J U N O

And maybe that’s exactly what he needed, Juno was exactly what he needed. Tomas was just so fucking lucky, to have someone follow after him and hold him, to have someone that puts him first, to have someone that cared. Tomas nuzzled his forehead to Juno’s, a simple thank you, for everything. “It-.. I guess, it’s relieving,” not that Tomas would choose to do that every time from now on. It still wasn’t exactly wise. But Tomas couldn’t deny that some small part of him underneath all the fear, and guilt and doubts, it did feel good. “Momma Benson’s intuition I bet,” Tomas chuckled at the lovely imagination of Juno and his mother, bonding over- maybe not so much cooking, but over a lot of food. Tomas tried to hold back the laugh that almost came out as a choke at the idea that Julian was emotionally constipated. And here the two of them were with no grip on any of their emotions. “I- I know.. you’re right, he was.. nice about it,” as nice as Julian could go.

“Just means I haven’t fed you enough,“ he wiggled the forkful of cake in front of Juno before letting him have it. Tomas has had his bad days, bad dishes, bad ideas, but he used to always try to keep them away from Juno, and maybe he didn’t have to anymore. "We can just bring it back home later then,” perhaps it was just a day for everyone, reshoots didn’t seem like a happy occasion and maybe cake just wasn’t a good idea today. Tomas let their fingers intertwine, he could feel the trembles settle down as he settled further into Juno, “yeah, better.. thank you,” running his thumb in small circles over the back of Juno’s hand, I love you so much, “I should go back to set soon- we’re starting to shoot in a bit, I think.” Tomas softly sniffed and sighed, pulling the end of his shirt up to clean up the mess on his face, “Thanks for coming here– to me.. do you- want to stay?”

“Yeah, it’s good to get it all off your chest,” Juno smiled, gentle, hand still stroking through Tomas’ hair as their foreheads touched. He wished he’d never pushed Tomas that far, but it was progress, at least. “All Southern mommas have it. Especially about food.” And perhaps he was a disaster in the kitchen, but cooking with his momma, the screen doors open to let in a rare cool breeze, was one of his happiest memories. Tomas’ little laugh was all he needed to hear, reassurance that they were getting somewhere. “Julian was nice? Are you sure he was feeling okay?” It was an easy joke to make, especially when all Juno knew of Julian was his reputation, and his anger. “He must really care about you if he manages to be civil to you.” 

“Or maybe I just have low standards,” he grinned, “I’ll eat anything you put in front of me, you know.” Especially if it was as delicious as the cake. “Mmm, that sounds nice. We can have our own little birthday dinner.” From experience, re-shoot day was often tiring enough to put paid to big plans -- perhaps that was just Juno, but he suspected the picnic would have to wait. “You’re welcome, kitten.” At least he’d had a chance to make up for earlier, silently promising that wouldn’t happen again. “There’s no rush,” Juno murmured, reaching up to brush away the last vestiges of tears on Tomas’ cheeks, planting two gentle kisses on the newly-unblemished skin. “If I’m allowed to, after that.” He couldn’t help feeling like he was more trouble than he was worth on Julian’s set -- but yes, he wanted to stay, wanted to support Tomas. “You know I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see you in that costume.” A soft smile, recalling how gorgeous Tomas looked in Emiliano’s silks.

“We run a bakery, liefje, we go through about a thousand a month,” Tomas mirrored a laugh, they had a bigger surge of demand in the last few months that Tomas didn’t appreciate the fact that it was simply linked to his shedded spotlight in Prometheus. “You’re not sorry, hm?” Tomas hummed, playfully tugging the hand he held and kissed across the table, contemplating putting a lock over his surprise cake boxes next time, but it didn’t really matter, more glad that Juno was looking forward to it. Yet he paused at the statement, a light blush of pink grew, “do you.. want me to live here?” Tomas shyly asked, so soft he might’ve missed it. Somehow it slipped past his lips without too much thought, having to stop himself from panicking to back track his words, because he did mean it. Even if it was utterly convenient at his own place, the cycle back and forth to the bakery and Juno’s was routine by now, and that’s probably better than getting walked in by Skylar or worse, Ade. But his gaze was anxious, nervous, afraid of what Juno would say. Before he could say much more about the gift, Juno was already excited, ready to tear into it and even though he wanted to save it, he couldn’t say no to that beautiful smile, “well- of course. Happy birthday mijn kleine liefje.” He twiddled his thumbs nervously, knowing it’s nothing lush or grand, but still hoped he’d like it. “Yeah?” His hopeful gaze lifted up, catching the fleeting kiss, “kiss ass, but I bet he was really in love with him.” Tomas rested his chin on his palm, sighing listening to him read out some of the sonnets, “I got this from a bookstore I used to visit a lot in Paris.. Shakespeare and Company, I tried to sneak a look at what you didn’t have and- they had quiet a few unique ones.” Though he’s never really spent time reading them, he sat around musing over recipes instead. “And– and.. there’s more,” he guided a few pages finding the pockets of where the personalised poems carefully sat, the staff writing them, this one simply titled Juno. before a beauty of words crafted. “Do you like it..? I- really hope you don’t have it already.”

“God, that is a lot.” Not that the ins and outs of the Visser bakery were Juno’s specialty; more like the ins and outs of his own Visser, the adorable dimples on his cheeks when he smiled, the beautiful dusting of freckles across his cheeks. “Only that I have to wait before I can eat any.” He grinned playfully, caught almost red-handed but certainly not guilty. But the grin softened into something gentler when he heard Tomas’ question -- almost missed it, except that he’d grown accustomed to listening for shy words, nestled more into silence than sound. “Well --” now he was hesitant, not expecting this to factor into their conversation. “Yes. But only if you want to, you shouldn’t feel obligated --” Even as the words hurried out of his mouth, Juno couldn’t help dreaming. He supposed nothing much would change; Tomas was already round almost all the time, but making it official would be different. They’d finally have a use for the forgotten rooms upstairs, full of boxes of old theatre costumes and books, souvenirs from ‘Bama. They’d finally have a space that was truly, completely theirs, free from the prying eyes of siblings, or the emptiness of knowing it was temporary. “It’s your choice, essentially.” But I hope you say yes.

Juno’s attention was quickly stolen by the book of sonnets, glancing up briefly to meet Tomas’ eyes, his face full of the light that came from his two favourite things. His love, and Shakespeare -- the kiss said more than thank you ever could, a soft laugh attached to the end of it. “Not as much as I am with you.” He’d take being called kiss-ass any day, for him at least it was true, the love in his chest overflowing and bursting its dam, flooding his whole body with warmth. “It’s gorgeous -- how did you get it all the way from Paris? I’m guessing that shop doesn’t take online orders?” Certainly not for something this beautiful, cloth-bound and decorated with the most delicate embroidered flowers. “More?” Juno echoed, letting Tomas turn the pages -- his breath caught in his chest all over again when he saw the custom poem. “Oh, Tomas --” there was a crack in his voice, not from sadness but purely from how overwhelming happy and loved he felt. “I love it, really -- I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a version like this, let alone owned one. It’s beautiful, thank you.”

