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Leorio felt Kurapika’s absence like a knife in his gut. It was a constant awareness of the empty space in his life where his friend once filled. It was a space he had been trying to fill for a very long time. With his friends, with Killua, Gon, and Kurapika, he had felt whole again. They reinvigorated him, fanned a flame that had been slowly burning out after years of brooding and of ruminating. Now, however, Killua and Gon were off doing their own thing, achieving their own dreams, and Kurapika never answered his damn phone. That never stopped Leorio. Voicemails, goodnight texts, “Just checking in!” messages, missed phone calls. That was all Kurapika was to him now, in reality. At least Gon answered his phone. Leorio missed his friends.
Leorio would sometimes find himself writing letters to Kurapika. It’s something he had done as a child, after Pietro passed. He would write letters to Pietro. He would chronicle the going-ons in town, writing about things that reminded Leorio of him or how much he missed him. How dull their home was without him. Leorio had hoped that, just maybe, his letters would reach Pietro. That, wherever the boy had ended up, he knew there was at least one person who still thought of him, one person who would honor his memory. Leorio stopped writing the letters as often, as he got older. He might write one on the anniversary of Pietro’s death, or on his birthday. Leorio always remembered Pietro’s birthday.
Leorio wrote his first letter to Kurapika on his birthday. April 4th, he never forgot the date. He wrote about how much he missed him, how much he worried about him. He talked about how he ended up in the north that past month, and how the snow made him think of Kurapika. Kurapika used to talk to Leorio about his home, with the Kurta clan. Kurapika always loved the winters in the mountains. He loved the softness of the freshly fallen snow, and he loved the warmth of the homes of his people. He loved the togetherness that winter would bring, nights by the fire with the other boys and girls his age, listening to stories and legends. He loved the routine of layering each piece of clothing, he loved being wrapped in the evidence of the Kurta, proof that they were there. Leorio would get lost in Kurapika’s reminiscing. The man could almost imagine it all, could fantasize about what it might have been like to meet them all, in another life. Leorio mourned with Kurapika. Leorio understood the guilt the other man felt, the feeling of helplessness and utter defeat. The burn of the shame and the guilt, forcing a drive for success so strong that it might consume them both whole.
Leorio also wrote about Gon and Killua. He told Kurapika how much the boys had grown, how much they had changed and how much they were still those same 12 year-old boys that would sacrifice the world for one another. He would write about how they were still children, and how sad that made him. Leorio ended up on a tangent about what it would have been like if they had met as young boys. If Kurapika was there through the loss of Pietro, or if Leorio could have helped Kurapika on that fateful trip into the world. Leorio tended to ramble in his letters. After so long of not speaking to Kurapika, he had so much he wanted to say. The words bubbled out of him, like a boiling pot, thoughts and emotions and fantasies bleeding out onto the page. The letters were therapeutic for Leorio.
A year and a half after the first letter, Leorio had written more than he could count on two hands. He kept them in an old wooden box on his desk, tucked away beside old knick-knacks from his home and his countless letters to Pietro. The night was cold again, winter had come back around in full-force, and snow had passed through the night before. It had collected on the window sill behind Leorio’s television, the outside air cold enough to keep it from melting. Leorio’s heating system did not work very well, a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to afford the second bedroom in his apartment. He liked having people over, having a space that his loved ones could use when they needed. Gon and Killua were really the only people to have ever used it, but Kurapika had come by once and Leorio had offered it for the night. When he awoke, the room was empty.
Leorio lounged on the couch, mindlessly watching some home renovation channel. A steaming mug sat atop the old coffee table in the center of the room, placed carefully between messy piles of papers and stacks of textbooks. It was a Saturday night, and Leorio jumped at the opportunity to relax. He had been working non-stop all week, spending his nights buried in books and assignments. He knew he’d spend his Sunday doing much of the same, so he had to allow himself a day of rest.
A knock on the door pulled Leorio out of his thoughts, quiet and rhythmic. It was late, maybe half past ten, and Leorio hadn’t been expecting visitors. He didn’t actually have a peep hole, so he had no way of knowing who it was behind the door before he opened it. What he did not expect to see on the other side was a head of golden blond hair and dark, tired eyes.
“Kurapika...?” Leorio breathed, eyebrows pulling together of their own accord.
“Hey Leorio,” Kurapika sounded bashful, a hand raising to the back of his neck and scratching absently. Leorio took a step back, pushing the door open further and keeping his eyes glued to the smaller man.
