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The first time Leorio sees Kurapika on the Black Whale it is half past midnight, he is seven hours into an eleven hour shift, and it’s in the Central Medical Clinic.
Time doesn’t slow for sickness or injury and so no matter the hour or day, they are up to their elbows in patients— hands perpetually tugging at Leorio’s clothing to ask for more painkillers, for more gauze, for more antiseptic. Sometimes he is able to shove half a granola bar down his throat while he walks from bed to bed. Sometimes one of the attendings has to forcibly sit him down and get him to drink half a bottle of water in between seeing patients; and because Leorio is so good at what he’s doing— because his very nature puts others at ease— Cheadle does not kick him out of her clinic while he works himself to the bone. Instead, she reprimands him gently, hands him half a sandwich, and says a quick prayer of gratitude to whatever god sent this kind, energetic, insufferable young man her way.
And when Kurapika is rolled in on a gurney with hostile eyes and a gunshot wound to the shoulder, all of Leorio’s warm, gentle bedside manner dissipates into a cloud of rage.
“You got shot? Shot, Kurapika? With a gun?”
He makes no move to assist the two nurses wheeling him into a private room; his hands are too busy waving around in the air.
“Yes, Leorio, with a gun,” Kurapika hisses, infuriatingly unapologetic. “Honestly, what else— ”
“How? By who? Under what circumstances?”
“The mechanism is really quite simple. Someone pulls a trigger, and— ”
“You are not going to come into my med center and mouth off.”
“I’m sorry, ” Kurapika says snidely, “is there somewhere else I can go to be treated on this godforsaken floating apartment complex? Because if that’s the case, I’d love to— ” He cuts himself off this time as he pulls his bloody arm out of his suit jacket, wincing.
“Hey,” Leorio softens immediately. He dismisses the nurses, who are only sticking around to make sure the two men don’t murder one another anyway; and, once they’re satisifed that is truly the case, bow out silently. “Be careful with that. We can yell at each other after I patch you up.”
“I can heal myself,” Kurapika mumbles, eyes turning red.
“Okay, I don’t know exactly how you plan on doing that, but wouldn’t it be easier if you just let someone help you for once?”
“This is faster.”
And it is. Leorio watches with a mixture of mild horror and fascination as the bullet in Kurapika’s shoulder pushes itself out, dropping to the floor with a small clang, and the skin around the wound shifts and smooths over. His immaculate white shirt is torn and stained, but apart from that there’s no trace of injury at all.
“How— I mean, I guess it doesn’t really matter. Why’d you let them bring you here in the first place, then?”
“Honestly, Leorio,” Kurapika shakes his head. “Why don’t I want everyone to know the full extent of my nen ability? Are you really asking me that?”
“You could help so many people with an ability like that.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but helping people isn’t very high on my list of priorities.”
“Yeah, okay,” Leorio sighs. “I’m exhausted and haven’t seen you in, like, a hundred years so I’m just going to chalk your awful attitude up to a lack of sleep and getting shot. If you wanna be a friend sometime, I’m always here. Otherwise you’re free to go.”
Turning, he’s stopped by a cold hand on his wrist. He has half a mind to ignore it but refusing Kurapika has never been one of Leorio’s strong suits, so he turns back and waits. Kurapika isn’t looking at him— bangs shielding his eyes the way they always do when he wants to hide his expression. Leorio can almost see the gears in his brain turning, and lets him take his time. They can both use a break after all.
Finally, Kurapika loosens his grip on Leorio and sets both hands on his lap.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m— ” He shakes his head. “There’s no excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Leorio says softly. He takes a seat on the edge of Kurapika’s bed and puts a hand over both of Kurapika’s. “I don’t wanna know who shot you— because I won’t be able to sleep at night over it. But, uh— not professionally speaking and all— I hope you got them back.”
He watches a ghost of a smile pass Kurapika’s lips, quietly mourning what it could have been. Kurapika’s smile could light up rooms and planets if he let it.
“You know,” he continues, keeping his voice casual, “no one’s going to kick you out of this room if you want to pretend treatment is taking a while.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Those bags under your eyes are telling me you haven’t slept in five days.”
Kurapika snorts out a laugh. “Is that your professional opinion, doctor?”
“You bet.”
“I,” Kurapika begins, licking his lips, clearly thinking it over, “suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
Some time towards morning, when Cheadle makes her supervisory rounds through the rooms, she’s both surprised and pleased to see their new Rat curled up under a blanket, and her lanky protege keeping watch. From what she’s gleaned from the short amount of time they’ve spent in each other’s company, Kurapika is a difficult man to pin down. He is a difficult man— period— well-mannered, distant, quick to rebuff.
