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Some nights, Kurapika comes home bloody. Leorio prefers them bloody though, considering the alternative would be they don’t come home at all.
Their eyes are downcast, usually, and the rims of their irises still linger with a fading halo of angry crimson. Leorio will take them, gently, by their chain-bruised hand, and examine the the indented flesh where each ring pressed too far into their skin. Kurapika will finally look up at him, then, and though their split lips won’t turn up into a smile, he can feel the exhale that unravels the tightly wound muscles holding them upright.
Leorio will take it as a sign and pick them up, mindful of the larger bruises peeking through ripped clothing. On better nights, Kurapika will wrap their arms around his neck. On worse, they’ll use their remaining energy to press a kiss to Leorio’s neck, and promptly drift off while he runs the bath.
The bathtub is decently sized, but Leorio is unreasonably sized. It’s worth the bent legs and (aging) back pressed uncomfortably against the porcelain though, because Kurapika fits perfectly against his chest when they sit together.
Kurapika will lean, more than sit, as Leorio takes his time lathering circles into their back, working out the knots of tension in the muscle one by one. He’ll whisper apologies when Kurapika winces each time he brushes a bruise accidentally, and press a kiss to the purpled skin. Leorio sometimes jokes, on the nights where Kurapika seems especially somber, that he’s beginning to think they fake winces to get Leorio to kiss them more. It usually garners at least a breathy laugh, more of an exhale than a laugh actually, but it’s good enough for Leorio.
Kurapika drifts off without fail when Leorio starts on their hair, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. By the time he’s done rinsing the suds out of their hair, Kurapika’s given up on sitting with their own strength, and leans fully back into Leorio’s chest.
The two will lay there, content and smelling like vanilla lavender, until the water goes lukewarm and Leorio starts to worry about catching a cold. Only at his insistence will Kurapika shift enough for Leorio to wiggle free from their arrangement, and find a towel to wrap them in.
The pair never bother to get dressed. It’s too much work, for one, and Leorio likes it more this way. Because there in the little shared apartment, as the sun threatens to peek over the horizon, the press of warm skin against warm skin always feels like home.