Someday, somebody will love you back . He knew what she'd meant. Maybe she didn't even know, but he did. Maybe her nen made her a vessel for predictions, a mere conduit who couldn't make sense of the words she'd said aside from piecing together context clues. But he'd lived by those words- avoided them at all costs, knew them to be an eventual truth some naive part of him hoped would just go away someday. He'd been perfectly happy as things were, so he didn't ever need to face it. He'd hoped. He'd been wrong.
He didn't want to tip the others off, let them know he'd figured out exactly what Madame Teller had been on about when she made him a prediction.
Gon seemed nonplused, unbothered, and part of him wished that there'd been the slightest hint of confusion on Gon's face, or curiosity, or some ire because he'd pieced together every embarrassing implication of that fortune and knew somebody out there was stringing along his friend. But he didn't ask, breezed right past it with a huge smile on his face. Kurapika and Leorio seemed almost concerned, but they weren't new at- place, time, privacy, sensitivity - so they moved forward to get their rewards in pretty prose and let it be. That was fine. That was okay. It wasn't like he wanted to talk about it, anyway. That was the opposite of what he wanted to do. The madame's prediction was so far out of the realm of anything he ever wanted to put into words, so debased from the comfort subjects where he could snark and scream and fight and laugh. He hadn't anticipated it until it was too late, until the words were in the air, real , and he couldn't deny one thing or another anymore.
If her nen ability were accurate, it confirmed more than he'd ever wanted to know for certain.
So Killua stuck his hands in his pants pockets and kept his head down and acted like he knew what she was talking about and no, it wasn't anything anybody needed to know. No, he was perfectly fine, and no, he didn't think anything of the fortune; he already had what she'd predicted he lacked. Because that's what they were worried about, right? They were worried this love was the kind between the four of them, between them and Bisky and Palm and Ikalgo and whoever the hell else he and Gon had dragged through hell down the road they'd paved. But he knew these people were all unconditional, knew they all knew his past, the worst of him, and still saw it fit to pinch at his cheeks. The prediction came a few years late , he blew it off, he'd already found what she'd told him to seek , and so his reward for saving Madame Teller had turned up dry.
But the prediction was bloody in his hands, thick like tar, seeping through his fingers, dripping in thin lines that stretched gaunt and sticking to the beds of his nails. It'd struck the heart from him, in all his willful ignorance. He'd done it to himself. Same thing he'd always done- ignore reality to follow Gon's whims, to stay by his side. He'd thought he'd been through with that after NGL, after Alluka and Nanika. After Gon's charred arm sat stagnant and slick with what was left of his muscle. But he'd pursued Gon, even so, did everything to keep himself pressed to his side, ignoring all the while how he wanted more (what was more? What was out of reach? He'd pushed the only answer down) just so he could fill that nagging empty-socket-feeling.
But now her prediction meant that thing he wished was denial (denial might have stayed even so)- what was actually the power of circumvention- had disappeared with the wind of the ferry she rode away on. He loved Gon; Gon didn't love him.
It was that simple.
He wondered if Gon noticed how he edged closer towards the furthest end of the couch. He wondered if Gon heard the difference in his voice; he kept it lower so he wouldn't hear it if his throat ached and the vocals snapped. No yelling, tonight, no hitting. Killua stuck to his end of the couch and shuttered in relief when Leorio plopped down square between the two of them. Gon grinned up at him, and Leorio grunted. He raised a shot glass, yowled at the burn of the bourbon, and congratulated everyone on a job well done. Madame saved. Crisis averted. It should have made him smile. But Killua felt every quirk of his lips was planned, reactionary to the flow of conversation. Usually it was natural around them, the closest of his people, the warmest of his friends. Joviality usually felt second-nature, as viscous and all-encompassing as his aura felt.
But tonight it was an effort. He had to lean on old tricks, suppress what he was feeling- but this was trickier, because he couldn't school his face, calm, icy, cordial; he had to force himself to be happy. Happy they got the job done. Happy they were all safe. Happy he'd had his fortune read and he'd been so lucky that she'd read him the present.
