#fartoomanywords

“Ey, yo, Shaaaaal, my man, ‘sup?” Nabu grinned, getting back up to his feet. “Thought you wasn’t back till like Tuesday or Wednesday or somethin’? I’da had a little welcome back thing set up for ya, y’know?”

Shalnark arched an eyebrow, not changing his posture. And he had that smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it, Nabu. I think the Four Loko you got me last time is still in the back of the fridge.” His head tilted to the side. “So, who’s your guest?”

Nabu gulped, tugging at his snapback. “Hey, uh, about that, I know this is your place an’ all, an’ I was totally gonna ask you, but y’know my cell phone don’t work so good right now cause--”

“Don’t worry.” Shalnark clapped a hand on his shoulder, smile never wavering. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Yeah, so, uh...” Nabu shuffled over to where his companion had just sat down, then stood off to the side, not making eye contact with either of them. “This is, uh, this is my bro, ummm...” He darted his eyes over, hoping the dude would get the hint.

“Tonpa?”

Nabunaga’s head snapped to the left, eyes wide. He’d been expecting the dude to be the one to say his own name, not Shalnark. “You two know each other?”

Tonpa, paler than a cloud of smoke, put a hand behind his head and forced a smile. “Yeah, we, uh... we’ve met. It was a long time ago. I didn’t think you’d remember, kid.”

There was a little crinkle around Shalnark’s eyes, a little change in his smile. Nabu had no idea what it meant, but it sure as shit meant something. “How could I forget?”

“Look, I don’t want to encroach,” Tonpa began, only to be cut off as Shalnark’s hand touched his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous; you have to stay the night, for old times’ sake.” Shalnark trailed a finger along Tonpa’s jaw. “Don’t you think it’d be nice to relax, make up for lost time?”

“I, uh,” Tonpa stammered, sweat following where Shalnark’s finger had led. “I guess it couldn’t hurt?”

Nabunaga took a deep rip off of his vape, eyebrows somewhere up around his snapback. Whatever the hell this was, it was gonna be an interesting night.

As the antenna was wrenched from his skin and Shalnark regained his senses, a crushing wave of pain flowed through his entire body, pooling in the innumerable gashes that crisscrossed his skin. Dropping from one knee to all fours, ragged, bubbling breaths trickling into the punctured lung that had prompted him to use Autopilot, he watched a too-bright shade of red spatter the green grass. He’d seen that color countless times before, more than enough to know its significance; he just hadn’t expected to see it coming from himself so soon.

Shalnark rolled onto his back, staring up at a sky far too cheerful and blue to die under. A host of butterflies, an ever-changing constellation of pink and red, descended from all sides to alight on his wounds, prompting a wet cough that rattled in his throat– the closest to a chuckle he could manage. Apparently he wasn’t too pretty to die, as he’d always insisted; still, lavishly decorated in hemotropic butterflies, he was sure leaving behind a good-looking corpse.

As a figure loomed over him, ready to bludgeon him into a final rest, Shalnark summoned up one last cheeky grin, middle fingers on both hands extending. Never would he let it be said he didn’t get the last laugh.

The sky disappeared, blotted out by a fast-descending shadow. The beginning of a sickening crunch, a flash of white–

Shalnark blinked, blinked again, took a deep breath, looked down at himself. He was back to his normal self-- not a scratch remained on his skin, and his pain had faded completely. Looking back up, he let out a sigh. White, nothing but nondescript and slightly too bright white, stretched as far as he could see. A sliver of disappointment niggled at him; he’d never believed in any sort of afterlife, and he wasn’t too fond of being proven wrong without a nice consolation prize to make up for it. An eternity of hospital white and zero company was pretty much the opposite of that.

A flutter of red, and he corrected himself. It seemed he’d brought a handful of these damn butterflies with him; even better. He gave it about a week before he cracked and started making up imaginary friends.

“Shal?” a gravelly baritone sounded behind him.

With a snort and a quirk of his mouth, Shalnark crossed his arms. Well, apparently it had taken less than thirty seconds. Shaking his head, he turned to face the figment of his imagination… and let out a gasp, hands dropping to his sides as he stared in disbelief. “Uvo?”

A deep, contented rumble, almost a purr, filled the air. Few people in the world had been fortunate enough to hear that sound, and it wasn’t until saltwater blurred Shalnark’s vision that he realized just how much he had missed it. As Uvogin spread his arms wide, Shalnark began racing forward, taking a flying leap that wound have sent anyone else tumbling. But not Uvogin. No, his Uvo just chuckled and caught him, hands cupping Shalnark’s backside in a grasp that was firm, gentle, playful, but above all, comforting. It was the most natural thing in the world– just as it had always been.

