Five

Light

Illumi's presence was a suffocating black shadow.

Sometimes, Killua would compare it to the darkness that engulfs you when you spend too much time underwater. Sneaks up on you at first, but then it hugs tight to you like wet clothing.

Illumi stood in front of Killua and Gon, his eyes the substance of black ink. Killua swallowed to prevent the pressure of cracking underneath their void; his knees buckled under the weight of his worries.

Illumi cocked his head to the side, his expression that of a porcelain doll. "Kil," he sang, "why are you still standing here? It's getting late and Mother doesn't like to worry."

"I'm not coming with you, Illumi." Killua's chest was a dry desert heat and he struggled to breathe through the restrictions. "You've wasted your time coming here."

Illumi dropped his hand, placing both arms around each other. The light illuminated his pale face, making one half look sinister and daunting. His mouth cornered downwards, his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. "Kil, I wasn't asking for your cooperation. Please don't make me resort to other methods of taking you home. You know I hate a scene."

Killua eyed Gon from his stance; the poor teen looked confused and guarded. Killua's stomach collided with his sides at Gon's reaction. He knew sooner or later, this would happen.

"Illumi," Killua evened out his tone to a lullaby, trying to soothe Illumi's domineering position, "please, can you just let me be? I don't want to go home, and you know better than to force me to do something I don't want to."

"And you know better than to ask me such a silly request."

Killua sighed, contemplating what to do. He didn't want this night to be something he left in his teeth to taste as he slept. But Illumi was not the type to back down…not without a little force.

"I said," Killua projected the baritone of his voice to the ceiling, sucking in as much air as he could pitch from his belly to create a mountain of his words, "that I do not want to go with you!"

Heads began to turn in their direction, hushed whispers curious to the scene in front of them. Illumi looked uncomfortably irate. He cleared his throat to give his hands a distraction. "Kil, what are you doing?"

"Go home, Illumi Zoldyk!"

The surname caught the attention of bystanders, several asking if that was the Illumi Zoldyk. He had made quite a name for himself by taking over his grandfather's role as financial advisor of Kukuroo, making it one of the richest cities in the surrounding areas. The Zoldyks, in their typical fashion, did not appreciate many photos of their family, instead relying on word of mouth endorsements. That was exactly the way Illumi liked it.

Illumi's eyes danced with danger, a threat to his brother to keep quiet. Killua felt the mischief swish around his mouth, and he spit it out before it burned his tongue any longer.

"Go back to Kukuroo, Illumi!"

There was no mistaking the spotlight on Illumi. His skin became silk with sweat, eyes twitching with irritation. Illumi cursed under his breath, his maliciousness blanketing the area Killua stood in. Killua shivered at its invasion, but didn't back down. Illumi disappeared in the shadows, as quickly as he came before any further damage could be inflicted.

Killua's fingernail was cutting blood in his palm; a small trickle running down his wrist. It dripped to the floor, alarming Gon. "Killua," he rasped, voice shaky, "you're bleeding."

Killua opened his palm, looking for reasons and answers in the lines of the crevices of his skin. He came back empty; as blank as his own pale skin.

His mind became dizzy with regret, an impulse grinding inside. Killua did what he knew best.

He ran.

The cold air hit his cheeks like tiny needles, a sting of pain manifesting with every huff. Killua had forgotten his skate board in the galleria. He didn't care.

It was a clear night, but he hoped the rain would cascade his face so they could blend his tears like paint. He didn't know where he was running to; his feet moved despite the scolding of his brain.

He didn't want to leave Gon like that, but he had no answers for the questions that loitered the air. Furthermore, Gon would probably run off if he were to know the truth.

Killua ceased his running, sounds against the pavement in a decrescendo. He hovered over the cement, sweat trickling down his nose. His shallow breathing filled the night air, creating a symphony with the crickets.
"Killua!"

Killua caught the last of his ragged breaths in his throat, turning around to face the voice. His lungs were hot lava and he had to clutch his chest to prevent them from spilling inside. Honey danced in the ink stained night as Gon raced to Killua.

Gon's breathing was also ragged as he handed Killua his skateboard. "Here," he breathed, "you almost forgot this."

Killua accepted the gift, hands gliding over the warmth of Gon's subsided fingers. He looked down at the blue oval in his grasp. "Thank you."

"No problem." Gon's fingers laced the back of his hair, eyes darting between Killua's face and the sky as he played around with unspoken words. "So, what was that back there anyways?"

Killua's heart sank inside. He knew Gon would ask - why wouldn't he? - but a burn still hurts even when the fire is gone.

