and your whole wide world comes undone

“Thank you, Kurapika.”

Oito was looking up at Kurapika with such appreciation and affection. He swallowed thickly, feeling his face flush bright red and the back of his neck go tight and itchy. He wondered if he was allergic to gratitude. He wondered when was the last time someone looked at him like this, with such warmth and maternal kindness.

“I did my job,” Kurapika said. “I said I would protect you and the prince.”

“You did far more than that,” Oito reminded him. She lifted a brow. “You risked your life and livelihood for me and Woble. You taught me Nen, empowering me to protect my daughter on my own. You kept us safe and alive. You helped us survive this succession war.”

“Of course,” Kurapika assured her. He looked around the marble floors and pristine glass windows of Deck 1, half searching for lingering threats and half out of relief. The princes who had survived the war were milling about and talking to the newest King, Morena, who stood side-by-side with her new Queen, Theta. King Morena caught Kurapika’s eye, and she sent him a short nod and a perfunctory smile. She was not a warm woman, not to anyone save her partner. But she had sworn she would protect Prince Woble, whose greatest crime in life was being born into such a family and whose most powerful weapon was a dirty diaper.

Oito cared about power and politics, and she swore one day her daughter would rule the Kakin Empire. But for now, life as a child-king would put the infant in more danger than this drama was worth. Oito wanted her daughter to rule, but she would not sacrifice her safety to gain it. Enter Morena, who was old enough to rule, brilliant and cunning, and bloodthirsty enough to eliminate who she needed to while remaining human enough not to kill a child that was no threat to her. Morena swore she would protect her half-sister until she came of age to seriously contend for the throne, and at that moment, all bets would be off. Until then, Prince Woble and Queen Otio were under Morena’s personal care and protection.

God damn, but the last two weeks felt as if they had dragged on for nearly two years.

Kurapika’s thoughts were interrupted by Oito gently taking his hand. Her hands were soft against the odd lines of calluses over his right palm. She smiled gently up at him. “Again, I thank you, Kurapika. I owe you a debt I can never repay. Please never hesitate to ask for my help.” She smiled, slow and wide and a touch mischievous, and she added, “And do please send your doctor my appreciation as well.”

“Ah. I – well.” Kurapika cleared his throat. His mind flicked back to a solitary room on deck three, Leorio soothing a terrified, exhausted Oito. Leorio, easily plucking the fussy Woble from Kurapika’s arms and hefting her into the air. Leorio, pressing the tips of his fingers to Kurapika’s temples, waves of cool energy flooding his head and finally easing the tension and pressure of his migraine. Leorio, prescribing a hug to soothe Kurapika’s maladies. Leorio, pulling Kurapika into his arms with a laugh, running his hands over Kurapika’s tense back and shoulders, leaving trails of healing Nen in their wake. Leorio, smelling of the sea and antiseptic, the white cotton of his uniform so soft under Kurapika’s cheek. Leorio, kind and handsome and funny and warm and there. Leorio, marching into the solitary prison Kurapika had built for himself and quietly making himself at home there.

“He is not mine,” Kurapika said softly, as if that was the central message of her request. Perhaps it was. “But I will pass along your gratitude.”

Oito smiled knowingly up at Kurapika. “Of course,” she said, somehow managing to laugh in his face without making a sound or invoking his ire. “Thank you again, Kurapika. Be well. I wish you health and happiness from this moment on.”

Kurapika only smiled in reply, watching Oito disembark from the boat with her daughter. She looked back over her shoulder once she finally stepped back onto dry, solid land, and she waved. With a lump in his throat, Kurapika waved back.

He made his way back to his room in a daze. He knew that he must have placed one foot in front of the other as he paced the halls. But it seemed as if he turned away from the Black Whale’s deck and manifested himself in the entryway of his little cabin. His actions were economic and mechanical as he removed his shoes, flipped on the light, removed his tie. He walked to the perfectly-made bed, preparing to face-plant into it and sleep for all he was worth.

His gaze caught on the macabre sight of the eerie red glow of the final set of Kurta eyes. Pairo’s eyes. They floated in their jar, winking in the weak fluorescent light like rubies. How beautiful. How grotesque.

His family had died for that shade of scarlet. His clan wiped out, his culture destroyed.

And for what? For money. For greed. For power. People had fought for those eyes. People had killed for those eyes. And Kurapika was one of them.

He had killed for all of them. This was revenge. This was healing. This was his life’s goal and quest and journey, his entire reason for living. And now it was over.

If Kurapika spent any longer staring at his brother’s disembodied eyes, he was going to vomit onto the comforter. He made himself get up and walk into the en-suite bathroom, turning the shower on its hottest setting. It filled the bathroom with fog that condensed onto the mirror. It was something to feel, at least.

Tiredly, Kurapika palmed away the mist that covered the mirror. A face he barely recognized stared back at him: angular jaw and cheekbones hollowed out, eyes shadowed so heavily they looked bruised. His hair was too long and unkempt, greasy strands falling over his forehead. He looked… gross. He felt gross. Had he truly let himself go so thoroughly, disregarding his hygiene and self-care, in the past few years?

(The answer was yes. He knew it. Everyone knew it. Melody had been foisting food, water, and rest on him with increasing frustration over the past several months. Hanzo sent him concerned looks that he seemed to actually think were subtle. Bisky had resorted to simply telling him when he was working himself to exhaustion, which was just about every day.)

But that was different. Before, he had more important, more pressing matters to contend with. And now he didn’t.

He didn’t.

What was he supposed to do now?

“Leorio, can you get more of those bandages?”

“Leorio, we need more antiseptic!”

“Leorio, the lady in bed three needs ice chips.”

“Leorio, we’ve got a bloody nose in bed seventeen.”

“Leorio, bed nine has been waiting to be discharged for over an hour, can you take care of that?”

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and Leorio had been on his feet since six o’clock that morning. The medical bay around him filled up, and then filled some more, a mess of bodies with maladies ranging from bloody noses and twisted ankles to broken bones and fevers and various odd illnesses. It was fast-paced, exhausting, largely thankless work. Leorio moved papers around, scrubbed bedpans, changed sheets and linens and bandages, dodged pillows and one memorable shoe thrown at his head.

He was having the time of this life.

Because Leorio knew the answer to every question his fellow medics asked. Questions from where is the extra gauze to where’s the nearest sharps disposal to can you take this blood pressure, this blood test, check their temperature, give this patient their medication, pop this shoulder back into place, wrap this ankle, what’s this diagnosis?

It was not the research Leorio dreamed of doing, nor was it emergency medicine of the caliber that he wanted. But he got to make little kids smile, and older ladies a bit more comfortable, and Cheadle thought he was worth the space he took up. So, Leorio was feeling pretty great.

(Constantly in the back of his mind was the undercurrent of their mission. Beyond Netero, Pariston Hill, Ging Freeccs, the Kakin Succession War. The infant Woble and her mother, Oito. The looming spectre of the Dark Continent, growing more and more real with every nautical mile the Black Whale sailed.

Kurapika, Kurapika, Kurapika. He was here, on this ship, two decks and twelve floors over his head. The closest together they had been in months, and about a billion miles away.)

(Then again, even with Kurapika sitting across a conference room table, on the other side of a phone call, in an out-of-the-way office – Kurapika had been a billion miles away since Yorknew.)

(I tried to reach out, Kurapika had confessed one late night under the impression that Leorio was asleep. But when I did… I thought if I pulled away, you all would let me be.)

Leorio was feeling great, except for all the ways he wasn’t.

But he could not dwell on those thoughts now. He could not think about his many conflicting feelings about – and for – Kurapika right now. Those thoughts were best saved for his bed in the sparse moments between his head hitting the pillow and sleep claiming him.

And if that meant that Leorio was falling asleep every night with his head echoing with thoughts about Kurapika, well, that was no one’s business but his. Nor was it anything new.

Nevertheless. Kurapika had a job to do, and so did Leorio. So he discharged the woman in bed nine, and got bed three some ice chips from the dispenser, and handed the little boy in bed seventeen a stack of gauze for his nose and and some lollipops to share with his friends. The group of boys ran out, laughing uproariously over the candy. Leorio watched them go, a small smile on his face. Had he once been that small? Had he once raced through the streets with Pietro like that?

Some moments, Leorio felt far older than his twenty-one years.

But he was again driving worryingly close to dwelling territory, so he made himself straighten his spine and get back to work. They needed more bandages and antiseptic, so Leorio quickly directed his steps out of the medical bay and down the long hall of storage closets just outside the clinic’s doors. Soon the din faded away, giving Leorio a few peaceful moments to close his eyes and breathe. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, releasing the tension that he carried in his spine like baggage.

The hit to his temple came out of nowhere, and Leorio’s world crumpled into blackness.

When he came to, some indeterminate period of time later, it was to a dry mouth and a splitting headache. He let out a low groan, his face screwing up against the pain. He tried to rub at his head, sending Nen to his fingertips, but his limbs would not respond. Frowning, he opened his eyes and twisted his neck to glance behind himself. He was sitting in an uncomfortable aluminum fold-out chair, his wrists bound with zip ties. He tugged experimentally at the plastic, wincing at the way they bit into his skin.

Okay. So. This was bad.

Leorio looked around. He was in a small room. A closet, he realized, one much like the thousand others on Deck Three. If he was even still on Deck Three (he probably was?). The walls, floor, and ceiling were all the same plain metal, the lone fluorescent light along the ceiling buzzing. There was someone sitting on the floor across from Leorio.

A child, actually.

A child sitting cross-legged on the steel floor, dressed in a black kimono with floral accents. Their hair was cut in a severe, straight bob that stopped just above their skinny shoulders. When they looked up, Leorio saw their eyes were pale pink. There was a beauty mark on their chin.

“You’re awake,” the child observed.

Leorio raised an eyebrow. “I suppose so.”

He frowned at the kid. There was something… familiar about them. Their impish, graceful features; their pale skin; the shape of their eyes, if not the color; the immediate proclivity towards sass as soon as Leorio was conscious.

“Have we met?” Leorio asked the child. They raised their brows.

“‘Have we met?’” They repeated. “That’s your first question. Not ‘what happened?’ ‘Where am I?’ ‘What do you want?’”

Leorio shrugged. “If you’ve gone to these lengths to knock me out in a hallway and kidnap me, then I’m assuming you’re going to tell me the answer to all those questions soon enough.”

The child studied Leorio with an expressionless face that somehow still managed to communicate that they thought Leorio was a goddamn moron. They opened their mouth to speak, but before they could produce sound, the door opened.

The child’s mouth shut with a snap. Leorio’s lips curled into a disgusted sneer as he recognized the man’s face.

“Illumi,” Leorio greeted.

Illumi sent Leorio a short nod, his face still curiously, oddly blank. “Leorio. You seem calm, all things considered.”

“Was I supposed to be pissing and shitting myself?” Leorio asked. He rolled his wrists, testing the plastic’s give again. No dice. Time to talk. “This is my first time being kidnapped, so I don’t really know the etiquette here.”

“I would be surprised if you knew the etiquette anywhere,” Illumi told him.

“Ouch,” Leorio said tonelessly. He jerked his head toward the silent child. “Who’s this?”

Illumi flickered his gaze over the child. “This is Kalluto. My youngest brother.”

“How many fucking Zoldycks are there?” Leorio asked wearily. He counted off on his fingers, not that Illumi could see it. “You, Milluki, Killua, Alluka, Kalluto? Anyone else I should know about?”

Illumi’s face, already a sickly white, went a shade paler. His lips pressed together in irritation.

“You will refrain from discussing Killua and that… thing in front of me,” Illumi warned.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Leorio snapped back. He registered the youngest sibling, Kalluto, watching their bickering with vague disinterest. Like they were reading a mildly interesting placard in a museum, rather than participating in a kidnapping. “‘Cause I care about those kids. And Alluka is a kid. Not a thing.”

A sweet kid possessed by a strange, seemingly all-powerful spirit capable of granting wishes, up to and including healing a child on the brink of a gruesome death. But a kid nevertheless.

Illumi sneered. It was the first time he had expressed genuine emotion, and Leorio noted the fault lines in his normally expressionless mask with a kind of furious pride.

Illumi is sensitive when it comes to Killua and Alluka, he noted for future reference. Those were two buttons to avoid pressing. Or to press constantly, riling up Illumi until he revealed more about just what the fuck was happening here.

“So, what exactly is happening here?” Leorio asked. Might as well cut to the chase.

“You are being held on the Black Whale –”

Leorio gasped theatrically. “No.”

“Shut up,” Illumi snapped. He stepped closer to Leorio and squatted on his haunches, bringing his face to Leorio’s level. He tilted his head, and his long hair slipped over his shoulder, flopped over his uncomfortably expressionless face, nearly touched the dirty floor. When he carried on, his tone had returned to the same monotone Leorio was used to. The whiplash from irritated to detached sent the first real chill of fear down Leorio’s spine.

“Did you know,” Illumi started, “That I have joined the Phantom Troupe?”

“Unfortunately,” Leorio deadpanned. “To replace Uvogin, right? The one Kurapika curb-stomped to death in the desert?”

“The very one.” Illumi refused to rise to Leorio’s bait. “The Phantom Troupe is very interested in finding two people right now. Can you guess who?”

“I don’t really care,” Leorio lied. Illumi’s nostrils flared, like he could smell it. Or maybe that was the closest his face got to laughing.

“We are looking,” Illumi said, “For Hisoka. And Kurapika. Hisoka, because he has betrayed the Troupe, and we have come to an… agreement.”

“I’m not interested in whatever murderous, kinky foreplay bullshit you two have going on,” Leorio interrupted. Illumi glared at him.

“Don’t be crass in front of my brother.”

“Really?” Leorio barked out a laugh. “The kid’s followed you into the ranks of a genocidal terrorist organization and onto a giant cruise ship sailing off the edge of the world. You’re gonna draw the line at a dirty joke?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever.” Leorio huffed out a sigh. “No skin off my nose.” He glanced at Kalluto. “Sorry, kid. Maybe Illumi can give you the birds and bees talk later.”

“Don’t call me kid. And you’re gross,” Kalluto observed. They sounded almost affronted at Leorio’s apology, their eyes squinting and mouth curling in a pouty scowl so reminiscent of Killua that Leorio’s heart seized.

(That snotty little shit. That scared, sweet, desperate boy. Leorio was so proud of the teen he was becoming. Leorio missed him so, so much.)

“I’ve heard that before,” Leorio agreed. He returned his attention to Illumi. “Anyway. You were going to explain why you needed me for this?”

“I was,” Illumi agreed. “I’ve been tasked with searching for men over one hundred and ninety centimeters in height –”

“For a dating profile?”

Illumi’s nostrils flared again. “Will you stop interrupting me?”

“Probably not.”

Illumi’s lip curled. “You meet that height requirement. Therefore, you could be Hisoka in disguise.”

“You got me,” Leorio drawled. “Free my hands and I’ll peel off my face. Dye my hair pink. Did you know, Bungee Gum has the qualities of both gum and rubber? Have I mentioned that a time or a hundred?”

It was so, so obvious Illumi wanted nothing more than to put a needle through Leorio’s skull at that moment. Leorio bit back a smirk; Illumi had not so much as lashed out, regardless of all of Leorio’s ribbing and snark. For whatever reason, the Phantom Troupe needed him alive and relatively unharmed.

“I hate to tell you, but Hisoka and I aren’t exactly buddies,” Leorio said. “He’s not the type to come rushing to my aid.”

Illumi’s perfectly-shaped brows arched. “Oh, you misunderstand me. I am not anticipating Hisoka coming for you.”

Leorio frowned in confusion. No Hisoka coming to get him. That was for the best, actually. The murderous Pennywise knock-off gave him the heebie-jeebies. But if Illumi was not planning for Hisoka, then that must mean he was planning for…

Leorio’s lips parted as he realized what Illumi meant. “Kurapika.”

There was no way the Phantom Troupe could get to Kurapika, surrounded as he was by the Kakin Royal Family, a squad of mafiosos, and the Zodiacs. But if they captured someone Kurapika cared about, someone Kurapika might risk himself to get back…

For the first time, Illumi smiled. It was an icy cold knife sliding from a sheath, its smooth, sharp edge pressing a faint line against the column of Leorio’s throat. If he breathed too deeply, the blade would cut the skin, and he would bleed and bleed and bleed.

He would bleed, and Kurapika would drown in it.

Illumi straightened, returning to his full height. He towered over Leorio in his crappy folding chair. Leorio flexed his fingers, feeling pins and needles where they had gone numb and tingly. Whether that was from his restraints or his panic, he was unsure.

“I will be back,” Illumi said, making his way to the door. “I need to inform the rest of the Troupe of this development. Kalluto, keep watch.”

“Yes, Illumi,” Kalluto said automatically. They sat cross-legged on the floor from Leorio and took out a stack of origami paper. With light, practiced fingers, they started folding shapes. Stupidly, helplessly, Leorio could only mutely watch.

He tilted his head back, cracking his neck and staring at the featureless ceiling. Illumi did not know the flaws in his own plan, clearly. He was picturing the Kurapika who had come to Kukuroo Mountain to rescue Killua. The Kurapika who coldly ceased negotiations with the Phantom Troupe and was fully prepared to murder Chrollo in the backseat of a moving sedan when he thought they had hurt Killua and Gon.

Illumi did not know that Kurapika was gone. The Kurapika who opened a twelve-ton door to save an abused child was tucked up small and safe in his chain-linked heart to wait out the end of his quest. Maybe that Kurapika was gone forever, doused in blood and kerosene and set aflame. When they met again, Leorio had barely recognized the young man in front of him: shaggy blond hair, shadowed gray eyes, prominent cheekbones, colorful traditional clothing exchanged for an elegant, fitted black suit. Leorio had not seen Kurapika smile in nearly two years. The smile that reminded him of the sun bursting out from rain clouds had been snuffed out.

I tried to reach out once. I knew I needed help.

Leorio shut his eyes against the ache in his chest.

I could give everything I had to my quest, but I could not drag you all down with me.

Shut up, Leorio internally hissed at the memories.

I only have the will to stay away, because that’s the best way to protect you all.

He’s gone, Leorio reminded himself brutally. He made his choice. He left to do it on his own. He never let you all choose to go with him.

He forced aside the rest of his memories from a stolen moment that he was never supposed to be privy to. Kurapika would have never said those things if he had known Leorio was awake. Hell, Leorio still thought most days that he must have dreamed up that entire exchange.

But that didn’t matter, Leorio told himself. Because Illumi did not know that he and Kurapika were no longer speaking. Illumi did not know that it could take Kurapika weeks or months to realize that Leorio was missing.

Kurapika was not coming. So Leorio needed to find a way out of this himself.

Kurapika stared at the ceiling.

The clock on his bedside table told him it was seven o’clock in the morning. The sun was shining in bright streaks through the window. The waves rolled on for miles on all sides of the ship. They sounded like static on the edges of Kurapika’s consciousness.

He ought to get out of bed. He ought to move. He ought to… he needed too…

To what?

The Succession War was over. He had reclaimed the last of the Eyes. Pairo’s eyes were locked securely in the safe that came with his room, like this was a hotel. His colleagues with the mafia were hundreds of miles away, back on dry land. Would Kurapika even stay with them now? Would he keep his position as Neon Nostrade’s personal bodyguard? Or would he leave, travel the world as he had always dreamed?

The dream tasted like ash on his tongue. How could he act on the dreams he had as a child when everything had changed? Did he deserve that? Or was he only good for murder and blood and death?

Kurapika lifted his right hand to the sky. The sunlight illuminated the lines of calluses on his palm, along his fingertips. He activated his Nen, and a moment later, his chains appeared. They looked so innocuous in the morning light, flashing silver. The metal was cold, as it always was before it warmed to his skin. Their weight was as stifling as it was familiar. It left him feeling subtly off-balance, like he was listing to the right and his lungs were being squeezed ever so slightly.

Was this the lingering effect of Emperor Time? Or was this how it had always been? How long had Kurapika been slowly suffocating?

With a flick of his wrist, the chains vanished. The feeling like there was not enough room to breathe lingered.

How long until he learned how to breathe again?

Kurapika forced his muscles to move, sitting up in bed and dressing himself in a fresh suit. His fingers lingered on the soft wool of his blue Kurta tunic. Curling his hand into a fist, he dropped his hand back to his side. He had spent years and years working to avenge his people. Now that was over, and at the end of it all Kurapika felt like he had lost the right to don his cultural dress.

(The Kurta were not a vengeful people. They valued peace, restoration, amends over punishment. They kept to themselves and looked after their own. Would his parents understand why he had done what he did? Would Pairo congratulate him on a job well done? Would the village elders thank him for avenging them? Or would they cast him out for the blood that dripped, dripped, dripped from his hands?)

(Did it matter? Did any of it matter? They were dead, and Kurapika was still here. It was too late to ask questions that would never be answered.)

Kurapika was here, the lone survivor of a genocide, the vengeance he had hunted for so long done, and he did not know what to do. It felt anticlimactic to button his shirt, knot a tie around his neck, brush his hair, lock his room behind him, hunt for coffee and breakfast in the Deck Three dining hall.

But what else was he to do? He had survived. He had lived.

Kurapika was not sure how to do that anymore.

The Deck Three cafeteria was loud, bustling, noisy. People jostled about, trading, selling, calling out to loved ones, bickering over the best seats and last muffins and the final dregs of coffee. The crowd pressed in around Kurapika, smothering what little appetite he may have had. With a sigh, he turned around to go somewhere else. Do something else. It did not matter what.

Except before he could go too far, a gentle hand caught his elbow sleeve. And an even gentler voice said, “Kurapika?”

He looked down into the familiar face. Melody peered up at him, her head tilted thoughtfully. She had changed out of her dress suit and was back in the somewhat shapeless purple dress she preferred, her bald spot covered by a hat that reminded him of a lily pad. She held a tray in her hands: two cups of coffee, two plates of food.

She smiled up at him. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

Kurapika had nothing else to do today. He nodded shortly. “Yes.”

He offered to take the tray, and Melody allowed him to take it from her. (He was not tall, but at least he was taller than Melody, who was liable to be lost completely in the crowd or knocked over as people moseyed about in the crush for breakfast.) He followed her through the crowd and was grateful when she showed them out of the cafeteria and walked through the halls until she found a long hallway that ran along the outer edge of the Black Whale. The outer walls were made solely of glass, creating floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off the rising sun as it glowed off of the endless ocean.

Melody showed them to a quiet table at the window, making herself comfortable in her seat even though her feet didn’t even touch the ground. For several minutes, they ate in companionable silence. This was one thing Kurapika had always appreciated about Melody: she could sense when he wanted to talk and when he needed to be silent. She did not push. She met him wherever he was.

Kurapika wondered what he had done to deserve her concern, after everything he had done.

Melody broke their silence when Kurapika had finished exactly half the food on his plate, like she had been biding her time.

“You finished your quest,” she stated softly.

The toast in his hand froze halfway to his mouth. Melody watched him with serene gray eyes. She said it as an observation, not as a question.

Kurapika took a thoughtful bite of his toast. Chewed, swallowed. Sipped his coffee. Tasted none of it.

“I did,” Kurapika said.

He wondered if Melody would ask for details. For such a kind woman, she never shied away from violence. She could start a fight as quickly and smoothly as she ended them. But instead, she asked a much more uncomfortable question:

“How does it feel?”

Kurapika would have laughed if he remembered how. Melody cut straight to the heart of the matter, asking the question as casually as if she was wondering what they should do today or where he had gotten his tie. Kurapika stared into his coffee cup like it would answer for him. He tested different answers in his head.

I feel proud. Lie.

I feel nothing. Lie.

I feel relieved. Lie.

I feel guilty. Lie.

“I don’t know,” Kurapika breathed. He wrapped his palms around his coffee cup, wishing this facsimile of warmth might put a dent in the sickening void in his chest.

Melody hummed. Kurapika did not lift his head.

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “But I hoped it would feel better than this.”

“I know,” Melody assured him softly. She did not sound surprised by his admission. When Kurapika looked up to meet Melody’s eye, she was smiling at him with such heartbreaking kindness and empathy that Kurapika’s stomach flipped in riotous discomfort.

You don’t deserve her kindness, his head shouted. Which was laughable. Kurapika had known that for years.

“Something I’ve learned in my years as a hunter,” Melody shared, swirling honey into her tea with a little spoon, “Is that we can scour the world for anything and everything, for as long as we can. As long as we breathe, as long as the money doesn’t run out.” She snorted out a laugh. “But so often, what we find does not make up for what we leave behind. What we lose along the way.” Melody leaned back in her chair and looked out the window. The sun shone on her buck teeth, her ashy hair, her silvery eyes. Kurapika had no idea how old Melody was, but in that moment, she seemed both ancient and youthful. Ageless and disconnected from time. She seemed sad. Sad and longing for something that was long gone and impossible to ever get back.

“I wish we were told that when we became hunters,” Melody mused. “About the things we would miss when we were hunting. The things we let go, the things we lost, the things we thought were less important than the hunt. I wish we were told there were things more important than that thrill. I wish we were told that it wasn’t always worth it. Because there are some things that you can’t hunt for.”

Kurapika’s throat was achingly tight, like someone had reached into his neck and was throttling him. His face was hot, his lips trembling, his vision blurry. It took him too long to realize that these were tears. That he was crying.

When was the last time he had cried? When had he forgotten how to cry?

“You knew,” Kurapika breathed through numb lips. He wanted to be angry but did not have the energy for even that. He swallowed thickly and felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “You knew it would feel like this.”

Melody sighed. “I knew you would not find catharsis looking for revenge. Or healing.”

Kurapika curled his hands into fists, trying to regain control of his breathing. His nails bit into the meat of his palms and he wondered if he was drawing blood. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t for me to say,” Melody said softly. “Because you deserved to put your ghosts to rest. Besides.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you have listened?”

Kurapika was not sure if he was laughing or crying now. It was probably both. All he knew was that his shoulders were shaking with his gasps. He pressed his palms over his face, his eyes, like he could smother the tears and the sound.

Because no, he would not have listened. He would have lashed out, snapped that Melody could not possibly understand how he felt, what he needed. Even though she had suffered her own debilitating loss, one that broke her heart and almost destroyed her body. Even though she had been nothing but kind and supportive since they met over two years ago.

Melody respected his space and his needs. She never pushed, never pried, never snapped. It was so kind. It was exactly what he needed. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

Because at that moment, Kurapika did not want to be alone. He had been alone since he was ten. He wanted someone to snap and push and prod and gather him up into their arms and let him shatter and know that he could put himself back together on his own. He wanted someone who knew that, but who would help anyway, simply because they cared.

