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It takes Killua a while to emerge from the bedroom—hours, since he stormed in there after absolutely losing his shit over hearing three words that he should have seen coming for the last five years.
If anything, Killua has to commend him; Gon held on for as long as he could. Probably wanted to say it since the moment they reunited at seventeen, and held his tongue years longer just for Killua’s sake. They’ve never talked about saying it and Gon never pressed the matter, likely foreseeing this exact situation, as wildly perceptive as he is. He knows Killua better than Killua knows himself sometimes.
It’s not like Killua hasn’t heard it. In each be careful and good morning and see you later. As lilting as a song in every utterance of his name. Or tasted it, in every meal Gon has cooked him and every kiss they’ve shared. Recognized it—blatant in Gon's smile, how his eyes alight on his or just observe quietly, watching when he thinks Killua doesn’t notice and even when he does—while doing any small thing for him, or simply finding him in a crowd or welcoming him home after a day or several, or the rare few weeks, apart. He’s felt it in his touch, the press of his fingers, the graze of their skin, the weight of him against him. It vibrates off Gon like an aura all its own.
And that makes Killua feel awful, even shittier for how he’s reacted.
It’s rare that it even happens nowadays, imploding from an overwhelm of emotion, beyond getting flustered or embarrassed or blushing down to his roots. Since working through things and starting dating, they’ve promised to be more open and communicative and depend on each other in much healthier ways. But it’s times like these that Killua realizes he still has far to go and a lot of shit to deal with from his fucked-up childhood—that small triggers, no matter how nice, can still become major reactions that he fucking hates and leave him feeling shitty about having feelings in the first place.
Feelings that bring him right back to those years when his only skill with a beating heart was crushing it between his claws. That make him question the use of all his preternatural grace if he still feels clumsy when offered the most delicate, intangible things.
It didn't help that he didn't like being touched or treated softly during these meltdowns. Retreating to the bedroom as soon as he could was the biggest favor he could've done for their relationship, to protect whatever was left between them after ruining what should have only brought them closer together; he could still hear Gon’s concerned voice calling after him, then quieter again through the door before he eventually stepped away.
Which was hours ago.
The damage was done. And now, he has no choice but to face the music and suffer the consequences—a mentality he hasn't been able to shake from his upbringing, that punishment always follows a less-than preferred or optimal reaction, that unavoidable pain is simply the result of having the wrong response. Killua was free of his family, had been for years, and distantly he knew Gon would never, but he still struggled to separate the present from his past. It was hard to untangle those nerves, that conditioning, to quiet the echoes they left behind in his psyche, to know his strongest logic was no match against sitting and stewing and spiraling in their shared bedroom, convinced it was only the precursor, the preamble for much worse things sure to come.
It was so hard to feel happy in these moments, even though he knew deep-down somewhere he was. Of all the things he feels—the conflicting emotions between his frightened inner child and his matured self—buried underneath all of it is a joy so intense it makes his nausea worse than it already is … but in a good way that he can't explain.
A three-fold nausea, really, as he dreads emerging. Seeing the hurt he’ll find in Gon’s eyes.
The door has a slight squeak they keep meaning to fix, and Killua exits the bedroom with a fluffy blanket over his head. It smells like both of them mixed together, calming. He’s well aware he looks like a tall, grumpy child, still wearing his sleep shorts and a baggy shirt of Gon’s that he ate breakfast in. It’s no longer morning and he can see from the doorway the plates have been cleared and the kitchen cleaned, as he pulls the blanket tighter around his upper-half and steps into the living room.
And when he does, Gon’s waiting there with all his favorite things.
Killua could’ve sworn when he’d heard the front door of the apartment open and close earlier, Gon had left out of anger or frustration, but now he realizes that that was his imagination catastrophizing, filling in every noise with all his worst fears, no matter how he tried to reason his way out of thinking otherwise. So, no. Killua had been mistaken. Half-right, if he wants to be kind to himself. Gon had left. But only to get all of this.
Chocorobos and strawberries and so many varieties of pocky and a small white-frosted cake decorated with even more fresh strawberries and an entire pizza with an aroma that fills the room … and Killua wants absolutely none of it as he sees Gon with a graphic novel, reclined across the couch in a tank top and sweatpants watching him with that look, tender as the words he had confessed just that morning.
The sight makes Killua’s heart seize and want to scurry back into the bedroom, but then Gon opens his arms wide with the softest smile and nothing in Killua is strong enough to resist.
He is so warm, Killua thinks, as he curls against his broad chest and is immediately wrapped up in a gentle embrace like he’s something precious. Gon's scent, and a slight heady sweetness of sweat from his venturing around the city, envelops Killua. They don’t talk for a while. Don’t mention the morning, Killua’s absence, the food offering spread out across the coffee table. They just hold each other, Killua’s head tucked under Gon’s chin, cuddled together on the couch, Killua having to bend his longer legs to fit.
“What do you want to watch?” Gon asks quietly, eventually, their breath synced, and Killua hadn’t even noticed he's been comfortingly petting his head over the blanket. He sighs, clearing his throat.
“Anything you want to watch.” His voice is rough from disuse and his earlier, frustrated tears. Gon knows it’s hard for Killua to talk after his meltdowns beyond a few words.
Gon puts on a nature documentary. Something about animals in some part of the world they've never been to—the twittering birds and rustling leaves and sloshing rivers reminding Killua distantly of their visits to Whale Island—and, between the dulcet narration, Gon’s touch and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the last bit of tension melts from him, and Killua eases into a dreamless sleep.