With any other context, an admission that fed Julian’s righteous compulsion would have been taken neutrally, a drop in an ocean that already belonged to him. This was not the right topic to feel that way. His jaw shifted, tongue grazing between the rows of teeth behind pursed lips before the eyes returned to Juno. A half-nod given, acknowledgment that they had come to some agreement, a truth that went without precise words, one that he’d rather be left vaguely answered instead of risking exposure. Even in a secluded place as Jess’ memorial was not always safe. That was the harsh reality.

“Fine. I am not wrong,” he finally spoke. It was not surprising, but just because something was suspected did not mean the thoughts ceased once it was confirmed. He did not know Juno, not well. On a personal level? Who was he? No one but an association through other parties, and that was a mutual connection. “Tomas,” he went on, as if the topic had changed, only for it to be proven it never left. “He knows?”

His head shifted, closest to a shrug without the movement of the shoulders at the question from the other side, seeing an expression that Julian knew well: minimum trust. Warranted. “If you want it to be? Yes. If not? No.–To Prometheus? You are a contract. That is it. There are risks. You will take them. Or? You won’t. They are yours. I’ve chosen mine.”

Juno was balanced on a knife-edge, waiting for Julian’s response. Waiting for a storm to break, the thrum of underlying tension in the air like the smell of ozone before a lightning strike. He knew it was shameful, knew it was just another point of weakness for Julian to needle into -- but there was some small part of him that hoped. 

He’d take Julian brushing the topic aside over any further questions; a sigh of muted relief was released at that word. Fine. Not the condemnation Juno had been afraid of -- but that released breath constricted again as soon as Tomas was mentioned. Of course he knew, he should’ve known sooner, should’ve known what he was getting into, what a broken mess of a person he was trying to love. Telling him really had felt like opening a vein, knowing it wasn’t rational but still expecting Tomas to run while he still could. “Yeah.” It came out soft and choked. Pathetic. “I told him.”

That just hammered it home: he had the luxury of telling Tomas, of getting support. Jess didn’t, because he was dead, and Juno hadn’t done enough to save him. The least he could do was make it up to him in death. “I don’t know, um--” suddenly the words were dissipating on his tongue, hesitant to share the thoughts that had been locked in his chest for months with someone who could easily rip them to shreds. “I guess I’ve been thinking. About all this, and -- I can’t just let it grind me down without fighting back. I want to do something about it.”

An I love you hammered in with every breath, chipping away at the hole he found himself in, poking through pockets of light for him to breathe, and think much more clearly again, being able to watch the toxic thoughts wash by as he held onto the anchors given to him. Even a sorry was rare for him to hear unless he’s the one saying it, and it was appreciated, and cherished, and the little things that always makes him know they’ll be okay. 

It certainly felt unprofessional, a contract blowing up and causing a scene about himself, but he managed a smile, “thanks.. I’d rather put you first though,” letting out a soft sigh before he continued, “I don’t think I’ve.. yelled that way before.” He was never loud, but it felt cathartic in a way, everything internalised let out to make space for.. more internalising probably. Tomas bit back his lip to stop himself from saying anything else wrong, still hurting and raw from earlier, though a hand raised to brush over Juno’s jaw, returning the loving gesture - I won’t. “Your momma is right,” he giggled, feeling like they would get along well, “I mean- I guess.. I don’t know, it was one time, and I guess he didn’t like that I wasn’t too familiar with spanish cuisine.” Not to mention him confiding his worries over Miguel and his stupid decision. More of that happened than teaching paella. A laughter broke at the question as Tomas stared back at the poor slice of cake he’s been stabbing at, nothing too pretty about it now. But he glanced back up with a bright smile, eyes glassy again, trying to hold back the tears, “yeah, of course..” it was probably all he wanted today, silently do it the dutch way, bring your own cake to share the happiness, and in Tomas’ case, everyone would be none the wiser. He sectioned off a salvageable pretty part of the cake and held it up to Juno’s lips, “you don’t– have to love it, or tell me it’s good, I know it’s not..” I promise I’ll do better for yours.

“Well, I guess it’s good that I’d rather put you first.” Juno smiled softly; it was just another example of how they fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, covering each other’s weaknesses, uplifting each other’s strengths. Even if they were no good at taking care of themselves, they’d always be there to pick each other up when they stumble. He gave a soft laugh, hand reaching up to cup Tomas’ cheek. “It’s refreshing, isn’t it?” And despite knowing it came from getting completely overwhelmed, there was a kernel of pride in Juno’s chest that Tomas had spoken up at all. He should’ve seen the signs, though -- it shouldn’t have had to come to that. Perhaps Julian and Claudia should’ve noticed too, but Juno couldn’t help feeling like it was on him; he knew Tomas best, after all. “Yeah, she was definitely on to something.” His smile turned nostalgic, snuggling a little closer into Tomas’ lap. “He still wanted to share it with you, love. Just because he’s emotionally constipated doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.” Juno wished he knew Julian better, wished he could say that for certain -- he was just going off what Jess had told him about Julian, but he hoped it was true. 

He took Tomas’ laugh as a good sign, darting in to kiss his cheek -- when he saw the tears, Juno’s heart clenched again, wondering whether he’d done anything wrong. Another kiss to his love’s other cheek, before he glanced down at the cake being offered. “I don’t think anything you make could be anything less than perfect, kitten.” Sure enough, the cake was delicious, fluffy and sweet and probably amazing in all kinds of technical ways Juno didn’t even know about. “Mmm, that’s amazing. The others are definitely missing out.” Maybe they just didn’t like cake, but it still seemed a little rude to refuse it from the birthday boy. Reaching out, Juno gave Tomas’ hand a reassuring, gentle squeeze. “How are you feeling now? Any better?”

Tomas hummed in disagreement to that brush off, “mm checks every box on the list for the best.” Perhaps the bar for those boxes weren’t very high in the first place, it was everything to him and that’s more than enough. He laughed at the idea of Juno confronting the kitchen in an attempt at angry French, “a word in French maybe? I was young, and stupid, and new, so I had a lot to learn and time to make up for it, and they made me take a nap before dinner service that day, said I’d probably put the kitchen on fire if I didn’t.” It didn’t help that he didn’t have any professional training so he was learning as he went. “The Michelin star restaurant would be to differ,” Tomas dramatized a grimace before chuckling, “but I’m sure for us we can wash it and call it a day.”

