Archive of Our Own

“I guess we won’t see any snow here, huh?”

Gon said this just like Gon did most things: abruptly and with no warnings.

They were talking about something completely different before that — mainly Bisky’s training — so Killua’s brain took a few seconds to register the change in topic.

“Where does that come from?” he asked.

Gon shrugged. “Dunno. I was just thinking that this—” He gestured at the barren mountain in front of him, “—would look really beautiful covered in snow. But it’s December already, and it’s still very hot, so…”

That was true. Winter was technically already here, but nothing in Greed Island hinted at it. No cold, no early sunsets, no snow. Maybe it would come later, or maybe winter simply didn’t exist here. Killua had heard of places like this.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied nonchalantly. “I’m not gonna complain, though. Winter sucks.”

Gon turned sharply toward Killua, his big, round brown eyes shocked. “What?!” he squeaked. “No way! You don’t like winter?”

“Of course not! It’s cold all the time, there’s snow everywhere and you can’t do shit. This is, like, the worst season ever.”

Gon frowned. “That’s not true. You can do plenty of cool stuff. And snow can be a lot of fun! You've never had any snowball fight, built snowmen, or gone sledding?”

“Did you forget I spent all my time training before meeting you?” Killua said, rolling his eyes. “Well, I guess I did play outside a few times with my siblings...”

Killua felt a pounding, budding ache behind his forehead, and his memories were suddenly strangely fuzzy. Right, he was sure he did play in the snow at least a handful of times with Kalluto when he was just a toddler and with... with Alluka. They would build snowmen together, then pretend to kill them in all sorts of ways: decapitating them, stabbing them in the chest, tearing off their limbs. But since they weren’t real people, it’d get boring rather quick...

He did do that. Right? Why did trying to remember this made him feel so queasy...

Gon was looking at him with a concerned look now, so Killua simply shook his head. “Well, anyway, I did do that before, kinda, but it was never really fun or interesting. And I hate snow.”

What Killua didn’t say was that this was partly due to the fact the first thing he associated with snow and winter was the cold-induced torture he used to be subjected to back then. As a little kid, the arrival of December meant that he knew his brother would drag him outside in the forest of Kukuroo Mountain on a freezing night and leave him here, alone, without adequate clothing, sometimes for a few hours if he was lucky, and at others for days. He also would get plunged into ice cold baths, sprayed with ice water, or exposed to cold drafts for long periods of time.

Even now, whenever he saw the snow pile up outside, his stomach twisted on instinct with the memories of the numerous hypothermia and chilblains and frostbite he had to recover from. An assassin of the caliber of the Zoldycks has to be prepared for anything, his father would say, and that included being able to endure all types of harsh seasons. So Killua endured. It wasn’t like he no longer felt the cold; he’d simply learned how not to let it bother him and tune out the pain instead, just as he had done with all other forms of torture.

He couldn’t say any of that to Gon, though. It wasn’t like he was afraid Gon would think less of him because of this, or that he’d pity him. He was never afraid of that with Gon. That was the first thing he’d learned about him: Killua could just be his full, true self with him, and Gon would just accept it. No questions asked, no superficial sympathy, no judgment. Gon might not like Killua’s family, might get angry on his behalf, but he didn’t care what his childhood might’ve been like; Killua was just Killua.

And it was important to Killua, that Gon didn’t care.

Even so... Even so, there still were some things Killua preferred to keep to himself. Gon didn’t need to learn about his stupid three-year-old self crying alone all night because of how much his frostbite hurt. He’d take that to his grave.

“That’s a shame,” Gon said, pouting a little. “I think snow is so much fun. Do you know? Whale Island is aaaall white in winter, it’s amazing!”

“Yeah?”

It actually sounded interesting. Killua couldn’t imagine the little island any other way than as he had seen it in the summer: gorged of sunlight, the sea sparkling brightly, the silky sand golden and its large trees colored of a deep, deep emerald.

Gon nodded, humming. “Yup! The fishermen and everyone have it hard during that time, ‘cause we don’t have as much to eat and stuff. But playing around in the snow and making snowmen is so cool! When I was little, Mito and I would have those awesome snowball fights — sometimes we even managed to drag other islanders into the battle! The only sad thing is that Kon and a lot of other animals hibernate during that period, so I don’t see them at all... Oh, and then there’s New Year of course! For New Year we have this festival, and..."

Gon was beaming as he kept explaining Whale Island’s New Year’s traditions, a big grin and shining eyes eating up his entire round face; and Killua could do nothing but smile back at him.

He was listening to what Gon was saying, truly — New Year sounded fun on the island, certainly much more than how his family usually celebrated it — but if he was honest, what he liked most was seeing Gon speak with such enthusiasm about something he loved, whatever it might be.

Gon was simply capable of making everything sound fun. Killua thought it might be some secret magical ability; a power far more potent than Nen, uniquely his own.

Suddenly, he realized Gon had fallen silent. A strange look, tinged with gentle wistfulness, shone in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Killua asked.

