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Gon wasn't one to have nightmares.
No, none at all, really. Perhaps he'd dream of his father when he failed a self-set goal, or wouldn't get what he'd aimed for. But he wasn't the one suffering.
On the outskirts of Saherta, nestled within one of the city's towering skyscrapers, he and Killua had found a little room overlooking the city lights sifting through ceiling high windows. Their shimmers offered a backdrop for pale skin painted in its hues— blues, purples, reds, hints of white. Silver hair blended into the mix, sinking into the pillow and buried further with tense shoulders.
Killua always slept with his back to Gon when he wasn't facing the ceiling. Slept put it lightly, though. Gon had noticed how the boy would stare at the room all throughout the night, lost in thought and lost in his mind. Then, when fairy dust settled on his lids to weigh them down, he'd only drift away enough to look asleep, but not quite be asleep.
Sometimes, he'd be taken fully. Sometimes, like this time, he'd shiver with the white on his head turned to cold, biting snow. And all Gon had to do was warm him up.
He couldn't imagine what it was like. To lose so much sleep, to never have a moment of true peace, to have constant bad dreams waiting for him whenever he trusted his mind enough to falter. He could hear Killua’s breaths and how erratic they had become, quiet yet so painfully strained.
So Gon leaned forward, shifting beneath the sheets and lessening the distance between the sound of his calm heartbeat and Killua’s back— but not quite enough for them to touch. Killua didn't like sudden, big touches.
He whispered close to his nape, “Goodnight, Killua.” and brought a loose hand close to his back, his knuckles only barely brushing against the fabric of his tank top. Killua's breath hitched, his shoulders stiffening from the warmth Gon had tried to softly wash him over with. It took a second for him to thaw over, for his shoulders to drop into something comfortable and his breaths to calm.
Killua is sensitive, Gon thought. Delicate but durable, like a water lilly.
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
It took a few more years for Gon to understand.
Insomnia, nightmares.
They'd creep up at night, claw at his scalp. His bed would feel too hot and cold all at once, his sheets suffocating, his pillow a deep ocean ushering him lower and lower into unbearable pressure. And he'd find himself back in those days again— the constant waiting, the simmering rage. He'd find himself back in the palace, with a sewn corpse and a selfish beast. He'd hear his own unfamiliar voice again, feel the blood splatter on his face, Killua’s dreadful horror in those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes. Salvation.
That would be when he'd wake up.
That night was no different. His gasp was sharp, muffled by a dry throat. He blinked, then let his gaze linger on the ceiling’s dancing shadows from scattering rain. The noise against the cabins large windows drowned everything else, glass rattling against wooden windowsills.
He heard the faint creak of a wood-board, something only he could pick up. The dead silence that tailed such light footsteps could only belong to one person— and when he saw a cloud of white hair climb up the ladder to their loft, he felt at peace.
Gon remained static as he watched Killua shed his rain-drenched jacket and reach for a towel. He watched him dry his hair, watched him kneel towards his backpack to pick out a pair of pajamas, watched him change like he was a dream— one he never wanted to wake up from.
Killua stopped by the vanity, close enough so Gon could tell where petrichor ended and the scent of ozone from his best friend began. For a moment, Gon wondered if Killua had found his eyes all open and focused, if he caught him lost in the undertow of memories. But then Killua draped the towel over the mirror and met Gon’s gaze, and wondering felt impossible. “You're awake.”
He was, wasn't he? Awake and breathing and viscerally feeling every raindrop thrumming against thick glass and walls. Gon hummed in response, processing the softness of that murmur, and the casual elegance with which Killua carried himself as he made his way across the floor to the bed. He ran a pale hand through his hair, looking as fluorescent as the apparition of an angel in a deep forest.
“How was the mission?” Gon finally asked, scooting away to make room for his best friend. Killua plopped onto the edge of the bed and leaned back, crossing his legs and staring up at the pretty dancing shadows that had Gon entranced only moments before.
“Boring.” Killua sighed.
Even still, Gon wished he could've joined. Return to old times, if only for a bit. Times before he gave up everything for one, singular want. And he could've said that, could've said It would've been fun if I'd joined, or next time, I'll come with you. But he held his tongue and bit down, because there were far more important things to say. Things he had to be more careful with. Killua's sensitive, after all. And he needed to say something.
I'm sorry.
But then Killua would shake his head, scoff, hide the crease between his brows and the quiver of his lips. He'd tease him, say you better be, and then he'd leave it at that and the nightmares would continue.
Thank you.
And Killua would falter, freeze and take in a breath to hold before letting it out in a breathy little laugh. What in the world are you talking about? He'd say, then he'd roll his eyes and add a quip, and then the nightmares would continue.
Nothing would change, nothing would be fixed. He'd be back right where he was in that deep forest, still carried by the scent of ozone and drenched clouds and rotting blood.
“You're thinking too hard.” Gon snapped back to reality— to the dim moonlight sifting through a gentle storm, to Killua’s presence and his eyes boring into him. They were so clear, a neutrality he knew was a veil to hide worry. So Gon swallowed down his thoughts and pulled the blanket up to his neck.
“Am I?” Gon questioned, raising his brows.
“Yeah, dude. I can literally feel you overheating.” Killua chuckled as he leaned down and laid on the mattress. It was a big bed, giant enough for the both of them.
Yet, once beneath the sheets, they'd find themselves shifting closer and closer to one another. That time was no exception, as Killua slipped beneath the comforter and rustled across the bed until he could feel his warmth close to his shoulder. Killua nestled into place, a pleased smile soft on his features
Gon let the quiet ambience take over. He counted Killua’s breaths, counted the faintest hints of heartbeats his ears could pick up. One, two, three… Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Twenty. He was still there, they were still there. Twenty-five. Pretty blue eyes beneath thick lashes. Thirty. Still sharing their gazes, still locked onto each other. Gon felt the world close into their cabin, and all that mattered and could ever matter was right in front of him. Thirty-five.
Killua leaned closer, close enough so that his breath touched the side of Gon's neck. It was warm, almost hot. “Goodnight, Gon.” he whispered, and Gon felt himself melt into the mattress.
He hadn't realized how his muscles had tensed until Killua soothed him with his breath. Hadn't realized how dead tired he was until Killua joined him at his side. He was always, always there when he needed him.
And he didn't think too hard— just moved, when he turned over his shoulder and reached towards Killua’s hand in the dark. He held it between them, the warmth grounding, the tremor in Killua’s breath subtle but unmistakable. Flushed knuckles faintly brushed against his lips, fleeting and featherlight.
Killua had hesitated at first, paused for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, he let his eyes slip shut and their fingers thread together.
Intertwined, interwoven.
He didn't dream that night, only slept.