"That…..was my brother."

"Oh, well I figured that much," Gon skated among his words, careful not to offend Illumi. He didn't see too much of a reason, though. Killua and Illumi did not seem to have a typical relationship.

"Gon." Killua breathed in his name with his next inhale, clutching it close so that he wouldn't have to associate it with his next words. Gon's eyes found his, and the locked on to each other's in silence, with Killua afraid to speak.

"What is it, Killua?" it was hard to ignore Gon's request for an explanation. His face invited Killua in like old friends. The warmth radiated to the Killua's carefully built wall, shining through.

"You deserve better than me," Killua spit the words out of his mouth like they were causing him pain. He wanted to get this over with, afraid of what would happen if he didn't.

"I don't understand."

Killua scoffed. "Of course you don't, and that's the way it needs to be kept. This is what always happens when I get close to someone. They get in the way."

"Who's they? Your family?"

"Yeah, them. They're not good people, Gon, and I wouldn't be surprised if one day I turn out like them. You don't need a friend like me."

Gon's eyes softened with realization. Killua stood engulfed in the night like a shivering kitten looking for shelter. Out of place, cold, picked over, and most importantly:

Looking for warmth.

Gon inched towards Killua, resting his palms on both of his shoulders. Killua had to brace his feet to prevent himself from oozing under the pressure of his hands. His eyes met Gon's, pupils shifting to find balance. Gon held his own steady, allowing Killua space for clarity.

"Killua, it doesn't work like that. I don't have limitations on friendships. You don't need to have it all together, you know. That's not the way I love."

Killua swallowed at the word. Love? Of course someone like Gon could say it and mean it in a platonic fashion. But that didn't erase the tension Killua cracked in his knuckles.

"Killua, you're not your family."

It was the inhaler Killua needed to breathe again. Hearing someone else say it - hearing Gon say it - sparked a light inside of him. He closed his eyes, thrusting his hands in his pocket and lowered his head to stop the cherries from dancing on his cheeks. "Thanks, Gon. Really."

"That's what friends do," he dropped his hands, leaving a hole in Killua's chest, and rubbed the back of his hair again. "So what now, Killua?"

Killua tilted his head back, eyes adjusting to the sugar dust sprayed in the night sky. The moon was diligently silver tonight; Killua closed his eyes and bathed in the luminosity.

He let out a breath of air, white smoke from the cold pirouetting in front of his chin. "I suppose, I'll have to figure it out."

"But you don't want to go home, right?"

Killua shook his head, his mind was made up before he even made it to Yorkshin.

"Then how about we call it a night? Kurapika will understand." Gon reached out and grabbed Killua's wrist, pulling him forward. Killua had to steady himself before he collided with the pavement.

"Where are we going, Gon?"

Gon turned back around, his eyes glimmering with happiness.

"We're going to my place."

Gon's home was equivalent to a freshly baked cookie melting on your tongue.

Warm browns, ivory greens and dandelion yellows orchestrated a home and not the place of residence that Killua was used to.

Someone was cooking- probably the Aunt that Gon mentioned often - and Killua could taste the tomatoes that tickled his nose.

"Aunt Mito!" Gon loosened his suspenders, the fabric falling loosely at his hips. Killua wanted to sketch the muscles that protruded through Gon's black shirt. Even from behind, Gon was attractive.

A middle aged woman emerged from the kitchen, drying a dish in her hand. Wavy brown hair was messily tucked into a bun on the back of her head, tendrils of hair framing her face. She mimicked Gon's perfectly shaped 'O' mouth, confused at the extra guest.

"Aunt Mito, this is my friend Killua. The one I told you about?"

She gasped in delight and sat the dish on the table. She wiped her hands clean on her apron, before approaching Killua with her arms open. "It's so nice to meet you!" She blanketed him with affection, a warm hug that made him never want to leave. The way a mother's hug should be felt.

Mito stepped back a bit, engraving blue eyes and silver hair into her memory. "My, you are handsome!" She winked at him, causing Killua's face to paint with red. "Gon sure knows how to pick em."

Gon cleared his throat, swallowing secrets that only he and Mito share. She realized her mistake, stepping back towards the kitchen. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Killua. Gon talks very fondly of you. I assume you'll be staying the night?"

Gon nodded his head, his face beaming with satisfaction. "As long it's okay with you, Aunt Mito."

"I don't mind, as long as you boys eat something. I don't even want to imagine the filth you both eat during the day. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. Gon, be a dear and show Killua where to freshen up. You both get clean before dinner."

