{Jon}

Kurt gave Jon a little shove off his lap and a pat on the butt. "Time for me to head out for my party. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Grief was a little stone in Jon's belly, sharp and hard; his shoulder was aching again and his skin felt tight. He started running water into the sink to do the pile of dishes from the previous days, shaking his head. "I'm good for some introvert time--go have fun, Kurt."

Kurt hesitated, playing with a tangerine pinkie nail. "On a scale of one-to-ten...how's your imaginary broken rib pain?"

Jon sighed, easing his shoulder. "Six," he admitted.

"Need to cut?" Kurt asked.

Jon glanced up, his cold hands buried in the warm soapy water. Seven point nine. "Not zero."

"I could just stay home," Kurt said. "I have a good book."

Jon met his eyes, smiling with half his mouth. "I don't need you to babysit me, Kurt; I'm just being honest. I'll clean our house and do the laundry and then you'll be home. Go be the not-boring partner and come home with stories."

"'Kay," Kurt said softly, and wrapped his arms around Jon for a moment, leaning his scruffy cheek against his. "Don't forget about me."

Jon's mouth curved into a full smile. "Not a chance."

Back-to-back days packed with school and work had left a mountain of pots and pans beside the sink, not to mention take-out coffee mugs and discarded items of clothing heaped along the edges of every room. After Kurt and Cary left, Jon finished the dishes then jogged upstairs to clean his room, humming to himself as he stripped the bed to put on a clean pair of sheets.

It had been weeks since he'd slept in this bed and, if Kurt was moving into his room permanently, Jon wanted everything to be fresh and beautiful. As he shook out a fitted sheet and stretched it over the cloud of his mattress, he thought of Kurt's old pull-out bed in the garage hang-out space where his partner had spent most of his teen years avoiding his family.

Teen-aged Kurt's favourite thing had been to collect full-length concerts on DVD and show them to Jon, stretched out side by side on his rumpled pull-out. He'd been a cuddler even then, casually slinging one long leg over Jon's and leaning his shoulder up close so Jon couldn't follow the music at all.

For whole hours his senses were full of the warmth and smell of Kurt's body and the other boy's animated commentary. Kurt's fingers would chord along to the music and sometimes—Jon's favourite times—he would close his eyes and sing.

Smoothing the top sheet, Jon laughed softly to himself at the memory. What a torment it had been to have Kurt as a friend then, when he'd desperately wanted to turn his head and just kiss him already—and he'd desperately wanted to say nothing that would give him away, sure it would end their friendship forever. It was oddly soothing to know now that Kurt had felt the exact same.

Jon heaved his duvet back over the fresh sheets, climbing onto the bed to smooth it out, and then flopping on his back, rubbing his knuckles against the ache in his shoulder. He was trying to put his finger on the moment that crush had turned into a full-blown love affair. Had it happened all at once, or a little at a time?

Tonight those memories felt very close: Kurt's lanky, unfinished body beside him, the flash of Kurt's mischievous blue eyes catching his, all the words tucked, unspoken, in the corner of Kurt's unkissed mouth.

Kurt before.

Jon's face stung unexpectedly, like he'd been slapped. Taking a sharp breath, he squeezed his eyes shut tight. He couldn't duck aside from the next thought, the teenager he loved in the hands of someone drunk who didn't look in Kurt's wide blue eyes while they used him, or care what condition his beautiful body was in when they were done.

Making a choked, wordless sound, Jon curled around the hurt of that in the middle of his bed. All the tears he hadn't cried in front of Kurt pressed hot against the inside of his face and he buried his head in his arms to finally let them out.

He'd thought of Kurt a thousand times over those years, but teen-aged Jon White barely knew how to love himself, let alone be there for a boyfriend. As much as Jon might wish now that he could put his body between Kurt and every man who'd hurt and used him, there were no do-overs. Jon's body shook with sobs while his heart took the beating of all the shitty years Kurt had lived through to see the other side.

When that wave of grief dragged through his body and passed on, Jon washed his face and went out to finish cleaning their house. He really couldn't fathom how the affectionate teenager he'd crushed on had become the generous, expressive man he was so completely in love with now, but he couldn't have been more proud that Kurt was his partner. The least he could do was pick up his own socks and put in some laundry.

866 words.

*This private moment felt like it needed it's own beat, it's own little chapter. Yes? Or tag it onto the last chapter?*