At three in the morning, Kite listened to the creaking of the bed and the light sweep of feet against the carpet. A nightmare, perhaps. Just a bad dream.

"Kite?" Gon whispered across the room.

"Yeah," he answered. "Yeah, I'm here. What's up?"

Gon approached the tiny breakfast table and took a seat across from him in the only other chair; Kite shifted his legs aside so the boy wouldn't collide with his overly long shins under the table.

"I woke up and can't fall back asleep," Gon confessed. "Usually, I just lie in bed until it happens, but right now… I don't really want to wait."

He knew what he was getting at. "So you want to start the day's training?"

"Yeah!" he happily affirmed. "Can we?"

"… You didn't sleep yesterday, either, Gon."

The boy's exuberance instantly evaporated, his face briefly void of any expression before surprise moved in to fill the gap. Lately, Kite had begun to notice hitches of emptiness like that—missed beats that blemished his otherwise flawless social ballet. It was a little disturbing.

"How'd you know?"

"By your breathing," Kite explained. "These walls are pretty thin, so I can hear you breathe in the other room. And it never sounded like a sleeping person's would, last night."

"But then you didn't sleep either!" Gon accused, completely ignoring the implication that Kite listened to him while he slept. Maybe he hadn't extrapolated that far, or maybe he had but just didn't care; either way, Kite was thankful not to address that tidbit.

"No, I didn't," he admitted.

Gon inspected him with squinted eyes, as if faced with a puzzle. "Say, when was the last time you slept, anyways? You're always awake when I get up."

The question prompted Kite to rack his mind. He'd gotten about… five hours, the day before yesterday, hadn't he?

"A while ago," he said. "But that's nothing you need to worry about."

"Why don't you ever sleep, Kite?"

He gave a short laugh. "It's not like I'm trying not to. It just doesn't work. That's all there is to it."

Gon hummed in understanding and stood decisively up from his chair. "Alright, I'll give it another shot. Let's try together!"

"… What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Since there's only one bed in here, if you were to lie down, you'd have to use the couch, right?" Gon questioned, brightening when Kite nodded his agreement. "Well, you're so tall that your feet would go way off the edge if you tried to stretch out! So you can share the bed with me!"

"I'll have you know I'm used to living without any mattress at all," he countered. "It really makes no difference."

Gon still shook his head. "Just try it," he said, already set on having his way. "You should at least try."

Kite wasn't going to get up, but then—unexpectedly—Gon reached across the table, took him by the wrist, and pulled him out of his seat. Stooped over to accommodate Gon's much shorter height, he let himself be led from the kitchen, eyes locked on the row of fingers that tugged him along. The warmth of his hand made Kite feel very cold, and the color of his skin made Kite look very pale. Like the calm before the storm—terracotta inscribed with pewter verse—the contrast brought them both to their extreme.

When was the last time anyone had voluntarily touched him for more than a moment?

"Ha!" Gon laughed as he tumbled onto the twin-sized bed. Kite let himself fall with him, the handprint on his arm burning at the forefront of his mind.

(It had been years.)

"Goodnight," Gon yawned. He then managed to pull the blanket over them in spite of it getting snagged on Kite's heel. Even on a normal mattress, his feet stuck a good few centimeters off the edge.

And although there was no way he was going to fall asleep, Kite thought it wouldn't be so bad to just lie there for a while. If it made Gon happy, then the slight awkwardness of lying in the same bed made for little objection in the grand scheme of things, even less when it was only a four-or-five hour commitment. Already, the boy had begun to slip away, completely unperturbed by the larger body right next to him. How could he be so peaceful like this? Was it trust? Or did it simply never occur to him that Kite could pose a threat?

Did he simply not consider Kite at all?

And although here was not so different from the kitchen table, he found himself overcome by a sense of vulnerability. The air felt fragile, somehow—the silence reverent and shadows cold. Gon rolled over, but Kite didn't move a muscle. The moment was ethereal.

So he kept the spell unbroken until he forgot there was even a spell to break, and his head felt heavy, and his eyes drifted shut, and it was only then that Kite had the presence of mind to say, "Goodnight."

