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Entry tags:
cold-blooded fever, hot-headed vices.
[ For the longest time, Gon convinced himself that his journey would've gone on forever.
Never mind the faulted rhetoric of staying with someone too long to admit his faults, or where exactly he'd gone astray, in-between white lies and fatal oversights. At the end of everything, all he had were his feeble justifications and the deep, deep pit of his remorse, where he buried the rest of the apology the day he parted ways with Killua. His journey hadn't been tied down to a person as it was a construct. Ging hadn't been the goal, only the catalyst — the fulcrum to turn his world and keep it revolving on its axis. He'd been so preoccupied with the sole objective of his trip that after finding Ging, there was nowhere else to go besides home, back to Whale Island and its indolent charms. He'd forgotten his departure was only a means to an end.
Since then, his life has been troublingly mundane, jotting down essay after essay, making a doomed headway into arithmetic and the sciences until his head spun. A few months go by where that's all there is: fluky work and Mito telegraphing concern with the entirety of her body during every meal. At some point, it occurs to get back in touch with his friends. The beetle phone is no good for calling Alluka or Killua, who are no longer accessible by phone, and there's no room for leisure trips when Leorio is on the verge of realizing his dream, but Kurapika returns the call he's left, accepts his offer to visit.
Their appointed place isn't anywhere specific besides Whale Island itself, although Gon keeps a watchful vigil on the docks regardless. In a way, it's catharsis, and for a boy well-versed in the art of burning his own bridges, it gives him something to look forward to in a manner the stack of papers waiting for him hadn't. The culmination of two years spent out in the wilderness of the continents, braving adventure after adventure, in that respect, seems so far away from the life he leads now, learning to own up to his mistakes.
Until now, he hadn't known what it meant to build his life on contrariety and ceaseless impulse. Ambition grew under his skin like an ingrown habit, but he'd been arrogant — far too prideful to ever err on the side of caution. Until now, he'd always been a risk to those around him as much as himself.
Wandering aimlessly through the overgrowth of trees for the third day of staking out the beach for any new arrivals, he's greeted with an entirely different sight than he'd expected. No tabard on his friend this time, his former outfit replaced with a clean-pressed suit entirely inappropriate for trekking through jungles and sloshing through bog swamps, but Gon has already fumbled past the notion of exchanging idle pleasantries upon stumbling out into the open clearing — his heart all but lodged as far up as his throat while sprinting over slow-baked sand, the irascible sound of it thudding in his eardrums — long before he's careened into him, flung his arms around Kurapika with asphyxiating tenderness. So long, common propriety. If his friend hasn't prepared any preemptive measure to cope with the sudden, lunging tackle of a hug, he'll soon earn himself a one-way trip (tumble) onto the moss-bitten pier. ]
Kurapika! Kurapika, I missed you!
[ Even with the sun slanting beams of light into his line of view, his smile is just as immensely effusive as it ever is, threatening to split his face in two. ]
Never mind the faulted rhetoric of staying with someone too long to admit his faults, or where exactly he'd gone astray, in-between white lies and fatal oversights. At the end of everything, all he had were his feeble justifications and the deep, deep pit of his remorse, where he buried the rest of the apology the day he parted ways with Killua. His journey hadn't been tied down to a person as it was a construct. Ging hadn't been the goal, only the catalyst — the fulcrum to turn his world and keep it revolving on its axis. He'd been so preoccupied with the sole objective of his trip that after finding Ging, there was nowhere else to go besides home, back to Whale Island and its indolent charms. He'd forgotten his departure was only a means to an end.
Since then, his life has been troublingly mundane, jotting down essay after essay, making a doomed headway into arithmetic and the sciences until his head spun. A few months go by where that's all there is: fluky work and Mito telegraphing concern with the entirety of her body during every meal. At some point, it occurs to get back in touch with his friends. The beetle phone is no good for calling Alluka or Killua, who are no longer accessible by phone, and there's no room for leisure trips when Leorio is on the verge of realizing his dream, but Kurapika returns the call he's left, accepts his offer to visit.
Their appointed place isn't anywhere specific besides Whale Island itself, although Gon keeps a watchful vigil on the docks regardless. In a way, it's catharsis, and for a boy well-versed in the art of burning his own bridges, it gives him something to look forward to in a manner the stack of papers waiting for him hadn't. The culmination of two years spent out in the wilderness of the continents, braving adventure after adventure, in that respect, seems so far away from the life he leads now, learning to own up to his mistakes.
Until now, he hadn't known what it meant to build his life on contrariety and ceaseless impulse. Ambition grew under his skin like an ingrown habit, but he'd been arrogant — far too prideful to ever err on the side of caution. Until now, he'd always been a risk to those around him as much as himself.
