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Kurapika actually likes winter, contrary to what his current situation might indicate. He likes the way the frost looks like it is dancing across windows in swirling patterns and the quiet beauty of a snowy day and snuggling up under fuzzy blankets to watch fire jump and spark in the fireplace while drinking hot chocolate. He even likes the cold! In small quantities, true, but he likes the way it makes everything sharp and clear, and how sometimes you can smell the hint of snow in the air. He just doesn’t appreciate the fact that the cold and the snow don’t like him back. They don’t like him at all in fact and typically he ends up falling ill whenever the weather turns. Every. Freaking. Year. Without fail. And this year is no different.
What is different this year, however, is that he has two gremlin children counting on him to help them shop for Christmas presents. Oh, Kurapika loves Gon and Killua, but even on a good day they exhaust him. Waking up dizzy and hot and feeling like he’s running a fever doesn’t bode well for how the rest of the day’s going to pan out. Achy and tired, Kurapika walks to his medicine cabinet and digs out the thermometer Leorio had presented him with a few weeks ago when Kurapika had mentioned his love-hate relationship with winter.
“Take this,” Leorio had said firmly, eyes brooking no argument, lips pressed together in a line like he wanted to say more but was, for once, holding back a lecture, the thermometer held out in his outstretched hand. “You live alone and you should have one if you always fall ill this time of year.”
Kurapika had taken it reluctantly, but was now silently thanking Leorio for his foresight. If only he could find the blasted thing!
Rummaging around some more, Kurapika finally finds the thermometer, takes his temperature, and then waits for the numbers to pop up.
102.
Kurapika blinks at the numbers but they don’t change. 102 reads the thermometer and Kurapika groans softly. Blearily, he glances at his living room clock. 10:30 am. He looks down at the thermometer again and then back up at the clock.
Right. First things first, he decides and drags himself into the kitchen with heavy steps. Water, food, and meds. Then back to bed. Mind made up, Kurapika proceeds to follow the first half of his plan and then returns to his bedroom. He dithers about returning to bed, knowing he should text Gon and Killua, let them know he can’t come today, but his mind rebels at the thought of disappointing the two younger boys. They had been so looking forward to this outing for weeks now, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them their trip is cancelled. Not when there’s only a week left until Christmas. Instead, he ignores the voice chiding him to get back in bed and take it easy, a voice that sounds remarkably like Leorio, and compromises.
He turns to his closet and pulls out the most comfortable, casual outfit he owns barring his pajamas, and forces himself to dress for the day. It’s a far cry from his usual suits and Kurtan styled outfits, but the thought of putting on anything more formal makes Kurapika want to cry. Putting on the well-worn sweatpants, ridiculously soft long sleeve shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks takes Kurapika’s breath away far too easily, but now he’s officially dressed for the day.
Still freezing, he notes to himself as his skin shivers with cold and his teeth chatter, even though he knows his temperature is high. Groaning, he lugs his aching body back to the closet and drags out one final article of clothing he’d been saving for days such as this, burrowing into it as soon as he can, the fabric swamping his much tinier frame.
It’s a blue, oversized, knit sweater, one made for someone twice as tall as him. It is, in fact, not actually Kurapika’s sweater, although he’s had it now for quite some time, stolen away one day while its original owner was otherwise distracted. It is, instead, Leorio’s sweater, long and lanky, and way too big for Kurapika’s frame, but oh so warm and comforting in its largeness. Leorio does not know Kurapika has this sweater and Kurapika is determined Leorio should never find out he has it. As such, Kurapika rarely wears it around the house, knowing Leorio, as well as Killua and Gon who would most certainly tell Leorio, has a tendency to drop by unannounced. But what use is a sweater if it is not being used? And it is precisely for days such as these that Kurapika had stolen the sweater in the first place—for days when he needs a little bit of Leorio’s comforting presence but Leorio himself is unavailable. Not that Kurapika would ever own up to such a fact, of course, except in the comfort of his own house, in his own head.
