Author's Notes:
PAIRINGS: Leorio/Kurapika (Leopika); Hisoka/Kurapika (Hisopika); Hisoka/Illumi (HisoIllu); Hisoka/Illumi/Pariston/Kurapika
RATING: Mature
NOTE: To read this story's missing scenes with sexual content, check the uncensored version on Archive of Our Own (AO3 username: lemonpika).
CONTENT WARNING: Victim self-blaming.
Chapter 4: Streaks of blue stealing away the gold
Although every part of his body aches, Kurapika forces himself to rise from the bed. He has to erase any evidence that Hisoka and his friends were ever present — in this room, in his body — before Leorio can return from the party.
Donning disposable gloves, he chucks the balled-up tissues and the single used rubber into the trash can. That deranged blond didn't bother knotting the top of his condom, so his cum is leaking all over the sheets, alongside other semen stains and the blotches of blood that could've come from either his or Hisoka's mouths or his own backside. Probably a mixture of all those. Kurapika isn't sure anymore.
After Hisoka graduated from Lukso High and left him two years ago, Kurapika swore never to repeat the mistakes he'd made before. Now look at him — bitten and bruised and bleeding after bending over like a whore for that trickster. It's that silver tongue of his. The sheer breadth of those shoulders, which can conceal any surprises behind his back. That spiky hair, newly dyed like a stoplight. Kurapika has once again failed to heed all these warning signs. When will he ever learn?
As Kurapika strips the mattress, he's muttering to himself. "You coward. You weakling. You crybaby. You already knew he was bad news, yet you let him debase you again. No, is it even debasement when you obviously deserve this?"
Into the hamper, he viciously stuffs his boxers and blankets and pillowcases and sheets. If only he can apply this same strength to sock his useless self on the mouth. Does he even need a throat if he can't voice out those simple letters: N and O?
Edging closer to hysteria, he gives a raspy giggle. "You're always like this, Kurapika. Always bringing out the punches when your enemy has already left the room. Genius move."
After making his bed with fresh fabrics, he heads out to the corridor. He makes a mental note to consult the floor supervisor about whether he can change the door's lock. But will that even stop Hisoka from breaking in again? What twisted games do those guys have in store for him next time around?
Mercifully, the communal bathroom is empty. Nearly everyone must be attending that party in Dolle Hall.
Yet another mistake to add to the list. He could be drinking shots at Dolle Hall instead of sinking into the depths of the here and now. He could be listening as Leorio excitedly introduces him to all his friends and —
Recalling the things Hisoka revealed about his roommate, Kurapika halts that train of thought in its tracks. Hisoka has lied before, yes, but just as often he's been the only one who's dared confront Kurapika with the truth.
Claiming a shower stall, Kurapika pulls the curtain closed behind him. Gingerly, he peels off his clothes. He's shivering even before he steps into the icy spray of liquid.
Try as he might, he can't stop his mind from spiraling backward in time. Memories are flowing over him like water from the showerhead. Whenever he relives those days, one face always swims straight to the surface of his mind.
Everything that truly mattered to him started and ended with that person, didn't it?
Kurapika's twelve in this memory, teetering across a jigsaw puzzle world with barely any pieces slotted in. At the dinner table with his long-suffering parents, he's pounding his fists and causing all the cutlery to jump.
"What?" He's hollering, almost, reverting to his childhood issue with volume control. "Send him back to the boonies or wherever he came from! We don't need some stranger mucking up our home!"
His father's voice is calm. "Kurapika, this isn't some stranger. This is your second cousin we're talking about. Your auntie's accepted a new work assignment, so she and your uncle have to reside overseas indefinitely."
"Why can't they take him with them? Why does this random boy have to be our responsibility?"
"Son, don't see this situation as an obligation. Instead, view this as an opportunity. Aren't you always lamenting that you never get to meet anybody your age because Mama homeschools you?"
Kurapika stabs at his cruciferous vegetables with a fork. "I'm looking for a real friend. A best friend who'll stand by me through thick or thin! Not some distant relative I've never even met before!"
"What's wrong with family?" his mother demands. "Since you're bound by blood, this boy won't have any choice except to bear with you, brat that you are! God only knows from where you got that terrible temperament!"
His father smiles serenely. "His rages didn't come from my side of the family, that's for certain. Our son must've inherited his fiery nature from you, Mama."