There was a great sinkhole in the earth beneath the nest. It opened larger and larger until everyone's feet were steeped in sand, and the foundation began to crumble. Collapsing inward, the nest fell into the sinkhole's blossoming maw to be eaten by the ant lion waiting in the center. If he looked closely, he could see Killua struggling against the current of sand; for every meter he climbed, he slipped down another two, the sand as frictionless as water; I'm dreaming, Kite tells himself, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming—

What woke him up was his inability to turn his neck. Soreness plagued every aspect of his position, and after trying to move again, he found that what pinned him to the pillow was a strange weight above his head. Sleepy, he reached around to push off whatever was in the way, but his hand landed on something surprisingly human.

"Oh, good morning!"

And there was Gon, hopelessly tangled in Kite's hair.

"I've been up for a while, but I'm kind of stuck, and I didn't want to wake you," he explained while worming his way out of the mess. Sure enough, Kite found himself on high alert at the disturbance.

"Oi, oi—careful!" he growled when Gon yanked too hard at a fistful of strands. Grabbing the boy's knee to stop his movement, he slowly unwound the knot himself and extracted his prisoner.

"Sorry," Gon said guiltily. Kite was about to forgive him, but the boy ran off before he could open his mouth.

A few cupboards clattered open elsewhere in their suite, and Gon reappeared with a wide-tooth comb in hand.

"No, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," he interrupted, climbing onto the bed at Kite's side. "I was the one who messed it up, after all. Besides, I used to help my Grandma with hers all the time."

So Gon began to comb his hair. It was a scraggly jungle of split-ends and uneven lengths, the long parts riddled with shorter sprigs, remnants of a few close-calls in battle. Each stroke of the comb was gentle and attentive, and Gon's free hand followed after the bristles to pet the segment into smoothness. Kite felt like a dog being groomed, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

It felt… really nice.

"Your phone rang, by the way," mentioned Gon.

It did? Who…?

Oh. That would be Spinner. He'd missed dinner with her, hadn't he?

… He should care, shouldn't he?

"Is it important?" the boy asked.

"No," he said, making a mental note to apologize sometime later.

With that, Gon retracted his hands and moved away, and Kite opened his eyes (when had they closed?) to find the boy staring curiously at him.

"What?"

"You look a lot younger with your hair out of your face."

Kite thoughtfully raised a hand to his brow. Scanning the rest of the bed, he found his hat crushed between the mattress and the headboard, pulled it out, and returned it to his head—this time with his hair tucked behind his ears.

"How old are you, anyways?"

Good question. Kite himself wasn't sure, given that he didn't know when he was born; before Ging had found him, he'd only had a vague understanding of what a calendar was. But a date of birth had been required by the bio of his Hunter registration, so Kite had listed his birthday as the first of January and left it at that. Going by what he put on that form, he would now be twenty-eight years old, so Kite said, "Twenty-eight."

"Woah, for real?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, eyeing the scuff marks on the sheets toward his feet. Maybe he should've taken his shoes off.

"I'm twelve."

Kite nodded sleepily.

"Killua's twelve, too."

"… I figured as much," Kite said, no longer tired at all.

"You believe that he's alive, don't you?" Gon asked. His gaze turned both insistent and expectant, leaning into the moment. "Don't you?"

Those big eyes made him go back to review the facts for the thousandth time. The best fact was the lack of facts: that for whatever reason, Killua had abruptly disappeared along with the monster ant shortly after him. Since the monster wasn't on Kite's heels during his escape, Killua must've evaded capture for a sizable bit if he'd simply led the ant away from them. All he had to do was get out of the nest; the ant wouldn't have chased him further than that. And even if he didn't escape, there was his Zoldyck survival training to consider.

Meanwhile, the boy beside him waited for an answer, just like he had waited so nicely for Kite to wake up on his own. Just like the greater, silent waiting that framed and bridged all their moments spent together.

And for Gon's sake, Kite decided to really, truly believe.

"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah, I do."

And Gon's smile was absolutely beautiful.

"I wonder what he's doing right now," Gon sighed as he plopped back down. "Probably something cool."

"The way I see it, there are four main possibilities," Kite submitted. "One: he left NGL, but he doesn't know where to rendezvous—unlikely, seeing as this is the only town anywhere near the border. Two: he thinks we're dead and gave up on us—also unlikely. Three: he's still in NGL, but he's in a compromising position and can't easily escape. Or four…"

"He doesn't know that we left NGL, and he's looking for us," Gon finished.