Equal parts dismissive and terrifying. To see him asleep is to see him in a new light entirely, young features brought forth in sleep.
And Leorio, too. This is Leorio in a new light, too.
***
The second time Leorio sees Kurapika on the Black Whale it is half past midnight again, and Kurapika is slurring his words.
“Have you considered,” he says, pushing past Leorio into the room, “that in less than a week we will land on the Dark Continent, and probably die?”
“Uh,” Leorio says, squinting at his friend in the dark, “I try not to think about my potential impending death?”
“Stupid,” Kurapika mutters. He loosens his tie and tosses it on a chair. “Of course you don’t.”
Leorio decides to ignore whatever that means for the time being, turning on a lamp.
“Were you sleeping?” Kurapika asks. It’s out of character. Kurapika usually doesn’t ask stupid questions, and it’s clear by his complete and utter dishevelment that yes, Leorio was just sleeping. He shrugs.
“You could have ignored me.”
“Your banging was loud. I thought it was an emergency. Hey— are you complaining about me answering the door?”
“Not at all,” Kurapika waves a hand. “I was just trying to understand your thought process.”
“I’m half-asleep, Kurapika, I don’t have a thought process!”
Kurapika settles on the edge of Leorio’s bed and gives him that slow, calculating look Leorio hates. It says something both incredibly obvious and incredibly embarrassing like I know you’re completely naked under all your clothes. There’s also the added insult to injury in the fact that Kurapika has been drinking and can still tell that Leorio is completely naked under all of his clothes. In his own goddamn room! Ridiculous.
“Do you want to go back to sleep?”
“Well now I’m awake, so no.”
“You just said you were half-asleep, Leorio. Which is it?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Leorio says, throwing his hands up. “What do you want?”
“I thought we could talk,” Kurapika frowns. “Why are you being so hostile? Did I say something?”
Now it’s Leorio’s turn to frown. “I dunno,” he mumbles, taking in a deep breath. “I guess a part of me is waiting for you to pull out an organ and ask me if I can put it back inside of you or something. Are you okay?”
The corners of Kurapika’s mouth tick up in the way they always do when he’s trying not to laugh. When he makes eye contact again it’s softer this time. Fond.
“I’m not hurt,” he says softly, and stands up. “Let’s have a drink.”
“All I’ve got is cheap beer,” Leorio says, feeling way out of his element. Never, in the handful of years and decades-worth of life-threatening situations they have been in together, has Kurapika ever suggested a drink. It’s a little shocking, actually. Leorio never pegged him as someone afraid to die.
“Mm,” Kurapika says, pulling two nips of whiskey out of his jacket pocket. “I thought that might be the case.”
“Oh. Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Kurapika says. He tosses Leorio one of the bottles, uncaps his own, and downs it in one, fluid motion. Leorio does not point out that these are the actions of a man who is undeniably not okay, but he certainly thinks it. “Are you going to drink yours or not?”
The clock on his bedside flashes 1:02am. He has to be up in 5 hours for his shift at the clinic. And yet— this is the single most interesting thing that’s happened to him in weeks, as concerning in nature as it is.
Leorio uncaps his bottle and takes a sip. Unsurprisingly, it’s smooth— expensive— the kind of whiskey that deserves to be savored, not chugged while standing around a dark room in flannel pajama bottoms.
It’s awkward. Since when is it awkward with them?
Maybe, Leorio thinks, since Yorknew. Maybe since the countless unanswered phone calls. Since sitting across boardroom tables together, not meeting each other’s eyes. Kurapika carving a little hole into the corner of this ship and burying himself inside. Or maybe— Kurapika finding better friends in Melody and Basho and Linssen— finding better use out of them.
Leorio watches him from where they both stand, mouth aching.
“What do you— ” he begins, at the same time Kurapika says— “do you want to sleep together?”
Oh, Leorio manages to think, before he short circuits.
“What?”
“Sex,” Kurapika clarifies. “I’ll most likely prefer to sleep alone, after.”
This would be funny and almost charming in a specifically Kurapika-like way under any other circumstance. Under this one, however, Leorio can literally hear the dial-up sound in his head trying to reconnect his brain to the rest of his body. Suddenly, the room is stifling hot. He throws back the rest of his whiskey.
“I’m assuming the answer is yes?” Kurapika continues, shrugging off his jacket.
