One

Killua

There was a certain kind of saltiness in the air before autumn invited itself in.

Killua wet the bottom of his lip with his tongue, tasting the fresh breeze and salt as it danced on his taste buds. Lying on his back against the last pile of crisp green leaves of the season, he wondered how anyone could take this sort of freedom for granted. The clouds above were hazy, threatening to rain for the umpteenth time that week. He stared straight ahead into the horizon, not wanting to blink in case little droplets of water decided to sneak into his irises.

"Are you alright?"

Killua's eyes snapped shut, annoyance coursing through his body causing him to feel electrifyingly hot. He sat up from the spot, turning his head slightly to see where the voice came from. A little mousy girl, with glasses too small for her face, played nervously with the hemline of her skirt.

She turned a pale shade of pink at their eye contact before looking down, not expecting the intensity of the blue irises that gazed back at her.

"You…erhm…you looked dead, lying there. I was worried when I didn't see you blinking."

Killua snorted an internal laugh, shaking his head at the intrusion of his privacy. He had come outside in the back lawn of his school during lunchtime to escape to his thoughts, and her presence only brought him forcefully back to reality.

"If you thought I was dead, then you should have let me rest in peace." He jumped up on his heels, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. His body leaned to the side due to the extra weight as he brushed past the girl. She followed his movements with her eyes, slightly frowning at his choice of words. Killua sighed, knowing that he had probably touched a nerve inside of the girl, but this was his time to gather the tornado of thoughts that clouded his brain. And he liked to do that completely alone.

The hallways inside of Yorkshin High were like that of a kindergarten classroom. There were various colors sprawled throughout the walls, with posters encouraging creativity and personal growth scattered about. Most of the students groaned at the grotesque ensemble, but Killua would find himself staring at the purple, yellow and green stripes that lined the walls, almost as if they were taking him on a journey somewhere. It was something so small that he felt set him apart from the other students, and yet it only added to the increasing distance that he created for himself. While he had only attended Yorkshin for a month now, he was increasingly finding that nobody seemed to get him. And trying to converse with his pupils in his last year seemed rather pointless. The feeling wasn't one sided, however. Killua could swallow the rejection that the others served him daily. They made no interest in trying to make him one of theirs, and he was okay with the scenario.

Even so, this new population that he found himself apart of intrigued him. The girls wore their skirts too short, and the guys tried to show off their bravado with shirts that accented their muscles. It was different from the blue blazers and khakis at his old charter school, and that difference motivated him to return every day.

He aimlessly walked to class, one hand stuffed in his pocket fingering around with the marble ball embedded within. The smooth, cool texture of the object relaxed him, giving him some sort of familiarity in the unfamiliar place. He jetted past the typical conversations of teenagers, mentally mocking how they had nothing better to talk about.

"Oh my God, this is perfect!"

Killua looked up at the enthusiastic voice across the hall. The voice was able to transcend over the others, knocking on the door to Killua's eardrum. He glanced over at the owner of the voice; a tall teen with glowing bronze skin who was running his fingers through his emerald black hair. The teen appeared to be trying to stifle the full force of his excitement, but his eyes pressed together tightly, betraying his attempt. Killua couldn't help but to be curious as to what had made the boy so excited in a place like this.

"I can't believe you actually got your hands on this, Zushi!" He was now skimming through a book, his thick lashes finally parting from their kiss. "There were only one hundred copies made!"

A smaller, stocky boy with thick eyebrows rubbed the back of his forehead, his brown eyes glimmering with satisfaction of his gift. "Yeah, my mom actually got to go to a signing last week, and picked up a copy. She brought it home to me, but I know you would appreciate a Wing original photo book than I would. Read the inside of the cover!"

The tanned boy impatiently darted through the pages, stopping and skimming over choice words. It didn't seem possible, but his plastered grin stretched out even further, to where Killua thought he would break his face. The teen threw his arms around his unsuspecting friend, thanking him loudly in the process.

All of that commotion over a book? Killua was expecting something monumental and groundbreaking, but the teen looked like he could die happily in the hallway. Killua turned his attention back to his destination, perplexed at the encounter he just witnessed.

