Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is definitely in Nureyev’s top ten worst days of his life. And that’s almost not an exaggeration.

Picture this: a few months ago he was, relatively, fine and had seen a position opening for a crime ship known as the Carte Blanche, headed by the one and only Buddy Aurinko. Not only that, he would be right alongside the once presumed-dead Vespa Ilkay and the Unnatural Disaster himself, Jet Siquliak. He was, maybe—definitely—a little starstruck. 

All it took was the Ruby 7 and a throwaway name for reference: one Juno Steel. 

A few months go by and, while he’s not exactly respected or trusted, he’s made a name for himself in this little group he’s found himself in. It helps tremendously that nobody is serious enough about getting close to him. A respectable amount of space between him and them. Things are looking up for him, in the grand scheme of things. He even had a plan that could finish off his debts within the next 3 years if he played his cards right.

The universe, it seems, has her own sick sense of humor.

So imagine his surprise when he’s been informed that they would be picking up the very same ex-private eye and his plucky secretary the next time they landed on Mars. Which was… super! No really, that’s great! He’s very excited to see Juno again. 

Because their last meeting had ended so well.

He was not pacing around the ship the entire time Jet was gone, absolutely not; he was just making sure everything was in working order, of course! Everything needs to be in tiptop shape with their new members arriving, they certainly can't have the common room looking a mess! Or the kitchen, the surfaces have to be so shiny he can see his face in the countertops! Goodness, when was the last time anyone cleaned—

Nureyev heard Buddy's comm ringing like a death toll. She sat at the table with Vespa, whiskey half-drunk in front of her, interrupted in her conversation as Jet made the call. Nureyev barely lifted his head from the counter he was leaning over, the rag he gripped like a lifeline just barely concealing the shake as she watched Buddy bring the comms to her good ear. Her words didn't register, but they didn't need to. Her lips were easy enough to read. "Everything alright on your end? ... Perfect, darling, I'll set the ship to descend now. We'll see you soon."

Nureyev finished scrubbing the counter in record time. Then he fled back to his room and changed his clothes for the third time that hour.

If he's honest with himself, he doesn't remember much after that. Not until he's back on the ship, as far away as he could put himself without looking like he was trying to run.

It was bad enough learning that he was going to have to live with him for the next however long he'd plan on staying. It was even worse learning that he and Buddy are, apparently (pardon the pun) buddy-buddy with one another. Somehow, in the span of time they were apart, he'd managed to befriend not one, but two of the very people Nureyev has idolized nearly his entire thieving career. Just what the hell has Juno Steel been up to?

No, you know what? It doesn’t matter, actually, I don’t care, he tells himself, teeth grit to the point of nearly cracking under the pressure. Whatever Juno has been up to these past few months is not important to me. 

...But if he’s been losing a few nights of sleep over this, a few layers extra of his usual concealer would make no one the wiser.

So here he is, arms crossed over his chest, standing off to the side with his back to the wall as Rita thanks the Captain for the opportunity for what has to be, maybe, the hundredth time. The air is full of the smell of Martian sand and it leaves a bitter taste in the back of Nureyev’s mouth. He swore that he’d never come back here again, never step foot anywhere near Hyperion city ever again. 

And now… Now here stands that very reason, looking like a kicked puppy, eyes watering from his earlier coughing fit, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, having not said a thing since he boarded. A surprise, coming from the mouthiest man he's ever met. Juno’s hunched in on himself like he’s trying to hide from prying eyes; specifically Nureyev’s eyes, sharp and irate behind his red glasses. Nureyev pretends the weird feeling in the bottom of his stomach is annoyance.

Buddy, from where she stands, has a satisfied smile on her face that Nureyev’s picked up as ‘I'm very pleased with myself and I will look as smug as possible when showing it’. It’s a look he’s seen many a time on their outings together. It makes him crack his own smile despite himself—he does know that feeling; much like a cat catching a particularly evasive mouse—though it quickly falls when he remembers where he is. He can’t let himself be anything but calculated and professional. He’s got a persona to maintain, after all.

There is a constant, near buzzing sound in the air he realizes when he brings his attention back to the forefront and quickly discovers where it's coming from. Rita, who he only met once during his time working with Juno, was a delightful woman when he'd introduced... himself, as Rex Glass. Now she's moved away from Juno, closer to the center of the room; moved on from her 'thank yous' and 'my gosh aren't you pretty!'s and now begins explaining how excited she is about this new experience. He'd forgotten in their time apart just how much shorter Rita is than him... but her voice fills the air and takes up the space she lacks in height.

He'd find it endearing if he wasn't so busy regretting all his life choices. Did she recognize him? Did Juno tell her about him; their time together? The thought makes his skin crawl; he's very nearly made up his mind on crowding them both out into the garage and opening the airlock just to be rid of the problem once and for all.

They wouldn’t die, at least; they haven’t even gotten that far off the ground yet.

He really should be trying harder to keep his alias under wraps—he knows he’s scowling. Can feel it as the makeup cracks under the force of it. It can only do so much to hide his frown lines as he tries and fails to keep his eyes from drifting back to the person who was formerly his lover. His ex-lover.

...Would they be considered exes? Nureyev wasn’t so sure, it wasn’t like they had anything official back then. They hadn’t even stated if they were dating. It was more or less just… a bad one-night stand. Nureyev’s not sure which is worse, honestly. Peter Ransom definitely wouldn’t be this flustered by Juno Steel; they’ve been strictly professional. So why is it so hard to keep up that fact now?

“You know, Capt’n A, Mistah Steel has never been off-planet! I used to live somewhere else but we moved when I was just a little Rita and I don't remember much of it, ya know cause I was so small, so it's like I've never been off-planet either! I’ve always heard from streams and stuff that it’s super cool and pretty; like watching a painting come to life or somethin’! Frannie says it looks like just a bunch of squiggly lines to her, but I bet that ain’t true! Oh, this is just so excitin’!” Rita babbles, interrupting Nureyev’s runaway thoughts, as they all make their way out of the airlock and into the deeper parts of the ship. 

After Jet had made sure the Ruby was back in the garage without a scratch on her—Nureyev had dutifully kept the heels of his boots off her paint job, he wasn’t about to get a lecture from the scariest man he’s ever met—left to head to the engine room. The Carte Blanche was already beginning the ascension of the ship into the sky above, even as everyone began to move towards the common room.

The walls rumble around them with energy and the ship rocks and sways under their feet. There’s a small whining sound before everyone’s bodies are rocked with a pulse of energy—the gravity field has kicked on.

Artificial gravity is nothing new to Nureyev, he can maintain his balance easily and only feels a little nauseous as the gravity field kicks on the higher up they go, but Rita and Juno both need to catch the wall when it shifts and groans. Juno makes a pitiful sound in his gut from behind him, holding his stomach as the world goes dizzy for a moment. 

Nureyev’s first thought is to turn and check on him, get him to sit down and drink some water, it’s never easy to adjust to the new gravity field. His second thought, and the one he listens to after stamping hard on the first and making sure it will never see the light of day, tells him to keep moving and not to look back, it’s not his place to worry about Juno anymore— if it ever was.

“Don’t worry darlings, it’ll get easier the more you both do this,” Buddy beams to her new crew—family, she insists on calling them—members, placing a comforting hand on both their bodies to help them regain themselves once the worst of the swaying has passed. She pauses then and glances over at Vespa, who looks about as happy as Nureyev does with the new members. At the very least, he’s glad he’s not alone in feeling this way.

Nureyev knows the second an idea pops into Buddy’s head. She’s got that look on her face that can only mean trouble, her eye dark with mischief. A wicked smile plays on her features and Nureyev very much wants to run and hide like a cornered animal. He doesn’t like where this is going. He hopes it doesn’t involve him. 

...It probably does.

“You’ve said you’ve never seen space up close, correct? Well, follow me then, everyone, I have just the spot to show you. It’ll be magnificent, trust me,” She starts, motioning towards a hall that most of the crew rarely ventures down. Nureyev thinks he’s almost found an out, able to slip away so he can sulk on his own in his private quarters, when she continues, “Pete, darling, you come along too. It'll be a wonderful bonding experience for all of us.” 

Oh. Okay, lovely. And she just had to go and use that insufferable nickname. If he could combust on the spot, he definitely would. Instead, he grits his teeth and counts backward from ten.

Then, with very little flourish, she begins walking past them all. Not looking back to check that she’s being followed, but with the gait of a woman who knows she will be. The sigh in Nureyev’s chest catches in his teeth and he has to physically restrain himself from huffing like an unruly child. Vespa groans loud enough for them both, anyway.

Rita catches up to get right behind the Captain, who is walking parallel with a very put-out-looking Vespa, engaging in conversation with Rita as they walk on. Vespa leans on Buddy's arm, the frown still on her face, though she does interlock their hands together. Rita continues right back where she left off—something about a stream she had watched recently—but Nureyev’s beginning to zone out again. Well, not really zoning out, but focusing on something else. Something… more detrimental to his health and wellbeing.

Juno stands in front of him, arms around his waist and slightly hunched in that same defensive position. He’s turning his head every so often and Nureyev knows that Juno is sneaking glances back at him. Can feel that sharp gaze, that forlorn look of longing and regret. Makes his stomach twist. He wants to let himself think it means something. He doesn’t.

Nureyev, to make things clear, is not indulging. But... he can’t help the way his eyes linger just a little on Juno’s form. He’s gained weight since the last time they’ve seen each other; which, to be fair, Juno was emaciated and malnourished back then so the bar is pretty much on the floor. But no, Juno’s gotten softer around the edges and Nureyev’s not entirely sure that it’s just a physical change. The energy around him is… more inviting. Something he wants to let himself be pulled into.

Nureyev grits his teeth and once more tries to reign his alias in once again. Dammit, he’s better than this.

Juno Steel seems to have moved on just fine without him. Juno Steel seems to be doing very well for himself. Juno Steel is going to be the death of him. Or, even worse, he’ll break his heart again.

Nureyev pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking those thoughts from his head, eyes closing as he follows the path without his eyesight. He follows the sound of footsteps, the way they echo, the way they move and twist around the halls. He knows the ship like the back of his hand, using those first few days to just memorize every single room, both used and unused. He even knows how to get within the vents, though that’s… a secret for worst-case scenarios.

He knows where they’re going now, clued in by Buddy’s little speech and the halls they’re going down— an observatory of sorts. It hasn’t been used in the entirety he’s been there, seeing as all of the members are quite aware of what the outside world looks like as it disappears down below. Nureyev assumed it hadn’t worked in years, given that this was just a repurposed cruise ship. 

However, this is Buddy he’s talking about, and… well, she is very well known for her theatrics. 

The door to the observatory opens after a few taps from her fingers. She motions everyone inside with a wave of her hand, like a performer addressing a crowd. Rita bounds in first, with no regard for what was in the dark room ahead. Followed by Juno after a not-so-subtle grimace and Vespa with a snort at his expense. Buddy stands by the opening, waiting for Nureyev to step inside. If she assumed he was going to run otherwise, she would have been correct. However, now he just keeps his head low and glides inside on silent feet.

The door shuts behind them a moment later, as Buddy follows suit.

“What’s this about, Buddy? Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, getting ready for our first job or whatever?” Juno finally asks once they’re all gathered inside, voice still rough from his coughing fit a few short minutes ago. Nureyev thinks about that moment, remembers the look of complete and utter shock that had graced the lady’s face at seeing the man and life he had left behind. 

Remembers the pain that had flashed across it only a few seconds later. Nureyev could see tears from where he sat on the Ruby 7’s hood and, honestly, he wasn’t sure if they had been from the coughing fit or if Juno was really just that upset about the whole situation. It… stirs up something in his gut. Really though, he’s not going to let himself care either way. Because it’s not his problem.

The room is covered in mostly darkness, save for a few solar lights that give the room an eerie yellow glow. Nureyev can just make out Buddy’s smile as she untangles herself from Vespa, who slinks away and stands on the opposite side of the door from where Nureyev had put himself. 

Nureyev positions himself against the farthest wall, arms over his chest and pointedly not looking in the direction Juno disappeared to. If he tries—which he doesn’t—he can just barely make out the lady’s form. He tries to convince himself he’s not being at stared right back.

“Trust me, darling, there’s no need to worry about that. We’ve got a good few days before we’ll be even close, we’ll have time after this,” She says, and then she pauses before turning to look back at Rita, whose eyes are sparkling hugely despite the dispersed light. 

Then, she continues, “Rita, darling, what was it you said about leaving the atmosphere? ‘Like watching a painting come to life’, if I recall correctly? Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that,” She says, clasping her hands in front of her, her bracelets jingling softly with her movement, before she moves over to the wall closest and hits a switch. 

The metal panels of the outer wall groan and creak as they rumble to life, taking the sweet time in descent as they disappear into the floor below, revealing a translucent glass layer of the outside. The solar lights go dim and the room is lit up with light from the outside world. 

Down below, Mars grows smaller and smaller as they go higher into the stratosphere. The sky is a mixture of the normal colors—red and blue and purple—and the void of space—inky black that shifts and swirls with lights and colors. No matter how many times Nureyev sees it up close and personal like this, he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving it.

The reaction is immediate. 

There’s a yell that’s so loud it startles Nureyev, causing him to flinch visibly, as Rita practically throws herself against the glass, looking down at the world below as it slowly disappears from sight. She hits the glass once, twice, before she turns around to motion back to Juno, who’s frozen in place. She starts pointing out structures, something about, “Mistah Steel, I think I can see Olympus Mons from here!” and she eagerly rambles about how thrilled she is to explain all of this to the same Frannie mentioned previously. 

But Nureyev isn’t looking at her. Something far more interesting has caught his attention.

Nureyev’s attention is on Juno, who’s still in the center of the room where he had been before, but now with his back facing him. He’s looking out at the glass and watching the world before him: the shifting colors, the changing lights, the spot of red that disappears as Mars gets smaller. Nureyev leans over, just the smallest bit to see Juno’s face. 

Curiosity killed the cat and all.

Juno’s eye is wide as he stares out, mouth slightly agape; the picture-perfect image of rapture and awe. He swallows like his mouth has gone dry, lips trembling with emotions barely hidden. The lights dance over his face, bringing out the scars on his skin like lighthouses that call Nureyev home. It’s… a gorgeous sight. 

Ransom feels nothing at this moment: watching this man experience the joys of watching a new life come into formation before him. He could care less; Juno Steel is nothing but a walking-talking business card. Has never felt what it’s like to hold Juno’s hand, to touch Juno’s hair, to kiss Juno, to watch the lights play across his skin and make him look ethereal. To love Juno Steel. Peter Ransom doesn’t care. 

Nureyev, however? Peter Nureyev aches deep in his chest; pain, jealousy, and resentment rearing their ugly head as he wonders about what could have been had this wonderful, foolish lady not walked out that night. Had he stayed and let Nureyev love him as he had offered, he would have been given the universe and Nureyev asked for nothing in return. It’s not fair, really. Peter Nureyev mourns a life he never got to experience, a lady he never got to love, a home he never got to return to.

Would this have been Juno’s reaction if we had left together? Would he look at me the same way? Why didn’t you want to leave with me, Juno? Why did you leave? I told you I loved you and you left me. Why why why-

Juno takes in a deep breath, like he’s just now found his lungs again, and moves forward towards the glass. His hand moves up to cover his mouth, as if it would keep the feelings locked inside. Like a dam. He reaches his free hand out and touches the glass. Nureyev knows from experience that it’s cool, thick enough to keep the cold vacuum of space out but still so frigid. Nureyev wonders if Juno is warm under all those layers—still wearing that ratty trench coat. 