“Hey there,” said Uvogin, eyes sparkling in amusement. “You miss me or somethin’?”

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob leapt from Shalnark’s chest, and the tears finally broke free to trail down his cheeks. “I–” he began, but the words stuck, caught behind the lump in his throat. “I thought I’d never get to see you again,” he whispered. “I kept thinking… thinking about the last time I saw you. If I’d known that was gonna be–”

“Shh,” Uvogin soothed, forehead coming to rest against Shalnark’s. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now. Anything you didn’t get to say, anything you–”

Uvogin’s words were cut short as Shalnark’s mouth collided with his, lips and tongue frenzied, desperate. A flood of feelings and thoughts and everything that had hung so heavy inside him was clamoring to escape, to make itself understood through this kiss. A sweep of the tongue for I want you, a nip for I hate how stupid you were, a series of pecks for I’m sorry and I love you and I’ll never let you leave again. When he finally forced himself to pull away, Shalnark was panting.

“Shal,” murmured Uvogin, eyes wide. “I had no idea. I mean, I knew there was something between us, but all that?” His gaze dropped, shame hooding his lids. “If I’d known it was like that, I might’ve–”

“It’s okay,” Shalnark whispered, echoing Uvogin’s words. “We’re together now, and that’s what matters. Nothing’s gonna separate us ever again. We can stay here forever, just the two of us.” A flutter in the corner of his vision tugged one side of his mouth upwards. “The butterflies don’t count.”

That pleased rumble vibrated Shalnark’s entire body, sending a not-unpleasant thrill up his spine. “Just the two of us, huh?” Uvogin cracked a grin. “I like the sound of that.” Strong hands squeezed Shalnark’s rear, pulling him up and into Uvogin’s body as their lips met once again.

—

“Okay, Doc, tell me what’s going on.” Phinks’s fingers twitched, aching for something to grab, someone to make pay. Only a heroic effort kept him from grabbing the doctor by his coat; habits died hard, and duress brought out the worst in him.

The wiry little man pushed his glasses up onto his nose with two fingers. “We’ve managed to get the swelling down and get his cerebral bleeding under control, but that’s not the only cause for concern. There may already be significant damage to what we call the Reticular Activating System, or RAS for short–”

Phinks had his fingers wrapped around the doctor’s throat before he could utter another word, free hand cocked back and charged with Nen. “Are you trying to piss me off on purpose? Cause if you are, keep it up! I’m one more medical jumbo jumbo word away from putting you in a bed right next to–”

A gentle hand on Phinks’s back cut him off, and he turned to find Feitan staring up at him. His bandana was low enough to show his face, bunched muscles betraying a clenched jaw, pain-clouded eyes pleading with him not to make the situation worse. An infinitesimal shake of his head was the last push it took.

With a deep sigh, Phinks slowly loosened his grip and lowered his hands. Eye contact that had been so simple just seconds ago became impossible; his gaze settled on a point over the doctor’s shoulder. “Look, I…” He swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about my friend, and I don’t like not understanding the words you’re using. Nobody likes to feel stupid, y'know?” He forced his eyes back to the doctor’s face, biting his lip with the effort. “D'you think you could… maybe explain it to a guy who’s not as bright as you?” A pair of blinks, a sniffle, and he broke eye contact, scrubbing at his face. “I just need to know what’s going on with my buddy,” he whispered.

The doctor nodded, shrugging off the threat to his life like it was nothing. Then again, this clinic was in a pretty rough area; Phinks probably wasn’t the first to pull a stunt like that. “Your friend is in a coma,” he said, words slow and precise but not condescending. “We’ve done what we can to minimize further problems, but we can’t tell yet if there’s permanent damage to the part of his brain that controls his ability to wake up. The good news is that there’s brain activity, but I’m not going to lie to you: sometimes people never wake up, and we don’t know why. From here, I guess you could say it depends on your friend.”

Phinks forced out what was supposed to be a laugh; it ended up closer to a pained bark. “Oh, that’s it?” he wheezed. “No problem, then. We’re Shal’s best buddies. There’s no way he’d leave us behind.” He shook his head, teeth bared in what he hoped could be mistaken for a grin.

Strong arms snaked their way under his armpits and behind his neck, a foot hooking his ankle and toppling him to one knee. “Gon! Get ahold of yourself!” Killua yelled from behind him.