“No!” Leorio says, and because it comes out much louder than intended he cringes, reddening. Kurapika’s brows furrow ever so slightly. “I mean— I don’t— ” Leorio fumbles forward, “this is kind of out of the blue, and I have a long day tomorrow— did I tell you I’m getting college credit for this whole thing? Probably not since we don’t actually talk, but— yeah— Cheadle is literally on my ass every day because she talked to the dean of my school and wants to make sure I’m not slacking off or something just because I’m a zodiac now, so. And it’s 1 in the morning already.”
“How long could it possibly take, Leorio.”
“Uh,” Leorio says, and he does laugh now— a nervous, frantic thing— out of the absurdity of the situation and no real joy.
To his credit, Kurapika watches Leorio have this badly concealed anxiety attack with all the clinical calmness of an alien studying American sitcoms for the first time— instead of endlessly mocking him. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls out another tiny bottle of whiskey, and sips on it.
“If you don’t want to,” he says, “just say so.”
“It’s just— there are 200,000 other people on this ship. Why me?”
“I trust you,” Kurapika says with a shrug. “We already know each other, which saves time. I’m assuming you’ve done this before, so you’ll know what to do. You aren’t bad looking. I believe those are the main criteria.”
“Wow,” Leorio says. “You’re making this sound really appealing.”
Kurapika makes a sound that could be a laugh, turning his head away. It’s only this movement that brings Leorio out of himself and to the way Kurapika is sitting— rigid, braced. To the fact that his hands are shaking.
“You’re nervous,” Leorio says quietly, stepping toward him.
“Terribly.”
“That’s a little ridiculous.”
Kurapika stands at that, chest-to-chest with Leorio, narrowing his eyes. In the dim light they look greyer than usual, mirroring shadows cast on the walls. Beautiful and endlessly tired.
“Lived alone for four years. Passed the Hunter Exam at fifteen. Single-handedly defeated a member of the Phantom Troupe. Teen mafia boss. Zodiac and security to a queen. I didn’t think anything could still make you nervous.”
Kurapika doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that.
“S’just me,” Leorio shrugs.
“Yes, it’s— ” Kurapika clears his throat. “You.”
And though Leorio has done his fair share of woefully misreading the signs before, standing this close to one another all of Kurapika’s carefully constructed carelessness becomes obvious. The uncharacteristic drinking. The casualness feigned to disguise want. Standing this close to one another, the embarrassment and desire radiating off of Kurapika is palpable and shocking and intoxicating.
This isn’t just a Bucket List request. Kurapika wants to be touched by him— wants to be pressed up and breathless against him in the dark; and hilariously, thinks he can outsmart them both and pretend he doesn’t.
Slowly, Leorio puts a hand on Kurapika’s waist. He sweeps the other up Kurapika’s arm and over his shoulder— thumb settling against his pulse. He feels it speed up under his touch; he hears Kurapika’s short, sharp intake of breath. The length of his index finger slides up Kurapika’s throat and Kurapika’s eyes flutter closed.
“Your hands are so big,” Kurapika says, and only seems to remember propriety five full seconds later, opening his eyes and flushing at Leorio’s smirk. Red floods his eyes. He pushes Leorio away.
“Forget it,” he huffs, snatching his jacket off of the bed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I can guess,” Leorio offers, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice.
“I know I haven’t been the best friend lately,” Kurapika snaps, “but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mock me about this. It’s not like I chose to be attracted to you.”
“Maybe if you didn’t make it sound like the end of the world, I’d be more sympathetic.”
“If you hadn’t noticed,” Kurapika sweeps a hand around the room, “we’re headed toward the end of the world. And it’s embarrassing to— when you clearly don’t— ”
He cuts himself off; apparently explaining any further is unbearable regardless of the amount of alcohol he’s had to drink. Leorio watches him for a moment— this brilliant, capable, infuriating man he has come to know and love and stress over these past few years. His ruthless friend— walking terror of the underworld— suddenly all of nineteen years old and woefully inexperienced. A kid with a crush.
Leorio decides to throw him a bone.
“I never said I didn’t.”
“I’ve seen you when you’re interested,” Kurapika scowls. “You’re much more proactive about it.”