Nureyev closes his eyes and tries to force out the image of Juno’s awestruck face. He rubs the lids of his eyes hard enough with his hands that he sees stars and he takes his glasses off in a futile attempt to get the image out of his mind. It sears itself into the back of his eyelids anyway.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? I don’t think I will ever stop loving this view,” Buddy asks to no one in particular, looking outside with almost the same expression she gives Vespa. Almost, there’s something so entirely human about how Buddy looks at Vespa. But how she’s looking at the space outside, separated only by a thick layer of glass, she shows respect to the dark mistress. Fondness in her expression, exaltation in her gaze.

The way a certain master thief used to look at a petulant detective over a lifetime ago.

“Yes, it is...” Juno whispers to the open as he answers Buddy's question, awe and wonder in his voice. He is enraptured by the universe’s beauty, seeing nothing but the space itself.

At the same time, Nureyev mumbles to himself, sighing as he does, “Yes, he is.” The confession tastes bitter and lovesick on his tongue and he doesn’t even realize he’s spoken aloud until his mouth closes once more. 

Panic flashes in his entire body—alarm bells whiting out everything else in his mind—and he stumbles around his mental office, shoving cabinets closed as fast as he can. He doesn’t even read the label, he just closes and closes and closes. Builds the wall back up that threatened to crack. He can’t let his guard down, not now, not anymore.

His face surprisingly remains impassive—no thanks to his own stupid slip-up—but his breath catches behind his teeth as Juno turns his head and looks at him out of the side of his eye. Even from here, even separated as they are—both metaphorically and literally—Nureyev can see how shiny Juno’s eye is. 

Tears streak down his cheek at the beauty of it all, overwhelmed by everything in his path. Selfishly, Nureyev wishes Juno was crying for him. He slams that cabinet shut too. He swallows hard, turns his head quickly to break the intense eye contact, and prays to the stars that no one can see how warm his face is.

Instead, he looks at Vespa, who has turned to watch him too. Had she heard him speak? It’s likely; her hearing is spectacular the majority of the time. She’s got her eye on him, with this look on her face like she’s scrutinizing him and Nureyev wants to run—where, he’s not sure, but away from these prying eyes. 

Finally, she snorts to herself, an amused little thing but somehow Nureyev feels like he’s been stripped bare. Whatever conclusion she’s come to, it must not be important enough to voice. However, as he turns to look back at the void, questions fill his head once again.

Does she know? Does his face give it away, about their relationship? Or lack thereof? Is it all going to crumble downhill now? Nureyev had used Juno as a reference, after all, what if Juno didn’t want to play along? Nureyev’s heartbeat kicks up a few degrees as the room spins around him. Is he going to faint? Maybe.

“Gonna pick your jaw up off the floor any time soon, thief?” Vespa calls and startles him again, making him very nearly turn his whole body as he tears his eyes away, once more, from Juno’s back. 

He also slams his mouth shut, where it had been slightly parted. When had he looked at him? When had he opened his mouth? His eyes had just... gravitated towards the lady. How embarrassing, to be caught red-handed like this. 

Curse him. And curse Vespa for being too observant. Damn it all. He can’t take this, not for much longer.

“Hm, yes, quite,” He says as if that answers whatever the hell Vespa had apparently asked him, clearing his throat as he waves his hand over in her direction. She furrows her eyebrows at him, confused and annoyed. 

He’s made a fool out of himself once again and it’s all that damn detective’s fault. No more of this, he decides. He peels himself away from the wall and heads to leave the room with carefully practiced footsteps, reasoning his presence isn't required any longer, when Buddy stops his escape short of stepping beyond the doorway. 

“Oh, Pete darling, before you go: since you were the last member on board, you’ll be rooming with Juno until we can finish up his room. Is that alright?” It’s not a question. “You’ve got the most space out of all of us, anyway. Since you two have worked together previously, it shouldn't be a problem, correct?”

No! Absolutely it’s not, I'm going to fucking die, actually.

“Of course, Captain!” He replies quickly, throwing a look over his shoulder and smiling widely—almost hysterically. She returns that smile, a glint in her eye that makes Nureyev’s blood run cold. 

Does she know too? Does everyone on this damn ship know that Juno Steel broke his heart and made a damn mockery of him? Or, even worse, maybe she’s just trying to play matchmaker. He doesn’t know which is more dreadful.

“That’s perfectly alright. If you’ll excuse me, though, I’d like a moment to make my room”—himself, he needs a minute to go scream and maybe find a way to throw himself out the airlock without alerting anyone to his escape—“presentable,” He says and before anyone answers, he slips away and all but flees back to his room. He doesn’t quit speed walking—he’s not running, he’s not that immature, but he’s close—until his door slides shut behind him.

He slides down to the floor in a heap, arms wrapping around his knees as he stares at the sparse environment of his room. Even after all these months, it’s still so bare. He doesn’t belong here, amongst these people. Definitely doesn’t belong by Juno’s side. 

And that’s—well, probably his fault too, if he’s being perfectly honest. He had to have done something wrong to make Juno run away like that. To leave him high and dry and alone. This is just torture, having him so close like this. Within arms reach yet galaxies apart. He yearns and he aches and he wants to cry.

Nureyev takes a moment and only a moment to wallow in his self-pity. Then, he stands and wipes down his clothes, and surveys his room. 

So. 

This arrangement is… not ideal. But Nureyev’s a professional, he can make this work. He can beat back the unruly thoughts of one Juno Steel and be pleasantly detached for a while. Go through the motions until he’s able to find a moment of peace. For however long he needs to, anyway.

And if it’s forever, so be it.

“File it away, file it away…” Nureyev mumbles to himself as he begins to—figuratively and literally—clean his room. 

This is going to be a long journey.

Chapter Text

It’s too quiet. That’s the first thing he notices when he’s conscious enough to think; it’s too quiet and the room he’s in is big—but not empty.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He’s afraid of what he’ll see if he does. The quietness is overwhelming and his senses are overloaded with anxiety.

He can’t stay here forever, no matter how small he tries to make himself. He’ll have to move eventually– the Angel will spot him out in the open like this.

He opens his eyes, slowly one then the other, until his faulty vision makes out an expansive mass of people before him– no, not people. Children. Pests.

He can’t make out their features, his eyesight is too blurry, and their faces keep shifting like he’s flipping through a magazine from a stall in the middle of town.

He doesn’t recognize anyone, none of the faces settle long enough to see anyone he knows—

He hears something, for the first time. A horribly, horribly familiar sound. A fall, a tiny body dropping like a bag of sand. Then another, and another, and another.

One by one, malnourished and disease-ridden bodies drop to the ground in front of him, one after another like a domino effect, collapsing on top of one another.

He begs for the silence back, slams his hands over his ears to keep the falling bodies from deafening him; only one remains when the dust settles.

A boy, the same age as him– his face is blurred but Nureyev knows that mass of red hair anywhere. It’s a constant source of annoyance, of anxiety, of sleepless nights and even more restless days.

That boy smiles at him, his features settling as the freckles on his cheeks creased with the motion.

“Petya…”

“You’re just jealous because Mag likes me better than you. The only way you’ll ever leave the Pests is in a body bag.” He hears himself hiss. He didn’t mean to say that. Why did I say that?

The boy keeps smiling. His features blur. He too drops to the ground, another nameless, faceless victim of an unjust war.

Nureyev covers his mouth, but he’s already screaming– screaming for what he’s not sure.

He hears a whirring noise above him and when he looks up he sees the laser pointed at him; the Angel has spotted him. The Angel burns bright and red and his eyes hurt.

He’s going to die.

The world around him lights up and he covers his eyes with shaky hands– the red becomes all he knows.

Red room. Red hands.

Nureyev shudders when his body regains enough feeling to know that where he stands has changed; it’s cold, cold enough he could see his breath if he opened his eyes. Something in here, something close by, is warm enough to make him sweat. The place he's in is smaller than the one before and his ears are ringing with the sound of alarms. Where is he? Why is this place so familiar?

He uncovers his eyes to look at the large machine beside him, counting down to the city falling. The core lays beside it where it had been removed and dropped; he remembers even now how heavy it was. Then, his gaze drifts to the body on the floor at his feet, still warm, still bleeding. Limp and unmoving. He was moving a minute ago. Why isn’t he moving now? 

Mag, wake up, wake up please this isn’t fair or funny, stop joking, I’m sorry please wake up-

Nureyev drops the knife from his trembling hands and it clatters so loudly, so angrily in the red room. He startles, flinches like he’s been struck, and a broken noise catches in the back of his throat. The knife, once silver and shiny—his favorite, his first, a gift—now red and bloody, fibers of Mag’s suit sticking to the side where it had cut his uniform to get to the flesh underneath.

Alarms resound around him, but all he can hear is his own breathing. Is he breathing? He sounds like he’s hyperventilating, but he can’t feel it. Doesn’t feel the rise and fall of his chest, the ache in his ribs as he clings to his stomach and hunches in on himself in a panic. 

It’s certainly not Mag, Mag isn’t breathing anymore. His eyes are glassy and his salt-and-pepper beard is stained red where he had coughed up his own blood, spit out with the name of the boy he raised, the boy who killed him.

“Pete, my boy-"

Blood. Red. Red room, red hands.

Nureyev’s hands are the same color as the room around him—wet and sticky and warm—and he wipes them hastily, frantically on his uniform. It only smears it, stains his skin more and pushes it into the fibers of the fabric. Makes a mess of himself, his outfit, his mind. Is he crying? His face is wet, but it's red too.

Nureyev squeezes his eyes shut and his head spins. This can’t be happening. It can’t, Mag can’t be dead. They were supposed to save everyone, this wasn’t how things were supposed to go- He feels dizzy.

When he opens them again, gasping like he hasn’t breathed properly his entire life, he’s in a different place. Not a better place, his mind is already shattering before he even fully registers where he’s been thrown now.

Alarms are still resounding, but differently this time: muffled. There’s a gigantic metal door in front of him and from a little window positioned in it, he can see the being known as Miasma whipping her tentacles angrily around the room. It’s red too. He hears her muffled yells and screams of “you fool, you idiot”. Her voice sours his stomach. 

In front of her is Juno, with his back to him holding his blaster. Juno turns his head for a moment to look at Nureyev and he can see red, red on his face and a smile that looks so… resigned and empty. “Can I tell you a secret, Nureyev?”

Nureyev bangs on the door, his hands bleeding and his knuckles busted. Needs to get it open, save Juno, save him save him save him, stop it no more, please.

“Juno!” He shouts, but it’s not his voice. Is it? It sounds too panicked, too lost. He can’t remember the last time he sounded this helpless—this afraid. “Juno please, open this door!”

He’s pleading, begging, demanding. It’s not working. Juno only smiles more. It’s wrong, his smile is too wide, too happy. He’s ready to die, resigned himself to his fate. Juno’s going to sacrifice himself to save the world and, and—He’s going to die and Nureyev can do nothing to save him, just sit and watch. What kind of world would be worth living without Juno Steel?

His vision spots red. Red room, red face, red hands. Red, red, red.

“You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me… Wow, that’s a load off. And it’s true! You make me feel like maybe it’s all worth it. Like maybe there’s something out there worth seeing.”

Stop it, stop speaking. Don’t say these things, not now. Tell me when you’re out, tell me to my face, not like this. Anything but this.

“Please, Juno… Open this door. You idiot, you impossible idiot…” Nureyev slides down the door, banging on it still, but weaker. He’s so tired now, so tired of losing the people he loves.

Nureyev closes his eyes as the bomb counts down to zero.

When he opens his eyes this time, the world is quiet. It’s so quiet he can hear a pin drop; can hear the shuffling of clothes as someone redresses. 

This room feels safe. He’s warm, so warm under his heavy comforter, body sore from previous activities, but his back is cold. The bed is empty beside him. He wants to go back to sleep, his eyelids droop heavily, temptingly.

It feels wrong. 

He forces his eyes back open, blinking to focus and can just barely make out a silhouette by the door of the hotel room, wearing a familiar trench coat; stained red with old and new blood. He loathes the sight, he knows what it means.

Juno stands in the doorway and looks back at Nureyev over his shoulder. The view of Hyperion is replaced with a black void that could swallow him up whole. Black tendrils of nothingness lap at Juno's form, pulling him towards the void. His gaze is soft and reverent—memorizing him—and Nureyev wants to cry, to scream, to beg for him not to leave. 

Get back into bed love, it’s cold without you, I’m nothing without you, please don’t go. I'm sorry.

Yet, all he manages is a quiet, “Juno…” Juno’s shoulders hunch up to his ears, freezing in unseen headlights. He looks beautiful and it’s horrifyingly close to suffocating Nureyev.

His shoulders lower and then he’s turning back towards that nothingness once more, the door creaking loudly as it closes behind him. He’s swallowed up, taken away by his own selfishness, and then Nureyev is left alone. And Nureyev hates and hates and hates. 

Red room, red comforter, red blood, red.

He weeps until he drowns.

He awakes with a start at his desk, papers scattering loudly to the ground as he stands up fast enough to topple his chair with a loud thud. He flinches, scrambling to look for his knives and panics when he can’t find them right away. His back aches from his hunched position and a groan makes its way from his throat. 

He takes a moment to assess where he is, his situation, the danger level. His mind is still reeling from the nightmare, his head pounds—he’s probably dehydrated. He looks down at his desk, blurry vision raking over the sticky notes he’d been leaving himself. He sees one partially written, something along the lines of “check again la” with a pen line tracing down the a where he’d, assumably, finally fallen asleep.

He moves his hand to wipe at his face but his hand is slow, it trails a few seconds behind and reminds him of the way old TVs would wobble if a magnet was placed too close to them. His stomach flips. This… is that his hand? Is this his body? He can’t quite recall, it feels too painful to remember, to think.

When he gets his wits about to get his body moving again, he steps away from the desk. His legs wobble as he goes—toe heel toe heel—until the back of his knees hit his bed, messy with clothes and papers and pillows. He doesn’t sit down, he stands there for a long moment just staring at the room, trying to recall where exactly he is—who exactly he is. 

What’s his name?

He turns towards the vanity of his room, where the mirror sits proudly. Every day he looks in that mirror and puts on a new mask, a new face. Every day, he knows who he’s going to be. Now, though, the face that looks back at him is wide-eyed and frightened. Make-up smeared and wrinkles pronounced. He’s got bags under his eyes, purpling like bruises. 

Who is this? Whose face is this?  

The crack in the mirror seems to grow and grow, splitting his visage in half. He shakes his head and tries to rid himself of that image.

He looks back at his desk, messy with maps and papers, details for their upcoming heist. He should be studying, memorizing the floorplans of the building they'll be in; he won't even use most of it. But his mind won’t focus; neither will his vision.

Where are his glasses? Where had they gone? He was wearing them when he passed out. He can’t find them. He doesn’t want them, not now, everything is too much. His vision swims again, blurs like static, and he turns his head towards the door, nearly tripping over the mess in the floor on the way.

He needs… Tea. Tea’s good, tea will help him calm down; get his mind right. Hot enough to shock his senses, strong enough to break him free of whatever spell he’s under. He needs tea.

He makes his way out of his room, mind trying to fill in the spaces as he stumbles and leans against walls to keep his balance. His hands come up in his peripheral and he doesn’t know if they are his or someone else’s. 

Sometimes they look withered and aged with knobbly knuckles and nearly white as bone; sometimes they are a soft tan, with freckles and chemical burns and soft knuckles that he can still sometimes feel against the pad of his thumb; sometimes they look calloused and kind, littered with scars and a deep brown that seems warm to touch and hold. 

