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Leorio wasn't surprised when he realized someone else was watching him. "How long have you been there, Pika?"
Kurapika stepped out of the shadows, mouth quirked up just the tiniest bit in the fond, wry way Leorio missed so much. It ached, seeing him in the flesh, after so many months. His eyebags were darker, deeper, activating some primal doctor urge in Leorio: he wanted nothing more than to thrust a blanket and some melatonin into Kurapika's hands just to get him to sleep a full eight hours for once in his goddamn life.
He wasn't a Conjurer, though. He also didn't have either of those items, so instead, he settled for silence and waited for Kurapika to answer.
"Not long."
He sidled up next to Leorio. Their elbows brushed; the pair looked out on Meteor City. They were on the balcony of some hotel whose name Leorio couldn't be bothered to remember and whose name Kurapika never learned. The stars hung above them, pinpricks in a black curtain, and the red city below swallowed in silence. Leorio knew not to press Kurapika about what he was doing, where he had been. He knew, too, not to lecture about being careful.
But he couldn't stop the suggestion from bursting out.
"You should get more sleep," he said. "How are you?"
Kurapika leveled an unimpressed look at him. "Not getting enough sleep."
"Clearly."
"You called?"
"I always call, Pika."
While he had said it in jest, a smile playing on his lips, he saw Kurapika wince next to him, effectively erasing the smile from Leorio's face. Guilt danced in Leorio's stomach. He didn't want Kurapika to feel guilty for not responding. But he also wanted Kurapika to know that other people had his back; that even if Kurapika didn't think he himself was redeemable, Leorio still saw good in him.
Selfishly, Leorio knew he called to hear Kurapika's voice. Even if it was just a recorded voicemail message, it felt like having his friend closer. It was reassuring even if it didn't confirm whether or not Kurapika was alive at any given time.
"Well. You know I'm alive, so my business is done here."
Kurapika turned to leave.
You don't get to do that, Leorio thought, desperately, a swell of anger rising in him. Stay longer, please. He kept the words inside, pushed down the urge to beg, and instead—
"Wait," Leorio said, grabbing Kurapika's arm gently. It was a testament to their friendship, he thought, that Kurapika didn't immediately yank his arm away; Leorio felt Kurapika falter.
"Dance with me."
Kurapika turned around stiffly. "Did I hear you right?"
"Dance with me." He didn't know where the request came from, but he decided to stand by it. It was inane, it was ridiculous, because he didn't even know what Kurapika would say. He had never seen the other man dancing.
For a moment, time froze. Leorio panicked, worried he did something wrong, agonized over the possibility that this was the thing that broke their already fragile thread of communication.
Instead of a yes, Kurapika stepped into Leorio's arms and placed his hands tentatively on Leorio's waist. The touch drained all the tension out of his body; Leorio, already feeling lighter, placed his hands on Kurapika's shoulders, marveling at how solid he felt.
They swayed in silence for a few minutes, keeping time to an imagined melody. Leorio closed his eyes and dared to imagine a different future: he would get home from his shift at the clinic to find Kurapika reading. His eyes would brighten when Leorio stepped through the door; they would catch up over making dinner, and while the food cooked, they would dance in the kitchen to the sound of Gon and Killua and Alluka laughing and talking in the background. No spiders, no vengeance. Just all of them, a family. In this world the spiders wouldn't have existed and Kurapika would get to sleep, would get to close his eyes without feeling any guilt.
"I never learned to dance," Kurapika murmured against Leorio's chest. "Not with a partner. The Kurta, they considered dancing with a partner tantamount to marriage."
"I didn't even ask the question and you're already saying yes, Pika. I knew I was irresistible."
"I will step out of your arms right now," Kurapika said, but there was a hint of a laugh in his voice.
"Keep going," Leorio encouraged. "Don't listen to me."
"I'm familiar with that."
Leorio swatted his ear, more of a tap than anything. Kurapika squeaked, then frowned, embarrassed. The expression found Kurapika crinkling his nose up at Leorio, who snickered.
"That's quite rude. As I was saying, before you rudely interrupted me—" a purse of his lips there, oh, Leorio was an absolute goner for this man, "—the Kurta considered dancing with a partner part of the proposal. It was a commitment; the Kurta were not a touchy people, preferring to express affection through acts of service or slight touches. But this dance, it was intimate."