“Yeah, well— ”
“Spare me! The only thing that could possibly make this night worse is if you were to give me some kind of speech about how you’re flattered, really, but you’ve given it some thought and you value me too much as a friend to see me naked, or if the ship hit an iceberg hard enough to shoot us out of the windows to our sudden deaths, which honestly might be preferable because I— ”
“Holy shit, you’re insufferable,” Leorio interrupts, pressing his palm against Kurapika’s mouth. “Do you ever let anyone who works for you talk, or is this kind of barrage the norm— ”
Leorio stops when feels something wet slide against the palm of his hand. They look at one another for a moment.
“I guess you’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he finally says, as evenly as possible before bursting into laughter.
“I hate you!” Kurapika shouts, mouth free.
“God, you really don’t,” Leorio says, avoiding a smack in the chest. “You don’t hate me at all and you wanna kiss me so bad, you think about it every night before you— oof.”
He doesn’t manage to avoid the second one. Instead, Kurapika pushes him square in the chest, and Leorio pushes back, and Kurapika grabs for his arms, and Leorio grabs him by the shoulders and they end up wrestling onto the bed, scrambling over one another until Leorio— by virtue of Kurapika’s drunkenness only— is able to pin the smaller man down, hands at both of his wrists, and straddle him.
They glare at one another.
“Your idea of foreplay,” Leorio says, catching his breath, “would be war.”
“I thought we weren’t having sex.”
“You made a whole lot of assumptions, Kurapika. But no, you’re right. We’re not.”
“Then get off of me,” Kurapika says— breaking out of Leorio’s grip— and there’s something bordering the edge of hurt in his voice that gives Leorio pause.
“Hey,” Leorio says, softer this time, not moving. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”
Kurapika doesn’t say anything. He shuts his eyes.
“I’m crazy about you,” Leorio repeats. “Have been for years. Thought of nothing but exams and med school and you while you became a mafia boss and dodged my calls. I mean— not even a text? But yeah, whatever, I got my way in the end, didn’t I? Had them rope you into becoming a Zodiac so that maybe— just maybe— you’d look at me again.”
Kurapika opens his eyes at that.
“I thought it was obvious. You know— how I felt. Feel. I pictured you pressing DECLINE and rolling your eyes at the broke, pathetic guy who would have died a hundred times over without you during the Hunter Exam. Who was so obviously in— who cared more about you than you were willing to accept.”
Something terrible crosses Kurapika’s face at that. His eyes are still scarlet, glassy.
“You thought I was rolling my eyes at you?” he asks.
“Maybe,” Leorio shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter at all. “Who knows?”
Kurapika opens his mouth to reply and seems to think better of it. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, shaking his head. “Tonight was supposed to be easy,” he mumbles.
“Yeah?”
“We’d drink together. We’d take off our clothes. We’d have awkward, mediocre sex while I pretended it didn’t mean anything to me, and then I’d leave. We’d never discuss it again because— as I mentioned earlier— we will probably die in less than a week.”
Leorio laughs softly. “Really intent on breaking my heart, aren’t you?” he asks, and means it to be a lot less genuine than what comes out.
“Leorio,” Kurapika says. Gently, he pushes against Leorio’s chest until he backs off of him. What he doesn’t say, what he should say, is: yours is the only heart that matters to me. Kurapika stands up off of the bed and straightens himself out. His dress shirt has come untucked; he tucks it back in. He puts his jacket back on.
“Kurapika,” Leorio says, before he can fully leave. “What if you came back tomorrow, and you weren’t drunk?”
“Maybe,” Kurapika says. His voice is quiet enough that Leorio knows he means no.
***
Kurapika does not come back the next night, or the night after that. The hours in the Med Clinic blur together though Leorio remains as outwardly cheerful as ever, and does good work. The other thing he does, which goes very much against client-patient confidentiality, is look through Kurapika’s file to see which room he’s staying in.
He is on a ship with literal murderers and possibly Hisoka. He is allowed this one breach of professionalism.
And they are two nights away from possible death.
He shows up unannounced— the only way he assumes Kurapika will even see him— not with whiskey but with flowers, which are embarrassing, which he regrets as soon as he purchases them from the Black Whale’s woefully lacking gift shop.
“Leorio,” Kurapika says, peering at him through the crack in the door. “I don’t really have time for guests.”
“It’s 9pm and I’m not a guest,” Leorio says, pushing in. To his surprise, Kurapika allows it.
None of the rooms on the Black Whale are particularly cozy, but Leorio likes to think he’s made some significant progress with his— framed pictures of loved ones on the desk and a shelf of well-worn books. A sweater tossed across the bed. Kurapika’s, on the other hand, is stark, clinical, and unlived in. A sudden and unbearable sadness washes over him.
“Look,” Leorio begins. He sighs.