The thought left both of them somber.

He sat up from the bed and plodded off toward the bathroom, Kite not far behind. After they brushed their teeth—Gon going the extra mile to gargle a swig of mouthwash—Kite took to the kitchen, put a saucepan on the stovetop, and boiled enough water for two bowls of oatmeal. He'd just placed the bowls on the table when Gon emerged. The boy now championed a light blue tank top and pair of grey shorts—one of the outfits Kite had bought him a few days back.

Gon scraped a chair back and began to shovel oatmeal down his gullet. "I feel like Killua," he said fondly when he paused to take a drink of water. "He's always wearing new clothes, like this."

"Mm," Kite replied, eating at a considerably slower pace.

"He always looks good," Gon carried on. "Seriously cute."

Kite looked up from his bowl at the odd choice of words, struck by the understanding that Gon and Killua were a couple. That sort of couple. A… sexually active one. Kids sure did start early, these days.

"I'll go to NGL with you."

Gon popped the last spoonful in his mouth. "Hm?"

"I had only agreed to fight with you in the contest, not that I would join the team if I won," he elaborated. "So I'm just making it clear that I'll go with you."

The boy grinned brightly. "Thanks, but I already knew you were coming."

Even though Kite had only just decided that he wouldn't back out.

Eleven dogs in two weeks. It wasn't record-breaking by any means, but the feat was still nothing to scoff at; usually, it took Knuckle a few more days to break the double-digits. Of course, if Shoot brought up his concerns, he'd no doubt be shouted down immediately and/or challenged to a duel, so he said nothing in regard to the number of dogs or the impracticality of supporting them. Instead, he kept his approach slow and obvious, giving Knuckle plenty of time to notice his presence.

"Yo," greeted his compatriot from beneath the mountain of wagging tails. "What's going on? I thought we were gonna meet only when the slowpokes got their acts together."

"It's about that. I have a problem with—"

"Actually, I have a problem," Knuckle interjected. "Why'm I always the one on guard duty? Babysitting that stupid bulletin day-in and day-out—it's mind-numbing! Plus, whenever Knov's nutjob comes around, she pulls a damn knife on me!"

It was a mystery why the Chairman had insisted the Hunters write their messages on a public notice board. Surely this would be easier if they all communicated electronically, if for nothing else than to keep Knuckle from fighting every competitor that stopped by to check on the board. It was almost like Netero wanted to force everyone to keep running into each other.

"All I'm askin' fer is a little fairness, here," he stated irately. "Besides, it's not like you're doin' anything important in the meantime. All you've done so far is stalk everyone!"

"That is important," Shoot contended. Preparation was the most important phase of any battle, and if reconnaissance could give him an edge, then why not stalk? If it wouldn't hurt to wait, then why not hesitate?

Recklessness was what had cost him his left arm, after all.

… But now he was just making excuses for himself.

"Yeah, I get it, ya pansy," Knuckle scoffed. "Anyways, what's your deal?"

"I'm here to tell you not to pull any punches with that kid," he said, glad to get back on track. "Don't let your pity jeopardize our mission."

Knuckle wound his face up in irritation, all bark and no bite. "It ain't pity! Can't a man respect another guy's pain without getting called a softy?"

And there was no way Shoot was going to open that can of worms. "All I'm saying is that you better go all out when the time comes. There's not going to be much room for error."

"What're you so nervous about? That Kite guy might be trouble, but we can probably take him if we double up. Fer Palm, all we've gotta do is let her wear herself out. And Gon'll go down pretty easy."

"I'm not so sure," Shoot said quietly. "There's something wrong with that kid."

"Whaddya mean?"

"He's a wild card," he clarified. "There's no telling what he'll do if things get down to the wire. So it's best if we take him out early in the fight, before he has time to do much. Is that alright with you?"

"Sure, sure," Knuckle grumbled.

Shoot didn't have all the information, of course; he only knew two thirds of the who, half of the what, and none of the why. But from what he'd spied over the past few weeks, compiling a mental profile for his youngest adversary…

It was like something was about to fall apart.

Something like restraint.

"Faster!" Kite barked as he ducked another blow.

