[ dahliad gives a curious tilt of the head, a regal-looking bird that seems hardly befitting of juno's own somewhat bedraggled appearance. sure, he's cleaned up a good bit since the beach. hell, he's even showered, but he's tired-looking, which is something that never quite fades from his eyes, one of which seems to be a bit brighter than the other. ]

Should have figured the same about you, Sydney. Guess the whole thing about you and trouble is true.

[ you just disappear.

and sydney.

that's an awful name. it doesn't suit him. but none of his names suit him more than his real one, not in juno's eyes, not anymore. he bites down on the syllables like they're tough, tangible things in the air as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and tries to drink in the sight of him standing there before him, like the best dream and worst nightmare, persistent, nipping at his heels.

god. goddamn it. ]

An acquaintance?

[ dahliad says it cooly, in a tone that's almost familiar, cocksure and brightly toned, like an echo. it's not juno's fault. absolutely not. ]

You could say that, [ juno replies softly, voice more difficult to scrounge up with every second that passes. so he closes his eyes a moment, lifts a hand to his temples because he doesn't get to run away from this, doesn't get to run away from nureyev who's standing here right in front of him with an armful of bags and a smile smeared over his face like he didn't ditch him like yesterday's dirty laundry in the hopes that he might find something better than him. someone with less... juno to them.

he doesn't deserve a man like peter nureyev. that's part of the problem.

juno gestures a little vaguely to the bags now, trying to... trying to come up with some sort of talk that doesn't involve him turning tail and running. ]

So what's all this for? Settling in real fast, I take it?