Chapter 3

The air is stifling hot when Kurapika steps out of the airship. The climate is warmer in this part of the country, but he didn't expect it to be this warm. He's wearing too many layers, sweating through his suit as he weaves through a crowd of people in the airport. Some clearly look like tourists with an incredible amount of luggage, while others look like they're only here for a weekend business trip. Without any excess luggage, he carries only a backpack with enough clothing to last a week here. It doesn't take long for him to search the bustling crowd for any sign of Leorio—because there he is, impossible to miss with his stature.

Leorio gives a hearty wave. "You made it!"

Before Kurapika can respond, he's being pulled into a bone-crushing hug. His words are muffled against Leorio's chest. "Too tight—"

"Sorry," Leorio says sheepishly. He's impossibly cheerful, but that can be appreciated when Kurapika spends most of his time in solitude, typically with minimal to no contact with any of his companions. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say that Kurapika feels like one of those travelers in their periphery, finding their family waiting for them with welcome signs. "Was your employer okay with this?"

"I have paid time off for a reason," Kurapika assures. He trusts Linssen to manage in his absence, though he was more than skeptical when he announced that he would be taking a vacation of sorts.

"Thanks for taking the time out to meet. I know you're incredibly busy, and well, I've always wanted to go on a trip with one of my friends," Leorio says, trailing off into a mumble.

Kurapika wears a small smile that Leorio knows he is the source of. "Please don't get all sentimental on me."

It makes his heart soften a little, when he lost his friends twice. Once, a massacre that left a mark in his heart for an entire lifetime. The other, of his own accord. When he has distanced himself from his friends for so long, despite that there are wounds that even Nen cannot heal, it comes as a relief that there are people still here for him.

"I can't help it, you know? It made my year to see you again, maybe even just as much as the acceptance letter," Leorio says with a laugh. He leads the way out of the sliding glass doors, into the heat of the afternoon sun. "The hotel's not too far away. Are you sure you didn't want to share a room together?"

"It's fine. I booked a room in the same hotel anyway." It's fortunately within walking distance from the airport, and Kurapika deliberately chooses not to disclose any of his plans for the duration of his trip here. "What's the plan for tonight?"

Leorio beams at him. "We're going all out!"

"Fuck," is all Leorio can say.

Kurapika agrees. He's clearly run out of luck for one lifetime, because returning from the restaurant meant unexpectedly crossing paths with Leorio in the hotel lobby. With no choice but to divulge everything, the three of them are sitting in his room now, contemplating the circumstances of the situation. If he knew ahead of time, he could have at least locked Kuroro in the closet, but unfortunately, things do not always go as planned. His anger towards Kuroro feels out of place and beyond his reach, replaced by an uneasy sense of shame in his heart.

"It's not your fault," Kurapika assures him, refusing to accept any protest. While he's sitting on the edge of his bed, the other two are facing him in their chairs. "I just want to understand what happened last night from your perspective."

"I don't remember seeing him," Leorio says, casting a wary glance in Kuroro's direction. "We spent a few hours drinking at the bar, and then you suddenly got up to the dance floor."

"You have to be kidding me." The thought of Kurapika dancing is absurd. Nothing comes up in his recollection, and even thinking about it exacerbates his headache.

"It was surprising, but I guess I was so busy talking to some girls that I let you be. I bought them some drinks after they gave me some recommendations on places to visit."

"But I didn't come back after that?"

Leorio shakes his head. "You didn't return after an hour, so I went looking for you for the entire night. I don't know what could have happened or how all of this happened after you left."

Disappointment fills his heart. There's still a large gap in the knowledge he seeks, and it appears that his only lead is to follow Kuroro in pursuit of the Nen exorcist.

"I'm sorry," Leorio says again. His gaze catches the gold band on Kuroro's finger, and then the matching pair on Kurapika's own. "If I didn't pressure you to go out with me like this, then—"

Before he can continue, a brisk knock at the door interrupts him. Kurapika isn't expecting any more guests, but he rises before either of them can.

"I told you not to worry about it," Kurapika says with a frown. "I'll get the door."

