All Dressed Up in Blue

Well it's Saturday night
You're all dressed up in blue
I been watching you awhile
Maybe you been watching me too

Bruce Springsteen, "Tougher Than the Rest"

"This looks like something I picked off my floor," Kurapika says as he turns this way and that way in front of the mirror, judging his outfit from every angle. And while he may sound critical, discontent even, Leorio knows better than to take these words at face value. The way Kurapika raises his chin and combs through his hair as he regards himself is playful, almost appraising and it means that he is not unhappy with Leorio's choice at all. Rather, he opposes for the purpose of opposing. Looking not for an alternative, but a reason.

"See, that's the whole point," Leorio exclaims with a snap of his fingers, "Authenticity." The look he had been aiming for was 'effortlessly cool and roguish, but familiar enough to be comfortable'. But most importantly, it had to look like Kurapika wasn't trying. "You don't want people to be able to tell that your stylist dressed you. That's just not punk, you know? Can't go on singing about dismantling capitalism in an Armani shirt. Besides, you can never go wrong with a leather jacket. They look good on everyone and with your hair it's very 80s rock ballad worthy, if you get what I mean."

"I don’t have a gig, Leorio, I'm going to a talk show. I think this requires something more... elegant." Kurapika's reflection frowns back at him somewhat troubled and Leorio's enthusiasm wavers for the first time. He sits back on the hotel bed, hands smoothing over the throw blanket. Truth be told, he had known from the start that the outfit he picked was not fancy enough to keep up with the shimmering suits and dresses that usually starred in those late night shows, but damn, he's so proud of this one. The look of the night had been tailored to match Kurapika's spunk, with a black leather jacket as the main focus. Since these were best paired with a band t-shirt, Leorio had purchased a white Hybrid Theory tee, its red logo harmonizing quite well with the pristine reddish-brown hiking boots and the mahogany bracelet Kurapika is wearing.

Kurapika likes to wear simple and earthbound jewelry, things like carved gemstone rings or wooden bangles or sometimes just a few hair ties around his wrist. His left ear is typically adorned with four small brass rings, although for now he has removed his helix piercings and only left one hoop in his lobe.

As a final contrast to the earth tones, Leorio has picked out a pair of blue jeans, tightly cut and torn around the knees: very in tune with the current trends, but also the most casual of the items. He curses himself for not opting for a black pair.

The tricky part of dressing Kurapika Kurta is not to make him look good. The tricky part is to constantly be aware of the statement every little choice makes.

"Listen, I know it's... I know it doesn't fit in. I just didn't think you would care about that. Fitting in, I mean."

"I don't." Kurapika interrupts his self-study to reach for the tiny tub of lip balm that rests on the nightstand, striding past Leorio. "I'm just surprised you didn't jump at the first opportunity to put me in a suit, considering how you love to tell me how good it would look on me."

"Oh, I got a suit for you," Leorio retorts and a wild grin spreads on his face. "Gray satin with a bordeaux silk tie and a white dress shirt; it's absolutely beautiful. You're going to hate it."

Kurapika grimaces as he applies a generous amount of balm to his lips. "I'll pass, thank you."

Leorio chuckles and leans back. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, Jared Leto lowered the bar for inappropriate outfits by a lot, just a few weeks back. Practically dropped it on the floor."

"What did he do, steal one of Killua's outfits?"

"Not even Killua would want to be caught dead in this one. I'm going to have to send you the link later because it's so piss ugly, words wouldn't do it justice."

"Oh, I have seen my fair share of tacky outfits, trust me," Kurapika says as if to clarify that nothing could impress him. Leorio, who has spent the last two months trying to find an outfit that would impress Kurapika, is already painfully aware and could have done without the reminder. Well. One of these days he’ll get it right. Until then he will keep observing, not quite staring, looking frantically for a spark of inspiration as Kurapika shakes out his wheat blond hair, which falls smooth and shiny onto his shoulders.

There is no denying that Kurapika is beautiful in the most unfair ways. Although as far as muses go, he proves a terrible choice: while the lean muscles of his arms and the arch of his brow may be worthy of the most purple prose and the tenderest of poetry, they leave Leorio at a loss for words.

(Of course, it is easy to blame another person for his lack of creativity because then he won't have to face the truth, that he hasn't written a decent song in over a year.)

Kurapika isn't exactly handsome in that ruggedly masculine way that is so popular these days; all the men with their appropriately stubbly jaws and wide chests full of bellowing laughter that evoke a simple and hard-working life in tune with nature, trips to the farmer's market and cheerful nights in the local pub. Men that are attractive for their fatherliness.

Kurapika is like something else, something one could only find in greek myths, elegant but moody, all stern looks and bronze skin and shimmering locks - Leorio often has to resist the urge to throw a flowing toga on him and place a golden wreath on his head and call it a day. In addition, Kurapika has a sharp mouth on him that spouts even sharper words - such a mouth could easily start a war if left unsupervised. Which is why his social media accounts are managed in part by Leorio, too.

Becoming the stylist of one of America's hottest solo artists isn't quite how Leorio hoped to start his own career in the music industry, but it will have to do. He has a foot in the door now, and he knows this job can earn him some sorely needed connections. And the work's not so bad either, even if it sometimes leaves his head spinning and his body struggling to catch a breath. It has quiet moments like these, when it's just them and their little inside jokes.

Kurapika's dark eyes settle on him with a twinkle of amusement.  "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing. Just appraising my work."

Kurapika rolls his eyes. "You're so full of yourself," he complains, but his tone rises with suppressed laughter and Leorio feels so drunk with fondness, he wouldn't mind lying down and let the impulse carry him away.

"Ready to charm some pants off?"

"Am I ever?"

A quiet knock on the door and Kurapika straightens with purpose. He slips into his most neutral mien like other people slip into a well-worn jacket and when Senritsu's head peeks into the room and announces that they need to head to the studio, not a trace of the intimacy they just shared remains.

It's show time.

A suit is not a thing made for sitting in; it does not support comfort. It is cut for standing upright, for creating an imposing silhouette that is best paired with firm handshakes and decision making. If you choose to sit and relax, or if you choose to move about in an excited way, you will find the fabric of your jacket bulking like the arch of a scared cat’s back.

Therefore, maneuvering in a suit required a lot of buttoning and unbuttoning; it was like a dance. As Leorio watches the late night show’s host from a screen in the visitor’s lounge, appraising the fluidity of his suit jacket-management, he doesn’t blame Kurapika for bailing out of it. He supposes that wearing a suit is rather high maintenance and restrictive, distracting even if you weren’t used to it.

"Now, I am very excited to introduce my next guest for tonight. His new single Black Eyed Beasts is coming out tomorrow, please welcome with me-" the host stands up, gesturing towards the side of the stage. "Kurapika Kurta!" He butchers the name just a little, like most people do - Leorio knows he is guilty of glossing over that first vowel himself - but Kurapika's cold, polite smile is still in check as he strides in, waving to the audience with just enough enthusiasm to appear casual, but present in a way that catches attention.

He takes his seat in a square looking armchair next to the host's desk. They exchanged niceties, the expected so-glad-to-have-you and so-glad-to-be-here and then it was custom to share a little private story, prompted by a question of the host. It was all orchestrated and agreed on ahead of time, of course, and served the purpose of both making the guest more approachable and faking a friendly atmosphere between both.

There are more political-satirical shows out there, shows that no doubt would be more to Kurapika's tastes but this is what he sorely needed right now: something to portray him in a kinder, more sympathetic light. A catchy headline for a youtube video that makes people curious about the guy behind the music. His would probably be something like Kurapika Kurta Listens To Evanescence Unironically or something.

"So, you recently got to perform with Evanescence."

"I did, yes. My manager arranged a meetup with Amy Lee because I'm... more of a composer than a poet, so I really needed the help working on Black Eyed Beasts and she's an artist whose work I have admired for a long time. And in turn I was a guest singer at a couple of her band's shows and it was... intense. I had a really great time."

"You've been an Evanescence fan since your teens, weren't you? How does it feel like, getting to work with one of your idols?"

Kurapika makes an amused little noise at the back of his throat. "It's a little bit surreal, honestly, because I got into their music when I was, like, sixteen and getting over a bit of a heartache which - at that age - is of course the worst and most dramatic thing ever."

Seeing him talk like that, leaning back in his chair, relaxed, it’s impossible to tell that his answer has been prewritten and rehearsed for weeks until he got comfortable enough speaking about it so freely. Kurapika can be cagey and kind of defensive when faced with private questions, so him admitting on camera to have had a teenage crush was quite a trip.

Leorio wonders if this aversion to share anything about himself was due to jarring high school bullying. Kurapika had been the biggest nerd. He couldn’t have avoided that. Then again, he has a way of looking at people like he could kill them just by staring.

Sometimes, Leorio wonders if he’s wondering about Kurapika too much.

"And that was around the time Call Me When You're Sober came out, which, of course was like pouring fuel into the fire. So I bought the whole album and Fallen too and I kept on listening to it over and over again on my CD player when I went to school. The funny part is, I didn't really look the part at first. I mean, I never qualified as a goth kid, but it was the start of a slow descent into emohood. My wardrobe just got darker and darker and I started painting my nails black... never dyed my hair black, but I had this tube of paint for your hair that you could apply with, like, a mascara brush. It was washable, and came off pretty easy, so all of our towels were stained blue and the collars of some of my jackets, too. It drove my mom crazy."

The host burst into restrained laughter, enough to shake his shoulders. Kurapika barely pays him any attention: his gaze starts to focus inwards and he talks faster, his hands rise from his lap to accentuate his speech.

"So yeah, but it's a strange sort of compliment to meet someone and be like 'thank you for helping me become absolutely insufferable to my parents'. I did take my singing lessons a lot more serious, though, because I absolutely wanted to hit those high notes. There is that live rendition of Bring me to Life where Amy sings this long, high-pitched intro and I spent hours despairing over not being able to hit the notes."

A passionate glint returns to his eyes as stage Kurapika gently shifts to music nerd Kurapika.

"It's weird to see how that song has gotten kind of a revival because of recent memes, I just wish people bothered to get the title right. Every time they call it Wake Me Up Inside , I die a little. Inside."

"So, the song you worked on together, Black Eyed Beasts , is only the second song where you had any part in writing the lyrics. Can we expect more songwriting from you in the future?"

"Oh, no. As I said, I'm not a wordsmith and I'm not pretending to be one. I know my limitations and I'd rather leave that job to the people who worked long and hard to acquire that skill."

Leorio leans over to Senritsu and whispers: "What's the first one?"

"Hm?"

"He said this is only the second song Kurapika wrote, but he didn't say what the first one was."

"Oh, that's... it's an older one and Kurapika doesn't like to bring it up, so we requested that they don't mention it by title. I think he's embarrassed about it because it's not on par with the quality of his current work, and the lyrics are a bit reminiscent of early Taylor Swift songs, except that it was written before her time."

"Oh, I see," Leorio says, nodding enthusiastically. If someone were to dig up his old songs, he'd probably die on the spot too. Hell, even some of his songs from last year make him want to cringe. It's the eternal bane of being an artist: finding the gold among the trash you produce. The key was usually to increase the output, so you had more trash to dig through.

The host raises a mug of water with an imprint of his show’s logo to his lips, then puts it down again. "I heard there's also a tour coming up, anything you can tell us about that?"

"Actually, yes, tour dates will be released around the next week and ticket sales start by the end of December. It's going to be my first tour; I'm so excited about it. We wanted to do something new, so I'll be performing some of the songs from my last album, some older fan-favorites, but I'm also currently recording more cover songs which is something I've always shied away from when I started out. Because I was adamant to make my own mark in the business, find my own voice. But a good cover is also a challenge that should not be underestimated. Like, you want to put your own spin on it, but also be mindful of the spirit of the original. And this tour, it’s also a big thank-you to the fans who have been with me since the start of my career and to those who have supported me when I started my own label, which was a big step, a scary step, but it was the right decision and I couldn't have done it without my fans or my team." Spoken like a true salesman.

"You wanted more freedom in your artistic choices, right?"

"Yes, that was one of the reasons why I started my own label." An edge creeps into Kurapika's voice. In the visitor lounge, three heads perk up, watching him lean forward, watching his his hands come to rest on his knees a little too intently. A moment of hesitation. "But I also did it to take a stance."

Leorio curses. “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” he grumbles. They are so going to get sued. He just knows it. But Senritsu reaches out and pats his arm gently, assuring him that they're not quite off script yet.

"How are we not off script? There was one rule for this interview and that was not to bring up anything about the damn harassment accusations and now he's gonna go off anyway-"

Senritsu shushes him. Tells him to watch, and listen.

Behind them, Gon raises from his seat and excuses himself, as he always does when the conversation breaches the issue of Hisoka Morou.

On screen, Kurapika says: "I mean, it's no secret that there have been allegations of sexual misconduct against one of my fellow artists at Ryodan Records and regardless of whether they might prove true or not, what shocked me the most was how readily my old label was trying to just brush these accusations aside. I feel like that's a dangerous thing to do. I feel like there's always going to be an imbalance between an idol and their fans, like, there's so much admiration pouring out from my fans and it would be so easy to take advantage of that love and trust they put in me, so as an artist, it's my job to make sure that trust in me is well earned. I want my fans to be safe. I want my fans to know that I support them and I want the people who spoke up to know that someone is taking them seriously."

People , Leorio thinks. Not women, people . He has followed the news on this incident although there isn't much to report about this anymore, one court delay is chasing the next in an attempt to bleed dry the families who are suing the label. To Leorio's knowledge, only women have come forth with accusations, and so Kurapika's word choice catches him by surprise - but since a woman's word held so little worth in their society, it might just be a semantic tool to gain more sympathy.

He knows Kurapika served as a character witness in court. And he is sure that Kurapika knows more than he is allowed to share in public, but considering that part of his current CD sales went straight into the fund that the victims' families set up and considering the expenses of funding the new label... if Ryodan Records decided to sue for libel, they are going to be thoroughly fucked.

"It's never an easy choice to speak up against injustice," Kurapika goes on, almost as if he had read Leorio's mind, "so the least we can do is support those who try."

Call for an ad break. To rinse the minds of the audience at home from the unpleasantness they had to think about, make them more susceptible again for the familiar lull of commerce.

Kurapika leaves his jacket in the mask and hurries to the men's restroom, glad to escape the heat of the spotlight for a few minutes. Glad he hasn't agreed to do one of the show's infamous game sections in advance. He's not in the mood for games. He's upset enough to throw up. No matter what he does, it's never enough. And no matter what he says, it's always too much.

He runs into Gon in the bathroom, who looks as sick as Kurapika feels, and freezes. Knowing he can't afford to throw up now, not with Gon as his witness.

"I'm sorry," Kurapika whispers - it echoes too loudly off the tiles. He prays that he is understood, but Gon shakes his head.

"You have nothing to apologize for."

But it's not true and Kurapika feels all the more miserable for not being allowed to take the blame. If only he had been braver sooner, then-

Gon gingerly pulls him into a hug and Kurapika holds on tight, because he needs it just as much as Gon. They are both way too far from home, from the people who love them. And now they're sort of stuck with each other, responsible for each other, like a pair of step-brothers except they chose each other . Kurapika always wanted a little brother. He just wished he hadn't found his by failing him so badly, right from the start.

I’m sorry! , he thinks again, because in the space of his head, no one will make excuses for him. He doesn’t want excuses, he wants to be forgiven.

Call back on stage. Quick stop in the mask, have a thin layer of powder pressed all over his face, blurring away any signs of stress or grease.

Get behind the mic and pour all your anger into the chorus.

"Black eyed beasts, they come for me in the night.

Claws swinging, but I will not go without a fight."

I've been in love and lost my senses
Spinning through the town
Sooner or later, the fever ends
And I wind up feeling down
I need a man who'll take a chance
On a love that burns hot enough to last

Whitney Houston, “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)”

 "Oh god, you're still here," is not quite the warm greeting Leorio would have liked to hear at the end of a tiring day, much less if it comes from Killua and is followed up with: "Don't you have a home?"

"I have a date in half an hour," Leorio huffs, "so I'm passing the time. Figured I might as well upload some behind-the-scenes pictures from today."

"Date, huh. Is she cute?"

Leorio switches to a different tab where he has OkCupid opened and pulls up her profile. Killua makes a pensive noise as he leans in closer to the screen.

"A student? Way to be a creep, old man."

"Postgrad. And she's my age. And who asked you , anyway?"

Killua ignores him, takes control of the mouse and scrolls further. "A biologist. Hadn't pegged you to be into the nerdy ones. Do you plan on delivering some shitty scientific pickup-lines?"

"Fuck you, Killua."

"A vegetarian too. Guess she's not gonna like your meat, then. On the other hand, she likes Adventure Time . Tell her about that one time you dressed an international punk rock sensation like Marceline the Vampire Queen and got away with it, I bet she'll love that."

"Okay, first of all, fuck you again. Second, I think you forget the part of the story where the whole thing turned into a meme and Kurapika got to meet Olivia Olson and had a guest speaking role and, hey, and suddenly the download sales of his songs doubled ."

"Yeah, but you didn't count on that when you used him for cosplay."

"No, I just counted on him looking good in those clothes. Which, I remind you, is my job . Hell, it wasn't even on purpose, can you let me live?"

Killua, apparently, can not as he suddenly demands to see Leorio's profile. Unadulterated fear runs like ice through Leorio's veins at the thought of Killua spying on the sensitive information divulged in his profile, about his sexual orientation no less. Leorio squawks like a turkey and wrestles for the mouse;his elbow connects with something that might be Killua's jawbone but fuck it, he can't have his coworkers finding out this way. Killua curses and takes a step back and as soon as Leorio gets a hold of the mouse, he closes the tab for good.

"Jeez, you could have just said no, you don't need to throw punches over it."

"Like you care if people tell you no!"

Killua holds his jaw but manages to shrug. "That's fair."

Leorio grumbles and refreshes instagram, the Kurapika-tag on tumblr and Kurapika's twitter timeline and it's on that last app that he spies something that makes him want to curse up a storm. Just a small reply to one of the candid pictures Leorio had taken the prior week during Kurapika's BBC live lounge performance that had been noticed and replied to again and Leorio scrolls and scrolls further down to grasp the scope of this disaster. "Did they have to at him, for fucks sake."

Listen, I'm not saying @kurapikaofficial is gay but u ever seen a straight dude in a crop top? (cue three thinking emojis) Thought so.

One stupid remark that caused a stir like a droplet of blood in a shark tank because now the attention of the 'yaoi fangirls' had been caught and boy, did they have something to say. Conspiracy theorists had nothing on them.

p sure he is wearing lipgloss too if that doesnt say 'i suck dick' nothing does

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plz, Kurapika doesn't suck dicks, he inhales richards

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Asdfjgfdsdfg I'm choking

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Well, so is he

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THE RUMOR COME OUT: DOES KURAPIKA IS GAY?

"Don't you let him see that," Killua warns and Leorio scoffs, because he doesn't need to be told. He is already muting the conversation but he can't make it disappear without letting these gremlins know they've been blocked and they will only find validation in the fact. So he doesn't block them and prays for more notifications to flush these ones out, but the knowledge that this thread exists is enough to make him irritable and defensive. This is his fault. He was the one to come up with the whole outfit - a black crop top with high rise jeans and an olive green bomber jacket embroidered with poppies. They didn't make these kinds of clothes for men. So all items had to be purchased in the women's section of various stores and had been retailored to fit Kurapika's proportions. And literally everything Leorio had been able to think about every step of the way was how good Kurapika would look in it, maybe with his hair tied up in a tiny little ponytail—

And he wants to punch himself because how had he not seen this coming? Of course you can't dress a guy in traditionally feminine clothing without everyone starting to question his sexuality because god forbid that not everyone fit into neat little boxes, god forbid that a man would want to look anything but harsh or sloppy or sharp and it makes him so mad .

The matter of Kurapika's sexuality is a sensitive topic. In fact, it may be more appropriate to call it a non-topic because they don't speak about it. At all. Kurapika is not one to keep mum, he is known for making interviewers uncomfortable by having loud and inconvenient opinions on social issues, and he brings them up whether you ask him about it or not. But when it comes to his private life? He derails and offers politically vague answers that mean everything and nothing and that's just fair because it's no one else's business. Still, the questions keep sneaking in.

"You're a strong advocate of lgbt rights, is there a personal connection that is motivating you?"

"You mean aside from being a decent person? Shockingly, you don't have to be gay to know that lgbt people are... well, people. All you need is some compassion and the willingness to listen to their struggles."

Leorio listens. And Leorio sees and he wants to protect Kurapika as best as he can. Not because it's his job to maintain the image of the brand Kurapika, but because Kurapika deserves to come out on his own terms and not because some asshat provoked him into it.

He may not talk about it, but among the staff of Emperor Time Records it's no secret that Kurapika is anything but straight. It's just one of those little facts that you pick up from working at a place long enough, which is so commonly understood that there is no need to discuss it. Also, Kurapika has a boyfriend, although he keeps referring to him as his 'best friend Pairo'. And god, they are so, so cute together. They can often be spotted in the studio lounge after a tiring day, all huddled up cheek-to-cheek in the corner of a sofa like two birds keeping warm in the winter. Talking, laughing, relaxing - Leorio has never seen Kurapika so much at ease than when he is with Pairo. Seeing them always stirs a weird hodgepodge of emotions inside of him, too vast to be pried apart and studied. Its main component is parental pride with a pinch of worry, a hint of envy (or jealousy or both), and an undeniable bitter note over noticing Pairo being genuinely sweet with someone.

It’s wrong to say that Leorio doesn't get along with Pairo. Leorio invested a lot of effort and hard-won patience to get along with him, to not be stung and flustered by his barbs, his callous attitude. And it’s equally wrong to call Pairo a dick, since it is only Leorio he targets. Pairo is friendly enough with the rest of the crew. He is good to Kurapika and he is good for Kurapika and so Leorio holds his tongue, not wanting to cause an argument. (Not wanting to find out whose side Kurapika will take, if it comes to that.)

Except now, he might have caused some trouble in paradise.

Leorio stands up.

"Hey, do you know if Kurapika already went out?", he asks while navigating his long legs around an unyielding chair in a tiny, tiny office space.

"Last time I saw him, he was in studio two, rehearsing something classical sounding on the piano. Listen, I know what you're thinking but don't. If you tell him to not check his social media for a while, he'll only get curious."

"Curious about what?" Kurapika's voice inquires, floating in from the doorway.

Leorio hurries to close all the browser tabs. "Nothing," he yells, albeit not very convincingly.

"Leorio might have accidentally sent you some nudes," Killua says.

"I DID NOT!"

"Killua, please don't say such terrible things, I just ate," Kurapika says dryly. He comes into view, but doesn't enter for lack of space. He also rubs his hands as if he just applied hand cream, which, maybe he has.

"Hey!" Leorio complains. "They might have been nice nudes. Hypothetically. Because I never sent any."

Killua and Kurapika share a look, then fix Leorio and proclaim in unison: "There's no such thing as nice nudes." And Killua adds: "There's only nudes that are welcome and those that are unwelcome."

"Anyway," Kurapika concludes as he lingers in the doorway, "you were looking for me?"

"I was, actually. I need your opinion on some of your next outfits. It's not going to take long, I promise."

"Ah," Kurapika says. His dark eyes settle on Killua and he raises a brow. "Do you mind?"

"I have some opinions on your outfits, too!" he offers with a Cheshire grin.

"I'm sure you do, that's why I'm asking you to leave. And close the door after you." Kurapika steps out of the frame and gestures towards it, like a concierge showing the way. Killua huffs, but obliges.

"One day. One day you'll learn the true meaning of fashion, Kurapika."

Kurapika rolls his eyes and mouths 'children'. Leorio snickers.

He offers Kurapika a seat, or rather his seat, because his square office only holds one chair and one desk facing a windowless wall - it must have been a supply closet before their label moved in. (It's a daily struggle not to make jokes about going back in the closet.)

Kurapika assures that he is fine standing and so Leorio leans back, bracing against his desk, a fraction of each buttock resting on top of the wooden edge. "Alright, I was wondering... I know the most recent outfits I suggested were going in an, ah, unusual direction? If you can say that? They weren't exactly... manly, in a traditional sense."

"So?" The word comes with an edge and a brow raises in such a familiar way that Leorio, who has witnessed plenty of Kurapika's interviews, knows he needs to tread delicately here because he's walking on thin fucking ice.

"And I wanted to know if that's alright with you. There have been... rumors about you in the past and some pretty invasive questions and I didn't consider until recently that maybe you'd want something a little plainer, something a little more straight...forward if you understand what I mean? Just, keep it simple, lay low."

Kurapika clucks his tongue. "And what difference is that going to make?"

"Huh?"

"You think baggy pants and overpriced brand tee-shirts are going to ward off reporters like a bad luck charm?"

"Well, no, but—"

"And do you remember the one thing I asked of you, when you started?"

"I... yeah," Leorio replies, a little sluggish as he files through his memory. Luckily, his first day on the job had been pretty memorable, with him being so engrossed in conversation that he straight up ran into a glass door. Something must've cracked in his head that day that made him vulnerable to Kurapika's lack of charm. "You said you don't want to feel like you're wearing a costume."

"And have I since then told you that I was uncomfortable with any of the suggestions you made?"

"You did, actually. That time when you said scarves make you look like a douchey hipster."

"Well, it's true. But that aside..." Kurapika stretches out his hands, palms turned upward. "Leorio, if I had not been happy with your work, I would have let you know. Immediately. And I have no interest in dressing like a fuckboy just because people get their panties in a twist whenever I am not one hundred percent gender conforming. I don't care if it makes them uncomfortable and I don't care what they say about me—"

"I do," Leorio interrupts. Softly, but with a lot of intention. "Like, I think it's great you have a thick skin and all, but god, people are shitty to you. And entitled. I hate that attitude that just because you're famous, everyone thinks you owe them every ounce of you. They totally forget that you're human and that's just fucked up."

" Leorio ." Kurapika grabs Leorio by the shoulder, his hand squeezing firmly enough appeal to Leorio's reason, to ground him back in the moment before his anger can carry him away. "That's not something you need to concern yourself with. Your job is to help me dress for myself, not for my fans, not for the press, not for anyone else. Isn't that so?"

Leorio blinks and avoids Kurapika's imploring eyes. He feels foolish for getting so worked up and for worrying so much about protecting Kurapika when it's obvious that Kurapika neither needs nor wants protection. Leorio is imposing, simple as that. So he caves in and agrees, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "Yeah."

"Good. I mean, thank you for the consideration, but you really needn't worry. That's Senritsu's job and she's very good at it."

"Yeah, I know." He tries to go for a light-hearted chuckle, but his throat is so dry that it turns into a cough.

Kurapika's grip on Leorio's shoulder loosens. He gives him a final, friendly pat before taking a step back. "Good. I’m glad we are on the same page then. Nice suit, by the way. Is it new?"

"Sort of. I hadn't had a chance to wear it yet, I was waiting for a special occasion."

"Oh, so you have plans for tonight?"

"Yes, I—I'm meeting with a friend from one of my old bands," Leorio says and he's a little surprised at how easy and comfortable he slips into this lie. Which is stupid because this is not... Kurapika is not available. And even if he wasn’t in a relationship, he very much pays Leorio's bills, is way out of Leorio's league, and on top of that Leorio isn’t even out at work. (The last point will eventually be fixed once he finds a way to do it smooth and confident but at the same time he doesn't want to make too much of a spectacle of it. He just wants to be recognized the way he is and he trusts the others enough to share this with them.)

A date with a girl isn't going to skew any chances he doesn't have, and yet—

"Ah. Well, then I won't keep you any longer."

"Was there something you wanted to ask me?" Leorio adds, just now considering that Kurapika might not have stopped by his office at leisure.

"No, nothing important. It's... I just wanted to discuss some ideas for the tour outfits with you. But it can wait until tomorrow. You have fun."

Leorio is indeed having fun on his date. The food is exquisite, the conversation flows easily, and he likes the way her laughter sounds and how her ponytail swings like a pendulum when she walks. He is polite, a perfect gentleman, and when he calls her a cab she leans over to kiss him on the cheek. And... there's nothing. Not the slightest prickle of excitement. His fingers don't itch to undress although she has the sweetest curves and a cute little mouth like a blossom - which he acknowledges distantly, rationally. This is the third date with a very attractive person he’s gone on within the last month and he didn't like any of them enough to consider a second date, so Leorio wonders if he is losing his drive. Not his sex drive - oh no, that's still very much up and running.

It's just that none of his dates are even causing as much as a nervous flutter, and he doesn't end up all tongue tied and tripping over his words and that's just not how it should be. He wants that, the rush, the fumbling, that sharp spark of joy when you make your crush laugh, the sweet-hot shiver that a single compliment can bring - and if only he could find it when he turns his eyes, far, far from Kurapika, where his attention cannot linger.