“Are those for me?”
“Yeah— sorry. I know it’s, like, not cool or whatever.”
Kurapika’s mouth does a funny wobbly thing for a moment, unused to smiling as it is, and takes the bouquet from him. “You’ve never struck me as the type to try to be cool or whatever,” he says.
“I’m plenty cool,” Leorio frowns.
“Mm,” Kurapika says, walking into the bathroom. “I don’t have a vase.”
You don’t have anything, Leorio thinks, looking around. There’s a table by the window (shuttered) and a single, ballpoint pen on it. There are two lamps: one on the table and one on at Kurapika’s bedside. The bed is meticulously made, or simply has not been slept on in days. The closet is shut but Leorio can assume what’s inside of it: identical shirts, jackets, trousers. It’s awful. Awful.
Before he can stop himself he’s walking toward the desk, opening the drawers. The top right holds a notebook and a planner and the top left holds two photographs.
The first is of all four of them, and Leorio is warmed at the fact that it’s identical to the one he keeps in his own study back home— the one he’s looked at and cursed multiple times as the phone in his hand went straight to voicemail. The second, though. The second is of Leorio only, mid-laugh, looking at something off-camera. The sun is shining overhead and his nose and eyes are crinkled and he looks young and carefree, a man at the precipice of his life. Leorio doesn’t remember this day, but it must have been before everything went to shit in Yorknew.
He flips the picture over for a hint but whatever is written on the back is written in a language he can’t read, and then Kurapika is taking it from his hand, setting it back inside the drawer, and shutting it.
“What’s it say?” he asks, wanting to ask a million other things, too.
“I’ll tell you,” Kurapika nods, “but not right now. Let’s go.”
“Oh,” Leorio says dumbly. “Where to?”
“Your room is more comfortable than mine.”
It is. Leorio doesn’t feel the need to express just why— it’s painfully obvious— so he lets Kurapika guide them out.
It’s early enough in the night that there are other passengers out in the corridors, laughing with one another or carrying food back to shared lounges. Idly, Leorio wonders what it must be like to have friends on board who either aren’t working themselves into an early grave or actually want to see him. He has become a man who is simply too busy to be lonely. But with Kurapika so close again, Leorio remembers the feeling.
Kurapika doesn’t acknowledge anyone although most of the people on his floor seem to know or at least recognize him. He is silent until they make it back to Leorio’s room, until Leorio opens the door and two of Kurapika’s fingers brush the back of his hand.
“Thank you for the flowers,” he says. “I didn’t realize something so cliche could be so nice.”
“Sometimes you can just say a nice thing,” Leorio rolls his eyes, “without— you’ve never gotten flowers before?”
Kurapika gives him a look like this is a puzzling thing to ask.
“Not even for… mafia promotions?”
“That isn’t really one of our customs, no,” Kurapika laughs.
“You seem a lot more relaxed tonight,” Leorio says cautiously, tossing his jacket on the sofa chair. “Maybe whiskey isn’t the right alcohol for you. I mean— we all have one, you know? Mine’s tequila. Makes me… never mind.”
“I’m very curious as to where that was going.”
“Don’t be,” Leorio waves a hand. “You’ll have to beat it out of me.”
Kurapika takes a seat on the edge of the chair, perched to make a quick escape if necessary. Leorio knows all the signs by now.
“I’m relaxed,” Kurapika shrugs, closing his eyes, “because I’ve accepted my imminent death. I only have one thing left to do to fulfill my promise to my family, and you’re an integral part of it.”
“What’s that?” Leorio asks, knowing this isn’t the time to make a joke although Kurapika has fully left an opening for one.
“I have to answer a question,” Kurapika says. His voice is quiet and when he meets Leorio’s gaze there’s a distance in his eyes that Leorio can tell isn’t for him to probe.
“Oh,” Leorio says. “Seems easy enough, right? We can do that. Do I get to know what the question is?”
For a moment, it doesn’t seem like Kurapika is going to answer him. Then he says, just as softly as before: “Did you have fun?”
Even without context, it’s obvious to Leorio that this has profound significance to his friend. He decides it’s better not to say anything at all, and to let Kurapika explain in his own time.
“As of now, I’m sure you can imagine, the answer is a resounding ‘no.’ There’s no way of fixing everything that’s gone wrong in my life in order to give Pairo the response he deserves, but I was thinking— maybe if I come up with how it could have been— maybe that will count as something.” He pauses. “Will you help?”
