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Killua was allowed to be hungry now, he was allowed to be hungry and he was allowed to eat to stop said hunger. He could do it all without repercussions, he could eat however much or whenever he wanted without punishment (although he and Gon did get scolded about the grocery bill by Leorio).
But being allowed to eat didn't mean he did, if anything, Killua felt more...ashamed...about it, that he had to be manually told that he should eat, that he's allowed to, and when Killua did, he was defensive. Killua didn't share, he didn't like when people would peek over at his plate, or comment on what he ate, though it seemed to him now that he wasn't the only one that shared the similar burden...
It was Saturday morning, Killua woke up right beside Gon, sleeping on a blanket pile on the floor with papers and a game console strewn about, the window above them open and the breeze carried over the ocean made the white lace curtains flutter in and out. The sky was blue with clouds drifting along as if it were a fairytale, and the sun was hitting the ground outside, making individual pieces of grass visible, even from so far away. Inside, Killua imagined, the beams of light were probably illuminating the kitchen in a gentle sort of way, like beckoning everyone in to start their days. Gon described the warmth of sunlight as a kind hug, and Killua had to agree.
A noise made Killua entirely attentive, a clatter from the kitchen followed by a string of complaints. He turned to look at Gon who hadn't moved an inch, unphased by the noise, before sighing and sitting up, walking out of the room and hobbling along the long hall as his muscles were still tense from the odd way he slept.
One thing to note about Kurapika was his usage of old things. When Kilkua entered the room and was greeted to Kurapika bustling around, one thing that could always be seen was the old radio that had a slightly notched antenna. He wondered how the old thing still worked, or where Kurapika had gotten it in the first place.
"You know that phones are a wonderful way to use music too?" Killua yawned before sitting down at the table, watching Kurapika beat a liquid mixture together.
Kurapika stopped for a moment to glance at Killua, before rolling his eyes.
"Why does it always bother you that I use my radio? It does the job just as well, although I know it could be better. I'm comfortable with what I have and see no reason to change it." He told Killua, setting down a measuring cup that was caked in flour.
Killua contiuned to watch as Kurapika mixed both the dry and liquid mixes into one, forming a batter.
"Go get me that butter." Kurapika pointed to the fridge, where the butter bell was after a multitude of arguments (was butter safer at room temp or cold? Leorio argued that keeping it cold was just to be safe against bacteria).
Killua nodded and got up, grabbing the butter and examining what else was in there. He could make oatmeal maybe, or eat fruit...it was rude to assume that Kurapika was cooking for everyone, even though he usually did. Killua's stomach was growling, but he contiuned under the notion that the food was sinply for Kurapika and Kurapika only. He could make his own pancakes.
"Here." Killua set it on the counter beside the old gas stove, watching as Kurapika used a knife and scooped a hefty chunk of the golden substance and threw it on, quickly melting against the pan, sizzling and popping before it spread out completely, and a scoop of batter was poured over it.
Beside the pancake was a small pot of something brewing. It bubbled and simmered, dark in color, almost black if Killua was looking at it correct. A blueberry syrup, and it smelled just as good as the pancakes. Killua gazed at it before he willed himself away, sitting back in his chair right in the middle of the table.
The way Kurapika moved around the kitchen was like a dance. He was fluid in his steps no matter what he was doing, but it seemed like the kitchen and knowing it's each and every ways was something built into his mind.
Killua's stomach growled just a bit louder before, and his face grew red in color, trying to tuck himself away in his blue hoodie. If Kurapika heard the bellowing of his stomach, he didn't comment.
Silence spread over the kitchen, Kurapika and Killua were much different than Leorio, Gon, and even Aunt Mito; they never started a conversation unless prompted or if the person was someone they deemed safe (this was more for Killua's case, Kurapika just wasn't fond of baseless conversations).
See, Killua knew that Kurapika was someone to trust, someone that was willing to keep him safe, but he was far less...approachable, compared to Gon and Leorio, who could both talk your ear off no matter the time of day. So Killua never knew what to say to the man, instead, he spent his time examining Kurapika, gaging his mood by his gestures and body language.
"Do you want two or three?" Kurapika asked, mixing the batter.
Killua jumped, surprised, before looking away bashful.
"Don' need you to cook for me you aren't my mom..." Killua grumbled, but his stomach grumbled louder. He cursed himself.
"Well I'm not asking if you want me to be your mom, or if you can cook them yourself. I'm asking you how many you want so I can make the right amount of batter. So, two or three?"
Killua kicked his feet back and forth, the chair being surprisingly big. His feet didn't touch the ground.
"I want two." Killua told Kurapika, which earned a hum in response.
The sizzling on the pan contiuned, and the plate on the counter right beside the batter was getting covered by more and more of the warm cakes. Kurapika turned the side of stove off that was boiling the blueberry sauce, then took it off the burner.
"Do you like pancakes Kurapika?" Killua asked him.
Kurapika still hadn't stopped moving, right now he was mixing some chocolate chips into the batter because Gon liked chocolate chip pancakes.
"We didn't have them growing up, so I've begun to grow accustomed to eating them now that I am an adult. I believe they are good, I like them with lots of butter." Kurapika explained as he whisked the chocolate bits in the gooey batter.