Like, so what if he's a little bit in love with Kurapika Kurta? Plenty of people are. Kurapika is pretty, he's dedicated and hard working and he's feisty and opinionated and—and that's no excuse to get all hung up on him. Or lose interest in other people - single people - he may actually click with. Leorio would like to believe that he is better than that.

But by the end of the day he still comes home alone.

 If you had asked Leorio before the beginning of the tour what he would consider the greatest challenge of it, he would have answered 'the lack of privacy'. And while he may not be wrong about that, there are a host of unexpected aspects of touringthat turn out even trickier. They are fortunate that Senritsu used to be a professional touring manager before Kurapika hired her as his personal manager - well, either that or Kurapika was incredibly smart about picking the first members of his own label. Leorio wouldn't put it past him, but he hasn't heard Kurapika brag about it and that's the kind of foresight a person has to brag about, so the jury was still out on this one.

Senritsu prepared a little meeting for everyone in which she discussed what to expect and which necessities to bring on the trip to minimize luggage but also to make sure everyone was equally prepared. Up front she explained to them that they didn't have the resources to pay for hotel rooms.

"You'll get to sleep in a proper bed the last ten nights of the tour, that much I can promise you. You're not even going to have to share rooms unless you want to - in which case please tell me as soon as possible so I can change reservations. But this is... this is all I can grant you. If you need some space and absolutely cannot do without taking a room prior to that, well, I'm afraid you'll have to pay for it yourself. But notify someone in the bus where you'll be, we don't want to go on a wild goose chase for someone who's not even missing. And speaking of missing, I'll do my best to keep an eye on each of you, but please, if you intend to leave the group, notify at least one of the others where you're going and how long you intend to stay. We're not going to leave anyone behind, but we cannot afford any major delays."

She clears her throat. The rest of their group is sitting in the studio lounge, some hunched over more than others (and no one hunches more than Leorio), to be on eye level with Senritsu. There's eight of them in total, including Senritsu and himself: Gon, Kurapika's bodyguard and more or less the muscle of the crew when it comes to moving equipment. Killua, who's in charge of light and sound and who has also made it his personal quest to be as annoying as possible. Kurapika's other band members, Neon (keyboard and background vocals) and Shoot, the drummer, whose one-handed performance was intriguing to watch. Kurapika, of course. And Pairo, whose function beyond moral support was somewhat unclear to Leorio.

"Now, to the next important point I want to address: hygiene."

Killua snorts audibly, but is ignored by the rest of them.

"You might find yourself wondering 'but if we are not going to stay in hotels, how are we supposed to shower?' The good news is, most of the venues will have showers hat you can use. You might find yourself skipping showers if our schedule becomes too tight but don't overdo it. Deodorant and dry shampoo are not a permanent alternative. But also, since a lot of people use these facilities, remember to wash your hands. Better yet, invest in some hand disinfectant. And some hand cream to go with it because it dries out the skin quick. Avoid getting sick at all cost, because if you get sick, the rest of us will get sick too. This also means that you need to consider what to wear. The keyword here is layers— "

Miraculously, no one is making a Shrek reference, but maybe they're all too curious about the lists that Senritsu hands out - a few of them in braille - as she explains how harsh the winter in the northern states turns out and the importance of long underwear and wearing wool. She even takes the time to explain laundry symbols for those who might not be familiar with them and this is the point where Leorio has to stifle a yawn. There is such a thing as over-planning and while others may be grateful for the advice, he has lived out of his suitcase before, drifting from city to city for his odd jobs and he is positive he can do it again. And whether Senritsu may like it or not, he will take at least one of his suits on this trip. Possibly two, in case one got dirty.

You never knew when you would need to look your best.

Leorio gets distracted as Pairo starts to whisper in a foreign tongue, something crackling and melodious, and he keeps pointing onto his list. Kurapika answers and he crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, yet lacking his usual assertiveness. Their conversation turns more and more heated until Senritsu has to step in to ask if there is a problem or a question she might help with.

"There is no problem," Kurapika says flatly and Pairo disagrees.

"Kurapika doesn't own any scarves," he says and then adds: "Obviously." Which, if you asked Leorio, wasn't obvious at all. Sure, Kurapika didn't like wearing them as accessories, but you'd think when winter comes around his common sense would overrule his fashion principles. It's surprising to hear he owns none at all and that, when confronted about it, he becomes defensive: "I don't need a scarf, my jackets are warm enough and I can zip them up all the way. No need to make a fuss about it."

Well. People had their little eccentricities and vanities, right?

Except Pairo doesn't want to let it slide. "The wind might still get you," he reasons. "And we can't have you of all people catching a sore throat."

"You do know that people get sick because of germs , right," Kurapika retorts and everything from the snarl in his words to the tension in his hands and shoulders says that this is not a conversation he wants to have.

"I have a few cowls I can lend you if you like to," Killua adds helpfully. "Maybe that's more your thing."

Kurapika offers a most icy thank you as he fixes Pairo with a hard stare. (Not that Pairo would know, as he doesn't have his hands on Kurapika face to follow the shift in his features.)

It's kind of funny, Leorio thinks: for all their jokes about Killua's awful fashion sense, Kurapika ends up borrowing a lot of his clothes. Leorio sometimes wonders if this is Kurapika's equivalent of window shopping. Keeping an eye on strangers on the street, hogging your friend's clothes to try out a new look for a day without having to commit to buying anything right away. Kurapika can be vain and particular but he's not so hung up on his idea of an aesthetic that he shies away from trying out new things. Leorio kind of likes that about him. That he knows exactly who he is and what he wants, but keeps his mind open to new experiences. So what if he doesn't like scarves? Leorio has seen college girls wearing nothing but leggings to protect their legs in the dead of winter, not to mention all the assholes who wore shorts at 12 degrees Fahrenheit to proclaim their heterosexuality to the world and he's pretty sure they survived. An additional blanket in the night and some hot water bottles to warm up their chilled bones will be more important to weather the cold nights in the bus. Also, regular walks to catch some fresh air.

"Well, if that’s settled and there's no more questions, I think I can release you all to your well-deserved vacation time," Senritsu finishes, almost a little too hasty. As if she's glad, too, to stray from this topic before it can erupt into a fight. "Have fun but also don't leave all your preparations for the last day. And... I guess I'll see you all on February 20th. Please be there early, as our driver is going to give you a little introduction on bus etiquette before we start."

Clothes rustle and murmurs erupt, springs creak as butts are raised from their respective seats and only Leorio does not move. He waits for the others to wriggle out first because his long limbs are just going to get in the way. Someone scoots into the seat next to him and taps on his knee.

"I have a favor to ask of you," Kurapika says.

"Of course."

"Are you perhaps going home the next few weeks?"

"I'm going home every day," Leorio replies.

"Right, that was ill-worded. I mean your hometown . Do you still have family there you plan on visiting?"

"Why?", Leorio asks because he cannot, will not answer. Too much of this question roots in a presumption that he's not in the right mood to clear.

"I'm going to visit my parents. They agreed to take care of my dog for as long as I'm on tour and I thought, since you and I are from the same town, I might save myself the trouble of booking a flight back. Assuming, you're going to be in town . If not, then-"

"I can still pick you up. Don't need to be visiting for that."

"Are you sure? It's quite a trip. I wouldn't ask that much of you."

"No, it's fine," Leorio assures. "Just lemme know when I should come get you." Except it is quite a trip. Leorio is used to making unnecessary detours and he enjoys driving quite a lot, but as he regards Kurapika's surprise, he wonders if it doesn't seem odd. Needy somehow.

"I mean, if you want to. Thank you, I—I didn't expect that."

"It's nothing, really."  It's proof, if nothing else, that he can't say no to Kurapika. "So, I'll see you then?"

"Yeah, I'll see you."

'Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done
I need to be youthfully felt, 'cause god I never felt young

Hozier, “Jackie and Wilson”

He is home. Home, like he had never been away.

Well. His father's hair has gained a few more silver strands, Kurapika is sure of that, and the lines around his mother's mouth etch deeper now. He missed the argument that lead to one of them painting the living room mint green which must have happened long enough in the past for the house to regain its homely smell. The bookshelves have grown fuller, the windowsills groan under the weight of countless new potted plants.

He puts his bag down by the door - it's stuffed with Layla's favorite blanket and toys, some dog food and the meager contents of his fridge - and only takes his suitcase up to his room. It's like he steps into a pocket dimension where time has not moved on and never will: the same framed posters hang on the walls, there's a stack of books on his nightstand that no one put away although he will hardly find his place in them again. Kurapika rolls his suitcase up to the closet and parks it there before he drops onto his bed.

He rolls over and stares at the whitened ceiling, engulfed in the scent of freshly washed sheets. He notes absently that his father uses a new fabric softener.

A knot had formed on the car ride from the airport, somewhere underneath his sternum; a nest of prickling shame and disappointment that grew in size for every question that he parried with a noncommittal answer. How are things at work? Are you excited about the upcoming tour? And the worst of all: I'm surprised Pairo isn't with you. Did anything happen between you two? You're usually inseparable. There had been a weight to how his father said inseparable . As if he was hoping for a certain answer, a certain milestone that had finally been crossed.

Kurapika slips his hand in his pocket... and changes his mind as soon as his fingertips find the hard shell of his phone. Pairo deserves his share of total privacy before they are all crammed in the same bus for months and as much as Kurapika needs to spill his lump of sorrow, he cannot be selfish about this. So he closes his eyes and rolls over, remembering all the nights they had lain side by side, so close that their noses touched. Whispering secrets in each other's mouth and Pairo's fingers reading the frowns off Kurapika's face.

Everyone changes, he would say. Everyone grows and moves on, everyone gets to shape their life but me.

When it became clear to his parents that Kurapika was not in much of a talking mood, they started to fill the silence on their own, unpacking all the little bits of gossip that a little town like theirs depended on for entertainment. Their neighbor's daughter had married right after finishing school and seems to have set her life's goal on bearing a child every year, all the while attending some conservative Christian college and preaching against vaccines. One of his classmates now spent his time in rehab after he started snorting more exciting things up his nose than school chalk. This faint acquaintance now works for UNESCO and that distant cousin holds a job at an insurance company and spends his holidays regularly in South Africa, living out of his car.

Kurapika does not have holidays. And Kurapika does not have things of his own, not in the way his parents do, or his former school mates: he has a rented driver instead of his own car, more than half of his wardrobe had been purchased by his record company, and a smaller but more expensive percentage of that had been gifted by designers. The spacious apartment he rents is sparsely decorated because he has no time to actually live in it - it's the place where he sleeps and sometimes eats and where he can keep his piano in a well-tempered environment. In addition, there is not one decision he can make without having to consult with someone else first, be it Senritsu or Leorio. He is going to turn twenty-seven years old soon and he still lives like a child.

But worst of all is the experiences he never got to have. Approaching an age where other people comfortably start a family of their own, Kurapika has yet to have what qualifies as a meaningful romantic relationship. There have been attempts in the past, sure. And for a while he had quite enjoyed being wooed by Chrollo, had admired his composure, so unlike his own temper that tended to run away with him. Of course, that has been before he realized his former manager merely lacked compassion. There is no warmth to be had in the arms of a man who is just going through the motions, playing a role he'd like to see himself in, in the vain hope that one day he might actually feel a thing.

Chrollo is like a knife, cold and merciless and all too capable of inflicting pain and Kurapika still chides himself for not running sooner.

Maybe I didn't want to see it, Kurapika confesses to the Pairo of his memories. Maybe I was too taken by the idea of having a mature, responsible man by my side that I wanted him to be that. Maybe... maybe I wanted it to be him because he's nothing like Leorio. Pretty lame, don't you think?

He thought he had been over Leorio. Just some dumb highschool crush, the one you were supposed to grow out of. He even made sure never to get his hopes up that high in the first place. And then Leorio graduated and moved on and... it still hurt. And wouldn’t stop hurting. For months he had ached with it, unable to conjure his appetite, his head turning towards every bout of laughter that sounded just like his .

Mending himself had been a slow, uncomfortable process and Kurapika didn't like to think back on that time. He had pissed off and alienated quite a few people, not all of whom deserved it. He had wanted the whole world to share his bruises. But mend he did. And he moved on.

And yet, when their paths crossed again, he took the first excuse he could find to drag Leorio back into his life with full force.

So here he is, back at the starting point. Different hair, different clothes, fine lines giving more depth and character to his face, but he still looks in the mirror and sees the scared, irritable teenager who wants so much but refuses to speak of it - because he has to be sensible and reasonable and many other ables too. And in a few minutes he will have to go down and sit at his parents' table to come out to them, again.

He gets up and places his feet firmly on the ground.

His mother is in the garden, chasing Layla through the winter-dry hydrangea bushes, her raucous laughter easing some of the weight from Kurapika's shoulder. It's a wild, no-responsibilities kind of laugh, playful and untamed. His father is in the kitchen heating up beef goulash and cutting big slices of homemade rye bread because after all these years, he still doesn't trust what Americans call bread. Too soft, too sweet, he claims. All treat and no nourishment. He's right, of course. Kurapika's father is not a man who claims to know everything, but the things he knows, he knows .

"I need to talk to you," Kurapika says and his father flinches so hard he almost drops the spoon in the thick gravy.

"Kura! Don't you scare me like that. I swear, we will have you wearing bells around your ankles one of these days."

Kurapika rolls his eyes. "Other people would appreciate having a quiet son, you know."

"Quiet! That's not quiet, that's sneaking. You're not a thief in this house, son, make some noise."

"Would you like me to noisily set the table, then?"

"Please. And then ask your mother if she's done wrestling the dog. I take it you want to talk to her as well? Or just me?"

Kurapika confirms that he needs to talk to both of them but that it's a matter that can be well discussed over dinner. His parents don't believe in keeping quiet at the table - if food is meant to sustain you, so is talking, and there are some topics that are easier to stomach with a nice hot meal.

His father's goulash is generously peppered, but the sharp sting nicely balances the sweetness of the browned onions and carrot slices and Kurapika quite likes the tingle on his tongue and in his mouth. He waits for his parents to savor their first few spoonfuls of goulash, before he touches onto the subject he wants to talk about.

"So, a few months ago Senritsu and I had a long conversation about where I want to go with my music and how I want to grow as an artist, now that the choice is more up to me. And I thought... it's probably way overdue, but if I want to make music that's true to myself, I feel like it should include every aspect of myself." He waits two heartbeats long. "I'm sick of pretending. And I'm sick of the questions. So I decided that when this tour is over, I'll just tell the world and be done with it."

"Is that—", his father begins and bites his tongue, but Kurapika knows his question regardless, after all, he has heard it countless times. When he told them of his career choices, when he wanted to go out with friends and find his way back home alone, when he stopped giving a shit about gender norms.

Is that safe?

It's not that his father does not support him or actively tries to discourage him, but he is so, so afraid. 'This country is thirsty for blood and violence,' he would say. Another day, another dead kid in the news and Kurapika knew that he was lucky he was light enough to not having to worry about sharing their fate although he often wished he had taken a little more after his father. Maybe then it would be easier to understand his point of view.

But his father saved them from going through the old dance of worry and complaint by finding another question: "Is there anything that has inspired you to this decision? I mean, why now?"

"I told you. I'm just tired of people making assumptions about me, that's it. And I want this to happen on my own terms, not because I slip up in some interview and I don't want you or mom to find out about it in the news." Kurapika knows he's imagining the sag of his father's shoulders, but still he adds: "And I know my new team is going to have my back, so I'm not going to have to deal with this alone, Dad."

I'm not lonely , he wants to say. But he can't lie to his father.

Kurapika's mother reaches out across the table and gently pats her husband's hand, regards him with a sense of gentle pride that he has managed so well. For Kurapika, she reserves a triumphant smile. "You're going to do great," she promises. It's not even a question. Where his father is care and protection, his mother is all fire and conviction, and she ruffles his hair as if he's still a little kid. He remembers her doing the same thing when he came out, remembers her saying: "Oh, you're gonna break all the boys’ hearts."

He hadn't broken any hearts yet, not that he knew of, but if he was lucky he might actually consider dating a genuine option in a few months.

Pacing, pacing until the restlessness drove him out of the apartment, Leorio hurled himself inside his car and drove. Drove too fast and too careless because between the hum of the engine and the tinny sound of his radio, Leorio doesn't have to think.

Thinking always gets Leorio in trouble - he never gets it right. His thoughts are like a choir except every voice sings a different, dissonant tune and he has to find the one clear note in it. It's straining. Only five days until the start of the tour and there is still so much to worry about, so much to frenzy himself over, he wishes he could fast forward to the moment where being crammed into a bus with a bunch of people he barely knows has become a comfortable routine.

Leorio arrives in his old home town the evening before he is supposed to pick Kurapika up, just as the afternoon begins to fade. He hopes it's early enough to still find a nice room to rent for the night and so he circles through familiar streets which are not so familiar anymore, keeping his eyes peeled for a vacancy sign.

And he thinks just how funny it is, that life had brought him back to this place, where tainted memories linger like sleeping beasts, just waiting to be woken. He taps his finger against the steering wheel, and if his pulse goes a little quicker, why, that means nothing. Some streets call louder to him than others, but Leorio has no desire to follow them. He'd been all too glad to turn his back on his father's house.

He doesn't plan to stop by his old high school.

But he slows the engine as he advances, not quite believing that time or state funding has been so kindly to the old building. It's unchanged, even if the gym is now adorned by different graffiti and the doors and windows have been replaced. Leorio parks and exits the car, oblivious to the disapproving stares his expensive suit attracts. When he crosses the street one might almost notice a spring in his step.

He breathes deeper here, where he had made most of his better memories. This was the roof under which he had shaped his dreams. Here, where he could count on friendly faces and people that cheered for him instead of trying to crush his foolish aspirations - in fact, he'd even been allowed to use the music room for band practice, so long as they left everything in mint condition. He may not always have been the most enthusiastic student; his grades had varied wildly, depending on how well a class or a subject managed to capture his attention or how well he got along with the teacher. But god, the fun he'd had! He still recalls the names of all the girls that broke his heart, because there were always guys more handsome and more popular than him and unfortunately for Leorio, he'd befriended them all. But what can he say? He’d always been weak for a pretty face. (Still is, actually.) On the bright side, where there was heartbreak, there was beer to drown yourself in.

He has come a long way since then.

He's just not sure if he is heading in the right direction.

As the skies turn a darker blue and the clouds are drenched in yellow, orange, pink, Leorio feels like he is even further from fulfilling his dream than his frenzied teenage self. Back then, he had believed that all he needed was the willingness to work hard and a chum who already had a footing in the industry. So he kept taking odd jobs which became regular day jobs, and he played in shitty bands which became hobbies as the members grew out of their dreams, grew out of their youth. And although they never said a word, he knows they expected him to do the same. Somehow, the whole world became obsessed with the idea that being an adult meant to banish all fun out of one's life and it was easy to fall for this mindset when you were working a shitty nine-to-five retail job that leeched the soul out of you. For Leorio, it's an ongoing struggle. He lies awake at night wondering if he has already passed his prime, if he could even still make it as a newcomer anymore.

Sometimes, he toys with the idea of starting a youtube channel for his music, except there is no lack of plain-faced guys with acoustic guitars. And their numbers are growing. He'd be one of few set apart only by his age and... well, that's hardly marketable these days. Sometimes, he wonders if it would be better to stop shooting for the stars and try to make peace with the life he has, rather than stretching himself thin to reach higher.

Sometimes, he wishes he could just go back in time. If he had put a little bit more effort into his grades, maybe he could have gotten a scholarship. Hell, he could have aimed for a sports scholarship if he'd played baseball a little bit more competitively. But he can't berate his past self for enjoying himself. Because when was the last time he had done something just for the fun of it?

The truth is, he can't remember.

Leorio is so, so tired. Tired of not being where he wants to be and not knowing if he'll ever get there, tired of not knowing where he fits in. He used to belong. He used to have enthusiasm and creativity and—

What kind of life is it that he leads, that makes him want to go back to being seventeen?

He is of course aware that he's just feeling sorry for himself, like he always does because his career is a mess and so is he. If there is one thing he excels at, it's wallowing in self pity and he hates that he's like that, teetering between regret, second-guessing, and bitterness. Leorio takes off his glasses as the first angry tears fall hot on his cheeks, because he's spiraling towards that dark place, he knows he is but that only upsets him more.

Leorio collapses into himself. He kneels and rakes his fingers over his thighs until it hurts, just to keep his hands from shaking, just to breathe deeper. Misery ripples through him like an earthquake.

And he cries. And cries, and cries until his eyes burn, his cheeks flush, his nose runs.

Until he burns himself out.

He will pick himself up, in time. He always does.

After the worst of the misery had ebbed, riding out in sporadic sniffles and sobs, he feels something moving close by and suddenly, warm breath hits his cheek. Leorio flinches violently. He grabs for his glasses in the pocket of his suit jacket, but even without them he hears, sees, a light-colored pitbull sniffing his face. Its restless paws settle on his leg, better to shove its snout in Leorio's face and lick the salt of his skin.

"Hey, hey, hey," he protests and makes a half-hearted attempt to withdraw, but the dog whines and persists. And Leorio, starving for comfort, gives in. He lets himself be smothered and headbutted and licked at while his fingers smooth over the silky fur with something like awe. "And who do you belong to, hm?", Leorio asks. Finally, the dog lets go off his face long enough to put on his glasses and turns from a blurry mess to-

"Layla?" Leorio blurts out and her tail wags, as if to say, yes, yes, that's me! You recognized me!

He looks around and sure enough, there is a shadow in the shape of a person lingering by the school gates. Leorio's heart leaps up into his throat, large and heavy and he has difficulty breathing around it. Of all the people in this town to find him. To see him like this, ugly and worn.

Leorio scratches Layla behind the ears. Waits. Considers. The shadow takes Leorio's inertia as an invitation and that's just as well. As they step forward onto the lawn, the yellow streetlight reveals a handsome young man in tight jeans and a letterman jacket that is too large for his slender frame. He wears Kurapika's face and his determination, but the hair is all wrong.

Oh no, Leorio thinks, fingers already itching to smooth over the short cropped edges to test if they're real. Somehow, Kurapika found a way to look even more like a rockstar, but sharper. And softer all the same. He has no business looking so good, so right in a medium undercut, not when Leorio is all smudged up and aching. In that moment, it's impossible to look at anything else but how his gold locks bleed into scarlet. Leorio drinks in the sight of Kurapika like a man starving.

"I forgot to bring eggs," Kurapika says in a way of greeting as he comes to a stop next to Leorio and wraps his arms tightly around himself.

"What for?"

Kurapika gives a quick nod towards the school. Gently, he adds: "If that would help."

"It won't." Embarrassment churns in his stomach. "Also, nice jacket. I swear, I had one just like it."

"I... may have forgotten to return it to you."

"You can keep it if you want to," Leorio offers and wishes he had the energy to make it sound more convincing, "It suits you. The hair, too. 'S lovely."

Kurapika stares at his feet, then at the red brick building in front of them, before he lets out the quietest of 'thank you's. And then he kneels and calls Leorio's name so softly, as if he's something that has to be handled with care. It's almost enough to make him want to cry again.

"Leorio, why are you here? You weren't supposed to pick me up until tomorrow morning."

He shrugs. "Got sick of sitting around at home."

"So you decided to cross half of the country and then didn't even call to tell me that you're here?"

"I was going to send you a text. And then I passed by and - did you know? When you hired me, did you realize we went to the same school?"

"If you recall, I had nothing to do with the hiring process," Kurapika replies, a tad too snappish. Layla perks up her ear and he scratches her beautiful, soft head. "But..." He sighs. "I knew. Of course I knew. You're just two years older than me. And you're hard to miss, because you're a giant and you're so damn loud and I don't think there was a kid in school who didn't know your name." Kurapika squints at Leorio. He wets his lips and seems to consider something. "To be honest, you have a face that's hard to forget, Leorio Paladiknight."

Leorio doesn't know what to make of this statement, but he feels his cheeks burning all the same. And he wonders. And once Leorio starts wondering, it's hard to stop.

"I'm not a pity case, am I?"

"As I said, I had nothing to do with hiring you." The response is quick. Rehearsed. Stage Kurapika at its finest.

"You're such a damn liar," Leorio breathes. "Did you even need a stylist? Because Pairo said-"

"Pairo has nothing to do with this," Kurapika hisses. Layla jumps at the tone, trotting in confused circles until Kurapika clucks his tongue at her and rubs her down affectionately. Quieter, he continues: "Don't always let him goad you so. I decide what I need and don't need, and - maybe you don't realize, but you make my job a lot easier. I could dress myself, sure, but that means considering every aspect of my outfit, down to the smallest accessory and I don't have that kind of time and effort to spare. Thanks to you, I can focus on the work I want to do. And what's even more important, you give me options and leave the final decision up to me. You don't try to decide for me." His eyes settle back on Leorio. "I like that in you."

"Oh" is all that Leorio says to that.

"Same thing goes for my social media accounts. You think I would let you tamper with that if I didn't trust you a hundred percent?"

"Um. No?" he tries.

Kurapika puts his hand on Leorio's and squeezes it so tightly it almost hurts. "You're reliable and responsible. You're considerate . You're the kind of guy who watches over a drunk girl at a party and sees to it that she comes home safely instead of taking advantage of that situation and unfortunately, that seems to be a rare quality these days."

There's anger in these words and hurt and bitterness, the same dangerous flavor he can taste in Kurapika's songs. Black eyed beasts, they come for me in the night. Claws swinging, but I will not go without a fight. "You're thinking of Hisoka, aren't you."

The shadows across Kurapika's face grow darker and he says nothing for a while. Until: "It's true for a lot of men. But yes, Hisoka is a prime example."

Leorio hesitates. He knows it's not his place to ask but this night seemed to compel the truth. He picks his words carefully. "If you know he's guilty-"

"Everyone knows," Kurapika interrupts him. "That's the reason why they were so damn prepared to defend him, because they knew it was just a matter of time until his victims start to speak up. They knew from the start that he's the worst kind of scum but they condone it because he brings them money. And I'll tell you, he is probably going to walk away from the whole affair unscathed, with that nasty, mocking smile of his, no matter how much proof they pile up against him. My word isn't going to count one bit."

"So you don't try? That doesn't sound like you at all."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Kurapika responds. His teeth clench and he seems to want to add something, but thinks better of it. He unwinds, tense muscles growing slack. "I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up, that's hardly a topic to lighten the mood."

"'S fine."

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"Oh. Not yet. I was still looking for one."

"Great, so you're coming with me," Kurapika says matter-of-factly and stands, brushing dead grass and crumbs of soil off his pants.

"Kurapika, you really don't have to. I can find a room—"

"I'm not going to leave you alone tonight, not when you're obviously not doing great. Besides, my parents are always thrilled to have guests, they were already sorely disappointed that I didn't come with Pairo."

Leorio is secretly relieved over Pairo's absence. They will get in each other's hair enough once they are on tour. Also, without the usual pesky paparazzi following Kurapika's every step, there is no reason for Pairo and Kurapika to be subtle about their relationship either. Leorio's stomach ties in funny knots whenever he thinks of that and he knows he will have to find a way to deal with it, but if he can put that off for as long as possible, he's not going to complain. So he tries to muster a smile for Kurapika and says: "You're being awfully kind today, you know that?"

"Don't tell the press," Kurapika says dryly. Then he stops, considering, brushing his pretty bangs out of his pretty face. "Senritsu didn't tell you where my parents live, did she?"

"She left me instructions."

"We'll be there quicker if I drive." Eyebrows raising expectantly. And Leorio regards his suspiciously friendly mien because it wasn't like Kurapika to be helpful.

Then something occurs to Leorio. "I suppose. Although, I haven't ever seen you drive. You do have a driver's license, don't you?"

"I can drive," Kurapika says defensively, which is not the same thing as owning a license and Leorio opens his mouth to point this out- and his mind stumbles over the stubborn set of Kurapika's mouth and how young he looks in his oversized jacked, his features softened by streetlight shadows. And then, shockingly, he says, "Please?" and Leorio feels all his defenses melt away.

"You can drive, but I'm taking Layla on my lap, so you better remember to drive carefully."

"Deal." The smile that blooms on Kurapika's face is vivid. He extends a hand, and as Leorio reaches up to shake it, he finds himself getting pulled back on his feet and he smiles too, despite himself.