He couldn't fight the small smirk that betrayed his confusion, however. This boy seemed so delighted at the gift, a gesture that Killua was not used to in this public space. The scene was a splash of color, in an otherwise grey prison.

Taking Art Studies was definitely not something Killua was expecting to have to enjoy.

His parents allowed him to transfer to a public school in his last year, more so at the pleading to his father than his overbearing mother, and they would withdraw their kindness had they known they he was using this as an extracurricular. They drilled in him to fill his extra time slots with political science or joining the debate team, but the moment Killua witnessed the teacher carelessly sloshing paint onto a canvas, the freedom called his name.

It was mainly the activity that he looked forward to. In this space, he could completely be himself with no judgment or restrictions. That was how the teacher, Bisky, needed it to be. She drilled into her students, "You cannot create art if you are stifled!" and as so her classroom was a utopia of fresh air. She played the oddest music through her iPod, selections ranging from worldly music to Sounds of the Rainforest, but Killua had to admit it did help to loosen them up. Bisky was a strange individual herself. She always dressed in hand me down thrift clothes, almost as if she were a modern day hippie. If she could help it, she walked around barefoot. Her eccentricity gave Killua the theory that she was solely responsible for the decorative hallways.

He walked in and dropped his backpack on the table in front of him. As always, he was one of the first in the class to arrive, and he took the opportunity to glance out the window, hoping to make up for the interruption during his lunch leisure time. The clouds were angry now, with heavy droplets of rain pounding against the window. Killua closed his eyes and inhaled, hoping to smell the warmth of the rain from inside the school.

The students were piling in to the room now, quiet as most of them were serious art students who treated the class as if it were a college course. They were in their last year as he was, and were planning on using their artwork for their college portfolio. Killua envied them, being able to find something that they loved and make it a goal to pursue it for life.

An unfamiliar student walked in, his tan glow contrasting the haze of the outside. Killua raised an eyebrow at the intrusion, mentally noting that he didn't belong here. The teen shot honey warm eyes at Killua, smiling at him as if they were long friends. It's probably because I keep staring at him. Killua shook off the sincerity of his gaze, pressing his lips together in a feeble attempt at a smile back. The teen looked unfazed, as he took the empty seat next to Killua.

Bisky hopped on the stool in the front of the class as the bell rang, wildly swinging one leg over the other. She cupped her hands over one knee, and beamed at the students in front of her. "Well, well guys. You've all made such progress this past month in your character studies, and now I think a project is in order."

Killua rested his head on his palm, playing with the white strands that danced on his cheekbone. He was slightly disappointed that they would have to do a project, which meant rules and restrictions: the opposite of what art was supposed to do for him. He tried to ignore the pestering tan skin that resided next to him, drawing his attention like moth to a flame. He placed the string from his hoodie into his mouth, chewing on it as a distraction.

"As you are all aware, I do not assign seats in my classroom. I want everyone to be comfortable in this environment. But I've noticed that every day, you all take the same seats. So it got me to thinking, you all must feel something about where you sit that is a reflection of you. I find it very interesting, and I want to see if your peers do too." She hopped down off of the stool, grabbing a turned over canvas behind her. She turned it around to the students, gaining their approval through several oohs and aaaahs.

"I painted this during my senior year at University. My roommate at the time was falling in love, and I wanted to capture what she looked like at the time. It was my own way of saying, 'hey, man, I see you for what you are.' I kept it at her insistence, but I always show it to my students during this type of project." Killua marveled at the painting in its entirety. The portrait was of a young woman, bashfully looking at the audience with her hair dancing about in front of her face. Her hand was slightly touching her bottom lip, and the other was tucking hair strands behind her ears. Her skin was multicolored, with reds, oranges, yellows and pinks intertwining to create lights and shadows. Her hair was stroked with browns and reds, and each strand seemed so free, as if the brush never wanted to leave the canvas. The multi colors throughout the painting were random and yet told a story of a woman in the early stages of love. Killua was taken aback at the honesty that Bisky was able to portray through oil colors and brushes. I hope I can tell a story like that, someday. He instantly frowned at the unattainable thought.