“Of course I will,” Leorio says. He does not mention how his answer would be the same if Kurapika had asked him to jump headfirst into freezing cold waters and retrieve buried treasure for him. “Who’s Pairo?”
Kurapika takes his jacket off and sets it neatly on top of Leorio’s. He begins undoing his cufflinks. “Pairo was my best friend,” he says without looking up. “Do you want to hear something interesting?”
“Sure.”
“He wasn’t well. Because of me.” Kurapika pauses for a moment, making a choked noise that’s half-laugh and half-ache. “I was a lot like Gon as a kid— always getting into trouble. He hurt himself saving me one morning, and I swore that I would make it up to him.”
“By having fun?” Leorio asks. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and begins unbuttoning his shirt.
“Don’t do that,” Kurapika says. “I want to do that.”
Leorio stops.
“No,” Kurapika continues, standing, crossing the room to where Leorio is sitting. “I left my home behind— I avoided the massacre— because I wanted someone to help Pairo. I— ” He laughs again. It’s horrible. “I went out to look for a doctor.”
“Oh,” Leorio says.
“Isn’t it funny? I found my doctor, but I lost everything else.”
“I don’t think it’s funny at all, Kurapika.”
Kurapika shrugs, as though this doesn’t matter. His hands are on Leorio’s collar now, careful not to brush his knuckles against bare skin. He doesn’t make eye contact, but he can feel Leorio’s eyes boring into him. Their faces are close enough, and at some point Leorio has spread his legs wide enough for Kurapika to stand in between them.
“Why do I get the feeling,” Leorio mumbles, “that you think everything is your fault?”
“Why,” Kurapika says, just as quietly, “won’t you just kiss me?”
They move in a blur. Leorio’s mouth is warm and he smells faintly like cologne and toothpaste, but he keeps his lips closed against Kurapika’s which is equal parts infuriating and sweet and confusing. Kurapika huffs softly against his mouth, fingers gripping harder at his collar. Still he doesn’t know where they stand— whether they’re on the same page or not— whether Kurapika wants them to be. Probably not, he decides. No. It’s much easier to be on different pages this close to death.
It’s Leorio who pulls away first; he holds Kurapika’s face in both hands and looks him in the eyes.
“Hey,” he says, brushing his thumb along Kurapika’s cheekbone.
Kurapika pushes at him gently, just to see if he’ll comply. When he does, lying back on the bed, Kurapika follows just to straddle him.
“Hi,” he says back, and kisses Leorio once— slow and tentative. Careful. When he pulls away he studies the shadows shifting across Leorio’s face— this perfect man in the faint light of a room they don’t share. Suddenly it strikes him that he’s sad. That he’s been sad for more of his life than he’s been happy. That all of the world’s tiniest, sharpest splinters live underneath his skin, and even the beautiful doctor he spent his childhood dreaming of cannot pull them out.
Kurapika leans forward for another kiss, hoping against hope Leorio won’t notice how wet it is.
“Hold on,” Leorio says, fingertips on Kurapika’s chin. “I can’t be so bad that you’re crying.”
“Ignore it.”
“Can’t do that, either.” Leorio puts his hands on Kurapika’s waist and sits up, holding him close.
“Trying to have sex with you is like being in purgatory,” Kurapika says, sourly. “Every time I open the door I find myself back in the waiting room.”
Leorio barks out a laugh and pulls Kurapika against his chest. He presses his mouth to Kurapika’s temple. “Sorry if taking off your clothes while you’re visibly unhappy doesn’t get me going.”
“I should be able to get you going just by virtue of being me.”
Leorio laughs again at that. Kurapika can feel it in his own body, pressed against his ribcage like a heated blanket. In another life, he would hear that laugh forever. He would be fifty, sixty, seventy years old and still wrapped up in Leorio’s arms like an ornery cat, claiming ownership of this strange man’s lanky body and good soul.
I love you, Kurapika thinks, bitterly. I love you and I wish I were different and you were the same and we were far away from these terrible people and this sinking ship and I could tell you to your face that I love your laugh and your generosity and the way you grumble under your breath when you find something unfair. That I wake up in the middle of the night gasping because I’ve been dreaming of your hands. That everyone sees through me when it comes to you. I love you and I don’t deserve you and I will keep loving you regardless. I’ll love you while I’m sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Please don’t sink down with me.
“I like you so much,” Leorio says. It’s a little anticlimactic after Kurapika’s own thoughts, but he supposes he’s the only one to blame. “I never thought you’d let me say it.”
