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Everything looked sharper outlined in moonlight, even the invisible paths between the stars. The night was beautiful, a shade away from the midnight sky in Lukso, but it brought an ache into Kurapika's chest that he couldn't rub out no matter how long he closed his eyes and tried to grab hold of sleep. He could see it through the window and tried to look away, glancing instead at Leorio and Gon.
Both of them were snoring. Leorio sounded a little like a muffled train and Gon sounded like he was purring. Fondness struck him straight in the heart and collided with the heartache he'd been nursing.
Kurapika knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, then. He put on his tabard and messenger bag and decided to head into the night.
The tourist bus that was the easy way down Kukuroo Mountain didn't run this late at night, so Kurapika walked until he reached the first eatery on the side of the road, a 24-hour diner outfitted in garish neon lights and kitschy decor. The smell of coffee hit him smack in the face once he pushed open the door and he decided that he could drink a cup. Sure, it was midnight, but at Zebro's, there had only been tea and he was missing the taste, and besides, he was already at the point where anything that wasn't espresso couldn't keep him awake.
The diner was half-full when he walked in. It looked like it was run by Treasure Hunters, or at least people who were fond of odd contraptions and natural wonders. He shuddered, hoping that no one here had ever wanted to pin up the scarlet eyes on those walls. His hand jumped to his contacts, a defense mechanism he'd developed when he started wearing them. Satisfied that they were in, he walked up to the counter, rummaging in his messenger bag until he found a spare bill.
"I'll take a black coffee, extra strong. Two creamers, no sugar."
The voice in front of him harmonized the order. Kurapika looked up from the money he was holding out. He started and stared. Standing in front of him was someone who looked remarkably like him, albeit with shaggier, longer blonde hair and a slimmer, slightly taller build. He wore a fitted black suit and a tie, casting a classic silhouette that looked incredibly odd against the chaos of the diner's decor.
He wondered if the other man, this doppelgänger, was another Spider — how else would he have known his coffee order unless he was tracking Kurapika? His hand crept toward the wooden swords he kept strapped to his back and he could feel his shoulders tensing up, getting ready to fight.
"How did you know that?"
The other man set a coffee and creamers in front of him. He prepared the same for himself and shrugged.
"Instinct, I suppose."
"Have you been tracking me?"
The other man fixed him with a look that he recognized from the mirror, deadpan and unamused. And he saw a flicker of red behind the gray contacts that tinted the other's eyes brown, and he almost choked. Because either he had not been the only survivor of the Kurta massacre — unlikely, because he had seen the bodies, he had counted — or he was Kurapika. From the future. Or an alternate universe.
He scoured his brain for evidence of alternate universes or time travel; the only books he had read on the subject were fictional and therefore not grounds for the existence of either. This was definitely impossible.
But Kurapika saw the recognition on the other man's face — which likely mirrored his own — and knew what was coming next.
"I'm you from the future, Kurapika. I'm 19-year-old you."
That voice. He had heard it in his head several times. It was horribly familiar to him, the same voice that mocked him and taunted him in his sleep and occasionally during his waking hours. He was honestly not sure he was even awake. He'd probably fallen asleep somewhere along the process of contemplating the night. This was just a really strange lucid dream. At least it was better than a nightmare.
"Don't ask questions," the other said, cradling his coffee in his hands.
"Prove it." His hands were still on the wooden swords, because this man could be an enemy, too.
"I know you forget what day it is more often than not."
"That's something that can happen to anyone," Kurapika countered. The other man continued, unfazed.
"I know you forget to take off your binder before you sleep more often than not. I know you and Pairo named your first Piko Sheila after that woman who gave you the Hunter D book."
"I know that during Trick Tower, you thought about hugging Leorio when he took care of your pride — and you were terrified of that. Because you hadn't wanted to hug someone in a long time, not since Pairo."
"I know you reach for books because they've always been comforting. They were one of the last things you shared with Pairo and they're easier to keep by your side than people because they can't get hurt by you."
"I know that you're scared," the blonde finished.
"I'm not scared," Kurapika said, stubbornly, and then the rest of what the person across from him said hit him. His hands fell away from the swords and dangled loosely at his sides.
