AN: so ... god its been a while, right ? im not sure how many people may still be reading this story, given that i basically had a three-four month unplanned hiatus, but recently, my want for this story has come back to the point where ive sped ahead and im already on the final chapter. i really do adore this story and i hope i can write until it's ready to finish. but other than that, enjoy !
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chapter eleven
with morning yawn
When Gon wakes up, he finds Killua.
Half tucked around the broken parts of him, strung over his legs like he was the one thing that could thread him back together. Their fingers knock loosely, sleep holding them only so close, only so far away and immediately, Gon is thrown into retrograde as he maps him. How early mornings would find the cuts, the creases of his best friend beneath the covers, slip into the cold ravines of muscles and turn him warm and buttered, a stark contrast to the life he'd been forced into. How, when Gon was the second to wake, Killua didn't leave and waited, idly passing the time with games or - and Killua didn't know Gon knew this - watched him as he woke.
Gon had only seen Killua pull himself from beneath sleeps fingernails a few rare, blessed times, but every time, it felt like the hand of God on his chest. Pressing, hard, to stop the stutter of his heartbeat. Messy hair, half lazy smile, a snuffling of words into the pillow before his jaw could creak into movement. It turned Gon pink and bright and full of growth. So Gon knots his hands tighter around Killuas, silently begging the white haired child to wake up next to him.
As if a soundless noise was passed through the air, Killua stirs, catching Gon's breath on the splinters left behind in his chest. He holds back a pain filled cough as Killua blinks awake, pushes sleep away to thread himself closer, almost cradling the bruised kneecap where his head had been pillowed against. But his gaze catches on movement, the rise and fall of a chest, the litter of half-contained joy in stippling hands, and in turn, Killua finds Gon. For a moment, neither of them speak, Killuas head working overtime to flood through the rush of information. Then, as if settled into quiet, that lazy smile Gon loves bends through his teeth. "Gon."
"Killua."
And it is baby steps when Killua moves his small seat forwards, closer up against the bedside to be at Gon's shoulder rather than hip. Slowly, one hand inks through the strands of hair on the opposite side of Gon's face, his nose brushing along the fissures against his temple, turning the boys head to him. It's something called snuffling or rooting, Gon's head supplies. Animals often do it when comforting one they love. The two revel in the soft, gentle silence, until Killua sighs against his cheekbone. "You feelin' okay? You got pretty beat up."
"Mm," he murmurs, half-intent on staying quiet, staying still as not to frighten Killua back to his seat. And, he reasons, if he stays very still, he can feel Killua brush a tender kiss over the bruised cheekbone, "Little sore, but it's s'alright, had worse," Gon runs the pad of his thumb in the conjunction between Killua's own and index finger, smoothing through the skin like Killua had done to him so many nights, so many mornings when he woke up with demons to spare. It's true; Gon has had worse to deal with.
"Good; I was worried I wouldn't be able to beat you for being so stupid," scolds Killua, though there's no heat to his words because Killua doesn't move, only shuffles to press his face further into the half shaven side of dark hair, spilling his words against Gon's skull. His other hand smooths over his jawline, down his throat, dipping through the hollows of bone and chest and shoulder. For a moment, Gon wonders what he's searching for in him.
Despite the lack of venom, Gon still reacts accordingly. "E-Eh!? B-But, Killua! You were the one that came with me!"
"To make sure you didn't die!"
"I can make sure I don't die on my own!"
"No you can't; that's why I was there!"
"I thought you were coming with me because you knew I'd just go anyways!"
"Of course I was," growls the child, blue eyes filling with something akin to protective, akin to breaking through walls and tree lines and soul to grasp at Gon. And, if Gon pays close enough attention, there's something akin to starlight there too. "You're just too stubborn for your own good, idiot."
"Why're you yelling?" half swallowed by sleep, Isas peers from below the bed, blanket curled across the black curls, throwing him into a cover of shade in the morning light. Immediately, Killua peels away, though he doesn't loose his grip on Gon as Isas, slowly, comes to realization. Gon sits up further, to catch his brother around the shoulders when he dives into him, swallowing a moan of pain as he bashes into his sprained arm. "Goooooon! You're aliiivvveeee!"