“Nothing. I was just feeling a little sad that we wouldn’t get to see the snow together this year.”

Killua rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal. I told you, I don’t even like—”

“Yeah, but I wanted to see it with you.”

Gon stared straight into his eyes, his smile soft yet radiant; so much so that Killua had to look away, feeling his cheeks flush and cursing himself over it.

“Let’s do it next year then,” Gon decided.

“What?”

“Next year, let’s spend winter together — on Whale Island, or somewhere else. A place where it would snow. We’ll have snowball fights and build snowmen and go sledding and all that! You’ll see how fun it is!”

The absolute certainty in his words always unsettled Killua. It was like there was not a single doubt in Gon’s mind that it would happen. That, even in a year’s time, the two of them would still be at each other’s side.

Well, Killua supposed it was possible they still wouldn't have found Ging by then.

Sometimes, selfishly, cowardly, Killua thought he wouldn’t mind if they never found Ging at all. If he could just spend the rest of his life like that, aimlessly following Gon around, basking in his light. He wouldn’t have to find another excuse to stay with him, that way.

Killua risked a glance in his best friend’s direction. Gon was smiling, of course.

Gon was always so bright, so passionate. It burned to look at him. But when he had that expression, Killua would believe anything he said — even that he could enjoy winter and the snow next year.

Gon was so warm that he was sure the cold wouldn’t even bother Killua as long as they were together.

“You have two hours. Not one minute longer than that. Understood, Kil?”

Illu-nii stood tall in front of Killua, towering over him like a large, dark tree.

Even as a teenager, Illu-nii felt larger than life; imposing despite his lanky appearance; unreachable in every way. He didn't have their father’s intimidating build, nor did he command respect as instantly as their grandfather — but the way he carried himself, spoke, and looked at people with his bottomless black eyes had always made him the most frightening member of the family to Killua.

He could do nothing but bow his head in acknowledgment, tugging at the thick winter gloves that encased his fingers.

“Yes, Illu-nii.”

“Good. Don’t go too far away.”

And then that was it. Illu-nii said nothing else, gave no more instructions; he just kept being tall and quiet and planted on the ground, as he expected Killua to run off to play.

The whole of Kukuroo Mountain was covered in snow. Killua had spent the beginning of winter training, but today was one of his rare breaks so Illu-nii had brought him down here to have fun. Alluka and Kalluto were busy with Mama and Millu-nii with Grandpa, so it was just the two of them this time.

Just Killua and Illu-nii.

Killua much preferred when the rest of his siblings were with him. He knew how to play and talk with Alluka and Kalluto and, hell, even with Millu-nii. Alluka was his favorite, of course — she was the only one who knew how to keep up with him and was ready for any new challenges — but Killua could enjoy himself with the others too sometimes.

But with Illu-nii... with Illu-nii, he never knew how to behave outside of training. He always felt like he was doing something wrong. And Illu-nii acted so awkwardly in those moments too, a confused marionette whose appointed role had been removed, that it made him wonder if he felt the same.

Killua didn’t run off to play. Instead, he stayed stuck in place, fidgeting, glancing between his big brother and the rest of the white garden. Illu-nii tilted his head curiously.

“Well?” he asked coolly. “What’s wrong, Kil?”

“It’s just... well—” Killua bit his lip, feeling as if voicing out the rest of this would be a bad idea, “I was just thinking... maybe you could come play with me?” As Illu-nii said nothing back, only watched him blankly, Killua added: “Y-you know... maybe we could build a snowman, and—”

“You can do that on your own.”

Killua tried not to feel frustrated. “Well, yeah, but I just thought—”

“You’re talented enough for it. You don’t need me.”

I know I don’t need you, I just thought it’d be more fun to make it together.

Killua wasn’t brave enough to actually say that out loud. Even if he did, he knew Illu-nii wouldn’t get it anyway. He didn’t even know why he'd bothered to ask at all.

Illu-nii never got it. Illu-nii was only concerned about training, about making Killua strong, molding him into the perfect heir and assassin and— and sometimes, sometimes, Killua wondered if Illu-nii truly cared about him as his little brother.

He wished Alluka was here. Alluka made everything better. Maybe she would’ve even found a way to make Illu-nii play, too.

With the frustration building inside him, instead of going to make his snowman like Illu-nii instructed, like what was expected of him, Killua gathered a bunch of snow in his gloved hands very quickly and threw it at his brother.

It was just a small snowball, that Killua didn’t even bother hiding. Anybody could’ve dodged it — even more so a powerful Zoldyck assassin. Even so, his brother let the snow hit the side of his head without moving a muscle, and then blinked down at Killua owlishly.

Killua grinned at him, doing his best to hide his mounting anxiety. In these situations, he never knew how Illu-nii would react: either he’d ignore him or he’d punish him.

This time, strangely enough, Illu-nii... did neither.

He blinked at him again, and again, and again; as if his mind was trying to comprehend what had just happened, as if Killua’s gesture had been so alien to him that his brain had broken under the confusion.