“Let go of me, Killua!” Gon pushed upwards with the foot that was still planted on the floor, dragging his friend up with him. “Stay behind me until you can get Kite and run. There’s no telling how strong Pitou is now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kite’s voice sounded from beside him. A gentle but firm grasp on Gon’s wrist spoke volumes. “Pitou serves me now. There’s no need to worry.”

“Like hell there’s no need to worry,” Gon spat, tugging in an attempt to free his hand. “She’s a killer!”

That grip tightened, just shy of painful. Kite had never been the most patient teacher. “Everyone in this room has killed, Gon. More than once.”

“But she killed you!” Gon’s voice cracked at the last syllable, a horrible tightness closing off his throat and blurring his eyes as blood pounded in his ears. “Sh-she took you away from me,” he murmured, hating the utter inadequacy of the explanation, praying Kite would understand everything he didn’t-- couldn’t-- put into words.

A choking sound snapped Gon’s attention to the figure on the floor. “My Q-Queen,” Pitou gargled through a mouthful of near-indigo blood, “It’s all right. I deserve it.” The eye that had not yet begun to swell shut gazed over Gon’s shoulder, an unspoken request passing through the air. A moment later, Kite released Gon’s wrist, and Killua loosened his hold.

Slowly, cautiously, Gon stepped closer, hand still balled in a fist. Peering down at the creature lying on the floor, he fought to keep his voice level. “What did you say?”

Swallowing, Pitou let out a sigh, then finally met his gaze. “I deserve your hate. I hurt you and so, so many others. And for that, I am sorry. And I promise to change.”

Phantom memories swirled in the air, images of an enemy he had spent months preparing to kill kneeling before him and begging to save another’s life. Flashes of another place, of her standing above him as he pleaded with her to return the favor. She had said she was sorry then, too, as Kite’s body had toppled to the ground.

Pitou’s hand came into the air, a hand with too few fingers, claws, proof of the monster she was. “I cannot change my past-- only my future-- but I am changing. I am not good; not yet. But I promise you this: one day, I will be a good person.”

“…And I swear, by this point, this guy’s about to blow every blood vessel in his head.” Leorio took a swig of his drink, licking his lips before placing his glass back on the coffee table, then continued. “He says to me, ‘Gimme that! I bought it from you, fair and square!’ And I’m like, ‘Nuh-uh. You bought that pretty vase you’ve got there. You never said you wanted to buy what was in it!’” With that, he dissolved into another giggling fit, all-too-soon punctuated by a series of hiccups. “You shoulda seen his face!”

“You didn’t,” Kurapika gasped, shaking his head as he leaned forward on his knees. The glass in his hand tilted with him, nearly spilling on the table, but at the last moment, reflex brought it upright. “You didn’t,” he insisted.

“I did!” Leorio’s chest puffed out, and he sat up straight, striking a noble pose, or as close to it as he could manage under the influence. “I hustled that bastard just like he was trying to hustle me!” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Know what I said then, just to roast his ass?”

The blond took his lower lip in his teeth, eyes wide with wonder, and Leorio barely restrained himself from reaching out and running his thumb across that lip. Only Kurapika’s reply kept the black-haired man grounded in the real world, where that was sure to earn him a fist to the face. “What’d you say?”

Leorio swallowed hard, pausing for dramatic effect. Absolutely not pausing to tear his thoughts away from that lip and all the sinful things he wanted to do with it. Nope. “'Wanna buy it off me?’”

Kurapika threw his head back and laughed– a melodic, unrestrained laughter unlike anything Leorio had heard before. It was captivating, beautiful– just like Kurapika. Hell, Kurapika had always been sexy, but in this moment, sparkling eyes punctuated with tiny tinges of pink that came and went in a flash, cheeks flushed, a giggle on his lips? No, calling this sexy was calling a priceless gem a pretty rock.

Not for the first time since meeting the Kurta, Leorio wished he’d been born different. Not richer, not smarter, not stronger, but blessed with some kind of artistic talent. Drawing, writing, singing, anything where he could put this feeling to use. Sure, he could manipulate the body– flesh and bone and sinew and all the periphery and trappings– but this? This was the breath of life, and Leorio was an idiot fumbling with a jar, wishing beyond wishing that he could catch and capture it. No, this was the stuff for poets and painters; it was utterly wasted on him.

And damn it all, he was so ridiculously glad it was being wasted on him.

“You would,” giggled Kurapika, raising his glass to his mouth once more, only to abandon his attempt as a last-moment snicker sent the liquid spraying back into the bottom of the glass. “You’re such a shameless whore.”

