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The first indication Nureyev had that something was wrong was the temperature. His dreams were cold, cold like the Martian desert at night. Cold like the Outer Rim every second of every day.
The second was the sound - or lack thereof. He couldn’t hear a single sound save for his own breathing, harsh and less regular than he’d like it to be.
And then he opened his eyes, and Juno was not lying beside him, breathing evenly and making the Martian winter a bearable temperature at last.
“Juno?” he called out. Nureyev sat up in bed, pulling the comforter tight around him in a vain effort to keep out the cold.
Nothing.
He glanced around the room before getting up, knowing the signs of a forced exit all too well. Juno’s gun was barely visible in the drawer at the side of the bed that had been left cracked open, his ID on the table above it. Nothing was broken, there wasn’t any blood.
Juno’s clothes were still on the floor.
But Nureyev’s weren’t.
Odd.
Still, Nureyev had to admit to himself that it did not look like Juno had been kidnapped or murdered or any of the other things that Nureyev would never, ever tell Juno that he had nightmares about.
He was probably just in the kitchen, making breakfast or coffee.
Nureyev couldn’t shake the voice in his head that told him that he knew very well Juno was not the kind of bedmate who woke up first and made coffee and if Juno was doing that then why couldn’t Nureyev hear anything from the kitchen and Juno probably had been kidnapped and it was probably someone from Nureyev’s past, and-
He took a deep breath.
Check the kitchen, he told himself. Don’t panic.
None of Juno’s clothes would fit him, so Nureyev just pulled the comforter tighter around himself and wandered out into the main living-kitchen area of Juno’s apartment. It was cramped, and it would be nigh impossible to miss Juno if he was, in fact, in there.
Nureyev almost didn’t want to check. If he didn’t check, he could pretend Juno was definitely, definitely there.
He had to look.
So he took a couple of steps further and glanced around the apartment.
Nureyev saw Juno almost immediately.
The private eye was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest and holding onto his shins with a white-knuckled grip. He stared out the window, blankly watching the sands of a dust storm swirl outside like a blood-red whirlpool. He was… Juno was wearing Nureyev’s clothes, the buttoned shirt and long skirt almost swallowing the smaller man.
Nureyev wanted to say something, but his vocal cords refused to make a sound.
Juno looked so small.
He wasn’t even doing anything except looking out the window, and yet Nureyev still felt like he was intruding. Out of other options to announce his presence when his voice remained silent at the sight of Juno Steel wearing his clothes , Nureyev cleared his throat softly.
Juno jumped, almost falling off of his couch. “I- Nureyev, I, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, it’s fine, I’ll- god , I’m wearing your clothes, aren’t I. I’m.” He cut himself off with a sigh and dropped his head into his hands. “I’ll go change.”
Nureyev shook his head, and had to clear his throat again before he could speak. “It’s fine, Juno.” He smiled slightly. “You look better in them than I do.”
Juno shook his head. “Now I know you’re joking.” But his cheeks were redder now, and Nureyev could just catch what might be the beginnings of a smile in the corners of Juno’s eyes and the edge of his lips. He looked up to meet Nureyev’s eyes, and patted the couch next to him. “You wanna come watch the storm with me?”
God, yes . But Nureyev paused. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Stop being stubborn,” Juno persisted, and there was definitely a laugh hidden in his voice somewhere and a smile beginning to be more obvious on his face now. “Just try it. Share that blanket and stare at some sand with me.”
And it’s not like there was anything that Nureyev had ever wanted more.
So he sat, close but not too close to Juno, and hesitantly lifted an arm to offer some of the blanket to the detective.
Juno slipped under the blanket with a surprising lack of reservations, settling into Nureyev like he belonged right there tucked against Nureyev’s chest, with Nureyev’s shirt sliding off his shoulder to reveal marks on his collarbone that Nureyev knew he had left there.
“Stop looking at me,” Juno said. “Look at the storm. That’s the whole point of this stupid meditation thing.”
“Meditation?” Nureyev asked.
Juno didn’t answer, just shushed him and pointed out the window.
The swirling sands outside were rather hypnotic. There were more shades of red than Nureyev had really ever thought existed, russet and sable dark currents seamlessly running into almost orange-gold spirals. Not one moment was ever the same as the next.