“Come on in.”
—
Kurapika had settled into the living room easily, feet kicked onto the coffee table that Leorio had rushed to clear off. He held a fresh mug of chamomile tea between his hands, the steam curling around his nose and cutting into the chill of the room. He had removed his scarf and coat upon entering the apartment, leaving him in just his slacks and a turtleneck that swallowed him whole. Kurapika found himself almost regretting removing the layers, as the heating didn’t seem to do much to fight off the chill that nipped at his fingertips. Leorio re-entered the room, a plate of warm cookies in hand.
“Fresh cookies?” Kurapika sounded disbelieving, eyebrows raised and a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Leorio place the plate in front of him.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Leorio responded, falling onto the opposite end of the couch. “I just microwaved some store-bought cookies.” Kurapika huffed out a laugh before reaching out for one.
“So you’re saying you didn’t suddenly learn how to bake in my absence? How disappointing.” Leorio rolled his eyes in response.
“Why are you here?”
Kurapika looked over in mild surprise. Leorio’s arms were crossed across his chest, his head slung forward and shoulders hunched. It was only then that Kurapika noticed the darkness beneath his eyes, the paleness of the man’s skin. The gel in his hair looked days old, black strands drooping onto his forehead. Kurapika felt a familiar tightness in his chest.
“I’ve missed you.” It was true. Kurapika didn’t often let himself feel it, but when he did, it was all-consuming. Jumping from mission to mission, kill to kill, following fruitless leads, it left his head in a flurry. It was only when he’d listen to Leorio’s voicemails, see his texts, that he felt much of anything aside from resolute anger.
“Then why didn’t you answer my calls?” Leorio looked up at him from beneath dark lashes, looking drained. “Why come here? Why do this?”
Looking at Leorio, Kurapika began to understand some of the man’s persistence. He looked wrecked. Kurapika could not help the waves of concern that washed over him when he saw the man’s current state. He wondered idly if this was how Leorio felt every day.
“You know why.” Kurapika couldn’t hold his gaze. He turned away, watching the snow on the window sill. “I have things I have to do.”
“You’re not the only one who’s doing things, Kurapika. You can answer a text.”
“I can’t .” The words came from behind gritted teeth, his jaw aching in that familiar way. “You know I can’t. I can’t let you get involved.”
“Then I’ll ask you again: Why are you here?”
Kurapika had always known how Leorio felt about him. He’s not subtle, but he can’t imagine that the man has ever tried to be. Leorio was an attentive friend, he was observant. He noticed things, and he remembered things. Kurapika was no fool to his own feelings for the man, of course. But he couldn’t let it go any further than that. He didn’t need any risks. He couldn’t handle the guilt of letting Leorio love a man doomed to his own fate. That didn’t change the ache in Kurapika’s chest. The pull between his ribs that always took him back to Leorio when his work took him near, the draw of the warmth of Leorio’s hands and Leorio’s home. Kurapika looked back to Leorio, and he felt tired. His eyebrows drew together.
“I miss you.” Kurapika’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears, the emotion dripping in a way that reserved itself for Leorio only. Leorio looked just as tired as Kurapika felt, and more defeated than he had ever seen the man before. Kurapika wanted nothing more than for Leorio to reach out, to touch him. To hold him, to be gentle and to be kind. Kurapika knew he didn’t deserve it, but god did he ache for it. Leorio held his gaze for what felt like ages, and stood.
“I’m going to bed. You can use the guest room, the bed is made. You know where the extra blankets are.” Leorio’s back was to him, plate of cookies in hand as he moved to the kitchen. Kurapika watched in silence as Leorio came back and took the empty mugs, placing them in the kitchen sink. “Goodnight, Kurapika.” And then he was gone.
Kurapika stayed where he was, hands now empty and cold. He sat in the silence and the stillness of the room, listening closely to his surroundings. He listened to the faint car horn in the distance and he listened to the running water from the bathroom in Leorio’s bedroom. He listened to the quiet drone of the failing heater in the closet to his left, and he listened to the motorcycle that revved down the street. He felt it all blend together into a dull roar and he felt the fuzziness seep into his head, pushing out the weariness and the woe in favor of the quiet emptiness that he fell into so often. The water shut off, and Kurapika started, blinking. He needed to go to bed.