Warmer now, but still chilled, Kurapika crawls back under his covers and makes a note to set an alarm to wake him up in an hour and a half—plenty of time to get himself up and moving to go shopping with the boys—but falls asleep before he can even reach for the phone.
He wakes to a pounding at his front door, the noise sending pulsing waves of pain through his head with each bang! bang! bang! Groggily, he drags himself out of bed, wrapping his fleece blanket around his shoulders for extra warmth, and plods down the hallway to his front door.
“Enough,” he rasps as he opens the door to two concerned faces, “I’m awake now.”
“You look like death warmed over,” Killua replies a beat later, his shock at seeing Kurapika look so disheveled fading as abruptly as it had arrived. “No wonder you missed the meeting time.”
Kurapika looks down at him, confused. “Meeting…ah, right, the shopping trip,” he realizes, weariness hitting him like a sledgehammer. “I’m sorry boys. I thought I had a set an alarm.”
“Don’t worry about it!” reassures Gon as the two boys make their way past Kurapika into his living room, both of their hands full of bags of what look to be an assortment of both groceries and various medicinal items. “We can always go a different day when you’re feeling better!“
Adjusting his blanket so it wasn’t falling off his shoulders quite as much, Kurapika closes the door behind him and then walks over to the pile of bags now strewn across his living room table. “Thank you,” he mutters, then nudges the bags open. “What’s all this then?”
Killua scoffs from the kitchen, when did he get over there? Kurapika wonders, having hardly seen the boy move, and replies while digging around the kitchen cabinets with, “We called Leorio when you failed to answer your phone and didn’t show up after an hour. He seemed fairly concerned you might have fallen ill, given that you fell into a fountain on the way home from work yesterday, and gave us a list of groceries and prescriptions to try if you were sick. He also said to let you know that he’d be swinging by later on after work today to check on you.”
Kurapika blinks, surprised at their thoughtfulness, then somehow finds himself seated on the couch, a big mug of steaming lemon-ginger-honey tea pressed in his hands.
“Man, you are really out of it,” Killua comments, dragging Gon away from Kurapika’s side once they’d taken his temperature again. 100 now, thank goodness.
Kurapika scowls lightly but lets up after a few seconds, the motion making his head hurt. “Whatever, brat,” he grumbles under his breath, burrowing deeper into his couch cushions and adjusting his blanket once more.
Killua scowls back, lips opening in a retort no doubt, when he stops and blinks in surprise instead. Eyes widen in realization and glee after a minute and Killua’s scowl quickly shifts into a smug smirk.
Kurapika watches him warily over the rim of his tea mug. He may be sick and his reaction time impaired, but he isn’t wholly incapacitated. That face right there means mischief.
Sure enough, Killua nudges Gon conspiratorially a few seconds later when the boys think Kurapika’s got his eyes closed again. Gon’s mouth forms a little “o” of surprise and then a soft grin crosses his lips. When Kurapika makes a point to blink his eyes open wider again, Gon asks, so very sweetly and innocently, “When did you and Leorio finally get together?”
Tea scalds Kurapika’s mouth as he inhales the wrong way and soon he is coughing and struggling to breathe on his couch. Gon rushes to his side in concern, hands fluttering by his sides as he looks for anyway to help, while Killua looks on in disgust before handing both of them a roll of paper towels to clean up the spilt tea.
Wheezing for air, Kurapika throws off his blanket, the front soaked through, and once he catches his breath once more, turns to Gon, confusion and embarrassment writ plainly across his face. “What? What gave you that idea? Why on earth would you think we were together, Gon?”
Gon frowns at Kurapika’s tone, but gently hands him another set of paper towels, which Kurapika absentmindedly uses to pat down his sweater, thankful when he sees the tea hadn’t made it through the blanket.
“You’re not then?” Gon asks, voice subdued and a little disappointed. “I just thought…after seeing the sweater…well, I guess I was wrong.”
Kurapika looks at him in confusion, then over to Killua who seems unable to decide if he wants to laugh or roll his eyes at him, then down at his sweater. Horror dawns on him, quickly followed by embarrassment and the hot flush of shame, and across the room he hears Killua lose the battle to hold back his laughter.
