Scarlet eyes
⟡ Word count : 2k
⟡ Warnings : violence, death mention, angst, emotional distress, romantic, kiss scene
⟡ Pairing : Kurapika x Fem!Reader
He doesn’t knock. Kurapika never knocks on these moments.
You know it before you even lift your eyes. There’s something in the air that tightens, like the room itself is holding its breath. Then the door swings open, abrupt but not violent, just… sharp.
He says nothing. Doesn’t even look at you right away. His silhouette frames the doorway, stiff, almost painfully rigid. Only when you notice his hands… They are trembling.
Not much. Just enough that you can’t ignore it.
You shift slowly, careful not to make sudden movements. “You’re back,” you say, voice low and steady, as if speaking louder might make him shatter.
Finally, he lifts his eyes.
It was red.
Not just tinged. Not just gleaming. Fully, burning red, a fire that slices straight through you. He doesn’t even try to hide it.
“It’s done.” His voice is sharp, but underneath, fragile, like a blade barely held in place.
You don’t need him to name it.
Silence drops, thick and heavy.
“What?” you ask gently.
His jaw tightens. “Uvogin” He steps further into the room, each movement measured, almost as if standing still hurts worse. “I killed him. That’s it.”
You don’t reply immediately. You watch him. His breathing is fast. His shoulders tense, trembling slightly with every inhale. He’s not physically hurt—not that you can see—but something is broken deep inside.
“You’re tensed,” you finally say.
He freezes.
Eyes locking on yours, sharp, cutting—but unstable. “I’m not.”
“Tell me what’s wrong Kurapika.”
A beat. Another. And then it cracks.
“Nothing changes.” The words spill out low and fast. “Nothing.” He looks away, runs a hand through his hair—rare, nervous. “I thought…” He stops, gritting his teeth. “I thought it would… do something.”
You stay still.
“But it doesn’t,” he continues, voice barely audible. “Just… noise. In my head. And…” He closes his eyes for a moment, like it costs him physically to continue. “Anger. Again.”
A humorless laugh escapes him, dry. “It’s absurd. He’s dead. I should…” He searches for words, abandons the attempt with a frustrated gesture. “It should stop.”
You step closer. Slowly. Never too fast. Never with him like this.
“Kurapika,” you say.
He doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t move forward either. Stuck in something he no longer fully controls.
“Sit,” you murmur gently.
“I don’t need to—”
“Kurapika.”
This time, it’s different. Your voice doesn’t push, but it doesn’t give him room to argue either.
He hesitates. Then slowly, reluctantly, he yields.
He sits, rigid, on the edge of the bed, ready to spring up at any second. You remain standing for a moment, then kneel slightly to meet his level.
“Look at me.”
He does. Immediately.
Those red eyes. Still sharp. Still burning.
“Breathe.”
He frowns. “I am.”
“Not like that.”
A silence. Then, almost against his will, he inhales more deeply.
“Again.”
Rigid at first. Forced. But little by little, something shifts. His shoulders loosen slightly. His fingers unclench under yours.
“You’re safe here,” you murmur.
He closes his eyes.
And finally, he lets go a little. Not completely. Never completely. But enough that the raw, biting anger gives way to something heavier, slower, more human.
“I hate this,” he breathes.
“What?”
“Losing control.”
You smile faintly, a little sad. “You’ve never really had it.”
His lips twitch. Not a smile. Almost.
“You say that like it’s normal.”
“It is.”
You slip your hand into his. This time, he doesn’t resist.
“You’re not a machine.”
“I don’t need to be human to do what I must.”
Automatic. Learned. Anchored.
You shake your head slightly. “Maybe. But you are one, anyway.”
His eyes reopen. Less bright. Less harsh.
“And that bothers you,” you add softly.
Silence.
Then, barely perceptible, he nods.
It’s almost invisible. But it’s there.
You rise slightly, still close. Your hand never leaves his.
“Your eyes…” you whisper.
He stiffens slightly. “What?”
“They’re still red.”
He averts his gaze. “I know.”
You pause a second. Then lift your free hand to his face.
Giving him space. Time. He could pull back.
He doesn’t.
Your fingers brush his cheek lightly. Warm. Too warm.
He closes his eyes at the touch.
And this time, you feel something shift. Not violently. Not sudden. Just… gently.
“It’ll pass,” you murmur.
“Maybe.”
But it’s no longer the voice of someone struggling to control himself. Just someone holding on.
Your thumb traces beneath his eye, barely pressing. He shivers slightly.
Then, imperceptibly, he leans forward.
Subtle. Not a loss of control. Not an impulse.
A choice.
You don’t move. You let him come.
His breath mingles with yours, calmer now. Foreheads nearly touching. For a moment, nothing happens.
Just this.
Then he opens his eyes.
Still red. But less intense. Or maybe just less violent.
He looks at you like he’s discovering something.
Or like he’s finally allowing himself to see.
“I should go,” he murmurs.
But he doesn’t move.
You smile slightly. “Then do it.”
He doesn’t.
Silence.
Then, very softly, almost hesitant—so unlike him—he tilts his head.
You understand.
And this time, you close the distance.
The kiss is light. Short. Almost timid at first.
Nothing rushed. Nothing desperate.
Just… real.
He freezes for a fraction of a second, surprised. Then his hand tightens gently around yours, and he finally responds, soft, careful, intentional.
When you pull back, he doesn’t retreat.
“Just a moment,” he repeats.
But now, it’s no longer a boundary.
It’s a fragile promise.
And for now, that is enough for both of you. And that was the most important at this moment.
You'll face together problems, you can't let him face it by himself, alone.