Author's Notes:

PAIRING: Leorio/Kurapika (Leopika).

RATING: Mature. Eventual sexual content.

This is a sequel to Echoes of home, two tiers below.

This story features art by applecidrdonut on Twitter. To view the images, check out the version posted on Archive of Our Own (AO3 username: lemonpika).

Thanks to applecidrdonut for beta-reading and to candleice29 for answering my law-related questions. And thanks to Caasi, as always, for being the sounding board that every drivel-spouting writer needs.

Chapter 1: Implosion of invisible infrastructure

Even after two years together, date night has remained sacred between them. But if Kurapika comes home any later than this, all the good restaurants will have closed. That 24-hour place where they had their first date, it pulled down its shutters months ago, never to reopen again.

Already decked out in a coat-and-tie ensemble, Leorio lounges on the living room couch and flips through the pages of a hard-bound medical volume. Ever since he followed Cheadle's lead and commenced training as a Disease Hunter, he's focused his research on the long-term negative effects of contracts and conditions on the physiology and psychology of Nen users. He's borrowed and studied these very same books, again and again, forever searching for a crucial something that he might have missed. Something he can utilize to shove back the ruthless hands of time, something he can harness to save —

The clock chimes midnight, startling Leorio from his squinted scrutiny of yet another well-worn page. If only to drown out that chipper sound — a wooden piko announcing the dreary new day — Leorio tosses the library book aside and grabs the remote control. Bouncing from channel to channel, he only settles at the sight of the current bane of his existence.

Feitan Portor, one of only four surviving members of the disbanded Phantom Troupe. The man is swathed in chains and speaking poker-faced on the witness stand. The muted fire in his eyes only ignites when a member of the prosecuting team steps into view of the camera. With a fluid wave of his right arm, the prosecutor tightens the chains' hold, forcing Feitan to choke out answers more cooperative to the ongoing cross-examination.

This may not be a live feed, but that doesn't mean that Leorio's sudden urge to scream is any less pressing. With a groan, he snatches the phone from the coffee table and punches the number two on the speed dial.

Kurapika picks up right away, but Leorio interrupts him. "Hey, I gotta double-check something. Am I seeing you in the flesh tonight, or only on TV? Is our date night actually set in the local courthouse with dear old Feitan, and you just forgot to tell me?"

Kurapika's voice is subdued. "Driving home now. I'll be there in five."

Kurapika cuts the call without another word. Beep, beep, beep.

Fifteen minutes later, Leorio finally clambers onto the passenger's seat. With chained fingers drumming against the steering wheel, Kurapika stomps down on the gas pedal before Leorio has even fully shut the door.

Kurapika drives like he has a destination in mind, but Leorio knows he doesn't. More and more lately, date nights consist only of endless drives around the city in circles. Going nowhere together.

Leorio breaks the silence after a minute. "So the late-night news was something, huh. At first, I wasn't sure if I'd stumbled onto some sadistic pet show. Regrettably, I've always had a crush on that celebrity dog trainer. The cruel one. The one who tightens up the chains."

Kurapika maintains his glare toward the road ahead. "I had to do it. I can't afford to give the defense an opportunity to raise the issue of protracted proceedings. The sooner this case concludes, the better for all the parties involved."

"Kurapika, you know how I feel about your decision to participate in this trial in the first place. I've spelled out my feelings to you. Many times now, I believe."

"Yes, I do know how you feel."

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

The tapping on the steering wheel ceases. Kurapika's grip is white-knuckled now. "Look. Every time you've expressed your litany of objections, I've conveyed the exact same response. You must be as tired as I am of listening to these excuses."

"See! You yourself admitted it — you're only giving me excuses! The truth is, you have no valid reason to risk your life and health like this! Only half-assed excuses!"

"Leorio, come on. I didn't have a choice. The rest of the district's public prosecutors petitioned for me to be a part of Feitan's prosecuting team. And while I have no desire whatsoever to face a perpetrator of my clan's massacre across a crowded courtroom, I can see the district's logic for requesting my presence throughout the judicial proceedings, regardless of the astronomical scale of my conflict of interest with the surviving Spiders. I'm the only one who can use Chain Jail, after all — this ability with near-perfect efficacy against the most wanted serial murderer in this jurisdiction. They need me."

"They don't need you!" Leorio counters. "Doesn't Feitan's prison cell have special inscriptions that lock him into a state of Zetsu? That place possesses the same power as your Chain Jail!"

"Are you suggesting that I, as a neophyte public prosecutor who qualified for the role mere months ago, somehow relocate the entire trial to the penitentiary? You know that's impossible."

"You were the Blacklist Hunter who successfully captured Feitan in half a second, after donkey's years of him rampaging around without anyone else to stop him! You of all people deserve to have a say during this process!"

Kurapika heaves a sigh. "That's not how any of this works. How many times do I have to explain the fundamental concepts of criminal procedure before the sheer preposterousness of your suggested solution sinks in?"

"Then, by all means, explain everything to me slowly. Since I'm obviously too slow to get on board with your very sensible plan of jeopardizing your health for a single stinking case!"

Resentful silence follows Leorio's retort. When Kurapika ventures to speak again, his tone is measured in the manner that he typically uses to address an adjudicator. "Listen. The last thing I want is to waste my limited time with you fighting over this bullshit like we always do. Why don't we just agree to disagree? At least for tonight's date, you stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours. Got that?"

"Got it," Leorio huffs.

Having attained this stalemate, Kurapika reaches for Leorio's left hand, which is clenched over his lap. He smoothes out Leorio's fist so that he can intertwine their fingers, then kisses the back of Leorio's hand.

