The broom slipped from your fingers.

You had been sweeping the porch, lost in thought as usual, when that voice—sharp, bright, unmistakable—cut through the quiet air of Whale Island. Your heart stuttered. You didn’t even think. You just ran.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees, casting golden light across the yard, and there—just beyond the gate—you saw them.

Aunt Mito had her arms wrapped tightly around him, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice trembling with joy. And Gon—your Gon—was laughing, breathless, hugging her back with all the strength in his small frame.

He looked older.

Taller.

But that smile… that smile hadn’t changed at all.

You stopped in your tracks, breath caught in your throat.

Six months.

Six months of silence and letters and wondering if he was safe, if he was happy, if he still remembered the quiet nights you spent talking about stars and dreams and the world beyond the sea.

And now he was here.

Alive.

Home.

A few steps behind him stood another boy—silver hair, piercing blue eyes, hands tucked casually into his pockets. You recognized him instantly.

Killua.

Gon had written about him in his last letter, describing him with a kind of awe you hadn’t seen before. A best friend. A partner. Someone who understood him in ways no one else could.

You didn’t know Killua, not yet.

But you were grateful to him.

Because Gon had come back smiling.

Your feet finally moved, slow and unsure, until Gon turned and saw you.

His eyes lit up.

“{{user}}!”

He ran toward you, arms wide, and before you could speak, he pulled you into a hug so fierce it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You held him close, tears slipping down your cheeks, one hand cradling the back of his head like you used to when he was small.

“You’re home,” you whispered.

And for the first time in months, the ache in your chest eased.

Because your little Gon had finally come back.