Chapter Text
There’s a very particular way that Kurapika will appear in the doorway of the study and say, “Are you busy?” that actually means he’s horny as shit. Sometimes it’s fun to say ‘Yes’ when it’s not strictly true, just to watch him bite his lip and consider whether it’s worth using what little charm he’s picked up, or if he needs to just go sulk about it alone. Sometimes he actually is busy, and Kurapika will go sulk.
But this time, Leorio’s sick of being cooped up with his books all afternoon, and Kurapika’s there with his eyes dark and intent, and so Leorio pushes his chair back and says, “Not even a little.” Which is apparently Kurapika’s cue to stride directly into the study and immediately climb into his lap before he can even get up.
“Oof,” Leorio complains at him, hardly even half-serious, and Kurapika just settles in, hips grinding against his. Then he leans in for a kiss, which pretty much skips every step from ‘sweet’ to ‘filthy,’ because whatever happened, he is randy and he knows Leorio’s good for it.
All of it’s good, honestly. It’s good that he’s here, that he’s staying, that he’s been in the city and reachable for nearly half a year now, without showing any signs of impatience or of packing up and leaving. Sometimes he has overtime or work trips, but he leaves notes, even if they’re short and nearly incomprehensible. He calls.
“Bed,” he says low and heated in Leorio’s ear, then nips at it. “Now.”
And he does that. Which honestly? Is definitely one of the top contenders for biggest improvement.
Leorio catches his breath, then gets both hands on Kurapika’s ass and stands, bringing Kurapika up with him, which Kurapika only lets him do because it means he can keep grinding against him. Getting to the bedroom is a job and a half because Kurapika won’t let up, and the temptation to give in and just fuck him against the wall or the desk or in the office chair is insane.
It’d be useless trying to study in there after, though. And they’re adults now, with jobs and shit; they can be classy sometimes.
So he makes it to the bedroom, drops them both on the bed as he’s trying to figure out how to unbuckle his pants as fast as possible. Kurapika’s already mostly out of his shirt, and isn’t really helping by hooking an arm behind Leorio’s neck and kissing him wet and greedy at literally any opportunity.
“Hey, come on,” Leorio protests, breathless, pants tangled somewhere around his knees.
“I’m trying.”
Leorio rolls his eyes, but Kurapika locks both legs around his waist, and that’s a whole lot more interesting than sassing him right now. Leorio rocks against him, pressing him back down into the bed, and Kurapika just laughs, smug about getting what he wants. Then he moans hungry and low, both hands raking up into Leorio’s hair, and grinds up against him. He’s back to drawstring pants around the apartment, which makes that way nicer. Leorio shudders, then goes in to mouthe at Kurapika’s neck until he writhes.
Then he turns, back to Leorio’s chest, hands reaching back to grab at his waist. Yeah, that’s fine. Leorio buries his face in the curve of Kurapika’s shoulder, sliding one hand around and over his chest, other dipping down to his hips, then sneaking down past Kurapika’s pajama pants and briefs. Later, Kurapika will probably complain about stretched-out waistbands, but right now, his head’s tilted back against Leorio’s shoulder, firm curve of his ass pressed up against Leorio’s dick, and Leorio swallows hard, pulls Kurapika close and slides his hand down further.
Kurapika’s wet before he even gets a finger in. The realization sends a jolt through him, and he leans in to press his mouth to the nape of Kurapika’s neck. “What’s all this,” he murmurs against Kurapika’s skin, and Kurapika just shrugs impatiently against him.
Then he twists partway around and says, breathless, eyes blazing red, “That’s not important right now.”
“If you say so,” Leorio says, not lifting his mouth. Kurapika’s worked up enough already; Leorio could probably tease him until he begs, which is a nice thought. But Kurapika’s rocking up against him, impatient, and he will lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch Kurapika right the fuck now, so he slides two fingers in to make Kurapika shudder and gasp into the sheets.
Then Kurapika makes a little shimmy and he’s all the way naked, and Leorio’s dick is paying attention. He presses it against Kurapika, still stroking him steady and shallow. Kurapika squirms against him, and that basically shorts out most of his higher cognitive functions. He slides his fingers deeper in, palm cupping Kurapika's groin, and really gets to work.
Kurapika hasn’t said too much about his junk situation one way or the other, but if he felt like experimenting, they could get him a strap-on and fool around; maybe Leorio could jerk him off nice and slow this same way, Kurapika pressed up against him, bare ass and leather straps. He files that thought away for later; time to focus now. He figures he'll keep this up until Kurapika's nearly wrung out, maybe see what happens from there.
