Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Killua was sitting in the foyer when the prickling started. He sat up straighter. It was uncomfortable, and the feeling was strange, like someone he had never met before was watching him intently.

It stung. He didn’t know what to make of it.

He did his best to hide it but clearly, not as good of a job as he thought. Out of all the Zoldyck family members sitting with him, Illumi had been the only one to notice his sudden discomfort, but that alone was enough. He turned to face Killua. His dark eyes searched his face for a reason behind his behavior.

"Is something wrong, Kil?” 

Killua twisted his hands together. “It’s nothing,” he lied.

"Really?"

"Really."

“Hm. Okay. If you say so.”

In a vain attempt to shake off the feeling, Killua shifted in his seat. The pain was steadily growing. He tried to ignore it, but within minutes, it evolved from a mild discomfort into an excruciating agony. It was enough to make him wince. This time, his father looked up.

“What is it?”

Words came out of Killua’s mouth before he recognized what they meant. “I’m being summoned.”

His mother frowned. “Darling, that simply isn’t possible. There’s no one in the human world who can summon a witch of your caliber—any of us, really,” she tittered.

Every nerve in Killua’s body said otherwise. She was wrong. The pain gave way to power, a power that was unfamiliar. It pulsed with life inside his veins; warm, then hot, then overwhelming. It sizzled into his blood like liquid gold and ate away at him, scorching Killua’s own magic in its wake like a blazing inferno, a dragon licking flames into his lungs and searing his heart.

He was being burned alive from the inside.

And, something yanked on his soul like the gravity of a million stars, a force so strong that not even Killua could resist its pull, simultaneously calling to him and consuming him.

It took all of Killua’s willpower to keep his expression neutral. He looked at his family, who were still staring at him like they couldn’t sense the massive inflow of magic from the center of his chest.

“I’m being summoned,” he repeated firmly. “I have to go.” And then he disappeared.

Gon was exploring the human world because there was nothing to do in the Heavenly Realm.

As it turned out, immortality wasn’t as great as everyone made it out to be. Up in the Heavenly Realm, the gods liked things like order, rules, and consistency; which was entirely opposite of Gon, who liked things like adventure, spontaneity, and fun. It was because of this fundamental difference in mindset that Gon constantly complained to the elders that their world was boring. There was nothing to do. Everything stayed the same as it always was. The sun rose in the same location every day, and the two moons never waned.

But down in the human world, things were different. If Gon could go there—just to visit, he insisted—he could learn more about them. Their world was filled with the unpredictability of emotion, the creativity of the arts, and the fascination of learning.

The Gods’ Association did not approve of Gon’s idea. Their kind was not meant to interfere in the human world, they said, and besides, humans lived such fleeting lives—they were just a blip in the sea of eternity. Their powers were weak and their minds even weaker. There was nothing special about them.

Unfortunately for them, Gon didn’t see it that way at all. Additionally, he couldn’t care less about rules made by elderly gods. So, when the opportunity presented itself, he slipped out of the Heavenly Realm (which was lame and boring) and into the human world (which was unpredictable and exciting).

Because unlike gods, humans had something worth learning about.

Upon materializing in the human world, Gon discovered hiding his presence wasn’t hard, but figuring out how to integrate himself into society with nothing but the clothes on his back was a little harder. YorkNew was not a kind place to newcomers. But, it did have a soft spot for dedicated workers with blindingly bright smiles and positive attitudes. Luckily, Gon just so happened to have both.

He found work under a quiet sorcerer with dark hair and a perpetually untucked shirt. While he wasn’t busy restocking shelves or taking orders, the sorcerer would teach him the fundamentals of human magic. Gon drank the information in like a sponge. He learned the human world was mysterious in its manifested will, which occasionally, not even gods could manipulate. Its magic was a finicky beast. It twisted and turned. It was hard to tame. People could spend years dedicating themselves to understanding the craft and never comprehend a fraction of its truth.

Gon liked it.

Months later, when Master Wing gently told Gon he had nothing left to teach him, and that he should consider opening his own magic shop, Gon could only take the sorcerer’s hand and profess his gratitude towards his first human teacher. He was thankful for Master Wing, because even though he likely picked up on it, he didn’t comment on the fact that for some reason his student had the strength of a thousand men.

If Gon had been worried about making a living on his own, he needn’t have been. Once he took his teacher’s words to heart and set up a small magic shop, people immediately flocked to his little hole-in-the-wall location for all their magical needs. Perhaps it was his godly aura leaking out (which he swore he was trying to get better at), or perhaps it was his bright smile and friendly demeanor (which he hoped it was), but regardless, It wasn’t long before his spells flew off the shelves like fresh hotcakes out of the oven.

Everyone liked him. Gon was a strapping young man with a sweet demeanor and a penchant for unique and useful enchantments. He was sociable, and charming, and the type of man ladies wanted to take home to show their mothers.

Some tried. Gon gently turned down their advances.

And so, his days passed in the human world, and winter turned to summer. After some time, Gon concluded he had been slightly misguided in his original assumptions—humans weren’t just interesting—they were extremely interesting.

They confused him with their conflicting mannerisms. They smiled when they were sad, and cried when they were happy.

They were nice.

They were mean.

They fought. They reconciled. They flirted, they laughed, they loved. They wore their emotions on their sleeves like a badge of honor, and Gon still was drawn to their world with a childlike curiosity. What would it be like, he wondered, to live a life that would end one day? Would he be able to exist as happily as they did? He didn’t know, nor did he think he ever would.

Summertime arrived in YorkNew in a blazing heat wave. Cicadas shrieked in the air, chirping with a faint buzz which signaled the height of the season. Gon was busy writing a litany of cooling spells in preparation for his daily customers. Ink stained his hands. Luckily the human world tampered his powers significantly, otherwise the ink would have been the least of his problems—his parchment would have frozen and crumbled to dust.

The small bell atop of the door jingled. Zushi, a frequent patron of Gon’s magic shop, was the first visitor of the day. Master Wing often sent him over to run errands, but oftentimes Zushi would visit on his own—to ask Gon questions, or just to chat. His short stature hadn’t changed too much over the past few months, but the kid always claimed he was growing. He strolled past the shelves and over to Gon’s workbench, and proudly presented a piece of parchment.

Gon examined his friend's handiwork. He had seen summoning pentagrams before, but there was something different about the one Zushi drew. Something odd and familiar. He filed the information away for later.

“It's my first advanced summoning circle,” Zushi explained, plastering the drawing over the counter. “Master Wing has been teaching me how to draw them over the past few weeks. If you do it well, you can summon animals and spirits to fight on your behalf. I can only summon snails for right now, but he said I’ll get better with more practice.” He snapped his fingers, and sure enough, the pentagram lit up, and a small snail appeared in the center with a puff of smoke. It began nibbling on the parchment.

“You’re already more experienced than I am,” Gon sighed, watching the snail leave a slimy trail. “I’ve never even drawn a summoning circle before.”

It was more out of apprehension than anything. They said that the more powerful the sorcerer, the more fearsome the summoned being. Humans had conjured monsters, chimeras, and ghosts to fight in their wars. If magic-wielders could summon things like that, what could a god summon? Gon wracked his brains and came up short. Maybe a frog, he thought to himself. A big, big frog.

“You should try it!” Zushi insisted. “It’s loads of fun to draw your own circle. There’s something special about bringing something into existence. It's very rewarding.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Gon said sheepishly. “But not sure it's quite...my forte.”

“Master Wing says you’re the most powerful sorcerer he knows,” Zushi replied confidently. “I’m sure whatever you summon, it will be amazing.”

Gon was sure of it too—which was why he hadn’t tried it yet. He weighed his options. There was the unknown, yes...but Zushi said it would be fun. And Gon liked fun. Besides, whatever he ended up summoning, it couldn’t be more powerful than a god, could it? The chances were slim to none. Even if his magic were limited in the human world, he could probably take on whatever came out of his summoning circle.

Gon's confidence was on the rise. 

“You really think I can do it?”

”Of course.”

It was this approval, coupled with more of Zushi’s persistence, which convinced him.

Gon would attempt his very first summoning. And whatever he summoned, he summoned. 

Gon remembered why Zushi’s drawing had looked so familiar to him. The runes around the edges were in ancient godscript, a forgotten tongue to all except the eternal. Eons past, when the gods had voluntarily interfered in mortal lives, they had left wisps of their language to those who they deemed worthy. Whoever had designed the circle so many years ago must have interacted with a god at some point in their lives.

It was fate, thought Gon. If the circle used godscript, it was only fitting that a god summoned with it.

In the following days, he worked tirelessly on his own version of the pentagram. He inscribed newer, more accurate godscript into the borders. He substituted the recommended ingredients with ones he liked. He let a bit of his own powers seep into the chalk mixture.

Finally, on a dark, starless night, Gon was ready. Only a small handlantern’s flame illuminated his magic shop. His workspace, completely cleaned of scrolls and crushed leaves, stood barren and organized. A gentle breeze whispered through the crack in the open window. It was time. Gon took a deep breath and began checking items off his list.

Step one: draw the circle. Gon looked at the massive chalk pentagram on his wooden floors, fully connected and wildly intricate. Check.

Step two: arrange the materials. He carefully placed five jars on each of the star’s points: snake fangs, powdered zinc, mint, a flame, and starthistle. Check.

Step three: a piece of the user. Gon enchanted the knife in his hand and sliced open his palm. The blood of gods, golden like honey, dripped from his wound and into the circle. Check.

With the final piece in place, the pentagram lit up. Gon’s blood travelled the length of the summoning circle mirroring water through a channel, lighting the way in a flash of brilliant sparks until the entire circle glowed.

The spell activated.

“It’s working!” Gon said excitedly to no one in particular. However, despite all his preparations, he failed to account for one tiny detail—the human world wasn’t built for powers like his to be used in such magic. The floorboards in his workshop trembled and snapped under the weight of his energy, and a wind picked up and sent the papers resting in the corners flying through the air. The handlantern’s flame snuffed out. It was as if a storm found its way into Gon’s magic shop—the air jolted with electricity and set his hair into staticky spikes as magic continued to churn through the atmosphere, pushing and pulling in a flurrying whirlwind.

The eaves creaked and groaned. The walls shook and wobbled. And through the chaos, something sharp snagged on Gon’s heart. It wrenched deep inside his soul, like it was determined to tear him apart. Gon’s hand instantly flew to his chest—he hadn’t felt pain in so long, he had forgotten how awful it was—and it wasn’t subsiding, rather, it was rippling through his entire body like the pressure of the deep sea.

Gon didn’t know what drowning felt like, but as he took desperate breaths and inhaled nothing but raw magical power, he thought he was pretty close to experiencing it.

Just as he gained control of his breathing there was a bang and a flash of blinding light which left him momentarily disoriented. Through his hazy vision, Gon could tell that the storm in the room had finally ceased. The parchment, which had been fluttering wildly through the air, was calmly settling to the ground. The crackling of magic had faded away to silence. He rubbed his eyes and blinked.

The first thing he noticed was that the sky was supposed to be starless that evening, yet, through the small window, Gon saw pinpricks of light shining through the shadows, twinkling and glittering like moondust in the darkness. Someone had set the stars alight in the night sky.

And then, the second thing he noticed was that if the gods had ever given such stars a life, the person standing in the middle of his summoning circle would be it.

The young man glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. He was slightly smaller than Gon, but his stature spoke of hidden strength and unimaginable power. The pointed, wide-brimmed hat upon his head settled across snow-white hair—a witch’s hat, Gon dumbly thought to himself, but that wasn’t all there was to the man—because when the stranger looked up and their eyes met, Gon’s entire being shivered from his head down to his toes.

His eyes were blue. Not just any blue—bluer than crushed sapphires, bluer than the sea at daytime, bluer than any color the gods could conjure in the rainbow—they stared at him, waiting, and apprehensive. Gon hadn’t had a favorite color until then, but if he had to pick one now, it would undoubtedly be the color of the witch’s eyes.

The newly-summoned witch glanced at the circle beneath his bare feet, silently appraising Gon’s workshop, observing the disarray and the cramped quarters.

Gon, never one for waiting, broke the silence. “Sorry for the mess,” he said brightly.

The witch looked at him again. “It’s fine,” he said, like he was testing the words in his mouth. “I don’t mind.”

There was a moment of awkward silence where Gon couldn’t do anything else besides stare. He quickly plastered a smile onto his face.

“It’s not much, but I can at least offer you something to drink,” he said. He didn’t think twice about grabbing the witch’s hand and pulling him out of the summoning circle. It was instinctual. He couldn’t have fought the urge if he tried. When their hands made contact (the witch's skin was surprisingly cool), heat bloomed in his palm. “I’ll show you around the place! I’m going to be completely honest, I didn’t know what was going to come out of my first summoning attempt, but I’m glad it was you, and not a really, really big frog. Unfortunately, there’s not too much space since it’s usually just me around, but I’m sure I can—”

The witch resisted his pull and yanked his hand back. He looked at Gon suspiciously. “Your first summoning attempt?” he repeated, “You summoned me? On your first summoning attempt?”

Gon tilted his head to the side. “Is that bad?”

The witch raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know who I am?”

“A witch?” Gon supplied.

“Not just any witch,” the boy said, “A Zoldyck witch. I’m a witch from the highest ranking family in the Witches Circle—a being descended from the celestial dimension, and a harbinger of lightning. I have performed feats of magic incomprehensible to mortal beings. With a snap of my fingers, I can poison a man, strike down a horse, or destroy a house. And you’re telling me that you—a mere human—summoned me on your first attempt?” The last note came out sounding incredulous.

Gon was supposed to keep his identity as a god a secret but he was tempted to reveal himself. Only the threat of being discovered by the Gods' Association and dragged back to the Heavenly Realm kept him from doing so. “Well, I suppose that’s how it turned out, isn’t it?” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” the witch said, crossing his arms. “You have to be lying. You’re barely an adult. Where’s your master?”

“You don’t look much older than I do,” Gon countered, “And I have no master. I run this place on my own.”

The witch snorted. “You’re good at weaving tales, human. Unfortunately, I have no interest in young apprentices who don’t know who Zoldyck witches are, and even less interest in those who lie. if my original summoner isn’t here, that means there are no wishes to be had, and therefore there’s no use for me here. Now, if you’ll excuse me—I’ll take my leave.” He tipped his hat in a mock salute and stepped back into the center of the circle.

But Gon didn’t want him to go. They had barely just met. He wanted to surround himself within the warmth of the witch's light for just a little while longer. “Wait, don’t—”

His request went unheeded. The witch grinned like he knew what Gon was about to say and was taking great pleasure in leaving anyway. With a snap of his fingers, the witch blinked out of existence—

—And then blinked back once more, stumbling slightly, as though he was anticipating a different type of flooring. The witch frowned when he noticed he was in the same room again.

“Odd. That’s not supposed to happen.”

He tried again—snapping his fingers, disappearing, and then returning as quickly as he had left. A beat passed.

The witch looked at Gon.

Gon looked at the witch.

The witch averted his gaze.

“Interesting,” the witch mumbled, fixing his hat and trying to look anywhere except for Gon’s smug face, “It seems you were telling the truth. If you’ve paid the price for summoning me by offering a part of yourself, I can’t leave until I fulfill your request.”

Gon hadn’t learned anything about that before. He was just glad the witch hadn’t left. Also, he was staring again. “What request?” he asked.

The witch looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “If you know enough about old magic to summon me, surely you know the basics of summoning circles? At the lowest level, things like insects and fauna can be controlled. At the middle level, spirits can be ordered to fight for you. And then, at the highest level, magical beings like myself can fulfill a wish, if within our power. So, what do you need from me? To kill a competitor for your lady’s affection? To smite down an army?”

Gon wondered why all his options were so violent.

“I will warn you, however—my magic isn’t free. For any task you wish me to accomplish, I’ll need some of your life force. Usually I'd get it transferred to me via ley lines, but since humans can’t use those, the next best way would be by mouth.”

Gon pondered his words for a moment. “So like, a kiss?”

The witch’s face turned scarlet. “Wha—? No!”

Ah, so it was like a kiss then. Gon wanted to laugh—he was suddenly very interested in the way the young man had lost some of his initial confidence—he was wringing his hands and spluttering like a cat in water. Yet, if Gon only had one shot at his wish, it had to be something worthwhile—something he would remember in all his immortal years to come. Because even if he tried to summon him again, there was no guarantee the same person would come out of the circle—old magic wasn’t good at following conventional rules like that.

After a few minutes, Gon settled on his request. “Alright,” he said. “I’ve chosen my wish.”

“The bigger the request, the more of your life force I’ll take, so don’t go asking for something ridiculous or you’ll die," the witch warned.

Gon hadn't been planning on asking for anything ridiculous in the first place. His heart beat loudly in his chest. “I want to know your name,” he declared.

The witch looked startled. “My name? You summon one of the most powerful witches in the world, and you want to know my name?”

Gon nodded. Silence sat briefly between them as the witch rolled back and forth on his toes and considered his request. He seemed amused from the way his lips twitched at the corners, like he was trying to suppress a smile.

For a moment, Gon was worried he would decline.

But then, the witch’s attempts to suppress his expression shattered and the smile leaked through, and the vision itself was so bright that it surpassed all the sunrises in the Heavenly Realm. It was a genuine smile, one which dazzled and stunned with its honesty. It was enchanting and Gon was put under a spell unlike any other.

The white wisps of the witch’s hair curled around his ears. Gon felt a similar curling in his gut.

“You’re funny, human. It’s a simple wish. I’ll grant it.”

The fluttering in Gon's chest was now a full-blown tempest. Gon stepped towards him, some strange part of his mind suggesting it wasn’t really the wish he was looking forward to, but rather the price he had to pay to get it.

He stood close enough to see a scattering of pale freckles across his companion’s nose. They looked like they could be drawn into constellations.

“I’m Gon,” he said softly, angling the hat away from the witch’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Before the witch could renege on his request, Gon leaned forward, dipping his head downwards while the witch watched him, lips slightly parted, as the distance between them grew smaller and smaller. And then, when they were so near to one another that Gon could feel the heat emanating from the man’s pale skin, he cupped his cheek, tilted his head upwards so he could stare into those infinite blue eyes, and pressed their lips together.

Gon, as an immortal being of pure magic, had experienced many things. He had seen the world torn asunder and rebuilt again. He had felt the crunch in the air when a new deity was born. He had tasted rain, sunshine, thunder, and moonlight. But nothing, in all of his infinite years of existence, had prepared him for the feeling of kissing the witch in his arms.

He couldn’t put it into words. It was like the old was turning to new, like death was turning to life, like the mundane was turning to magic. It was the explosion of a supernova in the depths of space. It was the touch of a fairy’s wing on the first snow of winter. It was the dappled rays in the quiet forest, the smell of lightning before the storm, the spray of seawater upon marbled rocks. The feeling flickered on his lips with the brush of a blue moon: calming, sweet, and mystical.

The witch tasted like eternity.

He tasted wonderful.

A desperate part of Gon screamed to never let him leave, to never live a life without his existence ever again.

They broke apart.

All the silence in the world couldn’t have filled the void which seemed to open up at their separation. It wasn’t fair, Gon thought, that the witch somehow looked sad, like he hadn’t wanted the moment to end either.

But Gon had paid the cost. There was nothing left to bind them.

If he had known he would meet someone like this during a summoning, only to have them disappear shortly afterwards, Gon wouldn’t even have attempted it in the first place. 

The witch, with a wish and some of Gon’s life force, was going to leave. And Gon would never be the same again. 

The witch slowly backed away from Gon. His eyes lingered on his, like he had felt their connection as well, but wasn’t sure what to make of it. Gon had to physically hold himself back from pulling him in for another kiss. And maybe another. And another.

It was just prolonging the inevitable. No matter how long they stared at one another and ran “what-ifs” in their minds, the truth of the matter was that whatever fate had brought them together was now tearing them apart, and Gon hated it. He hated it more than anything he had ever felt, he wanted to resist fate and tell it that he was a god and that gods did not bend to the wills of the predetermined. He wanted to grab the witch and kiss him again and again and again until he figured out for himself what it was about him that made Gon desire him above anything else. 

He watched as the witch walked back into the circle. The instant the his feet centered themselves, the wind that had accompanied his arrival signaled his departure. Electric sparks danced in the pentagram, drawing magic from himself and from the surrounding air, and with a wistful smile that Gon wished he could kiss away, to make it so he wouldn’t look so, so sad, the witch whispered—

“—My name is Killua. It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Gon. Goodbye.”

Killua. It was a beautiful name befitting of a beautiful witch.

Something hard caught in Gon’s throat. He wanted to stop him, to tell him that no matter where he was returning to, Gon could find a place for them which was better. Because if they were together, Gon was sure he could do anything. But, it wasn’t his place, and for all intents and purposes, he was just a human. A human, who was actually a god, who pined for a witch who couldn't be his. Killua had come to him because he was summoned to fulfill a wish, and now that he had, there was no reason for him to stay. But Gon would remember his visit. He would remember it forever.

He would remember it so that if he ever thought there were no mysteries left to uncover, he would recall the time when he met an enchanting boy on a starless night, who tasted like all the beautiful things in the world, who left in the wake of a summer storm, vanishing bit by bit until nothing remained and the room was empty once more—

—Only for him to reappear in full force, smacking Gon straight in the chest with enough impact to send them both toppling to the ground. Gon, although surprised, wasn’t one to complain about the new development.

“Back so soon?” he grinned. Killua’s hat tickled his nose.

The witch quickly scrambled up, completely and obviously embarrassed. “I—I don’t—that’s not supposed to happen!” he said, flustered. “Let me try again—”

But Killua tried, and tried, and tried, and each time the result was the same—he would disappear, and then reappear beside Gon, sometimes smacking him in the chest, sometimes bumping into his side, occasionally fully sprawled over his lap. Gon, amused, let him try as many times as he wanted, but finally as the sun started breaking over the horizon, Killua had tried enough.

“My magic won’t send me back,” he groaned, burying his face in hat.

Gon didn’t tell him that he had tried to help out once or twice by adding his own powers to the mix, but nothing had happened. Instead, he merely clasped his hands together and said cheerfully, “Well, I’m always looking for help around the shop...if you’d like to stay?”

He really hoped Killua would stay.

He really, really hoped he would stay.

Killua dusted his hat off and put it back on his head. “I suppose,” he said offhandedly.

His ears however, betrayed his nonchalance. As Killua turned away, Gon caught a glimpse—they glowed pink like camelias in spring.

Chapter Text

Gon was the strangest human Killua had ever met.

He was the embodiment of sunshine and summer and all things good and warm. His laugh was always loud and bright. He was never not smiling.

It was peculiar.

Killua was confident Gon would try to barter favors out of him now that Killua was staying with him. After all, Killua was a powerful witch. It would have been natural to try and use him to cast spells on his enemies or conjure up riches for his personal gain.

Killua knew this because Illumi had taught him time and time again that humans couldn’t be trusted. They had an evil streak from when they had been tainted during their stage of creation. When given the choice between saving themselves or those close to them, they would always choose the former. They were brainless, and self-centered, and the mud men of the earth. Yet, Gon was proving all those notions wrong. And that, in and of itself, was suspicious.

Just because he was nice to Killua, and let him live with him, and cooked him delicious meals, and gave him mountains of books that he liked to read didn’t mean Killua was going to trust him.

It wasn’t the only thing Killua was suspicious of, but Killua was trying very hard not to think about the other. Which was, specifically, the way he had felt when Gon transferred his life force. He should have been disgusted. Killua had been prepared to bear it, just for the briefest moment where contact was necessary. He surely hadn’t been impressed by Gon’s appearance, hadn’t looked at his tanned skin and mussed hair after the summoning, hadn’t looked into Gon’s eyes which swirled like honeyed amber and felt a burning need to be close to him, and an even greater need to kiss him again. He hadn’t, because Killua had been determined to fulfill a simple mortal’s wish and be done with it.

But Gon had to go and make the situation more complicated. Killua hadn’t counted on how Gon’s mouth had felt like the warm breath of spring over frost-covered grass, how he had tasted like a meteor shower embedded in an aurora, how his hand on Killua’s cheek had almost made Killua’s knees buckle beneath him. Gon’s life force had glowed inside his heart like embers in a hearth and had spread warmth through his very soul.

And Killua had wanted more.

For the second time in his life, Killua had wanted something.

He was trying very hard not to think about it, because the last time he had wanted something, he had gotten cursed for it.

Gon’s head peeked out from behind the counter. “Are you okay over there, Killua?”

Killua jolted. “Ah—yes, I’m fine.”

“Okay! Sorry, there’s not much to do around here while I’m working,” Gon apologized, “So you’re probably bored.” Then, he smiled sheepishly. “But if you’ve got the time, maybe you can help me fine-tune one of my new spells? You’re amazing at magic after all, so I could really use your help. It’s a finding charm for objects and directions...I think it’ll be good for people who tend to forget.”

Killua hopped off his stool. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

He looked at the spell Gon had marked on his parchment. There was a strange power within the words. Killua hadn’t seen anything quite like it before—and he had been alive for a very, very long time. The original basis of human magic, godscript, was weaved easily into his spells. The skill to do that was practically unattainable to a mass majority of sorcerers. And, the essence of ancient magic permeated the writing and hovered like a mysterious mist over the parchment.

Did Gon even know he was doing it? Could Gon sense the power in the spells he created? What was it about Gon, that made him so different?

Killua didn’t know.

“You’re missing a rune here,” Killua pointed out. “If you put in a mind rune, just a little one, I think it’ll fix your problem.”

Gon looked at him in awe. “Wow—how did I not see that? Killua, you really are incredible! I knew having you look at it was a good idea!”

Yes, Killua was convinced. Gon was strange.

And Killua was finding it a little more difficult each day to remain suspicious of his newfound companion.

Killua normally didn’t like staying in the human world for too long. It really didn’t have much going for it; his powers were weaker there and magical ingredients were harder to come by. Its inhabitants were plain and predictable. By all means, he should have lost interest in it a long time ago, but being in the human world with Gon was...a lot of fun. Each day was filled with new experiences. The magic in the human world behaved strangely and slipped out of his fingers like the stream of time. He was still trying to figure it out.

Killua was watering the flowerbed outside Gon’s magic shop when Gon came around the side, wheeling out his bicycle.

“I’m going to run some errands,” said Gon, “Can you man the shop while I’m gone?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” said Killua, but his words were ignored as Gon hopped on his bike and said, “Thanks Killua! You’re the best,” and pedaled away.

Killua was left with an empty watering can. Mentally, he lamented at Gon’s spontaneity, because what was he supposed to do now?

How was he supposed to interact with humans? What would they ask of him? He had always watched from the sidelines—had never anticipated talking to them, much less take orders and fulfill requests with no contract in place. But, they were just humans, he reminded himself hurriedly, Illumi had mentioned that they were nothing special. They were lesser, non-magical beings. They weren’t deserving of Killua’s attention. He could just ignore them, put a “CLOSED” sign outside so he wouldn’t be disturbed, and leave it at that.

The thought made him squirm. He felt guilty. And he knew why.

It was because Gon was relying on him. Gon had asked him for a favor. Gon, a human who had enough magical power to summon Killua, was asking him for something, after feeding him, and chatting with him, and making sure he wasn’t bored while he had been working. And Killua had been free-loading at his place, even after promising to help out once in a while, so it really wasn’t fair, was it, if he was to shirk his duties? If there was one thing witches didn’t like, it was owing a debt...even if it was to a human.

Killua rigidly walked back inside and sat at the counter. It would be fine, he convinced himself, he had watched Gon handle things often enough. He wouldn’t mess up.

Humans came in droves into the shop, asking for things, and asking for Gon. They were all regular people who couldn’t see or use magic, who needed an experienced sorcerer to help them with their needs. Medicinal cures, spells to ward off bad spirits, runes for good luck—it appeared as though humans needed help with just...living. Killua hurriedly took down their orders the best he could. The sheer volume was ridiculous. He spent the day crowded in the workshop, adding dried grasses to cauldrons bubbling with potions and sealing glyphs into portable charms.

It was a lot of work. He wondered how Gon handled it every day.

And surprisingly, the humans were nice. They weren’t disgusting, or smelly, or rude, like he had been told. They were kind of like Gon. Just...not really the same. They spoke civilly to Killua, asked him how his day was, asked him if he was new to the shop. Some were a little upset that Gon wasn’t there, but when Killua was able to fulfill their orders to a tee, they didn’t seem to mind that much anymore. They paid extremely generously for his services. It was a mystery why Gon hadn’t increased the size of his shop with the amount of gold amassed every day.

Killua rushed back and forth between the customers, wordlessly passing them their packages and their spells. He wasn’t known for being the politest of witches when he spoke, so he figured it was best for Gon as well as his business if he kept his mouth shut. He was so preoccupied that he lost track of time, and didn’t spare the front door a glance when the bell jingled.

Gon entered with his bicycle and a large basket.

“Hi Killua—sorry I was gone for so long, it took me forever to find that spider eagle nest—er, is that my apron?”

Killua almost dropped the jar of nightshade he was holding. He indeed was wearing Gon’s forest green apron—after splashing potions on himself one too many times, he had lifted the work apron off its hook and tied it around himself. He had forgotten to take it off.

“Yeah it is,” he said in a cautious voice. “Is that...okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, it's totally fine,” Gon said, though his voice sounded strained.

“I can take it off, I’m just about done with most of the potions—”

“No—really, it's okay, please keep it on.”

Killua continued to stir the cauldron, but he was feeling a familiar flush rise up his neck. Maybe wearing the apron hadn’t been a good idea after all. It had caught Gon’s attention, and for some reason, Killua wasn’t good at dealing with that sort of thing.

Gon set a large basket of items in his workshop. Killua caught sight of some eggs, various herbs, and glass containers.

“How was the shop while I was gone?” asked Gon, putting the supplies away. His voice was back to normal.

“It was fine,” Killua replied. “A lot of your customers were asking where you were.”

“Aha—yeah, I guess I’m usually around in the area. They liked you, though?” Gon’s eyes were sparkling. Killua looked away.

“I suppose. I don’t think they know I’m a witch though.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Humans aren’t too fond of witches. They’re afraid we’ll curse them,” said Killua. He didn’t mention that according to his brother, witches weren’t too fond of humans either.

“Hm, if that’s true, I don’t think that’s right of them to think that way,” Gon said absentmindedly, “Killua’s a good witch. You wouldn’t curse anyone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I’ve cursed lots of people before.”

“Yeah, but not because you wanted to.”

Killua stopped stirring the cauldron. He knew it was impossible for Gon to know his secret because the spell on him prevented him from telling anyone about it, but somehow hearing those words made him feel like crying. He wiped his hands on Gon’s apron and tried to distract himself with something else. He settled for cleaning up the small room and re-shelving misplaced ingredients. From the corner of his eye he saw Gon stop to take a look at the vials lined on the wall.

“Killua—did you make all these?” Gon asked admiringly. “You’re so talented! It would have taken me at least three days to do this. And—wow, this is memory loss potion, I didn’t even know how to make one of these until a few weeks ago—”

“—It’s really not that impressive,” Killua interrupted. “I deal with this stuff all the time. I’m a witch, remember?”

“Yeah,” Gon breathed, “Yeah, I remember. Hey Killua, I was thinking about that—is our contract still in place?”

Killua’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It couldn’t be. Was Gon going to try to use Killua’s powers for his own personal gain? After Killua had thought he wouldn’t? He felt betrayed, but he knew this was the logical progression. He had overstayed his welcome, after all, and humans were selfish by nature. Even ones that appeared otherwise.

Everything came at a cost. Even things like this.

The curdling in his gut, he realized, was the unsettling feeling of disappointment. He felt like crying again, but this time for another reason entirely.

“I think so,” Killua said carefully. “I don’t know the logistics, but since I’m unable to leave, it would seem I still have to fulfill your requests...so long as you provide more of your life force.”

Gon gave him a dopey grin. “Okay. Can I make another wish?”

Killua nodded stiffly.

“I’d like to have some of your time tomorrow.”

Killua blinked. “Pardon?”

“You helped me out today,” said Gon, “So I’d like to repay the favor, and spend some time with you tomorrow. We can get you your own apron. And maybe some books. Or whatever else you’d like.”

What was with this man and his strange wishes? Killua’s ears were getting hot again. The curdling disappeared and transitioned into something light and fluttering.

“It’s an easy wish,” he mumbled. “I’ll grant it.”

Gon took two large steps forward and Killua briefly recalled that he wasn’t wearing his hat this time so he had nothing to hide behind, and wasn’t that a shame because he really would have liked to hide right then and there.

Gon smiled at him, white toothed and bright. “You nervous?”

“No,” Killua said, while internally thinking that yes, he was quite nervous indeed. Except, what was there to be nervous about? Gon was merely transferring his life force. Sure, Gon had been the first human he had ever contracted with, but it was simply a transaction which needed to happen.

There wasn’t any meaning behind it. And Killua should not have been happy to get a taste of it again.

It happened just as before—Gon pressed their mouths together, and Killua thought to himself if he had ever been deserving of heaven, then now was it. Gon smelled like the pine needles in the forest, smelled like the wildflowers of the High Mountains, smelled like truth and honesty and the sunlight on a foggy morning. The scent wrapped around him like a blanket.

When Gon’s lips moved, they were slow, insistent, chapped and gentle, like Killua was made of glass. The transfer was as wonderful as Killua remembered it. And yet, it was also different—different, because now that this was the second time, Killua was allowed to savor it. He was allowed to let Gon’s powers sweep through his body, through his heart, and let them consume him. The flames enveloped him and magic crackled in his bones. He was sinking into the sun, sinking into a massive ball of fire and golden magic which infused the world ways he hadn’t thought possible. He could get drunk on this kind of power. Were all humans capable of magic this strong? Or was Gon an anomaly?

And Killua’s soul, which he didn’t even realize was aching, reached for the man in front of him. It was as though Gon was the center of the universe, and Killua was just a stray star being pulled in.

Just like the last time when they parted, Killua was left dizzy and desperately wanting more. He hadn’t taken much, he told himself. He had only taken a little bit of Gon’s life force. Maybe a few days’ worth. It would be okay. He wouldn’t take any more than necessary.

He wouldn’t, even though he wanted to.

“Was that enough?” said Gon.

“Yeah. It was enough,” answered Killua, clearing his throat. If Gon kept asking for things, Killua didn’t know if he could take it. But even if Gon was to ask again, Killua hoped he would never ask for anything harder than he currently was, because for some reason he wanted this particular human to live a nice, long life.

Shopping with Gon was embarrassing. Killua just wanted to lay low and try not to draw attention to himself. But Gon would always call him over to the storefronts, yelling things like “Killua, look at this funny hat!” and “Killua, do you like this apron? It has cats on it!” He would shove expensive gemstones into Killua’s hands and ask him which ones would be good for charms. He would slide one of his large, warm hands into Killua’s, and drag him to see the other stalls, and even when Killua thought he would let go, he didn’t (that part, he found he didn’t really mind). By the end of their trip, Killua was filled to the brim with mortification and had a bag of small things Gon insisted on buying for him.

“So, do all humans do this?” Killua asked, shaking the bag for emphasis.

“Only for people we like, I guess,” said Gon.

“Oh? And am I someone you like?”

Gon nodded. “Definitely. Absolutely.”

“...You’re weird.”

“Am I?”

“Really, really weird. The weirdest human I’ve ever met.” Gon was too good, too friendly, too everything. Killua didn’t know how someone like him could exist without people trying to take advantage of him. He didn’t have a suspicious bone in his body.

Killua, on the other hand, had only suspicious bones in his body.

“Well,” said Gon, “You just haven’t met enough humans, I guess. If you stay awhile here, you could meet a lot of interesting people. Do you...need to go back home any time soon? I guess we still haven’t found out why you’re stuck here.”

Killua wanted to tell him that he didn’t want to go back home. He wanted to tell him that his home on Kukuroo Mountain was cold, and barren, and empty, and that Gon’s place was small, but cozy and warm. He wanted to tell him that he had never experienced as much fun as he had over the past few days in his entire life. He wanted to tell him that he was rethinking his brother’s teachings on humans. He wanted to tell him that he probably wouldn’t mind if they never found out why he couldn’t leave.

Killua knew he had to go, eventually. But he didn’t want to. And the humans that Illumi had told him about, the humans that were supposed to be stupid, vain, and as worthless as fodder—well, Killua was starting to think that maybe those things weren’t true. Because Gon had proven to him that he wasn’t any of those things. And neither were the customers Killua had served the prior day. Those people had been nice to him. They had thanked him, and shook his hand even though he was perpetually cold.

And Gon had told him that he didn’t think Killua was the type of person to curse others. It had been the nicest thing anyone had said to him. But that was also why Gon was dangerous. He was dangerous because of his kindness. It was a treatment Killua didn’t know how to react to because he had experienced it so little before, and he knew he would indulge in it. Rather than Gon take advantage of Killua like he had initially thought, it would be the other way around.

Killua was a selfish person. He was more selfish than any human who could exist in their world. He recognized that if he had his way, he would give into his impulses. If given the opportunity Killua would take and take and take until there would be nothing left of Gon. And then another bright star in the world would dim to darkness, and it would all be Killua’s fault.

So, instead of telling Gon any of this, Killua just said quietly, “Yeah, I should probably figure out how to get back soon.”

Gon made a face. “That’s no fun though. Can’t you just stay here, Killua? We can figure out how to get you back home after you’ve met some more humans.”

Killua scoffed. Gon was being ridiculous. “You’re not responsible at all!”

Gon laughed and gently bumped him with his shoulder. “But you like that part of me, don’t you Killua? So it’s a plan then? Stay with me for just a little while longer?”

Killua tried to act like Gon’s words weren’t affecting him the way they were. His heart raced like a horse down the mountainside paths. Yes, he liked that part of Gon. Yes, he probably liked every part of Gon. But staying by a human’s side wasn’t in his nature. He wasn’t supposed to want to stay. But maybe this world wasn’t so bad, and he didn’t really want to go home yet, so if Gon was offering…

“Sure,” he shrugged, like he wasn’t slowly being pulled into Gon’s light again, “I’ll stay. But only for a bit.”

Gon grinned. “You say that now, but who knows—maybe you’ll like it so much that you’ll want to stay forever!”

Killua wondered if Gon was ever embarrassed saying things like that. “Idiot. Don’t count your dragonlings before they hatch,” Killua mumbled. He didn’t mention that as the days passed, the possibility of him wanting to stay increased exponentially.

As they approached the entrance of the shop, Killua saw they had visitors. He had never seen them before, but from the way they were standing outside, he could make a reasonable guess that they weren’t customers.

Gon put a gentle hand on Killua’s shoulders and maneuvered Killua behind him so that Gon stood between him and the strangers. It was an oddly considerate gesture because he was acting like he would be able to protect Killua in the case their visitors posed a threat, but that didn’t make sense at all because as far as Killua was aware he was definitely the stronger of the two of them.

“Hello,” Gon said cheerfully to the two blondes dressed in cloaks standing beside the entrance, “How can I help you?”

The girl spoke first. She flashed a badge at them—a card which glittered like a crystal under the sunlight. “I’m Bisky,” she said confidently. “I’m with the Magic Regulation Task Force. You mind if we chat for a bit?”

Oh no. This was not good. Not good at all.

“I don’t mind in the slightest,” Gon replied easily. “I’m afraid I don’t have too much space to sit indoors, so…”

“Not a problem,” said Bisky, and she conjured up a table and set of chairs in the front yard. Gon and Killua sat on one side, Bisky and her partner on another.

“I won’t take long—just here to ask a few questions. We felt a large disturbance in the magical balance a few days ago,” Bisky explained. “As you are well aware, in order to ensure the balance of this world stays intact, all summoned beings must return to whence they came so that the world is always in a state of equilibrium. Keeping them here for longer than necessary could be disastrous. So we’re investigating the issue. We’re trying to track down the source. You two...wouldn’t happen to know what caused the disturbance, would you?”

“Nope!” said Gon. “No idea.”

Killua’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. If the action wouldn’t have blown their cover, he would have whipped around, stared Gon in the face, and asked him what in the blue blazes of hell was going through his mind to lie to a Magic Regulation Task Force member—instead, he forced himself to stare at an uninteresting corner of the table.

Bisky frowned. “You’re sure? You don’t know anything?”

“That's absolutely correct,” said Gon.

“You do realize that lying to a member of the Task Force is punishable by law?”

“Sure do.”

Gon was lying as though it were the easiest thing in the world. Killua was just hoping the altercation would end quickly because if Gon continued down this path their circle of deceit was going to get very tangled very quickly.

Bisky crossed her arms and gave them a hard stare. “So you’re telling me,” she said slowly, “That you don’t know anything about what happened a week ago? That the witch sitting besides you at this very moment in time wasn’t the source of the inflow of magic into this world?”

Killua closed his eyes and prayed to whatever gods were currently occupying the Heavenly Realm that he and Gon weren’t about to get into some serious trouble because of course Bisky knew. And if she knew, they were doomed. The Magic Regulation Task Force was composed of the best of the best of human sorcerers—Gon, as a relative amateur with no fighting experience, and Killua, in his weakened magical state, wouldn’t stand a chance.

Witches were good at getting out of binds, but Killua was discovering that the rules of the human world were not conducive to any logical means of escape.

“Witch?” asked Gon obliviously, “What witch? Oh, you mean my friend Killua? No, couldn’t have been him. You see, Killua’s not all that powerful—”

Killua kicked him from underneath the table. Even if they were going to get arrested, like hell he wasn’t that powerful—if Gon knew how strong he really was, then...well...then what? He would be impressed by Killua’s skill? He would think he was a catch? And praise him, and say things like “Killua, you’re so talented” or “Killua, you’re the most impressive witch I’ve ever met, won’t you be mine forever?”

Killua wiped his mind blank. Thinking of Gon did stupid things to him. He would have to stop doing that.

Gon carried on like nothing had happened. “He’s just here for a visit. He’s having a bit of trouble getting back home, so he’s staying with me for a bit.”

Bisky did not appear convinced. She tapped her foot and looked at her counterpart. “Well?” she asked. “Are they telling the truth?”

The blonde man shook his head, and revealed a chain on his ring finger. It swung like a pendulum over the table. “I’ve been using my dowsing chain since we sat down, and the young man hasn’t stopped lying once,” he said. “Except for the part where he said the witch was having trouble getting back home.”

Killua barely refrained from letting out a groan. This was a disaster.

Gon had the decency to look embarrassed. “I thought I was doing a pretty good job at lying,” he admitted.

“You really...weren’t,” said the blonde man.

“So what happens now?” asked Gon.

Bisky sighed. “You get arrested, child. That’s what happens.”

“For what?” said Gon indignantly, “For summoning a witch who can’t get back home? I don’t know too much about the magical rules, but it's not like Killua didn’t try to go back. Arresting both of us for being too powerful hardly seems fair.”

The blonde man raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting you’re considering resisting arrest?”

Gon stuck out his tongue. “Maybe.”

Killua kicked him again under the table. Gon was making it worse. He was making it so much worse.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Bisky said. “From our records—you, young man, have barely been learning magic for a year. Meanwhile, Kurapika and I have been doing this job for at least a decade. I think it would be in your best interest if you and your friend came quietly so we can resolve this in a peaceful manner.”