(Leorio.)

(He wanted Leorio. He missed Leorio. He ached for Leorio. He ached for the ways he had hurt Leorio, for all the time that he lost and wasted and traded away.

Leorio, who had pushed and called and texted even when Kurapika ghosted him time and again. Leorio, glowing and shining and rising like a phoenix from ashes, like an orchid from concrete. Leorio, who had every reason to walk away and never ever did.

Kurapika owed him so much – an apology, an explanation. He wanted to start over. He had no right to ask for that.

How presumptive of me to think you might still be there for me, after all is said and done, Kurapika had said once to a gracelessly sleeping Leorio. Just because it was true did not mean Kurapika did not want him there.)

After a few minutes, Kurapika managed to get himself back under control. He made his breathing slow, taking great gulps of hair. Melody handed him a handkerchief to blot his cheeks and stem his runny nose. To Kurapika’s surprise, she also passed him a hair tie.

“I think it would look nice up,” Melody told him. Shaking his head, Kurapika accepted the tie and drew what hair he could into a bun behind his head. Loose strands and his bangs still flopped over his face, but at least he no longer looked haggard and unkempt. Mostly. Melody smiled at him. “Very handsome. How do you feel?”

Kurapika shrugged. In truth, he felt exhausted and hollow, like someone had reached into his chest and scooped out his organs. But before he could say more, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Across the table, Melody’s did as well.

Kurapika removed his phone to read the text. It was a blast alert from Cheadle, short and to the point: Emergency Hunter Association Meeting. Meeting room 3-61530. ASAP. All available Hunters are expected.

Kurapika and Melody exchanged glances. As one, they stood up, abandoning their tray and heading for the elevator. They were currently on the ninth floor of Deck Three, meaning they had to go three floors down and meander through the Black Whale’s labyrinthine hallways to find this meeting room. Kurapika found himself nervously fiddling with his shirt cuffs, adjusting his collar, straightening his tie, re-tying up his hair. There was an anxious, fluttering feeling in his stomach like it was being twisted in knots. Exactly the same way he had felt when he prepared to see Leorio two weeks ago.

(And when had seeing Leorio become something Kurapika needed to mentally prepare for? When had Kurapika grown so nervous to see one of his closest, dearest friends?)

“You look fine, Kurapika,” Melody assured him gently. The encouragement only made Kurapika more anxious, however. Because she commented on his fidgeting. Kurapika would rather she had said nothing, because anything was better than the heat creeping up his neck.

He was being stupid. He knew that. But it was easier to fret over how he looked than it was to think about how to talk to Leorio about the past two years. Where would he even start?

Hello, Leorio, I finished my revenge quest.

Hello, Leorio, I need to put my family to rest, and it would mean a great deal if you came with me.

Hello, Leorio, I made a Nen contract with myself that accidentally took some three years off of my lifespan.

Hello, Leorio, I am sorry for how I treated you when you only wanted to help, please let me explain.

Hello, Leorio, I have no idea what to do with my life now.

Hello, Leorio, I have been so lost without you.

Hello, Leorio, I missed you.

Hello, Leorio, I care about you.

Kurapika’s heart was racing uncomfortably in his throat as he stepped into the meeting room. He tried to look around as nonchalantly as possible. It was a standard-sized conference room, and half of the chairs were already occupied. His gaze flicked over Hanzo, Basho, Bisky, Botobai, Pyon, Cluck, Gel, Ginta, Cheadle, Mizaistom.

Kurapika froze halfway through the door. His hand gripped the threshold, fingers squeezing the wood so tightly his fingertips went white and numb.

What is this meeting about, he wanted to ask.

Why are you all looking at me like that, he wanted to demand, eyeing the nervous, pitying expression on Pyon’s face; the anxious way Cheadle worried at her lower lip with her teeth; the way Mizai was standing stoic and severe at the front of the room.

Kurapika’s chest went cold. His blood froze in his veins. His mind said, no. His body protested, it can’t be. His heart screamed, not him, not him, not him.

“Mizai,” Kurapika asked slowly, and he heard his own voice as if from a million miles away. “Where is Leorio?”

And Kurapika was quite positive he was having a nightmare, or he was actually dead and this was hell, because he actually felt the ground drop out from under his feet when Mizai met his gaze with those mismatched eyes and said, “We don’t know.”

Leorio was not sure how much time had passed. He would guess it wasn’t more than twelve hours so far. Illumi had returned a time or two with food and water, and Kalluto had let him go to the bathroom. Considerate, these jailers.

For the first few hours, Leorio had wracked his brain to come up with an escape plan. Unfortunately, Illumi’s decision to keep his hands bound behind his back had successfully hobbled most anything Leorio could do with his current skill set. He could not activate Remote Punch if he could not punch. And while he was absolutely prepared to try and increase the effectiveness of his Nen palpations, he was not sure he had the time to perfect it, snap his bonds, and get away from two ultra-powerful, pissed-off Phantom Troupe members.

On top of those considerations, two more facts stayed his metaphorical (and literal) hand.

First: Leorio knew that by now Cheadle, at the very least, must have realized he was missing. Which meant that the available Hunters would be called in to assist in the search. As they drew closer, Illumi and Kalluto would definitely have to move him, bringing him directly to the heart of wherever the Phantom Troupe was hiding on the Black Whale. The Troupe had nowhere to go; unable to jump ship or vanish, they would inadvertently lead the Hunters straight to them. So long as Leorio kept his head, this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to take out the Phantom Troupe completely and permanently. He could handle being the proverbial damsel in distress if it meant finally taking out the group that killed Kurapika’s entire family.

(And kidnapped Gon and Killua. And stole everything from the Yorknew Auction. And killed uncounted numbers of other people. But Leorio was honest enough to admit that the bulk of his fuck these guys rage came from the husk of himself Kurapika had become these past two years.)

Second: Kalluto.

Leorio eyed the kid where they sat on the floor. They were surrounded by a verifiable menagerie of origami animals: frogs, fish, foxes, foxbears, butterflies, dragons, pandas. There were also roses, cherry blossoms, iris, azalea, bluebells. They had not spoken a word since Illumi left for the second time hours ago. They only sat silently on the floor and folded, folded, folded their origami. Every now and again they removed a little silver knife from their sleeve to make a careful slice into the paper, folding it just so that they created something new and amazing.

There was something about them that was horribly familiar to Leorio. It was different from the devil-may-care, cavalier front Killua put up the entire time they knew each other. Kalluto’s presence was strong but silent, oddly brittle around the edges.

Leorio studied their practiced fingers as Kalluto folded yet another carnation. Fingers well-versed in this solitary, quiet activity, like they had spent their entire life feeling small and overlooked.

Normally Leorio would not read so deeply into a child simply sitting on their own and minding their business. But he remembered the lash marks and burn scars that laced Killua’s skinny frame, the boy’s long nails, the way he flinched away from every gentle touch and latched on to Gon’s friendliness like he might wither away without it. He remembered Alluka’s wide smile and sad eyes, the way she seemed so exuberant as long as Killua was always within arm’s reach.

Leorio was going to get this child out of this mess, or he was going to die trying.

“That’s pretty cool,” Leorio said as Kalluto started to fold another origami creation. “What’s this one?”

Kalluto glanced up through their lashes. The dusky pink of their eyes was unfamiliar, but the annoyed expression he saw wasn’t.

“A lotus.”

“Oh,” Leorio said. “Neat.”

Kalluto did not reply. Their fingers followed familiar motions of fold, crease, flip, creating a flower from what had been a plain sheet of shiny red paper. They set the lotus aside and picked up another.

“And what’s this one?” Leorio asked.

Kalluto frowned at him, looking suspicious. But still they answered, “A hummingbird.”

“A hummingbird,” Leorio hummed. He wiggled slightly, adjusting the chair so he was facing Kalluto. He folded his long legs up beneath him, crossing them under his bony ass. “D’you have a favorite?”

“A favorite what?” Kalluto asked. They immediately shut their mouth, looking irritated that they had answered. It was the exact face Killua had made every time Leorio opened his mouth during the Hunter Exam. The nights Leorio snapped at them to quiet down, to go to sleep, to eat a goddamn vegetable, to put on a jacket, to be safe, be safe out there, because these people will kill a kid without blinking and you’re twelve, you’re twelve, oh my God you’re so small, I won’t stop you from taking this exam but I’ll be damned if I don’t keep an eye on you.

Leorio thought of all that, and he looked at Kalluto’s baby fat and overlong sleeves, and realized this kid was barely out of childhood.

(Leorio missed Killua and Gon so much it hurt, some days. He wondered if they were talking to one another again. If Killua had said what he needed to say, if Gon had apologized like he wanted to.)

Leorio shrugged. “A favorite thing to make.” He looked over the array of creatures and flowers they had folded. “You certainly know how to make a bunch.”

Kalluto frowned. They made an expression like they were chewing their tongue in thought. They spat in answer, “Frogs.”

They immediately snapped their mouth shut, looking angry. Leorio bit back a laugh.

“Why frogs?”

“Why do you want to know?” Kalluto snapped suspiciously. “You’re not going to trick me into letting you go.”

“I know,” Leorio said agreeably. He shrugged his shoulders, wincing in pain as his stiff muscles moved. Much as he would have liked to at least have free range of his hands, he was not going to manipulate an already-abused child to do a goddamn thing. If he lose feeling in his fingers over it, so be it. “I’m just making conversation, kid. Really.” He sent Kalluto a grin he had perfected with his patients, excellent for nervous old ladies and little kids scared of their shots. The grin that worked because he meant it, really. The grin that promised, it’s gonna be okay. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kalluto snorted softly. “Don’t call me kid.”

Their fingers flicked, twisted, created a raindrop-patterned frog. Eventually, they spoke again, as if the words were being plucked from their chest like petals off a flower. “There was a pond,” they said. “On the mountain. It had lots of frogs in the summers. I went there with Killua sometimes. We caught them.”

“That’s cool,” Leorio said. “In med school, sometimes we had to dissect frogs.”

Kalluto looked up sharply. For the first time, their small hands stopped moving. Leorio held their gaze, feeling stupid. Here he was trying to start some kind of rapport with Kalluto, and what did he do? Shared stories about cutting up their favorite animal in scalpel practice in med school.

Fool man, said a voice in his head that sounded heartrendingly like Kurapika.

“After we caught the frogs,” Kalluto said quietly, “Killua and I were forced to kill them. Assassin training.”

Leorio blinked. It was good he knew already about the shittiness of the Zoldyck family, because otherwise Leorio might have snapped his wrist restraints in his fury.

“Hm,” Leorio hummed thoughtfully, because his two choices were to cling to a veneer of clinical professionalism or lose his fucking mind. “So why are they your favorite then?”

“Do you not think they’re my favorite because I killed them?” Kalluto sneered.

(And a memory from Trick Tower echoed in Leorio’s mind: I’m an assassin. It wasn’t even a technique; I just ripped his heart out.)

(A smirk and a sneer, and all Leorio heard were two hurt, lonely kids.)

“Not really,” Leorio said, holding Kalluto’s gaze.

Kalluto’s eyes narrowed. “They’re my favorite because catching frogs is the only memory I have with Killua where things were still good. Before he was sent to Heaven’s Arena, before he left to be a Hunter. Before he replaced me with that boy. Before he came back for Alluka and broke her out and left me with jack shit.”

They crushed the origami frog in their hands, ducking their head so that their sleek bob of dark hair swung in front of their eyes in a curtain that obscured their face. Their shoulders drew up high and tense around their ears. Leorio studied them, taking in the rigid set of their skinny body and hands that said more than if they had started yelling or crying.

One: Kalluto had been taught from an early age to lock in their emotions.

Two: Kalluto truly loved and missed their brother, and they felt like Killua had left them behind, replaced them, and picked their sister over them.

Three: Kalluto deeply resented Killua for this.

Four: Kalluto thought their sister was a person, and not a thing.

Five: Kalluto knew their sister was their sister.

Six: Leorio was going to get this child out of this situation if it killed him.

(So, that last thing was not new information. But it was good to strengthen his resolve.)

At that moment, the door opened, and Illumi stepped inside. He looked exactly the same as he had when he left hours ago.

“You again,” Leorio greeted. “Did I miss dinner? I heard they were putting out my favorite pudding tonight.”

“I hate you,” Illumi stated. “We are moving you. The Hunters have realized you’re missing, so we need to move.”

“You’re not going to kill me for my trouble?” Leorio asked. Illumi’s lip curled into a Zoldyck-family distinctive sneer. Did they all receive lessons on how to look pissed off, annoyed, disgusted, and mildly bored all at once? Leorio would have liked one such lesson.

“Much as I would like to,” Illumi assured him, “No. We need you alive. And to avoid suspicion, I am going to remove your restraints. If you put so much as a malformed toe out of line, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“How do you know my toes are disgusting and all twisted up?” Leorio asked, feigning horror. “Did you find my medical record? I swear, I was going to do the corrective surgery, but then this damn Black Whale gig came up and I couldn’t reschedule –”

“Do not,” Illumi snarled, long fingers going to Leorio’s face and roughly jerking his chin to shut him up, “test me, doctor. I am operating on a thin rope. It is only through Chrollo’s direct orders that I will not kill you.”

“Pinky promise?” Leorio asked.

Illumi scowled, dropping his hand. “How juvenile.” To Kalluto, he instructed, “Cut his ties.”

Kalluto noiselessly slipped behind Leorio. They used their little knife to snap the zip ties loose with a single flick. Leorio winced as he rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, muscles burning and protesting as they shifted stiffly under his medic’s uniform. At least it was softer and more breathable than his old suit. He had no doubt he would have been even more uncomfortable and disgusting if he’d been in that mess of polyester.

“Thanks, kid,” Leorio said to Kalluto.

“Don’t call me kid.”

He quirked his eyebrows at Illumi. “You’re not gonna show them the importance of a promise? The character of a good man’s word?”

Illumi’s fathomless dark eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Oh, alright. You insufferable fool.”

He lifted his hand, fingers curled loosely closed, pinky out. Leorio smiled.

“That’s great,” Leorio said. He put one hand on Illumi’s shoulder and linked his pinky with Illumi’s with the other. He gave Illumi his most winning smile. “Thank you.”

He squeezed Illumi’s shoulder and hand. Then he threw his entire weight forward head-first, feeling the satisfying crunch of Illumi’s stupid fucking nose breaking under his forehead.

Illumi swore loudly, though more more out of surprise than pain, if Leorio were to hazard a guess. Given the Zoldyck Child-Rearing Regimen™, Leorio suspected Illumi had felt more severe pain than a broken nose before. But there was something deeply satisfying about getting to finally, finally lay a hit on Illumi. The eldest Zoldyck tucked his sleeve against his broken, swelling, bleeding nose. Already purple bruises were blooming like flowers under his eyes.

Illumi glared at Leorio, and the sheer, utter hatred there almost made Leorio regret his actions. There was something distant to that gaze, something snapped and almost mad.

“I said I would not kill you,” Illumi breathed into the tense, fraught silence of the room. There was a popping sound as he snapped his own nose back into position. He dropped his hand, though there was still blood dripping down his face, onto his collar. “But I never promised I would not hurt you.”

The needle came out of nowhere. It started as a pinch that became a trail of terrible, blazing fire in his veins, racing down his limbs and ricocheting through his skull. It was so painful that Leorio’s jaw locked and his chest seized, leaving him unable to breathe, let alone scream.

Still worth it, Leorio thought as his knees gave out.

Mizai’s dusky gray eyes met Kurapika’s across the conference room table. “You should sit.”

Kurapika’s fingers clenched tighter against the back of the rolling chair. The pleather made a squeaking sound, his nails biting permanent crescents into the material. It was only through immense self-control that he replied evenly, “I would prefer to stand.”

Mizai exchanged glances with Cheadle. Kurapika did not bother to read into what they might be wordlessly communicating.

“When was he last seen?” Kurapika asked, his voice sharp in the silence. “When did you realize he was missing?”

“The last we saw him was yesterday around four o’clock,” Cheadle said woodenly. “His shift ends at six, but with the bustle of the medical bay and tests and stocking things, it’s easy to lose track of someone if you’re not keeping an eye on them. We realized he was missing when he didn’t appear for his shift this morning at six.”

Kurapika did a quick tally of the mental math. Fourteen hours. It took them fourteen hours to realize Leorio was missing.

How could this have happened, Kurapika wanted to shout but didn’t. How could you lose him? He is your right hand on this ship, Cheadle. He is six and a half feet tall and warm and kind and he smells like antiseptic and the sea breeze. There is no way on earth people could miss him, no way everyone did not gravitate to him like he was the sun. How could this have happened?

That was not entirely fair, Kurapika admonished himself. Leorio had every right to mind his own business when he was on personal time. He did not owe anyone periodic updates about where he was and what he was doing. Still, Kurapika could not imagine someone like Leorio – brilliant, shining, annoying, personable Leorio – would not have loads of people flocking to spend time with him the moment he was off the clock. He certainly had enough admirers in medical school, according to his chairman speech.

Kurapika focused his attention over Mizai’s head, eyes distant as his thoughts flew. “Whoever took him must have been planning this for some time. They knew his schedule well enough to know when to take him immediately as his shift ended, giving themselves at least a twelve-hour head start.”

And counting; Kurapika checked his watch. It was just past eight o’clock in the morning.

Kurapika had traded away hours of his life, but never had he felt such cold, heavy dread counting the seconds as they slipped by.

“Agreed,” Mizai said, nodding. The Double-Star Crime Hunter was in his element as he turned his attention to the rest of the Hunters. “Cheadle, I need you to get me a list of every patient Leorio has interacted with since we disembarked two weeks ago. I also need to meet with every medic whose shifts intersected with Leorio’s yesterday and interview them. Hanzo, Bisky, Gel, you will review the patient lists. Compare the names with recorded passengers and note anyone who gave a fake name or seems suspicious. Melody, Ginta, Pyon, you’ll interview the medics who have worked with Leorio and see if they can recall anything suspicious. Basho, Gel, Cluck, you three will review the security footage. Botobai, please send me the records of any crimes that have happened that intersect at all with the medical services or staff on Deck Three. I understand you need to get back to your duties.” Mizai nodded to Botobai and Cheadle. “I know your responsibilities cannot be shelved. Return to work, and trust that we are looking for Leorio.”

There was a general bustle and commotion as everyone stood up to begin their tasks. Kurapika vaguely registered the knowing, sympathetic look Pyon sent him as she passed by and the reassuring hand Melody pressed between his shoulder blades as she passed. The room emptied around him until only he and Mizai were standing in the conference room at opposite ends of the table.

“And me, Mizaistom?” Kurapika asked. He kept his tone flat, the same way he had the first time he found the odd man walking into his office. “What will you have me do?”

Mizai sighed. He removed his stupid horned-rim hat and ran his hands through short-cropped, dark hair. “Am I correct in assuming, Kurapika, that if I suggested you sit this one out, that would not go well?”

Kurapika felt his eyes flash scarlet behind his contact lenses. Stonily, he agreed, “It would not.”

Mizai did not reply immediately. He just kept watching Kurapika with those steely eyes, parsing apart his body language and musing over something Kurapika did not want to think about. If Mizai thought he could keep Kurapika from looking for Leorio, if he thought he could bench him, if he thought there was a chance in hell that Kurapika would not tear apart the Black Whale deck by deck, room by room searching for Leorio, he had another thing coming.

And if Mizai thought that Kurapika was going to say a word about the anxiety that was leaving him vibrating – if he thought Kurapika was going to talk about his feelings –

Kurapika would stomp out and start prying up floorboards. He really would.

“Did you get the last of the Eyes?” Mizai asked, apropos of nothing. It was perhaps the only question that could have snapped Kurapika out of his current fugue state. Mizai went on, “Because I’m not having you help unless you can dedicate a hundred percent to this search.”

Kurapika curled his lip in a snarl. “I am not the one who lost him.”

“No, you’re not,” Mizai replied smoothly. “But I do know that you value finding those Eyes more than anything else. Enough to do things you might not otherwise do. I will not allow you to participate in this investigation if there is even a chance you might not be completely focused on securing Leorio’s safety.”

And that – oh, that was enough to have Kurapika manifesting his chains on his hand and his eyes flashing red. Because how dare, how dare Mizaistom imply Kurapika would ever compromise Leorio’s safety? The man who followed a child through the Hunter Exam because he did not want him to be hurt or lost? The man who ran through fog and mist to give Hisoka a piece of his mind, even after he killed six people without blinking? The man who allowed himself to be bitten by a cave full of snakes to warn others back? The man who spent three days at a feverish Kurapika’s bedside, nursing him back to health? The man who stood on the Hunter’s Association stage and begged the world to help him save a single sick child?

(And where were you? Kurapika asked himself for the hundredth time, the thousandth. You weren’t there for Gon. You weren’t there for Killua. You weren’t there for Leorio. You had money and power and connections and you left him to fend for himself. You left him alone. You left him behind. You let him down.)

“There is nothing,” Kurapika hissed at Mizai, his chains flashing and teeth bared, “nothing, more important than Leorio’s safety.”

Mizai blinked slowly. His face was still expressionless. Finally, he nodded.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He jerked his head to the door. “In that case, you’re coming with me to interview Leorio’s patients from yesterday.”

“This was a test?” Kurapika snapped, falling into step with Mizai. “You wasted time testing me to see if I actually valued Leorio’s safety?”

“Yes,” Mizai said. He side-eyed Kurapika with a steely glare, as if that would even make a teen mob boss like Kurapika so much as blink. “You’re angry.”

“I know I am.” Kurapika flexed his fingers, warming the metal to his skin, feeling the gossamer brush of fine chain over the back of his palm.

“People make mistakes when they’re angry,” Mizai warned. “They miss things they otherwise wouldn’t.”

“I am not going to fuck up, Mizaistom,” Kurapika snapped as they breezed down the halls. “Nor am I going to miss anything. Leorio is too –”

Valuable. Good. Precious. Important.

“Useful,” Kurapika finished. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “The Zodiacs do not need to replace yet another member this year.”

“‘Useful,’” Mizai repeated thoughtfully. A group of laborers meandered past them, sweaty and disheveled from the night shift, tool belts rattling. Mizai stepped aside to let them pass, gently catching Kurapika’s arm to stop him from plowing directly through the middle of them.

“What?” Kurapika hissed. His stomach and heart felt jittery and wrong every time he stopped moving. He tapped his foot on the floor. A laborer heard this and caught his eye, sending him a dirty look. Kurapika returned the expression with blistering relish.

“Just thinking,” Mizai said, starting to walk again. “That’s a long way from ‘everything is so much better with Leorio.’”

Kurapika levied a murderous glare at Mizai, though this time the expression was undercut by the way his neck and ears burned. “Shut up.”

He wanted to sound like an intimidating, vengeance-fueled mob boss, but instead he only sounded like a teenager hissing at his dad for embarrassing him. Mizai huffed out a soft laugh through his nose.

“It’s okay to be scared, Rat,” he said, soft enough Kurapika almost missed it in the crowd of the medical bay. “I’m worried, too. We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Kurapika bit out a moment too late, following Mizai as he approached an older lady with a wrap around her wrist.

I know, he thought but did not say, because he has to be.

Leorio came to in fits and starts.

Hurt. He hurt. A lot. His head throbbed like he had a hangover (he hadn’t touched a drink in months, not since Yorknew, when his stupid drunk ass almost threw everything Killua, Gon, and Kurapika had been working for out the window). He felt his heartbeat ricocheting in his head. His muscles felt heavy and unresponsive like he was back in the Zoldyck butlers’ estate, training for the Zoldycks’ Testing Gate. For a few moments he felt brief flashes of panic, unable to remember why he felt like he’d been tased and hit by a truck.

Then he remembered, and for a few terrible moments, he panicked for real.

Stop, Leorio told himself. Breathe. Take it in. You’re hurt. You have healing Nen for this exact purpose.

Nen that requires you to use your hands, dumbass! His panicked thoughts argued. And you’re paralyzed!

Yeah, I am, Leorio mused. So you have to find another solution. Remember what Cheadle tells you: a solution is only stupid if it doesn’t work. You need another way of palpating your own body. Palpations create waves. How can you…?

His heartbeat in his head made it difficult to concentrate.

His heartbeat.

Motherfucker, you will get a Nobel Prize if this works, Leorio told himself.

Leorio inhaled. Exhaled. Then he turned his attention inward.

Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart beat a steady metronome in his chest. With every movement, it sent small pulses of energy through his body. Leorio drew upon his Nen, trying to focus it in his heart rather than in his fingertips like usual. The best word to describe the sensation was odd, this strange awareness of his blood humming through his veins and the energy that radiated out into his limbs. He could not see anything, but he felt the way certain muscles were taut and tense, the way his skin was irritated and inflamed in the puncture point in his neck. He could feel the viscous heaviness of the paralytic in his blood. Its wrongness stood out like red paint on a pristine white cloth.

Okay, Leorio thought. Breathe. In and out. Let’s do this.

Leorio turned his attention inward, clearing his mind of any extraneous thoughts or distractions. He could not dwell on his lingering fears - of Illumi and the Phantom Troupe, of the Dark Continent, for Kalluto, for Kurapika.

(Kurapika, Kurapika, Kurapika. Was he alright? Was he safe? Had he even noticed Leorio was gone?)

You can’t worry about that now, Leorio reminded himself. You have to get yourself and Kalluto out of this. He’s not coming.

Kurapika’s not coming.

Surprising absolutely no one, Kurapika’s terrible mood did not improve as the day went on.

He did his best not to show it. Honestly. It would have been poor form and immensely unhelpful if he terrified Leorio’s former patients during questioning. Mizai had insisted on doing all of the questioning himself, because he was, in case anyone forgot, an experienced Crime Hunter, and he so clearly did not trust Kurapika to keep his fucking head about this. So Kurapika could only stand behind Mizai as he asked passenger after passenger about their interactions with Leorio. He clasped his hands behind his back, Dowsing Chain hanging to detect any possible lies.

Except these passengers were all just regular people, not Hunters or insurgents, so they had no reason to lie.

They did, however, have plenty to say about Leorio.

A group of boys talked about how Leorio would slide them candy after they came in with bruised knees and bloody noses from their soccer games. When Leorio realized they were playing in hallways and big storage rooms, he reserved them a space in one of the deck’s practice rooms with his Hunter connections. Sometimes he even supervised their games and taught them how to bounce the ball on their heads and knees.

