is being squeezed out of him, Gon tackling him in a hug. 

“Oof,” Killua wheezes. “Careful there, Gon. I just got my breath back.”

“You’re alive!” Gon wails. “I was so worried I wasn’t going to come back in time, Killua! We searched the woods for you so many times and no one could find you and then I had to go get the pitcher and couldn’t help look for you so I wasn’t even sure that I would find you in time even if I got the pitcher in the first place and then when I walked in. My God, Killua, the living room. And then you were so pale, so thin, so weak, and your breath was rattling and, and Killua!” he breaks off with a sob, clinging all the tighter to Killua’s shoulders. “That was the absolute worst thing I have ever heard in my life!”

Killua blinks, unsure of what he should do in order to offer up comfort, before settling on awkwardly patting Gon on the back. “But you did make it in time, Gon,” he eventually murmurs softly. “You rescued me. Even when by rights you should have seen me dead for what I did to you.”

Gon pulls back abruptly from Killua and pins him with the most withering glare he’s ever seen on Gon’s face. “You had no idea it was me. I saw the shock and dismay on your face before you vanished, which by the way, super uncool to leave me like that.”

Killua flushes and begins to stutter out an explanation but Gon places his finger against Killua’s lips, hushing him instantly, his expression softening.

“Killua. I know you didn’t mean it and that it was an accident. I don’t love you any less. The cure wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t. I don’t blame you for what happened either. You were sent to kill a high-ranking commanding officer on the opposite side of the war. You had no idea it was me.”

“But it was my choice that led me there, Gon,” Killua rasps, eyes fixed firmly on his hands in his lap, unable to face Gon’s understanding eyes. “I was the one who asked my father to send me. I asked to kill the one we call Meteotsunami so that the war would end once and for all, to strike a decisive blow against the Freecs’ forces. I asked for this, Gon. It’s all my fault.”

“…To end the war though, right? That was your reason,” Gon asks, tone giving nothing away.

Against his better judgement, Killua looks up, but instead of anger or betrayal, all he sees, still, is overwhelming understanding and love radiating from Gon. “…Why don’t you hate me?” he asks in a small voice.

Gon huffs and rolls his eyes like the answer’s obvious. “I would say because you’re my soulmate, but it’s mostly because you didn’t do anything wrong. Killua, you wanted to strike a decisive blow to end the war. The war which has been dragged out for generations and killed countless of both our factions. How could I hate you for that? Besides,” Gon adds, taking Killua’s hands in his, “with the war over, we could finally be together.”

Tears stream down Killua’s face, but he barely notices, eyes locked on Gon’s. “Yes,” he whispers. “With the war over, we could finally be free.”

Gon smiles and presses a gentle kiss to Killua’s forehead. “Well then, there you go, sweetheart. I could never hate you for that.”

Overwhelmed by the love and forgiveness Gon’s showering down on him, Killua flings his arms around Gon’s neck in a desperate hug and sobs freely into his shoulder. If left to their own devices, no doubt they would have sat in each other’s embrace all day, slowly and thoroughly reacquainting themselves with the other’s presence. Unfortunately, though in keeping with their luck, this was not to be the case, their reverie interrupted by a loud banging on the door. Hearing the noise, Gon frowns and moves to exit the bed, untangling himself from Killua carefully so as to not exacerbate any lingering pain he might have. He doesn’t make it halfway across the room before they hear: Slam! 

“Gon? I know you’re in here, cousin! How long are you going to make the family wait?”

* * * * *

Gon hears Leorio ask about his soulmate and panics. Why did I have to open my stupid, fat mouth? Killua’s in danger now because of me!

Leorio watches Gon pale dramatically and raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well?”

“Do I have to tell you?” Gon whispers, eyes wide with fear. 

Leorio sighs and goes to answer but before he gets his words out the door behind him flies open. In strides Ging and Mito, Kurapika closing the door behind the three of them once more.

“What is all this about a soulmate, Gon?” Ging demands, hands braced against the foot of the bed. “All Kurapika would say is that you want to go after him.”

Gon’s eyes fill with tears and he turns a pleading look on Leorio. Leorio sighs again, but shakes his head. If it had just been him in the room, maybe, but now with Ging and Mito here, Gon’ll need to come clean.

Gon slumps and then begins to weave his tale, starting from when he first met Killua. He covers how they accidentally found out they were soulmates, how they met in secret and courted over the course of a little over two months, how they promised to marry each other after the war. Tears stream down his face as he pauses to take a deep breath before starting to explain the attack on his life but Ging stops him with a “halt” motion of his hand.

“Hold up. This is all fine and good, but why did you guys decide you had to wait until the war was over to marry? Why did you have to hide your connection at all? What aren’t you telling us?”

Leorio stays silent and for that Gon mentally makes a note to thank him in the near future. His cousin has had it the worst, besides Gon, these past few days; his eyes have deep and dark indentations from lack of sleep underneath them, his hair is limp and greasy, his clothes wrinkled and stained. Still, Leorio manages to present a strong front and stands by Gon’s side, waiting for Gon to tell Mito and Ging what he’s already figured out if the sad and resigned look in his eyes is anything to go by. Yep, definitely going to owe him big time, Gon thinks before he wipes his tears off his face, takes another deep breath and squares his shoulders.

“So….please keep in mind that neither of us gave each other our last names to each other during this whole process…”

Ging’s eyes narrow but he waves his hand dismissively. “Go on.”

Gon represses the urge to roll his eyes and continues. “Right, well…you know how I got attacked the other day.”

Ging frowns and asks, “Yes,  but what does that have to do with anything?” while Mito gasps, both hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock. Ging makes the connection a second later and, predictably, blows a fuse. “The assassin?! Are you fucking serious Gon? The assassin that nearly killed you, that wounded you so badly it took two days for you to wake up, that’s your soulmate?!”

Gon scowls. “He. He is my soulmate and he has a name, so use it,” he huffs, arms crossing over his stomach. He and his father stare at each other, one full of defiance and determination, the other in shock and rage, before Ging finally asks, between gritted teeth, “You said his name was Killua?”

“Yes,” Gon replies, then softens, eyes welling with tears again, “but Dad! He didn’t know his target was me! He was so shocked when he saw my gorget and then my face lit up in the moonlight. He froze. He froze so badly and looked like he was screaming but there was no sound and then he doubled over and coughed out a bunch of flowers and then he ran off before I could beg him to stay! He didn’t know!”

“You’re sure, Gon,” Kurapika asks from the door, eyes burning scarlet. “You’re absolutely sure he had no idea it was you?”

