Work Text:
Peter wakes up alone.
For the next three days, all he thinks about is running.
He doesn't.
Peter stays in that damn hotel room, hoping, praying even though he hasn't prayed in years and he hasn't believed that anyone could hear him for longer.
He stays there, hoping Juno will get it. Praying he'll realize he needs to come back, needs to make this right.
Peter knows he won't. Juno made his choice.
He half kills a man and steals the most well guarded valuable he can find. He doesn't fight like he used to. Everything about him is strength now, and anger.
Peter never fooled himself into thinking he deserved the sort of forever he wanted with Juno. He had just thought maybe Juno didn't deserve it just as much. They could get what they wanted. They could have.
He doesn't know what he'd do if Juno turned up again. He's visiting Hyperion City more and more often as the days go by, desperate for a glimpse of Juno on the street, too proud to seek that glimpse out from under the cover of alley shadows. Juno would probably know he was there, anyway. The two of them have always been tuned into the other, and Peter doesn't see why that should be any different now.
He lets himself think, though, in a crumbling hotel room next to a warm body whose name he knows but doesn't care to, about Juno hear with him, about Juno saying that he chooses Peter.
He lets himself think, and hope, and pray, but in his dreams, his eyes are half closed and Juno is sliding over the edge of a bed that suddenly seems miles wide, too much space between them. (It seems like the space between them is always causing their problems. If Peter thought he and Juno were good enough people, that would be the only thing he would blame.)
Someone asks his name and he doesn't hesitate to say Juno, kicking himself all night when he has to hear her say it over and over and over.
Peter does what he always has, just with a little more violence and so much less grace. He misses slyness, misses easy thievery, misses when that was enough to fill the void.
He could drink himself into oblivion, and all he could still think about then would be how close the taste is to Juno's lips.
He's been having this dream so often lately: he reaches across outer space, across stars and planets and satellites and cities, and his fingers brush Juno's.
Juno slips off the edge of the bed, and Peter is lost.