Chapter Text
“How are you feeling?” Nureyev asks as they leave the hospital, although he knows it’s a pointless question.
“Oh, just great. Absolutely wonderful, never better.”
“Without sarcasm, please, dear detective.”
Juno scoffs. “Take a wild fucking guess, Nureyev. I’ve just had my eye removed after it exploded inside my head, I’ve spent weeks being tortured, and I’ve lost the only skill keeping me alive.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Which part?”
Nureyev sighs. “Your sharpshooting is a valuable skill, to be sure, but it is certainly not the only reason you’re still alive. You’re quite smart, and a skilled strategist when in the right frame of mind. Your dedication is remarkable, you read people well, and your resilience astounds me. You-“
Juno elbows him in the ribs, a slight smile playing on his lips. “All right, all right. You think I’m wonderful, I get it.”
“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to realize that,” Nureyev teases. He reaches for Juno’s hand, then stops, unsure whether the gesture would be welcome. At the same time, Juno leans to rest his head against Nureyev’s shoulder, hesitates, and then freezes. Nureyev coughs awkwardly, and Juno looks away.
Juno starts to laugh first, and Nureyev joins in. Juno shakes his head. “We’re great at this, aren’t we?”
“Oh, the best.” Nureyev reaches for his hand again. “May I?”
“You may,” Juno says with exaggerated formality, and extends his hand the way a queen might to a loyal subject.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Nureyev presses a kiss to the detective’s knuckles, and Juno raises an eyebrow. “Damn, I could get used to this.”
Nureyev chuckles, and the sound echoes around the quiet streets. He laughs a little too loud, and just a little too long, and it feels so good after the events of the last few weeks. Juno grins and squeezes his hand.
——————
Nureyev falls asleep so easily, and Juno envies him for it. For a while, he lies there, watching the thief sleep next to him and wishing he could do the same.
It was a lie, what he said earlier, on the way to the hotel. Or perhaps not quite a lie, but certainly not the whole truth. He supposes he could get used to Peter Nureyev, to stolen kisses and odd yet beautiful gifts, to whispered endearments and holding hands in the street. But deep down, he knows he can’t- won’t- stick around long enough to find out.
Juno gets to his feet, carefully, quietly. He slips on his shoes, grabs his coat from the chair. Nureyev shifts in his sleep, but doesn’t wake up. Juno reaches out and lets his hand fall over Nureyev’s for the briefest second, and he swears Nureyev’s eyes flutter open just then and lock on his.
Maybe he imagines the hurt he sees in those eyes before they close again and Juno is gone.