Then he slowly brushed off the snow from his short black hair. Bent down. Gathered snow in his arms; forming one, two, three, dozens of balls, and before Killua could react he felt the weight of all of them rain down on him.

Killua squealed, in both delight and surprise. It took him several long seconds to fully realize Illu-nii had actually accepted his snowball fight invitation.

Illu-nii had agreed to play with him! Illu-nii!

Killua immediately sprang forward, scooped up some snow to throw at his brother, and to his pleasant surprise, Illu-nii responded in kind. His face remained impassive, his dark, empty eyes betrayed no glee; but he was still playing with him!

Illu-nii’s snowballs were so fast and powerful that they almost hurt when they slammed into Killua’s hair, face, and back; and Killua rarely managed to dodge them. But he still did his best to run around the garden, laughing, jumping, hiding behind bushes and trees while his brother tried to catch him.

He didn’t know how long they played. No more than two hours, that was for sure — Illu-nii never would have let himself get so caught up in a game as to lose track of time. But when they finally stopped, it felt like it had been too long and too short at the same time.

They were both lying in the snow; Killua panting and flushed and his breath coming out in little puffs of fume, going up, up, up into the large, white sky in front of him. Cold snow brushed his cheeks and the inside of his clothes was wet, but somehow he didn’t care at all in that moment. He hated the feeling, usually; the icy dampness reminding him of his long hours and days of torture, but right now he felt so thrilled about what had just happened nothing else mattered.

When was the last time Illu-nii had played with him like this? Had this ever happened?

He turned toward his brother with a big smile. Unlike Killua, Illu-nii wasn't gasping or flushed in the slightest. It was like he hadn’t spend the last hour or so running around at all. He was just... he was just there, spread on the ground, his black eyes fixed on the sky with no emotions.

A shiver ran down Killua’s spine. He swallowed and asked in a small voice, “Illu-nii? Did... Did you have fun?”

Killua so desperately hoped Illu-nii would say yes. That he’d reply it had been fun for him, just as much as it had been for Killua. He wanted so badly for him to... to show something, anything, that would made him feel less like his personal trainer and more like his brother.

Killua spent so much time with Illu-nii — far more than with Alluka, his grandfather, his parents, or anyone else in the family, really — and yet, out of everyone, he always felt the most distant from him.

But Illu-nii didn’t say anything.

Illu-nii didn’t even look at him at all.

Instead he rose up, as stiff as a piece of wood, and then headed toward the manor.

“You still have fifteen minutes,” he said.

“I-Illu—”

“I’ll ask Gotoh to come pick you up.”

And then Illu-nii was gone. He disappeared among the whiteness of the snow and the fog, an illusion coming back home, and Killua wondered if he hadn’t just dreamed up the whole thing.

It would be exactly like him, wouldn’t it? To fathom up stupid fantasies of his brother playing with him.

The cold of the snow under him suddenly pierced his skin and senses, scathing and harrowing; his chest was tight, he felt tears prick at his eyes, and he didn’t even know why.

The next day, Illu-nii got particularly brutal during his training — to the point that when he twisted his arm behind his back and broke it, Killua wondered if he hadn’t wanted to hurt him on purpose. To punish him, somehow.

Illu-nii never played with him again after that.

And Killua found himself wishing this winter afternoon he spent with his brother had truly been a dream.

It was meant to be a surprise for Killua.

Or at least, Gon had wanted it to be a surprise, but apparently he’d misjudged his weather prediction, because the snow started falling sooner than expected. They were walking down a street in the big city where they were currently staying at, and Gon let out a small squeal of indignation.

“Why?” he groaned, pouting and glaring at the sky like he could change it through the sheer force of his dissatisfaction. “I was sure it wouldn’t start snowing until next week!”

He sounded so childish like this, despite the fact he was now seventeen and almost as tall as Killua; the deep baritone of his voice at odds with his juvenile expression. Some of his boyish habits and charms had never truly died, and whenever they resurfaced it made Killua’s chest feel strange, twisting in nostalgia that was both unsettling and comforting as he couldn’t help but remember twelve-year-old Gon with the same face.

“Doesn’t matter,” Killua replied, shaking away the conflicted feelings and plunging his hands even deeper into his pockets. “We were just about to go back to the hotel anyway, right?”

Gon looked back at Killua with a lithe movement of the head and he glared at him — just like he did whenever he thought Killua was being rude to someone and about to scold him over it.

“Of course it matters!” Gon exclaimed. “Killua, have you forgotten?”

Killua raised an eyebrow, now certain he was definitely going to get that scolding. “Forgotten…?”

But Gon didn’t get mad at Killua for ‘forgetting’ whatever it was he forgot; instead he just grinned, his eyes sparkling like the sun.

They never entirely shined as they used to all these years ago, now.

It was such a fractional detail; a barely noticeable dim glimmer in the corner of his honey brown eyes, but Killua noticed. He always did.

