Work Text:
Beep. Beep.
The microwave has never sounded so ominous. Gon’s foot slipped on the step, reaching for the railing blindly in the dark as he attempted to stay quiet. It was the middle of the night, and Gon should have been sleeping. Well, he had been sleeping up until about a minute ago, when the unexpected rattling from his kitchen piqued his curiosity.
It had been a regular night for Gon’s house. Mito-san had gone to bed, and so had her grandma after a day of trading and stocking up in the Whale Island marketplace, walking home with arms loaded with salt and fish and other things they’d need until next time. They had played some board games, and then turned in early. Who knew shopping would take so much out of someone?
His eyes still hadn’t gotten used to the dark when he reached the bottom of the step, jumping down three of them and landing soundlessly. Beeeeeep. Beeep. The microwave called again, the noise echoing through the small house. It was probably a miracle Mito hadn’t been woken up.
Padding into the kitchen, Gon stayed tense, trying to keep his breathing as silent as possible as he stepped onto the tile. The stranger’s back was turned to him, a white shirt with short stature, and a lot of messy hair. The room smelt like burnt sugar, and that weird burned plasticy smell. That’s when Killua turned, his face a mask, and peeps in his hand.
Those sugar-covered marshmallow things, were all over his face, blue eyes looking way too intense for the situation at hand. Gon was confused, to say the least. Keeping his eyes locked, Killua slowly lifted up a very mushy and very demented peep up to his mouth. The little drops of icing for the eyes, had melted and were dripping down it’s face, the chocolatey color blending with the yellow sugar, which now look like it had crystallized.
“Did… You just microwave… A peep?” Gon frowned. How did Killua get into his house.
A curt nod was all the other offered, turning back to the microwave, and starting up the time again. 10 seconds. The door of the microwave closed, securing the sugary fate for the poor little marshmallow chicken.
“Nice.”