Killua looked over to Gon, who was already heading towards the carpeted stairs. "This way," Gon's head nodded in an upwards direction, "everything we need is upstairs."

Killua's feet felt like they would melt into the softness of the cream carpet, each step threatening to swallow him whole. It was strange, seeing photos of Gon from a toddler throughout adolescence decorating the walls. Kikyo had a plethora of family photos, but she kept them in a room, suffocating unless she felt inclined to show off.

Killua smiled as a small, toothless Gon flashed a cheeky grin to the camera, a fishing rod too big for his tiny hands. He was pointing to a large fish, a darkened shadow stood to the side of him holding the line. Killua noticed the dark shadow in a lot of pictures, but it seemed like it had been cut out to erase memories that were too hot to touch. If anything, Killua had been taught to not get burned.

Gon pressed a door open, a dim red light punching his irises. "This," Gon held his palm out, inviting Killua into his domain, "is my room."

It was exactly the kind of space Killua imagined Gon would surround himself in: black and white original photos plastered on the walls, a small wire line on the back wall of the room, pictures dangling on clothespins. Killua wanted to swallow the entire atmosphere, keep the inspiration lodged in his belly in case he needed reminders later.

"It's you, that's for sure," Killua began to awe the prints on display as Gon shuffled through his closet. "I know I told you before, but you're very talented."

Gon resurfaced, white towels and sleeping shorts folded in his tan hands. He looked embarrassed, not believing in his own magnificent madness. "Thank you, it's just a hobby."

"A damned good one. I don't know who this Wing guy is, but I'd check him out if he inspired this."

Gon passed off the linens in his hands, using his free hand to rub the back of his neck. "If you did, you'd realize how much of an amateur I am. But," Gon sat back on his bed, the moon illuminating the sharp curve of his jawline. Killua had to catch his breath in his cheeks at the constellation that sat in front of him. If he had a mirror, he would hold it up to Gon just so he could witness first hand just how ethereal he was. "I don't want to ever stop taking pictures, you know? I can't wait for all of the knowledge I'll get at University."

"I'm sure they'll be jealous," Killua wasn't sure what he meant by that. His photos were thought invoking pieces, but the literal artwork that had blessed Gon's features was sure to cause people to unravel at the threads. Killua felt as if he had already started. "The other students, they'll be jealous. I know I am."

Gon tilted his head so that the moon ignited warm yellow flakes dancing around his pupil. A small pout invaded his mouth. "Why would you ever be jealous of me, Killua?"

Killua's throat was wet with the sentences that he wanted to say. They crossed each other like train tracks, messy and crashing home. He breathed deeply, allowing a slight detangle at their woven jumble. "You just have this way of making people feel….I guess….I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"I think I know," Gon's finger played with the thread that unraveled at the hemline of his shirt nervously. Perhaps he could feed the words that Killua closed his mouth to. "It's like when you didn't know you were capable to feel anything anymore, like it was locked away for good, and then something inspires you and unlocks the door. Something like that, right?"

"Yeah, something inspires you."

"Or someone." Gon threw up the words before he had time to digest them. Killua stared at him in silence, questions bulldozing his mind causing him to feel dizzy. Gon swallowed air, along with the words that he wished he could take back.

"Yeah," Killua breathed, voice barely a whisper, "or someone."

Killua wished he had his paintbrush to grab the color that erupted on Gon's cheeks. He wanted to decorate a paper with it, so he could look at it at night before he slept. Gon looked down at his feet, stretching them against the hardwood floors. Killua could feel the gravitational pull towards the bed, to sit next to Gon and touch his hand, perhaps run a finger through his black strands of hair, and pull back all of the words he wished Gon would say.

It was as if everything clicked in that moment. He knew it; of course he did, from the moment that he witnessed the sun shining in art class. He knew it when he traced outlines of sharp jawlines and honey eyes in his mind while he daydreamed. But maybe he didn't want to know it; maybe he wanted to tuck it under his tongue until the taste was too sweet to keep to his self.

He had fallen for Gon, but he wasn't sure if Gon would catch him when he splattered from the jump.

It made sense; why he never cared about the beautiful girls at school. Why he never understood how other boys marveled at their feet while he sat from a distasteful distance. He had never paid attention to boys either; it led him to research the word asexual.

Gon was the exception, it appeared. It seemed as if the stars in the sky had held back their entire glimmer until the day they met. And while the feeling warmed his insides like hot cocoa, it also scared him shitless.

The next morning was a blur for Killua.

He couldn't seem to unwrap his mind from around his revelation. To call it a crush seemed so juvenile; love seemed too early.

So he found himself uncomfortably in the middle, whatever adjective necessary.

