"Let me sleep.
I am tired of my grief, and I would like you
To love me, to love me, to love me."
The Wisp Sings - Winter Aid
The shower squealed to a stop as I yanked the knob to the right, the too-hot water ceasing to fall and leaving the heat in the lingering droplets covering my body to dissipate almost immediately. I shivered out a sigh, closing my eyes, and I stood still for a moment, collecting myself enough to will the strength into my legs to move. Then, my eyes opened again, and I carefully pushed the flimsy curtain to the side and stepped onto the towel I'd laid down on the floor, reaching above the toilet to grab another clean towel and wrap it around my shuddering midsection. Glancing down to my open duffle near the foot of the sink, I hesitated before deciding to leave the shampoo and the conditioner I'd brought in the shower. I'd use it again, anyway.
The mirror was foggy and unclear, but I didn't wipe it down—I didn't want to be resilient and force myself to gaze upon my scars. It would be better if I could just ignore them, to the best of my ability, over the course of these two months. As an emotionless undercurrent to my thoughts, I wondered if Kurapika should know about them, should I ever be thrown into a severe panic attack regarding their existence.
My muscles felt drained and comfortably relaxed as I worked through the limp effect provided by the hot water and the stark coolness to follow, scrubbing the towel gently through my hair and over my body. I kept my line of sight directed on the floor rather than what I could see of my stomach. Stiffly, I bent down onto my knees and dug through what I'd brought, pulling out one of Chrollo's simple black turtlenecks and a pair of my own high-waisted, baggy black pants, as well as a lacy set of underwear. As I did so, a glint of the dull bathroom lights bounced off of a red-tinted glass bottle, now revealed at the bottom of my bag—I blinked and pulled it out, examining the ornate, expensive design.
I guess I forgot that I packed one of the bottles of his cologne.
It had probably ended up being a manic, last-minute grab when I'd shoved all of my toiletries into the duffle, but I was grateful for it. Gingerly, I squeezed the hanging atomizer and pointed the bottle towards me, leaning my head back and misting my neck the way I'd seen him use it before—that must've been the reason why he always smelled the strongest of musky, sweet lavender with hinted cedar wood and frankincense at his throat and collarbones. An absent smile crossed my lips at the thought, and I carefully tucked away the nearly empty bottle.
My mind was tranquil and unbothered as I dressed myself first with the undergarments. I pulled the turtleneck over my head and slipped the pants over my legs, securing the waistband with a simple belt over the excess material from the slightly oversized top.
Chrollo had stayed on call with me for a bit longer than a half hour—looking back, I felt a bit guilty for leaving the shower running the whole time, but there was no other option. I couldn't risk Kurapika hearing me; I'd kept my voice as quiet as possible the entire time.
I still felt dreary, but it had subsided a substantial amount at the enchanting commemorative of the way he loved me, the way he always would love me, and left me with a heavier sensation of security—it felt brief, though, as if it wouldn't last, as if it were slipping through my fingers. I made my mind up to try to enjoy it while I could, reminding myself that I had yet to read the text response he'd sent me before he called. I wasn't necessarily tired anymore, but my body felt worn, and my mind felt overworked, ran to its last nerve. I didn't want to practice Feeler that day.
But I need to ask Kurapika if he would be willing to help me expand my Nen...
Shit—I've already told him I'm a specialist with two Hatsu techniques. I can't tell him about Exorcist.
What would I say? Feeler was harmless enough, and though it was related to the way Exorcist worked, it was far from an auric-draining ability. Was there a way I could split its range in two? Perhaps I could name its fatal characteristics as an entirely separate technique, and keep the name Feeler for its emotional range.
What would I call it, though...?
Constrictor?
"Really original, (Y/n)," I scoffed mutedly to myself, rolling my own eyes and turning to hang the towels up on the hooks.
That was possible, however, and the best path to take when introducing my Nen to Kurapika. Once again, I felt a pinch in my chest at lying to him, a reaction to already having lied plenty to an individual who deserved none of it. My teeth gritted slightly, my jaw tightening, and I swallowed forcibly, shoving back those guilting emotions and burying them under the mental weight of numbness.
I've lied so much to him.