A mechanic shared the story of how Leorio comforted both her and her wife when she was injured in an accident with some falling boxes in the storeroom. A cook shared how Leorio patched up their burns and healed them with almost no scarring after a grease fire in the kitchens. The only sign they had been in an accident at all was an odd, textured streak on their face that resembled acne scarring more than anything else.

A group of guys talked about how Leorio had sorted out whatever “stupid fucking turf war” they were waging by yelling at them both while giving them stitches after a fight. He helped an elderly merchant actually properly diagnose his wife and hook them up with the proper medication, securing himself a spot at a weekly poker and drinking night with a bunch of old rich businessmen.

One old lady talked about how Leorio coached her through getting her blood drawn, soothing her fear of needles with various stories from the Hunter Exam. As she talked her story, she kept glancing up at Kurapika.

“You remind me a little bit of one of the friends he talked about, you know,” the woman said thoughtfully, her voice crackling. “The one who stopped him from fighting an old bag such as myself, the one who made him want to be a better person and grow up a little.” She smiled up at him. “Blond. Kind eyes.”

Kurapika remembered that day well. Leorio lost his temper at the never-ending mind games of the Hunter Exam and shouted at a wizened, squat old woman. That was the day Leorio confessed that he wanted more money than God so he could give and give and never ask for anything in return.

Something in Kurapika’s chest was buzzing with static. Something about the realization that Leorio still talked about him, still remembered him fondly, left his chest feeling oddly too small and his suit too tight and hot.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to stomp away in embarrassment. He wanted to raze this ship to the ground and finally just fucking find him. He wanted to know how on earth he was the one who could have inspired Leorio to want to grow up, when Leorio was always miles ahead of where Kurapika wanted to be.

He wanted to know if Leorio still thought he had kind eyes after everything they had seen.

Mizai bit back a smirk. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

To his credit, Mizai said nothing as they left. This woman was Leorio’s final patient yesterday, and she’d had nothing helpful to add. Like everyone else whose path intersected with Leorio’s, she talked about the gentle, kind, funny, genuine young man who brought peace and warmth everywhere he went.

“Leorio seems popular everywhere he goes,” Mizai said thoughtfully to Kurapika.

“He does,” Kurapika replied quietly. He clenched the hands in his pockets into fists. He wanted to shout:

I know that. I know that! I know he does, he’s always done that, he’s always had that way with people even when he made an ass of himself every time he opened his mouth.

Kurapika still remembered that night in the Zodiacs’ break room. Walking the dark, deserted halls of the Hunter’s Association Headquarters, exhausted and irritable and uncaffeinated. Stomping into the break room for a cup of coffee, finding Leorio passed out on the couch, long legs kicked out over the cushions, white dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal the expanse of his tanned throat and collarbones, his suit jacket hung over the back of the chair. He didn’t so much as stir when Kurapika came in.

Fool man, Kurapika had said instead of, I adore you.

Kurapika had watched him then, admiring all the ways Leorio had grown and changed in the year since they last met. He was taller, broader, his face scruffy with five o’clock shadow. He looked soft and silly and handsome and inviting as he lay there. All Kurapika had wanted was to reach out and touch him, just once, just to make sure this good man was still real.

And then, either from the lateness of the hour or the loneliness that lingered in his bones, Kurapika found himself speaking words he’d never planned to say into the silence. Feelings he had never allowed himself to truly grasp or identify suddenly found words, and the words suddenly were out in the open, even if their intended recipient would never hear them. For the first time in months, Kurapika had not felt like he was drowning on dry land.

I wish I had met you a less broken man.

I wish our paths crossing was something more than a brief intersection of our lives, me on my downward swing and you on a forever upward trajectory.

Whatever you do, wherever you go, you will shine. I want you to know that you deserve it. I want you to know I’ll be watching from the shadows, immeasurably, unspeakably proud.

Mizai stopped short in the hall. Kurapika stalked past him for a few steps before he stopped and turned, mouth set in an irritable scowl.

“You should get some rest, Kurapika,” Mizai said gently.

“The night is young,” Kurapika snapped. He glanced at his watch. It was just past nine o’clock. “Leorio has been missing for nearly thirty hours now.”

“I’m well aware,” Mizai said mildly.

“So we should be doing something,” Kurapika shouted. Passerby startled in what they were doing, turning toward the commotion. He ignored them all. Let them rubberneck at the teenager falling apart. “So we have finished the interviews with his patients from yesterday. There are other patients to interview, correct? And other medics? And files to read? And security video to watch? We cannot just stand here and do nothing!”

“Kurapika.” Mizai’s voice rose. He did not sound angry; irritated, yes, which Kurapika recognized on some level was reasonable, because he was acting like a bratty child right now. Where was his calm? His carefully curated distance? His aloof indifference? It was gone. All of that thrown to the wayside as Kurapika’s mind filled with anxious white noise, stressfully interspersed with Leorio’s name and a million worries and the preternaturally loud tick, tick, tick of his watch.

Mizai stepped to Kurapika. He was the taller and broader of the two, built much like the ox or cow of his Zodiac designation. His hands were heavy but gentle as they settled on Kurapika’s shoulders.

“Kurapika,” Mizai said lowly. “We are. We are not going to stop doing any of those things. But you are just coming off of a two-year hunt, as well as an intense two-week assignment with the royal family. I know that is taking a lot out of you. I know you have worked yourself to the point of collapse multiple times. I know you are scared for Leorio. And that stress and fear means you are too close to this case.”

Kurapika’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t quote bad cop movies at me.”

Mizai’s lips twitched. “I’m not. Really. But if you stay on this case, you are going to miss something. You are going to get in over your head and get hurt. And that can get Leorio killed.” He squeezed Kurapika’s shoulders. “I’m not taking you off of this. I know you two are… close. Or you were, once, at least.” That one hurt, a small knife digging between Kurapika’s ribs and twisting sharply. “But I also am not letting you work yourself into exhaustion over this. You’re not alone, Kurapika. We are looking for Leorio around the clock. We’re just as worried about him as you are.”

Unbidden, Kurapika thought, with a mix of anger and terror and world-shattering realization, You’re not worried the way I am.

And Mizai knew that. All of the Zodiacs knew that. Of course Kurapika was the last to know.

“Get dinner, Kurapika,” Mizai said gently. He turned Kurapika around and nudged him down the hall to the dining room. “Get a good night’s rest. We’re working in shifts, so if we learn anything in the night, I will let you know personally.”

Kurapika glanced back over his shoulder. Mizai sent him a small nod. “You’re a Zodiac now, Rat. We look after our own.”

Kurapika knew a dismissal when he heard one. So he only nodded shortly, making his way to the dining hall and grabbing a tray. He did not pay attention to what he was piling onto the tray; he only knew he was annoyed, angry, tired, his body full of frenetic energy that left his fingers shaking until he clasped his tray so tightly his knuckles went white.

There was no damn way he was going to be able to eat in the dining hall. He carried his tray into the elevator to make his way up to his room on the upper levels of Deck Three, trying to prepare himself for the taxing process of eating food regularly, apparently.

His room was dark when he walked inside. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, lit only by the streaks of moonlight shining in through the blinds.

Kurapika froze.

His tray crashed to the floor, food splattering over his shoes.

In a moment he conjured his chains, twirling them to life just in time to swing the heavy metal ball at the end in his assailant’s direction. The shadowy figure ducked almost faster than Kurapika could blink, and in a moment they were in front of him. In the dim, Kurapika sensed something small and sharp aiming for his jugular; he twisted his body just in time for a pale hand to shoot past his face, slicing a thin cut into his cheekbone and jamming something small into the wall beside his ear. Kurapika followed the momentum of his own twisting body and caught his assailant by the wrist, twisting and throwing them in the direction of the bed. They landed with an oof, bouncing roughly against the mattress so hard the bed frame hit the wall.

Kurapika stalked forward, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster and aiming at the figure. “Do not move. Do not breathe. Hands where I can see them. I have had a long day, and I very much would love a fight right now. Do not give me a reason to shoot you. Who are you, and what do you…?”

Kurapika trailed off as he registered the sound coming from his attacker’s mouth. A low, rolling chuckle, somehow both blood-chilling and hysterical. They tilted their head back, exposing the long line of their pale throat and face to a patch of moonlight. It took Kurapika several moments to understand why the face was familiar: at first glance, his gaze ran over nondescript brown eyes and shoulder-length chestnut hair that grew blond at the roots. But then Kurapika took in their athletic build, the razor’s edge of their smirk, the uncomfortably friendly and eager shine in their eyes.

“Oh, Kurapika,” Hisoka purred, “How I’ve missed you.”

Leorio was going to win a fucking boatload of national and international awards for this.

Holy shit, I can’t believe this is working, he thought as he focused. His face was screwed up in concentration, forehead dripping with sweat as he used his Nen to purge the last of the toxin from his system. There was practically smoke coming out of his ears from all of the chemistry and physiology bullshit he was digging up from the recesses of his mind. Am I actually smart? Like, am I really good at this?

No time to toot his own horn. He had managed to hasten the metabolic process and break apart the poison in his bloodstream, and now he needed to check his work. He started with his outer extremities: twitching his toes and fingers, then testing his ankles and wrists, then his knees and elbows as he slowly struggled up on his side. His muscles trembled beneath him, but they held his weight. There was a dull ache in his shoulder that had gone numb from how long he had been laying on it.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was laying on a long metal cot like the ones hotels had for when too many people were booked to a room. The place was much smaller than his last holding cell, though it also had the same featureless steel for the floor, walls, and ceiling. The one light in the room came from the single lightbulb dangling from a wire.

That can’t be safe, Leorio thought when he looked around a second time, his gaze growing sharper and clearer. At last, he saw Kalluto’s familiar face staring at him from a cheap folding chair (the same one they had tied Leorio to before? Unclear.). Their hands were frozen on their way to their mouth, clutching a sandwich.

“What the hell,” they said. Said, not asked. “You weren’t supposed to even stir for at least another eight hours.”

Leorio sent Kalluto a pained grin. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Or just full of shit,” they mumbled. “You were sweating so much, I thought you were having an allergic reaction.”

Leorio snickered as he gingerly sat up fully, his legs flopping over the edge of his cot and his back pressed against the wall behind him. He could feel the faint rumbling of the Black Whale against his spine, like the ship really was nearly alive. “I appreciate the concern, kid. Toss me a sandwich?”

“No,” Kalluto said. “This is my dinner. And don’t call me kid.”

“Dinner, huh,” Leorio said. He did the mental math. “So I’ve been with you a little over a day now.”

Kalluto scowled but did not say more. Then, to Leorio’s surprise, they shoved the plate that had the other half of their sandwich toward him.

“I’m full,” they said, still grimacing spectacularly. “And it’ll keep you from talking my ear off.”

Leorio blinked. Kalluto had gone faintly pink in two bright splotches high on their cheeks. Another tic they shared with their middle sibling.

“Thanks,” Leorio said, and he took the plate and started to eat. For a few minutes, the room was silent.

“Are you stupid?” Kalluto’s sudden question almost made Leorio choke. Contrary to wanting silence, apparently, Kalluto was staring at Leorio like they really weren’t sure what to make of him. “Like, are you really? Why would you bait Illumi like that? Do you have a death wish, old man?”

Old man. The words hit Leorio like a punch to the gut. His mind flashed back to a dozen memories of Killua calling him that, his tone running the gamut of human emotion: irritable, exasperated, worried, fond, anxious. Kalluto made the same face when they called Leorio that, the same furrowed brow and pursed lips that clearly said, you are an idiot and it is a minor miracle you do not die every day.

Leorio grinned at Kalluto around a mouthful of his sandwich. “You know, your brother calls me that, too.”

“Don’t talk to me about my brother,” Kalluto snapped. They squeezed their sandwich in their fingers, and a tomato dripped onto their kimono with a wet plopping sound. They swore extravagantly. Leorio stifled his smile into his bite of food.

They furiously scrubbed at the wet splotch with a paper napkin. Little bits of paper rolled and clumped against the fabric, and Kalluto brushed them off their lap onto the floor. Leorio watched with interested eyes: it was clear that, whether they intended it or not, Kalluto had picked up a great deal of tells from Killua. Both Zoldycks tended to go snappish when there was something on their minds, their eyes downcast and lips twitching like they were actively swallowing back the words.

So Leorio was not surprised when Kalluto finally broke their standoff. What did surprise him, however, was what Kalluto mumbled under their breath, almost too softly to hear.

But Leorio heard. Kalluto asked, “How is he?”

Leorio thought about his response for a few moments, methodically polishing off the last of his sandwich half. He was still hungry. Apparently, his brilliant advancement of the field of medicine by fifty years had taken quite a toll on his body. Already he was feeling black exhaustion tugging at the edges of his consciousness. All he wanted to do was curl up on his cot and sleep. But Kalluto was there, asking Leorio a question only he could answer and looking vulnerable and angry about it.

“Well, which do you want?” Leorio teased. “Do you want me to shut up, or do you want me to answer?”

“Shut up,” Kalluto snapped on reflex. Then they looked at their crossed knees, fiddling with the hem of their sleeves. Softer, they pleaded, “Tell me how he is.”

Leorio bit out a small smile. He adjusted his lanky limbs more comfortably beneath him, one knee tucked up, his other leg dangling to rest on the floor. He rested his left elbow on his knee and he lay his back against the wall, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.

And he did.

He told Kalluto about meeting Killua, about how furious and stupid he felt when he realized a twelve-year-old had worked his way through a loophole that got him out of running almost a hundred kilometers. How annoyed he was when the kid then decided to do a kickflip on his skateboard and run anyway beside the only kid close to his age. How the two became fast friends, how Killua’s demeanor shifted from sly and smug to easily flustered when he was, for the first time, surrounded by people who cared about him.

Leorio did not skimp on his stories. He told the ones where Killua shone, the ones where he was clever and funny. The ones where he was a child, mischievous and rude and refusing to eat his vegetables or abide by a bedtime. He talked about Killua using his wits to defeat three hunter examinees on Devil Island. He talked about Killua eating his weight in chocorobos. He talked about Killua getting himself disqualified in the final round of the hunter exam to save Leorio’s life. He talked about working with Killua the first time they faced off against the Phantom Troupe, how he kept Leorio and Gon safe.

Leorio was not embarrassed to talk about the number of times his life was saved by a prepubescent. Because he saw the way Kalluto’s eyes shone at hearing about their older brother, the way they bit their lip to stop themselves from laughing. The way they burst into giggles when Leorio pantomimed the time Killua broke the arm of a man three times his side when they were hustling for cash in Yorknew.

Kalluto went quiet when Leorio told them about what happened in East Gorteau. Leorio was less effusive here. For one, he did not know all of the details about what exactly happened there; for another, it was not all his story to tell.

(And then there was the matter of the horrible memories the conversation brought up. The day he got the call from the hospital to see Gon, because Leorio was the one listed as his next of kin in lieu of his Aunt Mito or Ging. The way his stomach rolled when he stood on the wrong side of the viewing glass and saw that small body wrapped head-to-toe in bandages, poked and prodded by machines that kept him breathing. The way his knees collapsed from under him when he cried against the glass.

Your fault, he thought to himself that day, that week, that month, as he took up residence on the metal bench across from Gon’s hospital room and devoured every medical text he could get his hands on. You fault, your fault, your fault. You left him. You knew he was a child and you left him.

There were no words to adequately describe the incandescent rage Leorio had felt as he finally heard the stories about what had happened from Knuckle, Shoot, Palm, Knov,  and Morel. Leorio had actually grabbed the older man by his gown collar and shoved him against the wall, IV and wires be damned. He screamed at Morel until he was lightheaded and practically foaming at the mouth.

How dare you, you fucking idiot, you fool, you knew how dangerous it was, you knew it was a bloodbath, and you brought kids into that, Leorio had screamed. Doctors tried to pry him off of Morel to no avail. Morel only looked stoic when Leorio fisted his hand in the man’s scrubs.

There wasn’t another way, Morel had told Leorio. They were ready.

There’s always another way, Leorio had snarled back. They were kids.

They were kids. And Leorio let them down. He could storm and scream, cry and beg, but in the end, he knew the fault was his own.)

Leorio realized he had been quiet for too long. He swallowed thickly and looked back at Kalluto. They were studying Leorio with an odd expression on their face.

“And then what?” Kalluto asked softly.

Leorio told them about how Killua had gone back to his house of ghosts and demons to save his sister. How he had outwitted their family and left with her in his arms. How they had sprinted to Yorknew to save Gon.

“And now they’re out traveling together again?” Kalluto asked. If Leorio didn’t know better, he would have thought Kalluto almost sounded hopeful for a happy ending. Their knees were tucked up so that their pointy chin rested on them, arms wrapped around their legs. “And they’re traveling the world now? Killua, Alluka, and… Gon?”

It was the first time Kalluto had called Gon by his name and not that boy. Leorio smiled sadly at Kalluto.

“Not quite, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid,” Kalluto said automatically, as if by rote now. “Then what happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Leorio admitted. “Killua wanted to travel with Alluka. Gon wanted to find his father. They’re Hunters, and the hunt took them on separate paths.”

“That’s stupid,” Kalluto replied with all of the childish, black-and-white certainty of a child. Leorio chuckled.

He thought of the distant, miserable expression in Killua’s eyes when he told Leorio he was leaving. The way Alluka had held her brother’s hand, trying so hard to cheer him up as he tried to convince himself this was what he wanted. The way Nanika’s oddly flat, white face fell, tugging on Killua’s sleeve and observing, “sad, sad,” over and over, as if confused why they were all ignoring the evidence right before their eyes. Nanika really was the strongest of them all, Leorio had realized.

He thought of the stacks and stacks of textbooks in his tiny dorm room, stacked to the ceiling in his apartment with the ever-percolating coffee maker and the cans of energy drinks for when that wasn’t enough. He thought of texts that had gone unanswered and full voicemail inboxes.

“Yeah,” Leorio agreed softly. “It’s pretty stupid, huh?”

Kurapika stared at the man on his bed. At the absolutely wrong man on his bed.

Briefly, he wondered if he should cut his losses and just shoot Hisoka anyway. The man had not moved, his gaze focused on the barrel of the gun with an uncomfortable amount of interest. Kurapika grimaced and lowered his weapon. He made sure Hisoka noted that he neither holstered nor uncocked it.

“I assume, Hisoka, that there is a reason for the dramatics,” Kurapika said dryly.

“Isn’t there always, Kurapika?” Hisoka asked. Now that Kurapika did not seem interested in shooting him, he looked bored and sat upright on the bed. “Wait, I hear it’s ‘Rat’ now. Congratulations, Little Mouse.”

“Thank you,” Kurapika replied. There was a niggling pounding sensation starting above his right eyes. He rubbed his temple as if that would keep the looming migraine at bay. “Why are you here, and why are you…?”

“Boring?” Hisoka finished for him, pouting. He caught a loose strand of hair and twirled it between his fingers.

Kurapika would describe Hisoka as a great many things, but for better or worse, he would never choose boring as one. Still, he said, “Sure.”

Hisoka peered up at Kurapika through his lashes. “I hear the Zodiac Boar has gone missing too.”

Neither man even flinched as Kurapika lifted his gun again. He felt his irises burning scarlet, bright enough they glowed through the contact lenses. Coldly, mechanically, he hissed, “Start talking.”

“I’m going to, dammit, calm down,” Hisoka said, looking bored. He hopped to his feet, peering around the room with interest. “Nice digs. Have you got any liquor here? It’s been some time since I got a decent drink –”

Kurapika’s chains manifested in less than a heartbeat. In a moment, he had flung them at Hisoka and tangled his limbs together from ankles to neck. It was not Chain Jail – given Hisoka was no longer a Phantom Troupe member, the Nen power would not work in any case – but it was enough to show that Kurapika was not remotely in the realm of fucking around. Hisoka looked very interested in this development, his eyes alighting with delight that only glowed brighter when Kurapika lifted his gun.

“Kinky,” Hisoka observed cheerfully.

“Talk,” Kurapika ordered.

“I’ve missed these chats,” Hisoka chuckled. Kurapika tightened his chains, making the other man grimace in discomfort. “Fine, fine. Your darling has gone missing. You’re about to tear the ship apart looking for him.” He grinned, and for a moment his eyes flashed gold. “I know who took him, and I know what they want.”

Something hot exploded just behind Kurapika’s breastbone. It took him a few moments to realize it was something like hope. Finally, a lead. “Who?”

Hisoka smirked. “Illumi Zoldyck.”

Kurapika shut his eyes and huffed out air through his nose. He pictured Killua’s creepy, blank-eyed brother and Hisoka’s friend-slash-paramour-slash-whatever. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Hisoka said agreeably. “And probably Kalluto Zoldyck.”

Kurapika frowned. “Who is Kalluto?”

“Youngest kid,” Hisoka said. He fluttered his fingers, the closest he could get to a dismissive gesture with his arms bound. “Murderous little shit, very good at fighting. Excellent taste in clothes. I think they’re… ten?”

Kurapika filed this information away to analyze and puzzle apart later. Kalluto Zoldyck. Fifth Zoldyck, youngest. Phantom Troupe member at ten. Very strong. Ten. Gender ambiguous, good for them. Ten, ten, ten, they are ten.

(He thought of Gon’s eager grin, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at all hours. He thought of Killua, smiling slyly when he thought of a new prank and eyeing a tower of fancy chocolate truffles. They were too young for all of this, but…

Ten.)

“And why have Illumi and Kalluto taken Leorio?” Kurapika demanded. Hisoka chuckled.

“So,” he started. “I may have pissed a few people off.”

“Astounding,” Kurapika deadpanned. “Who have you managed to upset this time?”

“Let’s see…” Hisoka started counting on his fingers. “Illumi, I think. Chrollo, definitely. And if I’ve pissed off Chrollo, then the rest of the Troupe has followed suit. Oh, Machi.” He sighed. “So many missed opportunities.”

“Please shut up,” Kurapika snapped. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose as his migraine started to feel worse by the minute. “Are you telling me that the entirety of the Phantom Troupe is after you because you have somehow, in your endless wisdom, managed to personally annoy every single member of the most dangerous gang in the world? And are you telling me that that gang has made its way onto the Black Whale?”

Hisoka snapped his fingers and pointed to Kurapika. “Bingo.”

“And how does this have anything to do with Leorio?” Kurapika demanded.

Hisoka shrugged. “Not sure.” Kurapika’s eyes flashed scarlet again, and Hisoka held up his hands plaintively (well, the best he could). “But, were I to hazard a guess that has nothing to do with how I’ve been tailing after the Troupe members who made it up here and I’ve heard them mentioning their orders, I would say that they are employing a… wide net, shall we say.”

“Talk faster, clown,” Kurapika ordered.

“They know I can disguise my appearance, so they’re turning to other avenues,” Hisoka explained. “Because I, unfortunately, cannot change my beautiful body or height. So they have been looking for well-built men standing over a hundred and ninety centimeters. And your darling doctor?” Hisoka made a kissing noise. “Fits the bill perfectly. He’s grown into a very handsome young man. What ever happened between you two?”

“That is neither here nor there,” Kurapika said. “And that does not make sense. The Phantom Troupe has seen Leorio before. They know him. They know he is not you. Quite the opposite, really.”

“Yes, yes,” Hisoka hummed. “But the Phantom Troupe holds grudges, as you know. Leorio has bested them once before.” He tilted his head coquettishly. “And he has very powerful friends. Friends who have also made enemies of the Troupe.”

Kurapika’s blood ran cold. His stomach dropped somewhere to the floor. For a few moments his head spun and his vision faded to black.

For three sickening seconds, Kurapika was in a fugue of total and complete panic. Then he made himself breathe. In, out. With a flick of his wrist, the chains binding Hisoka in place discorporated.

“You are coming with me,” Kurapika instructed. He turned and walked out the door, knowing that Hisoka would follow. Sure enough, Hisoka’s light, staccato footsteps clicked against the metal floors as he followed at Kurapika’s left elbow.

“Where to, boss?” Hisoka teased.

“Shut up,” Kurapika said wearily, tugging his phone out of his pocket and dialing the number. After a ring, Mizai answered.

“Kurapika, I was very clear. You need to –”

“Do not patronize me,” Kurapika interrupted. Hisoka beamed at him and made a soft “ooh” sound under his breath. “I recall your orders clearly, Mizaistom. However, a man with a lead broke into my room to tell me about it, so I thought I would update you on the development. I am on my way to the conference room now.”

Mizai was silent for a few seconds. Finally he answered, “See you soon” with the same cadence and tone as you miserable little shit.

“You sound fun to work with,” Hisoka observed as they stepped into the elevator. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.

“I have other concerns beyond being liked,” Kurapika said tiredly.

“Clearly.” Hisoka chuckled. “Anyway. I’ve not been quite on the up-and-up with the Hunters lately. Something about killing a bunch of them. If I walk in there after all this time, am I good?”

“I do not care,” Kurapika said shortly. The elevator doors opened and he walked out. He showed Hisoka into the conference room the Zodiacs had made their hub of operations. Melody, Bisky, Gel, Cluck, Pyon, and Hanzo sat around the table focusing on their specific tasks, though they looked up when Kurapika opened the door. Mizai stood up from his position at the head of the table and approached the two men.

“Kurapika,” Mizai greeted, “You said this man has a lead.”

Kurapika nodded shortly. Jerking his chin to indicate to Hisoka that he should sit, he said to Mizai, “This is Hisoka Morow, who we all thought was dead but apparently is not. He claims the Phantom Troupe has kidnapped Leorio in an attempt to weed out Hisoka among the passengers, as well as perhaps try to lure me into their web as well. Hisoka and I will follow what leads he has tomorrow.”

“Boring,” Hisoka whined. “You took all the drama out of telling the tale. Why am I even here?”

“Because if you are working with me, you are working with all of us,” Kurapika said. He met Mizai’s eye, noting his look of surprised apprehension. He lifted his brows. “Will that be a problem?”

“No,” Mizai assured him. “I admit, I thought that if you had some kind of edge or lead over us, you would have followed it on your own. Clearly I was wrong. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” This easy acquiescence seemed, too, to startle Mizai. Over his shoulder, Kurapika dimly registered Bisky and Hanzo’s shared incredulous expressions. Pyon, Gel, and Cluck exchanged knowing looks, and Melody smiled into her lap.

But the time for pride was long past. Its window closed the moment Kurapika walked into this conference room and learned that Leorio was missing. He took a step closer to Mizai, his voice dropping so only he (and perhaps Hisoka, which could not be helped) could hear.