“Our promise! In Greed Island!” Gon kept on. “About spending winter together! We never saw the snow when we were in Greed Island, and I told you we could see it next year, but then we separated, and then... Anyway, that’s why when I learned it would snow next week, I thought this time we’d definitely be able to keep that promise! I was going to plan so many things!”

Finally, this managed to trigger Killua’s rusty memories. He did remember an old conversation like that, one they had after a training session of Bisky...

“Right,” he noted, “because you wanted to go sledding and build snowmen or stupid stuff like that—”

“It’s not stupid! See, that’s why we have to do it. I have to prove to you how fun this is—”

“Gon, we’re not kids anymore. I am not going sledding and building fucking snowmen—”

“Age doesn’t matter for that!”

“Oh my god, you are not going to drag me out in the cold and stupid snow for—”

But of course tomorrow morning, after it had snowed the entire night, Gon managed to drag Killua outside to play just like he said he would.

Killua wanted to believe he’d gotten better at putting his foot down and say no to Gon now. He had made that decision before they reunited: to be open about his feelings and speak frankly with his best friend whenever something bothered him. And Gon, too, had made progress in properly considering Killua and listening to him.

But sometimes, he supposed his inner child was still lying dormant somewhere and he just wasn't able to firmly refuse whatever new plans Gon had gotten fixated on this time.

Today was one of those times.

So they went outside town, pulling away from crowded areas, and found a deserted spot in some forested mountains. They started rather peacefully, with Gon wanting to show off his snowman-building skills first.

And by said skills, he meant just rolling two large, badly defined balls of snow onto one another, putting two pebbles and a carrot in the middle of the smallest one, topping it all off with the ugliest hat Killua had ever seen and calling it a day. And he looked so proud about it, too, that Killua couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Like you can do better!” Gon pouted, cheeks flushed both because of annoyance and the cold.

“I totally can,” Killua argued. “I may not have your experience, but I can do better than that with my eyes closed. Easy.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it, then!”

So Killua did. He built on his own snowman — that was objectively much more stylish, with three balls and painted nails on its branches and an actual fashionable hat and scarf — and then they spent an hour arguing about which one looked better until they decided to take pictures and send them to Alluka and Nanika to have a jury’s opinion.

His sisters, the traitors, decided Gon’s was better, because nobody in their family had taste besides him, apparently.

Their squabble eventually escalated into a full-blown snowball fight, which ended up with each of their poor snowmen looking like they’d gone to war. Though they still were better off than the handful of snowmen Killua and his siblings loved to pretend-murder when they were little.

With both of them now panting, covered in snow and soaked from head to toe, Killua thought Gon would've been satisfied; but he wasn't. After catching his breath, he pulled out two sleds Killua hadn't even noticed he'd taken on their trip. Old and small and green and purple with cutesy animal motifs, those sleds looked so painfully designed for kids that it made Killua wince.

“Have you ever gone sledding, Killua?” Gon asked as they arrived at the top of a hill he judged steep enough.

“No..."

Killua had snowball fights and done snowmen with his siblings on a few, rare occasions — but sledding had not been an activity that had ever been an option in the Zoldyck household. At least, not that he could remember. It was a bit of a shame, though. Kukuroo Mountain would have been fun to try to go sledding on as a kid. He was sure that Alluka—

But no. He shook his head. There was no point to dwell on such things now.

“Then I’ll show you!” Gon said enthusiastically, putting down his sled — the green one — on the ground. “Here, you have to sit like this.”

His whole body slumped down inside the plastic hull, and he had to retract his long legs a bit so that they could fit in the little sled before he gestured at Killua to do the same. Killua tried, but maybe because he’d never done this before or because the sled was too small for him, he found the position uncomfortable. He kept pulling his legs back and forth without being able to find a good compromise, which made Gon laugh until he took pity on him and decided to drop his own sled to join him.

“No, no, you can’t put your legs like that! Here,” Gon instructed, always with that proud happy tone he had whenever he got the occasion to teach something Killua didn’t know (which was rare). He sat right behind Killua, placing his legs on either side of him. Then he gently pulled on Killua’s ankles to straighten his legs, wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his right shoulder.

“See? It’s much more comfortable like this, isn’t it?” Gon said softly, and Killua could feel his breath on his ear.

His heart hitched and he tried to stay focused, even if he could still feel his cheeks burning. Dammit. It truly sucked that, even now that he was practically an adult, Gon could still get him flustered like this over something so trivial. He should be used to it; but his muscles instinctively tensed at Gon’s arms embracing him from behind, feeling the heat of his body even through all the thick winter clothes; the soft brush of his thick black hair against his skin; his lips against his jaw; and Killua actually wished Gon could a press a kiss right there—

“Okay, ready? Here we go!”

“W-what?” Killua stammered, embarrassment doubling over when he realized he’d been too caught up in his own silly fantasies to pay attention to what Gon was doing. “Wait—”

As always, Gon did not wait — and using only the strength of his legs he pushed the sled over the hill, the plank of plastic screeching and caving down.