“Hey, hey, whores have sex for money,” Leorio admonished, waggling a finger at the blond. “I, on the other hand, was teaching a creep a lesson for moral reasons.”

The Kurta’s eyebrows went up, as did the glass, rising to his lips more cautiously this time.

“…And for money.”

To his credit, Kurapika swallowed, only then pointing a triumphant finger at the physician. “Ha! Whore!” There was a warmth to the insult, a familiar tone that was absent during their day-to-day interactions. Leorio resolved to drag it out of him more often, even if it meant spending a fortune on high-end, high-powered booze like what they were having tonight.

“This stuff is great,” Kurapika slurred, seemingly reading Leorio’s mind. “What’d you say it was called again?”

“Absentium, or something like that. It’s illegal in a lot of places, the guy said. He might’ve just trying to jack up the price, but I don’t think I care either way.” To illustrate his point, Leorio took another swig, grimacing as green, herbal fire flowed down his throat. “Damn, this is strong.”

The noise Kurapika made with his mouth was some unholy amalgam of flatulence and a cackle. “And you’re drinking it with ice,” he crowed. “Like a little child.”

“Hey, we can’t all be gluttons for punishment like you,” Leorio retorted, nodding to the Kurta’s glass. “It’s helping you grow a sense of humor, though. You should drink more often.”

“I know, right?” The Kurta tilted his head back and took a deep swig, throat pulsing with the action.

Leorio, in the meantime, tried very, very hard not to be hypnotized by that expanse of pale skin. He was not dying to know just how soft it felt under his fingers, or what sounds Kurapika would make if Leorio trailed a line of kisses down toward his collarbone, or…

“Thank you, Leorio.” The blond reached out a hand, fingers brushing against Leorio’s and snapping him from his reverie. Brown eyes took on a soft pink tinge, but rather than flicker out as they had been doing all night, they retained their glow. “It’s been years since I let myself cut loose and laugh like this.”

Witnessing that glow directed at anyone would stay with Leorio for a lifetime, but it wasn’t pointed at someone else. No, those eyes were for him, and his heart had stopped completely or was hammering so fast he couldn’t feel it anymore and he fought just to draw a breath because he didn’t deserve that look, not for anything he’d ever done. Much less just for getting Kurapika drunk. It was too much to bear; he had to ruin the moment like he ruined everything beautiful and meaningful. Better on purpose with a joke than accidentally with sincerity gone too far. “Psh, you and I both know you’ve never cut loose a day in your life.”

“Totally not true,” insisted Kurapika, a drunken grin sliding onto his face as he removed his hand and pointed a thumb at himself. “I used to be the most laid-back person in the world. Seriously. I was famous for my pranks.”

“Pranks?” Leorio snorted. “You? Jeez, what happened, man?” It was a casual comment, gentle ribbing among friends, emboldened by a bit too much liquor. This moment was so comfortable, so close, that it was only natural for Leorio to throw a couple jabs– little body blows, nothing serious.

But in this moment of letting down his guard, he’d forgotten what to avoid; he’d forgotten that Kurapika, so strong, so utterly unshakable, had glass ribs protecting a glass heart.

Kurapika stiffened, eyes going wide. The drink in his hand began to shake, even as soft pink grew redder, deeper. An eternity passed in silence, then he set the beverage on the table and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Everyone died when the Spiders came,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Including me.”

Shame and shock and fear gripped Leorio by the back of the neck, paralyzing him. The moment he’d gotten Kurapika to let his guard down, he’d hit him where it hurt the most. “Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–” he began, but a crack in his voice stopped him. Cursing inwardly, he tried again. “Sorry. But… what do you mean, you died? You’re right here.”

“I died with my clan, Leorio,” the blond said, voice never rising above that awful whisper. “The person you know is just the leftovers of what I was. When they massacred everyone I ever loved, the Spiders broke me, hollowed me out. All I am now is what little they couldn’t kill– a shell, driven by revenge.”

Try as he might, the taller man couldn’t seem to come up with a response. Of course Kurapika was more than that– so much more– but Leorio couldn’t find the words to express that thought. And just as his brain began cobbling together a rough draft, he was interrupted.

“When I found my mother, she had beetles nesting in her brain.” The words tumbled out without warning, a confession wrenched from the depths of Kurapika’s gut. His eyes went wide, as if he were horrified at his own admission. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay,” Leorio murmured, unsure of what else to say. He’d hear any number of horrible things from Kurapika, even if only so his friend could unburden himself.

