Chapter 4
"I wasn't aware that Danchou had a lover."
The remark comes from Phinks first, and it couldn't have been farther from the truth. Kurapika wonders if it's possible to choke on air, because he can't get a sound out from his throat. He stands at the bedside, facing four members of the Phantom Troupe—if he can even consider Kortopi to be part of them. Even during the early days of the Phantom Troupe, he wouldn't put it past Kuroro to have a child as a member of his group.
Pakunoda is alive. Nobunaga is alive. Phinks is alive. Kortopi is alive. They are all supposed to be dead, and yet they are not. But Kurapika is the one who doesn't belong here. He has to remember that.
Pakunoda scrutinizes him as if he's some sort of deviant, and he can't help but feel offended at the very thought. She continues protecting the purity of Kortopi's eyesight, her hands over his face. "I wouldn't think that he would consent to being touched when he's unconscious. Unless his lover is that repressed."
"I'm not," Kurapika manages to say, and it comes out much rougher than he intends. He clears his throat. "I'm not his lover." Despite the absurdity of their claims, he can't come up with an explanation that could be less farfetched.
Nobunaga rubs his cleanly shaven face in thought. "Then what's someone like you doing here?" He takes one step forward, and the sound of a blade being exposed from its sheath cuts through the stillness of the air. "I'll give you one try to answer."
"Wait—" Kortopi pulls Pakunoda's hands away from his face. He stumbles in between them and Kurapika, spreading his arms out. "He's a good person!"
That draws skeptical glances from all of them. If Phinks had eyebrows, he would raise them.
Kortopi goes to Kurapika's side, holding onto the hem of his jacket at first. But then his small hand closes around Kurapika's fingers, and he looks up at Kurapika, determined. "This person saved me and brought Kuroro back here."
Nobunaga seems unconvinced. "The timing's too convenient, especially when we just lost number eight. If only we were there—"
"But he was." There's a tremor in Kortopi's voice, as if this is the first time he's raised his voice, the first time he's fought for something in his life. His grasp tightens around Kurapika's hand. "I don't know what would have happened if he wasn't. He healed Kuroro too."
"A good samaritan?" Phinks looks straight at Kurapika, growing impatient with his silence. "Nobody does anything without expecting something in return. I want to know what happened back there too."
"Silva Zoldyck came."
Kurapika turns to the bed in faint surprise, where Kuroro is staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't know how long Kuroro's been awake, but if only he had woken up before Kurapika had to drag his body all the way back here.
"I'd like to speak with our guest, so if you all could leave for a while." It's not a request, as Kuroro's words are definitive. With pronounced effort, he pushes himself up on his elbows, despite that the movement makes him grow paler. "I'll provide all of the necessary details after."
Nobunaga looks intently at the both of them, before sliding his blade back where it belongs. Even Kortopi gives him one last glance before letting go of his hand.
Kurapika isn't certain if they all live in this building, but this space definitely belongs only to Kuroro. When only the two of them remain, Kurapika gets straight to the point.
"Where is my Hunter license?" Folding his arms, he stares flatly at Kuroro. "I have methods of knowing if you aren't telling the truth, so I would advise you not to do so."
Kuroro blinks, but slowly moves to sit up and lean against the wall. A weighted silence sits in the air between them.
"You shouldn't get caught if you steal from someone," Kurapika echoes. He's not sure if someone like Kuroro has the capacity to feel guilt, but he has no intention of being sympathetic here. "Isn't that what you told Kortopi?"
"I apologize." Kuroro's tone is impeccably polite, but his expression is as unreadable as ever. Even with all of his pockets turned inside-out, there's nothing to be found. "But it isn't with me."
Kurapika's lips tighten into a thin line. "That isn't possible."
"What I mean is," Kuroro explains carefully, "if it was lost in the fight, then there is no way of retrieving it. It's most likely dust and ash at this point."
Without another thought, Kurapika slams his hand against the wall, right beside Kuroro's head. Kuroro doesn't so as much flinch, only continues staring into Kurapika's eyes as he leans over him. Something burns inside him, but he doesn't know if he's angry out of principle—because Kuroro's taken so much from him already—or angry because the Hunter license meant something to him.
"You have to be kidding me," Kurapika says, lacking inflection. His blond hair falls into his face as he looks down at Kuroro. He can't remember the last time he cut it.
"If it matters to you," Kuroro starts to say, somewhat awkward, "I can attempt to replace it." What he really means is that he'll try to steal another or purchase it off the black market. Kuroro doesn't seem like the kind of person to owe debts.
There isn't any use getting frustrated. His anger slides into disappointment, because despite that he only became a Hunter in order to pursue the Spiders, he worked to earn that license. It was then that he met his companions for the first time, that he finally felt as if he was making progress towards his goals.
Kurapika doesn't even know if he would retain the benefits of having a license in this life, but that's not the point here. It feels like he's losing a connection to his past. He takes a deep breath, because if he doesn't calm himself, he'll throttle Kuroro before he knows it. He turns away to face the adjacent wall instead.
He can feel Kuroro's gaze on his back, assessing his reaction. After several moments of silence, an unexpected offer comes. "Do you have a place to stay? You're welcome to stay here tonight."
"That's very considerate of you," Kurapika says dryly, as if that would rectify things between them. It's been years since he last had a home to return to. Since then, he's managed well enough to find places to sleep. "Do you always take in strangers like this?"
"I appreciate the fact that you assisted Kortopi as well as myself," Kuroro says quietly, "and I believe I should reciprocate in turn. While I am interested in knowing what a Hunter is doing in a place like this, I won't ask if you're not willing to tell me now."
