The sun was relentless.

You, Killua, and Gon had finally stopped beneath the shade of a wide tree, the dry wind brushing through the leaves as you collapsed onto the grass. The heat had drained everyone, and the silence between you was filled only by the sound of water bottles being uncapped.

Killua took a long drink, eyes half-lidded, sweat glistening at his temple. Gon was already halfway through his bottle, humming some tune under his breath.

You reached for yours—only to find it empty.

“Ugh,” you muttered, shaking it. “Not even a drop.”

Killua glanced at you from the corner of his eye, then down at his own bottle. Without a word, he extended it toward you.

You blinked, surprised. “Thanks, Killua.”

He nodded, casual, cool, like it was nothing.

But the moment your lips touched the rim of the bottle, something short-circuited in his brain.

Indirect kiss.

Leorio’s voice echoed in his head like a curse.

If someone drinks from the same spot, it’s like kissing them, you know?

Killua’s eyes widened.

His cheeks flushed.

His heart—normally calm, precise, trained—started hammering like it was trying to escape his chest.

He turned away abruptly, pretending to study the horizon, the tree bark, a passing cloud—anything but you.

This is stupid, he thought. It’s just water. It’s just a bottle. It doesn’t mean anything.

And yet…

He could still see the curve of your lips in his mind, the way you smiled before drinking, the soft thank-you that made his stomach twist.

Damn Leorio and his dumb comments.

Killua clenched his jaw, trying to will the blush away.

But it was too late. He was flustered. He was spiraling.

And worst of all—he kind of liked it.