[ juno seems like he has an endless font of anger and spite inside of him - enough to sink his teeth into everything the world throws at him. but it's hard when at the end of the day there are too many things ripped straight from your hands and you get told that there was nothing you could have done about it. for now, the anger is guttering, the determination is there, but has laid its head down for now. juno's jaw is working, however, not at all slack, chewing down the words he doesn't have the energy to muster up the righteous pissed-off tone for.
and then it happens... nureyev happens. an apology happens.
it's the voice.
juno has always been incredibly keen with nureyev's voice - distinct, warm, under all his various disguises, still his. this one is... it's a little raw. and pulling it in with the words that come out of his goddamn mouth, juno is...
he's at a loss for what to say in response at first, watching simply as nureyev holds it together between staring at nails that don't need staring at, posturing himself like everything is a-okay and he hasn't just apologized for something that isn't his fault to begin with. owning up to a problem that he never created in the first place. juno's voice drops to the pit of his stomach. something in him spills - the heaviness of his clothes when he'd put them back on, the moment he'd held himself in the doorway watching the light catch on nureyev's face, his teeth, the curve of his shoulder. ]
No. [ his brows draw, confusion - realization hitting him over and over again, percussive in its insistence. and then he shakes his head, like he doesn't want him to misunderstand where it comes from. ] You didn't drive me off. You didn't do anything like that, [ and again: ] it wasn't you. [ offer a lady the universe, everything there is - thrills, romance, all the mystery he could ever want, hand in hand - and watch how fast he runs away from it. ]
It was me. [ vehement, final. the "eureka!" of a case, but rougher and more guilty-sounding. because juno's known the answer since he insisted peter drive them back to hyperion over olympus mons, since he said "yes." it kept him up that night, argued with him, fought with him, ate away at him through the hours into the early morning. ] It was my fault.
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and then it happens... nureyev happens. an apology happens.
it's the voice.
juno has always been incredibly keen with nureyev's voice - distinct, warm, under all his various disguises, still his. this one is... it's a little raw. and pulling it in with the words that come out of his goddamn mouth, juno is...
he's at a loss for what to say in response at first, watching simply as nureyev holds it together between staring at nails that don't need staring at, posturing himself like everything is a-okay and he hasn't just apologized for something that isn't his fault to begin with. owning up to a problem that he never created in the first place. juno's voice drops to the pit of his stomach. something in him spills - the heaviness of his clothes when he'd put them back on, the moment he'd held himself in the doorway watching the light catch on nureyev's face, his teeth, the curve of his shoulder. ]
No. [ his brows draw, confusion - realization hitting him over and over again, percussive in its insistence. and then he shakes his head, like he doesn't want him to misunderstand where it comes from. ] You didn't drive me off. You didn't do anything like that, [ and again: ] it wasn't you. [ offer a lady the universe, everything there is - thrills, romance, all the mystery he could ever want, hand in hand - and watch how fast he runs away from it. ]
It was me. [ vehement, final. the "eureka!" of a case, but rougher and more guilty-sounding. because juno's known the answer since he insisted peter drive them back to hyperion over olympus mons, since he said "yes." it kept him up that night, argued with him, fought with him, ate away at him through the hours into the early morning. ] It was my fault.