“Yes! He had so many chances to kill me before that! We never met in town, always alone, always in really secluded places that were of his choosing! He didn’t know it was me. He couldn’t have. He agreed to marry me! Why would he attack me after all this time when he could have done so earlier? Why would he look so shocked and heartbroken when he did land a blow if he knew? Why would he turn his knife to the side so that it didn’t hit its first target if he wasn’t trying to change his trajectory upon seeing his gift on my body?”

“He twisted the knife aside?” Leorio asks, suddenly much more alert. “Where was he aiming originally?”

“My throat,” Gon rasps, voice scratchy from crying. 

“No wonder the angle was so odd,” Leorio murmurs, eyes lost in thought. “I had wondered. You were lucky,” he adds, dryly. “Had he landed his blow where he originally aimed you would have been dead.”

“I know.”

“So he’s your soulmate,” Ging grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “What now?”

“We have to find him,” insists Gon. “He’s my soulmate and the man I love and he has hanahaki. We have to find him and save him.”

“Gon…sweetheart,” Mito says, voice soft and teary, “there is no known cure for hanahaki.”

Leorio hums vaguely and everyone turns to look at him. “Eh, yes and no.”

“Explain,” demands Kurapika, Ging and Mito taken slightly aback by his intensity. Were it any other situation, Gon would smile at the interaction, but as it stands he’s too anxious to hear Leorio’s answer to do so. 

When Leorio sees all their expectant looks he huffs and rolls his eyes. “There’s no proven cure for hanahaki. There are however, two documented cases of hanahaki reversal that make mention of an Eternal Pitcher and the afflicted drinking from it. There are very few specifics listed however.”

Gon’s eyes light up with a fiery determination. “Leorio,” he asks, tone sweet as finely spun sugar candy, “where did you see these cases mentioned?” 

Leorio freezes for a minute then a shiver runs down his whole body and he wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to ward off chills; Gon stares him down unrepentantly and waits for an answer. 

“Yes, fine! I’ll go dig them out and help with your research! You could have just asked normally,” he says with a glare and then points a finger at him, tone going all forbidding. “But! In return, you are to stay in that bed until I discharge you. We’ll do all our research here until you’re healed and if you try to sneak off without being cleared I’m no longer helping you. Am I understood?”

Gon’s answering is sharp and he doesn’t care. “Perfectly,” he replies. Wait for me Killua. Hold out a little longer and I’ll save you. I promise.

“Well, now that that’s been decided,” mutters Ging, “Kurapika.”

“Yes sir?” Kurapika asks, standing at attention.

“Mobilize everyone you can to hunt down this man, Gon’s soulmate,” Ging says and then continues over Gon’s protests, “If he’s a trained assassin from the Zoldycks’ side we’re going to need to start searching for him now if we have any hope of finding him in time. By all accounts, even when the wound delivered isn’t fatal, hanahaki progresses rapidly. We’re going to need all hands on deck that you can spare from active duty.”

“As you say sir,” Kurapika says with a bow and moves to exit the room when Ging stops him again.

“Ah, and while you’re at it. If you could swing by my office and get my writing supplies? Looks like I’ll be drafting another letter of ceasefire again.”

“Yes sir,” Kurapika says and then disappears out the door and down the hallway to attend to his orders. In bed, Gon gapes at his father who scowls when he sees Gon’s disbelief.

“What?” he asks gruffly, arms crossing over his chest defensively. “He’s your soulmate. Besides, we’ve been trying to end this godsforsaken, blasted war for decades now. If we’re to host a marriage we’ll need everyone on board. I will not have my new son-in-law fighting against his own relatives. That’s just a disaster of catastrophic levels waiting to happen.”

Gon chokes back a laugh through tears of happiness, then asks, “Does this mean you’ll still let me marry him? Even though he attacked me?”

Ging scowls at the question but then seeing his son’s hopeful eyes and the tension that still runs through his frame, the way he holds his body in defense, as if he expects Ging will take out his anger on Gon and punish him or something for loving one of the enemy, he sighs, running a hand wearily over his face. “Yes,” he grumbles, “you can marry him. He’s your soulmate Gon; your heaven-blessed other half. Why would I prevent such a sacred union?”

The smile on Gon’s face is blinding and Ging blinks in the face of such joy. “But,” he cautions, doing his best to keep his face stern, “if that boy steps one toe out of line after we rescue him from this folly of his own making, if he tries to hurt you again, he’s going to rue the day he ever met this family.”

Unexpectedly, Mito huffs in response and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Ging. You talk as if you’re the one to fear in this family and not me.” Over Ging’s spluttering and Leorio’s cackling, Mito turns to Gon in bed and says with a smile, “That said, dear, if your beau hurts you again, death by hanahaki will be the least of his worries after I deal with him.”

Gon’s eyes widen in shock, both glad his family loves him so much but also now much more worried about his family meeting Killua for the first time. “Thanks, Aunt Mito,” he says, because really, what else can he say to that?

They spend the next few days pouring over Leorio’s medical and historical texts, scouring them for any mention of the hanahaki disease and the Eternal Pitcher while Ging sits in the corner writing letter after letter for Kurapika to send out over to the Zoldycks. Finally, they make progress halfway through the week, Mito stumbling over a passage describing the pitcher in an old treasure-hunting history book and Ging finally getting an answer back from the Zoldycks in the form of an aggrieved butler named Canary.

“My master, Lord Silva, is asking you to please cease and desist with the letters, sir,” the butler says when she first meets Ging, dressed all in white as custom dictates, the white signaling her intent for peace. Were she dressed in black, Ging’s next words would have been chosen much more carefully, but as it is, she isn’t, so he says, with the largest grin pasted onto his face, “Perfect! That means he’s gotten them! I was worried for a bit there that they were being misplaced. He hasn’t ever responded to any letters I’ve sent his way before so I thought maybe I had the address wrong.”

Canary blinks, at a loss for words, then visibly recovers herself. “Be that as it may, my master—“

Ging cuts her off with a lazy wave of his hand and reclines in the chair he’s procured for this very meeting. He’d asked Kurapika if they had any sort of formal hearing hall four days ago when they’d first started researching and sending out letters, but Kurapika had laughed in his face so Ging is making do with the tallest backed dining chair he could rustle up in the city, courtesy of a very unimpressed Lady Cheadle who has known Ging since childhood, in their modestly sized dining room sans table and chairs. It looks ridiculous and he knows it does which, in his point of view, makes it the perfect formal receiving room. He briefly spares a thought that he should maybe not recline so much that the chair breaks or else Cheadle will have his hide, before he grins, wide and full of sharp teeth, at the Zoldycks’ butler. “I don’t care what old prissy pants wants or thinks or says, girlie,” he drawls as Canary grips her ambassador’s staff tighter. “I care about bringing this miserable war to an end, or at least a ceasefire, so that my son can get married in peace.”