All of it hurt. Being this explicitly seen was uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable. He hated it, to hear his mess spread all over a few phrases. His (more than) occasional inability to take care of himself. The guilt that would never leave him about not being enough for Pairo, the joyful, adventurous Kurapika that he wished he could remember, the fear about getting close to Gon and Killua and Leorio. Especially Leorio.
"Either you are amazing at gathering information — although I have no idea how you would have gotten it — or you really are me," he said slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the other man.
Future-Kurapika arched an eyebrow at him. "What stops me from being both?"
"Fair."
This was such a strange, out-of-body experience that Kurapika let himself temporarily believe that this was future-Kurapika. When he read those time travel books, he often avoided thinking about what his life would look like in the future, once he completed his revenge and collected the clan's eyes. He was fully reconciled with the knowledge that his mission was a suicidal one.
But if this person was really him and had stuck around — he had to ask how that was, to confirm that the other was still working toward his goals. And maybe there was a small part of him that wondered if he had recovered the joy his younger self had on the other side of it all.
"How is—" He wasn't sure which possessive to use. "Our? Mission."
Future-Kurapika's eyes took on a hooded look. He looked, suddenly, much older than the 19 years old he had shared he was, and his gaze fell to the steam wafting off the mug of coffee in his hands.
"I've collected almost all of the eyes. I'll secure the last pair soon, I hope."
Kurapika nodded, but the feeling that came over him at watching the other's reaction was not the satisfaction he had expected at hearing the news he had hoped for. Dread thumbed at his brain when he asked the next question.
"And the Spiders?"
His companion took a long swig from the coffee cup and set it down with a loud clatter.
"They're still out there."
"What are you doing, then?" The dread hit him square in the throat. The coffee he sipped to ground him only made his heart beat faster, made him furious. He knew that this older him was more powerful; he'd sensed a shift in the air as soon as he'd walked up to the counter. And yet he wasn't using this power to enact revenge?
Beneath the dread was fear, though. So much of it that it crowded his chest and made him clench the handle of his mug. Had his rage truly faded? He pictured the Spiders and the people they were undoubtedly continuing to hurt. He had always fixated on justice not just for his clan but for the hundreds, perhaps thousands of innocent people who had either been collateral or intentional damage of the Troupe's actions.
"Kurapika."
"What?" he snapped. He was shaking, he realized.
"I'm tired," future-Kurapika said. "I'm so tired."
Kurapika looked up and saw the other man was shaking, too. He saw the bags under the older him's eyes, the phantom of the weight that he used to have, the way his hands jittered against the coffee as if he had already had too many cups of espresso. His face looked like it cracked along its frown lines and wrinkles that were starting to form, far too early, and the facade of competence was gone. Behind it, Kurapika saw himself again. Small and scared and twelve and blaming himself for everything. Something, he knew, was wrong. Something bad had happened to him in the future.
But before he could ask, the other man's phone rang. He took it out and declined it after a glance at the screen, but not before Kurapika saw two things: almost imperceptible sadness flashing across future-Kurapika's face and the caller's contact name. Leorio Paladiknight, it read.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket, whatever emotions he revealed papered over by an impassive facade.
"I have to go."
Kurapika stood up, moved to block future-him as the other walked around the counter and prepared to exit. He could feel the heat behind his eyes.
"Don't leave. Not before an explanation."
"You're one to talk." Whatever that meant, Kurapika didn't know. Future-Kurapika had improved his glaring skills, Kurapika offhandedly noted. At least he knew he would be sufficiently intimidating in the future. "You should apologize to him, you know."
Into the exhaustion of his voice seeped regret, far more bitter than he had expected. Kurapika didn't like the knowing look that appeared in future-Kurapika's eyes. It was a look that shut down any questions or doubts he had about who he had hurt.
"What for?"
"You do something stupid. Tell him you're sorry."
"He's more likely to do something stupid," Kurapika muttered underneath his breath. Future-Kurapika didn't look impressed.
"I already apologized to him for the Mr. Leorio conversation," he amended.
"Not that." The other blonde shook his head. He looked disappointed. "You'll know. Trust me."
He took his leave and left Kurapika sitting at the counter far more unsettled than he was when he came into the diner. It ate at him until he decided, after a few moments, to step out of the diner and tail the other man. He followed future-Kurapika through a long stretch of the city; he would hedge his bets on future-Kurapika knowing he was being trailed and choosing to ignore it.
