Night never truly falls in the Kakin Empire. Atop the highest steps of the imperial palace, Kurapika looks over the city in all of its magnificence, shining as bright as the starlight above him. When he descends the steps, urged by Queen Oito to explore the city, he finds himself wandering a district brightly lit with strings of paper lanterns and neon signs signifying establishments open all night long.

Prince Woble's coronation gave rise to an audience of not only civilians but also tourists from all over the world, so it doesn't come as a surprise that there's hardly any space to walk along the streets. The third night of the festival celebrating Prince Woble's reign had already begun, but it's clear that Kurapika is nowhere near the festivities. A wealth of entertainment surrounds him, from nightclubs to bars to parlours, but he has no interest in any of those things.

Women are extending invitations to passersby while dressed in some semblance of traditional festival clothing, tailored to expose the length of their thighs. They certainly know the power of pageantry. As Kurapika walks by, it's a blur of bright garments and winding ribbons of color, dark hair twisted in heavy braids, eyes lined with liquid gold, glittering jewels from ornate hairpins. They're throwing suggestive looks and blowing kisses at everyone in their vicinity, handing out flyers to advertise what Kurapika believes to be more private businesses, but he doesn't accept any of them.

Kurapika doesn't even spare a glance at a woman giving too much attention to him, and then—he's being grabbed by the elbow and dragged closer to the doorway of the bar. He turns to give a sharp look at her.

The woman's lips, painted a crimson shade to match the nails digging into his arm, curve up in appreciation. "Aren't you warm in that suit? Wanna come inside and take it off?"

It's true that he's uncomfortably warm, when everyone else around him is dressed in light silks and cottons to keep themselves cool in the summer heat. His hair sticks against his face and his jacket clings onto his skin, but it's nowhere near unbearable. He'd like to keep his virtue intact, thank you very much.

"No thank you," Kurapika says politely, but before he can pull away, he's interrupted by the protesting voices of other women from rivaling establishments. The attention is unexpected, because although he's never had any eyes for women, they seem to have eyes for him. His vision swims with the amount of publicity materials thrust in front of him, the way he's suddenly being touched by strangers and pulled in all sorts of directions, but the movement ceases when someone else captures their attention.

"Hey."

Kurapika's head snaps up at the familiar voice. Kuroro stands before him, clad in a violet festival robe and a pair of wooden sandals, the contours of his body catching light in the neon glow of their surroundings. He casts an assessing glance towards them. "What's going on here?"

"This gentleman is accompanying me to Kakin's most renowned pleasure bar," says the woman with crimson nails, still holding onto his arm without any intention to let go. With her other hand, she makes a grand gesture to the sign above them.

Kuroro lifts a brow in amusement. "Are you even old enough to—"

An indignant flush rises high on Kurapika's cheeks, and he doesn't have time to refute when another young woman interjects. "I think there's a misunderstanding here," she says, her hands splayed over his lower back, "because this guy here is coming with me. You're more than welcome to join us." She winks at Kuroro, and Kurapika has to quell his disgust from showing on his face.

"I don't think so," says another woman, and she too is interrupted by the others, and Kurapika can only look at Kuroro as they bicker among each other about his unspoken company. A hand brushes against his thigh, though it's impossible to identify who the culprit might be.

"Sorry," Kuroro announces, his hand circling around Kurapika's wrist firmly, "but he has other plans tonight." He pulls Kurapika towards him and pushes a path for them to return to the bustle of the streets, away from the bewildered looks of women.

They're making their way through the artificial lights strobing the streets, the incessant blaring of music in the background. Kurapika takes a deep breath to regain his composure, but lets out a cough when smoke billows his way. The air is stifling in these parts of the city, all cigarette smoke and rich perfumes. The swell of the crowd makes makes it more difficult for him to breathe, but that's not the most important issue here. Nothing could be more unexpected than seeing Kuroro when they had long parted ways on the Black Whale.

Kuroro's holding his hand when he asks, "What are you doing in the red light district?"

Kuroro's holding his hand.

Kurapika shakes himself off of Kuroro's grasp, horrified that it had gone unnoticed for a moment too long. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Saving your purity and your wallet," Kuroro answers with ease, though that's not what Kurapika intended to ask. "You can handle the Kakin army but can't reject a group of women? Why are you alone?"

"I could ask the same to you," Kurapika says, making every effort to suppress his excuses and petty arguments. He clenches and unclenches his fist, still in disbelief that he was so distracted that his fingers intertwined with Kuroro's own. "I'm getting some fresh air. I haven't had the chance to take a break since the festivities began."

"It's easy to get lost around here," Kuroro points out as if he's some kind of glorified tour guide. It's more likely that he had been separated from whoever's left in his Spiders—if any of them still remain in this world—and had gotten lost himself.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh escapes Kurapika. "You look like you're making yourself at home. What, are you on vacation or something?"

