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“Symptoms of aflatoxin poisoning include edema, vomiting, fatigue…” Leorio’s head hit the textbook. Damn, it was way too late for him to still be studying. Not his fault he was falling behind in most of his classes. When he was taking the Hunter Exam, he really didn’t think medical school would be this hard. At least he was somewhat able to pay for it now. A glance at the clock told him it was well past 1am, and he had an early class the next morning.
He closed the textbooks and shut off his computer, shuffled his flashcards into a neat stack, leaving most of his study materials strewn around the desk, always telling himself he would deal with it in the morning. His phone was still on the desk next to his pathology textbook. Leorio looked at it, then willed himself to look away, then looked at it again.
It was this constant war, with him. To call or not to call. The answer was the same every time, so it became a game of how pathetic Leorio was feeling at any given time: how desperate he was to feel like he was making a difference, any kind of difference at all. And these days he thought he was winning the war. He didn’t call as often. The phone sat untouched. That must mean he was getting control over himself, right? (He had filled up Kurapika’s voicemail box long ago anyways.)
It was Kurapika’s choice whatever he wanted to do with his life, Leorio told himself. If Kurapika wanted to kill himself slowly, tear himself to shreds, all in pursuit of this idiotic mission, this dumb fucking mission that his clan wouldn’t even care about because they were dead—
Leorio got a grip on himself.
Last time they’d spoken on the phone, a hushed conversation just before dawn, when Kurapika’s voice sounded heavy and tired, they had fought. It seemed like that was all they did these days, on the rare occasions they spoke to each other. And Kurapika had told Leorio to just leave him alone. Leorio was trying to do just that. Leorio had his own goals to focus on. Kurapika wasn’t important enough to distract him from his own life’s work. He had exams, and labs, and notes to take, and books to check out of the campus library. Med school wasn’t easy. Probably nowhere near as hard as hunting down the Phantom Troupe and dozens of pairs of stolen eyes, but for Leorio, it was hard enough. And at least it wasn’t killing him.
His apartment was too cold. Had the heating broken? Leorio really did not need to deal with this in the middle of the night. He closed the window and resolved to call the landlord about it the next day, already dreading that conversation. But it wasn’t nearly cold enough to worry for his health yet, so he just changed into sleeping clothes (only different from his studying clothes by the removal of his socks) and was nearly ready to get to bed when he heard a knock on the door.
Leorio paused. The knock came again.
The person on the other side of the door cleared their throat. “Le–” they began, voice low. “Leorio, it’s me.” He would recognize that voice anywhere.
Leorio rushed to open the door—was he dreaming?—nearly throwing it off the broken hinges, chest bottoming out when he saw the person in front of him.
But Leorio hardly had time to take in Kurapika’s appearance (disheveled, black Nostrade family suit with tie coming undone, a single ruby-red earring, was that a smudge of blood behind his ear?) but Kurapika had already pushed his way through the door. Kurapika’s forehead was pressed up against Leorio’s chest in his thin shirt, face hidden from view, the rest of his body unmoving.
“Kurapika, what are you doing here?” Kurapika didn’t answer. Leorio waited, then tried again. “Kurapika?”
Without looking up at him, Kurapika waited a few seconds and then asked, barely louder than a whisper, “Can I kiss you?”
And fuck if Leorio was going to say no to that. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew this, this which he had wanted for so long. That time they’d kissed in Yorknew haunted his mind, always blurring the edges of his memory, always bringing his fingers to his lips to rub the sting away. And they’d only talked a few times on the phone since then. Never seen each other in person since then. Leorio’s dreams had a mind of their own.
In hindsight, maybe Leorio should have thought about the situation more before giving his answer.
“Yes,” he breathed out, and then Kurapika’s lips were on his. Kurapika’s hands pulled down the hem of his shirt for better access, shaky and cold, and Leorio placed his hands on top of them. Kurapika shuddered, and kissed him deeper. Leorio’s mind went into overdrive, kissing Kurapika back with as much force as he could give. God, he’d missed this. Why couldn’t Kurapika be around all the time? Why was all he had a “this is Kurapika, state your name and business” on his stupid fucking voicemail box? Leorio took his hands off Kurapika’s to frame Kurapika’s face. His head was just as cold and shaky. Leorio’s hands were too big and clumsy to hold him properly.