The guest room was dull, the furniture cheap. Kurapika figured most of it came from the side of the road or some old thrift store. The wooden chair in the corner was chipped and uneven, and the desk smelt of mold. The bed, at least, was comfortable, and the mattress was newer. The covers were thin and did little to protect from the cold. Luckily for Kurapika, he knew that Leorio stored his extra blankets in the closet, and he had a lot of extra blankets. Kurapika pulled out the two thickest he could find, laying them out on top of the blue covers, and removed his turtleneck and trousers, leaving him in his briefs and a thin t-shirt. Kurapika thought back to the last time he had stayed in this room. It was summer, and Leorio had lent him his fan for the night. Kurapika knew that was a true sacrifice for Leorio, the poor guy was like a space heater. Kurapika yearned for that warmth, but settled instead on burying himself under the layers of blankets he had prepared. It was warm enough, but Kurapika still found himself chilled. The blankets themselves were cold from the frigid air in the apartment, and did little to rid his fingertips of that numbing chill. He tucked them into the waistband of his boxers, hoping that it would provide more warmth than the flimsy covers he had wrapped himself in.
Kurapika laid in the silence and the stillness of the room and he felt little else but alone. This was not how he wanted this night to go, but what else was he to expect? He had been gone for half a year. He had answered maybe one of Leorio’s texts, otherwise leaving the man entirely out of his life. Leorio’s magnetism often scared Kurapika. It had become his nature to pull away from that which draws him in. He couldn’t allow himself to trust in that way, not anymore. Kurapika knew better with Leorio, though. He knew the man’s warm hands and he knew his beating heart, better than anybody else in that city. He knew both the kindness and the fear in Leorio’s heart. He understood the dichotomy of utter dedication and utter defeat, and he understood the emotions that propelled him forward like a motor. He understood because he felt so much the same. It was with this understanding that Kurapika knew that what he was doing was wrong. He was causing nothing but harm and wasting energy that would be better served somewhere else, on someone else. However, Kurapika was a selfish man. He was never one to deny his feelings. Kurapika wanted Leorio desperately, he so needed that sense of safety that Leorio never failed to provide, and he always came back to it.
It was with these thoughts running through his head that Kurapika pulled himself from the bed. The cold beneath his feet seeped in, sending a shiver up his body. His steps were quiet and light, only the creak of the door opening telling of his movement. The living room was still cast in the warm light from the streetlamp outside, and he could see the dust particles dancing through the air. It almost looked like snow. Down the hall, last door on the left, a creaky floorboard in the entryway; Kurapika was in Leorio’s room, and if the man was awake, he did not show it. He surveyed the room, looking for any changes. The old wooden box still rested on his desk. Kurapika wondered idly what he kept in it. A stick of incense sat beside it, a smear of grey stretching above it and billowing. It looked almost like a tree. There was a new lamp in the corner, looking newer but not expensive. The duvet was different, too, now a dark indigo. He approached the bed, moving to sit on the edge and look down at Leorio. The man looked more peaceful in his sleep. A street light cut through the darkness from between the blinds, casting gold stripes across Leorio’s face. Kurapika watched the dust particles stir in the light with every exhale.
Kurapika really loved Leorio’s room. When he wasn’t wearing obscene amounts of cologne and hair gel, Leorio smelt of incense and clean linen, and his bedroom smelt much the same. Aside from the scattered and mismatched furniture, the man’s room was filled with his loved ones. Pictures of Gon and Killua hung above his desk, which had various gifts and mementos from his friends placed neatly along the wall. A wooden puzzle of sorts, a mug that read “World’s Best Dad” (definitely Gon’s idea of a joke, Kurapika remembered Leorio sending him a text when he received it that he did not answer), a movie ticket from one of the very few times Kurapika had visited Leorio. Kurapika had only ever gifted the man one thing. It was a simple silver chain, just big enough to hang beneath his collarbones and be taken on and off without unclasping it. In the light of the streetlamp outside, he could see it peeking out from underneath Leorio’s white sleep shirt, twinkling gently with the movement of his chest. Kurapika reached out a hand, running a finger along the chain oh-so-gently. His own rings glittered much the same. His hand retracted as Leorio let out a sigh so soft it was almost missed; Kurapika only felt the movement of the man’s chest beneath his fingers. Leorio shifted from his back ( and he complains about back problems , Kurapika thought idly), turning onto his side to face Kurapika, eyes still closed. He wondered for a moment if he was being creepy, a thought he then hastily shooed away. He had done worse things in his life than watch his friend, with whom he had undeniable romantic tension, sleep.