Or, for the benefit of my selfish, frail mind, I could call it withholding the truth. I wasn't exactly making up stories, but such was hardly a moral replacement. Either way, I was being deceitful.
I didn't know when I'd ask him for help with Feeler, but it needed to be soon—practicing alone was too scarring, and it brought back too many memories with the loosening of my hardened, frozen and hidden inner thoughts and emotions. Even though I'd made progress, I could see that the continuation of progress would only mean more pain, more memories I didn't wish to recall, things I'd utterly blocked out as an automatic defense mechanism learned by a defenseless young girl. For this, too, I would be leaning on Kurapika for strength, for steadfastness and stability.
Maybe in doing, I can learn more about what it is that he hides.
That was hardly fair. I kept so much from him, but still assumed it was my right to intrude on his emotions and what he didn't understand. No, I couldn't—in these last months of being his friend, someone he trusted, I couldn't expect any extra effort from him. If there came a time when he found it necessary to divulge to me the extent of his feelings, I would listen, but only then would I dare to try to understand them.
"I don't want you to die, Kurapika."
My own words floated through my head and mocked the decision I'd made. It was still true; I didn't want him to die. But fate was a bastard when it truly wished to be, and I was at the end of my rope for holding onto this secret.
What was forgiveness? What was unforgiveness? In its most simple terms, the former was an outstretched hand towards those one deemed deserving of mercy, of grace, of a second chance. The latter, however, was a purposeful and conscious relinquishing of all such mannerisms towards one who might be the target of another's vendetta, or one who had committed an atrocious act against the other. Unforgiveness was perhaps as simple as the concept of love or of hatred, but like love and hatred, it is woefully underestimated under a vague ideology and violently turbulent when applied to the life of an individual. It boils and it grows behind everything else, and soon, there is nothing else but unforgiveness.
Was forgiveness, then, simply the act of releasing the vice of unforgiveness? Perhaps it wasn't consciously reaching out and extending grace; perhaps it was letting go. I certainly hadn't extended grace towards those who abused me, those who tormented me and haunted me, but I didn't carry the burning flames of unforgiveness anymore. Or rather, the flames I carried weren't quite as stifling anymore—they were manageable, and diminishing still with every moment I spent loving Chrollo. I would never offer grace or mercy; such creatures couldn't deserve as much, not in this life, nor the next. But I could gradually forget the identity they assigned to me, and build my own in the arms of my lover.
Forgiveness—it wasn't mercy. It wasn't grace. It was much the same as forgetting, or releasing.
Would Kurapika ever overpower his unforgiveness?
I didn't want him to feel sympathy for Chrollo—that was an impossible task on his part. But he seemed unwilling to let go, to find himself in spite of the vicious trauma he endured. He'd let it consume him, and now, it was he who was being controlled, rather than him controlling his own. But it was also leading him to his grave, because as long as his goal was to destroy the Spider, Chrollo would never cease in his efforts to destroy Kurapika.
Even if it were possible for me to convince Chrollo not to hurt him, Kurapika won't stop. He'll never stop.
He had certainly become a slave to his drive. But I couldn't blame him. I couldn't blame anyone. Once more, everything was gray.
Blinking once, and then twice, I shook away the concerning thoughts, sending them back to their position of pouncing and forcing off the immediate affects. They would come back to mock me, of course, and they would surely paint the colors of my thoughts to be a bit more dismal, perhaps unconsciously, but I didn't wish to indulge them anymore. I had not the passion to indulge any deep thinking anymore.
Before gathering my things to leave the bathroom, I grasped my phone and bit down roughly on the inside of my cheek—the amount of times I'd been in a similar position played on repeat despite my pondering, the wispy sensation of remembrance towards the warmth of Chrollo's body pressed up against my backside while I read through messages, his chin on my shoulder and his hands linked safely around my torso. My brows furrowed at the present lack of that same reassurance, and involuntarily, one of my own hands dropped to my stomach, setting loosely over my clothed skin and imagining for a moment that he was holding me the way he always did, as though he would never let me go. I peered sadly down at my fingers, wishing, only wishing.