From what he can see through the peephole, a hotel staff member is waiting from him behind the door, a small box in his hands. He didn't order anything either to expect delivery. Turning the handle, he pushes the door open.

"Good afternoon," he says, inclining his head towards Kurapika. "This is addressed to the newlyweds in this room."

"Newly—" Kurapika receives the package, faintly disbelieving. "I'm sorry, but may I know who sent this?"

"The return address says the Glam Institute of Art. It appears to be an invitation of sorts." He reviews the documents on his clipboard for confirmation. "I do have the correct room number, but please feel free to contact the front desk if you have any questions."

Kurapika returns to the room with the matte black box in his hands, regarding Kuroro carefully. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

"Not at all," comes Kuroro's response, nonchalant as ever. "What's inside?"

Under the lid, a white card sits upon a satin cushion, wrapped in a thin ribbon. The words are intricately painted in gold script, addressing a certain married couple for the Glam Institute Gala. The date and location of the event are carefully detailed, but the fact that such an invitation has landed in his possession feels far too convenient for his liking.

"The Gala's one of those events only the powerful and wealthy can attend," Leorio explains, looking over his shoulder. "It's a benefit for the museum's cultural artifact exhibition and without the invitation, admission is pretty much impossible."

"Yes." Kurapika doubts that the wealth contributed towards fundraising truly goes to the causes they are meant to benefit. When the Scarlet Eyes are surely part of the current collection, he would be a fool not to seize this opportunity. "If I must be honest, I was planning to infiltrate the event anyway. So for that, I should be the one to apologize to you, Leorio."

"I understand," Leorio says with a weak smile, and Kurapika feels apologetic for choosing his oath over his friends. "You don't have to worry."

"I don't know how and why someone would know that I need an invitation. It's very peculiar, but there's no doubt that this is connected to the incident last night."

Leorio takes the card from his hands and scrutinizes from front to back. "This looks dangerous. If you're going, then I'm coming with you."

"No," Kurapika says fiercely. "I would rather not involve you any further."

"But—"

"The invitation is addressed to a married couple," Kuroro reminds with a smile, not even wavering under the glare that Kurapika sends his way. He relaxes in his chair, fingers clasped together in his lap, the gold of the ring beckoning their attention.

Kurapika meets Kuroro's dark eyes as steadily as he can, hopes his eyes are not scarlet, and turns his attention back to Leorio. "We are more than competent even without our Nen and—as impossible as it sounds, we've called for a temporary truce for now." The words feel foreign on his tongue, because it's too strange to use a pronoun to refer to Kuroro and himself as a collective. "I'm sorry to cut our reunion short, but I'll make it up to you next time."

The lines of Leorio's shoulders visibly tense, but ease with Kurapika's next words.

"I promise."

Leorio closes his eyes in defeat. "I'm just a phone call away if you need me. It would be nice if you could keep me informed about what happens this week.

"I will." Kurapika's gaze softens for a moment, but it's quickly buried when he's reminded of Kuroro's presence. "We will have to coordinate how to proceed with this. Given the timeframe until the event, finding the exorcist within the next few days will be unlikely."

"Then we'll retrieve the eyes first," Kuroro says, easily deferring to Kurapika's side of the agreement. "It's inevitable, but we're going to have to act as a couple for appearance's sake. With the formality and protocol necessary for the event, you're going to need a disguise."

Only once has Kurapika worn women's clothing in his lifetime.

It's not that he's particularly against it. During the Yorknew incident, it was necessary to blend in with his surroundings to take advantage of the situation. But it's one thing to disguise himself in an effort to capture Kuroro, and another thing entirely to pretend to be his lover.

The moment they step into the boutique, Kurapika knows that he needs to leave as soon as possible. An endless collection of dresses are displayed on gilded racks, with price tags extending beyond what his salary can accommodate. Flashbacks to the times he had to accompany Neon on her shopping trips come to mind. Before he can flee, a young consultant by the name of Vera welcomes them with a bright smile.