He stops smiling as soon as they're in the car because Kurapika complains about the position of the driver's seat, calling Leorio's legs 'freakishly long' (which... stings more than Leorio wants to admit), then spends so much time re-adjusting the seat that they could have reached their destination already if Leorio had taken the wheel. But he promised and he wasn't going to take that back. Also, Layla kept licking his face and resting her big snout on his shoulder and he didn't mind that at all. And on top of that, he has time to study Kurapika a little more and admire the way his hair now falls to his face. His neck, so suddenly exposed, catches attention. In particular it is the little tattoo underneath his pierced ear that makes Leorio curious.

"Is that Sagittarius?", he asks and Kurapika stops fighting with the seat to look at him, imploring. "Your tattoo, I mean. I'm... I know shit all about stars, to be honest," he adds because the question is probably very, very stupid. "But it looks kind of like a bow, so-"

"I'm an Aries," Kurapika says, and clucks his tongue, "why would I have a Sagittarius tattoo?"

"Oh." Truth be told, Leorio isn't that much into the zodiac system. He remembers dates and birthdays pretty well but unless someone bothers to wear their sign on a necklace around their neck, he is hardly going to remember which date matches which zodiac. "Right."

"It's Cygnus, the swan."

"So... you like swans?"

"Sort of. I was terrified of them as a kid."

"I mean, they are scary when you piss them off."

"I was attacked by one when I was, like, seven? Mom said I was running towards it as if I wanted to hug it and the swan didn't like it. Dad had to kick it in the face to get it off me and then they grabbed me and ran. It was probably the bravest thing my Dad ever did for me."

"So it was more of a coming to terms with your fears thing?"

"Ha!" Kurapika bellows as he turns the key in the ignition and the car's engine coughs until it hums. "No. It was more of a... people kept calling me pretty and people kept calling me unnecessarily rude and angry and swans are just that. And swans don't give a shit. They will fight you, even if you're bigger than them and usually, they win. I thought that's a pretty cool attitude. And I got this tattoo to promise myself to put my money where my mouth is." He stops, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I... got it at a time when I was feeling pretty restrained by my old label. And I thought to myself 'what's the point of all the anti-capitalist ranting if I'm just a gear in the machinery myself?' So I went out and got myself a tattoo. Hurt like a bitch."

"And how did your managers respond?"

It's the wrong thing to ask. Leorio sees Kurapika's knuckles grow white as they hold onto the steering wheel and he takes a harsh turn to lurch the car out of its parking spot. Leorio holds Layla a little tighter.

"They showed me my place."

Kurapika hits the gas.

Darling heart, I loved you from the start
But you'll never know what a fool I've been
Darling heart, I loved you from the start
But that's no excuse for the state I'm in

Florence + The Machine, “Hardest of Hearts”

 A tour entails surprising social risks that no one warns you about. It tests your patience, your pride, it forces you to adapt to all the little quirks of your coworker’s habits and routines because if you’re not careful, they might drive you crazy. Or worse, you might fall in love with them.

(And if you’re on laundry duty, you get the questionable honor of rifling through your crush’s dirty underwear. Literally.)

There are also so many opportunities to make a fool of yourself.

Only one week into this experience, Leorio stumbles into their venue’s shower facility at just the right time to bump into Kurapika undressing. The time it takes to activate Leorio’s fight or flight response just so happens to correlate with the time it takes to choke out a shocked: “Oh, shit.”

Kurapika - hair adorably messed up from pulling his shirt over his head - gives him a quizzical look before putting his hands to the fly of his pants and it’s that motion that makes Leorio realize he can’t do this.

“I, uh. Forgot something. Will be back.” And he turns on his heels and walks back to the bus, to start rifling through his bag and make a trip to the bathroom just to have an alibi for his stupid excuse. Because he’s an idiot. Because he needs to appear busy, needs to stall long enough for Kurapika to be decent again when he returns.

Leorio even decides on a little cover-up story in case of an interrogation, which never comes. So he holds up his loofah mitt unprompted with an unconvincing smile. “Found it.”

Kurapika stops toweling his hair, looks at the presented object, and continues toweling his hair. “You know these things are a perfect breeding ground for bacteria, right? You’re better off using your hands.”

The unconvincing smile falters. “Really?”

“I mean whatever, it’s your skin.”

Later, the loofah finds itself in the trash, along with Leorio’s pride.

Like all band members, Kurapika showers in the evening, and after each of his shows. Leorio makes sure to avoid any further run-ins by showering each morning between seven and eight a.m., when the most of the crew doesn’t even bother getting up.

And then there’s the matter of karaoke.

 After the first few times, Leorio learns to recognize the warning signs of impending humiliation.

The careless laughter. Killua procuring a new item from his wardrobe that is even more hideous than the last. The click-shhhh of a beer can being opened, the clinking of glass ware as drinks are prepared. Well. The drinking part is optional. The singing is not.

This time, when he sees Killua sporting a peacock green feather boa, Leorio decides to sneak away and slip into the seat next to the driver. To make some small talk and have a good excuse for not making a fool of himself. It's not that he is generally opposed to the idea of singing in front of an audience - or else he would have picked the wrong career. (C areer aspirations , he corrects himself bitterly.) But it's one thing to perform for an audience of strangers who have paid for the experience, and another to be dragged in front of his coworkers, friends , who will take a delight in mocking him. His stomach takes a u-turn at the idea.

So this is how he finds out that Mizaistom, their driver, went to Harvard to study law until he decided after two years that it was a little too dry for his tastes. And that his father used to work as a cab driver and would always come home with stories about the clients he had, people whose lives he got to catch a glimpse of—

"So that stuck with me," Mizai explains.

And behind them, Bohemian Rhapsody begins to play.

It is a universally acknowledged truth that it's impossible for a human being to deliver a flawless performance of this song. Bohemian Rhapsody is too wild of a composition to be mastered by one person alone, almost as if it was designed for being shared, for fucking off and goofing around and being overly dramatic, for taking joy in getting it wrong. In that, it is the very essence of karaoke.

Leorio peers over his backrest. Strangely, no one comes looking for him, to pester him into joining. And he's glad about it. Really, he is. Of course, they could have asked even though they know he is going to decline, that's just the polite thing to do.

"—and the streets there are so narrow that the mirrors of the busses nearly kiss when they pass each other by," Mizaistom says and Leorio nods as if he hadn't missed the first half of that sentence. "It's also nice because it doesn't get as hot as on the mainland. It's very quiet, so if that's not your thing, I'd recommend Capri. And on clear days, you can look from one island to the other! But, the streets. I'll tell you, if you learn how to drive on Ischia, you can drive everywhere."

"I've never been to Europe," is the best contribution that Leorio manages. Behind him, the crew croons and howls and butchers Queen's greatest hit. Every now and then, Kurapika's voice cuts through the mess, sharp and clear as crystal glass, a siren call that lodges its hook right under Leorio's ribcage. He has to holds his breath until the feeling passes.

They're pacing towards the guitar solo now. Gon and Killua are probably preparing for the headbanging this very second and if they are lucky, they might not crack their heads together this time. (That had been an awkward precautionary trip to the ER.)

Mizaistom chatters on, seemingly unperturbed by the music, but Leorio's too busy straining his ears. He waits for the sound of cracking bones, or a commotion...

Nothing. Leorio clucks his tongue, disappointed. But oh, how he forgets.

Because this is the part where Kurapika comes in, this is where he shines . The parts that tremble with red hot anger and vengefulness are the ones that come most naturally to him and he raises his voice-

"So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die?"

Leorio claws into his seat as goosebumps prickle all over his skin.

"Oh, baby... can't do this to me baby. Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here."

Even as it fades a thrill remains, shaking his core, rushing his pulse. Leorio wants. Yearns . And slumps with envy because what would he not give to sound like this. Weighted. Refined. Something other than just plain average.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm?"

"You're clenching your teeth. If you need to spit, there's bags right under your seat."

"I'm fine," Leorio says, and hopes that his bitterness will end as the song does. It's childish and he knows he can do better.

Neon's airy soprano takes over, fluttering through La vie en rose . Faintly, they can hear Killua groan (as if anyone needed a reminder how he felt about ballads!), followed by Gon's louder attempt to shush him.

The noise swells as the door to the driver's compartment slides open. Ice clinks inside a swaying glass. An ice cold beer can is pressed against Leorio's cheek and he flinches and fixes the culprit with a nasty stare. But he takes the beer, of course. Can't say no to that .

"Aren't you going to come?," Kurapika asks, balancing what looks like a gin tonic in his other hand. "You already missed the best part."

"Then where's the point," Leorio challenges as he opens his can with a satisfying hiss.

"The point is to have fun."

"Yeah, well, I'm not having any. Besides, I'm in the middle of a conversation."

Kurapika wrinkles his face with disdain. He leans forward, bracing his arms on the backrest of Leorio's seat. "I'm sure Mizaistom is not going to mind if I borrow you for an hour. Isn't that right?"

Mizaistom chuckles a most fatherly chuckle. "Maybe so, but it's his choice to make."

"Ha!" Leorio triumphs and jabs a finger in the air.

"You're such a damn bore, you know that? I thought it was the suit, but no, you're just as bad without it."

Kurapika took a sip from his glass, which smelled strongly like liquor. More gin than tonic then.

"See? You're better off without me. Also, isn't it a bit early for the hard stuff?"

"Time is an illusion."

"Kurapika," Leorio warns. He knows he is overstepping. And that he's probably making a fuss over nothing. Lots of people drink occasionally, but. But. Kurapika likes the kind of liquor that burns his throat and he is no stranger to ignoring his limits - a dangerous path to walk.

"It's just one drink. Stop being such a dad."

"A dad wouldn't miss karaoke," Mizaistom chimes in.

"Point taken," Kurapika says, pointing his glass at him. "Alright, let's make a deal. I'll put away my drink if you come with me."

Leorio sighs. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but I'm really not in the mood to have Killua laughing at me for the rest of the afternoon—"

"Fine," Kurapika cuts him short and pulls back, quick as a snake. "Be like that. I'm gonna take a commemorative shot for every song you miss and if it kills me, I'll make sure the world knows it's because Leorio Paladiknight is a fucking coward."

"Oh, please ,"Leorio jeers. He clenches his teeth but nothing can stop the heat that's rising to his face. He can't even decide what's more insulting, being called a coward over something as dumb as this or that Kurapika honestly believes he's stupid enough to fall for his goading. "Not even you would be that petty."

Kurapika raises his brow. The curve of his mouth twists into a bitter snarl, and Leorio's stomach does an uncomfortable somersault because he knows this expression too well. It's the face of a man about to spill something unforgivably cruel and angry and hard—

Except Kurapika turns around and yanks open the door, stomping away into the noise and the cheers.

Leorio does not realize how hard he clutches his beer until his palms grow numb from the chill. He feels like he's shivering all over from it, but his body remains unmoving, barely breathing.

( He's not your father , a defiant voice inside him whispers. And Leorio wants to argue that of course he's not , but for a moment he had prepared himself for the blow, had thought it inevitable.)

"He's... not really gonna give himself alcohol poisoning, just out of spite, is he?" Leorio asks.

"I doubt it," Mizaistom says kindly. "But you probably ruined his evening. I'll tell you what, if someone were that eager to have me around, I wouldn't hesitate."

Leorio takes a sip from his beer. He's drawing up his shoulders to shield himself - from what, he doesn't know. "I thought you were on my side."

Mizaistom chuckles a most fatherly chuckle. "Boy, I'm just the driver. The only side I have to be on is the right side of the road."

Leorio huffs. "It's not that I don't wanna hang out. It's that they're expecting me to sing. Every. Damn. Time. That's what's pissing me off."

His companion hums. "That's a weird attitude for a singer."

"'M not a singer. Just the stylist."

"Huh. Senritsu said you are a singer and songwriter."

"Aspiring," Leorio clarifies. He rubs one hand against his thigh, nervous, trying to figure out why Senritsu of all people would make him out as something that he is not. "I'm not a professional or anything."

Mizaistom makes a pensive noise. "Your songs any good?"

"I—um." Ouf. Suddenly, karaoke doesn't seem half-bad anymore. Certainly less invasive. "I mean I hope so. I don't perform my own songs, so it's hard to tell how they would do in front of an audience."

"You don't?"

"I'd rather write for other people; makes it more interesting. Nothing exciting ever happens to me."

The driver bursts into a salve of laughter. The vicious kind, that jumps on you and makes you throw your head back and slap your leg. "Nothing exciting? You're touring the country with Kurapika. " The way Mizaistom pronounces the name invokes importance and Leorio has to remind himself, again, that Kurapika is a celebrity of some sort. Which doesn't feel quite true or right, not even when they're facing crowds of screaming fans. In fact, the crowds make it even more surreal. They have a weird inflated sense of what Kurapika is, borne from clever advertising and them projecting their own desires and anger onto him. He knows, because he checks regularly how the brand flavor Kurapika(TM) is faring on twitter. He knows the comments that attribute him a godlike status just because he can hit the high notes just right, because he has legs that make a model jealous, because he is raw and untamed when he performs.

He used to wear argyle sweaters to school, Leorio wants to yell at them. He literally dressed like his dad, how's that for a sex god? But what he says, out loud, is: "He's just a guy doing his job. And he's good at what he does because he's thorough."

"Well, yes. But I was more referring to the fact that he's kind of a firecracker."

"Oh. Well, theatre kids," Leorio says apologetically and shrugs. "Living for the drama and all that. Honestly, I'm not even surprised he was kicked out of choir."

"He what? "

"Nothing. Forget I ever said a thing."

"How do you get kicked out of choir?"

Leorio rises out of his seat promptly. "It's been a few songs, right?" As if to confirm, a horrible rendition of Space Jam ends and a similarly horrible rendition of All Star begins. He knows that if no one is going to take the microphone out of Gon's and Killua's hands, they will work themselves into a downward spiral of mumble-yelling annoyingly popular songs, testing everyone's patience. "Better check on them, make sure they're not going too crazy."

"Uh-huh," Mizaistom remarks. "Try not to have too much fun."

"I'd never," Leorio says and clutches his chest in mock offense. He takes a last sip from his beer before waving goodbye and stepping right into the sixth circle of hell.

"Hah. I knew the old fart wouldn't show up. He wouldn't know what fun was if it was dancing naked right in front of him."

Kurapika refuses to grace Killua's jeering with any sort of response. Stone faced, he takes his seat next to Pairo on the couch and keeps sipping on is drink, praying for the alcohol to work on him fast.

"Kurapika! Do you wanna sing Mika with me?" Gon crows, still a little breathless from his last song. The boy possesses an incredible lung volume and none of the finesse and the stamina of a professional singer - and still manages to be a good sport about it.

"In a bit. I'm not quite feeling it yet."

Killua smells an opening and immediately offers to take Kurapika's part, but Grace Kelly is theirs, always has been, with all its flirting and dramatic pouting. And even though there are few things Gon would deny Killua, he doesn't let him have it. A small triumph that soothes Kurapika's ruffled ego. And he truly enjoys how predictable the boys are in their bickering - no matter how hectic things around them become, or how absurd, he can rely on this. Killua, meme connoisseur extraordinaire, suggests Space Jam instead and off they go, ready to ruin everyone's eardrums.

"Are you alright?" Pairo asks once the boys are too occupied with themselves to eavesdrop, "you sound a bit on edge."

"I'm fine," he insists. Pairo's fingers search for Kurapika's, slipping over the gray-green-velvet of the couch, and Kurapika catches them, squeezing lightly. " Really. "

So what if he is grouchy and bitter? Does he not have the right to sulk about not having his way, at least for a little while? And must he always admit to it instead of keeping it selfishly close? Petty. That's what Leorio had called him with such ease and it upsets him because it's true. Such an ugly trait to have.

Killua has set his mind on singing All Star next. The Shrek movies had bestowed a lot of catchy and iconic songs onto the world - leave it to Killua to pick the worst of it. He can't help it, though - like a bower bird he is drawn to all things gaudy and bright and obnoxious. It shows most in his fashion choices: loud colors and awkward cuts which he embraces and loves with a pride that stems from having been rich all his life.

Considering his expensive tastes, one would think that it takes nothing less than a lover made of solid gold to sway Killua's heart.

(One would be wrong.)

Kurapika fans his fingers and Pairo responds in kind until they are intertwined, palm pressing against palm. "Do you want to go next?" Kurapika breathes.

"Hm. Not sure. Do we have Laura non c'é on this thing?"

"Don't you dare ."

"But it's such a nice song! And I'm sure you still know all the words." With a most devious smile, Pairo begins to sing. " Se vuoi ci amiamo adesso, se vuoi... "

"Pairo, I'm serious, I will smack you."

" Però non è lo stesso tra di noi~ "

"Oh my god," Kurapika groans and Pairo bursts into a fit of giggles.

"You always complain, and then you go hog wild when that one part kicks in."

"Not my fault this trash song has a nice bridge. Why are you grinning like that?"

"I'm waiting for the 'Laura made the right decision'."

Kurapika inhales and readies himself for an essay's worth of debating the immaturity of the lyrical narrator - relying both on the lyrics themselves and the visual clues in the music video - when he gets interrupted by a confused: "Who's Laura?"

"She's too good for you, that's what she is," Pairo offers silkily smooth, without a wink of hesitation. Kurapika digs his thumb into the back of his friend's hand. Neon goes a step further and boxes Pairo in the arm while calling him something unfriendly in Italian. (It's a little unfair, really, that she as the only band member with actual Italian roots never had a mother who would listen to nothing but Eros Ramazotti for weeks.)

Confusion is knit in tight stitches on Leorio's forehead and the frown lines dig deeper when his eyes fall on Kurapika and Pairo's intertwined hands.

"Don't listen to him, he's having one of his quizzical days," Kurapika says with a roll of his eyes.

"We haven't been able to prove he's not half sphinx," Killua adds, his voice booming loudly as he does not move his mouth from the mic. Meanwhile Gon at least tries to keep up with the fast-paced verse.

Leorio waves and tell him to shut up and sing.

"At the same time?" Killua laughs.

"I mean, you're failing at doing even one of these things, so my bad, I guess."

Leorio is faced with Killua's middle fingers and a diabolical grin. Kurapika stands up, announcing that he needs another drink and suddenly, the rest of their crew perks up noticeably. He sighs. "Who else?" And gets bombarded with pleas and requests. A White Russian for Killua, a Screwdriver for Neon, and Gon blurts out: " Hey now! You're an all-star - ginger ale please - get the show on... "

"Alright, alright, but I'm gonna need a second pair of hands." And if his eyes trail over Leorio a beat too long as he tries to squeeze past, it's by accident. But Leorio follows close.

They navigate through the narrow space between the imaginary stage and the coffee table into the kitchenette and nearly stumble over Shoot sitting in a corner, as small as he can be, bent over to stare into a 3DS that's nestled in his lap.

"You good down there?", Leorio asks and receives a quiet, hoarse "yeah" in return.

"What are you playing?"

"Animal Crossing."

"Ah," Leorio says. "That sim game for furries."

Shoot stares up at him, mood souring fast and he decides that actually, he spent long enough in the kitchen. No amount of half-formed apologies will sway his mind (although Leorio certainly tries) and so he retreats into the privacy of his bed bunk, leaving behind an air of 'wow I really fucked up, huh'.

Leorio looks at Kurapika, who clucks his tongue to chastise... although a smile flickers across his lips. "You gotta be careful around Shoot. He's like a mimosa."

"The drink?"

"The plant. He's sensitive. One wrong touch and he folds inward."

"Well, I noticed that," Leorio grumbles and drums his fingers on his beer can. It sounds empty. Leorio peers at it, takes another sip to test - and throws the can into the trash.

Meanwhile Kurapika raids the fridge for milk and orange juice and the freezer for ice cubes. There is a certain method and routine to his movements, how he lines up the bottles and stretches for the cupboards to pick glasses of different shapes and a shaker. "Want one too?" he asks.

"I'm not big on drinks."

"Clearly you never tried mine then."

"How humble," Leorio snorts, but he doesn't doubt it. Kurapika is one of those people who only brag about things they can deliver. "You ever bartend?"

"Why do you think I'm the one they always ask for refreshments?"

"Because you always add a bit much of the booze?"

"Can't help it, I was taught by a Russian."

"Alright, I'll take one too, but you gotta pick for me. It's hard to imagine, actually. You working in a seedy bar. I bet your dad was real thrilled about that."

Kurapika shrugs. "Nobody said it was seedy."

"Was it one of the bars at home? Because I've been to them all and they're seedy as fuck. Or dirty. Or worse, sports bars. And you still have all your teeth, so you weren't working in one of those."

"Have you been to the Flamingo?" Kurapika asks, a little too casual.

"No." Leorio crosses his arms in front of his chest and his voice dropped. "A bit far out, that one. And the landlord's a friend of my da', so I couldn't show my face around there without risking that he’d find out."

"They let me perform there too. I wasn't exactly getting paid for it, but a few people would leave better tips the next time they came around. Also, the university wasn't that far. Mom usually picked me up when she came back from work."

"Your parents are quite the protective sort, huh?"

"You have no idea." Kurapika snorts. "My mother is a lioness. And my dad... he's more of an anxious puppy. He would constantly fuss over my clothes as if he feared wearing the wrong T-shirt was going to get me beat up."

"He had a point, though. Especially in our town."

"I know, I'm not saying he was wrong, I just didn't like the idea of having to police every aspect of my look. And I didn't like being treated as if I had a target painted on my back. So I took Taekwondo classes and I always carried mace on me. It still did little to help my dad loosen up."

"I think it's nice," Leorio says very quietly. "That he cares so much about you. My da' wouldn't have cared if I ended up dead in a ditch. He might've been glad, for all he kept telling me how much money I cost him." As soon as he says it, he realized what a mistake he made. Kurapika turns his head, hovering a box of orange juice above a half-filled glass and fixes him with a mixture of incredulity and something that might be pity. His mouth is slightly parted but he makes no sound.

"Don't— please forget what I just said, I forget that most people aren't used to this kind of stuff. Any drinks you want me to hand out?"

With a frown, Kurapika gestures at the ginger ale and Killua's White Russian. Leorio takes the glasses and slips away in spite of or due to Kurapika calling his name cautiously. Too glad to get out of this. It seems like he is blundering from one social misstep to the next, tonight.

Five seconds later, he’s yelling at Gon and Killua for daring to sing Living On a Prayer without knowing any of the lyrics besides the chorus. And then he steps in and relieves the boys from their half-assed mumbling.

One chorus later, he slips into the song's spirit like a well worn coat, rolling his shoulders in a way that's almost suave.

Another five minutes and he hogs the stage, annoying the shit out of Killua by going full Carly Rae Jepsen. Neon lets out a delighted whoop and joins in and as Kurapika watches their dramatic overacting, he is amazed how easily Leorio discards all signs of stage fright once he gets to play a role. It's like he's much more comfortable in his skin if he gets to pretend to be someone else. Kurapika has seen this a lot in his friends from theater and it's a trait common enough in artists, but it's also a fragile state to be in. A sign that you cared so much of what people thought about you, that you had to distance yourself from them, adding another layer, another persona.

It’s something to take into consideration before Leorio makes his debut as an artist. I doubt that he can hold his own on a stage , was what Senritsu had said after her second interview with him. He's too easily rattled . And while Kurapika would not disagree, he also couldn't bear the idea of Leorio being hired by a different label, one that might be less mindful of who he was and only cared about which mold they could press him into.

Kurapika makes sure to add an extra dash of tequila in Leorio's tequila sunrise, hoping that will help loosen him up. He doesn’t expect Leorio to cry for another drink so it’s only fair to make the first one count.

He fails to consider two facts.

One: Leorio, for all his towering height and appropriate muscle mass, holds his liquor poorly.

Two: Kurapika, for all his cool demeanor and nonchalant ways, is in no way able to cope with Leorio laid bare.

 It starts with a creeping flush that takes over Leorio's cheeks and neck and ears, too. His face begins to glow with a fine sheen of perspiration. His smiles grow broader, and he fans himself now and then until he undoes a few buttons of his crisp white shirt and loosens his collar. His chest, Kurapika notices with greedy eyes, is flushed pink too, and he wonders about the heat that must be rising off of it. What if he were to soothe this feverish skin by pressing his eternally cold hands against the side of Leorio's neck and the hollow of his cheek? Would Leorio sigh and become malleable under his touch, would he pull him close close close until the clash of their lips is inevitable, destined to be?

Ah, but the alcohol. It may wet lips and animate tongues but Kurapika could never be sure if Leorio would want him quite the same once he’s in possession of all his senses and rationale. So Kurapika sits back, keeps his hands by his sides and enjoys the show.

The others chant and cheer for another of Leorio's Bruce Springsteen performances and he caves in too easily. His way to the TV is marked by wolf-whistling until he pulls up a chair and announces that there will be no dancing tonight. Vocal disappointment spreads as they remember his last impersonation quite fondly - Leorio has the Boss' leg-thumping, shoulder-jerking, finger-snapping moves down to a tee and it had been adorable to watch him dork out.

Now he sits with his legs spread, leaning back on a chair in a way that involuntarily draws attention to his pelvis and it takes no small amount of willpower for Kurapika to keep his eyes up. He watches intently as Leorio unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up.

"Okay, so this one's a short one," he announces, "And I'm going to change the lyrics up a tiny bit because I used to perform mostly in retirement homes and at bachelorette parties and the original 'hey little girl' didn't quite fly, so I had to come up with something else. Anyway, I'm on Fire tonight."

And he giggles a little to himself as the music starts and he bounces his foot to the rhythm. The beat is smooth and familiar, the kind of music that Kurapika's mom would listen to and Leorio starts drumming his fingers on his knee and closes his eyes for a second.

"Hey la-dy, is your boyfriend home, did he go away and leave you all alone, mh-hm... I got a bad desire."

His voice is gravelly and tender and it goes lower than the song prompts it to. Kurapika can feel the warm hum of it in his sternum, like thunder rolling in the distance and he takes one heavy breath -

"Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire."

Oh no, Kurapika thinks as his skin starts to prickle all over because the last thing he needs right now is to hear Leorio longing for some physical desires while he looks half-undone: his eyes lidded heavily, his hair tousled as if he just rose from an intimate tussle.

"Tell me now, baby, is he good to you? Can he do to you the things that I do, oh no... I can take you higher. Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire."

Kurapika crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap to hide a rising predicament and oh, how he wishes his chest didn't feel so tight that every exhale sounds like a swooning sigh, how he wishes to be on the receiving end of that dreamy stare.

"Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull... At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head and you—" And Leorio wets his lips and as he looks up, his eyes meet Kurapika's. "You cool my desire. Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire."

His hands clench in his lap and he has to look away, exposed, embarrassed. Even though there is no way that Leorio knows what went through his head just minutes ago, Kurapika feels naked before him. I am never letting this man drink again , he thinks and his heart thumps thumps thumps treacherously loud. And just as he thinks that it is over - as the last chords fade and isolated applause rises - Leorio pulls himself up from his seat, takes a few steps and flops bonelessly on the couch, right next to Kurapika.

"I'm getting too old for this," Leorio moans.

"Singing?" Kurapika asks with a raised brow.

"Drinking," Leorio explains and he takes off his glasses to wipe the sweat off his face. Then he giggles and adds. "I could use another beer, though."

"I'll get you one," Killua offers. Killua, of all people. He has that look in his eyes that triggers Kurapika’s suspicions.

"Hey Kurapika, wanna sing Alone Together with me?" he asks as he hold out a can for Leorio.

"How's that supposed to work?" Leorio chimes in, befuddled. He has trouble opening the beer can, fingers clumsy with intoxication, and that's probably for the best.

"It's the name of the song, genius ." Killua rolls his eyes.

"Oh, sure," Kurapika says and he does his best to keep his voice leveled. There is no way in hell he is going to stand up right now. He takes long, deep breaths and adds, a pinch too sweetly: "I mean, it's not like I have shows to do the next three nights in a row, right?"

"Since when do you care about that?"

From beside him, Leorio mumbles: "Leave a guy alone, will you? His angel voice is paying your bills, so if he says he needs rest, he needs rest."

"Angel voice?" Killua repeats and his voice spirals high with delight. Fucking great. They were never going to hear the end of this. "I'd hardly compare Kurapika to an angel. I mean, maybe the kind that has too many eyes and—"

"Fuck off, Killua," Kurapika snarls.

"Whoa, whoa." He raises his hands in defeat and backs away. " Fine. Sheesh, someone's being sensitive tonight."

"No, you just never know when to quit," Leorio says, uncharacteristically stern. His dark eyes size Killua up and the fact that he's not hollering and red faced makes it all the more intimidating. "Stop being such a child."

Killua whips out his middle finger for the second time today as he walks backwards, but the gesture is kind of half-assed.