Killua might have been ashamed to admit he did shriek at the plunge; but to be fair, they were two grown teenage boys on a sled made for kids that looked like it was at least over two decades old, hurtling down a particularly steep and craggy hill, banging at least a dozen large rocks and trees on the way down and, ultimately, when he thought they’d finally reached the bottom, he noticed the mount was concealing a large precipice.

They both fell off from what was at least a ten meters drop, and it was a miracle Killua didn’t split open his head when he crashed on the ground. It took him a few seconds before his deep-ingrained training kicked off; tuning out the pain and dizziness and rising up quickly to scan the surroundings. The first thing he noted were the remains of the sled that hadn't survived the fall: a heap of purple plastic and scraps of childish animal cartoons.

“Gon?” he shouted with worry, before locating his best friend’s body only a few feet away and running to him.

Gon, lying down on the snow, didn’t seem hurt in any way. On the contrary, he was laughing.

Killua let out a groan. “You dumbass,” he gritted through his teeth. “You’re lucky neither of us are normal guys, or we’d be dead.”

He sprawled next to the other boy, still trying to calm himself down from the adrenaline rush. Gon didn’t seem to have any intention of moving.

“Won’t happen,” he mumbled instead, his eyes closed. “I can die, but you won’t.”

Killua’s heart shivered at the sentence; fuzzy memories of being a kid sequestered with a murderous thief and a katana and a pressure building under his forehead he couldn’t understand resurfacing.

The words rang so much truer now that Gon was Nenless, and thus so much more vulnerable than Killua in a lot of ways.

“You know I hate when you say stuff like that. Even as a joke.”

“Hmm-mh. I know. Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you if you make me five hot chocolates once we get home.”

There was a tinkling laugh; the body next to Killua moved, before brown eyes entered his field of vision. Gon was still lying on the ground but he’d lifted his head, supporting it with his right hand, and he had this stupid, stupid fond smile on his face, gazing at Killua like he thought he was an angel.

And Killua knew that was what Gon actually thought because the next thing he said was, “You look so pretty in the snow like that. Your hair blend in perfectly, like an angel.”

Killua rolled his eyes — hoping with all his heart that his cheeks had not reddened, as he would not survive the embarrassment of blushing because of such a corny compliment — but then Gon leaned in, slowly, a little too close, until their noses almost bumped into each other. Not saying a word, his eyes intensely locked into his; and Killua wondered if he was waiting for something, trying to read his mind, notice a sign.

He didn’t seem to find what he wanted — so Killua gave it to him and raised his head briefly to meet his lips.

Gon’s lips weren’t warm.

They were cold, wet and icy, just like his hair as Killua ran his fingers through it, just like his skin as he cupped his face.

That didn’t seem right; an unsettling contradiction from what Killua had always imagined. The Gon he knew, the one he’d dreamed about for years, the one who’d saved him from the clutches of his family and from his world of shadows had always been as bright and warm as the sun, a burning furnace that could melt everything in its way, including cold and life and love.

But perhaps that had never been true. Gon had never really entirely been his savior like he’d convinced himself as a child, and he’d never been like the fate-defying boy who could defeat death itself he’d carved in his mind — so it only made sense kissing him for real would bear no resemblance to any of the fantasies Killua had conjured up.

Gon’s lips weren’t warm, his smile never shined as brightly as before, and he would never be warm enough to melt the cold, but it was alright, too. He didn’t have to be.

When Gon pulled away he was smiling tenderly, and for Killua, that was enough.

“So?” Gon asked. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Our first winter together. You have to admit that was fun.”

Killua hummed thoughtfully, pulling gently at Gon’s spiky strands. “Not sure. I still think winter kind of sucks.”

“Liar. You totally had fun today. I saw it.”

“Right, because you know better than me what’s going on inside my head.”

“Wanna try out the sled again?”

“It broke.”

“There’s still the other one.”

Killua wanted to glare at Gon, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t suppress the grin stretching on his face.

This morning, Alluka woke him up by jumping on his bed and shouting in absolute delight.

“Big brother, big brother! It’s snowing! It’s snowing! Look outside, there’s snow everywhere!”

It was 5 A.M., so of course, Killua did not take this very kindly. He shoved her away, sending her sprawling on the floor with a small yelp, then went back to sleep. Alluka retaliated by snatching his pillow from under his head and hitting him with it, leaving Killua no choice but to wrestle with her in bed for the next half hour.

When they finally stopped, both of them were now of course wide awake and Alluka didn’t wait any longer for her brother; she barely took the time to slip on her shoes and jumped out of their hotel room.

“Alluka! Wait! You need to dress up—”

But his sister had already disappeared, running down the stairs. Killua sighed, resigning himself to grab her winter clothes and go after her.

Outside, Alluka was already in the snow, scooping up handfuls of it as the falling flakes gently gathered in her mass of long black hair like constellations in the night.