Then one hand closes around his wrist, and Kurapika says, “Leorio,” grinding back, and Leorio gets his boxers off in record time.
He’s barely got time to kick them off his feet before Kurapika’s hand is on him, guiding him in, and that’s when shit starts to go wrong.
He’s sliding one hand up along Kurapika’s back, enjoying the heat, the way it heaves, even the sweat. Then he leans in to mouthe along his shoulder, nip at the back of his neck, and Kurapika whimpers once, strangled and low, turns his face away like he does sometimes when it’s too much. Leorio kisses hard and hungry along his throat and jaw instead, and Kurapika hunches away from him, then goes still. Okay, then. Easy cue.
Leorio starts to pull back, but suddenly Kurapika’s hand is clamped around his wrist again.
“Hey,” Leorio says, doesn’t move.
“More,” Kurapika says, face still turned away but hands and hips pressing closer, needy and insistent.
“You sure?”
Kurapika just nods, face turning to press against the bedspread, ass pushing back against him. Okay then.
Still, Leorio doesn’t jump right back in, starts riding him slow and easy, one hand holding him steady. With his other, he strokes along Kurapika’s side, tries to maybe gentle him down a little. He’s gotten stuck in his own head before, but he usually comes out of it fine.
Then Kurapika gasps, guttural and low, and that’s just not a good sound. Leorio starts to lift his hands away, only for Kurapika to turn and look back at him, eyes blazing. Not good.
“Kurapika?” he says carefully, slowing nearly to a stop, and Kurapika’s shoulders are bunching, hands clenching in the sheets, gaze tracking him with the same feverish look caged animals get in a zoo, and yeah, it’s done.
He pulls out, careful, and Kurapika immediately twists on the bed, eyes alight and face set like some divine fury, and Leorio holds up both his hands, gets both feet on the floor. Hard to tell sometimes if Kurapika needs his space when he’s like this, but better safe than sorry.
Then it all crumbles, and he says, “Leorio,” voice drawn tight, like he’s naming something he doesn’t recognize. Like it’s something he’s scared of. And that’s… wrong. That’s wrong in so many different ways. Kurapika’s never been scared of him, ever. It has to be something else.
But even with other shit, Kurapika doesn’t do ‘afraid.’ When something shows up bigger and scarier than him, he does calculating and he does furious, but he’s never once shown he was afraid of anything.
“Yeah, I’m here. You okay? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he says, shakes his head. Then he’s repeating it, over and over again. “I don’t know, I don’t know, nothing-- Nothing is wrong. I don’t know, I only—”
“Okay,” Leorio says, slow and careful. “Okay. How about… Do you want to get up?”
“No!”
“That’s fine. Then I’m going to sit back, and how about you do whatever you want. Okay?” He settles back, leaves Kurapika a clear shot out, but also keeps his hands turned palms up, ready if Kurapika decides he just wants a good hold.
Kurapika bolts. Not towards him, but past him, just one naked streak of motion, and then the bathroom door slams shut and Leorio is abruptly alone in the bedroom.
It could be funny. Instead his heart sinks somewhere down past his stomach to flop miserably onto the floor. He likes to think he has a pretty good idea of Kurapika’s hang-ups and sore spots by now. He’s seen most of them in action, but this is new and strange and unsettling, if only because Kurapika’s never run from him like this before.
Leorio pulls some clothes on and goes to tap on the door. There’s no movement, only the hitched, awful sound of Kurapika breathing.
“You okay?” Stupid question. “I mean. Obviously not, but… Kurapika. Do you… want to be alone for a little?”
Nothing.
“Look, you need to tell me you want to be alone, or I will open this door.”
There’s a scuffle, and then something heavy thuds against the door, then bounces onto the floor. Shampoo bottle, maybe. Okay, that’s clear enough.
He settles his head against the door and sighs. After a moment, he says, voice steady, “Hands behind your neck, okay? Breathe as deep as you can.” No answer, not even a scuff. “Kurapika?”
Something else hits the door, and he jerks back from it, rubs his forehead. Felt weird; startled him a little.
“Okay,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be in the living room.”
He hesitates, then steps away from the bathroom door. It doesn’t feel good, and he hates it, but if it’s what Kurapika needs right now, then it’s what he needs. But everything else about walking away from him feels awful.
