Chapter 1

It feels like he's been to Hell and back.

Kurapika comes to with the taste of alcohol in his mouth, a sense of dread coursing through his very being, and the knowledge that before he even opens his eyes, something very wrong has occurred.

He tries to opens his eyes and shuts them as soon as he does, unprepared by the harm it does him. The sunlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft light, but the sight seems to burn through his eyelids. Despite that he's remaining as still as he possibly can, the room seems to spin around him endlessly. He slides his palms over his face and presses them against his temples, attempting to steady the wavering images in his mind. There's a soreness in places that he would never expect, as he attempts to swallow and it hurts going down.

His throat is dry, so dry.

Kurapika reaches blindly to retrieve the water bottle that should be on his desk, but stiffens when his hand comes into contact with something else. There's an unfamiliar weight in his bed, concealed beneath the comforter, and from the sound of their faint breathing, he can tell that they're sound asleep. Not once has Kurapika ever shared a bed with someone else, but the undeniable ache in his joints and the bitterness in his throat assure him that he's anything but dreaming.

He starts upright, forcing himself into a sitting position. His stomach roils as he moves, so he settles back against the headboard, waiting for the urge to heave to subside. He manages to pull himself together, enough to open his eyes again, not knowing what to expect.

There's a moment of disconnect between what Kurapika sees and what he feels, because he sees the fall of black hair across the face of a man in slumber, and a familiar cross tattoo that sends his heart hammering in his chest.

This cannot be happening.

Kurapika fights the urge to yell as he kicks out, hard.

Kuroro goes flying backward with a sharp gasp, falling off the edge of the bed and dragging the sheets down with him.

"What the fuck are you doing here—"

He looks up at Kurapika from where he's tangled in the sheets, confusion evident in his eyes, like he has any right to be confused. "Good morning to you too."

"This is my hotel room," Kurapika points out. The room is large, much larger than the one that the Nostrade Family hosts him in, and yet it feels smaller with the knowledge that Kuroro is so close to him. It would have been problematic if he managed to end up in a bed that was not his own, but he finds that this is equally, if not even worse.

Kuroro looks around, slowly taking in their surroundings. The room is more upscale than what Kurapika would usually choose for himself, with tall windows giving way to a scenic view, an expansive bed with sheets so soft that didn't leave his back aching, and a multitude of room amenities that he didn't have any use for. In a city with as vibrant of a nightlife as this one, humble accommodations are difficult to come by.

"Looks like it."

Silence falls between them for a long moment, both at a loss for words. It is during this moment of mutual assessment that Kurapika realizes with some abstract form of horror that he's nearly nude. He's bare with the exception of his undergarments, and while this is not the most shocking revelation, he throws the comforter above himself in an attempt to preserve the remainder of his dignity.

If his state of undress and Kuroro's presence are anything to go by, they are both here for a specific reason.

"What are you doing here?" Kurapika repeats, obscenities lingering at the edge of his tongue. It comes out steadier than he expects, less like he's falling apart on the inside, now that a clear reminder of the past is present in front of him.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Kuroro returns his question with a thoughtful tilt of the head, innocent enough that it's absolutely meant as something improper. He looks far too comfortable on the floor despite unceremoniously tumbling down there.

Kurapika buries his face in his palms with a sigh, trying to push away the heaviness of his thoughts, trying to conceal the way his chest constricts, the way his breathing comes out a little faster. He tries to keep himself calm, to will it all away.

"I can't remember," Kurapika says to himself. "God, I can't remember what happened last night."

He tries to sort out of the events in his mind, only vaguely recalling scenes that may as well been feverish dreams. He had spent the majority of the previous year dragging himself back and forth chasing after the Scarlet Eyes, and he was tired. The grief caught up to him without any outlet, still gripped him in the long mornings waking up alone, and he was so tired.

Some days were easier than others, but most weren't, and he had come to accept that after so long. A call from Leorio eventually came, an invitation to celebrate his acceptance to medical school, and Kurapika had reluctantly agreed.

That's why his friends were important. They were his grounding to keep him attached to the world—otherwise, his past left him distant and disassociated from the rest of them. Hatred was easier than hope, and vengeance much easier than faith, and where Kurapika had always defaulted to the former, his friends had the strength to choose the latter, and that was the ultimate difference between them.

But their reunion didn't come close to expectations—there was the potent scent of alcohol and smoke rather than coffee, the beat of the music drowning their words and pulsating through their bodies. One drink became two, two became three, and that's where things began to get muddled.

He remembers Leorio encouraging him to drink more, handing him shot after shot until his speech began to slur—remembers Leorio putting his arm around his shoulder when strangers were hitting on him, his weight solid and warm against him.

There isn't much that Kurapika remembers but there's one thing that he must confirm. "Did I sleep with you?"