“Alluka!” Killua called again. “Your coat! You’re freezing!”

“‘m not!”

“Yes you are!”

“I am not!”

Despite her insistence to the contrary it was obvious she was shivering; she had her arms wrapped around herself, rubbing them up and down, and was clearly trying hard to not let her teeth clatter.

Killua wasn’t sure why she was pretending not to feel the cold. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was some weird sense of inferiority — he’d noticed, in the past months they’d been traveling together, that Alluka looked a little odd whenever she realized all the things Killua could do and knew compared to her. It wouldn’t be surprising if she’d noticed the cold didn’t bother Killua, and so had decided that it shouldn’t bother her either, regardless of the fact she was not a normal Zoldyck child.

Or maybe she was just starting to get fed up with having her brother breathing down her neck all the time. Killua couldn’t entirely blame her, he mused as he wrapped her scarf around her neck and put on her pink wool hat on the top of her head, the cute little white puffs on each side of it bouncing back and forth.

It did feel a little weird, sometimes, to have to take care of her like that. Not that he disliked it — in fact, he found an odd sense of purpose and satisfaction about it. A kind of apology or penance, perhaps, for having abandoned her for so long.

But Alluka might not feel the same way.

“Brother,” she said, pulling on his shirt. “You can’t scold me for not dressing up and then going out like this!”

Killua blinked at her, stared down at himself — and then realized that she was right: he hadn’t put on anything but his shoes.

He shrugged. “It’s fine. Unlike you, I actually don’t feel the cold.”

Well, he did feel it. He’d just learned not to let it bother him.

“Go back!” Alluka said, shaking her head.

Killua rolled his eyes. “I said it’s fine—”

But before he could protest any more, a snowball suddenly came crashing down on his face. What the hell? When did Alluka even made that snowball? Maybe she did have some Zoldyck instincts, after all.

“Go. Back!” she repeated; and if there was one thing Killua couldn’t bear it was making Alluka mad at him, so he did as she wanted.

When he went back outside all bundled up in thick winter clothes, he was once again greeted by, this time, multiple snowballs crashing on him and a giggling Alluka.

Killua brushed away the snow from his face. Slowly. Then grinned back at her.

“Okay,” he said, “if you want to take it that way..."

He bent down and, with a swift movement, hurled the biggest snowball he could make at his sister. Alluka tried to run away, but it was no use against his speed. It might be unfair of him, as there was no way she could compete with his training; but, well, Alluka was the one who started this fight, so she’d have to face the consequences. Good life lessons from a concerned big brother.

They spent the entire next hour running back and forth through the street, zigzagging among the flakes and the people and the rare, occasional cars. It was not very responsible, and the passersby kept throwing them glares and yells, but Alluka was laughing so hard that it was worth it in Killua’s book.

It brought back some of his earliest childhood memories, the few times they had played in the snow with Kalluto. It seemed so long ago now, but he still had vivid images of little Alluka — or maybe Nanika, he still had trouble telling them apart back then — rolling around in the snow, rendering her short hair and pants completely soaked.

At some point, Alluka let Nanika get a crack at it. She was much slower than her sister and didn’t entirely seem to grasp the rules of the game. Plus, she disliked the idea of hitting Killua with anything even if it was just snow — “Back home, snow bad,” she’d repeated when Killua tried to explain that she couldn’t hurt him with this.

“Home? No, snow doesn’t hurt either at Kukuroo, I promise.”

“Back home, snow bad,” Nanika insisted, and gave no further explanation.

Well, whatever. Killua could work with that too.

“That’s okay, we can do something else. We could just build snowmen— oh, wait, what about snow angels?”

“Angels!” Nanika’s round black eyes seemed to enlarge and her smile broadened.

“You know what ‘angels’ are? Do you like them?”

“Ai. Angels. Like Alluka.”

Killua smiled fondly. “I agree, Alluka really is like an angel. And you are too!”

He patted her head, and as usual this made Nanika giggle bashfully.

Killua wasn’t sure if Nanika truly knew what ‘angels’ were — he’d have to ask Alluka afterwards — but regardless, when he explained to her how to draw them on the ground, she understood very quickly and definitely seemed to love that a lot more than the snowball fights. She was able to make quite a lot of pretty ones too. Nanika might have a knack for art.

When Alluka came back, she appeared exhausted and laid on the ground for a while, looking up at the white sky. She stared at it intently, then removed her gloves and dug into the snow with her bare fingers.

“You’ll get frostbite if you do that for too long,” Killua said.

But Alluka didn’t seem to be listening. She didn’t even got annoyed at his remark or raise her eyes toward him.

“I forgot how cold the snow was,” she said instead, simply, softly, in such a small voice she might not even be talking to Killua at all; but his heart dropped inside his stomach nonetheless.

Ever since they’d started traveling, Alluka would stop and marvel at the smallest novelties, even when they seemed completely mundane to Killua. She’d squealed in joy at the sight of the ocean; had stared in amazement at the huge, towering buildings of the big cities; had giggled excitedly at the vast wheat fields of the countryside.