“No, it’s not,” the Kurta growled, fists clenching. “It’s not okay. It will never, ever be okay. Even if I rid this world of that scum, it won’t bring back a single Kurta. My family is dead, and I’m alone, and…” A strangled sob caught in Kurapika’s throat. “It hurts, Leorio. It hurts so much.” The crack in the dam widened, tears leaking from scarlet eyes, then moments later, those eyes clenched shut, and a near-silent keening sound tore its way from his chest as he turned his face upwards. Sobs wracked his body, shaking him like a rag doll as he wept.

Without a conscious thought, Leorio dropped what he was holding and stood. Onto and off of the coffee table he went with two long strides, then dropped to his knees by Kurapika’s side. Grabbing hold hold of his shoulders to turn him, the physician buried the blond’s face in his chest before wrapping his arms around him. “You may be the last Kurta,” he murmured into golden hair that smelled of herbs and a trace of something smoky. “There’s nothing you or I or anyone can do to change that. But I swear to hell and back, as long as I have a single breath left in my body, you will never, ever be alone again, Kurapika. Even when we’re apart.”

Tears soaked Leorio’s shirt; liquor, spilled in his haste, soaked his knees. He didn’t care. All that mattered in this moment was the shuddering bundle of hurt in his arms. Hands clutched at his back, lithe fingers digging in and releasing, palms pounding aimlessly, just another conduit through which the years of pent-up anguish could escape. Kurapika whimpered and growled and howled into Leorio’s chest, babbling in English and Kurta alike. And the physician merely held his friend, one hand gently stroking through golden hair as the other held him tight.

The strongest person Leorio knew had finally reached his breaking point, and no matter what, he was going to help Kurapika weather this storm.

The crying ebbed and flowed, sometimes stopping entirely long enough for Kurapika to pull away, only to grasp Leorio by the lapels and bury his face under the taller man’s chin as the catharsis began anew. After an eternity, though, he pulled back, wiping a sleeve across his face and sniffling. “Sorry,” he whispered, averting his gaze as a blush rose to his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to–”

“If you try to apologize for something like that again, I’m gonna hit you,” Leorio growled. “I told you you’re not alone; you don’t have to cry alone either.”

The Kurta swallowed hard, eyebrows furrowing. “But–”

“Look, am I your friend or not?”

Kurapika tensed, an unreadable mixture of emotions swirling in his eyes, then he nodded. “You’re my friend, Leorio.” Teeth trapped his lower lip once more. “You’re my closest living friend.”

“Then don’t be stupid,” Leorio began, then stopped short as the second sentence hit home. All at once, his mouth began twitching, his nose started to run, and a pesky lump formed in his throat. “And… what you said… that makes it mutual. So just… just keep that in mind.”

The blond fixed him with a quizzical stare, then let out a tiny hint of a chuckle. “Leorio, are you crying?”

“E-eh?” Leorio furiously swiped at his cheeks, coughing and shaking his head as he did so. “Just– uh, just allergies. There must be some crazy stuff in this booze.”

Mirth twinkled in the Kurta’s eyes, and a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’m pretty sure if Gon were here, he’d say a hug cures everything, including 'allergies’.”

Leorio blinked, blinked again. “Huh?”

Kurapika sighed. “Just get over here, you big lummox.” With that, he wrapped his arms around Leorio once more and pulled him close, resting his ear against the taller man’s chest.

Leorio opened his mouth to protest for the briefest of instants, but the feeling of Kurapika so close cut off all rational thought, and he succumbed without much of a fight. Careful, hesitant fingers brushed against those silky strands of blond hair, ready to pull away if the touch was undesired.

“That feels wonderful,” murmured the Kurta. “Any time you want to do that, feel free, as long as we’re alone.”

“Careful, I might just take you up on that.” Still, emboldened by the response, Leorio continued, letting his fingers run deeper to play with Kurapika’s scalp. The Kurta let out an appreciative moan, which Leorio did his level best to ignore.

“I wish you could have met the real me.” The words were soft, wistful, but no longer filled with so much pain.

“This is the only you I know,” replied Leorio, not ceasing his ministrations. “And I’m okay with that if you are. Still, I’m not so sure that other you is gone completely. If you want, we can try drawing that person out every now and then.”

Kurapika nodded, cheek warm against Leorio’s chest. “I think I’d like that.”

They probably made quite the sight: a tall, dark-haired man kneeling in a puddle of liquor, holding a short, blond one and stroking his hair. If someone didn’t know any better, they might even assume the two were lovers.