It was a personal mission to see people in Prometheus eat more and eat healthy, but it was a personal mission to see Juno do the same, wanting to make sure he never went another day filming and forgetting to eat again. Even as Juno whispered a promise, Tomas wasn’t sure how much of it was just wishful thinking daydream, how much of it was a genuine resolute to make it happen. But he sat with the former, it would be nice but what they had was already more than he could ask for. Tomas tilted down to see Carrie enjoying on the human food she waited so long for, “and one just couldn’t work without the other.” They really couldn’t and Tomas wasn’t even sure if they could either. That’s why Tomas kept quietly reminding Juno that today was a shared day of celebration, that Tomas was only enjoying his because he got to share it with Juno’s. “You don’t want me too rotten, oh- you know what utterly ridiculous thing I’ve made them pay for?” Tomas perked up as he joked proudly, “2000 pounds of flour.” Very boring, but also raises eyebrows on their bill. “Guilty traitor,” Tomas teased back, but he grinned and held onto his hand, bringing it up to brush his lips over his knuckles, “me too.. and spend a night, whatever you want to do,” only letting go to take another mouthful and get up to pinch out the neatly wrapped book sized gift from his messenger bag sitting in the living room, a small ribbon on the top, waving it in Juno’s face, “too bad you don’t get to take a lil peek at this one too.”

“True...” Juno gave Tomas a fond smile, having been tricked into accepting the compliment. The eggs were hardly anything special; he supposed if you really wanted to be pretentious, that was like him. On his own, he wasn’t anything to look at -- but with Tomas, he felt like he could be better, something more than just lost. “Two thousand? What could you possibly --” He couldn’t help giggling, grinning proudly. “I pity whoever has to look over your account.” Though it was probably better than the amount of cat food, catnip, cat beds, cat treats etc. he was getting. “Oh, and I’m not sorry.” Definitely not if those feathery kisses were his reward. “Of course you can stay the night. You practically live here.” One step away from practically asking Tomas to move in; he might as well, considering how much of his stuff was strewn around the house, their lives bleeding into each other more and more day by day. Juno glanced up to see where Tomas was going, almost protesting -- but his breath caught in his chest when he saw what he came back with. “Oh, Tomas -- can I open it?” Hardly waiting for a response, he carefully slid the ribbon off, unwrapping it with as much care as he could. It looked like a book -- and it was, sliding the book out of the wrapping with held breath. “Wow --” He traced the lettering of the title with shaking fingers, the breath released, looking at Tomas with shining eyes. “Love, this is beautiful --” Leaning over the table, Juno gave him a quick peck on the lips, settling back as he flicked through the book of sonnets to one he knew by heart anyways. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day -- you know he wrote these for a man? But not one as beautiful as you, kitten.”

“No.” No matter what, no matter how much heartache, no matter if he didn’t belong in his questioning, a question like that was not treated well. It was cut at the knees, insult taken, bad impression set. “Do not do that. You know what I mean. Don’t bullshit me. You were close. I was close. Claire? Claudia? Same. It is not about being close. It is knowing what it is to die. If I am wrong? Tell me. But? You could not have saved him forever.”

And that kind of truth was hard to swallow. A martyr complex took a deep wound at the knowledge, always so willing to sacrifice himself for a greater good, but it was a worse consequence to live knowing that no matter what had or could have been done, there would have been no change to the outcome. It was a truth that Juno would have to live with, as well, no fantasy drawn for him that Jess was in a better place; just that he wasn’t /here/ anymore to prolong his suffering. It was the closest to Heaven one could ask for.

After a moment, a nod was offered, approval at long last that something had been said that he could agree with. “Good,” spoken with finality, a touch of adopted pride underneath, if nothing else but from Jessamine. Anti-cancellation had always been their shared promised land, even if the cancellation was in the form of a troubled suicide by a member that hadn’t signed any contract. Death was death. Blood was still blood. “You will need help.”

It had been a desperate attempt to push Julian’s line of questioning away, to avoid admitting the truth; Julian was the last person Juno expected to see it as anything but cowardice. Letting Prometheus scrape him out, and not even lasting as long as Jess had -- he swallowed, staring at his knees as Julian went on. He was right, that was the worst thing: Juno wished standing on the threshold of death himself had meant he could pull Jess back from the brink. But he hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re not wrong,” he finally said, a shameful admission as he fiddled with the handle of his cane. That was the closest he’d get to telling Julian the truth; even telling Tomas had felt like cutting himself open, exposing the vulnerable flesh beneath his skin and practically handing Tomas a knife to stab it with.

There was no time for his shame, though; this was about Jess, about keeping his memory alive, making a legacy the world would take notice of. Julian’s approval was the last thing Juno had been expecting -- he glanced up again, slightly wary, anticipating cutting words sooner or later. “Is that an offer?” He didn’t even know where to start, other than that there was a story that needed to be told, and they were in Hollywood after all. The best place to tell the story, spin it onto the silver screen. 

“Always..” Tomas blubbered a broken laugh, he had a recklessness that Tomas absolutely loved and admired, yet always finding himself wanting to nag at him, always afraid to see the look of pain flash through Juno’s face. Terrible when it’s from his leg, worse when it’s from him. But now he could feel the pounding in his head ease with every stroke of a brush across his temple where a pain lingered, nuzzling into the hand that delicately held him.

He tried to keep as quiet as possible, cursing with every choked breath that made its way out, not wanting to draw any more attention than he already did. And the weight that shifted into his lap was warm and inviting, anchoring him back down to reality as he counted in ghosted whispers of their breaths together, one, two, three, thinking of nothing else but that, but them, four, five, six, seven. The tingle that bloomed across his neck from those lips was enough to warm his chest and soothe everything down to only a light tremor. Eight, nine, ten.

“I love you too,” it only came as a soft shy murmur, only for Juno to hear and no one else, a hand resting on his chest, fingers lightly hooking onto his shirt with a weakening tremble, “it’s okay, thank you..” It was enough to hear that, an apology that meant the world that was quickly forgiven, because he wasn’t sure if anyone listened to him more than he does. He knew Juno had the best of intentions and it was all that really mattered. “He’s always tried to force me to speak up,” he scoffed at the unfortunate circumstances for it to have come by. Tomas still found that hard to believe, the words that were spewed lully replaying in his head. A hand more steady, taking the plastic fork once more picking at the sad cake, “doesn’t sound like they do, they don’t have any reason to.” He wouldn’t understand why if they did. Tomas lifted the fork and took a bite of his favourite if no one else would - it was supposed to be a light and fluffy cake, it in all technical perfection was, but all it felt like was the densest, heaviest cake ever that weight him down further putting a spotlight on the fact that it was his birthday, and if only it wasn’t, none of this would be happening. “Why would you think they’d care?”

All Juno was focused on was calming Tomas down, being an anchor, a lighthouse in the stomry seas they both found it all too easy to lose themselves in. Breath coming slowly, steadily, in time with the rhythm of his hand as it rubbed gentle circles on the small of Tomas’ back. Just three words were on his lips, murmured over and over: I love you, nestled in between the kisses to his love’s neck. Trying to keep his own voice clear of any shaky emotion, despite the guilt that swirled in his stomach -- there’d be time for self-deprecation later, when they weren’t sat in the corner of the Boy Venus set. When Tomas didn’t need him to be strong.