His mother claps a hand over her mouth. "Papa! How can you say something so cruel? Are you blaming me for the way I raised this obstinate child?"
"Not at all, Mama. Your fire and your spice — these are some of my favorite sides of you."
"Oh, Papa! You always know just how to handle me!"
Kurapika waves his knife between the pair of them before they can even think about exchanging sultry stares. "Gross! Cut it out, you two! Keep that kind of behavior in the bedroom!"
His mother rounds on him again. "Don't tell me what to do in my own home! You're still a leech who lives here for free!"
"Now, now," his father pipes up. "Settle down, you two. I can't be caught in the middle of a food fight again. The last time it happened, I got ketchup stains all over my shirt. I looked like a walking, talking crime scene."
His mother has to laugh at this. As always, her mirth is infectious. Kurapika can't fight back a smile now.
Level-headed again, his mother says, "Kurapika, did you absorb what Papa was trying to tell you earlier? Until it's time for you to attend the public high school, this could be your chance to finally make a friend. Maybe he'll even turn out to be the best friend you'll ever have. They say that blood is thicker than water for a reason."
That night, Kurapika's deep in contemplation as he dives into bed and searches beneath the blankets for his favorite stuffed boar.
Someone tall would be nice. Someone whose shoulders he can scale to snatch the low-hanging fruits from the neighbor's tree, with branches protruding past the fence between the adjacent properties.
Oh! How about a ton of muscles, like those men in the magazines that Kurapika keeps hidden under the bed? If he's someone strong like that, Kurapika can embrace his waist and ride on the back of his bike all the way to the high school on the other side of town. How easy their daily commute could be!
And lastly, someone wearing glasses would be good. No matter what anyone says, Kurapika is a firm believer that glasses are the height of cool. He reads book after book to get his vision to cloud, but he's perpetually stuck at a perfect 20/20.
Crushing his stuffed boar against his chest, Kurapika prays to a divinity he's not sure he believes in. Dear God, please give me a best friend like that. Tall and muscly and bespectacled. Everything else is negotiable. A boy with these exact three qualities will surely mesh into my life like the puzzle piece that's always been missing. Amen.
The next morning, Kurapika realizes that he must've gotten the rules of religion all wrong. Of course he can't just manifest his ideal companion into existence with the power of prayer, especially if he's never once stepped inside a church. For the kids baptized at birth and regularly reciting the correct nightly prayers, does the Lord bless them with flawless friendships? Is this why Kurapika has been cursed so far to an existence of loneliness?
He and his second cousin are the same height, give or take an inch. Despite this, Kurapika raises his chin at the brown-haired boy so that he can appear as if he's staring down at him.
"Pairo, isn't it?" Kurapika says snootily. "You must be the scrawniest kid I've ever seen! Auntie and Uncle didn't feed you properly?"
Pairo's answer is soft. "They did what they could. Unfortunately, I have a fussy stomach."
In truth, Kurapika's the same way with food, which always drives his mother up the wall. Still, he scoffs. "You'll never grow big and strong if you leave anything untouched on your plate! The Kurta household has rigid regulations against wasting food! Looks like I've got a lot to teach you!"
When Pairo mumbles something inaudible, Kurapika cups his hand around his ear. "Hah? Speak louder, you!"
His cousin's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "I'd be glad to learn anything you wish to teach me, Kurapika."
Pairo's unerring sweetness takes Kurapika off guard, especially when he himself is the poster child for hostility.
"We can leave all those tiresome lessons for later!" Kurapika decides. "Right now, I want to play! I was all fired up to meet you today so I've got loads of energy to spare!"
Before Pairo can protest, Kurapika snatches his hand and drags him out of the house. They jog down the sloping path from the Kurta residence and leap into a thicket too overgrown with brambles to be of interest to anybody else.
With his bare hands, Kurapika pushes away the thorny branches to allow his cousin to pass through unscathed. Eventually, they arrive at a clearing, far enough removed from the road that they can imagine being the last two people living in the universe — Kurapika, who discovered the secrets of the thicket, and Pairo, the first person he's ever led into its depths.
Panting, Pairo looks around in wonder. "Wow. Where exactly are we?"
"My secret base! No one knows about this area but me!"
"What's this place called?"
Kurapika's never had a reason to name it before, so he blurts out the first word he can think of. "Piko!"
"Piko?"
