[ really, juno wants to bark back. that'd be the easy thing to do. his teeth grind a little in the back as he passes one chilled hand over the other. there are worse options than choosing to walk through doors with nureyev. he's not leaving the planet with him suddenly, not getting in a car with him. he's not... he's not doing things he'd be afraid of doing with nureyev.

it's just a door. it's just some clothes.

but it's the you owe me that bites him fast and hard at the nape of his neck. you owe me like a sting he knows he deserves, and though nureyev says he owes him too, juno finds it hard to believe any of that.

juno thinks about the rain, how it's soaked through his shoulders, left him tired and fighting the way his chest aches, how his shoulder throbs from an fresh wound now sewn over (sliced through the shoulder, fifty percent mobility gone. right there. from someone far clumsier with a knife than nureyev. less finessed.) this rain is murder on him, but he feels like he deserves it, the aches, the pains, and not nureyev sitting next to him with his legs crossed so elegantly, that smile like six months ago but... far more tired.

so bright.

he stays so damn bright and juno's been in a fucking pit for days. weeks. months. he left that light behind but now?

well.

juno eases up onto his feet, hands spread a bit briefly. dahliad seems to pick up on it and rises with him (it's weird and juno kind of hates it.) ]

Offering someone clothing isn't exactly most people's idea of a good guilt trip. [ it's not. but nureyev knows him well enough that it's almost embarrassing to think about. his voice cracks. it's the cold. ] But sure. Yeah.

[ stuck. ]

Let's just... look. Sure. Fine. Let's just get inside.

[ you're a fucking noodle. he's doing this for you. not for himself and all his chilled bones under his bulky coat.

let's. ]