"I told you he would be; stop crying, Isa!"
"I'm tryinggg, but I can't," sobs Isas, still pressed to Gon's shoulder and too littered with relief at his brother's awakening to hear the affectionate nickname that slips through Killua's teeth. He curls deeper into his brother, who unknots himself from Killua to bundle the boy closer. "Gooon, n-never go somewhere without me again, okay? I thought we lost you all over again!"
Gon uncurls his hand from Killuas, threading it around his brother's shoulders as he continues to sputter against his. "Isa. Isa, I'm okay," he comforts, fingers mimicking those of Mito-san's, the careful way she brushed through the live wires of him. How she never brushed a nerve. How she always managed to pull him back together. It's a few moments until Isas pulls back, messily scrubbing his sleeve over his eyes. In tandem, Gon paints a wide grin over his face to calm the storm that's been sat in his brother's chest whilst he's been gone. "I've fought Hisoka before; he was just stronger again this time."
"Hisoka?"
Killua lifts his chin from his palm, the elbow sat upright on pointed knees, crossed at the ankles, "The clown I told you about," and turns back to watch Gon again.
"Oh," comments the younger, scrambling into a place at the foot of the bed. He picks his way over the wriggling toes of Gon, the stretched out legs of Killua's to sit, neatly, in the space between. He thinks over the new information, chewing at it until gently, Isas comes back to himself, all starry-eyed and moon-faced love, reflecting. He sits up straighter and looks Gon in the eye. "Are you hungry? I can make some breakfast."
"No, I got it," Killua nudges the heel of his shoe into Isas' thigh, unusually helpful as he jumps from his seat. But a knowing pulses through him, a thread tugged free, when he looks to Gon. Determination sparks a current through him, burning across his veins and toiling deep, into the burrows of him, like roots. He's staring at Isas, tongue formed into a question mark and Killua knows Gon well enough to know that no matter what, he'll get an answer. So he leaves, but not before sparing Gon a smile that turns his insides warm and sweet.
When he leaves, Gon shuffles his legs, sitting back so Isas can sit comfortably. Here, Gon can see the similarities in more than just facial features. It's in the way he sits, legs spread wide into a 'V' whilst Gon's cross, unable to stretch from the strain in his muscles. In the way he sits forwards on his hands, cushioning his posture into curiosity and listening, as well as how his smile turns crooked, half made. But more than anything, Gon notices the look in his eyes; starry-eyed and a moon-faced reflection of love. More often than not, Gon has held the same expression.
The Whale Island boy tilts his head, curiosity building a home in spires beneath his ribs. "Isas, can I ask you a question?"
A nod fills the space between them and Gon continues. "What's the Priory of Sonos?"
And Isas threads through files and memories and notes, digging through to find the name. Singular conclusions, definitions, flair with understanding but ultimately, "I-I don't know." Both twins expressions fall into disappointment, though Isas' gaze tips up. His mouth, despite itself, frames into a smile at the jelly glow-in-the-dark stars. "I mean, I don't know them personally, at least I don't think. But I've heard Yona talk about them, though she uh, she doesn't know about that."
At the partly-guilty, partly-mischievous expression, Gon smiles, but he's left in questioning, wondering, about what had transpired within that clearing. Why Hisoka had been walking his old home. Why the cloaked figure had sparked, diligently, against the crux of his memory. Had he known that voice? That person? Gon delves through himself, peels back the edges of old wounds, unthreads the careful stitches to try and dig into the red wet of him, to pull out the memory and hold it, splintering, to the light.
"Though," says Isas, head peering up to the see-through jelly stars cushioned above their heads, careful eyes watching the exchange, "I do know what the Sonos part is about, I think?"