“Mm.” Kurapika shifts, nosing at Leorio’s chin and then kissing him. “I didn’t think anything could stop you from saying what was on your mind.”
“You’ve got a lot of misplaced faith in me.”
“No,” Kurapika says. “None of it is misplaced.”
They look at each other for a moment and finally— finally— Kurapika sees something veer and darken in Leorio’s expression. Slow hands make their way from where they’re resting on his waist to underneath his shirt. Even this, just this, is exhilarating, to be touched for pleasure rather than mending. Without any ceremony, Kurapika yanks Leorio’s shirt open hard enough that the buttons pop off. Then he pushes him back down.
When they’d kissed before it wasn’t like this. Nothing in Kurapika’s life has ever been like this— heady and achingly desperate. There’s a pulsing in his ears and thighs compounded by the feel of Leorio’s mouth soft-slick underneath his. It does feel, a little bit, like knowing you’re going to drown and giving yourself over to it. Leorio’s hands slide up his back, palms flat, pressing them closer together.
“Can I take this off?” Leorio asks, rucking Kurapika’s shirt up.
Kurapika nods against Leorio’s mouth, unwilling to pull away. He lets Leorio blindly unbutton the shirt off of him, presses closer, skin on skin. Hands on hands. Tongue in mouth. It’s good.
It’s even better when Leorio flips them over and begins kissing down his throat, into the hollow of his collarbone. He’s too caught up in the moment to swallow back the sigh that escapes his mouth, but he must be doing something right with the way Leorio yanks his belt off of him.
“Can I take this off?” Leorio asks again, fingers skimming the fly of Kurapika’s pants.
“Oh,” Kurapika says, lifting his hips off the bed, “are you going to ask every time? We’ll be here for years.”
“Communication is important,” Leorio grins, shimmying Kurapika’s pants off of him. “And you’re gonna want to be here for years.”
“Those are big words.”
“Uh huh,” Leorio says, kissing him once on the mouth. He tugs at the waistband of Kurapika’s boxer briefs. “Can I— ”
“How about,” Kurapika interrupts, pushing down on Leorio’s hand, “I give you blanket permission to do whatever you like.”
“Fair enough,” Leorio says into his ear. He licks the shell of it and kisses the thin, sensitive skin underneath. He presses kisses down Kurapika's neck and into his pulse, undoubtedly pleased at the way it speeds up under his touch. One of his hands is braced against the bed while the other grips Kurapika’s thigh— firm and steady— without moving any further. It’s infuriating.
He feels heavy and high at the same time, the air stretching like taffy under his skin. It’s a little annoying being completely exposed while Leorio still has so much of his clothes on, and he must say so because suddenly the heat on top of him is gone, and Leorio is shucking his pants off.
This absence is intolerable. Kurapika pulls him back on top of him, legs spreading almost of their own volition which would be embarrassing if Leorio’s own arousal wasn’t so apparent. He’s rewarded with a scrape of teeth at his neck, hot breath, his own heart stuttering in his chest.
“My god,” Kurapika manages, making the scowl in his voice evident. “Are you this slow with everyone, or am I just— ” He cuts off with a sharp intake of breath, at Leorio’s hand sliding between his legs.
Leorio smiles against his neck.
“Were you saying something?”
“No.”
“That’s a first,” Leorio says, slipping a finger inside of him.
He’s wet enough that playing hard to get at this juncture would be unconvincing, and physically in a precarious enough position that mouthing off is out of the question. Kurapika opts instead to wrap his arms around Leorio’s neck, pull him closer, and kiss him like he means it. Because he does.
Because he does, and because when Leorio slips another finger inside of him and crooks both he can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth.
“Good?” Leorio asks, and Kurapika presses down on him in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Do,” Kurapika says.
***
“Your eyes are still red,” Leorio says later, hours after they’ve finished. They lie curled into one another, Leorio lazily kissing Kurapika’s forehead and mouth. He’s gentle in a way Kurapika never thought he’d like. None of this, of course, has gone according to plan.
“Yes.”
“It usually doesn’t last this long.”
“What, sex?” Kurapika asks, loftily, knowing full well that isn’t what Leorio is talking about. He receives a snort in response.
“Well,” he continues, turning onto his back, “I didn’t magically fall out of love with you just because you’re not inside of me anymore.”
“You— what?”
“You can’t possibly have not known.”
“Kurapika,” Leorio says in what must be his Doctor Voice. It’s serious and almost too patient. “That isn’t fair.”
“When did I promise you fair, Leorio?”