“I meant what I said,” Kurapika told him. He let his face and his voice show how intensely he meant it.

There is nothing, nothing, more important than Leorio’s safety.

He stepped back. “Tell Mizai everything you know,” he ordered Hisoka. “I will meet you here at six o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“So early,” Hisoka moaned. “Will you bring me coffee?”

“No.” Kurapika nodded goodbye to the rest of the Hunters. “Goodnight.”

He stalked out of the room. He was being an ass, he knew. More miserable to work with, and for, than ever. But Kurapika could not help it. There was a dam in his chest that he had kept stoppered for weeks, for months. He had thought his breakdown that morning had been the sign that everything he repressed was springing to the surface. But no; that was merely a leak, a pressure valve releasing itself lest the entire dam blew.

That pressure was rising again, squeezing his lungs, choking off his airway. Kurapika was grateful there was no one else in the elevator as he tried to breathe and stem the rising tides before they swept him away.

Your fault, he thought to himself. He felt sick. He might have actually been sick, right there in the hallway, if he’d had anything to expel. Your fault. This was your fault.

Kurapika walked into his room. Let the door shut behind him. Leaned his back to the cheap wood. Let his trembling knees finally give out and slide down, down, down until he was sitting on the floor of his dark stateroom.

This was your fault.

He wondered what it said about himself that it had not occurred to him that he could have had something to do with Leorio’s disappearance until Hisoka said so. What did that make him, exactly? Not the self-centered egomaniac everyone thought he was? Careless with his friends? Perhaps it was both. Kurapika had spent so long playing the part of the aloof, deadly mafia guard that he had forgotten who he was without the persona. Everything that he had done in his quest for revenge had chipped away at him, heart and soul, little by little, until there was only this husk of a man sitting alone on the floor in the dark.

Because he was a masochist, because he was wracked with guilt and figured he might as well go for the full breakdown, Kurapika removed his phone from his pocket. His hands were shuddering as he unlocked his phone and tabbed over to the voicemails app.

16 Unheard Voicemails, the screen read. How could a screen be so judgemental?

With a sigh, Kurapika pressed his thumb down to hear the first one.

“Hey, Kurapika, it’s Leorio.”

Kurapika leaned his head against the wall, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Leorio’s voice sounded the same as ever: warm, friendly, laced with genuine, exasperated affection.

“I just finished moving into the new apartment! It’s a step up from the dorms, let me tell you. It’s nothing fancy – gotta save for tuition and books and all that – but it’s a cute little one-bedroom thing. It’s even got windows. Windows! I want to give it a go at having a little flower planter on the sill. Do you know any flowers that might actually grow in the city? I hope you’re doing well. Take care, stay safe!”

The voicemail ended. Kurapika saved it and played the next one in the queue.

“Hey, Kurapika, it’s Leorio! This is still your number, right? I called and left a message, and sent some texts, and I never heard back? Well, no one has texted me telling me to fuck off, and the number is still in service, so I guess this is still you. Uh… school is going well. Would it be bizarre to say I’m having fun? I mean, it’s hard as hell and I’m miserable half the time, and I’ve been locked in the library overnight at least three times now, but it’s great to learn so much. It makes the Hunter exam worth it, you know? I mean, it was worth it for meeting Gon and Killua and you, yeah, but… ah, forget it. I gotta get back to studying. Take care, stay safe.”

The phone beeped. Kurapika let the next message auto-play.

“Kurapika! It’s Leorio. Just wanted to say hi and check in. Our first set of midterms for the semester are coming up, and I’m losing my mind. Advanced Topics in Infectious Diseases is really interesting, but you need to memorize all of these different diseases that all present the same except for one minor little thing, and if you forget that, you’re fucked!”

“Then get off the phone and study,” Kurapika breathed into the silence. The air in his room was cold. His cheeks were wet.

“Ugh, and I can hear you now,” Leorio went on, “‘Then get off the phone, Leorio, and go study.’ Well, I will! I am!” A loud, wet sound, like he had blown a raspberry into the receiver. “Talk to you soon, Kurapika! Take care, stay safe!”

The next message started up.

“Kurapika! Kurapika, you’re not gonna believe this! I got a hundred! Over a hundred, really, I got bonus points - Kurapika, I got a perfect score! The highest in the class!” A loud whooping sound. “Take that, everyone who said I was too dumb to make it! Oh, I gotta call ma and pop. I’ll talk to you soon. Take care, stay safe!”

He listened to the next message. And the next. Leorio told Kurapika about his classes, the friends he was making, his professors, his Nen. Leorio had every right to stop calling, to tell Kurapika he was selfish and cruel for never replying. But he did not. He called Kurapika and talked to him like they were still friends, even as the months flew by.

Another voicemail started. Kurapika sensed immediately that the tone had changed, and his heart fell.

“Kurapika,” Leorio said, and his voice was so small. He sounded rough and haggard, like he had not slept. Like he’d been crying. “Kurapika, there… there’s been some kind of accident. Gon’s hurt. He’s hurt really, really badly. They don’t…” A small, wet gulp. “They don't know how to help him. They don’t know if he’s going to make it. Killua’s gone to get help, something about his family. I just… I just thought you deserved to know. If you get this… come soon. I don’t know how much longer he’ll hold on.”

There was a long pause. Kurapika thought the call dropped, or that Leorio had forgotten to end the call. But then:

“I really, really wish you were here, Kurapika.” Leorio whispered into the phone like it was a confession or a prayer. “Wherever you are… take care, stay safe. I can’t lose another friend. I can’t –”

The voicemail ended as the automatic timer kicked in. Kurapika almost crushed his phone in his hand, angry at the stupid tiny piece of technology and even more furious at himself.

You left him there, Kurapika internally stormed. You monster, you asshole, you complete fucking bastard, how could you, you stared at your phone until the voicemail picked up, you could have been there for him, you could have dropped everything and run to him –

He would have dropped everything and run to Leorio if he had answered the phone. Kurapika knew that. He knew that was why he hadn’t.

The next voicemail ran.

“Kurapika! Kurapika, he’s okay, Gon’s okay! I just dropped him off at my apartment to rest up, I’d stay with him but he said he doesn’t need me to babysit him – the little shit, he’s like thirteen now, or fourteen, never mind that Hunter license bullshit – and also I’m failing half my classes. He’ll be staying with me a few days while he goes through some final checkups. You should come by! It’ll be like… it’ll almost be like old times. I hope you can make it. Take care, stay safe.”

The last voicemail beeped into silence. Weakly, Kurapika’s hand dropped to the floor. He did not have the strength to pick himself up onto his feet. For now, for tonight – self-loathing had him tight in its claws, and it refused to let go. Leorio’s voice echoed in his head nonstop.

Take care, stay safe.

Day Two of Leorio’s time missing dawned with his hands once again bound behind him. He was used to it now, so he just shrugged and sat on the floor across from Kalluto and told the kid where to move his chess pieces for him. Kalluto was sharp and clever, and Leorio had a feeling the child was toying with their captive audience as they won six straight games. With each game, with each quip, with every passing hour, Kalluto’s tense shoulders seemed to be relaxing, their expression softening.

“Where’s Illumi?” Leorio asked at one point in the mid-morning. Well, he thought it was mid-morning. Time had stopped feeling real yesterday.

Kalluto frowned, moving their rook to take Leorio’s bishop. “With the rest of the Troupe, I assume.”

“Hmm,” Leorio hummed in acknowledgement. “Pawn to E3.”

Kalluto moved Leorio’s piece. They shifted their pieces to castle their king. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot, kid. Knight to A9. No, the other one.”

“Don’t call me kid,” Kalluto said, lips twitching. They moved Leorio’s knight. “Why aren’t you trying to escape?”

“Who says I’m not?” Leorio asked. Kalluto captured his Queen, and he cursed internally. He was really bad at chess. “Good move.”

Kalluto scoffed. “I say so. Because you haven’t tried to escape. You’ve had your hands freed multiple times.”

“Maybe I’m playing the long con,” Leorio replied.

“I’ve known you two days, and I’m already positive you don’t have one,” Kalluto snipped back. They smirked at the cleverness of their own dig, another tic that made them look just like Killua in a wig and contacts.

“Ouch,” Leorio replied. “Fake tears, real pain.”

Kalluto shook their head. “I just can’t imagine what you would be waiting for. The rest of the Zodiacs wouldn’t risk mass casualties in the lower decks by sparking a turf war with the Phantom Troupe and their gang allies.”

Gang allies. The Troupe had been busy, Leorio noted. He studied Kalluto. “You want to know the truth?”

“I do prefer the truth to the alternative,” Kalluto said. They toyed with their queen, putting Leorio’s king in check.

“Fair,” Leorio agreed. He wondered if it was too early to show his hand. Then he decided it no longer mattered. With Kalluto asking the question so directly, he was going to answer them honestly. “I’m not trying to escape right now because when I do make my escape, I want you to come with me.”

Kalluto dropped their bishop. “Excuse me?”

“I want you to come with me when I break out,” Leorio said. Kalluto’s lip curled, their body stiffening like a cat under duress.

“When you break out, hmm?” They hissed. “You sound confident. And why would I want to go with you?”

Leorio shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s up to you. I just wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

Leorio met Kalluto’s gaze. “Are you happy here?” He glanced pointedly around the room. “Do you want this?”

Kalluto stared blankly. “What does it matter if I’m happy? This is the family business. We all do it.”

The family business. They talked about it with the same tone as one would a pizza place or an auto shop. They talked about it like it was some kind of fate set down for them since birth. To be fair, knowing the Zoldyck family, it probably was.

“You deserve to be happy, Kalluto,” Leorio said quietly. “Whatever form that takes. And you deserve to choose what that looks like for yourself. Rook to B7.”

Kalluto was silent for a few minutes. The only words between them were Leorio’s quiet instructions on where to move his pieces. He was honestly just moving his pieces around the board at random now, his only strategy keeping Kalluto from finishing the game in less than ten moves. He wanted to preserve some dignity.

Finally, Kalluto spoke. “Mom and Illumi love me, though.”

Leorio thought of Killua changing in their little suite in Trick Tower, baggy clothes revealing pale skin mottled with healing bruises and criss-crossed with silver scars and burn marks. Killua appearing after their trials at the Testing Gate, eyes shadowed and smile shaking and almost manic. Killua rejecting any kindness they had to offer but holding onto Gon so, so tightly and so, so gently.

Leorio studied Kalluto’s carefully expressionless face and took a shot in the dark. “I’m sure they do, Kalluto.” In their way. As much as they’re capable of loving anyone. “But love shouldn’t come with strings attached. Love shouldn’t hurt you.”

Kalluto flinched back as if Leorio had raised his arm to slap. They stared hard at the chess board, not blinking and absently rubbing at their forehead. After some twenty minutes of near-silence, Leorio asked, “What do you want, Kalluto?”

Kalluto swallowed thickly. Softly, they said, “I… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Leorio matched their volume, speaking quietly and gently. He had taken classes on this, on how to counsel and work with survivors of abuse and trauma like Kalluto and Killua had. Don’t be judgemental, his professor had told them all. Just meet your client where they are. Offer them options and solutions to pick from. “That’s part of growing up, I guess. Getting the freedom to figure that out for yourself.”

Kalluto rolled their black knight piece in their fingers. They repeated, as if they had never realized it before, “I don’t know what I want. I never thought about it.”

I never thought I had a choice, Leorio heard. He swallowed his rage at this family and kept his smile. “That’s okay. If you’ll let me, Kalluto, I want to help you out of this. I want to help you find something new.”

I want to help you find something better than this. I promise, kid, the world is so much bigger and better than this.

Kalluto did not reply. They were rubbing at their forehead, mouth set and looking upset. Leorio knew that their conversation and chess game was over now. He leaned against the wall behind him and internally quizzed himself on the bones of the hand as hours passed. Or twenty minutes, Leorio had honestly lost track of time.

At last, though, the door opened, and in stalked Illumi. He paid no attention to Leorio, ignoring his greeting of “‘sup, fuckface.”

“We are meeting with the rest of the Troupe. Come along, Kalluto. Tie his legs while we’re gone.”

He left, assuming Kalluto would follow. They did, knotting Leorio’s legs together and then attaching them to the cot, and then scrambling to follow their eldest brother. But as they walked over the threshold, they glanced back over their shoulder and met Leorio’s eye. Something small flashed in the light as it tumbled from Kalluto’s sleeve, clinking softly onto the floor.

Leorio blinked, dumbfounded, staring at the object. Then a slow grin spread over his face.

Kalluto had left him their small silver dagger.

Kurapika arrived at the holding room where Mizai put Hisoka at exactly six o’clock the next morning. He exchanged nods with Hanzo, who gave him a once-over, taking in his pristine clothes and carefully tied back hair, his shadowed eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Hanzo asked sympathetically.

Kurapika closed his eyes tightly, huffing out a short puff of air through his nose. His eyes stung with tiredness when he closed them. The stopwatch in the back of his mind ticked inexorably on. Leorio had been missing for thirty-eight hours now.

“Are there any updates?” Kurapika asked. Hanzo was just worried. He had just pulled an all-night shift guarding Hisoka’s door. It probably wouldn’t be much of a deterrent if Hisoka really wanted out, like a bratty cat, but it showed that the Zodiacs were taking no chances.

Hanzo shook his head. “Not that I know of. There still hasn’t been any sort of ransom demand. The medical and court records didn’t pan out, and no one saw anything weird or unusual. The video cameras picked up on two suspicious-looking people going down the last hallway where Leorio was last seen, but they avoided letting the camera see their faces and they didn’t emerge the same way.”

Kurapika sighed. “So we have almost nothing.”

“Almost nothing,” Hanzo said, trying to sound reassuring. The two men looked at the door with twin expressions of irritable foreboding, like they were about to go in for a root canal. Kurapika studied Hanzo, the way his eyes were puffy with tiredness and his ninja clothes rumpled.

“Thank you, Hanzo,” Kurapika said softly. Hanzo blinked down at him, gaping in surprise. “You have done excellent work these past several weeks. It is appreciated.”

“What – yeah, of course,” Hanzo replied, totally taken aback. “Are you dying?”

The direct question made him snort out a laugh. His lips twitched with dark humor as he replied, “not yet,” and opened the door to Hisoka’s room.

“Oh, good morning,” Hisoka greeted Kurapika immediately. Despite his protestations about the early hour yesterday, he was wide awake and sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room. He furrowed his brow, tongue between his teeth as he balanced the last two cards at the top of an impressively high card tower. Carefully, he settled the cards against each other, his hands hovering in the air. The five-story tower held, and Hisoka let out a soft whoop of exultation. Immediately the tower collapsed. Hisoka sighed with sagelike patience and started to scoop the deck back into some semblance of order. At last, he looked up at Kurapika, who had folded his arms and leaned impassively against the door. “Did you bring coffee?”

“No,” Kurapika said.

“What about breakfast?”

Kurapika spread his arms to showcase his empty hands. “Obviously not.”

“That’s poor form,” Hisoka replied. He slipped the deck into an inner pocket. “Breakfast is important for growing boys.”

“Can you just tone down…?” Kurapika waved a hand at Hisoka, who looked down at himself in genuine confusion.

“You just pointed at all of me.”

There was a loud coughing sound just outside the door as Hanzo choked off his laugh at the last second. Hisoka smirked up at him proudly, like he thought he was the cleverest man in the world, and with his usual catlike grace he rose smoothly to his feet.

“Come along then, Little Mouse,” Hisoka said cheerily, booping the tip of Kurapika’s nose as he passed. He sidestepped Kurapika’s swinging fist with a cheery smirk. He swept out of the room, leaving Kurapika to follow irritably in his wake. Hisoka waved over his shoulder, calling, “Have a lovely day, Hanzo! It was great to see you again.”

Hanzo sent the clown a raised middle finger in farewell. Hisoka smiled vacantly like he did this every day.

“So,” Kurapika started, “Where to?”

“Oh.” Hisoka stopped in the hall. “I’ve no idea, actually.” He dodged the kick Kurapika automatically sent his way. Thoughtfully, he went on, “I’m not positive. But I would guess that Illumi wouldn’t have been able to take an unconscious Leorio far without incurring suspicion. So he must have held Leorio someplace most people wouldn’t find immediately. There are at least a thousand storage rooms on this Deck alone. I assume if we start with the storage lockers closest your doctor’s assigned medical bay, we can find wherever he was held first. I’m surprised the cow man – Mizai? – did not think of that.”

Kurapika glared at Hisoka suspiciously. He did not want to give him any credit, but it was surprising Mizai had not yet reached that conclusion. Though his approach to trying to narrow down the suspect pool by searching for suspicious individuals made sense, too.

“Do you think he was moved?” Kurapika asked instead. He directed their steps to the medical bay on the sixth floor.

“If Illumi has a brain in his head, he would have moved Leorio away from the Zodiacs searching for him and taken him closer to the Phantom Troupe hub on Decks Four and Five,” Hisoka explained. He blew a bubble until it popped obnoxiously. “So, fifty-fifty.”

Kurapika glanced at his watch for the hundredth time that day and saw it was only 6:05. He intensely regretted not drinking coffee when he picked himself up off his cabin room floor to make himself look presentable. “Very well.”

Kurapika checked in with Cheadle for a few moments to let her know what he and Hisoka would be doing for the morning. She looked as tired as Kurapika felt, her face pale and wan as she carried a stack of sealed samples in her arms.

“Yes, yes, go ahead,” Cheadle huffed, blowing sea-foam green bangs from her eyes. “You have my permission as Chairwoman to do whatever you need to do to find Leorio. That man kept this place from falling apart.”

“Can I help with anything?” Kurapika asked, surprising himself and Cheadle. She blinked up at him for a few moments. Then she smiled, understanding and almost matronly.

“That’s alright, Kurapika,” she assured him. “You focus on finding Leorio. I’m holding down the fort and keeping all our spirits up.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The world doesn’t stop turning, even as we try to catch our breath. Although if you could bring back more lollipops from the storage rooms, that would be appreciated.”

Kurapika turned around to follow her gaze to see Hisoka pulling fistfuls of candy from the jar at the check-out station. The clown man unwrapped an alarmingly pink one and popped it into his mouth, waving cheerily at the two of them.

With a long sigh, Kurapika said, “Yes, ma’am. I will be back.”

He caught Hisoka’s sleeve on the way out, dragging him away from the two-thirds empty candy jar.

It took them most of the morning to search the storage rooms on the sixth floor. Kurapika lost count of the number of rooms they searched, the vast array of items they found, the number of locked doors Hisoka opened with a playing card, the number of wrappers Hisoka littered in their wake as they wound deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Black Whale.

(Kurapika truly hated this stupid giant fucking boat with every fiber of his being.)

The two men knew pretty much immediately when they finally found the right room. It happened like this:

Hisoka offered Kurapika one of the last of his stolen lollipops as he tried the door.

Kurapika said no, thank you with the same delivery as please shut the fuck up, I am begging you.

Hisoka chuckled, popping the radioactive-neon blue candy into his mouth. He hardened the candy wrapper into a lockpick and popped the door open a few moments later.

Kurapika stepped inside. And a storm swarmed him.

“Shit,” Kurapika hissed, assuming a fighting position and twirling his chains around him to keep the swarm at bay. He studied the tiny projectiles, trying to determine what they were. A miniature zoo of origami animals had taken to the air, their edges hardened into razor-sharp edges that clipped at the edges of his hair, at his fingers and palms, at Hisoka’s face and arms.

But their strength was in surprise and numbers, not in strength. Kurapika found he could easily keep the animals at bay so long as he twirled the ball and chain fast enough, crushing the origami animals and sending them barreling into one another as the air in the room shifted. Their sharp edges were their own downfall as they cut themselves to ribbons. In less than a moment, the floor was papered over with a layer of shining confetti.

Kurapika was breathing deeply, more from surprise and being on edge than exertion. He rounded on Hisoka. “What the hell was that?”

Hisoka was eyeing his pale arms with academic interest. More to himself than to Kurapika, he said, “Huh, so Kalluto was here. That confirms my suspicions.” He added conversationally, “They’ve got quite an artistic streak. This is their handiwork.”

“I don’t care,” Kurapika snarled, rounding on Hisoka, his hands clenched into fists. His movements kicked up a small spray of paper scraps. His gaze caught on a small red lotus, its paper petals pristine. Snarling in self-directed fury and enraged at his own helplessness, Kurapika brought his leather shoe down onto the lotus. It crunched loudly like an autumn leaf.

For a few long minutes, they were silent. The only sounds in the room were Kurapika’s ragged breathing as he fought to bring himself back under control.

Finally, Hisoka spoke. Because of course he did.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Did you know, there was a time I really thought you might have made a good Troupe member?”

Kurapika’s gaze flicked to Hisoka’s. He felt his eyes start to burn scarlet behind his contacts. His voice was dangerously low and calm. “Don’t you dare. I am nothing like them.”

“No?” Hisoka mused conversationally. He swooped down to grasp the lotus Kurapika had crushed underfoot. “You have many qualities that the Phantom Troupe would appreciate. Dedication. Brilliance. Ruthlessness. Bloodthirst.” He approached Kurapika and gently set the crushed paper flower in his hand. Softly, he finished, “The ability to be cruel. So long as it suits your ends.”

Kurapika flinched back as if he’d been slapped. “That’s not true.”

“I said a time,” Hisoka repeated, looking bored. He was palming at his face now. Something was odd about the picture in front of him, but Kurapika’s head was buzzing with white static. He could not seem to focus on anything except Hisoka’s words.

Hisoka continued, “That time has passed. I don’t think you’d fit well in their ranks, after all. Even the Troupe members have some sense of inter-group loyalty.”

“Except you,” Kurapika answered coldly. “You betrayed them all for the sake of your little pissing match with Chrollo. Don’t act like you have some kind of moral high ground on me, clown.”

Hisoka laughed aloud. “Oh, Little Mouse, I’ve no delusions of grandeur. I know exactly what I am. I’m just speaking to you as equals, filth to filth.”

Kurapika wanted to snap. To yell. But all he could do was say, voice soft, almost pleading: “Shut up.”

“See?” Hisoka leered at him, grin stretching ear to ear. His teeth and tongue were stained blue from the candy. “You don’t deny it. Because you know. You and I, we really do live up to the Hunter Association's Articles, don’t we?” He stretched his arms over his head. “‘Article one: a Hunter must always be on the hunt.’”

I wish we were told that when we became hunters. Melody’s words from the previous day jumped to the forefront of Kurapika’s mind. About the things we would miss when we were hunting. The things we let go, the things we lost, the things we thought were less important than the hunt. I wish we were told there were things more important than that thrill. I wish we were told that it wasn’t always worth it. Because there are some things that you can’t hunt for.

Kurapika suddenly realized what was so wrong about the man he was looking at. Hisoka’s arms and face were covered in cuts from the origami animals’ attack, yet not a single drop of blood dotted his skin.

Hisoka knew the moment he noticed. Laughing aloud, he asked, “Do you want to see the cost of my hunt, Kurapika? I’ll show you.”

Kurapika really, really wanted to say no. He had no doubt that whatever he was about to see was going to be unpleasant at best and disgusting at worst. But he was frozen in place, his mind spinning with thoughts that echoed and rebounded off of each other –

So often, what we find does not make up for what we leave behind. What we lose along the way.

You know, there was a time I thought you would have made a good Troupe member.

Article One: a Hunter must always be on the hunt.

You can be cruel, so long as it suits your own ends.

With a feral grin, Hisoka reached up to his face and peeled. Skin came away like he was removing a latex mask. No blood fell or dripped, and Hisoka did not even blink, as if he did not feel any pain. He revealed a gruesome sight as he revealed that part of his lower jaw, chin, and lips were gone, the damage of extensive burn scars running all down his neck. The skin was burned black down to the bone.

“I lost my arms, too,” Hisoka shared. He flipped his peeled flesh in his hands. The sick flapping sound turned Kurapika’s stomach. “Behold, my Texture Surprise! I can replace my skin, change my face… Very handy.”

Hisoka started to put his face back on, which might have actually been worse. Kurapika turned away from him in revulsion. Hisoka kept talking.

“Hunters have to hunt, yeah?” He asked. “I hunt for battle. That thrill, that rush. I also love killing.” Kurapika rolled his eyes at this frighteningly matter-of-fact confession, because yeah, he knew that by now. “I know that the cost of this hunt can be my body. My life. I’m willing to pay that price. Of course, there were unanticipated costs, as well.” He shrugged. “Losing fights I should have won. Biting off a bit more than I could chew. But I can stomach those.”

Molding his skin back into the correct shape, Hisoka asked Kurapika, “Can you accept the unintended consequences of your hunt, Little Mouse?”

Kurapika did not answer. He thought of calls and emails from Gon and Killua tapering off as the months passed. He thought of a full voicemail inbox. He thought of bloodied hands. He thought of scarlet, shining, disembodied eyes glowing in an abandoned candlelit church. He thought of a fight in a storm. A shared laugh on a sunlit island. An arm flung over his shoulder, warm and strong, a smile like a spotlight shining for the camera.

A tired, dear, pleading voice in his phone, confessing, I really wish you were here.

“That does not matter right now,” Kurapika snapped. “This was a dead end. We know that Illumi and Kalluto have Leorio, and we know that they have moved him. We need to reconvene with the rest of the Zodiacs, prepare a search of the lower Decks –”

“Don’t you have some kind of people-finder thing?” Hisoka interrupted. He pulled a piece of bubble gum from his pocket and unwrapped it. “I heard that’s how you found the Troupe that one time.”

“People-finder?” Kurapika repeated confusedly. “Do you mean my Dowsing Chain? It…”

He froze. He blinked. He very briefly considered using Chain Jail on Hisoka, for the double benefit of shutting down the other man’s smirk and just offing himself in his humiliation.

Because, yes, his fucking Dowsing Chain ability could find missing people. Missing people like Leorio.

People make mistakes when they’re angry, Mizai had warned Kurapika. They miss things they otherwise wouldn’t.

Clearly they did. Mistakes like forgetting one of their own Nen abilities and just running around for two days like an idiot. Kurapika was going to throw himself over the fucking ship the second they had secured Leorio’s safety.

“Shut up,” Kurapika grumbled at Hisoka. He manifested the chain and ball, allowing it to dangle about six inches. “If you tell anyone about this, I will know, and I will kill you.”

Hisoka’s eyes glittered as he lifted a hand and said, without a trace of honesty, “Scout’s honor.”