It was the dead of night, and the crickets lining the forest drowned out Leorio’s heartbeat. He choked out a “Kurapika,” between kisses, but Kurapika’s hands pushed him back towards the bed—tiny fucking apartment, bed in the middle of everything—and his knees hit the bed frame. How did Kurapika even know his address?
Melody, probably. Fuck you, Melody. Or maybe thank her? Either way, why hadn’t Kurapika asked for his address before tonight? He must have had nights off before now. What the hell was going on? He didn’t even live in this city.
Kurapika was still cold and shaky underneath Leorio’s fingers. If Leorio had been sleepy before, he was definitely awake now. Leorio fell onto the bed behind him and Kurapika climbed on top of him, kissing up his arms to his neck. With his mouth unoccupied, Leorio opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling, still feeling Kurapika’s chilled lips on his hot skin. He breathed out deeply. Kurapika seemed to be tender, however desperate he also was. That was new. That wasn’t exactly how it had gone in Yorknew.
Leorio knew whatever he felt about Kurapika was too difficult to name. It was just something that played in the back of his head all day long. When he wasn’t thinking about Kurapika, he was too busy trying not to think about him. It was constant. He was only lucky his grades hadn’t fallen. It seemed pretty easy to give a name to it right now, though, with Kurapika’s lips on his wrist, his hair brushing his ear—
But something was wrong about this. Something was very, very wrong. Kurapika was still cold and shaky—God, was he shivering? His kisses were sure, but messy and rushed.
And then all of a sudden, Kurapika whimpered, and collapsed on top of Leorio, head in the crook of Leorio’s neck. He felt something cold drip down his neck, and realized that what Kurapika had been shaking with was silent sobs. But now he just laid on top of Leorio, still trying not to make any sound, not even hugging Leorio or touching him, just laying on top of him because there was nowhere else to go.
“Kurapika?” Leorio sat up, pushing Kurapika with him, whose head still rested on his shoulder, even in an upright position.
Leorio pushed himself back and took an actual look at Kurapika. His shirt was stained with blood–not his, hopefully–and his tie was nearly fully undone. He was shaking. There were very few tears dripping down his face but it was still clear he was crying. His eyes were watery and stayed open.
And they were red.
Not Emperor Time red, but normal Kurta red. And he wouldn’t close them. Leorio watched him conjure his chains against his hand. The chains rattled as his hand shook harder, and had a thin layer of frost covering them. Kurapika’s hair was long, too. It fell past his shoulders at this point. It was usually meticulously combed; being a part of the mafia requires you to look clean. But it was thick and oily right now, so much so that he almost didn’t look like Kurapika.
And maybe this wasn’t Kurapika. It certainly was not the Kurapika that Leorio knew, not even the same one he’d seen last September in Yorknew.
Leorio pictured the Kurapika he had met on the ship, all the way back before the Hunter Exam. Back before he even knew what Gon’s name was. His first thought had been, “this guy’s gonna be a pain in the ass.” And now, over a year later, that was still true. It almost made Leorio feel like laughing, even though he was staring at a shaking Kurapika in his bed, lips kiss-swollen and eyes red.
Very often Leorio wondered if Kurapika was too far gone.
Too far gone for anything other than the life he’d subjected himself to. It appeared that Kurapika’s plan for life was to find all the Scarlet Eyes, kill the Troupe, and then die from his Emperor Time loss soon after that. And in that packed schedule, there was no time for Kurapika to have a life at all.
Kurapika’s life had ended at twelve years old, when he had returned home to find his clan slaughtered at his feet. Or at least that was how Kurapika seemed to see it.
Leorio called bullshit.
Yes, the Kurta clan was dead; yes, they could be avenged; yes, the Eyes were still out there being auctioned and bought by scum and flesh collectors, hoarders of souls and memories; yes, the Troupe was still out there, and they could do it again. Yes, Kurapika was killing himself slowly. He knew it, too.