“We-we aren’t together, Gon,” Kurapika stutters out, eyes wide in mortification, wishing he could bury himself in the neck of the sweater. “This isn’t what it looks like!”
Gon tilts his head in confusion. “Okay?“
“That’s definitely Leorio’s sweater, though,” smirks Killua through the laughter. “Does he know you have it?”
Red blooms on Kurapika’s fever pale cheeks, and instead of dignifying that question with an answer, this time he gives into his impulses and hides himself in the cavernous neck of the sweater.
“He doesn’t!” cackles Killua. “Oh I can’t wait to tell him!”
“Don’t!” cries Kurapika, hand shooting out to grab Killua’s wrist as the younger boy goes to grab his phone and call Leorio, but he’s too slow and Killua’s already dialed Leorio by the time Kurapika’s lunged across the table.
“Hey, Leorio!” Killua says when the other man picks up the phone. “You were right about Kurapika. He really was pretty sick when we came over to check on him. …Yeah. Yeah. No, I don’t think so. …Yeah we can do that. Okay, see you soon.” Killua ends the call fairly quickly so Kurapika doesn’t even have time to do any damage control and then leans back and smirks. “Leorio’s on his way. Said he was already wrapping up work early for the day when we called earlier and should be here in a few minutes. You sure you two aren’t dating, Pika?”
Kurapika glowers at Killua from across the room, annoyed at the little imp’s antics. Then Killua’s words register and Kurapika’s pale face goes ashen, his heart rate skyrocketing. Leorio is coming. Here. While Kurapika’s wearing one of his sweaters, stolen ages ago, but nonetheless instantly recognizable, and there is no time to change. Not that having time would help because Kurapika’s not sure he wants to change out of the cozy sweater he’s made into a cocoon of warmth, but still, there’s no chance to hide the fact that Kurapika has, and is wearing, one of Leorio’s handmade sweaters. One he’d heard Leorio refer to as his favorite only a few days after Kurapika had snuck it home.
He can’t see me in it, Kurapika thinks, eyes wild with panic, oblivious to the concern that now radiates off Gon and Killua as he no longer responds to their questions or conversation. What if he hates me for stealing it? It was his favorite sweater after all. Or worse, what if he takes it back? It’s his right, as it’s his sweater, but Kurapika can’t imagine not having the sweater around the house. It’s a comfort when he’s ill yes, but more so than that, it’s a comfort for those days when he’s so lonely he nearly gives in and calls Leorio while the other man is at work. He can’t see me in it, he can’t see me in it, he can’t—
At that moment the door opens and in walks Leorio, Kurapika’s head bolting up, his eyes wild with fear and fever, sure his longest running friendship is about to come to an abrupt end. He mentally curses himself again for wearing the sweater but when he sees Leorio all his thoughts melt away like snowflakes freshly fallen on a warm mitten.
Leorio’s face is pink from the cold and his hair is sticking out at odd angles under his winter hat. He looks unfairly adorable, even with his glasses fogging at the temperature difference, but what captures Kurapika’s attention most is the pure, unadulterated concern that radiates not only from his eyes, but with a buzzing intensity through his entire lanky frame. He’s barely in the door, coat half-off, when he catches sight of Kurapika’s sickly form on the couch and then he’s lunging and scrambling to get inside faster so that he can get to Kurapika.
“Kurapika!” Leorio cries, rushing to his side, his briefcase of medical tools already open, a thermometer in his hand and ready to use. “How are you feeling? Killua didn’t say much about your condition over the phone. He mentioned you had a fever? What temperature did it start at? When was the last time you checked? Have you been hydrating and eating enough? How much sleep did you get last night? What are you doing out here without a blanket?”
He doesn’t leave Kurapika any room to answer and from across the couch, Kurapika can see Killua snickering at him. The brat has the audacity to raise his eyebrows at Kurapika and smirk as if to smugly ask, are you sure you two aren’t dating? Kurapika refrains from glaring or rolling his eyes at him and instead sighs lightly, putting a hand on Leorio’s forearm in an attempt to calm the man some.