Leorio finally gets his can open and Kurapika watches him in profile, wondering where this man keeps all his authority hidden when he doesn't use it to defend others. Leorio notices, but mistakes Kurapika's look for concern. "Don't listen to him, alright? You're right to give yourself a break. I dun' know a single person working harder than you." He reaches across to give Kurapika a few encouraging pats on the knee - and Kurapika flinches away from his touch as if he'd been burned. Bad timing. Really bad timing.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to spook ya."

"No, it's... I just need some space, that's all."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Not that much space," Kurapika clarifies and he rolls his eyes. "I do like talking to you—" Somehow, it's the right and the wrong thing to say, at the same time. He quite likes the way Leorio's face lights up, but he awww s loud enough to catch attention and Kurapika has a reputation to uphold.

By the third beer, Leorio - venturing into an exciting retelling of the hellish customers he had to deal with at his various retail jobs - has already forgotten about the implemented no-touching rule. Kurapika would have reminded him, except he can sit like a normal person again and he finds that he does not mind the weight of Leorio's arm around his shoulders even if his friend has started stinking like a whole brewery, but that's beer for you. Tastes like piss, is very ineffective in getting you buzzed and makes you reek from every pore. But it's worth the suffering because Leorio, drunk, is adorable . Chatty and enthusiastic, giggling to himself as his thoughts spill all over the place and kind of touchy, too, but not in a bad way. It's just that he would stop mid-sentence to put on a serious face and pat Kurapika's hair delicately, remarking on its softness. And his index finger runs absent little circles on Kurapika's biceps as he talks and rants and somehow ' expired coupons are god's way of testing our patience ' turns to 'I like to keep my hair cut short because the thing with curls is, they're always a mess and I don't wanna look like a mess, I want people to look at me and go "damn, that guy looks like he has his shit together"' turns to 'no matter where I go, it's like this damn town follows me, it's like they can smell it on me and they sneer at me for it.'

Kurapika pokes him in the stomach for being self-deprecating and counters that people are too self-centered to care about how you wear your hair or what backwater town you come from. And he adds: "I mean, I'm sure you think that but the further you go, the less focused people's ignorance becomes. You don't get sneered at for being a country bumpkin, you get sneered at for being from Ohio and then you'll get sneered at for being a Midwesterner and in Europe people will look down upon you for being a dumb American. But from my experience, the people who look for reasons to judge you, they just don't want to bother getting to know you. And that means they're not worth your time."

Leorio squints at him, a little cross eyed. "I dunno if you're bein' smart or just nice to me."

"I'm never nice."

Leorio snickers. "Liar." And he tilts his head and regards Kurapika with the sweetest of smiles, that kind of content, rooted smile that says I am exactly where I am supposed to be . And then it shifts to something like childlike wonderment. "I just noticed that you're golden? Why are you..."

"Golden?" Kurapika asks, and he wonders if maybe Leorio was past the delightful stages of drunkenness now.

"Like, the light catches on your skin all pretty and it shimmers like gold and—"

"Oh," he says and cannot stifle a laugh, "There's a thing called make-up, Leorio. I'm wearing highlighter."

But Leorio seems unsatisfied with the mundane explanation as he frowns and leans in closer. "No, I think... I think it's just you being beautiful?"

"You think I'm beautiful?" Kurapika asks a little too quick. He'd like to pretend he could take a compliment with grace, but... Leorio, his Leorio , the boy he used to have his worst and fiercest crush on, thinks he's beautiful . And somewhere inside him, a ghost of his sixteen year old self is healing a little from all his frantic insecurities.

"Please," Leorio scoffs. "Everyone thinks you're beautiful. Because you are. And just when I think I got used to it you change yourself up like get a new haircut and - bam - it hits me in the chest again."

"I... doubt that this is a universal sentiment, though."

And then Leorio raises his head and roars: "AYO, HANDS UP IF YOU THINK KURAPIKA IS BEAUTIFUL," and is the first to reach up as high as he can.

"Shutupshutupshutup." Kurapika grapples to pull down Leorio's arm but the damage is already done as he can hear his friends cackle and it's in good humor that all raise their hands, but, oh, Kurapika hides his face behind his and wants to disappear. They're all going to stare at him now and observe how Leorio pulls him to his chest and says gently. "See? I told you so."

Dying would have been a kinder fate.

It's not until an hour later, when the lasts songs have been sung, the glasses have been cleared away and Leorio is mercifully passed out on the couch in the front lounge that Kurapika kneels before him and whispers to his sweat-drenched face: "I think you're beautiful too."

 Week after week, Leorio protests and sways and protests again until it becomes a game, a playful back and forth that is just as much overture for the karaoke as the cold, smooth drinks that Kurapika makes him. Although he still does not like to see Kurapika drink so regularly, Leorio kind of likes that mischievous glint that the alcohol puts in Kurapika's eyes. He learns to watch out for it, but minds to put the glasses aside once it starts twinkling, for it's a thin line between being delightfully drunk and getting shit-faced and they don't need to cross it. He supposes he likes to see Kurapika unrestrained and what a dangerous sight it is, when he smiles with a flash of teeth, when his hips sway lightly to the rhythm, when he bites his thumb as he watches Leorio sing to keep himself from laughing. When he tilts his head and the light catches golden on the arch of his cheekbones, the dip of his shoulder, made for being cherished and appraised. It makes Leorio's blood sizzle in his ears and his skin prickle with heat and god, what he would give to kiss that smart mouth just once and run his hands over the lean muscles of Kurapika's thighs, feel the pulse of strength underneath his palm.

He's being stupid about this, he knows. Misreading friendly teasing as an invitation because wishful thinking is a bitch. And even when Pairo is right next to them, Leorio sometimes gets so caught in Kurapika's orbit, he forgets . He needs to reign himself in, needs to keep his thoughts in check before his body warrants a response. Pairo may not be able to see, but the same could not be said for the rest of their little group.

The complete lack of privacy is only making it worse. If only he had the chance to steal away and deal with all the pent-up frustration. But no, he's lying awake at night, all too aware of his friends' light breathing and does not know which ache is worse, the dull melancholy that weighs down his chest or the trembling longing to touch and be touched.

Little does he know that one night when he lies down, his voice hoarse from singing, his head heavy from drinking, the rest of his group stays behind to corner Kurapika as he cleans up the kitchenette. It's not quite an intervention, nor had they planned it in advance, but there were things worth discussing and Leorio's early repose gave the perfect opportunity for it.

Killua is the first one to address Kurapika, as he fancies himself quite the icebreaker. After all, he is gentle as a pickaxe and sure to offend, so whoever speaks up next has a better chance of being heard. "Soooo, I know you were a theater kid and all, but as your friend I have to tell you that you're starting to come on a little strong."

"What." Irritably, Kurapika glares over his shoulder back at Killua. The effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that his arms are elbow-deep in dishwater.

"Like, maybe you wanna tone down the flirting a bit if you intend to keep your dignity."

"I have no idea what you are talking about" Kurapika replies, unfazed, and he turns back to the sink and reaches for the next glass.

"I'm talking about you mooning over Mr. Wannabe Springsteen. Literally serenading him. It was fun at first but it's getting kinda painful to watch. I mean... Love On the Brain ? Really? You're basically throwing yourself at his feet and you're better than that."

Kurapika rubs the glasses hard enough to make them squeak. His arms move with more caution as he rinses the glassware and puts it on a dish towel to dry and his brows furrow. He refuses, adamantly, to fall for Killua's taunting.

"What Killua is trying to say," Neon interjects, "is that you're being very, very obvious, which isn't like you at all. He doesn't seem to have caught onto it for some reason, though, so we thought we should let you know before it's too late. Like, if you could keep the smoldering looks to a minimum, you're good."

"I'm not smoldering ," Kurapika hisses and it sounds just like a droplet hitting a flame, "And I can do without your input, thank you very much."

"Can you?" Pairo asks and although he keeps his voice calm, there is a hint of irritation to it. "Are you sure? Because you keep wearing his stupid jacket like it's a trophy and I get that this means a lot to you, but I doubt that he knows. Or cares. He probably just gave it to you because it was convenient. And I don't want you to get your hopes up, again , just to have him break your heart. Again. One time's enough."

He throws his rag into the water with a foamy splash. Hitting his t-shirt and pants. Kurapika pays it no mind; he spins around and glowers at Pairo, hot enough to burn.

"Well, thank you so much for the reminder. Because god forbid I enjoy myself, god forbid I forget for even one second that it's probably not going anywhere anyway! How dare I." His voice spirals higher, louder. "Anyone else who wants to add some oh-so helpful advice? Gon?"

Gon is one of the few who does not shuffle his feet awkwardly, despite the outburst. "You're really angry about this."

Kurapika's first impulse is sarcasm. He tenses and his mind already brews a nasty response, his tongue runs over his teeth, ready to lash out out - and he breathes in.

(Don't be cruel. He's not going to understand.)

And when he breathes out, his shoulders sag. "Yes, Gon," Kurapika sighs. He feels so very worn, and tired and dull. "I'm angry because I had expected a little more support from my friends and instead, I find you all acting as if I am doomed to fail."

"We're just trying to protect you," Neon adds carefully and Kurapika paces to face her, furiously.

"Oh, I'm sure you believe that. But from what are you trying to protect me? The disappointment? The embarrassment? You think I can't handle that?"

To Neon's credit, she does not flinch, nor does his anger intimidate her. Instead she squares up her shoulders and holds her head high, as if preparing for a fight. "I don't know what you can handle but I don’t think you do, either. You never know when to stop, you just have to see things through and sure, that's a way to do things but let me ask you: do you think he's worth it? Because I've seen way too many of my friends waste their time and effort for a guy that ain't shit and—"

"That's what you think of him? Really?"

"No." She softens a little, and rubs the side of her arm. "I think he's nice enough, but... he's a dude . I think if he was interested, he would have let you know by now. They're usually not that subtle."

Kurapika bites his lip and gets out of her space. Says nothing. This is not a truth he wants to hear because none of his frail hopes can measure up to it and he can't just un-know it either. Although, in a way, he has always been aware that no matter how sweet Leorio was with him, it's not the same as flirting. He has seen Leorio flirt with women and he could get... intense. Overzealous, almost smarmy. It's uncomfortable to watch for a spectrum of reasons.

"I don't know about that," Gon disagreed. "Killua never let me know, either."

"GON! SHUT UP, OH MY GOD." Killua's high pitched protest is deafening, but it leaves Gon unfazed, who only adds: "Also, he called Kurapika beautiful."

"Which just proves that he has working eyes," Pairo remarks dryly.

An uncomfortable silence spreads.

Feet shuffle and lips are parted impatiently.

It's Senritsu who speaks up first, and not a few of Kurapika's friends startle at the unfamiliarity of her tiny voice in this place that's usually filled with droning music, laughter, teasing. Kurapika wonders how many of them had forgotten Senritsu was present at all, since she was so small, so plain, so quiet that she blended into the background of a conversation easily.

"I have paid close attention to Leorio the last weeks, to see if he has any promise as a musician, but also to figure out if he's just using this job - and his connection to Kurapika - to advance his career. Just a precaution," Senritsu adds when Kurapika scrunches up his face with disdain, "because I knew you wouldn't ever suspect such a thing from him. And you'd be right. He's an honest young man and he fulfills his role in the crew dutifully, even if it's not what he had hoped for. What has me concerned is that he seems to be a bit too comfortable with the situation he's in."

"What do you mean by ' too comfortable'?"

"I remember when he was recently hired, he would always scribble in his notebook and sometimes you could catch him in his office with his guitar, trying out a few chords - that's become a rare sight. And I can't tell if it's just because he's busy or if he's getting content, but if he can't put in the effort to work towards his goal, he might not be suited to be a professional musician."

"Wait, you—" Killua interrupts and he looks from Kurapika to Senritsu to Kurapika again. "You were thinking about giving that guy a record deal? Just like that?"

"Of course not." Kurapika scoffs. The tension in his shoulders unwinds as he regards the circle of his friends and eases into the idea that they have not gathered to drag him in front of an imaginary court and judge him - but rather that each of them had different concerns they wanted to voice and not all of them were about the futility of his crush. "He didn't come to us looking for a contract, he just wanted to sell some of his songs. And I felt like he could profit from working with us - that he would pick up one or two things, that a little artistic exchange would help him find some inspiration, but..."

It hasn't helped. Kurapika thinks back on the conversations they had in private, thinks about Leorio expressing feeling stuck, feeling like he had failed, feeling like he never would move past being a small town boy. So was it really any wonder he was stagnant in his artistic process, too? "I think he feels like he's not good enough. It takes so much to get him sing to at all and we're such a small audience... he also rarely uses the full strength of his voice."

Killua clucks his tongue. "So, what's your incentive here? Are you trying to help him to get in his good graces or are you trying to crush his art block with the power of love~~ "

"Oh, shut up."

But Killua's voice only turns higher, shriller, piercing. " A force from above —"

"You could at least try to hit the notes, you know," Kurapika says deadpan although he already knows that Killua gets a kick out of assassinating everyone's eardrums. Then the door to the sleeping compartment opens with a bang and he jumps in his skin and falls quiet.

"For fuck's sake, there's people who want to sleep," Leorio hollers. He holds something within his thumb and forefinger that might be a very small marshmallow and with some squinting Kurapika realizes that it's an earplug. He wonders how loud they must have been to disturb Leorio despite these. He wonders how loud he might have talked earlier - but if Leorio has overheard slivers of their conversation, Kurapika doubts he would be standing so groggily in the doorway, looking even gruffer than usual for the dark shadow of stubble around his jaw and the bags underneath his eyes. It looks a little unattractive, a little worse for wear and Kurapika feels the rest of his animosity crumble and dissipate, washed away by the surge of fondness that wells up inside him. Leorio has a good face, an interesting face that was all the more appealing when it wasn't all groomed and pruned.

"What's even so important that you gotta make a ruckus at ten pm, huh?"

Silence. And every pair of eyes settles on Leorio with a mixture of discomfort and embarrassment - except Gon's, who has thought and uttered nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Investment plans," Pairo replies dryly.

Leorio sputters. "Invest—and why is Killua shrieking like a banshee about it?"

"He's very, very bad at it."

"Go back to bed," Kurapika urges, a little too gently perhaps, with a smile that shimmers through his ushering words.

"Oh, I will. I just find it kinda funny that y'all are still up and about because I could've sworn we all had work in the morning."

Killua sneers. "Yeah, but we're not grumpy old men, we can handle a bit of lost sleep."

Leorio grunts like a disturbed boar. “You say that now but let’s see how you’ll feel when I wake you at seven tomorrow, huh. Um, Kurapika… I think you have a little… something there.”

Kurapika looks down at himself and examines the water-stain for the first time. Most of it hit his stomach and a little went on the front of his pants, and aside from looking horrible, the soggy fabric rubs his thighs in a very disgusting manner.

“You should change out of that,” Leorio remarks, stating the obvious.

“Hey, what a great idea!” Killua pipes up, “Why don’t you help him with that?”

“Uh. Okay?”

“No!” Kurapika shouts and raises his hands defensively, “I don’t need any help, I’m an adult. Just go!”

“Right,” Leorio mutters and suddenly takes an immense interest in the floor. He takes a step back into the dim compartment where he came from. “I’ll just—”

As soon as Leorio closes the door behind him, Kurapika turns to punch Killua in the shoulder and lowers his voice to whisper-yell at him. “What the fuck was that about?”

“You just complained we weren’t supportive enough, so I thought I’d help you. A lot of times, it’s all just a matter of opportunity.”

“Well, how about you never try to help me again? And you—” He turns to the circle of his friends. “Show is over, you can all go to bed now.”

I've stared into the terror and the terror stared back
I feel the stink of its hungry breath still on my neck
And there is nowhere to run and nowhere to hide
When I'm a prisoner to my own pride

Kurapika Kurta, "Black Eyed Beasts"

The promo shoot is the one part of the tour that Kurapika is least enthusiastic about, for many reasons. For one, it should have been scheduled before the tour, not right in the middle of it. He knows they couldn't get an earlier appointment considering the haste with which Senritsu had planned and scheduled everything (and bless her for managing this feat in the first place), but he would not have minded foregoing the photo shoots at all. They always made him feel like a prop to be dressed and done up and repositioned.

But they had decided to record the second-to-last show and turn it into a live album and dvd. Something for the fans who didn't have the resources to come to a concert and had really hoped for a new album.

"We need a cover shot for that," Senritsu had insisted. "Besides, it wouldn't just be you, you'll have Neon and Shoot by your side. You're a unit now, so why not show it more?"

But one look at the concept sketches and the outfit he was supposed to wear and wants to bolt through the door. It's a simple, comfortable ensemble, quite close to what Leorio offers him: blue denim jeans, a matching jacket, a simple white t-shirt underneath... and then there's the scarf. A square piece of fabric, navy blue with red tassels, meant to be worn in a triangular fashion to show off the white and red and gold embroidery.

He hates it. His skin itches just looking at it and the thought of a stranger draping it around his neck with uncaring hands makes his head spin. But Kurapika cannot afford to test the photographer's patience by trying to negotiate. It will appear vain and in the worst case, word might spread. So compliance is in order. And he tells himself that he can do this. They are surrounded by staff, people who arrange the lighting, people who supply snacks, and there’s Senritsu and most importantly Gon. Gon, who has this knowing, stubborn look in his eye that promises Kurapika that no harm will come to him. And the rational part of Kurapika knows that he is safe.

But his fear cares little for rationality. It's a specter, a shadow-image of the pain he had to endure and sometimes it rises and howls. Kurapika tells himself he can still do this. He can endure.

The photographer takes pictures of Neon and Shoot first and Kurapika takes the opportunity to get used to the scarf. The embroidery is unpleasantly scratchy where it touches the sides of his neck, a constant reminder of its presence. Kurapika all but sticks his hands under his armpits to prevent himself from yanking it right off. He stays close to Gon and Killua by the snack table, but looks as interested in the photoshoot as humanly possible. Killua, as usual, is complaining that there's no chocolate and he goes off on a tangent about all the horrible things people try to put into chocolate these days. Fish, for example. Lavender. Nachos. His rant is just distracting enough to have a calming effect - until Kurapika gets called onto the set.

That didn't take any time at all , he thinks.

He takes his mark, his clothes are adjusted one more time. Then the lights begin to flash, instructions are bellowed in-between. Turn your foot a little bit more to the right and try to look a little more brooding and we need some more wind here . Don't raise your brows so much and , directed at Shoot, can you try to look somewhat less miserable, thanks . May the lady smile some more. No, not like that. Like She Has A Secret, no, a bit more subdued, you look like a cartoon villain, dear.

It's a damn circus and Kurapika hates it so much, but he is doing so well - and then Neon and Shoot are excused and someone calls for a touch-up. A shy looking girl approaches Kurapika with a powder puff and a mirror, accompanied by a man who is about as tall as Leorio and twice as broad, who carries a piece of cloth about the size of a towel slung over his arm. He has enough manners to say "Excuse me," before he drapes the cloth around Kurapika's shoulders. Kurapika flinches.

"This is just to catch the fallout," the man explains. He has a narrator's voice: low and smooth and just a hint condescending—

Panic spikes sharp within Kurapika. He forgets how to breathe and then the girl tells him to shut his eyes as she reapplies the powder and that makes everything worse because he cannot see what the man's hands and eyes are doing. Kurapika is prodded at until his lungs burn.

"There we are," a voice coos and the cloth slips from Kurapika's shoulder as easy and soft as—

(— as the silk scarf he wore that day. )

Kurapika opens his eyes and there is a twinkle to the assistant's smile which looms close, so close. Some detached part of Kurapika understands that this guy is just flirting, but he is paralyzed—

Unable to stop the hands that grasp the scarf around his neck, adjusting and lingering on his skin for just a moment too long. "Now you're flawless again," the man whispers as if they were sharing a secret. It's more than Kurapika can stand.

( "You knew the rules." Chrollo's voice, floating. "No tattoos. I needed you perfect. Flawless. Why did you have to ruin yourself?" )

(Kurapika trembled, digging his fingers into his own neck to pry them underneath his scarf, to loosen the tension, to breathe, breathe, breathe again, but his fingers slipped on the silk and the room was spinning, lights speckled his vision, and still Chrollo pulled taut. )

It all comes crashing back and he is alone, alone and ashamed in a room full of people.

His eyes search for help and they catch Neon as she slips away. She stops to blow him a kiss, unaware of the distress he's in and then she's gone .

He's going to throw up. Except he can't because there's people staring and if he forces himself to hold on just a few more minutes, if he can force himself to play along a little bit longer, he can break apart in secret.

But his windpipe is seizing up and the minutes drag like hours.

Leorio taps his pencil on the notebook, trying to recreate the melody that is spooking through his head. He wishes he had his guitar with him, that would make it a lot easier to play through, to search for the right words - but for now he is stuck in the studio's waiting room, sprawled out on a cream-colored sofa and he will have to make do with what he has.

He taps his feet. Furrows his brows. And tries to catch the chorus, pin it down with his voice:

" Baby, I know you're hard to love, " he sings and if there is going to be one truth in this song, one line that must stand unedited, it's this one.

"So let me/ love you a little harder/ hold you a little tighter/kiss you a little harder/Until..."

And his foot breaks with the rhythm, frustrated, because there's something missing and he knows the shape of it, knows that it has to form a frame with that first line but he doesn't know how . And until what ? Until the sun sets again in your lonely heart ? But he's already decided he's going to use the phrase sunset hair in the second verse, no matter how much it will expose him, so he has to find something else for the chorus.

Grumbling, Leorio writes down what he does have, leaving a blank space and some notes for when he comes back to it later. He sets to writing down the second verse which melody-wise, is still a bit all over the place, but he likes the message of it. And truth be told, it's probably all shit anyway. But he's writing something and that's better than writing nothing at all.

The door is yanked open and Leorio closes his book sheepishly. He takes his feet off the couch and sits a little straighter, offering a smile. "Oh, hi. Are you done shooting already?"

Kurapika stares at him as if he has two heads. "Get. Out." His words are clipped, annoyed, but surprisingly hushed.

"Why?" is all that Leorio can ask. But Kurapika is already moving on; he makes a beeline for his bag and starts rummaging in it, growing increasingly agitated until he just takes the bag and dumps all its contents onto the sofa cushions.

"You okay?", Leorio tries again as he notices the sheen of sweat on Kurapika's forehead and cheeks, or how pink the skin of his neck is where the make up isn't blended down far enough. The feverish way with which he picks through his stuff. And then Kurapika's hands still and he opens his mouth and his breath whistles as he takes it in, in a way that no breath ought to sound. He coughs and presses his index and middle finger into the dip of his neck, right above the clavicle.

"Kurapika?" Gon's voice calls from outside and he stops in the doorway. "Is everything alright? You left kind of—" He cuts himself off as he takes in the way Kurapika is holding himself. And Kurapika looks back at him, desperate, miserable and although his answer is very whimsy, it still so loud in this tiny room. "I can't find my inhaler."

"Did you leave it in the bus?" Gon asks. He takes a few steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Kurapika's shoulder... and Kurapika sinks against his chest and bursts into tears.

Leorio stares at them because he doesn’t understand. Kurapika can't possibly have asthma, he couldn't sing the way he does if he had and yet—

And yet the whistling gets worse as Kurapika sobs and shakes, as he is slowly choking and Leorio has never felt so useless in his life.

"I'll go find it," he hears himself say.

"You don't know what it looks like or where to look for it."

"Yeah and I also don't know what to do when he stops breathing, " he hisses. He knows he's lowkey freaking out, but the thought of being left alone with this situation... it's a bit much. And he can't imagine Kurapika would want him around now. "Wait, you do know what do do when it gets worse, right?"

Gon nods.

"Great. Keep your phone close, I'll call you once I'm at the bus. Maybe Pairo can help me look. We'll find this thing, I promise."

And he runs. He runs like he has never run before. Through a maze of corridors and across the large concrete parking lot where he sees their tour bus, its doors wide open. Mizaistom has set up a plastic chair and table for himself and is sitting out in the sun, smoking and reading a novel. He waves when he spots Leorio.

"No time!" Leorio blurts out as he rushes past.

"I wouldn't go in right now—" Mizaistom starts, but Leorio is already leaping up the stairs, stumbling into the dim bed-bunk department. He checks underneath Kurapika's pillow first and finds the little reading lamp he can see glowing every night from behind Kurapika's curtain, the kind with the bendy neck that can just be clipped onto the book. He takes it and flicks it on, so he can see better - and there, crammed between mattress and wall, lies a small cylindrical object made from plastic. It's just big enough to fit into a palm and it ends in what looks like a snout. There's a little dial on it too, that displays the number 12.

Leorio reaches for it, positively surprised that it has been that easy. Bless Kurapika for not being a slob.

A giggle from the front lobby catches his attention. It sounds just like Neon, except Neon is supposed to be back at the studio—

And then he hears Pairo whisper something softly and Neon gasps with delighted shock and laughs loudly, helplessly, happy .

Leorio feels as if he's been doused with boiling water. He is listening in on something that wasn't meant to be shared and the better part of him wants to slip away before the two of them hear him... but it's Pairo . Kurapika's Pairo. And there has to be another explanation, for the cooing, the teasing, the way Neon's breath catches in her throat—

Leorio is mindful not to make any noise of his own as he turns off the lamp and stuffs it back under Kurapika's pillow. Sneaking further in, he takes care where to put his feet, but the biggest traitors are his nerves trying to tickle fits of anxious laughter out of him. He still hopes he's wrong as he slides open the door that divides the sleeping area from the front lobby - just a crack, just enough to peer in - and catches a glimpse of teal curls against cream white skin, of a sheer peach-colored bra pinching Neon's soft sides.

They are huddled in the same spot of the sofa that they claim for karaoke, Neon sitting astride on Pairo's lap so that all that Leorio can see of him ( Kurapika's boyfriend , he reminds himself, and an ugly heat flickers in his stomach) is the top of his head as he rests it on her shoulder and the gentle hold he has on her waist. The tip of his nose brushes against her neck almost curiously and his hand slips higher, to the swell of her breasts—

"What the fuck do you think you're doing," Leorio hollers as he bursts in with a titan's worth of anger and a fist ready to sing through the air. Neon shrieks with surprise and nearly tumbles off Pairo trying to grasp for her sweater. He steadies her instinctively. Because he cares. Because he's in love with her and that, somehow, is the worst part of it.

The only thing that saves Pairo from tasting Leorio's knuckles is the phone that comes alive in Leorio's suit jacket which reminds him that he is here for a reason and that reason is currently lying hard in his other fist. He answers the call glowering, although the futility of throwing murderous glances at a blind man escapes him at this instant. "I think I found it," he says.

"Which color is it?"

"Blue." He opens his fist even as he says this, doubting his memory once it is put to the test, but yes, a simple medium blue.

"You need to find the one that's dark grey, that's the emergency one. The blue one is his daily dose. But bring that one too, just on case."

"Okay." Leorio holds the phone to his chest and addresses the room. "Anyone care to help me find Kurapika's inhaler or would you rather go back to what you were doing?" His sarcasm is scalding and god, how he wants to shame them, but there is not a trace of remorse to be found on their faces. Just shock, that quickly dissipates and is replaced by confusion and determination. Neon, who has slipped back into her yellow sweater, stands and smooths her skirt. "I'll check the bathroom," she offers, her mouth settling in a firm line. She bumps into Leorio's arm as she walks past him, as if to say that just because she’s helping does not mean she is forgiving him for his rude interruption.

"What. Why? " Pairo demands to know. "He hasn't had an asthma attack in—" and he stops himself there, reassessing. When? When was Kurapika's last asthma attack and why the hell did no one think of telling Leorio that this is something to look out for?

Pairo's frustration is equally palpable. "It was just a photo shoot . I don't get it."

"I don't know, I'm not a damn doctor," Leorio snaps back. He puts the phone back up to his ear because he is not that keen to talking to Pairo. Not anymore.

"—rio? Are you still there?" Gon's voice pops up.

"I am, sorry. Any idea where I can start searching? How's he holding up so far?"

"Better. He calmed down a lot. Enough to make a fuss when I said we're going to have to go to the ER." And sure enough, there is a noise of complaint in the background. "An ambulance will be here in fifteen, twenty minutes, so if you haven't found the other inhaler by then, don't bother. Have you checked the jacket he wore yesterday?"

"Hold up." Leorio stumbles into the kitchenette where he sees his old blue-gray letterman jacket, discarded on the counter, and gives the pocket a quick search. They're empty, save for a little onyx ring that he slips on his pinky so he won't lose it - meanwhile Pairo pushes past him, one hand at the wall for guidance. "I'll check his suitcase, just to be sure. He usually has his inhalers somewhere close, but as I said, it's been a while since he actually had to use it."

Gon speaks up again. "So, Kurapika says he keeps it in his shower bag when he's not going out."