Autopilot tugs at his feet, sends him scrambling to the corner of the room where treasures lie, a bookcase shuffled and folded with some of Yona's old books, a few photo albums, pictures pressed diligently between the books to hide them from suspecting gaze. He kneels and picks out a book, a volume of three, thick and burrowed in age. He hefts it onto the sheets again, climbing up after it and settling it between his tucked up legs, towards Gon. When he opens it, Gon can see in the soft peel of a sunlit tongue, the way dust flutters from its gaping jaw.
It takes Isas a while to find the page, even more so as the two get distracted by pictures and small stories left in the crevices. A few times, Isas even picks out his favorites - Mamoru and Jomei, Koko's loneliness and selfishness, the way Calliope had once tried to split the universe to pull her brothers back home to her - and Gon is enraptured, caught in the tales his father had known, his father had probably told him to soothe him once, when the nights turned late and sleep was a vacant visitor to him. Then, suddenly, Isas grins and it peels starlight out of him.
"Found it!" Triumph scores through his teeth, a jagged curl, as he pulls the book wider, spilling loose pages and inks. Shuffling forwards on curled legs, Gon delicately drags his hands over the pages that spell out Yuubana's version of Heaven, Elysium, Nirvana. In the middle of one, surrounded by Yuubanian glyphs and lexis, an image of the world sits, kissed by stars and darkness. However, a few parts out, a dark circle swallows itself around the world, a barrier of woven band around it. Gon thinks to all the science lessons that Mito-san had tried to instill into him and comes up empty-handed, traded for summer afternoons and animal fights.
He looks to Isas and between them, Isas places the book open, cover-down, both twins leaning over it as he points and picks out the gaps in Gon's knowledge. He follows the long ribbon around the earth, tapping at it. "Most science books now call this the ozone layer, which Yona says is an invisible buildup of gases," he says, but his fingers point to a label connected to the ribbon, "but before we knew that, Yuubana called it the 'barrier' or 'raptu.' It's said that when we die, we go to Sonosraptura, which is where the Gods live, or at least where Calliope and Koko do."
At this, Gon's brow furrows, "what about Mamoru?"
"Mamoru's place is with us, the earth and mortals," says Isas, fingers knotting in one, twos, threes, "though, it's said, when the world comes to an end, Mamoru will go back to his brother and sister and join them with us in Sonosraptura to open the barrier."
Had I once known this, wonders Gon. Had tales of Gods and barriers and worlds unlike his own been ingrained into him, a pocket of space with stories to tell. For a moment, Gon lets himself stare at the page, notices how there is a distinct knot in the 'raptu' and wonders ... what would it take to rip it apart?
"But the 'sonos' part," continues Isas, unknown to Gon's turmoil, the way he pulls up weeds and wonders where the roots once came from, "means 'God-made' in Yuubian, so Sonosraptura means 'God-born barrier order.'"
The Whale Island boy nods, letting the information sink through him like seeds in the soil, sprouting with understanding. The Priory of God-born, Gon connects dots and stars in constellations, tries to see the connection between Yona and a group hell-bent on the Gods that had birthed their home into existence. He finds common interests - the religion ingrained into her, the devotion to what her mother taught and the love of stories - but nothing that turns her into something deadly, something willing to beat a child into silence for the sake of a secret. For Yona's hands are made of softer things than that; he knows, he's held them.
In front of him, Gon can see Isas tumbling through the same thoughts as him, a mirror of confusion. So he knots his hands into his brothers, drags him out of the darkness with a warm, earthy grin. "Isa," he says, and the boy blinks to attention, pulling from between the cruxes of his mythology, of his beloved sister, "when we figure out what all this is, do you want to come with me to meet Ging?"
As if the name is dust, sand between his teeth, Isas' jaw gapes, fluttering around stutter and silence like a fish. It takes him a moment before Isas stops, lowers his head and smiles, shaking away the sleep leftover. When he looks back up to Gon, tightening his hands in his, Gon feels as if he's staring into a mirror. "No thanks," he says, grin blinding, "Yona's the only parent I really need, and I have Cranberry-san and Captain Farley. Tell him I said hi though."
Gon doesn't comment on the difference between them, two sides of the coin, the world. For all of Gon's energy is towards his father, towards retrieval, whilst all of Isas' is towards Yona, to keeping. As different as two planets, orbiting different parts of the universe but still, they gravitate towards eachother all the same. "Mm!"
