{Jon}

When Jon got home, the living room was empty and quiet. He climbed upstairs, noting Kurt's closed door with a pang of disappointment. Kurt must have decided he needed the extra sleep after a late practice instead of getting up to tell stories to Jon.

In his room he shucked off his cap and hoodie and baggy jeans, tossing them in a laundry pile filled with other grey nondescript clothing and went to shower. Slipping into a fitted sleeveless shirt and soft, rust-red yoga pants was a relief. Jon permitted the clothes he wore in private to stand out a little and he felt just exactly like himself in them. On some level, he understood why Jordin was willing to fight to wear clips and a blouse.

In the hallway, he paced past Kurt's door, then turned back, pulling out his phone. <morning gorgeous> He laughed to himself, rolling out his shoulders. It's what he would have said if Kurt was his boyfriend for real, and it didn't hurt either of them to say it anyways, right? <am I seeing you before work?>

He heard the muffled sound of the phone alerts through the door and then a scramble and a thump and a swear. Kurt's door flung open and the other man startled back finding Jon standing right there.

Jon smiled. "Morning gorgeous," he said out loud. Kurt's hair was flattened to one side in blond chunks and he was still wearing smudgy eye make-up from the night before. His legs were bare under an oversized T-shirt printed with a fat grey striped cat making 'z's.

"Hey." Kurt said, his blue eyes wide and worried.

Jon stepped forward, taking Kurt in his arms and laying his cheek on his shoulder. "You missed your morning hug."

He felt Kurt take a slow, unsteady breath as he wrapped his arms around Jon. "Sorry I slept in." His voice was hoarse and croaky.

"Do you want coffee, or breakfast before you go?" Jon said.

"Sure," Kurt mumbled. He put his lips to Jon's shoulder before letting him go and turning away. "Just lemme get dressed."

Jon put the water on and rifled through the cupboards, digging a package of instant coffee out of the back. Since their ordinary coffee maker broke and Cary had gone to pour overs Jon hadn't had time to figure out how to make coffee properly the new way. Cary's burr grinder had, like, a hundred buttons.

Kurt's running feet came down the stairs and Jon glanced over his shoulder with a smile. The other man slowed up, sauntering to lean against the counter with his hands shoved in his jeans' pockets. Kurt's smile flickered briefly in return. "White. How was your day?" he asked.

Jon let out a breath. "Okay. One of our kids was in a fight at school so I was cleaning that up with the staff and working with him to make a plan for today." He glanced at the clock, thinking about where Jordin would be right now. "But I'm boring--how was your practice? I want to live your rock star life vicariously."

Kurt laughed, looking aside. "I love that you still talk like a preacher's kid, Jon. All smart with words."

Kurt pushed his hands through his hair, clearly able to feel how dishevelled it was but making no progress without a mirror. He cleared his throat, still sounding hoarse. "Practice was rough. Someone in the band was stupid enough to break up with one of the other musicians and everyone's choosing sides and being nasty." His blue eye flashed, looking sideways at Jon. "The stupid someone being me, of course."

Jon longed to reach out and tidy the part in Kurt's hair and smooth it behind his ears. He put his hands behind his back, just touching Kurt with his smile instead. "You're not stupid, Kurt."

Kurt hugged his arms against his chest. "It was okay when we were making music," he said. "When we got through the bullshit. He--they're amazing when they're on. They make me sound better than I really am."

"Hm." Jon frowned, trying to interpret what Kurt's body was telling him. "I find that hard to believe."

The kettle began to whistle and he turned away to pour the steaming water into two mugs: instant coffee for Kurt, herbal tea for him. Kurt took his mug gratefully and Jon leaned against the counter next to him.

"Nicky... made me," Kurt said, trying to explain. "He gave me my break; he took me around to all the people in the music scene here. He, like, adopted me as his kid. He was my only family when I came out."

Jon's mouth flattened. He assumed they'd also been sleeping together. It was weird to hear Kurt talk as if he had been a child and Nicky the parent, when sex had clearly been involved. Jon had heard too many shitty stories in his line of work not to feel hyper-sensitive about that. He hid his face in his mug, telling himself not to be a judgmental asshole--or a jealous not-boyfriend--and kept those thoughts to himself. "He's an amazing musician," he said, making an effort for Kurt.