“Oh, I get it,” Leorio says, pulling away. It isn’t much but it’s noticeable— and Kurapika hates it instantly. “You got what you wanted from me so you’re back to being a dick.”
And while it’s an understandable (though unjustified) assumption to make, Kurapika can’t help but feel indignant anyway. He sits up, crossing his arms like a child.
“You can’t even begin to understand what I want from you, Leorio. I’ve already accepted that I’ll never get it.”
“Jesus,” Leorio shakes his head. “You’re so goddamn overdramatic! Seriously, sweetheart— you’re in the wrong profession I’ll tell you that. You should have been a poet or a playwright or one of those old time-y potion makers— ”
“They’re called apothecaries, you are literally training to become a doctor, how can you not know that— ”
“Or maybe an attorney— god, you’d love that, huh— smugly proving people wrong for a living, it was practically made for you— ”
“I can’t stand you,” Kurapika says calmly.
“Yeah?” Leorio asks. His voice is soft. He sits up beside Kurapika and puts a gentle hand on his thigh. He kisses the back of his neck; presses his forehead against it until Kurapika is flooded with warmth and hurt from head to toe. It’s true. It isn’t fair. Something begins to ache behind Kurapika’s eyes, threatening to spill over again.
“I want so much from you,” he whispers, turning but not meeting Leorio’s gaze. He presses forward until the crown of his head meets Leorio’s lips.
“Tell me about it.”
“No.”
“Come on. It’s just me.”
“Don’t you know better by now?” Kurapika asks, finally looking up. It’s a mistake. No one has ever looked at him the way Leorio is looking at him now— with equal parts understanding and devotion. No one has ever known him as he is now, cracked and sometimes cruel and always hurting, and loved him just the same. Kurapika can feel his heart start to break again.
“They really are the most beautiful color in the world,” Leorio says. “But I think all of you is.”
“Why,” Kurapika begins, “couldn’t you have just treated me poorly?”
“Because you don’t deserve that.”
“Neither do you. It didn’t stop me.”
“You think I’m upset with you, Kurapika?” Leorio says and reaches for his hand. “You really think that— after everything I know about you and everything you put on yourself— to do by yourself— you think I could ever actually be mad, or hold a grudge, that you didn’t have time to check in while you were trying to mourn every single person you ever knew and loved?”
A pause. Kurapika lets himself think this over.
“Some of your voicemails were angry.”
“I was scared,” Leorio shrugs. “Thought you were dead. Thought I was being a nuisance. For someone who’s really smart, you’re really stupid sometimes.”
“I— ” Kurapika laughs, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Tell me what you want,” Leorio insists. “How it could have been. We can answer Pairo together— I said I’d help and I wanna keep my word.”
You always do, Kurapika thinks, pushing at Leorio until he gets the hint and lies back down. He decides it’s okay to be self-indulgent, just this once, curling up against his chest. Okay, he thinks. Okay, Pairo— are you ready to hear all of this?
“We’d still be together,” Kurapika begins, “fifty years from now. I think that’s a good place to start.”
***
On a chill autumn morning, as if rising out of the ocean itself: land.
Kurapika and fourteen other people watch it fade into view from the bow of the ship. None of them say a word. There isn’t much to say.
The air shifts at his elbow and he leans back, ever so slightly, into Leorio.
“Bleak atmosphere,” Leorio comments.
“Yes, well. Imminent death and all.”
“You really think we’ll all die?”
A corner of Kurapika’s mouth crooks up. He turns to let his fingers brush against Leorio’s chest. “Not all of us.” Not you, he doesn’t have to say. Not while I’m still here. Not while Melody and Cheadle and Mizaistom would all unflinchingly throw themselves in the line of fire for you.
“That’s right,” Leorio says, oblivious. “And when we get back home you better buy a new suit, because I’m taking you to dinner.”
“I’d like that,” Kurapika smiles.
They don’t speak much more as they approach. There isn’t much more to say. As the Black Whale begins to dock, Kurapika reaches for Leorio’s hand and gives it a quick, tight squeeze.
“Beloved,” he says.
“What? Oh— that’s. I mean— ” Leorio blushes all the way to the tips of his ears. It’s cute.
“That’s what I wrote,” Kurapika explains, unable to keep his eyes off of him. “On the back of the photograph. It says ‘Beloved.’”
“Oh.”
“I love you, Leorio.”
“Yeah, I,” Leorio nods— mumbles— turning his head and sniffing. “I love you too.”
They disembark. They walk into the dark.