Canary stands stiffly in front of him, eyes tight with anger at Ging’s blatant disrespect. Anticipation curls in his chest as he waits to see what she will do or say. He’s playing a dangerous game but the time for pleasantries between the two families is long past. “I don’t see how your son’s marriage requires the cessation of war, sir,” Canary finally bites out, all prim and proper but itching for a fight.

“You don’t do you? I see, I see. Tell me. How many Killua’s are there in the Zoldyck forces?”

At the familiar name Canary’s eyes widen ever so slightly in shock and she gasps involuntarily. In a flash, her staff is right up against Ging’s neck, digging into his Adam’s apple. “What have you done with Master Killua?” she snarls, ignoring the knife pressed up against her own neck or the spear leveled at her chest from Kurapika and his aide, Zushi, who had been roped into overseeing Ging’s protection detail for this little meeting.

“Ah, only one then?” Ging asks, mockingly. “And a member of the main family too, I’d wager by his title? Well then. Unless his family wants to fight against their own son, I’d say the cessation of war is very much a requirement for my son’s marriage. They’re soulmates you see.”

Canary blanches and lowers her staff in disbelief. “Master Killua is what?” she whispers. “No, he would have said.”

Ging rubs at his throat absentmindedly, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Would he? I got the sense from Gon that they had agreed to keep it a secret until after the war to avoid any bad blood between our families. Of course, this was before either realized who the other actually was.”

“You lie,” Canary hisses, eyes wide with terror. “Master Killua would never keep something of this magnitude from his family.”

“And yet he has. Look,” Ging says, tone blunt and unforgiving, “I don’t like it either, but Gon claims his soulmate’s name is Killua and he belongs to the Zoldycks’ forces. And I trust him. Boy’s never been able to lie well in his life when cornered.”

Canary sneers but mostly looks worried. Ging smiles grimly and continues. “There’s more, I’m afraid. It turns out, that in an effort to spare the other the stress and grief, neither told the other their last name. Four days ago now, Gon was attacked by a Zoldyck assassin.”

Canary’s eyes widen and then it’s like a string’s been cut, her knees collapsing from underneath of her. “Master Killua,” she whispers in horror. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

Kurapika and Ging exchange glances and just as Ging opens his mouth to explain that they’re still searching for the boy and that they have an idea for how to cure him, Leorio bursts into the room with Gon in a makeshift wheelchair, Mito hot on their heels. “We’ve found it! Dad! Aunt Mito found the passage about the Eternal Pitcher! We cross-referenced it with the stories of the hanahaki cures and it matches! All I have to do is retrieve it and then have Killua drink from it until the flowers lose their grasp on him. Then he’ll be cured!”

Canary immediately flings herself in Gon’s direction, eyes wild, way barred by Zushi standing firmly in front of his Commander. “Is that true?” she rasps. “Can you cure him?”

Gon blinks and then smiles brightly. “According to the book, yes!”

Canary nods, then pushes herself to standing and whirls around to face Ging again, face hard. “If you manage to cure Master Killua, we will sign a truce.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you had the authority to make those kinds of decisions,” Ging prods, smirk barely held back behind his teeth. By Canary’s snarl he figures it might not have been hidden well enough. 

“I’m not,” she says with a vicious smile, “but if you manage to cure Master Killua, our dear Electrician, well. The Zoldycks’ will have a hard time not agreeing to a truce.”

“I see,” Ging murmurs, eyes tracking Canary’s every movement.

Canary’s smile widens til Gon feels like he’s watching a snake face off against a tiger. “I don’t think you do. He’s very much beloved, our Master Killua. If he dies, we will rain down hell on you; if he lives, we will gladly sell our souls to see him happy with his soulmate. He’s our Electrician, our Grim Reaper, our precious Master.“

“Strange how I’ve never heard him mentioned before or seen his name in the family roster.”

Canary laughs, a harsh and patronizing sound. “Oh but you have. He’s the leader of our elite shadow troops after all. We have our names for him but you might know him best as Thundersnow.”

“Oh,” says Gon with a small gasp. “That actually makes a lot of sense.” Then he laughs. “I guess that’s something both our sides have in common.”

“What’s that?” Canary asks dryly. 

Gon smiles, expression wry. “Nicknames. Mine are the Fisherman and Meteotsunami.”

Canary takes in Gon, chair-bound, looks up to Leorio who just looks amused by the whole proceedings, then back down at Gon’s innocent looking face and blinks, visibly readjusting her perception of him. “I see. …It makes a little more sense that your Master Killua’s soulmate now.”

The ensuing conversation between Gon and Canary leads to her agreement to help search for Killua and the two of them ganging up on Leorio to release Gon from his medical restrictions. After much needling, Leorio caves since Gon’s strength has steadily been increasing over the past few days.

“Be careful out there, cuz,” he cautions as Gon sets off the next day, Zushi at his side. “You’ve just recovered from a deadly wound. You will do no one any good if you injure yourself too badly in pursuit of a cure.”

“I know,” Gon chirps, glad to finally be on his way. “I will!”

Leorio sighs in exasperation and rolls his eyes, knowing Gon will do as he pleases, before turning to Zushi to ask him to keep an eye on Gon. Zushi salutes him sharply before he even opens his mouth. “Don’t fret, Doctor! I’ll keep him out of trouble and return him safe and sound! You can count on me!”

“Thank you,” Leorio says, a little bemused. “Please do.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll be careful, I promise, now can we go please? We’re on a timeline here!” Gon demands, and after another round of hugs and well wishing from his family, he sets off with Zushi at his side, out of the city, down to the shore between the forest and the cliffs and into the sea-caves. Hang on for me Killua, he pleads, praying Killua can hold out against the hanahaki until Gon returns with a cure. Hang on Killua. I’m coming. I just need to get this pitcher to cure you and then you’ll be healed. Wait for me. Please. Please, dear God, please let him still be alive by the time I get there. Please. Please. He’s my soulmate and I’ve only just gotten to start to know him. Please, God, please. Save him. Let me get there in time. Please.

Chapter Text

“Leorio,” Gon grumbles before Killua can ask. “Hold on a moment,” he says before turning to yell at the lanky, giant of a man who’s just barged into the cottage. “The family can wait! I just got my soulmate back from the brink of death!”

The man named Leorio rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Hurry it up. You can get reacquainted back at the mansion just as well as out here. Kurapika’s grumbling about this place being a security risk.”

Gon scowls but doesn’t protest and Killua wonders who this other person is to elicit such a response. Gon must see his curiosity because he rolls his eyes and huffs out, “My second. After your attack he’s been on high alert and super worried about security, which is to be expected, but is also a bit annoying since he never really cared before.”

