𝗺ö𝗯𝗶𝘂𝘀 | 𝗸𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀

𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘢

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰

Kurapika's fingers comb through your hair, your hairbrush clenched tightly in his chained hand. A small smile plays on his lips as the bristles of the brush massage your scalp, untangling the knots in your hair. This is the first time Kurapika has ever been in love like this.

Back in Lukso, there was a beautiful girl in his class. She always got the highest marks, was the first to turn in a test, and the first to always raise her hand to answer the hardest question. Kurapika was incredibly infatuated with her, but it wasn't love. He didn't know what that was. That is, until he met you. That girl is dead alongside his clan, so it doesn't matter anyway.

His calloused hands pull your hair back, sweeping it off your shoulders as he massages your scalp with his fingertips. Kurapika thinks he knew he was in love with you when you refused to leave his side in York New. Or maybe it was when you had sung a soft tune on the balcony of your shared hotel room during that one mission. He's not quite sure when he fell in love with you because you're perfect in every which way. As he brushes your hair, he swats a fly away in annoyance.

"My treasure, what are you thinking about?" Kurapika calls out, shaking you back to your senses after he noticed you started to zone out.

"..."

Kurapika nods his head at your response, smiling softly to himself.

"I see. I am aware that you've want to visit the others for a long time, but you cannot. You know that." Kurapika scolds.

He lets out a soft hum as he braids your soft hair, trying not to get your h/t hair tangled.

"..."

His eyes widen as you spoke.

"How did you know Ive wanted to see them as well? I thought I hide my vulnerability quite well. I do suppose you're my lover, so you know everything about me. You know me so well, my love."

Kurapika kisses the top of your head, looking at his work. Your hair was clean and braided, giving you a fresh look to start the day. His hands place themself on your shoulders and gently rub up and down your upper arms. He looks at the both of you in the mirror, love swelling deep in his heart.

You're beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world to him. The way your hair shimmers in the sun, the way your eyes light up whenever the sun hits them, the glow of his clan's scarlet eyes shining on your pale, cold skin as you sit in your designated chair, and the flies that swarm your fragile frame. His hands stop rubbing your arms as he fixes the straps of your dress that covers your rotting, shriveled body.

After losing you to the Phantom Troupe awhile back, he thought using nen would help preserve your youthful look. His declining mental health failed to help him realize that this was not the case. His brown eyes, full of love, stare at your resting and hollowed out face in the mirror. The alarm for him to take his medication goes off, in which he ignores, as he's always done.