“What’s going to happen if I get arrested?” asked Killua. It was the first thing he had said during the entire exchange.

“We’re just here to maintain the human world’s equilibrium,” said Bisky, not unkindly. “We’ll likely take you into custody. Maybe have some magic researchers look at you, just to...figure out how you got summoned in the first place, and then send you back. I know you’ve tried, but there has to be something you’re not considering. You do want to go back, don’t you? I know the human world is no place for witches to stay long-term.”

Killua clenched his fists.

He didn’t want to get put in custody. He didn’t want human researchers poking and prodding him like he was some sort of mystical animal to be dissected. He didn’t want to go back to Kukuroo Mountain.

He didn’t want any of those things.

From the way Gon was looking determinedly at the two Magic Regulation Task Force operatives, he was thinking the same.

“I’m sorry,” said Gon. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to resolve this peacefully if you’re going to take Killua away. I’m not going to give him to you. He promised he was going to spend more time with me, so he could learn more about humans. And he’s not going back home. Not until he wants to.”

Bisky stood up. Magic crackled at her fingertips. “Are you challenging my authority, boy?” she asked, and Killua was suddenly reminded of his father’s aura—large, hulking, and utterly menacing.

Gon stood up too and his chair clattered uselessly to the ground. “Neither I, nor Killua, will be going anywhere if we don’t want to,” he said, like he was indeed challenging her authority and was confident in his ability to come out on top. There was something in his eyes which glittered dangerously golden—like he knew, and was, so much more than just a normal human.

It seemed a fight was inevitable. If they were to clash where they currently were, the damage to their surroundings would be immeasurable. Had Killua been in the witch’s dimension, he could have easily transported them somewhere else—but as it was, he was in the human world, his powers were being tampered with, and he didn’t trust himself enough to try to pull it off.

That is, until Gon pulled the front of his shirt, whispered against his lips, “Killua, let's fight them somewhere safe”, and kissed him so hard he saw stars.

Killua, caught by surprise, could only protest weakly as he was overcome by the warmth of Gon’s magic.

Each time Gon transferred his powers Killua felt something completely new and exciting. This time, as if prompted by the urgency in Gon’s voice and the passion behind his request, the magic exploded. It crashed inside Killua like a wave against the seaside cliff. The flames licked inside his core, roaring as if fanned by the wind. It was risky. It was thrilling. It showcased a deep, ancient lineage which transcended time and space. The supply of magical power put him at a state even stronger than he had back at home—his nerves surged and tingled and his eyes saw colors he had never seen before. His hair, as though confused at what to do with the excess energy, sparked into silver bolts. Magic glinted white and blue on his fingertips.

Killua briefly wondered how much of Gon’s lifespan had been shortened by the wish—days? Months?

Years?

“...What have you done?” whispered Kurapika, horrified.

Gon stared at him and simply replied, “I asked for something.”

And now that the wish was within Killua’s power, he was contracted to fulfill it. He plucked a convergence of ley lines and they were instantly transported to a mountainside clearing on YorkNew’s outskirts. Kurapika and Bisky, to their credit, did not look like they were going to back down.

Gon was looking at him like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was a gaze of reverence, of admiration. Killua tried not to let it get to him, even though something tight bubbled inside his heart. He knew if Gon asked for it, he could do anything.

He convinced himself that it was because witches didn’t like owing favors, and not because he felt an insistent need to prove himself to Gon that he really was as amazing and powerful as Gon thought he was.

Killua snapped his fingers. His hat appeared in his hand, and he casually threw it on top of his head.

“So,” he said, and he didn’t need to look in a mirror to know he was grinning, “Have either of you ever fought a Zoldyck witch before?”

Chapter Text

Gon thought Killua couldn’t become any more beautiful than he already was.

He was wrong.

Killua had pulled on Gon’s immortality and taken several years off a human’s life, converted it to pure energy, and then transformed into a being that sparkled like the stars swirling in galaxies. Aura crackled and burst into tiny fireworks across his skin. His eyes—now a startling, bright blue—shimmered, and Gon recalled the light of sea fireflies at dusk.

Killua had told Gon he was a being descended from the celestial dimension and if Gon hadn’t seen it clearly enough before, he sure was seeing it now, because Killua was breathtaking in a way which was unimaginable—and the breath had been duly sucked from his lungs. This time, it wasn’t because he was drowning under intense magical pressure.

There was a buzz in the air as the two parties sized each other up.

Killua readjusted his hat. Bisky cracked her knuckles. Kurapika took a defensive stance, chains jingling from his fingers like chimes.

Silence reigned for the briefest of moments.

And then, Gon saw something glint in Killua’s eyes, something that was predatory and challenging like the battle would be but child’s play for him, as though he were about to have fun unleashing his powers in the wild, and then he was dashing towards their opponents like a daytime shooting star—bright, blinding, and leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Their magical forces collided in a deafening roar. The ground shook. The earth rumbled beneath them. Sparks collided in explosions of light. The witch battled the Magic Regulation Task Force members with a ferocity not lost on Gon—as a god, he had powers too, but Killua’s were of a different type entirely—Killua confronted Kurapika and Bisky, who seemed to understand that the 2 v 1 scenario was now a necessity and there was nothing shameful about it because Killua was dangerous. His magic was the flash and bang of constellations and the heavens. It rained stars and comets, bent beams of lightning like whips of electricity, and sent shivers down Gon’s spine in excitement. Killua was amazing—truly awe-inspiring and talented beyond belief. The atmosphere itself seemed to follow his will and wind swirled around them in the beginnings of a summer storm.

Kurapika and Bisky however, fought tooth and nail against the onslaught, never ceasing in their search for an opening. It was foolhardy going against someone of Killua’s power level but humans had an uncanny knack for staring danger in the face and rushing to fight it anyways. The mountainside disintegrated between the combined danger of their two forces: human and witch. The grass charred. Sheets of rock crumbled to dust. Any plant life was immediately incinerated. Consequences were deadly—if they had been fighting in YorkNew, their surroundings would have been completely demolished.

Bisky and Kurapika were not part of the Magic Regulation Task Force for nothing. Despite being only human, their prowess for the magical arts was profound and well-learned. They pulled off feats which surprised Gon and reminded him he still had a ways to go in terms of understanding how magic worked in the human world—and while fighting against Killua, the gap between them was slowly closing. There were several times where Bisky almost got the upper hand and Gon nearly stepped in to defend Killua, human guise be damned—but then the witch said in a low, quiet voice, “Enough”, and it was enough.

The pressure of Killua’s true powers were released and crushed down upon them. His eyes burned like flaming aquamarines and electricity danced up and down his skin as he attempted to push their opponents to submission. Any normal mortal would have been flattened to the ground at once. Gon quickly remembered that he was supposed to be one of those mortals, so he hurriedly lay his body down on the grass like the increase in gravity had incapacitated him.

Bisky and Kurapika resisted the weight of Killua’s powers (Gon was impressed), though they weren’t completely unaffected—the pressure had forced them to their knees. They struggled against it, and now the battle was a mental one—Killua unable to move while letting his power run rampant, Bisky and Kurapika unable to move due to the gravity of his magic.

But then, Kurapika caught sight of Gon lying on the ground, and he grit out at Killua, “You should retract your powers, witch. You’re hurting your summoner.”

Killua whirled around to look back at Gon, and Gon saw the instant Killua’s heart shattered into a million pieces. The witch’s eyes flicked downwards and suddenly he looked so sad, so disappointed in himself like he had betrayed the person closest to him, like he couldn’t believe he had hurt Gon and the guilt it inflicted on him was leaving wounds from which he would never recover. Gon desperately wanted to tell Killua that no—he wasn’t really hurt, that Killua hadn’t done anything wrong—but the damage was done. Killua swore under his breath and immediately pulled his powers back. The storm stopped and the wind returned to its breezy summer warmth. The only sound remaining was the slight crackle of leftover fires burning against the earth.

And Killua—Killua was running to Gon’s side, the Magic Regulation Task Force completely forgotten.

He clasped Gon’s face with cold, trembling hands. “Are you okay?” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I went overboard. I didn't mean to hurt you.” The witch gently turned Gon’s face side to side as he checked for injuries, icy fingers touching Gon as though he were made of porcelain.

Gon knew he shouldn’t have been happy to receive this kind of attention from Killua, especially since he was deceiving him—Gon’s injuries healed instantaneously, there was no way anything like stray pebbles and a bit of magical pressure could hurt him, but Gon relished in the feeling anyways because Killua’s concern for his well-being was irresistible.

“Don’t worry Killua, I’m okay,” he said reassuringly.

Killua still looked concerned. His bottom lip quivered, and something which looked suspiciously like tears threatened to spill over the edge of his lashes.

What Gon wouldn’t give to kiss them away.

He could, however, do the next best thing: Gon took one of Killua’s hands in his, and placed it over his heart. Killua’s touch was cool and comforting and it seeped through the thin cotton of his shirt. Gon’s heart beat faster. He wondered if Killua could feel it too. “See?” He murmured, watching a red flush crawl up the witch’s neck and into his cheeks, “Still strong as ever. Us humans are made of tough stuff. Didn’t hurt me at all.”

Killua exhaled shakily and nodded, Gon’s words doing their part to convince him for the time being.

Gon released Killua’s hand (reluctantly) as he stood up and looked at the Magic Regulation Task Force members. They eyed Gon and Killua, bodies still tense, unsure if the fight would continue.

Gon strolled purposely towards them. “I don’t want us to keep fighting,” he said. “I know you have to keep the balance, but there has to be a way around this.”

Kurapika calmly dematerialized his chains, understanding that at least for now, things were at a standstill. “Well, there’s one very obvious solution you haven’t tried,” he said. “Why don’t you just make a wish for the witch to return from where he came from?”

Gon stopped in his tracks, astounded by the man’s audacity. Of course Gon had thought of that, but why on earth would he ever consider wishing for that when it was the last thing he wanted? If it worked, then Killua would leave—and all before Gon figured out why he was so attracted to him to begin with. Killua was the most interesting thing to happen to Gon in a long time—he was enthralling, enchanting, enigmatic. He was an existence unlike any other and the only one in Gon’s entire life who had affected him so drastically.

He was ready to tell Kurapika all of this, but Killua spoke up first and his reason was far more logical than Gon’s.

“Because it's not within my power,” said Killua confidently. “The stipulation for our contract is that if it's a wish I can fulfill that’s within my means, I’ll do it. Returning home isn’t something I can do.”

Kurapika raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re a Zoldyck witch...and you’re saying whatever contract Gon drew up is even outside of your control?”

“Precisely. You can use your lie-detection chain if you don’t believe me.”

“Well, when you said you were stuck here, it did indicate you were telling the truth…” Kurapika looked at Bisky as if to ask her what she wanted to do next.

In response, Bisky let out an exasperated groan and pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to relieve a splitting headache. “I’m too old for all these new magic tricks,” she complained. “You youngsters always want to experiment and end up skewing the world balance with your outlandish ideas. What kind of hellish changes did you make to your summoning circle?”

Gon grinned. “Sorry.”

She waved a gloved hand. “It’s fine. Well, not really, but what’s done is done. As long as your witch-friend stays here, the balance of the world will be constantly fluctuating. We have to stabilize it. That is non-negotiable.”

“Well,” Gon said slowly, an idea forming in his mind, “What if we...I...what if I stabilize it?”

Bisky looked at him like he had grown a second head. She scoffed. “You’re a sorcerer, just like me and Kurapika—and with less experience, mind you. What can you possibly do that we haven’t thought of yet?”

Gon took a breath. “I was...er, born with a mysterious power,” he lied, “And a lot of it. If what’s throwing off the balance of the world is an inflow of magic, all we need is an equal outflow, right? I can just...send an equal amount of my power out and then things will be in equilibrium again.”

It was an easy solution. Gon, with his infinite reserves of magic and life force, would complete a reverse summoning. He would send his power out of the human world and into the Heavenly Realm until approximately the same amount of magic that kept Killua in the human world was used up. If Gon performed it correctly, the human world’s balance would be restored and the Heavenly Realm would absorb the excess. Afterwards, it was a simple matter of recouping his power, and then spending more uninterrupted time trying to woo—er, learn more about humans—with Killua.

He could tell Bisky and Kurapika didn’t entirely believe him from the way they shot side glances at one another. Gon kept the innocent look on his face. Gods could hide easily among humans. There was no risk of his identity being discovered.

...Killua on the other hand, would find out if Gon wasn’t careful. The witch was too perceptive—another bullet to add to the list as to why Killua was nothing short of perfect.

“So you’re going to try to just…‘magic away’ your powers like that?” asked Kurapika wearily. “I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in my life.”

“I’ll do it tonight,” Gon said firmly, “And if you don’t see the world back in balance by tomorrow at dawn, you can arrest us like you originally planned. And we won’t resist this time.”

Bisky tapped a gloved finger against her chin. “Okay—we’ll give you until then. Only because you’re probably not lying about this mysterious power of yours—only something like that could have summoned a high-ranking witch like him here. We’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and not use the dowsing chain.”

“His name isn’t ‘witch.’ It’s Killua.”

Bisky looked startled for a moment, but then she smiled softly at him. “You’re absolutely correct. I apologize for any offense.” She dusted off her robes. “Well then, we’ll leave you alone for now. Kurapika and I will be waiting for the good news. And rest assured, we’ll figure out what to do with the mess we’ve made on this mountaintop. Gon, Killua—have a good evening.”

Kurapika gave them a curt nod and a similar smile before heading down the mountain with his partner. Only then did Gon look at the aftermath of their battle.

The entire mountainside was more or less demolished.

“Guess we were a little too enthusiastic,” said Gon.

“You just had to wish for me to fight them,” said Killua. “You couldn’t have wished for anything else? Like, for us to escape, or something?”

Gon pouted. “I just wanted to see how strong you were! And I was right, you were so strong Killua—you were using lightning magic, and it was all ‘bam’, ‘zap’, ‘kapow’! Oh, and then, when you said ‘enough’ all spooky-like and then your powers came out and crushed everyone, that was ama—”

Killua clamped a hand over Gon’s mouth. “Why are you like this? You’re so embarrassing!” he all but yelled, and then pulled the brim of his hat over his face to hide himself from Gon.

Gon grinned cheekily behind Killua’s palm before gently taking it away. He was tempted to interlace their hands, place kisses on those cool fingertips, to see if Killua’s blush could get even deeper than it already was.

As they headed down the mountain together and back to Yorknew, Gon decided he would save Bisky and Kurapika some trouble as payback for letting him attempt his reverse summoning.

He secretly rubbed the tips of his fingers together and willed his magic to flow into the earth. He didn’t have to turn around to know that grass and flowers were sprouting in abundance over the charred battleground behind them, luscious, green, and alive.

Gon made Killua promise not to come into the workshop while he was setting up his spell.

“But I want to see it,” Killua had protested, and he made such an endearing expression that Gon had almost given in.

But, despite Killua’s unknowing charms, Gon had firmly stood his ground and said, “Sorry Killua, I can’t show you. I’ll make it up to you though, okay?” The witch had grumbled something like “I don’t need you to make it up to me, I just want to see it” but had begrudgingly left the area anyways, leaving Gon to his own devices.

Gon had inverted another circle of his own making. It stretched across the workshop, corner to corner on the wooden floorboards. The pentagram folded inwards on itself, opposite in each and every way to the one used to summon Killua.

With all the preparations complete, Gon paced the edge of the room, making shallow incisions in each of his fingers so golden blood dripped onto the pentagram’s points.

The thumb for the mind.

The pointer finger for the body.

The middle finger for the heart.

The ring finger for the soul.

The pinky finger for the self.

Each wound seamlessly sealed itself with Gon’s regenerative abilities so when he was done, there was no evidence of injury. The pentagram lit up, silent and bright, and the light from each of the points gathered in the center of the circle. Gon braced himself. The next part would be the worst.

He had a rough estimate of how strong Killua was and how much of Gon’s initial magic had been expended when he was summoned. It was simply matter of letting the circle absorb his magic until approximately the same amount had been exchanged. The issue was that Killua wasn’t just strong—he was abnormally, absurdly strong. If he had been born a god, there would have been no doubt he would have been at least as powerful as Gon himself, if not more.

This only meant that Gon would need to send a fair amount of his magic to the Heavenly Realm to balance out his summoning. With Gon’s magic reserves depleted to that extent, he would likely experience some sort of withdrawal. The repercussion wouldn’t be too bad, especially if that meant getting Bisky and Kurapika off their backs, but Gon wasn’t looking forward to it.

A whirlpool opened in the middle of the workshop, pulling stray papers and leaves he hadn’t cleaned up into its center. Gon felt his power being drained out of him. His magic tried to re-establish its original levels, but the recovery rate was slower than the pace at which it was being depleted, and Gon sensed weariness for the first time in a long time.

He concentrated, letting the pull of the circle take and take and take—tendrils of his power, golden like his blood, flowed out of his body and swirled into the floorboards. He was becoming progressively more tired but it still wasn’t enough, and so he let his mind settle on the image of Killua staying with him, Killua smiling that genuine, pure smile on their first meeting, Killua wearing his green apron like he belonged to Gon, and he was given the strength to hold on for a little while longer.

The circle was an endless vortex. It ceaselessly absorbed Gon’s magic for what seemed like hours. The longer the spell dragged on, the more Gon felt like giving up—but giving up on this minor act would merely be a catalyst for giving up Killua. So, he grit his teeth, fought the fatigue settling in his muscles, and resisted the weariness weighing on his bones.

Finally, it was enough. Gon quickly broke the seals on the reverse summoning circle by smudging the chalk with his foot, and collapsed. The withdrawal settled in instantly. Chills slithered up and down his body as his skin simultaneously flared up. Gon shivered. It was an odd feeling, being both hot and cold at the same time.

And, the magic depletion repercussions were horrible. Nausea clawed at Gon’s stomach like a swirling beast. It was the worst feeling he had experienced to date. He had never felt so weak, so vulnerable, so close to mortality—he couldn’t even lift himself up. He just lay, completely winded, on the wooden floor. His breaths were shallow.

So, this is what it felt like to be completely exhausted. Gon was learning so many things while being in the human realm. About himself. About his limits.

About cute, worried witches with sky-blue eyes.

It was like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He couldn’t move even if he willed it. And he was tired. Truly, truly tired.

He felt like sleeping.

Gon was only slightly aware of darkness clouding the edges of his vision, and the distant rattling of a doorknob combined with the panicked sound of Killua’s voice.

And then, all was quiet.

Gon was uncomfortably hot. Surely it was summertime, but the human elements had never affected him before, so why was he sweating? He was burning up inside, sweat beading on his forehead and covering his body—but never getting any cooler. It was almost unbearable with how hot it was. Why was it so hot?

Gon wanted to cool down. He wanted an icy glass of water. Or maybe two, or three. Where were his cooling spells? Why weren’t they working? The human world wasn’t supposed to be this warm; warm enough to make one feel nauseous. Only one place in all seventy-three dimensions was hot enough to make gods feel pain...

And that place—he hated it. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it—hated the heat, hated how it echoed the promised death of the flames of hell, where the conflagration could eat away even the flesh of gods, where he had hopelessly watched as Kite burned and told him to run—

Even his tears were hot as they scorched his cheeks.

Ah—but there was a cold touch against his skin now. A cold, soft touch. It was soothing and gentle and belayed a hidden kindness, like a blessing to the gods from a rainy, far off land. The touch trailed up Gon’s cheek, wiped away the stray tears, across the curve of his brow, and tentatively, slowly, through his hair. Gon leaned into it. It was nice. Whatever was touching him was so, so nice.

He blearily opened his eyes. He was in his bed, sheets beneath him too warm for his liking. Things were shapeless as his eyes readjusted and focused on his surroundings.

There was someone in his room with him. Someone so beautiful Gon didn’t have words to accurately describe him—neither in the tongue of man, or the tongue of gods. He was so...so…

“Wow,” Gon croaked out.

The person jumped, as though startled, and retracted his hand from Gon’s hair. Ah—so the cool touch was from him. Gon wanted to take the stranger’s hand and put it back on his head, but he didn’t have any strength in his limbs.

Why was he feeling so weak? What had he done?

The white-haired man looked upset, his eyes rimmed red like he had been crying about something. Gon, for some reason, didn’t like that look on his face. A beautiful person like that shouldn’t have ever worried about anything.

“Are you okay, Gon?” the stranger asked.

“...I am now that you’re here,” Gon replied, cracking a smile. He was a bit out of sorts, but not so much that he didn’t know who the man was. Although there were no wings nor halo to be found, there was only one reasonable explanation as to who the person sitting in his room could be. “I bet you’re my guardian angel, aren’t you?” Gon said, and the look of surprise which crossed over the man’s face was so incredulous it was almost funny. However Gon wasn’t quite finished yet, he needed to convey an additional, important piece of information.

”I hear angels appear as the most beautiful person you could ever imagine. I must have a pretty wonderful imagination to dream up someone like you.”

Ah—now the young man looked embarrassed. How cute.

“I’m not lovely, and I’m not an angel,” he said, adamantly rejecting Gon’s compliments. “Seriously—what happened Gon? What were you thinking? What you tried to accomplish was far too risky, no wonder you didn’t want me coming in—and now look at you!”

Gon knew he was smiling like a dopey idiot but he didn’t care. The angel was scolding him. It was adorable, because there was no bite at all behind his words, And, he had called him by his name.

“We’ve met before?” Gon asked.

The angel sighed, and even that sound was like music to his ears. “You summoned me, Gon, don’t you remember? Or have you lost so much magic that you’ve forgotten that too?”

Gon swam through some muddy memories but was coming up short. There was something—a fuzzy image of Zushi showing him a summoning circle, but that was it. Summoning an angel wasn’t unheard of per say, so Gon took this new fact in stride. “If I summoned you, you must be an incredibly powerful angel,” he concluded. And then, a stellar idea came to him. “Say—what’s your name? If you’re not doing anything for a while, do you want to stay with me for a little bit? I could show you around…?”

It was a great idea, he thought to himself. He had never hung out with an angel before. And it was astounding, this angel in particular—the legends had to be true, there was no way a being like the person in his room could exist in reality. He was far too ethereal, far too perfect—Gon had to be imagining his appearance, because that person was everything Gon could have ever wanted.

He was still feeling warm. He hoped the angel would touch him again.

“My name is Killua. You already asked me to stay, and I said yes,” the angel said, exasperatedly. “That’s why I’m still here. Because...I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Gon couldn’t believe it. “You like me?” he breathed. “You want to spend time with me?”

“I don’t...dislike you,” Killua mumbled.

“Then if I like you, and you like me, can we kiss?” asked Gon. It was the only logical action, after all. They liked each other. And Killua was nice, and kind, and gentle. Gon wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him a lot.

“Do you have a wish?”

“What?”

“You only ever kiss me when you have a wish.”

Gon thought about it. “Can my wish be to kiss you?”

Killua blushed and scowled at the same time. “Are you serious?”

“I have never been more serious about anything in my life,” said Gon. “I really want to kiss you. I hear angels taste like arklight.” He paused. There was a slight problem. “I know I said I wanted to kiss you, but for some reason, I can’t move my body, so can you kiss me instead?”

“I—I—”

“Please?” Gon put a pout on his face—he was told that people were particularly empathetic to the pleading look. It seemed to work on angels too—Killua fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“I...suppose,” he mumbled. “Since you’re wishing for it, and all.” He slowly leaned over Gon, and Gon was suddenly staring into blue eyes that reflected the whisper of jade on an ocean’s floor, echoed the frozen ripples in an iceberg, mirrored the twilight sky on a winter’s night. They were such a bewitching color—enough to ensnare anyone who looked into them. Gon was no exception. He felt the burning heat dissipate a little from his body just from the brief stare. Killua’s eyes contrasted in an appealing way against the pink of his cheeks.

Gon had to communicate this new fact to Killua. Killua had to know. Because Gon didn’t think he knew, and that was a pity, because everyone should have known how lovely Killua was.

So, he did.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” said Gon unashamedly, briefly regretting not wishing for full autonomy over his limbs because he wanted so badly to touch Killua in that moment, “I could stare at them forever. The rest of you too—your hair looks so soft, and your lashes are so long and pretty. I haven’t seen you smile just yet, but I know when you do, it’ll be the kind of smile that lights fires in the darkness—kind of like how sunshine feels coming through the clouds after a long rain.”

He grinned. Another thought just came to him. “Hey—has anyone ever told you they liked you? If not, I’ll be the first one to say it. I think I might really, really like you Killua. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before. You’re probably the most perfect person I’ve ever met. I feel like you can see my soul. Can you? Can angels see people’s souls?”

Killua looked like he was dying of second-hand embarrassment, except Gon didn’t understand what there was to be embarrassed about. He was simply telling the truth.

“You—you don’t know what you’re saying right now,” said Killua, “You’re delirious. It’s the magic depletion. It’s messing with your head. I’ll fulfill your wish, and then you have to promise me that you’ll sleep, okay? I’ll check up on you once in awhile just to make sure you’re fine. Does that...sound good?”

Gon nodded and beamed at him. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Killua slowly leaned forward, and Gon’s heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought it might burst out—Killua was so beautiful, he couldn’t take it. He had never been nervous to kiss anyone before, but he also had never kissed anyone like Killua.

Killua’s eyelashes fluttered shut, freckled nose gently nudging against Gon’s, and then he closed the remaining distance between them.

Killua kissed him.

The myth that angels tasted like arklight was wrong. Arklight was bright, and bubbly, and electric, but the kiss between them was so, so much better than that. Killua’s lips, like the rest of him, were cool to the touch. They were tentative and pursed together like he was wholly unsure of what he was doing but trying his best anyways. If angels were supposed to taste like arklight, Killua tasted like something else—something calm, and soothing, and hopeful. Perhaps the cusp of a low hanging harvest moon. Or maybe like the north star. Something poetic, and deep, and utterly spellbinding.

Gon tried to kiss back, but the instant it happened it was also over. Killua was flushed as red as a beetroot when pulled away and averted his gaze. “There,” he said with a degree of finality, “Now can you please rest?”

What a wonderful suggestion. Gon was feeling a bit tired. “Okay,” Gon mumbled, “But only because you asked so nicely.”

As he closed his eyes, Gon thought to himself that it would be wonderful if Killua was his. If they could spend their days like this, together—trading kisses in his room, holding each other close. Killua said Gon was feeling so weak because experiencing magic depletion—what had Gon done to lower his magic reserves to such an extent? Could he do it again, if that meant waking up next to an angel? If it meant that Killua would continue to watch over him, and take care of him, and lavish his attention on him?

What would it take to have someone like Killua at his side? What would Gon need to do?

Before he drifted off to sleep, he felt Killua’s fingers against his face, tracing over his jawline, his lips, the bridge of his nose. His fingers were so nice and cold against Gon’s skin, like he knew Gon felt more at peace when he was touching him, that the soothing paths his fingers left behind brushed away the heat from his fever. However, he also touched him as though Gon were something which needed to be protected.

But that wasn’t right—Killua didn’t need to be protecting him, because Gon was a god.

And he was powerful enough to protect the both of them.

Chapter Text

Gon slept for three days and three nights, and Killua only left his bedside once to put the “CLOSED” sign outside the shop. The reverse summoning seemed to have worked because Kurapika and Bisky didn’t show up to arrest them, but Killua didn’t know if the effort was worth the withdrawal which came afterwards. Killua could only do his best to write cooling spells into the sheets and put cold towels on Gon’s forehead as Gon slept fitfully, tossing and turning, skin burning and sweating. Killua was worried Gon might stop breathing if he wasn’t watching him, so he forced himself to stay awake and by his side for the full duration of his fever.

Killua didn’t know what had pushed Gon to weaken himself to such a state. Killua wasn’t anyone special to which someone should go to such lengths. And Gon had not only done just that, but in a moment of fevered dreams, had called him an angel.

Killua was far from an angel. Angels were pure and filled with all things good and light. Witches like him were born from darkness and were harbingers of disaster and calamity. Yet, Gon had taken one look at him and instantly concluded that he was the former, and had said other things too—

He had said so many nice things about Killua, things that no one else had ever said to him before. Things like he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen—in all honesty, who would dare say that to a witch’s face? If a witch didn’t like compliments, then it was a surefire way to get cursed. But Gon...Gon was different. Gon said the words so honestly, so openly, that Killua couldn’t help but think that maybe...maybe Gon meant them.

A flush crept up Killua’s neck and onto his cheeks.

No, he reminded himself. He couldn’t get too close. He could have his fun, but wanting things—things like spending more time with Gon, things like holding Gon’s hand, things like kissing him—thoughts like that weren’t allowed. Gon was a daytime star and Killua was a nighttime observer. Killua would have to return to Kukuroo Mountain eventually, once everything was figured out, or if his family came looking for him.

He needed to keep his distance.

On the cusp of the fourth day, Gon’s fever broke and he woke up. A wave of relief surged inside Killua at the sight of golden eyes, blinking and aware, pupils adjusting to the surroundings.

“How long was I out?” asked Gon, voice groggy from lack of use.

“Three days and three nights,” said Killua.

Gon glanced at the wet towels at his bedside and the basin of water on the floor. “Did you...take care of me that whole time?”

Killua willed himself to sound calm. “Of course I did. You ended up that way because of me, after all.”

Gon beamed. It was like looking directly into the sun. “Wow Killua—you really are my guardian angel,” he said, and Killua had to bite his tongue to keep himself from choking.

“You remember that!?”

Gon hopped out of bed and stretched his limbs. “I don’t remember everything,” he confessed, “Actually, not much at all. Things are kind of blurry, but I do remember Killua being there for the first time I woke up. Though I didn’t recognize you.”

“Yeah,” said Killua, “You definitely didn’t. And you said some pretty weird things.”

“Hm, they weren’t weird. I meant them, you know,” said Gon.

“You what?”

“I meant them. The things I said about you being pretty, and liking you a lot. I meant them.”

The pounding in Killua’s chest was so loud he swore the beat reverberated in the room. His heart echoed in his ears. Gon was still looking at him with that open, earnest face, with the corners of his lips turned up in amusement, like he really was telling the truth—and if that were really the case, what would Killua do? He was so enamored by Gon as it was, finding charm in those kind eyes and easy-going smile—if Gon truly meant those things he had said, including wanting to kiss Killua—he didn’t know if he could handle it.

So he did the only thing he could do—he conjured his hat to hide his face and bolted out the door.

Summer transitioned into fall. Killua found himself unknowingly settling into a daily pace— preparing the shop in the mornings, gathering ingredients for potion orders in the afternoons, and trying not to dreamily watch Gon as he made them dinner in the evenings. Gon eventually did get Killua his own apron (“You look good in green Killua, but this blue one matches your eyes, don’t you think?”) and Killua soon became the resident potions expert, expanding upon Gon’s already extensive supply.

Gon adamantly refused to share how he managed the reverse summoning. He was stubborn in that degree despite Killua’s poking and prodding. Killua had seen the summoning circle when he found Gon collapsed on the floor, inspected it and understood how it worked, but there was nothing in it to hint at what Gon’s mysterious power was.

He shuffled the inquiry to the back of his mind. If Gon wanted to keep that information a secret, then Killua would have no choice but to respect his decision. Besides—it had worked, and that was all that mattered.

Bisky and Kurapika, now that the balance was more or less restored, seemed to have taken a liking to Gon’s shop. Well, Killua had a hunch it was because they didn’t seem to have much to do when there was no trouble to investigate. They were frequent visitors, often conjuring up a table in the front garden so they could sip their intricate sets of exotic tea. Killua tried to shoo them away, saying they were disrupting the flow of actual customers, but Bisky had just waved a hand at him, brewed him a cup of the most delicious tea he had ever had in his life, and Killua could only sigh and let them continue on.

Gon’s previous teacher, Master Wing, and his current student, Zushi, soon joined the mix as well. They were nice enough, and Gon always looked forward to their visits. He took to baking extra sweets in preparation for his guests who seemed to gradually be growing in volume. More often than not there was a small party outside of their shop and it soon became just another part of their daily lives. Killua wondered if everyone was just bored now that things had smoothed out. It definitely appeared that way.

However, with the changing of seasons soon came another set of problems. These problems weren’t as drastic as upending the equilibrium of the human world, nor as gut-wrenching as Gon’s incapacitation. The problems stemmed from one thing in particular: Killua was starting to notice something about Gon, something that was becoming clearer the more he observed the other humans that came to visit.

Gon was considered a good-looking human.

There was a warmth—a glow to him, even, that made him shine brighter than everyone else. It was no wonder even with all the other magic shops in the area why people stopped at Gon’s place. He was effortlessly sweet, and kind, and genuine. Too many a time, he beamed white toothy grins at his customers, too many a time he would give out additional spells and charms for free, too many a time he would shake people’s hands with utmost sincerity.

Killua would find himself getting distracted while stirring the cauldrons in the back of the shop as his eyes wandered more and more to Gon. His concoctions would inadvertently bubble over and he would be startled back to reality, hurriedly vanishing the mess and forcing himself to focus. Gon was too unguarded, he told himself, he needed to watch him so he wouldn’t get taken advantage of, was all—

—But that wasn’t all. Killua found himself laughing more when he was around Gon. The smiles came easier, more naturally. Gon made him feel safe and welcomed. But there was a nagging part of him that said Gon made everyone feel that way. Wasn’t that why Kurapika and Bisky were always over? Wasn’t that why his customers always returned? He had said those nice things about Killua, he had said he liked Killua a lot, that Killua was beautiful—but that was just the way Gon was. Gon would do that for any of his friends.

Killua wasn’t special. And he needed to stop thinking that he was.

The autumn air was frighteningly chilly when a gaggle of young human girls crowded into the shop. Killua hadn’t seen them before. They were rubbing their hands, clad in clothing too light for the fall weather, shivering in their shoes. The shop was warm—Gon always kept it just the right temperature for comfort, so the girls stayed for a bit, browsing the shelves and inspecting the products.

“I’ll go see if they need help with anything,” said Gon, getting up from the workbench. “They look a bit cold—maybe a warming charm or something for their way back.”

There it was again—Gon’s considerate nature coming out. Killua sighed. “Just don’t offer them more free things. We do need to make money, you know. Ingredients don’t come cheap.”

Gon merely laughed and said, “Whatever Killua wants.”

The girls’ whispering became more excited and high pitched as they caught sight of Gon ducking out of the workshop and into the front of the store.

Killua heard them ask how old Gon was (“it's a secret!”), how long he had been running the shop (“around seven months now, I think?”), and if he was single (“hm, I guess? I’m working on it”). These were all things Killua would never have the guts to ask, but things he had been curious about nonetheless. He wondered if they would inquire more so he could learn about Gon too. He checked to make sure his potions were in a good spot before peeking around of the doorframe to watch their exchange.

The human girls were gathered around Gon. They were laughing and giggling, pulling their mufflers up around rose-tinged cheeks. Gon, cast in the glow of the falling sun, was doused in the color of amber sunlight. The entirety of the store glowed from the eaves to the floorboards. It was dazzling.

Killua felt as though he was intruding on something he shouldn’t have been.

They chatted for a bit. Gon gave his usual introduction to the layout of the shop, rattled off a few prices and the other services they offered. The human girls were starry-eyed as they listened to his speech. Killua didn’t know how much information they would actually remember since they were clearly focused on the fact that Gon was a good looking human, and less on what was being said.

But then, the girls did something that he had never seen any other human do before—they touched Gon.

And it wasn’t a handshake.

Killua was stunned as they trailed fingers along his arms, the back of his hand, took his wrists and dragged him so he could show them “exactly what he was talking about”. Gon just laughed and went along with their antics—and Killua, in a moment of weakness, felt a prickly vine winding its way around his heart and squeezing tight.

He rubbed his chest with the palm of his hand. It hurt. Why did it hurt?

“Have you ever been on a date before?” asked one of the girls.

“Hm, I guess,” said Gon.

“Was the person you took on your date beautiful?”

“The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

Killua didn’t want to hear any more. He didn’t want to listen to Gon’s responses, didn’t want to hear about more experiences from Gon’s past that he knew nothing about. Gon had lived an entire human life without him. Killua was just there for a tiny bit of it.

He realized with a start that the vine inside him was jealousy. But that didn’t make any sense. Why was he jealous? What was he jealous of? He didn’t have any claim on Gon. Just because Gon had said those nice things about him—that didn’t mean anything. Gon was nice to everyone. Gon was nice to Killua. He would be nice to those girls too. It was just in his nature.

He wanted to tell those girls to stop touching him.

He wanted to ask Gon who he had gone on a date with.

What Gon had said about him was definitely wrong now. Killua was no angel. Angels wouldn’t think such thoughts, be jealous of human girls because they had the willpower and the confidence to touch Gon when he couldn’t.

The girls tittered. They were flirting. Killua knew they were flirting with Gon because they liked him, because Gon was charming and sociable and the nicest person Killua had ever met. The girls were pretty, too. They were bold. They were human. Humans would get along with other humans. Humans would date other humans, and marry other humans, and spend the rest of their lives together with other humans.

Gon was a human.

Killua was not a human.

It would never work, Killua thought to himself, he would never get to do human things like that with Gon. He would outlive Gon by many a year—Gon would reincarnate, because all good humans like him were reincarnated, and he would forget all about Killua—and it would be the most gut-wrenching, heartbreaking thing he would ever experience.

Gon would surely like those girls more. They were better suited for him. Killua had no right to interrupt what was going on. If all went well, maybe one of those girls would get a date with him.

Killua also wanted to go on a date with Gon.

The vine’s thorns dug deep into his heart. They pierced hard enough to draw blood.

It hurt.

Killua hurriedly turned off the flames to the cauldron and slipped out the back door.

He needed some fresh air. He needed to get away, if only for a moment.

The air outside was cold and refreshing. The leaves were changing now, coloring the town in a wash of red, gold, and orange, and the breeze picked them up so they spun in the air in a flighty dance. The performance signaled the end of summer and the start of winter. It was a period of transition.

Killua walked the streets of YorkNew, trying his best to clear his thoughts of what he had seen back in the shop. What would his family say, if they knew he had been jealous of human girls? “Curse them,” Illumi would say, “Curse them so they understand what they did was wrong, and they’ll never come back again. You can do it, can’t you Kil?”

It would be easy for Killua to curse a few humans. He had done it so many times before. He was their family’s prodigy. He had been acknowledged by the Witches Circle as the strongest witch they had seen in the last millennia. But Killua didn’t want to curse anyone anymore. He was done with that life. He was done with it the moment he met Gon, when he had felt the heat of his powers, when he had been summoned to that small workshop.

He would just have to live with the jealousy. Humans felt emotions like that all the time. They felt ugly things, like despair, and hate, and rage. Would that bring him closer to Gon, if he felt emotions like that? Or was Gon so special that he never felt those ugly things to begin with? Would Gon still want to be with him, if he discovered Killua had human emotions too?

Being with Gon was something Killua wanted for as long as he was allowed to have it. Even if it meant dealing with emotions which hurt, even if it meant feeling a pang in his chest whenever Gon smiled at someone that wasn’t him, he wanted to be close to Gon, wanted to stay with him, even if he passed away before Killua did. He wanted to stay with Gon for as long as he lived.

Would it be fine this time, to want something and to fight for it, like he had the last time? Killua didn’t regret wanting that thing then, was willing to suffer the consequences no matter what they were—was he so weak that he couldn’t do it a second time?

The image of Illumi, binding a swirling, dark curse on to him, resurfaced. His brother’s eyes were empty and cold and the tone of his voice was no different.

“You shouldn’t want things, Kil. This is what happens when you want things. You should only think about us—your family. We are the only ones who will ever care about you, you know. Here—take this. A little gift from me to you.”

Just remembering the curse was enough to send his stomach churning. Killua felt like vomiting. The spell ate at him, crawling up his skin like pins and needles, tainting his limbs and laying a bitter taste upon his tongue.

Illumi’s curse had forced him to hurt so many people. It had made him weak in the mind, made him forget what it was like to desire something for himself. But now, he was facing his fear and remembering whether he wanted to or not, and he needed to do something about it. Fight it—Killua thought desperately—fight it, don’t let them win—you’ve caved in far too many times, its okay to want, it’s alright to want—you’re allowed to want to stay with Gon—

“Hey—are you okay?”

Someone behind him—a human—was touching his shoulder. The hand was large and warm. Killua pushed it away, panicking because in his current state he was a danger to everyone around him. He needed to be somewhere where he couldn’t hurt others. He needed to find an area without humans so he could seclude himself until it went away.

“Don’t come near me,” Killua choked, “I’m dangerous the way I am right now, please don’t get close—“

“Don’t worry,” the voice said calmly, and the large hand returned to his shoulder, “I’m an herbalist. Take some deep breaths. Let me whip up something real quick.”

The human’s touch grounded him. It reminded him of Gon. Killua focused on breathing calmly and deeply, feeling the air expand in his lungs, forcing the side-effects of Illumi’s curse back bit by bit. Slowly but surely, the pins and needles retreated, and then the herbalist stuffed a small satchel in Killua’s hands.

“Breathe that in,” he instructed, and Killua brought the satchel to his face, took a breath, and was accosted by the smell of sweet cloves, of apples, cinnamon, and vanilla. It was the smell of everything good about the fall weather. It warmed him to the core and beat back the last few pinpricks of pain.

“Remember, deep breaths. Keep that with you, okay? The herbs in there will be good for a couple of weeks. I’ve got some errands to run, but if you ever need a refill, my shop is right around the corner.”

The large hand lifted away, and Killua heard the man’s footsteps walk in the opposite direction. He opened his eyes and looked at the small object in his hands. The satchel was merely a simple cloth bag tied with twine, but it had brought him a basic comfort. Another human had helped him yet again.

Killua turned around, trying to see if he could identify the person who had given it him, so he could say thank you—but there was no one around. The street surrounding him was empty. It would have to wait till next time.

He inhaled the fall scents again and his thoughts ran back to Gon.

Killua was remembering now. He was remembering the kind of person he was before he had gotten cursed by Illumi, when he didn’t feel guilty for wanting things. When he had acted on those instincts and wanted something for the first, and what he had thought was the last, time. He had been willing to throw everything away, and when he finally got what he desired, that conviction hadn’t changed. He had been happy. He was allowed to be happy.

He was allowed to want things.

Wanting didn’t necessarily equate to having. He wouldn’t push that far. But for the time being, he was allowed to be jealous because the emotion was a natural result of wanting to stay close to Gon. That, he could live with.

Killua walked back to the workshop. The girls had left. Gon was pacing the floor, face lighting up when Killua opened the front entrance.

“Killua—! Where did you go? You disappeared without saying anything, I was really worried!” Gon exclaimed, bounding over. He suddenly stopped in front of him and sniffed the air. “Did you go get something to eat? Something smells really nice.”

“I just needed some fresh air, is all,” Killua lied, “And I bumped into an herbalist. He gave this to me...as a gift.”

“...Wow—that was nice of him! I guess you’re getting pretty good at interacting with humans now,” said Gon.

“I still...need some work,” Killua replied offhandedly, “I don’t have the ability to do what those girls who came in earlier did. Like touch others casually.”

“But you touch me all the time,” said Gon.