All are covered in blood. He closes his eyes and keeps moving.

He goes through the motions of making his usual tea: oolong with milk and three sugars. He burns his hand against the side of the kettle and doesn’t even react, doesn’t feel it. Maybe he yelps, he’s not sure, his ears are full of white noise. He should clean it; run it under some water or at the very least wrap it up in some bandages. He doesn’t. 

Then, he goes to the table and sits in his usual spot, following the motions. He doesn’t even drink it, he just stares at it, at his hands. He curls them—they follow a moment later. He blinks, shakes his head, then does it again. It doesn’t help. The nails are blunt and have dried blood underneath. 

His arms are covered with scratches, pinpricks of blood congealing at the worst parts. When had he done that? They must be recent, but he can’t recall doing it. He knows they should sting and maybe they do, but he touches them and he doesn’t feel them. He winces still at the visual stimulant more than anything. He’ll clean them later when his mind is back right.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, trying to bring himself back down from wherever his mind has gone off to when he hears a quiet noise of surprise behind him. He’s not even sure if it was real, he's too afraid to look—the memory of the alarms is so loud in his ears—but then there’s a soft “Ransom? ” that cuts through it all and brings the alarms to a halt.

And then... it’s quiet. The silence is louder.

The thief can’t find it in him to speak, but he does turn his head to look at Juno as he approaches, wearing his sleep clothes; an offensive-to-the-eyes tye-dye shirt and a pair of boxers. His hair is hidden by a silk cap, and he’s wearing a protective patch over his eye. The smallest hint of scars poke out from under it and he has to resist the urge to put his hand out and touch him. Make sure he’s real. He doesn’t, though, It’s not appropriate.

“You alright? I called for you a few times but you didn't…” Juno starts, words still slightly slurred with grogginess, his socks making a soft sound as he slides forward to get closer. Though he trails off as he gets a better look, eyebrows pinching in worry when he notices the barely concealed look of distress on the thief's face. Juno places one hand on the table and the other—not covered in blood, he had to make sure—reaches out to touch his face.

He hesitates, then seems to think better of it and puts that hand on his own hip. He wishes Juno would reach out and touch him, he needs to feel it, know that Juno is real. "What happened?" He quietly asks, barely above a whisper, but loud enough to cut through the static that had once again begun to build.

The thief opens his mouth to speak, to reply about how it was nothing more than a foolish nightmare and he'll be fine; but nothing comes out save for a noise of discomfort and pain. It sounds strangled and bitten and he can’t remember ever making a noise like that before. His mind swims, the red flashing lights suddenly in his vision again; Juno’s face—bloody and smiling—red red red. He shakes his head hard, tossing his hair against his face, and then drops it down on the table with a heavy thunk to try and rid himself of those memories. He's shaking so hard he fears he'll rattle the table and alert the others.

Juno makes a noise of distress, scrambling to move the cup away out of the way to keep him from hurting himself or breaking the mug. Then, after his hands become flutter and useless, he kneels down to get level with him. Juno hesitates for only a second this time before taking the man’s hands, squeezing them softly to get his attention. Juno holds them, calms the shake, until he can meet his eye. The thief squeezes back, hard enough to hurt, but Juno doesn’t pull away. Juno doesn’t look away, doesn’t disappear. It’s real, he’s real.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here, alright? You’ve got me, I’ve got you. D-Do you want me to stay up with you? Would," Juno asks carefully, slightly stilted and interrupted by a yawn before he muscles through and finishes his thought, "Would that help?” Despite the fact that he knows he should be more considerate about Juno's sleep schedule, he can't bring himself to do anything but answer with honesty. He nods, sniffling quietly. 

Is he crying? He hopes not, how embarrassing would that be? Not only has an inconvenient nightmare caused him to have some kind of mental break, but now he's making a mess of not only himself, but the table and his clothes and possibly Juno too.

But Juno’s presence is… safe, comfortable. Makes his mind feel less hectic. Makes the static quiet down. Juno squeezes his hands again. He's here. He's not running.

If I'm crying, he decides, then so be it. He hopes... no, he knows Juno won’t think less of him for it.

With a deep steadying breath, Juno does just that. He stands back up, wincing when his knees pop, then moves over to another chair, a hideous one they thrifted from an antique shop. It’s usually the one that Rita favors, but it’s a safe distance for Juno to sit and be comfortable. The one in between is a chair that Jet prefers, one of those that makes it near impossible to slouch in. Juno uses it now to prop his feet up.

He has no idea how long they sit in silence like that. Juno twiddles his thumbs a little while the thief stares at his drink, now cold, and tries to feel less dead. The rumbling engine is loud in the silent room; creaking and moaning as the ship idles while everyone else sleeps. The solar lights that kick on after certain hours paint the room in a soft green glow. 

They are alone in this room, on this ship, in the universe. He can’t bring himself to be upset by that.

“You know, my uh… my old apartment had one of these chairs,” Juno says suddenly, motioning to the seat he’s currently using as a footrest. The thief looks up from his drink and looks at Juno again, squinting a little at the blurry figure—he wishes he had grabbed his glasses. Wants to see Juno properly. He debates going to find them... then thinks better of it. Instead, he nods for Juno to continue. 

Juno gets a lop-sided smile on his face and he does, “Yeah my uh—my roommate,” the way he pauses tells the thief that ‘roommate’ is not the correct word, but he chooses to ignore that for now, “She didn’t like how I slouched all the time, complained about how it hurt her back just looking at me. She got these chairs from god knows where and it uh- It helped, I guess. Though I think they just made me try harder to slouch. Fucked up my back real bad, but it felt like a win whenever she pouted at me about it.”

He pictures this in his mind: a younger Juno, trying his damnedest to slouch in a chair specifically designed to make slouching impossible. A mysterious woman figure who pouted at him like he had caused a grave offense. Juno’s smug expression of victory afterward. 

He can’t help it, he laughs.

It’s more of a snort than anything, comes from somewhere deep in his chest but it must knock something loose in his mind because everything comes back into relative focus. His mind is rattling with stress and paranoia and the voice that he hears is not entirely his own:

Ransom, you need to be studying, this heist is huge and you’re going to blow it if you don’t get back in there and study, study, study; the first rule of thieving is to never trust a pretty face; isn't one heartbreak enough-

It’s the first slightly coherent thought he’s had since he’s woken up and he doesn’t… he doesn’t want to think about that right now. He doesn't want to listen to those nasty thoughts that put him in such a mood to begin with. Maybe it’s stubborn and childish, but he wants… to not think, for a bit. Not think, just be, here in this moment.

So, he doesn’t. He listens to Juno tell him another tale about his old apartment and his ‘roommate’, something about a coffee pot and trying to use it to cook something, and the thief—no... Nureyev, that's who he is. Peter Nureyev Ransom—drinks his tea. It’s cold and feels strange on his tongue, but it settles in his stomach and gives him a sensation to focus on. His mind settles even more. Juno’s presence helps tremendously. 

When he sets his hand down on the table close to Nureyev, open-palmed and fingers curled a little, Nureyev only thinks for a second before he brings his hand over and grabs it. His hand is warm and slightly sweaty and it’s the best thing Nureyev’s ever held.

Juno’s speech falters in slight surprise, eye darting down, then back up. After a second, and one last clearing of his throat, he continues on as if nothing had changed, even as his own hand curls up a little tighter. Nureyev can just barely make out the shy smile that forms on his face, gap-tooth nearly invisible. It’s beautiful. He feels almost human again.

They sit and talk for some time.

Well, Juno talks and Nureyev listens. It’s nice, not having to speak pretty words and dance around others all the time. It’s nice to just listen to Juno talk about mundane things, new and old. 

Their relationship is still healing, it’s only been about two weeks since Juno apologized, since they promised to try again. It’s… good, though. Easy, to fall back into rhythm with Juno. It’s almost like they were never parted. The nightmare is nearly forgotten.

At some point, Juno gets up to make some coffee for himself. Nureyev doesn’t follow him, but he does watch him move about the kitchen as quietly as he can. Juno’s face contorts whenever he closes a cabinet too loudly, or bangs his foot and does everything in his power not to yell out in pain. Nureyev can hear him murmuring curses under his breath, limping for a second and Nureyev feels his heart swell.

Something about this, this domesticity, is terrifying and beautiful in equal measures. It hurts Nureyev, thinking about how much sooner this could have been. But he shoves that thought aside just as quickly as it came on. 

Because Juno has changed, he’s grown so much. Nureyev is… well, he’s not sure if he’s gotten better or worse. But when Juno looks at him, he feels like he could do anything, be anyone, for him. 

Juno startles him by tapping him on the shoulder and when Nureyev looks up he’s got two cups, including the one Nureyev had used earlier– when had he grabbed it? Doesn’t matter– in his hand. “C’mon, let’s move to the couch. We can watch something until you’re ready to go to bed,” Juno says and then motions with his head towards the entertainment room. 

Nureyev blinks, then nods and stands, hearing the way his knees and back pop and groan. He ignores it and follows Juno like a lost puppy to the couch.

He sits down first and when Juno holds out his mug—he hadn’t looked at it properly before, but it reads apparently I have an attitude, who knew—he takes it without question. Juno has one that reads boss lady, which he assumes was a gift from Rita. 

He watches Juno take a drink of his coffee and realizes he should probably be drinking his too. So he does and then pauses. Because this isn’t coffee, it’s tea. 

Oolong with milk and three sugars. 

Nureyev stares at the drink, then turns his gaze to Juno. He watches as Juno grows nervous, his face growing red as the tv paints them both in soft blue light. Purple looks good on him.

“I-It’s uh—I hope I got it right. I probably should have asked first, but I’ve seen how you make your tea in the afternoon and I thought—I don’t know, but—” Juno’s rambling, tapping nervously on his own mug. Nureyev needs something to do with his hands before he tears his hair out, he’s never felt so much emotion.

Juno remembers how I like my tea. It's been a long time since anyone has wanted to know such trivial things about him. He doesn't want to look at all the feelings that realization gives him, not just yet.

He still can’t bring himself to talk, so he removes one of the hands death gripping his mug and takes one of Juno’s own, and then laces their fingers together—different from before, but better.

Juno stops talking and breathes out a quiet ‘oh’. He relaxes in the same second, shoulders dropping where they had raised up, and that soft, hesitant smile returns. Then, he nods, coughs a little, and says, “Yeah, uh—Yeah, Y-You’re welcome, Ransom.” Nureyev frowns and quickly shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to hear that name right now, he needs... 

Juno furrows his eyebrows. “Nureyev?” Another shake of the head, but less quickly; not bad but not quite right either.

There’s a pause as Juno glances around, checking the volume on the tv to make sure it’s loud enough to cover his voice, but quiet enough not to wake anyone else, then whispers softly, “...Nureyev.” He says it kindly, like he's holding it in the palm of his hand and would do anything to protect it.

The noise Nureyev makes in response is a contented hum, the most cheerful sound he's been able to produce that evening. He smiles, one of his teeth poking out from his upper lip, which only grows as Juno returns it. He repeats what he says, this time with the correct name, “You’re welcome, Nureyev.”

Then, they watch a stream. Nureyev can only make out vague shapes of whatever the hell is playing, but whatever it is must make Juno rather upset because he does running commentary the entire time. Loud enough that Nureyev can’t even hear whatever’s happening on the screen anymore, but he honestly doesn’t mind. Juno’s voice is much nicer than some boring stream. He’s gathered, at the very least, that it’s about werewolves.

About halfway through, Juno yawns into his shoulder. Nureyev isn’t exactly tired, not after the night he's had; plus he needs to get back to work anyway, this is simply a pause in the session. But that's for later. For now, he drinks his tea, lets Juno lean against him, and soaks in the warmth the other gives off. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s shivering until he feels Juno let go of his hand and lean back against him, throwing his legs on the couch and just barely giving Nureyev enough time to adjust before getting comfortable. Juno lets out a contented sigh when he's comfortable and Nureyev feels his chest beginning to hiccup slightly with the soft laughter he forces down. He has to admit that he is much warmer now though.

That’s how they stay until the end of the stream: Nureyev’s tea half-drunk on the table, Juno’s coffee fully drunk on the same table, tangled in each other. Juno’s head is against Nureyev’s shoulder and he’s dozing softly. Nureyev’s fingers are running up and down the length of his arm, feeling the way his skin goosebumps under his touch. Nothing compares to this. He could stay like this forever.

After some time, Juno shifts and blinks his eye open, staring at the screen as the credits scroll across. Nureyev reluctantly lets go as Juno forces himself into a seated position with a yawn, but allows his eyes to wander just slightly as the lady stretches; exposing some of his tummy and sides as his arm—the good one, not the one with the shoulder wound, as Nureyev has learned—lifts over his head. 

He grunts as he stands, shaking the sleep from his legs, and collects the cups, taking them to the kitchen. Nureyev follows after turning off the TV, leaving the room in darkness.

He stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching Juno clean the cups and coffee pot, half asleep and swaying on his feet. Neither of them says anything and Nureyev’s heart begins to plummet as he realizes that, after this, they’ll be going back to their separate rooms. He doesn’t… He doesn’t want that. Being alone is the last thing he wants right now.

Juno finishes cleaning and then turns to face Nureyev at the door. He’s a little awkward, shuffling his feet as he says softly, “Are—Uhm... Do you… feel better?” Nureyev thinks for a minute and then hesitantly nods. Because he does feel better, better than he did when he woke up. His body feels relatively familiar, if a bit clunky. He most likely won't fall into hysterics again the moment he's alone again. Hopefully, anyway.

Juno relaxes and he smiles softly, like he’s proud of himself for doing something good, “That’s… good; that's really good, I’m glad. I.. hope I helped some. So uh… Do you think you’re ready to head back to your room?”

He doesn’t hesitate—another nod. Not that he wants to sleep, but he really should get back to work. It’d keep his mind off things. He feels horrible for lying to Juno, but he needs a distraction. Doesn’t want to burden Juno anymore with his pesky emotions, dealing with them himself is hard enough. 

Juno nods again, then yawns once more. It’s open, exposing his teeth and throat and he fans his face as tears gather in his eye. Nureyev feels bad for keeping him up so late. The clock on the wall reads 3:02 am. He can’t remember when he fell asleep, to begin with, but he hadn’t realized it was so early... or late, rather.

“Alright then… I’m heading back to bed. Night, N’reyev. Let me know if you need me again, okay? My door’s always open. Just... shake me real hard if I don't wake up right away,” He says, a laugh in his voice that shows he's trying to help ease the tension, and then starts towards the door. Nureyev steps out of the way to let him pass—

Then, before he can even think of stopping himself, his hand reaches out to grab Juno’s wrist and keep him from leaving. Juno freezes instantly and turns to look at Nureyev with a confused expression, that furrowed brow once again returning.

Nureyev should be working. Should be going back to his room alone, memorizing those maps and diagrams until he can recite them by memory. He needs a distraction… But the thought of being without Juno right now, staying by himself in that—red, red—room, makes his stomach sour. 

A distraction… or company.

“Can…” He speaks, for the first time that night. His voice cracks from underuse, so he pauses and clears his throat, then tries again. “Can I stay in your room tonight, Juno? I... I realize this is sudden but… I don’t feel safe being alone right now.” 

His voice is brittle and taut and he’s sure his expression bears the same pitiful result. He feels way too vulnerable and stupid; their relationship isn’t even fully repaired yet. And yet… Nureyev trusts Juno, through and through. In fact, he's probably the only person he does trust, at least at this very moment. It's smarter than trying to trust himself, anyway. Juno looks momentarily shocked, almost surprised his offer is being taken up, then he nods hard enough his neck pops.