He felt like he was holding his breath for each class to end, words droning on in his head until they became the consistency of mud. All for art class to come.

All so he could spill his secrets to the canvas.

And when the time finally came, Killua had to clutch his chest to make sure his heart didn't beat too loudly.

Gon waltzed in, his presence instantly illuminating the classroom. Killua chewed on the string of his hoody to avoid screaming his name.

"Hi, Killua!" Gon beamed as he sat down, his elbow brushing Killua's sleeve. "I'm surprised you're so alert, I heard you tossing and turning all night."

The damp string fell from Killua's mouth and collided with his chest. Killua ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting all of the words that were caught in between the spaces. After a moment, he found the courage to speak. "Yeah, sometimes I just have a lot on my mind, is all."

"You know," Gon's brows burrowed together, eyes trying to convey a serious storm. He ran his over his pant leg and Killua could swear he saw a damp stain left behind. "You can talk to me about anything. I know it must feel like I pressure you to be with me-er…my friend, y'know? And I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable and all, but-" Gon swallowed, arching his neck backwards so that Killua had a close view of the action. He had to mentally stop himself from running a finger down his neck to see what happened when fire collided with ice. "—well, I care about you. And sometimes you look so lost in thought, like you wish you could just scream it out for the world to hear but no one listens, and I know what that's like and—"

"How?"

Gon ceased his rambling, tiny suns lit with confusion. "What?"

"How do you know what that's like?"

Gon looked away from Killua's face, eyes settled on a Picasso poster in the corner of the room. Gon wondered if this was the pressure people felt when they confessed their sins to a priest. "I…I just know."

Killua chuckled, running his hand through his hair. "You don't play fair, Freecs."

"So you say."

"You don't." Killua's hand found itself on Gon's shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet through clouded lies. "You want me to open up to you, but you don't tell me anything. It's super obvious that you have skeletons in that big ass closet of yours. So I'll tell you what, the day you decide to spill, I'll consider spilling mine."

Gon looked down at his fingers, his mind tangling together into knots that even he hadn't figured out how to undo. "Killua," his voice was damp with emotion, "even I'm not ready for that."

Killua's face was puzzled, his mind littered with questions to fire at Gon. Bisky glided in, ceasing all conversation in the room. She began speaking on how proud she was of everyone in the progress of their sketches, but her voice diminished to a fly's buzzing in Killua's mind. Killua took out a piece of paper, scribbling something down before sliding it over to Gon. On the top was scrawled, Don't open this until after school!, and Gon glanced over at him masking in curiosity. Killua shrugged his shoulders before turning his attention back towards Bisky and her eccentric lecture.

"So today," she gripped her knee that she swung over the other, "we're going to be painting. I'm going to pass around a fishbowl with different topics written on them. Whatever topic you get is what you'll have to talk about for fifteen minutes. While you talk, your partner will be painting the first thing that comes to mind, even if it makes no sense. I need you all to dig deep on me today, and force yourself to think outside of the grid. As long as you all participate on both ends, you'll get a passing mark for the week. Alright, youngsters, let's get to it."

Killua's hand nestled through the fishbowl when it was passed to him, picking a white paper from the bottom. He silently prayed that Bisky hadn't gotten too deep in the mud with her choices. He opened the paper, exhaling relief like it was smoke lodged into his lungs. "What kind of music makes you feel at peace?"

Gon cradled a paintbrush in between his fingers, swirling the tip into water. "Ready when you are."

Killua's corners of his mouth meshed into a crooked grin as he stared down at the blank paper in front of Gon. "Music that gives me peace? Well, I like alternative music for one. It helps with my inner rage."

Gon rubbed the brush against a hue of water color paint, bristles altering into a navy blue. "Inner rage?" He chuckled, "I can see that."

"Don't judge, Gon. It does help though, honestly. I like to listen to Coheed and Cambria when I need to just zone out, you know? Claudio helps me relax, don't ask me why."

"I won't," Gon ran his brush down his paper, dirtying it with the blue and transforming shapes, "I've heard a few of their songs, so I can understand."

"You don't seem like the type to listen to Alternative."

"Oh really?" Gon stopped his painting to look up at Killua with a raised brow. "So what should I be listening to?"

"I don't know, classical maybe?"

Gon smiled and looked back down at the paper. "Close enough. I listen to a lot of jazz. My Aunt Mito used to play it when I would get upset. But I like alternative too, I just don't dive deeply—this is supposed to be about you, Killua. I'm sorry, please continue."