It was with these thoughts, however, that Kurapika decided he’d had enough of watching ominously for one night. Kurapika got to his feet and gently pulled the covers up, slipping underneath the duvet and facing the sleeping Leorio. It was much warmer than the guest bed, just as Kurapika knew it would be. Leorio was seriously a very, very warm body. The sheets smelt of Leorio as well, and Kurapika could feel himself relaxing into it. He reached his hand out once more to the man’s collarbone, instead resting his fingers there with his palm above Leorio’s heart. The nicest heartbeat in the city, Melody had said. He may have been biased, but Kurapika had to agree. It was slow and steady, and the sensation of it sent a tingle up his arm. He stilled, however, when he felt the gentle rhythm pick up ever so slightly. Kurapika’s gaze shifted up to the man’s face to see Leorio looking back down at him. They sat for a moment, suspended, just watching one another, until the sheets shifted and a warm hand settled upon Kurapika’s own chest, just above his heart. He could not help the hastening of his own pulse. Kurapika turned his palm towards himself, running his knuckles along Leorio’s collarbones and smoothing his fingertips up the side of the man’s neck. They rested, then, just under the side of his jaw, feather light. Kurapika could feel his pulse again, even faster than before. The man’s breath had quickened as well, the silver chain now glittering in the dark.
“Pika,” Leorio breathed almost inaudibly, a knot beginning to form between his brows. Kurapika moved his thumb there, smoothing it across the wrinkles forming, before brushing his fingertips down, across his cheekbones, over his nose, down the crease there to the corner of his mouth, finally resting as he lightly cupped the man’s chin. Kurapika’s eyes followed the path reverently, settling upon Leorio’s mouth.
Kurapika’s next words were almost lost to the stillness of the room, “I’m sorry.”
Leorio drew closer, his hand moving from Kurapika’s heart to his hand, almost entirely engulfing his own. It was darker than Kurapika’s pale, almost sickly-looking skin. The veins were prominent and his fingers were less slim than Kurapika’s own, knuckles still obtrusive. When he looked up from their hands, Leorio was mere inches away, that knot threatening to form again. Kurapika pulled the man’s chin down, settling his lips upon the spot. His lips dragged down the bridge of Leorio’s nose, and Leorio’s own reached up to meet them.
The kiss was not long, nor was it hasty. Leorio’s mouth was soft and pliant against his own, and Kurapika could feel a breath from the man’s nose fan across his cheek. They pulled away only a fraction of an inch, just enough to see the others’ eyes once again. Kurapika could almost see the faint red reflected in the dark brown of Leorio’s eyes. They moved in again.
The second kiss was less gentle. They moved against one another with some haste, hands reaching and hovering above skin with the uncertainty of what they were doing and what it could mean. Kurapika pulled closer, crowding himself into Leorio’s space, and Leorio wrapped a large arm around Kurapika, bringing him slightly on top of him. Their movements were neither uncaring nor as gentle as they had been a moment ago. A growing sense of urgency and an underlying anxiety of the briefness of the encounter kept them close, hands now pressing onto flushed skin and disturbed fabric. It was only then that Kurapika felt the tremors in his own hands, the downturn of his mouth. Leorio must have noticed as well, as he gently pushed Kurapika’s face away with scrutiny.
“Are you okay? Is this okay?” Leorio’s voice was hushed and earnest, and Kurapika felt a chill grip his lungs. He brought his hands to Leorio’s face, attempting to ground himself in the solidity of the man beneath his grip. It was quiet as Kurapika petted Leorio’s hair for a moment, feeling the icy tendrils make their way into Kurapika’s stomach. Kurapika watched as confusion passed briefly across Leorio’s face before nodding once, then again with earnest.
“Yes. Yeah, I’m okay. This is okay,” Kurapika used all of his strength to keep the tremor out of his voice, planting his hands firmly on the sides of Leorio’s head. The man paused for a moment, before deciding on something.
“Okay. Good.”
It was slower, again. Leorio’s lips were gentle and giving, and his fingers carded delicately through Kurapika’s hair. He had fully enveloped Kurapika in his arms now, and Kurapika had never felt safer. His hands on the man’s face and Leorio’s breath against his lips rid the chill of Kurapika’s body, a comfort he hadn’t felt since the Hunters’ Exam overtaking him. With him, Kurapika felt like a warm summer’s day. Kurapika moved his hand once more to Leorio’s chest, feeling the up-tempo heartbeat beneath his palm, and he felt calm. His other hand moved from Leorio’s face to his shoulder blade, feeling the movement of muscle beneath skin and tracing the peaks with his fingertips. Leorio shuddered at the delicate touch, and Kurapika pressed his palm there firmly in response.