Releasing a shaky sigh, I turned my attention back to my phone and opened his messages. My lips twitched upwards on one side, and I leaned forward on my elbows over the countertop to read what he'd sent.
"Always, my only one. It is a fair exchange, I believe—you so often assign me a meaning greater than any I've ever tried to forge, or any I've ever been unable to understand. Perhaps I still can't comprehend it, but as much as you see me as your safe place, and as much as I will gladly continue to forever be your solace, you are my steadiness, as well. You've provided more to me than you will ever realize, little angel of mine. I love you.
"Please don't fret too much about when I'm able to answer—I apologize deeply for the inconsistency of my responses, and it is nothing to do with anything within my control. I promise that I'm making every conscious effort to call you when I can, because I, too, wish desperately to hear your voice. But I can call you very soon, my (Y/n), and I'll be sure to wait where I am until you've awakened to give you a chance to answer.
"Just know this: I see you as strong. I see you as capable. I am endlessly proud of you. And I am so sorry for whatever it is you endured yesterday morning—I wish I could be with you to dry your tears, pretty angel. I long for this to be over so that I can hold you again and make everything okay by melting away each and every one of your fears. I promise you that I will never leave you like this again, because where you go, I also wish to follow, and where I go, I always desire you to be at my side. And finally, please know that I hold no expectation above you concerning when you find the right time to divulge your anxieties. I am aware that you will tell me eventually, whenever you decide the time is right. Your worries are safe with me, my darling lover. As long as you love me, I am content."
His lengthened messages were surely a result of the fleeting moments he earned to speak with me, but I only adored them even more for that fact. My throat ached slightly towards the end of the text, and my mildly swollen eyes did sting a bit, but it wasn't despondency more than it was a breathless reassurance, a relief and a further tug on the remnants of unfeelingness left in my mind—he held no expectation.
Of course, carnally, I knew he was fatally curious and analytical, and I was sure he'd drawn his own conclusions or at least succumbed to moments of frustration at his lack of comprehension, but his effort to set such natural, fleshly reactions aside was beautiful to me. It confirmed for an eternal, wondrous moment what I had so groundbreakingly realized, and remained separate from my internal troubles concerning Kurapika and the conflicting emotions I held for him—Chrollo would forgive me, and his forgiveness would be adorned only by the same grace and acceptance he always handled me with.
Gentle lover.
His loyalty would possibly be bruised, and I knew that he would offer his forgiveness even though he would feel betrayed, but such was when Feeler became useful—I would prove to him that my intentions were not for betrayal, and create a concrete foundation for him to stand on if those intrusive doubts invaded his thoughts the way I so feared they would. I'd noted this before, but I would eagerly go through hell if it meant preserving the trust and the loyalty of my melancholy lover.
This will all play out to the end, and one day, I will no longer have this burden to carry.
The only task I truly needed to complete was the task of endurance, of perseverance—it was certainly easier said than done, however.
After reading through the message multiple times, I closed my eyes and let out a relenting exhale, standing still over the counter for several unmeasured moments. Chrollo wasn't sure of how long it would be until he was able to speak with me again, and by extension, neither was I, but he'd promised over call to go out of his way of travels to find a place in which he could at least send me a goodnight message, if it was possible—he wasn't anywhere near a large city yet, but even just one message from him a week would give me something to look forward to, something to expect to take my mind off of the vacancy he left behind.
Eventually, I bent down to zip the open pockets in my duffle, and I stood to swing the strap over my shoulder, shoving my phone into my pocket and unlocking the bathroom door to step out. I walked down the short hall and turned left into the minuscule living room to drop the bag off by the couch, searching for Kurapika in the process, but he was no longer in the main area—the connected, exposed kitchen proved as much. I blinked, confused.
Did he leave?
His shoes were still by the front door, though, along with mine. My lips pursed, and I shifted my weight to turn back around and check the bedroom.
But what if he's sleeping?
Noticing that the door was closed, I hesitated before deciding out of curiosity to move a bit closer. I kept my footsteps light, in case he really was sleeping, and without entering the room, I crept as near as possible and leaned my ear up against the wooden frame, listening.
"...the rest of them that I won't be participating for a long while," came a low, solemn tone.