And as little as Leorio knew about the Kurta clan (the only times Kurapika talked about them were when he was out of it: nearly asleep, feverish, or drunk), he didn’t think that Kurapika’s clan would have wanted this for him. Where to draw the line? Kurapika was intent on following through with the path he had laid out for himself, but was it worth it if his clan would have disapproved? Leorio couldn’t imagine Kurapika’s friends and family hoping he threw away his life in their honor.
Leorio’s hands found their way to Kurapika’s shoulders. Leorio felt Kurapika tremble beneath him, skin like ice. “Kurapika?” he asked. “Kurapika, are you okay?”
Kurapika didn’t respond. He just sat there. Leorio, being the medical student he was, moved one of his hands up to Kurapika’s neck and nestled two fingers against his veins. His pulse was faint. Leorio moved back so Kurapika’s head wasn’t resting on his shoulder fully and moved the same fingers up in front of his mouth. His breaths were thin and shallow.
Leorio said his name again. He still didn’t move. Kurapika didn’t seem to object to any of the things Leorio was doing, so Leorio moved back and off the bed. He guided Kurapika to lay on his back, his head on the pillows. His eyes were still open, now staring up at Leorio’s cracked ceiling. Now that he was in this position, Leorio could examine his condition further.
Leorio started with the bloodstains on his shirt. Leorio leaned in closer to look at them. Some were purely on the fabric—the stains were thin and the fabric was loose and didn’t cling to his skin. Probably someone else’s blood. It was long dried. But there were other bloodstains, ones that were thick and smelled of iron, where the fabric was fully soaked through and still oozing, shirt clinging to the skin where the blood was coming from: Kurapika’s own chest.
“Can I take this off?” Leorio briefly blushed at the implications of the statement. “I mean–to look at the cuts. Can I take it off? I won’t if you don’t want me to, but I don’t want these to get infected.”
Kurapika was silent. Then just when Leorio was going to leave him be, he said, “If you want.” His eyes hadn’t closed yet, but their lids had lowered a few millimeters. He looked tired.
So, slowly, Leorio shrugged the suit jacket off of Kurapika’s shoulders and then began unbuttoning the shirt from the bottom up. He came across a few cuts where the blood had dried and the fabric had adhered to the wound. He sighed, got up, grabbed a small, thin pair of scissors and a warm, wet rag. He cut the fabric around the wounds with precision and then soaked the remaining fabric with the rag so that, after some time, the fabric would loosen and be easier to remove. Leorio could already imagine Kurapika’s anger at his mutilated shirt (“You know I have to maintain an image, Leorio,” he’d said once), but Kurapika didn’t react at all.
Eventually, Leorio was able to get the whole shirt off and looked at the expanse of wounds and scars that covered Kurapika’s chest. The freshest ones were shallow and looked at least a few hours old. They were more like deep scratches than cuts, scattered in random places. Leorio recognized them as scratches from the forest on the edge of town–he himself had run through it several times when late to class, and the first few times, he’d ended up with horrible scratches from the thick branches. Had Kurapika run here through the forest, then? Or had he been fighting with someone in the forest? Either way, they needed to be disinfected.
He had other scars across his chest. Some from fights, some from scratches. None of them looked self-inflicted, at least. There were two long, curved scars across his chest from a long-ago surgery. Some scars were very old, the skin pale and raised. When Leorio moved his fingers over them, the skin was unusually soft and pliable. Still, Kurapika didn’t react.
All traces of arousal had vanished instantly from Leorio’s body when he’d noticed Kurapika was crying, but still he wondered: if Kurapika was in such bad shape as this, why was this his refuge? Why had he come to Leorio in the first place? He never picked up calls, never answered emails. Leorio hadn’t seen Kurapika for months, hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. And yet this was the place he came to tonight. Leorio’s tiny apartment, littered with empty coffee mugs and energy drink cans, textbooks on top of the fridge, sitting in the heart of a city Leorio doubted Kurapika had ever walked through before, in a country completely out of Kurapika’s way. And this was the place he came to.