A blonde-haired man in a royal blue uniform sticks his head out from behind Leorio, a scowl firmly in place, eyes a deep crimson color, flashing with annoyance. “I cared before, but I could never pin you down to set a guard detail on you. Now, will you hurry up? You can continue your discussion back at the mansion. You’re keeping not only your family but also the Zoldycks’ ambassador waiting.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll be out in a minute.”

Leorio rolls his eyes and ushers Kurapika back out the door, calling over his shoulder as he does, “See that you are or we’ll have Zushi break down the door next!” Then he shuts the door behind them, leaving Gon and Killua alone.

“Sorry about that,” murmurs Gon sheepishly. “They are right though. We ought to get back soon.”

Killua wishes he didn’t understand their urgency, wanting desperately to spend more time alone with Gon before braving his family, but he does understand. With a light sigh he presses a chaste kiss to Gon’s lips. “Alright then. Let me just gather a few things before we leave.”

He heads back into the bedroom to collect his amor and weapons, then gathers up a few of his better attempts at weaving which he’d taken up as a hobby while bed bound, before returning to Gon’s side. But Gon’s not where Killua left him; instead, Gon’s made his way over to the living room, staring at the walls filled with flowers in horror-struck awe. Before Killua can divert Gon’s attention, Gon sees the journal with the dates and meanings lying on the table in the middle of the room and moves to pick it up. As he flips through, his eyes fill with tears and his grip tightens, threatening to tear the book in two. Killua clears his throat and Gon nearly drops the book, embarrassed and startled.

“I was just—“

“Looking through my journal. It’s okay. We can bring it if you want. The flowers are all for you after all. You have just as much a right to that journal as I do.”

Gon blushes and Killua holds back a coo at the sight. He’s so adorable! I have to see if I can get him to blush more often.

Bang, bang, bang! “Gon? If you don’t come out in the next minute I’m sending Zushi in!”

“Coming!” Gon shouts back, then mutters under his breath, “My word he’s impatient.”

That startles a laugh out of Killua, transfixing Gon, and that’s how Zushi finds them a few minutes later, the door splintered behind him. “Come on guys,” he whines when he sees them, “let’s go already.”

They make it back to Gon’s city mansion in under twenty minutes and as they climb the stairs Killua has to ask, “So, how long did it take for you to think of looking for me at the cottage?”

Gon flushes, Kurapika glares, and Leorio barks out a short huff of laughter. “That was the first place I suggested based on what Gon told me!” Leorio says with a smirk. “But both these two thought for sure that since you were the mighty Thundersnow there was no way you would be that close to your target’s house!”

“Really,” Killua asks, keeping his voice as flat and even as he can, his eyes dancing with laughter. “You didn’t think to check the one place I knew inside and out?”

“Killua~” whines Gon as Killua gives into temptation and lets laughter fall from his lips. It feels so good to have something fall from his lips besides flowers. His lungs expand to bursting as he and Leorio cackle at Gon and Kurapika’s plight but it never hurts, never feels jagged the way the flowers did. 

As they cross the threshold Killua is still laughing until he feels an ominous presence. Then he breaks off abruptly, hands twitching at his sides as they long to grab hold of his blades. Then the moment passes and a man Killua presumes is Gon’s father steps forward, false smile firmly in place. Killua pastes on his own smile, though it has a bit more truth to it—nervous and eager to please—as he represses a grimace. Best be careful around this one.

“Hi! You must be Killua, Killua Zoldyck, the soulmate my son was mentioning. Nice to meet you!” the scruffy looking man exclaims, hand held out for Killua to shake.

“Hello, sir,” Killua replies, posture stiff and formal, and he can practically feel Gon’s eyeroll next to him. He’s only ever formal when he wants to impress or annoy others after all. “You must be Master Freecs.”

The man’s smile widens, managing to not look strained but rather predatory, full of sharp teeth. “Yes, I suppose I am. So nice to finally meet you! I hear we have you to thank for the majority of our casualties.”

Killua nods pleasantly enough but bares his teeth at the man. So that’s how you want to play this. Okay, then, old man. Challenge accepted.

Or not, as the case may be, Gon interrupting the two’s awkward stand-off before it could begin in earnest. “Honestly you two! You’re as bad as each other! Here. Dad, this is Killua. Killua, this is my dad, also known as Ging Freecs. Looming behind him is my Aunt Mito, and you’ve already met Kurapika, Leorio, and Zushi, so you should be just about set with meeting those I’m closest to.”

Killua and Ging blink in synchrony and Leorio snorts behind Gon. “Where’s the pipsqueak,” he asks and an affronted voice yells down at them from the second floor, “I am not that short, you abnormally tall giant!” 

Killua barely has a moment to process the voice as Canary’s when all of a sudden she appears above them, jumping down over the railing to land in front of them. She throws her arms around him and envelopes him in the largest hug he’s ever received from someone other than Gon, and then she withdraws just far enough to throw a punch at him.

“What the hell, Canary,” he hisses but she just grunts and lunges after him again, forcing him to throw up his arms to block her. 

“Where were you, you utter idiot?” she snarls after Killua dodges yet another of her blows. “We searched for days before we found you.”

“Hold up, we?”

Canary huffs and stops her barrage, crossing her arms over her chest, her staff abandoned at her feet. “Well it wasn’t like they were getting anywhere by themselves, now were they? So I had to step in and help.”

Really… Killua wants to say, but a light clearing of the throat behind him stops him in his tracks. Slowly he turns around only to find himself face to face with Gon’s Aunt Mito. Her eyes run over him briefly, pausing when she gets to his arm with its soul mark on full display, before locking eyes with him. Killua represses a shudder, her gaze piercing and weighing his value. Unsettled, Killua reaches out for Gon instinctively and when Gon’s hand slips into his, Gon gives him a comforting squeeze. Feeling a little like he’s staring down a snake poised to strike, Killua somehow manages to never once break eye contact with Mito. Finally, after what seems an age but was likely only half a minute, Mito smiles warmly and opens her arms wide as if she wants to give him a hug. 

“Mm, you’ll do nicely. Welcome to the family, Killua!”

It’s that easy? How is it that easy? Surely there must be some catch? Killua finds himself wondering as Gon grins and gently pushes him in Mito’s direction for that hug. But it is that easy. Whatever Mito had seen when she looked him over must have satisfied some criteria she had because in the blink of an eye Killua goes from enemy and the assassin that nearly killed Gon to Gon’s soulmate and an old friend. Utterly baffled, Killua decides to not question it and enjoy his luck as even Ging half-heartedly grumbles a welcome.

The group moves from the front hallway to the dining room which looks curiously like someone’s been using it as a meeting place or an office, what with paper strewn over half the table. 

“Don’t ask,” Gon mumbles out of the side of his mouth when he sees Killua’s questioning gaze. “I’ll tell you later.”

