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“Did the Kurta believe in any particular gods?” Leorio asks Kurapika.
Kurapika moans something incoherent that in no way resembles a response. His eyelids flicker for a minute before ultimately giving up the fight and staying closed. Even if he had managed to open them, he likely wouldn’t have been able to see anything. Hearing or responding to Leorio’s voice was right out, too. With a fever this high, Kurapika is trading off between being delirious and sleeping; there’s no in-between.
A normal guy probably would’ve been dead already. Then again, a normal guy wouldn’t have put himself in this situation to begin with. They’d never have been capable of killing two members of the Phantom Troupe with such a stupidly indirect Nen ability that, from where Leorio was sitting, had done almost as much damage to its wielder.
Two of their targets died, the Spiders’ head had been stripped of his Nen, and yet... it mostly just felt like they’d lost. Kurapika had known plenty about his targets, enough to do some damage - but not enough to realize that they’d stick together, even die for one another before they gave him the intel he needed. No honor among thieves… except this particular band of assholes, apparently. Just our luck.
“Cause like… if you do believe in any, I’m sending one up to them. What’s that? In hopes you get better? Fuck that, man. I’m praying for the patience not to wring your scrawny little neck for pulling this shit on me.”
His patient moans something that might have been a name. Pai-something. Leorio tries not to pay too much attention, knowing a healthy and conscious Kurapika would never let him in like this, but he can’t help but realize that some of the names are repeating. Which ones belong to Kurapika’s parents? Was Pai-something a close friend, a relative, or merely a neighbor? Someone who Kurapika would never have thought twice about in another life, a better life, when the Kurta still lived?
“If they’re anything like the ones my homeland believes in - your Kurta gods, I mean - they’re probably getting a kick out of this. The way I figure, all gods gotta have a sick sense of humor. Why else would they even bother with the likes of us?”
Leorio is a man of science, of the material world, but it’s certainly tempting to believe that some entity is fucking with him, specifically. That, or nothing is really random and the universe just falls into familiar patterns, like a computer simulation with only a limited number of outcomes. Like in that one movie where they see the same cat twice and know something's up.
Only his cat is the closest friend he has fighting for his life, and Leorio sitting in an uncomfortable chair at the side of their bed, helpless, unable to do anything but watch. This time he has the benefit of a whole one semester of med school - just about enough to know how fucked Kurapika is if this fever doesn’t break, not nearly enough to stop it. Ignorance truly had been bliss. He'd always thought Pietro had a chance, right up until the end.
“You must be wondering if I was this mouthy to Pietro,” he says. He’s not sure why he’s still bothering to speak aloud, though having stayed up for the last twenty-four hours straight probably has something to do with it.
“The answer is no. He was my best friend in the whole world, but that’s where your similarities end. You’ve got this fire in you… I knew it from the moment I saw you. You can take anything I throw at you and dish it right back. Hell, you probably want something to react to. Pietro… he was gentle. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t weak - you can’t live in the shit-ass slum we did without getting a few scars - but he had this essential kindness at the core of his being. A little like Gon, I guess- minus the pigheadedness. He should’ve been the doctor, not me. Impeccable bedside manner.”
Some of the more close-minded townsfolk had whispered about Leorio’s unusually strong devotion to his dying friend, validating teenage Leorio’s decision to stay firmly in the closet. In his weaker moments, he doubted if he was actually bi. Maybe knowing Pietro was on the way out had fucked with his head. Maybe Pietro - small and slim and not at all masculine - was close enough to a woman that Leorio was still normal, and merely temporarily confused.
“... That lasted up until I met you, and I wanted to shut you up with my mouth on your mouth, and I realized I just had a type,” Leorio confesses. It’s a good time to confess, considering Kurapika won’t remember any of this.
Leorio wonders if Kurapika ever makes this sort of comparison in his mind - his new would-be doctor friend against a dead Kurta he’d once known. He supposes it doesn’t really matter. Kurapika never, ever mentions any details about life in the clan, their culture, their history or religion… The way he talks, his massacred people are now an obligation. A string of gravestones wrapped tight as a chain around his neck.
“For such a smart guy, you’re a real moron. You can’t carry this weight all alone, Kurapika. Sooner or later, you’ll snap. But I’ll never tell you that when you can actually hear it. I know how you’ll react and I… I don’t want to lose you.”
Because Leorio, despite all his bluster and bravado, is essentially a coward. Stupid, too. Kurapika had been advertising that doomed, solo avenger thing to anyone who would listen, and Leorio had still been dumb enough to let himself get attached.
“I know I’ll never be enough for you. I’d be a distant third behind ‘retrieve the Eyes’ and ‘make the bastards responsible pay for it.’ And I’m not smart enough to help with that first one or strong enough to help with that second one - I’ve seen how powerful those guys are and I’m nowhere near their league. So here I am. Watching from the sidelines. Waiting… hell, waiting for what? What’s even gonna be left of you by the time you’re done with this?”
Kurapika himself had no intention of surviving his revenge spree. Leorio could see it in his eyes when they met back up again in Yorknew. Maybe he could feel it in the other guy’s aura, though with his limited understanding of this Nen shit, he might just be making that one up. Maybe it was just his own intuition, the lessons learned by growing up in the streets and slums, seeing what people looked like when they’d lost all hope.
“... Hey, Kurapika. I’m tired of talking to myself here. I’m gonna need you to wake the fuck up, asshole. You don’t get to die on me, okay? Not like this. And not when you finish your whole vengeance quest, either! I’m not gonna let you fade away. I’m gonna save your stupid life - somehow - whether you want me to or not!”
Kurapika says nothing at all. He’s slipped into a fitful sleep. But when Leorio gets up and puts one large palm on his small forehead… he can tell instantly that the fever’s broken.
“Ha! You see that? Not today, Satan! Up yours, universe,” Leorio says, as happy as he is incoherent, and stumbles back to his chair, and immediately passes out.