Juno didn’t think he deserved those thanks, but him being stubborn had got them into this mess in the first place, so he bit his tongue, accepting the words anyway. Whatever Tomas wanted to say; it wasn’t his place to shove his view of the situation onto his love, but to listen, still rubbing Tomas’ back to try to still the shaking. It was so much worse knowing he was the cause, knowing one kiss wouldn’t be enough to wash it all away. He didn’t know what to say without insulting Julian, a little flash of anger at the thought of the director pushing Tomas out of his comfort zone; he settled for just nodding and biting his tongue. “Well, I’m proud of you. It’s not unprofessional to put yourself first.” Another unspoken apology, for ploughing onward, too wrapped up in his own little fight to listen to Tomas. “Hey, hey, don’t say that.” Leaning down, Juno pressed another gentle kiss to Tomas’ cheek. He glanced at the cake, suddenly feeling guilty for never asking for a piece -- it would definitely be amazing, but more importantly it showed how much Tomas cared for them all. “I don’t know, didn’t Julian teach you to make paella? My momma used to say food his love, and  -- well, sharing it, sharing family recipes, it’s a way of saying what you can’t say.” A shaky little laugh left his lips, realising how on-the-nose that was. “I know this isn’t the right time to ask, but -- can I have some cake? Please?”

“You’re the best,” Tomas mumbled, he knew it wasn’t always easy to give in to holding back when it’s Juno’s nature, and more often than not because Tomas was too afraid, too nervous, too scared to make a ruckus and inconvenience others. So he was always thankful when Juno did hold back just for him. The heat was rising towards his face from the embarrassment and the kiss, a hand reaching up to dig the ends of Juno’s hair in response, “I just needed to close my eyes one time.” He laughed, remembering falling half asleep while grating, and there was so much blood for such a small grater nicking his finger tips. “I had to throw away that whole batch of parmesan, Romuald was so mad then.” But within minutes, loudly sharing the situation with the whole kitchen for a laugh. His eyes glanced up to return a smile of no problem, it was his own promise to remember, whenever you’re ready. Not today at least, today was Juno’s birthday, and Tomas much rather not have to share him with anyone else on it.

Tomas huffed lightly at the tease, “so what you’re saying is you want me to cook more for you then?” Skewing it into his own agenda. He loved cooking for people but he’s never wanted to cook for anyone more than Juno. “Mm, I hope so too..” he hummed at the idea of going back to Paris with Juno for a trip, maybe even just a weekend, it would be so nice. He’d bring him everywhere, to his favourite spots, to the orchards, to the restaurant - he already knew that they’d love him and feed him senseless, maybe also just glad that Tomas had finally moved on. It was such a daydream that brought a big smile on his face that only faltered at the reality of that possibility. Maybe the change in leadership could also make a change in that. An eyebrow raised at the reply, how much did he think it would cost, is the real question. “Of course, you made the eggs,” Tomas reminded Juno of that tiny kitchen success before taking his own bite at their meal, letting bagel jump onto his lap of out curiosity. “Remember, it’s your birthday too,” he pointed out wagging the fork his way, “I’m just still scared of spending.. y'know? Feels like they’re always watching.” So far Tomas had yet to spend on anything other than running the bakery, he hadn’t splurged his own card on cars or houses or anything, only fresh produce. “But I love it, best birthday ever, thank you..” and he definitely meant it - best birthday ever. “I hope you like your cake too, you didn’t peek at it did you? I was thinking of bringing it along - and your present.”

“Hardly.” But Juno was smiling softly, knowing they’d still be able to snatch a little oasis of peace, somewhere with a sea and sunset view. Only Tomas got to see him this at home in his own skin, lazily nuzzling into the hand that tangled in his hair. “Did they not let you sleep, kitten? I’ll have to have a word with them.” It was an empty threat, knowing how much the kitchen meant to Tomas; even that memory sounded wonderful, a far cry from the gilded cage they were living in. “I’m sure only a little bit of blood wouldn’t matter. Waste not, want not, right?” The image made him grin, a welcome distraction from the melancholy of home.

“Oh, yes please.” Nevermind that Juno couldn’t say no to Tomas, especially when he was pouting so adorably; the food his love made was pretty much the only food he’d seek out of his own accord. Everything else got ignored, swept under the rug, but he knew how happy Tomas was when his food was appreciated. All Juno wanted to do was make Tomas happy, so he’d eat whatever he made, he’d promise to get them to Paris, with a soft whisper of one day. It seemed unthinkable, Prometheus’ collar tightened so much it chafed, but he’d had the idea for a while now: arrange everything using money Prometheus couldn’t track, get an unscrupulous vet to remove the chip they’d undoubtedly put in his arm. It was all a little impulsive, a pull stronger than the desert -- but for Tomas, he could make it work. For the thought of wandering down a Parisien boulevard together, hand in hand. Safe, truly safe, for the first time since they’d met. “Well, the sauce is pretty amazing too -- isn’t that right, Carrie?” Juno offered a forkful of egg to Carrie, faithfully waiting under his chair for scraps. “I know, I know...” He brushed it aside, he’d been fussed over for his birthday every year, and God knew Tomas hadn’t had enough people in his life who actually cared to get the same experience. This year was about making up for lost time. “I guess, but -- there is something satisfying about making them pay for something utterly ridiculous. Or allowing me to spoil you rotten.” The stupid, lovesick grin that spread over his face when Tomas said that, best birthday ever, was testament to the sincerity of that statement. “Just a little peek--” Juno trailed off with a guilty blush, “But it looks amazing. I can’t wait to try it.” He reached out across the table, hand falling on Tomas’ arm. “I can’t wait to spend a day with you.”

“Well– then maybe don’t let them catch you hitting them with a cane, that’s bad press,” Tomas sighed but ended it with a smile, he couldn’t blame him, he loved the feistiness in Juno that maybe drew him into those arms of safety, that protected him, yet it scares him a little of what might happen if he went too far. He tucked the worry away for a groan at the forefront embarrassment, dropping his forehead down on Juno’s shoulder for a second to hide it, “that sounds like it’s terribly embarrassing.” Tomas definitely had lower tolerance to embarrassment, so much could bring the blush across his freckles easily without even trying and he’d be ready to climb into a hole, but he knew with Juno, it’ll be okay. He let him take all the time he needed to think, simply continuing the act of comfort. “And that’s okay, you don’t have to feel ready now, or ever,” he would never want to push Juno into something he didn’t want to, nor did Tomas have a say in, all he could often was a hand to hold by his side, he pressed a peck to his forehead in reassurance, “and when or if you are, I’ll be here.”

Tomas refused to accept that statement as he semi-whined, “hey, I can make some of the best food that’s good for us.” Butter wasn’t essentially an unhealthy food either. But he’s always tried to teach Juno healthier dishes when he did, easy, filling, energizing dishes considering the way Juno fuels himself with so little at a time. It today was going to be the day they finally rest and eat, Tomas was going to take any opportunity to feed him to a full belly, something that felt like Juno rarely had. “C’est fou, ça!” Tomas acted surprised with a gasp and exclamation but still laughed as the said blush grew. “I’m glad you got to meet them, well- talk to them,” it felt like introducing him to his family, ones that cared. Tomas let out a dramatic moan of nostalgia at the description, “cheese, bread, ham, France’s finest– and champagne? You’re spoiling us, Jun.” And they’d know his favourite, “that sounds like heaven..” Tomas paused giving him a brimming look of appreciation, it practically was heaven with Juno there, all he could ever want for a birthday celebration. He started to dig in, slicing a piece off with the yolk running and raising the fork to Juno’s lips, “geez, how much did this all cost?” He really didn’t want Juno splurging too much just on him, and Prometheus tracks a record of their spending.

