Juno initially goes tense at the hands on his shoulders, more out of confusion than anything. He could barely get Nureyev to stand in the same room with him before, and now… here they are. He’s touching him, using those little endearments that Juno likes more than he’d ever admit, and it feels almost like it’s okay. Like they’re okay.

“I’m happier to see you than I should be,” he admits, that new tension easing out of him slowly. “And I’ll try to explain it, but honestly? I’ve been here a month and I still don’t believe it some days.” He looks down at the hand on his shoulder and, for a moment, considers resting his own over it. He thinks about telling Nureyev how much he’s missed him too—not just here on the island, but the whole time they’ve been apart.

But the man is still soaking wet, and Juno knows from experience how awful dried saltwater is on your skin and clothes. It isn’t the time or place for any of the conversations they need to have. So he lets the hand he’d raised halfway to Nureyev’s drop, and he looks back up at him with that same mix of longing-fear-disbelief as before.

“Come on." He steps back slowly, fighting every instinct willing him closer. "It's not that far."