Kurapika isn't actively avoiding Leorio. He can't, not when he can't decide if he wants to see the other man again or not; it's difficult to deliberately take back routes through the building when his heart is racing with adrenaline and anticipation and he can barely think straight. This is why he stopped answering the phone in the first place, this is why he separated himself, because it's hard to focus on anything but Leorio when the other is around. He keeps thinking he hears the other's voice, the boom of his laugh or the heavy stomp of his footsteps, and he knows he's wrong even before he turns towards the promise of the sound, but he can't stop the instinctive reaction.
As it turns out, he doesn't need to turn when he does find the older man. He comes around a corner holding his breath in an attempt to steady the desperate thud of his heart, and when his eyes focus on the two people in front of him he has a single moment of frozen shock, a perfectly clear second of pristine expectation as his brain says calmly, this is it. Then the breath he was holding leaves his lungs in a gasp, and Leorio turns towards him. The other man's eyes go wide with shock, his mouth drops open on words or surprise or both, and he's moving instantly, crossing the distance between them on his unreasonably long legs, which is good because Kurapika can't remember how to breathe, much less walk.
He's half-expecting a hug, one of the really violent ones Leorio sometimes produces out of nowhere, but the older man stops a half-step farther away than Kurapika wants him, and when the blond blinks up there's a lot more anger in Leorio's dark eyes than he was hoping for, though less than he expected.
"Kurapika," Leorio intones, and even his voice is cold, Kurapika can hear the effort the other is exerting to hold back his emotion.
"Leorio," Kurapika says. Or tries to say. His voice is heavy with all the apologies, explanations, affection he hasn't been thinking about for months, all those times he let the phone ring itself to silence while he watched, all the dreams of forgiveness that he woke from gasping and shaking. So the name sticks in his throat, starts to turn into a sob, and then Kurapika's vision goes white as an incredible impact smashes into the side of his face.
It takes a moment for the pain to hit - for a breath there's just white shock, numb skin trying to remember that it does have nerve endings and that they're unhappy. Kurapika's mouth is open, which is good because he could have bitten right through his tongue with a hit like that, and he's just realizing that Leorio punched him. It's not that he doesn't deserve it - he does, he knows he does - but he had no idea Leorio could hit so hard. He brings a hand to touch his cheek reflexively. The contact pulls pain to the surface, like his own skin is reminding his body how to experience the sensation, and the wave of bruising agony shakes through his entire body, makes him wobble on his feet so he has to throw out a hand to catch himself.
It's Leorio he catches himself on, the other man's sleeve under his fingers as he reaches out to close his hand on Kurapika's shoulder. The blond looks up, too shocked and pained to remember his previous panic, and then there's a mouth on his, familiar lips and nostalgic pressure, and his eyes shut reflexively before he can think it through. It's been too long since he was kissed, too long since Leorio kissed him, and even the overlaid pain of the bruise rising across his cheek isn't enough to cut into the rush of emotion that he can feel turning his eyes red behind the cover of his contacts and eyelids both.
Leorio is still holding onto him when he pulls back. Kurapika doesn't open his eyes, partially because he can feel the crimson heat still there and mostly because if he blinks the tears along his lashes are going to break free. Fingers come into his hair to pull him forward; Kurapika's forehead bumps against Leorio's jacket, the rough texture of that just as almost-familiar as the feel of the other man's mouth, and the blond takes a breath that sounds like a sob and is thankfully mostly lost to Leorio's clothes.
"I missed you," Leorio says over Kurapika's head. His voice isn't restrained anymore; it's tight and pained and liquid with relief, Kurapika's pretty sure those are tears against his hair but he can't care. His shoulders are shaking under Leorio's hands, and his own tears are soaking into the front of Leorio's coat, and for the first time in months he thinks that everything might possibly be okay.