Kurt clasped his mug like he was cold and took a steadying breath. "Yeah, I think we can work it out. Put our differences aside for the music. By the end of the night we were getting somewhere." He looked into space, his mouth crooked. Jon leaned his shoulder into Kurt's arm, watching his expression.

"We broke up because of my drinking," Kurt said, bending his head. "An' I'm sober now. So that should make him happy. My writing is shit when I'm drunk. Also when I'm hung over. There was definitely a year there nothing good was coming out of Kurt Klassen."

It was quiet a second, the old name hanging in the air, smudged and bitter.

"Visser," Jon corrected him softly.

Kurt shot him a glance.

"Kurt Visser." Jon smiled at him. "Is who you are now. My live-in boyfriend," he teased, and he looked for how Kurt would take those words.

Kurt rubbed his face, hard. "Oh god. That's a sentence. You don't regret me yet?"

Jon dropped his eyes, shaking his head. "I really don't," he said softly.

{Cary}

Work was usually a sanctuary for Cary--a place he could not think about anything particular and just do. Today his work partner was unusually restless, checking his texts a dozen times as they worked. It made Cary's own anxiety start to buzz.

"What's happening on your phone, Visser?" he finally remarked, when the other man pulled it out again.

"Nothing," Kurt said, shoving it back in his pocket. "I texted Jon a thing and he hasn't texted back."

"He's probably sleeping," Cary said. "Or working too hard."

"Yeah." Kurt lifted his purple pony cap, shoving his hair under it again. "Right, yeah." He turned away, pacing a little. "I'm just worried he's mad and he's not texting because he's mad."

"Unlikely," Cary said drily. "Jon is highly verbal when he's mad. You'll know."

Kurt shot him a look, biting his lip. This did not seem to have been reassuring.

Cary tried again. If he couldn't uncoil Kurt's anxiety he was going to have to quit early and go home before he had a panic attack himself. "Why do you think he's mad?"

Kurt glanced up at the narrow basement window. "I was late today. I wasn't up when he got home like I said and I kept him waiting."

Cary's eyebrows raised. "Did he seem mad at the time?"

"No." Kurt took a breath, rubbing his stomach. "But, I don't know, maybe he thought about it after and got mad because he's not texting me now."

Something clicked for Cary and he turned aside so Kurt wouldn't have him watching when he said, "Doesn't sound like Jon. Sounds like someone else maybe."

It was quiet. Cary decided he cared enough about this to not just leave it. "You got someone else you might be thinking of who got mad at you when you were late or kept them waiting?"

"Yeah," Kurt said in a low voice. "Nicky. An' my dad." Cary let the quiet stay open between them. "He used to make me feel like a shitheel for being late all the time. And always let me know somehow."

Cary glanced sideways at Kurt, who was rummaging in the toolbox, his mouth flat and unhappy.

"Maybe that's a little trigger for you then," Cary said. "Jon not texting." He handed Kurt the putty container.

"A what?" Kurt said slowly.

"A trigger. Something that makes you feel not safe, like you're gonna get hurt. It happens when you've been abused. Ordinary shit can make you feel like you're back there again, even though it's not the same people. Like-" Cary cleared his throat softly, sweat prickling under his arms as he exposed some of his own shit. "If someone uses my old name, Ciaran. If Dad uses it to call me from another room--my skin gets all tight and my heart starts going like I'm in trouble. When I know I'm safe now: I'm fucking six feet tall and Pete would face down an army for me."

They were working with their backs to each other; he could hear the sticky scrape of putty behind him. "Pete, Jon's dad," Kurt said.

"Yuh," Cary said. "My dad since high school. He's the real deal."

After a moment, Kurt asked, "So then what do you do if you're triggered?"

Cary paused to roll his neck--just talking about it had given him anxiety. "So if I don't notice I'm triggered, I'm gonna walk in that room all charged up and angry and Pete's going to be like--I just wanted to tell you the score to the hockey game--and I'll hurt Pete treating him like he's a person who hurt me when he never."

Cary let out his breath slowly. "So first I hafta notice what my body is telling me: heart's going, palms are sweating, stomach's squeezing... hey, we're triggered. And just noticing that helps, 'cause then I can go... okay, are we safe here? Is Pete gonna pull his belt off when I come in the room? Am I little or trapped? And me an' my body can go--no, we're okay."

Cary added, "I tap." He put his hand on his chest, tapping his fingers against his sternum. "And feel the ground under my feet." He shifted his boots on the floor. "And count my breaths, make them slow. If I'm really--losing my grip."

Kurt paused, looking at him. "I see you do those things all the time," he said.

Cary shrugged, ducking his head. "Maybe my body's never really gonna believe we're safe again. There was good reason to be scared where I grew up."

He scraped his putty tool clean on the edge of the container, listening to his breathing, watching the blade come clean, smelling the sharp, fresh smell of paint in the room. He was here. "Guess that's just part of me now, same as my scars," Cary said. "Decided a while ago I'm putting my arms around all of that and showing up. Best I can, for people I love. I can't keep my past shit from touching me still--but it doesn't own me anymore."

Kurt looked up at him, on one knee beside their tool bag. His mouth was crooked and his eyes were soft and bright. "Cary. You're gonna make me shed a tear here."

There was no sarcasm in Kurt's voice, and also no "I feel sorry for you" pity. Cary's slow smile relaxed his face. Jon's wanna-be-boyfriend was definitely growing on him. "You're welcome, Visser. Any time."

{Kurt}

He worked in silence, processing what Cary had said. Humming, Kurt remembered what Jon's face had looked like this morning, lit up all soft and glad when he opened his door, and how his own heart had been hammering like he was in trouble. It occurred to him how often he still had that feeling, when he'd walked out on Nicky months ago. He wanted to drop that baggage at the door of Jon's house and forget about it, but it was touching him still, messing with him.

He sighed, rubbing his buzzing ears. "You talk to your girlfriends about your abuse shit?" he asked.

Cary was quiet a second. "Eventually," he said. "Soon as I take off my shirt I have to say something. My tattoos don't erase the scars--just make them easier on the eyes. And I have to listen to my body when we're, you know, together and speak up for myself if I'm gettin' triggered. Better for her not to be surprised." He lifted his shoulder, like it wasn't a big deal to share this. Kurt was riveted by his vulnerability.

"I figure that's not different from anyone else," Cary said. "Nobody taught me this when I was a kid, but it's okay to say what you want and don't want. A partner who loves you wants to know. A partner that don't...well I wouldn't even bother. But that's me. I can take or leave the sexy parts. It's kissing and hugging I love."

Kurt laughed, glancing sideways at the big man. "I love all the parts." It was an easy out--he felt too shaky to talk about his Nicky shit right now.

"Mm-hm, so I gathered," Cary said, amused.

"You up for modelling those tattoos for me, big man?" Kurt had seen the ink peeking out of the collar of Cary's shirt, but the other man had never gone shirtless on the worksite.

"If you don't make fun of my man-boobs," Cary said.

"Oh my god, I would never," Kurt protested. "Love me an armful."

Cary rolled his eyes, then pulled off his shirt, turning his back to Kurt.

Kurt literally gasped, putting his fingers over his mouth. A mountain range moved with the muscles of Cary's broad shoulders; animals and a river and trees were woven together over most of his back. The vivid, swirling colours caught Kurt's attention first, but as he studied the details, a map of old scars emerged, strike marks hash-tagging Cary's skin under the ink.

Whatever shit his dad and brother had done to him, Cary Douglas had come up by an even darker road.

"Easy on the eyes, hell," Kurt said gruffly. "Those are gorgeous."

Cary peered over his own shoulder, a pleased smile in his beard. "Uh--thanks. Designed them myself. My last girlfriend inked my back. I think she stayed as long as she did because she wanted to finish. And--" Cary tugged his shirt back on, wiggling his fingers and shrugging with a laugh. "Orgasms."

Kurt laughed with him, relaxing. "Well damn, Douglas--you are a man of many surprising talents. I'm lucky you're straight or Jon woulda hooked up with you years ago."

"Pretty sure I'm not his type." Cary flicked him a dark, twinkly look that made the tips of Kurt's ears get warm. "An' we both needed a brother more."

A longing as raw and open as anything he'd felt for Jon caught Kurt by surprise. Me too, he thought, touching Cary' bulky shoulders with a look before he made himself look away.

*

On the way home in Cary's truck, they passed a parking lot full of box stores and Kurt's eyes caught on one of his mom's favourite places to shop. Quickly, he tapped Cary's broad arm. "Hey, can we go there? Can we just make a quick stop?"

"Where?" Cary said.

"Bed Bath and Beyond--right there. I want to get some things for our living room--to make it comfy for Jon when we hang out tomorrow."

"Beds are comfy places to hang out," Cary said.

Kurt laughed, alarmed. "Bish, slow down. Jon White is not ready to jump into bed with me."

"But you are." Cary gave him a keen sideways look.

"Pretty much," Kurt agreed. "Just a round of meds I have to finish and then I'm good to go. There--park there!" He scrambled out of the car, pushing his sparkly cap back and crooked on his head, imagining piles of oriental carpets and pillows with tassels on the corners.

When they entered the store, the smell of new fabric and scented candles hit him: every shelf, floor to ceiling, was crammed with luxurious, beautiful things and Kurt crowed with joy, clapping his hands. "Oh my god I love this place!"

He steered Cary by the elbow up one aisle and down the other, asking him about Jon's colours and his style and did he want his living room to coordinate with his aesthetic?

"You want everything grey and black?" Cary said, eyebrows lifting with amusement.

"He has...not-black things he wears at home. What would he wear all the time if he could dress how he wants, like me? And we'll buy pillows to match," Kurt said.

A saleswoman approached them, smiling as she glanced from Kurt's hand on Cary's elbow to the pony cap on his head. "Can I help you with anything? Are you interested in our wedding registry?"

"Oh, uh--" Kurt patted Cary's arm in what he hoped was a platonic way. "We're not together."

"We live together," Cary said, as if that cleared things up.

"We do live together--" Kurt shot him a helpless 'what the hell' look.

"And we're shopping for our house," Cary went on. "For 'comfy' things." He made air quotes with his big blunt fingers, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "To gay up our living room."

Kurt ducked his head and laughed, pulling his cap over his burning face.

The saleswoman laughed delightedly. "Oh my god, you two are the cutest. I'll just show you to our soft section: pillows, blanket throws, area rugs. Do you have something in mind?"

Kurt followed her, immediately interested in touching all the things--the soft fake fur, the silky fabric, the nubs of a chunky knitted throw. A carpet with soft rust-red and blue and cream in an abstract design caught his eye and he checked the price tag, then yanked his hand back like he was burned.

"Holy shit--four-hundred dollars! I can't afford that!"

Cary nudged his shoulder. "Bish, I'm buying. I like that one. And the blanket with the white wool. Reminds me of my sheep."

Kurt turned, bewildered. "You have sheep?"

"Not anymore," Cary said, grinning at his utter confusion.

"Anything else I can help you two with?" the woman asked.

"A coffee maker," Cary said. "A real simple one. This man can't make a pour over to save his life."

As they walked back to the car, Kurt hugged the bags of pillows and blankets to his chest, chuckling with pleasure, while Cary carried the rolled rug out on his shoulder. "You're the best wing man, Douglas," he said.

Cary huffed a laugh. "I've been waiting a long time for this--for someone good enough for Jon."

It plucked Kurt's heart, vibrating through his chest and he stopped at the truck, arms full of soft things. "You think I'm good enough for Jon?"

Cary hefted the carpet into the back of the truck, shooting Kurt a smile. "Yuh. I love the way you love him. This is the most fun I've had in a long time."

Kurt laughed, wide-eyed. "We are not ready for the l-word, oh my god." But it stuck with him the rest of the day, warm as Jon's hands on his skin.

3268 words.