When he blinks awake, maybe two hours later in his estimation, the sun is setting and the room is tinted blue with the coming evening. It’s like waking to a dream, like discovering he can breathe underwater when he could’ve sworn he was drowning.
At some point, Gon had pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and thrown it over them, and Killua feels so sleepy and sated, his body slotted between Gon’s legs, ear just above his heartbeat, cocooned. All his life he’s wanted to be held like this. Had never felt this cared for until he met Gon. Beneath him, Gon feels like solid ground, soft heat emanating from him, into the blankets, between their bodies, like packed earth warmed by the sun. Killua listens to his breath, recognizes intimately the gentle tide of it as he sleeps soundly, one arm draped over Killua to hold him close. After either of them returns from a solo mission, Gon tends to snore a little, quietly—more of a snuffle, really; admits to sleeping a bit restlessly when they’re apart—but when it’s just them like this … it’s nice. Comforting. Killua is always wary of using the word peaceful, as it usually implies something important's been overlooked or unaccounted for, but he can’t deny the feeling in his body when it knows they're both safe.
He wants to stretch out his legs but he’s too comfortable, and chooses instead to snuggle deeper into the cleavage of Gon’s pecs. Gon must sense him shift, rousing drowsily. Sunset irises shimmer from behind his lids as they flutter half-open and focus on Killua. His smile is like daybreak as he pushes the blanket back slightly from where Killua’s watching, moving his snowy bangs aside to drop a kiss to his forehead.
“You sleep alright?” he asks around a yawn.
“Yeah.”
Even Gon’s exhale sounds like a smile. “Good.”
“Sorry,” Killua says after a lengthy silence.
“What for?”
“For … this.”
“Oh, you mean—” He hugs Killua closer, chuckles lightly, presses his cheek to the crown of his covered head. “I’d do this everyday for you, if you’d let me.”
Killua peeks from behind the embrace to find Gon’s amber eyes shining and soft, bright despite being somewhat backlit by the golden sunlight that enshrines him from the window. Killua feels his cheeks warm, unable to look away.
“You’re a sap,” he mutters.
“And you’re my favorite.” Gon’s beaming smile sombers slightly into something knowing, understanding. “You forget I have meltdowns sometimes, too. Y’know … when I remember, when fragments … surface from back then. And you take care of me every time.”
“Yeah, well.” Killua looks away. “Those are different.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. They just are.”
“Oh, because I’m allowed to have feelings and you’re not?”
“… Something like that.”
Gon hums beneath him and it feels like a purr.
“That’s too bad,” he says and Killua risks a wary glance.
“Why?”
“Because I like Killua’s feelings,” he says, easing around the other ‘L’ word. “They make me feel good. Happy. They’re one of my favorite reminders. That we share a life together and all the things that come with it.”
Killua grumbles, shifting, suddenly unable to get comfortable. The blanket falls from his head, exposing his fluff of hair. “Even the bad stuff?”
Gon immediately burrows into the silvery strands and breathes in, as if he’s a bouquet of flowers, and sighs, content.
“Especially those. Feelings are just feelings and I lov—like everything about you, Killua.”
“... You can … you can say it, you know.” Gon feels so solid beneath him. So sure. Like a rock. Like an entire world in his arms. He holds him a little tighter at the thought. “I won’t combust twice. 'm not that fragile.”
Gon's brows furrow. "Killua, you're not—you're the stronge—" And Killua lifts his hand to muffle his compulsory fawning. He knows what he's going to say, but he doesn't want to hear it, can't, right now, and instead quietly reassures, "I know, I know. I'm just beating myself up, okay?"
It’s not fair, Killua thinks childishly. Even though he was the first to confess his feelings, Gon had been the one to actually say the words that Killua had felt for years and years and still couldn’t say—words that he could barely hear from his boyfriend without having an actual conniption.
Gon noses at Killua's palm until he removes it.
“Are you sure? It’s okay if you’re not read—”
“It’s fine, Gon.”
“I love you, Killua.”
He feels Gon ease his grasp slightly, silently accepting that Killua may want to break away or need space, and Killua braces himself for his own reaction. But the wave passes gentler than before and he only squirms a little, and they both let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. He really should be kinder to himself about this, Killua thinks. This is the first time he’s ever been told this—well, outside Leorio and his sisters, of course, but that is really nowhere near the same thing. No one's privy to this side of Killua except for Gon.
“See, already getting easier,” Gon points out encouragingly, grinning down at him. He’s obviously proud of Killua’s progress over something that should already be so easy without an ounce of judgment, and Killua groans into his chest, embarrassed.
“It’s … not so bad,” he agrees, almost mumbling, the blush still hot and stubborn on his cheeks, “when I have a heads-up.”
Gon’s eyes glimmer excitedly at the discovery—the revelation new to Killua himself as soon as he uttered it—his boyfriend's honeyed brown gaze impossibly tender. “Okay! I’ll just make sure to warn you before I say anything.” After a moment, he hums. “Hey, Killua?”
“Yeah, Gon.”
“Can I kiss you?”
Things were slowly feeling back to normal.
“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me, dummy.”
Gon leans forward, closing the short distance between them, and kisses Killua slow and sweet until they’re both breathless.
“There’s no rush,” Gon says seriously, looking into Killua’s eyes, “to say it back.”
“How would you know then?”
He's joking, mostly, still feeling raw and a little vulnerable from the day. But the humor seems to go over Gon’s head entirely with how intently he looks at him—and, in that moment, Killua falls in love all over again—then his gaze softens. He leans in again, maybe understanding after all, as he smiles against Killua’s lips when he meets him halfway, humming at the contact, and replies,
“I dunno, just a feeling, I guess.”