Leorio heads out of the bedroom, closes the door behind him; nicely, even, manages to keep from slamming it. Then he goes to wash his hands and splash some water on his face in the half-bath, runs both damp hands through his hair for good measure. He peers into the mirror, smoothing down his hair. He’s still a little flushed from sex, still kinda hot around the collar, but mostly he looks confused. Not a sexy look, confusion.
He flicks off the light and heads into the kitchen, chest tight. He’s upset and angry, or upset about being angry, or angry about being upset. Something like that. Nothing like that. Something’s wrong and he doesn’t want it to be. Something went wrong a long time ago and he doesn’t know how to fix it, and now Kurapika’s locked himself in their bathroom, hurting and alone.
That’s wrong. Kurapika should be… Kurapika should be here, in his arms, to be held and kissed and kept safe, not shaking and miserable and huddling on his own, just dealing with it. He’s had enough of that. They’ve both had enough of that.
Leorio considers the coffee machine, then goes to fish out the kettle, careful not to grip it too tight. He’s furious, he decides. Furious, because this sucks and it’s wrong and if he’s not mad, he’s going to cry and he might not be able to stop.
He fills the kettle and puts it on the stove, glares at it until his eyes sting because he hasn’t blinked. Then he gives in and unfurls his Nen ‘aura’ or whatever, lets it spill out and wow, there is a mouse nest right there— Not important. Something blips right out in the bathroom, like a bubble popping or a frog going back underwater, and there’s no trace of Kurapika. Classic.
Leorio bites his lip, figures he’ll risk it. Closing one hand, he knocks his knuckles against the kitchen counter; won’t be as accurate, but also won’t be as risky. Diagnostic stuff is real close-range, and he’s been working on it with the teachers that Cheadle rustled up for him. This’ll just be a little stretch to those basics.
He gets a real good view of the counter and cabinets, inside of the stove, plumbing, wires and insulation, the mouse nest somewhere inside it all, then it ripples into the bathroom. Floor, walls, ceiling come first, then appliances, then… Kurapika.
He’s still there, all folded up. Okay. Still showing small movement, still breathing. Nothing wrong with that. Leorio breathes in, breathes out. He’s getting all worked up for nothing. He’s worried, but there’s no point in having a freak-out. It’s normal to be worried.
He rubs his hands over his face. This is a reasonable level of worry for his… friend. Occasional housemate. Extremely intimate acquaintance. Zodiac colleague and HR nightmare. His something, or whatever. His someone. Which is ridiculous. Kurapika doesn’t want to belong to anyone.
The kettle shrills and he goes to take it off the heat before rummaging around in the cabinets. He’s not much of a tea person, outside of cold remedies and sleepless nights, but sometimes Kurapika is, and Leorio has a pretty good stash from well-intended but wide-of-the-mark gifts from the past couple years.
He fishes out the one with the cozy-looking bear, because that bear knows what’s up, and Kurapika won’t really give a shit about which tea he’s drinking anyway. If he even wants any.
Well, Kurapika’s gonna get some tea regardless, whether he drinks it or not. Leorio glares down at the mug, plonks the teabag in, and then sets it aside. A shiver runs through him and he puts his face in both hands, then sighs. It comes out unsteady, and his chest is clenched tight, but he’s not freaking out, he’s not about to cry, and he’s gonna hold it together, because Kurapika’s gonna need him once he comes out of the bathroom.
Leorio takes a deep breath through his nose, lets it out slow through his mouth. One more. And another. Then he rubs his forehead, shifts his weight, pushes down the sick uneasy feeling in his stomach. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.
And he waits.
----
Hard to tell how long it takes until this episode passes. There are no clocks in the bathroom; he has no phone or watch, and he doesn’t count the seconds the way he used to.
What registers first is that he is nauseous, chest clenched tight, stomach sour and uneasy. Then, that his ass and feet are cold.
Kurapika lifts his head and immediately feels ridiculous. Naked in a bathroom for no good reason, and with no good name for the slight nausea he is experiencing, the unsettling sense of crawling discomfort in his own skin. He settles both hands over the back of his neck. Trauma is… a word. That could potentially apply in this situation.
His stomach twists and he decides against it. This is not trauma, exactly. Only an unwelcome and unbidden response to a situation that had some similarities to a past experience.
