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Impulsive. Short sighted. In the periodic lighting offered by the streetlights they pass Kurapika inspects the condition of their pants, grimacing when they see a streak of caked on filth along their thigh.
Stupid. They had been so stupid, giving into baser urges like that. The intelligence that Kurapika values so much in themself had been thrown out the window for a twenty minute fuck they regretted practically the second it was over.
How are they supposed to have a business-like relationship with Hisoka now, doing what they’d done? Hisoka’s constant innuendos had been insufferable before, Kurapika is honestly unsure if this will have a negative or neutral effect on their partnership.
Kurapika eases into a stop at a red light, taking the moment to press their forehead against the top of the steering wheel and groan quietly. It couldn’t be helped. They’ve already done it, it’s in the past. This will just have to be a learning experience of what not to do in the future, under any circumstance.
Lifting their face back up Kurapika tilts their head to inspect their neck in the review mirror, fingers running along the unblemished skin on both sides, sighing that hickies, at least, weren’t something they have to deal with.
They park their car in a row of identical black vehicles – work vehicles, they had borrowed a work car for this meeting – shutting and locking the door with a now familiar bone deep tiredness. Working for Neon and with Hisoka left little time for proper sleep, something that’s catching up with them all at once.
Kurapika enters the building with authority, nodding to the man behind the desk and shedding the air of self consciousness that’s trying to adhere to them. No one would necessarily know what they’d been up to, and even if they did, anyone’s opinion in a place like this was not one Kurapika values.
Still, it’s a blessing that the elevator comes down empty, allowing for a blissfully quiet ride up to the top. Kurapika wants nothing more than to lean against the side of the elevator, any bit of weight relieved from their feet would be welcomed, but the camera in the upper left corner keeps them standing straight and alert.
When the doors open, Kurapika’s luck seems to be up, because it’s Senritsu on guard. Their earlier statement that no one’s opinion mattered to them is hastily edited; Senritsu’s mattered, if they were being honest. Under different circumstances she’s someone Kurapika would want to be proper friends with, the same way they are with Leorio, Gon, and Killua.
She smiles seeing them appear from the elevator, one that wavers into a worried expression just as quickly. A reaction that, no doubt, comes from the brief pounding of Kurapika’s heart as opposed to their slightly disheveled appearance.
It’s like being caught sneaking back into the house after hours, only worse. Senritsu may not be a mind reader, but she might as well be. Kurapika gives a small smile to try and settle the worry off of her face.
“Your pants, Kurapika, are you alright?”
“Yes.” They look down as if just noticing the dust stains themself, pinching the fabric between their fingers before brushing uselessly at it. “I’ll be just fine after a shower.” Senritsu asks none of the questions she wants to, and even makes a point to turn her scrutinizing gaze away.
“Your ear is bleeding.” This time Kurapika’s inspection is genuine, eyes blinking as they raise their hand to first touch one ear, then the other. Just as Senritsu had said. Dried blood is crusted around the post of their left earring.
At speed Kurapika goes over what has happened tonight, closing their eyes in annoyance as they remember none-too-gentle teeth setting into their ear.
Hisoka.
“Best not to get it caught on things too often, hm?” Rather than sounding reproachful or disappointed Senritsu almost sounds amused, hands crossed behind her back, obviously struggling to keep a grin off her lips. Whatever hope Kurapika had that she’d have trouble understanding the situation disappears.
This is as close to a walk of shame Kurapika has ever come to. Combined with their state of tiredness it’s hard for Kurapika to keep the aloof veneer they always strive for around their Nostrade colleagues.
“I’m going to take that shower now.”
“Of course. Your shift doesn’t start so soon, perhaps use your time until then to sleep.” Good humor fades, the moment passed, replaced instead with the return of Senritsu’s worry over their well being.
The smile Kurapika tries to offer comes out somewhat sheepish. “I’ll take that advice.”