Eventually, Kurapika pulled away with an exhale, taking in the sight beneath him. Leorio’s pupils were blown into saucers, the brown just an outline. His face was flushed with a dopey, eased smile, hair falling across his forehead. Kurapika couldn’t help a smile in response before resting his face in the junction between Leorio’s neck and shoulder. He hadn’t felt a sense of home since the loss of his people, but he knew that here, at Leorio’s side and in his arms, was where his heart resided. Kurapika was entirely on top of the man now, trapping Leorio’s hips between his calves with his knees tucked into either side of his waist. Kurapika could move his head just so and listen to the beating of his heart. Leorio pressed his lips to the top of his head.
“Peeks, can I show you something?” Leorio’s breath stirred the hair on Kurapika’s head, and he nodded. “You have to move though.”
With a quick exhale of a laugh, Kurapika rolled off of Leorio onto the bed beside him, eyes still closed. He felt the mattress lift beside him and sat up, watching as Leorio moved to the desk and reached for that old wooden box. He watched with intent as Leorio opened it, surprised to see it filled with two stacks of folded papers. Leorio pulled out a stack and replaced the box, moving back to sit at the foot of the bed.
“After Pietro passed, I started writing him letters,” Leorio began with a distant melancholy smile, “and just over a year ago, I started writing them to you, too. I figured you wouldn’t read them, and I really have had no idea where you’ve been to all this time, so I never sent them. But I kept them, and I’d like you to have them.”
Kurapika stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before reaching to take the stack. He perused them briefly, looking at the dates at the top of each letter. There was a letter for both of the birthdays that he had been away, and the rest were scattered throughout the past year and a half.
“You don’t have to read them now,” Leorio continued sheepishly, “in fact I’d really rather you didn’t. They’re a bit embarrassing. But it would mean a lot to me if you read them at some point. I, uh. Put a lot of time into them.”
Kurapika looked back up at the man who was now staring at his twiddling thumbs, looking more abashed than Kurapika had ever seen him. Setting the letters to the side, Kurapika closed the distance and pressed a kiss to his cheek, the slight stubble there tickling his mouth.
“I will, don’t worry,” Kurapika stayed close, a hand on Leorio’s jaw to turn his face toward himself. “I’ll read them when I start to feel homesick.”
Leorio’s eyes flitted quickly between both of Kurapika’s own before he suddenly tackled Kurapika to the bed, pressing urgent kisses across his face. Giggles bubbled from Kurapika’s chest and he wrapped his arms around Leorio’s neck, grinning from ear to ear. That comforting warmth spread to the tips of Kurapika’s toes and they curled in response, a giddy energy filling his chest. It was really without thought that the words “I love you” left his mouth. Leorio lifted himself and stared at Kurapika for a moment, face unreadable.
“I love you too.” Kurapika didn’t need to hear the words to know this. “You should write to me.”
“I should,” Kurapika paused, “I will.” Leorio’s face split into that familiar goofy grin and his head dropped beside Kurapika’s, his hand coming up to rest atop Kurapika’s hair.
“I know I’ve said this a lot tonight, but I really am sorry.” Kurapika’s voice was gentle in the quiet of the room. “For everything. For the trouble I’ve caused and for my absence.”
Leorio, ever the kind one, shook his head. “I know. It’s okay. It’s my choice to care for you, and I’ll continue to choose it.” Kurapika heard a soft chuckle. “You know me, always the worrier.” He smiled.
“Thank you.”
The two stayed there for awhile, letters left forgotten at Kurapika’s side. He thanked whatever gods may be watching him for this one luxury, the comfort of being loved and of being cared for. Kurapika had lived bloodshed and lived death for so long and knew little else, but the warmth of Leorio’s arms and the smell of the linen and the soft mattress beneath him made him feel that maybe, just maybe, it would come to an end soon. That Kurapika could enjoy whatever life he had left to live, and that he could spend it with the ones he loved. With his family. And it was with these thoughts in his mind that the two of them tucked themselves once again beneath the covers and weaved their limbs together once more. It was the steady sound of Leorio’s heartbeat beneath his head that Kurapika found himself lulled to sleep.