“No,” corrected Killua, “You touch me all the time.” He didn’t bring up how he had wiped away Gon’s tears during his fever, or how he had put his cold palms against Gon’s face because Gon slept more peacefully when he touched him. He didn’t bring it up for the sole reason that it was beyond embarrassing and if Gon didn’t remember that, then it was for the better, because Gon hadn’t been in the right state of mind at the time.

Killua could muster enough courage to touch a human that was barely conscious. What Killua could not do was touch someone casually while they were fully present.

“Well, I don’t mind if you touch me,” said Gon, grinning.

“You don’t mind it if anyone touches you,” responded Killua.

“Hm, I guess that’s true.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That Gon didn’t mind, but Killua did.

“You should be more careful then,” said Killua, “You’re too unguarded.”

Gon laughed. “No one is going to hurt me, Killua.”

“Lots of curses can pass by through touch,” said Killua, thinking of any excuse he could so Gon would agree not to let others get in contact with him so effortlessly, “And you’re just a human sorcerer, after all. Curses aren’t broken so easily.”

“But I’ve got you with me,” said Gon, “And you’re really knowledgeable about curses, so I have nothing to worry about!”

Killua tried not to be flattered.

“And,” Gon continued, “If you don’t want other people to touch me because you’re jealous, you can just say so. If Killua doesn’t like it, I won’t let them do it anymore.”

...Ah. So Gon had known from the beginning. Killua’s first instinct was to vehemently deny that he had been jealous—because it would be like exposing a vulnerable, soft part of himself. But he was different now; there was nothing wrong with wanting things. And if communicating that he wanted things led to having things, then he would do it.

“Fine then,” said Killua, “When those girls touched you earlier, I didn’t like it. I’ve known you longer than they have, and I haven’t been able to do that yet.” He held back an additional thought—that he had felt a tightness in his chest when Gon looked happy surrounded by those human girls, that he had smiled at them the same way he smiled at Killua, that Killua knew deep inside that humans would stay with humans and he would eventually have to leave.

That part, would still need to stay a secret.

“All you need is some practice then,” said Gon, “You can practice with me. And one day, you can touch humans like that too.”

Killua shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“It’s easy. Here—try touching my hand.” Gon held his hand out, palm up. Killua stared at it. The hand was tanned and inviting.

In theory, it was a simple task. Killua just needed to touch it. He had touched other people’s hands before, had given handshakes to their customers’ when Gon was away, but they had always initiated it. This time he would need to make the first move.

Killua reached out. Somehow though, he felt like if he touched Gon’s hand, then there would be no going back, that something fundamental between them would change.

He stopped short.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“You’re different, Gon. I can’t do it.”

Gon tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Here, we can try something easier.” He lifted his pinky finger. “You too, Killua.”

Killua lifted his pinky finger. Was this some strange human ritual?

“Perfect. Now wrap your finger around mine,” said Gon, and Killua felt a familiar heat rise in his face.

“That’s even worse!” Killua said. “How is that supposed to be easier?”

“It’s a pinky finger instead of a hand!” Gon retorted, “It’s loads easier! Come on Killua, just try it. You’re one of the strongest witches ever and you can’t touch a human hand?”

Killua pursed his lips. He hated to admit it, but Gon had a point, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist his goading. Plus, Gon was pouting.

Before Killua could reconsider, he took the plunge and linked their pinky fingers together.

Warmth spread through the point of contact like a summer flower. Killua felt as though all of his nerves were concentrated in within that single point, and they were all jumping for joy because he was touching Gon of his own volition, and they needed more, they needed Killua to hold his whole hand, and then his shoulders, and then his torso, and then his face and then, and then, and then—

“And now we make a promise!” Gon chirped, swinging their two interlinked fingers back and forth. “I pinky swear to teach Killua more about humans, and to stay with Killua until he wants to leave—if I break my promise, I have to swallow a thousand needles. There—pinky sworn!”

Killua blinked.

Then, he burst out laughing. “Pinky swears are contracts for children who haven’t yet grasped the concept of a true give-and-take,” he teased, “I haven’t seen a single person use one over the age of twelve.” The fact that Gon was doing one right now was amusing. Killua couldn’t help but smile. He was no longer nervous.

“I’m not done yet,” said Gon, “There’s one more part back from where I’m from—you go like this and put your thumbs together.”

Killua would give in to his suggestion. “Like this?” Killua put his thumb against Gon’s.

Gon added a bit of force to Killua’s thumb, so a second flower bloomed where their two fingers were pressed together.

This flower however, represented something more than a child’s promise.

“There we go. Sealed with a kiss,” Gon grinned.

Killua’s mouth was suddenly very, very dry. He wanted to make a joke. He wanted to do something and break the tension. But in that one flash of a moment, the store seemed very small and Gon’s presence beside him all too large. Their fingers were still intimately entwined together. Gon’s thumb was lightly calloused. The twin flowers blossoming between them unfurled their petals and sent a hint of summer scurrying into Killua’s bones.

The pinky swear contract was supposed to be a children’s game, so why was he so flustered?

It was just a hand. It wasn’t even that—it was just the touching of fingers. It was such minimal contact, there was no reasonable explanation as to why Killua’s heart pounded so heavily in his chest, why his breathing was getting shorter, why butterflies were fluttering up a storm in his stomach. Despite not fully comprehending why, Killua’s lips tingled.

He wanted Gon to kiss him for real.

“Make a wish,” Killua whispered, “I want you to make a wish.”

The sound of his own voice mouthing his desires shocked him. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It had been a stray thought to entertain—that if Gon requested something of him, maybe he would kiss him again. Killua hadn’t been thinking. He had been too focused his own selfishness, had concentrated too much on bubbled ideas with no substance—he yanked his hand away but he was too late, there was no way Gon didn’t hear what he had said, there was no going back now—

Gon leaned in, pulling Killua’s hand back, and this time Gon was the one intertwining their fingers. He slid their palms together so they were holding hands and now it wasn’t one flower or two, it was an entire garden of sunflowers, of daisies, of yellow daffodils sprouting between their palms, blooming with the colors of seasons already passed.

“Okay,” Gon murmured, leaning closer, “Whatever Killua wants.”

When Killua stared into Gon’s eyes, he found he had lost the ability to breathe. The sorcerer’s irises gleamed like sunstones on an ocean shore. Gon always complimented Killua on his eyes, said how pretty they were, but Gon didn’t understand that his eyes were the kind that drew people in, the kind that blazed with a hidden fire and warmth—a hearth on a winter day, mandarin honey in a jar. And they drew Killua deeper and deeper into their depths, promised him the taste of kindness, of autumn’s grace, of something forbidden.

Killua couldn’t look at them without feeling a stirring of pain in his chest. He quickly glanced downwards because he was a coward, because he was afraid of discovering what that forbidden something was, because he didn’t dare to hope in case it was something different than what he wished it to be.

“Spend more time with me tomorrow,” breathed Gon against his lips, and Killua could only mumble a quick “okay” before Gon kissed him. It was dizzying; Gon’s power heated him to the core, brushing away the chill of the fall wind, evoking images of rustic pine forests and mountains bathed in starlight. Gon’s skin was always warm, but somehow with their hands clasped tightly together, it was even hotter.

It was scorching.

If Killua had kept his eyes open, he would have seen the trees outside turn from yellow-green to orange-red, seen the entire street painted in a maple palette as though a higher being had taken a brush to the surroundings. He would have watched the flowers in the front garden bloom one after another in a dance of revival though their springtime youth was long over. He would have witnessed the sunset saturate the evening sky in brilliant golds for the briefest of moments before the ball of fire dipped low, beyond the horizon, sending the land into the twilight hours.

He would have seen the transformation of the world around them which could only be the work of a god.

But Killua had his eyes closed because he was too focused on Gon’s mouth on his, on the chapped lips of a human who had summoned him, who was currently holding his hand like he never wanted to let go.

And for the second time in his life, Killua allowed himself to want.

He kissed back.

Chapter Text

In the grand scheme of things, Gon hadn’t observed humans for all that long. His magic shop allowed him to interact with them more than he would if he had any other job, and yes, he was still interested in them, and yes that was his main reason for coming to the human realm, but there was something even more interesting now.

Well—more like a someone.

And that someone was none other than a certain, quick-witted witch with a tongue sharper than a knife, who had knowledge of magic far deeper than any human library could contain, summoned from the stars and outer cosmos.

Killua.

Killua was good at his job. Killua was powerful, and strong, and capable. He was able to rein in Gon’s fanciful ideas with a wave of his hand and a pout on his lips. His runes and charms were always the first things to sell out, and he always had new things to add, like minor tweaks to make the spells more potent or adjustments to fit their customer’s needs. Their customers liked him too, though Killua was conveniently never around to hear it. They would say things like “the new potion maker sure does a fine job” and “when will he come out from the back and say hello?” Gon would pass on the messages but Killua would just brush them off, explaining that he didn’t need the compliments because he was just doing what was expected of him.

This modesty was something which Gon used to his advantage.

Gon didn’t tell him he also was glad that Killua stayed in the back of the shop because Killua had no idea how pretty he was. Gon told him all the time of course, but Killua would simply roll his eyes and say “save that for the girls, Gon.” Gon tried to explain that those words were reserved for him and him only. Killua would have none of it.

However, perhaps that was for the better. Killua had a sort of air about him that caught people by surprise. If he was to become the face of the shop, then far too many people would vy for his attention, and Gon would have competition. He was already having a hard enough time warding off the gazes of interested humans who would watch them every time they went to the marketplace. Their eyes would follow them, lingering on Killua, on the way he smiled, on the way he walked with his straight posture and shoulders rolled back like nobility. Gon couldn’t imagine the volume of customers who would come into the shop if Killua were manning the front instead—they would come in hordes, just so they could catch a glimpse of a witch born from the stars.

Too many admirers. Too many humans, both male and female, were drawn to Killua’s presence just like Gon had been. And Killua had no idea. Killua carried on as though he was just like everyone else because Killua was just like that—he was humble. He never overestimated his abilities. He would only promise what he thought he was able to achieve.

Gon liked that about him.

Well, he liked everything about Killua. Killua was perfect.

And, Gon was learning quite a bit about a certain human emotion from spending time with him.

He never would have thought gods could feel the things humans did. To gods, emotions were trivial things. There was no purpose in feeling things deeply or strongly when you were immortal. Feelings got in the way. It was simpler to view things from a separate lens because everything compared to a god was temporal. Getting attached to things, devoting attention to them only for them to fade to dust was foolish.

But Gon didn’t mind playing the fool when it came to Killua.

Killua brought forth human emotions within Gon, both good and bad—but all equally as intense.

Gon had felt ecstatic when he met Killua for the first time. He had felt a reverence when Killua had fought Bisky and Kurapika. He had felt grateful when Killua had watched over him. He had felt sad when he discovered Killua suddenly left the shop, a pang of jealousy when he had told him someone other than Gon gave him a gift, satisfied when Killua confessed he was envious of those girls.

And then, when Killua had asked Gon to make a wish, Gon had felt an emotion too deep to describe, an emotion that made him feel he could do anything, an emotion that welled up inside him like a spring of water in a desert. His godly powers, though supposedly suppressed, had expanded within him. They had grown more and more until they could no longer be contained and spilled into the world in a rush of invisible golden sparks, because Killua was with him, because Killua in the slightest of ways had pressed his lips against Gon’s, because Killua’s hands in his felt like the surest thing that had ever been. The emotion that stirred inside his soul was something Gon had heard about, but had never experienced until then.

Eons ago, when he had just started to learn more about humans, he had asked Kite on a starry night why mortals were so strange. They would fight battles they couldn’t win. They would cry over people they hadn’t known. They would become happier over the tiniest of things. His mentor, while sitting on a hill with Gon in the Heavenly Realm, had just stared at the two moons in the sky and looked wistful when he responded.

“It’s love, Gon.”

“Love?”

“It’s a magic that has existed since the universe began. It’s older than godscript, more powerful than you or me. It's mysterious. Some wish they could get a taste of it, if only once in their lifetimes.”

“I’d want to feel it too. I’ve never felt it before,” Gon had said, lying down on the grass. “What does love feel like?”

And then Kite had smiled and moved his fingers so the stars in the sky rearranged themselves into the constellations mortals enjoyed so much. They had twinkled in the darkness like diamonds.

“I’ve been told it's like walking through a forest colored in gold. Where the sunlight refracts off the leaves and turns your world into a kaleidoscope of colors, and you see that person everywhere—in the expanse of sky, in the flowers blooming beneath your feet, in the water that rushes into the gorge. When you look into their eyes, you’ll see embers of galaxies glow to life, like a fire that burns eternally against the passage of time.

The things they say will give your life meaning. The way they smile will fill the gaps in your soul. Their touch against your skin will be your everything. The feelings inside your heart will serenade you so passionately that you can no longer hear anything else except your own blood in your ears like an angel’s song: beautiful, bright, and alive.

And you will think to yourself, ‘Ah—this. This is what love is supposed to feel like.’”

Gon loved Killua. He loved him. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him.

He loved the way Killua would come back from one of their ingredient runs, laughing and covered in dust with branches in his hair.

He loved the way Killua would pretend to complain about Bisky and Kurapika making a home in their front yard but would sit and drink tea with them anyways.

He loved the way Killua would carefully stack new potions onto the shelves, turning the bottles so the labels would show in a perfect line.

He loved the way Killua would put on his hat so it drooped a little to the left.

He loved the way Killua would smile when he thought no one was watching, when he would look out the windows and stare at the falling leaves.

He loved the way Killua would reach more and more for his hand, to touch him, to tangle their fingers together under the guise of “practicing.”

Gon loved him. He understood what Kite had been trying to say now. Love was magical. Love was precious. Love was everything he didn’t know he had been missing, it was an emotion he had written off as something interesting humans possessed but never thought he would experience for himself.

Gon loved being in love.

He loved being in love with Killua. He wanted Killua to be with him forever. He wanted to make a selfish wish and ask the witch to never leave, to never go back home, to never try to figure out what kept him in the human world.

Sometimes, Gon would feel a little bit of hope bubbling underneath the surface, and would wonder if it was possible that Killua loved him back. Wouldn’t it be perfect if his love was reciprocated? If Killua also felt like Gon was the most important person in the world?

Occasionally he did think it possible. He would catch Killua staring at him when he didn’t think he was looking. It was hardly noticeable. Gon would be making dinner, reaching for spices in the cupboard when he would sense a tingling feeling on the back of his neck. He would turn around, but Killua would be reading his book, engrossed in its pages.

Except, the book would be upside down, and under Killua’s hat, his ears would flame red.

It was easier to catch after that.

“Gon—come over here, these sea fireflies are amazing—! I wonder if we could get them to come to the shop now that the days are getting shorter?”

“No Gon, you can’t just decide to climb the World Tree to get some feathers—you’re just a human. If you fall you’ll definitely die. Here, let me do it.”

“Bisky drafted up some new tea bags for us—Zushi already tried them and he didn’t pass out so they’re not poisoned. Want a cup?”

“Hey—I was thinking, maybe we could make a better sleeping spell for that old lady that comes around here sometimes. Her dark circles were pretty bad when I saw her last week. I know I always gripe about you giving things out for free, but I think I can make an exception. Just this once.”

Business was slower in the winter months. Killua, in a rare turn of events, was taking care of the front while Gon drafted up spells in the back. Gon figured since it was unlikely for customers to show up, he could take a chance and brew some droughts. He hoped no one would come in and flirt with Killua while he was busy.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did the bell on top of the door jingle.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps as their customer walked around the shop. Then, a sound of surprise.

“Oh—hey there! You’re the guy I helped out a few weeks back, right? I would recognize that hair anywhere,” said a voice, gravelly and deep.

“I’m not sure we’ve met,” responded Killua’s voice.

“Well, I guess you might not remember. I’m the herbalist. I gave you a satchel?”

“...Oh, so you’re that guy. You look so much older than I expected.”

Gon quickly stopped what he was doing so Killua wouldn’t scare away any potential customers. He also felt a twinge of envy—that person had given Killua a gift, and a personal one at that. His brief whiff of the satchel’s scent had told him the small pouch had been filled with warm spices intended to soothe. The stranger was potential competition. Gon needed no further reason to wipe his hands on the front of his apron and peek around the corner.

The man at the register was tall and broad shouldered. Despite the scowl on his face indicating he was not pleased by Killua’s comment, there were crinkles near his eyes which were evidence of many years filled with laughter.

Gon could tell the man was a good human. His heart settled.

“A little thanks would be appreciated,” the man said, crossing his arms.

Gon rushed in to diffuse the situation. Killua however, had improved significantly in dealing with humans, and confidently replied, “I wanted to thank you, but you had run away before I could. I’ll say it now though. Thanks for your help that day. Your satchel was really useful.” Killua gestured to the shop. “Feel free to pick whatever you’d like. We’ll give you a discount.”

The man adjusted his glasses. “Just doing my job I guess,” he said, and this time his tone was lighter. “I’m looking for a heating spell since the furnace stopped working at my store. Can you help me out with that?”

“Sure,” said Killua, hopping off the bench. “You’ll need a pretty big glyph if you’re trying to heat up a room though. Gon—we got anything back there?”

Gon was startled at being called out but quickly recovered. “Sorry, nothing in stock right now. I can make one real quick,” he said.

“It’ll go faster if we both work on it. Give us a bit. Feel free to look around in the meantime.”

When Killua casually grabbed Gon’s hand to drag him into the workshop, Gon hoped he wouldn’t grow used to humans too fast, because Gon wanted to be special to him. He didn’t want Killua to be able to comfortably touch anyone else.

“Did you see that?” Killua asked, eyes gleaming with pride. “I handled it perfectly, right? I even offered a discount!”

Gon laughed. “You handled it so well, Killua! Maybe I should put you up front more often. A lot of customers have been asking to see your face. I think it would be a good change.”

Killua grinned mischievously. “Yeah, but then they would complain about the quality of the potions going down. I think I’ll stick to the background for a little while longer. Now let’s get this glyph wrapped up, that old man looks like the type who doesn’t like to wait.”

The herbalist was inspecting one of Kurapika and Bisky’s tea sets when Gon carried the rolled-up glyph to the front.

“That was fast,” the man commented.

“It goes faster with two people. Plus, we’ve been getting a lot of heating spell requests lately so we’re used to it. Your total comes out to ten gold pieces, but you can pay us five,” said Killua.

The man shook his head and put ten pieces on the counter. “I’m not going to shortchange you for doing your job. The thanks you gave me was enough. Stop by my store if you ever get a chance—I feel like some of my herbs would taste great in tea.”

With that, the man took the glyph from Gon, gave them both a warm smile, and ducked out of the shop.

“He was nice,” said Gon.

“Yeah, for an old man,” said Killua. “Now let’s hurry up and make some hot chocolate while the shop’s still empty. I’m cold.”

The herbalist came by a little more over the course of the winter months, bundled up in thick scarves and woolen mittens. Gon had a hunch that the man was worried about him and Killua (“You’re both so young, and don’t have any parents looking after you? That’s so irresponsible”), and was trying to watch over them in his own way. He would kick his legs up on the extra stools and read a book, jotting down notes within its pages, and Killua would ask him if his shop would be okay without him there, to which Leorio would respond, “it’s my lunch break, so I can be where I want to be.”

Leorio reminded Gon of Kite.

And so, another human joined Bisky and Kurapika’s weekly tea time, and Gon felt a strange warmth in his chest each time he would bring out a tray of freshly baked treats to share.

He had never had a family before, but the ragtag group of people currently munching on biscuits and sipping from porcelain cups was starting to look a lot like one.

Killua grew more beautiful the more Gon loved him.

There was the hint of fondness in the blueness of his eyes, the touch of generosity in his cool skin, the sparkle of life in his smile. Gon wanted so badly to tell him he was in love, to explain to Killua how he was the person who took his breath away, how Killua was the first person who he thought about in the morning and the person he fell asleep dreaming of. How sometimes Gon didn’t even want to sleep any more, because that meant time less spent together.

He wanted to tell Killua, but Killua wasn’t ready for him to tell him yet. Killua had to recognize on his own terms that he and Gon were meant to be. He was getting there, Gon just needed to be patient. Luckily, he had all the time in the world.

Gon had a plan. He would teach him what it was like to love and be loved. And then, Killua would realize the electric spark between them had been a certain emotion this whole time.

In the meantime, Gon tried to kiss Killua more under the pretense of making more wishes. He didn’t really have much to wish for because he just wanted Killua to be near him. However, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep getting away with it. Killua was starting to become suspicious.

His wishes were still easily fulfilled. He would wish for the kettle to boil quicker. He would wish for Killua to help make dinner. He would wish for them to spend more time together. These were all things he could easily just ask himself, but if he asked, there would be no kisses to exchange, and therefore no point asking in the first place. He loved it when he got to kiss Killua, when Killua would always check to make sure no one was watching before he gave a quick nod and closed his eyes so his pale lashes brushed against the tops of his cheeks. And Gon would indulge. He would kiss Killua by pretending to wish, when really all he wanted to do was kiss him because he loved him.

But after a while, Killua started to turn down Gon’s requests.

“I’ll just keep shortening your lifespan if you keep asking for things like that,” he said curtly. “You only have so much life to spare.”

“But Killua...!” pouted Gon, regretting (not for the first time) that he had to keep his identity a secret. He wanted to tell Killua lifespan wasn’t even an issue since he was a god. But if Killua found out, he might be upset that Gon had kept it a secret for so long. He might also be upset that Gon had wished for silly things so he could keep Killua close to him. He might also be upset that a god was taking advantage of his powers in the human world when he could easily do all these things himself.

(He had been trying not to think about it, but in a much realer sense, if his cover was blown the Gods' Association would come after him to bring him back to the Heavenly Realm, and Gon did not want that.)

So, he just bit his lip and grumbled and whined and tried to convince Killua that making wishes was fine, to no avail.

“This isn’t for me Gon, this is for you. I’ll outlive you by centuries. I’m not going to make your life shorter for trivial reasons like wanting an extra cookie from the tin. You can still wish for things and I’m contractually obligated to fulfill them, but I won’t be happy about it, you hear?”

Gon didn’t want to make Killua unhappy. So, he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would need to find a new excuse to kiss him. Maybe soon, Killua would love him back, so then they wouldn’t need excuses to kiss—they could just do it because they wanted to.

Although not being able to kiss Killua was a minor inconvenience, Gon was consoled by the fact that it was because Killua cared for him. He still thought Gon was a human and wanted him to live a long life. He was willing to warn Gon time and time again not to abuse the terms of the contract between them, however it was, in order to prolong his time in the world by just a few days. It was completely heartwarming.

Gon loved that about Killua too.

Gon wanted to know more about Killua, but Killua didn’t talk about himself much unless prompted. There were some traits that Gon discovered naturally just by being around him, like that he had a penchant for eating chocolates and wasn’t good at interacting with older women.

When it came to the topic of family, Killua was especially taciturn. He didn’t talk much about the rest of the Zoldyck witches. He mentioned he had a number of siblings and an overbearing mother. Aside from those minor details however, Killua remained silent on the topics of his past and of his other relatives.

Gon, ever curious, and now even more so because the details involved Killua, was determined to learn more.

There were two individuals who were his best bet for any source of information.

“The Zoldyck family of witches specializes in curses,” Kurapika said while pouring a cup of freshly brewed tea. Gon had called him over while Killua was ingredient-hunting in hopes that the Magic Regulation Task Force member could teach him something he didn't already know. His efforts were rewarded as Kurapika continued to speak, setting the porcelain cup into its saucer.

“They live in dimension sixty-two on Kukuroo Mountain, the birthplace of dragons. Not much is known about them since they tend to operate in secret and only come out when someone pays handsomely for their services. Though,” and here, Kurapika smiled gently, “I think our friend Killua is a bit of an anomaly, don’t you?”

Gon thought so too.

“Are there any books about them?” Gon asked eagerly. “Killua never talks about his family. I don’t like reading much, but if it's about the other Zoldyck witches, I could make an exception.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” said Kurapika. “Things stay secret for a reason, Gon. If you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, you could end up biting off more than you can chew.”

Gon pouted. “You’re sure you can’t tell me anything else?” he pleaded.

“If this is about the contract between you and Killua, I don’t think I can help much with that,” said Kurapika. “However, I will tell you this much: witches like staying together. And they don’t take kindly to letting their members go.” His eyes grew hard. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the Zoldyck’s showed up looking for Killua soon.”

Gon shrugged off the warning. “It’s been a few months,” he argued, “And if Killua doesn’t want to go back yet, I’m not going to make him. He looks like he’s happier here anyways.”

Kurapika sighed. “Alright Gon. Just...be careful. They’re the strongest group in the Witches Circle for a reason, so just watch your back.”

Bisky seemed to give similar advice when he bothered her about it the following week. “I’m not telling you not to look into the Zoldyck family,” she said, “But they can definitely curse you if they sense you getting too close to their territory. You’ve heard about humans who’ve asked for their services and then were unable to pay, right?”

Gon shook his head.

“Well, it wasn’t pretty. Huge mess for our team to clean up. All those legends about the dead crawling the earth, the reason we have vampires and werewolves today—they all stem from Zoldyck curses. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of dark magic, Gon. Dark magic contains danger like you wouldn’t believe, not even in your worst nightmares.”

Gon was aware. He had lived the nightmare. He dealt with dark magic too many times before, back when there had only been twenty dimensions instead of seventy-three. Back when the king of hell had attempted full domination of all dimensions. Back when dark magic had run rampant throughout the universe. Back when Kite had still been alive, before being lost forever in the hellfire.

Gon had been there. He knew. He understood. He had faced it head on, had lost friends, had lost his mentor to it. And that was why he knew that if Killua had ever been involved in dark magic, it wasn’t because he wanted to. Beings like Killua, who cared for others, would never be able to utilize such evil skills to their full potential because their affinity for goodness would hold them back.

So, they would need to be subdued.

Coerced.

Forced.

Killua, who was born into a group of witches who specialized in curses and dark magic, who likely rejected his family’s teachings, would have suffered. There was no possible way someone who had the purest smile Gon had ever seen would have hurt another being voluntarily. When Killua was first summoned, all of the requests he thought Gon would ask of him were violent and terrible. The examples Killua gave to showcase his strength were wishes made by weak beings who solved their problems with underhanded methods.

Dark magic attracted dark individuals.

It was unforgiving and cruel to both its caster and its target. It was a magic that took and never gave. Powerful, yes. Flexible, yes. But the price paid was in unexpected, horrible consequences.

Once in a while Gon would see a sadness in Killua’s eyes. It would show whenever Killua would talk about how he wouldn’t be around to hang out with Gon forever, that they would have to part eventually, it was just a matter of when. The type of sadness in Killua’s eyes was bittersweet, like he had already lost someone dear to him once before.

Gon didn’t know who this person was, but he had a feeling Killua’s family was the reason that person was lost now.

Some would call Gon’s thoughts mere speculation. Killua had never communicated any of this to him but Gon knew. He knew because he loved him. Love gave him the ability to see past Killua’s still-guarded walls. It allowed him to understand what Killua wanted even when Killua would never say it himself.

Love was why Gon realized as he walked back to the magic shop that whoever Killua currently called his “family” was not his family. Killua never talked about them because they evoked bad memories, memories of silence and of cold.

Killua did talk about others, though. And those others, they surrounded Killua and poured love into him, whether or not they were conscious of it. They made Killua laugh, they lectured him, they gave him everything that his biological mother and father had withheld for fear of weakening their son.

Killua’s family was Zushi, who would always ask him for advice and suggestions on his new spells.

Killua’s family was Master Wing, who would smile gently at him and pass him chocolate bars under the table.

Killua’s family was Bisky, who would smack him lightly on the arm when he made a blunt comment.

Killua’s family was Kurapika, who would always fuss during his visits and ask if they were eating properly.

Killua’s family was Leorio, who he would always bicker with, but make up with soon after.

Killua’s family was Gon, who loved him more than anything in the entire universe.

Killua’s family was a group of people who he joked around with, who he smiled with, who he was eager to see each week despite acting otherwise. He chatted with them. He chatted about them. He was excited to hear news about them, about what they did, about who they were with.

That was family. That was love.

Gon didn’t know too much about the Zoldyck witches. He didn’t know anything, really. But, whether they were regarded as family or not, in name or in nature, if they had hurt Killua, if they had ever done anything to make him unhappy, Gon would never forgive them.

Prayers would crumble to dust. Requests for mercy would be ignored. Gon would unleash every god-like power he had in his arsenal to completely destroy them.

He would rain chaos onto Kukuroo Mountain until nothing was left.

Chapter Text

Gon was acting oddly.

Not that Gon wasn’t a little strange to begin with. His regular antics included pouting when he didn’t get what he wanted, smiling when he wasn’t pouting, and charging recklessly into noggin lugging tortoise nests with nothing but his backpack. To Killua, how Gon’s mind worked was a complete and total mystery. Just as he thought he finally understood him, Gon would come surprise him with something else.

No, this was a little different. There was something strange about Gon that Killua couldn’t put his finger on. It was namely why Gon was so eager to request things even though his lifespan would dwindle shorter with each fulfilled item. The more Killua thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense.

He deducted several possible reasons for his behavior, some of which included Gon’s blatant disregard for his own life, longevity associated with his mysterious power, and least likely of all, Gon’s desire to kiss Killua because he wanted to.

As much as Killua wanted the last reason to be the case he couldn’t comprehend the reasoning behind it. Sure, they were closer now, but that didn’t really mean Gon cared about him in that way, did he? Gon’s basic questions were evolving into wishes, which really wasn’t how the contract was supposed to work, but Killua found he didn’t have the backbone to complain. Gon would hold Killua’s cold hand in his warm one, and ask him if he could help with dinner before pecking him lightly on the mouth. He would ask Killua things that were easy to answer, like if he wanted to go on a walk outside later that evening, or if they could go buy Kurapika and Bisky some new tea once the market reopened. They were all questions that Killua could easily respond “yes” to, and the moment he did, Gon would come swooping around the corner to press their mouths together, and Killua would tingle from the top of his head down to his toes.

But Gon was doing it far too often. His lifespan passed to Killua with each kiss. If he kept doing it, his flames would burn out far too quickly, and all before Killua could spend more time with him. He needed Gon to stay alive. Every day, every minute, every second mattered.

It practically tore a hole in his chest, but Killua told Gon he needed to reign in his requests. Regardless if Gon’s lifespan was longer than most humans, Killua wasn’t going to risk it. Gon whined. He begged. He made excuses upon excuses. He was so cute that Killua almost gave in.

Almost.

Killua didn’t let it show, but he didn’t want to stop either. He liked kissing Gon. More than he wanted to admit. But spending time with Gon in the future (while Gon was not dying prematurely due to careless wish-making) was worth much more to him then a few seconds of lip-to-tip contact.

Killua put his foot down.

Gon listened.

The kisses stopped. But that didn’t mean other things did.

“Killua, why are your hands always so cold?”

“It’s in my blood. Witches are always cold.”

“Hm, that doesn’t seem pleasant.”

“It’s not so bad in the summer.”

“But in the winter?”

“Pretty horrible, I’d say.”

“Does hugging help?”

“What?”

“If you hug someone, does it help?”

“...I’m not answering that.”

“Killua! Have you ever seen so many ruse ravens in your life?”

“Woah. That’s a lot of birds.”

“Yeah! They’re good at imitating voices so we dissolve their feathers for cough medicine. Catching them is harder when they travel in packs though.”

“Ha. That’s what you think. You want to grab a few feathers? Easy. I’ll just—”

“No Killua! No magic! Here’s a fishing rod.”

“You want me to catch these birds...with a fishing rod?”

“Unless you’re saying you can’t?”

“Well, I’ve never tried it, but there’s a first time for everything. Bet I could still catch more than you though.”

“Killua! Did you know that the legends say the gods put the stars in the sky so humans would have something to watch at night?”

“Yeah, and it's true.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. The gods that live in dimension twelve—they’re powerful beings. Stronger than I am. They did a lot of things for the human world when it was first starting up. Not only the stars.”

“That was nice of them.”

“Hm, I guess. I hear the night sky is even prettier in the Heavenly Realm though. They have two moons there.”

“Two!?”

“Ha—crazy, right? One day, I’d like to see it.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“What?”

“I’ll take—ahhhh nevermind, don’t worry about it! Forget I said anything. Oh—Killua, look up there—it’s a shooting star! It looks just like you.”

Something ticklish was growing inside Killua’s heart. The feeling, although unknown to him in the present moment, was familiar. It was as though he had felt it before, a very long time ago, in some echo of the past. It crawled through him and warmed his blood and soul like a bath of sunlight, covering his skin with a heated caress while making his heart beat faster. If his previous bout of jealousy had been a thorny vine, this feeling was something more akin to a sunflower—a sunflower with large leaves, blossoming in yellow petals inside his chest.

It made him feel weird.

When did it appear? Why did it seem so familiar? Why couldn’t he remember? Killua felt as though he was forgetting something important.

He racked his brains but the memory was just out of reach like fish under a frozen lake—visible, but through a thick haze of ice. And unfortunately Killua was without an ice pick.

Well, if he couldn’t figure it out now, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to. No—Killua was a smart witch. He would pull apart the feeling, analyze its components, and come to a conclusion; regardless of if his memory came back. He was going to get to the bottom of it even if he had to fight his own mind.

He, Kurapika, and Leorio were sitting at a table that was far too small for their group, discussing Leorio’s decision to expand his “Herb and Spice and Everything Nice” shop over snacks and drinks. The herbalist’s legs were spread out on either side as he animatedly waved his hands and tried to explain to a very stoic Kurapika why the extra space was needed.

Killua, sandwiched between them, watched their exchange in amusement.

“My shop is too small! And ever since you and Bisky have been loitering around here drinking tea, people have been coming to my place asking if they can have whatever you’re drinking!” Leorio said loudly.

“Shouldn’t you be happy about the increase in business, then?”

“I am happy!”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Well, I would be happier if my shop was a tad bit larger…”

“The problem isn’t the size of the shop,” said Kurapika, “It’s where you’re going to get the money. Land in YorkNew isn’t cheap. Expanding your store is no easy feat. Why expand now when you could save up while business is good?”

“Sometimes a man just wants a bigger store,” said Leorio.

“No, sometimes a man just needs to listen to logic and hold himself back until the right time,” said Kurapika.

Leorio leaned back into his chair and sighed. “I’ve already been holding back,” he said. “I’ve wanted to expand for the past few years, and now that things are finally falling into place you’re telling me it's not a good idea. Why do you always have to rain on my parade? I was looking forward to reorganizing everything too.”

Kurapika smiled and brought his cup to his lips. “Sometimes you need a bit of rain before the rainbow,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, just be patient. When the time for expansion comes, I’ll help you out.”

Leorio looked genuinely touched. “You will?”

“Of course. But in the meantime, just hold onto your purse strings.”

Killua wondered when Kurapika and Leorio had gotten so close.

“Scones are ready!” called Gon, waltzing in with a tray of pastries. The group instantly bounded out of their seats to grab a baked treat—all except for Killua. He was too distracted by the fact that Gon wasn’t wearing his green apron, but rather Killua’s blue one. He had never seen Gon without his apron before. Was the green apron in the wash? Had he mistakenly grabbed the wrong one?

Whatever the reason, it looked good on him. Better on Gon than it had been on Killua.

It really was just an apron. Just a simple cloth tied around the waist. Common. Basic. Mundane. But somehow it seemed more than that. Like they were close enough where Gon was just as comfortable wearing Killua’s clothes as he was his own. Like Gon, after waking up in the morning, would groggily say “Killua, all my clothes are hanging up to dry, can I wear your shirts?” And even though Killua and Gon weren’t quite the same size, Killua would say “Sure, pick whichever one you want” and then Gon would go to their shared closet and do just that.

The sunflower crept back into Killua’s chest and he was accosted by the accompanying feeling which was both pleasant and painful. He kept his expression neutral as he tried to dissect what exactly it was. He ran the scenario in his head. Was the strange feeling related to clothing? Seeing people in clothing that wasn’t theirs?

“Oh, Killua—! Here, I baked some scones with extra chocolate in them for you. They’re on the left side of the tray,” said Gon, wiping a bit of flour off the side of his cheek, and the sunflower inside Killua bloomed even brighter, like it was a lovely summer’s day outside and it was turning its face towards the sun. He wondered if he was having trouble breathing because the plant was slowly encroaching into his lungs as well.

“Thanks,” he replied.

When he bit into the scone, the chocolate somehow tasted sweeter than usual.

As Gon had ducked back into the kitchen to put the empty tray back, Killua rubbed his chest. He concentrated on his heartbeat and willed it to slow back to its normal pace. The flower closed its petals back down and he could finally breathe again.

Leorio asked him if he was feeling okay.

Killua responded vaguely about it being fine because his mind was preoccupied with the strange feeling again.

Maybe it wasn’t related to the apron after all.

Maybe it was related to Gon.

Killua took note.

The sunflower seemed to have taken purchase in Killua’s chest cavity like an unwanted tenant. It would close its petals while he was working, but would randomly find the most inopportune moments to sprout back again.

Namely, whenever Gon would show his face.

Gon showing his face meant one of two things. He was either going to smile and tell Killua something embarrassing, or he was going to ask a question—whether or not Killua wanted to go shopping later that evening, or what he wanted for dinner, or if he liked croissants with or without powdered sugar. Things like that. The awful thing was however, either of those two things triggered immediate growth of the flower, and if Gon was being especially embarrassing, not only would the sunflower grow larger, it would branch out and Killua wouldn’t be dealing with one floral enigma—but two or three.

And each time, Killua would be left with a stupid smile on his face, wondering how in the world something so heartwrenching could make him so happy.

The feeling never really went away. It would just lay dormant when Gon wasn’t around. Killua would often ask himself if he enjoyed putting himself in torturous situations because he found himself voluntarily seeking Gon out, just so he could feel it again. The warmth was addicting. It dragged him into its depths and latched on.

Killua didn’t want to leave its lair. He wanted to stay within its clutches and bask in it for as long as he was allowed to.

A few weeks later, Killua came to a conclusion. It took some time, but he finally gathered enough evidence to prove that Gon (and no one else) was causing the sunflower’s existence and growth.

Killua’s mind was always thinking about Gon. He would envision his smiling face as he watched the cauldron’s bubble in the back workroom. He would daydream while scaling trees during his ingredient hunts, imagining scenarios where they would visit more dimensions and explore the world together. He would go to bed with the door slightly ajar so his companion’s soft snores could lull him to sleep.

And outside of Killua's mind, in reality, the flower took root and grew stronger.

It would bloom if Killua held Gon’s hand.

It would catch his throat when they watched the stars each night.

It would sprout several large leaves every time Killua felt Gon’s eyes on him.

And he still couldn’t remember. But he felt like he was getting closer.

The YorkNew marketplace was unusually busy when Killua went to pick up some items for the next day’s breakfast. He usually went with Gon, but the sorcerer had received an urgent morning order and insisted Killua go without him. Before bicycling away, Gon had pressed a small paper charm into Killua’s hand, quickly explaining it was a tracking spell in case Gon finished his task early so they could meet up afterwards.

The sunflower bloomed again.

Killua shook the feeling off, snuck the parchment into his pocket, and headed towards the YorkNew marketplace.

The area consisted of flashy tents which lined the square near a grassy knoll. Each vendor laid their wares out—fruits and vegetables, trinkets, or items of questionable origin. People jostled about. They picked things up and loudly asked how much they cost, and if the price was too high, attempted to barter lower. Merchants drew attention to their stalls by hanging brightly colored ribbons in the front. On the other end, busy mothers picked up groceries while carrying children in their arms.

It wasn’t the first time Killua had gone to the market without Gon, but it also had never been quite so packed. They usually received a fair amount of attention when shopping, simply attributed to Gon’s inherent popularity and his good looks, so Killua was expecting a simple trip now that Gon wasn’t accompanying him. He could blend into the shadows. Killua wanted to be ignored.

He kept his head down.

Despite his best efforts to stick to the background however, he could feel people watching him. They weren’t angry stares—rather, they were curious ones. For some reason, the YorkNew residents were interested in him. But he wasn’t wearing his witch hat. Why would they be focusing on someone like himself? To the mortal eye, he was just another human. There was nothing out of place about him.

Killua continued his shopping in a state of mild confusion.

The merchants were unusually friendly. They offered him a discount on his purchase of bread when they hadn’t before. The blushing lady at the apple counter threw in a couple of extra fruits. Several younger girls asked him if he was doing anything later that evening which was really quite peculiar considering Killua didn’t even know them.

He told them he was going stargazing like he did every night, and all they did was sigh and tell him how romantic it was and ask him if he could teach them about the stars.

That did it. Something fishy was going on.

Without anyone noticing, Killua sharpened his senses and drew magic into his eyes and nose, trying to see if a spell had been cast on him, because that was the only logical conclusion as to why the humans were being so odd, but no—nothing was different. There was no magic involved. He was just himself.

He felt as though he was being inspected under the world’s largest magnifying glass. Everyone’s eyes were on him. People were being far too nice for it to be normal. They never acted like this when Gon was around—well, they did, but it was all directed at Gon. Gon was supposed to be the one getting smiles and shy waves from YorkNew residents. Not Killua.

Killua was out of his element like a fish out of water.

Which was why, when he was making his final purchase of the morning (a set of transmutation crystals for another one of Gon’s outlandish experiments), he didn’t know how to react when a taller gentleman sauntered up to him and asked him what he was doing after his shopping trip.

Killua could only respond honestly. “I’m probably going back to work,” he said.

“Oh?” the man said in surprise. “A pretty thing like you, working? Where are you employed?”

Killua didn’t know what it was about the man’s tone of voice, but he didn’t like it. Also, he had been referred to as a “thing” and he didn’t like that either. “I work at the magic shop four blocks west of the library,” he said. “I brew potions there.”

He wanted the conversation to be over. He still hadn’t figured out which crystals to buy yet. He wished Gon was there with him.

“Well,” the man said, inching closer, “I wouldn’t mind stopping by your shop if it meant getting a couple looks at you once in a while.” He winked.

Killua responded to him with a frosty glare. “Please only come by if you’re interested in purchasing a product.” He returned his attention to a selection of colored gemstones. The shopkeeper was noticeably absent—probably out for lunch. The crystals sparkled under the dim lighting. The yellow one would be good, Killua thought distractedly, it wouldn’t be too useful for spells, but it would match Gon’s eyes—

“How much would some time with you cost?” said the man, and then he was placing a hand on Killua’s waist and Killua knew he had sworn not to curse humans anymore but he was extremely close to snapping with this one.

“What do you think you’re doing? Who gave you permission to touch me?” Killua hissed. “You don’t even know who you’re dealing with. Hands off, or I’ll remove them for you.”

The man just laughed. He was completely unafraid of Killua’s threat. His hands lightly squeezed Killua’s hip as he looked him right in the eye and said, “I like feisty ones like you.”

If Killua wasn’t in a stall filled with highly explosive crystals, nor in a public area, he would have fried the stranger to a crisp. He would have executed his threat and removed the man’s hands with a sharply edged sword, or maybe by vanishing them away into scattered petals. But given that the storeowner was nowhere to be found, Killua was essentially fending for himself. He wouldn’t be able to go look Gon in the face without feeling guilty if he had purposely injured a human (no matter how annoying they were) so he just slapped the man’s hand off his hip. It was much less satisfying than his other alternatives.

