Work Text:
01. lively
Gon hurricanes down the cliff with a serrated laugh caught between his teeth, Killua fast in tow, disappearing into day’s sleep-softened cusp of light.
02. remorseful
I’m so sorry, Gon whispers, always half in shadow, ghosting between sleep and silence and Killua stays in the fringes, prays the night is long.
03. dismiss
He tries not to wonder about the geometry in Gon’s hands, the fit of fingers strong and warm and what they’d feel in his hair, threaded neatly through his own, splayed to map the curve of his cheek.
04. heavy
“Get off, can’t breathe,” Killua lies through his teeth as Gon bonelessly makes a home out of his chest, sighs a sigh Killua feels right through his shirt, his skin.
05. forward
“But I think you like me too, so I don’t see what the problem is?” Killua’s jaw goes hingeless at that, feels the last of his remaining brain cells sear dry, and comes to the conclusion that the problem here is that Gon is the biggest, most tactless idiot this world has ever seen, oh my fucking god.
06. prowl
Gon catches him hunt once, back at the island: flitting between the boughs, all seamless grace and the quiet of a first snow, quiet as the moon adrift on water, its ocean depths tossing beneath.
07. cut
“There,” Gon says brightly, satisfied, sets the scissors down with a dull clink on the table and runs a hand through Killua’s new fringe. “Now I can see your eyes properly!”
08. compromise
“So here’s the deal: I go with you to that dumb fair of yours and in exchange, you get to do the chores for one whole week – including mine. How’s that sound?” Killua feels the twitch in his cheek as Gon’s whole face shifts into a smile, throws his arms around his neck and says something like, I’ll throw in a back massage to that too if you’d like, into his skin, a little more sigh and singe than necessary.
09. impulse
It starts as whisper that becomes a word becomes a shout that sprouts wings and burrows its cold beak in Killua’s heart, tells him to run, run and save himself, leave Gon and don’t look back— and every time Killua reaches into his chest, hurls it into the sky.
10. hush
They stay quiet and folded into the dark, carelessly splayed over the grass as Gon turns his head and grins, presses a finger against his lips and tells him to listen, did you hear that, did you hear the islands birds say your name?
11. morals
Gon never chose Killua to be his friend because he was good or bad or in that volatile space in between, but because—well, because he was interesting; for that, Killua thinks, he’s pretty grateful.
12. engage
“Ugh, this is gonna be so embarrassing,” Killua repeats fiercely, frantically, his frown soon withering into a reluctant smile as Gon takes him by the hands, tugs him into the dancing fray.
13. voice
“Oi, you still okay?” Killua says coarsely, and the sound carves shadows into the shell of Gon’s ear, ghosts tauntingly along the dip of his throat.
14. awkward
“Your heartbeat,” Melody points at Killua’s chest when Gon cocks his head to the side, “Accelerando. Starts slow, like a light pattering of rain, see, then it grows and grows, an ocean storm, whenever Gon—“
15. lower
Killua’s quiet when he says, “yeah, let’s do it, let’s go places,” so so quiet, but unfolded, unbound, glimmering at the edges.
16. plead
(Like a child Killua twines his blood-crusted fingers together, presses shattered knuckles into the trembling bow of his mouth and prays that this will last, that this won’t slip away.)
17. caring
Killua coughs out his concern like secondhand smoke and hides his words like aching teeth, like he does with all the other soft-shelled parts of him, pushed into corners, under sleeves, coupled with a strike to the ear and a flimsy don’t you do that again, stupid!
18. believe
“You’ll come back,” Gon whispers, grass-stained and anchored to the ground like harbor lights, waiting for year-old ships to find their moorings back home.
19. found
He’s sitting at the table next to Mito when Gon comes back home, dripping all over the tiles with his fishing rod gripped loosely in his hand and there he is, sitting casually with a bowl of broth in his kitchen table, like a mirage, a daydream, as if he had always belonged there; their eyes meet and within the time it takes Killua to slide one pale, trembling hand out of his pocket for a feeble wave Gon has them colliding to the floor, damp and bright-eyed and wordless, the sea meeting the shore.
20. shield
Almost imperceptible, without a closer look, the way Killua edges his foot just a step over Gon’s, sidles just half an inch, shoulder over shoulder.
21. open
It’s a fracturing, picking out your backbone until the roof shudders, light through the cracks, loosening under Gon’s touch and allowing yourself a smile, say, hey, I’m glad you’re here.
22. tactile
“Killua, hey - I’m here, okay?” Gon says, all teeth and unfiltered sunlight, fits their hands squarely into place.
23. journey
Heart in throat he watches as Gon drops his bags and turns his head, forehead crumpled, says, “Because it’s useless without you, that’s why.”
24. scowl
Killua’s face darkens easily, like paint dispersing in water, and he jabs accusatory at Gon’s forehead until the boy catches his wrist, tells him she was just a friendly traveler, that’s all.
25. hero
Gon’s humming an island lullaby when he jams their toes together underneath the table, looks up from chicken soup and says, eyes glinting, “I think you’re really, really cool!”
26. message
“It’s from Ki—“ Gon nearly crashes into the wall as he flies or teleports or whatever to reach the beeping screen, Mito shrieking behind him, put those dishes back first!
27. eyes
“You’re staring at me,” Killua’s saying, seems to shrink into his turtleneck, and Gon blinks – ah, really? – settles his palms over his ankles and tips his chin into Killua’s space until they’re only breaths away, says, sorry ‘bout that.
28. still
Alluka holds him when he can’t hold himself in anymore; pale hands, like his, but smaller, surer, pressing around his shoulders to still a stuttering heart, like a promise, tells him, it’s going to be okay now, and Killua smiles at that, whispers Gon’s name into her hair.
29. touch
From the window the sunset recedes slowly like the tide into their toes, so slow Gon can feel it tiptoe on his nape, along their cheeks, and he’s trying to decipher some meaning out of Killua’s slurring speech, hands idly twisting through his friend’s pale hair, the palest he’s ever seen – like, like boom, y'know, and then you know what the bastard said? Killua’s saying, and Gon hums, twines the strands around his finger, breathes in blown bulbs, forest rain.
30. first
Twelve and utterly bored out of his mind, he tucks the skateboard under his arm and falls steadily into step next to this strange, smiling, wild-eyed boy, thinks, huh, maybe this’ll be fun.