A War Worth Fighting |DISCONTINUED|

Chapter 5: If Only You Knew

2742 words.

One Month, thirty days, seven hundred twenty hours, and Killua could remember every minute, every second, and every moment. What started as an agreement of mutual benefits, began as an acquainted partnership, ended with a metamorphosis semblance to friendship. Or was it? Perhaps it was merely a deeper understanding of one another. He remembers every word said, each touch, skin colliding with skin, and the numerous adventures one after another. But when did it begin? How could an emotion strong enough to plague his every thought, a feeling with the durability to overcome the darkest of time, slip through his grasp undetected?

Maybe it was when they first met. Dark hair, glowing amber gaze, and skin. So much skin. It could've been when they shook hands right then and there when Killua's palms met calloused hands dedicated to training. When those same hands, slick from ointment, traveled from his shoulders, and down, down, down. Something in him itched to have the rough pads of Gon's fingers on his tummy, rubbing with desire and hungry amber eyes that made Killua all but melt, a fruitless imagination. The night Gon asked why--why scars littered Killua's back.

Killua grew afraid of the spontaneity of the quelling distance. They seldom mentioned their past, bringing it up came with distance. A distance Killua grew to fear even more so than the closeness. He was confident in his understandings of others; their actions almost always predictable. With spending time together in this "partnership", their thinking ran parallel. He understood Gon. Gon barging into sticky situations or Killua's valued space was foreseeable. It was his own reaction that remained unpredictable. He would be reading, eating, sleeping, anything! And suddenly there's Gon. He should've told him off, sent a chilling glare, but no. Instead, he found himself stuttering, face on fire, and spitting insults lacking bite. The confusing part is he found himself enjoying it, anticipatory on what Gon will do next. It was himself he didn't understand.

Maybe it began when escaping imprisonment. Killua loved the way they ran in sync with one another. Left, right, then left again. Or when Gon undressed in the river, the glimmering muscles in the moonlight begging for Killua's touch, water lapping with gentle disturbance around Gon's legs, thinning the fabric even more so, everything on display as if his body was telling the world: this is who I am. Or perhaps it was when Gon waded towards Killua, bare torso, placing a warm hand on Killua's shoulder. Killua's first reaction was to jump, escape, but in reality, he wanted to lean closer, experiment with what sensation each touch would ignite. But his mind rationalized Gon's intentions once noticing blood disperse beneath the water's surface and the wound passively mending.

Maybe it was their night at the hotel. The night Gon fastened himself to Killua and Killua, discovering his submissive desires. It was a simple touch, an act of kinship. The right thing to do was gently remove the other's arm and move away. But he leaned back. Back into Gon's embrace, back far enough to hear his rhythmic heartbeat, far enough to feel Gon's warm breath fanning his neck, the intoxicating scent of pine. Killua squirmed, it felt so good, but god he wanted more. This was a secret Killua's bound to reveal with time. There would be a time Gon is conscious, pressing against Killua lightly with no sinful intentions, and Killua would melt into him, body betraying his mind. He'll search deeper, but in the end, he'll only find that he can never say no to Gon. He fell asleep hard that night. Gon made him weak.

Perhaps it was the moments that were labeled insignificant. Ambling through an icy forest in the northern kingdoms with nothing but memories and the presence of one another, or chatting of missions and experiences at a local bar with acquainted residents, but never speaking to each other because they didn't need to.

Maybe it didn't matter when. Here it is, a constant reminder that Killua is helpless against it. He's stuck watching aside, feigning indifference as girls hit on Gon. Pretty girls, provocative girls, even shy girls. They strayed from Killua, who was the unapproachable sort, but Gon's another story. And for the first time, Killua hated the other's welcoming demeanor.