“So,” Mito says, turning to Killua as the group approaches the table and starts to pull out chairs or clear a space to sit in Ging’s case, “What do you like to eat dear?”

Killua’s speechless for a minute but then he stammers, “Um…well, I like most anything,” out in an effort to be diplomatic. Based on Gon’s tales, anything Mito cooks will taste out of this world, but Killua doesn’t wish to offend the woman who’s like a mother to Gon by suggesting something outside her area of expertise. 

Mito frowns at the response and turns to Canary beseechingly. “Will you tell me now, now that he’s here at least?”

Canary rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, facing off against Mito in a daring move that Killua knows he’d never have the courage for. “I told you already. I will not disclose Master Killua’s preferences without his explicit instruction and approval.”

Mito breaks off their staring contest to pin Killua with a stern glare. “See what I have had to deal with the past few days, young man? I wanted to make you your favorite meal as a way to welcome you into this family and instead, Miss Canary refuses to cooperate with me.”

“…I’m sure anything you cook will be fantastic, but honestly, I don’t have many preferences when it comes to food. I do like sweets though.”

Though unsatisfied with the answer she receives, Mito relents and they all sit down to a very tasty dinner of cod over a bed of spring greens. Once they finish, Gon tugs Killua by the sleeve and motions to meet him by the door. They manage to sneak all the way up to the second floor where Gon’s room is located without the others noticing but their respite doesn’t last long. Within seconds of their arrival on the carpeted hallway they find themselves shadowed by both Zushi and Canary. Together the two trail after Killua and Gon, taking up posts right outside Gon’s door and insisting the door remain open where they can see both of their charges—and their charges’ soulmate.

Hyper-aware of the eyes watching them, Killua drags Gon over to the fireplace in attempt to gain more privacy. It helps but does nothing to alleviate the sensation of having each movement, each breath, each word tracked.

“So,” Killua says after Gon’s dragged over two chairs from his bedside to the stones before the fire, “what’s the story behind the pitcher? What have I missed these past two weeks? Tell me everything, Gon.”

Gon grimaces but nods. “Right. I suppose you ought to get caught up. …Where do I even start?”

Killua patiently waits for Gon to organize his thoughts, taking the time to soak in Gon’s presence and admire the way his entire face shifted with each thought, eyes lighting up once he figures out where to begin. Then, as if a dam has burst, words tumble forth out of Gon’s lips. He tells Killua of waking two days after the attack and his utter panic at not knowing where Killua was or how he was doing. The silly fool, Killua thinks, repressing a fond sigh, still unable to wrap his mind around how easily Gon had forgiven him for endangering his life. Were their places switched Killua’s unsure if he would be able to forgive so quickly without demanding some sort of recompense. Well…that’s not quite true. He would forgive Gon. But were it anyone else then, he definitely wouldn’t. I suppose that’s the point, though. It wasn’t anyone else I attacked; it was Gon, my soulmate.

Gon regales him with the countless hours of research he, Leorio, and Mito had undertaken to try and find a cure, with the mountains of letters Ging had written to Killua’s father, and then the flurry of activity that occurred when Canary showed up.

“She was a surprise to us, Killua, but one we’re all glad to have had!”

A choked sound comes from the door, followed by a thump which in turn is followed by a thwack and Zushi’s pained, “Hey!” Killua smirks at Gon whose eyes are twinkling with mischief. “Oh?” he asks, smile widening to Cheshire-like proportions. “I would have loved to seen how that introduction went.”

No response this time. Shame.

Gon chuckles and then jumps into explaining all the effort Kurapika and Canary had gone to to try and track Killua down. “They searched everywhere, Killua! We scoured the town and the fields, even the shore! Eventually, when we’d looked just about everywhere but the woods, they agreed to give Leorio’s suggestion a shot. I still can’t believe you were there the whole time though!” he complains, lips puckered in a pretty pout.

Feeling slightly impish, Killua smirks and darts forward to kiss Gon chastely on the lips. He feels Gon’s lips start to shift into a smile but quickly withdraws, not wanting to risk Zushi or Canary’s interference. Immediately, Gon pouts even harder, but his eyes are laughing so Killua knows he’ll be forgiven soon.

“Where else would I have gone, Gon?” he asks, returning to the previous train of thought. “The cottage was the only place I truly knew about on this island and I couldn’t bear to leave you behind without knowing if you were alive or dead. So I settled close by. Of course, then you were moved and I had no idea, so not sure how well that plan worked, but oh well.”

Gon frowns slightly but Killua presses on, asking him, “Anyways, you’ve told me about your research and the paperwork and searching for me. What’s the deal with the pitcher?” There will be time to dwell on the events of the past two weeks later, time to ask questions and have hard conversations, but right now, Killua wants to bask in the comfort that they both still live.

“Right. The pitcher. So, did you know that there are a system of caves on Whale Island?”

“What?”

“Yep! Sea-caves. Zushi went with me so he can verify it!”

“Unfortunately,” grumbles Zushi from the door. “Don’t waste time telling him about the caves, Gon. Tell him about the chamber we found the pitcher in and the pitcher itself.”

“I was getting there!” huffs Gon. “Honestly. So…the cave we found the pitcher in…it was, well…there really aren’t words to describe it really.”

Fondness surges through Killua’s breast and he can’t help but shake his head at Gon with a smile. “Try, Gon.”

“Right. Ummm…yeah, so it’s in a cave? And the whole system of caves are sea-caves right? So when we get in there there’s all this luminescent water surrounding us, lighting up the cave. And there, on a pedestal in the middle is this floating, glowing, silver pitcher. Well, not exactly a pedestal, but…hmm…more like a wave?”

Zushi sighs from the doorway and sticks his head in the room. “It was basically suspended mid-air Gon.”

“But it was supported by the water underneath it!”

“Yes, but essentially, it looked like it was suspended mid-air.”

Gon rolls his eyes and shoos Zushi back out of the doorway with a huffed, “Am I telling this story or are you?” to which Zushi responds in a mutter, “Well, you’re not telling it very well.” Gon nearly leaps up to argue with Zushi but Killua reaches for his wrist, invested in hearing about the pitcher so Gon sits back down again with a sigh.

“Okay, so the pitcher looks like it’s suspended in mid-air. It’s not; it has water flowing up from underneath it to support it, but it looks like it is. Water drips from the ceiling into the pitcher keeping it always filled, but never overflowing. It’s just sitting there in the middle of this cave though, and all the books mention some sort of great trial but when I cross the room, nothing happens. So I went closer, Killua, and grabbed the pitcher by its arm and that’s when something happened. Blinding, brilliant white light burst out from where I had grabbed ahold of the pitcher and the handle began to burn. It soon went from a hot fire to a raging inferno and then the temperature plummeted to an icy coldness, so cold I thought I would get frostbite. I held on the whole time and faced it head on—both the temperature fluctuations and the dazzling light— and after a few minutes the pitcher I held duplicated, leaving me holding the one I had grasped and a new one already forming in the same spot, silver being spun out of thin air, cradled by water both above and below. It was utterly magical and awe-inspiring and I know I’ve not done a good job at describing it, but Killua. Killua, there really are no words to describe what it was like.”