Kurapika resolves not to think about it and heaves himself up. He could shower. He doesn’t want to shower, he wants— an explanation. He wants to be the one giving the explanation. He wants to talk to Leorio.
The shower is still tempting; he could wash away any phantom sensations and lingering unease, but the last person to touch him was Leorio.
He compromises by washing his face. Already, he feels more settled. The other feeling took him by surprise, was all. There had been little warning. The sex had been good until it wasn’t. All things expected and safe until they weren’t.
And now? He’s not certain. Hard to put a name to whatever unease is prickling at his skin. Is he uncomfortable? Miserable? Upset?
He doesn’t feel any of these, not exactly. There isn’t much emotion at all, aside from a persistent hollow embarrassment and dread. But the face in the mirror is desolate, eyes red-rimmed and hollow, hair untidy, mouth drawn down. He splashes more cold water over his face, does not look again.
When he finishes and his skin feels less like it wants to crawl off his body, he opens the door. Looking out with one hand still on the doorknob, he waits, surveying the room. Empty.
Clothes, then. He should be clothed. Covered. Less exposed. He folds his arms, eyes the dressers, then the bedroom door, which has been shut to afford him privacy. Leorio’s doing. It is a thoughtful gesture from someone who understands him well.
Warmth suffuses him. Nearly, it is a comfort; a sense of belonging most similar to possession, though Kurapika has no right to him. He considers the room, the discarded clothes, the furniture, the bed, with sheets still rumpled from their time together.
A pleasant time that he ruined.
His stomach drops, but he still walks forward, takes hold of the bedsheets. He smoothes them out, tugs them until they lie flat, realigns the pillows. Then he steadies himself, gets dressed, and goes to open the door.
Leorio is leaning against the kitchen island when he enters, elbows braced, head in one hand. He only glances up when Kurapika takes the seat next to him, then reaches to pour some hot water into a mug. “Hey.”
“Leorio,” he replies, just as softly.
“You okay?”
“I think so,” he says, then in a rush adds, “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine, I just didn’t know… Really, you’re okay?”
“Just an unpleasant memory.”
“Seems like,” Leorio says, sliding the mug over to him. He says nothing else.
Kurapika takes the cup, wraps one hand around it. Hot. He settles both hands tightly around it for as long as he can, then presses his palms to the countertop. Then he settles both hands around the mug again, more carefully this time. Finally, he says, “I owe you an explanation.”
There is only a long, heavy sigh. Then Leorio says, “You don’t owe me anything. If you’d like to give it, I’d like to hear it. But only if you want to.”
Hard to say what he wants. He wants to explain with the same intensity that he wants to never explain. He wants the explanation to be done, with no effort or memory of the process. He wants to be past this moment already, without living it.
His stomach twists as he considers. Finally, he says, shrugging, “I had two difficult cases. When retrieving my clan.”
“Yeah?”
“They wouldn’t sell for money,” he says, then falls silent. He cannot think what else to say.
“But you got’em?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat, then swallows hard. As with most things, beginning was easier. “I made deals with them. The eyes for— Well.”
His jaw clenches despite himself, and Leorio tells him quietly, “You don’t have to say. If you don’t want to.”
Kurapika shakes his head, grips the mug. “It’s nothing. I only thought… if there was such a steep price for the eyes of the dead, then. How much for the living?”
“I’m not following.”
“I mean. If I was the last one, then there would be nothing else. Then there could be nothing else.”
“Sounds risky. Why wouldn’t they just take yours?”
“I didn’t allow them to,” Kurapika says sharply. “That’s not what I meant.”
Leorio opens his mouth, then shuts it abruptly. Then he settles his hands on the countertop, folds them carefully, says nothing.
“If they would not sell for money and they could not be coerced, I could offer them an opportunity. One priceless thing for another.”
Leorio only looks at him, gaze locked on his, an obvious unspoken question. His eyes flick upwards once, as though searching for a mark, a scar. Hard to bear the scrutiny.
Kurapika looks back down at the mug between his hands. He wanted—still wants—to explain, but it is proving more difficult than he expected. He could justify it. He could soften the language. He could lay out hint after hint after hint to have Leorio guess and be the one to say it out loud, if he wanted to humiliate himself.
“I slept with them,” he says finally. “I slept with them and let them wring whatever hue they wanted from me.”
His hands are restless animals, clenching and unclenching, scraping along the countertop. He forces them to stillness. It’s easy to see how this will unfold: There was a price, and he paid it, and he will not regret it, and Leorio will disagree. He will be blamed and he will deserve it.