Kurapika shot him a dirty look before he closed his eyes and emptied his mind of anything but Leorio. It was almost embarrassingly easy to do; in fact, it was a relief to finally let his mind turn to Leorio like it so desperately wanted to. He pictured Leorio’s million-volt smile; the way his hazel eyes shone in different lighting, bringing out all sorts of shades of gold and caramel and jade; the way his shoulders and arms had filled out as he finally grew into his height and lanky limbs; they way Leorio no longer slouched, but kept his back straight and his head held high. He thought of Leorio arguing with him, yelling at him, snapping him out of his worst moods, relaxing casually with him. He thought of Leorio holding him and how much he wished he would do it again. He thought of what it would be like to hold Leorio back.

And the chain moved.

Leorio squinted at the wall. He was sweating, his face screwed up like he was constipated and really trying to force one out. There was a ringing sound in his ears and blackness was starting to creep on the edges of his vision. He was growing very, very lightheaded from all of the desperate work he was putting in to improving his Nen rightfuckingnow.

Okay, Leorio told himself. He stared at the wall where Kalluto’s knife was lying innocently on the ground. He took a deep breath. Again.

He fisted his hands behind his back. There was a rush of energy as he broke about thirty rules of physics and opened a wormhole behind his back. At the same time, the other end of the hole opened a few inches from the knife.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Leorio hissed as his hands went through the gap. It was unnerving to watch his own hands move, feeling strangely disconnected from his body. Something about the wormhole dulled his nerves, making it hard for him to uncurl his hand, grasp the blade, and close his fingers again. Leorio winced as his clumsy fingers curled over the business end of the blade. Already he could see blood on his fingers and palm.

The wormhole was closing; Leorio curled his entire torso forward, yanking his arms back through. He cried aloud as feeling suddenly returned all at once to his hands, hot and cold and pain. His palms were slippery as he fumbled to grasp the handle, trying to snap the plastic loose. He felt the zip ties give way, and he almost sobbed in relief.

Leorio shifted his arms to look at his palms. There was a deep laceration along his left hand and in a line over his left fingertips. It was definitely going to need stitches.

At least it wasn’t your dominant hand, Leorio assured himself, eying his right hand. It also boasted a few knicks and cuts, but it was nowhere near as bad as his left hand. He could have used Nen to close the cut, but his head was swimming with exhaustion. He grit his teeth to steel his resolve. Either he patched up his hand and passed out, or he wasted his one chance to make his escape.

It was a no-brainer to clench his jaw against the pain and put his hands back behind his back.

Leorio knew how to soldier on through the pain. To throw his will and his wits and his fists against a wall. He was going to get through this.

His heart hammered in anticipation. He was positive he looked as suspicious as he felt when Illumi and Kalluto returned after being gone for a little over an hour. After all, his face was drenched in sweat, his face pale. But Illumi either did not notice or tacked his appearance up to him being afraid.

Illumi, Hisoka, Pariston, the Troupe, his classmates and professors – so many people seemed to think Leorio was too dumb to breathe. Their underestimations of him were always their downfall. And they never learned.

“Leorio,” Illumi greeted. The man used a needle to break the ties that bound his feet, smirking when Leorio reflexively flinched. “We brought lunch. Thank Kalluto.”

“Thanks,” Leorio said to the youngest Zoldyck. He sent Kalluto a short look, a moment’s warning before all hell broke loose.

Get ready, kid, Leorio’s eyes said.

When Illumi was close enough, Leorio hitched up his legs and kicked Illumi with as much force as he could generate. Caught off-guard, Illumi stumbled back, tripping until his back rammed into the opposite wall. Leorio overbalanced and fell hard onto his knees on the metal floor. He grit his teeth against the pain. For a few moments, he caught Illumi’s gaze through his curtain of dark hair. The expression in his eyes promised pain and retribution a hundredfold.

A brilliant, insane idea ran through Leorio’s head.

Let’s try three for three on the Nen tricks, he thought, and he punched the floor.

The wormhole felt different. Hotter, hotter, the pressure different – and then a massive hole opened in the floor, and Leorio’s own fist, multiplied some fifty times its size, flew into Illumi’s chest. His head and back cracked against the wall, and Illumi slumped to the floor, motionless.

“Oh, shit,” Leorio muttered, scrambling over to the fallen man. He had wanted to take Illumi out of commission, not kill him or crush his chest cavity. Leorio quickly ran his hands over Illumi’s chest, looking for broken bones, checking his pulse, his breathing. He released a sigh of relief and looked at Kalluto.

“He’s okay,” he assured them. “He’s unconscious, and probably will have a concussion, but he’s going to be okay.”

Kalluto was staring up at him with wide, horrified eyes. Leorio approached them and dropped to one knee, bringing himself below their gaze so he would not tower over them.

“Listen, kid,” Leorio told them, adopting the tone he was taught to use with patients’ and their families when things weren’t looking good. “I’m not going to force you to do anything. You don’t have to come with me. But here’s your chance.” He held out his less-bloody palm, though now that hand featured burst, bruised, and bloodied knuckles. “Will you come with me?”

Kalluto was too overwhelmed to reflexively order him not to call him kid. Their breathing was shaky and shallow, their shoulders high and drawn. Their eyes were glassy and red, and Kalluto looked away, trying to get themselves under control. Their face contorted like they were in pain, and they reached a hand up to rub hard at their forehead.

There was something familiar, too, in that reaction. Leorio thought back to Killua rubbing his forehead in particularly tense moments. He thought of the bruised needle mark on his own neck. He looked at the needle that shone menacingly where it was stuck into the leg of the cot.

He looked at Illumi.

There’s something wrong here, Leorio realized. Something bigger is going on here.

A small, shaking hand caught his. Leorio ripped his gaze from Illumi’s prone figure and looked at Kalluto. Their lips were trembling, but their eyes were fierce and sure.

“Okay,” they whispered.

Leorio met their gaze, closing his hand over theirs. Their fingers were so, so cold. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Leorio rose to his feet, leading Kalluto out of the room and into the hallway. He cast his gaze about, looking for signs, for people, for help. Kalluto could have led, but they had gone small and silent behind Leorio, gaze distant. So Leorio led the way down the Black Whale’s maze of hallways. Everything looked the same: the long, dimly lit halls, the slate-gray of the metal floor, walls, and ceilings.

Leorio rounded a corner, and in his haste he knocked into someone. He had been so trapped in his own head, thinking of nothing save for get away from Illumi, get Kalluto out of this, that he had not even realized there were other footsteps echoing down here. The figure made a soft sound of surprise, hands going to his waist to steady him. Kalluto walked into Leorio’s back. He used his right arm to keep Kalluto secured safely behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” Leorio started. He winced when he realized his mess of a left hand had caught the shoulder of this person to steady them. His bloodied palm stained the sleeve of an expensive black suit. Hair tickled his chin and nose where this stranger fit just under his jaw, in the curve of his arm. He inhaled in surprise, and his nose caught on something sharp and fresh and minty. Something familiar.

Eucalyptus.

Leorio jerked back, gaping down at the man in front of him. There’s no way, he told himself. How did he –? Why would he –?

But Leorio knew that round face; that pointy, upturned nose; those angular cheekbones; those gray eyes darkened nearly to black by contacts, framed by long lashes; the fine blond hair that flopped over his forehead; the freckles that dotted his skin like little stars. The man was staring up at him like he was just as stunned and shocked and relieved to be seeing him, holding him, as he was.

Leorio finally found his voice.

“Kurapika?”

“Kurapika?”

Kurapika’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His heart had leapt up to pound against the back of his throat.

Leorio. Leorio. Leorio. Kurapika’s brain stuttered and malfunctioned trying to process his sudden appearance, eyes scanning over Leorio’s form, cataloguing any changes or injuries. He looked exhausted, harried, sweaty, his hair hanging limp and greasy over his forehead. Two days’ stubble covered his jaw, and for a few brief moments of complete insanity, Kurapika thought about how it would feel against his fingers. There was a bruise on his neck and shadows under his eyes and his hands were covered in blood.

“Leorio,” Kurapika started, but he had no idea what to say after his name. He was lightheaded with surprise and relief, thinking, Leorio, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re alright, you escaped, you are so amazing, why are your hands bloody, that’s supposed to be my thing, I should not be proud or surprised but I am, how are you so handsome after being missing for two days –

“Kurapika,” Leorio repeated, softer this time. His hand closed tighter on Kurapika’s shoulder, a comforting, bracing gesture. Hazel eyes kept flickering over Kurapika’s face like he could not quite believe he was there. Reflexively, Kurapika’s fingers clenched in the material of Leorio’s uniform shirt.

“I’m here, Leorio,” Kurapika breathed. I am here. You are here.

He felt like he had been wandering a dark, dank cave for the past two years, and he had just stumbled back into the sunlight.

Kurapika startled when Hisoka piped up from behind him, sounding absolutely thrilled by this development. “I’m here, too, Leorio! I’m glad Illumi didn’t turn you into a pincushion. And hello, Kalluto! Do you remember me?”

The reminder that there were other people in the world – let alone other people in the hallway – made Kurapika startle slightly. Nothing so obvious as jumping, but his fingers briefly clenched tighter in Leorio’s shirt and his eyes went wide. A moment later he took two steps back, trying to make it look like that had been his intention all along. He peered around Leorio to see the child he was tucking protectively behind his larger figure.

The child opened their mouth to reply. A few moments later, they shut it again noiselessly.

“That’ll be a yes,” Leorio muttered. He glanced between Kurapika and Hisoka, one brow raising. “I have maybe a hundred questions about how you two are my rescue team, but there’s not a lot of time. I just put a lump the size of a grapefruit on Illumi’s head after breaking his nose yesterday, so he’s not feeling charitable towards me right now. Let’s move.”

It was the first time Kurapika had truly seen Leorio in his element: calm, collected, taking charge, even if he was swaying on his feet. Kurapika could be into that. Correction: he was into that.

Wait. Swaying on his feet.

Kurapika leapt forward to catch Leorio’s left elbow to steady him. Leorio’s hand squeezed around his forearm. Both fresh and dried blood soaked through the suit fabric.

What happened to you? Kurapika wondered, eyeing the blood that covered his hands, the way his left was soaked in blood and the other bruised and swollen.

“Hisoka, get the elevator,” Kurapika ordered. Hisoka raised his eyebrows with a smirk and flounced down the hall in the direction they had come. He seemed to really think Kurapika and Leorio were about to have some kind of passionate, romantic reunion, right there in the hallway in front of a ten-year-old.

“So you found Hisoka,” Leorio muttered, his breath brushing the shell of Kurapika’s ear. Chills rushed down his neck, and he almost shivered.

“Tragically,” Kurapika agreed. “More accurately, he found me.”

“Oh, that’s worse.”

“Indeed,” Kurapika said. He peeked around Leorio’s back, catching the gaze of the child clutching Leorio’s hand. “Are you well, Kalluto?”

“Fucking great,” the child said, and Kurapika choked on air. They replied with the exact tone Killua would have, down to the irritable little sigh at the end of their sentence.

Leorio rasped out a harsh laugh that made fireworks go off in Kurapika’s stomach. “I see you two will get along well. Kalluto, Kurapika. Kurapika, Kalluto. You’ll have to forgive me for not doing proper introductions. I feel like shit.”

“Save your breath,” Kurapika and Kalluto ordered at the same time.

They rounded a corner, and Kurapika saw Hisoka standing at the elevators. The damn thing was ringing an alert as the hold door button was pushed for far too long. Passerby sent him odd looks that he did not return, although he sent the three a cheery wave as they came into view.

“I took the liberty of contacting Oxford,” Hisoka called down the hallway. “We’re meeting him upstairs.” He made no move to help support Leorio as the three meandered into the elevator at last, despite being the only one tall enough to support him without bowing beneath his lanky form. “Took you long enough.”

“I hate him,” Leorio mumbled under his breath. Louder, as if he worried Kurapika might not have heard and he needed to make sure he did, he repeated, “I hate him, K’pika.”

Something odd was happening to Kurapika’s mouth. A weird, wiggling twitch. He realized he was smiling. Somehow, improbably, most likely inappropriately considering Leorio’s bruised and bloodied appearance, he was smiling.

“I know, Leorio,” he assured him.

He wondered if he imagined the way Leorio leaned into him, the full length of his arm and side pressed against his shorter frame. He straightened his spine, allowing Leorio to brace more of his weight against him.

And for the first time in nearly two days – nearly two years – Kurapika finally felt like he could breathe.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Kurapika asked Hisoka. He swiped his specialty access card to grant their elevator access directly to Deck Three, allowing them to bypass various security measures that he did not have the patience to bother with.

“Private room near the medical bay,” Hisoka said with a shrug. He eyed Kurapika and Leorio with another smirk. “Yorkie says you two will know where it is?”

The room where Leorio looked after Oito and Woble, Kurapika realized. He recalled the route to the private room in his mental map of the Black Whale. It was easier to think about that than remember the end of his conversation with Leorio.

(His kindness to the Queen, his confidence and comfort with the Prince. His warm hands massaging at Kurapika’s temples, soothing his exhaustion and stress-induced migraine. His arms wrapped around him.)

Kurapika was all turned around the second that they got off the elevator, so Leorio was the one who needed to turn them around and lead the way to the office. Hisoka giggled daintily behind his hand, and Kalluto was silent.

The exam room looked just the same as it had the precious time Kurapika had been there: the same exam table, the same rolling chair and cabinets, the same small office in the back, the same warm, dim lighting. Cheadle came rushing out of the back office the second the door opened. Mizai followed a few steps behind.

“Leorio!” she cried. Her brown eyes were wide, taking in the sight of her protégé, skimming over his exhausted, injured form. In another moment she had shifted into doctor mode, her tiny body physically shouldering Kurapika out of her way and allowing Leorio to brace his weight against her. He stepped aside willingly, allowing Cheadle to command the room.

“On the table, there you go, let’s get you looked at,” Cheadle was saying to Leorio. “Two days, I haven’t slept in two days, and you are so behind on your patient charts, and I was so worried – hello there, sweetheart, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but we can figure that out later. Nana, make yourself useful and pull up a chair.”

Kurapika bit back another mistimed laugh, his own warring fatigue and relief leaving him almost giddy. Hisoka did not bother to hide his derisive chuckle. But Mizai calmly pulled the rolling chair from Cheadle’s office and settled it beside the exam table for Kalluto. They eyed everyone in the room suspiciously before finally glancing up at Leorio, who was towering above them on the exam table. Then they slowly settled into the chair.

“Great,” Mizai said, a touch awkwardly. “You want a juice box?”

“They’re ten, Mizai, not six,” Leorio said tiredly.

Mizai shrugged. “A soda, then?”

“No,” Leorio, Cheadle, and Kurapika chorused as one. Leorio met Kurapika’s gaze, his expression a bit affectionate, a bit amused. There was something unreadable in his eyes, and Kurapika made himself look away.

Kalluto piped up, “I’ll take juice.”

Mizai nodded. “I think there’s some in the refrigerator in the office.”

“I’ll be taking my leave, then,” Hisoka suddenly stated. He stepped around Kurapika to approach the door. “Kurapika’s darling has been safely returned –” he sidestepped the leg Kurapika stuck out to trip him “– and I trust he will be able to relay the particulars of the morning better than I. Back to ground I go. If I learn anything more of the Troupe’s movements, I will be sure to let you know. You all have my number. Farewell, Piggy, Little Mouse.”

Leorio sent Hisoka a rude gesture with the hand that was not holding Kalluto’s. With a smirk, Hisoka set his gaze on Kalluto.

“So you’ve thrown your lot in with these fools, hm?”

Leorio glared; Kurapika subtly stepped between the clown man and the child. Kalluto only raised their chin. In a soft voice folded with steel, they said, “Yeah. I think so.”

Hisoka shrugged. “Then I wish you luck. Illumi will not be pleased. You’ve made some formidable enemies today.” His eyes flickered gold in the lights as he looked between Leorio and Kurapika. “But formidable allies, too. Have no fear, little one. There is no love lost between the Spiders, Illumi, and myself. You’ll find no betrayal from me.”

He fluttered his fingers in farewell. “I look forward to us meeting again.”

The door swung shut with finality. For several moments, there was no sound in the room.

Leorio broke the silence. “Well, good riddance to bad company. Can someone stitch my hand back together, please?”

Leorio explained what had happened to him with distant, clinical professionalism, like he was doing rounds and presenting a case. He went to get bandages from the storage rooms. He was knocked out. He woke up with Illumi and Kalluto. He fought with Illumi. He talked with Kalluto. He fought with Illumi again. He was knocked unconscious. He awoke again. He talked with Kalluto some more. He escaped. He ran into Kurapika.

He left out the fine details of what he did with his Nen, feeling too tired to even discuss it now. He knew Cheadle and Mizai would have a million and a half questions about that. Mentioning his huge advancements also felt like a weird humble-brag considering the circumstances. So Leorio only gave the bare-bones overview of what happened, minimizing Kalluto’s criminal involvement (not that that was difficult; all they had really done was play babysitter to Leorio’s dumb, zip-tied ass).

Cheadle was quiet as she worked on his hands, injecting his palm with a numbing agent and disinfecting the deep cut. She spoke to let him know what she was going to do next, as if Leorio was unfamiliar with the process of cleaning and stitching a minor (maybe more like moderate? Wow, that was long) laceration. Cheadle’s stitches were dull pricks against his numb skin, and Leorio watched her work with fascination. He wondered how long he would need to practice to get his own stitches as neat and symmetrical as hers, noting the pressure and angles that she used to sew his skin back together again.

Leorio felt Kurapika’s gaze on him almost like a physical weight. It was all he could do not to stare back, unnerved at his friend’s intense scrutiny. He forced himself to keep his head down, to watch Cheadle work, to gently grasp Kalluto’s hand, to answer question after question for Mizai. It kept him from staring at Kurapika’s fathomless dark eyes. That damnable new little bun with its flyaway strands that framed his face and left Leorio literally itching to remove that hair tie and run his ruined hands through his hair.

(He thought of Kurapika in his arms. In the hallway. The last time they were in this room together. The way his stomach flipped and his heart went off like a firework every time Kurapika said his name like that, Kurta accent catching on the word, the syllables soft in a way nothing else about Kurapika was.

You are ridiculous, Leorio.

I’m here, Leorio.)

Leorio realized he had zoned out for quite a while, completely ignoring whatever Mizai was saying. He looked up from the bandage Cheadle was wrapping around his hand. Inelegantly, he asked, “What?”

Over Mizai’s shoulder, Kurapika bit his lip to hide a smile. Leorio caught a flash of white teeth and the tip of his tongue as he soothed the spot. He nearly fell off the exam table.

“I was saying,” Mizai said, a sigh in his voice, “That given what you’ve told us, it would be inadvisable to go after the Phantom Troupe at this time.”

“What?” Leorio and Kurapika shouted in tandem, Leorio startled and Kurapika belligerent. Kalluto’s fingers squeezed around Leorio’s, though that might have been in preparation of letting go when Cheadle gently separated them so she could bandage Leorio’s other hand. Mizai offered Kalluto his large, square palm instead. Kalluto eyed the offered hand with dubious distrust and wrapped both their hands around their juice carton.

With a good-natured shrug, Mizai pulled his hands back into his pockets. “Considering everything Leorio told us? It would be foolish to attempt to find the Phantom Troupe now. They are powerful enemies who have made allies of the various gangs and mafias that reign in the lower decks. This is not even considering the logistics of whether we could find them, with over a hundred and eighty thousand people spread over three decks. That’s a hundred and eighty thousand unknowns. We have perhaps thirty Hunters against ten Spiders and an unknown number of hostiles in various gangs and crime syndicates. We cannot risk hurting ourselves or innocents in the crossfire with the Dark Continent looming ahead.”

“Ignoring the fact that Leorio has already been injured.” Kurapika snapped at Mizai with such vitriol that Leorio actually blinked, taken aback. “Are we to simply hope that Illumi and the rest of the Spiders will not come back to finish the job?”

“Hey, I’m not that fragile,” Leorio told Kurapika, more tired than irritable. Kurapika sent him a blazing expression that told him that under his contacts his eyes were burning scarlet. Leorio wondered if anyone else knew him well enough to pick up on that.

“I did not say that,” Kurapika huffed in his direction before he returned to glaring at Mizai like he could blow up the man’s head if he stared hard enough. “Are we supposed to simply ignore this affront? Allow it to go without retaliation?”

“You are not here as a mafioso, Kurapika,” Mizai said. He did not yell, nor did he make a threat – but there was a new, harder edge to his voice. A warning. “We are not the Nostrades. You are here as a Zodiac. We do things differently. If you’re so dead set on making everything in your life a fight, go ahead. But hand in your resignation before you do.”

Kurapika’s pale cheeks flushed red, his hands squeezing into the meat of his biceps and chains ringing softly together like warning bells. He opened his mouth in a truly spectacular snarl, looking ready to absolutely tear into Mizai, but Leorio spoke up.

“Kurapika.”

Kurapika froze. He looked at Leorio, angry and argumentative and just a little helpless. Leorio wondered if anyone else knew him well enough to know he was acting this way because he was scared. Leorio met his gaze and sent him his best patient smile. “It’s okay. There’s no lasting damage. I don’t want to get more people involved in this. The Troupe has the same reasons not to come to us that we have not to go to them. I don’t want to destabilize the entire damn ship before we’re even on the Dark Continent.” He spread his bandaged hands. “No harm, no foul.”

“Except the harm.” Kurapika eyed Leorio’s bandaged hands mutinously. He sent Leorio a glare that told him he knew what Leorio was trying to do, and he did not appreciate it. “And the foul.”

(If anything had happened to Gon or Killua, or to you, Kurapika had confessed to Leorio’s faux-sleeping form one night. I didn’t want any of you hurt.

How ironic that Kurapika did not seem to think that same concern and consideration extended to him as well. How heartbreaking.)

“It’s okay,” Leorio said. Softer, he added, “I’m okay.”

Kurapika scowled at him, and it was threatening and adorable. But at last he relented, his shoulders dropping from their spots high on around his ears. “Fine.”

If anyone was surprised at Kurapika’s acquiescence, they did not comment. Cheadle finished applying a medicinal salve to Leorio’s knuckles and wrapped that hand, as well. He internally mourned whether or not he was going to have to shower and re-wrap his hands, or if he was going to have to put off showering in order to let his hands and body rest.

Cheadle carried on as if none of the others had fought. “Okay, Leorio. You know all this, but I’ll go over it anyway: keep those dry for at least the next twelve hours. I’ll send you back to your room with an antibacterial wash and some extra gauze and bandages to keep it dry and protected. Wash it twice a day, pat dry, do not scratch or pull at the stitches. Take at least three days off to start healing; I’m not having you walk back into the medical wing with your hands a beacon for infection. If I find out you have messed up your stitches or are working I will personally punt you off this boat faster than you can say ‘Black Whale.’ Am I understood?”

God, and he thought he had suffered legendary dressing-downs from his mother. Cheadle was a class in herself. Tiredly, he agreed, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Leorio startled out of his exhaustion-induced fugue when Cheadle pinched his unshaven cheek. Hard.

“Yeouch!” He shouted, jumping slightly. “What was that for?”

“For scaring me,” Cheadle said simply. “And –”

Whatever she was going to say, she suddenly decided not to finish. Instead, she turned to Kalluto. She tucked her knees a little bit to meet them at eye level.

“Hello, there. Kalluto, is it?”

Kalluto’s eyes went a bit wide at the sudden address. They nodded slowly and echoed Leorio with a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.”

“I imagine this has been a lot to take in all at once, Kalluto,” Cheadle said kindly. “I realize I didn’t introduce myself, and I’m sorry about that. My name is Doctor Cheadle Yorkshire, and I am the Chairwoman of the Hunter Association, as well as the leader of the Zodiacs. These are my colleagues: Nana Mizaistom, the Cow, and Kurapika, the Rat.”

“That seems rude,” Kalluto murmured. Leorio laughed out loud; damn, this kid was funny. In the corner, Kurapika frowned, looking like he was wondering if he ought to be insulted or not. The small pout to his lower lip was hard to tear Leorio’s eyes away from.

Cheadle laughed, as well. “We don’t mean it in a rude way. At least usually we don’t. I wanted to ask, Kalluto, if I could give you a short examination? Just a general checkup. It seems to me like you’ve been through quite an ordeal, too.” Kalluto looked unsure, but Cheadle only smiled kindly at them. “You’re under the protection of the Zodiacs now. Not forever; just until you decide what comes next.”

Leorio’s chest swelled in affection. This was what made Dr. Cheadle Yorkshire such a phenomenon in the medical field: she could take in information and make connections rapidly based on her wealth of prior knowledge. True, it was not a difficult conclusion to come to, following Leorio’s harrowing forty-eight hours of captivity and his subsequent break-out holding the hand of a small child. Just the phrase, this is Kalluto, they’re ten and a defected Phantom Troupe member was a massive suitcase to unpack. It meant so, so much to him that Cheadle and Mizai and Kurapika (and why would he be surprised at Kurapika?) would take a look at this kid who had shucked off one of their few bonds in the world and decide, we will look after them together.

Kalluto nodded. “Okay.” They peered up at Leorio. “I’ll see you later?”

Leorio nodded. “Of course. I need to eat and sleep and shower, and then I’ll come find you. Or you can come see me.” The logistics of the issue suddenly came to him. To Cheadle and Mizai, he asked, “Where are they going to stay? Not that I mind you crashing with me, kid, but I’ve just got a single.”

“I will see to the arrangements,” Cheadle said briskly. “Bisky’s room has a pull-out couch, not that I want to subject you to that for the rest of this trip, Kalluto.” Leorio wasn’t sure if she meant the couch or just Bisky, and he decided it was probably both. “Gel, Cluck, and Pyon have a suite. I will check with them first.”

“That sounds good,” Leorio agreed. He pictured the polycule, their casual affection and the warmth that radiated from the trio at all times. Compared to Illumi’s frigidity, they would be a warm summer breeze to a child as isolated as Kalluto. He sent Kalluto a bracing grin. “I think you’ll get along great with them. And I’ll come see you once I feel human again. Sounds good?”

After a few moments’ consideration, Kalluto nodded. “Sounds good.”

Leorio and Kalluto high-fived. Cheadle smiled at them gently. “In that case, I will bring Kalluto up to their suite now and explain the situation. Only what you want to share, Kalluto. Mizai, wrap up this investigation and let the others know Leorio is safe. Leorio, go get some rest. Kurapika…” She faltered for a moment, humming thoughtfully. “Take a few days. I know the Succession War was deeply stressful, and I see no reason you should not take advantage of the same opportunity to rest as your fellow Hunters. Bisky, Melody, Hanzo, and Basho have the week to rest and recuperate. I want us all in top form for the Dark Continent. Dismissed.”