"Found it!" Neon shouted from the bathroom. She all but slams open the door and presses the inhaler in Leorio's hands. It's so much lighter than its counterpart. "There you go," she says.

"Thanks." It comes out a little gruff and a little genuine. He tells Gon about their find and promises to be back in five minutes, then he hangs up. Still staring at the inhalers in his hand. They look almost like toys.

Leorio has a hard time understanding how Neon can be so genuinely concerned for Kurapika and yet so ready to risk hurting him with her actions. And the same is true for Pairo, who inquires if someone had called an ambulance yet.

"Gon did. But they don't need to go to the ER, right? I mean, we got the inhalers now."

"No, he definitely needs a check-up, even if he's feeling better," Pairo says. "Tell them to wait for me."

I think you did enough, Leorio wants to say but he knows that having a familiar face around is going to make the trip a lot easier. Because hospitals are stuffy and uncomfortable, not to mention scary . And what Kurapika might need right now is the support of his boyfriend, no matter how badly that sits with Leorio.

"Go," Neon urges. "Hurry. I'm gonna pack some stuff in case he needs to stay for a while and then we'll follow."

"Alright."

When he starts to run, he wonders how he will ever be able to face the two of them and Kurapika in the same room again.

Sometimes, to breathe freely again is as easy as one-two-three. One, shake your inhaler. Two, flick up that little switch on the top of it that latches something in place. Three, draw in another wheezing breath until you hear the familiar click, until your mouth fills with the taste of rubber and you cough and cough, but it's easier. Less claustrophobic.

Kurapika rests the fist and the rescue inhaler it is curled around on his heaving chest. He feels tired, washed out from the crying. In fact, he wouldn't mind taking a nap right now: his head is resting in Gon's lap quite comfortably, his feet are propped up on the backrest of the sofa. But even as he tries to relax, he can feel the weight of the others' stares upon him. Gon's imploring, watchful gaze. Senritsu's jittering guilt. And Leorio... Leorio looks like a portrait of the Romantic area, with his windswept hair and misery painted on his face in bold yet soft strokes. It's impossible to bear. If even one of them had the decency to shout at him for being careless... Instead, Senritsu ponders over how many shows they should cancel, to grant him some rest.

"Can we wait for the doctor's sentence first?" Kurapika croaks. He's not keen on spending the next hours in the hospital to have his lungs checked, and he suspects they will have to cancel tomorrow's show at least - but then they'll be on the road again and it’s another day until the next big rehearsal and that will have to be enough time.

"Of course, of course," Senritsu mutters. "But you have to promise that you'll be honest with us. If it's getting too much—"

"I told you, it was just a stress reaction. It's not going to happen again."

"It was the scarf, wasn't it?" Gon asks and his eyes are set upon Kurapika so earnestly, it's impossible to lie to him.

"Yes. No. That was just part of it."

"You promised me it would be fine," Senritsu says at the same time as Leorio asks, "Wait, what scarf? What the hell happened?"

Kurapika closes his eyes. Inhales. Exhales. I am safe, he reminds himself. And surrounded by people who care and fuss about him, he can actually believe it. Still his tongue is heavy as he says: "That guy. The assistant, he sounded just like... like him ."

Senritsu lets out a quiet ' oh '. Gon frowns. "He was getting quite handsy too. But I didn't think... why didn't you use the sign we agreed on?"

"I couldn't. I blanked out."

"What," Leorio asks quietly and so decidedly polite, Kurapika can picture him clenching his teeth, "The hell. Are you all talking about?"

An uncomfortable silence spreads, and he knows that he's at fault. They must have assumed he told Leorio. He should have told Leorio some stripped, detached version of it right from the start. But Leorio never questioned his aversion to various types of neckwear and Kurapika has wanted so badly to appear a better version of himself. An unaffected version of himself.

"Gon. Senritsu. Can you give us a moment?"

Senritsu complies by announcing that she still has things to discuss with the photographer. Kurapika sits up and he can feel Gon shift and rise behind him. "I'll go and wait for the ambulance by the entrance, but if you need anything—"

"I'll call," Kurapika promises although they both know he won't. Gon says his goodbyes and presses a fleeting kiss on Kurapika's forehead and then he is gone too and it's just him and Leorio and the things they do not speak about.

He does not know how to begin although his story has a start and a beginning and in the middle there is an impact so heavy, it still spiderwebs little cracks into his idea of the past, the future and his own role within. So Kurapika makes a passing comment about how he should probably get out of these borrowed clothes which earns him an asserting "Don't get up" as Leorio leaps into action, gathering Kurapika's pants and long-sleeved tee. "I also brought you your jacket," he adds, as if he hadn't spent minutes hovering about the room, clutching to it nervously. He drops the pile on the armrest and hesitates, his eyes darting between the clothes and Kurapika as if he failed to make a mental connection how one was supposed to get onto the other. "Do you want me to..."

"I'm good, thanks." A smile steals on his lips (soft at first, then growing stubborn) and he decides that if he is going to be completely honest the next minutes, he should start with small steps. "I don't think I can handle one more pair of hands on me right now. Nothing against you - but it's been a long day of being prodded and prepped and... I could use some autonomy right now."

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I know," Kurapika says. "Don't worry, I know. So sit, please , you're making me nervous."

Leorio obliges, but averts his eyes as soon as Kurapika starts to strip down to his underwear.

"You know how I don't like suits?" Kurapika says because it's as good an approach as any other.

"You don't? Wow. I hadn't noticed since you just make a disgusted noise whenever I offer you one." He's trying so hard to make it sound like a joke, but his words fall flat. The hands in his lap hold on tightly to one another.

"Shocking, I know. Well, at my old label I was required to wear a suit for any official outing that wasn't a gig. They were really into this whole splitting stage persona from public persona concept. I could dress however I pleased and acted however I wanted to on stage as long as I cleaned up my act for interviews and the like." He worms his way into his skinny jeans, pulling, wriggling, and it's almost too much of an effort to look good. But Kurapika is vain when he can be bothered to care, so he keeps wearing them. And Leorio keeps suggesting them. And any other day, Kurapika would have liked to imagine Leorio's hands straying over his thighs to appraise them although he is too aware of the unlikeliness of that outcome. Just another pointless craving of a touch-deprived soul. "I really bought into it at first because it's like a reversal of theatre. Play yourself on stage, fill out a role once you leave it. Of course, that was naive. And anyway, I wasn't bothered by wearing suits at first. I knew my dad would be beside himself with pride seeing me wearing one. For him, they're like a sign that you made it." Kurapika stops and bites his lip, as if to punish it for throwing out that last bit. He has a feeling that Leorio might share his father's sentiment and that that was why he clung to wearing suits himself. Shrouding himself in the respect they evoked in people as if it was some sort of armor. He understands this, even if it's not something he would choose for himself.

"That job ruined a lot of things for me," Kurapika adds quietly and puts on the jacket. His jacket, warm and snuggly and so oversized only his fingertips peek out of the sleeves. "Although it's not so much the suits I despise, but the ties you have to wear with them. I can't bear them. Or neckerchiefs. But scarves... scarves are the worst for me." He sighs, exhausted, and falls back into the seat. The world tilts for a second as Kurapika is hit by a spell of dizzyness and he leans further into the cushions. He bites his lip and waits it out, cursing his own weakness. Once his own weight stops pulling him down, he closes his eyes. Speaks. "I was assaulted. By someone who was supposed to look out for me. He strangled me with my own scarf until I nearly blacked out, just to teach me a lesson. And it was terrifying because he knew exactly what he was doing and when to stop, and his face- his face remained impassive all through it."

He breathes, in an out, and it still takes more effort than it should, but it's enough. It's quiet . No rasping or rattling. Another small triumph.

"Who?" Leorio asks and his voice cracks and, god, he sounds so confused and... offended somehow. As if the truth that Kurapika has offered is in no way acceptable. But it's the only truth he has and he has done such a bad job of keeping it contained so far, how does he not reek of disaster? Kurapika cracks his eyes open and turns his head towards Leorio. What he finds is this: disbelief and anger grappling with each other, their disagreement dragging deep wrinkles over Leorio's face. "Who was it, Kurapika? Who hurt you?"

Leorio reaches out although his hand shakes badly and it settles heavy on Kurapika's shoulder. There's something desperate about the touch, and Kurapika finds himself wanting to comfort - which is odd, considering that he should be the one to need it. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does." Leorio swallows hard. His grip tightens and the set of his jaw speaks of clenched teeth. This, Kurapika remembers, is the stance of the boy who buried his fist in his teammates stomach for harassing a drunk girl at a party. A girl he hadn't even met before. Because this was who he was, who he always had been: sweet and foolishly noble, always ready to throw himself into a fight for the sake of others. "It does because he had no fucking right—"

"And what do you expect to change once I tell you a name, hm? Do you think you can just walk right up to him and punch him into shape and—" Kurapika gasps and coughs. Too many words, forced out too quick. But he recovers and goes on as if uninterrupted. "—and that's going to fix everything? If you so much as laid a finger on him, there will be an army of lawyers at his beck and call, willing to sue you until you and all the people you care about are left with nothing, not even the clothes on your back. And then he’s won. Or you choose to walk away and he finds another way to profit from the situation. Because people like him always win. It's easy to be on top when you don't have a conscience weighing you down."

Leorio opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. "But there has to be something—"

"Maybe there is, but that has nothing to do with you. I told you about this because I want you to understand how it has affected me, not because I expect you to go out and fight windmills. Gon and Killua and Senritsu, even Mizaistom... they risked a lot to help me out of this situation. Some of them made sacrifices I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay. And I don't want you to get caught up in this, too. So, please. Just accept it as it is."

"But—"

"No buts, Leorio." Kurapika says, his voice clipped.

Leorio's shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall. Eventually, some of his tension dissipates. "Is there anything I can do for you , at least? Something to make it easier?"

"Actually," Kurapika says and stops. He remembers the kindness he'd been given, remembers all the little gestures that have helped him carry on. He doesn't always remark on them, but he's still grateful for every time his friends make him smile, for Senritsu who knows which of his moods to indulge and when to talk back and for every step that Pairo takes with him, even if he could have chosen a different path miles ago. And he's grateful for Leorio coming back into his life and proving to be better and more beautiful than his teenage self could have hoped for. How could he demand more when Leorio already gave him so much and so freely?

(Because he is shameless and yearning and so, so lonely.)

"I want you to write a song for me."

"What?"

"- and not just any song, a duet. You should have the time to write while we're on tour and if you want to, I can ask Senritsu to cut back your other duties. And I want you around for rehearsals. You've got a nice voice, it would be a shame to waste it on karaoke."

"That's... not what I expected," Leorio replies and Kurapika knows that what he probably means is that was not what I was offering . Which is fair - it is quite a feat he expects from Leorio.

"You still want to be on stage, right? You want to be an artist, performing your own songs, writing for others... it would mean a lot to me if I could help you make that happen. Think about it at least."

And Leorio puffs up his cheeks in exasperation and says: "God, you're such a weirdo."

It catches Kurapika by surprise and he chuckles. And he laughs until he coughs again and Leorio makes a helpless noise and puts his hand on Kurapika's back, rubbing comfortingly. "Is that a yes?"

"I'll try, okay? If you promise me you'll look out for yourself. I wouldn't know what to do if something happened to you."

Kurapika forgets to breathe and this time, he can't blame it on the asthma because it's something else in his chest that grows tight and it spreads and warms him from the inside out and it makes Kurapika feel very, very stupid.

"Leorio, I—" he says, desperate and who knows how his tongue might have betrayed him next, had the door not opened with a bang and Leorio pulls his hand back as if guilty. Neon and Pairo bustle into the room.

"We came as quick as we could," Neon yells. "Is the ambulance here yet? I packed you some stuff in case you need to stay overnight." And with that, she drops a large gym bag to her feet.

"How are you feeling?", Pairo asks and lets Neon guide him to the couch.

"I'm alright now." Kurapika takes Pairo's searching hands into his own and guides them to his cheeks. He endures their concerned wandering over his face until Pairo drops to his knees, almost as if begging for forgiveness. "Can I—?"

Kurapika throws a nervous glance at Leorio, who is already scooting away and standing up. "I'll better leave you two alone," he mumbles, staring intently at his shoes. He doesn't look back as he leaves and shuts the door behind him with barely a sound.

Kurapika opens his jacket and he pulls Pairo close until his ear is pressed tightly against the right side of Kurapika's chest. And he breathes, and Pairo listens. His fingers run through his friend's smooth hair in gentle circles and Pairo wraps his arms around Kurapika's mid tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"What for?"

"Not being there when it happened."

Kurapika is never sure if Pairo is talking about now or about Chrollo. And since his reappearing asthma is a result of his trauma, he's not sure it makes a difference, either. "Gon was here for me and Leorio too. And besides, how could you have known? You can't stick to my side every minute of the day just I case I might need you. And I would be a poor friend to ask this of you. Not to mention that Neon would be very angry with me."

"Thank you," she says.

"I know we promised we would always there for each other but that doesn't mean you have to be my shadow. I'll find you if I need you."

"Do you need me now? In the hospital?"

"No, but I think I'd like you to come with me anyway. You always know the best waiting room games." Kurapika bends down to kiss Pairo on the top of his head and in Hebrew he adds: "But I miss talking to you like we used to. Before you doubted my every choice. Sometimes I feel like you're just waiting for something terrible to happen."

Pairo slips out of Kurapika's hold and he sits back on his heels. "Is that so unlikely? I mean, do you think this monster is through with you yet?"

"Maybe. Or maybe not. I don't think he cares enough to hold a grudge for too long and I'm no longer something he can control."

There is a knock on the door. Gon announcing that the ambulance has arrived and behind him, two medics pour into the room. They cause quite a flurry as they wheel in a gurney and order everyone to step away. They bombard Kurapika with questions, check his vital signs and take his ongoing complaints as a sign that he is stable enough to be brought to the hospital.

They ask Kurapika to get onto the gurney and then they usher him out, with Gon and Pairo following close by, then he's in the back of the car, with his friends to his right and he hasn't had a chance to say goodbye or tell Shoot or Killua what happened and— Kurapika just hopes they don't keep him overnight. (Highly unlikely, but not impossible.) He dreads being left alone in this liminal space, sleeping in a cold bed with rough covers, sharing rooms with coughing strangers who watch TV too loudly while time does not pass. That's the worst part of it: being stuck indefinitely, not being allowed to leave or choose his own schedule for as long as it strikes the doctor's fancy.

Kurapika has learned not to trust isolation.

(And he holds onto his phone tightly, ready to fight anyone who threatens to take it away from him.)

Leorio spends the rest of the afternoon wandering aimlessly and picking up little chores, searching for some purpose to dedicate his restless hands to. He cleans up the bus, he picks up stray socks with his fingertips and stuffs them in the dirty laundry bag and he volunteers for laundry service, even if it's not his turn yet.

But the hours stretch so long. What could possibly be taking them so long? Thirty minutes after the ambulance took off, Gon texted Senritsu to let her know that the first check up showed no more pulmonary issues and that they had been ordered to a different waiting room in the hospital to see a specialist. An hour passed. And another. And no more news.

And Leorio is standing in a laundromat, sorting dirty clothes by color, stuffing them in machines and tries to hypnotize himself by watching the clothes go round and round and round until his mind is blank and his eyes droop.

And then Killua bursts in and yells at him to get on twitter. Right. Now.

Leorio snaps out of his daze. He stares at Killua, whose pale face is flushed from running, and asks: "Why?" After today, after nearly losing Kurapika, he can't imagine anymore what could be so important about social media. After all, he spent a lot of time on twitter, on instagram, picking filters and responding to fan's comments, watching people criticize or analyze Kurapika's music videos... but he hadn't known that Kurapika suffered from asthma. All these months working with him, and he hadn't known. So twitter really wasn't one of Leorio's main concerns right now; it seemed so pointless.

But Killua insists and it's his damn job to check and maintain, so he lets himself be dragged into yet another venue lounge and seated before a laptop that has twitter already opened and the first thing he sees—

"Oh, fuck."

A lady in an elegant pantsuit gives him a nasty stare over his word choice. Her pinned up hair says 'manager', her pearl earrings say 'I am too rich to bother with filth like you' and if Leorio grants her a smile that is more cocky than apologetic, why, that must just be her imagination.

He focuses his attention back to the screen.

"This is bad," Killua says. "Like, real bad."

Leorio stares at the picture, which must have been taken in the hospital waiting room. Uploaded forty-three minutes ago according to the time stamp. A snapshot of Kurapika leaning heavy against Pairo's shoulder, their hands intertwined, taken from a sneaky angle by some fan who felt the need to immediately share their revelation to the world.

The caption: OMG I'M IN THE HOSPITAL AND I'M IN THE SAME WAITING ROOM AS #KURAPIKA, I'M DYING. AND HE HAS A BOYFRIEND!!!1! #blessed #bestdayofmylife

Followed by a rainbow of hearts. Leorio wonders if they are aware of the full scope of what they've done and then he checks the numbers and he wants to throw up. The retweets have reached triple digits, the likes were just a few dozens shy of reaching 4 digits and this would only increase within the next hours and then it would reach the news and-

"Dude, you haven't even seen the worst of it. Kurapika is going off ."

"Kurapika has seen?"

"Kurapika has retweeted it and now he's been ranting about it for the last couple of minutes. That's why I had to get you."

"Why did he - literally every one of his followers is going to see it."

"Yeah, no shit. But you cuss him out on that one, I'm not getting in the line of fire."

Killua opens Kurapika's twitter and then shows him the thread of messages. And it's angry alright, and wordy: one addition haunts the next one until they shape a series of bite sized complaints like pearls on a string.

I love how there's 72 replies to this and not a single one is a concern for my health, but everyone's dying to find out who my friend is, thanks a lot, really makes me feel appreciated

|

And he *is* just my friend. Who stayed with me as moral support b/c I hate the smell of hospitals & I hate doctors prodding me and guess what? Friends hold hands. Girls do it all the time and boys should too. Not my fault you see this as a strictly romantic thing

|

And if he had been my boyfriend? Fuck you for sharing this. To out someone against their will is the nastiest thing you can do & I don't think any of you realize how vulnerable lgbt artists are, how much it affects their career if they're out or not

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Also, a word of advice: maybe grant your favorite artists some fucking privacy like you'd do with any other person b/c we are human and deserve to be treated as such. Do you ask every stranger on the street about their love life? No, you don't.

Leorio licks his lips and reads, absorbs. He is filled with a strange sense of pride and kinship because not too long ago, he had been angry for Kurapika's sake, about that very same issue. And now Kurapika was finally pushing back.

Another reply, another pearl on the string:

I'm a stranger. Just because I exist and work in a public space doesn't mean that every aspect of me is public domain. I still deserve the same respect as any other person, I have a right to my privacy. Supporting my music doesn't give you the right to dig through my trash.

"I'm not sure we can fix that,” Killua complains and runs a hand along the close-cropped sides of his undercut.

"Fix what? He's right ."

"He's going to lose fans over this."

"No one we would miss," Leorio retorts stubbornly. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, ignoring Killua's snide remarks about do I need to remind you what your job is, old man ? God, how he hates his job sometimes.

"I'll text him, alright? But there's no reason in deleting any of this because he has a point and he's not too insulting about it," Leorio grumbles as he uses the direct messaging system. If Kurapika is still online, this will reach him quickest.

Hey. I'm going 2 assume from your ranting that you're feeling better and I hope you get to come back to us soon. But can you do me a favor?

Please get off twitter for a few days. You made your point and I'm all for that but you really don't need that kind of stress right now. Just ignore it.

Hope you come back safe,

Leorio

Kurapika sees, not a minute later. And Leorio is waiting for that little speech bubble to pop up and notify him that Kurapika is replying, but instead he is left on read. Twitter grows quiet too. It brings him no satisfaction.

Leorio doesn't sleep that night. His exhaustion is beaten and overruled by his worry and so he turns and listens and turns and listens for the sound of three pairs of feet shuffling and tired whispers. He can feel a collection of questions move inside of him as he shifts. He doesn’t dwell on them.

Kurapika, Pairo and Gon don't return until well past midnight, too late even to bother with trivial things like brushing teeth or peeling out of day clothes, too late to strike up a conversation. Or so he thinks, until he can hear—

"Let me stay with you." Pairo. An inquiry.

Kurapika’s mattress creaking. Softly: "You don't have to."

"But I want to."

Leorio balls his useless hands to fists and squints his eyes shut, suddenly too aware of the quietest of noises. He expects and dreads to hear lips meet and mash, limbs shifting and breath catching and—

And there is none of that as Pairo and Kurapika retreat to the same bunk, only a back and forth of secretive whispers, but Leorio still feels sick to his stomach. He wishes he could understand Hebrew so that he could tell what it is they share at this hour, at this place. (More than that he wishes he could be in Pairo's place.) But the quietly trickling stream of their conversation lulls him eventually and he falls into slumber with his jaw still clenched and his shoulders tense. And he dreams angry dreams.

How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around
I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown
I hope that you see right through my walls
I hope that you catch me, 'Cause I'm already falling

Christina Perri, “Arms”

The awkward thing about traveling in a bus with a group of other people is that it's as impossible to avoid someone as it is to pull someone to the side for a quick one-on-one. There are only so many corners to laze about in and there are just the right amount of people to always have someone stumbling in on your business, no matter what you're doing.

The only way to be truly alone and undisturbed and safe from eavesdropping is when you bother to lock yourself in the bathroom. Which is not a fair thing to do, for there are more urgent needs than privacy. The best that Leorio can do is to keep himself busy. He avoids karaoke by spending more time in the company of their driver, and when they run out of things to say, he plays cards with Senritsu and Shoot who are always in need of a third person for skat. Sometimes, he just lies on his bunk and stares at nothing, asking himself painful questions. Kurapika doesn't push, for some reason. Maybe he thinks that Leorio is busy coming up with a song, and he might, if his mind wasn't running in circles.

Again and again he has to relive the image of Pairo and Neon clinging to another, his head resting softly on her shoulder and he thinks of the stubborn way Kurapika always holds Pairo's hands and he knows, he just knows, that it's going to ruin Kurapika if he ever finds out. So Leorio has to keep that from happening. Which means he will have to find a way to talk to Pairo in private somehow. But still, he does not understand why . If Pairo is happier with her, why hasn't he broken off with Kurapika already? Why delay the inevitable? And how can Neon be content with the situation as it is, how is she not the one urging Pairo to make a decision?

By the time Leorio considers writing all his thoughts down to get some of that tension out of his head, they're already too far away from Nevada to turn around again and it's in that moment that he notices that his notebook has gone missing.

Five days pass like this: with frantic bouts of searching, with sleepless nights and nodding off in the passenger seat and losing at skat because he can't keep himself focused on the game. And then, on the evening of the fifth night, as the back of the bus gets louder and louder with a harsh parody of having fun, Leorio's phone buzzes with an incoming message. He doesn't check at first, sure that it's just tinder or something equally unimportant.

But then it buzzes again. And again. And again, and he groans and Mizaistom laughs and challenges him to just check or turn it off.

Leorio grumbles like an old man as he unlocks his phone.

He has several text messages from Kurapika and their number increases as he reads them over, although all that separates them is a small distance, a sliding door, and company.

Care to tell me why you're avoiding me?

I mean it's been a few days and I thought you'd either come around again or at least tell me what your issue is but it looks like you're not up for the 1st

So I have to ask about the 2nd

Are you mad about me going off on twitter? Or is it because I asked you to write me a song? Like, those are the only things I can think of that might have put you in a bad spot and if it's anything else we can talk about it like civilized people, I promise

But just sulking to yourself isn't going to change a thing

He stares a the screen. Watches the dancing three dots that tell him that Kurapika still has more to add, which really shouldn't surprise anyone because this is Kurapika, who dissects his opinions instead of merely stating them. Leorio wonders if he picked that up from his mother. He also decides to cut the discussion short by, well. Lying . (It's easier when your thumbs do the work. No risk of your tongue tripping on the words.)

Kurapika im sorry if it looks like that but I haven't been avoiding u, I swear

Kurapika sees. He does not reply immediately and Leorio feels... antsy. He imagines Kurapika going over the words, judging, seeing right through the bullshit.

Then waht's wrong?

Bcause youve been acting weird & i'm not the only one who noticed

Leorio squints at the typos, which isn't like Kurapika at all. He is meticulous, and a perfectionist and he wouldn't just let mistakes like these slide. Which likely means...

R u drunk?

Not drunk enough

Actually u kno what this is stupid

What is? Leorio means to ask but he has barely composed his message when the door behind him slides open and warm but stale air wafts in. He peers over his shoulder...

"Not drunk my ass," Leorio shouts as he regards the cautious steps that Kurapika is taking and the red blotches on his cheeks. Or the fact that he responds to the accusation with a sour: "Nobody cares about your ass, Leorio."

Leorio snorts because Kurapika, Mr. Broody and Moody, said ass . "How dare you. My ass is a gift to humanity. You wish you had my ass."

"Das what he said," Kurapika slurs.

Leorio's mind struggles to tie meaning to the words, but next to him, Mizaistom bursts into ugly laughter. And then it clicks and Leorio groans because drunk or not, Kurapika is better than that.

"So—", Kurapika starts.

The bus hits a bump in the road and Leorio can feel it in his knees, he can feel it in his chest as he watches Kurapika stumble and lurch for the backrest of the driver's seat, digging his fingers in it.

"Watch the road, will you," Kurapika grumbles, more jostled than angry.

"I am. There's only so much I can see in the dark. Kurapika, do me a favor and find a place to sit or leave, we've had too much trips to the ER already and we're only halfway through the tour."

Kurapika sighs as if he's been burdened with a great and terrible fate and Leorio can't fight the stupid smile that tugs his cheeks because, god, it's so good to see him childish and carefree. It's adorable .

And then Kurapika turns his attention to him with a nearsighted squint. "We're not fighting, right?"

"No," Leorio says. Too quiet, too soft. He has to clear his throat and it doesn't change a thing. "We're good."

A flash of teeth and a mischievous glint and Kurapika pushes himself towards Leorio's seat, his hand brushes over Leorio's shoulder, creeping up to his nape, a warm press of skin against skin. Leorio's brain short circuits. He gasps inaudible and his heart seems to stop, then jump. His vision narrows on a stretch of sleek legs clad in sleeker jeans, the occasional tear revealing a shock of bare skin. Art in motion. And then time moves forward too quick and Kurapika settles in his lap, heavy, but not unwelcome.

Leorio sits unmoving, balling his hands with white-knuckled tension because this—this is uncharted.

"Uh," he says. Eloquent. He is hoping for some support by Mizaistom but their driver regards the situation, chuckles, and chides Kurapika for not wearing a safety belt.

"Eh. Leorio will catch me if we crash. Isn't that right?" He throws a furtive glance over his shoulder and Leorio knows he's just poking fun, but he's too cute with his nose wrinkled up like that, and Leorio feels emboldened to wrap his arms around Kurapika's waist in a manner that surely counts as platonic. Right? At least for as long as no one walks in on them. And then he asks himself what he's feeling guilty for when Pairo is the one who's a lying, cheating piece of shit. Stubbornly, he holds onto Kurapika even tighter.

"So, what happened?" Mizaistom asks. "Burned yourself out on karaoke?"

"Karaoke! I assure you there's not much karaoke happening anymore, they're too busy with each other. And they're not even subtle about it."

"Ouch. That's the trouble touring with couples I guess. Maybe Senritsu should reconsider letting them get a hotel room, even if it's just for a few hours. So they can get some things out of their systems."

Kurapika huffs. Leorio grimaces and prays to god that he might be spared from ever witnessing Gon and Killua get handsy with each other. He also sort of waits for Kurapika to remark on how he and Pairo are very capable of holding themselves back, and how the kids could learn from that. But he doesn't. And maybe there lies the heart of the issue, maybe the reason why Pairo is setting his eyes on someone else and Kurapika remains so uptight about their relationship is that they have been drifting apart. And perhaps the reason why Kurapika seems to gravitate more and more towards Leorio these days is because he is longing for the kind of attention that his partner is supposed to give him and that Leorio is too eager to supply because he is so, so weak—

I don't want to be a temporary fix.

The thought hits him sudden, but deep and once it had dug its teeth into Leorio, it was hard to shake off.

"Leorio? Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"You're so quiet."

"Just thinking. It was a long day."

Kurapika hums in agreement but not without reservations. "Are you sure it's just that? Because I get the feeling that something's off and you don't... you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but if you need a break, just say so."

"I—actually, there is one thing that's been bothering me. You remember after the photoshoot, when you came into the changing room? I had my notebook with me. And then when all hell broke loose, I kinda forgot about it and I think... I think I lost it there. But I don't remember seeing it when I left the room and—"

"Have you asked Gon?"

