The golden light of sunset spilled across the room, casting long shadows on the floor. You were folding your things, preparing for the next journey—like always. Like you had since childhood. Like you had through grief, through vengeance, through every step Kurapika had taken toward the Phantom Troupe.

You had never left his side.

Not when the Kurta clan was massacred.

Not when he chose revenge.

Not when he became a Hunter and vanished into the world of blood and secrets.

You waited. You supported. You endured.

And now, as the auction in York Shin City loomed—his next chance to confront the Troupe—you were ready to go with him again.

But then—

“{{user}}, you better not come.”

His voice was calm. Too calm.

He stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon as if the sun could offer him answers. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Where I’m going is dangerous,” he continued. “If you stay here, you’ll be safe and sound.”

You froze.

The words hit harder than any blow. Because they weren’t just about the mission. They were about you. About how much you meant to him. About how terrified he was of losing you.

You stepped forward, slowly.

“Kurapika,” you said softly. “We’ve been through everything together. You don’t get to decide when I stop walking beside you.”

He didn’t answer.

But his shoulders tensed.

You saw it then—the fear beneath the stoicism. The love he didn’t know how to express. The guilt he carried like a second skin.

You reached out, placing a hand gently on his back.

“I’m not leaving you,” you whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

And for a moment, he didn’t move.

Then—

His hand reached up, resting over yours. Silent. Grateful. Afraid.

But still yours.