[ juno's seen nureyev composed before, put together to the point where nothing seems to really betray him, not even his eyes. juno's grasp of body language is good, his own feels out of control in this moment, tethered to the way his heart feels like it's been gripped in a vice and dropped guiltily into the pit of his stomach. every nerve is bracing for some kind of impact - a brushing off of the question in favor of some kind of berating. his back teeth grind in anticipation, but instead: a calm response, one that turns the gears in the back of juno's head because - ]
Six months.
[ feeling it out in his mouth is... wrong. six months feels heavy. it'd been about as long since juno had seen the silhouette of nureyev's body under the sheets. the glint of his teeth in the soft moonlight, the faint murmur of his name as the door shut.
juno meets his eyes, briefly, clear and steady, before he looks at the bandage peeking through the collar of the shirt, brows drawing a little. ]
no subject
Six months.
[ feeling it out in his mouth is... wrong. six months feels heavy. it'd been about as long since juno had seen the silhouette of nureyev's body under the sheets. the glint of his teeth in the soft moonlight, the faint murmur of his name as the door shut.
juno meets his eyes, briefly, clear and steady, before he looks at the bandage peeking through the collar of the shirt, brows drawing a little. ]
What happened to your neck?