I furrowed my brows at the businesslike sound of his voice. It wasn't angry, but it was serious and unshaken, different than anything he'd ever used with me.
Who is he speaking to?
Was he on the phone? Who were the "rest of them?" I kept my body entirely frozen in the suspended silence, hoping he wouldn't sense my presence, or that he was too focused to pay attention.
"Exactly my point," he stated, his words nearly a seething monotone now. "If my position is so powerful, I also have the power to step away when I wish to. I have other goals and personal responsibilities in need of attendance."
There was another silence as whoever he was speaking to, clearly on the phone, responded. I felt as though I were holding my breath in an effort to pick out the meaning in what he was saying, though I could guess what he meant by "other goals." Initially, I assumed he was speaking with someone affiliated with the Hunter Association—perhaps he was temporarily calling off all extra work due to the looming date of his planned attack on Chrollo.
Of course he is. Why else?
"How about you tell my secretary to appoint someone for my position while I'm away?" Kurapika scoffed, sarcastic and carelessly scathing. "I don't give a damn who takes this temporary spot as Don. I think the other nine can deal efficiently with my absence."
Don...?
Where had I heard that term before? It certainly wasn't to do with the Hunter Association, but it felt familiar somehow, and strangely intimidating. How much sway did Kurapika hold? Obviously, he wasn't simply a Hunter, but he'd kept so much of his work a secret from me, even after he'd divulged to me much of his truth, that I could hardly begin to guess.
Perhaps I hadn't heard it from Kurapika, however. Was it something Chrollo had explained to me, even in the simplest of ways?
Don. And the other nine... so there are ten of them?
The Ten Dons—the Mafia.
Before I could even begin to sort out the flurry of bafflement and shock coursing through my mind in a fearful blizzard, he spoke again, this time lower and utilizing a tone more frightening than any I'd ever heard escape his mouth.
"My goals are absolutely none of your business, nor are my responsibilities," he expressed furiously. "Your job is to listen to me, and I care not how dearly you dislike it. I won't be performing any of my usual tasks, so be sure that it gets done somehow. I am not entirely sure when I'll return, but I will keep you updated to the best of my ability on estimates. Goodbye."
My heartbeat escalated suddenly in my chest, and my breaths came quicker as I immediately backed away from the door and maneuvered towards the couch, balling up in the corner and staring with wide eyes at the coffee table. I wasn't upset, per say, but I was confused, and only mildly afraid of the deathly serious voice he'd spoken with. I'd had no clue beforehand that he was a Mafia boss, or that he worked with the Mafia at all—didn't the Mafia exchange goods with Meteor City? Weren't they one of the main contributors to the continuation of Meteor City, and by close relations, the Phantom Troupe?
Chrollo had told me few flippant things about the foolishness of the Mafia, how it persisted in aiding the Spider especially, above all else, even though he'd purposefully made many enemies within the community. He'd told me he wanted nothing to do with cooperation, and that the only reason he allowed their alliance to continue for so long was because he needed those ties to the black market early on, and because destroying that piece of society was not an instant concern of his—now that he'd earned everything he needed from them, he couldn't possibly care less about preserving such ties. He despised all meddling forms of government control, and it only served to further irk him that the Mafia assumed he wanted their help. Of course, he found it amusing; he would only go on in decimating its structure while it naively believed he would come crawling back.
So, was Kurapika not aware of this? Perhaps it was taboo, even within that very community, and those who knew of the ties were not to speak of them. Perhaps his position as Don was not as underground as the others.
That must be it. And now he's temporarily resigning from work because he is unsure when the date of the battle will be.
The realization almost arose a panicked fluttering in my stomach. It wasn't about coercion anymore—I didn't want to be alone. I couldn't be alone. Didn't he understand that? Was there any way for me to make him stay, as selfish as it was?
Gentle footsteps alerted my present mind and brought me out of the fast-consuming reverie I'd delved into, sending a flinch to my shaky form. I took in a hefty breath and peered over my shoulder, forcing a little smile as I gazed at Kurapika strolling back into the living room absently, still glancing down at his phone—at the sight of me, however, he lifted his head fully, his lips twitching upwards crookedly in response, and slid his phone into his pocket. He moved around the sofa and sat down next to me, leaning back and releasing a sigh.