"Was it a cultural thing? Did you guys have something similar?" Killua quizzed.
Kurapika finally stopped moving for a moment to think. It took him a great deal of strength to remember his childhood living within the Kurta clan, the massacre having fogged up any good things of his growing up.
"We did. It was this..doughy bread of sorts stretched in a pan. We would cover it up and let it slow bake, sometimes filling it with berries, or meat for a more savory taste. We put syrup on in just like you would a pancake. I'm not entirely sure what the criteria of a pancake is, but that is the closest thing within my mind to a pancake." Kurapika scooped more butter into the pan and flipped the pancake over.
Killua acknowledged the sentiment, the small tidbits of Kurapika's life before them, but he didn't dare push further.
The childhood of Kurapika was one that is shrouded in mystery to Killua and Gon (Leorio must've known more, he was 'closer' to Kurapika). He spoke of it fondly, living in the community, that was the only life he had known. This however, proved to be detrimental when Kurapika was thrusted into the real world after living in a detached civilization that had been left behind in the advancements of the world around them.
"Go start some coffee." Kurapika pointed to the electric kettle.
Killua's face was graced with a catty grin.
"Aw! Does this old man not know how to use the kettle?" He teased.
Kurapika rolled his eyes and shooed him off, turning back to the pancakes.
A lot of things in the house were outdated, and maybe that was for the best. Kurapika, forced into a modern life, simply couldn't adapt to a world he wasn't meant to see in the first place. Without the meddling of the Phantom Troupe, there was a good chance that Kurapika wouldn't have ever seen anything outside of his home and perhaps one of the surrounding villages. Killua wondered how Kurapika was raised, how living in a small community with a select few customs shaped him into the person he is now.
The person who saved bacon grease and kept it in the fridge to fry foods, soaked flowers in water and mixed them with honey as a medicine of sorts, made hair ties from straw woven together because it was thicker and more reliable than a flimsy piece of rubber. The man who hummed tunes Killua didn't understand, one that left water out on full moons and lived a routine as if he were doing it for someone else, like his body was just a shell for a greater purpose.
Killua saw how Kurapika stuttered over words having not grasped the common language, covered his mouth when he laughed, and danced in odd ways, and the radio, the stupid radio that Kurapika loved.
"You want this blueberry syrup?" Kurapika asked Killua, who was still fiddling around with the dumb coffee maker, finally getting it to work.
"Oh. Yeah I'd like some." Killua chirped as he realized the issue was the coffee maker not being plugged in in the first place.
"Here, don't worry about that. I'll get Leorio to if you need." Kurapika said as he dished out a fork and knife, settling it on the sides of a plate that had 3 stacked pancakes with a glob of butter as well as a cascade of blueberry sauce.
"I got it!" Killua scowled before trying to walk off cool to his pancakes.
Kurapika let him have that moment of recovery, before going back to making more of the cakes.
The pancakes were heavenly, Killua decided as he bit into the stack,three instead of two. They were soft, fluffy and sweet to the tastebuds, and the syrup was just...he couldn't even describe it!
"How did you learn to make such good syrup?" Killua asked in between gulps of milk, which Kurapika had happily gotten him.
Kurapika had a glass of coffee in his hands, it had brewed as he cooked. He took a sip and had a faraway look on his face, thinking about something.
"Its an old recipe I would make with my grandma and my mom. My grandma, you see, she got the recipe from her mother, and it was passed down to each woman in my family. Eventually I got the recipe and memorized it so that each time we harvested berries and got sap from the trees, we could make a nice fruit syrup without having to worry about writing down the steps. It was nice being so connected to her." Kurapika smiled.
Killua gazed at Kurapika, who had his hair tucked behind his ear, waiting patiently for Gon and Leorio to wake up so they could eat as well. He would only eat when everyone was present, but he never made Killua wait.
Kurapika, one who picks berries with his cousins and the other children in the village, eating half of their pick before it can even be processed. Cooking and eating with company of family (could Killua say they were a family now?), passing recipes down orally, feeding those around him before himself, collecting rainwater for the plants, keeping seeds in a small pocket to be grown later, and using an outdoor pump rather than the sink to collect water. Washing clothing by hand and drying out flowers, leaving cinnamon sticks hanging above the door to make the house smell nice, or making sure everyone was all put together before himself.
"Pancakes good?" He asked, and Killua gave a thumbs up, mouth too stuffed to respond.
A clatter came from the stairs and Gon came grumbling down the steps, Leorio right behind him complaining about nobody waking him up. Killua looked at Kurapika for just a moment, and the person he saw was someone that had lived a thousand experiences that were much different than his own, much different than Gon and Leorios, and these individual experiences made him who he is now. Killua thought and yes, could this same rhetoric be applied to him? His experiences shaping himself too, making him not grow stronger but...more willing to live. Killua wished to live, and he'd hope that in this life, the life with Gon and Leorio and Kurapika, he could find a peace with living, to be content with how quick the world moved around him.
To let his anger subside because he had a family now, not of blood but one chosen. Could Kurapika do the same?
Perhaps making pancakes together was all he could do, for now at least. And maybe that was okay.