“Okay, okay. I’ll keep a handle on myself, just for you.” Juno returned the soft smile; as much as he wanted to tell the paps where they could shove it, he knew causing a scene would make being in a newly-public relationship even more stressful for Tomas. Besides, he honestly didn’t have enough energy to cause a scene on their day of birthday celebrations. He couldn’t help taking advantage of Tomas dropping his head to kiss his neck, with a soft giggle. “Oh, only something about grating your finger instead of some parmesan. I’m sure there were more, but I didn’t ask.” More kisses, soft and sleepy as he nuzzled into Tomas’ neck. It was a place to take refuge as the nostalgia and fear washed over him, the warmth of the desert, the image of that day burnt into his mind. Coming home to find police cars parked outside their house, a hole being dug in the back yard; it made his stomach flip, arms slipping around Tomas for shelter. “Thank you,” he murmured, finally looking up. It would take time, but the desert still called to him.

“If you say so.” A soft tease, when pretty much the only time Juno enjoyed food was when Tomas spoilt him with some home cooking. Though home cooking hardly did it justice, when it had been learnt in a professional kitchen. The French passed him by, but he couldn’t help giggling, snatching another kiss through a grin. “One day, we can go to Paris. Then you can properly introduce me.” It was another tease, but also a promise: they wouldn’t be stuck here forever. One day, they’d be free. “Well, that is the idea, kitten.” Just the look of happiness on Tomas’ face was enough to flood Juno’s chest with a rush of warmth, of love. Nurturing that gorgeous smile was why he was even doing this in the first place, wanting to let Tomas know that he mattered. That Juno loved him so much it hurt sometimes, especially when he thought of how he’d messed up Tomas’ actual birthday. “Not as much as I thought, actually,” he said before he accepted the egg, taking a moment to savour the combination of flavours. “God, that’s actually really good -- and I don’t care about the cost, you know. It’s your birthday. And I’d rather run up a huge bill in Prometheus’ name spoiling you than doing anything else.” At first spending money had always left a knee-jerk reaction of anxiety, remembering when money barely stretched to cover necessities -- but now it was more of a subtle fuck you to Prometheus. “Do you like it?”

“Don’t hit them with your cane,” a laughter bubbled away the initial worries, the online world had been relentless enough, and at least Tomas could simply turn off his phone for that. They couldn’t exactly turn of the paps probably waiting outside. But he returned the squeeze, a small thank you, Juno simply had the guts the ward them off that Tomas did not, everything would’ve just been too overwhelming if it wasn’t for him. And perhaps coming out themselves would end all the talks and leave them alone. “Oh– right, because of this,” Tomas lightly tapped the precious book, “Raphael would absolutely regale them all. He didn’t say anything too bad, did he?” He had the memory bank of an encyclopedia, the embarrassing stories of their chefs over some post-service drinks always made the fresh faces less afraid. He dropped his playful tone into something akin to a soft murmur, thumb grazing over his cheek, “it’s okay to be scared.. I’d probably be scared as hell too.” And Tomas was just a textbook definitely of running away from your problems. But he continued, leaving a light peck to the tip of his nose, “but if you want to go, you can, and- you don’t have to do it alone, I’ll be right there with you, –if you like?” Tomas wouldn’t want him to have to through all of that alone, much rather holding his hand for it, if only to start making up for every other time Tomas couldn’t have been there for him before they met.

“I mean– compared to an american meal..” Tomas stumped with a smile, he’s technically not very wrong, but still healthier, “as the saying goes it’s always better with butter.” And it was the philosophy he’s grown up on, nothing could beat the king ingredient. Except the happiness he felt so full with, and the happiness brimming from Juno’s face. He was certain there wasn’t a dessert he could make sweeter than that. He caught the kiss midway, turning to properly return it, “mhm all your deepest darkest.” Tomas wasn’t even sure this whole huge charade slipped past his nose, never really noticing a single thing. “Oh– Romuald? I wouldn’t think so too but I guess if they were doing the book, he was the guy to go all in or go home..” Tomas chuckled, squeezing his arms into a tight embrace before letting go, finally sitting down as the smell of the breakfast wafted over to remind them they existed, “oooh tell me there’s cheese, or fruit.” Or even just herbs, or salt, Tomas was a simple man to please.

“I’m not making any promises, love.” The confrontation with Sebastian was still fresh in Juno’s mind, the shame of not being able to protect Tomas, or even take revenge -- but the paps weren’t Sebastian Steele. They didn’t have guns, and besides, the spot he’d picked was secluded enough that they could hopefully enjoy their meal in peace. Just the return of his squeeze was enough to settle the anxious thoughts that he wasn’t good enough for Tomas, couldn’t even keep him safe. They could keep each other safe, make each other happy -- he shot Tomas a playful wink, teasing him with the possibility. “Nothing horribly embarrassing, no. Though my standard for that might be different from yours.” He could hear the stupidest stories about Tomas and still see him as bordering on divine -- if he needed proof, it was there in the brushing of that thumb against his cheek. Juno released a soft sigh, thinking of all the things he missed: the theatre company, the kind of heat LA couldn’t compete with, the horses. The peace, everyone knowing each other. Was losing all that forever really worth avoiding one mistake his momma had made? Deep down, he knew it wasn’t -- but that thought had to sit with his fear, of finding everything so different from how he remembered it. Different and ruined. “I -- I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Another shameful admission. “But thank you.”

Pushing the melancholy away, Juno returned the grin. “I mean, you’re not wrong, technically -- why is it that all the best food is so bad for us?” At least he didn’t eat enough to have to consider watching his figure -- and this was a day of indulgence, a chance for them to cut loose from the stress of ordinary life. A chance to make Tomas happy; Juno leant into the kiss, even at an odd angle, desperate to savour every second of the day. Birthdays only came once a year, after all. “Well, I’ll start with how much I love you --” He giggled, it wasn’t like that was anything but glaringly obvious. “Actually, that’s exactly what he said. If we’re doing it, we’re really doing it.” Juno hadn’t cared about the cost, only wanting to give Tomas some familiarity far, far away from Paris. “Mmm, there’s loads of cheese, some grapes -- lots of bread as well, I didn’t know France had so many different kinds of bread, and some ham -- oh, and champagne, of course.” With a few little treats sprinkled here and there, things the kitchen had made -- palmiers, of course. “How does that sound?”

tomas-visser​:

claudia.