Gon stares into the fire, mind stuck in a sea-cave down by the shore, before he snaps back to the present, pinning Killua with a steely gaze. “Then, after I had it, I rushed home to find out if they had found you yet. From here I ran to the cottage, doing my best not to spill a drop of that precious water. Just because it’s eternal, or so the stories say, doesn’t mean it should be treated carelessly after all. Then I entered the cottage, and Killua. Do you remember how worried I was when I found you at our first date?”

Killua nods, well aware of what Gon speaks of and how intense Gon’s reaction had been that day.

“That worry pales in comparison to the fear I felt course through my veins when I opened our cottage’s door and saw the living room strewn with blood spattered flowers. When I heard your weak voice and saw your thin form bed-bound and sapped of all strength. When I saw flecks of blood at the corners of your lips and speckled down your shirt with bloody blooms sticking out of the trash can by the bed. With the entire cottage smelling of sickly-sweet perfume—floral notes mixed with rusted iron. It was awful,” Gon whispers and guilt washes over Killua even though logically, he knows there was nothing he could have done.

“You saved me, Gon,” Killua reminds him. “You saved me.”

“…Yes. And just in time too, I think….and now you got to meet the family finally!” Gon says with a forced smile, doing his best to rally.

Killua grins but then he remembers Gon has yet to meet his family and grimaces instead.

“What?” Gon asks. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just, ugh. You have to meet my family.”

There’s another choked sound from the doorway and this time Killua thinks Canary might be repressing a laugh. “About that, Master Killua,” she says, voice a little strained, “Master Freecs has invited them to come for dinner tomorrow to discuss a long-lasting truce as well as your wedding.”

Killua turns to Gon in horror, and pleads with his soulmate, throwing himself at his feet, “Please, Gon. Can we just elope?”

The words startle a laugh out of Gon and a snort from Canary but Killua’s dead serious. When Gon cheerfully says, “No!” Killua bids farewell to any ideas of a peaceful next few days or even the rest of his life. Images of Illumi looming in the background looking menacing, Kalluto and Alluka cornering Gon to threaten him and Milluki bugging literally every room dance across his mind and Killua can feel a headache build already. God, they’re going to be insufferable. I just know it.

* * * * *

Gon’s first impression of Silva Zoldyck is that he’s intimidating. Large, looming, and with eyes that stare coldly into his soul, Gon can’t help but be intimidated by the man he hopes to one day call father-in-law. Then Ging clasps him by the hand and grins maniacally up at the larger man, visibly trying to crush his hand in his own. Silva’s eyes tighten and he responds in kind and the picture they paint is both so imposing yet ridiculous, each trying to outdo the other, that Gon can’t help but relax at the sight. Huh. Turns out the fearsome Silva Zoldyck possesses a competitive streak just like Dad. It somehow softens him in Gon’s mind and while the man still intimidates Gon, Gon no longer feels the need to freeze in his presence or reach for his sword.

“So,” drawls an eerily flat voice from behind Gon, sending a shiver running up his spine, “you’re the one who stole my brother away.”

Killua heaves a sigh beside Gon and whispers, “Illumi,” before Gon turns around to face the oldest of Killua’s brothers. The man in front of him towers over Gon, long and sleek black hair hanging well past his hip, and eyes devoid of all emotion just like his voice. Gon represses another shudder and forces himself to meet Illumi’s eyes. “I didn’t steal him, but yes. I’m Gon, Killua’s soulmate.”

Illumi’s lips spasm and were it anyone else Gon would assume it was a sign of amusement. With Illumi he can’t tell. “Gon,” Illumi says, rolling his name in his mouth as if he were tasting it, as if he were trying it on like a new jacket to see if it fit to size in order to determine Gon’s suitability for Killua. Gon stands firm, awaiting his verdict and Illumi’s eyes narrow. Then the taller man crosses his deceptively delicate-looking thin arms, which Gon has no doubt can snap his body like a twig were Illumi to so desire it, and pins Gon with an even more deadened stare. Gon doesn’t flinch but it’s a near thing, Killua’s hand on the small of his back an immense source of comfort and courage. “Gon. The man who stole our brother,” Illumi repeats. A beat of silence more and then a soft exhale of a sigh. “I suppose you’re not the…worst person Killua could have ended up with.”

Beside him, Killua squawks out an offended, “Hey!” but Gon’s eyes are still glued on Illumi. The man radiates power and all of Gon’s senses scream that to turn his back on Illumi would be akin to wishing for death. Seeing as he just recovered from a near-fatal stab wound and rescued his soulmate from the brink of death, Gon would like to not risk his life right now, thank you very much. If that means he needs to exercise a little more caution than he first expected around his future family members, so be it.

After a heartbeat, Illumi rolls his eyes lightly and walks off to join Silva in arguing with Ging over wedding preparation details. Gon nearly sags in relief but immediately two more of Killua’s siblings approach and he’s put on guard again.

“You hurt him and your dead, Freecs,” hisses the one with a short bob, finger thrust into Gon’s face with a perfectly manicured nail, sharpened to a lethal point.

Gon blinks as Killua groans and shakes his head in exasperation. “Kalluto,” he whines, “what did I say about threatening people.”

“Not to, unless the circumstance calls for it and then to do it to the best of my ability,” the boy who must be Kalluto says, withdrawing his finger with a flick of his wrist. 

Killua sighs, sounding ever so long-suffering, and puts his hands on his hips, looking for all the world a stern teacher about to scold her children. “And does this situation call for threats, Kallu?”

“Yes!” chirps a girl who pops out from behind Kalluto’s back, hair swinging forward over her shoulder, bright beads swaying hypnotically back and forth as she leans forward to scrutinize Gon. “Any circumstance involving you and your future demands it! You’re never careful enough when it comes to your personal happiness or health, big brother!”

“Alluka,” Killua groans and then lets his head sink into his hands wearily. “Why do I even try?” he mutters. Gon bites back a smile, but his amusement must show on his face because suddenly Alluka appears, pressing up into his personal space, with a frown on her face. She looks him over and then steps backwards to slot in next to Kalluto, both crossing their arms over their chests and staring at Gon judgmentally. “I don’t see the appeal,” Alluka finally says with a huff. “But you seem harmless enough, for someone with such a bloody reputation. Dismembering you should the need arise should be fairly easy, right Kallu?”

Kalluto nods firmly. “Should only take ten minutes or so?”

