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He’s there when you come home, surprisingly. Even more so is the speckled flush on his cheeks, a smattering of mottled red across his skin, the long fingers buried in unkempt blonde hair. His breathing is shaky, unstable, though you can almost feel the way he’s trying to calm himself down. Books and papers are scattered across the coffee table in a myriad of shapes and sizes, and, the greatest surprise, is the remote control lodged firmly in the TV.
How the neighbours didn’t call in suspicion of a robbery was beyond you.
More importantly, right now, are the sharp and uneven breaths that Kurapika is taking, his shoulders rising and falling in quick, jerking motions, struggling to get himself under control, back to a level mind.
You’re by his side in an instant, and it’s telling, just how far he is in his own stress, his own anger - that he didn’t hear you, sense you coming. The second you brush your hand over his shoulder, he’s got you pinned to the couch, eyes wild, dangerous, fingers digging in to your arms.
A shaky breath is all you get out, watching his eyes flicker, glimmer, both exhaustion and fury fringing in wild sparks of scarlet around the edges. The colour is dazzling, beautiful, and for a moment you’re lost in it, until he carefully grabs your jaw, chains jingling in an almost menacing tune as they press against your skin. “Why didn’t you announce yourself?” He asks, the smatterings of rage fueled vitriol searing the edges, and you hear just how tired he is, the rasp in his voice as much a giveaway as the bags under his pretty eyes.
“I thought you would have felt me.” You answer quietly, slowly reaching up to grasp at his wrist, as though he’s a baby deer ready to bolt, gently tugging, and he only presses his fingers in a little harder. You watch his eyes widen in surprise a moment as you flinch, but they harden again as soon as you blink. “I wasn’t trying to hide myself- Kurapika, let go.” You order, firmly, and he sucks in a breath through his nose, before pulling his hand away, shoulders slumping as he leans back and off your body.
Slowly, you sit up, rubbing at your arm, and he bites back a retort. This is getting to him - everything is getting to him, and he wonders how much longer before you can’t take this anymore. Can’t take him, and the thought is a terrifying one - if not almost sobering.
Almost.
He doesn’t want to lose you - no, not at all. But trying to say that, to find the words to articulate it…? “...I’m sorry.” He finally mumbles, and you nod in response, folding your hands carefully as you face the broken television. The screen is still crackling a little, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye.
“We should probably throw that out, soon.”
He purses his lips, reaching for the papers on the table, but you’re faster - gathering them up in a nice, tidy little pile. Tapping the edges against the rich mahogany, you even them out, slipping the books beneath them. Kurapika says your name in a warning tone, low, a slight growl, and anywhere else, the tone may have had a much different meaning.
Here, however, it has you glaring back at him in sharp defiance, tucking everything in to your arms and standing up. “No.” You’re firm, standing up straight as you turn on your heel. “You need a break. At least for one night.”
The last thing you expect, as you’re walking away, is for him to lunge for you in anger fueled desperation. His hands snatch at the papers as you jerk them back, the heel of your sock slipping on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Your heart is in your throat, stumbling backwards - and as fast as Kurapika is, dropping his papers to flutter to the floor, books landing with heavy thumps as he reaches to catch you, you still find yourself hitting the kitchen counter, wincing as your back knocks in to it at an angle
You take a deep breath, slowly pulling yourself away from the counter, pressing your lips together. “I’m going out for a bit.” You mutter, whirling on your heels to head for the front door. It’s not his fault, you know - it was a bad situation, an accident. He didn’t grab for you. You slipped. And yet…
The look in his eyes isn’t one you feel ready to take on.
With your back to him, you miss the way Kurapika’s shoulders drop in worry, in fear, nor the way his throat catches as he swallows around a thick lump. “Fine.” What? No, that’s not what he wanted to say. “I can’t deal with you distracting me, right now.”
Damn.
He watches you tense, and bites his tongue again. Without saying a word, you pull on your shoes, the door slamming heavy in the wooden frame behind you. Kurapika sighs, slumping against the counter and rubbing a hand over his face. He glances at the spot you landed, his heart thudding a low, steady beat in the pit of his stomach. The anger is gone, and he’s just...tired.
There’s the lingering worry that you might not come back, at this point - and as much as he knows he can do this, he doesn’t need your help, your pity...a small part of whispers that just maybe...he does.
Picking up the papers, he sets them carefully on the counter, eyes straining as he tries reading over the same paragraph - over, and over and over again. Finally, pinching the corners of his eyes, he pulls back, looks at the door again and purses his lips. Running both hands over his hair, Kurapika tucks the papers away, glancing at the clock. It’s...late. You didn’t take a key, and he decides to leave the door unlocked, just in case.
Dragging his tongue over his lips, he checks his phone, before his shoulders slump and he pads off to the bedroom.
