“I’m not a baby anymore,” Killua snaps, yanking his arm away. “Stop treating me like one.”

He doesn’t need you to take care of every little cut he gets. You make him look weak. You treat him like he’s made of porcelain knowing it’s only rot beneath his skin. Killua’s your little brother, sure, but the Zoldycks aren’t a normal family.

He knows everyone thinks you’re weak because of your soft-heart.