"Gon?"

"He picked up my stuff from the couch after I dumped out my bag. Maybe he put away your book too. I'd wait until tomorrow to ask him, though. And if he has no idea, you can ask Senritsu to call the venue. If you really left it there, I'm sure someone found it."

"And threw it away," Leorio adds bitterly.

"Leorio, no. Don't do that to yourself. They're dealing with musicians daily, no one's just gonna throw a book full of songs away. You’ll get them back, I promise."

"Just... some of them are super old. And I know they're probably no good, but. Even if I bought a new notebook tomorrow and started writing down all that I could remember, it wouldn't even be a fraction and I... worked real hard on them. I can't lose them. I just can't."

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, no one's fault but my own," Leorio grumbles, snarls and he would have beaten himself up even more for it, if Kurapika hadn't leaned back and rested his head on Leorio's shoulder, sighing against his neck. ("I wish you'd told me sooner.") It's hard to stay angry and tense if you're holding something that's meant to be handled with care. He runs out of words to say, so he asks Mizaistom to put on some music.

"Any special wishes?"

"You got Bruce Springsteen?"

"Only the classics," Mizaistom replies. "How does Tougher Than the Rest sound?"

"Perfect," Leorio says although his heart isn’t quite in it. Yet.

"You really like listening to the Boss, huh," Kurapika says. He yawns like a cat and shifts his legs just so he can dangle them off the sides of Leorio's and makes himself even more comfortable.

"Yeah, I mean, he just has that special something. Like, he's cool and smooth, although he can't dance to save his life, but that doesn't stop him. And his songs are emotional and soft and he never acts like that takes away his manliness, because it doesn't."

"Uh-oh," Mizaistom says. "Someone's got a crush."

"What? No. I mean, maybe a little, he was fine as hell in his younger days, but... I dunno, there was always something about his music that resonated with me. I grew up wanting to be a guy like him. And don't even get me started on ‘My Lover Man’. That shit meant so much to me when I was younger. To know that someone I admired wouldn't look down on me for… well, for what I am. Who I am. I kind of miss that connection in newer artists. Hozier is a man of a similar caliber, but aside from him..."

"Aren't you forgetting someone important?" Mizaistom asks and he is using that tone that says get a hint .

"Am I?"

And a drowsy voice near his collarbone speaks up, alerting him of his mistake. "Don't worry Mizai, it's fine. The gentleman made a decision and apparently, I'm not worthy of his praise."

"Oh, shush," Leorio coos and he rests his chin on Kurapika's soft head, too much at ease to remember he's not supposed to. "You're not competition. You're not the kind of guy I'd want to be like, you got way too much going for you. Me? I'm just rough and sappy and I need to find a way to work with that."

"Nothing wrong with being rough and sappy," Kurapika says under his breath and in a vague reflection on the front window, Leorio can see his eyelids droop and flutter as he struggles to keep awake.

Leorio lets Kurapika fall asleep (one more excuse not to let go to soon) and he stays in his seat until his bladder starts calling for attention and he has to ask Mizaistom to make a stop at the side of the road so he can move Kurapika safely.

"Do you need help?"

"If you could open the door for me..." He unbuckles his safety belt and hooks an arm underneath the bend of Kurapika's knees and lifts . And - ouf - it is a heavy weight to carry indeed, but he makes sure to distribute most of it against his chest and pulls up his shoulder so that Kurapika's head doesn't slip off.

Then Mizaistom slides open the door and bright light hits Leorio’s face, reminding him that he needs to maneuver through the karaoke commotion in the front lounge.

Well, shit.

He takes a few awkward steps forward and can practically feel himself attracting stares like a magnet. “Careful, important delivery coming through. If you could make room—”

But he needn’t have worried, as the mood is drowsy at best. Neon is dozing off in an armchair, her long, plaited hair falling gently over her shoulder, showing an absent-minded smile. Her lipstick is smudged on one side and Leorio wonders if it’s from napping or from kissing. Shoot sits by himself at the table opposing the kitchenette, typing into his phone, sparing Leorio only a small glance.

Now, Gon and Killua are a different matter entirely. Gon is sprawled out all over the length of the couch. His feet dangle off the arm rest and his head is bedded safely on Killua’s lap, who tries too hard not to look flustered as he plays with Gon’s hair. They’re not so occupied with each other to remain oblivious about Leorio, tough.

Gon sits up.

“Do you need help?”, he asks.

Leorio’s mouth moves reflexively and he says “Nah, I’m good.” before he realizes that he does need help, because Kurapika is getting heavier every minute.

“Want us to throw some rice on you? Release the doves?”

“Open the damn door for me because I might drop him?” Leorio suggests. Barks .

Gon, bless his heart, springs into motion to help him out. He goes in front of Leorio and clears the way, putting aside stray chairs, picking up a hat from the floor so Leorio didn’t have to tiptoe around it.

He puts his hand on the door.

“Leorio, wait a sec!” Killua calls.

Leorio groans, but stops, and takes the time to readjust his grip on Kurapika. There’s a flash.

“Okay, now you can go.”

“Did you just—”

He did. That little fucker.

Neon mumbles, “Reaaal mature, Killu,” and tucks her feet underneath her body, curling up in a more sleep-appropriate position that is not going to be kind on her back or her neck.

“Relax, I won’t use it to blackmail you. Just him.”

“Killua—”

“I’m gonna send it to his phone… right… now...”

Killua is lucky that Leorio lacks the upper-body strength to argue with him right now. He rolls his eyes, takes another deep breath and steps forward.

Gon is so kind to flick on the lights and close the door behind Leorio. Which means that no one sees how he almost loses his balance when he tries to go on his knees—which is as deep as his heart seems to drop. But Leorio catches himself and lowers his precious cargo feet-first onto the bottom bunk, so his left hand is free to strip Kurapika off his jacket before he lays the rest of him down. He goes on to remove shoes and belt and slips the bangles off Kurapika's wrist. Leorio stuffs the jewelry into the jacket's pockets and then makes a roll out of the jacket, places it on the foot end of the bed. He pulls up the sides of the covers and wraps them around Kurapika’s sleeping form, all nice and snug, a perfect blanket burrito.

And then he sits back on his heels, accomplished. He can’t quite feel his legs, but that’s fine. He could stay for a little while.

Or maybe a little longer than that.

Gently, Leorio reaches out to stroke Kurapika's cheek, when his eyes catch on the petal pink curve of Kurapika’s slightly parted lips and he is hit, once again, by how beautiful this man is. When he sings. When he laughs and teases and god, Leorio wants to… to...

He wants to wake up next to this pretty face. Every morning. He wants to take evening walks with Kurapika and his sweet, beautiful dog, holding his hand and just chatting. And he wants to listen to Kurapika sing and he wants to make music alongside him and he wishes there was actually a way for him to make all this happen. And he wishes he knew how .

Suddenly, the door at the other side of the bunks slams open and bright light spills in from the back lounge.

Leorio withdraws his hand slowly, suddenly aware that his knuckles must be stained with the same golden highlighter that rubbed off on his shirt. Not that it matters. "Careful," he says before Pairo can bump into him.

Pairo flinches and his brows furrow. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"Tucked Kurapika in." Leorio doesn’t fail to notice that Pairo’s collar is rumpled and stained with fuchsia lipstick. He has no doubt that it matches Neon’s. Leorio squares his shoulders as he rises up to his full height, challenging. "You and I, we need to talk."

"Sure," Pairo replies although he sounds anything but enthusiastic. "Right now?"

"Fuck no. All I'm doing tonight is taking a piss and going to bed."

"Hopefully in that order," Pairo chirps as he pushes past Leorio. "Tomorrow, then."

"Yeah," he agrees, "tomorrow."

They make a pit stop at a gas station right by Oakland before venturing into the town proper and it's then that Leorio sees his opportunity arise. He watches as the rest of the crew hop out of the bus to stretch their legs and discuss if their need for breakfast is great enough to resort to gas station food. The answer is no, although Killua is intent on getting some snacks and energy drinks and so he ambles towards the building alone.

Kurapika is still by his bunk, busy stuffing his bright hair underneath a beanie and checking his messenger bag. "Aren't you gonna come?" he asks and Leorio is rattling his brain for an excuse, when he realizes that the question was not aimed at him.

"Not in the mood," Pairo groans. "My head is killing me." And he does a good job of looking hungover, crumpled up on his bunk in yesterday's clothes. Hell, maybe it's not even theater.

"Well, your loss. There's a bookstore across the street, I'm gonna check if they have any decent novels. Want me to pick up a few women's magazines while I'm there so we can compare the latest celebrity gossip?"

"Sure. But don't you buy another edition of Jane Eyre."

"I won't."

"You have thirteen already," Pairo points out, ever so helpful.

"And I haven't bought a new one in a year! Can you get off my case about that?" Kurapika puts on a pair of round sunglasses with a cat-eared frame and stuffs his wallet in the pocket of his peach colored hoodie. Well, Killua's peach colored hoodie. It's so oversized that it falls halfway down to Kurapika's mid thighs and if you don't look too intently at him, he passes as a girl. Which, Leorio realizes, might be the whole point of this outfit. He would have liked to suggest booty shorts instead of jeans and a pair of combat boots to enforce the illusion, but the idea of Kurapika in booty shorts—it is better left unconsidered for the sake of his own peace of mind.

Kurapika sticks out his tongue - noisily, so Pairo knows he's doing it - and turns to leave. Except not quite, his eyes focus on Leorio and he takes only half a step before stopping again. And tsks disapprovingly.

"What?" Leorio asks and rubs his chin. "Do I have something on my face?" Well, he's in need of a shave, and a shower but that's the case for half of the people on the bus.

Kurapika leans in closer and Leorio wants to withdraw into the darkest corners of his bunk because he can feel Kurapika judging him, even behind these dark glasses. "You might want a haircut, your curls are starting to show," he says.

"Really?" Leorio runs a hand through his hair as if to test and well, it's thick as weeds and just as stubborn, but far from curling messily around his fingers.

"Killua and I are planning on getting touch-ups in San Diego, so if you want to join us, you should make up your mind quick about it."

"Will do."

"I don't suppose you're in the mood for some fresh air?"

"I'm not gonna put on pants for gas station food and stupid magazines."

"Of course not,” Kurapika jeers, “What was I thinking . Well, I'm off." And he leaves with a last dismissive wave of his hand.

They wait a few beats in cautious silence.

Then Pairo swings his legs over the edge of his bunk bed, and he tests the floor with his toes, looking for obstacles he could step on. "You will put on pants. I'm not talking to you pantless."

"You're talking to me pantless right now!" Leorio complains, even as he's fishing for his jeans.

They retreat to the back lounge which is barely more than a cubicle lined with a square u-shaped couch around a square table. It's equipped with a second TV that's connected to an older game console and if it weren't so far from the kitchen, it would make a much better location for their karaoke get togethers. As things are, it's usually used as a makeshift office for Senritsu, since it's the least noisy compartment of the bus. Her suitcase is still leaning against the foot of the table.

Except it appears that Neon and Pairo also use it for non-work related matters and Leorio tries not to look too hard for traces of that .

Neither of them bothers sitting down on the couch; Pairo positions himself next to the entrance and crosses his arms and the message is clear: he is ready to walk out of this conversation should it prove not worth his time. Leorio wedges his butt on the edge of the table, not quite sitting on it, to be more at an eye level with the other man. He's heart-racing, stomach-churning kind of nervous and the cold hard edge of the pressed wood grounds him as he presses his fingertips so hard against it that they turn white. He draws in one more shaky breath.

"I'm going to make this as short as possible. I want you to break up with Kurapika."

"Excuse me, what? " Pairo asks, incredulous and, well, it's not like Leorio hasn't expected some sort of resistance. He has mapped out all the directions in which this conversation could go and prepared answers for each of them, so he doesn't choke on his words like he always does.

"And when you break up with him," Leorio continues, stressing the when , because he will not waver, "you are not going to breathe a word about her or I will come and kick your ass. Because he deserved better than you cheating on him and if you have even one sliver of decency in you, you'll spare him from knowing."

"I see," Pairo replies and what takes Leorio by surprise is the utter lack of sarcasm in his voice, "and I really hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not cheating on Kurapika."

"I walked in on you and Neon!" Leorio yells, because really? That was Pairo’s best defense, denial? He was only adding insult to injury. "You had your hands all over her, how does that not count as cheating?"

Pairo pulls up his shoulders in frustration and he laughs . That little—

"Maybe because I'm her boyfriend and not Kurapika's?"

Leorio chokes on the retort he has already prepared. “What?”

"Like, I don't know who's been feeding you bullshit or if you made it up yourself, and I don't actually care? But Kurapika's been my best friend for all my life and he's never been anything else and fuck you for thinking I'd hurt him like that."

"I—but you're holding hands all the time." Holding hands. Cuddling. Sharing a bed. There is no way—

"And that means we have to be sleeping with each other? Really? Maybe you should spend less time seeping up gossip on social media and start listening to the people around you. Like, when Kurapika introduced me as his friend? You could have just taken that at face value, but no! You had to go about trying to fix problems that didn't exist because you thought you knew better than that!" Slowly, Pairo shakes his head. "Just so we're on the same page, I was always against Kurapika hiring you. Like, I get why he did it, I really do, but I always hoped he'd get tired of you soon enough. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, he tried to convince me to have some faith in you. He thinks you're kind and honest and whatnot, and I was just waiting for the moment you'd let him down again."

Guess that moment is right now, Leorio thinks although he wonders what his first offense was. What else has he done to disappoint?

Pairo juts his chin forward. "Hate to admit it but he's right about you."

Leorio's head perks up. "What?"

"You could've run straight to him, and told him how you saw me with Neon. And that would have saved you a lot of trouble in hindsight. But you didn't. Because your first instinct was to protect him. I think that qualifies as stupidly noble, if nothing else. Now, don't get me wrong, I still reserve the right to be cautious about you, but... even I can tell that you care. And he's drinking less ever since you started nagging him about it, so you're not the worst influence, I guess.” Pairo shrugs. Taps his toes on the floor. “But you better not fuck that up. He's been through a lot the past year and he loves to pretend he’s over it, but—"

"I'm not gonna hurt him," Leorio interrupts.

"Not intentionally," Pairo counters. "Leorio, I have to ask you... what is Kurapika to you?"

"What kind of question is that?" he complains and shifts uncomfortably on the table’s edge.

“A simple one, really.”

Pairo is not wrong. Leorio knows exactly what it is that he hopes for when he looks at Kurapika, no matter how selfish or stupid it might be at times. Kurapika is more than a friend, more than just a crush - and what good is that doing him?

Leorio cannot pretend that he hasn’t spent hours trying to fall out of love with Kurapika, but he likes to keep these things contained where they can do no harm and really, he doesn't owe Pairo the tiniest glimpse of it. Especially now that everything is disturbed and all over the place, because Kurapika... Kurapika is single . Kurapika has been single all this time . And Leorio has wasted so much time feeling guilty over hoping for something that he couldn't have and now the guilt in him has lost its shape and purpose but it’s still there, just as loud. And that's confusing.

And now Pairo is basically asking him for a confession, but he’s not the one Leorio should confess to .

“You know what? That’s absolutely none of your business and maybe things would be different if you hadn’t been a dick to me at every damn opportunity, but god, just leave me the fuck alone. You don’t like me, I get it! We don’t have to be friends. But that also means that you don’t get the right to ask me super invasive questions.”

Pairo nods - more to himself than in response - and says: “I guess that’s fair.”

He turns, and leaves without another word and it’s… cathartic, almost. Leorio’s skin still prickles in anticipation of a worse outcome. He closes his heavy eyelids and breathes.

He has some thinking to do.

"You know, buying a new item and replacing it with the one you stole isn't really going to work if you don't find a way to copy the content," Killua offers unprompted as he slides next to Kurapika, who checks out a display of notebooks in the kiosk across the street from the gas station. "I mean, these don't even look like his."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kurapika says without looking up, so lost is he in studying the sturdiness of the spine and the design of the cover, and he finds the notebooks quite appealing, both in quality and weight. And the smell of course - he loves the smell of fresh books. These would make fine last-minute presents, combined with some chocolate and maybe a new tie, if he had the time to buy one.

"The notebook? Leorio's notebook, you know, the one he pretends to write songs in? The one he was asking Gon about this morning? The one he's convinced he forgot in Seattle? That one."

"I didn't steal it," Kurapika clarifies as he lets the notebook shut with a thump and holds it defensively against his chest. "Gon must have stuffed it in my bag with everything else before we went to the ER."

"Dude," Killua says and Kurapika wrinkles his nose in disdain, "I've seen you stick your nose in this thing the last few nights, you can't tell me you didn't know it was his right away. I thought you were reading it with his permission, but... you're in some real trouble, my friend."

Kurapika huffs and turns to the novel section. "When was I supposed to give it back if he's been avoiding me? Besides, I was planning on returning it today anyway. With an apology , because I am an adult."

"He's gonna get mad and he's gonna shout at you and you're gonna shout back at him and then you will both sulk for days and the whole crew is going to be uncomfortable, that's what's going to happen,” Killua says, cocking his head. “And then you are going to be insufferable again and honestly? I'm tired of watching you both not get your shit together. You know what you should do?"

Kurapika's hand browses over paperback spines. "Quit listening to you?"

"After you give him back his book and apologize, you are going to say 'hey, I really like some of your songs, would you like to discuss them over dinner?' And you're gonna take him out for a date in a nice fancy restaurant."

Kurapika halts, surprised that for once Killua is offering genuine, sound advice. The kind one might even consider following through.

"And once you have dinner you're going to get a room and suck his dick until he falls in love with you and we can all finally have some piece of mind."

...And he ruined it. Kurapika lowers his voice because the last thing he wants is to share this conversation with the rest of the bookstore. "Why the hell is everything about sex with you? You don't even like having any! Have you considered maybe that I’m ace, just like you? Or that he is?"

Killua waves nonchalantly. "Briefly. Considered it unlikely. Okay, let me rephrase this. If you were to go out with him and the mood is right and you're so caught up in your conversation that it's getting rather late... If he were to suggest then to just get a room, would you be opposed?"

Kurapika makes the mistake of hesitating a little too long, and Killua crosses his arms in front of his chest, triumphant. "It seems not. Because just getting a room doesn't mean you have to sleep with him or that you can't change your mind halfway through. And if you're fine with him asking, what's stopping you from making the first step?"

"He might say no."

Killua shrugs. "Sure he might. But he's not just going to say no. If it's because he's not into you, he'll tell you. If it's for some other reason, he'll say no but he will also give you a hint to try again or give him time. Either way, you'll know where you stand. Like, I don't know what else to tell you except that he adores you. Just go for it and see what happens."

Kurapika wishes they didn't have this talk quite so close to the classics - he half expects the Austen novels to faint and tumble off the shelves. He moves along a few paces, to the Young Adult section, sure that Killua will follow.

"And what if he does say yes," he breathes. "If I'm the one to make the first step..." Kurapika's voice falters. He swallows and tucks a loose strand underneath the seam of his beanie. "Let's say there might not be a lack of intention, but rather... it's the execution that worries me."

"What? Can you say that a little less cryptically?"

"Experience, Killua. Practice. Let's say, hypothetically, that my education on the matter hasn't been put to the test yet." He can't help but think how this bit of information would blow up on social media and here he was, discussing it in semi-public. Almost as if he was asking for disaster.

"Never?"

"Please try to sound a little less shocked," Kurapika says dryly.

"I just assumed... you and Pairo... you know?"

"I don't, actually. We're like brothers ."

Killua raises his hands in defeat. "You're close enough that people might get the wrong idea, okay? Myself included." He scratches the back of his head; his mouth purses lopsidedly as he considers. "And don't feel like you have to tell your partner jack shit about who you've been with or who you've not been with. Every person's different anyway. Go with whatever you feel comfortable doing and if you're not sure if you're doing anything right, ask him if he likes it. How he likes it. Ask him to show you. And honestly, if he's not a dick, he's going to care more about you than how good or bad the sex is. It can go either way, even if you have all the experience in the world."

Kurapika nods, slowly, and tries not to show how much it puts him at ease. "Can I ask you... how do you know so much about this?"

Killua leans his shoulder against the shelf and his gaze turns inward. "I have a sister, remember? Back when I realized that I had to move out and take Alluka with me... I knew just getting her out wouldn't be enough, I knew she needed a doctor and therapy and I had no idea where to turn for that. So I started to do volunteer work at the nearest LGBT youth center and I brought Alluka with me because I thought, hey, that's what they're for, right? Education. And they do a lot of sex ed too, along with general community activities or just giving you the opportunity to vent. I wasn't too keen on sitting in a room with a bunch of strangers and having to listen to their issues, but I couldn't exactly leave Alluka alone there. And at some point I stopped being the guy who sets up the projector and restocks the brochures and I started to help out with organizing the meetings until I knew most of the advice by heart. Like, people tend to worry about similar things anyway. Things like money and the future and they wonder if they're weird for being the way they are, or if their bodies look odd or if they are ever going to live up to other people's expectations."

"I don't know how I feel about you giving out advice to teens, honestly."

"They didn't kick me out, did they?"

"You got a point there." Kurapika turns his attention back to the books. Then puffs up his cheeks and groans in an almost comically frustrated manner. "This is all trash. You know what, I think I'm gonna get another edition of Jane Eyre. And if Pairo asks, you'll tell him it's Emma by Jane Austen."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't want me to get another edition, but he doesn't get to vote on that."

"You know, if you two wouldn't occasionally bicker like a straight couple, no one would think you're banging."

"No one thinks that!" Kurapika exclaims and quite a couple of heads turn at the disruption, so that he adds a little more quietly, but no less vicious: "No one but you."

Ten minutes and a purchase later, when Kurapika finds Leorio sitting on his bunk with his face buried in his hands, he sets about to deliver a well overdue apology—until Leorio lifts his chin, spots him and croaks quite miserably: "I'm an idiot."

"Debatable," Kurapika replies. He stoops low to pick up his messenger bag and let his purchases disappear inside its folds. "I need more facts to give proper judgment." And he sits down next to Leorio, comfortably close, trying to hide his fluttering nerves behind a neutral mask. "I doubt it's worse than what I did, anyway. So why don't you tell me what happened and we'll compare who did worse."

Leorio seems to ponder about that, and licks his lips (his beautiful, full lips whose romantic curve stands out in Leorio's angular face) until he says: "Remember a few days back, when I went to find your inhaler? I... walked in on something. And I jumped to the wrong conclusions. Or rather, I had all the wrong facts—"

"Leorio."

"I know, I know, I'm being too vague." He sighs and shakes his head slightly. "See, all this time I assumed Pairo was your boyfriend."

Kurapika groans. Kurapika sighs. Kurapika lets his head fall back and presses his eyes shut as he sulks. "Not you too."

"But I saw him making out with Neon, so naturally I assumed he was cheating on you and I nearly punched him in the face but getting your meds was more important and I—I didn't trust me in the same room as you and him and so I guess it must've looked like I was avoiding you but I wasn't."

Slowly, Kurapika opens his eyes. He studies the fluorescent tubes that line the ceiling and lets their greenish light burn into his vision until he sees red lines behind his lids. "That's nothing you need to apologize for, though," he says slowly.

"I don't know, I made a huge fuss over nothing and now things are going to be weird between him and me. Weird er ."

"Pairo is loyal to a fault. And very stubborn. Which makes him a really good friend because he'll stick with me no matter how difficult I am sometimes. On the other hand, if he decides that he doesn't like someone, he’s hard to sway."

"Great," Leorio says and the sarcasm in his voice isa thing of beauty. Clunky. Angry. Impossible to miss.

"Leorio," Kurapika says again, carving the syllables delicately with his tongue. He leans over and with the lightest of touches, takes a hold of Leorio's elbow. Imploring. "Don't worry too much about it. He'll come around eventually. You two have a lot in common, believe it or not."

“I kinda doubt that because I pretty much told him to fuck off.” Leorio blows a raspberry and side-eyes Kurapika. "Now you."

"Mine is worse than yours."

"So?"

"Promise me you'll hear me out. You can get mad at me all you want when I finished, but not before that."

"O...kay? Now you're starting to worry me a little."

"I found your book," Kurapika presses on. His left hand slips under his pillow and lingers there, fanned out. "In my bag. Gon must have stuffed it in there when he cleared the couch."

"Ohthankgod." Leorio puffs his relief out in one word and Kurapika can feel his composure slipping and his features tremble as the guilt drags heavy on his shoulders. He doesn't deserve the carefree, lopsided smile that Leorio's granting him, or the friendly shoulder nudge. "Hey, that's great news, why so gloomy about it? It's... it's still in one piece, isn't it?"

Kurapika is quick to assure that yes, it wasn't any worse for wear and summoning another wave of courage he pulls Leorio's notebook out from underneath his pillow. And Leorio is delighted . He takes it and tests the worn spine with a stroke of his index finger, he pries it gently open in his hands—

"I didn't find it just now. I noticed when we went to the hospital and wanted to check my phone to pass the time. And I meant to give it back as soon as we returned but you already had the covers drawn in front of your bed. So I told myself I'd give it to you in the morning. But—"

"Did you read it?" Leorio interrupts, his eyes still glued to the pages that he turns with care. It's impossible to tell if he's started silently simmering with anger or not but for once his face remains suspiciously unanimated.

"Yes. And I know I should have asked for your permission first, but... I guess my curiosity won. And later, when I tried to talk to you, you were always sort of slithering out of the conversation and..." I was being petty about it , Kurapika thinks and frowns because now would be a good time for Leorio to puff up and shout at him but he doesn't. "I don't want to make excuses, I know what I did was unfair to you and I apologize."

"Hm." Leorio says. He licks his lips. "Tell me - and you gotta be honest about it - how bad is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The songs, Kurapika. I know you're not a songwriter yourself but I'm sure you're able to tell if these are any good. Like, I'm almost relieved you had a look at them, I wanted to ask you but... I guess I was a bit scared of finding out the answer. And now that you went behind my back I don't have any excuses left, so. Please, just tell me if I'm wasting everyone's time."

"Maybe we could discuss this over dinner," Kurapika offers quickly. He is nowhere near as smooth about it as Killua suggested, but he saw the opening and he intends to use it. "This isn't quite the right place to—"

"Kurapika, you don't understand. I ask myself every day. It's all I can think about when I look at my work. I need to know."

His shoulders sag. No dinner then. And no use crying over spilled milk; maybe later he can offer to take Leorio out on his birthday, just the two of them. For now he needs to be a friend .

"You're not looking at this with the right mindset. There's no such thing as a bad lyrics, you know, it's just a matter of if the style fits the artist. And the simpler the lyrics, the more convincing the rest of the composition needs to be. The songs you have written so far, they don't suit me at all. You might be better off trying to sell them to, I don't know, Ed Sheeran if he didn't write his own. Your themes are much better suited for rock ballads and pop songs and... I'm surprised you don't want to keep them for yourself because they’re so very you . If you give me some time, I can compose melodies for them and you'll have your first album out by June."

"Actually, I do have melodies for some of these. On my laptop. I, uh. Never got the hang of sheet music."

"I see. I'm not used to those music programs, I need to feel the instrument in my hand when I compose. But I see why you would like them."

Leorio swallows. "Kurapika, do you really think... do you think I can make it? Like, I write love songs, that's pretty much all I do and there's nothing new or outstanding about this concept and I'm not nearly handsome enough to immediately catch the attention of a large audience, so. I don't know. How am I supposed to convince a label like that?"

"Leorio, stop it. There's nothing wrong with your face or your songs, only your attitude. How are you supposed to convince a label if you can't convince yourself? That's the question you need to ask. I think... I think sincerity is your best asset. But you flub it when you get a bad case of the nerves. That's why you need to learn to trust yourself more. I really enjoyed reading your songs, although I know they're not for me. But noticed something, which I thought was rather refreshing and that's the fact that you're not afraid to be specific. Lots of love songs are incredibly vague, but yours - can I have it back for a second?"

Leorio is too nonplussed to reply, but he hands Kurapika the notebook, who opens it at the end and starts browsing forward until he finds unfinished pieces of lyrics on the last filled page of the book. "This one is a good example. Does he count the freckles on your knee? It's interesting because it's so oddly specific. Although I have to admit, the knee is a bit of a weird spot to count freckles on—"

"Couldn't find a good rhyme for nose," Leorio admits sheepishly.

"Figures. But these details make it more real. It's clear that you're singing about a specific person and not some nondescript stand-in that people can project themselves onto. In the next line you do it again, although I'm a little bit confused what sunset hair is supposed to be. Because the colors I associate with sunsets are blue and pink and purple and that's... that's almost too specific."