“Ow fuck, dammit—Y-Yeah, of course. Do you wanna stop by your room and change really quick? Or, hell you could—” He swallows and in the low light, he can once more see Juno blushing, watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with his nerves. 

“You could borrow some of my clothes? They might be a bit big on you, but we’re just sleeping so—” That… makes him dizzy—in a good way, this time. Wearing Juno’s clothes, enveloped in his scent and warmth… The idea already makes him feel warm all over: warm and fuzzy and safe.

“...Your... your clothes, please. I don’t want to go back to my room… I would like to make a quick stop by the bathroom, if you don't mind,” He says, somehow softer than before. Juno takes it in stride, “Of course. C’mon, let’s go.” He holds Nureyev’s hand as he leads him to the bathroom, their shared footsteps making soft noises on the metal flooring. 

Juno stands guard outside while Nureyev cleans his arms and hands. He keeps his eyes down to his arms, avoids the mirror for now. He can’t handle seeing himself, he just got himself back. He knows he should take his makeup off, his skin will hate him for it later, but… not yet. 

He’s already showing so much of his hand, if he takes the last of his mask off he’ll die. So, he doesn’t. He simply cleans his arms, puts aloe on his burn, covers the worst spots with bandages, and then exits the bathroom. Juno smiles at him when he emerges and Nureyev feels butterflies erupt in his gut.

He takes Juno’s hand once more as the other leads him to his room, the one farthest back of the entire sleeping quarters. It was once used for storage, Nureyev had memorized the location when he first joined, but this is the first time he’s been inside. Nureyev feels strangely nervous. Probably because it’s Juno’s room. He wonders what it’ll look like. 

Nureyev watches blindly as Juno inputs his code—he can’t see the numbers from here without his glasses, but he memorizes the sounds each button makes—then the door slides open. They both enter and Juno flicks on the light, momentarily blinding them both.

“Ow…” Juno mumbles as he lets go of Nureyev’s hand, rubbing his eye out of reflex, then heads to one of his drawers to rummage around for something for the taller man to wear. Nureyev stands awkwardly by the door, listening to it shut quietly behind him, thinking about how he looks now. 

Probably a mess, hair sticking up and out of place from his anxious grabbing earlier, his makeup smeared, his metaphorical mask cracked, arms red and raw from unconscious scratching. He’d die if anyone else had found him like that.

Juno returns after a moment, holding out a shirt and a pair of pants, “Here you go, they’re the smallest things I own. Let me know when you’ve changed, alright?” Nureyev nods and then watches Juno sit down on his bed and pointedly not look at Nureyev. 

It’s sweet, that Juno respects his privacy like this. He strips quickly and pulls on the clothes provided: an HCPD cadet training shirt that hangs loosely around his form and a pair of sweatpants that are too short for him and end up at the middle of his shins.

“Ready,” Nureyev says, putting his clothes in what he assumes is the dirty laundry pile of Juno’s room. Normally he’d fold them more delicately, but his body is catching up to him. With the adrenaline leaving and the comfortable atmosphere provided, Nureyev feels… exhausted. 

When was the last time he’d had a good night’s rest? Juno turns around and smiles at him, shyly and beautifully and Nureyev has the dangerous thought of wanting to do this forever.

“Heads up, by the way, I sleep talk,” Juno says as he gets comfortable on the bed. Nureyev flicks off the light, then makes his way over—surprisingly easy since Juno’s room is more put together than his own. Not having to step over old clothes and jewels is nice. 

Nureyev hesitates for only a second before he slips under the covers and he’s immediately welcomed by their shared warmth. Nureyev gravitates over easily to Juno’s side.

“Mm, it’s alright… I’ve been told I kick in my sleep. And snore. So I think we’re even,” Nureyev supplies and that gets a laugh out of the other, rolling over so they’re face to face. They aren’t touching, save for their hands where they rest on one another in between them. 

It’s good, just like this. Nureyev wouldn’t change it for the world. A comforting silence falls over them both and Nureyev watches Juno’s eye close as he begins to drift off again.

After some time, Nureyev whispers into the air, “Thank you, Juno… For staying up with me.” Nureyev doesn’t expect a reply, since he figures that Juno’s already asleep. 

But then Juno makes a small humming noise and his hand—the one not currently being held for dear life between them—moves up to touch Nureyev’s face, stroking his cheek. His movements are clumsy with sleep, but his words are sure as he responds, “Yeah, of course, babe… Anytime…” Then he does fall asleep, his movements stopping and his hand falling. The snoring starts up a few seconds later.

“Oh…” Nureyev whispers and watches him for a minute longer, his face turning red and a small smile playing on his cracked lips. What they have is still fragile and new and so very scary. But looking at Juno Steel now, sleeping soundly and snoring without a care in the damn world… Nureyev feels like maybe he’d make a fool out of himself all over again.

Chapter Text

Kissing Juno is good. 

It’s nice, the way he leans so close and Nureyev’s enveloped in his scent and warmth—his very being. He loses himself sometimes, forgets which way’s up, which way’s down, whose body belongs to who. Gets him out of his thoughts and brings him back down to consciousness.

He remembers each kiss, how different they are.

The passionate ones that leave them both breathless and longing and craving early into the morning. 

The sleepy ones that Juno presses to Nureyev’s forehead, mumbled with a soft ‘I’ll be back’ as he slips out of bed to use the bathroom or be alone for a bit. 

The ones early in the morning, where their breath and mouth feel gross but they can’t keep their hands off one another long enough to go brush their teeth. 

The quick ones, when either one of them is in a hurry and they really have to go and they can’t be late, but the quick peck of skin on skin is enough to satiate them for hours—or until the other comes back and there can be proper ones. 

All of them are good, very good in fact. Nureyev hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed kissing until he met Juno Steel.

Nureyev’s favorites, he thinks, are the clumsy ones. Not anything untoward, stars no—But the way they depart and Juno’s got Nureyev’s lipstick smeared across his lips and cheeks and chin, where they can’t coordinate their movements properly but aren’t willing to give up the motions to fix it. 

It’s a selfish little habit, to leave marks on Juno that claims him as taken. Something only Nureyev knows about and keeps close to his heart. Putting make-up on Juno and getting the favor returned, his own skin painted pretty with colors that only look good on him after being forcibly pressed into his skin by wonderful lips.

On nights like these, it’s even harder to pull away and tell him that it’s late and they should be getting ready for bed. Juno doesn’t have a clock in his room- Nureyev makes a note to get him one eventually, he should probably have an alarm or something- but he can guess that it’s probably late enough. Juno, as if his internal clock was linked to Nureyev’s words, yawns widely; showing his teeth that are stained blue with the current color on his face. 

He looks absolutely beautiful.

“You are a sight, starlight… One day I’ll have to sit you down and paint you,” Nureyev hums as he, foolishly—reverently—leans down to steal another few kisses. Juno makes a happy noise in the back of his mouth, lacing his fingers together behind Nureyev’s neck and pulling him in again, distracting him from trying to leave. 

It takes all of Nureyev’s willpower to pull away, huffing a soft laugh as the other holds on just a little longer, a little tighter. “Already kinda did, babe. If you meant with actual paint though, I heard there’s some body paint in a shop nearby, I could always go get some and let you go to town on me,” He teases, much to the annoyance—delight—of the taller man.

Nureyev laughs again, and if he wasn’t wearing his makeup now, his dimples would show. “You’re a temptress. Luring me in so you can devour me, is that it?” He says, with that lilt in his voice that shows he’s being dramatic on purpose. It makes Juno laugh and unlace his hands, shoving Nureyev in the chest and making him stumble slightly. 

“Nah, too tired tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Gotta get ready for bed, I don’t think I could handle another lecture from Buddy for missing a family meeting. If I get that ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ look one more time, I might actually die.”

Juno stands from the bed and stretches out, his sweater lifting up on his stomach and exposing the small bit of hair on his lower stomach. Nureyev reaches out and touches his skin—because he’s able to now, he’s allowed to touch this man, this goddess whenever he wants. Sometimes that realization knocks him off his feet. Now, it just makes him smile.

Juno’s belly jumps under the motions and he laughs a little breathlessly, leaning forward and pushing his face into Nureyev’s shoulder. “Your hands are cold, asshole,” He says, but the effect is lessened because he can feel Juno smiling into his shoulder. 

“Crass, Juno. My hands would be warmer if a certain detective held them,” Nureyev cooes back and he could practically hear the eye-roll.

“Ex-detective, mind you. Lemme find some pajamas. You,” He says, then pulls away and points at Nureyev’s chest before continuing, “Go sit down at the desk, I’ll get your makeup for you.” Juno pulls away then and heads to his dresser, rummaging around in it. 

Nureyev, in the meantime, has gone considerably paler. 

Juno hasn’t seen him without his makeup—his mask, his shield—since, well… Since the tomb.

Even then, he clung to what little he had on, even if his skin felt like it was dying every day. Even after that, at the hotel, as the water beat down on both their weary bodies, he clung to it. Clung to the last little bit of the mask that he could. But, after everything… he laid himself bare to Juno, in many ways that night. Took off the layers, the makeup, the mask. He gave himself over.

The last time he had done that, it hadn’t ended... particularly well.

Now… now some of that old fear is rearing its ugly head, making Nureyev’s breathing catch slightly as he stands stalk still. Still enough that he hopes he can be forgotten he’s ever there. As if Juno had vision that relied on movement; It’s a stupid, silly thing to be so worried about, but he can’t help being terrified of it now. Even in the comforts of his own room, he keeps that mask on so much he barely recognizes himself without it. 

Juno turns back around with a bundle of clothes in his arms, beginning to say "Remind me to do a load of laundry later, I think my nightgown is-" but he stops when he sees Nureyev still standing there. Juno’s eyebrows furrow and he puts the pile on the dresser, walking over to the taller man and taking his hands—they’re trembling. When had Nureyev started shaking?

“Babe, hey, look at me. Deep breaths, it’s okay,” Juno coaxes him quietly and his voice is enough that Nureyev does as he says. He breathes deep, letting his eyes close. He reminds himself that he’s safe, that he isn’t in that infernal hotel. 

That Juno isn’t going to leave him again. And he believes the thought as soon as it crosses his mind. 

Juno isn’t going to leave, he’s got nothing to be afraid of.

When he opens his eyes once more, Juno is looking up at him, still holding his hands. Still here. Nureyev smiles, in the way he knows Juno knows is a deflection, but he can’t bring himself to do anything else. 

“Apologies Juno, I... don’t know what came over me. I’m alright, dear heart,” His voice almost doesn’t shake. 

Juno narrows his eye, scrutinizing Nureyev with that sharpshooter’s eye that has already stripped him bare once before. He decides, it seems, that Nureyev isn’t going to get away that easy.

“If you’d rather take off your makeup in the bathroom and come back with the lights off like we’ve been doing, that’s fine. I didn’t mean to seem like I was pressuring you or anything,” Juno says, tentative and careful. Nureyev thinks, once more, how damning it is that Juno seems to always know what’s going on in his head. He should be more careful than this, or at least a little more subtle.

Even still, Nureyev is… tired of hiding from him, himself, from everyone. Juno hurt him when he left him in that hotel, yes that much is true and will continue to be true. 

But the Juno before him now is not that same lady who bared his teeth at the smallest hint of affection. 

The lady before him now, who looks at him with patience and kindness, bares his wounds no matter how raw they are. Nureyev, the first time Juno had taken off his eyepatch around him, had spent the entire night kissing the scars there—had made sure that Juno knew how much he loved every part of him.

Maybe Nureyev could bare his wounds too.

“No, that’s…” He starts, then stops. He lets out a long sigh, his body sagging slightly like that breath had been the only thing still holding him up the entire time, leaning against Juno until the other supported most of his weight. 

Then he continues, once he feels secure in the ex-detective’s hold, “I would like you to take off my makeup. On the condition that I can take yours off first. Is that alright?”

Juno never disappoints, because the words, “Of course,” are out of his mouth before Nureyev even has time to really finish his sentence. It makes him laugh, just a little, leaning down to press a kiss to the direct center of Juno’s forehead, nosing a wayward loc out of the way to do so. 

With the plan set, Nureyev finally untangles himself from the other and watches as Juno turns away to grab the pile of clothes he had secured earlier.

“First order of business,” He says, then throws a handful at Nureyev , laughing when it lands squarely in his face, caught off guard by the motion. Nureyev sputters and scrambles to regain his composure, trying his best to seem annoyed with the shorter lady. 

It only takes a second, though, for Nureyev to return the sweet sound of laughter that settles heavily in his gut. “Get comfortable, babe. We’ll go as slow as you need,” Juno says as he shrugs off his shirt and tosses it unceremoniously behind him to land in the general region of the ‘dirty clothes pile’.

Nureyev doesn’t respond to the words, but he does nod, once for a response and then another for just himself. A silent ‘you can do this, you’ve faced worse before’ to himself as a hasty pep-talk. He takes a moment longer to undress, eyes tracing along the patterns of Juno’s scars, his stretch marks, moles and dips and spots that nobody else gets to see. Nureyev is floored at just how beautiful Juno is.

He’s rewarded for his efforts and ogling by Juno turning around and shaking his ass at him, just a little. 

“N’reyev you’re drooling,” Juno teases and Nureyev’s hand goes up to his mouth to check. He’s not, but the fact that he moved at all is enough to send Juno into hysterics. Nureyev blushes down to his chest. 

“Excuse me for wanting to appreciate the piece-of-work that is my girlfriend,” Nureyev huffs, like a child, and turns around enough to keep his eyes pointedly away from Juno. He gets far enough that the pajama pants he’s been given are on his hips before arms wrap around his waist. He looks down to see Juno’s hands splayed out over his stomach and his skin jumps with emotion.

“Sorry babe, couldn’t resist pullin’ your strings a ‘lil,” He kisses the top of Nureyev’s spine; probably leaving a faded blue lip mark that will burn into Nureyev’s skin for as long as he remembers. All Juno’s kisses do that. He selfishly wants to remember everything, no matter how fleeting. 

He’s allowed to be a little sappy, cut him some slack.

“Pull my strings, unbelievable,” He mumbles, trying to keep the smile out of his tone as Juno’s fingers run over his soft stomach, pinching some of the fat there between his fingers and making Nureyev jump. “You’re insufferable,” He continues, turning around in Juno’s hold and grabbing his cheeks, squishing them together.

Juno smiles at him, mumbling, “Yeah? Don’t know how you put up with me. It’s almost like I’m your girlfriend or somethin’-” His voice is warbly with the way his mouth is squished and Nureyevhas to take a moment to just admire how lovely and ridiculous he looks. 

“That you are..” He hums, kissing his nose before pulling away and finally motioning towards the desk, “Be a good girl and sit for me, will you?”

Juno does as he’s told, sticking out his tongue before he goes as Nureyev follows after him, grabbing up the materials he needs as he goes. When the places are set, Nureyev wets down a rag with makeup remover and carefully takes Juno’s face into his free hand. 

He mourns the loss of the canvas he’s made this time, lipstick prints and smears on his mouth and even a bit of his foundation where he’d rubbed their cheeks together. 

As he starts to take it off, he talks aloud to himself, “If I had thought ahead, I might have grabbed a camera and taken photos of you like this. You’re beautiful, Juno, in every way—But there’s something to be said about seeing you a little flustered. A little…” He pauses, looking at the wall behind them in an attempt to think of the correct word. Juno stays blissfully silent, eye closed as he waits for Nureyev to continue.

