Speak of the Devil // COMPLETED ✔

Returning Stolen (?) Goods To Clear One's Conscience

Killua worried his thumbnail between his teeth as he attempted to focus on triple-checking his syllabi that day and the following morning. Their dorm room was stuffy and humid from all of the heat in the building collectively rising, so they took to the campus grounds once again. And, once again, people avoided them.

Killua suspected, however, that if Gon were to raise his voice, they'd all hear him.

Gon was relaxed on his back, his languages book raised overhead to shield his eyes from the sunlight. His brown irises were so warm and light they were nearly gold. In his free hand, he spun the CD player around on his finger like it was a basketball.

Killua couldn't decide if this was a matter of talking Gon out of keeping it, or a matter of stealing it.

"I was thinking about going on a run later," Killua said. "Do you run?"

"Only when I need to," Gon said, and tipped his head back to study Killua. "I didn't know you were a runner."

"I was in cross country in high school."

"Cross country... That's long distance, isn't it? What's the farthest you've run?"

"I trained for the marathon last year but sprained an ankle," Killua said, and rotated his ankle experimentally. It was fine now. "So sixteen miles."

Gon was dazzled by this news. "Can I run with you?"

Killua lowered his foot back down. "I do better running solo. But I was wondering if I could borrow your CD player for my run?"

"Oh. Sure!" Gon wound the cord around the device and stretched an arm far above his head for Killua to reach it.

His sleeve pulled back just a fraction to remind Killua of the ink blots and to define them as tattoos. His wrist was entirely blacked out and accompanied by an inky bracelet of slim, fine-tipped diamonds.

The tattoos went on, but the sleeve covered them. Killua took the CD player and tucked it into his backpack.

"I've been curious about your tattoos," Killua said as he settled back. "Is that why you wear long sleeves?"

Gon glanced at his arms and looked back at Killua. He'd expected Gon to be offended—perhaps he was self-conscious of them—but instead Gon smiled. "No, I'm just cold."

Killua openly laughed. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious," Gon said. "I'm practically cold-blooded."

He sat up, turned, and crossed his legs as he wound one sleeve up past his elbow.

Gon's forearms had definition, but that definition was obscured by blackout tattoos and barbed, thorny bracelets. It wasn't a standard sleeve, that much Killua knew. He couldn't imagine what on God's green earth possessed Gon to feel inspired enough to tattoo himself for life like this.

And then Gon tugged at the collar of his hoodie. At the base of his neck were those same diamonds, spun like a crown of thorns across his collarbone and over his trapezius. His grin was sharp and pointed by a dimple. "There's a lot more."

"That must have cost a fortune," Killua said. "My friend got one over the summer. Cost him like eight hundred dollars."

Gon started rolling his sleeve back down. Killua tried not to focus on Gon's hands, or how attractive they were. His knuckles were angular and webbed by tendons.

Abruptly, and without mercy, guilt churned Killua's stomach cold. He wondered which came first—the feeling, or Gon's eyes on him without warning. Stern. He swore he felt the guilt first, like Gon sniffed it out.