Leorio nodded, standing up for the first time in almost an hour and swaying slightly on his feet. There was a gentle hand at his elbow steadying him. Leorio caught a whiff of eucalyptus. He had not even seen Kurapika move. Leorio jumped slightly in surprise, looking down at Kurapika and meeting his dark-eyed gaze. Misinterpreting his surprise for discomfort, Kurapika quickly withdrew his hand. Leorio felt the loss of his touch like a loss in gravity.

“Will you… be alright?” Kurapika asked awkwardly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I stumbled back to my room too exhausted to think straight,” Leorio tried to joke. In his weariness, the words just sounded dismissive. Internally he winced. “I’ll be fine. I’ll hit the cafeteria on my way to my room and then I’ll pass out on the nearest available horizontal surface.”

“Of course.” Kurapika nodded. His expression was so serious and severe. Up close, Leorio could see the purple shadows under his eyes and the tired lines around his mouth, creasing his forehead.

Kurapika was always so serious, now. What Leorio wouldn’t give to make him smile again. To laugh again.

(Leorio had made him laugh the last time they had been in this room. He recommended Kurapika receive a hug as medicine for his chronic loneliness, mostly to try and cajole a smile from his severe, bone-tired friend. Except Kurapika had laughed, wide and startled, his eyes sparkling, and his smile was blinding, like the sun shining off of water, off of a million mirrors. He laughed and his nose scrunched up like he was a kid (because he was, he was two years younger than Leorio,  and he was carrying the weight of his lost family and culture and revenge on his shoulders and he was nineteen), his cheeks flushed bright pink, and Leorio was gone.

Leorio was so, so gone over Kurapika, and he was not sure when that happened.)

“Will you be alright?” Leorio found himself asking. He did not want to leave this room, this little bubble separated from the world, where he could pretend he and Kurapika had a snowball’s chance.

(That Leorio had a snowball’s chance.)

“Of course,” Kurapika replied stiffly. He stepped away from Leorio, adjusting his suit as he made his way to the door. Leorio could physically feel the chill as Kurapika’s walls of ice went back up.

“Did you…” Leorio started. “Did you finish your… quest?”

A heavy pause. A beat. Kurapika turned to look in Leorio’s direction, his gaze fastidiously focused on the wall behind him so he would not need to meet his gaze.

“Yes.”

Another beat. Leorio wondered if he could quickly look up comforting things to say when your friend/colleague/second love has finally succeeded on his lifelong quest to avenge his massacred clan. At last, he said:

“Uh. Congratulations?”

Kurapika’s lips quirked into a smile. It was not a happy expression. “Thank you.”

It was so clear Kurapika wanted nothing more than to leave this room, and still Leorio found himself asking, “What will you do now?”

What will you do? Where will you go? Will I ever see you again after this expedition, supposing we don’t die?

A laugh. The sound was broken and rusty as it echoed from Kurapika’s chest. He glanced back over his shoulder as he opened the door, the hallway lights shining on his hair and catching at his lashes. Leorio stared, captivated, because for a few moments this beautiful, good, broken man glowed.

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out. Get some rest, Leorio.”

The door swung shut after him, and Leorio was alone again.

Kurapika could not breathe.

He closed his eyes, counting his breaths. He white-knuckled the marble countertop of his cabin bathroom, willing his lungs to keep working and his heart to slow to its usual rhythm.

It’s okay, Kurapika told himself over and over, whispering it, the words lost in the rush of water in the sink. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

He’s okay.

Leorio is safe.

With a deep shudder, he opened his eyes. The sight that had sent him into another tailspin was still there: the sleeve of his suit jacket, soaking in the sink, the water turning crimson from the blood. Leorio’s blood.

(How many times had he done this? How many times had Kurapika rinsed blood out of his clothes? At first because he was on his own, and then to keep laundry workers and dry cleaners unsuspicious? How many times had he washed his hands and his clothes clean of blood and felt nothing? But this, this was different, it was different when it was Leorio’s blood, Leorio who was in danger, Leorio who had nearly died, even indirectly, through his own fault –

Kurapika could not breathe.)

His knees were weak, and he slowly sunk to the floor. Water sloshed over the sides of the sink where the suit lay, muddy red-pink water staining the pristine white tiles, getting in the grout. Blood in the grout was a pain in the ass, Kurapika thought distantly, watching the color soak in. It was Mafia 101: the tiles forget, but the grout remembers.

What kind of life did he lead, that he knew that? What kind of man was he?

Not a man who deserved to bask in the glow that was everything about Leorio. Who else could break themselves out of their own kidnapping with their captor in tow? Who could sit there with his hands broken and bandaged and insist he only wanted the violence to stop? Who could be taken for two days and then comfort literally everyone else in the room over himself?

Leorio gave and gave of himself, and Kurapika only ever took. He wished he could return the favor, even once. Maybe then he could start to balance out his cosmic scales. Maybe he could start to deal with this ache in his chest that he felt whenever he thought of Leorio. Maybe he could at last untangle his mess of a life from Leorio’s, thread by thread.

Maybe then Kurapika would how remember to breathe again.

He sighed. He was no good to himself or to anyone else if he did not get his miserable, bony ass off the floor. So Kurapika gathered up his limbs and picked himself up like so much shattered glass. He used a few towels to mop up the tile, keeping one for his shower. Kurapika showered and re-dressed himself in a fresh suit (slate gray, rather than black, as if anyone would notice – Bisky told him he needed to add more variety to his life and wardrobe) and tucked his hair back into a bun with much more care than he had used the previous few days. After a longer deliberation than the decision merited, he also decided to forgo his contacts.

(Who even cared anymore? Who would even notice?)

Kurapika settled his last button into place, deciding to disregard the tie and opt for something a bit more casual than his usual fare. (Yes, he knew a suit was not casual, but he still felt wary of donning his Kurta clothes for reasons he did not want to delve into, and he rather liked the figure he cut in a suit, so… yeah.) He glanced at his watch and saw it was just after noon. How had this day felt like it was weeks long? Was there something about being in proximity to the Dark Continent that made time go haywire?

With a sigh, Kurapika made his way to the door and… stopped.

Because what did he do now? Where was he supposed to go? He had the next few weeks off, whatever the hell that meant. Kurapika had never taken a day off to rest and relax, not since… Well. He needed to do something with his day that was not stare at his ceiling, or his door, or have panic attacks on the floor of his bathroom. He wracked his brains, conjured up the one person who might be having just as rough a day as he was, and he made his way to the elevators.

The larger rooms were on the upper levels of the deck. Pyon, Gel, and Cluck’s suite was located on the tenth floor of Deck Three, and Kurapika made his way there via the elevator. He hoped he would not run into the rest of the Zodiacs there; Pyon had declared their suite the “hang out spot” for the Zodiacs for the duration of the expedition, considering the polycule’s duties would not begin until arriving at the Dark Continent proper. Kurapika had no problems with the rest of his fellow Zodiacs, but he found he simply could not stomach the idea of noise and bright, bustling warmth.

Fortunately, the suite was relatively quiet when Kurapika arrived. Pyon answered the door, her eyes going wide with good-natured surprise when she saw him on the other side. “Oh, Kurapika! Hello, there! We weren’t expecting you!”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I can imagine. I know I have been… distant, so far in our acquaintance.”

“A little,” Pyon agreed brightly. “But that’s alright! We all warm up at our own pace. Are you here to check on our guest?”

“I am,” Kurapika said. “If that is alright? I don’t want to intrude –”

He cut off with a soft squawk as Pyon laughed over him and gently caught his elbow, pulling Kurapika into the suite. “So formal, Kurapika! We’ve worked together for how long now? Six months? Come in, make yourself comfortable!”

“I – thank you,” Kurapika replied, his voice somewhat strangled. Pyon sent him a mischievous sort of smile that unfortunately struck him as familiar.

“I know Leorio is back, safe and sound,” she confessed conspiratorially. “Rumors say you broke him out, all wa-pow! Very romantic.”

The ridiculousness of the statement made Kurapika laugh, brittle as it was. “The rumors do me far too much credit. Leorio was perfectly capable of saving himself. In fact, he already had by the time Hisoka and I arrived. He likely would have walked into the medical bay to continue his shift if we had not run into each other.”

Pyon laughed brightly. “That sounds just like him! He’s so smart, wouldn’t you agree?” There was a knowing glint to her eyes as she asked the question. “I’m sure you’re glad he’s safe.”

Kurapika tucked his head, feeling stray wisps of hair ticking his temples. It was by no means enough to stave off her notice as he felt himself flushing. Still, he confessed, “I am relieved, yes.”

Pyon smirked, but before she could say more, she directed him into a living area that was surprisingly reminiscent of the Kakin suites two decks above. They were similar in layout and size, if not in style: a large central living area with three bedrooms and a large bathroom branching off of it. Sitting on the floor at the living area’s coffee table was Kalluto, surrounded on three sides by Gel, Ginta, and Melody as they wowed their audience with their rapid-fire origami skills. They finished creating a small bird made of white paper patterned with lilacs to a smattering of oohs and aahs.

Kalluto lifted the paper bird in their hands with surprising gentleness. Kurapika sensed a flash of energy as they imbued the origami paper with Nen, and then the bird took flight. Delicate wings flapped as it fluttered around the room, accompanied by Ginta’s loud exultations of amazement and support and Melody’s soft clapping. The bird settled onto Kurapika’s shoulder. He turned his head to look down at the bird. Its eyeless head seemed to glare up at him reproachfully. Kurapika was uncomfortably aware of the weight of the crushed lotus flower in his pocket.

The noise tapered off suddenly as the group noticed his entrance. Gel and Ginta seemed quietly surprised, Melody pleased, Kalluto cautious. Kurapika slowly approached, sitting on his knees at the opposite end of the table. Kalluto lifted a hand and the hummingbird lifted off of Kurapika’s shoulder and flew over to settle on their outstretched finger.

“Very impressive,” Kurapika told them honestly.

“Thank you,” Kalluto replied. They pulled another piece of paper out of their stack and started folding. Conversationally, they added: “You went after Leorio.”

Kurapika felt the weight of his fellow Hunters’ eyes on him, all curious and speculative. They were like sharks scenting blood in the water, the way they chased after the faintest hints of gossip. So annoying and nosy, like the old Kurta fishwives.

Fondness sparked up in Kurapika’s chest, and for the first time in years, he did not immediately try to tamp it back down.

“I did,” he said.

“Why?” Kalluto asked. They finished a bright blue sheep and wordlessly handed it to Ginta. The gentle giant lifted it in his hands, mouth split into a grin that revealed the gap in his front teeth. He held it up to Gel as if to say, do you see this? I would die for this kid.

Gel smiled and nodded patiently, agreeing, You will.

Kurapika frowned at the question. “Because… he was kidnapped? A fellow Zodiac member? We were all putting in our effort for the search.”

“Mm,” Kalluto hummed. They slid the stack of paper across the table to put it within arm’s reach, silently inviting Kurapika to join in. “But why you?” They eyed Kurapika consideringly. “I asked Leorio for stories about my brother. But you were in almost all of those stories, too. And now you’re here, on this ship, in the Zodiacs, rushing to his aid when he’s hurt, and waiting with him in his sickroom.”

Kurapika tried not to flush from having his entire business thrown out there by a literal ten-year-old. His fellow Zodiacs were watching this exchange with wide eyes, and Kurapika could imagine why. He and Leorio had been distant as of late, through no fault of the doctor’s own. This was their dance, the one they had perfected in the past two years: Leorio would reach out, and Kurapika would briefly engage. Everything would go to shit, and Kurapika would bolt. Rinse and repeat. The two had been walking on eggshells with each other since they joined the Zodiacs. It was a stalemate Kurapika desperately wanted to break, if only he knew how.

Kurapika knew there was just about no way to get out of this conversation with his dignity and reputation intact, so he decided to cut his losses and change the subject entirely. “You know, I also traveled with your brother for some time.”

“I do know that,” Kalluto said carefully. Kurapika felt like he was negotiating prices and lives with other mafiosos. Except Kalluto was miles better than they were. Their casual tone belied the implicit message, make me an offer I can’t refuse.

Kurapika smirked and pulled out his trump card. “Did he tell you about the time Killua super-charged everything in the hotel room to shock him every time he touched something new?”

Kalluto smirked. “He did not.”

Tentative peace achieved, Kurapika reached for a sheet of paper to start folding. He found the repeated action of folding and flipping the paper surprisingly soothing. Stories about his time in the Hunter Exam poured out: the way they all failed Menchi’s cooking challenge, almost losing their chances to be hunters because they did not know what sushi was; the way Killua had personally made Leorio and Tonpa’s life hell while they were trapped in Trick Tower together. He told the story of how Leorio and Killua had a knock-down, drag-out fight over who ate the last chocolate bar and revealed that he had actually split it with Gon in secret, because none of that was their fault. That last story left Kalluto laughing aloud, one hand to their mouth as if to stifle their giggles, the other clutching their aching stomach.

Kurapika registered the quiet awe of the other Zodiacs as he shared these memories. This was the most he had spoken in a single setting since he joined their ranks. They did not need to know it was because he had at last finished his quest that made him take the Hunter Exam, nor did they need to know how much that journey intersected with Leorio’s.

But as Kurapika was learning, they knew all along. It took far too much effort to ignore someone as completely as Kurapika and Leorio toed around each other. There could only ever have been history there.

As the afternoon wore on, Pyon finally quietly interrupted their conversation to suggest they all go to dinner. Kurapika politely declined, stating he was not hungry, and Melody agreed to keep an eye on the room until they returned, citing the recent kidnapping as a reason to guard an empty room. As the door swung shut after them, Melody turned to Kurapika and lifted her brows.

“I know,” Kurapika sighed, attempting to head off her gentle lecture. She answered with a quiet giggle.

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Running through our past several months of conversations, I believe I can summon up the gist of whatever you wanted to say,” Kurapika said.

“Follow my advice, and maybe we can have a new conversation,” Melody admonished, and Kurapika huffed out a soft laugh through his nose.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Melody.”

“I’m serious,” Melody said, peering at him from across the table. “I will just say this once, and then we can put off the topic forever. You’re an adult, and a Hunter, and you can make your own decisions about your life. But Kurapika, you have such a unique opportunity right now to remake yourself. You can at last heal and decide what you want your life to look like. And I want you to have everything you need to do that. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

There was a heavy meaning in that last sentence. Kurapika sighed again, settling his chin on his hand. “I assume you are referring to talking to Leorio about…”

About how he deserves better from everyone in the world, especially me. About how he is kind and funny and brave and handsome and smart and so, so good. About how he is my favorite person. About how he makes me feel safe and heard and like I’m not alone in the world for the first time since I was ten. About how much I’ve missed him and how much I want. Something. That I cannot name, either from fear or truly not knowing how to put the words to these emotions. About how every time I hear his voice or see him or think of him I feel so many things so much it’s all I can do not to glow like a stoplight.

Kurapika waved his hand vaguely. “...You know.”

Melody snickered, sounding in that moment more than anything like the older sister he’d never had. “How eloquent. But I do,” she assured him. “I really hope you do talk to him. One door has closed, and now you get to pick which one opens next.”

She stood up from the table and offered Kurapika her hand, announcing, “We are getting dinner.”

Kurapika swallowed another laugh and accepted her hand, allowing Melody to tug him to his feet. “Do I have a choice?”

“You do not,” Melody replied cheerfully. “We are going to eat dinner, and then you are going to bring something to Leorio.”

Kurapika glanced at her sharply. “I assume I do not have a choice in that, either?”

“No, you have a choice in the latter,” Melody conceded. She smirked up at him. “But I do think Leorio will appreciate the gesture from you in particular.”

Unbelievable. As if the woman had not seen the slow-motion trainwreck that was his and Leorio’s relationship up close.

But then he pictured Leorio looking exhausted and bruised after his ordeal, and he figured that if he could barely succeed in rescuing him – if he were brutally honest, he actually slowed Leorio down by running into him – the least he could do was bring the man dinner.

Which was why an hour later found Kurapika clenching his sweaty palms on this damn tray that the rest of the Zodiacs piled on him after dinner in the cafeteria. Soup and salad and a sandwich, and Kurapika had to summon his chains and use them to knock on the door because he did not trust himself to balance the overladen tray one-handed.

I’m just lucky they didn’t make me bring flowers, too, Kurapika thought irritably. It was taking some time for Leorio to get to the door, and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He felt like a lurker, here in the hallway alone at eight o’clock at night. This was stupid, Kurapika told himself. Leorio had been through hell, and he was probably exhausted. He was probably out cold, and even if he wasn’t, why would he want to see Kurapika? Why would Leorio want him of all people bringing him tomato fucking soup after his ordeal?

This was stupid. This was pathetic. This was hopeless, romantic, sentimental fancy, and Kurapika thought he had grown out of that.

Kurapika had just turned around to leave and give the food to someone else while it was still hot when the door opened.

“Hey, sorry, sorry about the wait, I was just getting cleaned up, I – Kurapika?” Leorio blinked down at him, blatantly surprised.

Kurapika said nothing. His tongue sat frozen to the roof of his mouth, his brilliant mind a tangled disaster of half-formed strings of thought.

Because Leorio was standing in his doorway, a towel hung carelessly over one broad shoulder. He used one end to tousle the damp ends of his hair dry, his arm flexing. Droplets of water trailed over his neck, his collarbones, sprinkled the collar of his navy sleep shirt. He wore the single softest-looking pair of gray sweatpants Kurapika had ever seen, the logo of his medical school emblazoned on the hip. Even taking the shadowy bruise along his neck and jaw and his busted-up hands into account, everything about Leorio was warm and enticing and tempting and –

And sexy.

And fuck. When had that happened? When had Leorio gotten this attractive? How long had Kurapika been trying to ignore the fact that he found Leorio this hot?

And Kurapika realized he had been staring at Leorio wordlessly for far too long, gaping at his closest friend like he had never seen a handsome man before.

“Uhm,” Kurapika cleared his throat and shoved the tray in Leorio’s direction. “The Zodiacs wanted me to bring you this.”

Leorio looked at the tray, with all his favorites that only someone who had known him for as long as Kurapika would know to get. Then he looked back at Kurapika.

“The Zodiacs,” he stated dryly.

There was a smirk on his lips. It brought out the dimple on his left cheek. Kurapika’s brain was a screeching, melting mass of hot metal.

“Yes,” he insisted.

Leorio eyed him warily for a few moments. Kurapika tried not to fidget or change any embarrassing colors, either in his face or his eyes. Suddenly Leorio said, “You’re not wearing your contacts.”

That was not what Kurapika expected to hear. A thank-you, a shout, a door in his face: he thought he prepared himself for all eventualities. But Leorio always observed the fine details Kurapika overlooked or never bothered to think about. He always surprised Kurapika. “Yes.”

A beat. As if he was agreeing with himself, Leorio nodded once. Then he stepped aside.

“Thanks for dinner. Come on in.”

Kurapika mentally rifled through his list of excuses – I’m really too busy. I need to work. Melody needs me for something. Kalluto is teaching me origami. The Succession War is back on. I don’t want to.

But all of those would be lies.

Kurapika released a quiet sigh and felt the first weight of many finally lifting from his chest. “Okay.”

Kurapika was here.

Kurapika was here.

Kurapika was here.

Leorio quickly toweled his hair dry, roughly mussing it up in a nonverbal demand that he get a grip on himself. He shouldn’t be feeling this nervous and excited and flustered over a friend visiting him.

(But it wasn’t just any friend. It was Kurapika.)

Leorio carefully hung up his towel, taking a moment to compose himself before he returned to the main room. When he stepped outside the door, he saw that Kurapika had set the tray down on the one desk in the room. He eschewed the desk’s chair and instead settled onto the footrest of the lone armchair in the corner, his back ramrod straight and his hands clenched in his lap, one leg crossed over the other. Kurapika was glancing out the room’s lone window, considering the view of the fathomless ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. The lamp shining over him cast a golden halo on his hair, his eyes, caught on the ruby earring that dangled from his left ear. The hyper-professional sitting arrangement was comically out of place in the messy room, filled as it was with stray clothes and stacks of textbooks and papers. Leorio swallowed down a surge of affection that filled his chest to bursting.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Leorio told him, walking over to the corner that was lit with warm yellow light. Kurapika peered up at him, dove-gray eyes wide. He looked properly rested for perhaps the first time since Leorio saw him in Yorknew, over a year ago.

“I can leave, if you prefer? I don’t want to intrude –”

“Kurapika,” Leorio interrupted gently, sitting down. “It’s fine. You’re not intruding.”

Stay, he thought but didn’t say aloud. Stay for dinner. Stay the night. Just… please stay, this time. Just this once.

Kurapika did not reply at first. He only sat there, wide-eyed and unsure and very unlike the Kurapika he had grown to know. Which made sense, Leorio supposed. Kurapika had at last finished his hunt for the Eyes, the thing that had kept him going for as long as Leorio had known him. He must be feeling somewhat adrift.

(It made something hot curl in Leorio’s chest to realize that Kurapika had turned to him, after all the chips fell. Something like pride. Something like hope.)

Leorio broke their eye contact, realizing that he was making things weird by just staring at his friend. He focused his attention on the supplies Cheadle gave him, balling up some gauze to try and re-wrap his hands. He winced when his bruises protested the movement. Attempting to switch to the other hand made his stitches pull, and he dropped the gauze with a hiss of pain.

“Okay,” Kurapika finally said. He uncrossed his legs and scooted towards Leorio, holding out his hands. “Give me the supplies. I’ll do it.”

“Oh,” Leorio said. He blinked down at Kurapika. It had not occurred to him to ask for help, and it definitely did not occur to him that Kurapika might offer. The man was looking up at him with a small smile on his lips, one brow arched up. It was a familiar expression of fondly irritated affection that made Leorio’s stomach clench. “That’s okay. I mean, you don’t have to – I mean, that is –”

“Leorio.” Kurapika interrupted his awkward fumbling this time. “I am perfectly capable of this level of first aid. I was there when Cheadle gave her instructions. Let me do this so you can actually eat dinner.”

Leorio could not think of a good argument about why this was not a good idea. Meekly, he slid the supplies towards Kurapika. He cut Leorio to the quick with a glance that asked, was that so hard, and got to work.

Do not make things weird, Leorio told himself over and over. But that was easier said (thought?) than done. There was an odd tension between them, an undercurrent of electricity that hummed under Leorio’s skin and seemed to spark every time Kurapika’s cold, callused fingertips brushed against his. Yet for all their nearness, all their brief moments of incidental contact, it seemed there was an impassable gulf between them. Leorio’s throat was thick and his chest tight with all the things he did not know how to say.

You came after me.

What will you do now?

I missed you.

Why did you never call me?

Please tell me this isn’t just me.

Did you mean what you said that night?

(The night Kurapika happened upon him catnapping at a ridiculously early hour and tossed a blanket over him, confessing, every time I think I’ve hit a wall, I find you, and you smash through everything. I wish my eyes changing when you call was a simple fact of my life and not a catastrophe. How presumptive of me to think you might still be there for me, after all is said and done.)

Kurapika finished wrapping Leorio’s left hand and silently indicated that he offer his right hand next. His fingers were cold but hands gentle against the bruises.

I would be there, Leorio thought. I will be here. As long as you’ll have me. As long as you want me. If you want that. If you want me like I think I want you.

“Leorio?”

He jumped slightly. Kurapika was peering up at him, head tilted to one side. The blond fringe of his bangs flopped over his forehead. Leorio’s hands physically itched to brush it back, just to know what it felt like.

“Yeah?” He asked. Had Kurapika caught him staring like a pining idiot? He was a bit of a pining idiot, of course. He just was not ready for Kurapika to know that.

Kurapika opened his mouth to reply. Snapped it shut. Leorio realized that Kurapika’s fingers were still cradling his hands with a tenderness that belied their strength. At last, Kurapika looked away sharply, pulling his hands back and lacing them together on his lap. The lamplight shone over his profile, highlighting the blush that rose up his neck to his ears.

“You should ice that hand.”

Leorio settled his palms on his knees. “Um. I will. Thanks.”

“Of course.” Kurapika was giving him that look again. Like he might have just as many things to say as Leorio. Like he might be just as terrified to say them. He nodded towards the plate of food. “You should eat. I’ll take my leave. You must be tired.”

He practically leapt to his feet and was halfway to the door before Leorio even processed what he said. Leorio spun around in his chair so quickly it swiveled against the desk, banging his funny bone and making his lukewarm soup slosh over the sides of the bowl. “Kurapika!”

“Yes?” Kurapika’s tone was very deliberately neutral, and his expression equally so. Leorio opened his mouth to speak, words tripping all over each other –

You’ve been here for ten minutes. Why are you running?

You’re not a bother.

Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.

But Leorio knew that Kurapika was in a precarious, delicate position right now. Not that he was fragile, but Leorio thought someone ought to treat him with the tenderness he deserved. He did not need yet another person making demands of him. For once, Leorio wanted to give him the space he needed. For once, he would not push.

So he made himself smile. “Thanks.”

A beat. Slowly, Kurapika smiled back. Leorio could taste its phantom bittersweetness against his lips. He could feel the brittle way it cracked at the corners.

“Of course. Goodnight, Leorio. Feel better.”

Leorio said nothing in reply. He just watched Kurapika go, his slim silhouette backlit from the hallway lights before the door shut behind him. The quiet latch of the automatic lock echoed in Leorio’s head all through dinner. He ate all of his meal, because he was starving, but there was no satisfaction in it. Not when his room suddenly felt so large and so lonely, and Kurapika had left him again, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

Sighing long and hard, Leorio buried his face in the heels of his hands. He ground them into his eyes like that would relieve this yawning chasm in his gut. God. God. This sucked. When had he and Kurapika completely forgotten how to talk to one another? Was that the issue? Or had they simply spent so long avoiding talking about the past two years that they had no idea where even to start?

There was a knock on the door, and Leorio jumped to his feet with embarrassing alacrity. He hoped it was Kurapika with a puppyish hopefulness that he thought he grew out of at sixteen. But he would accept any well-merited teasing if it meant he got to see Kurapika, and talk to him, and hash out just what was happening between them, if there was anything, which there had to be, right, if things were this mutually awkward and weird, and wasn’t that the gist of what Kurapika had been saying, anyway, that night in the Zodiac break room? Except he didn’t know Leorio knew what he said, so his weirdness was maybe coming from somewhere else? Because Kurapika never found a problem without finding a hundred more, that pessimistic, darling man, and Leorio thought he might actually explode from everything if they did not finally just sit down and fucking talk.