It was only natural, of course. She had been bereft of this for seven years.

Killua tried not to, but the guilt that overwhelmed him every time he saw her do this was so strong it almost suffocated him, and he had to restrain himself from apologizing yet again. He knew doing that would only make Alluka feel bad.

He wondered if one day the guilt would end, or if he would have to carry it for the rest of his life.

“Big brother, do you remember?” Alluka asked suddenly; maybe she’d guessed his thoughts, because there was a fake cheer in her voice, a smile on her face that seemed a little forced. “When we were little, we played in the snow like that too!”

“Ah... yeah, we did.”

“It was really fun, wasn’t it? We’d make snowmen with Kalluto, and then ‘killed’ them in every way we could think of. Nanika found it fun too! And then we’d have snowball fights with Millu-nii, and oh! There was that one time where Illu-nii helped us build a snow castle too, didn’t he? That was awesome! I wish we could do that again, and—”

As Alluka kept rambling, Killua’s smile slowly faded from his face.

“Alluka,” he said slowly, interrupting her flow of words, “what... what are you saying? Milluki hated going outside, and Illumi... Illumi never played with us either.”

Or the only time he did, it had only been with Killua — and Killua didn’t like to dwell on it.

Alluka suddenly sobered. Her smile fell. “Oh,” she said. “Never?”

“No... never. It was... it was just you and me and Kalluto. And it only happened a few times.”

“Oh,” Alluka said again, and then became completely silent as she burrowed her gaze in the snow.

Her face had become completely blank, and a chill went up Killua’s spine. She did that, sometimes; her eyes turning dead and black, her expression unreadable, as if she’d pulled up a mask. It was a similar but different type of unsettling that one might feel when seeing Nanika take over their body for the first time.

It was the exact same expression she had when he went to save her from the manor’s basement, the first time he saw her again after seven long years. Back then, she barely looked any different from the rest of her dolls and stuffed animals, nothing but a lifeless mannequin.

Killua wasn’t actually sure what was happening whenever she did that. If she was just... thinking, or if she was communicating with Nanika, or something else entirely.

The only thing he knew was that he hated it.

“But... but, well, we’ll get the opportunity to do it again in the future!” he suddenly exclaimed, maybe a bit too cheerfully.

Alluka blinked, and to his relief she seemed back to her usual self, lifting up her dark eyes toward him.

“Huh?”

“I— I mean, now we can play in the snow like that every winter,” he explained. Well, not with the rest of their siblings, but he wasn't going to mention that. “With my— our friends too, if you want. Like Leorio and Bisky and Ikalgo and Palm...”

A while back, Gon had said something like that to him too, hadn’t he?

Last year, when they were still journeying together in search of Ging. At that period, they were in Greed Island, where the seasons seemed perpetually stuck in the summer.

Gon had declared so confidently then that they should play in the snow together next year, Killua remembered with a twist in his stomach.

In the end, it had never happened. They had not seen the snow together. They had not stayed together period — even despite Gon’s unwavering faith.

Because Gon’s words weren’t infallible. Gon wasn’t a force of nature capable of bending the world to his will. He was just a normal boy, and so, just like any normal boy, there were promises he could break.

At the end of the day, Killua was just a boy as well, and so maybe it was bad to make similar promises to his sister. But Alluka deserved the world, and so for her, he still wanted to try.

And, at the very least, that seemed to bring back her kind smile on her face.

“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that. We could play with Gon as well next time, right?”

For some reason, Alluka bringing up Gon in particular made Killua blush.

“R-right,” he said, looking away. “Next time.”

He wasn’t sure when next time would be. But he wanted to believe it would happen, one day.

It was December. Whale Island must be covered in snow just about now — like how Gon described it to him back then. He hoped Gon was having fun right now. He hoped he was playing around in the snow, with his family or any of the other islanders, and that he was having the most epic snowball fights and sledding races ever.

Killua helped Alluka get back on her feet, and then they returned inside the hotel, getting scolded by a member of the staff for getting the carpet wet on the way in.

Maybe they’ll try to go out again after lunch. There was a small park nearby — surely they’ll find some good spot to build proper snowmen there.

Killua found it rather funny to realize that it had taken them a whole decade before they were finally able to spend winter together on Whale Island.

They’d come back to Gon’s hometown in the five years since they reunited of course; but usually during spring to celebrate Mito and Gon’s birthdays, or summer, more rarely fall. They’d never dropped by during winter, nor had they ever stayed long enough for the cold to set in.

Until now, anyway.

They debarked at the end of December, and Killua gasped in awe as, for the very first time in the ten years he’d known it, he saw the small island covered all in white.

The volcano that overlooked the whale-shaped land resembled an ice peak, and the rest of it seemed dusted with powdered sugar; only the coastlines appeared to be unaffected. The sea itself was particularly cold, and even some corners of the harbor were completely frozen over.