Good, then. He does not relish the thought, but at least all will finally be as it should. It can be over and he can go.
There’s a slight scuff as Leorio shifts in his chair, then he says quietly, “You okay?”
Kurapika freezes. “I— Yes. Yes, I think so,” he says, though the words catch in his throat. His eyes sting. It is shock, he is sure. Shock only, and nothing else.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No,” he says, blinking hard, shaking his head. Once. Twice. Then he stills himself, and says again, laughing a little, “No. How could they?”
Him, a Hunter who had bound each of them carefully with a very specific contract. If anyone had the upper hand there, it was him. They could not have so much as laid a finger on him if he hadn’t willed it. The very idea of it is ridiculous. “How could they?”
He manages a smile, though it is strained. Something like alarm passes over Leorio’s face, but it is gone quickly. Leorio lifts one hand and reaches towards him, reassuring, and Kurapika slides back, nearly all the way out of his seat. Leorio drops his hand, his hurt clear in the set of his mouth, but he only says, “Let’s go sit on the couch?”
His tone is very still, too carefully neutral.
“If you like.”
Slowly, Leorio steps back from him, then heads towards the living room. He trails after, circling around the coffee table to the other side of the couch, still standing. Leorio is still looking at him, but he refuses to meet his gaze. He stays standing, not sure he wants to sit after all. There may be nothing to gain from this; he started it, and is not sure he wants to finish.
Leorio will disdain him. Leorio will pity him.
Leorio offers him a blanket, one hand brushing against his shoulder, and Kurapika flinches from him, does not mean to, flinches again when Leorio startles at it. Leorio recovers himself and says only, “That’s fine,” before he can apologize, but too loudly. Then he swallows hard and sits and says, softer, “It’s fine.”
He is angry.
Kurapika takes the edge of the offered blanket, pulls it close about himself, settles onto the couch, as far as he can from Leorio. He keeps his feet on the floor; he is not a child, to huddle and cower when he is afraid. After a deep breath, he chances a sidelong glance towards Leorio.
The expression he wears is conflicted, shifting between anger, and something that could be concern, could be sorrow. Eventually it will have to settle into one or the other. Kurapika hopes it will be anger. That would be easier for both of them. Leorio is not shy about his opinions, could pass his judgment, or stand up and pace around the room, and it would be easier not to look at him.
But Leorio remains on the far side of the couch, very still, arms folded. Finally, slowly, he says, “Kurapika, if you want to talk, I’m listening. And if you don’t, I’m still here.”
He says nothing else after that, only waits there, arms folded, hardly even fidgeting. It is stillness only, not anticipation or impatience. When did he become so comfortable with silence?
Kurapika shifts uncomfortably, then stills himself and looks down at his feet. There’s nothing else he can think to say; he already divulged the whole of it. He achieved his goals. He was not hurt. They could not have hurt him. He succeeded in every way that mattered.
“I would rather not,” he says, and his throat is tight. “Right now. I don’t want to say anything further.”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
It’s too easy. He was certain Leorio would press, would stammer with rage or protest, leap to his feet, storm about. If Leorio had asked, he thinks, feeling sick and uncertain and somehow both relieved and disappointed, he would have held nothing back.
He says abruptly, “I know I’m reacting badly.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I would like to.”
“It’s not something you apologize for. Geez. It’s not your fault.”
This is something approaching normalcy. As though nothing more had happened than he was startled, dropped a dish on the floor. He swallows, finds it easier than before, then says in a voice that’s nearly steady, “That’s kind of you to say.”
“Don’t give me that shit. It’s not your fault.”
“It was my decision.”
“It’s not. Your fault.” Then Leorio sniffs loudly. When Kurapika looks, he is wiping roughly at his face.
“Don’t cry,” Kurapika says, dismayed.
“You be quiet,” Leorio retorts, scrubbing his eyes. “You— None of it had to be like this, all right? Things shouldn’t have turned out like this. Nothing should turn out like this.”
“The options were limited. I did what I had to.”
“Kurapika,” Leorio says, voice thick, clotted with meaning. Then he sniffs hard, face briefly obscured by his elbow, but he is shifting towards Kurapika, who tenses.
If Leorio touches him, he will break. If he allows Leorio to touch him, some part of him will shatter, and he is not ready for the consequences. But if Leorio reached for him, he would allow it. Futilely, he braces himself.
