#more editing

Even with the highest quality vidscreens—a luxury neither of them have most of the time, between travel and running and barely-connecting messages—Killua’s certain he would never have been able to see the freckles until they’re standing face to face, the first time in years, and neither of them can stop grinning but neither of them knows which way to move. But now that he’s noticed them, he can’t stop staring.

Killua feels kind of stupid. Of all the things to notice about Gon, it’s not that he’s still wearing shorts (although they’re longer, pockets full of knick-knacks and dog treats and who knows what else), or that his boots aren’t green anymore (they’re brown, maybe, under the mud), or that he’s no longer eye-level with Killua but somewhere around his nose (his hair still sticks up the same way, and if it’s a bit shorter that’s neither here nor there). It’s not even the way his arms have started to fill out, or that he’s finally gotten rid of that stupid green jacket and replaced it with a just-as-stupid green vest over orange shirt, like he can’t and won’t get rid of the colors (and Killua’s not sure if he’d want that, because green is a jungle is Gon).

No, it’s trying to count the freckles dusted across Gon’s cheeks. There’s not a lot, but Killua doesn’t remember them even from when they parted at the World Tree. He doesn’t remember them from before that, either, the time when days blurred into months and it seemed like they knew everything about each other. Has Gon always had freckles? Because Killua knows he’d have wanted to touch them, trace the constellations across dark skin—Is Gon blushing? Why would…?

Before Killua can figure out the answer to that question, Gon breaks eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to get rid of the redness spreading across his skin.

It’s like a lifetime’s passed since they have been together, days and weeks and months and years. Killua could have counted how much time passed—for the longest time, he did, tracking passing days like other people hold onto snow globes or favorite songs—but at some point, it didn’t matter as much exactly how long it was between phone calls or letters. If asked now, Killua wouldn’t be able to give an answer other than too long.

“Long time, no see, right?” Gon says to somewhere around Killua’s ear. Killua knows Gon’s voice has changed a lot since they were thirteen. He’s heard it on the phone more times than he can count, cracking and cackling over unstable connections and shitty wifi. But it’s still different in a weird way, like how Gon’s freckles is same-but-different in a weird way. It tingles down his arms like bottled-up lightning, making his chest ache. It’s almost like a dream, one he’s had more often than he’ll ever admit, not to anyone, not even to Gon.

Killua swallows. This is just Gon. Gon. One of his most important people in the whole world. His best friend. But it’s harder to find the right words now that they’re in arm’s reach than when they were speaking from opposite ends of the world.

“What took you so long?” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

Gon huffs, and for a moment they’re thirteen again and arguing over the best route to Masadora. “It wasn’t exactly easy to find you, Killua.”

He tries to grin, scratching the side of his cheek. “Yeah, well. That was the point. No one finds me if I don’t let them.” It’s always been for Alluka and Nanika, really, but after more than two years, secrecy is second-nature. Even with a semi-permanent base to come back to, it’s not like Killua’s had a home, not since he left Kukuroo Mountain when he was eleven. If anything, home has been a person. People. Those he loves.

Gon still won’t meet his eyes, instead focused on his shoulder or the stop sign behind him. He’s so still, hands gripping his bag tight enough to turn his knuckles white, and Killua doesn’t know what to do to break the glass bubble they’re in. He takes a deep breath and lets it out all at once, hoping it takes the nerves with him. “I wouldn’t’ve let you find me if I didn’t want you to.”

“I know.” His best friend drifts off, searching for words that once came easily between the two of them. “I wanted to see you again, but…”

The words burrow into Killua's chest and squeeze, because there’s little he’s wanted more in the last few years than that same thing. He’s changed—they both have, not just in height or weight but how Killua has new friends in new places, or how Gon turns over his words before speaking. 

Gon bites his lip, forcing the words out. “You have your own life now, with Alluka and your friends and everyone you’re always telling me about. I don’t want to mess that up.”

“You won’t.” Killua doesn’t recognize the look that Gon gives him, shame and apology and brief flashes of something like hope. “Gon, you’re my best friend! You’ll always be part of my life. I want to spend time with you again, even if it’s not as much as it used to be. And I…”

I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we were kids, when we could do everything as long as we were together. I want that back. I want you back.

The admission stays locked in his throat, walled up by other realizations that threaten to cascade through even the strongest resistance. All that comes out is a quiet, “I missed you, idiot.”

Gon swallows a sob with a laugh, eyes watering and face split in a grin that hasn’t changed at all, sun-bright and familiar as a punch to the face despite the freckles and to spite the years. “I missed you too, Killua.”

There isn’t any way to reply to that, not with words. When they first met, before Killua got to know himself beyond blood and claws, Killua wouldn’t have known how at all. Even the last time they were together, freshly scarred from wounds that still have not entirely healed, the very thought of responding would have been next to impossible. But they’ve changed, and now Killua reaches across the distance without even thinking about it, pulling Gon into a hug and not letting go. Gon lets out a huff of surprised laughter and after a long moment hugs back, arms tight around Killua and nose buried in the crook of his neck. He’s warm, and he’s solid, and he’s here. With Killua.

It’s not until then that Killua realizes just how much a hug is the simplest and the most complicated thing he never knew he needs, how much he missed his best friend, and it only makes Killua hold on tighter.

“You give the best hugs, Killua,” Gon says, voice muffled from burrowing into Killua’s shirt. Killua pretends to not notice his tears, and laughs until he is crying too.