juno thought the familiarity was a whisper of guilt clawing its way thickly up his throat. he was expecting someone else, someone he didn't know, a total stranger, but instead here's...
here's peter nureyev... in the flesh... staring him down from his place at the console doing who knows what and it's like a nightmare that juno's had a couple dozen times where all he does is wake up feeling that regret, that palpable moment in the doorway yawning like a hall that doesn't end and by the time he wakes up he's covered in sweat and covering his face with his hands mouthing a name that was a gift he didn't deserve to start with. you made a mistake, he tells nureyev without words. you made such a big mistake giving me your name.
his fingers dig into dahliad's feathers, the way you clutch onto something for comfort. ]
Nu--
[ he stops. no. no that's... that's private. ]
Most of it's not... not mine.
[ he swallows. the nausea's been at bay thanks to the theia, the adrenaline still flooding him enough to override the churning of his stomach, but this is nureyev standing before him and there are too many feelings for that chemical to stifle. the yearning and the guilt and the nausea and the loathing all at once have him in a vice that makes it hard to breathe as the theia murmurs calmly in his brain that his cortisol levels are lowering and rest is highly advised as he may suffer from--
dahliad nudges his jaw with her head carefully. his voice is thready now, quiet.
blood. there's... there's a lot of blood, and his heart isn't pumping as quickly so much as his stomach is churning. ]
I'm gonna be sick.
[ sick and furious and relieved and dahliad squirms out of his arms and to the floor with a wet slap of feathers that only helps in making him a little sicker. how do you say your sorry? juno hasn't apologized enough in his brain yet, hasn't found the right combination of words to tell him he was wrong, to justify what he did, why he did it, why he couldn't just... leave. ]
no subject
no no no no.
juno thought the familiarity was a whisper of guilt clawing its way thickly up his throat. he was expecting someone else, someone he didn't know, a total stranger, but instead here's...
here's peter nureyev... in the flesh... staring him down from his place at the console doing who knows what and it's like a nightmare that juno's had a couple dozen times where all he does is wake up feeling that regret, that palpable moment in the doorway yawning like a hall that doesn't end and by the time he wakes up he's covered in sweat and covering his face with his hands mouthing a name that was a gift he didn't deserve to start with. you made a mistake, he tells nureyev without words. you made such a big mistake giving me your name.
his fingers dig into dahliad's feathers, the way you clutch onto something for comfort. ]
Nu--
[ he stops. no. no that's... that's private. ]
Most of it's not... not mine.
[ he swallows. the nausea's been at bay thanks to the theia, the adrenaline still flooding him enough to override the churning of his stomach, but this is nureyev standing before him and there are too many feelings for that chemical to stifle. the yearning and the guilt and the nausea and the loathing all at once have him in a vice that makes it hard to breathe as the theia murmurs calmly in his brain that his cortisol levels are lowering and rest is highly advised as he may suffer from--
dahliad nudges his jaw with her head carefully. his voice is thready now, quiet.
blood. there's... there's a lot of blood, and his heart isn't pumping as quickly so much as his stomach is churning. ]
I'm gonna be sick.
[ sick and furious and relieved and dahliad squirms out of his arms and to the floor with a wet slap of feathers that only helps in making him a little sicker. how do you say your sorry? juno hasn't apologized enough in his brain yet, hasn't found the right combination of words to tell him he was wrong, to justify what he did, why he did it, why he couldn't just... leave. ]