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The clock marked 7:00 am when Kuroro opened his eyes, coming back from a deep slumber. He blinked a few times before rubbing his eyes in order not to fall asleep again. As he was still in the limbo between the sweet world of numbness and the crude reality of consciousness, he became aware of the dip in the bed caused by another body that was resting there.
Oh.
This wasn't an usual occurrence. The waking up together, that is, because the activities that led up to this situation were far from uncommon. Staying the night after their clandestine encounters, however, was odd.
But alas, here they were.
Kurapika was curled up beside him, deeply asleep, reaching for his arm -cute, Kuroro thought, as he watched the young Kurta's chest rhythmically rise and fall-. He leaned up on his elbow just to take in the view.
Oh dear, he thought, who could've known you were capable of serenity.
Kuroro had never been a man of devotion, but witnessing his very own Angel of Death riding him into oblivion as the pale moonlight basked over them was nothing short of a religious experience.
The difference between that Kurapika, all lust and fire and sharp edges illuminated by nothing but the moon, and the Kurapika with whom he shared a bed at the moment was so stark that Kuroro couldn't help the soft chuckle that left his throat.
The man laying next to him was nothing but softness and warmth and peace, and as much as Kuroro admired the godly creature of wrath and passion that he had always known, this version of the young Kurta left him in utter and complete awe.
How are you real?
He couldn't find an answer, and as he pondered his thoughts, the soft light of the rising sun made its way into the bedroom, showering Kurapika in its golden glory, giving his soft pale skin a heavenly glow, and accentuating the impossibly blond color of his hair. His face had to be the loveliest sight he had ever had the pleasure of admiring. The golden eyelashes looked like they were made of melted gold, his cheeks had taken an adorable and subtle rosy hue, and Kuroro was so close and Kurapika so still that the former leader of the troupe could count each and every freckle that made up the constellation adorning the younger man's face. A constellation that Kuroro wanted nothing more than to map and explore and get lost in.
He kept studying each part of the beautiful visage in front of him. Kuroro had always found the younger man's face to be very delicately balanced, and all his exquisite features transitioned into the other very effortlessly. Naturally, his eyes kept wandering towards Kurapika's mouth. That goddamned mouth. That holy mouth that reeked of a decadence in which Kuroro couldn't wait to drown in again. The very symbol of his perdition.
...You were crafted by a God.
Kuroro's eyes kept wandering along the Kurta's body, and as he took in everything the sight in front of him had to offer, he fixated on Kurapika's neck. Kurapika's very marked neck. The blues and purples and pinks that now stained Kurapika looked surreal under the golden morning light. A small and mischievous smirk made its way onto the thief's lips. He loved seeing how the physical reminders of their rendez-vous bloomed in Kurapika's soft, pale neck. He loved that almost as much as he loved the moans that escaped his lover's throat due to these very marks.
Kuroro's eyes went back to Kurapika's visage. He knew he had been staring for God knows how long, and yet he found himself more and more mesmerized with each passing second, utterly fascinated with the subtle changes in the angle in which the soft light hit the beautiful man in front of him.
The peacefulness of Kurapika's face made him look much younger, and so vulnerable that it was difficult to reconcile this man with the infamous Chain User.
Kurapika was glowing, and while the silver moonlight suited him when they gave in to their every desire, Kuroro immediately knew that Kurapika was a creature of light. There was no doubt about it, this man belonged underneath the sun, amidst warm lands and fresh air. And yet, here he was, beside a man who was the complete opposite.
"You are definitely not real," Kuroro whispered, as he allowed himself to brush the strands of Kurapika's golden fringe away from his face. He looked so peaceful, so at ease, so content. Kuroro felt a twinge of pain in his heart, for he knew he was taking in a moment that did not -that would not- belong to him.
He knew it was useless, but he couldn't help but wonder if they could've had a chance, had things been different. Of course, this line of thought led nowhere, since the thing that would always stand between them was the very thing that had shaped the Kurapika he knew. Kuroro was a man of few regrets, but on the odd occasion that he started to feel a semblance of remorse for that fateful night in Lukso, he'd always tell himself that he wouldn't be attracted to Kurapika if it weren't for his rage and his fury and his power.
This time, though, he couldn't be that certain.
Now, Kuroro knew that a peaceful and happy and sunny Kurapika existed, and that that could have been the norm. If it weren't for him. He also knew that he would have fallen just as hard for this version of Kurapika.
He would have gladly surrendered to this creature of sunshine and light and goodness just as easily as he had yielded to the prophesied bringer of death that had taken two of his spiders away from him.
He briefly wondered if this was what worship felt like.
What a terrifying thought.