He opened the door. Looked down. Saw no one. Looked down further. Saw Kalluto.

They lifted their dark brows. “Sorry I’m not Kurapika.”

Leorio scowled. His glare was undercut by the way he was pretty sure his face was going red. “You know what? You’re worse than Killua.”

“Thank you.” Kalluto glanced into Leorio’s room. “May I come in?”

Leorio sighed like this was some kind of burden to bear, stepping aside and flourishing a hand. “Yeah, come on in, kid.”

Kalluto was noticeably silent as they stepped into the room. It seemed they were alright with the nickname, after all. Their pink gaze swept over the piles of paper and stacks of books. “You’re messy.”

“You’re not my mother,” Leorio snipped back. He let himself play up being more annoyed than he really was. In truth, he was genuinely relieved to see Kalluto and touched that they wanted to check on him.

Kalluto threw themselves into the armchair in the corner, tucking their knees up to their chest. They fiddled with their sleeve hem for a few moments, chewing their lower lip in that way that told Leorio that they were trying to work out what to say. Leorio returned to his desk chair, giving Kalluto space to think.

After a few minutes, Kalluto finally spoke. “Are you in contact with Killua and Alluka at all?”

Leorio noted the addition of Alluka to their question and smiled to himself. “A little. They’re traveling a lot right now, so communication is touch and go.”

He expected Kalluto to ask for more stories about their siblings’ travels. Instead, Kalluto asked, not quite meeting Leorio’s eyes, “Next time you call them… can I join you?”

Leorio’s first thought was, wow, they’ve made a lot of progress in the past day. Though he also recalled that Killua only needed about two and a half positive interactions before he bloomed like a spring violet.

His second thought was, I am going to adopt them as my new youngest sibling and if Illumi ever comes within fifty feet of them again, I will Remote Punch him into the sun.

But he actually spoke his third thought aloud. “Okay. Is now good?”

“Is now – what?” Kalluto squeaked, their calm mien instantly shattering as they sat up straight and looked at Leorio with unadulterated horror. They practically dive-tackled Leorio in the side when he opened his laptop and booted it up. “Nononono, not now!”

“And why not?” Leorio asked, folding his arms over his chest and peering down his nose at Kalluto. Even sitting down, he was a little taller than Kalluto at their full height. “You want to talk to them. So do I. I have the laptop out.”

“Because,” Kalluto blustered, as flustered as Killua when complimented. “Because! It’s not the right time!”

Leorio considered that. It was perfectly understandable Kalluto would experience intense trepidation over reaching out to their estranged siblings. They just escaped a horrible home life and a terror of a brother with naught but their own courage. But Leorio also had firsthand experience with the mess that was debriding a wound that had not healed properly (see: the past twenty minutes of his life). He knew that the longer Kalluto went without starting to mend this bridge between their siblings, the harder it would be to reach out.

“Alright, kid,” Leorio said gently. He leaned forward on his elbows, putting himself below Kalluto’s eye level. “I’m going to be straight with you, now, and give you a little bit of hard-learned life advice.”

“I don’t think you’re straight,” Kalluto hiccupped. Leorio snickered.

“Nice one. I’m not. But I digress.” His expression went somber. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. Ever. Except, like, getting vaccines and maybe eating vegetables and stuff like that. You’ve had enough people doing that so far, I think, and I can imagine you’re pretty sick of that. But I’ve learned the hard way that waiting for the right time also means waiting for a long time. The world doesn’t arrange itself around the conversations we need to have. The stars don’t align to give us signs. There’s never going to be a right time to have a difficult, heart-rending, embarrassing, uncomfortable conversation. So you have to just buckle up and dive in.

“Now, that said, there’s a difference between waiting until the time is right and waiting until you are ready. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. You don’t need to be. You can take as long as you need to decide that. And if you’re never ready, that’s okay, too.” Leorio let himself smile up at Kalluto. “Just take it from me, kid. Don’t let opportunities to make things right pass you by. They’re hard to come by again.”

Kalluto chewed on their lower lip. They stared at the floor under their feet. “What if they’re mad at me?”

“What if they’re not?” Leorio gently countered. “What if they’re relieved?”

“What if I’m mad at them?” Kalluto asked.

Leorio lifted his brows. He was fairly certain he already knew the answer, but he still asked, “Are you?”

“Yes,” Kalluto said right away.

“Then you can tell them that,” Leorio assured them. Kalluto did not look convinced.

“But what if…?”

“Kalluto,” Leorio said, trying to stave off Kalluto’s runaway, anxious train of thought. “You can ask yourself what-ifs until you’re blue in the face. But you’ll never know the answers unless you make that call. There are only two questions that matter here. Do you know what they are?”

Kalluto shook their head. With their chin tucked, their curtain of dark hair obscured their face from Leorio’s view. He did not comment on the defense mechanism.

“Question one,” Leorio started. “Do you want to reach out to them?”

“Yes,” Kalluto answered without hesitation.

“Okay.” Leorio nodded. “Question two. Are you ready to reach out to them?”

A long silence. Kalluto eventually mumbled something, too quiet for Leorio to hear. The nod was enough to hearten him, at least.

“I didn’t quite catch that, kid,” Leorio told them. “What was that?”

Kalluto jerked their head up, a pouty scowl on their lips that did not altogether hide the flush on their pale cheeks. “I said, if you stay on the line with me.”

Leorio blinked. Kalluto once again looked ready for a fight. Vulnerable and angry about it, as Leorio mused before. Yes, that was exactly the way to describe Kalluto when they started to take some of their walls down.

But then he grinned. “Of course. If Killua answers, I’ll give you an introduction, too. I’m sure he’ll be surprised.”

Kalluto hesitated for another few moments. Finally, they nodded. “Okay.”

They sat on the armchair footrest to wait. Leorio smiled at the sight, his chest filling with a fondness that was different from what he felt earlier for Kurapika but that was just as warming. It took only a few minutes for him to boot up his computer, connecting to the Black Whale’s WiFi and hitting the call button on the messaging app.

Leorio rubbed his slightly sweaty palms against his sweatpants, trying to hide his nervousness on Kalluto’s behalf. It would not do for them to see that Leorio was full of his own rising anticipatory nerves. Leorio had unwittingly assumed, yet again, the role of adoptive older brother and sort-of guardian-figure for a kid who deserved better, like the big, soft-hearted fool he was. But he took that role seriously. He wanted to be strong for Kalluto, to give the kid a bit of hope during this time of upheaval, that things might just work out alright in the end.

His heart jumped as the call picked up. The grainy image stabilized into a clear picture, Killua’s face filling Leorio’s screen. He had grown in the months since Leorio saw him last, his cheeks filling in and his shoulders finally starting to broaden. He finally got a haircut, his pouf of white curls looking almost-maintained for once.

Before Killua could speak, however, a second voice shouted over the line. “Kiiiiillua, who is it?”

Killua’s expression of surprise flicked into his usual impishness. Maintaining eye contact with Leorio, he said, “It’s no one, Alluka. Just a creepy old man.”

“Shut up, you little shit,” Leorio told him. Killua may have been close to fifteen, his voice starting to crack and drop, but he was just as much of a jerk now as he was the first day of the Hunter Exam. “Show your elders some respect.”

Killua opened his mouth to reply. Alluka shouted over him before he could speak, launching herself into the frame and bodily shoving Killua aside. “Leorio! It’s so nice to see you! And hear from you! How are you? What’s going on? Where are you? How’s the Black Whale?”

“You know about that?” Leorio asked. This was good, he thought. The conversation was already steering in the direction he wanted. Beside him, Kalluto was knotting their fingers together and pinching anxiously at the skin. Leorio tapped his foot against Kalluto’s in a wordless gesture of support. Just a bit longer, kid. You’re doing great.

“The whole world does,” Killua was saying. To the uneducated observer, his droll tone would make one think he was indifferent to this entire affair. But Leorio could see the furrow between Killua’s blue eyes, the way he glared sharply at Leorio’s picture on his screen, the firm set of his mouth, and he knew that Killua was anxiously listening to all the news he could about the Whale. “The Hunter Association has been blowing up my inbox with it for months, first trying to get more of us to come, and now with daily updates. Cheadle keeps ‘losing’ my unsubscribe requests, I swear. What’s this I hear about you and Kurapika joining the Zodiacs, by the way? Are you two talking again? Did you finally get over yourselves and talk about how you’ve had big gross crushes on each other for years?”

Kalluto was now firmly back in second place on Leorio’s list of favorite Zoldyck siblings. He was spared from needing to think up a reply when his absolute favorite Zoldyck smacked Killua in the head.

“Like you can talk!” Alluka shouted. “All day long, it’s sad faces and sighs! I told you we should visit Gon, but no! You want to give him ‘space,’ like he doesn’t miss you just as much! You pine like a girl in a manga!”

“I do not, shut up, Alluka, you don’t know what you’re talking about –”

“You saw a frog in the rain and you cried. That’s all I need to know.”

Leorio successfully managed to turn his laugh into a cough, and the two guiltily turned their attention back to him. Leorio answered, “Things are okay. The Black Whale is rough. That’s why I was calling, actually. Some things have happened over the past few days that I think you two need to know about.”

Killua’s bratty scowl faded away into a look of concern. Alluka went wide-eyed and asked, clutching her brother’s hand, “What happened, Leorio? Are you alright? You look tired.”

It was telling that Killua did not add a snippy comment. He just looked at Leorio with a steely gaze, silently ordering him to share everything. He looked like he might use his Nen to sprint across the ocean if he did not like what Leorio had to say.

Leorio let out a silent sigh. Killua certainly was not going to like this.

Killua and Alluka were quiet as Leorio shared his story. He essentially repeated what he told Cheadle earlier that day, sticking to the facts and not embellishing anything. He thought the mention of Illumi might upset the two, and he knew he was right as he watched Killua’s face go pale and withdrawn and Alluka’s lips press together.

“And there’s one last thing,” Leorio said after he explained how he managed to escape. “When I got away. I took someone with me. And they would like to speak with you.”

Alluka tilted her head, confused. She and Killua exchanged bemused expressions, like they could not imagine anyone who would want to reach out to them. They briefly conversed via their particular blend of Sibling Telepathy before turning back to the camera. Killua nodded for Leorio to go on.

This was it. Leorio glanced down at Killua, wordlessly asking, Are you ready?

Kalluto swallowed thickly. But when they stood up and looked him in the face, their face was calm and sure. They nodded.

Kalluto stepped in front of the camera, and Leorio pretended he did not see the way they curled their shaking fingers into fists. “Hi, Killua. Hi, Alluka.”

The reactions were immediate.

“Kalluto? Kalluto?! Oh my gosh oh my gosh what are you doing there? You’re on the Black Whale? You’re going to the Dark Continent?” Alluka was shouting, jumping up and down and shaking Killua’s shoulders. She sounded shocked, amazed, excited, anxious, and upset all at once. “Killua, did you know?

“No,” Kalluto said softly. They were staring at Killua’s face on the screen. Killua was staring straight back. “We… haven’t talked for a while.”

“No, we haven’t,” Killua agreed slowly. He eyed Kalluto for several long moments. Then he looked at Alluka, his face going distant and ashamed. Finally, he looked back at Kalluto. “I guess I haven’t been a good big brother to you, either.”

Kalluto blinked hard. Their nails were biting into the meat of their palms, and Leorio knew that as much as he wanted to offer comfort or mediate, this was something the Zoldycks needed to work out on their own. They said, “No. Not really.”

Killua swallowed thickly. “I’m… I’m sorry, Kalluto.”

“You ran.” Kalluto did not sound angry anymore, not the way they had when Leorio first mentioned Killua days ago. They just sounded tired and sad and lonely. Just disappointed.

“Yeah,” Killua agreed. He did not offer any defense, even though Leorio knew that Killua was well within his rights to. But he was not giving Kalluto the fight they weren’t sure they wanted.

“You left,” Kalluto’s voice raised a little, cracked on the second word. “You left, Killua. And when you came back for Alluka you left me behind again.”

Leorio wondered if Killua would point out that he left Kalluto behind that second time because Kalluto was already gone, off with Illumi in the Phantom Troupe. But he also knew that Kalluto was not upset so much about the physical lack of a rescue attempt as they were at the way that Killua had never even checked on them. Had never tried to reach out.

But Killua surprised and impressed Leorio again. He just sent Kalluto a tiny, proud smile. “You left, too.”

Kalluto gulped loudly, using the sleeves of their kimono to swipe angrily at the tears rolling down their cheeks. “I want to be angry at you,” they said irritably. “I am angry at you. But – but I left, I left the mountain and mom and now I left Illumi and I’m alone and I’m scared and I just miss you both. But you left and you never even tried to talk to me afterwards.”

“I know,” Killua agreed. His voice was thick, and Leorio did not think that was because of a poor connection. “I’m… I’m sorry. There… I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will make it better. But I want to be better. Will you forgive me for being a rotten big brother to you, too, Kalluto? Can I try again?”

Leorio was not crying, thank you. The tears rolling down his face and dripping from his nose were completely unrelated to what was unfolding in front of him.

Kalluto wiped their face again and finally nodded. For all the fight they had about this days ago, it seemed now they were only tired and relieved. “Yeah, Killua. Yeah, I’ll forgive you.”

Killua smiled at his computer and used his forearm to wipe tears from his own face. “Thanks, Kalluto. I… I really do miss you. And I’m sorry.”

“Okay, you’ve been depressing long enough,” Alluka announced abruptly, pushing Killua aside so she took up the majority of the screen. “I wanna talk now! Kalluto, how have you been? When did you leave? Where have you gone? I love that kimono, where did you get it? Have you learned Nen? What kind of Nen do you use? Killua’s teaching me, too, we should compare what we’ve learned! You’re so big now, I haven’t seen you since you were three!”

Leorio was going to jump off this ship, swim to shore, run to Kukuroo Mountain, and strangle every single member of this shitty family with his bare hands.

But then Kalluto giggled. Giggled. They sounded like a child at last, and Leorio stood up to let them take his seat. Kalluto scrambled into Leorio’s chair, sitting cross-legged and chattering on with Alluka, too excited and speaking too quickly to even pause and thank him. Their smile met their eyes now, their body language loose and relaxed. They reminded Leorio of a sunflower turning towards the sun after a long storm. Like a blooming spring violet.

Leorio’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out and frowned to see Killua was calling him. Apparently, he also stepped away from the computer to let Alluka and Kalluto catch up.

They did not even look up when Leorio murmured, “I’ll be right back,” and stepped into the hallway. He answered the phone, leaning against the door. “Killua?”

“Leorio.” Killua sounded uncharacteristically serious, even considering the hell that the last year of their lives has been. “I need to tell you something. Are you alone?”

“Uh, yeah?” Leorio said, totally lost now. “I stepped outside, at least. What’s all this about?”

“It’s about Kalluto,” Killua said. “And Illumi. And me, I guess.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Leorio phrased it like a question, but he already knew the answer.

“Nope,” Killua said. “It’s something I learned in East Gorteau. I wanted to mention it before, but...” He trailed off, no doubt thinking about his breathless attempts to save Gon. “It wasn’t the right time.”

Leorio laughed softly. “You really are Kalluto’s brother.”

“Yeah, well.” Killua sighed. He seemed to glean what Leorio meant by that statement without him needing to clarify. “Lot of fucking good that’s done. But shut up and listen to this, because it’s important.”

And he told Leorio about East Gorteau. About the Chimera Ants. About Gon not being able to use Nen, about Killua needing to protect him and being told that he would one day leave him to die (which, great, now Leorio needed to let Bisky have it, too. Did no one here have any idea how to interact with kids?). About the needle.

He told Leorio about the needle he plucked from his own head.

The needle his family put there.

Leorio almost crushed his phone with his bare hands. He fought to keep his temper and his breathing under control.

“I think Kalluto has one, too,” Killua confessed quietly, under the sound of Alluka laughing in the background. “We were supposed to all be assassins, so I think… I mean, I don’t have any proof, but…” He made a wet gulping sound. “I’ll talk to them about this myself. You don’t have to. It’s just, I can’t… I can’t be there for them. I can’t protect them. I would use Godspeed and run across the ocean to them now if I could, but I can’t. I can’t leave Alluka or Nanika, not until I know they can protect themselves without me. But that means I can’t help Kalluto. Please, Leorio. Protect them.”

And Leorio swallowed the sick rage that twisted into something ugly and unrecognizable in his stomach. He thought he might be sick. He thought he might start tearing the Black Whale apart with his bare hands to find Illumi and wring his skinny little neck. He had half a mind to stomp off to wherever Kurapika might be and ask him to help.

But that was not what Kalluto or Killua needed right now. They needed someone to look after them. And it blew him away time and time again that those hurting, isolated, angry kids trusted him to be that person.

“I will,” Leorio promised. He would swear up and down a stack of textbooks, he would made a blood pact, he would make a Nen contract, if it meant keeping this promise. “I swear, Killua. We’ll keep them safe.”

“‘We,’ hmm?” Killua said knowingly, back to being a prick. “So have you talked to Kurapika?”

“Have you talked to Gon?” Leorio countered.

“Low blow, old man,” Killua said. His laugh sounded hollow over the phone, but Leorio did not mention it. He knew a thing or two about longing for someone he watched walk away.

Kurapika was fairly positive he was breaking the rules, being way up here.

With that said, he was also positive he did not care.

He used his swipe card in the elevator to ride all the way up to Deck 1, and from there he broke the lock on an emergency access door to sneak his way to the absolute top of the Whale. The sea was a flat plane of black glass from this height, and the dome of sky above him was deep navy and dotted with thousands of stars. There was a hazy violet curl across the sky as the galaxy circled around them, fathomless in a way he could not comprehend. Closer, the moon hung low in the sky, a waxing crescent that shone preternaturally large at its odd angle.

It was cool out tonight. The sea breezes ruffled his hair and his suit jacket, just on the wrong side of cold this far north. That bite in the air brought something like comfort as he leaned against the deck railing, forearms against the bars and hands laced together. At some point in the past few years, Kurapika realized he equated comfort and warmth with danger and not paying attention. Yet another hopeless, miserable tangle of thoughts and emotions that warred in his head and his chest that he needed to start putting to rights.

The fresh air was a welcome relief against Kurapika’s flushed skin. Whenever he closed his eyes, he pictured Leorio in front of him, tall and handsome and kind. He could feel Leorio’s warm skin against his fingertips. Kurapika had briefly toyed with the notion of using Emperor Time to heal Leorio’s hands, thinking it was the least he could do after his own carelessness threw Leorio into harm’s way. But with Leorio so close, he decided against it. These past few days taught Kurapika the worth of every single second. He would not trade them away for anything, not anymore. He would not trade away another hour of his life that he could spend with Leorio.

(Not – not like that. Not really. Or maybe yes, really, a little? Kurapika wanted Leorio in his life, for as long as Leorio would have him. But then he wondered how long that really was.)

But Kurapika was getting himself tangled in the weeds as always. Overthinking everything that crossed him and making up new problems when he already had enough on his plate. And his plate was already so full: the Phantom Troupe was aboard the Whale, plotting and making moves; Hisoka was apparently not dead; Kalluto Zoldyck defected from their family and the Troupe, leaving a very pissed-off brother behind; he and Leorio were walking on eggshells with each other, every breath and interaction tipping their tentative balance; his quest was over, the last of the Eyes gathered, and now, at almost twenty, Kurapika’s life could start.

Kurapika inhaled, closing his eyes against the ethereal beauty and heartbreaking loneliness of the dark ocean around him. He tried to put aside his feelings and focus on the facts. Cold and logical.

One: loathe as he was to agree, Kurapika knew Mizai had a point, and going after the Phantom Troupe right now would be a death sentence for half of their Hunters and a great deal of innocents onboard. The Spiders had never cared about casualties before and there was no reason to believe they would start now. For now, it seemed they were all at a stalemate. Kurapika would not upset that balance of power and allow uncounted innocents to be caught in the crossfire. He would follow Mizai’s orders and stand down.

Two: Hisoka was alive. Unpleasant and annoying as he was, he had never lied to Kurapika before. He trusted Hisoka enough to believe him when he claimed he meant Kalluto no harm. In any case, Hisoka disappearing back into the lower decks with his ability to change his appearance at will meant that looking for him would be akin to digging for a needle in a haystack. No, thank you. Their energies were best spent elsewhere.

Three: Kalluto Zoldyck was now under the Hunter Association's care and protection. At the very least, that created a verifiable wall of protectors and guardians around the child, making it difficult for Illumi to come after them. In any case, Kalluto had quickly latched onto Leorio, and Kurapika knew that Leorio would sooner die rather than let Illumi get his claws back into his youngest sibling. Which meant that now Kurapika needed to keep an eye on both of them for threats, because he could not allow anything to happen to Leorio or Kalluto.

Four: Leorio. Just thinking his name made Kurapika’s heart rate increase and his stomach flip. He decided not to think about that right now.

Five: the Eyes. The Eyes. His family’s eyes. His brother’s eyes.

All at once, it hit Kurapika. It was over. It was all over. His journey, his quest, his hunt, his reason for waking up each day. The Spiders were alive, so he had not finished everything, there were still more people on Kurapika’s list, but…

But he had finished the most important part. He had the eyes. Kurapika had the eyes.

Kurapika had his dead brother’s eyes floating in a jar in his room.

And then Kurapika’s face was buried in his hands, and he was weeping for all he was worth. Great, gasping, full-body sobs that left him choking and wrecked and unable to breathe. They were noisy, almost inhuman in their volume and emotion and pain and Kurapika actually collapsed against the railing, his knees too weak to support him. He sobbed and it was loud and he was alone, alone, alone, as alone as he had been since he was ten years old and he found his clan massacred.

How fitting that he started this journey alone, and ended it that way, too. And he was too tired and worn to do anything but weep for it. For what he lost, for what he gave of himself to get his revenge. He gave years of his life, his soul, his childhood, the cleanliness of his hands, his innocence. The Phantom Troupe took so much, but Kurapika gave the rest of himself away. And now here he was, a broken, lonely man with half-a-dozen kills to his name at age nineteen, sailing off the map in a massive cruise ship shaped like a fucking whale.

It was all so sad. So tragic. So absurd that all Kurapika could do was laugh at himself and what a fool he was. He once claimed his greatest fear was that the rage inside him would fade away. And now it had. If he was honest with himself, it had faded long ago. That burn for revenge, to scorch the earth the Phantom Troupe walked and salt the dirt afterwards, had long faded to ashes. And it burned him away, too. Kurapika hiccupped out a laugh. How pathetic. He hated himself. He hated everything about himself, everything he did and was. He hated his selfishness and his loneliness and his greed and his cruelty.

So this is rock-bottom, Kurapika mused. His laugh could cut glass.

Then there’s nowhere to go but up, is there? Replied a voice in his head. It sounded like Leorio, and Kurapika gave a weak chuckle. He missed Leorio. He was tired and miserable and lonely enough to admit that. He missed Killua and Gon and Leorio down to the last shreds of his withered soul.

I’m sorry, Kurapika thought, unleashing a fresh wave of emotions and breaking down all over again. He was grateful he was alone up here, if he was going to be blubbering like this. The air chilled his tears as they rolled down his cheeks. I’m so sorry. I would do it differently, if I could go back.

Kurapika wasn’t sure if that was a lie. But he knew he hated everything about himself and the world in this moment enough to wish it was true.

Eventually, he sat back onto his haunches, resting against the wall and looking up at the sky. He felt so small out here. It was comforting and lonely all at once.

So this is rock bottom, Kurapika mused. He chewed some gum like some of the older mafiosos smoked a cigarette. Removing a handkerchief and wiping it over his face, he wondered what to do now. What he wanted. He pulled his phone from his pocket and found himself scrolling through his contacts list as if he would find an answer there. The person he wanted to talk to the most was two decks below him, busy taking care of the Zodiacs’ newest charge. And Kurapika was not sure how to talk to Leorio about any of this. He had no idea how to start.

Kurapika scrolled down further, scanning his depressingly short contacts list. Most of his saved numbers were fellow Hunters aboard the ship and Nostrade personnel. But then he arrived at the G section and paused.

Nowhere to go but up, Kurapika thought, and he hit the call button.

There were two rings before the call connected. The exuberant, surprised tone was familiar even if the voice itself was not. Kurapika recalled that of course Gon must have grown in the past year.

“KURAPIKA?!” Gon shouted into the receiver. Kurapika smiled, pulling the phone a few inches from his ear to salvage his hearing. “Kurapika, is that you? Are you okay? Wait, was this on purpose? Was this a butt-dial? Can you hear me? Kurapika? Kurapikaaaaa!”

Realizing Gon was just going to keep going until he was interrupted, Kurapika said, “Yes, Gon, it’s me.”

Gon’s reply was a shout of joy that Kurapika might have heard across the ocean. “Kurapika! It’s so nice to hear from you! I’ve missed you so much, I’m sorry I haven’t been good at staying in touch, there was this thing in East Gorteau and ants and I got hurt (I’m okay now!) and I can’t use Nen so now I’m home on Whale Island resting and being homeschooled. Kurapika, do you know how to do calculus? Or algebra?”

Kurapika put a hand to his mouth as Gon prattled on, too excited to even realize that he was not giving Kurapika room to answer. Warmth was sparking up in his chest like a knife to flint. He was a fool to have thought that Gon would resent him for his distance. If Kurapika was not angry at Gon for not keeping in touch, why would Gon be angry with him in turn? Wasn’t this friendship? Missing one another when they were gone, giving them empathy and compassion and the benefit of the doubt, and smiling when they came back? Picking up where they left off?

This was friendship. Kurapika was woefully out of practice, but he wanted to get better. He wanted to try, for Gon and Killua and Leorio.

(If friendship was so easy when it came to Gon and Killua and Melody, why, then, was it always so hard to do the same with Leorio? It seemed he could pick himself up and mend bridges with everyone in his life he left behind except for him.)

Nearly an hour passed on the uppermost tier of Deck Five as Kurapika sat listening to Gon and watching the moon travel across the sky. Gon told him about his classes, and his treks into Whale Island’s forests, and his slow re-training with Nen. Kurapika noticed that Gon refrained from mentioning Killua at all, and that observation jarred him. It was like happening upon a beach with no sand, or a reef with no fish. It felt wrong.