"Are you feeling any better?" he inquired, his voice back to its smooth, quiet tone. His eyes met mine, a dim, glinting gray, before focusing unseeingly down at his hands, sympathetic and far away. "Sometimes taking a long shower can be more helpful than we originally perceive."
There was no remnant of the conversation I'd just overheard in his energy or his appearance, almost as if he'd never had it at all; there was no lingering anger or frustration, or even annoyance, and his irises certainly weren't scarlet. I hedged over the idea of bringing it up, though I didn't want him to think it had been my intent to eavesdrop.
I shrugged and recalled the half hour I'd been able to spend speaking with Chrollo, feeling an ache of longing in my chest as a painful result. My body seemed to tense up slightly, a reflex reaction to ward away the dismal reminder that I wouldn't feel his comforting embrace for quite a while yet—that reflex already felt natural.
"A little better," I whispered, bringing my knees up to my chest and resting my chin on them.
Something like agony flickered across Kurapika's expression as he turned to face me, but it was just as swiftly replaced by that familiar, and yet entirely foreign in meaning, miles-deep emotion settling within the confines of his gaze. It was yearning, but also content. He held my gaze for a moment longer than what was comfortable without speaking—I blinked a few times and looked down, lacing my fingers together around my legs.
"That's good." He cleared his throat, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his hands twine together, as well. "Is there anything else I can do? Maybe to distract you, or... Do you want to talk about it? You don't—I mean, you don't have to, but I'm here if you do."
I could tell that he typically wasn't used to being the one to make others feel better, but his effort was endearing, at least. Most likely, he was trying so hard because he didn't want things to be awkward between the two of us while I stayed—I was too dull to really feel awkwardness, though.
"I'm okay," I insisted quietly. I pursed my lips unsurely before forcing the next words to my mouth. "Who were you, um... on the phone with?"
I kept my eyes down when his head snapped towards me again and refused to glance at his expression, though I was certain it would be something like shock. I tried to indirectly focus so that I could tell once again whether or not his eyes were red—I was nearly entirely sure that they weren't, but I felt it necessary to check.
There was silence for what seemed like a long time, and I had to remind myself to breathe fully in and out. He never let up on his confused, curious stare—it only felt slightly guarded. After a while, he released a lengthy exhale, but it was restrained, wishing for me to understand something he wouldn't put to words. I stayed still.
"How much did you hear?"
His inquiry was straight forward and blunt, probing, but not as cautious as I assumed it might've been. It almost seemed as though he was doing his best to keep minuscule details from me without having to lie, to which I could empathize—there were many details I kept from him.
I felt sheepish, though, and unwilling. Perhaps this was something I didn't want to hear, some facet of his life that I would've been better off not knowing about. Part of me wanted to brush it off and ignore it, but it would leave too many unanswered questions—I didn't fare well with those.
"Just the last bit," I murmured, furrowing my brows. "Why are you taking off from work?"
Slowly, I raised my gaze to his, looking out through my lashes and slanted expression into his wide eyes and paused features, features which read like they were still digesting my words or something which had been perceived as missed. Of course, I knew the reason why he was taking off—he was comforting me for the time being, but his goal was not to stay with me. Why did he appear so bewildered?
I didn't say anything I wasn't supposed to say, right? I fretted inwardly, my hands tensing together.
I'd already accepted that I needed to convince him to stay, but perhaps I had more work to do than I'd originally thought. Why would he call off all of his work so early? Did he still plan on searching for Chrollo, even though he'd promised me he wouldn't? My heart skipped several beats at the thought, and a rising tower of anxiety built in my mind, stacking continuously while my perspective seemed to zoom out, watching everything happen at once while I sat frozen before Kurapika.
What would happen if he found Chrollo? Would he pass up that opportunity for me? I doubted he would, and even so, I desperately wished he carried a strong enough attachment to me—I couldn't be alone, but I certainly couldn't be alone while my lover was hunted by the product of the very secret I kept from him.
Am I assuming too much?
Yes. Wait for him to actually answer the question.
What was my question again?