If he smiled enough, maybe he'd feel happy.
If he laughed enough, maybe he wouldn't feel dull, lingering strain on his chest.
Kurapika seemed about as capable as he was of giving a smile, too lost in dissecting her predictions about long jointed legs that snapped, blood that ran a different color from the rest in all its gore. But Kurapika could get away with that- brooding, thinking, lingering in the conversation and drifting out when his head became thick with too many thoughts to toss them all out. Killua couldn't, because that wasn't like him and he knew it. Leorio knew it, would pick on him and jab at his head. Gon knew it, would pout and glare at him with blown cheeks until he told him what was on his mind.
So Killua bit his bullet. He mocked Leorio's haircut and told Gon he was stupid and barked at Kurapika the few times he jumped in to give back to Killua what he gave. It would have been nice, comfortable, if he could focus.
His attention only seemed to snap when there was a hand at his wrist, squeezing, " Killua ."
And Leorio and Kurapika were gone, off to their own room for the night, but he was still standing there on the lower deck of theirs, eyes caught on the wood floor. Was the smile gone? Had he let his guard down? He tried to remember it, now, where they left off, "Nnn?"
Gon wasn't smiling. He should have been. Ah, he'd messed up, huh? "Tell me."
"Don't be so vague," he smacked the hand he'd just barely registered on his shoulder. When had it gotten there? "Come out and ask, stupid."
Gon took a step closer, deliberately placing both hands at his shoulders, squeezing them as if to spite him. His eyes narrowed, focused, stubborn. It made his heart swell, but it only grew so far before it hit the limits of his chest and deflated. There wasn't room for it to grow anymore. There was no fantasy to nurture. Nothing left. "What she meant. Tell me what she said to you! I wanna know!"
"You heard her, stupid!"
"It didn't make sense!"
He growled and bared his teeth, but that was just Gon and he should have seen it coming. Of course, he was sure, it was something like this in Gon's head: Killua is cool. Killua is my friend. Who could not love Killua ? And he'd think the same thing about Leorio or Kurapika. About Palm. About Retz. About Zepile. Because if Gon cared about them so much, then Gon wouldn't be able to see why somebody else didn't. "It did. Just let it be."
"I can't! Killua has looked so sad all night when he thought I wasn't looking! I don't wanna see that expression on Killua's face anymore!"
He had slipped, then. Tch. Or, Gon just knew his face by every twitch of his nose, and that was more than enough to feed month's worth of sad, misguided attempts at crafting an image that would never be material, firm, within grasping reach. He tried to hide his face, hoped his bangs would do the trick, hide the worst of his paling face. "I'm going to look sad sometimes, you know."
"Yeah, but…" Gon paused, lips wobbling with some indecisiveness. Unlike Gon in every way, but it meant he was thinking, meant what he said next would be genuine, not some instinctive knee jerk. "...If it's about that prediction, I think," he paused again, just long enough for his shoulders to move back, "I think I can make Killua feel better!"
He scoffed, because what else could he do? "Stupid! How are you going to do that?"
Gon blinked at him. "Well, it's me, isn't it? I'm the person Killua loves."
Oh. His inflated heart twisted like a wrung cloth in his chest, wound so tightly that he could feel the heat build up behind his eyes, and the pressure beyond them. That wasn't what he'd expected. Never, not for one moment, had he thought he'd slipped up so horribly.
Oh look! My second submission to the fandom! I'm excited, are you guys excited? I'm excited! Lmao I hope I've kept Gon and Killua reasonably in character here. Admittedly this was a harder fic to write than we're palm to palm against the glass, my dearest , but ya know keeping things canon makes it all the more challenging and fun! ❤️ The second part to we're palm to palm against the glass, my dearest is coming, but I really wanted to write some angsty gonkillu and here it is!
This is only the first half, but you can find a link to the full version on my tumblr at iamwhelmed a full two weeks before I post the other half here!