Finally, he does, landing on, “A little lascivious… Hedonistic, perhaps.” He knows he’s rambling, filling the quiet room with his words, but it makes Juno laugh, opening his eye to look up at the other with his eyebrow raised. “ Wow, didn’t know I was dating a thesaurus,” He teases and Nureyev flicks him softly on the nose in retaliation.

They fall into a comfortable silence then, repeating the motions of rewetting and rewiping until Juno’s face is clean of makeup and shiny with the remover. 

Maybe Nureyev’s stalling, running the rag over his cheek and lips a little longer than necessary, but—well, he’s nervous. 

Can’t blame him for being a little nervous.

Finally, finally, he relents his constant assault on Juno’s face before he can rub his skin raw, and Juno blinks up at him like he’s just waking up from dozing. Maybe he was; that’s a nice thought to have. It eases Nureyev some, to think that just this little thing could make Juno so relaxed that he’d almost fall asleep. 

That, or he’s just getting old.

Juno lifts himself out of the chair, catching Nureyev’s chin as he does, and angles his face down so they’re looking eye to eye. “You sure about this, babe? I won’t be upset if you aren’t ready, ya know. I know this is a big deal to you, it’s-” 

He cuts himself off by closing his mouth, breathing in deeply through his nose, and then letting it go. It whistles a little, with the crooked septum and all, but Nureyev watches him, in real-time, rework his words until he says:

“It’s a big deal to both of us, but it doesn’t have to be. I want you… to trust me, and if you need time for that, then it’s fine,” He says this as he pulls Nureyev down and kisses his nose, a reverse of their earlier positions. Nureyev’s glasses fog up with Juno’s breath and he hopes it’s enough to keep the tears from his eyes. 

Juno Steel has made him cry… a lot. Sometimes it’s for a good reason. Like now.

“I thought I was supposed to be the hopeless romantic,” He says with a laugh, mixed with a sob that barely makes it out of his throat. Juno makes a hum in acknowledgment, then moves out of the way so Nureyev can sit down. He does, setting his glasses aside as he goes, listening to the soft click of plastic against wood. 

The room is silent, save for their shared breathing and the rumbling of the ship below, a small floating fixture in the middle of nowhere.

Juno exchanges the old rag for a clean one, wetting it down as he responds, “I have my moments. I think you’re rubbing off on me, N’reyev.”

“That almost sounds like a compliment, Juno,” He says, letting his eyes close as the rag nears his face. Juno’s free hand cups his chin, tickling his skin where his stubble has started to grow again—he’ll shave tomorrow. Nureyev feels another kiss planted on his nose, one last little ‘you’re okay’ before the cold, wet fabric is pushed against his cheek. He hisses softly, then settles as Juno rubs his thumb into his jaw, soothing out the tension before it can even form.

“It is. I like spending time with you, hun,” Juno starts as he begins his work, distracting Nureyev from the task at hand with meaningless words and compliments, with no direction in mind. 

“You’ve made me wanna read books more. I picked up that one I saw you reading a week ago, the uh… Fuck, what was it- It was like, something something Luxury of the Damned? ‘Course it slips my mind when I’m tryna talk about it but- It’s good, I like it. Been a while since I’ve actually sat down and read a book. I've also been drinking more tea and trying all the foods you like. Can't say they're all good, but I like... I don't know, I like getting to be a part of your life, your routine.”

Nureyev knows the name, but listening to Juno fumble about, grumbling and cursing to himself for a moment as he tries to remember it is way better. He’ll tell him later, but he's allowed to indulge. Nureyev's noticed his tea bags have been going a lot faster recently; he's always suspected it was Buddy or even Jet on occasion but something about Juno's admission makes him swoon. He wants to be a part of me. The rag moves up to his eyes, his eyelids fluttering softly with the movement, and the strokes are slow and careful—caressing. 

He feels… safe.  

“Anyway—Enjoying time with you on the ship is one thing; watching you work is another thing entirely. Sometimes while we’re on a heist and you’re out on distraction duty; you get so into character and almost lose yourself in it and it’s… Wow, I don’t know how you do it, ya know? Watching you flip the script or talk circles around some idiot billionaire is never not entertaining. You're very cool. Everyone you meet falls to your feet head over heels when you set your mind to it and you still sleep in my bed; hair sticking in every direction and drooling on my shoulder.

“You’re like… I was watching a stream with Jet the other day, about old Earth animals, and one of them really stood out to me. They're known for changing their color to blend in with their surroundings and avoid predators or cloak from prey; It reminded me a lot of you actually. A new face, a new color, hiding in plain sight. But never too far away.”

Nureyev’s listening so intently, eyes closed and lost in the other’s voice and words, that he doesn’t even notice the rag is being pulled away and set aside until he hears Juno say, “Don't get me wrong babe, your makeup is totally killer; super jealous of your skills... But there's something so... homey or even domestic about seeing you all undone. It's like... It's a little secret for just the two of us. A very, very precious secret... My Nureyev.”

Juno's hand rests on his cheek, slightly cold from the makeup remover, but quickly warming as Nureyev leans against him. His eyes open slowly then, breath held as he focuses his vision enough to barely make out the words on Juno's shirt; it doesn't count as murder if it's a landlord. He chuckles, then finally lifts his head to meet Juno's eye. There’s no difference in how he’s looking at Nureyev now, the same gentle smile on his face that had been there before Nureyev’s eyes had closed. 

His eye is shinier, though. Slightly damp with overwhelming emotion. 

Nureyev feels much the same.

“Hi, babe,” Juno says finally and he sounds a little choked up, a little nervous. Nureyev lets out the breath he’d been holding, feeling it leak out between his teeth as he lifts his hands and puts them on Juno’s shoulders, pulling him down into a gentle kiss. 

No hurry, no push for more. Content and satisfied. Their teeth clink, unable to keep from smiling and when Nureyev pulls away, he breathes with reverence, breath against Juno’s lips.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Juno laughs and drops his head, pressing their foreheads together as he says, “Sap.” 

Nureyev laughs too, letting his hands move until they’re hooked around the back of Juno’s neck, playing with the little wisps of baby hairs that cause him to squirm in ticklishness. 

Juno hums again, eyes closed before he finally pulls away and says, “I’ll be right back, gotta grab my meds from the bathroom. Want anything?”

Nureyev watches him move towards the door, his footsteps heavy and swaying slightly, and adores this man all over again. “Just you back as soon as possible, my love,” He coos and Juno sticks his tongue out at him before disappearing out of the room and down the hall.

Left alone with his thoughts, Nureyev turns to look at himself in the mirror. 

It’s different, seeing his bare face like this in relatively normal lighting. There are a few pimples on his face, the crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes look a little more prominent than he remembers, picking scars from his youth, three beauty marks, and a few freckles on the bridge of his nose and highs of his cheeks where he’d gotten a lot more sun recently. 

It’s … Nureyev takes a breath, holds it, then lets it out slowly.

He looks different from the last time Juno had seen him bare. Last time, he’d been thinner than he’d been in a long while, with hollowed cheeks and blood staining his skin. The electrical scars that had reached up to his jaw are less prominent now too, settled into his skin with time and age. 

Usually, this face causes discomfort—for more reasons than just vanity.

He remembers, though, the way Juno looked at him both times. Before and now. Seeing him stripped bare and vulnerable as all get; he looked at Nureyev like nothing had changed. Like seeing him with makeup and without was the same. Like seeing him without the shield was… good. 

Nureyev has to beat back the emotion that swells inside of him before it makes him sob.

Nureyev looks at Juno from the mirror as he comes back from his med run, a bottle of water in his hand and his nightly medicine in the other. 

Juno is different too from the last time they had seen each other. Softer, more scars, kinder to the world and himself. 

Juno had mentioned earlier about how he was rubbing off on him… Nureyev thinks he could take a few pages out of Juno’s book, too.

Chapter Text

Nureyev’s had sniffles before. They’re nothing uncommon for him; sometimes the planet’s flora and fauna do not agree with him. It’s silly to think he could be taken down so easily with something as simple as allergies. It’s easy to deal with though, just a quick trip to the medicine cabinet and he’s right as rain with no one the wiser.

However, these sniffles have been plaguing him for nearly a week straight. And, come to think of it, his throat is scratchy too. He’s been clearing his throat a lot more recently, irritating the already inflamed skin and he’s worried if he does it anymore in Vespa’s line of hearing, she’s going to throw him out of the airlock.

So, he resolves to do what he does best; ignore it until it goes away. 

And it works, for a while. He’s able to keep his sniffles to himself, keep his throat clearing to when he’s alone in his room. Or any room for that matter, he's not picky. It’s harder to hide the exhaustion he feels, but if he drinks enough coffee it, too, goes away. 

He’s fine, it’s fine.

Or… it was fine until his traitorous body decided he needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Two weeks after his troubles initially started, he’s asleep in his—no, Juno’s; no their—bed. He feels Juno shifting underneath him, moving to roll out of Nureyev’s grasp. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be up by now, they both should but he’s so comfortable…

So tired, his limbs ache, and he doesn’t want to move or do anything really. He tightens his grip, trying to convince his lady to stay, only to feel Juno chuckle fondly and shift again, beginning to try and pull away once more.

For that, Nureyev whines high in his throat at the grave offense he’s suffering—how could Juno leave him in the cold bed all on his lonesome like this—but his throat is so sore and scratchy that it takes only that and he’s suddenly waking himself up with a violent coughing fit. It wakes Juno up too, startling him so bad he nearly launches off the bed and into the floor. 

He scrambles up properly when he realizes where he is and what’s happening. Then he forces Nureyev into a sitting position and the next several minutes are spent with Nureyev leaning over, hacking up his lungs, with Juno rubbing his back and sides, cooing softly at him.

When the coughing subsides and Nureyev falls back into the bed with a weak groan, Juno moves to touch his forehead. Juno’s hand feels cool and Nureyev blindly reaches up to push it harder against his burning face. It’s such a nice reprieve against his burning skin. He’s so hot—no, cold—no, hot. He shivers through the temperature shifts. 

Juno moves his hand up into Nureyev’s hair, pushing the stray locks there out of the way; it feels damp with sweat. Is he sweating? He can’t tell. Juno’s voice is far away and muffled when he says, “Shit, babe, you’re burning up. Hold on, let me go get Ves-”

“Nooo… Don’t go…” Nureyev whines weakly and rolls over, letting his arm flop down lazily onto Juno’s lap, wrapping around his waist and keeping him locked down in place. He loathes the idea of being without his girlfriend, his Juno, for even a second right now. He pushes his face into the skin exposed there. It too is cooler than his own. 

He’s panting slightly through his open mouth, irritating his already raw throat, as he tries and fails to breathe in Juno’s scent—he misses it dearly. His nose is stuffy and his nasal passages betray him with a loud and very unflattering honk.

At that, Nureyev freezes. His face feels hotter than before, and not just because he’s sick—he’s embarrassed. Such an ugly noise, Juno’s going to be disgusted, Nureyev thinks hazily and he’s nearly moved to tears by it. 

Juno also freezes, though he quickly breaks with a snort before he maneuvers away, taking Nureyev’s wayward hands when he whines and reaches out again. “Whoa, hey, I’m right here, honey. Can you be brave for a few minutes while I go get Vespa? She’ll know how to make you feel better. I promise it won’t take me long.”

“I’d feel better if you got back into bed and laid with me, dear heart,” Nureyev laments, petulant and whiny and his breath catches once more in his throat. He coughs hard and Juno sits back down long enough to soothe his matted hair back down. He’s sweaty and gross and he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this… but, but Juno’s face is twisted in worry and he doesn’t want Juno to worry. He needs… If it’ll make Juno feel better, then he’ll go see Vespa himself.

“I can…” He starts, looking around for his glasses. When he can’t find them, he sighs and pinches his eyes closed, feeling pressure behind his left eye from… sinuses or stress or what, he’s not sure. He hopes it doesn’t get any worse. 

“Okay, let me… up...” Nureyev wheezes and tosses the blanket away from his body. The air is colder than he remembers, sticking to him like ice and he shivers and shudders as he drags his weary body out of bed. 

“Honey, are you sure you should be getting up? Wouldn’t it be easier to just lay back down-” Juno tries, walking over to put his hands on either side of Nureyev, intending to catch him in case he falls. 

Nureyev shakes his head in response and the pressure behind his head blooms into a headache—actually, no, a migraine. He winces loudly, slamming his eyes shut as the lights blind him and he trips on his own two feet, straight into Juno’s open arms.

Juno plants his feet firmly on the ground when all 6 feet of those limbs crash into him and he swiftly crowds Nureyev back into bed without a second thought. “Alright, you’re staying in bed, actually. I’m getting Vespa. You be a good boy and stay here,” Juno says and his voice is higher pitched, panicked. 

Nureyev, despite everything in him that yells that he's fine and doesn’t need to be coddled like a child, doesn’t argue when Juno turns and bolts out of the room. 

He doesn’t do much more than roll over and fall back asleep.

He’s not sure how long he’s asleep—could be minutes, could be hours, hell it could even be weeks—before he’s awoken by the sound of Juno’s panicked voice as the door slides open, in the middle of rushed and worried rambling, “-and he fell the second he stood up. He looks super pale and shit, I think he’s got a cold. Or- God, maybe it’s something worse? Ve-”

“Quiet, Steel. Whatever it is isn’t going to kill him if you shut up and let me do my job,” Vespa’s voice cuts through and Juno instantly goes silent, clattering his teeth loud enough it echoes inside of Nureyev’s stuffy skull. Nureyev blinks open his eyes—the lights have been dimmed and he silently thanks whoever did it for the relief to his headache. 

He can see her bleary form standing over himself, her face twisted in slight annoyance and steady calm. He doesn’t reach for her, not like he would Juno, but he does try to focus his vision on her. He sees something move towards him—towards his mouth—and then he starts reaching, swatting, the object away.

“Th-Thief—Ransom. Stop, I’m just checking your temperature, asshole,” Vespa says and the usual gruffness is gone. It’s replaced with professionalism and kindness only a doctor can provide. 

Nureyev does, only after Juno sits down beside him and takes his wayward hands. He opens his mouth as wide as he can and Vespa puts the thermometer under his tongue. It feels strange and he resists the urge to move it with the appendage. He shifts and it clinks against his teeth.

While they wait, Vespa asks the usual questions:

“How long have you felt like this?” 

“Since... I woke up,” Nureyev slurs—or rather lies, because he’s been feeling bad for a while now, but he’s not going to confess that. He’s not going to worry Juno like that. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

However, Vespa sees right through him.

“You wanna tell me the truth or are you going to keep lying through your teeth? You’ve had the sniffles since we landed and that cough of yours has only gotten worse. These walls aren’t that thick, you know,” She crosses her arms over her chest and Nureyev gets the strangest sensation of a child being scolded by his mother. He flushes with embarrassment; he can’t say it’s a bad feeling. Vulnerable, maybe, but... he’s been letting himself be that a lot more recently.

“Open,” Vespa says a moment later when the thermometer beeps and he does, feeling like his mouth is full of cotton. Vespa’s face visibly grits at the temp, and then she’s pulling out a little flashlight to look at the back of Nureyev’s throat. “Dammit Ransom, you should have come to me the second you started feeling like shit. You’ve most likely got bronchitis.”

Oh, that’s probably why he feels like… well, like shit. He closes his eyes while she continues her work.