Suddenly, I felt a soft, soothing palm rest over my repeatedly clenching fingers, and then it squeezed gently, leniently, coaxing my subconscious, convulsing lacing to cease. I inhaled sharply, peering down through wild eyes at the hand covering mine—long, pale fingers, unadorned by any rings, and a firm wrist cuffed by the sleeve of a gray sweatshirt. Swallowing unsurely, I dragged my gaze up once more, looking into the much closer eyes of Kurapika, misty and tired, almost disheveled and over-matured, but also glimmering with the smallest hint of amusement. He'd moved nearer to me, and I could feel the warmth from his body when he steadily unlatched one of my hands from the other, setting my arms carefully to the side. My jaggedly thudding heart skidded to a smoother pace, but it was still unnerved—my breathing felt uneven.
A strange gleam entered his expression, and his fingers twitched, reaching up for just a moment towards my face. I tried to conceal the reflexive wince I reacted with, but I failed miserably—he hesitated, clearly noticing the way my shoulders flexed, his lips parting like he was on the verge of speaking. Gradually, he withdrew his hand, resting it sullenly over his thigh, but he maintained eye contact with me, purposefully unspoken sensations sparking secretly beneath the gray of his irises.
"Well, um..." He trailed away, his head tilting in something like partial comprehension. "You're staying here, so I thought it would be better if I wasn't engaged in any preoccupations. I figured you would assume as much—what were you thinking?"
It wasn't an accusatory question, nor was it judgmental or harsh; it was compassionate and sweet, offering assurance if I needed any. There was nothing in his words which read dishonesty, but I was nearly inclined to believe he was lying to me. Was his main goal not searching for Chrollo, then?
He called off of work for me?
In the short term, my heart wished it to be true—I wouldn't have to be alone at all, if this were the case. As much as I wanted to deny it, I did take some comfort in Kurapika's presence, in his kind voice, his innocence and his simple morals. In many ways, I envied his morals, though I didn't envy the conscience which came along with them. It would be far more difficult to accept his death with a set of morals which even hardly resembled his, but again, I wasn't sure I'd completely accepted anything. Everything was so slow motion at the time.
With uncertain movements, I uncurled my body, leaning back slightly into the sofa and crossing my legs beneath me, and I worked to keep my fingers from twining together nervously. My right leg ended up resting overtop of his thigh—his hand raised from where it had been placed there, and he set it loosely on my knee. I watched with glazed eyes, turning my head to see his expression, and when our gazes met, he was already facing me with unreadably wistful irises. Our noses weren't more than an inch apart; I could feel his steady breaths brush my skin.
Too close.
I blinked and looked down again, keeping subconscious tabs on the way his thumb gently traced over my leg. If I wasn't so numb and impervious to my surroundings, I might've found my heart racing a bit faster and my stomach fluttering in warning, but I was calm, probably appearing uncaring. Most likely, it was for the best.
"I thought you decided you wanted to search for the—the leader, after all," I uttered, my voice sounding quiet and dull. Inwardly, I flinched at the thought. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't expect you to do anything like that for me."
It was true. I knew how much weight he put into his work, and if he worked with the Mafia, that wasn't exactly as easy as canceling a day with an office.
And he's one of the Ten Dons—Jesus Christ.
I could see something like hurt flash through his features out of the corner of my vision, and his hand over my knee paused, pensive and wavering, though he didn't pull away. I didn't have the strength to mind. His other arm lifted, and he ruffled his fingers through his hair in self-exasperation, leaning back into the couch and sighing.
"(Y/n), I promised you I wouldn't," he whispered softly, reassuringly. "I couldn't break a promise to you, even if I wanted to. And there are certainly times when I wish I could, but I can't." There was quiet for several seconds, and I felt his grip tense slightly over my leg. "For a long time, there was nothing I wanted more than to make those wretched dogs pay for what they'd done. It was all I thought about, all I ever dreamed about, if I could sleep—I didn't care about the lengths it would take me to finally achieve what I wanted. At the time, my biggest fear was that my rage would die away as the days continued, and I almost believed it was beginning to happen—my drive was diminishing. But I still wanted the same thing, and I still wanted it just as much. So then, why did going on feel like such a chore? Such an arduous task?"