“I’m doing fine Leorio. Much better than earlier. My fever was 102 to start and has dropped to 100 as of a few minutes ago. I’ve been doing my best to hydrate, eat, and sleep. The boys were about to make lunch when you arrived. And I had a blanket, but it unfortunately got tea on it,” he finishes, waving a hand weakly at the piled up blanket off the side of the couch.
Some of the tension radiating off Leorio bleeds out of him at Kurapika’s reassurance but Kurapika can tell he isn’t wholly convinced. Sighing, Kurapika folds his arms over his chest and burrows down further into the couch to wait for Leorio’s verdict. The movement draws Leorio’s attention to Kurapika’s chest where prior to this it had been focused on Kurapika’s face, and Kurapika blanches when he remembers, again, that he’s wearing Leorio’s comfy sweater. Hell.
Contrary to his expectations, however, Leorio only blinks in confusion when he sees the sweater. There’s no accusation of thievery, no demands for Kurapika to return it, no repudiation of friendship. Instead, there’s a soft smile when recognition fully blooms and a softly muttered, “Ah, that’s where it went.” It confuses Kurapika, but he isn’t about to confront Leorio in front of Killua and Gon. As it is, Killua seems unfairly smug and Gon a little too pleased at the sight, so after Leorio finishes his examination and lunch has been served, Kurapika kicks them out. Or tries to, at any rate, but really they leave of their own accord, laughing and giggling as they do.
Wearied by the whole affair, Kurapika sighs heavily and lets his head rest against his folded arms on the kitchen table, but Leorio doesn’t let him stay like that long.
“Come on, Pika,” Leorio cajoles, “If you stay like that and fall asleep, you’ll end up with a crick in your neck.”
“Don’t care,” mutters Kurapika. “Just let me stay like this for a few minutes. Don’t wanna move.”
“I can see that,” Leorio huffs with a laugh, but nonetheless does not make Kurapika move again.
Kurapika smiles sleepily against his arms and is about to drift off, despite his best intentions to stay awake, when he hears a click of a phone camera and Leorio muttering under his breath, “Damn, he looks so cute like that.” Adrenaline courses through Kurapika’s veins and he finds himself very much alert.
“What?” he whispers, head rising up off his arms, eyes wide.
Leorio blushes a deep crimson and hides his phone, but not before Kurapika catches a glimpse of himself dwarfed by the sweater he’s wearing. “Nothing,” Leorio quickly says, but Kurapika narrows his eyes at him in disbelief until Leorio caves. “I…just thought you looked cute in my sweater,” he mutters, not meeting Kurapika’s eyes. “Blue suits you and you look so comfy in it…”
My sweater, he’d said, Kurapika realizes, blood running cold. He knows. “…and you’re…okay? That I borrowed it? The sweater I mean?” he tentatively asks after a few minutes where Leorio doesn’t add anything or make demands of Kurapika.
“Yes?” Leorio asks, confusion coloring his voice.
“With…without telling you?”
“Yes,” Leorio replies more assuredly now, a smile gracing his lips. “I thought I’d lost that thing ages ago, but I’m glad to see you had it.”
“…may I keep it?” Kurapika asks quietly, fingers gripping the hems of the sleeves unconsciously, when once more there’s nothing more forthcoming from Leorio.
“Sure,” Leorio replies, tone casual but a bright red spreading across the tops of his ears and down his neck, something Kurapika only catches because he’s looking at Leorio intently for any sign of his displeasure. “It doesn’t fit me all that well anyway and I was thinking of getting rid of it.”
Liar, Kurapika thinks, but is too weary to parse what game Leorio’s playing right now. Instead, he nods his head and mutters “thank you, it’s my favorite,” before putting his head back down on his arms. Leorio makes a stifled sound but Kurapika can’t identify it, already halfway to sleep as it is. Perhaps, I can ask him again in the morning, he thinks before drifting off to sleep. Maybe things’ll make more sense when I’m well. In the morning then…but for now…my cozy…stays my cozy…