Leorio does nothing of the sort, only sits wiping his face, jaw clenched. “I hate this. I hate that this happened.”
“It was a choice. My choice, and I made it.”
“You shouldn’t have had to!”
“Whether any of it should or shouldn’t have happened will never change the fact that it did. Any of it.” And it is true. Every action and consequence, each link in the chain leading all the way back to his childhood, and somehow he is here.
“I know,” Leorio says, and he sounds sick with it. He has a kind heart. A gentle nature. “I know.”
He sniffs again, loudly, then shifts on the couch, turning further to reach towards Kurapika, who—
flinches, all the way back, nearly knocking over the lamp on the small table behind him, and Leorio goes very still, then slowly settles back, withdrawing his hand.
There it is again, that strange mix of grief and anger clear on his face. “That’s never happening again. You hear me? I won’t let it. I’m never letting that happen to you again.”
“No worries on that account.” Kurapika manages a grin somehow, sickly and wide and filled with more teeth than humor. “I don’t need anything else from them.”
“Smartass,” Leorio says, and it comes out both abrasive and half-hearted. He rubs his face, looking aside, then says, “But you can still need things from me, you know. I’m here for you now. As much as I can, I’ll be here for you during. I’ll be here for you after.”
He is generous to a fault. “You shouldn’t say these things.”
“Like you ever cared about ‘should.’”
“Sometimes I do,” Kurapika says quietly. Then, “You should stay still.”
Carefully, he crosses the distance between them, one deliberate slide at a time. He settles himself onto Leorio, legs swinging over Leorio’s knees, and leans very slightly against him, shoulder to shoulder. When Leorio settles an arm around him, he shrugs it off, elbow tucking in close against himself.
Instead, Leorio settles one arm over his legs, lightly, loosely, does not try anything else. If he wanted, he could easily flee.
“This doesn’t change anything between us,” Leorio tells him. “Okay? Not one single thing. We’ll just keep doing what we’re doing.”
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t know. Hard to say sometimes.”
Kurapika considers it. Then he says softly, “I want things to be easy with you.”
Leorio is quiet a moment, then sighs, heavy and long. “Doesn’t always happen that way. But we’re trying.”
That is… true. Kurapika considers his knees, feels his face setting hard and unhappy. He’s never been content with only trying.
“And it’s not always like this,” Leorio continues. “You know that. It’s plenty easy most of the time. This is just a little bit of an outlier.”
His jaw clenches. He also does not, as a rule, enjoy outliers.“I didn’t expect this,” he says, and his voice is tight, even to him.
“I know. I know.”
“I didn’t want this,” he manages, throat closing further.
“Hey, it’s okay. I know.”
He sighs and gives in, wraps both arms around Leorio’s shoulders and pulls him close, face pressing against his neck. In answer, Leorio folds both arms around him, like it is something he’s been longing to do, like he’s embracing something precious to him.
“Stay, okay?” Leorio says, still quiet, still gentle. “Stay with me.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try as hard as you can. I know you. No one does as much as you do, so really try.”
“I know. I am.”
“Then that’s okay.” Leorio sighs, then pats his back before squeezing him close. Almost too tight for comfort, but for now, Leorio wants him near, and that is its own form of comfort.
Kurapika shuts his eyes, presses closer. After a moment, he carefully exhales, brings his legs up to curl small against him. Leorio shifts to accommodate, and does not let him go.
He is suddenly, achingly tired. His arms drop, fold against him as well, between himself and Leorio, and Leorio only rubs his back, hold loosening, says nothing.
“You’re making this too easy,” Kurapika says, muffled against Leorio’s shoulder.
“Not to be an ass, but it looks plenty hard from over here. You’re tough, but you don’t have to put yourself through the wringer because you feel like you have to. It already takes a lot of guts to talk about this stuff.”
“You’re being too kind.”
“I’m not. I’m really, really not.”
Liar. Another unwarranted kindness. He could distrust it. He could pull away, walk into the study, shut the door. Or walk out of the apartment, leave everything behind him. Anything, so long as nothing could grow its roots down inside him again, so long as nothing could be taken away from him again.
Which is ridiculous, so he does not. He is trying, and it is worth doing. Because it is worth doing, he could choose to believe Leorio. He could at least try.
But perhaps not just now. Perhaps for now he can set it down a moment and only breathe, pick it up again in a little while. In just a moment.