Behind Isas, the door clatters open, pulling in two figures. Killua, a tray of toast and orange juice in his hands whilst Leorio stumbles in behind him, coffee stains across his shirt and smile. Immediately, Gon lifts his arms to greet him into a hug, and the tall doctor lowers himself gladly in it, clinging for a few extra moments after the scare of yesterday had left him slightly hollowed, slightly frostbitten with fear.
His fingers sink into the strands of spiked hair, letting Isas clamber into his lap after Killua places the plate of toast in his hand. "So," he says, hands already framing his temple to check for a temperature rise, the healing in him bleeding, "are you feeling better? Besides from the cast on your arm that is."
"Mm," says Gon, arching into the careful, affectionate hands like a petted animal. Beside him, Killua pulls up his knees, shifting his bare feet beneath the covers for warmth. Gently, his toes brush against the outside of Gon's bare thigh. "I'm feeling a lot better."
The resulting answer is a grin, and Leorio digging into the briefcase he'd kept at the side of Isas' bed, smuggled between bedside table and mattress. He pulls it up onto the sheets, setting to work with repairing bandages and cleaning wounds. All the while, Gon regales the stories from the book that Isas had pulled from the bookcase, talking of Mamoru and Jomei, which has Killua blushing, Koko's selfishness and how Calliope once tried to drag the universe to it's knees just to see her brothers again, disappearing into the ocean and flames below. As rapt as always, Leorio listens.
Soon, Kurapika enters, cradling a cup of tea and a vial of medicine that Leorio had forgot in his room, which disappears colorlessly into Gon's refilled orange juice. When Kurapika comes in, he sits on the end of the bed on Killua's side, patting a hand against Gon's shin. And, somehow, Gon is surrounded. "How are you feeling today, Gon?"
"Better," he says, with that same warm, expanding smile that has Kurapika smiling back, content in this small room, surrounded by stars and sunlight and earth. As Kurapika takes back the emptied vial, Gon sits up high, ignoring when Leorio grumbles, trying to clean another wound. "Kurapika, is Yona mad at me?"
Half perturbed at why Gon asks him, of all people, why Yona may be mad at him, the Kurta stills. On Leorio's lap, half crawling back into his space at the foot of the bed, Isas also peers up, head tilted in curiosity at the answer. Then, Kurapika shakes his head."No, I don't believe so."
"Then ... where is she?"
"She went to work early; foraging," he clears and Gon nods, head tilting to look out the window that follows the mountain path that circles around the house, disappearing up into the mountains that scatter like teeth over the horizon. Gon wonders - which way did she go; up or down the mountains whilst he slept?
As Isas settles, just against Kurapika's shoulder, he nods enthusiastically. "Mm, when she does foraging work for Shiro and Old man Rom, she has to go early, 'cause most of the animals tend to gnaw at the medicinal herbs to soothe aches in their jaw," and, amusingly, Isas opens his mouth wide towards Gon, sticking his fingers messily inside to poke at the back arches of his teeth, a half-baked anatomy lesson on the pain that sits at the back when ignored. How it grows until the animals have to beat others to the herbs if they want to be well again.
It's only a while until Leorio packs up his things, leaving Gon to his own devices and Kurapika departs too, talking of helping Cranberry-san with her shop in the village. In the time it takes for the day to dwindle into midday, to when Yona will return, Killua and Isas set to entertain Gon whilst he's bed-ridden. The twins teach Killua their limited knowledge of folklore, of the island and in turn, Killua repeats the ghost stories collected in his jaw, aftertaste reminders.
But, Killua notices, how Gon stares out the window. How he watches the sun sink further towards the earth as the day wears on and Yona comes closer to home with each passing minute.
It's when the door opens does Gon permanently tear his gaze from the window. It's when the door shuts that Isas and Killua look to each other, worrying through themselves and closing the book between all three of them.
As if on autopilot, Yona immediately comes to the doorway, half-asleep and clad in a different type of work wear; cargo shorts and dark tank top, hair tied high in a ponytail. From the swishing end, a leaf trails against her mid back. Immediately, Gon lifts his arms in greeting, choosing to ignore the way Yona doesn't sink into it, how she holds her hands above him like she's afraid he'll break.
"Yona! How was work?"
She settles herself beside him, fingers dipping under the covers to straighten them out. Tiredly, she smiles at the boy running a hand over a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone. "It was fine," she says and her mouth opens, falling short of the question she wants to ask, of the way she wants to know of his day and all he's done whilst she's been gone. But guilt makes her hands falter, turn silent in the already quiet room, and Isas and Killua suddenly depart, aware of the oncoming calamity.
For this, Yona is thankful as she tiptoes forwards, slipping her little finger's around Gon's own, garnering his explicit attention. "Gon," and she can feel the storm in her throat, the blossom of burn flowering to press at her tongue. How it hurts. How it aches. "Gon, I need to talk to you."
"I won't tell anyone about what the cloaked person said," loyalty a fierce rock in his stomach, Gon doesn't waver. More mountain than molehill, Yona sits, staring at her beautiful, found baby brother, wondering how Mito-san managed to raise such a loyal creature. Compared to her, Gon is rock and Yona is water, and when he tightens his small finger around hers, it only manages to melt her further. "Promise, or I'll swallow a thousand needles."
"I know, I know you won't," she presses their foreheads together, trying to remember this, how warm he is and how solid he is under her hands as they drag over his cheek into his hair. Tries to forget how her voice shakes, spilling all the fear into it, the guilt that she's tried to swallow. Gon, opposite her, creases his brow, his other hand coming up to wipe at the tears that threaten, the rivers coming to sit at the waterline of her lashes until, "Gon, you're going home," and his hand stops.
The child pulls back instantly, face a mixture of shock and disappointment. "W-What?! Why?!"
"Because," desperation claws through her stomach, turning her sick as she goes to grasp at his hands again, sit closer, tries to get him to understand why her eyes see him dead, fallen, by her own careless hand and decisions. Why she lives in fear everyday Isas will be taken by sickness or her careless, childish mistakes. Yona sighs and calms her breathing, not letting the demons she's kept so close break her open. "Because, Gon, you ... you never should've been exposed to that, my mistakes. It was dangerous and irresponsible of me and now, you've ... you've gotten hurt."
Despite all the stories she's heard of this boy, at heavens arena, in Yorknew, from Mito-san and Grandma Abe themselves even - this is to much for her. Yona is weak, filled with soft and broken things and threaded together with the pieces of others to make her whole. Yona is not her little brothers - wild and endless and full. Monsters had never scared Isas when he was younger; so why should Gon have been any different?
But, Yona thinks, swallowing her own tongue, he should not have been exposed to mine.
Despite only having one hand, Gon is able to pat his fingers over her arm, drawing her attention from where her head droops to hide the tears, noticing how his big sister looks less like the woman, the provider, he's been introduced to and more like the little girl that once, may have tucked him in with bedtime stories and soft blankets. Because Gon understands, that for while Gon has been chasing Ging, Yona has been chasing Gon, from Heaven's arena, to Yorknew, to Greed Island and everywhere in between. So he understands how much it must hurt, to let the person you've been chasing go.
"Yona," fingers brush over her cheekbone, finding the bumpy ridges of a scar beneath the skin there. It digs out the flaws of her, reminds Gon his big sister is as human as he is, that not all of his family are enigmas, "Yona, it's okay. I know."
All at once, Yona's breath stops. Captured in strings and chords; it's almost a struggle to breathe as Gon concede's, wiping at the free-flowing tears. When did I become the child, she murmurs to herself quietly, trying to wake the hollows that don't answer. The parts of herself that dodge and hide from the prod, the ones she let die. From that, the silence, she understands and laces her arms around Gon, finally, pressing her head into his shoulder, muffling the soft gasps of breath. One of his own arms winds around her too, head pressing into her neck.
"I'm so sorry, Gon."
"Uh uh," he says, pulling back and shaking his head. He waits a few seconds for her to push away the tears, a soft smile waiting when she opens them again, "I understand. Besides, we'll all see each other again, ne?"
The Yuubanian girl can't stop the questions in her head, bees in a jar, but she still silences them in return to Gon's smile. Shakily, she nods, mirroring it to the best of her abilities. But to Gon, it looks like the sun falling back into a cold star, asleep. "Yeah," she confirms, a nod following, "we'll all see each other again. We still have until the end of the month for the blood results anyways."
"Mm!"
Time drags on and soon, Killua and Isas make their way in, soon followed by Leorio and Kurapika until Gon is surrounded all over again. Laughter and food and smiles; as if the weight of their departure didn't hang over their shoulders, slip through the threads of their clothes like a forgotten, itching thread. They don't comment on it, even as night falls and the lanterns in the village spill a glow down the hallway, even as Killua yawns when he pillows his head against Kurapika's shoulder.
The older three put the younger ones to bed easily, pulling out futons and sleeping bags for them to sleep in, but before they can, Isas and Killua clamber into bed beside Gon, careful around the broken edges of him. And though their legs fall off the edges, and they lie sideways on their hips, all three sit, comfortably becoming awash with sleep, the tide pulling them under. Both Yona and Kurapika leave them under Leorio's careful watch, as they successfully rope him into telling a ghost story that has Killua rolling his eyes on Gon's chest.
But as both Yona and Kurapika leave the room, the door closing behind them, Yona moves. Her destination is the veranda and as she moves, she gets faster, to the point where she spills out and leans harshly over the railing, swallowing air and gasps, guttural noises exploding from her mouth. She doesn't hear the footsteps behind her, nor the veranda door closing behind and if she does, she doesn't care. Because her gaze is downwards, hands folded over her mouth to at least muffle the mournful sobs from the ears of the younger three.
She stills slightly when a hand ghosts over her bent spine, a presence coming into existence at her shoulder. However, she doesn't pause in her sobs, allowing them to continue in bursts, breathing then sobbing, breathing then sobbing. And the hand at her back never stills nor pauses in it's movement, it only comforts, drawing circles across the fabric. Inch by rotting inch though, does she begin to heal rather than tear at the void in her chest at having to wish her brother goodbye. Slowly, Yona comes back to herself.
She peers up under the messy hair, the tear-stained lashes, to Kurapika, hand still carefully moving over her back. His eyes are to the village, admiring the lanterns until he looks to her, golden thread brushing onto his mouth distractedly in the movement. "Better?"
"Mm," she confirms, nodding her head as she straightens, keeping her hands clutched to the railing. Her eyes stay closed for a bit, smothering the pain behind them before she sighs, looking to the blond. "Thank you."
"It's fine," and he keeps his hand on the small of her back, no longer rubbing but - there. A weight, a reminder, a hold. Something to fall back against and all at once, Yona is more grateful than she's been for years for someone to fall back on. Even though a part of her is reminded of the crow's nest on captain Farley's ship, of the night where they first came home, of all the times suspicion and doubt had constructed Kurapika into an endless curiosity of her origins - it is nice to not be the one to try and stand behind someone else, holding them up to the light.
They stay there, half curled for a moment, before an exasperated laugh breathes through the spaces between her teeth, the northern wind billowing against her tongue. One hand presses over her burning eyes, into her hair, pushing it back from her gaze. "Sorry," she says, half to Kurapika, half to herself and the air inside her heartbeat, "that you had to see me like this. Usually, I'm not this emotional or childish."
"Don't apologize, Yona," he says, and removes his hand from her back, instead placing it on the railing. In silence, the two look out onto the village, the sunlight casting a warm, summer glow into the cruxes of the island, where the hills turn tall and the roads run deep. His arms cross loosely over the railing, wrists hanging. "Though, I do wonder where your reasoning is for this."