“no—definitely not.” and she can feel herself want to smile, to feel some break in the normalcy of his answer, the joke in her response. but she doesn’t allow herself the relief just yet. not when its clear that the battle is only half over. the conversation certainly wasn’t finished. she didn’t know tomas or juno well enough to invite them anywhere of her own accord—but his statement is taken as fact until proven otherwise. she wasn’t sure that it as something but if he was keen on making some version of a birthday dinner, even after the explosion it provided. then she would follow suit, she always did. 

at least they always had work to get back to, that the situation that’s stutter-stopped all productivity on set was not forever. they would move on. her gaze trailed back to here the other two men were still talking in the corner. “okay.” she says finally, holding eye contact for an extra beat, a meaningful moment for only him. “i can watch one of them. i need a hand anyways.” as if she didn’t have an entire crew working under her direction, just offering an excuse for whoever might need it. because she couldn’t really get involved in whatever whispered conversation was happening, and she didn’t talk down panic attacks. “but try to avoid dragging.” there was nothing else for her to say, she turned towards the set. she turned towards stringing together the veneer they all needed to keep, it was what she often did. 

Of course Juno came looking for him, Juno always did. And yet he felt an immense amount of relief seeing him. “Careful,” Tomas voiced cracked at the soft nag, a hand reaching to brush over his bad knee, even now always cautious of his leg, watching Juno kneel down. He licked his cracks lips the moment Juno reached up to it, the taste of copper falling on his tongue, only then the realisation settled on how hard it he bit down on it. But even a brush and kiss was enough to calm the trembling of it, Juno just had that way with him.

Tomas instinctively pulled away from the corner walls he was so desperately trying to disappear into and leaned into Juno instead. He had to put the cake down on his lap to hold onto Juno, nodding towards everything he said, in the smallest of victories, finding himself contradicting so much less to those words. “Okay– okay..” was he hyperventilating? Maybe he was, but the warmth that could only come from his touch was starting to melt in and soothe the shaking under the skin, hand holding tightly to his like it was the only thing holding him from dropping too far deep into the abyss of his mind, “okay..” closing his eyes and simply leaning onto him to hear those breathes, counting them in his head.

The moment he could find some ounce of clarity, his blues finally looked up to face those browns, “I know you care. I know- you literally care more than anyone else.” He needed to say it, to make sure Juno knows he was doing more than enough, never wanting him to ever feel like he wasn’t ever again. “I’m– okay, dank je..” enough air was filling his lungs as he managed a deep breath in, and out. “I shouldn’t have yelled.. that wasn’t professional, they’re mad too, aren’t they?” Tomas mumbled as he slumped into Juno’s hold, face burying into the crook of his neck.

If only it could be said that he had second thoughts about the heated conversation, ways of how it could have been avoided sketched in his mind, but that was not the case. There was a glance thrown to the pair, brief, enough to see that Tomas was being calmed by Juno before leaving it at that. He looked away from them, a shred of privacy thrown to them as turned back to Claudia. Her joking tone was taken with a roll of the eyes, but taken nonetheless before he was able to hold her gaze.

“No. They don’t need to be watched. What are you watching for? For there to be a knife pulled out?” he asked with a wave of the hand before pulling apart the ladder she needed, making sure it was balanced, forcing a shake against it to test its levelness until he was satisfied. “Avoid does not mean don’t,” he went on, as if finding a loophole to her best wishes. One hand on the ladder, the other gesturing for her to climb up on it. “You both have ten minutes.”

“When am I not careful?” Juno managed a soft, reassuring smile, knowing the answer to that question was basically never, unless it involved Tomas or the cats. Even now, he he hadn’t been careful enough --  but he could remedy that, reaching up to cup Tomas’ cheek, a thumb brushing over his temple. He hardly trusted himself to put his feelings into words, but that simple, repetitive movement spoke volumes: I love you so much, and I’m sorry.

Feeling Tomas lean into him, Juno was overwhelmingly grateful; just that small movement meant he was trusted, his love was accepted. Carefully moving the cake to the floor, he shuffled into Tomas’ lap, all the better to pull him close, feel that rapid heartbeat stuttering in his chest -- Juno’s own heart clenched, knowing he was the cause of that, but accepting that now wasn’t the time for guilt. Guilt paralysed, made it impossible for him to do what was needed, so he shoved it aside, rubbing Tomas’ back instead. “That’s it,” he murmured, keeping the rhythm of his own breaths steady. It was more a grounding exercise than anything else, guiding Tomas back to reality, away from the anxiety-coloured world that made everything louder, brighter, more overwhelming. “Well done.” A gentle kiss pressed into Tomas’ neck, a reminder that he’d always be safe with Juno.

“That’s right.” He couldn’t help but smile, seeing Tomas calm down a little. “I care, I love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” That guilt could be dealt with later, but Juno had to make sure Tomas knew. “You’re welcome --” It was almost a whisper, accompanied by his hand finding his love’s to give it a reassuring squeeze. When Tomas slumped against him, Juno simply readjusted to support him better, hand returning to rub his back, leaning down to kiss his temple. “No, they’re not mad.” Even if they were, he wouldn’t let them take it out on Tomas. That wasn’t professional. “Honestly, I think Julian’s proud of you for speaking your mind.” A guess, or a lie, but even the director couldn’t have a heart of stone. “They do care about you, you know? They just have trouble showing it sometimes.”

“You?–Why you?” he questioned, cutting to the core of the argument, why Juno should take all the blame as though only he had the key to right the wrongs of the world. Usual bluntness in its phrasing, though; even in a moment of reassurance, it couldn’t come out anything less than accusatory in some fashion. The eyes flickered back to his leg, a gesture given to it from the movement before returning to the eyes. “Is that why?”

Julian never had his ear open to rumors. People would talk in a language built on bullshit. It was hard enough to filter through Prometheus’ version of it, much less the swirling speculation of everyone else, but there were facts that could not be ignored. A crash off of a bridge was one of them.

His head tipped up slightly out of instinct, a type of distance given from the outpouring, a way to become immune to it in theory. The director was never one to respond to crying well, but the head slowly lowered back, a tightness to the expression and chest alike with lips forming a downward curve.

“Stop,” he spoke finally, before he came to stand in front of him, looking down at him with a silent release of breath. “Is this what he wanted? For you to cry?–He is gone. He will not come back. One day? So will we. For now? What will we do to make it count?”

Juno swallowed; he’d said too much, but realised only too late, scrambling for an excuse. “We were -- we were close.” As if Julian didn’t know that already: Jess was painfully open about everything other than himself, the one thing that really mattered. Julian’s questions felt like barbs, probing deep into a part of Juno that was still agonisingly raw -- for a moment, he thought the nod to his leg was implying that, yet again, he was too weak to save someone he loved.

Which was true, but not the truth. “What do you mean?” Playing dumb was the last defence he had left, the only one his mind could think of before it cracked under the weight of grief. One choked sob splintering into smaller, silent ones, shoulders heaving as he tried to regain control of himself. It was a losing battle, even with Julian’s words hammering the shame home -- Jess was gone, and all Juno had was the gap he left in his life.