"'S okay. That's cool that you listen to jazz, my mom plays it sometimes. I can feel it in my bones, y'know? Like it's seeping into my pores and digging into my joints. Sometimes, I just want to curl up in the notes until I can't breathe anymore. It's amazing because there's no words, and yet the story it tells is incredible."

Gon ferociously swept the brush over the page, more colors vividly nestling into each other. Whites and yellows melting into one, the images leaping from the paper. "Uh huh," the pink snake in his mouth slivered between his lips, his signature sign of concentration, "I completely know what that feels like."

"Really? I used to think I was a little strange for thinking that."

Gon's eyes rolled in Killua's direction, his lids droopy. "Nothing about you is strange, Killua. You're just an artist with a beautiful mind."

Killua turned before Gon could see the cherries emerge on his face. "Yeah, maybe." Killua continued his rant on his love for jazz, comfort engulfing him more and more. It was easy to talk to Gon about this subject, and he was particularly glad it was in regards to something he enjoyed. Gon's brush did a waltz against his piece, twisting and turning into an abstract design.

Bisky called the time, and Gon opened his slip of paper. He frowned slightly before folding the paper in half and stuffing it in his pocket. "What's a memory that you want to hold on forever?"

"What's with the face? It doesn't sound too complicated of a question."

"Yeah, no—I know. It's just a loaded question, you know?"

"How so?"

"Well, it's sort of complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it. I'm here to listen."

"I know you are. Well, I don't want to forget the day I went to live with my Aunt Mito."

"I can see why, she's pretty great."

Gon's face settled into a warm smile as Killua moved briskly with his acrylics, sopping up the paint and gliding it across his paper. "Yeah, Aunt Mito is the best. She made that first week really nice for me, baked a lot of cookies and cooked a lot of good food. I really like seafood, so she made all of the fish she could fit into the oven. It was very delicious! But most importantly," Gon's expression darkened into a black shadow, sadness bathing in the creases under his eyes, "she made me forget, even if was temporary."

Killua's brush stopped in the middle of a red line, leaving an unwanted smudge underneath. "Forget what?"

"Him." The honey in Gon's eyes lost their usual glimmer, instead turning into a muddy gold. Killua reached over to touch his palm, jerking a sudden reaction out of Gon. "Hey, you okay?"

Gon shook his head, clearing his throat to prevent any secrets from spilling through. "Yeah, sorry, I have to use the bathroom, Killua. Excuse me." Gon leapt off of his stool, leaving behind unanswered questions in his wake. Killua glanced down at his half-finished portrait of a bronze boy with yellow rays piercing through his skin. The other half of the face was starting with an angry array of grays and blacks, in complete contradiction with its mirror image. Killua frowned at the paper, wondering what Gon was refusing to tell him. He glanced over at Gon's piece, a silver haired boy with blue skin swallowing a cloud. The image was plastered against the midnight sky; the same color of skin that swam through the figure. It made him seem transparent. The boy's feet were a pale peach color, with the lines blending into the blue for transition. Killua wondered how many clouds the boy had to swallow before he became whole.

Killua knew that whatever secrets Gon was swallowing was breaking the façade that he tried to keep up. Killua wanted Gon to swallow him like the boy in the painting, so that he could fight Gon's inner demons for him. He knew that was impossible; demons don't go away that easily.

He was hoping that Gon broke his word and read the paper in the bathroom. Killua swished around the desire for Gon to open up to him in his mouth. The taste became bitter as he realized that he was being a hypocrite. Everyone has a darkness looming over their heads; Killua would set his world on fire if he dared to breathe out his own secrets.

But that's why he needed Gon to understand.

Because Killua didn't want to go through this alone, either.

Because Gon was trying too hard to hold up his own walls that he couldn't see the cracks at the base.

Because Killua wanted to catch Gon when he finally fell from his prideful throne.

Because…

Because…Gon.

Even though the words were long written down, Killua could still feel them tumbling about in his belly.

Darkness sucks, trust me I get it. But wouldn't it be better to not drown in it alone?

What if I said I would swim the tide with you, would you still leave me at the shore?

By the way,

Ditto.

I'm sorry if this was crappy aaah!

Sorry for the late upload, last week was C2E2 and that was where my time went. (I went as Hisoka, btw!) And it's hard to type with his long ridiculous claws…seriously…how does that clown do it?

Anyways, wanted to give you guys a bit of Killugon semi-fluff here for you all being so awesome.

Thank you all for the killer comments and such, and please leave any feedback you have.

Thank you, my friends.

-Bitchii-usa.

PS

Next chapter will have the meat and potatoes instead of this bowl of soup I served you ;p