Logic was never a strong point to her, nor to her family, so immediately, Yona is unsure of what he means, mind awash with only the recent rather than the past. Only until she looks back into the house, to Leorio slotting the door closed and departing to his own room across the hallway with Kurapika's, does she understand and she settles herself against the railing, back to the village. "Then tell me; what do you think about this?"
Despite her not looking at him, Kurapika looks to Yona. Notices small details he usually doesn't - the soft flow of hair against her cheek, the tightness in her shoulders and the bend of her spine, forming a curving mountain road. He can even see the sheen of tears down her cheeks, the painted red, and feels his hand itch slightly with the strange urge to wipe them away. Then, he looks back to the village. "It doesn't matter what I think, but ... I understand why you believe this is the best course of action, you told us how dangerous it was when he came back like that," he explains, turning back his gaze to how himself and Leorio had cornered Yona into telling them. About the debt, the mismatched work, the expectations that had been held for her been dashed at her incompetence. How danger had been calling her name long before she'd ever known Gon was still alive "But ... is this the best for Gon?"
"Of course it is," she bites out, her tongue to quick for her to stop. Behind her, where her hands curl into the railing, they tighten. Her eyes narrow towards the flowerpot, the soil still carved out with what Gon had found there, the letter that led him to the forest clearing. She hasn't touched it since and the flowers are dying. "It's logical. This way, if he goes home, then he doesn't get hurt anymore and he won't constantly be in danger. Plus, Isas and I can visit; it's not as if I'm cutting off all communication with him."
"No, but this is his home," and the conviction in his voice has Yona turning, all snapped shock and hummingbird heartbeat, towards the blond. His mouth mirrors thread, straight and narrow and long, no room for movement in his stance. Slowly, Yona peels off of the railing. "His first home, or so he now believes. By sending him home, when he's not yet finished here, is a cruelty I didn't believe you possessed. Gon can take this burden; I know, I've watched him shoulder plenty."
"He shouldn't have too. He's a child."
But Yona's words die on her tongue, the heat vanishing in a moment at the turn of Kurapika's head. Here, she knows what it means to be broken, how easily the world can crack into you without mercy because Kurapika looks at her like he see's a ghost, like there's nothing before him but air and a vague shadow of what was left behind. It leaves her hollow, scrounging for something to pick up in the leftovers.
"You and I both know this world doesn't discriminate between children and adults."
Yona places her face in her hands, unsure of herself and her jackrabbit heartbeat, of how her demons are more potent tonight than they've been for most of her life since they surfaced. And she can feel them, scratching, trying to cut her open so harshly from the inside that she's worried that one day, she'll just let them and watch as the universe falls to it's knees at her hands.
But before her, Kurapika turns to face her, watching. Observing. How this girl stumbles into herself again, the child left behind, and he wonders if he would ever be able to do that again. Become the Kurta boy again and let him inhabit this body, rightfully his, always his. But that was a long time coming and Kurapika had work to do, messes to clean and ghosts to lay to rest. He did not have time to be a child again, to give into whimsy.
He lifts a hand intent on comforting her. "Yona," and then -
- slap.
One of the hands that had hid her face as she crumbled, fell to ruin, suddenly hits against his, slapping away the few fingers uncurled towards her. She half stumbles away from him, bare feet slipping against the wood. Behind her one hand, her face is placid; eyes open, mouth set, entirely stone beneath the bronzed flesh. For a moment, the wind whistles between them, the only thing filling the silence besides the shock.
Then, "you've never had any siblings have you?"
Kurapika doesn't answer and that is all she needs to lower her hand, and suddenly, Kurapika see's the girl he did on that first night, the one with claws that had seized his heart. The unfriendliness and ache that had turned a part of her cold over the years, where the child in her had gone silent. For a moment, Kurapika is caught in a pendulum.
Yona laughs, unamused, shaking her head. She turns towards the doorway, sighing. "If you had, you'd have known that you do whatever you can to protect them when you're the only one who can. Doesn't matter how old you get nor how many years are put between you, whether it be two or twenty. They're your little sibling; you protect them no matter what, even if it hurts on both ends."
And when Yona walks inside, leaving him on the veranda, Kurapika wonders when the sun finally set.
