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The summer evening air is so sweet and hot that Killua couldn’t gulp it all down even if he wanted to, and heaven knows he does, given that he’s spent the past several years with the dry yearn of thirst threatening to choke him with every breath. Call it what he will—greed, longing, adoration, desire—but since he and Gon had leapt out of that tunnel together, step in perfect step, Killua has known nothing but constant, unrelenting want.
And how could he feel anything else, when Gon plucks a poppy from the grass and inhales the scent, the smile on his face even warmer than the humid night air?
A poppy is fitting, Killua thinks. He feels more than a little intoxicated, what with the glow of the setting sun and the symphony of cicadas and the trickle of sweat tracking a slow, searing line down his spine. He feels just slightly out of control, like his feet could close the gap between Gon and himself without him really meaning for them to.
And they do.
He feels like his hand could come up and push Gon’s sweat-damp hair back from his brow before he can stop it.
And it does.
And he feels like his head could lean forward mere inches, so that his forehead is pressed to Gon’s, without any real effort.
And it does.
And for a moment, everything else fades away. The air cools, the cicadas decrescendo, even the ground beneath their feet disappears. And it’s just Gon and Killua. Killua and Gon. Only the two of them, in the whole of the universe.
It’s Gon who finally breaks the silence.
“Killua?” he asks, his voice more breath than words.
“I…” Killua begins.
I love you.
I love you so deeply that it’s truer to me than anything, even my own name.
I would offer you my still-beating heart, the whole red, raw muscle, if I thought you wouldn’t flinch at the sight of it.
“You…” Killua tries.
Gon’s eyes grow wide enough to swallow the rising moon whole.
“You make me feel good,” he finishes softly.
It’s not what he meant to say, and it’s clearly not what Gon expected to hear, given the way the light in his eyes dims ever so slightly, but then the look passes as quickly as it came, and he’s smiling, his forehead still pressed to Killua’s.
“You make me feel good, too, Killua,” he says, and in Gon’s voice, the words are so much warmer and richer than when Killua spoke them.
For just a moment, only as long as the space between one breath and the next, Killua really thinks Gon might kiss him, but instead, he merely lifts the poppy and tucks it behind Killua’s ear.
“Beautiful,” Gon says softly, and something in the particular slant of his smile almost makes Killua think that, just maybe, he isn’t only talking about the flower.