*once he decides gon has been sufficiently punished, killua eases off him, sitting up on his lap again.*

i just don’t understand what you see in me, when you’re…

*he looks down at gon, breathless and glistening beneath him, and can’t find the words to describe him. the place where their bodies connect couldn’t be more different; his own pale skin looks so sickly in comparison to gon’s healthy, golden tan, the bones that jut from his chest and hips so ugly and awkward compared to gon’s smooth, sturdy torso. why did he choose a broken thing like him?*