“It’s rude to touch others without their permission,” Killua said, “Don’t touch me again.”

Gon touched Killua all the time—his hands, his face, his arm, his shoulder—but it seemed Killua still wasn’t fully used to casual touches from other humans. However, Killua had a feeling that even if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have felt nearly the same level of disgust as he was feeling now. This man couldn’t be more different than Gon. This man was unpleasant. He was the kind of human who would gladly employ Killua’s family’s services to get what he wanted.

Killua didn’t like him.

The man was undeterred. He merely grinned, swiped a hand through dark, greasy hair, and then reached downwards.

He grabbed Killua’s chin.

Killua bared his teeth.

A burning sensation pressed against the lining of his pocket, but even if Killua’s entire body were on fire there were more pressing matters at hand—like how he was going to teach this mortal a lesson. The man had gotten on a witch’s bad side. Killua knew a number of spells which could be nicely applied to the situation. Should he make him suffer from indigestion for a week? Should he make him cough up toads until he swore never to touch others when they didn’t want to be touched? Or maybe he could make his face so bloated that not even his own mother could recognize him—

But he hadn’t made it very far down his list of possibilities when someone interrupted them.

“Take your hands off Killua. Now.”

Killua’s eyes flitted to the entrance but he would have recognized the voice anywhere.

Surely enough, Gon stood in the front of the tent. out of breath, bicycle in hand...

...And for the first time since they had met, Killua saw that Gon was angry.

Heat rolled off Gon’s body in oppressive waves, heavy and thick. It pressed down on everything like the weight of the atmosphere had suddenly doubled. The aura was enough to send anyone within the vicinity scattering, to which the greasy man was no exception—he quickly removed his hands from Killua’s face and took a few steps back—but unlike everyone outside, he had nowhere to run. He bumped into the shelves. Crystals clattered to the floor.

“What were you doing to him?” Gon asked the man, and his tone indicated that if he told him anything less than the truth, Gon would rip limb from limb. Killua had seen Gon’s strength before, and it wouldn’t be hard for him to do it—the sorcerer had lifted an entire wagon off an old woman like the structure had weighed as much as a pebble. If Gon wanted to, Killua absolutely believed tearing off a limb or two would be no problem.

The man squared his shoulders. “I was just seeing if your friend was interested in spending some time with me later,” he said casually.

Gon stepped forwards. His glare was hard and cold. “Asking a question doesn’t mean you get to touch someone. Killua didn’t look happy when you touched him. He asked you to not do it again—but you did it anyways. Additionally,” and now Gon’s voice was dangerously low, “Killua was not interested in spending time with you. You were making him uncomfortable.”

“You’re speaking for the pretty boy now, huh?” the man spat, making the bold move to stand up for himself despite the circumstances, “He didn’t say he was taken, so why are you butting into my business? I even promised to stop by his workplace to say hello after he was done with his shopping duties, so buzz off.”

“Oh?”

The blazing heat off Gon’s body grew heavier. Killua needed to intervene or Gon was going to incinerate the entire shop.

“Let it go, Gon,” said Killua, “It’s not worth it.”

“No, it’s worth it,” Gon replied, still staring daggers at the stranger. “It’s most definitely worth it.”

The bicycle clanged on grass. Gon had dropped it in favor of ducking into the tent. Somehow, the sorcerer seemed larger than before as he stalked closer to the man and cornered him in between the shelves. The offending stranger shrank into the woodwork, now obviously aware of the predicament he was in.

The temperature in the shop was quickly rising. Killua began writing cooling spells into the air in a desperate attempt to chill it down.

The spells weren’t distracting enough for him to miss Gon’s next words.

“Killua is far too good for the likes of you,” Gon whispered, “He’s caring, and genuine, and the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. You weren’t respectful of his space. You continued to bother him even when he told you not to. You’re the type of human that gives other humans a bad name, and I would rather burn in the fires of hell than let someone like you lay your hands on him. So if you value your life, even in the slightest, I suggest you leave. Immediately.”

Killua had never seen anyone sprint away faster in his life.

Once the man left, Gon’s face relaxed back into a sheepish smile and the shop’s temperature slowly returned to normal. He waved a hand before letting it fall limply to his side. “Hi there, Killua!” he said. “Ha...sorry for the dramatic entrance...I guess I got a little upset when I saw him touching your face.” He only sounded slightly remorseful.

Killua could only blink. He should have smacked Gon for showing off so recklessly. He should have given him a lecture about threatening others in an area filled with dangerous magical gems. But Killua couldn’t do any of it because the sunflower was spreading out and spiraling over his heart, and he didn’t know what to do because his mind was making connections between Gon’s actions and his own impossible hopes and he couldn’t think rationally. Gon was just so brilliant. Killua couldn’t look at him.

“How did you find me?” Killua asked, focusing his attention on the ground.

“Paper charm,” said Gon, and Killua remembered the burning sensation in his pocket, “I was planning on meeting up with you regardless since I finished the job pretty fast. I’m glad I came when I did. If he got away scot-free, I might even have wished for you to give him a light curse or something, I was so mad.”

“You didn’t need to be. I could have handled it.”

“I know you could have! You’re Killua after all. It just didn’t sit right with me if I had seen you in trouble and didn’t do anything to protect you, you know?” Suddenly Gon grinned and bounced over to him. “Ooh! You bought my favorite bread! And are those apples? We can make some delicious turnovers with those! Here, let’s put the bags in the basket so you don’t have to carry everything back.”

Killua could only stiffly follow Gon’s instructions because he was feeling so, so warm, and he was definitely blushing, and the sunflower roots must have spread into his belly because what other reason could there be for the fluttering feeling inside of him? Killua thought that was the end of it once all the bags were properly secured in the basket and Gon dropped some money off at the empty counter to cover the cost of the crystals, but of course Gon always found new ways to catch him off-guard.

Gon took Killua’s hand in his. He kissed the back of it as though it were the most natural thing for him to do and then laced their fingers together. Killua instinctively squeezed back.

“Let’s go home, Killua,” said Gon, and it was as though the glittering gold flecks in his eyes had a life all their own, because Gon was spectacular and Killua couldn’t tear his gaze away if he tried. At the sound of Gon’s words, the sunflower burst into a million saffron petals, showering Killua’s lungs and heart in a sparkling explosion of lemon honey and citrine quartz—it scintillated like stained glass in the morning light, gleamed like a marmalade sunrise during the summer solstice, and it made Killua want to cry because he was happy—so incredulously happy, he felt like conjuring up his hat just to scream into it. Everything was so much brighter, so much better when Gon was around. Gon made him feel cherished. He had taken care of him from the very beginning—and even after all this time, nothing had changed. There was never a doubt that to Killua, Gon was the most important person in the world.

And when Killua realized it, thought that yes, Gon was the most important, he would forever be the most important, the flowers continued to bloom inside him—but now it wasn’t just sunflowers, but buttercups, tulips, marigolds, and chrysanthemums—sprouting everywhere, climbing across brick and black, iron-wrought gates, filling every crevice and covering every dark surface within him so a garden of joy was all he could feel.

The blooms multiplied over and over and over just like the reverberating echo of Gon’s words in Killua’s head, chanting “home”, “home”, “home”—and Killua was close, so close to remembering the name of the feeling that he could taste it on his tongue.

Killua was back on Kukuroo Mountain. The entire manor was made of stone and bitterly cold. His mother didn’t like the warmth, which was ironic considering their dimension birthed more than a few fire-breathing dragons. Sometimes Killua would risk a couple beatings and write small heating spells into his walls, just so he could get the feeling back in his toes.

But, when she was together with him, there was no need for such spells because she always made him feel warmer just by being near.

They were sitting in her room (which was really more like a prison), passing what rare time they had together before Killua was called out to another mission. She hummed a song without words while he ran a brush through her hair, and on the ground beside them was a white witch hat with fabric rabbit ears sewn into it. She had wanted the ears added because it was cute and “the standard Zoldyck hats were boring.” Killua had laughed because that was just like her—she could have easily transformed the hat with magic but she chose to slave away with needle and thread instead. Their parents hadn’t approved of the new look.

He stopped brushing to weave ribbons into her hair. They spiraled in pink and purple strands down to her back.

“Almost there,” he said, “Though it’s not my best work.”

She turned around to look at him.

“It’s always the best work when you do it, brother,” she said, smiling. “You’re my favorite person.”

Killua felt tears well up. He tried to keep them in, but it was hard. She was his favorite person too.

It wasn’t fair how she was always locked away; out of sight and out of mind because the other witches were afraid, because they believed she was a threat—a danger to the very pillars of coven society. They would huddle, spreading rumors like flies, gossiping about the second-youngest Zoldyck witch, and what demon had possessed her.

Killua had tried to free her, he had vouched for her time and time again—she was much more powerful than he was, she had unimaginable strength which could be a great asset to their family—but it was no use. According to them, she was an entity without a soul. She didn’t deserve rights. She wasn’t wanted. She was to waste away, hidden for all eternity, so that no one would be aware she had ever existed. But Killua knew what they said wasn’t true. She did have a soul, one stronger and sweeter than all of theirs put together. There was no need to be afraid. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Killua was different. He would hurt and curse and do anything his family needed him to do so long as they promised not to do anything to her while he was away. He would dirty his hands to any extent if it meant she would be safe.

Killua wished he had more time with her. He tied one of her many ribbons into a bow. His voice came out quieter and more vulnerable than he intended it to.

“Say...if I told you that I was the only person in the world who really—”

A buzz cut out the word.

“—you, would you be sad?”

She gasped. He saw her clench her fists into her skirts before she instantly spun back around, the colored bands twirling around her head like a halo. Her smile was even wider than before. The apples of her cheeks were so round they made her eyes turn to crescent moons, and without warning, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, burying her face in his chest. Killua felt something beginning to bloom near his heart. It made him warmer than any fire spell he could have written. Her voice was muffled when she responded.

“I’m so happy, I can’t stop smiling! Even if I’m stuck here forever, I wouldn’t mind as long as I get to spend time with you. Nanika and I…we—”

A buzz cut out the word again.

“—you.”

What was it? What was she trying to say? Why was there a haze over the word, as if preventing him from remembering?

The memory relooped.

“Say...if I told you that I was the only person in the world who really—”

“Nanika and I…we—”

It looped again.

“Say...if I told you that I was the only person in the world who really—”

“Nanika and I…we—”

Killua let it loop for what felt like a thousand times. Each time he reached for the mist hanging above his and her words, but it slipped from his hands—intangible and fleeting. He tried again. He didn’t care how long it took. The key was right within his reach and he was in this memory for a reason. If he didn’t put in the effort to find out now, he would spend the remainder of his life wondering.

The memory replayed and he grasped for the mist once more. He did it again. And again. And again. He tried until his arms felt like they were no longer attached to his body. But still, the word slipped away from him like water through a sieve.

Eventually, he made progress. If by some mistake or miracle, one of his attempts led to his foot catching on the cobblestone and he lost his balance, toppling to the floor. He caught himself. His hand brushed against her hat, which until then, had been innocently lying on the ground. The fabric felt like an interdimensional portal. It rippled against his fingers.

His heartbeat sped up. Was this it? Was this the piece he had been missing?

He picked her hat up off the ground. It shimmered in his hands with milky-white rainbows. His hands shook as he slowly placed it on top of his head.

The effect was instantaneous. Magic, warm and familiar, seeped into Killua’s body. It wrapped around him as though she were hugging him as best she could, and her embrace filled him to the brim with kindness and compassion, saturating his soul with affection.

The witch hat sparked. With a flash of light, it dissolved into a million glowing butterflies, and they drenched into his very being, doused him, enveloped him so the haze over his mind was washed away like the light of the harvest moon chasing away the midnight shadows. The gaping holes in his memory were covered by her magic so when the vision looped again for the last time, Killua finally remembered.

“Say...if I told you that I was the only person in the world who really loved you, would you be sad?”

“I’m so happy, I can’t stop smiling! Even if I’m stuck here forever, I wouldn’t mind as long as I get to spend time with you. Nanika and I…we love you.”

The sunflower spread through his chest to his arms to the top of his head. It unfurled its petals like it had been waiting for this moment for many, many years. And it was yellow—yellow everywhere, yellow in his heart, yellow in his mind, yellow in his soul—something beautiful, something real and physical, something that dazzled him with its brilliance and reminded him of paradise.

Killua woke up.

He was out of breath. He remembered now. He knew its name because he had felt it before when he was with her. It was her presence that allowed him to remember. She had helped him again when he had needed it; because even when he couldn’t see her, she was still watching him, waiting for the time when they could reunite once more.

There was only one thing the feeling could be.

It was the strongest, purest form of magic in existence.

It was what he had felt for his sister, and now, what he felt for Gon.

It was love.

Illumi had told Killua that love was the most useless emotion exhibited by living beings. It made people weak. It lowered a witch’s power which drew strength from the darkness. Killua had distanced himself from everyone around him because the closer he got to someone, the more his heart would reach out, and the more love would threaten to be part of him.

The fear of love had been a byproduct of his brother’s curse. It had been one of the many prices he had paid. But, he was no longer afraid because he remembered what it was like, and that loving was something which made him happy.

Killua hadn’t loved in so long. It didn’t mix well with the type of being he was. Witches weren’t made to love. They were made to scheme, to hate, to draw upon and live in the darkness. But, there were stories, hidden deep in the whispered breaths of dragons that flew over mountaintops obscured by clouds, about witches who had loved. And in those tales, love didn’t make those witches weak. Rather, those tales told of witches who went on to become legends, though they were written off as traitors by everyone else.

Killua had forgotten how to love, but the more time he spent with Gon, the more he remembered what it had been like. Gon taught him again through his actions and his words. He poured his consideration into everything that he did, and Killua wanted to bare his soul to him. He wanted to take Gon’s face in his hands, look him in the eye, and tell him that now Killua was just another victim of his kindness. He wanted to confess that he was no better than any other mortal for falling in love with someone he couldn’t have, that he could never be with—for Gon was a human, and one day he would find a wife. He would love her. They would have children of their own. He would love them. His children would have children. He would love his grandchildren. He would grow old. And then, he would pass away after filling the world with more love than it deserved, and be reborn again, memories forgotten.

But Killua would still be there. He would remember their short few months together as the most beautiful time of his life. Gon would move on while Killua stayed stuck in the past. So his current situation was illogical. It was silly. It went against everything he was. But yet, he was there—the odd one out, a witch in the land of humans, who had fallen in love with the mortal who summoned him.

Killua had tried to stay away but it had been impossible. No being could resist being treated like the way Gon treated Killua. Killua too, would occasionally wonder if he was just seeing things that would further his own agenda, or if Gon really was treating him differently—like he was special to Gon in a way no one else was. Each night as they looked upon the constellations, and Gon held Killua’s hand and Killua wriggled his fingers ever-so-slightly, doing his best to look up at the sky and not at Gon, Killua let himself hope. He prayed to the gods living in dimension twelve that they could stay together like this for just a little longer. He asked out of selfishness that Gon might love him back, that their earlier kisses had a deeper meaning to them, and that by some miracle, Killua could be with him forever.

Killua wished that he too, was deserving of happiness.

Chapter Text

Things were too good to last. Gon foolishly thought he and Killua could live their lives undisturbed and together forever. Everything was going as planned. Killua was opening up to him like a summer rose, growing more and more beautiful each day—meanwhile Gon’s infatuation had gotten so obvious that even Leorio, who was probably the least perceptive of the group, asked him when he was going to tell Killua how he felt.

Gon always answered “soon”. Soon. He would tell him soon, once he was sure that Killua loved him back.

He was pretty sure Killua loved him back. But since Killua hadn’t said it yet, there was always the slightest possibility (miniscule, even) that his love was unrequited. Gon tried not to think about that possibility too much.

It was easier said than done. There were so many times Gon almost let the worry eat at him, fixating on the fact that he might be misreading the signs, that perhaps Killua was just being nice to him because they were friends. It was moments like those where Bisky would chew him out over a late night visit. She would call him a slew of names while hitting him upside the head until he confessed that she was probably right. And then Gon would rethink all the times he and Killua had shared together and be comforted that yes, Killua probably did love him. And that, in and of itself, was more than he could have ever hoped for.

Because how could he be misreading anything when Killua’s eyes betrayed so much emotion? How could there be any other answer, when Killua would curl up beside Gon after the shop closed, reading his latest book as Gon pretended to fall asleep on the couch? What else could there be, other than love, when Killua sat with him to watch the stars and explained each and every one to him, even though Gon knew all too well what they were because some he had added to the sky himself?

He had to fight the urge to ask the burning question which had been sitting in his heart—“Hey Killua—if you wanted to wish for something right now, what would it be?” Because the only response he would accept would be something along the lines of “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” And that was a wish that didn’t need a kiss to be fulfilled, but Gon would be happy to give one nonetheless.

But all good things would come to an end. There were things that had not been addressed, such as the topic of Killua’s family. There were things that had been ignored for too long, such as the reason why Killua couldn’t go back home. And Gon kept pushing these things further into forgetfulness because he would much rather focus on the witch who was quickly taking over his entire being.

And that, unbeknownst to him, was a mistake.

One seemingly uneventful day rolled around the corner. Gon and Killua had closed the shop over the weekend to allow themselves to catch up on orders. The days were finally growing longer again which meant more people were out and about, more people were interested in window-shopping and preparing for the change in seasons, and therefore more business. Killua was knee-deep in potion requests, and although he complained about the sheer volume, Gon knew he secretly enjoyed the work.

In the meantime, Gon was doing basic maintenance around the shop. The shelves needed dusting. The floorboards were abysmally in need of a good mop. And the doormat...well, no amount of washing could make that particular item clean again. Maybe they could just buy a new one.

Killua’s face popped around the corner, charcoal smudged on his cheeks from stoking fires. “Oi, Gon. Check on the plants while you’re up there, will you? Since it hasn’t rained in a few days the soil’s probably a bit dry.”

“Will do!” Gon called back.

Killua had taken an interest in tending to the front garden ever since winter had passed. The garden had done better than usual with his care, blooming earlier and brighter in the warmer weather (even without the help of Gon’s powers). The flowers tumbled out of their containers like a waterfall of colors. As Gon took the watering can outside and gave them a well-deserved drink, the magnolias in particular stood out to him, warm and white against their colorful backdrop. It would have been a shame not to bring a few inside.

Gon snipped a few stems to brighten up the shop. He was starting to leisurely arrange them in a vase when he noticed an unfamiliar smell drifting beneath the scent of flowers. 

He paused.

Odd.

There was something different in the air. 

He took in a deep breath.

Well...it smelled...strange. It smelled like something had arrived which wasn’t supposed to be there. It smelled...almost unpleasant.

Gon let the flowers be and cracked open a window. He sniffed the air again. It wasn’t the first time he had wished for his godly powers back—his senses were duller in the human world. He did his best to focus. When he inhaled again with purpose, the scent was more obvious. He could easily pick it out. Only then did he realize it wasn’t the arrival of something, but rather someone.

And they were powerful.

Magic crept into the atmosphere like the tentacles of a sea-beast, slimy and dark. Gon watched as people scurried a bit faster in the streets, panic mounting, their base instincts screaming that something terrible was coming. Something which wouldn’t rest until it found what it was looking for. Something evil.

A giant shadow passed over YorkNew.

Gon shut the window and drew the curtains.

Killua was busy mixing a large batch of potions for the next day. Gon glanced over briefly to make sure the witch was distracted before inscribing a barrier around the shop. He wasn’t going to take any chances, not with darkness like that. The godscript shimmered into the woodwork before disappearing. Gon didn’t think it was entirely necessary, but it would serve as a precaution...just in case. Bisky and Kurapika would handle the situation soon enough—the amount of power the person possessed would surely draw the attention of the Magic Regulation Task Force.

Except, Bisky and Kurapika didn’t handle it.

Rather, they didn’t handle it in time.

The individual suddenly appeared right in front of the shop as though they had traveled via the world’s ley lines. The effect was immediate. The surrounding area was cast in a dense fog. The springtime daylight was shut out.

Gon’s barrier gave the person a brief pause but it took only an instant for them to shred through the spell as though it were made of paper. They continued to move forwards.

Gon wrote another one.

They ripped through that one too.

Gon didn’t bother trying again after that.

He wanted to stay calm but his body wasn’t responding. It was tensing involuntarily, preparing itself for an impending fight, while his blood stirred with magic and drew nature’s forces to him. Whoever was out there had purposely broken the first two spells. It was intentional. They were targeting the store.

But...it didn’t make sense. What did they want? Why had they come?

Who were they?

The intruder walked through the front garden. The flowers that Killua had grown so carefully withered and died.

Gon braced himself.

Danger was coming.

The bubbling cauldron in the workroom went silent. Killua had stopped working. There was the scrape of the wooden stool against the floor, and then Killua, with furrowed brows and cold, cold hands was grabbing Gon’s arm and pushing him into the back of the shop, all whilst determinedly scribbling a rune into the air.

“Wait! Killua, what are you doing?” Gon protested.

“Don’t come out,” Killua ordered. “He’s here for me.”

No sooner had Killua shoved Gon within the small workshop did he finish his rune. The intricate spell shut the door and locked Gon inside. It wasn’t a moment too soon—the politest of knocks came at the front entrance.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Without waiting for anyone to answer, the door creaked open, bell jingling innocently, and soft footsteps padded into the magic shop.

They halted after a few paces. Gon pressed his ear to the workshop door to listen.

“Oh. So you were here, Kil. I’ve been looking for you. Mother and father said it's time for you to come home now.”

The voice was unfamiliar. It lacked any form of emotion or warmth. But the person's identity was no mystery. From the way the man had addressed Killua, as well as how he had talked about Killua’s parents, there was only one logical conclusion as to who it could be.

“Witches like staying together. And they don’t take kindly to letting their members go. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the Zoldyck’s showed up looking for Killua soon.”

Kurapika’s prediction had come true.

The man was one of Killua's siblings. He had come to take Killua back.

“How did you find me?” Killua’s voice asked.

“It was rather annoying,” the stranger replied. “Interdimensional travel isn’t as easy as it used to be since those Magic Regulation Task Force people were hired to watch over this world. They were a hassle to go through. But it's no matter. I’ve come to take you back since it seems you were too...tied up...to come back by yourself.”

Gon didn’t like what was currently transpiring behind the door. He couldn’t see anything, but he had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. He fiddled with the magic lock, trying to undo it, inwardly both proud and annoyed that Killua had been so thorough with the spell. He briefly considered just punching through the wall with brute strength. It would save him some time—and would be less of a headache.

“I couldn’t go back,” said Killua’s voice. “I tried. My magic wouldn’t let me. ”

“Hm, so you really were summoned. I can see the stamp of the sorcerer’s magic on you. What a funny little contract...it’s a bit different from what I’m used to seeing.” The voice paused. “Oh, I understand now. Seems like even through the other dimensions, our pesky sister is still trying to influence you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t see it, Kil? It seems you still have a lot to learn. Regardless, the contract is a hindrance. Here, let’s get rid of it.”

“No—wait, you can’t—Illumi, stop—“

Gon’s hands, in the middle of undoing Killua’s spell, halted.

Something was wrong. His body felt hot.

Far, far too hot.

Panic washed over him. He tried to take a breath, just to calm himself down, but found that suddenly he couldn’t. He...he couldn't breathe.

And then pain, indescribable, agonizing pain pierced through his heart. His palm flew to his chest as though his touch would alleviate it, but it didn’t help, not in the slightest—this was something acutely tailored to affect the victim, it was intended to hurt, to maim in the worst way possible. His knees buckled beneath him as he struggled to inhale, gasping for air like a drowning man. It was so cold that it burned. Fractals of ice contrasted against the heat, crawling and spreading throughout his body, turning his magic towards the isles of death. The pain was unrelenting. It crashed like an infinite circle of waves. 

The stranger was unraveling the contract and picking apart Gon’s sense of self at the same time.

Dark magic infected him. It reached around, looking for a weakness to grab hold of and exploit. It was wicked. It was cruel, bleak, and brutal. Even though Gon was a god, it made him remember all the worst things that had happened in his life. It drew up dregs of the past he had tried to keep hidden.

Through a veiled illusion, black flames flickered around the confines of the workshop.

A high-pitched ringing resounded in Gon’s ears. His body oscillated between freezing hot and burning cold. He sweated and shivered. The workroom grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and smaller, till the entire area was engulfed by dark fire, till all Gon could see were flames dancing, dancing, dancing around him like death was on the horizon, like they were mocking him for his shortcomings.

His contract with Killua broke.

The ringing stopped. Everything went silent.

And then, he was back in the war.

He had foolishly tagged along with Kite during one of their pivotal battles. He had insisted he would be able to help despite his mentor’s warning that the Underworld was no place for gods, that Gon should stay back and focus on taking care of things in the Heavenly Realm. Gon hadn’t listened because was too young, he had been too proud of his own skills, too confident in his ability to break the rules and come out on top—and that carelessness had cost him.

No one had expected the hellfire. It had appeared suddenly in a torrent of blazing energy which caught them all off guard. Gon had only heard of it, had never seen it—hadn’t recognized that the black flames were a death sentence to even the immortal. But Kite had known. He had understood its danger.

But his warning didn’t come fast enough.

Kite had pushed Gon out of the way. He had told him to run, to spread the message that with hellfire involved, the war would be that much harder to win.

And just as his message reached Gon’s ears, the conflagration eliminated their entire squadron.

Gon could only watch helplessly as his teacher burned away. Kite’s last moments were in the center of erupting flames, in a place he had never wanted to be in, in a place which was so far from his favorite hill in the Heavenly Realm where he had patiently taught Gon everything he had wanted to know. Once the flames made contact there was no stopping them—Kite disintegrated bit by bit, first his arms, then his torso, then his head, eyes watching Gon till the very end until he had fully flaked into grey ash and scattered in the wind. Gon was frozen by fear before his instincts kicked in and he sprinted away from the scene. His feet could barely catch up with him. He didn’t even have time to mourn as he ran like a coward, leaving his friends who were falling all around him, consumed by fire left and right, screaming as death came for them all too soon.

After he escaped, he had tried again, desperate for vengeance. He had returned on the eve of the final battle, prepared to never make the same mistake again—had squared his shoulders and entered the fray without looking back. It had been the last chance for both sides. The Gods’ Association had sacrificed it’s most powerful member in hopes of ending the war sooner. The king of hell had lost two of his three attendants. But there was still work to be done, and neither Heaven’s Realm nor the Underworld had given up. Gon had arrived at the palace, filled with nothing but cold fury, had watched impassively as hellfire formed a circled wall to protect a waiflike girl, and the king of hell’s attendant, with bright catlike eyes, had the audacity to ask Gon to wait, to show mercy—

Gon choked. He retched. He wanted to vomit, to throw up the feeling because it felt vile inside of him, it felt like the man’s magic was contaminating everything that he was—it was disgusting, it was poisonous, and he wanted it to leave so he wouldn’t have to recall the haunting memories of his past, where Kite had died, where it had all been Gon’s fault.

Something stung behind his eyes. It felt like tears.

He wondered if Killua felt just as awful as he did.

“Well,” said the man’s voice, “That was easier than I thought it would be. It should have been simple for you to break a contract like that, Kil—I hope the human world hasn’t made you too soft. Now let’s get going. If I don’t bring you back, mother will have a fit.”

Killua didn’t respond. For a brief, dreadful moment, Gon thought the worst. His mind, still feeling the effects of the illusion, supplied nightmares of Killua’s lifeless body on the floor, shattered from the mental and physical strain of a forcibly broken contract. The visions fed the nausea within so that it grew larger, more terrible, more corrupt, until it became a different emotion entirely, and Gon swore if his nightmares were true, if anything like that happened, the man responsible would face a fate worse than death—there would be no saving him—

—But then, Killua spoke, and the writhing rage within Gon was subdued, if only for a moment.

He inhaled sharply. He needed to calm down.

Killua was okay. There was still a chance.

“I’m not going back. Even if you’ve ended the contract, I’m not going back,” Killua said.

There was a long pause.

“You really have gotten soft.”

Something stirred in the air. A creeping evil, a taste of regretful disappointment.

Killua’s voice rang out. “No, I haven’t. I’ve only just remembered how things were like when I was happy. And right now, I’m happy here. I like being here in the human world. If you want to bring me back, you’ll have to take me by force. I’ll gladly fight you.”

The man hummed. “You can’t beat me, Kil.”

“Try me.”

Gon felt Killua’s power rising through the gap under the door. Static crackled in the atmosphere, charging it in an electric current. Gon knew Killua was going to fight to the best of his ability, but the intruder was levels above Bisky and Kurapika in terms of power—and Killua wasn’t at full strength. He would need to take decades of Gon’s life force—maybe even centuries, if he was going to have any chance at defeating him.

Gon rushed to undo the magic lock.

“Oh? You’re serious?” the man quipped.

“I am.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Kil. Even with the human world tampering down on our powers, I know you can do better than that. Here—let me show you how it’s done.”

There was silence for a brief moment.

And then, Killua screamed.

Gon's heart shattered.

His hair stood on end, goosebumps prickled against his flesh. His soul ripped in two as the echo replayed inside him, distressed, anguished, begging, pleading for the torture to stop—it was a cry for help, a cry of despair, a cry that couldn’t encapsulate the true horror Killua was experiencing. Killua screamed and screamed and screamed, he screamed in a way that left his throat raw and hoarse, as though trying to yell into an empty void for which there was no hope. He screamed till the air left his lungs. And each time, a piece of Gon withered away into nothingness and was replaced by a dark feeling; a feeling which was desolate and frightening in its intensity. It wrapped its talons around his soul, whispering tantalizing, vengeful thoughts. The man was a danger, he was torturing Killua, he was hurting him—Gon needed to end him—he needed to do it now, or it would be  too late—

The monstrous emotion swelled within him, the same one he had felt back at the marketplace when the stranger had touched Killua against his will, the same one that the nightmares of his past had ignited. But it had grown this time. It had evolved. It was more wild. More violent. More savage.

It was hate.

Hate.

Hate.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

Gon hated the person behind the door. He hated him with every fiber of his being. Whoever it was would be shown no reprieve. He would never forgive them, never—they deserved no mercy, no pity, no forgiveness.

They deserved only what was coming to them. That, Gon would make sure of.

He grit his teeth. If he had just smashed through everything from the beginning then maybe things wouldn’t have devolved to their current state.

But there was still time. He could still make it. He could still save Killua.

Gon swung his fist back.

Golden magic flowed into his veins.

It would only take one hit. One hit to break through the locking spell, to break the wall, to break the man who had hurt Killua.

One hit to end everything.

Gon’s power wasn’t the same as when he was in the Heavenly Realm. It wasn’t even close. But it was enough.

He punched through the door.

The resulting explosion was catastrophic. The shop shook on its legs, rubble flew like projectile missiles into the air, and the ceiling shuddered, ready to crumble to the ground. Potions, evidence of his and Killua’s hard work, smashed to the ground as clouds of dust exploded around them. Gon’s magic shop, which had stood warm and happy for a little over a year, splintered into wood and paper as though he had punched a dollhouse. Nothing was left standing. But to Gon, the state of his shop was of no importance, because he only had one goal in mind.

And when he saw the man responsible for Killua’s pain, his vision turned red.

The stranger stared back at him through the clearing dust. The man was tall, thin, and alarmingly pale. He didn’t seem surprised at all by Gon’s explosive entry, rather he looked as though he had been expecting it. Gon, however, only felt his rage mount higher and higher, bubbling like lava underneath the earth’s surface—and the evil, grotesque, twisting monster rose within him, clouding his mind and his rationality. It clawed at his insides, a beast trapped in a cage, snapping and growling to be set free, to maul and maim and eliminate. It wanted to sink its fangs into the man. It wanted to breathe fire and rain comets upon his body. It wanted to destroy, destroy, destroy everything, burn the living into ashes, bring life closer to death, just end it all—

Someone coughed.

Gon’s eyes flicked downwards. There was a figure huddled on the ground.

...He knew that figure.

His vision focused.

...Killua...?

The beast inside him blinked and shook its head, distracted by something more important than vengeance. The red haze faded out.

Killua.

It was Killua.

Killua was on his knees, covered by broken wood and rubble, clutching his forehead and taking in large, heaving breaths like he was being choked.

Gon’s heart collapsed on itself. His inner wrath stopped its thrashing and retreated back into its cage, quieted by something which brushed at the edges of Gon’s consciousness and brought him back to reality. Its gravity weighed on his chest like a dying star.

Despair.

Despair, deep and drowning, subjected Gon to the deep pressure of the ocean’s unknowns, punishing him for his inaction. How had he allowed harm to befall his loved one? How had he allowed this to happen? Killua was in pain. He was hurting. He was in trouble. And it was all Gon’s fault. Gon hadn’t arrived in time. He had come all too late.

His most precious person was injured and he hadn’t prevented it.

Gon was a fool who never learned. Hadn’t he done the same thing in the war? Hadn’t he experienced, time and time again, not to overestimate anything? Hadn’t he been taught to be careful, to always consider his opponents as a threat?

It was another mistake which he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

“And who might you be?” the pale stranger inquired through the falling dust.

Gon ignored him.

The chaos settled. Everything grew still. Killua was still hunched over, likely trying to push past whatever spell was inflicted on him. Meanwhile, his assailant assessed Gon with an impassive stare. Humans who had been passing by the area watched the commotion, ducking behind buildings to try to see what was going on, not knowing it would likely be the only time in their lives when they could see a god face off against a witch.

Gon walked purposely towards Killua. He would just need to get close enough to make contact, and then everything would be okay—he would pass on his life force, give Killua a power up, reveal himself as a god and unleash his own magic and then everything would be fixed, Gon could fix this—

“I told you not to come out,” Killua rasped. “Don’t come closer. Don’t.”

“Killua—” Gon started, but the man interrupted him.

“Is this the human?” the man asked.

Killua’s face grew pale. “Illumi—don’t hurt him. He’s no threat, just leave him alone—I’ll come with you if you just leave him, please—”

The stranger—no, Illumi—cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think you’re in any position to request things, Kil. Why should I leave him? Humans are the scum of the earth. They should be eradicated. Is this one a different sort of human? Is he something special?”

Killua didn’t respond. His pale fingers clenched against what remained of the floorboards.

The silence was enough of an answer. Illumi hummed, shaking his head side-to-side. Then, he snapped his fingers as though an idea had struck him. “Oh—I see now! You like him, right? Ahhh, I knew it. That’s why you stayed. I mean, I can’t say I understand. I keep telling you, you can’t get attached to anyone. It will only bring you trouble. Well, what’s done is done, you didn’t listen, and now the trouble’s found you.”

Illumi paced the demolished grounds, talking to himself. “There is a solution though. If he’s no longer in the picture, then you won’t have any lingering attachments here, and you can return to Kukuroo Mountain for good. Probably forever. And you’ll never want to come back here again. Hm, yes, that sounds good. It makes things a lot easier.” He clapped his hands. “I’ll just kill him.”

Killua's expression broke. “No. Please, you can’t—”

Gon snarled.

Something clicked into place.

So that’s how it was. Everything made sense now.

Illumi was the reason Killua was afraid. He was the reason why Killua didn’t talk about his family. He was the reason why Killua had something taken from him.

Killua, who had the most brilliant smile Gon had ever seen, was a victim of his own family. He didn’t want to hurt others. He was too kindhearted, too good, too willing to show mercy.

Those were bad traits for a witch to have.

Good witches weren’t accepted. Good witches were cast away and left to fend for themselves in an unforgiving world. In a twisted sort of love, Killua’s family likely had a hand in making Killua do their bidding despite Killua’s own feelings—either by casting a spell on him, sealing him in a contract, or writing a curse inside his soul.

Illumi had done something. Gon didn’t know what that thing was yet, but with the way Killua was curled up on the ground, as if he was trying to instinctively protect something inside him, it was clear this wasn’t the first time. This man, who represented Killua’s family and what they stood for, was the reason for everything.

Illumi wouldn’t lay a hand on Killua any longer.

Gon would show him that his actions would never be forgiven.

He would let the monster inside him rip into Illumi, sink its claws into him, sever every limb from his body, devour him until there was nothing but bones left.

The hatred within him revived. It returned with a vengeance and Gon didn’t fight it. He let the emotion take him over, let it pull the human world’s magic into his veins, let its malevolent force push down into his flesh and blood. The beast inside him laughed, gleeful that Gon was surrendering his rationality. Yes, it said, baring its fangs, release me, let me fight for you as we did in the Underworld, we can eliminate any one who has wronged you, we can take any life you want, set me free, set me free—

Gon would.

He needed it’s power.

He needed revenge.

Only upon Illumi’s death, would the monster be satiated. Only then, would Gon be able to right his wrongs. But until that moment came Gon would whittle the man down until nothing remained. He would erase his very existence from all seventy-three dimensions, because Illumi had hurt Killua, because he dared to take Killua away from him—Illumi was to blame for nullifying the contract, Gon wouldn’t let him live, he would wipe that passive expression off his face until he felt every fraction of pain he had caused them—

The beast dragged Gon into the abyss.

—He would kill him—

A bitter wind howled inside the void, pulling Gon in deeper and deeper and deeper.

—Kill him till there was nothing left of him, follow him to the Underworld and decimate his soul so he could never come back—

And inside the never-ending darkness, there was nothing.

—Kill—

It was black.

“If you try to kill me,” Gon whispered, clenching and unclenching his fists, wanting nothing more than to wring the man’s neck, “It will be the last thing you ever do.”

“You’re weak though,” responded Illumi, “So I don’t think your chances are very good.”

Illumi appeared in front of Gon before he could blink. A thousand crows erupted from the shadows of the witch’s hair, immersing the entire area in an impenetrable darkness.

Gon reacted instantaneously and swung his fist, but it was like trying to hit a shadow. Even with Gon’s agility and strength vastly enhanced by his godly powers, Illumi dodged his punches. But Gon wasn’t the type of person to give up after one failed attack—he kept going, launching punch after punch after punch. Illumi couldn’t dodge everything and finally retaliated, sending his crows out to provide a temporary illusion. Like their master they moved like smoke; ghostly apparitions which pecked at Gon with razor sharp beaks and claws.

The beast inside Gon roared. It was frustrated by the lack of impact. It wanted Gon’s fist to hit flesh. It wanted Gon to enact its violent will. It wanted a complete, absolute victory. Gon welcomed the fresh wave of hatred feeding into his heart. The rage was a part of him. He felt closer to his old self, felt like with his wrath fueling his strength he could achieve vengeance, just as he had done with Kite.

His punches grew wilder. The backlash whipped the roofs off nearby buildings. Trees caught fire. YorkNew was becoming a battleground. The curious humans who had stayed to watch were now running for their lives.

But Gon didn’t care. Because Illumi wasn’t dead yet.

It was a fight between a witch and a god. A maker of shadow and a maker of light. Humans had no place in it.

The fight continued. Despite Gon’s power-up, despite throwing everything he had in his arsenal at him, Illumi still moved as he did at the start of their battle, always just out of reach. His dark eyes glanced over at Gon.

The crows continued spinning.

And slowly, as the fight dragged on, an old feeling from the bygone days sparked into Gon’s veins. The monster within him slowly released its grip backed away, suspicious of the sensation honed from many, many battles, a feeling focused on self preservation, reminding Gon through the haze of anger that he needed to be cautious.

Light cut through the abyss’s darkness. But it wasn’t a kind light, or a warm light.

It was the light of a base instinct. A desperation to survive.

It was fear.

There was something off about Illumi. Something like a slithering promise within his words, an eerie desire behind his eyes. He loomed over Gon with each missed hit, prying through him with his magic, gauging his power level.

Cold sweat beaded on Gon’s brow.

The crows kept cawing.

He made a grab for Illumi but the witch slipped out of his fingers.

The crows kept cawing.

Another punch missed.

The crows kept cawing.

Fear fed into his bloodstream.

Gon hadn't been afraid in so long. He hadn't been afraid since he had seen Kite die. But it was happening again. He was afraid now. He was afraid that despite all his previous bravado about being able to protect Killua, he wouldn’t be able to do what he had promised. He was afraid because there was a chance he couldn’t win. He was afraid because his opponent was strong. One close look in Illumi’s eyes and Gon knew defeating him wouldn’t be as simple as he thought—not with his powers still limited by the constraints of the human world.

“You’re annoying,” Illumi said, voice reverberating in the shadows, and the crows circled him once more before transforming into needles—golden, deadly, and woven in a familiar black flame—and Gon understood in that moment that his initial intuition had been right. He was truly in danger.

He was in danger because Illumi hadn't taken him seriously from the start.

He was in danger because Illumi had ventured much farther into the darkness than he thought.

He was in danger because the spell Illumi was using was supposed to have been locked away after the war.

The witch was using hellfire.

If Gon wasn't careful, Illumi could actually kill him.

A million questions raced through Gon's mind. Where had Illumi learned the spell? Why was he using it now? Did Illumi know Gon was a god, or did he want to curse a human to such an extent that torturing him in the flames of hell for a thousand years was the most effective way? Regardless of the answers to the questions, Gon had limited time to make a decision. What should he do? Should he fight back? Take Killua and run, escape somewhere they couldn’t be found? Team up with Killua to try and defeat him? He needed to do something, time was running short, Illumi would release the needles any second and Gon would die just as Kite did—the flames would eat him alive and turn him to dust and ash—

“—Don’t.”

Illumi paused, needles poised. He looked to his left.

Gon followed his line of sight.

A mop of dirty white hair staggered between them.

Gon’s heart stopped.

No.

No.

It shouldn’t have been him.

It shouldn’t have been this way.

It shouldn’t have happened again, where someone had to protect Gon because he wasn’t strong enough.

It couldn’t be Killua this time.

“Don’t Illumi,” Killua said. He stretched his arms out as if to shield Gon from his brother with his own body. “Don’t use that spell on him. If you do, I’ll...I’ll place a curse on my life.”

“I thought I told you that you weren’t in any position to make demands,” Illumi said.

Killua clenched his teeth, and with a spin of his fingers, conjured a dagger. It wasn’t just any dagger—Gon’s stomach sank into a bottomless pit as he recognized the skull insignia and the black glass blade.

Killua had learned the forbidden spells too. The dagger was from the Underworld. A prick of its edge would mean instant death.

“Killua,” Gon whispered, “Put that away. I don’t want this.”

Killua ignored his request. Without breaking eye contact with Illumi, he slowly held the blade up to his own neck. “I’ll place a curse on my life,” he repeated. “Pull back the needles.”

“You’d risk your life for a human?” asked Illumi.

Killua’s eyes blazed with conviction. “I would.”

Even though his life was at stake, Killua’s hand was calm. He pointed the dagger at himself as though he had nothing left to lose. His grip on the weapon’s hilt was firm and steady—simultaneously ready to pull away, and ready to strike.

Gon’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he watched the two brothers confront one another.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

He was supposed to be the one protecting Killua. Not the other way around.