Kurapika's fate is sealed when Kuroro returns a smile of his own. "My partner needs a gown for the Gala."

Partner.

He can't even begin to deny how wrong that sounds.

"The Gala!" She clasps her hands together in admiration. The look in her eyes reminds him of how people treat him differently when they find out he's actually a licensed Hunter. "I'd be happy to help you today. Are you looking for anything in particular? Do you have a style in mind?"

Fashion is not an area in which he considers himself well-versed. "I'm not—"

Kuroro finds it necessary to answer for him. "How about something that shows off the legs a little?"

Needless to say, Kurapika is scandalized. He shoots a glare to his side, but Kuroro welcomes it with a knowing smile. It's very suspicious, how Kuroro wants to enjoy himself.

Vera scrutinizes all aspects of his body and furiously agrees. "You have a lot we can work with. Someone with as stunning of a figure as yours should expose some skin." He wants to protest, but she's already turning around and leading the way. "Let me show you our newest collection!"

At a loss for words, he follows Vera to a display of gowns that appear less like wedding dresses and more like evening gowns. She provides elaborate details of their craftsmanship with more enthusiasm than what is necessary. To his side, Kuroro plays his part and nods along, examining the garments with a critical eye.

She removes a deep blue gown from the display and runs her hands over the length of the skirt, recommending it for his body type. "This one has a slender silhouette. What do you think?"

"I like this one the most," Kuroro answers, pleased.

"You're not the one who'll be wearing it," Vera says with a laugh. "Do you want to try this one on?"

Kurapika wants the first dress he tries on to be his last. He tries not to sound too bitter when he answers, "Fine."

While Kuroro remains in the waiting area, Vera brings out the gown in a smaller size as well as a pair of heels to match. She ushers him into the dressing room and provides privacy when he requests it.

Kurapika locks the door behind him. There's an expansive mirror in front of him, bright overhead lighting that flatters his features, and actual furniture that is comfortable enough to sit in. It's as if the only time he can actually be by himself is when he's getting dressed. He slowly divests himself of his clothing, sliding off his dress shirt and folding it along with jeans, placing them on the banquette.

But—what is he even doing? He's standing in the women's dressing room in only his undergarments, on some kind of shopping excursion accompanying someone like Kuroro. It's unthinkable.

The gown is a cascade of blue next to the mirror, a reminder of everything he hopes to accomplish. Kurapika removes it from the hook and carefully pulls it on, finding that it exposes much more skin than expected. Not only does it flaunt an open back, but it also captures attention with a slit extending all the way to his thigh. He frowns at his reflection. His lack of chest might not be too noticeable here, but still. Depleting his wallet while appealing to Kuroro's questionable tastes is not on his agenda.

He wants to finish trying it on, but the back zipper is being difficult and it would be problematic if he accidentally tore the dress. Behind a fall of hair, he peers at what could possibly be the issue. After looking at his back from various angles, he sees the slightest bit of fabric caught between the zipper, most likely a result of his impatience. He's not willing to call for Vera's help, and the subsequent ten minutes are spent trying to get the zipper to budge.

Kurapika's ready to give up, when the door unexpectedly swings open.

Startled, he bites his tongue on a succession of curses. Kuroro—Kuroro, of all people—is intruding into the confined space of the room, closing the door behind him and sliding the lock into place. Before Kurapika can do anything, though, the hem of the dress catches on his feet and he throws his hands forward to steady himself against the mirror.

Vera calls out to him, and he can hardly hear her over the sound of his heartbeat. "Are you alright in there?"

Kurapika grits his teeth. "I'm fine."

The rapid beat of his heart, high in his throat, says that he's anything but. He wills himself to calm down, because this is complete madness when Kuroro is standing behind him and staring in the reflection of the mirror.

"Let me know if you need anything!"

He doesn't dare make a sound and listens for movement beyond the door. When her footsteps withdraw from their vicinity, a long, heavy breath escapes his lungs. This serves to quell his panic, but confusion quickly rises in its place. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You were taking too long," Kuroro replies curiously, "so I thought you needed help."