Kurapika noticed the way the air around the other's hand rippled, started to form shapes that he couldn't clearly make out. There was a tension there, knit all the way to future-Kurapika's back, that drew Kurapika's curiosity. But that wasn't why he wanted to trail his future self, and he pushed the questions to the back of his mind.
When future-Kurapika turned around in front of an alleyway, Kurapika was there, waiting. The question slipped out of his mouth panicky and raw before he could tell it to come back.
"What did we do wrong?"
He didn't know if he was asking about the hurt he caused Leorio or himself.
"Make him some cioppino. Or better yet, ask him to make you some cioppino."
"What is that?"
"The Internet is an amazing resource. May I suggest using the Hunter Association Search Engine? Or you could contact Menchi, if you'd like."
"I understand why people find us insufferable."
That, for some reason, caused future-him to let out a belly laugh. It sounded strange, as if the other was only remembering how to laugh after forgetting how to. Kurapika wasn't quite sure he liked the thought of that.
"Goodbye, Kurapika."
Then the other man stepped into the shadows and disappeared. Whether it was behind the corner, into some strange portal, or one of the metal boxes Kurapika had heard time machines described as, he didn't know. Curiosity piqued, he continued to follow the other, but to no avail — he was gone without a trace, as if he had never been there at all. He stood there for a moment and scanned the area for movement. Once satisfied there was nothing, he shook his head and left.
He stepped into the first 24-hour-Internet cafe he saw, a couple blocks away, and searched for cioppino and found it was a seafood stew that originated from what he remembered was Leorio's homeland. The taste of tomato and wine and fresh fish popped into his head while he stared at the pictures, and when he tore himself away from the computer, his mouth was wet.
Was the other man actually future-him or just someone who could read him uncannily well? Either way, Kurapika didn't want to dwell on it. Still, the conversation tugged on the back of his mind on the walk back to Zebro's residence.
When he slipped back into the small house, there was only one source of light. Kurapika found Leorio at the kitchen table, droopy-eyed but focused, staring fixedly at a textbook with his glasses sliding halfway down his nose and a pencil tucked behind his ear. A candle flickered nearby, tracing Leorio's jawline in warm yellow. Gon was probably still in the bedroom sleeping.
Leorio waved at him when he came in, more of a hand-flop than anything else. "Couldn't sleep?"
"No," he confessed. Seeing Leorio's face, unguarded and drowsy, felt cozy. The entire scene, really, felt too much like coming home.
He didn't want to think about how he could hurt this man, who was somehow still so kind in spite of how life had been unkind to him.
Staying in Leorio's life after saving Killua — finishing a loose end left untied during the Hunter Exam, ensuring the safety of an abuse victim — would drag him down. A pang of nostalgia for something that hadn't even happened yet tugged on his heart. Then understanding hit him so fiercely he almost staggered back a few steps.
"You feeling better than when you left?" Leorio asked.
Maybe it was the drowsiness, or the future-Kurapika's warning, or the way Leorio looked at him with concern that shot straight down to his toes that dragged the words out. Maybe it was all three.
With a "Leorio" to keep the other's attention, Kurapika moved to stand directly in front of his friend. His voice came out quiet and shaky when he spoke.
"In the future, I might do something to hurt you. Something really bad. And I hope you forgive me." In the process of speaking, his head had moved downward, eyes drawn toward the ground and away from the magnetic force of Leorio's gaze. "I want to say sorry in advance."
"What are you going to do to me?"
Kurapika dared to look up. To his surprise, there was no judgment, no fear. Just curiosity. There was a lump growing in Kurapika's throat, larger and larger every moment.
"Hurt you, I guess," he said, swallowing the words with the lump, because he wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly how he would hurt Leorio and just hadn't made peace with it.
I'll leave you behind, he answered in his head, because it hurt too much to say aloud.
"I forgive you."
No, Kurapika wanted to yell. He wanted to scream that he wasn't worth it, that this wasn't a battle his stupid, stubborn friend should pick.
"Really? Just like that?"
"Yeah, Kurapika. Just like that."
And Leorio smiled at him. He didn't know what that smile, warm and inviting, did to Kurapika. Nor would he ever know how weak it made Kurapika, how for a moment it made his rage flicker.