Gon flew over his head, landed in a handstand, and flipped back to his feet. He was getting faster (thinking faster, too), yet dodging him was still a simple matter of escaping his incredibly short range—which, admittedly, wasn't his fault; Gon couldn't help being so small, after all. He still had to compensate for it, however, meaning that he had to be just that much faster to fill the gap.

He launched himself at Kite once more only to be knocked up above the forest canopy. To his credit, the boy implemented his corkscrew well when he dove back down, but again Kite redirected him, this time through a nearby tree.

"You telegraph everything through your aura," Kite smoothly informed. "I can see your every move by watching where your Nen builds before an attack—and before a defense, too; if I can see where you anticipate my next strike, I can change my attack to bypass your guard."

Gritting his teeth, Gon burst into motion once more.

"There are two ways to correct for this," he continued through the assault. "Upping the speed of your aura's flow or condensing it into a smaller area. However, Nen Concentration is quite tricky, not to mention dangerous, so I wouldn't recommend that route."

"Why's… it dangerous?" Gon slowly panted.

"Well, we know that Nen is expelled from our bodies through little pores. Have you ever tried to move your aura into your body?" he asked, pausing for Gon to shake his head. "Exactly. Aura works like a fluid, more specifically a gas: it likes to expand. So when you gather a lot of aura into a tight space, you're forcing it to go against its nature. Now, this isn't to say it's impossible, but when you finish the technique, if you release the compact aura all at once, it'll instantly expand out of control. Generating shockwaves and heat and all that."

"But that's how my Hatsu works!"

"Not really," Kite disagreed. "Basically, it's an explosion—similar to your Rock-Paper-Scissors, except with that, you just increase the aura around your fist without really bunching it up much. If it were concentrated, you would hold the aura closer to your body—or, if you're a master, inside your body—and when you let go of it, it'd be impossible to push it out in one direction, so you would get hit by it too. That's why compact Nen must be released little by little: so the impact isn't strong enough to harm the user."

"So… it makes Ren look like Ten?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, pleased that Gon understood. "And if you're not careful, Nen Concentration becomes Nen Detonation. Many people have died by accidentally blowing themselves up that way."

So Gon tried to speed up his aura charge.

And it took nine hours for Kite to grow concerned.

"We should take a break now," he suggested.

"I'm fine!" Gon gasped, spitting out a glob of blood; he'd taken a hit on the mouth that made him bite his tongue. "If y-you're tired though, you can stop. I'll just keep working on my Nen and stuff."

He put a hand on Gon's shoulder before he could turn away. "Rest is just as important as training, you know."

Another hitch of emptiness, eyes unfocusing for a moment. And then the boy whipped his head back and forth. "Only if you're tired. And I'm not tired."

It wasn't exactly implausible, given his recent spike in Ren endurance. Freaky talented kid that he was, his stamina was almost up to Kite's level in some regards.

But Gon's hands had been shaking for a while now.

"Would you even be able to tell if you were?"

"Of course!" the boy assured. "If you can make me tired, I'll stop."

Such a troublesome child, wasn't he?

"… I'm going to attack, now," Kite warned against his better judgement. It would make for better training if he caught him off-guard, but somehow, that seemed too dirty to stomach.

Gon jumped back. "Then do it."

So Kite went on the offensive and, after a brief exchange, socked the boy across the ear, smacking him to the ground. Gon somersaulted back up, oddly furious.

"I'm sick of you holding back on me!" he growled. "Even when you go harder, it's still—not enough. You have to hit me harder than Knuckle can at his best!"

The boy meant no disrespect, he knew, but Kite still had to raise an eyebrow; if he didn't hold back, then Gon would be dead, plain and simple. He'd be a pale little corpse bled out on the ground, contorted, limp—and Kite abruptly shoved the thought away. "That'll be enough for now," he sighed. "Come on, Gon. It's late, I'm hungry, and you're clearly slowing down. And if you don't stop when you're tired, when will you stop at all?"

"When I'm satisfied," Gon hissed, and threw himself forward again.

What haste that anger gave to Gon was wasted on an opponent like Kite. He turned the tide with thoughtless ease and put Gon back on the defensive, but this time, Gon successfully blocked the main blow planned behind his assault. His attention had become unreal, religiously following Kite's every move, and his Ren began to do something strange—haloing his body in a perfect circle, puffing out of him rapidly in short, star-like bursts. The feel of it was like a million needles pricking all over him, and his ears began to ring.

