Chapter Text
The only time Gon can look at Killua – really look at him – is at night, when Killua’s asleep. If he tries to do it during the day, mesmerized by his best friend’s cobalt eyes or the angular slope of his pale cheek, Killua will notice immediately. He’ll scoff quietly, lid his eyes, and shake his cloud of white hair until the alabaster strands veil his face. He’ll blush slightly – the faintest dusting of rose across his cheeks – and ask what Gon’s doing. He’s too damn perceptive for his own good.
But at night, it’s different. Gon knows that Killua only ever lets his guard down around him. He knows that, when they sleep apart, Killua’s sleep is restless and filled with nightmares. The same thing happens to him, too. He cannot be calm without Killua nearby. So Gon takes it as something of a personal achievement every night when he lies mere inches away from Killua and gazes at his serene face. He did this; he’s the person Killua feels comfortable with, the reason Killua can sleep at night. He’s the reason Killua’s face is so soft and relaxed right now, pink lips slightly parted to allow a steady and even flow of air. His moonlight locks are splayed out across the pillow, for once not hiding his face. Gon, propped up on his elbows next to the sleeping boy, recognizes the opportunity, and takes the time the study Killua’s face intently.
His angular eyebrows, for once, aren’t pulled down in a scowl. His mouth isn’t twisted into its default cynical smirk. His face is completely open. He looks younger like this, Gon realizes. Less jaded, less suspicious. Beautiful and otherworldly. The rise and fall of Killua’s chest, driven by each effortless breath, sets Gon’s mind at ease while at the same time filling him with a fierce longing. He wants to be the air in Killua’s lungs, to be the thing that he needs all day, every day, just to survive. Maybe that’s not fair; maybe it’s fucked up. Gon is long past questioning his feelings for Killua, or their moral implications. It is what it is. He couldn’t leave Killua any more than he could rip his own heart from his body.
The only thing Gon doesn’t like about watching Killua sleep is that he can’t see his best friend’s eyes. He knows Killua’s eyes like he knows the back of his hand. He’s seen them furious, heartbroken, embarrassed, joyful, teasing, determined. Killua’s soul is in his eyes, even when he tries to hide it. There is no feeling on earth that can compare to looking at Killua and seeing him looking right back. Looking at Gon, into Gon, through Gon. Simply staring into Killua’s eyes is the most intimate act Gon thinks he’s ever committed. His fumbling encounters with the cougars on Whale Island, with Palm, don’t even come close.
He remembers one time, years back, when Killua told Gon he was like light. He knows how hard it is for Killua to express himself, so he hadn’t argued like he wanted to. He had just smiled and hummed and enjoyed the happiness that pooled in Killua’s eyes and the blush that stained his cheeks when he saw that his risk had paid off, that he had made Gon smile. He had wanted to scoff, though. If Gon is light, he is the angry light of a wildfire raging out of control. He is destructive and reckless and painful. He causes suffering. He’s caused Killua so much pain, both physical and mental, over the years. He is not a light that people should follow or admire; he is a light that many have tried to extinguish, because his burning can so quickly veer out of control. But Killua follows his chaotic, erratic, dangerous light as steadfastly as if Gon was the sun in the sky. He rarely questions and never accuses. Looking at him now, Gon feels a lump in his throat.
Why can Killua see the light in Gon, but not in himself?
Because Killua is light, too. He’s a more beautiful light than Gon can ever hope to be. He’s moonlight, starlight, streetlights in the city on a dark night. The brightness he emits is constant, soothing, restful. When Gon is near Killua, he is completely at peace. He would follow Killua anywhere, do anything, to hold onto the peace he brings.
He can almost see the light radiating from Killua’s skin. He’s so pale, he seems to glow on his own. The faint light of the moon shining in from the window illuminates his hair, turning the strands a piercing silver that dazzles Gon’s eyes. Sometimes it seems that Killua is only shades of white and gray and black. Sometimes he blends into the background. Gon knows he likes it that way; he doesn’t want to be seen or noticed. His assassin training, though it ended many years ago, still manifests itself in ways that make Gon’s heart ache. Like how Killua throws up barriers when anyone, even Gon, looks at him too intently. How his first instinct during an argument is to flee, rather than to work things out. How it took years for Killua to stop flinching away from Gon’s casual touches like they were knives on his skin. How he still believes that he’s not enough; that he’s deeply broken and unworthy and tainted, and will never heal.
Gon will never see him like that. Killua is the most important person he has ever known. Killua saves him every day and in every way.
He’s interrupted from his thoughts when Killua stirs slightly in his sleep. Gon stays absolutely still, as he does whenever this happens. He will do nothing to ruin the moment. His heart stutters in his chest as Killua mumbles something unintelligible under his breath before rolling onto his side, facing toward Gon, and curling into himself like a cat. His slender fingers reach out to curl under the hem of Gon’s shirt; Gon has to suppress a violent shudder when Killua’s knuckles unexpectedly brush the skin of his stomach. He feels like he’s been electrocuted. The simple touch is almost too much for him; he has never felt so content and yet so wanting at the same time.
Not allowing himself to think, Gon slowly wraps his arm around Killua’s shoulder, gradually bringing him closer until Killua’s nose is centimeters from Gon’s neck. When he is sure that Killua isn’t going to wake up, Gon relaxes slightly. Gently, Gon drifts his hand up Killua’s back, ghosting it along his shoulders until his fingers tangle in his best friend’s silky hair. He doesn’t know what’s driving him – maybe it’s Killua’s proximity, or his fingers still brushing the Gon’s abdomen, or the light warm puffs of his breath against Gon’s neck – maybe all of it’s driving him. But he keeps his hand on Killua’s head, gently combing through his hair with slow strokes of his fingers, enjoying the softness of Killua’s fluffy white hair, the hair that caught Gon’s eye the first time he met Killua.