Killua chokes and whips his head up to stare at his siblings, mortified at their antics, but Gon sees the underlying emotions guiding their actions and chuckles, causing all three siblings to look at him in disbelief. This only serves to make him laugh harder and it takes a good five minutes before he stops. When he finally catches his breath he smiles at Killua’s younger siblings and takes a few steps closer to them. They tense, no doubt waiting to see how Gon will retaliate against them but Gon has no such plans. Instead he pats them both gently on the head twice before stepping back and turning to Killua to say, “It’s good to see you have such loving siblings.” 

Killua gapes, at a loss for words, and his siblings are not much better, Alluka’s hand hovering over her hair in wonder and Kalluto’s mouth hanging wide open in shock. 

“Speaking of which, where’s the last of your siblings, Killua? Didn’t you mention you had one other older brother?”

“Milluki,” Killua says absentmindedly, apparently still in shock from Gon’s reaction to his younger siblings’ threats. “He’ll probably be setting up random cameras everywhere to spy on us later on.”

“Ah,” Gon replies, a little chagrined, “he might not like me that much then.”

“What do you mean?” demand three voices simultaneously and Gon scratches the back of his head a little sheepishly.

“Um…well, you see…I thought maybe I had misplaced a few things? So I was going through my bedroom to double check my drawers and I found a camera hidden away in the back, so I took it out. Then I got mildly suspicious because my dad’s always trying to spring some new fangled hyper-awareness training on me at random times and I thought maybe this was one of those times. So I tore my room apart and found more cameras and microphones and I took them to Kurapika. Then he helped me find a book on signal jammers and we spent a few hours before you all arrived to set them up all over the house. So…yeah…his equipment’s probably fritzing at the very least, maybe worse if Kurapika managed to implement the other anti-hacker measures we quick drew up.”

Kalluto, Alluka, and Killua stare at Gon in awe and he ducks his head in embarrassment. A few minutes later they hear a screech of frustration and rage followed by loud stomping footsteps headed their direction. Kalluto and Killua’s faces share identical looks of giddy mischief and Kalluto even goes so far as to solemnly shake Gon by the hand before turning to Killua. “Brother, you have my full approval.”

Killua laughs, eyes delighted, and Alluka chuckles beside them. Just then Milluki storms in, face so red it verges on purple, lips curled up in a vicious snarl. “You,” he growls, first pointing at Killua, but when all three siblings shake their heads ever so slightly he changes trajectory to Gon. “You,” he repeats, voice losing a little of its pure hostility, tinted now with the barest grudging respect. “I hate you. You fucking deserve Killua, you utter maniac. The two of you are diabolically well-suited to each other.“

“…Thank you? I think?” Gon finally manages after a few seconds of trying to parse Milluki’s words. 

“That wasn’t meant as a fucking compliment, moron,” Milluki growls before turning to Killua. “You two touch my stuff again and I’ll string you both up by your ankles.” Gon’s mildly alarmed at Milluki’s statement but Killua’s grinning so perhaps it’s an inside joke, an empty threat? Gon doubts it but hopes for Killua’s sake Milluki doesn’t mean his words. “I mean it Kil,” Milluki says, then turns back to Gon and pins him with another glare. “Just because Kil’s a little demon at times, doesn’t mean I won’t gut you like a fish if you harm him, Freecs. You hear me?”

Milluki doesn’t wait for an answer, instead choosing to stomp off back into the hallways grumbling about expensive equipment and how he’ll have to completely restock now. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Killua and Kalluto break down laughing, doubling over and mocking their older brother while Alluka grins up at Gon. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, brother Gon.”

Heat suffuses Gon’s face as he blushes dark crimson and Alluka coos at the sight causing him to blush even harder. “Please make it stop,” he whispers so softly only Killua next to him can hear. Killua breaks off from his laughing, wiping tears from his eyes as he does so, and grins. “So does that mean we get to elope now?”

Killua’s timing couldn’t be worse. Kalluto’s laughter had started to die as soon as Killua’s had and the trio of Silva, Ging, and Illumi, which had grown to a quintet with the additions of Leorio and Mito, had just gotten to a stalemate in wedding negotiations, so the hall was almost completely quiet. Into this quiet Killua’s question rings loud and clear and the cacophony of noise that follows in its wake seals their fate.

“Guess not,” Gon says cheerfully even as Killua groans in exasperation when the whole group loudly lays out why they may not elope.

Somehow, Ging and Silva have turned the wedding preparations into a contest. When Gon innocently asks why, both men glare at him.

“It’s a matter of pride, son,” Ging says, laying both hands on Gon’s shoulders. 

“Pride. Hah! This runs deeper than mere pride,” scoffs Silva, glaring at Ging. “This is the honor and reputation of our families on the line we’re talking about!”

Mito sighs with a shake of her head and turns to both boys who remain just as confused as they were only a moment ago. “With the future unification of our families through your upcoming wedding and the state of truce we find ourselves currently in, the war has come to a rather abrupt end. Which we’re all immensely grateful for, aren’t we?” she asks the two fathers pointedly who shuffle their feet and refuse to meet her eyes in return. Huffing her exasperation, she turns back to the two boys. “Anyways, with no clear…’winner,’ so to speak, of the war, these two have stumbled upon the perfect way to settle the score, to determine once and for all which family is superior.”

“Through our wedding?” Gon asks, a little incredulously. “Don’t we just have to say our vows in front of the families and a church official?”

Killua squeezes his hand sharply and even Gon knows he’s misspoke when he sees Mito’s eyes flash. “Gon, dear,” she says sweetly and he immediately wants to flee, wants to quail in his spot, but Mito did not raise a coward so Gon simply raises his eyes to hers and waits for the tongue-lashing he’s learned to expect at that tone of voice. “Weddings are serious affairs. There is nothing simple about them.”

Gon nods his understanding and lets Killua drag him away to avoid any further conflicts with any of their family, his or Killua’s both.

In the weeks following, he and Killua both become intimately acquainted with just how complicated weddings can be. Something as simple as flower arrangements or color schemes mutates into daunting decisions, each choice scrutinized by every member of the families, each choice questioned and debated and pulled apart.

“Are you sure you two want red and purple flowers for your wedding?” Mito asks, cornering Gon and Killua one afternoon as they try to sneak away from the mansion and out to town on a date.

“Yes,” replies Gon hesitatingly, hand on the front door’s handle. “Why?”

“Your theme is blue and white. To ‘go with Killua’s eyes,’” she quotes, looking very unimpressed. “Why don’t you two go with some baby’s breath, chamomile, honeysuckle, larkspur and myrtle?”