In a distant corner of his mind, Kite registered his phone buzzing in his pocket, and something about it bothered him. For some reason, he couldn't reach for it, couldn't even properly think about it; what was he trying to do, again? Then the buzzing stopped, and he instantly forgot.

And Gon's eyes had become deep and dark, a pair of black holes set like anti-diamonds in his sclera. His focus was all-consuming with its own specific gravity; his body throbbed out of tune with the world, stark against its surroundings, vivid in detail. He stood alone upon a whole other plane of existence, and Kite's mind was forced to follow him there, pushing the three-dimensional world into a flat background. It was physically impossible to look away.

"What… are you doing?" he slowly asked.

Gon didn't respond, clutching at his ears; was the ringing as bad for him as it was for Kite?

"Gon?"

He ripped his hands away from his head and rushed at Kite once more.

"Can you turn it off, Gon?"

No answer. Kite dodged the punch.

"Can you hear me?"

The boy nodded through his spin-kick, refusing to let up.

"Are you okay?"

"First comes rock…!"

But he couldn't get out of the way; his body wasn't cooperating—refused to turn the proper distance. Muscle memory screamed to counterattack.

"Rock… Paper…"

So Kite took his only other option, and just like that, Gon's magnetism shattered.

"Rock!"

Kite struck him in the back of the head before Rock could land, knocking the boy out cold.

Sitting on the end of the bed, he was reminded of his last conversation with Bisky; Gon had yet to wake up.

It was uncommon but not unheard-of for someone to develop a Nen ability unconsciously. And that was the only explanation—that Gon had instinctively created a new Hatsu. Most likely, he'd been applying it in small increments throughout the fight before it fully kicked in. Kite felt stupid for not recognizing it sooner, though he understood why he hadn't.

So what even was it? Something that controlled a person's attention span, rendering them unable to think about anything but Gon—and Gon, in turn, unable to think about anything but them. Did it stop when the user fell unconscious? No, that wasn't it; the effect had disappeared at the moment Kite planned the finishing blow in his mind, before he had actually attacked. Why was that? What was special about that moment? Was it related to anything Gon or Kite did, or was there just a time limit to how long it lasted?

With a sigh, Kite closed his eyes against the headache starting to take hold. Perhaps it'd be easier to work backwards from other questions first. Like why did it even work the way that it did? How long had the potential been building in silence? What could Gon subconsciously be hoping to get out of a power like this?

(When I'm satisfied, he hissed.)

And inspiration struck. The effect had disappeared when Kite planned the finishing blow. When the fight was over from his perspective. When he was satisfied.

Though there wasn't near enough data to say anything for certain, this explanation did put all the puzzle pieces together in a very cohesive way. The more he mulled it over, the more convinced he became. The ability ends when the target becomes satisfied with the outcome of the fight—or when the user becomes satisfied, maybe. Whichever came first.

That… was a dangerous power. It made retreat impossible and battles with multiple enemies a deathtrap; he probably wouldn't even notice an attack from anyone who wasn't his target, let alone react to it. He also wouldn't be able to work with any allies or dodge their own attacks. Elaborate plans flew out the window, as well as anything that involved misdirection. Granted, it would tend to place Gon at less of a disadvantage than his opponent (given that his fighting style was already predisposed to direct confrontation), but against anyone significantly stronger than him, it basically ensured his death.

And if neither person could be satisfied, would it just… go on forever? If Gon killed his opponent but didn't accept the outcome, would he be left staring at a corpse for all eternity?

Almost nothing would ever be worth that risk.

And what category would this even fall under? Manipulator? … No. This was Specialist. And Gon was an Enhancer—literally on the opposite side of the spectrum.

What kind of mental stress has he been under for this to occur?

"Ughhh," Gon moaned as his eyes fluttered open.

"Do you know what that was?" Kite asked.

The boy nodded slowly.

"Never use it again."

He gave another nod.

"… Honestly," Kite sighed. "You're nuts."

Another nod.

"What do you want to name it?"

"Killua," he croaked, because he couldn't think of anything else.

Kite's hands clenched in his lap, and another name came to mind:

1v1: Final Encounter.