Another day, another offer for a case. I called it outright suicidal and took it. Now, I was wondering what to do with my last thirty hours. Rita decided for me. Find Peter Nureyev and have the night of my life.

I asked Rita to track him down. He was probably cruising the galaxy in some hand-me-down out he wasn't. According to Rita's computer, Nureyev was right here, in Hyperion City. Didn't know whether to feel happy or angry. I didn't think about the situation any longer. I only had thirty hours left to live and I intended to waste none of them on thinking. I left the office to the sound of Rita yelling at me. Already, I kind of missed it.

Took me half a minute to find a taxi; took me four times as long to get it to actually go anywhere. The chauffeur was about as dense as a neutron star. That I had my gun pointed at them probably didn't help either. The drive to where Nureyev was allegedly staying didn't take as long as I had expected. What one couldn't achieve with some encouraging and mildly threatening words.

I arrived at the hotel like I always do: anxious and silent. According to Rita, Nureyev was staying on the first floor, room facing the next building. Room that low and out of sight, it was hard not to wonder whether he knew I was coming. I walked into the alleyway like I owned the place. I'm sure the vermin was impressed.

The clock's smaller hand performed a balancing act on the 12 as I tried to force the window of his room open. Didn't work. The hand had to keep balancing a little longer. I pulled a stray paperclip out of my coat and forged it into a makeshift lockpick. Just as the hand fell off the 12, I slid the window open and hoisted myself up over the windowsill.

It wasn't hard to figure out where the bedroom was. Just ignore all the untouched rooms and find the busy one. I didn't try to hide my presence at all, so it surprised me to see him startled by my appearance. Now that I think about it, the giant bruise on the side of my face might've done it.

"Juno! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"No time to explain. I'm a dead girl walking and I'm all yours tonight."

"Juno, I-"

He didn't say more than that. Didn't need to. His face said enough. The image of the sheets slowly undraping off of him was enough to make me want to pin him against the wall like a work of art and take him right there. Just like me to leave behind the only good work of art in Hyperion City.

Before I knew it, his velvet-soft lips had found their way onto mine as they had done before. His slender hands crept in between my shirt and my coat, slowly pushing the latter off my shoulders. I heard the dull thump as it fell on the ground. Or, was that my heart? Hell if I knew.

Nureyev's hands were like snakes, but warmer and gentler. They stripped me of my clothes and my worries. They meandered over my bare back, crossing over scars and bruises.

It was the kind of night movies and songs spoke about. I never thought I'd experience such a night, but tonight, it was hard to believe I wasn't in a song or a movie. It all felt surreal, yet, incredibly vivid. The quiet murmuring of the radio, the cold Martian breeze coming in through the window, the subtle scent of his cologne.

I pushed him against the wall. Had I pushed him any further to the right, the bedside cabinet would've taken out his knee. Why was that thing so tall anyway?

"Oh. Oh, Juno! I- " My tongue cut him off.
"No more talking," I said. My eyes were locked with his, both eager to break said lock. "I'll be dead in about thirty hours. Unless you're going to ask me to marry you, I don't wanna hear it."
That smile again. So sly I'm sure even a fox would be jealous of it.
"Maybe I will, Juno."

And just like that we were on each other again. I inched towards the bed, which is surprisingly hard if you can't see where you're going. I wished I had the time to have a strong word with the designer of that nightstand.

I fell down on the bed and rolled over. I'm not sure Nureyev was used to being on the bottom. His hair was a mess; it was actually pretty hot. Instead of one rebellious lock of hair, he had tens.

"Take me." His voice was as soft as a mouse, but it wasn't begging; it was commanding. The old me wouldn't have taken a command, but the new me? Hell, there's nothing he'd rather do.

I woke up with Nureyev half on top of me; his arm draped over my shoulder. I tried to recall last night's events.

My penis told me we'd fucked. Not something I needed to be reminded of but still, it's nice to have confirmation.

I remember being surprised at how easily he came, at how exhausted he looked after a couple of rounds. I don't know. I guess I expected a guy like him to be able to go all day all night.

I stared at the clock on the wall. Took me ages to figure out what it said. 8:39. Tomorrow, I'd be dead. A strange thought, but not worrying. I guess after losing an eye, losing a bit more didn't worry me anymore.

I felt bad for Nureyev. I felt like I was using him. I was. Today was the last time he'd see me. The last time I'd see him. Suddenly, I wasn't sure anymore if I felt bad for him, or for me.

Gently shoving him off of me, I stood up to make some coffee. The bed complained loudly as I did, complete with the sound of one of the boards falling from underneath it. Let's hope the cleaning lady wouldn't notice.

The grinding of the beans was so loud, I didn't even hear him sneaking up on me.

"Good morning, Juno," he said, his voice alluring as ever.
"Hello, Nureyev," I replied. My voice was hoarse. I felt surprised his wasn't.
"Last night was nice." I could almost hear his eyes sparkling.
I decided not to reply. It seemed wrong, somehow. He knew I was going to die, but yet he seemed carefree.

It wasn't until the next day that I knew why.