-
It’s a few hours before you finally come home, and you shouldn’t be surprised at the dark apartment. It’s all you can do not to heave a sigh, peeling off your shoes and hanging your jacket in the closet.
What does surprise you, however, is the pattering of feet, and you look up to see Kurapika in the now lit hallway, light streaming from behind him out the open bedroom door, rubbing at sleepy eyes, mumbling your name. It’s...cute, really, as he blinks blearily in your direction. There’s a trace of a smile on your lips, now, and you nod, slowly opening your arms.
He’s in them in a second, coiling his own tightly around you as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles, fingers digging in to your shirt. “I didn’t- I’m just- I-...”
“I know.” You answer, tilting your chin to rest it atop his head, stroking his hair. It’s soft, clean - he must have showered while you were gone. There’s a plate of food on the counter, no doubt cold by now, and there’s a little pang in your heart that, as angry as he had been, he thought to set aside dinner for you. “It was crappy of you, but I understand.”
He flinches.
“I’m not going to pretend that it’s okay, Kura. Your temper is going to cause irreparable harm one day.” You pull back, hold both sides of his face in your hands, heart twinging with pain as you feel his flushed cheeks, before planting a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But I understand. You apologized, and we’ll leave it there for now.”
As you look at him, you notice the red rimming his eyes - not the blazing scarlet you’ve caught glimpses of before, but a thick, heavy red betraying the tears that he’d spilt. “Kura.” You sigh, rubbing your thumbs carefully beneath his eyes. His hands raise, catching the back of yours, and turns his head to kiss your fingers.
“Please, don’t. It’s my fault.” He’s not so far gone that he can’t realize when he’s the one who screwed up, and you pull him in to your arms again, squeezing one another in the dim light of the living room, swaying back and forth as light filters from the bedroom and down the hall, the moon particularly bright as silver streams between cracked blinds over the windows.
“Come on, I think we could both use a hot bath.”
“But I already showered-“
You glance over your shoulder at him, smiling, squeezing his hand and leading him down the hall. “We could bothuse a hot bath.”
Kurapika looks at you a moment, and then his face softens, nodding, fingers threading through yours and you’re struck - again - by how perfectly his fingers fill the spaces between yours- “...Of course.”
After testing for the perfect temperature, you decide some bubbles couldn’t hurt, and the two of you watch the bath water foam up as you sit on the edge. His hand is still firmly laced with yours, calloused thumb rubbing gently back and forth across your knuckles.
When you lift your head to look at him, you find he’s already looking at you, an expression written across his face, plain as day, and yet it’s like you suddenly forgot how to read. Both of his hands take yours, squeeze them tight, and brings them to his lips. “...I’m trying.” He tells you, finally. “I don’t like hurting you. I try not to, I really do. I just...all of this,” he gestures vaguely around himself before taking your hand again, “it’s...overwhelming.”
You glance down at the water a moment, pulling one hand away to turn the taps off. “So lean on me a little more, Kurapika.” You murmur, slipping to your knees in front of him, helping him strip from his shirt. “I’m here for you, and you know it.”
His eyes soften, fingers careful, gentle as they help you divest of your clothing, supporting you by the hand as you step in to the bath. “This is my fight, love.” He shakes his head.
You’re kneeling in front of him, catching his face in your hands again. “I’m not telling you to leave it all to me. I’m just asking you to share the burden, wherever you feel comfortable. This is more than one man can do alone, and you know it.” The way his gaze slips, ashamed, to the side of the tub tells you your words are hitting home.
“Just promise that you’ll let me support you. Come to me when it’s too much. Whatever you need - if it’s an ear, a shoulder, or a bath and some cuddles, I can definitely provide.”
Kurapika watches the side of the tub a moment longer, eyes the way the water moves around the two of you, gentle waves lapping against the edges. And then, for the first time that night, he smiles, drawing you up in to his arms, to cradle you closely against his chest. Lips find your forehead, and the kiss left there is soft, lingering, and you can almost feel little, pleasant jolts as he noses against the side of your head, in to your hair.
“...Alright. I promise.” When you smile, he steals it away with his lips, gentle, careful, as if pressing too fast and too hard will shatter you to unmendable pieces in his grip. His shoulders tremble, and you set your hands on them, squeezing softly until they relax beneath your fingers. When he pulls away, it isn’t far, the breath of a sigh hot against your lips, forehead to yours, gaze calm, steady.
“Kurapika?” You murmur, and he hums in response, eyes closing slowly. “I love you.”
His lips twitch again, though his eyes remain closed, fingers gliding smoothly down the length of your spine, drawing circles on their trip back up. “...And I, you.” He murmurs, water sloshing against the porcelain of the bath as he ensnares you that much closer, nose brushing against yours. “I love you, too.”