Killua makes a sleepy noise of pleasure when Gon scratches his scalp, causing Gon to stiffen immediately. He’s never heard Killua make that sound before. It’s low and intimate and rumbling in his chest. Gon’s heart doubles its pace. He wants to hear that sound again.
He’s completely awake now; he doesn’t think he’s ever been more awake. Killua’s contact with his body has his nerves firing constantly, has his blood moving fast through his veins, has his breath coming in fits and starts. He takes a moment to calm himself before continuing to comb through Killua’s hair. He loses himself in the rhythmic motion, eyes glazing over slightly as he gazes down at his friend.
“…Gon?”
Killua’s voice is barely there, his eyes still shut; Gon is pretty sure he’s still asleep. His lips twist in a pout for a moment and then he pushes his face into the junction of Gon’s shoulder and neck, his lips pressing lightly against Gon’s skin, and his hand traverses the expanse of Gon’s abdomen before hooking around his opposite hip, pulling him closer.
Gon can’t breathe. All he can do is keep his fingers moving through Killua’s hair, slowly and gently. His entire being is focused on their sudden proximity. The fire that rages within him is violent and strong and not at all unpleasant. He moves his other arm now, wrapping it around Killua’s torso so that the other boy is angled into him. His fingers want so badly to slip under the hem of Killua’s t-shirt, to explore the expanses of skin, to press and stroke and elicit more of the soft noises he never knew Killua could make.
He can’t, though. This is Killua. Killua’s trust means more to Gon than anything, and if Gon is going to touch Killua like that he has to know Killua wants it. So he simply keeps stroking through Killua’s hair, tangling his fingers in the silky strands, watching the sky outside the window gradually lighten as the sun makes its way over the horizon.
Some unknown amount of time later, Gon senses the shifts in Killua’s rhythms that mean he’s starting to wake up. Subtle things; slightly uneven breaths, eyelashes fluttering against Gon’s neck as Killua struggles to open his eyes, small flurries of twitches that run the length of his lithe body as though he’s getting electrocuted even now. Gon can’t bring himself to remove his fingers from Killua’s hair. He’s already resigned himself to getting yelled at once Killua’s fully up. This is too nice, too calming for him. It’s all he focuses on as Killua struggles to regain consciousness; the slip of Killua’s hair through his fingers, the gentle scratch of his fingernails against Killua’s head and neck.
Finally, Killua’s eyes slide open and he looks up at Gon with sleepy confusion. They’re killer’s eyes, Gon knows, but they’ve never looked like that to him. They’re as wide and deep and unexplored as the ocean, especially right now, when Killua is too discombobulated to guard his expression.
Killua’s eyes flick around them, registering his hand on Gon’s stomach, his cheek against Gon’s chest, Gon’s arm around his shoulder, Gon’s hand in his hair. The color enters his cheeks lazily, as though he can’t even bother to be truly embarrassed right now.
“Good morning,” Gon greets him with a smile. Killua’s eyes meet his for a split second before he looks away, biting his lip, and pushes himself off of Gon. With an internal sigh, Gon drops his hand from Killua’s hair. He immediately feels colder.
Killua struggles into a sitting position, starts to straighten, and then sighs and relaxes, lowering himself back down until he’s once again laying next to Gon, although this time farther away. Gon doesn’t mind. He’s still here. He’s not on the other side of the room, face burning, hiding behind his hair. He stayed.
“Good morning,” he murmurs. Gon watches as he licks his lips and then swallows, and finally turns his eyes back to Gon. There’s something in them that Gon can’t quite read, despite all his experience. It could be warmth, or fear, or vulnerability. He’s drowning in those eyes, wishing for the millionth – no, the billionth – time that Killua would just tell him what he’s feeling.
“Were you playing with my hair just now?” Killua can’t hold Gon’s eyes for the entirety of the question – he’s dropped them, gaze lidded, before he finishes the sentence.
Gon chuckles lightly. “I was. You liked it.”
“Hmmph,” Killua grates. “You don’t know that for sure.” His face is red now and he looks like he’s about to argue further when he’s interrupted by a massive yawn that squeezes his eyes shut and turns his mouth into a perfect ‘o’. It’s so cute it hurts. Killua accurately reads the warmth and amusement in his eyes before he scowls and turns over, facing away from Gon. Gon feels it in his chest, just a slight pang. He wants to look at Killua’s face.
With a sigh, Gon leans his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes. The intimacy was nice while it lasted.
“…I didn’t say you had to stop.” Killua doesn’t move, and his voice is brittle. Gon’s eyes open. This is the closest Killua gets to putting himself out there. He can’t make eye contact while he’s doing it, can’t make his voice soft. He can’t be vulnerable. He blurts out what he wants to say and immediately prepares himself to defend, to harden. He doesn’t even entertain the possibility that Gon might want exactly the same thing he does; in his mind, happy endings are impossible, not allowed. So, it’s on Gon now, as it usually is.
Gon doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t waste a second. He hooks a hand around Killua’s waist to bring him within arm’s length – ignoring the other boy’s surprised huff – and resumes playing with Killua’s hair, not another word spoken. He revels in the way the tension leaves Killua’s body, in the way he exhales shakily when Gon lets his fingernails drag against his skin.
He doesn’t need to say anything right now. This is enough; this is more than enough.