Chapter 2


The door opens with a familiar creak.

Kuroro adjusts his reading glasses and looks up, considering the tall figure standing in front of the entrance. There is an amused smile on Pakunoda's face as she places her groceries down on the counter. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sorry," Kuroro says with a smile. "I should have waited for you, but the lock on your door was rather easy to pick."

"Old habits die hard." Pakunoda laughs, shaking her head. Her hair is tied back in a loose, messy bun, nearly falling apart, and she weaves a hand through her hair to let it down. She dusts the traces of animal hair and fur off her white coat, from a day at the veterinary clinic.

"You really should have better security around here, in case someone does break in." Kuroro rises from the chair to help her set the bread and pastries onto the kitchen table. His reference materials and paperwork nearly cover the entire surface, even spilling onto the other chairs.

"I think you're the only one capable of doing so." A sigh escapes from her lips, evoking a soft laugh from Kuroro. She moves a pile of highlighted reports and papers to clear the space, disrupting the arrangement he had created. "Remember when you spilled coffee all over your notes?"

How could he possibly forget? Especially when she brings it up every time they have dinner together. "It took me a week to redo the data."

"Let's make sure that doesn't happen again." Pakunoda fills up a kettle with measured motions and procures a box of tea from the cabinet. The kettle hums the moment she sets it on the stovetop, and she brings two cups over to the table. "What brings you here today? I doubt it's because you miss my cooking."

A contemplative silence sits between them as they wait for the water to boil. If there's someone who possesses clearer memories than his own, it's her.

"I met someone, again."

She shuts the heat off as soon as the kettle whistles, bringing it to the table and pouring water into their cups. As the tea rises, the notes of spring mornings and fresh grass permeate the space between them. She takes a seat and tips her head at the empty chair across from her. "Who was it?"

Kuroro settles back in the chair, shifting the papers in front of him out of the way. The porcelain is warm against his skin as he cradles the cup in his hands and watches how the steam rises from the surface. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip out of courtesy, finding that the taste is as earthy as the scent.

"The chain user—" Kuroro has never said his name aloud until their meeting today. He has mentioned him in passing, when he once told Pakunoda about the events that transpired following her death. "Kurapika—he's in my class now."

"You're not going to lay your hands on a student, are you?" Pakunoda asks, sipping meditatively at her tea.

Kuroro blinks, taken aback. "That's what you're worried about?"

"You've always been one to act on your whims. At least wait until after the semester, if you so please."

A shake of the head, followed by a mirthless curve of the lips. "I don't plan on acting upon anything. Kurapika deserves better, this time around."

Something in her expression softens as as she reaches up to cup his cheek. His friends do that too often, but the gesture is reassuring when her hands are smooth, lacking the calluses that once covered her skin. When her hands save lives, instead of taking them.

"I chose to be with Machi because I love her," Pakunoda says, a challenge to the world as if she dares it to defy her, and she's beautiful in her certainty. "My feelings have not changed in this life."

"I know, Paku." Kuroro takes her hand and folds his fingers around hers in reassurance. He lifts her hand from his cheek and rests it against the wooden surface. "I know."

When Kuroro has been the only person who she will follow, she's learned to lead in her own right. Her gaze is heavy with the weight of knowledge, because only someone who has experienced the trials of bonds that transcend lifetimes, can understand this much.

"I hope you will think about this carefully, rather than choosing some twisted form of redemption," Pakunoda offers in thought. "You have the choice to create new memories instead of reliving old ones, always."

Kuroro smiles, a secret smile, before pushing to his feet with the scrape of the chair. "It's getting late."

Pakunoda nods, her eyes soft. "You are welcome to stay the night."

"Thank you," Kuroro says, though he's already organizing his books and papers, "but it's fine. I wouldn't want Machi to misunderstand."


Before Kuroro can think twice about it, he slips underneath the heavy covers of his bed in the unlit room. He reaches for his phone to scroll through unread emails from his students. There is one name that makes Kuroro pause, and a long exhale is all he needs before opening the message.

Hi Kuroro,

Thank you for taking the time out to speak with me today. I apologize again for being late to class—it won't happen again. Would it be possible to schedule a time to meet tomorrow?

I wanted to discuss the first project and the topics I had in mind for it. Attached is a relevant article I came across today. I thought you might enjoy reading it as much as I did.

Looking forward to the next class.

Sincerely,

Kurapika

Kuroro is used to receiving all kinds of messages from students in order for them to stand out in class. The effort that Kurapika has made is unexpected, to say the least.

His fingertips are poised over the keys of his screen. He composes his message, black text against stark white, but he presses the backspace key over and over again until the words are wiped clean. He's not sure how to address Kurapika in an appropriate manner, when he's the type of person to only give one-word replies to his students.