"I can see you spiraling, y'know." Leorio leaned over to clap a hand on his shoulder and Kurapika's words died in his mouth. "You're my friend, Kurapika. I trust you. I know you have good reasons for why you do the things you do, and I know if you hurt me—"
"When," Kurapika murmured.
"—If you hurt me, you'll say sorry and mean it. In fact," Leorio chuckled, patting Kurapika's shoulder before stepping back. "This is just like you. Getting ahead of the curve."
In spite of himself, Kurapika laughed. He remembered the second part of future-Kurapika's recommendations.
"Do you like cioppino, Leorio?"
Leorio's face lit up, so bright that it overwhelmed Kurapika. The energy radiating from him bled into his voice. "Do I like it? I love it, Kurapika."
"Not so loud," he whispered. "You'll wake Gon up," but he was smiling and he let himself look all the way at Leorio, let his gaze linger. Let himself stay in the sunshine. When he had to leave Leorio, he could at least take this memory with him.
"It's a comfort dish my mom used to make for me, but I haven't had it in a while. I've actually been meaning to try my hand at making it," he continued. "Why do you ask?"
"I was just wondering," he said. He wanted to keep future-Kurapika, real or not, to himself. Because somewhere he recognized that he didn't recognize the other man, and he was afraid of that. Afraid Leorio would see right through even a description, because for all his jokes about the man's cluelessness he had always been able to cut straight to Kurapika's heart. "I read something about it earlier and thought it might be from your region."
"Yeah, my region has the best cioppino in the entire Known World," Leorio bragged. "Gon would disagree, but Whale Island doesn't have the right seafood for it."
"Would you teach me how to make it?"
Surprise wrote itself on Leorio's face. It looked, for a moment, like his eyes were about to bug out of his skull when his mouth dropped a little. He couldn't tell if it was out of worry, which — fair enough, his experience cooking during the Hunter Exam was less than satisfactory.
"Leorio, I promise I'm not a horrible cook, contrary to what happened at the exam. I used to help my mom in the kitchen—"
He waved Kurapika off. "No, no, it's not that. It's just." The candlelight flickered and Kurapika saw, more clearly, that his friend's eyes were glassy. When he spoke again, it was quiet and serious. It carried the weight of a loss that Leorio had never explicitly brought up, but that Kurapika knew was another shared thread between them.
"I'd like that a lot, Kurapika. Thank you."
Leorio. You brilliant, stupid man. I wish you had been the doctor that Pairo needed, because you are so, so kind and smart and thoughtful. You look at me and you see all the things I want to do, all the death that haunts me in both my past and future, and you still want to be my friend.
I trust you. I want to stay with you. I want to let myself lean into your friendship. I want, maybe, something more. I want to let myself fall in love with you and I think you can fall in love with me, too. I see the way you glance at me when I'm not looking because I know I do the same thing. I don't want a life without you in it.
But it's too dangerous. It's too dangerous for both of us. You deserve better than someone like me.
So instead of saying the words weighing him down, Kurapika pushed his lips upward against the pressure and smiled.
""Of course. But are you sure you're the best teacher? After all, you said you've never made it before."
"You wound me, Kurapika." Leorio clutched his chest dramatically, feigning gasps for air. "I, too, am far better a cook than the Hunter Exam showed."
The exaggeration got to Kurapika and he snorted, which turned into a laugh, until Leorio was the one telling him to be quiet (in a voice far too loud, completely ruining the sentiment) so Gon wouldn't wake up.
He was always laughing more around Leorio.
"I guess you'll just have to prove it."
"Oh, I'll prove it. But not tonight." He closed his book and untucked the pencil from his ear to save his place. "I'll take you to my country and you'll have no choice but to admit how great I am."
If he was a stronger person, he would've told Leorio that he was planning to walk away and not look back after they rescued Killua. After all, friends had no space in his mission because he didn't want them to be dragged down with him. They would see how much of a mess he was. How much blood was on and would be on his hands.
If he was a braver person, he would've told Leorio that the other had already proven how great he was, time and time again. He would've leaned in and closed the distance, placed a gentle hand on Leorio's cheek before he kissed him.
But he wasn't strong and he wasn't brave. So he looked at Leorio, this ridiculous fool, and rolled his eyes and sighed through a soft chuckle.
"Hey, sunshine. You look as tired as I feel. We should probably get some rest."
And Kurapika let Leorio put a hand on his shoulder and lead them both to bed. The leaving could wait.