Kurapika isn't particularly inclined to trust Kuroro, but he has nothing else to lose. He's exhausted, on the verge of passing out, but he's more than capable should anything else happen to him in the midst of the night. Being one bodyguard out of Queen Oito's remaining two meant forgoing sleep for many nights and covering the responsibilities that should have been distributed among many more. "Fine."
"Can I have your name?"
Kurapika hesitates for a moment, wonders if he should divulge his name freely, but he's never used a name he hasn't been given. He's always worn his name with pride, the last trace of his dying language.
"It's rude to ask when you haven't introduced yourself." Kurapika looks over his shoulder, meeting Kuroro's curious gaze evenly. "While Kortopi called you Kuroro, the others called you Danchou."
"You can just call me Kuroro. Kuroro Lucifer," he offers with a small smile. In a place like Meteor City where so many individuals lack identities, names hold power and meaning. "Kortopi isn't old enough to call me that yet."
"Kurapika," is all he says, although Kuroro seems to be waiting for the rest of his name. He doesn't have a last name.
"Kurapika," Kuroro repeats softly, slowly. "That's a nice name."
Kurapika doesn't deign to answer, only huffs in disbelief, because accepting compliments from Kuroro isn't something that he ever plans on doing. Slowly, Kuroro rises to his feet and keeps his steps steady when he goes to open the small closet in the corner of the room.
"You can take the bed, and I'll sleep on the floor." Kuroro has yet to fully recover, but it isn't Kurapika's problem if Kuroro sleeps on the floor since he's the one offering. He folds a set of spare clothes and a towel, presenting them to Kurapika. "You can also use the shower. The water is clean, if you're concerned about that."
Kurapika nods, accepting the neatly folded pile. "I'll do that then."
He retreats to Kuroro's bathroom, quietly closing and locking the door behind him. It's easy to discern that the rest of Kuroro's place is as clean as the bedroom, albeit small, though he must be more privileged than most of Meteor City's inhabitants to live like this. After hanging Kuroro's clothing and towel on the hooks on the wall, he loosens his black tie and starts to divest himself of the rest of his suit.
Turning on the water, he steps into the shower. The temperature of the water is a welcome warmth on his skin, easing the tension deep in his bones. He makes use of the bottles of shampoo and soap on the racks, taking his time to wash his hair and body, grateful to have time to himself. All of the dirt and dust from his skin washes away with ease. The clean, earthy scent of sage fills the bathroom, and while it's nice to escape the foul odor of the outside, it's a strange sensation to share the same scent as Kuroro.
Kurapika eventually leaves the shower, feeling refreshed yet still very tired, and gingerly dries his hair with the towel. He can't make sense of why he's here, in Meteor City and Kuroro's company, out of all the places he could possibly be. But he's alive and everyone he knows is alive—just not in the way he remembers them. The mirror over the sink is fogged with steam, and he sweeps his hand across the surface, considering his reflection.
Taupe eyes that sometimes shift to scarlet. Shadows beneath his eyes, from too many nights sacrificed to his duties. A small nose, sharp jaw, and cheekbones that make him see his mother in his reflection.
It won't be long until he'll reach the ages his parents were when they died, for he'll have outlived them for many years now. The thought leaves his heart aching, but perhaps, he'll have the opportunity to find their younger selves in this life, even if they won't ever know who Kurapika is.
That makes him feel better, feel worse, he doesn't know. He continues dragging the towel over his damp hair. His bangs continue falling over his eyes, reminding him that he should cut it soon or resort to tying his hair back. Too many times had Prince Woble pulled on his hair when he looked over her, cradled her in his arms, and the memory makes him smile to himself. When he feels dry enough, he leaves the towel on the hook and gets dressed with the clothes that Kuroro lent him.
The white tee shirt falls over Kurapika's hips, too large for his frame. It's loose over his shoulders, exposing his collarbone more than he would like. The sweatpants are shapeless as well, long enough that he has to roll them up over his ankles. He doesn't really mind. More than anything, he's just surprised that Kuroro owns something that isn't black in color.
Kurapika returns to the bedroom, where the light is still on. At the foot of the bed, Kuroro is sitting on a blanket on the floor, having changed into clean clothing himself. He looks at Kurapika for a moment too long, before turning back to the book in his hands. He's been acting awfully calm for someone who just lost one of his Spiders, because Kurapika clearly remembers what he did the last time that happened.
Kuroro closes the book before placing it on the desk. He stands up and approaches Kurapika, taking his old clothes from him. "I'll make sure your suit gets cleaned."
"Thank you," Kurapika answers, to which Kuroro smiles. The politeness is beginning to unnerve him, but he supposes that Kuroro must have always been like that.
"I'll go ahead and shower then," Kuroro says. "You can sleep first."
When he closes the door to the bathroom, Kurapika takes a quick glance at the rest of his bedroom. The last time he can recall sharing a room with another person was during the Hunter Exam, and he doesn't know how he feels about spending the night here. He peers beneath the bed, finding only stacks of books instead of anything else someone would expect from a teenage boy. He shouldn't have expected differently from Kuroro.
Once he hears the water running, he lies down on the bed, staring at the blank walls. His wallet is hidden beneath the pillow, right where he can rest assured that it's still in his possession. Despite the softness of the sheets and blankets, he's not certain if he could ever be comfortable on Kuroro's bed, let alone sleep tonight.
Notes:
Here's another quick chapter.
It took me two years to get in a scene where Kurapika wears Kuroro's clothes.. It was the first thing I ever wrote for kurokura in 2016, but it never made it into any of my fics. :')
Please leave a comment, as I would love to know what you think.