Wandering aimlessly through the overgrowth of trees for the third day of staking out the beach for any new arrivals, he's greeted with an entirely different sight than he'd expected. No tabard on his friend this time, his former outfit replaced with a clean-pressed suit entirely inappropriate for trekking through jungles and sloshing through bog swamps, but Gon has already fumbled past the notion of exchanging idle pleasantries upon stumbling out into the open clearing — his heart all but lodged as far up as his throat while sprinting over slow-baked sand, the irascible sound of it thudding in his eardrums — long before he's careened into him, flung his arms around Kurapika with asphyxiating tenderness. So long, common propriety. If his friend hasn't prepared any preemptive measure to cope with the sudden, lunging tackle of a hug, he'll soon earn himself a one-way trip (tumble) onto the moss-bitten pier. ]
Kurapika! Kurapika, I missed you!
[ Even with the sun slanting beams of light into his line of view, his smile is just as immensely effusive as it ever is, threatening to split his face in two. ]
SWEATS NERVOUSLY
Expectations of swift postponement to their discussion for a much later time frame, lacerating through incandescent familiarity with the side effect of vague guilt, plummeting into the pile of sentiments that had nothing to do with his objective, was easily thwarted - because once the call was registered as missed, the silence was invasive, no longer the inviting, protective coating that kept his anger brewing, alive. Rationale alerted him of the presented diversion, his irresponsible lack of foresight if he were to reestablish old, but continued ties in hopes to proceed from the place where they had left off, before Kurapika decided to depart without a word after two days of undisturbed slumber.
To get involved meant earning attachments that will be viewed as his obvious disadvantages, causing an inevitable delay to his tumultuous endeavor in order to rescue, protect, keep anyone he deemed important alive and safe regardless of what he was originally aiming for - yet Kurapika arrived to Whale Island, a leisurely trip instead of one enveloped around risk and peril. Habit caused his muscles to tense, thoughts weirdly alert at a place that didn't even pose much of a threat to his well-being, especially out at the pier where the wind rustled cozily against branches, leaves, the waves he came from that sounded awfully like a slow applause for the saccharine decision he couldn't help but to make.
An instantly sensed approach, but one that Kurapika couldn't find any hint of hostility from, he felt something nostalgic settle against the dormant part of his heart, prodding it awake as arms tightened around him in an affectionate assault. It was with an uncharacteristic backward stumble where his usually careful demeanor slipped as he found himself on his back against the ground - the pain felt, but hardly something he appropriately registered, reacted to, as if desensitized. A pleasantly innocuous tone that unknowingly captured the shredded remains of his childhood, basking underneath the sunlight, Kurapika patted Gon's back until his loose palm eventually lingered between his shoulder blades, a semi-returned hug; despite the time elapsed, forced distance, and stringent solitude, to still have a place to belong was an absolute luxury. ]
Gon... I suppose it's safe to assume that you've been well.
[ Even the faintest smile felt foreign; his mouth had grown accustomed to continuous frowns or default-rest of immobile features. But, it seems Gon was still capable of evoking what he thought was forgotten after prolonged silence - more so on his end than anyone else. ]
... I'm afraid my time here may be limited. The next call I receive could require my immediate attention. But... I do admit that it has been awhile. I would like to hear how you've been. What were you doing prior to my arrival, Gon?
SWEATS EVEN MORE?? ? ??? ?
In the most technical sense, he's only half of himself, the other part of Gon left afloat where the rest of his conscience is. It's easier, that way — to keep his smile slow and shining in his mouth, pretending that all of his growing pains will learn how to drown with enough urging. ]
Yeah, I have. I'm doing even better now that you're here!
[ Conciliation, in so many words. Pocketing the rest of his unacknowledged hurt, he waits until Kurapika's palms have dropped off to scramble upright, a clumsy procession of limbs. Knocking his friend down did a number on his legs, wobbling up from where he's planted himself on the ground. One hand flung out as soon as he ascertains his center of gravity, Gon doesn't so much as ask permission as he hauls Kurapika upright from his state of repose on the pier. ]
Sorry, Kurapika. I got too excited. I wasn't doing anything, but I had this sort of feeling you'd show up today, so I wanted to be the first one to greet you.
[ Tactfully omitting the fact that he's coddled that same self-indulgent feeling for the past two days in the row post-phone call, Gon bashfully rubs at his head, wrung out of his anxieties. His control over his own emotions is imperfect, but there isn't a part of him that isn't rife with deep-seated faults.
Kurapika might understand. It's whether or not he'll forgive him for the atrocity he's made of their promise back in Yorknew City that remains to be seen. Even barring the lack of correspondence between them over the compounding months, Leorio never would've let Kurapika slip into ignorance without a fight. Snared, Gon's exhales stagger out of him, one after the other, blinking out as his voice catches on remorse. ]
Should we go talk in the shade first, or do you want something to drink ... ? It must be really hot in that suit.
[ Antediluvian ways to pass the time. Gon's own ungainliness is whittling away at him as he releases the hand he's clutched tight around to gesture between the grove of immediate trees littering at the shore and the pub (the haunt of many fishermen retired from the savagery of the open ocean for one more day). Back turned away from Kurapika to gaze about at their surroundings, Gon finds it easier to speak when his lungs aren't squeezing around each half-wrought admission. ]
It's okay if you can't stay long, by the way. I'm already more than happy I got the chance to see you again.