Chapter 1

There is fire.

Kuroro takes in a breath of air thick with ash and brimstone and weaves a path of destruction across the province. He spares no infants in their beds, no children in the arms of their mothers, and feels absolutely nothing.

He steps over the bodies of the elders who tried to stop them, the useless old men who gripped wooden staves in their hands as their only saving grace. Their heads lay on the ground at his feet, their blood splattered across the grass.

Before him, a woman stands in their way. He sees how her face loses all color, how her dress is seared by smoke, how she still wields blades in both hands, the wood sturdy but her hold unsteady. There is a chasm of grief within her, wide as the village is empty, deep as the love of a hundred mothers. He sees rage and desperation and—

Eyes.

Scarlet Eyes.

Kuroro wakes to a start before dawn, this time with the image of blood seeping from the woman's eye sockets, streaking her cheeks, as he holds her eyes in his hands. There's no imminent danger or threat, but this alone is enough to make him curl up on himself, sliding his palms over his eyes as if there's an indefinable pain seared into his sockets.

Kuroro only wishes that it could be a dream, that it isn't real. But it is a memory, well established—the bodies sprawled on the dusty ground with empty eyes. The sharp tang to the air that lingered in the back of his throat like the taste of his own blood. No sound of life, not even the songs of grassland birds—only the whisper of wind and flicker of flames. He may as well have slaughtered them all himself.

With a long exhale, Kuroro pushes his hair away from forehead as he rises to make coffee. There is a tremor beneath his hands, but it fades away when his hands close over the mug.

At least when he's awake, he can distract himself.

His mind isn't so forgiving.

"Man, you look horrible."

Shalnark says this with a relentless smile that is too bright for this world. He takes a seat across from Kuroro at the coffee shop, and only the two of them are here this early in the morning.

"Thank you," Kuroro deadpans. His third cup of coffee for the day is in his hands and his fingers burn from the cup, the cardboard too thin to protect his fingers from the heat. "I could barely sleep."

"Procrastinating on your syllabus?" Shalnark stirs his own drink. "You perfectionists always wait until the last minute to do things."

"I finished on time, but I had some awful dreams."

Shalnark winks. "Did you dream of me?"

"Of course." Kuroro takes a sip of his coffee. The coffee brewed from his own machine is comparable to the drink concocted by the elaborate machinery at this shop. It was simply that he couldn't stay in his apartment by himself any longer and needed to escape. "You always give me the worst nightmares."

Kuroro isn't kidding, but it makes Shalnark laugh regardless. Sometimes he enjoys Shalnark's presence if it means that he doesn't have to think about the time when he found Shalnark's desecrated body, displayed like a child on a swing set. It was his fault that Shalnark was left defenseless, his fault that—

"You're going to scare your girls off if you go to class looking like that."

Kuroro looks down at his hands, catching how the paper cup crumples from his grip. If he weren't pale enough already, the color seems to have drained from his skin. "I don't teach in order to impress my female students."

Shalnark reaches over the table to press both of his hands on Kuroro's cheeks. "It's our last year here. They're never going to see you again, so make the best of it."

"I will," Kuroro says, though it's difficult when his face is being squeezed. "I never do things halfheartedly."

That makes Shalnark smile. "Good. Now all we have to do is find you the love of your life before the year ends."

The seminar that Kuroro teaches is one of the most sought-after courses at the university. Despite that it's an art history course in a rather unpopular department, students, particularly female students, flock to it because of the following—

One: Kuroro is objectively attractive in a department that only has old professors.

Two: Kuroro is a published researcher responsible for significant developments in his field.

Kuroro likes to think that it's because of the second reason that his course is so popular, but Shalnark affirms otherwise. Apparently since Kuroro's only a graduate TA and not a professor, there's a higher chance of being able to date him without repercussions—but Kuroro doesn't plan on fostering an intimate relationship with either a current or former student.

The course is capped at twenty students, much to the dismay of those who are unable to register in time when the course registration period begins, but the small room has over thirty students present in the unlikely occasion that anyone drops the course. There's a young man sitting in the front row—Leorio, if he remembers correctly—and as Kuroro checks attendance, he confirms that he is registered for the course. It is fairly difficult to ignore someone like him when several women are glaring at his back for taking a seat in the class.

Only one person is missing from the attendance sheet. Kuroro would have never noticed considering all of the people that are packed into the room, with some students sitting on the floor as a result of limited desks, and one person isn't enough to delay his lecture any longer.

The syllabus and presentation haven't changed much from previous years, with the exception of assignments for the course. Kuroro should know them like the back of his hand, but perhaps it's the lack of sleep or the heat in a crowded classroom without air conditioning, that he finds himself struggling to carry himself as well as he usually would.

Halfway through his presentation, the door swings open.

Kuroro catches sight of a figure across the room with bright blond hair, who chooses to seat himself in a space at the back. For one breathless, impossible moment, he thinks that his heart has ceased to beat. It seems to pause in his chest, before pounding faster than before.

He is so utterly and achingly familiar that Kuroro can't look away.

As Kuroro's gaze lingers for a moment too long, he clears his throat. "I'm sorry that I'm late."

He has never been one to show emotion beyond what's necessary, but his eyes burn and his chest aches. He wants to know why.

Why does it have be now?

"Not a problem," Kuroro manages to say, and he sounds rougher than he would have liked. "Come see me after class so you can get caught up."

Students are already lining up to speak with Kuroro after class, but he needs to have a private chat with his new student to get him acquaintanced with the material. There are those who are genuinely interested in the coursework and those who need to foster an amicable relationship in order to receive a letter of recommendation, and of course, those who wish to invite him out for a cup of coffee. With a promise to distribute his office hours schedule tonight, the other students begrudgingly leave the classroom.

It doesn't take long for Kuroro to review the syllabus with him, as well as the missed lecture material. But words linger between them and he's not sure how to say them, especially when it's still so strange to look around the corner and find a fragment of his old life waiting for him.

"Ah! I forgot to introduce myself."

I know exactly who you are, Kuroro wants to say. The name is there on the tip of Kuroro's tongue, like the taste of something truly loved. He's not prepared for this and turns his attention to the documents in his hands instead.

"My name is Kurapika."

His tone is so cheerful that Kuroro can't help but drag his gaze up, the weight of their past heavy in his heart, to meet Kurapika's eyes. Kuroro doesn't see years of undeniable grief and anger and vengeance buried deep within him, devoted to a cause that will only destroy him in the end. He sees a bright hope and curiosity in those taupe eyes, but surely at the very core, Kurapika's heart and soul are still the same.

He wants to pull Kurapika against his chest, wrap his arms around his shoulders, bury his face into blond hair, and try not to break down completely.

He doesn't.

This time will be different. Kuroro is levelheaded, considers himself reasonable, and is willing to give up everything within him to keep their past from happening again. He can hold his tongue if this is the price of peace and a better future.

"It's a pleasure, Kurapika."

Notes:

Five of my kurokura fics have titles named after relevant flowers. This is the first time that I'll explain the title — red spider lilies can be associated with reincarnation as well as lovers who are destined to never meet again.

I think that kurokura defies the odds, so of course their paths will cross in this lifetime. This was inspired by the first dream I had with kurokura a year ago, when I didn't even consider these two as a pairing. They both died and ended up meeting again in another life, and that imagery stuck with my for the past year.

My alma mater had graduate TAs teach courses without professors — I taught two courses as well — so I'm basing university life off of my own experiences.

This was supposed to be a oneshot but I think I'll continue it. Sorry for having several multichaptered fics that need to be updated.

Please feel free to leave a comment! You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna if you have ideas.