{Kurt}

When they turned onto their street after a long day of work, Kurt immediately noticed Jon's car parked in front of the house. "Jon's home!" He jumped out of the cab before Cary was done rolling up to the curb, ignoring Cary yelling behind him, "Visser, you're gonna break your ankle!"

He took the steps up to the porch in one long stride, and pulled the door open, singing, "Honey, I'm home," like the heroine of the ninteen-fifty's sitcoms his grandma used to love.

All the curtains were drawn and the main floor was dim and gloomy, the sound of tapping coming from the kitchen. "Jon?" Kurt said.

"Here," Jon's voice said faintly. His face was pale in the light of his laptop screen, one hand holding his forehead while he typed rapidly with the other. The strain in his expression was concerning.

"You okay?" Kurt asked. "I thought you had to teach Jui Jitsu tonight."

"Partner covering the class. Migraine coming on and need to finish this book report before it hits."

Cary clomped up behind Kurt's shoulder, took one look, and growled, "Save and quit or I'll be carrying you upstairs again. You bulked up since last time and I had a long day."

Jon blinked a slow blink, clicked a button and closed the laptop lid. "Didn't realize what time it was." He got to his feet, listed a little to the left, and swayed to the washroom off the kitchen with his hand over his mouth.

"Ugh," Cary said softly, rubbing his face at the sound of throwing up.

Kurt squeezed his freezing hands together. "Can I do something?"

"Call for a pizza," Cary said, which was weirdly comforting because things couldn't be so bad if they just needed a pizza, right?

Jon staggered out of the washroom, briefly upright on his own steam. Cary was quicker than he looked, catching Jon as he dropped and hefting his body against his chest with a grunt. Helplessly, Kurt watched his boyfriend's white face go up the stairs in Cary's arms.

{Cary}

The stairs were too narrow to haul a fully grown man up them and Cary had to manoeuvre Jon sideways, while his hip yelled at him with every step up that it was done for the day. "You drink any fluids today, asshole?" Cary growled. "You eat?"

"No." Jon made a small noise, digging his head into Cary's chest like he could press away the pain, even as he hung on tight, trying to help hold his own weight.

"You fucking know better," Cary grumbled. "I'm making you one of those yuck-o smoothies to take with your pills and I'm sitting here watching you drink it all."

"Thanks Mom," Jon whispered.

Cary dumped his friend onto his unmade bed, then twitched the curtains closed, darkening the room. Jon was swimming out of his hoodie and jeans, his face buried in the pillow. Cary sighed. "Back in a few."

When he got downstairs, Kurt was standing in the middle of the kitchen, yelling into his phone. "Meat-love-ers! All the meat!" Like the person on the other line was at the end of a tunnel with a train rattling by. Kurt stabbed the phone to hang up, gesturing sharply at the stairs. "What the hell is happening to my boyfriend."

Cary took a moment to dump a scoop of smoothie powder into the bullet cup, adding yogourt and water and a banana. "He's fine, Visser." He rolled his shoulders, shifting his weight off his aching hip. "His head is imploding right now but he'll feel better tomorrow. He burns through his margin and forgets to eat or drink and then a migraine knocks him on his ass for a day. Or maybe he doesn't eat because he feels a migraine coming on, I don't know." The buzz of the blender interrupted him briefly and the smoothie turned an unappetizing shade of green-brown.

"That's a hell of a migraine," Kurt said blankly.

Cary fished his keys out of his pocket, took the cash box off of the top of the fridge and unlocked it. The unmistakable smell of marijuana wafted out and he sifted through baggies of his prescribed supply for Jon's pain pills. Not opiates, but potent enough to be damn careful. He shook two into his palm and flipped the box closed and locked. "Gimme a sec," he said, scooping up the smoothie, and went up the stairs considerably faster than he had the first time.

{Kurt}

Kurt recognized the practised dance of caring for someone with chronic pain. Even the smell of marijuana was familiar and made him sick with worry. He tucked the cash box back on top of the fridge and ran a sink to do yesterday's dishes while he waited for Cary.

When the other man came back down the stairs his bearded face seemed relaxed. "Pizza coming?" Cary asked.

Kurt nodded.

"Figured if Jon's not eating we could enjoy ourselves."

"How often does this happen?" Kurt asked, running water over the last plate.

Cary sighed, taking off his paint-spattered cap and tossing it into the back entryway, mussing up his hair. "Couple times a year. It's been a while since the last one. I don't know if it's hereditary from his mom or leftover from the opes he fucked around with in high school."

Kurt blinked, pressing his lips together. This was a part of Jon's story that hurt him to think about; in high school a serious upper-rib break had sent Jon down a dark slide of abusing opes to cope with the pain of that injury, along with everything else he'd been carrying at the time. Kurt rarely thought of Jon as an addict; he seemed so far from that person now, but for a time that had been the ugly reality.

Cary gave Kurt a sideways look, his mouth wry and crooked. "Or could just be stress. Maybe you noticed--Jon runs pretty close to the red-line. He doesn't know when to say--enough, that's all I can do. They did an MRI last year--nothing to see up there except his brain working too hard to solve all the problems in the world."

At this, Kurt dropped into a chair, covering his face with his hands. "Oh thank Christ. For a second I thought I was in one of those TV specials where your lover dies of brain cancer at twenty five."

Cary huffed a laugh. "Nope, not cancer. Always great to cross that off. Just an ordinary human body thing."

While they waited for the pizza, Kurt showered and changed into comforting clothes--his embroidered robe and 'Sounds gay' T-shirt, with a pair of soft pants he'd borrowed from Jon's closet. Jon wore his clothes two sizes too big; they just fit Kurt's long legs. He paced past Jon's door a few extra times, listening, but the room was quiet.