"I tried combining the first syllables of our names just now," Kurapika explains.
Pairo knits his brows. "Then shouldn't we call this place Paiku, not Piko?"
"We're not calling it Paiku! That sounds like one of those silly poems anyone can make! Piko sounds way better!"
"Piko," Pairo repeats once more, the corners of his mouth twitching up in appreciation. "I believe I'm beginning to like it. A cute name invented by a cute boy."
These last words send Kurapika's mind reeling. Wait, what? Pairo thinks he's cute?
To cover up his sudden embarrassment, Kurapika slaps his cousin on the back. "Tag! You're it!" He scampers away, creating distance between them. "Come and catch me, Pairo!"
Kurapika has selected this game for its universally understandable rules. But he soon realizes that any activity requiring Pairo to run is a hopeless case. Although Kurapika tries his hardest to race around the clearing at a reasonable pace, his cousin's always trailing too far behind.
Finally, Kurapika jogs backward to ask the foremost question on his mind. "What's the matter with your legs?"
Grateful for a chance to chat instead, Pairo sinks down shakily to the grass. "I fell down a cliff on a school trip. Both my legs were broken. A doctor couldn't get to me on time, so the teacher tried to realign my bones. They're all crooked now."
"Oh. Sorry for being insensitive."
"I'm the one who's sorry, Kurapika. I can't play any of the games you like. I'll always end up being left behind."
"It's no big deal!" Kurapika reassures him. "I'm not a huge fan of games in the first place. Exercise is important, yeah, but my favorite muscle to train is my brain!"
From underneath a flat rock on the clearing's edge, Kurapika extracts a book. He brushes dirt away from its hardbound mahogany cover, decked with the words Dino Hunter. "This book's about the daring tales of the protagonist, who's a hunter and an adventurer. Let's take turns reading the pages out loud!"
Pairo frantically waves his hands. "Ah! I probably shouldn't! My eyesight's really bad! I have this degenerative eye condition, which started around the same time as my accident."
Kurapika examines Pairo's eyes. Now that he's paying attention, he notices that his cousin's eyes are eerily similar to his own. The same shape, the same color. A curious gradient of brown, right on the cusp of maroon. They likely inherited this trait from a common ancestor.
"Since you have a visual impairment, do you ever wear glasses?" Kurapika asks.
"Not currently. But I'll probably need to, down the line."
Tortoise-shell glasses would look great on Pairo. Grinning as he pictures this, Kurapika descends on the grass next to his cousin. He props open the big book on both their laps. "You can still read, right? Even with your problem?"
"Sure I can."
"Then it's okay if you have to go slowly. I've reread this book lots of times before, so I don't care what pace we have to take together."
They spend many golden days in the clearing. After lessons with Kurapika's mother are through, they go straight away to the secret base they now share. Sometimes, they tumble through the thicket so impatiently that the thorns leave little cuts on their limbs. But who cares about drawing a bit of blood when their destination is worth everything?
Occasionally, they engage in games that don't entail any running, like hide and seek or playing pretend. But more often they simply stretch out on the grass and read together.
After they've covered all of D. Hunter's feats of derring-do, they borrow other books from the town library. Given his penchant for committing as many historical events and scientific discoveries as possible to memory, nonfiction dominates the titles scribbled all over Kurapika's stapled sheaf of library cards. For Pairo's sake, however, he takes out books filled with fables and fantasies and fairy tales.
In the clearing, they take turns reading pages aloud to each other. Inevitably, streaks of deep blue steal away the azure and gold overhead. At that point, Kurapika takes over reading to allow Pairo to rest his tired eyes amidst the dimming environment.
Pairo's face often droops onto Kurapika's shoulder. As gently as he can, Kurapika relocates his cousin's dozing head to his lap. He then carries on reading, satisfied that his words are seeping into Pairo's dreams.
What does Pairo dream about? Does he envision being able to run again? Or consuming book after book in swift succession, the way Kurapika can? Unknown to Pairo, Kurapika's been harboring a dream of his own. Somewhere, someday, somehow — he'll find a doctor who can work miracles. Somebody who can free Pairo of his limitations so that he can do whatever he's always dreamed of doing. Anything at all.
Eventually, darkness falls, preventing Kurapika from discerning any more words on the pages before him. It's always with a hint of regret that he rouses Pairo so that they can hold hands and head home for supper.