She does a few more checks that Nureyev’s only half awake for. Juno squeezes his hand or rubs his hair from his face and he only vaguely hears Vespa’s threat of, “keep him in bed or I’m going to strap him down in the damn med bay.” He hears her writing something down on a notepad she keeps with her, probably some meds for her to bring later, and Juno thanks her with relief evident in his voice. 

Vespa says, as nicely as she can, exhaustion and vexation in her words, “Don’t mention it. It’s my job. It’d be a lot easier if you shitbirds would come talk to me first, but whatever. Get some rest, Ransom. You’re on bedrest ‘til your fever breaks.”

Then, Vespa leaves, and it’s just Juno and Nureyev alone in the room. Nureyev turns to look up at Juno and finds him already looking, eyebrows furrowed and that eye piercing through his very being. He’s got bags under his eyes from the bout of insomnia that had been plaguing him recently. Nureyev feels bad for waking him up when he was just getting some good rest. He feels bad about a lot of things, actually.

“‘Mm sorry …” He mumbles without his own consent, inhibitions lowered with the fever, and Juno’s brows furrow slightly more as he continues to rub his fingers through Nureyev’s hair. It’s nice, his fingers feel nice. Nureyev thinks that Juno’s magic hands alone would be enough to cure him.

“What for? For being sick? Babe, you didn’t do anything wrong. Besides maybe not telling Vespa, but it’d be hypocritical to be mad at you for it. I’ve done it plenty of times too. You just focus on getting lots of rest and feeling better, okay?”

Juno’s words are soft and floaty and Nureyev closes his eyes as he leans into the touch. He feels like a cat—he wonders if he’s purring. “S’Okay … Stay with me?” He parrots finally, his breath irritating his throat so he coughs and then honks through his nose again in quick succession. 

Juno laughs softly, and whispers, “Of course, babe.” Nureyev feels only slightly less embarrassed than before. Soon enough, though, he’s drifting off back to sleep with those clever, wonderful hands in his hair and Juno humming a soft tune that Nureyev will not remember later. It’s lovely anyway.

The next few days after that are more or less Nureyev in a state of repose. He is unconscious for most of it, by some miracle. However, whenever he’s awake he’s… incredibly bored. He couldn’t do much without exhausting himself as his body recovered and if Juno caught him trying to stand up, he’d practically tackle him back into the bed before he could hurt himself. At least Juno stays with him whenever he isn't busy.

He felt bad being such a burden to the crew, unable to do much more than whine about his predicament, but he had to admit being doted on by his lovely, lovely girlfriend was very nice. Having breakfast in bed was a lot more fun when Juno sat beside him and ranted about their next mission (which Nureyev was forbidden from for obvious reasons).

Nureyev felt a little stir crazy, he had to admit. He wanted to get up and help, be useful before they decided he was too much of a hassle to deal with and swiftly dumped him planetside. Listening to the voices and footsteps outside of Juno’s room was terrifying; none of them sounded angry though. The visits he had were… actually very nice.

Jet and Buddy both would come and check on him at least once a day, asking how he was feeling and wishing him a quick recovery. Jet had left him a book on one occasion and it was… good. Not his preferred reading, but on one occasion where he could keep his eyes open long enough to read it, it was actually an intriguing story. Maybe something he could bond with Jet over, when he was feeling well enough to speak more than three words at a time. 

Buddy brought him a shot of that very expensive, very lovely alcohol she keeps mostly to herself, saying it would help soothe his sore throat. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he wasn’t about to turn down an offering from the captain herself, not when she looked at him like she was… worried. Plus, it tasted good, and it surprisingly did make his throat less scratchy. 

Vespa came to check on him, too, which was less surprising than the rest, considering she was the family’s medical doctor. Visits with her were… pleasant, which was more surprising. She didn’t threaten to kill him even once and while usually he didn’t mind (it wasn’t like it was the first nor last time he’d be threatened), it was nice to feel like he wasn’t going to say the wrong thing and get his neck cut open. His throat already had a ton of issues to worry about. 

She even left him a few peppermint candies she had stashed to help with her headaches once when he was asleep. They were delicious.

Rita visited the most out of everyone besides Juno himself (which, to be fair, it was his room so, of course, he’d be here the most). She brought snacks for them to share and streams to watch; she talked through most of them and Nureyev usually fell asleep halfway through, but it was comfortable and safe. 

Cozy. 

It felt good being cared for. She brought him a fan at one point, one that he assumes had been sitting on her desk but it’s now plugged in on his bedside table and is pointed directly at his face. It helps.

“Sorry it’s not super big, Mistah Ransom, but when I get super hot and sweaty like that it makes me feel better. I can bring you a cup of ice to put behind it too if you want. How are you feeling?”

She stands at his bedside where he’s laid down, face squished halfway into the pillow and the other leaning towards the fan that feels like heaven itself. He laughs quietly, rubbing his face a little bit more into the damp fabric before he lifts up enough to talk to her properly.

“I’ll admit I have been… better, Miss Rita. Thank you, though, this gift is wonderful. You and everyone else have been very kind to me in my… many hours of need…” His throat is still scratchy, still raw, and talking is hard most days. He knows he must sound horrible, but she smiles at him sweetly, pushing her glasses back up her nose before saluting at him. 

“Don’t even mention it, Mistah Ransom! You feel better and then we can all get back to working together as a family! I’ll leave you alone to get some rest, okay? Mistah Steel should be done with dinner soon!”

Nureyev nods at her and watches her walk away, already feeling the confines of his exhaustion taking hold of him again. He’s excited for whatever Juno is cooking though, because when Nureyev had asked earlier, he’d almost seemed… giddy? Anxious? Something about the way he avoided Nureyev’s eyes when he said ‘it’s a surprise’ made him feel alive for the first time in nearly a week.

He doesn’t remember dozing off, but he’s awoken by gentle fingers in his hair once more and he yawns, letting his tongue hang out for a moment as he stretches. When he opens his eyes, Juno is looking down at him and out of the corner of his eye he can see a bowl of something steaming and warm sitting beside the fan. He wishes he could smell it, but when he tries his nose honks at him mutinously.

“Hey honey, I didn’t know if you want to eat now or later, sorry for waking you…” Juno coos gently and Nureyev takes a moment to collect himself. He hasn’t been eating properly because of… everything, but when his stomach growls he decides he can work up enough energy to scarf down the wonderful meal Juno’s prepared.

So, with Juno’s help, he sits up against the wall and shifts until he’s comfortable, then Juno sets the bowl in his careful hands and his glasses on his face. It’s a stew-like consistency, with chunks of meat and vegetables floating around and he knows it’d smell delicious if he could just get his nose to work with him. Somewhere in his sick-addled mind, the contents of the bowl… look vaguely familiar. He can’t exactly place it, but it’s not like he’s a stranger to unusual planetary foods.

So, while Juno watches, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, Nureyev picks up the spoon and takes a bite.

And for a moment, just a moment…

He’s transported back in time. Back, farther back than he usually lets himself remember. 

He’s a child on Brahma, not even in his teens yet, who’s having the first proper hot meal that he’s ever gotten, scarfing it down with little care for anything else. He’s had this particular meal before, after a hard-fought battle of talking the vendor’s ear off while one of the other Pests grabs whatever leftovers they could before they’d get caught and threatened.

It tastes different when it’s warm; richer, savory, Nureyev’s nose burns with the flavors. He wishes the Pests could taste this too. Some part of him thinks he should try and bring some back with him. But he’s too hungry to even think about rationing it.

Off to the side sits an older man, whose face is lacking the wrinkles he’s used to, younger than he’d last seen him. A man who took him off the street and cared for him. Who brought him back from the brink of starvation.

He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye—Mag sits with his own bowl in front of him, some bread in his hand and he laughs with fondness at the boy who wolfs down the stew like it’ll be taken from him in a minute. He reaches forward and places his hand on Nureyev’s back and Nureyev can almost, almost feel the warmth he radiated.

“Slow down, my boy, you are safe. No one’s going to take your food from you, not anymore.”

The man’s voice is kind and Nureyev remembers the way he had sheepishly forced himself to slow down, shaking with adrenaline as he took careful bites. It was delicious.

It still is now, but somehow more so now that he knows the hands that made it.

He has to blink a few times to get his mind back to the present and he looks down again, down at the steaming stew in his hands and he recognizes it now. How could he have forgotten? He looks up at Juno with his mouth agape, taking in the bouncing lady’s form, and opens his mouth to speak,

“Ju-” 

“Do you like it?” Juno interrupts, twisting his hands nervously from where he stands, his shirt pulled tight against his back as he scrunches and rescrunches it in his hands. He knows now why his love was so nervous, this…

“Whenever I get sick, I usually get really homesick, ya know?” Juno starts, rambling before Nureyev can get a word in, afraid of what he might say, “S- So I thought, ya know maybe you were homesick too?” –an odd look passes over Nureyev’s face, though Juno continues on ahead as if hasn’t noticed it– “I had Rita help me look up some native Brahman meals and I got a lot of supplies for this one on our last grocery run. 

“It wasn’t that hard to make, actually. I grabbed Vespa to go shopping with me so I could find the rest of ‘em and I’m pretty sure she was gonna rip my head off by the end, but it was worth it to find all the right ingredients and-”

He’s out of breath with his words and he’s panting slightly and all Nureyev can do is… stare. What else is he supposed to do? What can he say? Sure, everyone has been so doting over him this past week and it’s been so good to feel like he belongs but this… Stars, Nureyev thinks he’s actually going to cry. 

“Wha- Babe, you okay? Oh god I-I’m sorry, here I’ll take it back I can make you something el-” He moves and reaches for it, his hands trembling, his face crestfallen at the very idea that he’d done something wrong. Nureyev can’t let that stand.

“No!” Nureyev rasps and pulls the bowl towards him, cradling it in his weak arms, careful not to slosh any of the contents onto Juno’s already poor abused bedsheets and he gasps like he’s drowning. Emotions bubble up inside him and he’s crying so suddenly, unable to stop himself as he babbles,

“Juno Steel I will bite you if you try to take this away from me; I paid good money for these teeth and I'm not afraid to use them. This is- You are - It’s delicious I cannot believe you made this for me- Why? How- I- thank you, thank you so so much, my love.”

He knows he’s gross, snotting all over himself and whimpering and Juno… Juno looks so relieved, smiling widely with tears in his eyes as he leans over and pulls the other’s face into his hands, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. Nothing, not a damn thing could be better than this.

“Okay, okay, I won’t take it. Eat up, babe,” He placates, soothing the excited man and then he sits down beside him as Nureyev begins to eat again. Old habits die hard, it seems, because it takes him no time at all to finish his meal, licking his chapped lips and turning up the bowl to catch every last drop that he can. Juno watches him fondly, smiling so sweetly it makes Nureyev’s head spin.

“Glad to know you liked it. I’ll make it again for you—Just try not to be sick when I do, okay? You scared the hell out of me this week,” He says this as he leans over and lets his head fall on Nureyev’s shoulder. Nureyev leans against him too, feeling the warm food settle in his belly and his sinuses break just a little. It’s good, he feels good. He can’t remember ever feeling this… loved—wanted.

“I promise, dear heart. I will do my best to not be struck down in my prime ever again,” He pauses then and smiles, turning his head to nuzzle his face as close as he can into Juno’s locs, smelling for the first time that week the faint scent of his shampoo. It smells of… Dahlias. He smiles before he continues, “If I do, however, I know my lovely girlfriend will do his best to nurse me back to health. Good food and all.”

Juno looks up at him then, their eyes meeting and he kisses him, quick and soft, a peck on the lips. “Of course, I will. You’re my boyfriend, I’ll always be there to take care of you. So will everyone else. We’re family, after all.”

Nureyev smiles at him sleepily, letting his head fall into the space between Juno’s neck as he just… exists with this perfect being for one long, fragile moment.

He could get used to this.

Note to self: Don’t kiss your boyfriend when he has bronchitis because you will get bronchitis and your boyfriend cannot cook. At least he’s fun to cuddle with.

Chapter Text

“We have a day or two before we must begin our preparations for the heist, so feel free to explore the area while we’re landed,” Buddy had said earlier that afternoon.

The house they had found and then immediately commandeered for their week-long preparations was a vacation home of some rich pharmaceutical guy. Rita and Buddy had apparently done a lot of research to make sure he wouldn’t be arriving unannounced, which meant they now had free roam of the home and the town nearby.

The first order of business was all of them getting a good night’s rest after the long flight plan.

Second-order of business, and the one Nureyev was most excited about, was the fact that they had a day or two of rest and relaxation before they needed to do anything. Another thing he was excited about was the lack of light pollution nearby. Which meant he had a plan for an extra special date with his darling girlfriend when nightfall came.

“Juno, love?” Nureyev asked after dinner, drying the dishes that Juno handed him. Juno was elbows deep in soapy water, locs pulled out of his face and a look of concentration on his face as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot. He made a small ‘hm’ noise at Nureyev’s words, giving him the go-ahead to continue.

“Have you ever been stargazing, my dear?” He asks, trying not to let the small spark of embarrassment he felt sneak into his voice. He wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed, maybe it was the fact that everyone sat in the living room and could probably hear him speaking. 

He had a lot to hide, but planning dates with his girlfriend shouldn’t be one.

Nonetheless, he still felt a giddy sort of anxiety until Juno pulled another dish out and handed it to Nureyev, shaking his wrist some before musing in a soft tone, nostalgic and slightly sad (the same way he always got while talking about his childhood in any regard), “It’s been years... but I used to go out on the roof of our apartment building with Ben and stargaze. Didn’t know jack shit about constellations or anything, so we made up our own.”

Nureyev laughs a little, soft enough that it’d be mistaken for just a breath if not for the smile that graced his face. It’s a nice thought to think about; a young Juno and his twin making up countless patterns in the starry night until they went back inside or the night gave way to morning. Nureyev wishes he could have seen it, but the past is the past and he’s going to live in the present from now on.

Juno hums, unplugging the sink and draining the water, flicking the excess on his hands into the whirlpool as it drains. As he’s drying his hands, he turns to lean against the sink before asking his boyfriend, “Why do you ask?”

There, that’s the money question.

Nureyev’s smile grows wider as he finishes drying the last dish, and putting it in its proper place before he grabs Juno’s hands and places kisses on the tops of them. Slightly pruney from being in the water for so long, but warm and soft under his lips.

“Do you trust me, Juno?” Nureyev asks and Juno furrows his eyebrows in suspicion. “Not when you ask like that I don’t-” He teases and Nureyev snorts softly and leans forward, pulling Juno into a kiss.

They both still taste of the dinner they had, something from Vespa’s home planet that neither of them knows the name of but was incredibly tasty, and incredibly spicy; Nureyev’s lips still slightly tingle from it. When Nureyev pulls away, Juno follows, chasing after him with a soft noise that makes Nureyev smile even wider.

Goodness, he doesn’t think his heart can take it.

“I promise, you’ll like it. Trust me?” Nureyev reiterates and Juno sighs dramatically. They’ve both stolen each other’s habits and this one, the drama, is one of Nureyev’s favorites. “Yeah, alright,” Juno finally replies and Nureyev feels like he’s going to burst.

“Good. Then close your eye and follow me,” Nureyev replies and Juno, after one last look of confusion, does as he’s told.

Nureyev leads Juno through the house then, turning off the kitchen lights as he goes. He stops by the couch to grab one of the blankets laying across the back. Rita is the first to turn and look at the two of them, pausing in painting Jet’s nails as she asks, “Where are you two going-” Before Nureyev shushes her with a finger to his lips.