"I think we both need a vacation." Kuroro offers a small smile and runs a hand through his black hair. His hair rebels against the traces of hair gel, falling across his forehead but not quite obscuring his cross tattoo. "I'm just blending in with the locals, taking the time to visit a few places while I'm here. I can show you where the festival is, if that's where you're headed."

His sentiments towards Kuroro aren't easy to define, too difficult to grasp. While a temporary partnership had existed between them on the Black Whale—out of dire circumstances, out of necessity—all of that ended when they both accomplished what they wanted. They may no longer be enemies when mutual enemies had risen in their wake, but they certainly aren't companions who should enjoy each other's presence and yet—

Kuroro turns, and he follows.

Despite the steady cadence of Kuroro's steps, the reassured tone of Kuroro's voice, it becomes increasingly clear that Kuroro doesn't know where he's going. It takes about half an hour of following the crowd and turning through too many streets until the scent of street food—all greasy smoke and fried delicacies—permeates the air and bright stalls come into view. It's just as crowded here as the streets, but the lanterns glow brighter against the evening sky, the gold statues and decor shine extravagantly, and the conversations of civilians blend with the thrum of celebration music.

"Like I said," Kuroro says with an apologetic smile, "it's easy to get lost."

Kurapika levels a flat look at Kuroro and absently wonders if he's being messed with. He's loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket now, holding it in his arms, because the temperature doesn't seem to be dropping anytime soon. A group of giggling children run past him, all dressed in patterned silks for the celebration, animal masks atop their heads, candy floss and glutinous rice cakes in their hands.

When they pass by a stall displaying garments of jewel-bright tones and a collection of festival masks on the wall, Kuroro stops. He gestures to a light cotton robe on display, one with a muted crimson shade and simple geometric pattern. "Do you want to get changed?"

"I think I'm fine," Kurapika decides. He's not impulsive when it comes to his purchases and he doesn't think he would ever find another scenario where he would wear traditional Kakin clothing. It would only remain in the back of his closet, forgotten.

Kuroro shrugs. "Suit yourself."

The arrangement of festival masks capture Kuroro's attention next. Some assume the forms of phoenixes and winged serpents, intricately detailed in shimmering lines of gold and silver paint. Others are less elegant, depicting the vengeful faces of demons with prominent horns and fangs protruding from the surface of the masks. Surely children would cry if their parents came to them wearing one of these, but most of the designs cater to the tastes of children. Kuroro points to one with the face of a cartoon mouse painted upon it.

"Sir, could I get this one?"

The old man behind the counter is more than happy to retrieve the mask for Kuroro. Ignoring the questioning look that Kurapika sends his way, he procures his wallet and hands over a bill to the man. Either he exchanged for Kakin's paper currency or filched the bills from an unknowing passerby. But Kurapika's surprise doesn't end with the revelation of Kuroro's childish tastes or the fact that he's paying.

"For you," Kuroro says, holding the plastic mask out to him.

Kurapika only looks at him, dumbfounded.

The gesture is so unprecedented that he finds himself at a loss for words. When he makes no effort to answer, Kuroro comes closer. He pulls the string of the mask taut and extends it over Kurapika's hair, letting the mask sit at an angle upon his head. "They call you Rat, don't they? I've always wondered why you didn't dress like the other Zodiacs."

Kurapika shakes his head. "You are unbelievable."

A soft laugh, a comment that it's cute of all things, and Kurapika moves away before he can hear anything else from Kuroro. The festival is something he'd be more likely to attend with Gon, Killua, Leorio at his side. Not someone like Kuroro. It's disconcerting that he almost forgets he should be apprehensive of Kuroro.

Kurapika considers purposefully losing Kuroro in the crowd, but something inexplicably compels him to stay. Keeping close watch on Kuroro's potential criminal activities amidst so many people would be a valid reason. But he's more curious about the way Kuroro pays for every stall-bought food he wants to try, wants Kurapika to try, how he almost buys canned beer but decides against it when Kurapika says he doesn't drink, how he consumes too much sugar while avoiding foods like grilled squid and octopus.

All of this sugar doesn't sit well with Kurapika's stomach. He eats strawberry crepes wrapped in paper cones, pastries filled with custard cream and lotus paste, egg custard tarts that flake off and make a mess over his dress shirt, and he even accepts complimentary rice dumplings covered with extra syrup from a young shop owner who makes heart eyes at them. Kuroro gauges his reaction when he eats each and every one.

"I don't really have a penchant for sweets," Kurapika finally admits, having lost count of how many foods he's tried. He probably enjoyed the tarts the most, with the creamy texture of their fillings and moderate sweetness. They've spent the entire time going from stall to stall, tasting all of Kakin's best desserts, even receiving complimentary samples from the younger shop owners.

Kuroro's chewing through a layer of glutinous rice dough when he answers, "Well, I certainly do."

Kurapika snorts, finding a newfound immunity to all things ridiculous with Kuroro. "Not surprising."

