#because jonpeter is my absolute otp

“Isn’t it nice,” Peter says, “to have nothing to lose?”

When he runs his thumb down the side of Jon’s cheek, Jon arches into it, seeking even the memory of warmth. Jon closes his eyes and his face is drawn and pallid like the moon. Peter thinks he could chart his course by it, be guided out to sea as sure as the north star. Dangerous.

“Isn’t it nice to be already dead?”

Jon makes a soft sound of agreement, a broken whine, like a child who cannot bear the weight of words. He wears emotions like a live wire. They hurt him as much as they hurt Peter. Peter winds his fingers through the soft, dark tangle of Jon’s hair and doesn’t let go.

“Just think,” Peter says, “Just think how painful this would be if you loved me.”

“What would it be like if I loved you?” Jon asks, opening his eyes and looking up at Peter. Jon’s eyes have always reminded Peter of a calm sea at night. The kind of endless black that tricks the eye into assuming it is flat. Tricks a sailor into assuming it is harmless. Jon reaches up and brushes the tips of his fingers against the corner of Peter’s mouth like he is discovering something entirely new.

“If you wear your heart on your sleeve,” Peter says, “It will eventually lose its balance and shatter on the ground.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Jon answers, pulling himself up and into the expanse of Peter’s chest. “I wouldn’t mind losing my heart. Then we’d match.”

Peter chuckles, his breath ruffling through Jon’s hair as he settles himself pointedly like a burden in Peter’s lap. A sure weight, that will drag him down. Dangerous.

“I suppose so,” Peter agrees. He presses his lips as he speaks to the top of Jon’s head and it reminds them both of a kiss. “And wouldn’t it be nice to have nothing left to lose.”