“Oh, and I found my dad!” Gon added, almost like an afterthought. He sounded so nonchalant about finally finishing his hunt, his whole reason for becoming a Hunter, that for a few moments Kurapika was positive he misheard. But then Gon was rambling on, saying, “We met at the top of the World Tree! It was amazing, Kurapika, I climbed all the way to the top on my own, it was really hard, it took me half an hour, maybe? And there were these amazing birds at the top. They were adorable! So fat and round, I took a picture and I think I sent it to you? Check your phone, they were so cute and fluffy and –”

“Um,” Kurapika said, not quite interrupting but something close to it. “You found your father?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah!” Gon cried.

There was a pause where Kurapika waited for Gon to say more. After the years Gon wondered about who his father was and why he left, and the months of searching for him, Kurapika thought this would have been a bigger deal. “And… how was it?”

“Fine,” Gon said simply. He was quiet for another few seconds, thinking about what to say. “It’s like… I mean… we talked. About my adventures. His travels. The things he’s done and seen. He has a really cool life. He told me all about the Dark Continent. I wish I could have come with him.”

“Wait,” Kurapika said, “Your father is on this ship? Ging is on the Black Whale?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gon said conversationally. “He wants to explore whatever is on the Dark Continent.”

Kurapika hummed thoughtfully. He remembered Gon as he was the first day they met, a weedy boy of twelve with a grin like the sun, ready to take on the world with nothing but a fishing rod. The boy who looked at the captain and Leorio and Kurapika and said he wanted to be a Hunter, just like his dad, because it had to be such a cool job if it meant leaving him behind, right? Leaving him behind and never looking back or bothering to keep in touch? Setting up an increasingly ridiculous, elaborate, and convoluted series of events, forcing his son to jump through hoops and travel the world and get himself kidnapped and beaten and almost killed until he met Ging’s standard of a Hunter?

Surely being a Hunter was worth that.

And now Ging was on this ship. Kurapika would not forget that.

“Were you glad to see him?” Kurapika finally asked, breaking their warm bubble of silence.

“Yeah!” Gon replied immediately. Kurapika did not need his Dowsing Chain to know Gon was not being entirely truthful. “It’s why I became a Hunter! So to finally meet him and accomplish what I set out to do was really cool.”

He fell quiet again. Kurapika tilted his head back to take in the entirety of the sky. Softly, he confessed, “I accomplished what I set out to do, too. I found the Eyes.”

Gon did not reply immediately. When he did, it was with a tact that surprised Kurapika. “And the Spiders?”

“Also on the Black Whale, funnily enough,” Kurapika said with a humorless chuckle. “It’s crowded.”

“I bet.” Gon made a soft humming sound. “Have you seen Leorio? I heard you two joined the Zodiacs and are there. Have you talked?”

Kurapika knew Gon did not just mean catching up. He made a face up at the moon, wondering if he really was the last person in the world to realize what he felt for Leorio was more than platonic. He confessed, “Not yet. I admit, I… I’m not sure where to start. It’s been so long, and I’ve let so many people down. Including you, Gon. I apologize.”

“It’s okay!” Gon chirped. “Kurapika, you know I was never angry at you, right? I was worried and concerned, but never mad. Besides… we all go our own ways. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, too.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I messed up a lot of things. With… with Killua. I said some really awful things to him, and I apologized, but we’re still. It’s not the same. Nothing’s the same, and I don’t know how to make it right.”

Nothing’s the same. Kurapika pictured Leorio sitting across the Zodiac conference table, pen between his teeth as he listened to Cheadle’s presentation thoughtfully. He thought of Leorio in his scrubs taking Oito’s pulse and making Woble laugh. He thought of Leorio, bruised and exhausted, trusting a killer like Kurapika to tend to his wounds. Nothing’s the same, and I don’t know how to make it right.

Kurapika sighed. “I don’t know how to make it right, either, Gon. But I’m… I’m here for you while you figure that out. If you’ll have me.”

Gon laughed wetly. “I know.” He was quiet for a long minute. “You know, Ging gave me two good pieces of advice when I talked to him.”

It was probably the only two things that man ever did for his child, but it was not Kurapika’s place to comment on that. Instead, he asked, “And what are those?”

“The first was about apologizing. Say you’re sorry, and say how you won’t do it again. And the second was about hunting.” Gon took a breath and quoted, “‘You should enjoy the little detours. Because that’s where you find the things more important than what you want.’”

The words hit Kurapika like a punch to the gut. A bullet to the chest. For a moment, he could not breathe.

I wish we were told there were things more important than that thrill. I wish we were told that it wasn’t always worth it. Because there are some things that you can’t hunt for.

You should enjoy the little detours. Because that’s where you find the things more important than what you want.

What was more important than what Kurapika wanted? He thought he would have nothing when he ended his quest. Nothing but blood and calluses on his hands and disembodied scarlet eyes in jars.

But that was not true, Kurapika finally realized. He was not quite at rock bottom, not really. He was surrounded by his fellow Hunters and Zodiacs, people who he knew cared for him, even if he was an annoying, dramatic bastard most of the time. He was sitting on the deck of a massive ship and talking to his friend. His younger brother.

Gon (and Killua, and perhaps Kalluto and Alluka in time) were not replacements for Pairo. The Hunters and Zodiacs were not replacements for the Kurta. They never could be. But they were there. Kurapika spent so long agonizing over what he thought he needed and what he knew he wanted that he had not realized that the most important things were right in front of him.

He realized that while he was looking for revenge, the things he needed were slowly filling up the vacuum the loss of his clan left behind. He sought revenge and found instead connection, compassion, a new, chosen family, love.

Kurapika found love. And maybe he fell into it, too. Just a little. Just enough.

“Gon,” Kurapika said softly, “Thank you for telling me that. If you don’t mind, though, there is… another call I need to make.”

Gon giggled knowingly. “Leorio?”

Kurapika sighed, feeling somehow very old and very young and mostly put-upon. “Yes. Will you call Killua?”

Gon hummed sadly. “We talk. It’s… it’s enough, Kurapika. It’s enough for now. I was so greedy for so long. I need to be a better friend. Until then… it’s enough.”

“I see,” Kurapika murmured. “You know, Gon. I’m proud of you.”

Gon laughed. “For what? I almost got myself killed, and almost killed Killua, and lost my Nen, and I failed three algebra quizzes in a row.”

“Because you are kind,” Kurapika said softly. “Kind in a world that very much is not. That is an accomplishment, regardless of all others.” He smiled faintly. “Though you should keep studying for algebra.”

“I ammm,” Gon whined. There was the sound of rustling pages. “I’ll do that now. Will you… can we talk again, soon? At least before you get to the Dark Continent?”

Kurapika smiled. “Yes, we can. Goodnight, Gon.”

“Night, Kurapika!” Gon said, and the call ended. Kurapika took a long breath. He was exhausted, but he also felt lighter than he had in years. Before he could lose his nerve, and mourning his phone bill, he tabbed back to his contacts list and started another call.

This time, the call made it halfway through the first ring. A moment later, Leorio spoke: “Kurapika?”

“Leorio,” he said, his heart leaping into his throat. He thought, this is a bad idea. He thought, be brave. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Leorio. We need to talk.”

A pause. “Yeah.” Kurapika wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried by Leorio’s easy acquiescence. “When?”

Kurapika swallowed. As soon as possible, hew knew. As he considered it, Leorio asked, “Where are you?”

“Deck Five,” Kurapika said. He watched the lavender swirl of the galaxy pass through a series of clouds. It looked like curls of glitter passing through heavy, viscous liquid. “High as you can get. It’s a nice night.”

Leorio grumbled something softly. There was the sound of rustling fabric over the line. “Well, at least it’s not the lower decks. Stay there; I’m on my way.”

Kurapika let out a sound that was embarrassingly reminiscent of the squeak of his Zodiac designation. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean now – you’re busy, and healing, and you need to rest, and it can wait, really –”

“I can’t,” Leorio said, and there was something in his tone that sent a shiver straight down Kurapika’s spine. Whether it was nerves and/or something more, he was not sure. In a lighter voice, Leorio said, “In any case, I was already up. I took a nap earlier, so I’m wide awake. And I just dropped Kalluto off at their room, so I’m out anyway. I’ll be there in a few.”

Kurapika swallowed thickly. He wanted to make himself speak, but he was unsure if he was loud enough to even be heard over the distant waves. So Kurapika simply ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket. Gingerly, he stood and returned to his position at the deck railing to wait.

Leorio did not keep him long. Less than five minutes later, the door opened behind him.

“You weren’t kidding when you called this as high as you can get,” Leorio grumbled, kicking the door shut behind him. “We’re, what, fifty stories up?” He tilted his head back, taking in the view of the night sky. He let out a long, low whistle. “It is a great view, though.”

Kurapika did not reply immediately. Leorio did not look any different from the last time they saw one another a few hours ago. He was still in his sweatpants, an open zip-up hoodie thrown haphazardly over his shirt. Kurapika suddenly realized that while he had seen Leorio in suits and scrubs and covered in sweat and blood, this was the most casual he had ever seen his friend. Kurapika drank in the sight of him with greedy, hungry eyes, committing this sight to memory. Depending on how this conversation went, there was a very real chance Leorio would never be so relaxed around him again.

(Except he wouldn’t, Kurapika knew. No, his real worst-case scenario was that he would tell Leorio the way he made him feel, and Leorio would smile sadly and say, sorry, K’pika, but I’m tragically straight, but we can be friends? And he would mean it, and nothing would change, and Kurapika hated that, because he watched Leorio crane his neck back to take in the night sky and he realized that he really, really wanted things to change. He wanted everything to change.)

“Yes,” Kurapika agreed, and he was not talking about the ocean view. Leorio finally met his gaze. Slowly, he meandered to the railing with Kurapika, mirroring his position leaning against the railing. The white bandages glowed in the moonlight. Kurapika had to tear his gaze from the way Leorio’s forearms flexed. “How is Kalluto?”

“Surprisingly good,” Leorio said easily, like there wasn’t a brick wall a mile high between them. “Seems like, for all the terrible upbringing, the Zoldycks share the same resilience. Kalluto will need some time to really decompress and unlearn everything…” Here, Leorio trailed off, his expression stormy in a way Kurapika could not fathom. “...But I really think they’ll be okay. All of them. Though I want to keep an eye on them.”

“As do I,” Kurapika confessed. He sensed Leorio studying his profile. “I called Gon.”

“Really?” Leorio sounded genuinely, if happily, surprised. “How is he? I just got off the phone with Killua and Alluka not too long ago myself.”

“He is well,” Kurapika said. “Making friends with woodland creatures. Re-learning Nen. Failing algebra.”

“I adore that kid,” Leorio said fondly. “Did he mention Killua?”

“Not until I asked,” Kurapika said. He tilted his head up at Leorio, sensing this was another story he had missed when he was gone. “He was light on the details. What happened there? A falling out?”

Leorio eyed him warily. “Something like that. Killua was quiet about the details, too.”

Kurapika could relate. Leorio gently nudged him with his elbow. “But I don’t think you called me up here to talk about Killua and Gon.”

He laughed weakly. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

“You never took the easy way out,” Leorio said, and there was such fondness and sadness in the phrase that Kurapika wanted to hug him. He grinned weakly down at Kurapika. “Why start now?”

Kurapika scoffed out a weak laugh. That was fair enough. He looked up at Leorio, saw the way his skin went silvery in the moonlight. He was beautiful, Kurapika realized. Or remembered. Leorio had always been handsome, all strong, sharp features and beautiful eyes and smile. He had always been so kind. And Kurapika counted himself so lucky he got to spend a little time basking in his light before his entire life went to hell.

But now that was over. And Kurapika had at last learned, for better or worse, and hopefully not too late, that there were more important things than revenge.

“I owe you an apology, Leorio,” Kurapika finally said after a few minutes of quiet companionship under the moonlight. “And an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Leorio immediately told him. His larger, broader shoulder knocked against his. “But I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

Kurapika looked up, meeting his gaze. Leorio smiled, a soft, precious thing. Kurapika wanted to cradle it into his chest before it was gone forever.

But Kurapika knew that this was the way forward. He sighed, looking out at the rolling, midnight-blue waves below them.

“I suppose I should start with my Nen,” Kurapika said at last. “There’s… something I never told you about it.”

And Kurapika told him. He told Leorio everything. Every underhanded, dishonorable thing he had done to find the last of the Eyes. The money and favors that changed hands. The violence. The blood. The sleepless nights. The tears he never let fall until tonight. Emperor Time. An hour for a second. Three years gone, just like that.

Kurapika finished his tale. For several long minutes, they stood in silence. Kurapika knew he had thrown a lot at Leorio very quickly; it had to be a lot to take in. So he did not push and simply waited for the cards to fall where they willed.

Finally, Leorio spoke. “Wait. I’m confused.”

Kurapika had not been expecting that. “How so?”

“The Emperor Time thing,” Leorio said slowly. “Because… like, how does that work? Do you know when you’re going to die? Does this operate on some life expectancy average? Or does your Nen know something we don’t about longevity? Because life expectancy is based on how well you take care of yourself. So, I mean, if you change…” He thought for a moment, trying to find a tactful way to phrase his next sentiment. “...everything about how you take care of yourself, you can still live a long, happy, healthy life, can’t you?”

Kurapika gaped up at him. This was… not what he was expecting. “This isn’t an after-school special, Leorio.”

Leorio snorted, the irreverent, beautiful bastard, “I know you’re trying to cow me, but one, I’m the Boar, and cowing is very much Mizai’s territory –” and, dammit, Kurapika wanted to be annoyed, but he was too fond of Leorio to do more than scoff. “– and, two, I’m just glad you get that reference now. I’m so proud.”

Kurapika frowned up at Leorio, light of his life and pain of his ass. “This is not a joking matter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to laugh when you told me you were trading whole hours of your life in exchange for stupid amounts of power,” Leorio snapped back, his famous temper flaring. His brows furrowed and nostrils flared in that way that Kurapika was so annoyed by and so fond of. This man had absolutely no poker face and Kurapika adored him for it. “Want me to do that now? Crack a joke?”

“Not particularly,” Kurapika said. It was heartening to know Leorio could still annoy him like this. Relieving to know that while everything had changed, and would keep changing, Leorio would always be able to goad him like no one else. He stood up to his full height, as high as Leorio’s shoulder, readying himself to give as good as he got

“Good.” Leorio said, “Because I’m so. Angry? Livid? Pissed? Upset? I need a few minutes to work through it. But I’m so angry at you right now. Because how can you think that no one cares about you? How exactly did you expect me to respond when you told me this? Was I not supposed to be upset about the time you traded away? Was I not supposed to argue that your life matters? That I wish you hadn’t done that, like it would change the past?

“Because that’s not what I’m upset about. Or angry about. All of it.” Leorio glared down his nose at him. “No, what I’m really annoyed and frustrated about is that you seem to think you have to put yourself through all these hoops to earn back something that was never lost. Because you don’t earn love and affection, Kurapika. It’s given. Unconditionally. Unequivocally. Even when that person is being a fucking suicidal, melodramatic, god-damned moron.”

Kurapika glared up at him, almost growling around his blush. “Maybe I want to make amends.”

Leorio’s scowl turned to a glower. He knocked his forehead against Kurapika’s, steady pressure and irritation. “Maybe your amends aren’t fucking necessary. Maybe the people in your life want you to just be happy and, I dunno, alive. Maybe that’s not what I want out of all this. Maybe I don’t want our paths to be just a brief intersection of our lives. Maybe I want you around and not dead, asshole! Ever think of that? Hmm?”

For a second, Kurapika was totally lost. The phrasing was too reminiscent of something he had once said, except then – Leorio was - but he –

A shudder of shock and horror and embarrassment coiled itself in Kurapika’s stomach.

“You bastard,” Kurapika snapped up at Leorio. “You heard me? You were awake?”

“Yeah, I was awake!” Leorio yelled. Which was totally unnecessary, as they were mere inches apart. Kurapika could taste the mint on Leorio’s breath.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me!” Kurapika shouted back. He ground his forehead into Leorio’s. “I wouldn’t have said all that if I knew you were awake!”

“Yeah, that much was pretty fucking obvious! That’s why I didn’t tell you!” This was such a stupid fight. Nothing about this was going the way Kurapika had hoped. But Leorio was there, so warm and so close, and Kurapika had missed this man so much, down to his damnable temper and stubbornness. “Because I wanted to hear you! Besides, how was I supposed to tell you I was awake afterward, huh? How was I supposed to tell you that I was awake and I heard you and that you’re stupid, because you’re the amazing one, you’re the one who shines, you’re the one on the upward trajectory, and I’m the one who was broken and lost until I met you, and I was the one who wished things had been different –”

It was so easy. It was so incredibly, alarmingly easy. It was a matter of shifting the angle, of lifting his chin – and Kurapika had aligned his mouth against Leorio’s like it was meant to be there.

His lips were so soft against Kurapika’s, so perfect. And Leorio only hesitated in a moment’s surprise before responding, all warm hands and hot mouth and Kurapika weakly clutched at the zippers of Leorio’s jacket. One of Leorio’s hands caught Kurapika along the jaw, just below his ear, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck; the other snaked around Kurapika’s middle to lay against his lower back, palm flat against his dress shirt and pulling him flush against Leorio’s taller frame.

Everywhere was heat. Leorio’s body, his hands, his mouth. He met walls of ice, and Kurapika melted.

Yes, finally, yes, yes, Kurapika thought, unable to do anything but cling to Leorio and return the kiss that he started. It did not share the bumbling awkwardness of a first kiss, nor was it full of the desperation of a last kiss. It was, in the possible best way, a middle kiss. It was filled with completely misplaced familiarity and adoration, without a hint of rushing or exploration. Why explore something that is so well-known already? Why rush when they had all the time in the world?

To say this was not what Leorio expected when he met Kurapika at the top of the Whale would be an understatement.

And he very deliberately went into this conversation with no expectations. Kurapika was always a wildcard, always throwing Leorio off-balance and surprising him in the worst and best ways. He encapsulated that tonight, finally telling Leorio just what he did in those two years of radio silence. They turned the highest tier of the Black Whale into a confessional, and Leorio listened as Kurapika purged the blood and bile from his lips.

He listened, and it broke his heart, and it enraged him.

Because Kurapika did this alone. He walked through a hell that was not of his own making, and he refused any help or support. Even when it was so freely offered, even when accepting it could have lowered the cost on Kurapika’s soul and literal life expectancy.

Yet the very reason Kurapika traveled it alone was because it was hell. The stubborn fool. The idiot. The most selfishly selfless man Leorio had ever known. He was not Leorio’s first love, but he was his second. Leorio met Kurapika a jaded, cynical mess of a young man, but he was changed for the better for knowing him. He met Kurapika, and it took less than a month for this petite spitfire to completely upend his entire life. It took less than a month for him to tattoo his name on the chambers of Leorio’s heart, and Kurapika held that claim ever since.

Leorio had tried to move on and find someone else. He knew that Kurapika might never return his feelings. He never thought he would meet someone who made him feel like this, this annoyed and furious and worried and warm and protected and happy –

And then Kurapika kissed him.

And Leorio’s world came undone.

Because it had to be a dream, it had to be a mistake or a misunderstanding or some bizarre power play to get him to finally shut up. For a moment Leorio wondered if he was the one who actually initiated the kiss, because he’s wanted to kiss Kurapika for literal years now and he had a daydream or a hundred about kissing this darling, stupid, short man in exactly this kind of situation.

But then Leorio tangled his hand in Kurapika’s hair, finally, finally feeling those soft, fine strands tickling between his fingers. He pulled Kurapika close, hand against his back and feeling the heat of his skin and the strength in his wiry frame (he knew Kurapika could kill him as easily as blink or breathe, and Leorio was into it). It was wonderful. It was better than all his dreams put together.

And then Kurapika kissed him back. He stood on his tiptoes, pressed the line of his body against Leorio’s. His hands caught on the flaps of his jacket to balance and pulled, drawing Leorio as close as he was physically able. Everything about him was soft and inviting and pliant in Leorio’s arms, so different from the Kurapika he knew in everyday life. He let Leorio take the lead in this kiss, and he answered sweetly, perfectly. His teeth grazed against Leorio’s lower lip, and somehow that made him realize this was real, this was happening, this was finally, finally happening, he was kissing Kurapika like he’d wanted for years and Kurapika was kissing him back like he had wanted exactly this for exactly as long as Leorio.

At last, Leorio slowly pulled away for a breath, peppering Kurapika’s lips with some last, lingering kisses that left him putty in his hands. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Kurapika as never before, all half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. Leorio ran his thumb over his cheekbone, tracing the line of freckles he only got to see with Kurapika pressed forehead-to-forehead with him (this position was not new for them; only the reason for it). He wanted to kiss each one of those adorable freckles.

For the first time, Leorio really, truly realized that Kurapika might just let him. That he might just want this, too.

For the first time in a very long time, Leorio realized that something in his life might turn out exactly as it should.

Kurapika’s eyes were such a dark red that it was difficult to distinguish between the iris and pupil: a deep, rich burgundy, like wine. Leorio watched, exasperated and so, so enamored, as Kurapika’s pale skin flushed dark enough to almost match. Weakly, he pressed against Leorio’s chest.

“I – um, I – I’m sorry, I had not brought you up here for – that is – I should –” Leorio had never seen Kurapika this flustered, including the nights they shared a room together. It was insanely charming. He pushed weakly against Leorio again, but he did not budge.

“Uh-uh,” he said, grinning wickedly. Kurapika glared up at him, all red cheeks and pink lips and Leorio needed to expend real self-control not to kiss him again, much less sweetly this time. “You call me up here, say we need to talk, throw all that at me, kiss me, and then try to run? I never took you for a tease.”

“I – that is not the point!” Kurapika squawked, poking Leorio in the chest. He tore his gaze from Leorio’s and instead stared out at the ocean. “Fine. This is not my finest moment. But…”

Kurapika looked like he was a few seconds from bolting over the side of the ship. Leorio laughed to himself, his fingers still running over Kurapika’s skin. He followed the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing his ear, tracing the slope of his neck. He felt Kurapika’s skin heat under his fingers, his pulse jump. It was an incredible ego boost, if he was honest.

“This isn’t a catastrophe, Kurapika,” Leorio assured him quietly.

“I know!” Kurapika hissed. “I know that, I do, it’s just… I just… and you! You…”

He trailed off, embarrassed and awkward. Leorio smiled and slowly untangled himself from around Kurapika. He kept his hands braced against the railing behind Kurapika’s back, caging him in as if he could ever make Kurapika do something he did not want to. Kurapika sent him a glare that told Leorio he knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not comment on it. Not that words were necessary. He was still holding onto Leorio’s jacket, fingers clasped loosely and mindlessly trailing over the soft material. Driving Leorio quietly insane was probably incidental, he was sure.

“So…” Leorio started after several minutes of silence that was not quite companionable, but nor was it tense. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Leorio blinked. Kurapika glared up at him, cheeks still scarlet and eyes dark. Somehow, he had not expected Kurapika to come out and say it so bluntly. Which was ridiculous, because Kurapika was always straightforward and honest and blunt, even when diplomacy would suit him better.

“Why?” He asked. His throat cracked, and he cleared it. His mouth was suddenly dry, too, and he ran his tongue over his lips. Kurapika’s eyes honed in on the movement like a hawk. Leorio’s breath froze in his chest.

“Because!” Kurapika snapped, sounding annoyed. Leorio knew him well enough to know he was not annoyed with Leorio. He sighed and all Leorio could smell was mint and eucalyptus. “Because. I’ve spent so long trying to become someone else. Just to get through what I needed to, just to stay alive. Someone I don’t even like. And I just…” Here, Kurapika’s voice cracked, and he swallowed thickly. Leorio wanted to bundle him into his arms and not let go for about a million years. He made himself keep still.

Kurapika sounded so small when he spoke. He stared straight ahead, eyes level with Leorio’s collarbone. His fingers were still knotted against Leorio’s jacket. “I just. For a second. I thought I could be someone I liked again.” He lowered his head. “I like who I am when I’m with you. And I wanted… I wanted to be someone you like, too.”

Oh.

Oh.

Leorio wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to bundle Kurapika up against him. But instead, he laughed. Softly and kindly, but he laughed. Because dear, darling, stubborn, stupid Kurapika…

“You still don’t get it,” Leorio told him. Kurapika’s head shot up, and he nailed Leorio in place with another withering glare.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I would never.” Leorio somewhat undercut the declaration with another giggle. Oh, this man. “Kurapika, I do like you. I like all the versions of you. The one you were. The one you’ll be.”

He pictured Kurapika on the deck of a sailing ship, soaked to the skin with his blond hair plastered to his forehead, smiling at Leorio for the first time and looking like a fucking sunbeam and knocking Leorio the hell out. He pictured Kurapika in the future, well-rested and with less stress weighing on his shoulders and, if the stars aligned and Leorio was the luckiest man in the world, his hand in Leorio’s.

“And this one.” Leorio reached for Kurapika’s face, giving him time to pull away or flip him over the side of the ship. When Kurapika did not move, Leorio cradled his face in his palms. The motion was so much more tender now when he pressed his forehead to his. He repeated, because he knew Kurapika needed to hear it, “And this one. Kurapika, I do like you. I like you a lot.”

Kurapika sent Leorio a look that said, that much is obvious after the past few days. But aloud, he said, “I like you, too.”

And Leorio knew that Kurapika did not say more because it was too early for any of it. They knew it was too early to say anything like, I adore you, I think I love you. Kurapika still needed to heal and put himself back together again. They had the Zoldycks to worry about, and the Spiders, and Hisoka slinking around, and their responsibilities as Zodiacs. The Dark Continent loomed ahead of them, unknown and dangerous, and Leorio felt a thrill of exhilaration thinking of it. Because now he knew he and Kurapika would face it together. He knew they would talk and argue and bicker and worry and they would make it work, somehow. Whatever it was.

But it felt big. It felt amazing. It felt like standing on an open deck in a storm, rain pelting his skin, blood thrumming under his skin, and staring into the eyes of a man who was going to turn his world upside down again and again and again.

“I want this to work,” Kurapika suddenly confessed. “I don’t know what this is. Or how to make it work. But I want to try.”

Leorio’s heart felt about eight sizes too big for his chest. “I want to kiss you again.”

Kurapika smirked up at him. His eyes sparkled under the starlight, and he looked ethereal. Leorio was spellbound. “Do it, then.”

“I’m going to be less nice about it,” Leorio warned him. Kurapika laughed, expression open and smile wide and easy.

“Promises, promises,” he breathed, and Leorio kissed him again.