A/N: For the record, I don't own HXH or any of its amazing characters. This is my first HXH fic, so please let me know what you think? Thanks for reading!

He wasn't always calm, confident, and intelligent. There were times when he was anything but that; the times when he found himself alone… alone in a room, swallowed by darkness. He was not afraid of the dark, yet it smothered him sometimes. He would switch on the lights, his eyes adjusting to the intruding change. His hands would reach to cover them, stumbling towards the bathroom. As water would be splashed on his pale face, he could not ignore the image watching him in the mirror. No… at times like these, he hated the mirror.

He hated those eyes.

Hot droplets of water dripped aimlessly down his cheeks, escaping from the rage they knew would soon follow. His lip would quiver delicately, childishly… a pout that was useless to hold back. Why was it that he still cried? Oh yes… of course. It was because he had to live, live with these eyes.

They were not reminders of his mother or his father, his friends, his home, his culture… nor were they keepsakes, memories of a past that could've been—should've been—still present. No. They were souvenirs… worthless party favors, a consolation prize for escaping death and missing the party. It was their fault, those vermilion, fiery, hateful eyes… they were the reason for all the misfortune. At best, they were bittersweet memories, lingering to inspire courage and remind him who he was, and who to get revenge on. At worst, they were enemies and only existed to torture him and they needed to be severely punished. They were not a source of comfort. Had it not been for the scarlet eyes, his family, his life would still be in existence. Had the clan not been cursed, cruelly hexed with such beautiful, passionate, lurid orbs…

His soft, shaking hand would become a fist as the hatred grew stronger, and that small fist would reluctantly, yet still determined, crash into the looking glass, shards of mirror dancing around him as if a dandelion weed had been blown in his face.

He would always cry out as he reached for one of the glass shards, eyes glowing red with fury and drowned by angry tears, knowing sure well what comes next. Death to the murderers, death to those who killed the Kurta Clan! He blamed the eyes, and they wriggled in his skull with guilt as he pointed the shard towards them. He gripped the shard tighter as he screamed, shaking it dangerously close to his wet, tear-stained face; blood dripped from his clenched fist onto his cheeks and his immaculate clothes… a garnet, bitter color that almost matched his eyes: the murderers.

The shard would be only millimeters away from them, and he would start to tremble. His voice always went hoarse before he could start, and he choked on more tears as he held his position. Ready to stab, ready to rid this world of the reason he would never see his family again.

He was not numb; he often imagined how bad it would hurt to rid himself of his eyes. Would he do it swiftly, lancing them before he could register how it felt? Or would he slowly bring the glass down and twist sharply once he felt the pain that would release him from his traitorous eyes? Did he deserve the torturous agony that would follow, having been sheltering those eyes for so long?

What had they ever done for him, for all of his people? They were the reason. They were the reason they had been slaughtered, hunted down. If they hadn't had those scarlet eyes, they would be alive.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. All he could hear was his heartbeat, loud and echoing. He could feel it beat in his throat, in his fingers, and in his mind. This was the sound of life, the very life that had been robbed from others. Ba-bump. He could hear the heartbeats of everyone in his clan right here, in this room, in unison. Were they cheering for him, begging him to avenge them in this very moment? His sobbing lingered, and his eyes still cried, begging for mercy. They looked scared, he noticed, as he looked up at his broken reflection. His eyes longed to be forgiven by their master, but he couldn't do that. All he could see was a pitiless monster.

"Damn you!" he shouts at them, contemptuously glaring at his own two eyes. "Damn you to hell! Give them back to me…my family… give them back! Damn you!"

He finally musters the strength to stab the glass down into a a scarlet socket, and all he can hear is a loud noise and everything goes black. Oddly enough, he doesn't hear his own scream…perhaps he did it so swiftly and precisely that it was perfect retribution and he escaped the pain. Instead he hears a scream that doesn't belong to him, a scared, angry yelp: "Kurapika!"

Arms wrap around him like a cage, and the glass is pried out of his tight grip as he is tackled. The only things that hurt are his arms, which are restricted, but not his eyes. He can feel someone's hand grab a fistful of his blonde hair, and the other hand drops the bloody shard to the floor. It then wraps itself over his eyes like a blindfold and he can't see anymore; he can't see his pitiful reflection. Someone didn't want him to see. Someone knew what was torturing him in what was left of that mirror.

"What the hell! Kurapika!"

The voice is not sympathetic, only harsh and angry. He can feel the heated breath of the yell on his neck. Someone is still holding him tightly, and he can feel himself being scrutinized while he calms down. Had they won, yet again? Had the eyes won this long, never-ending battle…?

When he opens his eyes, he's in a bed. The first thing he feels is a little pain, a stinging sensation radiating from his fingers. He moves his eyes to see that they are carefully, perfectly, bandaged by someone who probably knew what they were doing.

Wait…

Eyes? He brings a sore, bandaged hand up to feel his face, tracing over his chapped lips, his cheeks, his nose, and then up to his sockets. He feels the tickle of eyelashes before he even reaches his swollen destination, but sure enough, they're both there… still alive, and still watching.

He feels immensely tired, but still aware of all that transpired in the night. It's not the first time he remembers trying to kill his eyes. And he looks over at a sleeping Leorio sadly, realizing that it probably won't be the last time either. The nightmares never stop, and he knows that they may never stop until they get the revenge they desire. He half-smiles, gently, knowing that Leorio has yet to give up on him. He will never stop defending the crimson twins, the takers of all that Kurapika once loved. He will protect the eyes until they are safe every single time.

With that in mind, Kurapika feels tired again, his eyes heavy and weak. They close without permission, and he falls backwards into his pillow once again, inwardly hoping for Leorio's sake that the nightmares will stay away this time.