Once again, someone was stepping in to cover his carelessness. Gon had thought there shouldn’t have been a need to this time, that this time would be different from the last, because Gon was a god, wasn’t he? He had touted that fact for as long as he and Killua were together, sworn that he would use his powers when they were needed in order to save the one thing that was most precious to him. But in Killua’s time of need, he had failed—because as Gon was right now, he couldn’t beat Illumi. The human realm which he had been so attracted to was now a double edged sword, and it was slicing Gon to ribbons. The dimension he was in limited his powers. He was weaker here.

He was weak.

Weak.

Weak.

And because Gon was weak, Killua was sacrificing his life in order to save Gon’s.

Gon was tempted to charge in anyways. Try and fight against Illumi with what strength he had, even if there was only a minimal chance for success. He could reveal he was a god. Use his powers. Smite him down, dodge his hellfire...and hope for the best.

But Killua would never allow it. Even if he revealed he was a god, Killua wouldn’t hesitate to put himself in harm's way if he had any doubt that Gon’s life would be in danger, because he loved him. He loved Gon. And because Gon loved him back, he knew if he was in Killua’s position, he would have done the same.

Illumi paused to weigh his options. He looked at Gon. Then looked at Killua, blade calm against his neck. And, with an inaudible sigh, Illumi vanished the hellfire needles with a flick of his wrists.

He had taken Killua’s proposition.

“Very well,” he said, “Only because I don’t doubt that you’d do it, and I’d like it if you stayed alive.”

Killua was obviously still distrustful of his brother. He didn’t move. “I won’t be convinced until you make me a Witch’s Oath,” he said. “Make me the Oath first, and then I’ll go back with you.”

“You really care for this human that much?” asked Illumi.

“Yes,” said Killua, “So deeply, and in ways someone like you could never hope to understand.”

Gon’s heart caught in his throat.

“If you insist then, Kil. A Witch’s Oath it is.”

Killua finally withdrew the dagger at his brother’s agreement. He lifted up his hand. “Now that you’ve agreed to it, there’s no backing out.”

The two brothers each made a cut on their palms. Their wounds dripped with crimson rivulets, the color which signified their mortality.  Their blood twisted towards each other like misshapen vines.

Dark magic.

The Zoldyck family specialty.

A wind picked up. It scattered bits of rubble into the air. 

When Illumi spoke, his voice echoed around them, louder and more fearsome than before. “I swear an oath—I will not kill the human nor make him suffer any harm by my hand.”

Killua looked forward. “I swear an oath—in return, I shall return to Kukuroo Mountain and follow the family’s will till the end of my days, never to return to the human world.”

The ribbons of blood connected and tied themselves in a knot.

“An oath between witches is a binding law. It is a contract on which we pledge our souls.”

“It is a witch’s greatest power and greatest curse, to which one cannot escape, even through death.”

The amount of magic concentrated in the shop was growing to preposterous levels. Gon was pushed back by their strength. Killua’s aura sparked electric blue. Illumi’s aura glowed sinister purple. Their dark powers hovered above the knot of blood like a stamp, as if waiting for some final confirmation.

Killua was the one who took a breath to finish the chant.

“And so, we cross our hearts and hope to die.”

The resounding explosion put Gon’s punch to shame. It completely obliterated everything left in the shop—the floorboards were lifted up, Bisky and Kurapika’s tea sets shattered from hundreds of pieces into thousands of pieces, and Gon’s wooden countertop, which he had seen so many customers at, was reduced to a pile of matchsticks. The force of the Witch’s Oath had Gon struggling to stand. The wind quickly transformed into a winter’s hurricane—more powerful, more deadly than the one that had accompanied Killua’s initial summon. Lightning crackled above and threatened to unleash nature’s tempest upon them. Chips of Gon’s store whipped around in the air like splinters of a happy memory which had been mercilessly ripped apart.

It was formidable.

It was terrifying.

And Gon watched it all through horror-filled eyes because things had gone so unbelievably, unpredictably wrong.

How had it turned out this way? How had Gon allowed this to happen, where Killua was willing to sacrifice his life to save Gon’s? How could he have let Killua put himself at risk, how could he have let Killua leave, how could he have been so naïve as to think he could have fought Illumi just because he was a god?

How?

How?

How?

“I’m going to put your human to sleep,” said Illumi, “In the case that he tries to follow us back home. You don’t have any issues with that, right? It’s still in line with the Oath.”

Gon caught a glimpse of Killua’s profile through the storm. Killua’s voice was too soft to catch, but Gon could read his lips.

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

No, it was not fine. Gon did not want to be put asleep.

“Killua—wait, don’t go!” Gon yelled, but his plea was drowned out by the wind, “I don’t want you to leave! You promised me you would stay, you promised—”

But Killua didn’t look back at him.

Illumi twirled his index finger in a spiral. Gon’s remaining words were left suppressed as exhaustion wore into his bones, far worse than when he had attempted to feed his powers into the Heavenly Realm. His legs gave out and he tumbled into the pile of debris beneath him. He couldn’t move, could barely keep his eyes open, they felt like lead, but he needed to stop Killua from leaving at all costs, he needed to save him—

—But no, this time it was Killua who was saving him, because even though Gon’s eyes could only focus on the broken shelves in front of him, he felt the witch’s cool touch against his skin as the wind continued to rage. Killua had turned back to say goodbye. He bent down low, so that his hair tickled Gon’s cheek, reminding him of one night ago before everything changed, when Killua had tucked his head against Gon’s shoulder and told him that they should plant camellias in the garden the following weekend. It felt like so long ago. It felt like a different time, a different path, where things could have been better.

In a small voice, Killua whispered to him, “Take care, Gon. Thank you for everything. I was happy.”

And then, the touch left him like a butterfly taking flight, and both witches’ presences vanished as though they had never been there to begin with.

The world fell quiet.

Silence settled upon YorkNew once more.

And Gon was alone.

He was dumbfounded. It felt like a terrible, terrible dream. He wanted to wake up from the nightmare. 

Killua had been taken from him.

Killua was gone.

Killua had returned to Kukuroo Mountain, never to be seen again.

The one perfect thing in his life, the one perfect thing that he had loved, the person he had never wanted to part from, had left him. And Gon...Gon didn't know what to do. He didn't know how he was supposed to continue living.

Anguish rose from his core and into his throat. He screamed into the dirt because he needed to express himself somehow. He screamed at the futility of it all, for his own frustrations, for his own inadequacy. But it wasn't enough. No amount would be enough. Because nothing, nothing could convey the utter devastation and regret he felt for letting Killua go. 

He wanted to lift his hand and punch something. He wanted the anger to return so he could feel something other than the emptiness that was growing inside of him. But the time for action had passed and the consequences were laid in stone. It was over.

Encompassed in the remains of his destroyed store, Gon wept, throat sore from yelling and heart aching with regret. 

Killua had traded his life for Gon’s because Gon hadn't been strong enough.

He hadn't stopped it.

He had failed. 

He had lost.

And as the effects of Illumi’s sleeping spell blanketed him, drawing him into a dreamless sleep, soon even his emotions were covered in darkness.

Chapter Text

When Gon woke up his throat was parched. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His eyes were still swollen and puffy from crying. He didn’t know how long he had been asleep for. A few hours? A few days? But why did it matter? It didn’t matter. It really didn’t matter at all.

Killua was gone.

Gon didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to do anything but wallow in his own anger for failing. He wanted to hate himself, to yell at the Gon from the past for being so careless, for throwing caution to the wind, for being unable to protect Killua. Because everything was his fault. It was Gon’s fault that he wasn’t strong enough. He had no one to blame but himself. With Gon the way he was, how was he to defeat Illumi? How could he make a happy ending for himself and Killua if they couldn’t be together?

Without Killua, Gon was empty. He was a shade of his former self. He would never be the same again.

Gon let out a shaky sigh. He would have cried more if he could, but he had no tears left.

Through distracted, unfocused eyes, he took in his surroundings. He expected to be where he had been left—lying on the dirt, surrounded by the broken remains of his shop. But he was in someone else’s bed, lavender covers drawn up to his chest, a pattern of tiny rabbits and moons twinkling across the fabric. He was no longer in YorkNew.

Colored glass cast rainbows across the walls of a worn cave, lit by the light of millions of sea fireflies. Pretty trinkets and tapestries, a collection of sorts, dangled from every crevice. A warm breeze breathed into the cavern and jostled the chimes near the entrance so a melody drifted on the wind. Gon gathered enough energy to peer under the bed, and saw the floor was a galaxy of colors, like a mirror of the cosmos.

Where was he?

Who had brought him there?

The way the hanging baubles crowded his vision was almost overwhelming. But, as Gon accepted it, as he allowed his eyes to adjust and pick out the details, some of the items were recognizable. The longer he looked at the walls the more he saw bits and pieces of the seventy-three dimensions reflected in his surroundings. Lollipops in a jar for Masadora. Two large ceiling lights for the moons of dimension twelve. Heart-shaped windows for Aiai, the sea in a bottle for Soufrabi, cracked comets for Meteoria.

Gon didn’t know where he was. He hadn’t read about a place like this in any of his books. There was nowhere in the universe that looked like this.

It was like all the dimensions which had ever existed had converged into one location.

“Oh! You’re awake—good timing, I just finished gathering ingredients,” said someone’s voice from outside the cave.

A young girl peeked around the corner of the cave entrance. She held a large basket filled with an assortment of grasses and plants as she staggered inside, almost falling over from the weight of her collection. She looked familiar somehow—head full of ribbons, a patchwork apron with little hearts on it. But Gon had no idea who she was.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Dimension seventy-four,” the girl answered, dropping the basket on the ground with a small squeak. She wiped her hands on her apron and began organizing the items in her basket, pushing even more things into her already-cluttered shelves.

Gon frowned. That couldn’t be right. “There are only seventy-three dimensions though,” he said.

The girl laughed. She sounded like the chimes near the entrance. “Nonsense. That’s what they teach you, I suppose. The world is amazingly vast. We’re only ever touching a part of it. Seventy-three is just the beginning.”

She sounded like she wholeheartedly believed the words she was saying. She spoke as though her words were the truth. And, the strange thing was, the moment Gon put more thought into it, the more he believed she was right.

He looked around at the cluttered walls again. “So...you live here?”

“That’s correct,” the girl said, “Nanika and I live here together. Though she doesn’t come out often.”

“Why not?”

The girl stared up at the ceiling. “Hm, that’s a good question. Let me ask her.”

She closed her eyes.

After a moment, she opened them again. “She says she’s shy,” the girl said.

That, Gon could understand. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll meet her when she’s ready then.”

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m talking to someone inside my head?” she asked, giving him a wary look.

Gon stopped to think. Now that she had mentioned it, he admitted it was a bit strange, but he hadn’t given it much thought. Compared to the rest of the situations he had been through this one was relatively normal. He settled for saying, “Well, if you say Nanika is there, I believe you.”

The girl was stunned into silence for a brief second before she was laughing again. Her smile spread ear to ear, an expression which seemed to come easily to her. “You’re probably the only one who would have reacted that way. He was right. You really are a funny person, Gon.”

Well, that was interesting. The girl knew his name. But how? He was sure he hadn’t told her. Had someone else told her about him?

He looked a little harder at her.

It was on the tip of his tongue. His mind struggled to fit the pieces in the right order. 

She had brought him into her home. She seemed to know him, even though he didn’t know her. And, there was something about her—something mysterious and kind, just like a certain other individual in Gon’s life.

She smiled at him.

And all of a sudden, it was like she had transformed, she didn’t look like a stranger anymore—Gon didn’t know how he hadn’t realized it earlier, hadn’t seen the signs. Her eyes...they were the same as his. They were the same as Killua’s. They were a bit softer, and filled with more peace, but the essence was there; blue like the sky of a winter’s morning, blue like cornflowers in a summer field. Blue like everything Gon had ever known, in every spectrum of his existence. 

Gon gulped, because she was reminding him all over again of the person he had left behind.

He was almost afraid to look at her.

Her identity was obvious. It couldn't have been anyone else.

“You’re the person he lost.” His voice was shaking. He didn’t need to specify who he was, because they both knew exactly who he was referring to.

“You're his sister.”

She smiled at him again. It only took three words for her to confirm his statement. “Yes. I am."

Her simple phrase broke the dam. Tears, unable to be held back, trickled down Gon’s cheeks.

It turned out he could still cry after all.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he could only apologize, “I’m so sorry...I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t stop Killua from leaving. He didn’t want to go, but he sacrificed himself for my sake because I was too weak. He’s back at Kukuroo Mountain and...it’s all my fault.”

He buried his head in his hands. The words kept flowing out of his mouth like he was confessing all the wrongdoings that had transpired. They tumbled out, unrestricted, honest, and hurting. “And Killua—I didn’t tell him. I didn’t have the chance to explain to him how he’s my world, my heart, the very essence of who I am—how he is my everything,” he said, voice cracking, “He means everything to me, and I couldn’t say it. I always mess it up. I can never say what I want to when it matters, and then when the time comes, it's always too late.”

The girl shook her head like she was denying what he had said and stopped fumbling with the ingredients on her shelves. She walked over to Gon, plopped herself on the bed, and gave him a stern look, taking his hands away from his face so he was forced to look directly at her. “Don’t keep blaming yourself, or I’m going to get mad,” she declared. She squeezed his hands tight. “You’ve been blaming yourself ever since Illumi showed up in the Human Realm. You’ve been blaming yourself ever since you woke up here and you haven’t stopped since. But I believe that if you can learn from your mistakes, you can also learn how to forgive yourself. You have to learn how to forgive yourself. Do you understand?”

Her fingers, unlike Killua’s, were surprisingly warm—but not in an unpleasant way. They were warm in a way that felt right, in a way that felt real; like a mother’s touch when the heart needed comfort. They were filled with love. She wiped away Gon’s tears, just as Killua had done when Gon's body had been wracked with fever. His breath stuttered.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she said, “You don’t need to apologize to my brother. The only one you need to apologize to is yourself, because your soul doesn’t deserve the pressure you’ve put on it. It’s been strained and hurting for so long because you’ve never tried to make peace with it. But it's time to heal now. Things will get better. They always do.”

And, it was like she had cast a spell on him, because the instant she said those words, Gon understood. He knew what she was saying, it was like she was speaking to his heart, to his soul, soothing them with her tone.

There was a deep scar in him that he had ignored for too long. He had blamed himself for Kite’s death and for everything that had happened in the war for as long as he could remember. He had kept it locked up, deep inside his subconscious, repressing the memories because it was easier than facing them and learning to grieve.

It would be hard. It would be difficult to let go, because he had never tried to before, because he didn’t think he deserved forgiveness for what he had done. And there was still a small part of him that didn’t think he did.

But she did. She wanted him to heal. She wanted him to recover, to remove the heaviness on his soul and toss it to the Heavens. And Gon...Gon knew Killua’s sister was right. Things would get better because the past had passed. Despite how much he wanted to change it, there was no power in the universe which could turn back time. It was a river which only ever flowed forwards, and now it was Gon's turn to do so as well. It was time to let go and accept things for what they were, accept the part he had played, and move on.

So, he closed his eyes. He exhaled again so his breath no longer trembled. And under her watchful gaze, hands holding him like they would only let go once he was ready, Gon let her words roam over his barren heart. They passed over it’s scorched earth, against the drying wind that blew across the desert landscape, and brought the rain with them. The rain wet the earth so puddles drenched into the ground. And slowly but surely, tiny sprouts of green life burst across the desert, multiplying, growing farther and wider till the rain cleared and a blue sky shone down on his heart once more, and Gon felt like he could finally breathe easy again.

He inhaled. It was peaceful. He had been carrying a huge weight for so long, he had almost forgotten he was holding it. And now that it was off, now that he had shed his burden, he felt...light.

The girl smiled so her eyes turned to little crescents. “It feels better, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Gon grinned back, “Loads better.”

“I knew it would,” she said brightly. “It was hard for me too, when I had to let go, but once I did I never regretted it.” She clapped her hands. “Now that you’re feeling better, let's get a few things out of the way.”

The girl hopped off the bed to rummage in one of the many chests in her room. “Hm, now, where did I put that thing?” she mumbled to herself. “I swear I put it in here...oh, there it is, I had a feeling I’d be able to find it if I looked hard enough! Brother was always the more organized out of the two of us—ha, he would give me an earful if he saw the state of this dimension. Good thing he’s not here though, right?”

From the confines of the chest, she yanked out a white witch hat with sewn-in rabbit ears. She shook it a couple of times so little particles of dust drifted off of it and into the air. “Needs a bit of cleaning, but it’ll do for now, I guess,” she said.

She put the hat on top of her head so the ears flopped a little to the side, and even though it was a little bit childish, especially combined with the patchwork apron and haphazard ribbons in her hair, suddenly Gon felt as though he was staring at someone extremely powerful—someone who could create universes on her own and blend the imaginary into reality. Her dark hair floated in the air as if blown by a nonexistent breeze, and her magic—tendrils of something mysterious and intangible—whispered through the atmosphere.

She beamed.

“By ways of formal introduction: it's very nice to meet you—I’m Alluka, and my other half (though you can't see her right now) is Nanika! We’re the interdimensional witches of the existing realms, originators of requests without limitations, and the spirits of the dark side of the moon.

And together—the three of us are going to save my brother.”

Over the next few days, Gon and Alluka spent their time drawing together a plan to rescue Killua. Alluka knew quite a bit about the layout of Kukuroo Mountain given her previous...affiliations with the family and was enthusiastic in her teachings. Nanika still staunchly refused to appear, though Alluka reassured Gon that she did indeed like him very much, she really was just “very very very very shy.”

Gon was quite curious about Alluka and Nanika’s powers. Being interdimensional witches, they had near complete reign over traveling between the other worlds. They could flit in and out of all seventy-three dimensions at their leisure, though the drawback came at how much impact they were allowed to have.

“We can never stay long,” said Alluka, “Our appearance in places other than our own can cause instability.”

“Aren’t you sending me to Kukuroo Mountain though?” asked Gon, pausing on the map he was putting together. It didn't look very nice, but that was a problem to be solved at a later time.

Alluka stuck out her tongue. “Yeah, but I’m only sending you. I'm not going. I hate that place. Don’t ever want to go back there. Even if I wanted to go though, I’m not allowed to.”

“Why not?”

Alluka frowned and played with the hem of her skirt. “I made a Witch’s Oath,” she said, pursing her lips. “Brother did too. For my freedom.”

Gon looked at her, wondering what on earth their life on Kukuroo Mountain had been like for them to use the strongest magic they had to escape it. 

She told him why. And it was even more horrible than Gon expected.

The Zoldyck family had used the Witch’s Oath to kill two birds with one stone. It had been too good of a deal to pass up. They had only kept Alluka on Kukuroo Mountain because she was their bargaining chip—it was clear Killua stayed solely because he cared about her, after all. Without her there, regardless of how much they disliked her and the rumors she incited, Killua would have left long ago.

The situation couldn’t last.

She had been locked up. She had never seen the world beyond the walls of her room, a windowless chamber of cold stone and metal. And Killua—Killua couldn't stand by and see her imprisoned within their home, sad and alone. To secure her freedom he had to swear to do the only thing which mattered to his family: curse, kill, injure whoever they wanted, whoever they instructed him to. It was the ideal payoff for the Zoldycks—they sent away their biggest burden while having their golden child become a compliant tool.

Killua and his sisters each pledged a Witch’s Oath. Killua couldn’t speak about his curse to anyone, lest other witches discover that the Zoldyck's had released their demon-possessed child. And Alluka and Nanika could never interfere in any Zoldyck-related matters ever again, so the family could finally wipe their hands clean.

The sisters could only watch from dimension seventy-four as their favorite brother did all the things he hated to do, slowly retreating into his shell to avoid the pain of falling to the darkness and forgetting how to love. He had wanted a better life for her and paid the price for it.

“I tried lots of things,” Alluka said, “I tried to prevent it—I didn’t want him to keep suffering. But my Oath...is really strong.” She drew her knees into her chest. “I kept sending people into Kukuroo Mountain to rescue him but no one ever made it very far; they said it was a fool’s mission. I couldn’t blame them—who would put their life on the line to save a witch?”

She looked at Gon. “But then I thought maybe, if I could transport people into and out of Kukuroo Mountain, someone could just summon my brother out to save him. The idea was good in theory, and would have worked well, if only my brother had been less powerful. Not just anyone could summon him. I spent so much time searching for the perfect person. But then you—Gon—you showed up, a god in the world of humans, and you gave me hope again.”

She traced a pentagram in the air with her finger. The symbol glowed when she added her aura to it. “This is a special summoning circle,” she said softly, “I designed it. I made it specifically to target my brother. Does it look familiar?”

Gon couldn’t believe his eyes. His hands shook. He thought back to that hot summer day so many months ago, when Zushi had opened the door of his magic shop with a piece of parchment in his hand. He had plastered that piece of parchment over Gon’s countertop and Gon had looked at it, confused, not because that parchment had a summoning circle on it, but because it was written in godscript. He had naively thought it was because a god had been involved and left it at that. But it hadn’t been a god at all.

It had just been a lonely witch who just wanted to save her brother.

“I went to the human world and slipped this pentagram into one of Master Wing’s textbooks,” she continued. “He thought it was odd of course—but he couldn’t deny that adding godscript language made everything so much more powerful. It was only a matter of time before he taught Zushi, and then just a little bit longer till Zushi taught you.”

“That’s amazing,” Gon said in awe. Alluka and Killua really were siblings—both of them were unfairly intelligent. Back in YorkNew, Killua had always been the one coming up with plans and new spells and easier ways to get things done, so it was reasonable that the thought process ran in the family. But even with that in mind, Gon couldn’t believe she had planned that far ahead. She had tried every loophole in existence to get them where they were.

Gon remembered an important detail. It was a memory tucked into the corner of his mind: Killua’s scowl, his scoff when he dismissed the fact that Gon had summoned him, the way he had saluted with a dip of his head and a tip of his hat. He had been aloof then, a prideful exterior put upfront, but Gon had instantly seen the kindness he radiated from within. That part seemed to shine even when he tried to hide it. Still, Killua had stepped back into the circle and declared he was going back—all before Gon had a chance to tell him how he felt.

“Killua wasn’t happy about your plan working,” said Gon, grinning at the memory. “After I summoned him, he wanted to go home.”

Another image tugged on Gon’s mind, this one a frame of Killua, reappearing in a poof of smoke, red-faced and sprawled over his lap.

“But somehow...he couldn’t go,” continued Gon, slowly thinking out loud, “He tried loads of times. But he couldn’t.”

Alluka swung her legs back and forth. She looked sly, like she knew something he didn’t. “Hmmmm, it is strange, isn’t it?” she asked aloud, though Gon had a feeling she didn’t mean it at all, “I wonder what kept him from leaving. I wonder what kind of powerful magic was involved with that. It must have been such a pure and untainted sort of magic to have stopped my brother’s interdimensional travel. Hmmmmm.”

She gave Gon a look, as if expecting him to jump in with an answer.

Gon thought hard. Nothing came to mind. He wasn't known for his natural brilliance. If Killua had been there with him, he would have answered for him. “I’m going to be honest...I don’t really know either,” he said sheepishly.

Alluka stared hard at him. “You're...sure?” she asked, scrutinizing him under her gaze, “You’re really, really sure that you don’t know? Because I’ve been watching you two since the beginning, and I’m pretty sure you know.”

Did he? Did he know?

Gon thought some more. Really, really thought this time. He thought back to the very beginning. He thought back to the time when Killua had been summoned to the shop, how he had first appeared, blazing with energy and with a large hat sweeping across his brow. Killua had been beautiful, he remembered. So, so beautiful. Pale and regal, with eyes so lovely Gon didn’t have words to describe them. He had asked Gon to make a wish. Gon had asked him for his name. Killua had smiled and said he would grant his request, in exchange for his life force, and then Gon—Gon had kissed him.

He had kissed a witch who tasted like nothing Gon had ever tasted before, and the magic had reminded Gon of so many contrasting, inexplicable things—even now, he couldn’t truly use any language in existence to accurately describe how wonderful it had been. Killua’s mouth was akin to summer peaches in the wintertime, a taste of something from the past, a flavored season in the right place at the right time, sweet and tangy and soft.

Gon had held Killua’s face in his hands and realized he had been starving this whole time. He had kissed before but never like that, never like the way he had kissed Killua—he hadn’t wanted it to end, had forgotten the restraints of time because for that moment it had felt like minutes and hours and days and eternity. All Gon knew was that one kiss, of Killua’s cold nose pressing against his, of the fluttering of white lashes against his skin, and even if Gon hadn’t known it until then, the moment he had leaned down he understood in that one kiss that he had been waiting his entire, immortal life for Killua.

He would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

He would have moved mountains to see his smile.

He would have died, sacrificed everything for him.

The realization hit Gon like a ton of bricks. He suddenly felt embarrassed, which was by all means quite a difficult feat. “I-It couldn’t be that!” he said indignantly, “I had just met him—I didn’t even know what that feeling was—it’s impossible—”

“What’s so impossible?” Alluka said, “You thought seventy-four dimensions wasn’t possible, but here you are. I thought I would never leave Kukuroo Mountain, but here I am. Nothing is impossible, Gon. Not even love at first sight.”

Killua’s welcome home was a regrettably normal affair. His mother clung to him and seemed set on pretending like he had never left. “Such a horrid thing to do to my boy,” she said, “A summoning—absolutely wretched. Abominable, I might say. If the human world wasn’t so vast, I would have traveled there to take you back here myself. Well, regardless—you’ve returned now, my darling. You won’t be leaving again without permission, will you?”

Illumi’s dark eyes bore into him.

Killua looked at his feet. “No, mother.”

“Lovely Kil, I’m so happy to hear you say that. Now come to the foyer—Gotoh has made a delightful stew to celebrate your arrival back home.”

Home. The word rang hollow in Killua’s ears.

This was not a home he had wanted to go back to.

As he sat in a chair which was far too stiff and far too large, Killua stared at the bowl in front of him. Although he remembered Gotoh’s cooking had never disappointed him before, the food somehow looked unappetizing. The stew remained untouched and grew cold. Killua didn’t even bother to pick up his utensils.

He didn’t eat that evening.

Nor the evening after that.

Nor the evening after that.

He didn’t eat in the mornings. He didn’t eat in the afternoons, nor during dinner in the days that followed. He would simply sit quietly at the table, surrounded by his supposed family members who chatted about droll and meaningless things, eyes looking at the food that he should have been grateful to eat while his mind was elsewhere. His father didn’t comment on his choice, just gave a blunt nod acknowledging his existence, and said nothing more.

His brothers ranged in their reactions. Milluki chortled and teased and relished in his misery. Kalluto stood respectfully by and asked him to talk to him if he needed anything. Illumi of course, was keen on monitoring him so he didn’t try to run away, and would occasionally remind him to eat.

But Killua didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to get out of bed. He didn’t want to do anything because he didn’t have anything left to fight for. He had given it his all. He had done everything in his power and this was the outcome. It was done. It was over.

He allowed himself only one simple comfort while sitting at the table, and that was thinking of Gon. All Killua could think of was Gon and the meals he would make back in the human world—chocolate waffles, chicken soup with dumplings, toast with strawberry jam and meat pies filled with carrots and peas from the garden. Delicious, hot meals on lightly chipped ceramic plates, graced on a table with a small jar of wildflowers. Compared to the food Gon made, the dinners on Kukuroo Mountain might as well have been ashes. They were missing a vital ingredient that made the dishes taste like home every single time.

Love.

Gon’s cooking was filled with it in abundance. It was in every portion he would ladle onto Killua’s plate. It was in the milk he poured outside for the stray cats, which Killua oftentimes felt more of a connection to than to humans themselves. It was in the extra chocolate he would put in their cookies, in the dough he painstakingly rolled from scratch, in the apple turnovers they made together after the incident at the marketplace.

There was no love in Kukuroo Mountain. There was no love in the Zoldyck family, only a warped facsimile of it—a shadow, a poor imitation of what the real emotion was like. Killua knew now, because he had tasted it for himself. He had felt true love in his soul, felt it ripped from him as he once again let it go to save someone precious to him. And even though the pain had been just as horrible as he remembered, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, over and over and over again if it meant he could protect the the ones he loved.

Killua would shoulder everything. He could shoulder everything. He could take it. He could be strong, strong enough to hold tight to the memories of happier days, strong enough to hold them closer to his heart so that in darker times he would have something fond to look back upon.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry, because this was what he wanted. This was what he had asked for. It had been a fool’s wish to hope for continued happiness, to wish to have his sister in his life in a world full of freedom, to wish to stay with Gon forever. Killua deserved his current state because he had voluntarily paid the price. It was his burden to bear. So, he wouldn’t cry.

Killua swore it in his heart that he wouldn’t, but on colder nights when he shivered underneath his covers, watching nighttime dragons swoop through the air in their springtime courtship dances, he would feel tears prick at the edges of his eyes. He would clutch the sheets to his chest and think of Gon’s smile, and Gon’s touch, and Gon’s kisses, and the way Gon would hold him close and emanate heat from his body so Killua would feel warm. He would think of Gon’s voice saying “hey Killua, what do you want to do today?”, and imagine their adventures and ingredient hunts, and recall their weekly tea time gatherings in their cozy, love-filled home. He would think of all the things he had left behind, and despite his promise to himself, tears would run down his cheeks in embarrassing, salty streaks of weakness because he missed it—he missed Gon, he missed the human world, he missed his friends—no, his family—and he wanted to go back. He wanted to go back to the human world that he was supposed to hate so much. He wanted to see the people who wandered the streets with their hearts on their sleeves. He wanted return to that small magic shop in YorkNew, and put on his blue apron, and tell the old lady down the street that her potions would take several days no matter how much she wanted to rush it, and tidy up the shop after it closed, and cook dinner with Gon, and curl up at Gon’s side and read a book before they had to go to bed.

He wanted to eat homemade chocolate scones. He wanted to go shopping and pick up weird things like animal figurines made from orange peels and funny pots with faces drawn on them. He wanted to look up at that familiar nighttime sky and count the constellations and watch the stars change with the seasons. He wanted to hear Kurapika and Leorio bicker over little things. He wanted Bisky to teach him more about human magic. He wanted Master Wing and Zushi to say “osu” every time they entered the store and every time they left it.

He wanted Gon to ask him something trivial, to request something of him, so that he could kiss him again. He wanted to remember what it felt like to kiss the human who he loved so dearly, to smell the petrichor scent on his skin, to taste the sunrise on his tongue, to see the universe in his eyes. He wanted Gon to press his lips to the back of his hand and say “Killua, let’s go home” and walk back to the shop with a basket filled with potion ingredients in one hand and a bicycle in the other. He wanted Gon to hug him so that the heat of his body would seep into his bones so he wouldn’t be cold anymore, and could pretend for a brief, shining second that he was a human filled with warmth, and that he and Gon were the same. He wanted to be surrounded by laughter and kindness, be reminded that the world was filled with beautiful things and beautiful people, and be told that the current cruel reality he was in was merely a dream and that there was no need to worry because there were sunny days ahead.

He wanted it.

He wanted it.

He wanted it.

He wanted the sunflower to bloom again, to shower him in it's light and rain those saffron, golden petals—golden like Gon’s eyes, golden like Gon’s skin, golden like Gon’s being and Gon’s everything—on him and whisper that his love was requited, that it always had been ever since the beginning, and that Gon loved him, that he loved Killua just as much as Killua loved him.

But Killua knew life wasn’t so kind. Life was cruel and unjust and unfair. And it didn’t—wouldn’t—grant wishes for witches like Killua, who had done so many terrible things.

His wish was a wish on a dying star.

It was a wish which would never come true.

It was a wish that would fail before it even left his lips because the sunflower in him would wither with no sun, and without Gon, Killua’s world was an eternal night.

Chapter Text

Gon was ready.

He had been ready the instant Alluka told him the plan. He had wondered why she just didn’t send him to Kukuroo Mountain right then and there—everything was depending on him after all, and he had left Killua alone for too long as it was.

The white-haired witch had been the only person on Gon's mind since they were separated. Killua was likely thinking of him as well, wondering where he was, if he would see him again. So Gon didn’t want to wait anymore. He was done with waiting. But, Alluka shook her head and told him to think on it just a little while longer.

“I need you to be sure,” she said, “Because you’ll be giving up a lot.”

“Well, it’s the only way, right?” said Gon, “And nothing is a lot when it comes to saving Killua. I’d give up anything.”

She gave him that skeptical look that he had grown familiar with. “You’ve already sacrificed a lot for us and I’m asking you to give up more of yourself. I know it's unfair to ask it of you, which is why I need you to be absolutely sure.”

“I’m sure,” Gon said, “I won’t regret it. Promise.”

She let out a long sigh. “Sleep on it, okay Gon?”

Gon slept on it. When he woke up, nothing changed in his conviction—rather, he was even more sure. It wasn't that Alluka was wrong. The cost was steep, it was true. But more than that, more than anything, Gon’s desire to save Killua triumphed over everything. Killua meant everything to him, without Killua in his life Gon wouldn’t be the same again—because it had been love at first sight, he had loved him from the instant he appeared in his workshop, had loved him from the first words that left his lips, loved him because from the moment he kissed him Gon knew he would have died for him.

He told Alluka that he was sure.

So, the plan went into motion. Alluka reiterated her instructions, and then checked in with him once last time—Gon reassured her that yes, it was fine, yes, he would be careful, yes, he wouldn’t be reckless, yes, yes, yes. When he finally cleared all her questions and promised he wouldn’t do anything that the plan didn’t call for, she acquiesced.

“Nanika will send you over to Kukuroo Mountain,” she said. “Remember, wait for us till the right time. Once the cost is paid, we can’t go back. We’ll be watching and waiting for your signal.”

Alluka took a breath. “And don’t...be scared of her, okay? I promise, she’s really nice.” She closed her eyes. Her checkered skirt waved gently against her legs as if blown by an invisible wind, and her body underwent a transformation Gon had never seen before. It wasn't magic able to be contained in words. It wasn't magic which was able to be taught. It was magic specific to Alluka and Nanika, to which no one could replicate. It was like someone was turning the young witch into a monochrome version of herself—leeching the colors from her clothing and ribbons, feeding them into an ancient power so that when she opened her eyes again, her irises had turned dark, and her skin was ashen and grey.

She looked like a completely different person. But Gon didn't understand why Alluka had warned him not to be afraid. He didn’t know how he could be, when Nanika was smiling like that.

She turned her head to the side, appraising him.

“Hello,” said Gon, “I’m Gon. You must be Nanika, right?”

“Nanika,” the girl said, pointing to herself. Then, she pointed to him. “Gon.”

“That’s right!” Gon held one of her hands. They were cold to the touch, like Killua’s. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Nice...t’meet you too.” She looked at him. “Alluka? She said...help?”

The innocence in the way she spoke made Gon feel like he was speaking to a small child—and somehow, the experience made him vulnerable. He understood Nanika was someone mysterious, someone not categorized as a being living in any known dimension, that she was an omniscient being who had magic beyond comprehension. Yet, when she looked at him with her wide, dark eyes and a smile which seemed to never fade, he didn’t know how he could link her appearance to who she was.

Gon swallowed. “I need you to send me to Kukuroo Mountain,” he said quietly. “I need to go there to rescue your brother—I need to rescue Killua.”

“I love Killua,” she said, as though Gon and her were kindred spirits, and it was so funny but so wonderful how those three simple words made Gon feel all the more better, because even though she hadn’t said it aloud, he was sure she understood. He was sure that she understood how he felt about him and more, and that was trying to tell him that even though he was a god and she was a witch they were one and the same, because they shared a strength which was greater than either of them, because they both loved the same person more than they loved themselves.

Because even if Gon had made those mistakes in the past, even if he was still working to fully forgive himself, it didn’t matter that part of him still didn’t think he was worthy of Killua’s love. It didn’t matter if he fell down as long as he got back up, it didn’t matter if he did something wrong as long as he tried to make it right, because in the end if someone like Killua loved all those human traits in him, how bad could he really be?

Nanika placed her cold hand on his heart.

“I love Killua,” she repeated happily. “I help.” When she took her hand away it left a taste of winter on his chest.

Nanika stepped through the cave filled with trinkets, ducking slightly underneath an overhang. Gon followed her. They made their way towards the entrance where grass grew green and bright and yellow dandelions littered the ground. 

Nanika shuffled her feet as she walked outside. When she deemed there was sufficient space, she began drawing a circle in the air with a large, arcing motion of her hands. The circle expanded into an interdimensional portal—a feat which usually took at least a team of sorcerer’s to create—but for someone like her the action came as easily as existing. Gon peered through the portal and saw dimension sixty-two, Kukuroo Mountain, on the other side like he was looking through a murky mirror. The dimension was just as Gon had envisioned. It was entirely composed of jagged rocks and large pine trees. Up above, a mountain loomed over them, a giant formation which reached into the clouds where dragons of varying shapes and sizes dipped into and out of sight. The surface was steep and precarious. 

When Gon focused, he was able to see a hidden castle at the very top of Kukuroo Mountain. The building was surrounded by a clouded mist. It stood like a foreboding relic of the past.

Nanika pointed to the castle. “Killua,” she said. She pointed to herself and shook her head sadly. “Oath. Can’t go.”

Gon pulled her in for a quick hug. Her small hands, confused as if she hadn’t been hugged in a very long time, eventually wrapped around him too. “I’ll bring him back,” said Gon, “I promise I’ll bring him back. So when I tell you to take the cost, just take it okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Nanika nodded against his shoulder. “‘Kay.”

There were many things Gon wanted to say to her. He wanted to say that he hoped he would see her again. He wanted to tell her that he hoped their plan worked. He wanted most of all, to say thank you, because this was one of the few chances the siblings would have to break their curse, and they had put all their hopes on Gon. And this time, he wouldn’t let anyone down. He swore by it.

He let her go and stepped through the portal. It rippled across his skin like cool silk, then closed behind him.

From the now-closed dimension seventy-four, Nanika waved goodbye.

Alluka and Nanika’s dimension had been an anomaly (which was reasonable, considering they had created it from scratch). There, their powers reigned supreme. Anyone who entered their home, other than themselves, would have their powers stripped from them, regardless of how strong they were. Upon waking up in their dimension Gon had been completely powerless. He had felt like a real human for the first time.

However, by stepping through Nanika's portal, Gon had finally entered a different dimension which was neither dimension seventy-four nor the human realm. The effect was near instantaneous. The shackles to his magic were been lifted. Gon was no longer hindered by the constraints of the human world’s or by Alluka and Nanika’s interdimensional ones.

He was a god.

It was like the faucet had been turned on. The moment Gon's feet touched Kukuroo Mountain’s soil, he felt his powers stirring in his bones. He inhaled and concentrated. He let the connection between himself and the Heavenly Realm open fully and magic flowed to him like a steadily coursing river, a constant stream that brought with it all the benefits of being a deity from another world. The faucet pressure built and built until it could no longer be contained—and with a final pull of the tide, the dam burst. His powers returned to their rightful place, lighting his veins, tingling through his body from his fingertips to his toes. He watched as his skin glowed gold, his vision enhanced sharply so he could see even the insects on the leaves, and aura coated his entire body without any thought or provocation.

He flexed his fingers.

He was his old self again. It felt good.

He glanced upwards at the castle on Kukuroo Mountain where Killua was. There were two options. He could rush in with his powers on full display, or he could quietly infiltrate their lands. He was tempted to choose the former, just so he could blast his way through and let the Zoldyck family know exactly who they were dealing with, and show them that the person he was now wasn’t the same as the defeated one from the human realm. Gon was back at full strength. He was a legitimate threat.

But he had learned his lesson. The element of surprise was important this time around. He wouldn’t make the same mistake and act so recklessly as to blow his chance. Showing his godly aura was like lighting a torch in the night—it would immediately draw his enemies to him. The last thing he needed was more opponents than he could handle, especially if they were as adept in using hellfire as Illumi was. He needed to get close enough without drawing suspicion.

Plus, Alluka would definitely be upset with him if he didn't follow the plan.

So Gon hid himself. He erased his presence by snuffing out his powers, blowing out the candle's flame until his existence vanished entirely. Then, he started the trek upwards.

The path was long and arduous. Had the person making the journey been anyone else they wouldn't have survived. The entire route was ringed with curses, deadly, lethal spells which would cause the victim pain beyond reason. They were a warning to intruders, a cautionary tale that this land belonged to witches who would feel no remorse eliminating those who broke the rules. But the spells were intended for regular witches, regular trespassers. They were worthless in the face of a god. As Illumi had done with Gon’s barrier, Gon ripped through the curses in his way, dismantled them with a swirl of his finger so they fell like lead weights into the dirt.

There were other obstacles, of course. Curses weren’t the only things the Zoldyck family were good at. But Alluka had told him what to expect so Gon easily passed through them all. The pits filled with venomous snakes, the triggering spells that shot out random elements, even the several dragons Gon encountered were all child’s play. As Gon methodically walked through the land surrounding Kukuroo Mountain, he thought of Killua. He wondered how he was doing. He wondered if he was alright, if he was eating properly. He wondered if Killua kept his door opened while he slept like back in the magic shop. He wondered if Killua was sad, if he missed him, and above all, he wondered if Killua still loved him, even though Gon had let him down.

The sun rose and set three times.

And on the fourth day, Gon arrived at an imposing iron gate, solid and thick, shaped like the mouth of a dragon. It was so tall that when he looked up, he couldn’t see past it.

Well, he hadn't met anyone during his travels yet. Suppressing his presence had some benefits. He supposed things would be harder from the gate onwards.

He stretched his fingers.

He released his power so the candle’s flame roared back to life, blazing like it was being fed by oil and wind.

And, with a flick of his index finger like he had been waiting for the moment for far too long, Gon blasted through the gate.

Killua had been feeling strange for the past three days. His nerves had tingled like he was anticipating something, but there had been nothing amiss. It had been enough to keep him up at night. His heart had pounded away in his chest—whether that was still due to longing after Gon, or whether it was due to the anxiousness his body was exhibiting, he couldn’t tell.

It appeared to be only him who was feeling that way. His entire family had carried on as usual, leaving him to his own devices since his grandfather had asked them to just leave him be. For that, Killua was grateful. There wasn’t much he could do to resist if his father or mother sent him on another mission for one of their wealthy clients, but it made him sick to his stomach thinking of harming anyone after all the time he had spent taking care of humans with Gon.

He picked at the threads in his shirt.

Gon.

He missed him. He wanted to see him again.

The days passed slower without him. Killua wished he had cherished each moment that much longer, had committed even more details than he already had to memory. It had been easy to live in the moment but it was much harder to remember how they had been, and the memories were already fading in their brightness.

He linked his fingers together, slid his palms against each other, and tried to remember what it was like just to hold Gon’s hand—another sensation he had taken for granted. His own hand really wasn’t a substitute at all. It was much colder and smaller than Gon’s was. His skin was smooth, while Gon’s skin had calluses from working on the garden, from baking, from helping anyone and everyone carry their groceries or lumber or belongings. And, most importantly, Killua holding his own hand meant nothing, and Killua holding Gon’s hand had meant everything.

