Sound of Waves

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Kuroro does not tell Kurapika about the activities of the Geneiryodan, and Kurapika has long ago learned not to ask. Kuroro's business is not for him to pry into, as they learned from the countless discussions and debates Kurapika had been prone on starting back when it was still difficult to accept that not everything had anything to do with justice. If their business is important or big enough, he tends to find out from the media or his own network, anyway, and even then he's learned to not let it matter. Kuroro tries not to bring Ryodan business into their relationship, and Kurapika tries not to pursue it.

This time, however, has the two of them running from continent to continent, city to city, and every nook and cranny of the planet that Kurapika had sworn never to go to, with all manners of thugs, hoodlums, experienced Nen-users, members of the mafia, and even the police on their trail. Kurapika thinks that it is his right to feel curious and just a little bit disgruntled about being usurped from his routine to be dragged around various locations without explanation.

The blond stops walking for the nth time since that morning to shake the sand off his sandals. It is a practice in futility – more sand just gets between his toes as soon as he takes a step forward.

"It's just a bit of sand, Kurapika," Kuroro remarks, looking amused and perfectly at ease with his beach shorts, colorful polo, and bare feet. Kuroro, Kurapika thinks in mild annoyance, is the only person he knows who can look charming in bright blue and yellow. The blond wonders why when he was still wearing clothes of that color scheme, he had looked feminine instead.

"It's not comfortable," he mutters, dusting his own white shorts. Kuroro had been right about needing to change their outfits, he supposes, though Kuroro had looked like he wanted to denounce Kurapika's choice of shirt when they bought it earlier (orange, with blue sleeves – he thought they looked rather decent, and definitely better than Kuroro's own clothing).

"Just a bit more, then. The tour had taken long, hm? Perhaps we should have stayed in today." This time, they are in the beach islands of Fiai, hiding where there are a lot of tourists and such. They had spent the whole morning following a group of families in an island tour – Kurapika thinks he likes islands even less now. Kuroro insists that it is one of the most comfortable types of hiding; Kurapika still disagrees up til now. The man had compensated by renting them a secluded beach house (and letting him wear the orange shirt).

Kurapika goes back to his earlier thought process and thinks that, still, it would be nice if Kuroro can at least tell him why he needs to come along. He is a Hunter of respectable status, an excellent fighter, and with more than enough wit to know how to stay out of trouble. What big thing had the Ryodan done this time around?

They eventually reach the beach house, in its entire simple, slightly dilapidated glory. The wind is nicer this side of the island, although it tends to throw sand and salt up in his hair. Kurapika doesn't really like the beach, although he doesn't mind the water and the waves so much. The sand, however, irritates him.

Kuroro sits down on the sand a few yards in front of their beach house and under the shade of a palm tree, patting the ground next to him for Kurapika to sit down on. The Kuruta wrinkles his nose in distaste but complies. The sand is fine and warm, which is pleasant in its own right. It is probably going to stain his shorts, though.

"Don't be so stiff," his lover chides, shifting to drop down on his back, shoulders and head cradled on Kurapika's folded legs. "We're relatively safe here."

He refrains from asking again, but sniffs to convey his displeasure. "Couldn't we have gone to a lake resort instead? The sun here is abrasive."

"You really are a child of the forest," Kuroro comments in amusement, taking a hold of his hand and kissing his palm. "But no, we could not have. Too many wild animals."

"Ah."

They stay like that without saying anything for a while – maybe half an hour, though Kurapika is not sure – idling around and letting the wind brush their faces and the sand dirty their clothes. Kurapika thinks that he will need to do some laundry later, because at the rate they are going, they will run out of sand-free clothes soon.

"Kurapika," Kuroro starts, staring out into the sea, his voice low – it reminds Kurapika of the waves, for a bit, but he figures it is more like echoes in a cave. "Back there—"

"I don't need to hear it," Kurapika cuts him off (surprising himself as he does so, though he finds that it is true). "This is fine."

"Ah."

"This running business isn't so bad," he says with a small smile, brushing sand off his hair.

12:16 AM 7/31/2007