"Huh," Leorio says and his eyes seem to focus on something over Kurapika's head. "I was thinking... red, actually."

"Hm. Copper or auburn have the same amount of syllables and people will have a better grasp of what you mean. Auburn fits the meter better, so I'd say pick that."

"Kurapika—"

"Yes?"

Leorio fidgets with the covers of the bunk. "Can we discuss any other song? This one is kind of all over the place and I'm not sure I ever get a decent first verse, so. I appreciate your advice, I really do but I'm not ever gonna sing this song on stage, I promise."

"I was just giving you an example,” Kurapika explains. “But how about you pick out the songs that you would actually like to perform? And we sit down together in a week or so and discuss them?" He doesn't add over dinner because then he would have offered twice, within the span of what, ten minutes? How desperate must that seem. "I think we finally get hotel rooms in two weeks, too. Might be worth waiting for that."

The fidgeting gets worse. Leorio stares at his fingers, troubled, then searches Kurapika’s face. "Is this really alright, though? I mean, you're so busy right now, I don't want to put even more work on you and you should definitely take a break right after the tour."

"I think we can all use a little break after the tour. But this, this isn't work to me, it's... a challenge. Some people do riddles in their spare time and I, well, I study arrangements and make new ones and I don't usually dabble in pop ballads, so this might be an interesting change."

Leorio opens his mouth. Catches his tongue before it can say something stupid, then thinks about his next words hard enough to carve a mark between his brows. What he says, after careful consideration, comes as a surprise.

"Oh my god, you’re such a nerd." Leorio leans forward and places his chin on his hands. "You know, it's good to see you haven't changed so much after all."

"Oh?” Kurapika challenges. “And how would you know, hm? You never spoke a word to me when we were in high school."

"I remember you being in that performance of Hamlet they all made us watch. Your Horatio was the one thing that didn't make me want to fall asleep. And weren't you a spelling bee champion? And a choir boy. Oh, I was wondering. Is it true they kicked you out because you punched the pastor in the face?"

"That's not what happened. My elbow might have connected with his nose, true, but I think my suspension had more to do with the fact that when it happened, I was about to break Shalnark's jaw and pastor Wing tried to stop me for some reason."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"He's a jerk! He deserved to have his ass kicked."

"In church?"

Kurapika shrugs. "Not my god, not my problem."

"Jesus," Leorio mutters, teetering between shock and amusement and if Kurapika is honest, he had been kind of ashamed back then that he let himself be goaded into a fight. He should have taken it out on the street, like a cleverer boy would have done. He’d been stupid and disrespectful and rightfully angry.

"What did he do to piss you off that much?"

Kurapika grimaces and folds his hands in his lap tightly. "He insulted Pairo. Called him a—" But he can't bring himself to say it. White knuckled and thin-lipped, the best he can do is shake his hand to indicate that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to stir up any bad memories."

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit. I can tell you're upset." He lets out a dramatic sigh and spreads his arms wide. "Alright, c'mere."

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Offering you a hug, because you look like you need one and, actually, I might need one too.”

Kurapika mouth curls into a sharp sickle and he holds his breath, weighing his pride against his needs and when he exhales again, he slumps face-first into the embrace.

"Ouf," Leorio says and laughs in a way that jostles his entire chest. He locks his arms around Kurapika and Kurapika's hands twitch once, twice, then they relax. Hesitantly, he puts them on Leorio's back.

"See, this isn't so bad, is it? Much better than always bottling up your frustration and write salty songs about it."

Kurapika huffs, but there's no real bite to it. He knows a jab when he hears one and he should be offended - but this is nice . Being held. Getting to close his eyes for a moment so he can pretend that everything will be fine. He takes a deep breath. Leorio's cologne tickles is nose, a subtle, pleasing scent and it's maddening that everything about Leorio is so secure, so safe. Because Kurapika is a temporary guest and this makes him want to stay.

So when he says, "Alright, that's enough," it takes effort. And when he pats Leorio's shoulders and says: "Now, let's never speak of this again," he doesn't mean a word of it. But he knows that he has to let go before it gets weird and if he lays his eyes on anything but Leorio, why, he could blame it on the embarrassment.

“Alright, but don’t hesitate to come back for seconds, if you need them.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, but—”

“No ‘buts’,” Leorio says and puts his hand on Kurapika’s. Kurapika’s heart leaps wildly, like a startled animal. “We’re friends, right? Not just coworkers.”

“Yes,” Kurapika says, and he almost chokes on his words. “We’re friends .”

“And if anything bothers you, I want you to know you can always tell me and I will listen. I know you’re a very private person and I know we haven’t been friends for that long, but if there is anything I can do for you, to make you feel better, just ask.”

“You’re being too generous,” Kurapika replies, distantly polite and pulls away his hand. He feels low, so low, for always wanting the one thing that Leorio does not offer him. Because Leorio is so good to him and anyone could count themselves lucky to have him as a friend. Kurapika wishes he was a bigger person, so he could be content with what he has.

He pretends to brush dirt off his pants and stands up although his legs feel jittery. His eyes trail back to Leorio because no matter how hard he tries to slip away, something always brings him back to this.

“Kurapika?” Leorio asks softly. He’s smart enough to know something is troubling Kurapika and maybe… maybe it’s time he finds out. Kurapika doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

He turns to Leorio, sweet, adorable, confused Leorio and puts his hand to the sides of his face.

“Thank you. Really. I just.. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

“Why would this be weird?”

Just say it . Adrenaline, pouring through his veins. “Leorio, I—” Heart beating itself in a frenzy. “You should know, that even back in high school, I had—”

The door to the sleeping bunks is yanked open with a bang and Kurapika jumps in his skin and pulls away. He spins around so quick that he can hear a pop below his ear.

"Gon, what the fuck!"

Gon fills the doorway with his square, muscled shoulders and a grin so bright it rivals the sun. Kurapika has never wanted to smack his dear face so bad.

"There was a court ruling, about an hour ago."

"Hisoka?"

Gon pulls him into a crushing hug that lifts Kurapika off his feet. "They declared him guilty , Kurapika! He's actually going to go to jail. Isn't that great?"

"Yes," Kurapika squeaks. "That's great." Great and impossible. If it weren't for the ground that's missing underneath his feet and the pressure against his stomach, Kurapika would not have believed it himself. They will be free . At least of this particular nightmare.

From the corner of his eyes, Kurapika can see Leorio stand up.

Gon notices too. He puts Kurapika down, pats him on the shoulder once more (hard enough to hurt, but Kurapika bears it through clenched teeth) and says: “Leorio, hi. Didn’t see you there. We’re going to go out to celebrate, so if you wanna come, too… consider yourself invited.”

“Gon, it’s ten in the morning,” Leorio chastises.

“I could go for a drink,” Kurapika says. Or maybe two or three.

the nights were mainly made for saying things
that we can't say tomorrow day

 Arctic Monkeys, "Do I wanna know?"

Leorio knows this part of the show as well as his own heartbeat: the slow, comfortable percussions of Shoot's drum solo reverberate through the air and through the floor, tickling his feet. The lights on on the stage dim and Kurapika slips into the shadows, off stage, through a corridor lined with speakers that blare and drown out any other noise. Despite this, he can practically hear Kurapika's footfall as he approaches - in his memory, for they have practiced this part over and over again.

He counts the seconds.

... and opens the door to the dressing room right before Kurapika can reach for the handle. Kurapika, who spares neither glance nor greeting as he enters, does not wait for Leorio to close the door before he starts stripping. Time is too delicate a thing for modesty, after all; suspenders are unclipped and an artistically torn t-shirt is discarded in the jumble of seconds and then the door slams and Leorio rushes behind him, grasping a black tank top from the backrest of a chair as Kurapika raises his arms, so it can be pulled upon his body in one swift motion. One move to meet the other, calculated, choreographic.

Above their heads, the drums carry on, leaving audio clues for their little flurry and they turn towards the vanity table, each reaching for a different goal. Kurapika drags a fingertip's worth of tinted lipbalm over his lips while Leorio puts a velvet choker on him. The clasp shuts with a satisfying little snick and Kurapika gasps -

"Too tight?"

Words, like gestures, are sparsely used.

"It's fine," he says, a little hoarse and Leorio tells him to drink some water as he fetches a long white coat. Kurapika opts for a few gulps from an opened bottle, just to ward off the we can't have you fainting on stage that Leorio always has in store and slips into the sleeves one by one, enjoying the weight of the fabric on his shoulders as much as the press of hands smoothing over it, chasing away folds and mussing through his hair to reconstruct some of its calculated messiness.

He wants to stretch and curl into this gentle preening, but, ah, there's a telltale shiver of cymbals telling him it's nigh time to return.

Kurapika spins on his heels a bit too fast and tumbles forward, but he is caught before he can fall.

"Careful," Leorio chuckles, "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

One move responding to the other. Gentle hands seize him by the collar and Kurapika’s breath catches. He parts his lips, hungry for the sweet smile that shines down upon him and that is meant - finally - for him and only him.

Another step, unrehearsed but just as natural, logical, as Kurapika leans up on his tiptoes and kisses Leorio on the mouth. It's short - way too short - just the soft press of lips, moving against one another like a waves hitting the shore and he makes a helpless noise, as if he’s drowning. His hands fumble clumsily for Leorio’s too-high shoulders, unsure what else to cling to.

"Um." Leorio says as he ducks away. His thumbs are still digging into the lapels of the white coat and Kurapika blinks.

"I, ah. I just meant to straighten your collar?"

Realization trickles like syrup - languidly at first, then hitting with a thwump. Kurapika gasps and claps a hand before his mouth, as if to punish it for its offense. "Oh god. I thought you were—"

"N-no?", Leorio squeaks.

"I am so sorry."

"No, don't—"

They are interrupted by silence.

Leorio inhales audibly, and curses even louder. "Shit. You gotta go."

"Leorio," Kurapika says and it's more of a plea than a protest, because he made a terrible mistake and he needs to fix it before everything slips out of his hand—

But the crowd’s hungry cheers rise in the distance and Leorio's face clouds. Frantically, Kurapika is ushered out of the room.

He falls into a sprint. Runs, flees towards the end of the corridor and a raise of stairs that rises higher than he remembers. His legs nearly fail him during the ascent and he takes in a whistling gasp, trying to breathe against the weight tying his chest. He fucked up. He fucked up! And it's all too much, the noise, the weight of the coat on his shoulders.

Still, he presses on and steps onto the dark stage. Somewhere, Killua is watching, waiting for him to do his job. Kurapika picks up his bass guitar, and pulls the strap over his head. The instrument is just another dead weight pulling him down.

White lights flood the stage, blinding him. Kurapika holds onto the mic as if his life depends on it while the audience's whooping and whistling washes over him. He tries to find something familiar in the sensation, but there's a sea of people at his feet, their faces blurring all into one and...

His mind goes blank. His fingers tremble and twitch against the strings of the bass, still remembering the fabric of Leorio's suit when he had pressed his hands on the other's chest.

The cheering ebbs. The crowd falls silent, creating a vacuum where sound should have been. His sound.

He can't do this.

Somehow, he’s thrown off the track where the bulky thing in his hands and the hum of his voice mean something. He tries to remember. What he is supposed to do. What he is supposed to be.

"Hold up for a second," Kurapika says and it takes all he has not to wince at the booming of his own voice. He turns and sprints to Shoot, whose eyes are wide with panicked confusion.

"What are you doing ?" he hisses.

"I have no idea. What's the next song?"

" Love is a Stranger. Please tell me you’re joking. Please, Kurapika, tell me you didn't actually forgot what you're supposed to do. You can't do that to me, I have nightmares about this kind of shit."

Kurapika ignores Shoot's woes, too focused on his own dilemma. "That won't do. I need a different song."

He can tell Shoot is about ready to flick his one drumstick in his face. There are only so many songs he has rehearsed a hundred, a thousand times and he refuses to play anything else, scared he won't be able to keep up. Kurapika understands this, but at the same time, he cannot conjure the right energy do do the song justice. The anger, the teeth-clenching, the core of it. "I need something more quiet."

Shoot seems to want to argue, but unrest spreads behind them, a disruptive, dissatisfied mumble that wafts onto the stage and they both know they cannot stall for much longer. Kurapika still cannot bring himself to care about them, but he reminds himself that the one person he wants, needs to talk to is listening too, and he must have his full attention by now. Kurapika's brain rushes through memories of all the karaoke sessions they had, trying to recall each song Leorio ever sang and which one he could pick to make sure he is understood.

Under his determined stare, Shoot caves in. "Fine. Which one do you want?"

There is one that sticks out to him, solely because it seems like such an odd choice for Leorio, who likes his sad songs to dance in a major key. (Loud and cheery, so very at odds with their lonely plea - how very fitting for a man who'd rather pretend to be fine then have someone pity him.) But Leorio is also easily frustrated, most of the time with himself. Never granting himself the patience he so freely gives to others. The song Kurapika picks is one in that spirit. Honest and yearning - but not so much as to impose.

He tells Shoot the title and receives a frown. "I can't play that. There are parts that are too fast for me."

"Then pick your own pace. Play it less forcefully. I can adapt. It starts with the drums anyway."

A hesitant nod, but that's all Kurapika needs. He walks back to the microphone and his hands feel like his hands again, ready to curl and tease a melody out of the strings of his bass guitar.

"Sorry 'bout that," he says as carefree as he can manage. "But we're going to stray a little from our usual program tonight. This next song is for a friend."

He taps his foot to the beat that Shoot provides, counting, recollecting the melody and smoothing it out until he thinks he's got it just right. His fingers twitch against his thigh as he goes through the motions, training them for the notes. Eyes closed, he begins.

Once again, Leorio paces like a lion in a cage. Groaning as if in pain, dragging his hands over his face, then burying them in his hair. His nails scrape over his scalp and he has to resist the temptation to yank. This time, he truly fucked up. He ruined the show, he just knows he did, he just cannot bring himself to run to the stage and check why it's been so damn quiet for way too long.

All because he just had to stand so damn close. Because he kept on making excuses to touch Kurapika, like fixing unimportant details about his appearance or pretending to remove a lash from his cheek, touch up his makeup and hair - he must have been too obvious about it. Kurapika must have known .

It's that thought that makes him whine and keel over in shame because how long? For how long has Kurapika let him indulge in mooning over him, never saying a word? And why? And how on earth could that have provoked him into a kiss?

But do the why s and how s even matter after Leorio went and ruined it? He thought he'd done the noble thing, acting like it was all a misunderstanding, so Kurapika wouldn't feel obligated to... to whatever. It made sense in his head a minute ago. When he had been pulled into a kiss he'd been aching for for months and realized that he could not . His job is to ensure that everything goes smoothly, that's what he's needed for, and he can't start to be selfish now.

But.

For a precious few seconds he had everything. Everything he ever wanted. And he had thrown it all away.

Was there a proper way to mourn this? A more graceful way than just plain freaking out? Because he feels like someone wedged a knife between his ribs and cut a chunk out of it and now there's just this hole that burns with every breath he takes—

When he hears Kurapika's voice boom through the speakers, Leorio slumps into the vanity chair and puffs out a sigh of relief. They are back on track. He hasn't derailed the show that much after all, even if—they're going to switch up the songs for some reason? Leorio traces his thumb over his lips, absently and his mind catches on to the words this next song is for a friend .

Oh no . Nonono.

He is not ready for instant retaliation.

Damn Kurapika. Damn him and his awful temper and his stupid, loud mouth.

Leorio groans and buries his face in his hands. He's going to be the death of me.

The beat is slow and soothing, not quite what you'd expect from a musical ass-whooping, but...

But. It's familiar .

And then Kurapika sings and nothing makes sense anymore.

"Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the tide

That sticks around like something in your teeth?"

It's not spiteful at all. Leorio notes a hint of frustration, yes, but it mirrors his own. It's a yearning song, but it's also a love song.

"Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I dreamt about you nearly every night this week..."

Leorio stands up so abruptly that his chair sways and tumbles, and it hits the floor with a clatter.

"How many secrets can you keep?"

He'd made the mistake of picking this song for karaoke after he warmed himself with a few Cuba Libres too many and the heavy rum stirred up all the things he tried not to say to Kurapika... because he wasn't made to hold it in so much. And so he spilled it out, out, out, way too honest, with some other guy's words, praying no one would notice. (Praying someone would notice.)

"'Cause there's this tune I found and it makes me think of you somehow

And I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee."

His body propels forward. Leorio bolts out of the room and he crosses the length of the corridor like a man chasing, taking large strides, and all the while the song plays on, beckoning. Wondering. Asking .

"Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

Sad to see you go, was sort of hoping that you'd stay

Baby we both know

That the nights were mainly made for saying things that we can't say tomorrow day"

He is stopped abruptly in front on the stairs by Gon's broad form, which is no less imposing for the alarmed look he is sporting. 

"Do you know what happened? He looked super pale when he came back and now he changed the song - he didn't have another panic attack, did he?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Leorio promises. "Gon, can you let me through?"

"Crawling back to you

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?

'Cause I always do."

"What for?"

"Please, I need to see him."

"Maybe I'm too

Busy being yours to fall for somebody new

Now I've thought it through"

"Did you two fight?"

"I... sort of."

Gon breathes in, steeling himself to give Leorio a piece of his mind and Leorio raises his hands in defeat. "I know, okay? Super bad time. Don't know how I managed it, but please, I need to see that he's okay. I'm not gonna disturb him or anything, he won't even know I'm there."

"Promise me you'll apologize to him. Even if it was mostly his fault, you gotta apologize first, you hear me? He can get real stubborn sometimes."

"I know," Leorio says. "I will."

"Crawling back to you..."

Gon leads him as far to the edge of the stage as they can go without being spotted, but it's enough.

In the limelight, Kurapika's white coat seems to glow. A halo shimmers on the crown of his head as he leans forward and Leorio wants to put his hands on his shoulders to spin him around because he needs to see Kurapika's face, needs to be the one he sets his eyes on when he sings. This is a conversation, isn't it? Except Leorio cannot get a word in.

"So have you got the guts?" , Kurapika asks and the answer is I don't know . "Been wondering if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts - Simmer down and pucker up... I'm sorry to interrupt, it's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying..." And he lets go of the bass, the melody forgotten for now as he rakes a hand through his hair and pulls on it, and his jaw it taut with frustration. "... to kiss you. I don't know if you — feel the same as I do."

Yes, Leorio thinks, a thousand times yes . And it's so unfair that he has to wait to give his answer. If only it were just the two of them, if only they could have stayed in the dressing room and not given a fuck about the rest of the world.

"But we could be together.. if you wanted to.

Do I wanna know..."

He stays until the end of the song and by then an idea has shaped and festered in his mind and he is already calculating if he has enough time to pull it off. Kurapika seems to move on with the regular program, so that should leave him with thirty to forty-five minutes. It's feasible, but he needs to hurry.

Leorio thanks Gon for indulging him and all but sprints away, leaping off the small flight of stairs - and how his joints will hate him for that! But there is a spring to his step despite the ache in his knees and he is smiling, smiling, because he is going to do this and it's going to be great, because Kurapika kissed him. On purpose.

Kurapika jerks out of his drowsy slumber in the middle of the night, startled by a terrible, attention-seeking rapping against his hotel door that falls silent as abruptly as it has started.

He groans. Checks his watch - it's past midnight, he hasn't gotten an hour of decent sleep - and swings his legs out of bed. The room sways a little. He doesn't want to bother with putting on pants, so he trusts his oversized t-shirt to provide all the modesty he needs. You can't come knocking at peoples’ doors in the middle of the night and expect them to look halfway decent. But it's a bit chilly without the covers, so he slips into his letterman jacket as he makes his way to the door.

The rapping starts again.

"I'm here, I'm here," he mumbles and opens the door - and is faced with a small bouquet of pink roses. Over the flowers hovers Leorio's head, beaming nervously back at Kurapika, looking for all the world like a suitor ready to take him out on a first date. "Hi," he says a little breathless and holds the roses out to Kurapika, who notices that Leorio is wearing a tie in the exact shade of pink with a white pressed dress shirt underneath his black suit. He went and changed, just to match.

It's almost too much. Kurapika wants to slam the door and come back to this situation in the morning, when he doesn't feel like a truck ran over him, but he's right in the middle of it already and Leorio begins to take in his appearance - the brown mascara smudges under his slightly swollen eyes, the many inches of uncovered leg ending in a pair of Slytherin socks - and then his eyes trail back up to the mess that Kurapika's blond hair has become.

A blush rises from Leorio's neck to his cheeks and Kurapika notices with some satisfaction, that it does not match the flowers at all.

"I woke you up, didn't I? I'm so sorry, it took ages to find a decent florist that's still open in the middle of the night, I had to drive to the nearest hospital and—"

"Leorio."

"Hm?"

"Can you please stop hovering in the doorway and just come in?"

"Oh. Right."

Kurapika takes the roses, balancing them carefully in the crook of his arm like a baby. He checks his room's kitchen for a vase or a glass tall enough to act like one while Leorio takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over his forearm. In the cupboard under the sink, Kurapika actually finds two vases, one of them broad enough to hold the one, two, three - six roses. He realizes that the number, just like the color, probably bears some significance because this is Leorio he's dealing with, and Leorio doesn't half-ass things. He has an idea and he runs with it and then fights tooth and nails to get every tiny detail just right, just perfect and then he gets too hung up on the details to see the greater picture. Kurapika tires just thinking of it.

He puts up the bouquet on the small square kitchen table.

Leorio places his hand on Kurapika's shoulder, grasping. Gentle, but inquiring.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"No." Kurapika rubs the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. "Maybe a little. This—" he points as the flowers and then at the suit, his frustration bursting up like a sunflare, "this wasn't necessary . Not tonight. It would have been fine if you were just there after the show. Or at the very least you could have left a message. Do you know what that looked like to me, coming off stage only to have Gon telling me you left without an explanation, without even so much as a text or a message?"

"I—I didn't think that—" Leorio stutters and his expression crumbles into something miserable and ashamed. He lets go. "No, you're right, I shouldn't have - I'd better go. I'm sorry for disturbing you and everything."

"No," Kurapika says and grabs Leorio by the shirttails. "Don't go, please. Just. Can we postpone the talking and the grand gestures to tomorrow morning? I know you put a lot of effort into this and I know I'm being a dick about it but I can't . I had a really long day and I just want to go back to sleep."

"Of course," Leorio says softly. His body is in a bit of an awkward position as if he was caught mid-flee, his shoulders angled to bolt for the door, but his feet planted firmly on the carpet. He shifts his weight back towards a comfortable standing position, and relaxes a little.

"Do you want to shower now or in the morning?"

"Huh?"

"Morning," Kurapika answers his own question, "I just remembered. If there's anything else you want that can't wait until tomorrow, just call room service. I'm heading for bed." He lets go of Leorio's shirt and pats him on the chest as if to say there, there .

"I'm... you want me to stay the night?"

"Well yes , Leorio, I thought that much was clear," Kurapika grouches and sneaks up a hand to see how well his palm fits against the curve of Leorio's cheek. Stubble rasps against his skin, coarse and prickly and Leorio leans into the touch, tilting his head with a question in his eyes.

"I'll try to keep the covers warm for you, so don't stay up too long, alright?"

"Alright," Leorio says and his smile returns, softer and warmer and Kurapika wants to wrap himself in it. He accepts it greedily, although he has done nothing yet to deserve it - that, too, is a task for another day.

"Good. That's settled then."

Turning away is a little hard once it occurs to him that the space between Leorio's arms might be just as comfortable, but his toes are freezing and he tells himself soon . Kurapika creeps back into the bedroom, drops his jacket on the floor, his body on he mattress and shifts underneath the covers.

Eyes shut tightly, he makes himself as small as he can be and rubs his legs together like a cricket. Cold, cold, cold. The world's too cold. And Kurapika lies sulking, waiting for the warmth to seep into his skin. Waiting for—

A creak. Soft footsteps ghosting about the room. Leorio is loud even when he sneaks: there's the occasional throat clearing and pronounced exhale and the rub of fabric against fabric. His presence is like a beacon in the back of Kurapika's mind.

After a few more impatient seconds, the mattress shifts and Leorio slips under the covers.

Close.

Not close enough.

His fingertips find the curve of Kurapika's shoulder and for a while they just dance along the slope, shy, playful.

"Hey," he whispers.

Kurapika turns his head ever so slightly, squinting back at Leorio's silhouette. The heavy curtains of the hotel window are just sturdy enough to lock out the worst of the city's bright lights and in this half-darkness where they exist only in shades of gray, Leorio's eyes are like two black pearls.

"You don't have to lie quite so far away, you know. I don't bite. Usually," Kurapika adds.

Leorio chuckles. And scoots and places a kiss on Kurapika's forehead - who turns to him like a flower stretching for the sun. Knees bump and cold toes brush against warm, hairy calves and Leorio makes a noise that is half-gasp, half-laughter. "So rude."

"You knew that though. You knew from the start."

"I did," he agrees with a sigh and then he falls quiet, but it's the pronounced kind of quiet that spreads from an occupied mind. "Kurapika, when did you know?"

"Know what?" he replies softly, as he is sure that Leorio does not refer to his lack of manners.

"I mean, how long have you known that I... that I'm hopelessly in love with you," he finishes and Kurapika can tell from the strain in his voice that it must have been no small feat to say it out loud.

"I didn't, actually. Not until you showed up on my doorstep tonight with flowers in your Sunday best."

"Really?"

"Really. You never said a word and I didn't want to presume. You're kind. You care about others. I did not want to mistake that for romantic interest."

"But you kissed me." He almost sounded offended.

"You looked very kissable. And I'm not going to lie, I was very angry with myself afterwards for misreading the situation. Except... I guess the fact that you're here now means that it wasn't that unwelcome after all."

Leorio grits his teeth and inhales sharply, almost as if he had stubbed his toe. When he exhales, his words tumble and squish together. "Ohmygod. I'm an idiot."

"Agreed."

Leorio groans and whines as he rolls onto his back and slaps a hand over his palm. "No, I mean I just realized that when I ran off in the middle of the show and didn't come back... it must've looked like I got cold feet because you kissed me. I meant to be back in a few minutes, I swear—"

"I believe you," Kurapika says and rests his head on Leorio's shoulder. "And you did come back. That's what counts."

"I'm dumb."

"You are," Kurapika agrees fondly. He wants to shower Leorio's face with kisses but he also does not want to move an inch, so he compromises and places his lips on the warm skin of Leorio's neck, while he lets his fingers trail over Leorio's chest. It's smooth and just a little prickly, and while Kurapika had hoped for a little more hair to play with, he likes to know that Leorio can be vain and particular about this sort of thing. "You're a dumb, dumb boy. You're fussy and you try too hard and you don't give yourself half the credit you grant others. Be a little more selfish, will you? And proud of yourself and content—"

He doesn't come any further because his fingertip brushes against something hard and round that immediately captures his attention. He traces his thumb over the object and Leorio yelps and swats his hand away, calling his name like a scandalized governess. "Can you not?"

It does little to tone down Kurapika's delight. "You're pierced!" he breathes and immediately sits up to check Leorio's other nipple. "I can't believe it!"

"So what if I am?" Leorio huffs. "Plenty of people got piercings. You got piercings!"

"Yes, but you're always so... so proper in your suit and tie. You seem the least likely person to go out and get pierced and at such a sneaky spot too. But can I ask you - why just the one?"

"Do you know how much this shit hurt?"

He has to admit that he does not. “Mine never hurt that much, but I guess the helix is not that sensitive. You know… I know a good studio in New York. If you ever decide to get a second one to match, I can take you. I’d even hold your hand.”

Leorio gruffy accuses Kurapika of being way too excited about this. And maybe he is, but he can't help it, it's like a little secret, a side of Leorio that only he gets to know.

"Can I touch it again? Or does that hurt too?"

"It doesn't hurt, but..." Leorio trails off, a little hoarse. "I'm sensitive. Let's leave it at that."

"Oh," Kurapika says. And then he says it again, with a little more weight. " Oh! This is doing something for you, isn't it?"

"I—" Leorio starts and he makes a helpless noise. "Didn't you want to sleep?"

"Not anymore," Kurapika replies, as earnest as his giddiness allows. He is intrigued that something as small as the brush of his fingertip can get such a strong reaction. And if it takes so little to make Leorio weak, what else might he provoke? What if he were to kiss that soft, vulnerable bud? And what other sensitive areas did Leorio hide? Was he going to let Kurapika roam freely, to discover and map this new territory or was he going to turn away, uncomfortable with the attention? And as he considers, as the possibilities unfold before him, a thrill sizzles through his veins and shakes Kurapika from the tip of his head to the center of his hips, and from his lips spills a third and final 'oh' .

"Kurapika?"

Is this what sex is supposed to be, he wonders? Not a performance and not the desperate grappling for a climax that neither might reach, but simply to look at someone with fondness and determination and to decide you are the one I want to discover . And suddenly, it doesn't seem so scary anymore, or such a struggle.

But he didn't mean to go there just yet. And neither does Leorio, it seems.

"Sorry," he says. "I got distracted."

"By my flawless body?" Leorio suggests and preens, folding his arms behind his head, puffing out his chest. Kurapika snorts and pokes him in the sternum. "You wish." But he dips his head low and touches Leorio's cheek, he nudges his nose against Leorio's nose with a content little hum. "Do you mind if I kiss you some more? Or will you run away again if I try?"

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Kurapika holds his breath. And lets his lips close over Leorio's. Gentle, almost careful is the press of his mouth and Leorio shifts underneath him, unfolding. He frees his arms to wrap them around Kurapika's chest, coarse palms fit against the small of his back, around the curve of his nape and this time there is no doubt between them as Leorio accommodates. And sighs. And rubs his hairy legs against Kurapika's, so desperate to minimize the space between them.

Kurapika grows bold and kisses him with a little more fervor and twice the need.

Leorio mewls and catches Kurapika's lip with a hint of teeth that has Kurapika gasping and then he pulls back—

"Wait," Leorio says, a little breathless.

"What now?" Kurapika doesn't mean to sound like an impatient asshat but god, he wants Leorio to do that again. And again.

"Is it alright if I touch your neck? Or is that going to upset you? Like, I'm not gonna wrap my hands around it like a creep, I just wanna know if I need to be careful."

"I—I don't know."

"You don't?"

"I'm not..." Kurapika starts but he doesn't know what to say or how. He'd like to claim that this is not a question he has asked himself before but in a way he has . Days have been filled with wondering if he will ever stop flinching at another person's touch, if he'll ever feel safe enough to allow himself to be vulnerable again and the answer is yes, yes , he worked so hard to trust his friends to be patient with him, to forgive him if he makes mistakes. But that doesn't mean that he ever counted on Leorio looking at him, wanting him, with all his flaws and oddities and wanting to learn the boundaries that Kurapika hasn't mapped out himself yet.

"I'll let you know, alright? I want you to try and we can figure this out together and you're going to be you, which means you're going to be too careful even if I told you not to. And I don't mind that at all."

Silence. Silence and furrowing brows, lips half parted in pursuit of an answer.

"Leorio?"

Suddenly, the world tilts as Leorio rolls to his side and Kurapika finds himself crushed against Leorio's chest, his face cradled against Leorio's throat. His chin rests heavy on the crown of Kurapika's head.

"Don't do that," he says and his fingers run through Kurapika's wispy hair. "You can't just look at me and have me all figured out when I'm still here fumbling in the dark, that's not fair, Kurapika. How am I gonna keep up with you, hm?"

"To be fair, I've had my eyes on you for far longer than you know."

"Oh?"

"I... I wrote a stupid song about you. Back in high school."

"Wait, really? No way, that's... we didn't even know each other in high school."

Kurapika curls up and hides his face in his hands. Should he just spill it all, get it out of his system once and for all after he tried so hard to keep it a secret? But who is he trying to impress, really, after all that happened, after Leorio saw and acknowledged the worst of his flaws and still, still is here now. Still he had chosen to come, and make a big deal out of confessing with his flowers and his suit and the more Kurapika thinks about it, the more it keeps him awake, fills him with kind of a thrill and stokes his appetite for the things to come.

"I just thought you were cute. And not as much of a dick as the other boys. I came to watch your games, but I didn't feel like I had anything to say to you, so I didn't."

Leorio quivers. Kurapika feels it close to his skin but he takes a moment to realize that Leorio is shaking because he's trying hard not to laugh.

"What's so funny about that, huh?"

"Sorry, but... you were a spelling bee champion? You must’ve known more words than any other kid I met. And I can't imagine you ever not knowing what to say, you're way too smart for that."

"But I didn't know or care about any of the things you liked. I wasn't into sports or any of the music that your band played, I didn't like parties or girls or—" He shrugs. "I didn't see any common ground between us."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't talk to me then. I wasn't very... brave back then. If I had known you, if I had liked you back, god knows what I would have done. Run away from it probably. I couldn't see myself having a boyfriend, not while I was still living in my da's house. I mean, I did run away in the end, kind of. Took up the first job that got me to a town far away from anyone who ever knew my face. Didn't think anyone would miss me."

I did , Kurapika thinks stubbornly, but what comes out of his mouth is: "I'm gonna kick your dad's ass."

Leorio snorts. "Please don't."

"What, you think I can't take him on?"

"Oh, no, I know you could. You can kick anyone's ass. My old man wouldn't know what hit him, but, please, he's not worth the trouble. I haven't talked to him in years and I don't want to. He could be dead, for all I know. For all I care."

Kurapika hums approvingly. He begins tracing little patterns with his index fingers against Leorio's chest and lets him rant, because he feels like that's what he needs most right now and also, he's comfortable with that kind of anger. The justified, well-guided, cleansing kind.

"He doesn't get to know what I've been up to. Because he didn't have anything to do with it, so he doesn't get to claim any of the credit. Like, what did he ever do except made me feel like shit? Nothing, that's what." He sighs with frustration. "Sorry. I bet that's not what you wanted to talk about right now."

"Oh no, please go on”, Kurapika replies airily. “I could listen to you trash-talk people all night, I enjoy it very much."

"Didn't we want to sleep?"

"I think that was the plan, yes. But I'm not so angry about being awake now anymore."

"Still. Night's not getting any longer and I want to take you out for breakfast tomorrow."

Kurapika makes a noncommittal sound and sneaks an arm around Leorio. "Brunch. Not getting up before ten, no way."

"Brunch sounds great," Leorio concludes and his lips brush against Kurapika's forehead one more time before he falls quiet.

Leorio still doesn't fall asleep for a long time after that. He forces himself to lie still, keep his eyes shut, but his nerves buzz like a power line. He has yet to be convinced that this is really happening, that the warm presence stirring in his arms really is Kurapika. And part of him is afraid that as soon as he lets sleep whisk him away, all of this is going to disappear too - that he will wake up in his own hotel bed and all of it was just a dream.

He also realizes that if he doesn't fall asleep, he will not get a chance to wake Kurapika with kisses tomorrow morning.

So he listens to Kurapika's shallow breathing, interrupted by the occasional cute yet unintelligible mumble, and tries not to feel the boredom of the stretching minutes.

Until exhaustion finally takes him, and pulls him under.

Fifteen minutes into his late morning and Kurapika is already conflicted.

Phone in hand, he has rifled through a few websites on flower meanings now and for the most part their messages align. But as his eyes keep wandering to the sleeping form next to him, he wonders how, of all the colors to pick, pink was the one Leorio settled on. Not a good, solid red, but a light pink.

Gentleness. Grace. Sweetness.

He feels like, if he took a long hard look at himself, there is not much of that to be had. He doesn't soften his words as often as he could, he fumbles, he doesn't know how to flirt, or how to touch other people when they get emotional. He doesn't even know how he himself can bear to be touched. And he lies. And he's irritable and often unpleasant on purpose. Although he does understand that a rose's color is often indicative of the giver's intentions, rather than a declaration of the recipient's values.

Kurapika puts his phone on the nightstand and curls up against Leorio's side, thinking about Admiration. Thinking about Appreciation. Thinking about how damn lucky he is to wake up and find that it wasn't all just a dream, the kiss, the flowers, and him acting like a dick about it. Kurapika wants Leorio to wake up so they can make out and cuddle some more but he also doesn't want to wake him - a terrible conundrum as he is now doomed to stare and move no further as to play with Leorio's locks, when there is still so much bare skin worthy to be kissed.

Six roses: "I want to be yours."

But also - the need to be loved and cherished.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to wake him? If Kurapika was real nice about it, maybe he could—

There is a knock on the hotel door outside.

Kurapika freezes.

Leorio stirs and scrunches up his face, but he just makes a cranky noise and Kurapika waits a few more breathless heartbeats before he slips out of bed and tiptoes away, to see who's at the door.

"What did you and Leorio fight about?"

Gon grants Kurapika exactly one second of confused staring before he grabs him by the shoulder and bows down to see him eye to eye, his attention as blinding and unforgiving as a white spotlight. "Please, it's important. He didn't check into his room last night and I tried calling him, but his phone and the rest of his stuff is still in the bus and I'm—I'm starting to worry, it's not like him to just disappear like that."

Oh no. Kurapika's eyes drift back to the bedroom, where the culprit was slumbering, unaware of the drama he caused. Well, the new drama. And Kurapika is not quite ready to reveal him just yet. He knows how this is going to look.

"Gon, please calm down."

"Did you have a bad fight? Bad enough to make him leave? Or did he say something about needing a drink?"

"Gon, who said he and I have been fighting?"

"Well, he did. Yesterday, when he came to watch you perform. Right before he ran away." Gon raises his arms in defeat and lets them fall back to his sides, slapping his thigh with frustration. "Killua thinks he might have just gone to get drunk, but why didn't he come back to the hotel then? He could've just taken a taxi, I don't understand."

Kurapika pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Fine." He pushes Gon's hand gently off his shoulders and then peeks left and right down the hallway. A few people are about, possibly returning from breakfast or making their way to the dining room and some of them were squinting kind of strangely at the two of them. Kurapika grabs Gon by the arm and guides him inside because fuck that, he's not going to have this conversation in the middle of the hallway.

"Okay, so maybe we had a little disagreement,” he admits as soon as he closes the door behind them, “But he came to see me after the show and we talked it through and it's fine and—and he's fine, so you can stop worrying, okay? Everything is... fine." Kurapika fumbles and curls his toes, flinching at how pathetic he must sound. He used to be a better liar. But that's the problem, isn't it; he's not lying, he's beating around the bush and he hates it.

When Gon thinks real hard, he scrunches up his whole face and so Kurapika can tell right away that his flimsy explanation does not satisfy. He decides to save himself the trouble of making up worse lies. "Look, Gon, it was real late last night, so I let him stay. That's why he didn't check into his room last night. And I'd appreciate if we could keep this between us, because I don't want anyone to come to the wrong conclusions."

Gon stares quizzically at the empty couch. Let's his eyes wander over the equally empty kitchenette. "I don't see him here."

"Well, he's still..." Kurapika nods towards the bedroom.

Gon lets out a long and understanding 'ooooh' that fills Kurapika with equal parts relief and discomfort. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell anyone else you had sex."

"We didn't!", Kurapika yelps and remembers too late that he should probably keep his voice down. "Look, that's exactly what I'm talking about, Leorio and I, we still have a few things to figure out and I don't want anyone to go around and claim that we're a couple when that's not the case yet. You understand that, don't you?"

"But he likes you? The way you like him?"

It's embarrassing to say yes, so Kurapika tries to play it cool, says 'Apparently' with a shrug whose nonchalance is betrayed by a flustered smile. But he can't help sharing a little of the excitement. "He brought me roses. And we're gonna go out later."

And Gon beams and pats Kurapika so hard on the back that he stumbles a little. "That's great! You two are really good together, I'm so happy for you."

"But—" Kurapika raises a finger to his lips and Gon raises his hands to motion that he understands.

"So, what am I going to tell Senritsu, exactly, when I come back? She was the one who noticed that Leorio was nowhere to be found this morning. She was looking for him, said she had something important to discuss with him."

"What day is today?" Kurapika asks but even as he does, he knows the answer in his gut, where it seems like a ball of angry snakes has taken residence.

Gon confirms that it's March 4th, the day after Leorio's birthday, a fact that was kind of swept away and forgotten after yesterday's confusion.

"I'll talk to Senritsu myself. You go and have a nice day off, alright, go and annoy Killua for me," Kurapika says and beckons for Gon to bow down, so he can give him a proper goodbye kiss on the forehead. "Try not to break any laws."

"Can't promise that," Gon laughs.

When Kurapika slips back into the bedroom, he finds Leorio awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and jiggling his leg impatiently. "Is he gone?", he whispers and the jiggling increases in frequency. "Please tell me he left, my bladder is killing me."

"You didn't have to hide in here like some dirty little secret. And yes, he just left."

Leorio lets out a pained, high-pitched "Mh-hm", before he gets up and sprints out of the room. And pops his head back in a second later. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to keep it secret. Do you?" His face is a grimace, his teeth clench and Kurapika has to roll his eyes and yell at Leorio to go pee, you fool , because this could wait.

"You gotta go, too? Because I'm gonna shower and—"

" Go ."

Leorio dashes . Kurapika snorts at the ridiculousness of putting politeness before one's most basic needs, which is not a cute trait, definitely not, although adorable to watch.

On a regular morning, pants would have been in order, about now. But since Kurapika still hopes to spend some more time lazing in bed, he decides to use the time in which Leorio is in the shower to call Senritsu. She picks up right away, almost as if she had been waiting for a call. Her, "Good morning, Kurapika," sounds tired, indicating all the stress she had this morning.

"Gon just came by, said you were looking for Leorio. Is this about the issue that we discussed?"

"Yes. Please tell me you've seen him, I'm this close to calling the police."

"He's fine. He's with me. Senritsu, when I asked you specifically to wait until after his birthday, I didn't mean the very next day. Can you postpone this a little bit longer, please?"

He can hear her huff. "Last time you asked me to hurry up and make a decision and now it's too soon for you! It would be nice if you could be a little more specific. Like, give me a date to work with! I’m no mind-reader."

"I know, I know," he says and runs a hand over his face. "But today is a really bad day for this, trust me." He couldn't afford compromising his private life with work issues, not now, that he might have a private life to begin with. "Let's tell him on last day of the tour, alright? So he has all the way home to digest it."

"Fine by me," Senritsu replies, a little terse.

"Thank you." Kurapika sighs with relief. He is very aware of the fact that he is not and has never been easy to work with and that he keeps asking for favors. Not a single decision he has made the last few months had been selfless or in consideration of his marketability. The tour could be considered a success so far, yes, but that only meant that the meager profits were exceeding their expenses just barely. The purpose of a tour wasn't money, after all, it was about being accessible to the fans, it was a ridiculous amount of promotional work, it was abstinence from comfort and barely worth the trouble and honestly? He is probably going to do it again next year or in two years. Depending on the time he needs to work on a new album.

"Kurapika...?" Senritsu sounds concerned. He wonders if it's because he failed to hang up on her, like he always does.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You're so... quiet. He didn't figure out your new number, did he?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm fine, really. And in very good company, so if we could keep the work calls to a minimum today-"

"Oh, so that's how things are?" she challenges, but it's all in good humor. "I see. Alright, I'll make myself scarce, you enjoy your company ."

As if on cue, the company returns from the bathroom, bare-chested save for the towel slung around his shoulders. Skin flushed and still a little wet from his shower.

Kurapika smiles like a man conspiring as he sits back on the bed and tucks his feet underneath his body. "I will." He doesn't bother with a formal goodbye as he hangs up on Senritsu. Instead he watches Leorio walk to the window and draw back all the curtains, to let some sunlight in. It catches in his impossibly glossy hair and bounces off his piercing, which proves just as thrilling as the night before.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"Senritsu. You've been missed, you know," Kurapika teases and Leorio's mouth curls into an embarrassed smile.

"By who? Her or you?"

"Her, mostly."

"Guess I'll have to find a way to make it up to her then, huh?" Leorio replies far to jovially. He bends over the chair where he left his clothes the previous night and picks up his shirt.

"Actually, now that I think about it, I might've missed you too."

Leorio chuckles. "Well, I already owe you a date, so—"

"Don't put that on just yet," Kurapika interrupts, right as Leorio is about to slip into his shirtsleeves. Leorio freezes. "O-kay?"

"Come here."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Grinning, Leorio puts down his shirt and crawls onto the bed, claiming the space beside Kurapika.

"I didn't have the opportunity to thank you for the flowers yet."

"I disagree. You did have the chance, you just chose to yell at me instead."

Kurapika waves off the remark. "Details. I was wondering... if you're not too hungry, we could postpone brunch and stay in bed a little longer."

"Oh, I could eat," Leorio says and waggles his eyebrows in the least subtle manner possible. Kurapika snorts out ungraceful laughter.

"You're not nearly as charming as you think you are."

"Aren't I? Do you want me to try harder, then?"

"No, I want you to shut up—" Kurapika gives Leorio's shoulder a playful shove and Leorio flops onto his back, making a wounded noise. "And kiss me already." And just like a cat, Kurapika sprawls his body across Leorio's, claiming him, fixing him with impossibly brown eyes.

"Whoa, easy. If I had known this is what I'd get for buying you flowers, I would have done this a lot earlier." Leorio sneaks a hand on Kurapika's (cold!) thigh and... holds his breath, looking for a sign of discomfort. But Kurapika smiles and pretends not to notice. Bends down and kisses him on the nose. "I would have liked that. A lot."

Leorio's hand grows bolder still, slipping higher towards the swell of a very cute butt. His heart skips a beat when Kurapika raises a curious brow, but does not reprimand him. Instead, his fingertips brush against the side of Leorio's face.

For all his impatience, that first kiss he plants on the corner of Leorio's mouth is tender, almost careful and when he bows to place another one, Leorio is there to catch it.

Later, when the sun reaches its zenith and they finally bother to untangle, Leorio watches fondly as Kurapika dresses.

“You never answered my question,” he says and stretches languidly.

“Which one?”

Kurapika ogles . He pretends not to and that’s kind of cute, but he needs to try harder, if…

“I asked you if you want to keep this secret for now. I mean you’re not out to the public yet, and I wouldn’t ask you to change that just because of me but what about the rest of the team? Should we… keep quiet about it for a while?”

“I may have told Gon already.”

“Oh.”

“And… no, no I don’t want to hide it from our friends. I mean, I don’t want some sort of big announcement either, but. I’d like to keep it private, let’s put it like that. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to shout it from the rooftops either. Are you gonna be fine with that?”

“Sure. I’m not a rooftop kind of guy.”

“Leorio, you came to work bragging about the dates you had, like, four times,” Kurapika complains as he buttons up his shirt. He’s wearing navy dress pants, which means he plans on on taking Leorio somewhere fancy.

“Three times,” Leorio clarifies. He sits up and rubs his chin. “Fine, maybe I am that kind of guy. But I can be… careful, if I need to. I fooled my dad for years, didn’t I? So as much as I’d love to shout out to the world that the brilliant and handsome Kurapika Kurta wants to date me, I won’t.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Kurapika mutters, but he’s smiling too. “And for the record, I don’t plan on pretending to be straight for very much longer, either.”

“Really?”

“If I don’t get cold feet, I’m gonna do it at our last show. In fact, I already told my parents I’ll do it, so there’s no getting out of this. I’d like you to be there, too. I mean, you’re always there, obviously, but I want you close by. To keep an eye on me. Would you do that for me?”

Leorio’s expression mellows. “Of course, you can count on me. Kurapika, that’s great . I’m proud that you want to take that step, I can’t even imagine... I promise I’ll stay as close to you as I can without creeping up on stage with you.”

Kurapika snickers. “Please put some pants on if you plan on getting all sappy over me, it kinda ruins the mood. And about that last show… I think I have another request to make.”

Tell the world that we finally got it all right
I choose you

Sara Bareilles, “I Choose You”

April 4th.

The day Kurapika turns twenty-eight years old. The day of the last show, the finish line of what had turned out to be an exhausting and quite emotionally draining tour. It is also the day on which Kurapika had planned a big announcement for his fans.

Which is why Leorio does not quite understand why he has been summoned to the venue's meeting room right after the mid-show clothes change when he should be at the sidelines of the stage, providing moral support. Surely, whatever Senritsu has to say could have waited until after the show. And she seems to be aware that he'd rather be elsewhere, as she steps into the room, two files in hand, and greets him with the promise of making this as short as possible.

They sit down on opposite sides of a large stretching, rectangular table. A TV-screen on the wall displays footage of the show without sound and Leorio has to gather all his willpower to focus on his employer and not the screen. He glances at his watch instead. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes is all he could spare without missing the critical part, although he is in no position to just walk out on her, even if he wanted to.

Senritsu lays down her identical looking files side by side, but does not open them yet.

"I know this is very short-notice, and I apologize for that, but I need to talk to you about your work performance..."

He's out of the room seventeen minutes later, one of the files - his own copy - pressed to his chest. Head swimming with questions. He jogs through the corridors of the venue, the walls blurring at the side of his vision and honestly, he's kind of over these places. He just wants to be home. To sort himself out but also to just flop onto his bed and do nothing and maybe cuddle with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend .

Leorio knows how fucking lucky he is, although it still hits him when he least expects it and right now, he feels so, so off-balance.

He reaches the stage as the last chords of Under Pressure fade and the subtle irony does not escape him.

"There you are!" Gon calls out, "I was so close to ask Kurapika to stall. Where were you? Did anything happen?"

"I was just fired," Leorio says. Feels wrong to say it so plainly, like it should hit him harder but he hasn't digested it yet. And Gon hiccups a laugh, thinks it's a joke until Leorio fails to laugh with him.

"Wait, really?"

"Yup."

"But you're so good at your job! Does Kurapika know? I bet he can change her mind."

Leorio puts his finger up to his lips because on stage, Kurapika speaks up. Also, he doesn't know how to say that a decision like that wouldn't have been made without Kurapika's knowledge or approval. Surely, Gon was familiar how this worked.

"For my last song, I have a special treat. It's a song that's quite dear to me because it's the first and only song I ever wrote myself—"

He pauses to allow some sporadic cheers and tries to gauge from the response how many of his oldest fans are still around, still following him on this journey. Kurapika swears that there's more of them now, but maybe he just got rid of the bad seeds when he took a stand against Hisoka.

"—unfortunately, I don't ever get to sing it in its original form, which has... a few variations. I'm sure you can spot them, if you pay attention. This is Dumb, Dumb Boy ." And Kurapika teases an almost sassy tune out of his bass, like he's playing an early Kate Nash riot grrl kind of number.

"There's a boy I know from school

And he thinks he's just so cool

And I would agree -

Except he doesn't care for me

Isn't that just how these stories go?

Because I'm a nerd, I'm a real teacher's pet

And he's just a jock, he makes all the girls... swoon

Isn't that just how these stories go?"

Leorio snorts with ugly laughter. He can appreciate the joke, at least. For all his claims of having no skill for poetry, Kurapika's song is refreshingly simple and fun , quite different from the elaborate compositions that usually spring to his mind. One can see his touch, though, in the mocking lilt of the syllables, the snide of the sarcasm, the overall pettiness . Leorio's so proud, he might almost forget that he's the one being mocked here.

"He's just a dumb, dumb boy

Full of himself and not that coy

'Cause he plays in a band and holds every girl's hand

This dumb, dumb boy"

But the joke's always been on him, right? For example, if he had just been dumb, he might have kept his job. But no, he has to be just good enough to trick Senritsu into believing he 'has potential' that he is ignoring. And whether that is true or not only matters if he can afford to not work. Which he can't, not really. ( I've been watching you a while now, was what she had said , your chemistry in the group, the way you perform when you're being put in front of an audience and the way you perform when you forget that you have an audience. And I shared my opinions with Kurapika and we both agreed that being a solo artist might not be the best choice for you. )

Parts of the crowd are chanting merrily along now and Kurapika grins broader and broader. His eyes search for Leorio on the side of the stage and when he spots him, he winks.

"Oh, he thinks he's a real cool cat

When he swings his baseball bat

And I'd come to his game -

If he even knew my name

But that's just not how these stories go

Because I'm a geek, I'm the theater kid

And he'd never think that I'm really hot shit

Since that's just not how these stories go

He's just a dumb, dumb boy..."

( "But we'd love to have you. There's no doubt about that. We were thinking about putting together a duo, because I get the impression you work best in tandem. You shine when you have someone else to focus all your attention on, and you instantly have more presence. Kurapika also mentioned that you are looking for more feedback on your songs, so if you'd like, I can make a few phone calls, ask if someone would be interested in a collaboration, and maybe they can teach you a thing or two. If there are some artists you'd like to meet in particular, let me know and-" )

( "I haven't agreed to anything yet." )

( "Excuse me?" )

( "Like, what if I don't want that? You haven't even told me who you'd want to pair me up with, like, are you going to hire someone new? Are you thinking a girl or a guy? What if I don't click with them?" )

Halfway through the repeat of the chorus, Leorio snaps back into the present. He still doesn't know how to feel about this new offer, but he has been given time until April 4th to consider. He doesn't think it's a coincidence that the deadline falls on Kurapika's birthday. It's a clear sign that he's supposed to say yes, so that they have one more thing to celebrate. But...

( "He hasn't told you yet, has he?" )

Is this really alright?

"Oh, but maybe in another life,

we could have been friends

Yeah, we could have been friends

Yeah, we could have been — "

A pause like a heartbeat. The official, the safe version of the song requires appropriate silence and he could still be a coward if he wanted to, but Kurapika bends back over the mic and shouts: "Boyfriends!"

And if there's a moment of shell-shocked quiet, it's just because the drums stopped playing and it's just him now, him and his bass, and he plucks the strings a little slower, a little more tenderly as he reveals the final chorus that he hasn't played ever since he stepped out of the Flamingo for the last time, with Chrollo Lucilfer's business card in his sweaty hands.

"I'm just a dumb, dumb boy

And it fills my heart with joy

If you show me a smile, oh won't you stay for a while

My dumb, dumb boy"

He plays his last chord and falls back on his heels.

Is there anything left to say? Is his performance speaking for itself or will he have to explain himself further? It's impossible to tell from the swelling noise, howls and cheers mingle, they rise like a hungry beast ready to swallow him and it takes all he has to stand his ground and say "thank you and goodnight" before the lights finally die and shadows fall all around him.

Kurapika puts down his bass and walks to the edge of the stage with a painfully controlled pace and then nothing else matters anymore except Leorio's anxious smile and Leorio's hands reaching for his.

"Hey," Kurapika says.

"Hey." Leorio frowns at his jittery touch. "Are you alright? You're trembling."

"I'm great. Never been better." He can't feel his legs anymore, but it doesn't matter, what matters is that he did it . What matters is Leorio cupping his cheek softly, his thumb caressing and Kurapika inches closer, hungry to kiss Leorio until he doesn't have to think anymore.

But then Leorio parts his lips to talk.

"I've been offered a record deal today," he says under his breath. "I owe that to you, don't I?"

Kurapika is a little too drunk on pride right now to deny - he laughs and wraps his arms around Leorio's neck, pulling him closer. "Doesn't mean you don't have to work for it, big boy."

Leorio's mouth curls, embarrassed, and he struggles for words until he remembers how to use his tongue again. "And why didn't you tell me you're going to quit your solo career, huh? Why did I have to find out through Senritsu?"

"I was going to. Remember last night, when I said I'm tired of making music all on my own? I wasn't looking for a reminder how everyone supported me and I wasn't asking for a break, but you were so sweet about it, I didn't have the heart to interrupt you. But I mean it, I don't want to be alone in the spotlight anymore. I want to make music with you and I want to hold your hand in public and I want to show you off—"

Kurapika doesn't get very much further as he finds himself crushed against Leorio's chest and his face smushed against prickly cheeks. Kisses dot his temple, clumsy fingers stroke through his hair. "I'm so lucky to have you," Leorio whispers and Kurapika needs to hide his face against his boyfriend's denim jacket, because, ugh, who allowed this man to say such nonsense? "Shut up."

"Never."

"Uh, Leorio? Kurapika?" Gon calls. "I don't want to interrupt you, but... you're wanted."

A few centimeters is all the distance Kurapika will allow between them, but now that he has been made aware, he can feel the impatient thumping humming through the ground. Killua darts out of the shadow, his headset askance and he hisses: "They're screaming for an encore, did you guys make up your minds?"

We didn't even make out , Kurapika wants to call back, but untangles himself from his boyfriend instead and takes him by the hand. Regards his skittish glances and says: "It's alright if you're not ready for this. We can try again at a smaller concert."

"No, I—I guess it's my turn to be brave now, huh?" He tries to smile, but it's a weak, fluttering thing and Kurapika squeezes his hands tighter. "Hey, I'll be right next to you. And I will personally jump into the audience and fight anyone who mocks you. You'll be great. I know it. You'll... what's the phrase you love to say? You're going to charm some pants off ."

"That's not quite how—" Leorio says but loses his thought when Kurapika grabs him by the jacket and sneaks a kiss on Leorio's cheek, before falling back and sprinting into the middle of the stage. Killua too, scrambles to get back in position to adjust the stage lights.

The audience's cries turn to cheers.

"I have one more surprise for you tonight. I have invited a very special guest to perform my last song with me. He's a singer and songwriter from my hometown and a very good friend of mine. I have the honor to introduce to you: Leorio Paladiknight."