"Just one more thing," Kuroro says he wants to try, to which Kurapika sighs. He wanders off to another dessert stall, lured in by the temptation of shaved ice cream. With all the people crowding around and waiting for their orders, this one is arguably the most popular out of all the food stalls considering the sweltering nature of the summer heat. He orders one that isn't too sweet, taking Kurapika's tastes into consideration, though really, he didn't have to.

It's green tea ice cream shaved into thin ribbons, garnished with condensed milk and red beans. Kuroro holds out a small plastic spoon to Kurapika and he accepts. They're sharing this one so he doesn't have to finish it all on his own.

Before Kurapika can try it, a familiar voice rings behind them, loud and hearty. He turns his head slightly, sees Leorio conversing with other members of the Zodiacs, and stills. Apparently, the Zodiacs have yet to finish their duties in Kakin, because they're out here playing festival games and winning plush toys for themselves.

His hesitation must be noticeable, because Kuroro says, "You can go see your friend, you know."

"I—"

It's not as if Kurapika has a problem with being seen with Kuroro. He just won't have the answers that Leorio's looking for, when he doesn't know them himself. Despite that Leorio invited him, he simply didn't have the time to partake in festivities during the first few days. He can already hear him saying what do you mean you ditched your best friend to share ice cream with your former enemy or something along those lines.

Kurapika turns back to Kuroro, and the expression on his face is curious. Without another word, Kuroro reaches out and gently lowers the plastic mask over Kurapika's face. His blond hair is still distinguishable, but his face is completely concealed.

The fond smile on Kuroro's face bewilders him. "Let's go eat by the river?"

After a moment, Kurapika gives a small nod. He's led away from the highlight of the festival, guided towards a grassy hill where people are lighting firecrackers. While there are less people around here, there are also couples standing by each other, lighting small sparklers over the water.

They find a spot at the bottom of the hill, amidst glowing fireflies flitting through the air and vibrant red flowers blooming like wildfire over the grass. Kurapika sits down on his suit jacket and raises his mask above his head.

A breeze stirs his hair and brings along a gentle calm that washes over him, something that he hasn't felt for too long, something that he should never feel in Kuroro's company. It should be difficult to be around Kuroro, but as much as he would rather not admit it, tonight was an exception.

Kuroro sits down beside him, crosses his legs over the grass, and offers the paper tray to Kurapika in encouragement. He really does have an appetite for all desserts, intent on enjoying himself tonight, because half of the dessert is already gone. As Kurapika takes a spoonful, the ice is feathery light in his mouth and dissolves almost instantly on his tongue. The cool sensation is welcome in the heat.

"I like this one," Kurapika says. "Not too sweet."

Kuroro hums in agreement, a spoon in his mouth. "If you want, I can show you around tomorrow too."

"You mean, get us lost again? Indulge in nothing but incredibly unhealthy foods?"

Kuroro laughs, a sound that skips over the water like stone. "I'll bring a map this time. There are several historic landmarks and museums I haven't had the chance to visit yet. If you're interested, you're more than welcome to come along."

Kuroro has other companions, so there's no reason why he should invite Kurapika. Especially when the mention of museums insinuates that Kuroro will be doing much more than sightseeing. "You're seriously acting like a tourist."

"Might as well while I'm here." Kuroro cranes his neck and turns his gaze towards the evening sky. There's a quiet, contemplative look in his eyes, though Kurapika's never been good at discerning his thoughts. "I might even take some photos, post them on Huntergram."

Kurapika doesn't think he heard correctly. "Huntergram?"

"It's a social networking app where you can share photos and videos, edit them with filters—"

"I know what it is." Kuroro's response is so unexpected that a small smile pulls at Kurapika's lips for the first time that evening. He does nothing to suppress it. "I'm just thinking that you're weirdly mundane."

Kuroro returns the smile. "I'll take that as a compliment. So, what do you say?"

Kurapika settles back against the grass and removes his plastic mask. He considers the light weight in his hands and runs his fingers over the dried paint, the artwork beneath his fingertips. Spending more time around the city sounds enticing, but it's difficult to forget the restlessness that plagued him for the past few months, the urgency that settled into his bones when he was still exposed to the unpredictability of circumstances on the Black Whale.

The fact remains that things have become more manageable around here. No dire threats, no mortal enemies—unless he considers the one sitting beside him. Up until now, he had dismissed anything aside from his responsibilities as running away from them. But Queen Oito clearly thinks differently, when she's been urging him to rest and take a well-deserved break.

To spend that break with Kuroro, though?

Kuroro insists on playing tour guide and yet, the greatest mystery in the city continues to be him. It's remarkable, how there's some kind of misguided anticipation thrumming in Kurapika's blood. This isn't going to be his wisest decision and he's not certain what would come out of it but—he's looking forward to it.

"I suppose that would be fine," Kurapika answers noncommittally.

Kuroro grins, full of promise.

Notes: This was intended to be the first of a lighthearted, post-canon series, where Kuroro and Kurapika go sightseeing and traveling the world together.

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