The response, a three line message, takes far too long to compose.

Kurapika,

Thanks for sharing. Feel free to come by my office anytime.

See you tomorrow.

It is the last thing that Kuroro sends before falling asleep.


Kuroro arrives a moment too late.

In an ensemble of black, he enters the suite with two of his comrades at his heels. The scent of destruction is thick in the air, tempered only by the spilled wine on the marble floor. His steps falter when he comes upon the lifeless bodies scattered throughout the room. Kurapika has dropped to his knees, his face still and impassive, betrayed only by the clenched fists in his lap.

Kuroro kneels in front of him and presses his hands on his shoulders. "Kurapika?"

There is a long moment of silence, and then red fills Kuroro's vision. Kurapika's breath catches like a sob in his throat when their gazes meet. "I killed Tserriednich."

Kuroro's hands tense against his shoulders. His gaze flicks to Tserriednich's body, with a face that tells no story of pain, even if his neck is marred by fresh marks.

"I killed him." His voice comes out steady and determined, as if he had to do things over, he would make the same choice again. "I killed his men, all of them, and I'm not even sorry."

Kuroro breathes out, careful and steady. "Are you alright?"

Rather than answering, he buries his face in Kuroro's chest. There is a soft sound in his throat, but there are no tears on his cheeks. He makes another attempt to reply, but it breaks into a sob, shaking through him as he presses closer to Kuroro, his fingers curling tightly into Kuroro's shirt.

"Are you hurt?" Kuroro tries again, holding him close. He presses his hand to the curve of his back, stroking him gently.

Kurapika shakes his head, his face hidden away in Kuroro's shirt. "Just tired. Lightheaded. There was something in the wine."

The thought that Tserriednich would even try to lay his hands on Kurapika chills the blood in his veins.

Kuroro holds him tighter. "I should have gotten here sooner, but I'm glad you're safe."

"I think you would have been useless either way," Kurapika murmurs, "but our plans will need to change now."

Kuroro can't help but smile. Erasing the evidence comes to Shizuku with ease, while Machi turns her attention to organizing Tserriednich's valuables. The Scarlet Eyes, along with the rest of the artifacts, are secured within the Fun Fun Cloth.

"Let's get out of here," Kuroro suggests.

When Kurapika's knees buckle under his own weight, Kuroro slides his hands behind Kurapika's shoulders and knees, lifting him up as carefully as he is able to. His hand curls into Kuroro's shirt again, and Kuroro looks down. His cheeks are flushed, not from embarrassment, but surely from whichever substance that was slipped into the wine.

Kuroro takes him back to his room, nonetheless.


Kuroro rises from the depths of a deep sleep, reluctantly opening his eyes to a dark room. He lies where he is, staring up into the ceiling. There is no use returning to sleep when his body is humming with a sort of tension, caught up in images that he doesn't understand why he needs to remember now.

Throwing off the comforter, he takes his time in getting dressed. He's not certain where he's going beyond outside. The campus will be quiet during these hours, with the exception of employees or students who wish to cram in some studying at the library.

Perhaps it is a coincidence that he catches sight of Kurapika across from the campus green.

He's drawn to the cadence of Kurapika's steps, how he seems to be rushing to get somewhere. He must have one of those early morning classes that no one ever seems to wake up for. The wind tousles his blond hair and lifts the collar of his jacket ever so slightly.

Something pulls taut behind Kuroro's chest. The Kurapika now is worlds away from the person he once knew, with a steadfast devotion to his oath and a depth of pain that he could never fully understand—

Kurapika stops in his tracks, and Kuroro stares. For a moment, he thinks that Kurapika will turn in his direction, but he approaches his friend instead. Leorio's hands are occupied with various breakfast foods, and he hands Kurapika what seems to be a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Their interaction implies a great deal of familiarity, and Kuroro finds it fitting that he and Leorio have followed each other into this life as well.

With a soft smile, Kuroro chooses to turn away.


Notes:

Paku is the mom friend and no one can tell me otherwise. I found it fitting that since her New abilities revolved around memories, she would be in the same situation as Kuroro. But she and Machi managed to work out. If I successfully finish this fic, then I may write a side story for those two.

Kuroro's memories might unfold in a non-linear manner, but please trust me to make them cohesive. Since we've seen Kuroro and Kurapika in the Yorknew arc hundreds of times, I wanted to focus on the Black Whale arc and the aftermath. This is where it diverges from canon—they foster an unlikely alliance on the Black Whale, and that turns to something more.

I'll change the rating of this fic to Explicit if you want to read about the more frisky details of what happens then lmao.

And well, since they're here in another life, that means they died somehow in their past life. Thanks for reading this so far!

Please leave a comment. You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna if you want to talk about kurokura.