Januray 1st, 2011
Dear Penpal,
Hello! My name is Gon Freecs! I'm in 5th grade! My Sensai Wing-san said that I have to write these letters to you until the next school year, so I hope we get to be great friends!
Sincerly,
Gon Freecs
January 6th, 2011
Dear Gon,
My teacher said we have to write these letters too. My name is Killua, so don't call me "penpal" in your letters. It's kind of wierd. I guess it would be nice to have a friend for a change, even if they live miles away.
Sincerly,
Killua Zoldyck
From then on, Killua's and Gon's friendship bloomed, little by little. By the end of the school year, they came to like each other so much and know each other so well that they decided to continue writing letters to one another, despite the fact they were no longer required to. Soon, waiting for letters from the other became tedious and they began to communicate vie E-mail and, eventually, cellphones.
As of present, Gon sat down on his bed, whipping out his cellphone. Californian moonlight drifting in through the window. Gon hardly noticed as the light from the screen lit up his face.
Hey Killua! What's up?
You should be asleep. And so should I. It's 6 AM here, Gon.
Oh. Right. Sorry, Killua. I kind of forgot about time zones for a moment.
It's 2 AM where you are!
So?
Goodnight, Gon. I will text you in when it's morning. Well a reasonable time in the morning for you, anyway.
Killua?
...
Killua?
Killua awoke with a yawn, several hours later. Rolling over onto his side, he checked the time on his phone. 9 AM. Well, that was better then 6. STill it was far too early to text Gon just yet. He'd have to wait a few hours.
Killua stretched as he sat up swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet came into contact with the carpeted floor. Certain areas of it were worn from him pacing in the late hours of the night, thinking up schemes to get out of the hell hole he called home. Most of them ended up with Gon in there somewhere. Killua proceeded to get dressed, not taking off his shirt until absoulutely necassary. When he did, it was not pretty. Bruises and scars adorned his upper body, turning his pale skin varrious shades of purple and red.
"Damn. They still haven't faded." He really hoped they would fade come Monday. OTherwise, he would have to change in the bathroom instead of the lockeroom. He pulled on a t-shirt large enough to cover his wounds and walked out into the hallway.
He was no more than five steps on his way to the kitchen when the words "Hey, faggot," reached his ears.