Leorio got up and went to his bathroom to grab disinfectant, gauze, and bandages. When he returned, Kurapika still lay motionless, but there were tears running down his cheeks now, steadily fast. Leorio pried his eyes away. He wanted to grab Kurapika, to ask him what was wrong, to yell at him, to tell him to take care of himself, to kiss him, to convince him that his life didn’t need to be this, that he didn’t need to be this—
Leorio got ahold of himself and moved back to kneel beside the bed. He took a cloth and disinfectant and tended to each of the wounds before covering them with gauze and a bandage. He was able to peel the shirt fabric off the wounds that had been soaking and then gave them the same treatment.
When everything was done, Leorio stood back and looked at Kurapika. He supposed this was good training for med school. Real life experience. As if he hadn’t had enough of that already.
His hands guided Kurapika to sit propped up against the pillows on his bed. Leorio sat on the edge of the bed and watched Kurapika’s chest rise and fall with his breaths, the slow, repetitive motion. Kurapika looked small. Leorio was at once aware of the fact that he was older than Kurapika, that Kurapika was barely an adult. His shoulders sagged.
Then Kurapika’s eyes fell shut, and Leorio got up to make a pot of tea.
The atmosphere in the apartment changed as soon as Kurapika’s eyes closed. There was no longer a threat in the room, no longer a physical manifestation of Kurapika’s anger. Kurapika was not sleeping, but he rested his head against the headboard of the bed and let his breathing become deeper, slower.
Leorio tried not to look back at the bed too much as he put the water to heat and poured two spoons of tea leaves into the teapot. He poured simmering water over the green tea leaves and watched the clock as two minutes passed. He poured the tea into two cups and carried one over to Kurapika.
When Kurapika opened his eyes to take the cup of tea, they were back to his normal grey. Leorio exhaled, and sipped. The warmth spread all throughout his body. He imagined the tea like his healing Nen, finding his veins and muscles and loosening them, calming them. Kurapika had taken a sip too.
They sat there, drinking their tea. Leorio preferred to stare into his cup instead of at Kurapika’s face. His lips were still swollen, and the hot tea soothed them. When Kurapika’s cup was almost empty, he looked up, and spoke.
“How am I any better than them?” Kurapika’s voice was quiet but firm. He asked the question with the cadence of someone who had asked this question many times before.
Leorio sighed, then turned to look at Kurapika. His tears had dried, leaving tracks on his cheeks. “What happened tonight, sunshine?”
Kurapika reacted to the nickname, wincing. “I killed a man. I knew he had a brother waiting for him at home, and a niece. And I killed him. He had a pair of the Eyes.
“I thought I could bribe him out of them. I don’t spend much money in case of things like this. But he wouldn’t take it. I offered everything I could. I even offered some of Neon’s collection, since I knew he was a flesh collector too. But he wouldn’t give them back. And he wouldn’t give them back even when I tortured him. And so I killed him. And then I found a mafia contact in this city and put the Eyes there for safekeeping.”
“You did what you thought you had to do,” Leorio said.
“Isn’t that what the Troupe thought too, when they killed my people? They were following orders, following their mission. Is that what I have been doing all this time?”
“You’re not like them, Kurapika.”
“Aren’t I, though? I killed him to get the Eyes. I don’t even think he knew why I wanted them.”
Leorio stayed silent.
“I couldn’t even use my Nen, either. But when my eyes turn red, I don’t care who I hurt. Who I kill. Who I use.” Kurapika ran fingers over his lips. “And the Troupe didn’t care, either.”
“You know, Kurapika,” Leorio started, “you don’t have to do this.”
Kurapika knew what ‘this’ was. “Yes, I do.”
“You don’t, though. I know you think you have to.”
“I do have to. It is the only way.”
Leorio snapped. “When are you going to have a life though, Kurapika? When are you going to be happy? When are you going to stop taking fucking years off your life with this Emperor Time shit and let yourself feel an emotion other than anger for once?”
“My body does not have room for anything other than rage.” Kurapika’s tone was calm and even. “It will consume me before it’s too late. And I cannot stop it.”