I bit down on the inside of my cheek while he spoke, cursing the threat of the ache in my throat and the prick in my eyes at the sound of the lost sadness in his voice, the broken determination shining through and revealing the puppet he'd become to the strings of anger and wrath. He shifted, though, and stood from the sofa, slowly turning to face me with those gray irises, ones which brimmed with the knowledge and the replaying images of murder, the unceasing calls of the ones he would never see again.
The ones the Phantom Troupe took from him.
And through assumption, the ones my own lover had slaughtered. My heart felt cut and slashed by the pain emanating from Kurapika as he knelt on the floor, propping one arm up on the cushion beside me and resting his chin tiredly in his palm. With the other, he grasped one of my hands, holding it tenderly in his and playing absently with my fingers while he stared blankly at our skin together, that same yearning burning mutedly beneath the empty expression in his hazy irises. I allowed him to, and I leaned forward a bit, hooking my thumb around his and sniffling quietly.
"It wasn't that my rage had decreased," he noted simply, shrugging unfeelingly. "It was that it had done what I originally wished for it to do—overtake me and any other desire I held in my heart, because I was sure there was nothing else I wanted beyond avenging my brethren. But then I met you." Kurapika looked up, and I gazed silently back, studying the wayward locks of blond hair sticking out around his ears and neck and hanging heavily over his forehead and temples. "And I found there is certainly something else that I want, apart from this revenge—I want your happiness, (Y/n). I think my rage has a difficult time overpowering this desire and quelling it like it has to everything else, because I have found myself dwelling more on thoughts of you than on my vengeance. I don't fully understand it; I don't want to understand it. But our pain is so similar... I wish I could truthfully say I want more than anything for you to find happiness and satisfaction, but I suppose, I can truthfully say I wish desperately for you to find happiness and satisfaction. But in the end, I could be afraid of admitting this is what I want more than anything else."
I didn't respond; I couldn't respond. I held his gaze with wide eyes and a fractured heart, begging without words to comprehend what it was he was striving to tell me. Although, oddly enough, there was a part of me who was afraid, in much the same way as he was of admitting, of comprehending, as if this part of me carried untold knowledge of the repercussions of comprehending his conflicting emotions. Instinctively, I cringed away from the gravity in his speech, though I was endlessly glad to know he wasn't still hunting down Chrollo.
I guess, that makes things a little easier.
So, why did everything seem so much more complicated now? As if Kurapika calling off of his work for me rather than for his pledged vengeance was harder to compute, or more unwillingly computed on my part? There was an understanding I wasn't tapped into yet, but I could see it in his eyes. It frightened me.
But he was never pushy or assertive. He remained gentle, his hand around mine relaxed and soothing, and a small, unsure smile cracked his despondently suspended expression. I still felt frozen, unable to move, unable to want to completely process the meaning behind the words he spoke.
"I've already entrusted you with too many of my burdens," he admitted through a wispy breath, his voice barely audible among the silence of the apartment. "Let me carry some of yours in return. You don't have to bear this on your own, (Y/n)."
But I do.
My brows slanted in an empathetic way—I knew his intentions were pure and good, but he wouldn't last a day under the truth I held, the plan I fully intended to see through to the end. Again, I found myself apologizing in my mind, to Kurapika, to Chrollo, to myself.
I'm sorry.
"You're still going to go after him, though, eventually." It wasn't a question. I knew he would, but now wasn't the time to sway him. "Why should I believe you when you say you're staying here for me?"
It was wicked and cruel and selfish and I knew as much, but I said it, anyway; it was manipulative and an underhanded move, but it wasn't dishonest. I didn't say it just to earn some promise from him he would regret making, but I also didn't want to know why I asked it in the first place.
There was a boldness in Kurapika's eyes that hadn't been present before, something more calculating and speculative than the timidity and the pleas of only five minutes ago. In a drawn out manner, he put his weight on his knees, standing a bit taller and leaning closer to me. His grip tightened infinitesimally, the most minuscule, most restrained effort made towards me, and his other hand didn't falter this time when he raised it to my face, softly, sweetly resting against my cheek and rendering me unable to react correctly. His eyelids lowered slightly, and he stroked the pad of his thumb beneath my mildly swollen eyes, his gaze examining the puffy skin with care.