She takes a moment to look over the facts—the blanket, the fact that they’re headed to the back door, the soft darkness that awaits them—and she lights up only a second later.

She doesn’t speak, but she does flap her hands quickly with excitement and then nods eagerly. Nureyev feels a wave of… honestly? Encouragement, the fact that Rita approves of his date idea does make him feel a little better.

Buddy lifts her head from where she sits as well, Vespa practically hanging off her lap and dosing softly in her arms. She smiles at the two as they make their escape and calls after them, “I’ll leave the door unlocked, Pete. Be safe, you two.” Vespa grumbles sleepily and Buddy’s gaze returns to the woman in her arms.

Nureyev laughs a little and opens the patio door, helping Juno step down from the small ledge, before leading him out into the grass.

The greenery crunches softly under their bare feet, the air smelling of dirt and earth and flowers and Nureyev is definitely going to need a lot of sinus medicine after this, but he knows damn well it’ll be worth it. 

Juno follows along a little impatiently, grumbling whenever Nureyev has to push or pull him so he’ll avoid a sharp plant or a rock that’s seen. He starts whining eventually, asking, “How much farther? It’s cold out here, N’reyev,” and Nureyev snorts at his petulance.

“Not much farther starlight, just a little…” He trails off and stops, turning around to look back at the house. It’s far enough away now that the lights shining from inside shouldn’t be too much of an issue and Nureyev decides this is the perfect place.

“Here. Almost ready, keep your eye closed for a little bit longer, alright? Thank you, love,” He says in a wistful way that he knows gets Juno to follow his orders.

Case in point, Juno keeps his eye closed and the light of the moon and stars above are bright enough to paint Juno in an absolutely radiant light, lighting up the red in his cheeks as he blushes. 

Nureyev unfolds the blanket and lays it down, smoothing it out before he returns to Juno and then guides him down to his knees.

Juno’s blush rises.

“Jeez, babe, if you wanted me alone you could have just asked-” Juno teases, and Nureyev gasps indignantly, his own blush rising. Now that he looks at it, he supposes this would be a very scandalous position if anyone else could see them.

He shushes Juno by pushing him onto his back.

“Shush, get your mind out of the gutter darling,” He responds finally and makes his way around the blanket, sitting down heavily beside his love before lying down on his back and matching the other’s position. Finally, with one last giddy breath, he whispers, “Alright, open.”

Juno opens his eye.

Up above them, the moon glows and bathes the world in a soft blue-ish hue, lighting up the surrounding area in gentle light. The stars twinkle beside it, brighter than either of them has seen in a long time. 

In Hyperion, the dome and the town polluted the sky to the point that hardly any stars were shown. Here, out in the middle of nowhere, with the only lights being a town miles away and the house off to the east, the stars shine uninhibited and beautiful.

Juno gasps, his mouth falling open in awe as he stares up, unable to speak for a long, long moment. But, he doesn’t need to, because Nureyev does it for him.

“Magnificent, isn’t it? It’s been years since I returned to Earth and have gotten the chance to do this. Hundreds of years ago, before the world was pretty much in ruins, the stars were almost unseeable here. But now that everyone’s moved away to other planets, Earth has been able to heal and reclaim its former glory.”

Juno turns his head to watch as Nureyev adjusts his position, then lifts his hand to trace a pattern into one of the many shapes above, none that Juno recognizes or could even begin to name.

“See that? Follow my finger,” Nureyev continues, then leans over to show Juno where he’s pointing, slow enough that Juno can follow and makes out a vaguely humanoid shape. 

“Mm, yeah, I see it. It looks like... a human with a bow and arrow… minus the arrow,” Juno replies and Nureyev nods frantically, excited that Juno has caught the pattern.

“That,” He continues, after tracing the constellation once more to reiterate the pattern, then lowers his hands to his stomach to finish his thought, “is the constellation of Orion. Also known as The Hunter.”

He glances over at Juno out of the corner of his eye and Juno looks back, giving him a nod that means ‘keep going I’m listening'. Nureyev bites his lip softly, almost like he’s not going to say anything, but soon he continues, his confidence growing as he talks, 

“Do you know anything about Greek mythos, Juno? Many of the constellations are named after such legends as Orion. There are many different interpretations concerning him, but one of the most famous is of him and the seven sisters, also known as the Pleiades.”

Nureyev shifts a bit to where he’s slightly on his side, looking back and forth between Juno and the sky, waving his hand around as he conducts his tale, “The story goes that Orion fell in love with them and Zeus, God of the Sky and King of the Gods, plucked them up and placed them in the sky.”

Nureyev pauses his little speech to trail his finger over, off the center of Orion’s bow and to a star cluster nearby before he continues, “Orion is still chasing after them after all these years. It’s such a romantic gesture, chasing after the one you love, no matter the obstacle… Fascinating, don’t you think? It’s been years since I’ve gotten to talk about this. I’m so glad you want to hear it.”

It is fascinating, but not for the reason Nureyev probably thinks it is. No, Juno’s fascinated by the way Nureyev’s lit up, eyes wide and shiny behind his glasses, a look of absolute wonder on his face. He looks younger almost, more child-like and without a care in the world. He’s beautiful from where he lays on his back and Juno dizzily remembers that all of this is his.

All of this: the man beside him, the family he has made back at the house they’re staying in, the Carte Blanche close by, even the damn Ruby 7—all of it is Juno’s and by his own making.

Nureyev continues talking, moving on to another constellation—Canis Major, he thinks Nureyev said—and Juno watches with enthusiasm. He watches as the man paints a picture of legends, men and gods battling and falling in love and dying. Nureyev talks for a good long while and even though Juno can only understand about half of it, he still listens.

Nureyev looks beautiful like this, excitedly telling Juno everything that comes to his mind, uninhibited by whatever filter usually makes his words pretty and punctual. Now, it’s jumbled and scattered and all over the place. Nureyev revisits topics he had already covered and reiterates a point he already made and Juno can’t stop staring.

Because … because, he realizes with almost a start, he loves this. He loves Nureyev like this, able to be himself and vulnerable and talk Juno’s goddamn ear off because he loves the stars.

He realizes, with fear and excitement rolled into one, that he loves Peter Nureyev. He’s in love with Peter Nureyev.

And he’s so caught up in this realization, this star-rupturing moment, that he doesn’t realize Nureyev has stopped talking and is now looking at him sheepishly, twisting his hands together in that way he does when he’s nervous, hair splayed behind him on the blanket.

He looks, pardon the imagery, like an angel.

“Forgive me, Juno, I didn’t mean to ramble like that—I-I hope it wasn’t too boring to listen to, you’re welcome to tell me to shut up whenever you want, you know,” He’s chewing on his lip now, crossing and uncrossing his legs where he lays and Juno feels a little speechless, his words stuck in his throat.

Nureyev’s eyebrows furrow and he frowns.

“Love? Is everything alright?”

Juno finds his voice again.

“Yeah- Yes, everything’s- Everything’s perfect, babe. I just- Wow, you’re beautiful, have I said that yet? I don’t know if I have, but hell I could stand to tell you again. You’re beautiful, Nureyev, and I never ever want you to stop talking ever. You’re so god damn beautiful and I- Fuck.”

Nureyev laughs, a little bewildered by the sudden onslaught of compliments and Juno watches his face turn redder, his eyes looking everywhere but the other’s face.

“O-Oh, I—uh, Thank you, love, but where is all of this coming from?” He asks, softly, and Juno rolls over to face him properly. He doesn’t stay that way for long, lifting up on his elbow and hovering over Nureyev before he leans down and just kisses him.

One of Nureyev’s hands goes to the side of Juno’s face and they hold each other like this, soft and careful kisses that leave them both breathless. Juno needs Nureyev to shut up for just a moment because he’s about to confess something very very important and if he doesn’t do it right this second he’s going to explode.

Nureyev, on the other hand, just really likes kissing Juno.

Juno decides that separating fully from the other is a bad idea, so instead, he pulls away just enough so that their lips are still touching. He has enough room to breathe in, out, in, out until he whispers against the other before he can start the kiss again.

“I love you, Nureyev.”

Nureyev pulls away and slams his head back against the blanket, eyes wide and frantic as he stares up at Juno, who’s still halfway on top of him.

Neither of them move, neither of them speak and Juno’s shadow shields Nureyev from the telling lights above. Below him, hidden away, Juno has no idea what Nureyev is thinking. His mouth opens, jaw working as he tries to find something to say—anything—before it closes again and he continues to stare.

Juno doesn’t shy away, no matter how much his gut is telling him to. Because he’s not afraid of his love anymore, not afraid of how much Peter Nureyev means to him. He’s not afraid even though Nureyev still hasn’t spoken, when he looks more confused than anything.

“What?” Nureyev finally asks eloquently, completely dumbstruck.

“I said… I love you, N’reyev. I love the way you speak about the things you like, the way you look at me like I’m important, the way you cling to me when you don’t want me to get out of bed in the morning,” Juno starts, shifting and throwing his leg over Nureyev’s waist, effectively trapping him against the blanket.

Nureyev continues to stare, looking up at the other as Juno places both hands on either side of Nureyev’s head and looks down at him, continuing his speech, “I love how beautiful you look when you’re fresh out of a shower, I love watching you work and transform and knowing that you’ll still come home to me, back to my arms. And god, it’s taken me so long to realize that you will come home to me, you know?”

His eye has started watering now and Nureyev’s hand comes up to touch his cheek to wipe away the tears, but he has to keep talking, dammit, the tap has been turned on and he needs to get it out.

“This place we’ve found ourselves, these people we’ve made a place among, all of it is so, so good. And you letting me in that night, letting me apologize even after everything. You didn’t have to do that, you know. You didn’t have to talk to me at all, god knows I didn’t deserve it—”

“Juno—”

“Shh, babe, it's my turn. I didn’t but you let me in anyway and we’ve made… We’ve made a life together. It’s a hard life, god knows we’ve gone through so much shit, but we… Fuck, N’reyev, I just—you make me feel so fucking much and I don’t know how to deal with it but I just—I need you to know that I love—”

Nureyev grabs Juno’s face, pulls him down, and kisses him.

It startles Juno and he squeaks against the man’s mouth, but he relaxes almost instantly, his eye closing as he pushes his face against the other. He puts his weight onto one of his hands and moves the other over to touch the side of Nureyev’s head, where tears have made streaks down from his eyes and matted his hair.

Nureyev lifts up into him, wrapping his arms tight around Juno’s neck until he’s nearly flat on top of him and they keep kissing, slow and unhurried. Nureyev’s trembling all the while and Juno removes the hand from his face to move down and grab his hand, lacing their fingers together.

When they finally break away, after so long that Juno has to gasp for breath, he watches Nureyev pant, lips wet with spit as he licks his lips anxiously. He uses the hand not in Juno’s grasp to wipe at his eyes, pushing his glasses off his head. When Juno looks at him, he looks overwhelmed—but not in a bad way.

Despite the nerves still clear on his face, his smile is wide and watery and his eyes look so bright; he’s not even in the moon’s path and his face still shines. He is, once again, the most beautiful person Juno’s ever seen.

“C-Can you—?” Nureyev starts and his voice is rough, almost gravelly in tone. He clears his throat and tries again, breathing in their shared breaths as he squeezes Juno’s hand. “Can you say it again? Please?”

Juno smiles, soft and sweet and just as emotionally charged as Nureyev looks.

“Peter Nureyev?”

Nureyev giggles, deep in his chest, unable to hide the giddiness he feels as he squirms where Juno still sits on him. He can feel Nureyev’s knees hike up and press into his lower back, giving him support in case he wants to lean back. He doesn’t, keeping his face close to Nureyev as he waits patiently for the other to gather himself enough to respond.

“Y-Yes, detective mine?” Nureyev finally whispers, biting his lip as he stares at Juno through watery eyes, close enough that he doesn’t need his glasses to see the way Juno’s eyelashes flutter, the way his nostril flares, the way he licks his lips in preparation to speak.

Doesn’t need his glasses as he watches Juno open his mouth and speak those three little words again.

“I love you.”

Nureyev squeezes Juno’s hand, nearly hard enough to hurt, before he pulls it up to his mouth and presses a few kisses there. The fingers are still slightly pruney from the water earlier, but still warm in his embrace. Even now, slightly sweaty and clammy where they’re clung together for dear life, Nureyev never wants to let go.

Juno watches, transfixed, as Nureyev closes his eyes and holds Juno’s hand to his chest, right over his heart that Juno can feel pounding away under his skin. Oh God, does he love this man.

“I think it’s rather obvious how I feel about you, Juno dear,” He finally says, after a moment of quiet, the wind rustling the greenery around them, carrying their words away and giving them back to the universe to treasure. Juno keeps them close still.

“Oh yeah?” Juno relents and leans down, pushing their noses together and rubbing them together, getting another giddy giggle out of his boyfriend before Nureyev’s hand comes up to the back of his neck and rests there, holding without pushing or pulling. Secure and stable.

“I do believe so. Puts a teenager’s crush to shame, the way I’m head over heels for you. Starlight, I’m in rapture,” He breathes and Juno knows these pretty words are to hide the anxiety he feels, he’s learned these tricks from their months together. Instead of calling him out on it, he plays along. 

“Mm, I’m sure, babe,” He replies, and once more kisses his boyfriend, two little pecks that leave Nureyev trailing after him when he pulls back. Nureyev huffs, Juno laughs, and when he makes to get off Nureyev he gets pulled down into a hug for his troubles.

Nureyev is still trembling slightly, anxiety and adrenaline coursing through his veins like mercury and Juno holds him as he shivers, quiet sobs hidden in Juno’s locs. Juno lays on top of his pointy boyfriend, listening to his rapid heartbeat and the wind around them, and he very nearly falls asleep.

That is, until Nureyev finally whispers, voice slightly awkward with his nose stuffed up,

“Juno Steel, you are the most incredible, magnificent, enchanting person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. You’ve made my life… feel like something worth living. There are so many things I want—I… I will tell you, in time. And I didn’t have to let you in, no… But I missed you so terribly. And you’ve proven yourself different from the lady who hurt me.

I fell in love with that lady, yes. But I’ve stayed in love with this one.”

Juno lifts his head up, pressing his chin into Nureyev’s chest as the other looks down and rubs his back, smiling as he says, “I love you too, Juno Steel.”

Juno’s body jolts with what is probably adrenaline—or excitement, or fear. The same intense look that Nureyev gave him all that time ago, back in a hotel room in Hyperion City, with the both of them maimed and in pain and exhausted, he bares it now. That look is still terrifying, still so much that Juno feels like he’ll drown in it.

But, he doesn’t shy away, not this time. Instead, he looks right back into those gorgeous brown eyes, faces Nureyev’s intensity, and sees a future to look forward to.

Chapter Text

Nureyev twists his hands around and around again, popping his knuckles and flexing his fingers as he tries—and fails—to calm down. 

He’s not even sure why he’s all that nervous, he knows Juno wouldn’t laugh at him for what he’s going to show him, but… But, when you haven’t opened yourself up in nearly two decades, it’s nerve-wracking to change that habit.

And Nureyev has never been fond of sudden change.

All that to say, he’s just as excited as he is nervous to present this gift. Well, gift isn’t really the right word, more of an… offering. A show of love, of togetherness, of all the pretty words that Nureyev would usually be stringing together right now if his mind wasn’t spinning out of control. As it stands, the only word on his mind right now is Fuck.

The note he had written Juno earlier that day said to meet in his room around 10 pm. It's now 9:55 pm and he’s been a nervous wreck… well, pretty much the entire day. He’s chewed his nails down to the quick, he’s bitten the shit out of his lips, and he hasn’t been able to look Juno in the eye at all.

