They were the most beautiful tears he had seen. They were gentle drops trailing down his face, speaking his sadness through its silence. They were too beautiful to exist from the eyes of a human. Divine, rather. But his grief was loud, Kurapika felt it through the never-ending trails of tears, through the weight on his slumped shoulders, through the creases in his brows and through the wistful curve of his lips.
This is unfair.
Kurapika's eyes were burning, and all he could see was red red red. He wanted murder. He wanted to strangle him. He wanted to inflict pain on him, the most gradual and excruciating torture possible. And when he closed them, he saw yellow, black and red —a heap of raging mess; clawing into the unseen walls, thrashing of chains and bellowing into the abyss.
' . .' It shouted repeatedly to no one.
Kurapika just watched, allowing this rage to consume him inside. Even as his eyes ached more as he looked behind his eyes. They begged for calmness. But he wanted chaos so badly. Yet he had to simmer down this feeling. And it left him more infuriated, more frustrated.
Because Chrollo Lucifer didn't have the right to cry.
He didn't have the right to any human emotion. Chrollo was a heartless monster. It must be foreign to him. It must never exist in him. So why would he exhibit them at the moment? Why would he show this vulnerable side of him to Kurapika? To the same person who only wished for his death, for the tragic fall of his Spiders? He loathed Chrollo Lucifer the most. He would kill him at any given opportunity. Yet here were his tears and what most perplexed him was, they looked genuine. Deceitfully genuine, Kurapika gritted his teeth.
Chrollo's eyes were the same. They were dead —because he walked with death, lived with death— and heartless —because he was the same murderer who would annihilate a whole clan for money. These tears were like pristine lakes in the midst of a hideous swamp. Pristine lakes that disguised their horrible, deathly curses with their crystal clear water, further tempting anyone who came close to them.
Of course, that would be the punchline. It was too hilarious and Kurapika wanted to laugh out loud because of this sick joke.
Was he like this when Uvo died? Was it worse when Pakunoda died? As though a part of him died? As though it destroyed his soul?
But he didn't have a soul. He killed his brethren. He killed anyone without any remorse, without any reason.
Kurapika opened his eyes and his hands ached to strangle the life out of Chrollo.
He stood there, hands in his pockets. He bowed his head, speaking softly, sadly, of incomprehensible words. Kurapika was only able to catch the words, 'Rest in peace, Shal, Coltopi. The Spiders will live forever.'
Chrollo knelt on the grave, and whispered: "We reject no one, so take nothing from us."
He didn't want to imagine this man on another place, standing in front of his dead comrades' graves; with the same crease on his eyebrows, the same frown in his mouth that spoke lies most of the time or his eyes, revealing the slightest of grief. Because his comrades died. He didn't want to imagine him feeling anything.
Almost as if Chrollo was hum—
"Let's go," Chrollo said, standing as he faced Kurapika.
And everything was back to normal, as though his previous display did not happen at all. He is a monster, Kurapika told himself. Never forget. Never forgive.
Because if he did not, that would mean he was empathizing with his enemy. That would mean betrayal. Failure, Kurapika thought. And that was the only thing he must never allow himself.
He dragged his feet, coming towards Chrollo.
His hands reached for his face, cupping them as light as a feather. He tipped up his head, looking through the darkness in his eyes. Chrollo, perplexed, raised his eyebrows but he allowed Kurapika's actions to continue.
"Your tears," Kurapika began. And softly, he caressed his cheeks, gently wiping away the drops left. "Wipe them properly."
"I was crying, huh?" Chrollo said. He was silent for a while as though he was in deep rumination. Then he shrugged. "We'll be late, Kurapika."
Kurapika leaned closer as his grip got tighter. His thumbs were pressing hard against his cheekbone, his nails leaving indentations on his skin.
"You will die by these hands." He whispered with vehemence. Maybe, if he pushed his thumbs further, he'd be able to gouge out Chrollo's eyes. And wouldn't that be the perfect comeback for Chrollo? And then Kurapika would allow him to live like that. That was better. " Always remember that, Chrollo Lucifer."
Chrollo leaned towards his palm, holding his wrist gently. Kurapika's grip loosened. Chrollo kissed his palm, nipping the skin softly.
"Of course." He smiled as dark as his eyes, teasing and challenging Kurapika. "If you can, that is."
"Hah." Kurapika scoffed, rubbing soft circles under his eyes. His head leaned on his chest, and he whispered: "I can and I will."
"Promise?" Chrollo asked, wrapping his arms around his skinny waist.
Kurapika dipped his head further, melting into Chrollo's embrace. He circled his arms around him, "I promise."
Chrollo kissed the top of his head, speaking softly on his blond hair.
"I love it when you lie, Kurapika."