Bisky looked at the painting lovingly before putting it back down. "It's one of my favorites," she stated proudly, "and it was so fun to create. I want you to see how others see you, and since you all keep picking the same seats, I want you to paint the person sitting next to you. That person may be the one that you learn the most about during the course of the year, and it's possible that their vibe makes you continue to sit at your table. So you can choose, inside or outside of class, to paint them at the most beautiful emotion. Whether it be sadness, love, happiness, or anger, I want you to paint their true soul. And I won't be grading it; your subject will. This will allow all of you to learn something about yourself and others. I will give you all to the end of the semester to paint it, but I want you to spend the class hours having conversations and sketching out the energy of those conversations. Believe me, you can't paint a person's soul unless you actually know what makes them beautiful." She took a seat back on the stool and raised her palms in the air. "Begin!"

Killua turned towards the bronze teen, who was still smiling warmly at him. He extended his hand towards Killua, who merely stared at it. "I'm Gon!"

Killua reluctantly took his hand in his, gaze stuck on the contrast of pale and bronze flesh, before mumbling, "Killua."

"You're new here, right? I haven't really seen you around before."

Killua nodded his head, removing his hand and placing it back in his pocket. "Yeah, I just transferred this year."

"Are you a senior?"

"Yeah."

Gon laughed lightheartedly at this revelation. "Boy, you have a lot of guts to transfer to a new school when you're almost done. Do you like it here?"

Killua shrugged his shoulders in response. " 'S not so bad. Everyone is kind of snotty, though."

Gon waved his hand towards Killua, his smile permanently etched on his face. "Yeah they can be like that, but don't let them get to you. They're not that bad when you get to know them, but I only hang around my friend Zushi."

"Was that who made you really happy back in the hallway?"

Red surfaced to Gon's cheeks, reminding Killua of the painting that they had just seen. "Oh, you heard that? Sorry, I've been told that I can be overly dramatic."

"Hmm. You don't say."

"Well, it was only because," he fumbled through his sack, a sack that Killua admired for it's native stitching, and pulled out the book from earlier. "Zushi gave me new book of photography! It's by my favorite photographer, Wing, and it's pretty exclusive and pretty expensive. I usually have to look at them from the library."

"So you're into that sort of thing, photography?"

Gon beamed at Kilua's words. "Very much! I love to take photos and capture the true essence of the moment. Kind of like what Bisky was saying earlier. I actually just signed up for this art class because I read an interview with him saying that painting helped give him a perspective on taking photos. Figured I'd give it a shot, so I switched over extracurriculars. Wing does a phenomenal job of making you feel something. Take a look." Gon flipped to the middle of the book, with a black and white photo of a woman. She was on a bed pressed against the wall with a thin sheet draped over her body. Her brown unruly hair swam over her arms as she rest her head on top her hands on the bedrail. Her eyes looked sad, and Killua could tell that she was on the verge of crying. The title of the photograph was Good Morning, Sunshine. Killua raised an eyebrow.

"That's contradicting to have that name for this sad picture. I don't get it."

"Don't you see," Gon brushed his finger over the picture, his eyes engulfed in the scene, "She's not sad, she's happy."

Killua blinked his eyes again, trying to see whatever Gon was explaining. "Nope, don't see it."

"She's happy because she was so lonely for so long, and then she met the love of her life. She went to sleep and had a nightmare that she was still alone, and when she woke up she realized that she wasn't. She's crying because she realized what it's like to not be lonely."

A small ripple went through Killua's heart. He choked down his reaction to Gon's words, not wanting to give away too much. What it's like to not be lonely? What does that feel like? "You see all of that," he breathed, "from a simple photo?"

"That's the only way I can see it. Wing doesn't tell you what it is and what it isn't, he just wants you to feel your truth. And I believe they're happy tears." He closed the book and smiled at Killua warmly again, his expression swirling through like brush strokes on a canvas. Killua had to look away to make sure it was still raining outside.

Because inside of this classroom, the sun was shining.

So I'm finishing up my other story, Vagabonds (which if you haven't read, please give it a look see. Starring Hisoka and OC), and I got the idea for this one. I've always wanted to write a KilluGon fic.

Moreso doing this for experimentation purposes, so let me know what you guys think!

This story here has been on my soul for a bit, and I wanted to wait until after Vagabonds ended, but I was a little impatient.

You guys rock

-Bitchii-usa