Or, any of them, really. He heard Rita asking Juno earlier if he was okay and honestly? He’s not so sure. He’s flipped back and forth from unnervingly calm to an absolute trainwreck of a man.

Right now he’s the latter. For many reasons.

“You are fine, Peter Nureyev. There is absolutely no reason for you to be kicking up such a fuss like this. It’s just a little book. Juno’s read hundreds of your books! But none of them have been as important as this one, stars I think I’m going to faint.”

He sits down heavily on his unmade bed and rakes his fingers through his hair, definitely combing out whatever gel had been left from the earlier day. He’s just about ready to start crawling the walls and find a way out of the damn ship when there are three soft knocks on his door and Juno’s voice cutting through.

“Hey, Ransom, I’m here,” He says and Nureyev nearly throws himself into the floor. But, he doesn’t, he takes a deep breath, smoothes out the nonexistent wrinkles in his silk pajama shirt, and then calmly—fake confidently—makes his way to the door.

He has to kick a few spare clothes out of the way, but it’s fine, and he creates enough of a path for Juno to walk through as he puts in the code and the door opens. Juno is also in his pajamas, hair already put away in his silk cap, and he’s got a protective patch over his eye. 

He looks tired and aged, the smile lines prominent around his mouth and the crease in his forehead where he’d spent most of his life frowning. He’s so obtainably human and he’s Nureyev’s girlfriend. Nureyev’s never seen something so… ethereal.

What was he so worked up for?

“So uh… you gonna let me in or you gonna keep staring at me like you wanna eat me, babe?” Juno teases and it startles a laugh from Nureyev where he stands, putting a slightly shaky hand over his mouth as he steps out of the way for Juno to enter.

Juno does, stepping into the dimly lit room and turning to Nureyev as the door closes, lifting his hand up and waiting for Nureyev’s permission before taking the hand away from his mouth, then pulling him down to kiss him. 

It’s good, he’s wearing the cherry chapstick he had borrowed and his breath is minty from brushing his teeth, and oh kissing Juno Steel is never, ever going to get old, Nureyev thinks dreamily. The hand in his has stopped the shaking and the hand on his face is warm and Nureyev feels light-headed with relief and love.

“I love you,” Nureyev hears himself saying against the other’s lips despite no input from his anxiety-riddled mind and everything goes quiet when he hears Juno say, “And I love you.” His breath fogs up Nureyev’s glasses and he pulls away to chuckle, taking them off and cleaning them as Juno makes his way over to the bed in the little path he’d made earlier.

When Nureyev can see again, he looks over to see Juno waiting patiently with his legs crossed, a pillow in his lap that he’d stolen from his side, even as he sits in Nureyev’s spot now. He’s watching Nureyev, head tilted and blinking lazily; calmly and slowly, like he knows Nureyev won’t hurt him. 

It makes something too big to name and too loud to ignore swell in Nureyev’s chest and he can’t help the way he says it again, because it feels so nice on his tongue, lovesick and no longer bitter:

“Juno Steel, I love you.”

Juno laughs, not unkindly—giddy in the same way Nureyev feels—and shifts positions again, leaning forward and patting the space in front of him. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? ‘Cause I really don’t mind, I like hearing you say it. I love you too, by the way.”

Nureyev smiles so wide his cheeks hurt, dimples prominent and the corners of his eyes definitely crinkling; he’s felt… better about his own face most days. It certainly helps when Juno is looking at him like that.

“No, that’s not all. But you’re sitting there being yourself and how can I not say it? I’d scream it if I wasn’t worried Vespa would chase me down for disturbing her,” Nureyev says and follows his own path, stopping by the vanity to grab the book he had placed out earlier, before sitting down in front of Juno, mimicking the way he’s sitting.

He thumbs the corner of the pages as he holds the book to his chest and Juno sits with the pillow still in his lap, running his hand over the fluffy fabric as they watch each other. Nureyev keeps his eyes down at Juno’s hands and it’s easier than meeting his eye, so he takes only a moment to collect himself before he begins to speak.

“This… is something very important to me that I wanted to share with you. And Juno love, I suspect you already know by now, but it’s been a good… long while since I’ve shared stuff about myself with anyone. It’s… well, quite frankly I’m worried it’ll be embarrassing.”

He laughs as he says this last part, letting the vulnerability he feels slip into his words as he shifts slightly in the bed and rubs his finger along the edge of the book he holds. It’s old and worn from years and years of use, with papers sticking out of the side. It’s thick with many pages filled, practically overflowing, and bound with string to keep it from falling open.

Juno nods a little, humming in acknowledgment and Nureyev takes that as his cue to go ahead, letting the book lay down in his lap to expose the cover of it. The cover, along with the rest of the book, is bound in red faux leather and written messily on top, faded with age, is the word Floriography.

“This is… one of the only things I’ve kept with me since my youth. Granted, it’s changed books over the years and I’ve had to rebind it many, many times… But I digress. It’s a hobby I’ve carried with me for many years and one I’m sure you’ve picked up on, but here is… the entirety of my research, notes, and… and doodles of the flowers I’ve found through my travels. Among other things.”

Before Nureyev can change his mind and call the whole thing off, he turns the book around and promptly shoves it into Juno’s hands.

Juno takes the back and holds it for a moment, just letting his fingers run over the leather as Nureyev had and Nureyev sits as still as he can, hands in his lap now twisting and picking at the skin around his nails now that he has nothing to hold. He even begins to rock a little, grabbing his ankles to keep his balance.

When Juno finally opens the book, he lays it down in his lap to make sure none of the loose papers fall out. He opens to the inside cover and there’s handwriting that looks less shaky and more precise than he’s used to seeing. There are many names scribbled inside, some that he’s never seen before and a few he recognizes. 

The older ones, aliases Nureyev used from his youth, Juno guesses, are more collected in the writing, fluent and easy and each with their own distinct style. The older he got, the less coherent the handwriting becomes and it’s a struggle for Juno to read them. He can make out a few of the aliases he’s met—Rex Glass, Duke Rose, Monsieur Dauphin—and the subtle changes to each one.

At the very top of the page, there is a name hurriedly scribbled out. Juno can guess what that name is.

Eventually, he flips open the book to a random page in the middle. When he opens it fully, he sees that the page is nearly buried under sticky notes where Nureyev had hastily scribbled a few points down.

needs a bigger page

get small one? redo

adoration, pure and lofty thoughts, longevity, loyalty

Rita

Rita’s name is a surprise and Juno pauses his looking to pick up that particular sticky note, only to see that it’s placed over another drawing. He glances at Nureyev, asking permission, and only begins removing the sticky notes when he gets a nod. Juno stacks the notes together and places them aside before he’s given the full view of the page.

There’s the faint outline of a large yellow flower that takes up nearly its own page. Underneath, in delicate cursive, is the phrase Helianthus aka Sunflower.

On the other side, there are more hasty notes, a bit more concise with the flower itself. There are notes on the different types of sunflowers, doodles for each one, and what they mean—Not that Juno has any idea what this means, but at the bottom is…

Is a little doodle of Rita, holding a sunflower.

Nureyev’s gotten better with his doodling lately; Juno’s found napkins left behind where he’d gotten bored and decided to practice. The fact that he knows Rita’s appearance probably also helps but… here it is, right in this book that’s, as Nureyev put it, very important to him. 

He puts the sticky notes back, glancing over at Nureyev to see him practically vibrating out of his skin, and talks for the first time since being handed the book.

“I like your Rita doodle, babe,” He says and Nureyev practically sags with relief, sighing so heavily Juno worries he’d forgotten to breathe that entire time.

“Thank you, love, I was particularly proud of that one,” He says, and then crawls his way over to the other side of the bed, so he’s now sitting beside Juno instead of in front of him. He leans against the other, smiling when he feels Juno do the same, and holds out his hands for the book.

Juno reluctantly gives it back, worried that Nureyev’s going to close it back up and just forget the whole experience—but instead, he flips to another page.

This one reads Taraxacum aka Dandelion. On the side where the flowers have been pressed flat into the fibers of the page, there are yellow and green stains where the flower and stem were squished. 

There are fewer sticky notes here and certainly no doodles of people he recognizes, but Nureyev smiles widely out of the corner of his eye as he speaks, “This one here symbolizes overcoming hardship. These flowers are also delicious in teas and foods from what I’ve heard, though I’ve never actively gotten to try it myself. They’re very resilient little things, I’ve seen some grow out of cracks in concrete.”

Juno nods along, following the way Nureyev’s finger trails over his own notes, scribbled and faded with age, but still legible. It reminds him of the way he had spoken about the constellations not too long ago—though he supposes plant life is much easier to hold than a ball of hot gas.

While Nureyev talks, Juno puts pieces together. He gets a fluttery feeling in his chest at the idea, and fidgets just a bit, trying to keep the giddiness he feels from showing on his face.

“If you’ve got one for Rita in there… Do you have one for me?”

Nureyev pauses and Juno gets to watch as Nureyev blinks, registering the words in his brain before he smiles so wide Juno’s afraid he’s going to hurt himself. He points to one of the colored tabs sticking out, a royal purple, and says, “These are the ones that remind me of you, my dear.”

Then he flips to one and… well, maybe it’s cliche and predictable, but the flower on the page now is a Dahlia. There is no fancy word in front of it, but there is a doodle of Juno in his Dahlia Rose outfit holding a Dahlia. 

Juno blushes down to his chest.

“Admittedly love, this one is a bit of a stretch,” Nureyev says before pointing to one of the sticky notes here, which reads elegance and dignity (and has a heart doodled beside it). He continues then, teasing in his voice, “Your portrayal was less elegant and dignified, though I suppose that can be chalked up to you being particularly cross with me at the time.”

Juno scoffs in mock offense and shoulders him lightly, playing up the offended tone as he whines, “I was so elegant—I totally saved your ass didn’t I?” Nureyev chuckles and in a show of good faith, picks up Juno’s hand and kisses the top of it. “That you did, my flower, forgive me for causing a lady such heartache,” He supplies, pressing another few kisses until Juno is giggling.

Juno isn’t going to fall for any of the master thief’s tricks, but if he gets butterflies in his stomach from his words, then nobody has to know but him.

“Uh-huh, yeah whatever smartass. What about roses? You’ve got an affinity for ‘em, they obviously mean something important,” Juno says, waving him away to hide the blush on his face that’s only gotten worse. Nureyev’s grin doesn’t help any as he dramatically flips the book open to a new page.

“Which color would you like my dear, each one has its own meaning,” Nureyev says, his fingers picking up a few pages then dropping them, letting them finger over the pad of his thumb. Juno thinks for a minute, watching him as he twists his shirt in his hands before he finally says, “Red. I wanna see what you were going for when you made Duke.”

Nureyev blushes then, barely visible in the low light against his tan skin, but Juno feels it where his head is resting on Nureyev’s shoulder. He feels Nureyev nod, then flips to that page.

Here underneath the word Rosa, there’s a doodle of himself as Duke Rose, opposite the doodle that had been drawn with Dahlia.

Juno feels those butterflies return full force and he runs his finger over the doodle. He hears Nureyev chuckle softly, then feels him turn slightly to press a kiss to the top of the silk cap.

Underneath the doodle, there’s red pigment pressed into the fibers, along with dried rose petals that look old and brittle from how many times the book has been moved and rearranged, but still put together enough to keep on display.

“Red Roses means true love. And those without thorns also mean love at first sight,” He says this as if he’s far away, dreamily looking down at Juno with the intensity in his eyes and Juno feels his heart swell and beat fast and it’s definitely, definitely going to burst if he keeps getting stared at like that.

“Sap,” Jun says, barely holding back a smile, and Nureyev’s own grows wider, leaning down to touch their foreheads together as he says, “Ah, I never said I was thinking about you, darling. Who’s the sap now, hm?”

Dammit.

“Shuddup,” Juno complains, then immediately pulls Nureyev into a kiss. The book is momentarily forgotten, placed aside out of the way and Nureyev practically throws himself into the other’s lap. His arms go around his neck and he clings to Juno with about as much strength as Rita does with her snacks.

Which is, to say, a lot of strength.

“Juno Steel, I know I’ve said it before and I’ll say it as many-” He interrupts himself by kissing Juno again, and again, because Peter Nureyev cannot get enough of kissing his lovely, lovely girlfriend.

Juno finally pulls away and places a hand on his chest, getting his boyfriend to calm down and take a moment to collect himself. Nureyev does, clearing his throat and fixing his glasses before he looks down at the other and smiles, the butterflies in his stomach settling to something warmer.

“Juno Steel,” He finally continues, his fingers dipping just below the neckline on the back of Juno’s shirt, pulling him closer until they’re chest to chest, “I love you.” Juno’s hands move down to Nureyev’s hips, underneath the shirt and gripping his soft love handles. Nureyev giggles softly, ticklish and excited as Juno leans forward and places a kiss on his jugular.

“And I love you, Peter Nureyev. I know this meant a lot to you and I’m really glad you showed me. It’s important to me that you feel comfortable,” He says against the other’s skin, tickling the sensitive flesh, close enough to an already fading bruise, but making no move to remark. That would change the vibes too much and Juno doesn’t want to do that just yet.

Maybe later.

“Can you show me more? I want to see it all,” He continues, pulling away to look up at Nureyev, who’s gone from quiet excitement to on the verge of tears in a matter of seconds. Nureyev, Juno has learned, is actually a very emotional being when he allows himself to be.

“Y-Yes of course,” Nureyev says and slides off Juno’s lap, wiping his eyes hastily as Juno leans against him once more, pressing kiss after kiss to his shoulder until Nureyev’s calmed down enough to grab the book and pull it into his lap again.

Then, they sit and read. Nureyev’s voice is soothing to listen to, and Juno watches whenever he points out something that he wants the other to see; which is, pretty much, the entirety of the book. Nureyev even points out, though hesitantly and sheepishly, the little doodles of the other members of the crew on their respective flower pages. There’s even one of the Ruby 7.

Juno isn’t sure how long either of them sits there, passing the book back and forth, and talking until their throats hurt. It’s good, losing the time and spending it with him. He does remember closing his eyes at one point and then the next thing he knows, Nureyev’s alarm is blaring loudly into the morning air, startling them both awake.

Juno whines loudly, rolling over and trapping Nureyev in place as the alarm beeps for attention. Nureyev, effectively pinned and unable to move, laughs weakly and turns to nose at Juno’s neck, kissing him there until Juno lifts his head away from the other’s facial hair.

“C’mon starlight, rollover, please? At least let me turn off the alarm,” Nureyev pleads, pressing another few kisses as Juno groans before he finally rolls over just enough to let him shimmy an arm out. Nureyev uses that arm to reach blindly for his comms and quickly silences the machine, leaving the two of them in peaceful quiet once more.

Instead of getting up, like Juno had assumed he’d do, Nureyev reaches down and pulls the blanket back over the both of them, where it had somehow been kicked off in the middle of the night. Juno makes a small noise in question, not lifting his head this time as Nureyev kisses his forehead and whispers, “Go back to sleep love, the family meeting can wait a little longer.”

Juno does, making a sound that’s undeniably an agreement and then he’s snoring close to Nureyev’s ear once more.

Nureyev, however, lays still, staring up at a ceiling he can’t see, and thinks over his word choice: Family.

A family, huh? Well… yes. He had that now, didn’t he?

Nureyev makes a note in his mind to update the Mallow page in his book and drifts dreamily back off to sleep. Smothered by his girlfriend and thanking the universe for this gift.

He’s found his way home.