"Right." Even without the need for Nen abilities, he's certain that he has lost several years of his life. "Are you sure you aren't some kind of deviant?"

Kuroro blinks at him. "Of course not."

That is difficult to believe, when most people do not trespass in women's dressing rooms, let alone pick locks on the doors. He casts a wary look at Kuroro, unsure of what to expect next. They regard each other in the mirror, and then Kuroro takes a step forward, closing the last of the distance between them.

"What are you—"

"Stay still."

A shiver traces its way along Kurapika's spine when Kuroro's fingers ghost over the bare skin of his shoulders. Kuroro's hand slowly runs down his back, the cool metal of a ring sliding across his skin, coming to a rest just above the zipper. Kurapika bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to show the vulnerability on his face, when it means surrendering the composure that keeps him balanced on his feet.

There's a sharp hiss as Kuroro glides the zipper up his back, and the material effortlessly embraces the contours of his body, melding against his skin. The dress has a vibrant sheen in the lighting, as if sapphires have manifested into the richest textiles, but the sensation of wearing it is unexpectedly organic.

"There." Kuroro stares for a moment, dark eyes full of something that he can't quite identify, lingering at the reveal of skin from the slit of the dress and the fabric tailored across his hips. "I would say that you look beautiful, but that would be inadequate."

Kurapika makes a strangled sound. It is insufferable, how Kuroro can invoke a reaction from him without any effort at all. "Hands off, or I'm going to impale you with those shoes."

The pair of heels cushioned on the banquette could make for an effective weapon, and it would be easy enough to leave Kuroro bleeding on the floor. Being suspected for murder sounds far more appealing than being caught for public indecency.

"That would be unfortunate." Kuroro steps back with an amused smile. "Alright, I'll wait for you outside. You should get a second opinion from that girl."

Somehow, Kuroro is able to evade the attention of the other staff members as he leaves. Relief eases into the lines of his shoulders, but it doesn't last very long. Vera ends up returning to knock at his door, eager to look at his ensemble.

A moment of fumbling, trying on the heels, and Kurapika finally emerges with everything she coordinated for him. Whereas the dress lacks embellishment, the shoes make up for it. They're far too impractical to be worn for any occasion and if it comes down to it, he'd have to run barefoot to escape potential pursuers.

"I think you look gorgeous in this color," she says, parading Kurapika around as if he's a work of artwork to be displayed. "Your husband seems to agree."

Kuroro is resting on a leather armchair in the waiting area, smiling like he's seeing Kurapika dressed like this for the first time. It's a handsome expression on a handsome face, but Kurapika isn't sure why it's being directed at him.

"Will you be taking it then?"

"It's rather costly," Kurapika admits.

As if on cue, Kuroro holds out a sleek, black credit card between his fingers. "Why don't I spoil you?"

It is potentially the most desirable piece of plastic in the world, save for the Hunter license. When the only cardholders he's seen are a privileged few—businessmen and mafia dons with reputations befitting of such exclusivity, he can't be sure that it truly belongs to Kuroro.

"You are so lucky," Vera says in awe, in a tone too loud to be a whisper, "to have someone like him."

Kurapika feels vaguely offended. But Kuroro readily insists and because Kurapika doesn't have to touch his own wallet, he grudgingly allows Kuroro to pay for the entire outfit. He could care less about the whole ordeal.

Vera expresses the profoundest privilege to have been able to help them today, giving Kurapika her utmost attention if she hadn't already when he goes to retrieve his old clothes. After nearly an hour, they leave the boutique with two shopping bags and her business card. For some odd reason, Kuroro insists on carrying everything for him.

"We're not done yet," Kuroro says, much to his dismay.

Kurapika's headache has yet to ease, because they also visit a menswear shop for Kuroro, a hair studio to find a wig suitable for Kurapika, as well as various other stores for their disguises. By the end of the day, with too many shopping bags in hand, Kurapika can't recall if they were all paid for.

Notes:

Accidental sugar daddy Kuroro strikes again.

Please leave a comment—I'd love to know what you think of this chapter. You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna.