{Kurt}

Kurt kept Jon in arms' reach all day, sensing a huge swell of sadness under his partner's unruffled surface. A touch on Jon's freckled hand, a brush of his flannel-shirted shoulders, a swift, soft glance, reassured Kurt that Jon was staying with him today in spite of the loss he was carrying.

Pete greeted them at the door of the White family homestead. Jon's dad was more jolly than Kurt had ever seen him--eyes crinkling in his broad grin at their arrival, hugging Kurt firmly and clapping his shoulders.

"Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas," Pete said. "We have coffee and apple streusel cake and seven Festive Specials coming from Swiss Chalet for lunch."

"No one wants to eat turkey after I've roasted it to death," Mel said, laughing. She put her hands out to Jon first, folding him into a hug that lasted longer than Kurt expected. Jon kissed her cheek, touching the greying pony tail spilling over her shoulder as he let her go.

"Merry Christmas, mom," Jon said softly. "We made it." She smiled a warm smile just for him.

"We did," Mel said. "And now we have you, Kurt!" Mel turned to him.

"You bet you do," Kurt drawled, leaning down to put his arms around her. Mel had draped the thundercloud scarf over her grey turtleneck, to dress up her casual mom-jeans. "Couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

No one in the White family could believe it when they went back three times to unload all the gifts from the van--and returned the fourth time with Greta on a leash, black curly tail waving as she stood alertly next to Cary's leg in the living room.

Tabitha May was entranced by the arrival of their newest furry family member, dropping to a crouch in front of Greta to admire her soft ears and elegant face. "Oh she's beautiful," she said, smiling up at Cary. With her sleek high ponytail, and her own long legs in white Lulu Lemon joggers, slightly worn but impeccably clean and bright, Kurt thought the young woman looked like the yin to Greta's yang. "What is she?" she asked.

Cary stuck a thumb at Kurt, who had made himself at home on the corner of the couch next to the Christmas tree, with Jon tucked under his arm. "You'll have to ask Kurt. Greta was his scheme and I'm pretty sure if you asked her, Greta would say she's as much his as mine."

Tabitha May straightened, eyeing Kurt. He felt like rolling his eyes--Hi, yup I'm still here, still queer, still sleepin' in your brother's bed. Can we move past this yet?

Jon answered for Kurt. "She's a four year old standard poodle."

Tabitha May's eyes widened. "Like--" she gestured a big puffy mane around her head, and Kurt smirked.

"Yup," Kurt said. "She's clipped short now but when her hair grows out we'll take her to a groomer and give her a whole floofy poodle style."

Cary shot him a look. "Uh--no," he said flatly.

"She'll be gorgeous--you'll love her even more," Kurt coaxed. He folded his fingers under his chin, batting his eyes at Cary. "Just one time? Just to see how she looks?"

Unexpectedly, Tabitha May leaned towards him, pointing a shell-pink tipped finger his way. "I'm with Kurt," she said to Cary. "She'll be gorgeous. You have to try it at least once."

Cary snorted. "It's too cold for a silly poodle hair cut. In summer...maybe."

Tabitha May shot Kurt a giddy look and for one second they were 100% on the same page.

Kurt had both apple streusal cake and gluten free cinnamon buns, surreptitiously licking his fingers while their mom read the story of baby Jesus being born from her well-worn leather Bible.

He couldn't resist snapping a selfie with the twinkling tree, smiling at his own bright, happy face as he cropped and added a filter. He posted the photo to Instagram for the first time in an eternity (social media time), with a whole slew of hashtags.

Merry Christmas from that queer uncle everyone talks about. Two hundred twenty two days sober not looking back. #happyandgay #soberqueer #familyChristmas #lovinglife #itworksifyouworkit

It took the rest of the morning for the whole White family to open and admire every gift. Kurt made sure Jon's dad got his gift first--a silky dark blue robe with maroon piping and a subtle paisley pattern woven into the fabric. Pulling it out of the tissue, Pete's face lit up and he immediately shucked off his dad sweater and put the robe on over his Tshirt. He presided over the rest of Christmas day like a Lord in his manor.

When it was Jon's turn to give a gift, he went to the tree and brought Kurt a small envelope, suspiciously the size of a gift card, his hazel eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

"Really, Jon?" Kurt said. "You're giving me the gift of shopping? I mean, I'm not complaining but..."

"Open it," Jon said softly. In the background, Bea was exclaiming over her pom-pom maker and rainbow assortment of yarn. Jon tucked his feet under his butt on the couch next to him to watch him open it.

Inside the envelope was a plastic bank card with the name 'Kurt Visser-White' embossed above the account number. Kurt's eyes widened, and Jon slipped his own bank card out of his wallet to show him the words 'Jon Visser-White.'

"We're doing this, yeah?" Jon asked. "I like keeping both names. But I'll change to Visser if you want."

"No, I love this," Kurt said, a little breathlessly.

"The pin is 0912," Jon said lightly. "For the day we met--again." His cheeks were faintly pink and his smile deepened, making a rare dimple beside his full mouth. "You and your mesh shirt and your glitzy 'evening look' and that song, 'Unrequited.' God, Kurt." Jon laughed. "I didn't stand a chance after seeing you in person. Hopefully my job with Cary works out and that card won't be a completely worthless piece of plastic in a couple months."

"This is your bank account," Kurt said, just to be sure he understood what was happening.

"Our bank account, yes." Jon touched his leg. "You can keep your separate account if you want. I just figured this would be simpler for me than handing you my wallet all the time."

Kurt was momentarily speechless, running his thumb over his name on this card. It was a new thing for him to have a bank account of his own that he filled every week with reliable work. He'd relied on an allowance from Nicky to get by, and before that, an allowance from his parents.

This gift from Jon felt different. It wasn't a hand-out, or an exchange for favours--Jon wasn't carrying him, he was just pooling what they both had together to share.

"Course I don't need to keep my account," Kurt said. "You're gonna keep the books for us, aren't you? I'll get it sorted next week."

Jon leaned into him, sighing happily. "So that happened," he said.

Kurt hugged his husband's comforting weight against his chest, putting his cheek against Jon's hair and closing his eyes a moment. This was the best gift really--just Jon.

When all the gifts were opened, and all the torn paper and tangled ribbon cleared away, Mel dragged out a white board for a homespun version of Pictionary, apparently a White family Christmas tradition. Kurt felt the game was unfairly rigged in Cary's favour, since the man could draw literally anything, until he realized that was the point. The fun of the game was watching Cary draw more and more fantastical, ridiculous clues created by the rest of the group.

Midway through the game, the phone in Kurt's back pocket buzzed, and he pulled it out, puzzled.

It was his Aunt Aleen's number.

Swiftly, Kurt swiped decline, sweat pricking under his arms. The entire Klassen clan was probably gathered on the other side of that call--his mother, his brothers, his father and all the uncles and aunties and cousins coming and going, helping themselves to catered snack trays and getting into rows about whatever sports game was on TV. He wanted none of it.

It was Mel's turn to draw and Kurt's turn to guess--Jon's mom was standing expectantly at the board, smiling at him. She'd done hardly anything to her face or greying hair, and Kurt thought she looked soft and worn as a favourite blanket, entirely huggable forever. Couldn't this be his family now?

The phone buzzed over and over with a series of texts that he tried to ignore to make good guesses for Mel's drawing--until finally their turn was over. His stomach was so eaten with anxiety that Greta came over to lick his fingers, putting a questioning paw on his knee.

Kurt excused himself and, catching sight of his face, Jon followed him into his old bedroom. Sinking onto the edge of the narrow bed, Kurt scrolled through the messages.

<is this still Kurt's number>

<its Nolan>

<your brother>

And then from an unknown number: <I copied your contact from Aunt Aleen its Nolan>

<its boring here without you>

<Kurt r u there?>

<big bro pick up your phone>

<I miss you>

Kurt groaned softly, chucking the phone at Jon to look. Putting his elbows on his knees, he dug his fingers into his hair to try and settle himself as Jon silently read the messages.

"You don't want to call him?" Jon asked hesitantly.

"No I don't fucking want to call him," Kurt growled. "He's sixteen. Livin' in that house with those people. Anything I say to him will get to them eventually."

Jon's gaze didn't waver. "So? Do you have secrets from your family I don't know about?"

Kurt raked his hands through his hair until he could feel it standing straight up on his head, like a cartoon of someone seeing a ghost. "No I guess not," he muttered. He was a muddle of feelings--in a moment of weakness he'd told Jon he missed them, but really most of the time he was fine with having none of their drama in his life anymore. Because Kurt Visser came by every ounce of drama honestly on both his mother's and his father's side.

Jon handed his phone back, tucking his hands under his legs. "Up to you," he said softly. "Lunch is in a couple minutes."

Kurt ducked his face aside, thinking about Nolan's serious, focused expression as he fit Lego together, oblivious to the noisy crowd of extended family around him. He exhaled, pushing the call button and putting it on speaker.

"Hello?" A male voice said tentatively.

"Yeah it's Kurt," he said shortly. "Is this Nolan?"

There was a intake of breath, the slap of hurrying feet and the sound of doors opening and closing. Kurt rubbed his face, swearing under his breath. He'd been right; Nolan was somewhere with family, where he had to find privacy to talk.

"Hey Kurt--hi, yeah it's me Nolan." Nolan's voice had deepened over the past two years--Kurt wouldn't have recognized it. A thread of excitement or nerves hummed under his brother's attempt to sound calm. "Um--I saw your Insta post. I follow you with an account mom and dad don't know I have. @somekindofgenius05? Is me."

"Yeah?" Kurt said. "Look, Nolan, why are you calling me? I don't have anything to do with you now. Your 'rents made that real clear."

"No one asked me." Nolan's voice hardened. "No one asked me if I wanted you kicked off team Klassen. I'm old enough to make up my own mind about you and that's what I'm doing. I have my license--I have your truck--I can see you if I want. I'll just tell the 'rents I'm working and they won't care. It turns out the saying that 'the baby gets away with everything' is completely accurate. Although, up until recently all the evidence suggested 'the baby' was the only responsible sibling in this family."

"Oh my god I have so many problems with all of that," Kurt muttered. He shoved to his feet, pacing one step across the room and then turning back, Jon's eyes following him.

What did Nolan want from him here? Were they going to catch up on the family news? He didn't care to know, because knowing meant he would start to care again. He'd just grown enough scar tissue over that spot to not to flinch at the word 'mom'.

"Are you still gay?" Nolan asked.

Kurt choked in disbelief and Jon laughed, covering his mouth.

"Yup, last time I checked," Kurt said. "Very gay. Very queer. Very sexy times with my husband this morning before going for presents with our family. Thanks for asking," he finished sarcastically.

Jon snapped his fingers to get Kurt's attention. "Send him a picture of us," he whispered.

Kurt covered the phone. "You're not out on social media," he muttered back.

"Nolan won't share it," Jon said. He lifted his voice. "Hey Nolan, this is your brother's partner, Jon."

"Um--hi?" Nolan sounded uncertain.

"To be clear. Also gay," Jon said, laughter in his voice. "Partner as in life and love, not business. You won't share a photo of us on the internet, will you?"

"No," Nolan said more firmly.

Jon looked expectantly at Kurt, and Kurt shook his head, leaning against the desk to choose a photo. He sent one of the two of them on the mountainside that a giggling Japanese tourist had taken just before they got on the tram. They were leaning into each other, squinting and laughing in the morning sun, Jon nearly overbalancing as Kurt's arm pulled him closer.

After a pause, Nolan said, "He doesn't look gay."

"Wowww," Kurt drawled.

"My feelings are hurt, Nolan." Jon put a hand to his chest and a wounded expression on his face.

Out of spite, Kurt swiftly sent the next photo, a selfie on the tram down. Jon's eyes were blissfully half-closed, his tongue half way down Kurt's throat.

Nolan made an 'ack' noise, then laughed a little hysterically. "Jesus Christ, Kurt I see you found the volume button--and cranked it. You always did throw your heart into whatever you were doing."

"Well, nice to chat. I'm hanging up now," Kurt said, unreasonably irritated by Nolan's know-it-all tone and stupid questions. "That's the news. What's on Insta is what I don't care if anyone knows. You have Jon to thank for the photos."

"Kurt--don't--please don't hang up on me." For the first time, Kurt heard the waver of the little boy he'd known. "I'm sorry if I offended you--or Jon," Nolan said. "I have zero points of reference for your life now. I don't even know where to start. All my data is what mom and dad tell me and they're biased. I know they are. I wanted to hear from you myself. You're still my brother--I don't care if you're gay or queer or whatever. I hated you drinking--I don't care about anything else. I want you back."

"I'm never comin' back," Kurt said roughly. "Get used to it, Nolan."

"I didn't mean like that," Nolan said. He exhaled. "I saw you...I saw dad kick you out. From my window."

Kurt clenched his jaw, picturing his kid brother waking up to shouts and a slamming car door and the thud of bones breaking, peering down on their groomed expanse of lawn, grey in the moonlight.

"It was objectively terrible," Nolan said. "I wanted to leave too, after. But I was fucking fourteen and I didn't know how to find you if that was even a reasonable idea. I'm saying...I'm making my own life, Kurt. And I want you as part of it. I'll be gone to Uni in a year and a half and I'm not looking back. Same as you. I just...thought we could hang out sometimes. While we're in the same city. See an Esks game? Or, like, go skating sometime? With Jon? Can we?" he finished in a small voice.

Kurt swallowed and closed his eyes, bombarded by memories of his little brother pestering him to tag along, to come too, to not be left behind. Usually he'd swung Nolan up on his back so the boy could keep up in spite of his short child-legs.

His heart throbbed, aching as it stretched open again. "Tell me this much," Kurt said, low. "I don't care to know shit about any of the rest of them. Just...are you okay, Nolan? Are you doing okay?"

Nolan made a 'tsk' noise. "I am six foot four now and I can handle myself, if that's what you're asking."

Kurt winced. That wasn't really reassuring--Todd and Pa Klassen were heavier and more experienced than his little brother.

Nolan hesitated a moment, then said, "Look, Todd's out of the picture, for the most part. They 'handed him over to Satan' to live with the consequences of his 'lifestyle choices' same as you. When he flunked out of treatment the last time."

Jon made a soft, outraged noise, coiled on the edge of the bed like he was ready to punch someone.

Flipping his hand dismissively, Kurt rolled his eyes at Jon to tell him not to get all worked up. Blah blah, how many times had he heard this sermon? That scripture verse was Pa Klassen's favourite justification for rejecting someone he didn't approve of. Just do what the Bible said that one time and 'put them out of the fellowship of believers.' Apparently, Satan had nothing better to do than show up to claim the people on Pa Klassen's naughty list.

Kurt found it hard to believe his former parents were even in the same religion as Jon's.

"So family dinner has been fun," Nolan said drily. "We talk about sports a lot. And quantum physics, when I get to choose the topic. I'm all they have left and the 'rents know it. I worked my butt off in Grade 9 and used my grades to prove it's a waste of my time to join a sports' team. Which it is--I'm smart AF. Mom backed me. I have a pre-acceptance to MIT and dad's so puffed about that, like it has anything to do with him. I'm just doing my thing here until I can move onto campus. Well. I think you know the deal."

"I do know the deal," Kurt said. He wrestled with himself a moment. It still felt awfully close to a whole host of people he didn't want touching him anymore.

But Nolan.

"I have your number now," Kurt said. "I'll text you, okay, Nolan? We'll hang out."

Nolan sucked in a breath. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

Kurt heaved a sigh. "Nope, I mean it. You want to go skating tomorrow?" Christ, his soft heart would be the death of him.

"Yes! That would be excellent, thank you." Nolan's voice vibrated with quiet excitement. "Thank you for taking my call, Kurt."

"Yeah," Kurt muttered. "Love you."

"Um--me too. I love you too." Nolan's words were awkward--Kurt actually couldn't remember if they'd ever said them to each to other before. Nolan was going to have to get used to it. "I'm looking forward to meeting you, Jon," Nolan said. "Bye."

Kurt chucked the phone on the desk and toppled face first onto the bed. "Worrrst," he groaned. "I'm so sorry for bringing that shit to our first Christmas."

Jon's hand gently touched his hair, tidying a few pieces. "So I guess that makes me 'Satan'?'" he asked, a little edge in his voice.

Kurt snorted, curling around Jon and wrapping his arms around his waist. "I think technically that makes Nicky 'Satan.'"

There was a pause. "Accurate," Jon said.

"Yup, checks out," Kurt said.

It was quiet for some time, and their breathing fell into sync while Jon's fingers combed through Kurt's hair. "You're having big feelings?" Jon finally asked.

Kurt shrugged against him. There was a clamour of feelings inside him and he could hardly sort them out for himself, let alone talk abut them.

"This hug is helping you?" Jon's voice was soft and light.

"Yup," Kurt said, muffled.

Carefully, Jon rearranged himself so he could hug Kurt back, pulling Kurt's head to rest against his chest. Kurt could hear the steady thud of Jon's heart under the layers of muscle and healed ribs, and feel the strength of his scarred arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Jon heaved a contented sigh. "I underestimated how good it would be to have someone to hug every day," he said.

I underestimated how good it would be to have someone kind, Kurt thought. "Happy to be of service, Jonathon," he drawled quietly. Jon's warm, quiet laughter under his cheek steadied Kurt a little.

"I'm very proud of you," Jon said. "You're a good influence for Nolan."

Kurt barked a humourless laugh.

"I wish you had...a person like you. When you were sixteen," Jon said.

Tears pricked Kurt's eyes, and he rubbed his face against Jon's shirt. Jon really meant that--Kurt couldn't think of anyone whose opinion he respected more. "Appreciate you sayin' that," he said gruffly.

Jon kissed his hair, hugging him a little more securely. "Course. I love you," he said.

The clamour of feelings inside Kurt resolved into a chord made up of multiple notes.

Jon was a little bit damaged. It was a little bit fast. Kurt didn't even have a full year sober yet. But this felt completely right. In the blend of accompanying happiness and sadness, Kurt felt that he'd made the best decision of his life when he put a ring on Jon's finger and added his last name onto his.

Kurt did throw his heart into whatever he was doing, but this didn't feel like a thoughtless impulse. He'd been hungry for years--missing something for years--listening for the sound of a song he couldn't remember for years. The night Jon walked into that club, Kurt had caught a hint of the melody he'd been yearning to capture in all his own writing and drinking and relationship attempts. Under his baggy hoodie and ball cap, Jon's familiar hazel eyes had looked back at him with a kind attention that Kurt had forgotten existed.

Walking back into the memory of that night, Kurt felt like there was a fragrance lingering around Jon's body that he half-recognized, like fresh baked bread. Like your Grandma's dusty lavender and lipstick smell when she folded you in her wrinkled, flappy arms for a kiss.

Of all the millions of choices Kurt could make with the rest of his life, there were probably more colourful, or more exotic, or more unconventional ways to fly his flag and express himself. Kurt was aware of any number of other intriguing paths he could spend a decade wandering down to make sure there wasn't some more sensational option out there.

But why would he, when the goodness of being right here with this man was so plain? He could spend those years with Jon instead, writing music and telling stories and making sure Jon had a meal and a decent cup of coffee every day, just weaving their lives into a harmony under the roof of their house together. Homely as it sounded, that was a path Kurt had never taken.

Closing his eyes, Kurt felt the shade of a great Tent, lifted high and spread wide, overshadowing Jon and Cary and their family. It was the peace he'd felt the first time he stepped into Jon's home with his guitar in his hand, hoping to make something happen with his teenage crush. As he'd edged into that Tent to be with Jon, he found the enormous simplicity of Love, the centre pole of its shelter, anchored the big waves of his feelings, day after day.

It was a little over Kurt's head to explain, even to himself, and he didn't care. He could feel how good it was to be here.

In the hallway beyond their little pocket of quiet, they heard the sound of the doorbell and Bea's happy feet running up the hall. "Lunch is here!" she called, rapping on their door.

Jon sighed. "Ready to rejoin the White family Christmas hoo-ha?" he asked. "I hope you like Swiss Chalet. Everyone is crazy about that chicken dipping sauce."

Kurt put his chin on Jon's chest, narrowing his eyes in a smile for him. "Oh I'm all over it," he said, and kissed the corner of Jon's smiling mouth. "Satan and all his minions couldn't keep me away."

"Ugh, don't even joke," Jon said. "I'm still so pissed about that."

Unfolding, Kurt chuckled and pulled Jon to his feet beside him, and then pulled him into one more side-hug. "Aw Jonny-Jon. I love you back, forever an' ever."

"Amen and amen." Jon's eyes touched him with a brief, amused look before they went out.

END

*Hoo-ha is a word. I looked it up. It means commotion. So there, spell check. You learned something new today!

All the hugs. You guys. The End! I'm having a Kurt Visser 'all the feelings' moment over here.

I have an idea for a Christmas one-shot about Cary and Laurel, that I think I'll post as an epilogue here in December, so keep this book in your library to get that update!

I also have a mind to write about Kurt and Jon's pandemic...stay tuned.

In the last chapter I mentioned I'm currently developing my next project, a YA novel called THE LIGHT CIRCUS. Add RAE'S READS to your library if you want updates about that!

If you're feeling down about being all out of words, this would be a good time to check out Jon and Cary's backstory in the SCARS trilogy--if you haven't already read it. I'm putting the first book, HIDING, up for a Watty this year and I'd love to see more readers give the project some love as the submission date approaches.

But before we rush on...how do you feel about that ending? What was your favourite part about Kurt and Jon's December?*

3928 words.