Julian was right, though; the letter tucked into the tapes had been a tear-stained plea not to mourn too deeply. At last, Juno was able to strangle his grief, pushing it aside to face Julian. “I don’t know, we -- we keep his memory alive.” Even that felt almost traitorous to say, finally admitting the loss. “We make sure everyone knows why he died.” Make sure Prometheus never forgets whose blood they have on their hands.

“I think getting drunk at a picnic for our birthdays sounds perfect,” while he wasn’t the biggest drinker, he appreciated a glass - or bottle - to wind down and they haven’t done that in a long time since getting caught up with filming. “Though let’s not let the paps catch us doing that,” a nervous chuckle escaped Tomas, stressing over the sudden spotlight shone on them that had been kept a secret from the public, all within one video from Ade. They could literally spin whatever they wanted with whatever they could get. “Oh my head pastry chef would say otherwise if you spoke to him,” Tomas made too many mistakes in the kitchen, but boy has he learnt so much, only because Raphael gave him that chance. Yet a homely kitchen in Alabama was nothing like a French restaurant kitchen at service, and a part of Tomas might actually like that better. He immediately noticed the falter after his suggestion, reaching over a hand to cup Juno’s cheek, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” tilting his head down to catch the gaze with a soft understanding smile, “sorry to bring it up..” Juno just seemed to speak so fondly of bama that Tomas forgets sometimes, how messy it kinda was.

Tomas couldn’t hold back a laugh “no liefje, um– it’s the techniques the french use, a lot of butter, eggs, wine,” with the Hollandaise the culmination origin of France and the Netherlands, he couldn’t screw that up. But firstly those eggs were perfectly cooked, and there was more pride in that knowing his love made it. He gave Carrie a scratch behind her ear, listening to Juno finally give in to the secret, smile brimming from ear to ear, “oh- jun, from Maison– shut up, how did you..” it dawned on Tomas as he walked over to the fridge and pulled it open to show it, “is this why the fridge is so stocked up?” This still wasn’t Tomas’ kitchen, so he didn’t really question it even as he tried to fit in the cake he made for today. It was an overwhelming feeling that flooded him, with the thoughts of how much effort Juno was putting into all of this for him, how much Juno actually listened to him. He came back over to wrap his arms around Juno from behind, murmuring into the nape of his neck, “I don’t deserve you, thank you.. but– also, how did you pull- all of this off?”

“Mmm, doesn’t it just.” Finally, a chance to truly wind down together, other than collapsing on the couch together after long days of filming; champagne from actual Champagne would be the glace cherry on the top of a very delicious cake. “Don’t worry, I’ll fend them off.” Juno squeezed Tomas’ hand, reassurance that he wouldn’t let anything ruin their special day, even the most persistent paps -- he couldn’t help a touch of resentment that Ade had ruined their planned announcement, but he could put aside his dislike of Tomas’ family for one day, at least. “Oh, I have spoken to him,” A little part of his masterplan spoilt, but it was going to come out eventually. “He laid off the embarrassing stories, though.” Stories; his mind drifted back to ‘Bama, back to his momma, the red deserts and the impossibly blue sky. It made his heart ache with longing -- but at the same time it made him feel sick, terrified of having to go back and face how everything had shattered. “I -- I kind of do,” Juno sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he leant into Tomas’ touch. “But -- I’m scared.” The admission came out barely more than a whisper, somehow still worried Tomas would think less of him for not being able to face his home.

The sadness faded away, though, replaced by a soft giggle -- “Oh, so basically still fancy? Or just bad for your blood pressure?” Not that Juno was complaining, eager to dig into their breakfast -- but more eager to see Tomas’ reaction to the secret finally being revealed. That beautiful smile was worth every late night of emailing, coordinating timezones and flights; worth the anxiety of initially reaching out, worth everything. It made Juno grin as well, that stupid, loving grin that made his face hurt with the weight of how much he adored Tomas. “Yeah.. maybe.” Guilty as charged, each package carefully wrapped to conceal its contents. The implication that the fridge was usually woefully understocked was pushed aside with a small grin; his attention was completely focused on Tomas, glad he could finally make his love as happy as he deserved to be on his birthday. Juno squirmed at the feeling of breath on his neck, snuggling back into the embrace. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, turning his head so he could press a quick kiss to Tomas’ cheek. “Oh, you want me to spill my secrets, do you?” He pretended to toy it over, caving quickly. “Just for you, kitten -- I emailed the head chef and asked him what he’d be able to put together. If I’m honest, I didn’t even expect him to say yes.”

That sounded familiar. Words that were only repeated in Julian’s head, never expressed aloud for anyone to hear. Reina. Luis. Jess. The many actors and actresses that slipped through the cracks that points alone could not save. In return, the face looked unaffected, carved from stone with eyes gazing at him, barely cracking the surface of emotional cement. If his friend’s last words hadn’t been so clearly outlined to him, if they had omitted the amount of pain life gave to him no matter what, the situation would be different. “You could have. I could have. And then what? For what? To keep him prisoner?”

Juno’s eyes were met easily, a hint of scrutiny to them at the sentiment given, apologies never setting well with him. “Someone had to. If not me? Someone else.” He would rather be him than Claudia, than Tomas, even Juno. He could handle the weight of it, carry it for as long as it needed to be. Suffering was never thought of, not his own, pausing to think of Jess’ when he found him, how it looked as though he had simply drifted off. His head shook before he spoke, slow and sure. “No.” Not soft, direct, but reassuring if only in its truthfulness. “He looked asleep.”

Juno couldn’t help thinking, what if things had gone differently. What if he’d managed to pull Jess back from the brink, found him someone to talk to -- the Boy Venus set would’ve been the same as ever, Jess would already be working on something else, they’d still get drunk together over black-and-white horror movies and try to act out Jess’ latest ideas. “I don’t know, to help him. If I even could -- I mean, of all people, I should be able to --” He was rambling now, the words slipping out before he could catch them. Half the truth, at least: he’d found himself on the same threshold of life and death, and he’d managed to claw his way back. “But I guess sometimes you just can’t make people stay.”

He swallowed, trying to fight back tears. Even if he said that, he couldn’t believe it -- there had to have been a way to save Jess, just like Juno had been saved by luck. 

Somehow Julian’s soft explanation was what pushed Juno over the edge, tearing a choked sob from him. “God, sorry --” trying to regain control of himself only made it worse, the aching grief overwhelming him. “It just -- it just hit me. He’s really gone.”