"You don't remember?" While it seems that Kuroro doesn't remember everything from last night, he remembers some important things. "Not even after I offered to buy you a drink?"

"And I agreed?" Kurapika's tone is laced with incredulity. Kuroro looks better than how Kurapika feels, and he is envious of that, the way that alcohol seems to have no lingering effect on Kuroro. He chokes out a laugh, despite himself. "I was so intoxicated that I'd lay with you of all people?"

There isn't any pain or soreness in his lower half, but the fact that they had fallen in bed together tells a fairly suggestive story of what happened the previous night.

"Who knows," Kuroro finally says. An odd expression flickers across his face and a heavy weight hangs in the air, the way that unanswered questions do. "I'm still clothed, though I'm not certain where your clothes are."

Kuroro rises from where he's sitting, and the faint shuffle of cloth against skin is the only sound in the room. He is indeed fully dressed which implies that perhaps they hadn't fucked, but the buttons on his dress shirt are unfastened and there are marks on his neck and down to his chest, which suggests that they had tried.

A folded piece of paper falls then, descending from the desk next to the bed, and Kuroro catches it before Kurapika has the chance to. They both look at each other for a moment, and Kuroro takes the initiative to uncover what this could possibly be.

As he slowly unfolds it, Kurapika makes out the words marriage and certificate above their signatures.

It takes a moment for it to sink in.

A hand touches his, gentle but firm, and Kurapika looks up to find Kuroro watching him with dark and steady eyes. He notices it then—the glint of gold adorning his ring finger, matching the band around Kuroro's own. It's a light weight, so thin and delicate that he hadn't noticed it all, far too small to be the manifestation of chains.

The way that Kuroro's hand curves over Kurapika's own is nearly intimate—soft, protective, everything that Kuroro is not. Kurapika retracts his hand as soon as he can and his sharp, indrawn breath may as well be the sound of something inside of him breaking irreparably.

"We're married."

Even though traditions of marriage are largely different for his clan, Kurapika knows this much.

"So it seems," Kuroro agrees, infuriatingly calm. He scrutinizes the ring, turning his hand to catch the sunlight at various angles.

Kurapika closes his hand over the glint of his own ring. "How? This can't possibly be real."

Kuroro is exceptionally calm, like this is a minor inconvenience more than anything, and it only makes Kurapika angrier. He stands there in front of Kurapika, who had exacted justice by taking everything away from him—his Nen, his companions—and yet he stands there with utmost composure, the look in his eyes giving away nothing.

A cold feeling seeps into Kurapika's blood, and this is far more familiar, the vengeful rage, the blind hatred. But he must suppress it, this urge towards violence. He's wiser now, not as impulsive he was a year prior, and it takes everything to keep his emotions in check. Acting reckless is not an option this time around. He evenly meets Kuroro's gaze, willing his own to appear just as unreadable, despite that he's terrified of the answer.

"I'm at as much of a loss just as you are."

That—that isn't helpful at all.

"Where could have we gotten married?" Kurapika wants to believe that this is a cruel joke, that he would bind himself to Kuroro inexplicably. It makes his chest tighten painfully and his stomach twist again. "Who could have married us?"

Kuroro follows his gaze, giving the document another read. Despite the folds and wrinkles, the paper is as legitimate as it could be. Kurapika keeps his breathing steady as Kuroro is silent in thought, and his heart sinks when Kuroro shrugs in nonchalance, still without answers. "I don't know."

Kurapika attempts to turn the ring on his finger, pulls at it, anything to loosen it from his skin. It doesn't budge, shining in all of its permanence, as if it rightfully belongs there.

He needs it gone.

"You didn't put this on me, did you?"

Kuroro has the gall to be amused and shakes his head with a laugh. "If I were to propose, I would have never chosen such a gaudy pair."

Kurapika doesn't find it funny at all. Analyzing the situation is exhausting given his lack of energy and simply sitting around without doing anything isn't going to solve things—isn't going to make things right.

"What now?" Kuroro asks.

There's only one thing they can do.

"I want a divorce," Kurapika decides. They're going to sign those papers and forget that this ever happened, that they crossed paths again and made a mistake, and return to being sworn enemies that had nothing to do with each other anymore.

"Hmm." Kuroro's eyebrows lift in slight surprise, or something close to it considering his lack of emotional capacity. "We'll see about that."

Notes: Tough luck Leorio, your bff's a married man now.

I actually wrote this for some friends on LINE and promised to upload this a few months back. The last time I wrote fic in present tense was about four years ago. I wanted to try this style since it's looser and more informal, making it easier and faster for me to write. I also missed writing canon kurokura post-Yorknew so I wanted to try again.

Accidental marriage and fake dating AUs are probably my most favorite things next to soulmate AUs, so of course I wanted to combine them!

If you've read this far, then please leave a comment. I'd love to know what you think!

Thanks again for reading. You can also find me on Tumblr seiyuna.