Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gon’s home on Whale Island is so strangely quiet.

Not silent, like the Zoldyck estate often was, Killua hardly daring to breathe for fear of drawing more attention to himself than was wise.  Not eerie and unbearably tense. Just quiet. Just covered in a soft susurrus of constant, gentle, comforting noise in the background--the faucet running as someone washes the dishes, the muffled conversation of Mito and Abe downstairs, the far-off crash of waves on the ocean, the sizzle of something frying atop the stove.

And while it occasionally gets a bit louder, usually thanks to Gon’s irrepressible enthusiasm as he tells a story at the dinner table or his unbridled, full-bodied laughter, it’s never unbearably so.  No, the whole week and a half Killua’s been here, no one’s shouted. Not even once. Nothing’s been slammed or shattered. He hasn’t heard anyone screaming or sobbing. It’s so strange, putting Killua on edge.  If only someone would finally snap, shout and rave and break things, he could relax again. He’d know where the line was, know better than to cross it again.

But no one’s gotten angry at him.  Not when he accidentally began eating dinner before everyone else on the first night here.  Not when he and Gon spent the whole day lounging on the couch and watching cartoons and generally taking up space without doing anything to have earned it.  Not when they started splashing each other at the sink one morning and got water all over the mirror and counter. Not once.

No, the Freecs family, he’s learned, does things differently.  Killua’s allowed to have as much as he wants to eat, without having to so much as ask permission.  He and Gon can spend their days doing whatever they like, no mandatory training, no rigid, unforgiving structure, no one to answer to.  When Mito gives Gon a hug and kiss good night, Killua gets one too.

It’s so deeply unsettling.  Perhaps Killua shouldn’t say it, but it is.  He can’t help but hate it, the constant kindness and tranquility and hospitality.  He just can’t seem to relax. If only they’d go and make things clear to him. If only they’d stop with this strange charade, acting like he isn’t bothering them, like he isn’t really a nuisance.  Once they get angry at him, it’ll be okay. Then he’ll know. He’ll know what he’s allowed to do and what he’s not and he won’t make the same mistake again.

But they haven’t.  The Freecs have fed him and given him a bed to sleep in and haven’t asked for a single thing in return.  They’re letting him lie stretched out on Gon’s bed tonight like a housecat, with a warm summer breeze coming in the open window, as if he owes them nothing.  The night air is sweet and fragrant, raising pleasant goosebumps on Killua’s arms, and the crickets and frogs sing a far off, comforting song.

“Killua?” Gon asks from the hall, breaking Killua from his reverie.  Killua swiftly sits up from where he was splayed across Gon’s quilt. Despite the Freecs constantly imploring him to make himself at home, Killua still doesn’t feel quite right being caught lounging around the house.

“Yeah?” he replies.

Gon kicks the bedroom door a bit wider with his foot, entering the room with two large, steaming mugs held in his hands.

“I brought hot chocolate,” Gon says brightly, sitting down beside Killua handing him one.  Killua grasps the warm mug tightly in both hands and takes a sip. The hot chocolate is sweet and rich and wonderfully comforting.  Despite it being summer, it somehow doesn’t make him feel too hot.

“It’s really good,” he says, gratefully taking another sip.

“I’m glad,” Gon says, smiling.  “Aunt Mito knows you like chocolate, so she got the mix when she went out for groceries today.”

Killua all at once goes very still, his grip on the mug tightening.

Now, there’s hospitality.  There’s welcoming Killua into their home.  There’s giving him food to eat and a bed to sleep in.  And then there’s going expressly out of their way to do something kind for him without him so much as mentioning it.  And that is another matter entirely.

The mug shakes in Killua’s hand.  His throat tightens almost painfully.  His breathing gets fast and shallow.

Killua doesn’t cry.  Crying isn’t allowed.  Crying is weak and pathetic and it only makes whatever’s coming worse and he’s got to learn how to stop, damn it, he’s got to quit acting like such a child and just take it.  He doesn’t cry. He knows better. He swears. He knows better.

But the tension wends its way up his throat and through his jaw and it’s coming now and there isn’t a thing he can do to stop it.  So he quite swiftly sets his mug down on Gon’s bedside table, hard enough that a bit of the hot chocolate spills over the side, and he stands and he gets out of the room just as quickly as he can manage. 

He doesn’t know where to go other than away.  Away from Gon. Somewhere private and hidden where he can cry alone without bothering anyone.  The bathroom is a safe bet. He can lock the door and turn on the faucet to muffle the sound and wait it out until he’s done acting so pathetic.  So vision blurring, he stumbles to the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself hard.

Killua slides to the floor, back to the closed door, still trembling violently, and holds his head in his hands.  It doesn’t make sense. It was instant hot chocolate. It probably cost Mito hardly a handful of Jenny, if that. There was no grand gesture, no proclamation.  Most likely she just saw it on the shelf in the supermarket and shrugged and tossed it into her shopping cart and all but forgot about it. So it’s just preposterous for Killua to feel like this.