It was quite difficult to focus on sand, though, when Nureyev could feel Juno’s warm breath on his neck and stubble just barely scraping his shoulder. Still, he kept one eye on the storm outside even as all his other senses tuned to the man leaning heavily on him.
As they sat by the storm, Juno began to talk.
“I can’t really talk to a therapist. I know too many things I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s not like any therapist worth half the money they’d cost would believe me about half the stuff I’ve seen. But I get… I get bad, sometimes. Rita looked up some stuff for me, you remember Rita?” Apparently a rhetorical question, Juno continued on without waiting for Nureyev to answer. “Anyway, she said that she’d seen this show with this character who talked a lot about like, mindfulness. Or some crap like that, I don’t really remember.” Somehow Nureyev got the sense Juno remembered very, very well. “But she did mention meditation. Said it was good for… Stuff. Like that.”
Juno was quiet for a long, long moment, and when Nureyev risked a glance down he saw that his eyes were almost shut, barely half-watching the storm. He almost said something before Juno took a deep breath and kept talking. “I thought it was dumb, but… Rita’s a good friend. When she says something, she means it. So… The last time I woke up in the middle of the night, I didn’t lie in bed and remember every mistake I ever made in high definition. I walked out to my living room, and I watched the sand storm until I fell asleep. Turns out that was basically the meditation she was talking about.”
“Juno…” Nureyev began.
“Nope, you’ve signed up for Juno Steel and His Stupid Messy Feelings,” Juno interrupted. “No questions or complaints until the end of the tour.” He still wasn’t looking at Nureyev, eyes lidded and gaze fixed on a complex whorl of sand and dust. “I might have slept with your jacket when you were gone. I just…” Juno sighed. “I missed you. God, I was so lonely and you showed up in my life with your stupid voice and pretty eyes and I trusted you and you left me.”
“Juno, I’m s-”
“Shut up, Nureyev. I’m not done.”
Nureyev shut up.
“I didn’t know how I felt about you for a long time. Hell, I didn’t know how I felt about me . So when you showed up in my life again I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to tell you to go to hell forever, or admit that hell was where I was and I didn’t think I really wanted to leave.” Juno shook his head, the movement pulling and pushing at Nureyev’s skin where Juno’s head rested against it. “But you stayed. You probably thought I hated you. Not gonna lie, I kinda did. But you stayed and you stayed and you trusted me , Nureyev, do you know how many people trust me anymore? It’s- it’s not a lot. And now…”
Juno pulled away, and Nureyev had only a second to mourn the loss of contact until Juno turned to look directly at him and set one hand on his face. “I don’t hate you anymore.” His thumb brushed gently across Nureyev’s cheek, and Nureyev was surprised to realize that it was damp. He was crying.
So was Juno. “I don’t hate you,” Juno whispered again, and the words were soft and quiet and everything Nureyev could never have the courage to say aloud.
All he could do was breath Juno’s name like a prayer to a god Nureyev had never believed in and lean forward to kiss away the tears on his detective’s face.
Juno pulled him up with the hand still on his face into a delicate kiss.
It tasted like salt and tears and Nureyev was pretty sure the both of them were still crying.
He drew Juno forward, closer until they were too close to kiss and Juno was sprawled on his lap and his face was tucked into Nureyev’s neck and they were both finally beginning to stop crying. They breathed in synchrony for a quiet moment, coming down off of the emotional catharsis.
“Nureyev?” Juno asked, his lips soft against Nureyev’s skin.
“It’s Peter,” Nureyev murmured. He set his chin on top of Juno’s head and slowly pet Juno’s hair.
“Peter,” Juno said, tentatively, and Nureyev couldn’t help the shiver right down to his bones.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been Peter,” he said when Juno pulled back to look at him quizzically. “It feels… nice.”
Juno smiled. “Peter,” he said again, and smiled wider. “Feels nice to say.” He tucked his head back under Nureyev’s, and as he kept talking Nureyev could feel the vibrations of his speech in his chest. “I was thinking… It’s still pretty early. We could go back to bed, if you wanted?”
“Darling, I could ask for nothing more,” Nureyev sighed. He pressed a kiss to the top of Juno’s head and then stood, sweeping Juno up into his arms. As he carried Juno back to the bedroom, he paused just before setting him down on the bed and kissed him. “For the record, I don’t hate you either.”