Killua was doing a lot of moping without Gon around. He thought of what Gon might say if he caught him sullenly going about his days, and he allowed himself a small smile, because he could almost envision exactly what would happen. Gon, in typical Gon-fashion, would probably tease him about it first; saying that he knew Killua cared, that Killua liked him, that Killua would always miss him because Gon was special. But then, he would also grow serious, and tell Killua something silly, like how two souls which were meant to be together would always find each other again, through time, space, and whatever other forces that might stand in their way; so Killua needn’t be worrying about it because his face would get wrinkly faster if he did. Gon would say he would always be able find Killua, just as he did in the marketplace, and if not now, then in the future—there would be a day where their souls would be together.

And then, Gon would tell him in a proud, sure voice, that he and Killua were probably—actually, definitely—a prime example of those two souls, and Killua would turn red and yell back that no they probably weren’t because Gon was a human and Killua was a witch, so how exactly would that work? But Gon would grin and say that there would always be a way, and that he would find it, and Killua would have no choice but to believe him. And then Gon would pull him out of whatever room Killua was hiding in, and force him to go outside and smell the earth and immerse himself in a world filled with nature and beauty.

Killua stood up. He wrung his hands apart and clapped them to his cheeks. Being sad wasn’t going to solve anything. Sooner or later, he would need to get used to a life without Gon. He had resigned himself to that fact when he had pointed the dagger at his own neck. He hadn’t hesitated then. So now he would just need to take the first step. He would need to accept that they would be parted for a while—but it wouldn’t be forever, because Gon had promised. He had promised to stay with Killua until he wanted to leave. Whether the promise would be fulfilled in this life or the next, Killua didn't know, but Gon was the type of person to never break a promise once it was made—and between the two of them, Gon had made many, many promises.

And for those promises, Killua would love him forever.

A rumbling echoed in the distance. There was a bang and a flash of light which lit up the sky. It was as though the earth was being torn asunder—Killua felt the cobblestone beneath his feet shake, land which hadn’t been moved in centuries. Something was happening.

He rushed to the window. There was no doubt all the guards were on high alert. A commotion that large would certainly grab the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Surely enough, when he looked downwards into the castle grounds, a large horde of people were already grabbing their staffs and wands and preparing to investigate the source of the disturbance. Their loud voices reached Killua’s upper window.

“It’s from the East side!”

“Did you feel the ground move? Haven’t felt anything like it in my life!”

“Nevermind that—the entire front gate has been completely destroyed! What kind of monster has that kind of strength?”

Killua grabbed his spyglass from the wall and focused it eastwards—and he knew he was seeing it with his own eyes but he couldn’t believe it. The guards were right. Smoke was rising steadily from the eastern entrance of the Zoldyck premises. The large, iron gate had completely melted away like metal through a forge. It had been completely incinerated.

Killua blinked. It was...near impossible. His family had enchanted that gate so only members of the Zoldyck family or those employed by them could pass through—layers and layers of spells to ensure their privacy and their protection. It was no easy feat to destroy something of that level. In fact, there was no coven in dimension sixty-two that he knew of, other than his own family, that had the ability to do so.

What was out there?

What was it looking for?

Who was it looking for?

The forest pines near the gate rustled, followed by more explosions. Then, trees started falling in bunches. Killua watched, mesmerized, as the guards rushed to stop whatever force was steadily making its way to the castle, but their interference didn’t slow its pace—the trees kept falling, and falling, one after another. They were steadily and methodically cleared. Even the additional ring of curses within the walls didn’t stand a chance, they were no more helpful than paper screens in the path of a bull, a minor annoyance which was easier to break through than to unlock.

Another set of pines snapped to the ground, setting a cloud of dirt into the air. For a moment, Killua was blinded. He couldn’t see a thing.

But then, the dust was cleared by the wind, and Killua’s spyglass was watching a figure who he never thought he’d see again breach the castle’s inner walls.

His heart leapt. His breath stuttered to a halt. He didn’t dare blink again in case it was all a dream.

Because the deadly force marking a path of destruction through Kukuroo Mountain was a lone, human sorcerer.

It was Gon.

It was Gon.

Gon had come for him. He had come for Killua against all odds. He had come, even though the dimension was dangerous and no place for humans, even though Killua had left him, even though Killua had thought he had done his best to let him go. Killua didn’t know how he had managed it, but he didn’t care, because this was no illusion—no magic could replicate the way Gon moved, the way Gon’s hair blew in the wind, the way his amber eyes reflected the light of day, the way he glanced towards Kukuroo Mountain’s mansion, focusing his gaze as if searching for someone.

Searching for Killua. 

Killua couldn’t breathe because for just a second, he thought Gon’s eyes met his, thought that Gon might have seen him—but then, Gon had shifted his sight back to the obstacles in front of him. Of course, Killua thought, of course it wouldn’t be that easy, Gon was practically fighting an army; Killua shouldn’t have been too hopeful because there was danger surrounding him, and without Killua’s involvement it would be a repeat of last time—Killua needed to head out there to protect him—

—But for some reason, something was different this time. This time, Gon didn’t need his help.

Gon flicked his index finger at the inner wall and it crumbled like a tower of sticks.

Gon brushed aside the guards, dodging them with a speed which was impossible for a human.

Gon swung a fist at the cliffside. It was instantly obliterated, sending any poor souls which were on it tumbling down the mountain.

Gon took a running start and then hopped over the front gate in a single, fluid movement. His aura glowed that warm, recognizable way Killua knew it would. He looked like the sun.

And then, Gon was ripping the front door off its hinges and tossing it to the side like it was firewood. He ducked inside the castle and out of sight but Killua had already dropped his spyglass and was sprinting down the stairs, flying down the banisters because he needed to meet him—he needed to verify that he was real, he needed to touch him and kiss him and wrap his arms around him and look him in the eye just to check, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, because only in his dreams would something like this ever come true.

He followed the sounds of breaking vases, of shattering glass and splintering wood. It didn’t take him long to find Gon throwing a guard like a ragdoll into a pile of his groaning comrades.

Gon turned around.

Time stood still.

Time stood still, as if allowing two souls to live in the moment for a little longer than they were allowed, providing a small atonement for keeping them apart.

Killua’s drank it all in. Gon was just as Killua had remembered him—smiling, with perfect white teeth, all tan skin and freckles and welcoming expression. But he looked a little...different. Somehow, within those glinting, honey-colored irises, Gon looked like he understood more than he had let on, he looked more mature, more accepting. He looked like he had learned something about himself and about Killua during the time they had been separated. He looked more beautiful than Killua ever thought he could be.

“Killua,” Gon breathed, as if his name were a prayer on his lips, and Killua’s heart swelled so much with love he thought it might burst.

And then, the spell broke and time started again, and Killua was running, he was running to Gon, running towards the love of his life, stumbling over his own feet like a child—and he didn’t think at all before leaping into his arms, taking his face in his hands, and kissing him all on his own.

Ah.

So this was what it felt like to kiss the person he loved.

Killua didn't know how he had nearly forgotten.

It was perfect.

Gon’s golden aura swirled around them, sparkling wisps of light that pulled Killua closer, and Killua—Killua was in a freefall, tumbling through sunny skies and a starry cosmos, drowning deeper and deeper in the heated waves that lapped on the beach. The kiss felt right. It felt like the truth. It felt like everything had finally aligned just as the gods had intended.

Killua pressed his lips as tightly he could to Gon. Gon sighed into him and pressed his mouth back, circling Killua within his arms. He held him close. And Killua was home—truly, truly home, because being with Gon was where he belonged. Gon took up a space in his heart that couldn’t possibly be filled by anyone else. Gon was it; he was the one who could bring the spark of hope each time just with his presence. Killua kissed him with every ounce of strength he had, kissed him to try to convey a mere fraction of how much he loved him, how much he had missed him, how happy he was to see him again in this lifetime. Killua’s nerves bubbled ecstatically, sending warm sparks throughout his body so that fireworks danced behind his eyelids because they had finally, finally been reunited with Killua’s other half.

The outside sky glittered in a daytime aurora. Jewel-colored tones scattered through bright blue like spires made from light, panes of colors unknown to the world. The ground warped imperceptibly under their feet. Dragons, miles and miles away, took flight. The dew on the leaves turned to diamonds, and they sat suspended in the air, glittering like tears. The entirety of dimension sixty-two shifted in an attempt to accommodate for the influx of power coming from the union of two souls which were meant to be together, two souls which had been separated for far too long. Killua, emboldened by excitement, tasted Gon with the slighted dip of his tongue and discovered that he was sweet—sweet like crystalline sugar, like a crisp summer apple, like glazed strawberries in a pie.

It was magical. It was indescribable. It was like trying to name all the colors in the rainbow, like trying to incapsulate the iridescence of butterfly wings in a memory, like trying to count the variation of stars in the sky. It was nigh impossible but Killua tried anyways. And Gon—Gon slid his fingers in between Killua’s like they had found their home again too, and the flowers that Killua was so familiar with grew back to life because the sun and the rain and the world had returned and they had everything they needed to be nurtured and to survive because Gon was there. This wasn’t a dream. It was real, it was real, it was real.

It was only when Killua found he was running out of breath did he pull back.

Gon was looking at him like he was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. “Hi,” he said, breaking out into a grin.

“Hi,” Killua grinned back.

“Long time no see. Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“Only a little.”

“You look thinner,” said Gon. “Have you been eating okay?”

“Not really,” Killua said, “So you’ll have to make sure you cook a lot for me when we get back.”

In the distance, there was the sound of running footsteps—people were coming. Killua grabbed Gon’s wrist. “But for now, we need to get out of here.” He began dragging Gon through the hallways. As much as he wanted to linger in the moment, explain to Gon just how much he had missed him, how happy he was to see him again, how curious he was about how he had arrived at Kukuroo Mountain, there really wasn’t a moment to spare. If Gon had stepped foot inside the castle the alarms were already triggered and it was only a matter of time before the other Zoldyck witches came looking for him. No matter what powers Gon was currently wielding, he wouldn’t be able to stop them all.

But Gon resisted his pull. Killua almost threw his arms up in exasperation. He loved this man, but he was dense, there really wasn’t any time. Killua couldn’t take minutes to explain what foolhardy actions Gon had just taken, he couldn’t take precious time to explain that Gon was still very much in danger—

“I’m done running away from my problems,” said Gon. “I’ve come to save you, Killua. And I won’t be leaving until every one of your curses is broken.”

Killua’s body, along with his brain, screeched to a halt.

There was no way Gon should have known about the curses. Granted, he had guessed about them from the beginning, from way back when, but Killua had neither affirmed nor denied his suspicions because his curse prevented him from telling anyone anything about them. And there were only a handful of people who knew about it—all restricted to the other household witches. The only way Gon could know was if someone else told him—someone who wasn’t restricted like Killua was—Gon couldn’t have known, unless someone had...someone had told—

But Killua didn’t have time to ponder who told him or when. Gon’s goal of rescuing Killua and breaking his curses was lofty, and Killua appreciated the sentiment—but he had sacrificed himself in the first place in hopes of protecting Gon. Illumi was threatened to have mercy and swore an Oath as a result, but such rules didn’t apply to the rest of the Zoldyck witches. If his father or grandfather—or worse, his mother—discovered that Gon was trying to take Killua away for good, they wouldn’t let him live, no matter what Killua did.

Killua shook his head. “You need to escape, Gon. I’m glad I got to see you, even for this short moment, but this place isn’t safe for someone like you. You need to get away.”

Gon squeezed his hand tight. “I’m not the same person as I was a few weeks ago,” he said. “I swear I’ll protect you this time.”

Killua didn’t know what he had done. He didn’t know how Gon had achieved the power—the magic—he was using to traverse through Kukuroo Mountain. But Killua was, always had been, the more logical of the two, and he knew deep in his heart that no matter what powers Gon had, he couldn’t defeat the rest of the Zoldyck members alone. Not even with Killua’s help.

“We have to go,” Killua repeated. He dug his heels into the flooring, trying to pull Gon along, but Gon was still standing there, stubborn as a mule.

“I told you, I’m going to save you, Killua. I’m not going until your curses are broken. And then I’ll take you away from this horrible place, and bring you home—”

“—You're trying to take Kil away again?"

A dark, flat voice interrupted them. Killua's back broke out in chills.

"I thought we had left you in the Human Realm with enough of a warning. But," the voice continued, "I suppose you do seem a little different.”

Without either of them noticing, Illumi had appeared behind them by walking through a shadow on the wall. He slunk out of the darkness like he had been eavesdropping the entire time. At the sight of his brother, Killua was reminded once more of the day he had been ready to give up everything to save Gon, and of how much he had hated Illumi, how Illumi had not only taken his sister from him but Gon too. He remembered the dread which clutched his heart when the hellfire needles were pointed at Gon, and how Gon’s eyes had gone wide in terror. He remembered the pain in his chest from having to let go. He remembered everything, and how his brother, his other relatives, were the reason for it all.

They had sunk their teeth into Killua, done their best to leash him like an obedient son, but Killua wasn’t like them. He didn’t want to be like them anymore, he had never wanted to in the first place. And now, with Illumi standing in his way of happiness once more, he knew that he had made the right choice, because as long as the Oath was in place his brother couldn’t do anything.

“You’ve made quite a mess of our home, barging in like an animal,” Illumi said to Gon. “How did you get through the traps?”

“There were traps?" Gon replied with a false innocence. "Could have fooled me.”

Killua tightened his grip on Gon’s wrist.

Illumi flitted around them, observing them, disappearing and then reappearing again like smoke. His movements were ghostly—eerily smooth and simultaneously erratic. He hummed low in his throat, judging Gon against whatever twisted standards he had. Killua kept his eye on him. He wouldn’t let him out of his sight.

“Don’t take another step,” Killua threatened, electricity crackling on his fingertips. “If you do, I’ll kill you.”

His brother paused mid-step. He cocked his head to the side. “Kill me? Not even close, Kil. You’re just as strong now as you were back then, which is to say, not strong enough. Your human...companion however...the same cannot be said.”

Killua could sense the malice in his aura. Illumi was going to attack. He was going eliminate whoever he perceived as a threat to the family. He was going to lunge forwards and materialize the needles again, the single surefire spell he had to bring Gon down.

Killua didn’t hesitate. He drew a circle on the floor around himself and Gon. It sizzled with his blue aura. “You won’t harm him,” he said, “I won’t let you.”

“Who said I was going to do anything to harm him?”

His brother turned his attention to Killua. Swirls of dark, sinister magic reached outwards, caging them in a bubble. Miasma filtered into the room.

Killua’s blood ran cold.

Illumi’s words insinuated dark and terrible instructions. If his brother was suggesting what Killua thought he was, it would be a fate worse than death. It would tear Killua asunder. It would completely break him.

In a flash, Illumi had stuck an arm between them, through Killua’s circle like it was nothing, and was wrenching Gon away from his grasp. Illumi snapped his fingers and the shadows on the wall lifted off their surfaces like tendrils of some evil beast, writhing in the air briefly before lunging so fast that Killua didn’t have time to react. They bound Gon’s hands and feet together, wrapping around his mouth so his cries were muffled. Gon struggled against their hold, but he couldn’t escape, not even with the powers he had showcased so proudly, and Killua’s heart which had been so full just seconds before was shattering into infinitesimal pieces. It turned to dust.

Because he knew what was going to happen. He knew what Illumi was going to ask him to do. He knew it and he wouldn’t be able to stop it, not this time, not even if he threatened his own life because he was bound by an Oath now, and Illumi would simply need to instruct him to drop the knife and he would.

His curse was too strong.

There was no way out. He had run out of choices.

Illumi had won.

Unfathomably horrible, gut-wrenching sorrow rose from Killua's stomach. He felt like vomiting. Tears sprang to his eyes. His hands shook, nails digging into his own flesh so hard that he bled, and he was cold, so, so very cold, because Illumi was going to ask one thing of him that Killua couldn’t do, no matter what, but he would be forced to do it anyhow. He couldn't resist it because the Witch’s Oath was the most powerful curse he had, and it had locked him in its contract.

Killua could beg and plead again. He could offer up the remainder of his soul, pledge eternal servitude—but even then, with the way Illumi was looking at Gon like an annoying bug which hadn’t been quashed the first time, Killua knew it would be pointless.

Illumi dark eyes bore into Killua. Poison swirled in its depths, hypnotizing like a snake charming its prey. He opened his mouth.

His lips moved in slow motion. Killua knew he was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it—the fear had blocked that particular sense. It was a garbled phrase, as if he were listening from some deep, underwater location. But he could still read his brother’s lips even if his brain didn’t recognize the words, and from the slight smile on his brother’s mouth he understood that this was indeed, the most terrifying thing he could have asked of him.

“I won't kill him. But you will.”

The phrase stabbed Killua’s heart. The blade of death made incision upon incision upon incision, mercilessly, ruthlessly ripping him to pieces, and Illumi watched it all impassively, as though detached from the situation, as though he didn’t care in the slightest. To him, it was just another order. To him, it was just another life which needed to be ended for the sake of necessity. But it wasn’t like that at all for Killua.

Killua stopped breathing.

No. No, it wasn’t like that at all, it couldn’t be, no no—he wanted it to be a mistake, he wanted to be wrong, he didn’t want to believe in the one second which had passed, where things went from being so good to being so terrible.

Because now that he had made the Oath, he was bound to the Zoldyck family’s instructions. He was forced to follow the family’s commands. Anything Illumi asked him to do—anything—he would agree to like a puppet without a mind of its own—because this had been the single loophole he hadn’t accounted for. He hadn’t accounted for Gon finding him. He hadn’t accounted for Illumi asking Killua to be the one to inflict harm, because he thought he would never be seeing Gon again.

His brother was capable of such cruelty, he knew. He knew that. But Killua hadn’t thought, not for a second, that he would ask him to kill the person he loved, for him to deal the final blow and end the life of a star.

And then, Killua thought, not for the first time, that perhaps it may have been better if he and Gon had never met in the first place.

Because this—this was more horrible than having to leave him behind. This was his worst fear, the only, single, one thing he didn’t want to have to do in his lifetime, because Gon—Gon was supposed to live a long, happy life surrounded by his human friends and his family, Gon wasn’t supposed to die in a cold, decrepit place like this, a place filled with bad memories and cages. Gon was supposed to be free and Killua had tied him down. He was the burden. It was all his fault—if he had never fallen in love, if he had never tried to be good, then nothing like this would have happened.

Desperate tears leaked down his cheeks. He didn't have any other choice but to try to convince his brother to retract his order.

“Please,” Killua begged, “Don’t make me—I don’t want to—”

“But this is the price you paid,” said Illumi in a factual tone, “You did swear a Witch’s Oath to follow the Zoldyck will, did you not? And before that, if I remember clearly, you swore another Oath to curse and kill whoever we asked you to in exchange for Alluka’s freedom. So Kil—you’re bound by two Oaths now, and both are leading to the same thing. There is no escape.”

Killua's vision blurred from the tears. They froze on his cheeks instantly. His fingernails cut into his skin, deeper, as he resisted the curse with as much strength as he could muster.

He clenched his eyes shut and his tears dripped down faster. The darkness was preferable to this—he couldn’t look at his brother, he couldn’t look at Gon—the man who had risked his life to come and save Killua, the man who had followed him to a dimension he didn’t belong in—the man he loved beyond all else—Killua couldn't look at the face he had come to cherish and hold so dearly that he would do anything to keep him alive.

Killua’s voice cracked. “Please Illumi—please, I’ll do anything. I'll give you whatever you want. Whatever the family wants. Just don’t make me kill him—”

His brother’s voice responded impassively. “Like I said last time—I don’t think you’re in a position to be asking for things. What did we teach you about wanting things, Kil? What did we teach you?  Witches aren’t supposed to want. Witches are just supposed to do as they’re ordered. You’re a tool, Kil. Nothing more. You live to follow the laws of the coven, you live for the sake of this family. Now, kill him. It’s easy.”

Killua’s limbs moved against his will. Blood trickled from the indents in his hands, bleeding there from the strength at which he dug his nails into his own flesh in a futile effort to resist. He tried to regain control but it was to no avail, the Oath was the strongest form of magic witches had in their arsenal, and he was bound by its law, by its rules, because he had sworn by them, had tied his life to their force in exchange for a promise. The magic from his curse pulled open his clenched hands. His arms shook but the invisible force continued to move them, bending them to fulfill the contract he had made, extending his fingers so they pointed at Gon.

They curled.

And then, Killua was tracing the glyphs into the air—the glyphs to kill, to end a life, and he was crying, sobbing because he didn’t want to, he didn’t want this—this was the furthest thing from what he wanted to do, because Gon was a piece of him now, because he meant everything to him, more than his life, more than his heart, more than his soul. Tears flowed down Killua's face. They left tacky streaks in their wake, dripping onto the stone floors, and he was disintegrating from the inside out—there was no pain in the world that was greater than what he was feeling now. No torture his family could inflict on him would ever amount to how his body screamed and burned, how his chest constricted like it was being squeezed into nothingness, how he despised himself, despised himself for the curse, for hurting Gon, for everything.

Killua should never have stayed close to Gon. He should have never gotten to know him. When he arrived in the human world and found himself unable to leave, he should have just wandered the earth. He shouldn’t have indulged in his own curiosity, in his own fascination, in his own selfishness for wanting to kiss the enchanting human sorcerer again. He should never have let himself get carried away, thinking that they would have more moments together—if Killua had just listened to his brother, if he had just avoided wanting Gon, then Gon would have been safe. Because being with Killua was a death sentence.

His fingers drew the glyph slowly. They shook, because even though there was no hope, if he had given in it would have been worse—his struggle was a sign of noncompliance. It was to show his brother, to show the curse, to show the dark magic that bound him that even at its worst, it wouldn’t take away his dignity or his denial to obey. But those were pretty words to dull the pain, to make things slightly more bearable for Killua, because the truth wouldn’t change.

Gon would die by his hand.

It would be his fault.

All of it would be Killua’s fault.

The circle smoldered with evil magic, dark and menacing. It grew larger, and larger, more wicked and terrifying. It was a spell Killua had wanted to forget how to use, but it had been branded in his very being, in his very essence, because it was how he was raised, it was a piece of him that he couldn’t cut out. And when Killua looked up through blurry eyes because he was crying and heaving so hard he could no longer see clearly, he noticed Gon was watching him. Gon was watching him with love in his eyes, unconditional, pure love—a love that said that everything was going to be okay, that Gon didn’t blame him, that Gon had thought this might happen and had resigned himself to it.

And Killua—Killua couldn’t do anything, because try as he might, the Oath was stronger than he was, and it wouldn't release him until he had done what his brother instructed.

Killua's trembling fingers completed the glyph.

The remaining gap in the circle closed.

It glowed black.

“I’m sorry,” Killua sobbed, “I’m so sorry Gon, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Chapter Text

The glyph spun.

It twirled around its center. It narrowed, drawing its outer ring in closer, closer, until the border edges collapsed upon itself. It became a cone, then a spear, then the thinnest glimmer of silver. It glinted in the darkness like a silken spider’s web. For just a moment, it paused, suspended in the air, focusing on its target.

Killua knew what would happen next. He had seen the exact picture stamped in his memories—different people, but the same scene. And because he knew the end was in sight, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Like clockwork, like all the other countless times he had released the curse onto other people, the spell drew itself back. There was no sign of its activation. Those affected would only realize they were dying when it was too late, when there would be no words left to say, no things left to see, because the curse would have stolen all their senses in the time it took to blink. No living being could trace its movement other than its caster, and Killua could only watch as the curse of his own making pierced cleanly through Gon’s chest. It left neither a mark nor trace of its existence like a ghost ship passing through the night.

Yet, although physically there were no visible impacts of the curse, Killua’s glyph had taken one very important thing. It had breathed the taste of death through the heart, a painless infection which would travel inside the bloodstream, drawing away life, bit by bit, until it reached the end of its journey to which nothing would remain. And then, that would truly be the end; there would be no miracle, there would be no other paths to take, no more surprises.

Another life would end at the hands of a witch.

Another star would die.

Gon’s body shook against the restraints. His mouth fell open, a surprised sigh escaping his lips as his eyes stared, unfocused towards the spot where Killua was standing, but he wasn’t truly seeing anything. Already his irises were clouding, looking into the distance, looking at the last frame of life which would soon fade as well.

The curse had succeeded.

Killua screamed.

His body moved without him realizing. The Oath had released its hold on him upon fulfillment of his promise, but that part didn’t register in his brain—nothing did, because Gon was dying, Gon was dying—Killua bolted towards him, because he needed to touch him even though he could no longer feel, wanted to speak to him even though he might not hear his voice—wanted to beg for forgiveness, hoping that Gon would still smile at him despite what he had done, even though he didn’t deserve it—but Illumi appeared behind him, clutching his wrists like a vice, holding him back.

“He’s dead,” Illumi said. “There’s no use running to a dead person. Look at him Kil, just look at him. Look at what you’ve done.” With his spare hand, Illumi turned Killua’s face to look at Gon. And Killua had no choice but to waste precious seconds being tortured at the sight of a human, bound by shadows, slowly stop resisting. The light of life dimmed within his eyes.

Cold fury stole Killua’s rationality. “How could you?” Killua whispered. “How could you be so heartless?”

“We’re witches, Kil. It’s all we are.”

But Killua had heard enough of his brother's words. That wasn’t all they were. That wasn’t him. That had never been him.

He was more than a tool to be used. He was more than a puppet, more than an extension of his coven, more than someone constrained by fear and hate. In the human world, people saw past that part of him. They saw someone who did nothing but his best, someone who tried to help, someone who was kind and deserved a “thank you”. He had an identity. He had a persona which he had molded himself through experiences and memories and meeting new friends, and for once in his life, he had been someone he was proud of. He had loved people. He had loved Gon. He had loved his sister. And, he had loved himself.

It was the culmination of these thoughts which sparked understanding in Killua. It was so clear to him now, that his coven had been so adamant to take away things which could influence him because the last thing they needed was their golden child becoming independent and thinking for himself. They had wanted to tie him to them for eternity. They had inflicted torture on him, both physical and emotional, for the sole, selfish purpose of keeping him under their control.

Anger spread inside Killua’s soul. It heated him, pushing magic through him so it swelled in his veins and curled over his flesh.

His coven had been hell-bent on removing everything good from him. Killua could understand their thirst for power. They wanted to mold him, to shape him into the ideal witch so he could carry on their legacy. They wanted to keep him for themselves and Killua would have gladly done so if they had only just left his loved ones alone.

But they had reneged on their promises. They couldn’t be trusted. They had done the one thing that he wouldn’t allow.

His magic, seeking vengeance, burned in his body, and he was enraged, filled with more resentment than he had ever felt—a line had been crossed one too many times, and Witch’s Oath or not, Killua wasn’t going to let Illumi stop him from being with Gon during his final moments. That sin was for him to bear. It was the only thing keeping him together, it was the only thing preventing him from falling into pieces.

A dragon roared within him. It was the same one from the day Gon had summoned him. With an exhale that would have destroyed a small village, it breathed the flames of love into Killua’s heart, transforming him into an inferno with nothing left to burn.

His hair glowed white. His eyes shifted so they blazed like aquamarines lit by the sun.

Blue lightning exploded in his hands, and Illumi, caught off guard, loosened his grip.

Killua wrenched his hand away from his brother. He drew a line on the ground with a quick flash of his fingers, and from the ground his aura shot up and formed a wall between them. It manifested itself into lightning bolts, crackling with a dangerous energy, spanning all across the walls, eliminating any and all shadows his brother might have passed through. With the influx of light the darkness was confined to a small sliver in each corner. They shrunk into the walls, hissing at the light which made them weak shades of their former selves.

The cobblestones beneath them rumbled with the force of Killua’s magic. The spell-engraved stone cracked so that jagged lines ran through the creases. With the foundation broken, the entire mansion would collapse from instability.

Outside, the clouds rumbled—the precursor to a storm.

A summer storm.

A storm which would bring rain, and life, and a blessing into the desert lands. And Killua hoped once the rain fell, it would wash away every last part of him and take him with it.

In a low voice, he addressed Illumi with as much contempt as he could muster.

“After I spend my last moments with Gon, I’m going to kill you. If you interrupt me, I’ll kill you. If you move, I’ll kill you. I will show you no mercy. And if you use the Oath against me, I will struggle against your will till the end of my days, until my soul is so chipped that there is nothing left. You can count on it.”

Killua didn’t wait for Illumi’s response.

He appeared beside Gon. Killua’s heart was on the verge of breaking. Gon looked terrible. His breathing was shallow and his body was limp. It took only a small burst of lightning for Killua to slice through the dark bindings, and the shadows retreated, scorched by his magic. Gon tumbled into his waiting arms.

The man who was supposed to be so warm, the man who was the embodiment of light, was cold to the touch.

Killua’s hand had done that. Killua was the one responsible.

The strength he had from before disappeared. Self-loathing rose like bile within his throat. It wasn’t fair that things had turned out like this. It wasn’t fair, seeing Gon’s tan skin so...pale...so ashen. It wasn’t fair that Killua had only tasted happiness for a brief moment after a lifetime of sadness. It wasn’t fair to know that one, happy thing had been taken from him, that Illumi had to drive in the knife that much harder when Killua was already bleeding to death. But life wasn’t fair. It was cold and unjust and tyrannical, and it took pleasure in making tears roll freely down Killua’s cheeks again.

Killua crouched over Gon and cradled his face in his hands. “Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, Gon. Look at me. Look at me. Please.”

Gon’s eyes blinked open slowly.

Killua broke. The tears fell down faster, welling in his eyes so that everything was blurry. Gon could still hear him. He could still feel his touch. He could still talk to him. Killua didn’t know if that information was better or worse, if it made things more painful or if they made them easier to bear.

“S’Killua,” Gon mumbled, smiling slightly. “Hi. I’m glad I get to talk to you. I really wanted to tell you to stop apologizing to me. Why did you keep saying sorry? You don’t need to be sorry. I know you didn’t want to.”

Again, things weren’t fair. How was it that Gon was still thinking about him? How could Gon still care about him, care about how he was feeling, even though Killua had been the one to end his life? How could he still look at Killua like he was precious, like he loved him, like he couldn’t be less concerned with what had transpired because he was with him, because they were together? How could Killua have chosen someone like him? How could Gon still chase after Killua, how could he look at him with no malice in his eyes even after all that Killua had done?

It wasn’t fair, that Killua had to be the one to take this one good thing away himself.

“Stay with me,” Killua said desperately even though he knew it was a futile request, “Gon, you have to stay with me, you can’t leave me—you made a promise, remember?”

“Yeah,” Gon breathed back. “I did, didn’t I? That I wouldn’t leave you alone anymore.”

Killua let out a choked sob.

He didn’t want it to end like this. He had ruined everything. He had foolishly believed by keeping to himself, he would finally stop hurting people. But no, it wouldn’t stop. It would never stop so long as his Oath was in place, so long as his coven had a hold on him. If he had kept to himself and not chased individuality, would things have turned out differently? If he had never met Gon, would Gon still be laughing and breathing, or would fate still take the same path?

He doubted it would. Because that was it, wasn’t it? They were both suffering because they had angered fate. They had stretched the boundaries of what was allowed, far past the point of salvation. Gon had wanted to save Killua, wanted to break his curses so he could be happy. But Killua would only be happy knowing Gon was safe, that Gon would reincarnate—even if he had to spend the rest of his life not seeing Gon ever again, at least he would know that he was still living amongst the humans which Killua had become so fond of. And that was why fate was toying with them, because a god wanted to break a curse, and a witch had fallen in love.

Together, Gon and Killua had pushed against the will of the predetermined.

Fate was not kind to those who crossed her. She was a cruel mistress. Punishment was inevitable.

Gon slid his fingers in between Killua’s. Tears from Killua’s face dripped onto the back of their hands. They left salty tracks in their wake.

“No crying,” Gon said, “Beautiful witches like Killua shouldn’t be crying.”

“How can I not cry?” Killua choked back, “How can I not cry knowing I’ve done this to you? That I’ve killed you?”

“You haven’t though,” said Gon, moving his fingers lightly. “You haven’t killed me, Killua.”

Even at the brink of death, Gon was surprisingly obstinate. Killua brought their foreheads together and scrunched his eyes tight, squeezing Gon’s hands in hopes that his touch would reach him. “I have though,” he whispered brokenly. “The curse is just taking longer than usual to set in.”

Killua’s voice cracked at the end of his confession. And that was it, there was no holding back his emotions now—he sobbed openly, shaking so much that he could barely breathe, could barely string together a coherent sentence, because there was no time left. There were seconds ticking on the clock, the countdown was almost zero, and Killua had something that needed to be said, something he needed to make sure Gon heard before it was truly too late—

“I’ll-I’ll stay with you till the end, Gon—and I have something I need to tell you—I’ve been meaning to tell you for so long, that...I l-lo—”

“Shhh,” Gon hummed. “Save it till afterwards.”

“Till—till afterwards? W-What?”

Gon’s only reply was to smile at him and bring his hand over his heart. “Remember what I told you, Killua? Us humans are made of tough stuff. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

For a moment, nothing added up. Killua was so stunned by the response he couldn’t react. Gon’s sentence made no sense. It was almost as if he wasn’t afraid of death at all. It was almost as if he had full confidence that things weren’t over. It was almost as if he could still hear him, as if he could still see Killua in front of him, as if he could still understand that Killua’s hands were in his even as his senses had been stolen and he was wandering in muddled darkness. But how could that be? It couldn’t be. Not even someone as brilliant as Gon could say something like that so purposely, because there was no way a human could survive a curse from a witch.

But then, something tingled under Killua’s fingertips. His hands were so numb from the cold he almost didn’t feel it, the only indication that something was different was something honed from spending so much time with Gon, something like intuition, like part of him was being called. And it was true, it was right in the way it reached out—because as though Gon’s body were trying to prove his statement correct, what feeling lay beneath Killua’s fingers was heat. Heat was returning to Gon’s heartbeat. It was...warm again. Warm, like the breath of summer. Warm, like the hearth on a winter’s day. Warm, like life, like living, like love.

Killua held his breath. His heartbeat echoed in time with Gon’s, thrumming so loudly he thought it might burst from his chest.

Gon’s grip on Killua’s hands grew stronger.

The grey in his skin melted away and his cheeks became rosy again.

And then, when Killua chanced a look back into his eyes, he saw the flame of life flicker brighter, stronger, until it was blazing like a phoenix rising from its ashes.

It wasn’t possible. Killua’s curse had never failed before. He had always incapacitated his targets, couldn’t have misfired a spell that he had inflicted upon others countless times. There was no way. There was no logical, fathomable way that what was currently happening to Gon was actually happening. Surely, this was a miracle in some form of hallucination to make acceptance easier. Surely, this was an illusion built on fabricated wishes.

But, as hope welled up in Killua’s chest, he realized that miracles were entirely within the realm of possibilities, because all along, Gon had been the exception to everything. From the start, he had been the only human who wasn’t afraid of him. He had been the one to guess Killua’s curse even though they had barely met. He had been the one to take Killua’s hand, to teach him how to love others, how to love himself. He had been the person who could make him laugh and cry and every emotion in between. He had been the sorcerer to write a reverse-summoning circle on the floorboards of a small magic shop to try to keep Killua with him, had displayed mysterious powers outside of Killua’s knowledge, had tried to rescue him, had come for him even though the path was fraught with danger.

Against all rationale, against the reason within the world, against everything Killua had done, Gon was the unexpected variable in everything.

And even now, Gon was still continuing to surprise him.

Gon sat up. Gon pressed a soft kiss to Killua’s face. Gon wiped away his tears with the cuff of his sleeve. Gon pushed himself up off the ground.

Gon stood up and stared determinedly at Illumi.

Gon flexed his fingers. Golden sparks danced across his skin.

“Interesting,” Illumi said, sinister shadows pushing against the light from Killua’s barrier, “I haven’t seen that before. Tell me...why aren’t you dead? You should be dead.”

Gon grinned—and this time, his smile was dangerous, it was knowing, it was filled with a sense of triumph like everything had fallen into place exactly how he had planned it.

And, as he uttered his next words, all the mysteries Killua had been unable to unravel about him finally made sense.

“It’s simple,” Gon replied, voice rumbling like thunder.

“Curses like that can’t kill a god.”

The look of pure shock on Illumi’s blank face was worth its weight in gold. Gon wanted to laugh. He wished he had the time to.

Things had moved just as they had expected. Alluka’s plan had been simple—draw Illumi’s attention for a one on one battle. It had been too easy for Gon to let the shadows take him, it had been too easy to act like his opponent had the upper hand, it had been too easy to watch everything unfold like a predictable storybook. It had been slightly harder to restrain himself from consoling Killua in his arms as the love of his life broke down in front of his eyes, but as Gon put on the act of the lifetime, he knew it had been necessary.

Gon needed to lure his enemy into a false sense of security. After he had flagrantly exhibited his powers in front of the mansion by barreling straight through their gate, Illumi had been wary of him. If he perceived Gon as a threat deserving of immediate elimination with hellfire, all would be for naught. But, if Illumi didn’t think Gon worthy of his ultimate spell, well, then sitting beneath that underestimation would be in their favor.

By having Killua deal the final blow, Illumi had tried to mentally crush the both of them. He had tried to kill two birds with one stone.

But Gon was done pretending now. Enough time had lapsed. He was ready. He had full confidence that it was now or never. With his biggest secret finally out, he would show Illumi that things really weren’t the same as they had been in YorkNew, that the Zoldyck witch had gotten on one particular god’s bad side, and because of it, Gon was going to take Killua away from Kukuroo Mountain forever.

But the reveal of his secret would only stall for so long. His cover was blown and time was running out. He could see it on the witch’s face. Illumi was no fool. He was, even while stunned, running a single train of thought through his mind—how to get rid of a god, how to kill a god—and Gon knew the idea would hit him within the next few milliseconds.

When it did, there was no doubt hellfire would make an appearance again. And Gon, as he was now, still wouldn’t be immune.

He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes.

Not this time.

He looked up, hoping that Alluka and Nanika were still watching.

“Take the cost!” he called out.

And it wasn’t a moment too soon.

Like a gunshot from a barrel, Illumi made a mad rush towards Gon and Killua. His eyes were frantic. Although Killua’s aura wall was still active, he ripped through it with a single clawed hand, the electricity sizzling straight through the flesh of his arm. He didn’t seem to register it. Either that, or he was so far gone that the pain was clearly of no importance—his movements were frenzied and erratic, limbs moving through sheer willpower because otherwise, his insanity would have held him back. With the light eliminated, thousands upon thousands of crows materialized through the shadows again, shrouding the area in a pitch-black darkness. They cawed around them in a hypnotizing, swirling dance above their heads, and through the chaos, Illumi ran at them—livid, maniacal, in his desperation to stop them.

Illumi extended his hand. His nails grew wicked like the talons of a beast, shooting outwards, as if to puncture straight into Gon’s heart. The crows lost their feathers as they rained down like knives, and what remained hanging in the air were their animal shells—bird bones, sharp and pointed needles encased in hellfire, flames flickering just as Gon remembered from that fateful day Illumi had knocked on the door of his magic shop. The witch screeched. The sound was shrill and sharp enough to explode the eardrums of anyone within earshot.

But anything he would have done to stop Gon was too little, too late.

Because Gon’s plea to Alluka and Nanika had worked. Just like they had promised, they lit a mysterious power inside his heart from afar; a power which was warm and kind like a mother’s embrace, like someone was protecting him and sheltering him from harm. Gon’s aura flickered with the colors of the rainbow: reds, oranges, the blues of Killua’s eyes—and underneath them, a golden color which would be untainted by all dark magic, a color which could weather any storm and survive any calamity. It was a power gods could only dream about, having their only weakness fully eliminated—because in his current state, Gon had transcended his limits. He could wish for anything, and with enough effort, he could make it happen for himself. It was a power worthy of the cost he had paid.

And what a cost it had been.

Already, it was being taken, his memories were disintegrating as they grew hazier, and something vital was leaving him, but he reminded himself through it all that he was doing it because it was necessary, because he needed to save someone precious.

And that someone was depending on him.

With a wave of his hands, Gon made the hellfire disappear. The skeletal birds and their needles clattered uselessly to the ground and crumbled to dust.

Illumi’s claws trembled in the air as he struggled to push forward.

Gon snapped his fingers. Illumi was flung backwards and mercilessly thrown through one of the walls of the mansion. He crashed into the rubble, and the cracks in the ground only grew more prominent from the sheer force Gon was exerting to keep him in place. Vines burst through the flooring. They wrapped around the witch, chaining him down to the earth, and even as Illumi breathed hellfire in bursts through his mouth and thrashed against their hold, they held tight.

The mansion on Kukuroo Mountain shook again. The building would collapse soon. More guards and mages rushed into the room, identifying the source of chaos, but Killua was on his feet and sending blasts of magic their way, glyphs that discharged ice and fire and every element in between. Comets rained through the cramped hallway and the employees of the Zoldyck witches did their best to make progress towards the inner hallway to get to them, writing defensive spells and weaving magic with their staffs, but they were no match for Killua. He pinned them to the walls with his magic. It was an odd dilemma for them: they didn’t want to hurt their employer, but at the same time, they needed to get through.

Killua however, didn’t have any of those grievances. He continued to pelt them with spells, all whilst avoiding looking at Gon. Gon smiled wryly. He expected nothing less—Killua was probably upset with him. He didn’t hold it against him.

Gon focused his gaze back to Illumi who was still straining against the vines, muscles bulging, eyes wide with hatred. The witch shapeshifted through an array of mythical animals—basilisks, minotaurs, krakens—but the vines expanded and contracted with each form, and no matter what he tried, they continued to bind him.

Good. That meant he couldn’t stop what would happen next.

Gon focused the aura into his eyes.

His next task would require some finesse.

He willed himself to see the physical manifestation of the Witch’s Oaths Illumi carried, thought intensely about how they would look, where they would stem from, what they represented—and just like Alluka had told him, his vision was leached of its colors as the scenery faded to black and white. Through this new lens, he could suddenly see three sets of threads tethered to Illumi’s black heart like a lifeline. Two threads in blue were tied between Illumi and Killua, with the ends wrapped soundly around Killua’s heart on the other side of the hallway. The third, paler string, extended outwards and upwards from Illumi’s chest. It shimmered in lavender, clearly taut, disappearing mysteriously around the halfway point. But Gon knew where the remaining end of the string was tied.

He walked purposefully towards Illumi. When he got near enough to see the threads bright and clear, he grasped the lavender string first. He held it in his hands, and with as much force as he could muster, he began ripping it apart.

Illumi spewed a stream of hellfire into Gon’s face. Gon didn’t even blink. The fire rolled harmlessly off his aura.

As Illumi continued struggling, attempting break free while cursing Gon to the deepest layers of hell, Gon pulled on the string harder. He grit his teeth. His arms shook with effort. The friction was so strong it nearly burned the inside of the palms—it dug into this flesh so that his blood dripped down his wrist.

The curse wouldn’t be as easy to break as he thought.

He needed a better grip.

He twisted the thread around his hands, wrapping them once around, then twice. He inhaled, expanding his lungs with as much air as they could hold, and with a silent grunt, he yanked them apart.

The Witch’s Oath snapped.