Leorio got up and walked to the other side of the room. His fists were clenched and trembling. “You can, though! You don’t have to be haunted by this forever, Kurapika, you can be happy, you can lay them to rest and continue your life.” His voice was rising, rising. “Tonight proves something. Why did you come here? It couldn’t have just been out of anger for your people. You’re lying to yourself and you know it.”
“I don’t think it’s what they would have wanted,” Leorio adds, just under his breath. “I know I never knew your family or your friends, but I think they would have wanted you to have a life, wanted you to be happy. Just think about it! A life without your mission.”
“I can’t think about it. My rage will not let me think about it.”
“Can’t you just take a damn break for a minute–”
“You don’t understand, Leorio. Thank you for trying to understand, but you don’t. You do not know what it’s like, and your suggestions are foolish. I know that you want to understand and you want to convince me to take another path, and I thank you for that. But this is the only path there is to take.” Leorio thought his voice might have broken on the last word.
“I do not fear death. I fear only that my rage will fade over time.”
“Thank you, Leorio. The tea was nice. I’m sorry I came here. I should go.”
“Stay,” Leorio said automatically, and gave up on the issue at hand. He tried and failed to unclench his fists. “When was the last time you ate? If you can’t remember, then it was too long ago.”
Kurapika was silent.
“I will cook us something. As much as the kids like to make fun of me for being a bad cook, because they actually visit me, the brats, I live alone, so I have to cook and I get by well enough. We will eat and then you will sleep. And no, you do not get to argue.”
Kurapika opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it. He turned to look away from Leorio. “Fine.”
Leorio turned away and tried to ignore his own anger as he dug up a curry block and some old onions. He reheated day-old rice and got to chopping meat and vegetables, heating up a pot and stir-frying the ingredients before adding water and the curry block. He put a lid on and let it simmer.
While Leorio was cooking, Kurapika got up and filled his cup with the very last drops of tea in the pot. Then he carried the cup back to his seat on the bed and drank the rest of his tea deliberately, examining his own wounds as he did so. Leorio was still so angry, he could barely even look back at Kurapika to make sure he wasn’t messing with the bandages.
When the curry was done, Leorio served it over two bowls of rice and pointed Kurapika to sit in one of the seats at his tiny kitchen table. Leorio took the opposite seat and they began eating.
It was obvious that Kurapika was trying to be polite at first, taking small, sparse bites. After seeing Leorio dig into his own bowl, he started eating more hungrily. He wasn’t messy, but it was clear he hadn’t eaten in at least a day; not a real meal, at least. When he was done, Leorio got up and served him more, even though Kurapika insisted he was full and Leorio had already done too much. Leorio knew he’d done the right thing, though, when Kurapika devoured the second bowl as well.
In the lamplight, it almost looked like Kurapika was smiling when he said, “Thank you, Leorio.”
Leorio slumped in his seat and sighed. It had been a long night. “You know, for what you’ve put me through tonight, we might have to go back to Mr. Leorio.”
“Okay, then, I should be going, Mr. Leorio.”
“No, you should not be going. You’re sleeping here tonight. No objections. And I don’t have a couch, only sitting chairs, so we will be sharing the bed. I have classes tomorrow as well and need good sleep as well.”
“I could take the floor–”
“No you could not. Don’t make this weird, not after you showed up at my door in the middle of the night and jumped me.” Kurapika blushed faintly.
“Fine.”
And if, in the middle of the night, laying next to each other in Leorio’s narrow bed, Kurapika moved his head into Leorio’s chest, well. That was no one’s business.
—
Leorio woke up early to an empty bed. Sunshine was streaming in through the window.
He got up, groggy, slid on his teashades and got up from the bed. Kurapika’s suit jacket and shoes were gone. The apartment was undeniably empty.
Leorio walked into the kitchen to find an empty third bowl of curry and a note.
I am sorry for all the trouble I caused you last night. I was reckless, and I took advantage of you. I am sorry, Leorio. I will think about what you said. Thank you for the meal and for letting me stay. You’re busy and I shouldn’t have troubled you. I don’t know when I’ll be back in town so I will try to pick up your calls.
Leorio folded the note and put it in his pocket. Then he sighed and packed his things for class.