“What, in front of an open flame fire hazard? I take my kitchen safety very seriously,” Tomas tried to keep a deadpan face but much rather gave in to the honeyed sweetness of it all. “Mm, absolutely, there’s no one else I rather be drunk with,” and he just felt absolutely safe with Juno, knowing he’s made enough dumb mistakes being drunk. It often opened up a lid that should really stay closed, but he knew, Juno would still love him anyways. “I’d try not to let her down,” it got Tomas thinking, maybe it was time he tried to read up and learn more about it, expand his cuisine and make Juno the happiest man he could with his cooking and do it justice. “Jun, that sounds painful,” just the image itself did seem really funny. But he could see the melancholy in his smile, the longing for a past that was once good, he understood that entirely. “Would you want to go back? To visit?” Tomas hesitated before he asked, maybe to see his theatre friends, visit his mother- “I bet.. we could convince them to grant us to go out of state, plus when it’s during the down time after this season.” He put it out there though he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or if Juno even wanted to. Paris or the Netherlands was way too far, but Alabama seemed reachable. 

“No pressure there,” he joked, “this is the recipe we used in the kitchen, so it might be a bit more French.” He knew it like the back of his hand, doing more than enough brunch services and poaching too many eggs to count. “But we’d still have to talk after the movie, that’s nerve wracking,” Tomas pointed up, wagging a finger in the air, with a beauty like Juno, he wouldn’t be able to utter a word. He had to remind himself his hands were both full as Juno pulled him down for a kiss, eagerly returning it with only one sentiment, I’m proud of you, the words were whispered in between lips, before letting Juno take the plates. Tomas brought the hollandaise sauce and chopped scallions to pour over as the plates settled on the table some of the cats already perching on the chair just to take a peek. “I’d love to start learning again from you, but right now, too sleepy, too hungry, and don’t we have a whole picnic planned?” Whatever Juno had planned for it that is.

Juno giggled, looping his arms around Tomas’ shoulders. To be fair, picking him up in the middle of the kitchen was probably a safety hazard -- not to mention the cats might get jealous. “I think we should at least wait ‘til the picnic. Day drinking’s marginally more acceptable when it’s after midday.” Then they’d get to enjoy the champagne, another part of his carefully-constructed scheme to get some familiar French food to LA. “I don’t think you’re able to let anyone down in the kitchen, love.” He could just picture it, his momma making Tomas wear one of her floral aprons -- it was almost a punch to the chest to realise that could never happen. Their house wasn’t even theirs anymore; that old kitchen, with the oven that reliably burnt everything unless you watched it like a hawk, had probably long been ripped out by another family, replaced with something more modern. “Um --” he faltered, almost ashamed to admit that, as much as he was desperate to return, he couldn’t face his momma. Couldn’t tell her he’d been deliberately avoiding her, he’d only taken the contract to get away -- even just going back to visit would be a reminder. “Yeah, I guess.” It came out small, hesitant; Juno didn’t want to seem callous, but frankly the thought of going back terrified him.

He came back to reality slowly, reminding himself that he wasn’t quite there yet. They were still in the kitchen, still hopelessly in love. “How does something taste French?” He asked, scooping Carrie off the table. “Is that just code for fancy?” He was going to say he didn’t care if Tomas never said a word, how couldn’t he love him, but the kiss took precedence, warmth flooding through him at just those few words of praise and reassurance. “Oh, yeah, the picnic.” Juno was blushing all over again as he sat down, this time from excitement. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but -- I guess I’d better tell you now. Those waffles aren’t the only Parisien food that got sent over.” Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting so much, but the restaurant had really outdone themselves. “Our picnic is courtesy of Maison Loulou, with a little bit of help from me.”

The question pushed for a shrug from him, given freely and without any definitive answer. What did Julian know about seeing eye-to-eye with anyone? If it didn’t involve yelling or cracking a knuckle or two against a bone, it was the closest he could come to saying they were at peace, especially in moments like this. It was becoming a theme with them; Julian always catching Juno at a vulnerable point, if the voice was any indicator, always attention to detail, that director code of seeking perfection from them to create the full picture.

“You were not the only one to try,” he spoke, voice the more resilient one in spite of memories, knowing the sentiment was shared. Too distracted by his own struggles to reach back and grab Jess away from the brink in the end. He could have always done more. “What could you have done? Chained him from himself? For you to be the one to find him? And not me?–You would not think of him any other way.”

“I know, I know, but -- I should’ve tried harder.” He, of all people, knew what it was like to drag himself back from the brink of death -- but that had been pure, animal terror, shoving him away from what had once seemed so alluring. That had been Tomas, giving him a reason to keep going, until suddenly he didn’t hear death’s siren song so often. Jess didn’t have someone like that; though Juno still felt a flicker of his old feelings, it would never be the same. The only small mercy was that he hadn’t been the one to find Jess. 

Juno’s gaze drifted back to the memorial, a fresh bolt of grief stabbing through him. Looking at it only made him see Jess alive, bright, brilliant Jess, rambling excitedly about a new project. Oh, Junebug, This is the one, I swear. This is going to be better than all the others. Even that was gone -- every time Juno forgot, the realisation hit all over again. Jess was gone, for good. 

“I’m sorry you found him,” he murmured, glancing up at Julian. He’d once thought the only emotion the director could express was anger, but that clearly wasn’t true. “I know it was an overdose, but -- was it bad?” Then, softer, more hesitant: “Did he suffer?”

There was no humor that flashed across Julian’s face at the response, and neither was it said with any levity to inadvertently cause it. He had been playing with the idea of death for so long, a similar feeling a young boy has when he plays with a box of matches, striking one and another and another just to have the sense that a single action could put an end to everything around him. Unfortunately, in the end, the fire lingered too close, spilling over into his veins to shove him past the precipice. Everything else remained the same, just a little more scorched than before.

Vaguely, the eyes shifted down, what could have been excused as a nod of agreement for him. It did sound like him. “Are we getting along? Because we aren’t yelling?” he asked, genuine in its undercurrent. “We know the trade isn’t worth it.” With the words, it would have taken one change in tone to have him start a fight, but the impetus was lacking. Even with company to blame. “If it meant he would be back? We would fight everyday.”

He turned away from the spot of the memorial, stepping towards the actor, solemn and somehow attempting assurance at the same time–an expression that surely failed to translate well. Something about the way Juno phrased the suicide struck a cord, maybe especially when it was phrased in Jess’ own way with words, the plea to resurrect him remembered. “Prometheus carved him out. Without them? He wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t know, are we?” Juno wouldn’t call this getting along, more the strained civility that came from sharing a loss, Jess found their little spats funny; all he did when Juno complained about Julian was laugh, pull him into a hug and tell him to stop being so petty. Now Jess was gone. Everything they used to have, gone, everything they’d made each other, gone, and Julian was right, even if his words made the emptiness in Juno’s chest feel all the more acute. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out, voice cracking slightly. “I’d do -- almost anything to get him back.”

There had been a time when they’d toyed with leaving together -- when they’d been teetering on the edge of something different, something that had fizzled away, but nevertheless made them closer than ever. Juno couldn’t leave anymore, tethered by Tomas, but God if he didn’t know what it felt like to have every part of your soul excised by Prometheus. “I know.” It was small and pathetic, speaking more of his own struggles than Jess’; he didn’t even have the bite to resent Julian coming closer. “I should’ve -- I keep thinking I should’ve stopped it, though. I could’ve helped him.” Of course, he’d tried, but that was never enough. He was never enough for anyone.