The release of its magic was nothing short of an explosion from a small supernova. If the walls hadn’t been enhanced with magic, the entire Zoldyck mansion would have been instantly blasted apart. As it were, the resulting force rippled through the air instead and sent anyone who wasn’t gripping a wall flying into the nearest structure.

Every window shattered. The sound echoed like crystals clattering against the ground. Outside, the rain clouds which had been near imminent were pushed away so only clear skies remained, and sunlight beamed down through a cloudless sky on Kukuroo Mountain.

Illumi roared. He howled at Gon, dark jinxes which would have destroyed lesser beings, spells which would have inflicted pain beyond the imagination, hexes which would have made its victims beg for the sweet release of death.

Gon ignored him. He turned his attention on the remaining two blue strings. He repeated the same motion as he had done for the first Witch’s Oath, wrapping the threads around his hands, inhaling, and pulling with all his might. The threads snapped in his hands and disappeared.

Two shockwaves followed the first.

The mansion was really about to come down now. Already, the mages which had been diligently fighting Killua had decided their lives were more important than a salary of a few gold pieces, and were beating a hasty retreat off the premises. They were leaving in droves.

“You broke the Oaths!” Illumi screamed, “You broke them, you broke them, you broke them! I’ll kill you! I’LL KILL YOU!”

Gon was tempted to rub it in his face. He wanted to gloat. He wanted to say that after all he had gone through, after all that transpired, he had won and come out on top, and Illumi was the one in the dirt. How the tides had turned.

But instead, he winced. A sharp pain struck his mind—a side effect from the cost he had paid—and he felt another memory slip away. More of them were disappearing at an alarming pace, which was unfortunately, faster than he would have liked. He wouldn’t last much longer in his overpowered mode.

Gon turned around, ready to call out to Killua and tell him that it was time for them to leave—

—But, there was more than one Zoldyck witch at home. Their trial wasn't over just yet. Like spirits phasing into existence, Gon felt several new auras appear around them.

Two in particular stood out.

Large auras.

Dangerous.

Gon automatically blocked an attack from one of his new enemies. It came out of nowhere. Although it was a physical hit, the power behind it was so intense it reverberated in his bones. Gon caught a glimpse of silver hair and blue eyes flitting to his left like a mirage.

Killua’s father.

There was a simultaneous attack from his right side as well. Gon blocked it. An older, shorter man was on his heels. The impact from his attack was nothing to scoff at either—it had just as much strength behind it as Killua’s father’s had. If Gon had been in the human world, both strikes would have completely shattered his arms.

And, they weren’t the only ones who had a vendetta against him.

A woman with a large hat was running into the fray, skirts fisted in her hands. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. Behind her, two other dark-haired children followed, the larger one sweating and out of breath, the smaller one light on his feet. When they saw Gon, they stopped.

“Who are you?” the woman called out.

Gon didn’t bother answering her. It was a question which didn’t require a response. He was sure she knew who he was. There was a high chance everyone there had been observing his fight against Illumi, waiting for the right time to intervene after tallying his skills against theirs.

He challenged her glare. “I’ve come to take Killua away.”

The woman gasped. She clutched her heart as though she had been physically wounded, spluttering at his indignance. “How—how—” she started, snarling under her breath as she shook an accusatory finger at him, “How dare you!”

”What’s so surprising about that?” Gon said.

”You’re trying to take Kil away from his family. Are you a monster?” She began to march over to Gon. “We care about him more than anything in this wretched world. We have worked so hard to finally bring him back home—to keep him here with us, where he belongs—and you’ve gone and changed him. I know it was you! Leave Kil alone, and never return to this place!”

And that was where Gon took offense. She had taken one step too far, had spewed so many lies while pretending like they were the truth. There was no doubt that the woman was the Head Witch of the Zoldyck coven and Killua’s mother. From the wild look on her face, he knew she was the one who had latched onto Killua the hardest, dug her nails in the deepest. Her obsession with her own child was so out of control that she had lost all sense of reason. She was beyond saving.

“Let me tell you one thing,” said Gon, writing a holy barrier on the ground so she stopped in her tracks, “You are not Killua’s family. You do not care about him. No one in your coven is fit to use words like those, which are intended to for kindness and compassion. You have stolen everything away from him, his sister, his love for others—because you believe those wonderful things detract from his worth. I am not the monster here—you are. And as one of the few people that have grown to understand Killua, I will tell you this: he will bend to your will no longer.”

But just as Gon had ignored Illumi, Killua’s mother ignored Gon. Her only indication that she had heard him at all was the slight tilt of her head—an order. An instruction. 

More attacks came at Gon.

They were done talking.

Well, there had never been room for negations in the first place.

The spells were all volatile, high level incantations of destruction. Orbs of aura the size of boulders demolished the walls. Purple miasma filled the area with a noxious gas. Bricks and stones tumbled from above, showering them in dust as they crashed into the ground. Gon, luckily for himself and unluckily for the rest of the Zoldycks, hadn’t reached the end of his rope just yet. He dodged the curses at the last second, sending more enchanted vines from below to seek out the remaining witches. The greenery burst out of the cracks in the stone, lifting the foundation off the mountaintop.

Gon let the following hellfire ram against pillars of stone. He allowed the summoned familiars to run rampant, creating craters where they stood. Shadows crept along the wall, looking for an opening, while paper hornets made a beeline towards him, burning into a crisp as one flick of his fingers blew them away. Killua’s father and grandfather continued to circle him, hiding in the shadows much better than Illumi had, practically untraceable by sight, smell, or touch. Gon could only rely on the skills he had developed from his time in the war to detect them, honing his senses as sharply as he could. Even if he were to attack in a wide area and try to wipe them all out, he knew it wouldn’t go quite as planned. There were too many unknowns about his opponents and too many possibilities to account for.

But, despite being outnumbered, Gon wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t worried in the slightest because he was not alone. He wouldn’t be alone in a fight like this. There was someone who was on his side—someone who wanted to protect him just as much as he wanted to protect them.

And, just like he knew he would, Killua ran over to him, evading the spells from his coven with rapid side steps. He tossed his hat off to the side. He slid underneath a nasty ice beam as though in slow motion, bending backwards so it missed the top of his head by a hair’s breadth. And then they were fighting back to back, amidst Killua’s mother’s cries for Killua to come back to her, to ignore Gon, to stop defending him.

But Killua didn’t say a word in return.

He chose instead, to send each spell back in the same magnitude of ferocity. Dragons made from lightning battled dragons made from miasma. Water clashed against fire. Falling stars fought against the pull of gravity, and rocks and rubble and everything in between fell around them as the ceilings collapsed under the onslaught of the magical war.

It was pure destruction. It was chaos incarnate. Anyone who hadn’t left at that point would be crushed to death by the tumbling structures; only the remaining beings involved had the capacity to defend themselves against such powerful magic.

The fight dragged on.

And Gon began to notice that Killua—Killua was running out of power.

Killua was doing his best to hold on longer. He was still fighting. But he had expended too much magic during his confrontation against Illumi, then the hundred or so mages and guards that had tried to stop them, and now against the remaining Zoldyck witches. Gon needed to end the fight quickly for Killua's sake. Because even though Killua was on Gon’s side, time was not.

They split up the load. While Killua focused his attention on his mother and brothers, Gon found himself facing off against Killua’s grandfather, who strangely, did not seem too upset by the whole ordeal.

Gon twisted his fingers behind his back. A root whipped upwards, poised to wrap around the old man’s ankle. But Killua's grandfather wasn't so unprepared that an attack like that would land—he disappeared in a flash, reappearing behind Gon.

“A god, huh,” he said, addressing him as he struck him with the side of his hands, “Haven’t seen one of you guys here for a while. Can’t say I’ve fought one either. You would be my first.”

“I hope I live up to your expectations,” said Gon.

The old man chuckled. “I really hope you don’t.”

Through the first few blows they exchanged, Gon knew he was fighting against a seasoned warrior. Killua’s grandfather, despite his age, moved gracefully and efficiently. There were no wasted movements in his actions.

To add to his opponent’s difficulty, the man’s spells were scarily effective, created to mix up and confuse Gon’s senses. Gon’s vision would scatter like fractured glass. He would momentarily be unable to hear. Neither effects lasted long, but he could tell Killua’s grandfather was trying to wear him down, not with damage, but with illusions. Although the Zoldyck witches couldn’t kill or injure him, they could distract him for long enough until his blessing ran out, until the full balance of his cost had been paid and his immunity to hellfire petered.

It was becoming increasingly tedious to keep tabs on Killua’s coven while simultaneously keeping Illumi pinned to the ground. Illumi hadn’t given up yet either, which Gon reluctantly gave him credit for, as he constantly tested the restraints and continued in his attempt to break free and join the rest of his family. As Gon continued to battle Killua’s grandfather, a large hand reached out of the mist behind them. Fingers brushed against the collar of Killua’s shirt.

It was too close for comfort.

Gon leapt at it. They were trying to take Killua while Gon was distracted. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. His magic extended like a part of himself, prepared to rip the limb off the body of Killua’s father completely, but the pain from before struck his mind just as he was about to intervene. Another memory was fully taken. It was going quicker now. It was a snowball effect. It wouldn’t be long until they were all gone.

The distraction had been enough. Killua’s father took a solid grip on Killua’s robes. He pulled. In the short time it took him to complete the action, Killua was already halfway into the mist.

Gon’s eyes tried to find Killua’s father hidden in the fog, but the thick layer of cloud was difficult to penetrate. The colors were already gone from his sight, he was seeing pure aura, but with so many different types everywhere, it was more jarring than anything. But he wasn’t concerned. The Zoldyck’s were still fighting a losing battle. They believed time would work against them. They mistakenly believed it was just Gon and Killua.

But unbeknownst to them, it wasn’t just Gon, and it wasn’t just Killua. Their third visitor was someone they would never expect to come to the rescue.

But Gon knew.

Gon was counting on them.

It was like the thought had triggered a reaction. A beam of light struck Killua’s father through the hand. He released his hold on Killua's collar, wrenching his arm back as the light burned a hole in his palm. The flash came from the scattered heavens above them, and with the ceiling reduced to rubble at their feet, the blue sky was clearer than ever.

When Gon looked up, a girl was falling through the expanse, pink and purple ribbons fluttering through the air, white hat clutched to her head.

Her mouth was set in a determined line. And, although she was still too far away to hear, Gon could see her lips move.

“Don’t touch my brother.”

Killua had what he thought were enough surprises to last him several millennia. First, Gon had come to save him. Then, Gon had survived his curse. Then, Gon had revealed himself to be a god—which, frankly, Killua was still both astounded and irritated by. Because it made sense. Of course it made sense, of course Gon was a god, how else would he have been able to afford all those wishes, how else was he able to give Killua such a power boost when he kissed him, how else was he able to move like the wind and look so beautiful, how else was he able to charm Killua so easily and say things with such confidence, of course, of course, of course. Gon had acted like the fool but it was Killua who had been played. He had failed to see the clues blatantly strewn across his path. He had been blind; blinded by Gon’s white lies, blinded by love.

But Gon being a god was apparently the lesser of the surprises that day, because then (of course, that hadn’t been all of it) in the midst of battle, as Killua had been fighting against a hundred or so mages all trying to interfere in Gon and Illumi’s fight, he had felt the Witch’s Oaths tied around his heart move. And rather than constrict, like he had been used to, rather than be used to inflict pain upon his psyche which he expected, they loosened. They grew slack. He had chanced a look back, and saw Gon with his hands clenched around something, concentration written on his face, pulling with all his might.

A stray fireball had whizzed past Killua’s face then, distracting him so he was forced to turn his attention back to his opponents.

But his heart had still pounded in his chest, straining against its cage. Somehow, freedom was in sight. Somehow, Gon was doing something, somehow, Gon was performing the impossible again—and, what felt like something that was too good to be true, the Oaths which had bound him for what felt like centuries, shattered. They sent two shockwaves throughout Kukuroo Mountain like the blasts he had felt prior, echoing through the air like carefree laughter, like happiness. And in that moment, Killua knew he was chained by his coven no more.

Freedom tasted sweeter than the water from the fountain of youth. It was light, and airy, and whimsical, and filled with possibilities. It was a sensation he had nearly forgotten. It felt like his heart had been heavy without him realizing it, and only once the weight was lifted, did he realize how much he had carried.

Killua was free.

He was free to attack without repercussions. He was free to do what he liked, without the oversight of death constantly monitoring his actions, without feeling an invisible force controlling his motions. He was free to pursue the things he wanted. He was free to wish upon the stars just as the humans did, free to laugh without worry, free to explore and dance and live.

Somehow, some way, when Killua had been fighting, Gon had managed to break the Witch’s Oaths just like he had promised. He had cut the tethers so that Killua could fly again.

Gods were powerful. That, Killua knew. Gods could transform the frontiers of the world, could manipulate nature, could use old magic as easily as witches could use new magic. But Gon...Gon had done something no god had done before. He had attained incomprehensible power. He had gained immunity to hellfire, a god’s greatest weakness, and with the one blind spot in his defense covered, he was far beyond the tiers of a normal god. Killua wasn’t sure if he could rank him on a scale. He wasn’t sure if he could even fathom what their difference in strength was.

And this thought spread relief throughout him, because with this power in hand, there now existed a hope that he and Gon could—would—be together. There was a dream for them. There was a chance at happiness, at something eternal that Killua could achieve all on his own. He was close enough to touch it, to taste the future, to see a road paved in gold spread beneath his feet. And yes, he was still a bit peeved that Gon hadn’t told him, that Gon had kept it a secret for so long, but he understood that there must have been a reason behind it all, and Killua had, very easily at that, already forgiven him.

And now, as he was focused on his mother and Milluki and Kalluto (though he could tell Kalluto wasn’t really trying), the same Gon who had easily beat Illumi into the dirt was taking on both his father and his grandfather at once.

So, Killua thought that was it. There couldn't possibly be anything else to further catch him unawares. Gon had nothing else up his sleeve. Surely, surely that was it. No more surprises.

But he should have known not to underestimate Gon. He should have learned by then that Gon always had one more thing to show, one more thing to prove just when everyone else thought all his options had been exhausted. Because just as the thought came to him, someone literally ripped a hole in dimension sixty-two, and Killua felt the presence of someone who he thought he would never see again enter the atmosphere.

A flash of light had appeared behind him. It had exploded into the ground. And he heard his father grunt, so Killua he dodged out of the way and looked up—

And he didn’t need his spyglass to see this time. He didn’t even need to squint, because he knew who was coming. He had remembered her power in that dream from what felt like ages ago, had felt the kindness in her magic and the softness of her touch.

She looked exactly the same as the day she left him.

She still wore the ribbons in her hair that he had tied in so tenderly.

Her hands were clenched into her checkered apron, colored with more paint than usual.

And her hat glittered, sparkling white atop her head, ears flapping in the wind.

Alluka had come.

She had come, and now all the pieces were finally together, and Killua instantly realized what must have happened between the time when Illumi had brought him back to Kukuroo Mountain and when Gon had reappeared. Alluka sent Gon to find him. Alluka sent Gon to break their curses. Alluka had been waiting, had never stopped thinking about him, had never forgotten him, had been watching him ever since they had been separated.

The force of her arrival rattled the entire base of Kukuroo Mountain. She landed gracefully like a swan to water, and when her feet reached the earth, a crater split across the rock face. She paused only to  dust off her apron, blue eyes hardened with courage.

Killua’s father looked furious. His mother looked ready to explode.

“What are you doing here, demon?” she spat, venom laced in her words. “You swore an Oath! You are not welcome here!”

“I’m here to make my brother happy,” Alluka replied. “And I’m not bound by my Oath any longer.” Magic burned in her palms as she held them outwards.

There was a beauty in its mystery. The ghostly, silver fire glowed like the stars and the moon and the galaxies beyond their realm. She made a clenching motion, as though she was drawing something in with her fingertips, and Killua felt dimension sixty-two shrink, the invisible outer edge shrinking inwards. It became harder to breathe. The following pressure popped in his ears.

Their father looked at Illumi, still struggling against Gon’s vines, and the color drained from his face. “The Oaths...broke?” he asked hoarsely. “You…” he looked at Gon, eyes wide. “You...broke them?”

But there was no need to confirm his statement, because Killua knew in his heart that his father was right. The older witch was clearly shocked, mind reeling from the information, clearly thinking it was impossible, there was no way—but Killua had long given up understanding Gon’s limits. Gon was the one being who could achieve the impossible, could make his dreams a reality. Gon had not only broken Killua’s Witch’s Oaths, but Alluka’s as well—he had understood that Alluka’s love was what had tempered Killua’s fate from the start, had predicted that without Alluka in his life, there would always be a small piece of him missing. Alluka was essential. Alluka was family, real family—and was the one person Killua had sworn to protect before he had met Gon.

So Gon had saved her too. With whatever powers he attained, he had taken it upon himself to return the discarded puzzle piece back to the box. Gon had found the piece, placed it there, left it for Killua to find, so he could slide it back into its rightful spot and complete the picture.

Killua could finally, finally, be his own, whole person.

That was the one thing which was enough of an answer, and Killua’s feet were flying across the ground as he sprinted towards his sister like a flash of lightning. He was crying again, relief written all over his face. He didn’t need to look in the mirror to know he was beaming ear to ear. It felt good to smile. It felt natural. It felt right. Alluka grinned back at him and opened her arms, and Killua reached her with a leap and a bound, hugging her as tightly as he could around her middle, burying his face into her neck.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Killua said, trying not to get his tears on her shirt.

She patted his head, warm fingers brushing through his hair in soothing circles. “I’ve missed you, brother.”

She smelled like cookies and passionfruit. She smelled like kindness, like empathy, like love, like home. And, somehow, like Gon, she was warm. Wonderfully, blissfully, familiarly warm.

Killua wondered if he could be warm like her one day. He would have liked that. All three of them, warm and happy together. He supposed that was his next dream, now that the Oath’s were no longer tying him down. He would make that his wish. He would want that, would hope for that, to work to achieve that. And he swore to himself, that just like Gon, he would try to do the impossible, he would try for as long as it took, he would scale any obstacle and put in as many late nights as it took to take happiness into his own hands, to spread the love that so many others had given him.

Their reunion was short lived, however. Their coven would not sit idly by to watch them catch up. They were not as excited to see her as Killua was.

Namely, one member.

Killua’s mother stalked towards them. Steam was practically rolling from her ears, and the large gryffin feathers on her hat bristled with anger.

“Get out of this dimension!” she screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Alluka, “I thought I was finally rid of you! You’ve always been a bad influence on Kil. Ever since you were born you have been a wretched witch, and a shame to our family!”

“I don’t consider any of you my family,” Alluka sniffed, completely unfazed. “No family would do what you did to me. You locked me up. You tried to keep me away—every single one of you. You were afraid of me and you kept me in the dark about it, and now I know why.”

Their mother grew bright red, body trembling with barely suppressed rage.

Alluka’s eyes glinted. “It's because I’m stronger than all of you.”

Killua watched, in slow motion, the series of events that followed. His mother transformed into the shadow of a large raven, blanketing the area in darkness, lunging at Alluka. His father and grandfather summoned the two most fearsome dragons they had, scales like jagged rocks, bodies the size of small mountains, breathing fire of ice and lightning. Shooting stars pelted them from above, and a ring of hellfire encircled Killua and Alluka. Three adult witches put everything they had on the line to overpower one, small witch, who had learned how to love despite how little kindness she had been given.

And Alluka didn’t even bat an eyelash. She stared strongly ahead, confident in her capabilities, confident that no matter what her relatives threw at her, she could destroy it.

And she did.

In an instant the colors were drained from her body and Nanika made an appearance, dark eyes, dark hair, ashen skin—and she drew the outer ring of a portal which blazed in the colors of the rainbow so their relative’s attacks flew into the void. Another set of portal rings followed, lighting up beneath the dragons, and they disappeared too—likely to a remote area of Kukuroo Mountain, where it would take them several days of travel to return. With the nuisances out of the way, only their mother was left—and Gon took easily to that part, waving his hand so a holy barrier stopped the raven in its tracks, burning her with the purity of heaven’s light.

Nanika shifted back to Alluka, who opened up her palm, and like she was gripping a large, invisible fruit, she slowly began to squeeze. The entirety of Kukuroo Mountain scrunched up like an accordion beneath their feet. She tugged the outer edges of the world inwards.

She was folding dimension sixty-two upon itself.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” she said, looking at the previous members of their family, “If you didn’t already notice, I can crush this dimension with my hands. It would be a simple task for me to close it so it's erased from the universe forever. I will kill every witch, every dragon, every living thing. If you don’t want to turn into specks of dust as your home is destroyed, you’ll have to make me a Witch’s Oath.”

“The conditions are as follows. You will not look for Gon, me, Nanika, or my brother Killua, ever again. You will stay in this dimension forever, meaning you can no longer be commissioned to kill others in different dimensions. You will step down as lead of the Witches Circle. If you follow these terms, I will allow you to escape with your lives. Do we have a deal?”

“You’re a demon,” their mother hissed, “A demon! You spout these words as if you’re having mercy on us, when you’re taking away the very things we hold our pride in—and think we will back down so easily?”

Alluka squeezed her hand a bit tighter, and the resulting motion split the ground in two. A chasm opened, swirling with the magma of the earth’s core.

“If it were me, you wouldn’t have even given me a choice. Your only way out is to make me the Oath,” she said. “Do it, or every single one of you will be eliminated. As Head Witch of this coven, it’s your responsibility. So what will it be? Your honor? Or your lives?”

Killua could see it in their mother’s stance. She was enraged beyond comprehension. Her body was barely holding itself together; she was so furious and offended that the anger was threatening to consume her. If she backed down, she would be made a laughingstock of Kukuroo Mountain—being bested by the child they thought had been thrown away. Their family’s honor would be in the dirt. She would lose her pride. She would lose Killua. She would lose everything which mattered to her.

If Killua’s father or grandfather had been head of the family instead, he knew what they would have done. They would have easily chosen death. They were not afraid to end their lives, had more pride in their bones than fear of what came at the gates of hell. They would have sacrificed everything for the sake of their honor and their identities, because that was the kind of witches they were, and to turn their backs on that would be like renouncing their existence.

But Killua’s mother was a selfish woman. Her pride was nothing but a show. She wanted to control others but lacked the willpower to back it up. Even her position as Head Witch was bestowed upon her not because of her strength, but because the laws of each coven dictated that only a female witch could be the head. She had not achieved power by her own means. Rather, she stepped on everyone she could to get to the top with underhanded methods. In that sense, Killua supposed she really was the embodiment of what a perfect witch would be—hateful, spiteful, selfish, and cruel.

And he knew what kind of decision she would make. Because before anyone else, if he wasn’t in the picture, the first life she would choose to save would be her own.

“Time’s running out,” said Alluka. “What will it be? Will you make the Oath, or will I destroy Kukuroo Mountain?”

Killua’s mother bit her lip so hard that blood trickled down her face. She forced a phrase out of her gritted teeth, which she gnashed together with uncontained hatred.

“I’ll make the Witch’s Oath.”

“I’m sure you realize,” Alluka said loudly, “Since you are Head Witch, the moment you agree to this Oath, everyone else in the coven will be bound as well.”

“I’m well aware of the rules,” she snapped.

Killua’s father and grandfather both shook their heads and left the area. It was over for them—if the Head Witch was making the calls, there was no further reason for them to be there. Milluki and Kalluto followed them out. The only ones who remained in the hallway were those involved in the Oath, and Illumi, who was still pinned down with Gon’s vines. He was forced to watch the entire exchange, which was a form of punishment for him in and of itself.

Killua's mother recited the Witch’s Oath just as Alluka had laid it out.

Alluka responded in kind.

This Oath, unlike the last one that Killua had made, was a quiet one. It rippled through the air silently, kindly, because it was a contract based on love. It tied a lavender knot between Alluka’s heart and their mother’s, who then extended the string further to Illumi in the corner, and four others down the hallway to the rest of the coven, and then furthermore to all those employed by the Zoldyck estate. It was a powerful Oath; intended to keep connecting and passing through to anyone who may be powerful enough to find them.

Killua’s sister had clearly thought of the terms at great length. He could have only imagined how long she spent closing the loopholes so that no one would be able to bother them again.

He was proud of her. He was grateful. He felt immense warmth in his chest, knowing that she had cared so much for him that she had constantly been thinking of a way to break their Oaths, and that she had enlisted the help of the one person—nay, the one god—who could do it.

The ripple disappeared quietly, and the exciting battle reached a very calming conclusion. Killua’s mother raged and seethed and threw other obscenities at them, but Alluka released her hold on the dimension as promised and the folded land went flat again, the shift in the earth closing the chasm with a vigorous shake so their mother lost her footing and tumbled to the ground. Illumi had long since been silenced by one of Gon’s vines, as, according to Gon: “revenge for those shadows, they really didn’t taste good.”

And speaking of Gon—Killua had quite a few things he wanted to talk to him about. Now that they had the time, the questions he had kept suppressed for the sake of eliminating his peripheral distractions resurfaced.

Why had a god visited the human world to begin with?

Why had Gon insisted on kissing Killua, even though a god could have easily fulfilled those tasks himself?

Had Gon really come to save Killua to break his curses, or was there more to it?

Why did he care so much about him even though Killua didn’t think he had done much to merit such affection?

And, what cost had Gon paid to obtain his new power? What price had he paid to an interdimensional witch, to give him immunity to hellfire, to give him the ability to snap the Oath’s with his bare hands?

Killua wanted to ask him many things. But, from the way that Gon was smiling at him like all his dreams had come true, he could only clear his throat and say, “So, you’re a god, huh? That explains a lot.”

“I was...planning on telling you eventually,” Gon said, looking a bit guilty, “But if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stay in the human world any longer. The Association would take me back, and then we wouldn’t get to be together.”

“Oh,” said Killua. “What about now, then? Since you’ve told me you’re a god...do you have to go back?”

Gon looked up at the sky and hummed. “Yeah, I think so. I can already feel it. They’re looking for me. It won’t be good if they find me here. I’m going to get in trouble.”

“How much trouble?”

“Ah—let’s just say it’ll be worse than the face Bisky made when she found her smashed tea sets.”

“That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah.”

Killua shuffled his feet. He felt awkward. How was he to ask? There were too many questions, and now that he finally had the time to say them, he didn’t know how to do it. It didn’t seem right, somehow, that Gon’s involvement in his life would end so suddenly. Where had all the courage from the previous moments disappeared to? Killua was supposed to tell Gon that he loved him. He was supposed to convey that, he had wanted to convey that when he thought it had been too late, but now that he had the chance to, he didn’t know if he could. It was hard, when Gon was looking at him expectantly, when his sister was nudging him with her elbow. Killua’s well of courage seemed to have run dry.

He gulped and looked to the floor.

Thankfully, Alluka seemed to finally understand his nervousness, and took both of their hands in hers. “Let’s go somewhere else, shall we?”

She led them out of the mansion and out into the courtyard, where the land was in blatant disarray from her dimension shifting. Alluka transformed into Nanika again, who wrapped a cold arm around Killua and said quite cheerfully, “I missed Killua, Nanika is so happy”, before drawing a portal. She pressed a cold kiss to his cheek. Killua hugged her tightly in return, and then she reverted back to Alluka.

All three of them walked through the portal.

And, as the summer wind picked up, and the dimension's entrance released the caress on his skin and closed behind them, Killua reappeared in a place he never thought he’d see again.

A small building sat in an unassuming line of shops. It was four blocks away from the library, with a well-tended garden in the front. A low, white fence surrounded the grass. A red door, slightly faded from the sunlight, stood at the end of the carefully paved walkways. There was a bike propped on the left side. There were flowerboxes on the windowsills.

A little wooden sign, which read “CLOSED”, in Gon’s sloppy handwriting, was hanging on the door.

Gon and Killua’s magic shop stood tall in the place they had left it.

“I think Kurapika and Bisky fixed it. You two chat it out,” Alluka said, giving Killua a light push. “I’ll be taking a walk.”

She turned around the corner and left them to their own devices.

As though he were in a trance, Killua stepped into their garden. It was thriving under the summer sun. Clearly, someone had come to the shop to water the plants every day; the peonies were blooming now, bulbs of blushing pinks and whites. Perhaps the same person had added some new varieties—he saw sunflowers planted haphazardly along the fence. A familiar table was set outside, absent china tea sets, but there were several chairs as if their guests had recently been there.

“Some things never change, huh?” said Gon.

“Yeah,” Killua said softly. “It’s nice.”

He opened the door, and sure enough, Bisky and Kurapika had rebuilt their shop down to the last detail. Old magic wasn’t good with precision construction, which meant the two Magic Regulation Task Force members must have drawn on forces from the human world.

The wood floors gleamed, recently polished. The shelves were disappointingly empty, but it was to be expected—they hadn’t been home for a while, after all. Killua would need to spend the weekend making potions. Ah—that was right, he would need to get some more ingredients. The last time he checked they had been out. Yes, he would need to grab some from the marketplace, and then maybe afterwards, he could pay the fruit vendor a visit for some strawberries—he had heard so much about them. They were supposed to be especially delicious this season. Maybe Gon could bake them into a cake. And then, Killua would need to light the fire beneath the cauldrons and put on his apron, it probably hadn’t been washed yet—

“Hey—Killua—look at me,” said Gon, and Killua whipped around. There was a wetness on his cheeks again. Gon looked startled, like was about to say something, but Killua didn’t want to hear it.

“What cost did you pay?” Killua asked abruptly.

Gon blinked. “Oh. That? I...uh, it’s a secret?”

“Spill it. What cost did you pay?” Killua asked again. “You had to have given Alluka something. There’s no way attaining a power like that came at a cheap price. So, what did you give her?”

Gon glanced at the floor. “You won’t like my answer.”

“Tell me.”

“You won’t like it, Killua.”

“I don’t care if I don’t like it. You owe me this much, at least.”

Gon pursed his lips. “I...I paid with some memories.”

“What memories?” Killua pushed.

“Important ones.”

“Like what?”

“...My memories of you, I guess,” Gon said hesitatingly, rubbing the back of his head. “The timing...wasn’t ideal. If I had another choice, I wouldn’t have done it—but there was no other option. Even now, I’m forgetting. There are a lot of holes. I know the beginning and the end, but the middle is hazy. By the time I get back to the Heavenly Realm...they’ll all be gone.”

“Why?” Killua asked, “Why was that the only thing it could have been? Memories shouldn’t hold that much power. Memories shouldn’t be able to give you enough power to break through a Witch’s Oath and make a god immune to hellfire.”

“That’s because...they’re...they’re special,” Gon muttered.

“Special? How?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer yet. Because I’ve answered enough questions, and it's your turn now. Let me ask you this, Killua—what is it that you want?”

What was that supposed to mean? What answer was that question meant to evoke? Killua didn’t know. Killua didn’t need to know.

A glittering speck danced in the air. It was soon followed by another. Gon’s departure had started. He was leaving. Already, his body was fading, disappearing into flickering dots of light, like the spores of dandelions in the breeze. The Gods’ Association was bringing him back to the dimension where he belonged. His body and soul were returning to the place they never should have left, and there was no more time remaining for things Killua wanted. Everything he wanted was right in front of him and he couldn’t keep it there with him.

Gon had mentioned he would have to go, but the time had come far too soon.

“It’s not fair,” Killua said, voice cracking, “Why must you leave? I just got to see you again, and you’re leaving to somewhere I can’t follow. I can’t go to the Heavenly Realm. I can’t be with you there—only immortals can pass through the gate, and I’m not—I just—it was only for a minute, but I just...I just wanted…”

How could Killua convey it to Gon? How could he put all his dreams into easily digestible words, so that Gon could understand how he didn’t want to be separated? How could Killua explain to him that he had made a wish for a brief moment, where all three of them had been together, and Killua had been happy? That he had put it as his next goal? That he was going to try to achieve the impossible, but he wanted to do it with Gon by his side, with Gon with him, always? How could he tell them that of course it was better than it had been before, that this was better than Killua being alone on Kukuroo Mountain, but this was still not the ending he wanted? That Killua was selfish and still wanted more from him, from them, and he would forever be thinking of “what-if”? There was too much to say and not enough time—for beings that lived as long as they did, it was ironic that time flowed quickly at such inopportune moments.

Gon looked at him. “What do you want, Killua?” he repeated. “Tell me what you want.”

Killua met his gaze.

In Gon’s eyes, there was unwavering faith, unconditional kindness, and an unshakable will. It was like Killua was walking through a forest colored in gold, and the sunlight from the forest was catching the morning dewdrops, scattering colors into his world like a kaleidoscope, refracting reds and blues and oranges and yellows. And Gon was everywhere—in the blue, cloudless sky, in the grass and clovers beneath Killua’s feet, in the waterfall coursing down the mountain top. Within the depths of his soul, Killua saw the embers of forgotten galaxies revive again like a fire which never burned low; and the feelings inside his heart were singing—singing a song made for the blessed, for the pure and kind, and the blood in his ears roared with the sound of an angel’s choir.

It was beautiful, bright, and alive.

Without turning away from Killua, Gon took his hand in his. He wound their pinky fingers together, slowly, carefully, gently, and just like that beautiful fall day where Killua had learned to want again after so long, sunlight glowed all around them and set their store in a wash of gold. A daisy burst on Killua’s fingers. Then, a star. Then, a spark. And then a raindrop, a flame, the wind, the earth, the sky, the light, the darkness, the world, and a future.

And Gon’s face told him all he needed to know. It was earnest. It was honest. It was hopeful. It wasn’t the face of a god, but rather the face of the man who Killua loved so dearly, so passionately, so unequivocally, beyond time and space and fate and destiny.

So, Killua told him what he wanted.

“I want to be with you,” he breathed. “I want to be with you, forever and ever and ever. I want us to live happily here with our family by our side, in this shop that we’ve made our home, making potions and selling spells to any customers who come our way. I want you to hold my hand as we count the stars. I want us to study the human world’s magic together. I want to be the one to save you when you’re in trouble. I want to be the person you can lean on when you need help. I want you to trust me, to put your faith in me. And above all else, I want you to be mine, and for me to be yours. I have loved you, all this time, and I want you to love me, if even only a fraction, of how much I love you.”

Gon sealed their pinky promise. He pressed his thumb to Killua’s, and his hand shook, like he couldn’t believe what he had just said. “It’s a wish, then,” Gon replied, his voice trembling. “Won’t you take the cost, Killua?”

Killua didn’t dare to blink. The air stayed stuck in his throat for the briefest of moments. His heart almost stopped in his chest.

Was there no end to the number of surprises? Was there no end to the miracles? Was it really that simple, to get what he wanted? Was it really possible, that all this time, Gon had been the same as him, that he had been waiting too? But there was no time to ponder questions that no longer mattered, Killua’s chances for action were growing fewer by the second, and he had been praying for an answer, a sign of reciprocation, of mutual understanding, for as long as he had known Gon. He had desired this one thing above all else, and now, it was in his grasp, and all he had to do was touch it.

So Killua did. He took the cost, voluntarily, eagerly. He kissed Gon, he wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close to him, tasted the scent of summer on his tongue, felt the ocean of life crash its waves against the shoreline. And just like that, the universe finally aligned with a gentle touch from some higher power, and whatever path fate had set for their demise was overturned.

Millions of flowers sprouted throughout YorkNew that day. They grew in every yellow color imaginable, in every family’s garden, in every park, in every crack of cobblestone, covering the world in a blanket made from the color of gods and the color of love. Children walking outside giggled and jumped into the grass to touch the blossoms, and their parents gasped, astonished, wondering if they had been caught in some sort of spell, because somehow the world seemed that much more beautiful than they remembered.

The air sang. The earth rejoiced. A wind carried the scattered, golden petals into the sky so they could be reborn into constellations, so they could glitter in the evening darkness and remind those who saw them that hope was out there, that hope would never be forgotten.

For one special day which would fall into human legend, the malice in evil hearts was lessened, the good grew greater, and kindness won.

And, in a small magic shop, the moon sighed into the sun, and as they kissed, over and over and over again, through each press of their lips, Gon whispered, “I love you Killua, I love you so much, I love you, I love you.”

Gon looked like an apparition. He was transparent now, and Killua could no longer touch his physical form. Enough of him had faded away where only seconds remained on the clock for the time they would have together.

“Looks like this is it,” Gon said, smiling gently at Killua. “My time in the human world is up. If you’ll indulge in my last selfish request, I’d like to ask one final wish of you.”

“Anything,” Killua said. “You can ask anything of me.”

Gon looked at him, a tender expression on his face, a wistfulness that spoke too much of longing, of yearning. It tugged on Killua’s heart. It made the parting that much harder, that much more bittersweet.

“I want you to find me, Killua,” Gon said. “Find me in the Heavenly Realm. Look for me. Make me remember you. Make me remember all the times that we’ve spent together, every last one of them. Because if anyone can do it—it would be you. You’re the most brilliant, talented, amazing witch in existence. If it's you, I know you’ll be able to make me fall for you again—though I’m sure that part will come easy. Because the honest truth is this: if I could choose anyone, even if I had to wait my entire immortal life, I’d choose you. I’d choose you if I was born again, in every lifetime, in every one of the seventy-four dimensions that exist, I would choose you each and every time and fall in love with you over and over and over again if only you’d let me.”

Killua kissed Gon again, though only air passed by his lips. “I love you,” he said, trying to act stronger than he felt, “Wait for me. I promise I’ll fulfill your wish. I promise.”

Gon grinned at him. “I know you will.”

And, as Gon disappeared, Killua was left alone in the magic shop that his life had revolved around, with the lingering taste of a god on his lips, and a final whisper he would keep in his heart forever.

“They say love is the most powerful magic in the world. Do you understand now, why my memories were taken? Only a love as strong as what I feel for you, only this love that I’ve harbored inside myself for so long, could transform a god and break a Witch’s Oath.”

Chapter Text

Gon realized he was looking a lot at the sky lately. Not that he had much else to do—after being lectured for what felt like years (and may have actually been years), then barred from leaving the Heavenly Realm for the next few centuries—he was back to spending his doldrum days lounging around, trying to discover something new, something interesting, but always coming up short.

To Gon, the human world was still preferable in that regard.

He didn’t remember much about his time there. From the dregs of his memories he knew there were a handful of humans who seemed to have left their mark on him but their figures blurred in his mind, like there had been one string tying it all together and that string had snapped, leaving everything to float in a void.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t like he hadn’t attempted to scoop it back up only for it to fall apart in his arms. It was unfortunate, but his years upon years of searching for answers had bore him no fruit.

Gon had thought hard—well, as hard as he was able to—to no avail. He had used his magic. He had seen an oracle and a prophet, neither of which had anything useful to say. He had even gone as far as asking the Gods’ Association if they had anything to do with it, to which they had shook their heads and told him to go back to writing his lines, and then paid him no further attention.

If Gon had remembered, it might have made the punishment worth it. But as things were, he was grasping at straws, only recalling how he had arrived in the Heavenly Realm with the taste of something on his tongue, and nothing else.

His memories stayed under a solid lock and key. He had done everything in his power to open the box but the lid stayed stubbornly shut.

However, there were moments where he would find himself staring at the sky, at the blueness of it all, both during the daytime and during the nighttime, and his chest would hurt. It would hurt in a way that Gon couldn’t describe to anyone else—because somehow, he knew no one else would understand. It was a unique pain. The pain of longing, of reaching for something far away.

The sky made him feel like he was missing something important.

The stars and the moons at twilight would glimmer and his hand would instinctively clench against the grass. The clouds would drift over the horizon; white, fluffy, and airy, and his skin would echo the sensation of something similar against his cheeks. The blue coaxed something like feelings and emotions from him. It made his breath come shorter, made his heart flutter like dove wings. The ache would weigh on him as though berating him for forgetting, as though pointing in the distance and saying “there—he’s right there, how could you not see him?” and it made him desperately, desperately want—

“Gon? You alright?” Knuckle asked.

Gon snapped back to reality. “Sorry—what were you saying?”

Knuckle looked at him suspiciously. He also didn't take Gon’s transition. “It wasn’t anything important. Listen, Gon—I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but haven’t found the right time. Figure it may as well be now,” he said. He stretched his legs out onto the grass. “You’ve been acting pretty weird lately. I know you came back a few years ago, and you look the same, but something about you has changed.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You’re different, somehow. You smell different.”

Gon laughed. “No I don’t!”

“You do!” his friend insisted. “I’ve got as good of a nose as anyone, and it's faint, but it's there. I’d bet half my lifespan that something from the human world made you like this.”

Gon shrugged. “There’s no way. I’m a god. There’s nothing in that dimension that could have changed me.”

Knuckle sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Change or not, I’m worried about you,” he said. “You’re distracted. I mean to begin with, you were always a bit distracted—but now, more so than usual. If my memory serves me correctly, you were different from us in that regard. Distracted, and never one for rules. You’d break them all the time. And sometimes, you’d even get away with it.”

“I only broke them because no one else would,” said Gon.

“Your stunt in the human world was the reason the Association passed a new law,” said Knuckle, chuckling. “Most of us stopped going to the human world eons and eons ago. But you’re still fascinated with the place.”

Gon twiddled his thumbs. “I just feel like there’s something waiting for me there,” he said. “There’s something about it which keeps drawing me in. It’s interesting. I can’t stay away.”

Knuckle snorted. “You’ve always liked interesting things. It’s just that—well—just take care of yourself, okay? I know there’s not as much to do here ever since the war ended, but you should take some time to yourself. You know, to relax. And if there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know.”

Gon nodded. He looked up. The sky in the Heavenly Realm wasn’t supposed to look any different than it usually did, but at that moment, it was strangely beautiful.

Maybe Knuckle could help him with something.

“Hey,” Gon said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. You know you always can.”

“Do you...do you ever feel like you’re missing something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like...feelings. Emotions.”

“We do have feelings and emotions,” said Knuckle. “We carry those on from our past lives. Or do those not count?”

“It’s not that. It’s more like...you’re missing something you’ve felt before,” Gon continued, “But it’s impossible for you to have felt it.”

“How can you miss something you don’t even realize is missing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if it's love.”

“Love?” Knuckle said slowly, rolling the foreign word on his tongue, “What’s that?”

Gon thought back to that starry night, when he and Kite had sat on the same hill that he and Knuckle were currently sitting on. The way Kite had smiled. The way he had moved the stars. The way his calm, soothing voice had spoken softly, wistfully.

“It’s a magic that has existed since the universe began,” said Gon, repeating the phrase from memory. “It’s older than godscript, more powerful than you or me. It's mysterious. Some wish they could get a taste of it, if only once in their lifetimes.”

“...Who’d you learn that from?”

Gon shuffled his feet against the grass. “Kite.”

“Ha. Kite was an odd one too,” Knuckle said quietly. “He would think about that sort of stuff all the time. Makes sense you would chase after that if your mentor did. You two were close after all.” He looked at Gon, eyes stern. “But no, I don’t think about that. I don’t feel like anything is missing from the life I have right now. I’m happy with the way things are, and with the way I know things will be. I’m content. I have no other desires, nothing to chase.”

There, his friend paused, his eyes a bit kinder. “But how about you, Gon? Do you feel like something is missing?”

Gon lied down on the hill. The breeze was warm against his skin. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine being in love, loving someone, having that person love him.

“Yeah,” said Gon. “I think so.”