But it was so kind.  She got Killua something she thought he’d like.  And Gon had made it for him and brought it to him without being asked.  They’d both decided to do something nice for him and it doesn’t make any goddamn sense, because they’re not getting anything out of it.  Killua’s done nothing to earn it.  And he can’t ever recall someone simply doing something for him just to make him happy and his breath gets shakier and faster and he just doesn’t understand.

No one’s ever angry with him here.  No one’s ever cruel. Even though Killua knows he deserves it sometimes, because he can be rude and childish and inconvenient.  But no one’s ever shouting here and it’s always so perfectly, blissfully quiet and they get him hot chocolate for no reason at all.

There’s a soft knock on the bathroom door and Killua jumps in spite of himself.

“Killua?” Gon says from outside the bathroom.  “Are you okay?”

Killua takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, but even to his own ears his voice is tense and shaky and bordering on hysteria.

“You don’t sound fine,” Gon says.  “What’s going on?”

Killua clenches his fists until he feels his fingernails bite into his palms and wills himself not to cry, damn it.  To quit acting like such a baby.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

Of course that’s what Gon thinks.  Of course he doesn’t blame Killua. That’s how things work here in this strange, topsy-turvy world.  Killua is rude and erratic and makes a scene and somehow no one is angry at him.

“Killua, I’m worried.  Can you let me in?”

Killua presses the heels of his hands hard into his eyes for a few long moments, as if he could hold the tears in by force alone, before he scoots out of the way of the door and opens it.

In an instant, Gon is beside Killua on the bathroom floor, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close.  And it just makes Killua shake worse and worse because Gon is comforting him, holding him, being so incomprehensibly kind, when all Killua has done is make trouble for him.

Gon strokes Killua’s hair so gently and finally Killua can’t anymore.  He can’t hold back the tears any longer and they spill, hot and thick, down his cheeks.  And although he knows he shouldn’t, knows he hasn’t done anything to deserve it, he presses closer to Gon, desperate for comfort.

“Shh,” Gon soothes.  “It’s okay. You’re okay.  I’m right here.”

Killua clings to Gon desperately, pressing his face hard into his chest as he cries his guts out.  He knows better. He knows crying only makes things worse, that they’ll hurt him more for this pathetic, disgusting display.  Two for flinching, he thinks, is the expression. But he can’t bring himself to worry too much, not with Gon holding him so tightly and stroking his hair and rubbing his back and murmuring soothing phrases over and over as Killua cries himself out.

Killua doesn’t know how long Gon holds him until he finally manages to calm down again.  But even after he’s stopped crying, Gon doesn’t let go, his arms wrapped tight around him, unwavering.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asks softly.

Killua stares down at the tiles on the bathroom floor, trying to figure out how to put words to it, how to express how severely the Freecs house throws off his sense of equilibrium, leaves him dizzy and stumbling and unsure which way is up.

“Why do you do all of this?” he says at last, not proud of how small and tentative his voice sounds.  “Why are you so kind to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you invited me home with you.  And you give me food to eat and a bed to sleep in.  And you and Mito let me do whatever I please. And you don’t get angry at me for anything.  And you got me hot chocolate without me even asking. And I spilled some of it on your nightstand and then I stormed out of the room and made a scene and the only thing you care about is if I’m okay.”

Killua isn’t proud of how his voice trembles towards the end, but Gon just pulls him closer.

“So it was the hot chocolate, huh?”

Killua draws in a deep breath.

“It doesn’t make any sense.  You and Mito just thought of me. Without me asking.  You just did something you thought I’d like. No one… no one’s ever done that sort of thing for me before.”

“Killua,” Gon says, his tone soft and strangely sad.  “That’s what people do. When you care about someone, you try to make them happy.  You do things they like. And you don’t get angry when they get upset or when they spill a tiny bit of their drink.  That’s just what it means to love someone.”

Killua closes his eyes and presses his face into Gon’s chest.

“I just feel so on-edge,” Killua says, voice hardly above a whisper.  “Like the other shoe is just bound to drop. Like you’re going to get angry at me, because that’s how you’ve really been feeling all along.  And you’re going to tell me to leave. That you don’t want me to be here anymore. You both keep making me pancakes in the morning and letting me sleep in as late as I want and Mito keeps hugging me.  It doesn’t make any sense.”

Gon begins to rub Killua’s back again, gently stroking his fingers feather-light down his spine.  Killua sighs in spite of himself, leaning harder against Gon.

“Listen, okay?  No one’s going to get angry at you.  No one’s going to ask you to leave. Not ever.  This is your home now too, okay? And that’s what it means to be home.  It means no one gets angry at you for no reason. And no one hurts you. It means that you’re always safe.  And you’re always cared about. No matter what.”

Killua doesn’t reply.  He can’t, not with this strange, warm pressure filling his insides, not leaving enough room for air.  Instead, he merely wraps his arms tighter around Gon and leans harder against his side.  

Home, Killua thinks, the word holding a heavy, comforting weight.  He’s home, in a quiet house with soft beds and warm meals and kind people.  People who hug him good night and surprise him with chocolate for no reason at all.  He’s home, curled up on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, wrapped tight and safe in his friend’s arms.  For perhaps the very first time, Killua’s home.