This felt surreal. Killua hadn’t even known it could snow on islands like that. In his head, he supposed they were just forever locked in that tropical, summery atmosphere — much like Greed Island seemed to be.

“Cool, right?” Gon asked with an amused glint as he saw Killua gawk at his hometown. “There’s a lot of areas that looks really pretty under the snow, I’ll show you later!”

And so, after they landed and greeted Mito, they went through all of Gon's favorite spots that Killua knew by heart, except they were now all coated with a couch of snow and ice and verglas. Whale Island always had something a little fairy talesque about it, but the winter looks only accentuated it.

Once the tour was over, they wasted no time in starting a snowball fight and getting scolded by Mito, who spent the whole evening grumbling about how they were now too old for that. The following day, Gon dug out his old childhood sleds — the ones Mito's father had made long ago for his daughter and nephew — and even though they were a bit small for adults, they were much sturdier than the plastic ones they had used a few years before. And, as Gon had promised, Whale Island was indeed a very fun place to sled on.

Alluka and Nanika arrived three days later, having agreed to come and celebrate New Year with them. There was a big party on the island for the occasion, where they spent most of the night eating, drinking, and dancing. Gon also took Alluka on a tour to reveal to her what he had shown Killua the days prior.

By the time they came back near the hamlet, they held a snowman-building competition with Alluka, followed by a snow angel contest specifically for Nanika, and ended the day with a snowball fight so massive that they even dragged Mito and other islanders into the battle. Mito defeated all of them.

When they finally went back home, their bodies exhausted, soaked, and aching, it was Mito who noticed Killua’s swollen feet, which confined him to bed for the rest of their stay.

“It’s just frostbite,” Killua complained for the umpteenth time. “I already said it doesn’t even hurt. I don’t understand why Mito is making such a big deal out of it.”

Gon smiled indulgently as he brought hot chocolate to their room — which was actually Gon’s childhood bedroom, the one they always ended up sharing during their stopovers. Alluka, meanwhile, was sleeping with Mito in the room she had shared with her grandmother before her death a few years earlier.

“Even if you don’t feel the pain, that doesn’t mean you’re not hurt,” Gon replied while sitting next to Killua on the bed, leaning in to kiss him briefly on the lips. “Sorry, but I’m on Mito’s side. Alluka and Nanika agreed too. Do you want to make Nanika sad?”

Killua rolled his eyes, clutching his scalding mug and blowing on it. At least Mito made the best hot chocolates, so he couldn’t complain too much.

“She kept complaining about how we should’ve known better than going out playing around,” Gon continued as he settled on more comfortably on the bed. Killua stepped aside to let him, and Gon let his head fall on his shoulder.

“What the hell is she talking about? She literally played with us too,” Killua pointed out.

Gon laughed. “Yeah. But I don’t regret it, it was really fun. It was, right?”

He raised his head and looked up at Killua with a mischievous grin. Killua snorted.

“Alluka and Nanika seemed to have fun, yeah,” he replied.

“So did you!”

“Maybe."

Gon whined in annoyance. “You’re not cute when you’re not being honest.”

“That’s not true. I’m always cute. You’re the one not being honest here.”

Gon chuckled, kicking him gently in the leg. This brought Killua’s gaze back to his feet, naked and enrolled in bandages, hiding away the ugly tumefied red skin.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had frostbite,” Killua said. He honestly hadn’t even been sure his body was still physically capable of it.

“When was the last time?”

“Dunno. When I was three or something, maybe. Illumi would drag me out in the middle of the night and leave me in the mountain for ages, and then I’d come back covered with frostbite and stuff...”

Killua trailed off, frowning. Damn, he hadn’t meant to share that at all. Must be the hot chocolate's fault, he decided. Not that he minded it all that much anymore.

He didn’t like to dwell on his childhood anymore; the whole of it a bunch of mangled, nasty, blurry images that now felt so far away from him it could've almost belonged to someone else, to another life. But it wasn’t too much trouble to share a few memories now and then. Not with Gon, anyway.

There was a comfortable silence now, and maybe it was Gon's presence next to his, or the cozy atmosphere of the Freecss house, or the exhaustion from the day, but Killua felt suddenly very peaceful. If he closed his eyes, he was almost convinced he could fall asleep instantly.

“I played in the snow with Illumi, once,” Killua said suddenly, softly.

He was still staring at his feet. At the swollen skin. Tried to remember if it had looked like that too when he was a little boy.

Tried to remember what it was like for it to hurt and cry over.

He couldn’t. The memories were all blended over and mixed up. He wasn’t sure if he missed them.

“Only once,” he added. “It was fun.”

Gon said nothing back to this. He stayed there, at his side, and really, that was the only thing Killua wanted of him.

He brought the hot chocolate to his lips; let the warmth of the liquid and of Gon’s body pressed next to him flow through his body, and looked over at the window, at the snow-white landscape.

He felt so warm and fuzzy inside that the outside cold almost seemed like a dream.