Leorio was afraid to speak. The air felt charged, electric, even though he felt the night chill press against his thin suit. If the spiders hadn't murdered Kurapika's clan, Leorio could've never have met Kurapika.
Some tiny, horrible, wretched part of him was glad.
"You would imagine the ritual might be elaborate."
Kurapika inhaled shakily, quietly; maybe the chill was getting to him, Leorio thought, and pulled Kurapika closer. He didn't resist; instead, he tilted his head up to make eye contact, eyes wide.
"But it was remarkably similar to this. Simple. Just two people, together, dancing around their family and the people most dear to them. The stories said that the Kurta wanted to emphasize that, no matter how you dress it up, love is steady. It exists long after someone is gone."
"In sickness and in health," Leorio whispered. Kurapika's eyes were scarlet, sparkling, shooting out little hearts at him.
"In sickness and in health," Kurapika repeated. He placed his hands on both sides of Leorio's face. They had stopped dancing, their faces so close that they could taste each others' breaths.
Leorio, instead of closing the gap, asked a question.
"Can I see your chains?"
It was like letting the air out of a balloon, how quickly the energy between them shifted.
"What for, Leorio?" Kurapika said, quietly, dropping his hands from Leorio's face. His gaze shifted downward, but Leorio could almost feel the scarlet in his eyes intensifying. "You know what I've done with them."
Leorio reached down to brush Kurapika's bangs out of his eyes.
"That doesn't change how I feel about you."
"It should."
"It won't."
"Nothing gets through your thick skull."
They had run through the discussion so many times that it felt like slipping back into an old, worn shirt. Like going back to a childhood bedroom. But the usual heat behind their lines was missing.
Abruptly, Kurapika unwound the Dowsing Chain.
"Here," he said brusquely.
Leorio ran his hand down it; Kurapika shuddered and looked away.
"I still care about you," Leorio said, ducking his head to meet Kurapika's eyes. "I'm still gonna call."
"Do you love me? I mean," Kurapika's voice tripped over itself. Leorio heard it tremble when Kurapika spoke again, so quietly that, had any ounce of Leorio's focus had been elsewhere, he couldn't have heard it. "Are you in love with me?"
"You want to make me say it." A chuckle escaped from his mouth. One led to another, until Leorio was full-out giggling, and the guilt didn't kick in until he heard an exasperated huff from his companion, who had his hands on his hips and looked much more like he used to when they first met, indignant and full of feeling.
The nostalgia snaked its way through Leorio's body and snatched all the air from his lungs.
"Is there something funny about the thought of you being in love with me?"
Kurapika took a tiny step backwards, barely out of Leorio's reach, and oh, Leorio had to pause for a moment to take all of him in. Kurapika was beautiful; he always had been, but framed by the red city and the dark night, all his angles sharpened by his tailored black suit, gold hair whipping around his face, eyes on fire, he was breathtaking.
"Oh, Pika," Leorio said. He let the tenderness leak out of every part of him. "Of course I'm in love with you."
"Leorio, don't toy with my feelings." Kurapika's voice shook. Leorio wanted to iron out every wrinkle, take away all the doubt Kurapika had that people cared for him. That people loved him.
"I love you," he said, matter-of-factly, resolute. "I am in love with you. You don't have to believe me. But I know I am. Pika, I love you for free."
He took the other man back into his arms, this time for a hug. The selfish part of him, the one that was glad the spiders had pulled the two of them together, was obliterated in that moment. Because all he wanted was for Kurapika to be happy, in any lifetime, however he showed up.
And that meant letting go, he knew. It meant accepting that in this lifetime, he might only ever be a bit in Kurapika's story.
He would love Kurapika anyway.
"Ask me if I love you."
"What?" Leorio wasn't sure if he'd heard Kurapika right.
"Ask me if I love you," Kurapika repeated, simply.
The other man looked up at Leorio with glassy eyes. Leorio moved to wipe away the tears that had welled up.
"Do you love me?"
"No," Kurapika whispered, head pressed on Leorio's heartbeat. "Not like that."
He hadn't withdrawn the Dowsing Chain, which lay against Leorio's back, swinging from side to side. Leorio pressed a kiss to Kurapika's forehead. They stayed like that, swaying, until the sun rose.
"In sickness and in health," Leorio whispered before Kurapika left.
Kurapika didn't look back, but the echo of Leorio's words was still on his lips as he walked away. If Leorio listened hard enough, he swore that the words hung in the air wherever he went, no matter how far apart the two of them were.