02. the sky curls in blood

ー

gon in
his darkness.

&

Soul as dark as his ebony villus; Eyes as void as the emptiest skies - they often described him.

But was he, really?

Maybe he took comfort in the darkest hour, maybe his cup of tea was of the unfathomable horrors, maybe he fancied the bright color of blood.

To his defense, the darkest hour was beautiful. The unfathomable horros were mystic. The vivid reflection of blood was undeniably alluring. Everything was all just what he deemed exquisite. Elegant. Fascinating.

He was capable of love and capable of caring.

He can please himself with the idea of something as simple as celebrating events like Christmas even confined in something like a boy's body! Yes; he was restrained. And it was inside a kid who had yet to grow up having gone through things traumatic enough to withdraw someone's own sanity from oneself. That was something he liked about Gon. He was headstrong. Kept fighting even if there was nothing to fight for anymore.

And this Christmas Eve, his lips were twitched upward for what it seemed like an eternity. Greeting visitors like death just didn't barge into his front door carrying a scythe to harvest him from the land of the living. He wasn't afraid to face his demise. Succumbing to death itself for letting someone like him slip out of his consciousness. (Him, the merciless little monster who apparently ruined Gon and all that he is - yet Gon was already done and battered and broken before he even had a chance to go forth.) If he ever ceased to exist after the occurrence, he only had himself to blame.

Warts and all, he couldn't figure out where his positive charge came from. Another subconscious? Maybe, maybe not. After all, he - someone they labeled 'Adult Gon' - has never been the same since that fateful night.

The Christmas Tree reminded him of the wide field of grass he stepped on as he broke Pitou apart. The grass where he left him to die for good. And even then he felt no remorse.

The flashing lights that encircled the tree reminded him of what everything felt like. Blinding - exhilarating. An ambiguous feeling of the chasing thrill. His breath hitched every time the lights blinked. He gasped for air everytime it turned dark without the light's guide; there was no path visible. It was terrifying.

And lastly the overall scheme of red hats, balls, flowers and costumes reminded him of the blood he spilled. It took him back to the night where the thrilling metallic smell of blood entered his nostrils. Of how it looked, drenched in the ball of his very own fist.

The blood dripped and dripped until it reached the vast greenery. Then all faded to black once the light started flashing in front of his eyes. He's lost himself.

(And he'll never be found.)

He could feel Gon's heart beating a lot faster. It's racing; it feels how he feels. Riled up and confused and infuriated. Like a raging volcano waiting to erupt at the right moment, the right time. But he wanted this event to be something Gon remembered. He will remember how this was the night he felt most at peace; at solace even in his known existence.

It's been such a long day. They both wanted to rest. Just rest. In silence - in comfort. So that Christmas Eve, Adult Gon let go of everything.

And that night they both felt what it was like to finally breathe again.

ー

[s.] adult gon in all his glory. the aftermath of something so beautifully tragic.