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Last night, you found me again.
Not in the world I wake up to, not to the quiet apartment, the untouched dishes, the phone that never rings, but somewhere softer. Somewhere crueler.
A dream.
The first thing you say is, “I’m sorry.”
It’s almost enough to break me.
Eight years, and those are the words I’ve been waiting for. The ones I’ve rehearsed hearing a thousand different ways: angry, guilty, laughing, indifferent. But not like this. Not gentle. Not sincere.
Not from you.
I force my shoulders to lift in something that resembles a shrug. “No worries.”
The lie tastes hollow. Even here, even in a dream, I can’t be honest with you.
Inside, everything splinters. Fear creeps in first, sharp and familiar, followed by that quiet, suffocating desperation I’ve learned to live with. And beneath it all, something heavier. Something I’ve never managed to name without feeling like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
I look away before you can see it on my face. My eyes sting, and I blink hard, willing the tears back like I’ve done so many times before.
Say it.
That’s what I tell myself.
Say you missed him. Say you love him. Say anything real for once.
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Because I already know how it ends.
You laugh. Or worse, you don’t. You just look at me like I’m something you outgrew a long time ago. Like I’m a phase. Like I’m nothing.
So I stay quiet.
What am I supposed to say to you now, Gon?
We used to fill the silence without trying. Now it stretches between us, awkward and brittle, like it might shatter if either of us breathes too hard.
I panic.
Do something.
Ask him where he’s been. Ask him why he left. Ask him why he read every message and never answered a single one.
Ask him if he ever missed you.
But I don’t get the chance.
You move first.
One second you’re standing there, hesitant, and the next you’re right in front of me, arms wrapping around me like nothing ever changed, as if no time has passed. Like we’re still those reckless kids who thought the world couldn’t touch us.
For a second, I freeze.
Then I hold you back.
Tight.
Too tight.
And then it hits me.
That smell.
It’s stupid, the way it knocks the air out of me. I didn’t even realize I remembered it this clearly. Sun and wind and something warm, something that used to mean safety without me ever having to think about it.
I haven’t felt that in years.
My chest tightens as memories crash in all at once: laughter, fights, long roads, shared silences that never felt empty. You were there through all of it. The only person who ever made the world feel… manageable.
I bury my face against your shoulder, gripping your jacket as if I let go, you’ll disappear.
Because I know you will.
You always do.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking despite everything I try to hold back. “Don’t leave me.”
My hands ache from how hard I’m clinging to you, but I don’t loosen my grip.
I can’t.
“I’m only a message away.”
Your voice is calm. Too calm.
“You just need to find the courage to send it.”
My stomach drops.
“I can’t help you anymore, Killua.”
The words settle heavily, and before I can respond, before I can argue, or beg, or say everything I should have said years ago....
The sound cuts through everything.
My alarm.
Sharp. Loud. Unforgiving.
“No, wait...”
My breathing turns uneven as the world starts to blur around you. You’re already pulling away, already fading like you were never really here to begin with.
“No, no, no...Please,” My voice cracks completely now. “I need you. Gon, please. Not again.”
You pause.
Of course you do.
You always did have terrible timing.
You turn back to me, smiling—that same bright, impossible smile that made everything feel simple once.
“You can only help yourself, Killua.”
And then you’re gone.
Morning comes like it always does.
Too fast. Too empty.
I move through the day on autopilot, getting dressed, eating, working, if you could even call it that. Everything feels muted, like I’m watching someone else live my life from a distance.
The dream won’t leave me alone.
It lingers in the back of my mind, replaying in fragments. Your voice. Your expression. The way you held me like I still mattered.
I haven’t dreamed about you in a long time.
Maybe that’s why this one hurts more.
After Alluka left, the silence became permanent. She said she needed to find herself, figure out who she was outside of everything we’d been through.
I didn’t stop her.
I think a part of me understood.
Or maybe I just didn’t want to be the reason someone stayed.
Now it’s just me.
No friends. No missions. No purpose.
No you.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve checked my phone more times than I can count.
It’s pathetic.
I know it is.
But that doesn’t stop me.
Your name is still there.
It’s the only contact I never deleted.
I open the thread.
Same as always.
A long list of messages—all from me. All read.
None answered.
At the very bottom:
“Hey.”
Five years ago.
My last attempt.
My last piece of dignity, thrown into a void that never gave anything back.
I stare at it until the screen dims.
What do you even say to someone like you now?
To someone who used to be your entire world—and then just… stopped being part of it?
There’s no anger left.
Just questions.
Ones I’ll probably never get answers to.
I lock my phone and shove it away, forcing myself back into the rhythm of a life that doesn’t feel like mine.
That night, I sit on the edge of my bed, phone in hand.
The screen glows in the dark.
Your name feels heavier than it should.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving.
I try to think of something, anything, that doesn’t sound desperate. Or bitter. Or small.
Nothing comes.
Because the truth is, every word I want to say carries too much weight.
You hurt me.
I miss you.
Why didn’t you stay?
Why wasn’t I enough?
Come back.
My grip tightens around the phone before I let out a quiet, frustrated breath and drop it onto the bed.
“I’ll never find the words,” I mutter to the empty room.
And maybe that’s the real problem.
Not the distance.
Not the silence.
Just me.
I lie down, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion slowly drags me under.
There’s only one thought left, fragile and stubborn:
Maybe you’ll come back tonight.
Even if it’s just a dream.