Gon frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. He desperately wants to just agree to get Mito off his and Killua’s back but…both of them had spent hours pouring over the book of flower meanings and had decided they wanted red carnations, salvia, and water lilies as well as purple larkspur, columbine and heliotrope with a dash of orange nasturtium and white holly flowers for contrast. Some of the flowers were doubly meaningful for them as Killua had had them growing in his lungs, while others spoke to their journey thus far as well as well-wishes for the future. “Mito,” Gon says, Killua threading their fingers together not only to quietly encourage Gon but also show his support for his decision. “We are sure. The flowers will be as we have already outlined.”

Mito stares them down a minute or two longer than sighs and nods her acceptance. “Okay. Fine. I’ll ask Melody if she can find a way to get all of them into the main centerpiece without making it look too crowded and chaotic.” She turns to leave but pauses and adds, “Oh and you two may wish to take the side entrance for your escape. Silva looked ready to ambush you two in regards to seating arrangements again.”

Gon and Killua share a look of dread and fervently thank Mito before dashing down the hall to the kitchens and through the old servants’ entrance to try and get ahead of Killua’s father.

“How many more times must we go over the seating?” groans Gon to Killua once they’ve safely made it to town and sat down for ice cream near the pier. “It’s been how many times now?”

“Seven,” moans Killua as he takes a large bite out of his ice cream cone angrily. “And always for a different reason. Politics this, politics that.” He sighs and pouts at Gon, eyes wide and pleading. “Are you sure we can’t just run away right now? They won’t notice until it’s too late with how buried their heads are in the wedding prep stuff.”

Gon frowns, really considering for the first time why Killua keeps asking. “Do you not want to get married, Killua?”

“What?!” Killua squawks, nearly dropping his ice cream cone in shock. “What the hell Gon? Where did that come from?”

“Well, you just seem really against this whole wedding idea. You’ve asked to run away at least five or six times now.”

Killua stares at Gon like he’s never seen him before and Gon shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I just want to stay by your side, Killua,” he says quietly. “If you’d rather do that as boyfriends or even just friends instead of husbands or fiancés, I’m fine with that. I…I just don’t want you to regret this. I know we moved kinda fast.”

Killua surges over the table to seize Gon by his shirt collar and violently kisses him, nipping at his lips until Gon parts them ever so slightly. Gon’s left breathless, heart beating a mile a minute, and utterly captivated by Killua’s angry, blue eyes. “Gon Freecs. I love you dearly, but sometimes you say the dumbest things. Do I not want to get married? Honestly,” he huffs and drops back into his seat, picking his ice cream cone off of his place to aggressively eat it. He finishes it in two bites, licks clean his fingers, and then stares Gon down. “I asked you if you would elope with me Gon. Not just run away. Elope. That’s the first thing. Secondly, I asked that and I keep asking that because my family can be a bit much at times, and now with this contest between my dad and yours it’s turned into even more of a production than either of us ever expected. So to skip the hassle of flower arrangements, color schemes, seating arrangements, catering and music choices I asked if we could elope. Because Gon? I honestly don’t care when or how we get married, so long as we do. I love you, you utter fool, and I don’t care if we have a large or small wedding. As long as you are there and you’re marrying me, becoming my husband and I yours, I will be happy.”

Overwhelmed with happiness, Gon finds his eyes start to tear up so he flings himself at Killua, wrapping his arms firmly around his soulmate in a hug with a wailed, “Killua! I love you too!”

Killua grumbles and half-heartedly tries to push Gon off of him, cheeks blushing the prettiest pink ever, but his eyes and lips are smiling so Gon figures everything’s okay and clings all the more. Eventually, he does withdraw back to his own seat, ice cream long forgotten, and returns to Killua’s question. “We’d better not. Elope, that is,” he clarifies at Killua’s raised eyebrow. “I think they’d all kill us at this point, what with the amount of work they’ve poured into it thus far.”

“True,” sighs Killua. “And it’s terrible luck to start a marriage off with death threats hanging over us courtesy of our relatives.”

Gon rolls his eyes but agrees and together they wander the town for a little longer before returning back to the madness that is wedding preparations.

The day of the wedding itself is strangely calm in contrast to the whirlwind week prior. Gon wakes up at seven in the morning to chirping birds and a sunny, bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. Leorio helps him into his tux when the time comes, the tux a delicate cream color with flowers the palest blue possible embroidered down his lapels, around his cuffs, and outlining his jacket’s pockets, as well as aid Gon with the tying of his baby blue bow tie. Kurapika helps Gon style his hair, carefully twisting his normally spiky hair into tiny braids so that it can better hold the woven crown of baby’s breath he’s to wear. Then time’s up and Gon finds himself escorted by Zushi down the back steps to the left entrance to their walled-garden. Nerves start to flutter in Gon’s stomach, when Zushi leaves with a smile, because in a few minutes Gon knows the music will start and that will be his cue to enter through his archway, down the flowery bower to meet Killua in the middle, in front of the fountain, a gigantic, three-tiered, cascading work of art and genius engineering. 

When Gon enters, doing his best to keep himself steady and not trip over his own feet, the only thing he sees are the flowers surrounding him in the tunnel and the bright light of the sun glinting off the water in the fountain. Don’t trip, Gon, he tells himself over and over again in a mantra. Breathe. One foot in front of the other. Focus, focus. Then he catches sight of Killua in his blue tux with white embroidery and white bow tie, a perfect opposite to match Gon’s own outfit, and his breath catches, all thoughts flying out of his head. Miraculously, he manages to make it the last few steps without tripping and when he does reach Killua, immediately clasps him by the hands, pressing an unscripted kiss to his soul mark on his wrist. The rest of the ceremony speeds by in a blur, all of Gon’s attention narrowed down to Killua, who stares up at him with sparkling-sapphire blue eyes, full of love and emotion. Eventually, an eternity later, the minister proclaims them husbands, saying, “You may now kiss.”

Gon grins lightning-quick then darts down to capture Killua’s lips in a kiss as Killua surges forward to meet him in the middle. All around them, their friends and family cheer and Gon feels an immense happiness well up inside him.

He pulls away from his kiss with Killua slowly, resting his forehead against Killua’s so they can share breath. They don’t have long before they have to process out and they’re surrounded by the others but just for a moment the world stills and their surroundings are drowned out by the blue depths of his husband’s eyes. Husband. My husband. My Killua. Just for a moment there’s no one else, no flowers, no fountain, nothing but Killua and Gon, Gon and Killua. Gon grins, wide and radiant and whispers, “Hello, husband.”

“Hello, husband mine,” Killua responds with the biggest smile Gon’s ever seen grace his face, cheeks dusted pink. Then an impish light enters his eyes and he asks, “Ready to go face the horde?” as he loops their arms together. Gon bites back a laugh and nods and together they step forth down the center aisle, taking their first steps into their new life as one unit. 

~The End~