Gon was in the middle of writing his millionth set of lines (I will not leave the Heavenly Realm without permission, I will not leave the Heavenly Realm without permission, I will not leave the Heavenly Realm without permission) when the back of his neck prickled as though electricity were tracing over his skin. He shivered and nearly dropped the quill in his hand. The last line of “permission” looked less like a word and more like a scribble.

It had caught him off guard but it was a welcome distraction from his current task.

A new soul had appeared in dimension twelve.

A new god had been born.

Sure, there was no crunch in the air this time, but more important signs had been missed in past deity ascensions. Gon could barely keep his excitement contained. It had been so long since he had met a new god. He wondered what kind of past life they must have led—what amazing things they had accomplished, which dimension they had originally hailed from. What remarkable traits they had in order to be chosen.

The other gods would wait until their new god had passed through the gate to welcome them in.

Gon wasn’t one for waiting.

He looked briefly at his unfinished writing, and without a second thought, he scrambled upwards and bolted for the gate. His heart was racing in his chest. A laugh bubbled out of him.

Finally. Something interesting.

He sprinted through the meadows, took leap after leap over the rushing streams, weaved between the trees of the forests which sparkled with fresh morning rain—all whilst wondering how he should greet them. A simple hello? A wave? A smile? He wanted to be there immediately. He wanted to be the first one to introduce them to their new home. He would show them everything there was to see in the Heavenly Realm—show them the best spots to watch the sunrises and sunsets, teach them the best rivers to bathe in, the best mountains to scale to get closest to the moons.

He hoped they could be friends.

“Oi—Gon! Where are you going?” someone called to him, but Gon just hastily waved a hand and said, “I’m going to welcome the new god!”

It took him no time at all to reach the border of dimension twelve. In the distance, the gate to the Heavenly Realm stretched to the sky; a golden structure which went upwards, farther than the eye could see. It was meant to be a doorway but had inadvertently become their world’s symbol. Not that the Heavenly Realm had much use for it to begin with—although it was one of the most beautiful dimensions in existence, the prerequisite of immortality prevented anyone who wasn’t a god from entering.

Each time a god accomplished something of note, their story was engraved on its frame. To date there were thousands of stories etched there, most of which detailed battles from the war, others in medicine advancement, new magic research, and the like.

Gon pressed his face next to the image of a goddess curating flowers. He squinted.

Yes, there was someone there beyond the gate, but they were too far away to make out. And with Gon’s enhanced eyesight—that was saying something.

“Come closer!” he called.

The figure seemed to perk up at the sound of his voice. They turned around. They stopped, as if stunned by something. They walked cautiously forward. They stopped again. Then, they were running—swiftly, gracefully—the new god must have been a warrior, royalty, something like that in their past life—Gon was sure of those traits at least, because fluid movements like that only came out from honed years of practice.

When the new god was close enough for Gon to finally pick out the details in their face, in their stance, in their eyes, the more Gon’s heart thudded in his chest like the beat of a drum, thrumming through his blood, lighting every nerve he had on fire. His hands grew sweaty, and he couldn’t look away, he never wanted to—something painful stung inside his soul but it was crying out of relief, because for some inexplicable reason, Gon felt like there was a hole in his heart which was being patched back together.

The figure running to him was a young man, pale as a waxing crescent, with a head of white hair that curled at the ends. He was dressed simply, his clothes slightly scuffed and well-worn; the only item of note on his person being a dark cape around his shoulders, inner lining shimmering with the cosmos.

The new god ran to him. The sunlight filtering through the clouds exposed the dew in his eyes—which Gon realized with a start were actual tears—and Gon felt the urge to tell him not to cry, that they had just met, so why was he so sad? He shouldn’t have been sad—he was a god, gods didn’t—well, they couldn’t feel sadness that often, but those words stayed in his throat, because the new god was also smiling, a smile which dazzled and sparkled and exuded joy, and wasn’t that a contradicting thing? How could one smile while crying? How could one laugh while tears were coursing down their cheeks?

The young man slowed his pace when he reached the gate. He padded over, bare feet against the clouds, gripping the sleeves of his shirt in his hands. He hurriedly wiped his face so the tears disappeared.

“Hi,” he said, voice like bells, and he lifted his head to look at Gon, and Gon wanted to swallow the lump in his chest, but he found he couldn’t do anything else but stare. His throat was dry. He wished the gate wasn’t there. He wanted to touch him.

Was there a spell embedded in the god’s eyes? Was there magic in them? Was he part gorgon, to be able to turn Gon into stone? There was something inevitable in them, something which transcended magic and logic and the rules of the world, because there could be no other reason as to why they could hold Gon captive so easily.

And, when Gon finally took the chance to catch his breath, he nearly lost it again. The blues of everything beautiful were melded together into a prismatic collage to create this god’s eyes, they must have been, they had to have been, because no one was born with eyes like his. In them, there was the blue from the midnight sky, the blue from daybreak, the blue from bellflowers, the blue from the sea. Blue from the berries which grew on the left side of the mountain, blue from the rain, blue from the lightning that ran from heaven to the earth.

Blue. So very, very, blue.

They shone with the remnants of tears which his sleeve had been unable to catch in time.

The god reached towards the gate. He tentatively touched the golden borders. “How do I get in?” he asked softly.

“Oh.” Gon said. “Right. That. You just...uh. You just push.”

The god’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. It was fond. “Everything alright there?”

“Yeah—yeah,” Gon said breathlessly. “Everything’s fine. Hey—have we met before? You—I mean, this may sound strange, but—you look really familiar.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember you at all, but I feel like I’ve known you. Maybe before I became a god? In a past life, or something?”

The young man fished something out of his pocket. It was a red gemstone the size of a pea. “Some suave words you’re using on someone you’ve just met,” he said casually.

Gon was quick to defend himself. “I don’t have any ulterior motives!” he said adamantly.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Gon’s heart was about to explode. It hurt so much he felt as though his soul were ripping in two.

They were bantering with each other.

Gon liked that. He really, really liked that—he must have done something right in order to meet this person, because the new god was interesting—he was so, so interesting. All the other new gods he had met were polite, and well-spoken, and filled to the brim with etiquette—and honestly—all the same. But this god was different. He had left an impression on Gon. A lasting one.

It wasn’t just the way he looked, for one. Sure, the god was absolutely beautiful, but then again, all gods were. (It didn’t matter that he was, quite possibly, the most beautiful person Gon had ever seen in his life—and he had lived for a very, very long time). The fact of the matter was, Gon wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know about his past, about his family, about what he liked to do, what he liked to see, where he liked to go. About his hobbies. About his interests. If he thought gods with tan skin, dark hair, and golden eyes were attractive.

Gon’s hand twitched, and he had to physically refrain from reaching out. His body was acting strangely. He wasn’t in control of his own limbs.

The new god popped the red stone into his mouth and swallowed. Then, with a tentative movement, he placed one hand onto the gate and pushed. It glided open easily. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“What are you nervous for?” Gon teased. “You’re a god. The gate always lets gods in.”

The man blinked. “I’m not a god though,” he said.

Gon laughed. “What do you mean you’re not a god? You were chosen. You’re here, after all.”

“I’m not here because I was chosen,” the new god said, shaking his head. “I’m no god. I’m just a witch.”

Gon was confused. “But witches can’t come here. They live a long time, but they aren’t immortal. How did you open the gate if you aren’t immortal?”

Here, the man smiled again. It was mischievous. “It’s a secret,” he said. “I’ll tell you later. Say—why don’t you show me around for a bit? I’ve always wanted to see the Heavenly Realm.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Killua, by the way.”

Gon took his hand in his own and shook it. It was warm. “I’m Gon.”

For now, he would let the secrets stay hidden. He would get to know the newcomer. He would fight to understand why his chest constricted so tightly, why he wanted to reach his arms around him, why he wanted to hold his face in his palms and press kiss after kiss upon his face and lips. Sooner or later, he would figure it out. Sooner or later, he would coax the secrets out of the man who showed up at the gates of the Heavenly Realm, who smelled of starlight and the drizzle of a summer shower.

“Tonight we’re going to go stargazing,” Gon declared. “It’ll be better than all the other places I’ve taken you to. I’ve got the perfect place picked out already—I’ll grab some fruit from the garden, some cheese and bread from the cellar, and we’ll set a small fire on the grass and watch the meteor shower.”

Killua gave him a wry look. “Don’t you have lines to write?” he asked. “Last time I checked you were still...hm, several thousand words away?”

Gon ignored him. “And tonight, both moons will be blue. Blue moons. Only happens once every few millennia. You’re in luck.”

“Lines, Gon. You have to write your lines. Or you’re going to get in trouble again.”

“But you’re my guest,” Gon whined. “It’s my duty to take care of my guest. Not that anyone knows you’re not a god, you smell like one of us anyways—” Here, Killua’s face turned a rare shade of red— “But if anyone else takes you around it's not the same, you know?”

What Gon didn’t tell Killua was that his real motives were indeed, for his own self interest. He didn’t want Killua to get to know the other gods. He had met a few of his friends already, sure, but it was all peripheral—sharing Killua with anyone was an all around bad, bad idea. Because Gon liked the way Killua looked at him and him alone. He liked the way Killua’s attention was ensnared by any word he said, the way his eyes would trail after him like they would follow him anywhere. It was pure selfishness which drove his actions and nothing else.

Witch or god, Killua was most definitely the most intriguing, captivating being to ever enter Gon’s life.

Killua scoffed. “What do you mean ‘it’s not the same’? I could easily go with Knuckle. Or with Shoot. Or even with Ikalgo. You’ve got lines to write, and I’ve got time. I can keep myself preoccupied.” He stood up. “I’ll see you later, Gon.” He shot him a quick smile. “Come get me when you’re done. I’ll wait for you.”

Gon couldn’t stop his instinct in time. His hand reached out to grab the hem of Killua’s shirt, and before he could figure out what his mouth was saying, the words were already out.

“Don’t go.”

Killua flushed red to the tips of his ears. Gon released his hold on Killua’s shirt, and made the bold move to go for his hand instead. His soul sighed as his restraint caved and their skin made contact.

Ah.

It was intimate somehow, holding hands with Killua. Gon hadn’t wanted to do that with anyone else before. But Killua was special. Killua was—Killua was—

Gon’s heart lurched, and for the briefest of moments, he caught a glimpse of something in his mind, something which made the fogginess of his memories clear slightly, like focusing in with a lens. It evoked a sense of longing in him like he was looking back at a life he used to have. As quickly as it came, it faded, but there was the lingering sentiment of magic which ignited their touch, and Killua’s hands, his skin against his, was hot.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

Gon squeezed, just a little, and it felt right—the way their fingers interlocked like pieces of a puzzle which fit perfectly together. “Don’t go,” he said again. “Stay with me. Please? I promise I’ll be fast.”

Killua was making eye contact with the floor. His bottom lip trembled slightly. For some reason, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Okay,” he whispered, “I’ll stay.”

True to his word, Killua kept him company as Gon finished all of his lines in one sitting. In a herculean effort, Gon finally dotted his last sentence and stood up to stretch his limbs. It was already dark outside.

He glanced down at Killua who had fallen asleep on a mound of pillows. He was breathing softly through his nose. Gon crouched back down and traced the constellation of freckles across the witch’s face, brushing his fingertips lightly against his white lashes.

Curious. How curious, that he wanted to watch over Killua forever, that he wanted to run his fingers through his hair, that he wanted Killua to stay by his side. How curious it was, that even with the pain gripping his heart, he wanted to get closer, that he still wanted to know more.

“Who are you?” Gon murmured, “Why do I feel as though I know you? Why are you here? Are you looking for someone?”

Killua didn’t answer, but rather let out a quiet sigh and leaned into Gon’s touch.

The action was so shocking that Gon was already halfway bent over him, lips just about to touch his brow, when he clenched his teeth and pulled back.

He had almost done something bad.

He took a deep breath and composed himself.

It would be fine. Things would be fine. Whatever Killua was doing to him, whatever it was, it was fine.

Gon reached down and gently shook Killua’s shoulder. “Hey, Killua—I’m done. Let’s go.”

“Five more minutes,” Killua mumbled.

“You’ve been sleeping for hours,” said Gon. “Come on.”

Killua rolled over and blinked groggily at him. He smiled at him, a dopey kind that was filled with a tenderness Gon hadn’t seen on anyone's face before. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

The phrase was an arrow to the heart.

“I’ve been right here, Killua,” said Gon, doing his best not to kiss him.

“Hm, I suppose you have, in a way.” Killua sat up. He stretched too, looking more like a cat yawning in the sun than a witch who had just woken up from a nap. “Alright, I’ve slept enough. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

The moons were already climbing into the sky by the time they made it to the top of the mountainside cliff. Killua hadn’t complained at all about getting there—even Knuckle had expressed his grievances when Gon first showed him the location—but his new companion wordlessly toed off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves, and gripped the rock with his slim fingers. He scaled the side with an elegance and strength not lost on Gon. He looked as though he had been climbing mountains his whole life.

Gon hauled the basket of food over his shoulders and followed right after him.

Killua, lighter on his feet and with a head start, reached the top first. His bare legs dangled off the edge as he took in the view. Gon tossed the basket up and swung a leg over. The wind was remarkably silent.

Gon gathered some wood. He was about to write a spell to light a fire, but Killua just smiled and said, “Allow me.”

With the smallest of breaths, he blew a stream of sparks onto the kindling. It caught easily, and soon, they had a blaze.

“You’re amazing,” said Gon honestly.

Killua grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

“By you.”

“But this is my first time telling you that,” said Gon.

Killua hummed. “I guess it is.”

Gon didn’t press further.

Up above, the clouds parted and the two moons finally reached their apex. They beamed down upon them like two smiling giants, round and whole, and Gon wordlessly sliced the bread and cheese and passed a few pieces to Killua. The witch, between munches of that and fruit, would ask Gon questions in a hushed tone, like they were sharing a secret moment. None of Killua’s questions were difficult to answer but they were strange questions Gon hadn’t heard prior to Killua asking them; like if Gon had liked anyone romantically in the past few decades (until Killua’s arrival, he hadn’t), if he had enjoyed his time in the human world (he confessed he couldn’t remember if he did), and if he ever felt like something was missing.

“I used to feel that way,” Gon said.

Killua looked at him. “Used to?”

“Yeah.” Gon moved his fingers like he had seen Kite move them a lifetime ago, and the stars rearranged themselves—orion’s belt, cygnus, a miscellaneous flower. “I felt as though I was forgetting something important. Really, really important. More important than my life. It really bothered me. I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

“But you don’t feel that way any more?”

Gon laughed and leaned back. “I guess not? No—actually, I’m sure I don’t. I mean, this is going to sound crazy—I know we just met, I know it's only been a few weeks, and I swear I don’t have any ulterior motives when I say this—but Killua, from the moment you got here, I’ve felt whole. I was unsettled ever since I’ve returned to the Heavenly Realm, but now, with you by my side, I finally feel like everything is right in the world. Is that weird? I’m sorry. It’s probably weird.”

Killua’s face was red from his cheeks to his ears. “You mean it?” he asked hoarsely. “You really mean it?”

“I mean it,” Gon said.

Killua bit into an apple slice. He wrinkled his nose, then looked up into the sky again. He was thinking.

“It’s your turn to ask me something,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was back to normal.

“My turn?”

“You answered all my questions. So yes, it’s your turn now.”

Gon had a lot of questions. He wanted to ask the same things Killua had asked him. Mostly if he was romantically interested in anyone. He wanted to know how he had gotten past the gate. What that small, ruby stone had been. How long he was staying. If he could stay forever. For eternity. If he thought Gon was good company. If he thought dimension twelve was boring or fun. What he thought of gods. If he ever thought about kissing gods, as Gon had thought about kissing witches. But instead, as the first comet fell from the sky, followed by the second and third until a canvas of stars was scattered across the heavens, Gon settled for asking, “Why are you here?”

Killua answered his question smoothly. “I’m here to fulfill a wish.” Then, he added, “With a meteor shower, I guess a lot of people will be fulfilling wishes tonight.”

Gon’s heart rate increased. “What kind of wish?”

“A wish from a very long time ago. From someone near and dear to me. It’s...kind of hard to explain.”

With that, Gon felt his soul split down the middle. So Killua had someone he cared for in that way. Well, it was Killua after all; talented, fierce, quick-witted Killua. Even though they hadn’t spent all that much time together, Gon could tell this man was someone special. It was obvious. It was in the way Killua carried himself. It was in the way that he spoke. It was in every kind gesture he made. So Gon shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Killua had already found a person for himself, because anyone would have jumped at the chance to be close to someone like Killua.

But despite knowing that, there had been a part of Gon which had held onto a desperate kind of hope, that if Killua was with him longer, he might have taught Gon what it was like to love instead.

A sudden pain struck Gon’s head with the thought. It hurt. He gripped the grass with a tightly clenched fist.

There was a pressure behind his eyes. It throbbed and his heart ached with it—in some faraway, echoed version of the past, he saw a flash of white hair and lightning on a person’s fingertips—it looked like Killua, but that didn’t make any sense, because they had just met, hadn’t they? They had just met a few weeks ago. It was as short of a time as any. And he would have remembered someone like Killua, even if a million years had passed. Someone like Killua was unforgettable.

It couldn't have been him.

A ghostly memory slid its hand into Gon’s. It was cool and cold. It was familiar. That same hand had touched his face in a dream.

It disappeared as soon as Gon had realized it was there.

Killua laughed. His eyes twinkled like the stars. “You look confused.”

Gon shook himself out of his trance, willing the pain in his head away. “Was just thinking about something, is all,” he said.

In the background night sky, a pale blue grew across the face of the moons, gradually changing their warm, white surface to the color of forget-me-nots. And further in the distance, the stars continued to drift across the sky, painted lines of light which carried thousands of wishes along with them.

More days passed. More days of heartache, of pining, of longing, of wanting to touch Killua and refraining from doing so. Words would catch in Gon’s throat like raindrops in a well and it took every ounce of willpower to keep them from spilling out—and it didn’t help that Killua would smile at him and lean against his shoulder as they sat on the seaside cliff each evening, that Killua would joke around, laugh in a way that shook his shoulders and left him in stitches, and just as quickly, get up and run faster than Gon through the golden meadows, the color of the sunrise in his hair.

It only made it that much harder, that much more painful.

Emotions stirred inside Gon, begging to be released, to be set free, and Gon could only quash them down in panic because what was he doing feeling things like that, and especially towards someone like Killua who had already devoted himself to another? He was a horrible friend. Killua was there for a reason. He was there to fulfill someone’s wish, and whoever that someone was, they were so incredibly lucky, because Gon would have given anything to be in their shoes.

He was jealous of them. They would never understand his position—of wanting to get closer despite the daggers digging into his heart, of wanting to capture Killua’s attention every waking moment, because they already had it. Gon couldn’t stand the thought of it; the thought that Killua’s smile had been monopolized by another, that the person dearest to his heart wasn’t Gon, but rather some stranger instead, some person who didn’t know how fortunate they were, who wouldn’t feel thorny vines in their flesh whenever Killua was around. Gon didn’t dare imagine what would happen when the witch finally fulfilled the wish he had mentioned because such thoughts always involved him leaving Gon in the Heavenly Realm, alone, for another. He would thank Gon for their time together, give him a soft smile which wasn’t reserved for him, which didn’t hold the intent he hoped it would, and go back to his precious person, because that person already had Killua’s heart, his love—Gon knew it, because every time Killua would talk about them his features would soften and his eyes would become even more beautiful, even more sad, like he missed them terribly.

If there were higher deities than gods, Gon would have prayed to them, begged them, to let him experience what it was like to be loved by someone like Killua. He would have relinquished his godhood, given anything short of his life to feel it—but there was no one to pray to. Not even the power of the heavens could control the will of love.

Killua had obtained its magic. Gon had too. But his love was misdirected, a black hole’s gravity which weighed on his being. This desperate kind of longing was something Gon was unused to.

His emotions clashed against one another. It was a push and pull, a constant war within himself, because part of him wanted to steal Killua for himself, the other part wanted to keep his distance so as not get hurt even more than he already had.

The first part always won.

And every time it did, his heart ached even further, wondering what it had done to deserve such a torturous, wonderful feeling, because loving someone, and hoping for their love in return, was nothing less than waiting for a downpour during a drought.

Gon was finding it harder and harder to ignore his feelings. It was difficult to set the pain aside, to look at Killua and not want to embrace him, to not want to kiss him, to not want him the way his soul kept telling him he did. Because Gon did. Gon wanted him, wholly, undeniably, entirely, wanted him in a way he hadn’t thought he could. And through it all, his head continued to give him the sensation that something was right within reach but still untouchable, that something was on the tip of his tongue but he still wasn’t quite there—but with Killua by his side, he was getting closer and closer to the answer. He would catch glimpses now, of images he understood to be important, though the reasons for their importance remained a mystery.

Things like tea sets.

Like circles with pentagrams within them.

Green and blue aprons, hung side by side.

Killua poked his leg. “You’re getting distracted again,” he said. “If you wait any longer to reel that carp in, you won’t catch it at all.”

Gon cleared his thoughts, swiftly pulling back his fishing rod so a gleaming, silver fish landed squarely in their basket. It wriggled against the twine before settling down.

“On the contrary,” Gon grinned, “You forget I’m great at fishing.”

Killua’s mouth twitched up in the semblance of a smile. “All luck,” he said. “I’ll catch three times that amount.”

“What are we going to do with three times the amount of fish?” asked Gon, but Killua was already diving gracefully into the stream, barely making a splash—and Gon could only admire him through the clear water as he swiped at the fish with his hands, grabbing an additional five before breaking the surface and tossing them into the basket to join Gon’s catch.

Killua swam over to the dock. He looked like a mermaid.

“Told you,” he said airily, as though he had successfully proven a point, but in all honesty whether or not he proved it was of little consequence because Gon was sure that whatever Killua did, no matter what it was, it could only make him love him more.

“We have too many fish for the both of us, Killua!” Gon said in mock exasperation. “Maybe we can give some to Knuckle? He was always partial to—woah—!”

All of a sudden Killua had grabbed his ankle, and after a brief struggle (which Gon had lost), had pulled him into the water to join him. Gon’s entrance was significantly less graceful than Killua’s. He landed with a loud splash, scattering the fish in the area to the furthest ends of the stream. After he got over the surprise it was rather enjoyable—the water was shallow and warm after being cast in sunlight for an afternoon, and as Gon resurfaced, he was determined—no, ready—to wrestle Killua as payback.

But Gon found that he couldn’t.

He couldn’t, because the light was catching against every droplet of water on Killua’s skin, on Killua’s eyelashes, glittering like he had been bathed in stardust, and he was so, so, so beautiful, laughing like he wasn’t made of diamonds, like he didn’t see the way Gon looked at him, like he had no idea of the reverence Gon held for him. Killua’s eyes crinkled up in the corners, a glimpse of blue barely peeking out, and Gon’s heart swelled in his chest, expanding like hot air in a balloon, crushing his lungs, sending a tingling feeling up and down his spine. He was filled with the sudden yearning to hold Killua tight and never let go. He wanted to sing of his praises, to kiss every freckle that dotted his nose.

And his heart kept beating. It banged against his ribcage, yelling something, something which Gon had tried to ignore but could do so no longer. Its call made its way into the golden blood which threaded through Gon’s veins, it lit a flame under his skin, it filled him with a power and desire beyond his own comprehension. Underneath it all, someone was fitting a key into his box of memories, and they were turning it, slowly, surely, deliberately.

The well in Gon’s throat was filled to the brim now—there was no more space for waiting, no more room for him to breathe—it was overflowing, the words that he had tried so hard to keep hidden for Killua’s sake and for his own were spilling out, and he couldn’t stop them, not this time.

There was a click on the lock. It was hardly noticeable.

“I love you,” Gon breathed, and he watched as Killua’s eyes went from small crescents to round in shock, and now the blue was that much bluer.

Oh.

He had said it.

It was too late now.

The words left his mouth, like they were running, like they were running for freedom, not knowing that a wall would be in their way, a wall of denial—but Gon had made a mistake and he couldn’t retract it even if he tried.

“I know it's not fair to say that to you,” Gon said, overlooking the small flower of hope in his chest which took Killua’s red face to be a sign of reciprocation, “Because I know you’re not here for me, you’re here to fulfill a wish—and I’m just...just a godly companion, or something. But I’ve never met anyone like you before. I’ve never wanted to be close to someone the way I’ve wanted to be with you. Look—even as I’m saying all this, my hands are shaking, because I’m nervous—I can’t even remember the last time I was nervous!” Gon laughed, holding his hands up, and sure enough, his fingers were shaking.

“My heart hurts when I’m with you, Killua. You can’t see it, but if you could, you’d find that it hangs on to every word you say, you’d realize that even in my dreams, ever since I saw you at the gate, it's thinking about you. Each day, each moment we spend together moves too fast and I keep falling deeper and deeper for you—it’s like I’m drowning, but I don’t want to come up for air. And—I can’t explain why—why it is that I love you, why it is that I think you’re perfect, why it is that I want to be with you during every waking moment. I can only explain to you that I do—that it’s engraved in my being.

“I can’t put it into words. I can’t, but I’ve had a feeling that you’re the key to something important, because my hazy memories get clearer when I’m with you—and yes, it hurts sometimes, but it hurts even more to know that some things have stayed forgotten when they shouldn’t have. And it’s like you’re the piece that’s been missing in my life, it’s like I haven’t been whole until I’ve met you, that I’ve loved you a lifetime ago, that you’ve changed me for the better, that you’ve made me who I am—and I know that you don’t feel the same for me, but I just...I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“...What makes you think that?” asked Killua quietly, and Gon looked at him for the first time since the words had spilled out, and for some reason tears had joined the water dripping down Killua’s cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands, palms against his eyelids.

“What makes you think that?” Killua asked again, louder this time. “What makes you think I haven’t felt that way towards you? What makes you think that I haven’t done everything just so I could see you again, just so I could be with you, so I could touch you, just so I could spend even just one more second with you? What makes you think that?”

“I—”

Killua angrily took his hands away from his face, and he waded over to Gon, water splashing against his legs. He stood close enough to Gon so that their noses were touching, close enough so that Gon could see blazing aquamarines in his eyes.

“I have loved you,” Killua said, staring straight into Gon’s soul, “For years. I never stopped. I have never stopped loving you, never stopped thinking of you, never stopped wishing and hoping and searching for an answer, for a way to fulfill my promise to you. And worst is, I still wasn’t confident in myself, because a dark part inside of me always wondered if you had found someone else during our time apart. But I charged on forwards anyways because not seeing you was a fate even worse than that.

“And it was painful, so, so painful, to see you at the gate, and see that you didn’t know me at all—it was so hard to shake your hand when all I wanted to do was kiss you and hold you in my arms again, it was so hard not to just pretend like things hadn’t changed because they had, and it was so hard not to just tell you everything because if I did, it wouldn’t have been natural, and it wouldn’t have worked.”

He brought his hand to Gon’s chest, fingers clenching against the wet fabric as if he were reaching for Gon’s heartbeat, as if he were reenacting a scene from his past.

“I’ve waited,” Killua whispered, “I’ve waited for so long for you to love me again.”

And with a press of his lips against Gon’s, the box opened and everything came flooding back.

Gon’s memories slotted themselves in their rightful spots. The bridge connected, the string which had fallen wrapped itself against the pieces and bound them tight again, and everything he had lost was stitched back together with the power of love. They came to him in fractals, one by one, reminding him of who he was, the people he had met, how his journey had begun and ended, and the witch that had started it all, the witch he had fallen in love with each iteration, the witch that he had given his entire heart to, his entire being, the witch that was his and his alone.

“You summoned me? On your first summoning attempt?”

“You’re funny, human. It’s a simple wish. I shall grant it.”

“Have either of you ever fought a Zoldyck witch before?”

“I want you to make a wish.”

“You can still wish for things and I’m contractually obligated to fulfill them, but I won’t be happy about it, you hear?”

“Take care, Gon. Thank you for everything. I was happy.”

“You need to escape Gon. I’m glad I got to see you, even for this short moment, but this place isn’t safe for someone like you.”

“I’m so sorry Gon, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“What cost did you pay?”

“I have loved you, all this time, and I want you to love me, if even only a fraction, of how much I love you.”

“Wait for me. I promise I’ll fulfill your wish. I promise.”

And Killua had done it—Gon knew he would—and it really was him, it really was Killua in his arms, kissing him, warm breaths between them and Gon cupped his face with his still-shaking hands, but this time they were trembling out of sheer, unbridled happiness. Killua tasted just like he remembered, tasted like they hadn’t been separated for years, like they had just confessed how they felt a day ago.

It was like the old was turning to new, like death was turning to life, like the mundane was turning to magic. It was the explosion of a supernova in the depths of space. It was the touch of a fairy’s wing on the first snow of winter. It was the dappled rays in the quiet forest, the smell of lightning before the storm, the spray of seawater upon marbled rocks. The feeling flickered on his lips with the brush of a blue moon: calming, sweet, and mystical.

Killua tasted like eternity.

“Killua,” Gon breathed, kissing him again. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”

“You remember?” Killua whispered against his lips. “You really remember?”

“I do. I remember everything.”

“It took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“Do you know how hard it was to get here? How difficult it is to make yourself immortal?” asked Killua, pausing only for a moment before he went in for another kiss, “Let me give you a hint—even with Alluka on my side, I had to visit over a hundred dimensions to make one tiny, little rock.”

“Is that what you swallowed at the gate?” asked Gon, kissing the corner of Killua’s mouth, then his cheeks. “The red one?”

“Yes. I named it after you, you know. It’s called a sorcerer’s stone.”

“The first of its kind?”

“Mm. And its existence will stay a secret. I won’t be making one again. Too dangerous.”

“But you made it.”

“I had to, or else I wouldn’t have been able to enter the Heavenly Realm.”

“You’re amazing, Killua.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are. You really, really are.”

Gon knocked on the door of the Gods’ Association headquarters. Although their main building was a large, sprawling palace in the center of the Heavenly Realm, the god Gon wanted to see was never there.

After the war had ended, the leader of the Gods’ Association had reincarnated and ascended back to godhood in record time. He hadn’t wanted to lead again, preferred the younger generation to carry the charge, but as soon as he had returned to the Heavenly Realm everyone had already chosen him as their unofficial head. He took the title but refused to handle most cases. He was never one for administrative things. Paperwork was not his forte.

The leader of the Gods’ Association would rather spend time in his small hut near the riverbank, surrounded by his carefully planted vegetable garden.

Killua squeezed Gon’s hand. “It’ll be fine,” he said, but Gon wasn’t sure if the words were more for Gon or if they were more for himself.

The door creaked open. Gon peeked inside.

An old man was already sitting at the singular table in the hut. There was a pot of steaming tea and three cups set on its surface.

“Are you going to stand there till the sky goes dark, or are you going to come in?” Netero asked. He opened a tin of small cookies and dumped them unceremoniously on a plate. One of them rolled away, twirling briefly before falling flat.

Gon and Killua both entered and took a seat. Netero wordlessly passed them each a cup of tea, then rested his chin on his hands, waiting.

Gon spoke. “I know I haven’t fulfilled the terms of my punishment yet. But I’d like to leave.”

Netero blinked at him, then took a long sip from his cup. He leaned back into his chair. “According to Knuckle,” he said, “The last time you reported in, you still had several hundred thousand lines to go. And, I believe I heard through the grapevine that the Association has created a new law restricting travel to other dimensions unless absolutely necessary. If I acquiesce to your request it would be breaking both rules. I’d be setting a bad example.”

“Rules have never stopped me before,” said Gon.

Netero chuckled. “Well, I can’t argue against that. But the rules are there for a reason. We can’t just let gods ignore them or they would fail to do their jobs in the first place. Why don’t you explain to me why you want to leave?”

“I’ve found love, you see.”

“Hm,” said Netero, eyes flicking to Killua. “I do see that. It’s been quite a while since a god has fallen in love—and with a witch, nonetheless.” He popped a cookie into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “But there are other places you could go to be together. Why not stay in the Heavenly Realm? We have one of the most beautiful dimensions in existence. You could stay here, and then no rules would be broken. I would think that option is much easier.”

“We can’t do that. Our home is in the human world,” said Killua.

“Oh!? Is it?”

“It is.”

“Interesting. Hm.” Netero picked up another cookie. Silence stretched within the confines of the hut as he inspected the biscuit in his hands. He was contemplating his next words and Gon and Killua sat motionless in their chairs, waiting. Their tea grew cold.

“Tell me,” Netero said finally, “Do you understand why love is the most powerful magic in existence?”

Gon shook his head. Killua’s fingers clenched against the wood table. They both didn’t say anything, not knowing what answer the older man was expecting.

“You youngsters,” Netero sighed wistfully, putting the cookie down. “I forget how much older I am than you sometimes.”

He leaned forward. “Listen closely. I’ll tell you why. It’s because love is unexplainable. No amount of research, no amount of experience, no amount of teaching can ever prepare you for it. Only until you feel it for yourself can you understand why that is so. It’s power comes from its unselfishness and from its sacrifice. It is wholeheartedly given and not taken. It expects nothing in return.”

Netero smiled, his white mustache lifting upwards. “Why is it that flowers love the sun? Why is it that the birds love the trees? Why is it that children love their parents? Is it out of necessity? Or is it something ingrained in the very souls of existence, a magic which has tied the living together, in hopes that such emotion will bring us together, so we can build up instead of tearing down?

“I cannot claim to understand it. But I’ve lived a long time, both in this life and the last two, and I’ve noticed things about it. Love heals wounds. It breaks curses. It evokes happiness and positivity. It is a magic which everyone is capable of wielding, and does not discriminate—it cares naught for where you come from, what origins you have, what you’ve done, who you are. It only hopes that you spread it, that you give it, that you pour more of it out into the world.

“Whatever love is, there is still much to learn about it. And, how lucky the both of you are to find it in each other, to find love in your lifetimes, to find a love that most can only dream of having.”

Netero put both his palms on the table. His explanation was finished. He didn’t say anything else. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and without a glance back, strode out of the hut. Gon and Killua looked at one another and then hurried to follow him. Behind the hut, the vegetable plants were growing tall and facing the sun, leaves wide and green.

Netero bent down in his wooden sandals and rustled around near the roots. When he turned back around, there was a tomato in each of his hands. He passed them to Gon and Killua. The vegetables were both perfect—round, red, and at the peak of ripeness.

“For you to eat on the way back home,” Netero said simply, and that was that.

Together, Gon and Killua pushed open the golden gates to the Heavenly Realm. They waved goodbye to Gon’s friends, who promised to visit the human world when they could. The Gods' Association's law was still in place, but hopefully not for long—with rumors already spreading of the dimension’s delicious baked treats (Killua had attested firmly to it), it was only a matter of time before the ban was lifted. Who would have thought food would have been the thing to entice the gods? Gon sure didn’t.

They walked to the edge of the Heavenly Realm. A spark glittered in the air, expecting them. It traced a circle into the atmosphere and a portal opened up, lined by the colors of the rainbow. A girl with ribbons in her hair peeked out around its side.

“You both took forever,” Alluka said, and then she was wrapping them up in a tightly armed hug. “I’ve been waiting.”

Gon smiled against her hair. “Sorry we took so long. My fault.”

“If only I could have passed through the gate too, it would have gone faster I’m sure,” Alluka said, but her actions betrayed her words. She sniffed, suddenly teary, and buried her face into Gon’s chest. “I really missed you.”

She led them through the portal, and as they stepped through it, space rippling against their skin like silk, for the first time in what felt like eons, Gon saw five humans gathered around a white wicker table. The aromatic smell of jasmine and citrus wafted through the air. His friends were chatting amicably in the front garden which had grown larger and more abundant in their absence. Someone had planted a rose hedge. There was a small patch dedicated to herbs now. And even though their shop hadn’t been visited in ages, the windows had been wiped clear of dust and a fresh layer of red paint had been added to the door.

Kurapika noticed them first. He was positioned directly in front of the portal so he caught sight of them as they appeared in the human world, the landscape of the Heavenly Realm at their backs. His eyes widened in shock. He stopped mid-sentence.

The teacup he was holding dropped onto the grass.

The other four members of the tea party turned to face Kurapika’s line of sight, confused by his strange reaction until they saw Gon, Killua, and Alluka, and then their faces too, took on the same surprised expression.

Relative to their lifespans, time moved faster for humans. While Gon and Killua hadn’t changed in appearance, their friends had clearly gotten older. Bisky’s hair had gone grey. Kurapika and Leorio had lines around their eyes and mouths. Zushi was significantly taller (he had obviously hit a late growth spurt). Wing’s hair was tied around his nape.

The humans sat in stunned silence, appraising the two people they thought they would never see again, the two people they thought had disappeared forever, and a young girl they had never seen before.

The stagnant pause lingered in the air for only a moment.

Then it broke.

If Kurapika had been the first to notice them, there was no doubt Leorio was the first to move. He leapt out of his chair and vaulted across the table, knocking over the pot and saucers, spilling tea everywhere, long limbs flying. He didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t say a single word, but Gon saw that he was crying behind his glasses as he swept them up into a hug. His grip was just as comforting as Gon thought it would be.

He smelled like cinnamon, like earl grey tea leaves, like patchouli and honey.

Gon felt safe.

“Welcome home,” Leorio said gruffly.

And then the others followed suit—chairs clattered to the ground as Gon’s family ran to them, touching his and Killua’s faces as though they couldn’t believe they were real, laughing amongst their tears. There were questions now, many, many questions, but for once in his life, Gon had all the time in the world to answer them.

“Neither of you have aged a day!” exclaimed Bisky, inspecting their appearances.

“That’s because I’m a god,” grinned Gon.

This news didn’t seem to faze anyone in the slightest, which Gon was grateful for. If he had to explain the nuances, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to do it justice. 

“Figured as much—your excuse about ‘sending magic outwards’ and ‘being born with a special ability’ was a tad too convenient,” said Bisky, rubbing her temples. “Things are always clearer in hindsight.”

Leorio whooped. “I knew something was off about you—”

“And,” Gon interrupted smugly, “I’m not the only one with an extended lifespan. Killua’s immortal now.”

“How did you manage to gain immortality?” asked Kurapika suspiciously.

Killua winced and spluttered an excuse. Gon laughed. Even if they were older, he found reassurance in that his friends’ personalities hadn’t changed.

“Uh—well, it was more trouble than it’s worth, honestly. Definitely won’t be doing that again. Ever. So don’t worry about that. It took a lot of time, blood, sweat and tears—and even with my sister’s help, it was a giant pain. Oh—I need to introduce her—Alluka, get in here. And bring out Nanika too, if she’s available.”

“She says she’s shy.”

“Ah, okay then. Maybe next time.”

“I like your ribbons,” said Wing kindly. “Won’t you tell Nanika that I like them too?”

Alluka beamed and nodded vigorously. “I will!”

“Looks like Alluka’s not the only one with some new accessories,” Killua said, pointing at Leorio’s apron with a sly smile on his lips. “That’s a new apron you’ve got there, my friend. You finally opened up your other ‘Spice and Nice’ shop or something?”

“It’s ‘Herb and Spice and Everything Nice’, for your information!” Leorio said proudly. “And yes, I have. Kurapika’s been helping me out in his spare time.”

“Oh, nice. Is that why you guys have matching rings?”

Kurapika and Leorio both flushed red at the same time.

“We haven’t had snacks with our tea since you left,” Zushi said, transitioning the topic so his friends wouldn’t have to answer Killua’s question for the time being, “We all tried, but unfortunately, none of us have a penchant for baking and nothing from the stores taste quite like your cooking. Leorio nearly killed us with his last batch of cookies—”

“You take that back, I did not—”

“—But more than that, I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say that more than your cooking, we’ve all just missed you. Very, very much.”

Kurapika leaned over to brush the hair out of Gon’s eyes. He looked directly at him, searching for something in his gaze. “Will you be staying a while?” he asked quietly.

Gon reached for Killua’s hand. Killua slid his fingers in between Gon’s, and stars bloomed where their palms touched. It was a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by their friends. Leorio’s eyebrows instantly started waggling.

Killua grinned and let out a laugh which sounded like all of his dreams had finally come true.

“I think we’ll be staying forever.”

Gon and Killua planted the two tomatoes Netero gave them in their garden. It didn’t take long at all for them to sprout from the earth. The vegetables were tart and sweet, and found their way into sandwiches, into soups, into salads and bread and sauces, through the seasons of summer, spring, winter, and fall.

A full year passed.

Killua hauled the last of their baskets into the back room. They had finally gathered enough ingredients to restock the shop. The fruits of their labors were sprawled across every surface, stacked and piled on top of one another.

It was time. They were ready.

After buying new aprons (Killua in green, Gon in blue), they began working again in earnest. Killua started up the cauldrons. Gon picked up his quill. The light in the shop stayed on through the day and through the night. It took both of them a few more weeks to get everything in order, but they soon had a fresh selection of goods lining their shelves, bottles gleaming in the sun, scrolls carefully arranged in their jars.

Gon flipped the sign in the window.

“Well would you look at that,” a man said, doing a double-take as he walked past the store, “I haven’t seen that sign say ‘open’ since I was a boy. Hey, love—want to take a look around? It’s been a while.”

The older customers who had remembered the shop were only too happy to see that it had opened again. They didn’t question the mysterious owners who hadn’t aged, didn’t ask about what magic spell they had used, because to them, the only thing that mattered was their kindness and the love they had for one another which was written plainly in their eyes.

As the seasons moved onwards, so did the years. Killua and Gon’s family passed away one by one. The onset of age, growing older—those were things outside of their control. It was never easy. They would cry each time out of sadness, out of heartache, out of understanding that this too, was a consequence of immorality. But the cycle of life continued. Time flowed forwards. They were all reborn, reincarnated, and they became their family again, in each version of their lives, showering them in their smiles and their embraces and their love.

Gon’s friends from the Heavenly Realm visited their shop too, and although their trips were less frequent, they were no less enjoyable. The gods finally seemed to realize why the human world was so interesting—they would frown when the magic wouldn’t do their bidding, they would whisper in hushed tones in the workshop as customers entered and left, a sparkle would gleam in their eyes when Gon would come out with a tray of baked bread. The tea table became crowded rather quickly, far too small to fit everyone, so Bisky was forced to snap her fingers so that it extended from one end of the garden to another.

There was more room after that.

And each morning, Gon would feel as though he were in a dream. He would wake up next to Killua, who would sit up with his hair jutting out in every direction, and say in a dry, bleary voice, “Good morning. What do you want to do today?” And Gon’s heart would beat contently in his chest because he was able to smile, to admire the person curled up by his side, and answer him with “whatever Killua wants”. His response would be well received, for Killua would laugh softly under his breath, happiness shining in his eyes as he said, “But I already have everything that I want.”

They would scooch closer under the covers to press a kisses to each other’s lips and would refuse to get out of bed until Killua’s stomach rumbled, which would then prompt him to declare that he was starving and that Gon should make him chocolate pancakes if they had the ingredients available.

They always had the ingredients, and Gon always agreed. 

And so, there lived a god who had fallen in love with a witch, and a witch who had fallen in love with a god, who operated a little magic shop together and traded kisses without wishes for all eternity.