But the steely look on Leorio's face doesn't soften.

"So how was work today?" Kurapika inquires. Met only with silence, Kurapika prompts his boyfriend with further questions. "Leorio? Love? Can I ask about my favorite person's day at the hospital? Did you deal with any difficult patients? Was there anyone more difficult than I am, proclaimed by you as the world's worst patient?"

"I'm not telling you anything," Leorio shoots back. "Aren't we supposed to stay out of each other's business for the night? You said that. You said that just now."

Kurapika severs the hold of their hands. Neither attempts to revive the conversation for the remainder of the drive, at least until Leorio spots a nearby shore and asks Kurapika to pull over.

Kurapika raises an eyebrow. "Here? Why here?"

"Do I need a reason? I just want to see the ocean, okay?"

Once the car is parked, they both alight and make their way toward the beach. It's almost an hour past midnight now. Too dark, in fact, for Leorio to appreciate the ocean in any meaningful way. No sparkling blue here. Just ominously coiling waves, painted silver by the moon.

Still, Leorio commits to this terrible choice for a date location. It's not like Kurapika has bright ideas of his own to keep the sparks alive, in any case. So Leorio sinks down on the beach, smearing sand all over his slacks, and Kurapika follows suit.

Without meeting Kurapika's eyes, Leorio extracts a pack of smokes from his pocket and lights up. He's been sneaking cigarettes for weeks now — the stress does that to him — but this is the first time in years that he's smoked in front of Kurapika.

The last time — that was seven years ago now, right? Back on the Black Whale, back in the midst of a war. In a room filled with clinking ice, they blew out chilled white clouds until Kurapika dissolved the distance between them with touch. Kissing, embracing, relying on each other's heat to keep the beasts at bay.

Now, exhaling gray, Leorio waits for Kurapika to complain, perhaps even expects to bait Kurapika into another hostile exchange. Instead, Kurapika surprises him by asking for a cigarette of his own.

This request should set alarm bells reverberating around Leorio's skull, given that Kurapika has for years avoided indulging in habits that whittle away at his lifespan. But does it even matter now? Thanks to Kurapika's truly horrendous decision-making during the expedition to the Dark Continent, countless sharp swords have clustered above both their heads, ready to fall at any moment, without warning. At this point, what harm is yet another sword to add to the rest?

Leorio fishes out a second cancer stick for Kurapika, who sets the tip aflame with Leorio's lighter.

Kurapika takes a shallow puff. Then another. He only begins to inhale at Leorio's behest. Murmuring his thanks, he drops the lighter on Leorio's proffered palm.

Smoking side by side, they gaze toward the dark crashing waves, with neither speaking.

Then Kurapika rises, mutely, to head back to the car. He scatters sand in his wake.

By the lamplight of their bedroom, Leorio tosses and turns in ratty pajamas, unable to drift off to blissful oblivion.

Kurapika eventually extricates himself from the tangle of blankets, presumably to transfer to the couch. With all the turbulence of being in Leorio's proximity, is it any wonder that Kurapika hopes to sleep more soundly alone?

Leorio doesn't attempt to stop him from leaving.

Days pass in a dizzying daze. As Feitan's trial progresses, with complications only appearing to multiply instead of getting narrowed down, Kurapika arrives home later and later as the nights go by.

Leorio can only watch as Kurapika struggles to drag himself up from the couch to face each new morning. Knowing Kurapika's body even better than Kurapika knows it himself, Leorio easily attributes the worsening fatigue to the extensive use of Chain Jail for Feitan's prolonged subjugation, plus intermittent use of the Dowsing Chain for general prosecuting duties.

But every time Leorio brings up these blatant hazards, Kurapika only brushes off his personal physician's concerns in the name of professional necessity.

Just before another scheduled date night, Kurapika gets home after the sun has already risen golden toward the east.

Leorio expects Kurapika to crash on the couch as usual — he's even left a woolen blanket there to help his boyfriend stave off the steadily plunging temperatures. However, Kurapika staggers toward the kitchen instead.

When Leorio fails to follow, Kurapika calls his name.

Kurapika's voice is hoarse from the day's grueling court proceedings, not to mention the equally exhausting debriefing session with the prosecuting team. "What kind of coffee are you feeling this morning?"

Seeing the bluish shadows beneath Kurapika's eyes and the sluggish way he shovels beans into the coffee maker, Leorio tries to take over. "Here, let me do it."

But Kurapika only bats away Leorio's helping hands. "I can handle this much. Just sit down."

It's only after Kurapika has poured fresh brew into mismatched mugs that he allows himself to slump across from Leorio at the kitchen table. He presses his palms against his puffy eyes, then lets out a shuddering breath.

"Kurapika, you seriously need to lie down." Here Leorio goes again, pointing out the obvious even though he already knows that his advice will be ignored.

Kurapika's voice is muffled against his hands. "Maybe so. But before anything else, we need to talk."

Leorio's heart plummets to his stomach. They need to talk. Of course.

It was always coming to this, wasn't it? A part of Leorio has long been resigned to the inevitability of this conversation. It had to happen, sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

Indeed, the truth is a ticking time bomb behind their teeth. Once either of them verbalizes the hitherto unspoken, everything they've carefully constructed between them will be irreparably blown into bits. Yes, the invisible infrastructure they shared may have decayed over the years — may have even come to be infested by relentless parasites — but still, it was theirs, and irreplaceable to them both if only for this reason.

Kurapika stops hiding his face behind his hands. His eyes, though drooping with tiredness, stare steadily into Leorio's own. Brown meeting brown.

There's no point in fighting the inevitable, is there? Leorio may have dreaded this ending, but perhaps it's for the best.