"I don't want you to cry," he murmured, almost to himself, distracted for just a moment before suddenly imploring me. He seemed to snap back to focus, blinking once, and then twice. "Yes, eventually, I'm going to..."
He pursed his lips dubiously, clearly reluctant to finish such a sentence in that moment. I couldn't blame him, as bitter as it made me feel.
"You don't have to believe me," he relented defeatedly. "I wish you would, but I suppose, I'm not forcing you. I want you to believe me; I would never lie to you, (Y/n). And I—I'm trying." His mouth parted, and he inhaled raggedly, shifting ever closer, his palm tilting my face towards his. "I promise you, I'm trying to do what you've asked of me."
Kurapika's fingers curled gently beneath my chin, unintentionally sending a foreboding tingle down my spine. I couldn't read his motives, nor the torrential confidence he'd begun moving with, but again, I knew he was far too close, be it innocent. Still, my eyes stayed trained on his, searching for any sort of definition within the waves of unfiltered depth—they spoke of wisdom, and yet they threw themselves at me foolishly, brazenly. It took an enormous heave of will to pull my hand away from his, my chest rising and falling just barely more heavily than normal, but from something like perturbed nerves rather than excitement.
Cautiously, I placed my palm over the back of his hand, sliding it away and gripping both of them together in my lap. My brows twitched lower, my gaze narrowing compassionately, and I took the moment of wordlessness to examine the starker shadows beneath his eyes. He didn't usually wear such sleepy shrouds—I was only used to seeing those kinds of indentations under Chrollo's ethereal gaze.
How long has it been since he's had a proper night's rest?
I supposed I wouldn't know. After all, I hadn't truly seen him in quite a while, due to my original plan of ignoring him until our friendship fell through the gaping cracks of my secret. Obviously, that hadn't worked—Kurapika seemed just the same regarding me, the only difference being this blatant intensity, and be that to my dismay or my relief, I couldn't tell.
Maybe it's the sleep deprivation causing this outward behavior, I reasoned to myself, refusing to believe anything different.
He exhaled unsteadily, a soft puff of air grazing my lips, and closed his eyes, his hands entirely relaxing in mine.
"Do you believe me, (Y/n)?"
His smooth voice sounded accepting now, as though no matter what answer I gave, he would understand. For some foreshadowing reason, my heart constricted slightly in my chest.
"Yes," I breathed quietly. And I did—it wasn't a lie. "You need sleep, Kurapika; you're exhausted. You look like you haven't slept in days."
Fluttering his eyelids open, he allowed a smile to taunt his lips.
"I haven't," he admitted through a lenient chuckle.
"Then rest," I begged him, squeezing his hands carefully. "Please. You'll feel less... scrambled."
If that's what I'm calling it now.
A long minute dragged by before he clicked his tongue mutedly, peering down in a foggy haze and retracting from me, standing on gradual feet. He ran a fist into his wavy locks, staring off somewhere very far away. Inwardly, I released an enormous sigh of relief.
"Okay." He took a few steps forward, turning to face me one more time and smiling a bit wider now. "You're very beautiful, (Y/n)."
I was taken utterly aback, completely in shock and unable to respond. I swallowed, looking down as though I'd done something wrong, and recounted the events of the past fifteen minutes, searching for what I might've said or done that would elicit such an unexpected complement from him.
"Goodnight, I guess," he called softly, moving slowly from the room and leaving me alone to sort through an incoherent scatter of a lack of any thought, beside one inherent desire.
I miss my only lover.
———————————————————————
*June 5th: No message from Chrollo.*
*June 6th: No message from Chrollo.*
*June 7th: No message from Chrollo.*
*June 8th: One message from Chrollo, at 11:57 p.m.:*
"Goodnight, my little angel. I'm sure you are sound asleep right now—I wish so horribly to hold you in my arms. I haven't the time to call you, and I am so, incredibly sorry. I can only hope you have been sleeping well and dreaming well and getting along without me. I haven't slept, and I can only think of you if I allow myself to think at all. I miss you endlessly; I love you endlessly. Always, pretty (Y/n)."