It was a quiet meal for two, punctuated only by Kurt's music, an electro-pop mix that had been giving him in all the feels lately. Cary folded another slice of pizza in half to eat. "I guess I better text Liya and tell her I'm babysitting Jon tonight." His eyes touched the clock, and Kurt knew he was checking how long until Jon needed his next meds.

"You had plans with your girlfriend tonight?" Kurt asked.

Cary nodded.

"I can babysit Jon," Kurt offered. "No need to cancel on your mysterious lady friend."

Cary gave him a considering look. "Pills ever your thing, Visser?"

That was fair--Kurt would have asked the same question. "Nope." Kurt folded his arms over his body. "Pills were my brother's thing. Alcohol's my poison." He didn't mention that the weed smelled very tempting.

Cary got up and unlocked the med box, counting pills out on the table. "Two every four hours. One more if he needs, two hours after that. Keep 'em out of reach of Misty--one will put her down."

Kurt lined them up on his plate and covered them with a bowl. "Got that."

Cary sat there for a minute, and Kurt's fingers played a worried arpeggio on the knees of his pants. "You probably know this already," Cary said, flat. "Jon's the thing I love most in the world. If you're not up to this, just tell me an' I'll stay home."

Kurt held the other man's eyes steadily--he knew this about himself already. "Maybe I'm just a pretty face to you." A corner of his mouth curled up, unable to resist. "But I'm good for this, Douglas. I looked after my mom when she had cancer; I can sit with pain. Jon's in good hands with me."

Cary's face relaxed and he nodded. "All right, I believe you. Call me if anything comes up." Cary was pulling on his shoes before he asked, "Did your mom pull through?"

A memory unfurled of his mother swirling through their home, bending to kiss Kurt's cheek, the smell of her foundation and the dry brush of her lipstick on his skin. Kurt kept his eyes down, shrugging as he scraped the pizza crusts into the garbage. "I assume if she was dead someone in that family would call me. My Aunt Aleen has my number." The hole was familiar now, just an everyday part of being Kurt Visser.

Cary limped across the kitchen. "I'm hugging you now," he said, and Kurt was so startled as the other man folded him in his arms that he didn't have time to lift his own arms to hug him back.

When Cary left, cleaned up and smelling of aftershave, Kurt checked on Jon. The other man was unconscious, sprawled on his side with his arms covering his face, his fists clenched like he'd fallen asleep fighting. Sighing, Kurt closed his door again and fetched his guitar, settling on the bottom step of the attic stairway. By the light of a candle, he began to run through his music for the upcoming show, re-arranging every piece for quiet finger picking.

When his phone timer went off, he slipped into Jon's room with his pills and a fresh glass of water. Jon was stirring restlessly, curling and uncurling his fists, breathing like he laboured up a long climb.

"Jon," Kurt said, low, touching the back of his hand to his cheek. "Med time."

Jon's eyes stayed closed, his face creased as he turned towards Kurt's voice and opened his mouth. Kurt set the pills on his tongue and the glass in his hand, waiting to make sure Jon's fumbling hands set it back on the side table safely again. When Jon sank back on the pillow, burying his face in his arm, Kurt slipped out again, a worried plea threading through his mind like a prayer to the God he didn't believe in anymore.

It was well past midnight when Jon appeared, pale but upright in his doorway. Kurt got to his feet, his face lifting in a smile. "You live."

"I live," Jon said. His face was difficult to make out in the dim light of the hall, but Kurt saw he was leaning heavily on the doorjamb. "Thought I heard you playing."

"Live lullabies by Kurt Visser." He curtsied with one side of his robe. "Was I too loud? I wanted to be close enough to hear if you called--or, you know, fell over."

"No, I was glad for the company," Jon said.

"How's your head?" Kurt asked.

"Puffy," Jon said.

Kurt blinked. "Puffy?"

Jon laughed and winced. "Dammit Visser, don't be funny."

"You were being funny," Kurt said. "I was just asking a question."

Jon paused, his hand over his eyes like even the minimal light in the hall was too bright. "Were you waiting up for me?"

Kurt turned aside, trying to shut the door of his chest so his heart wasn't so plain. "I needed the practice time. Douglas said to give the pills a couple hours to make sure you were good before I turned in." He studiously avoided looking at Jon now. "I also didn't want to miss a peek at your tightey-whiteys."

Jon slowly looked down at himself, like his head was a couple sizes too big. Tightey-whitey's confirmed. He made a dry noise, bending his bare legs and pulling the side of his plain T-shirt out in a curtsy back. "Now you know what a sexy homo Jon White really is."

It was Kurt's turn to laugh, glancing sideways at him again. That was a lot of Jon's bare, freckled skin that he hadn't seen before. "Need anything before I head to bed?"

"I'm good," Jon said, his voice a little flat. "Upright. Not gonna throw up or fall down. Just brushing my teeth and sleeping. For a century. So. See you in the morning, Visser."

Kurt heard that he was embarrassed and wanted to be left alone. "Sure love," he said quietly. "Sweet dreams."

*

Kurt's own dreams started out sweet. It was a perfect fall day for football practice. Bodies jostled him as they ran together onto the field; guys laughing and bumping up against him, easy and unself-conscious.

Grinning, surrounded by his friends, Kurt didn't realize it was the nightmare until he was squinting in the gathering dark, yelling at their insubstantial faces to try to be heard. Then it was inevitable: the dark deepened, spreading, pushing everyone to the horizon of black until he couldn't even see their receding dots.

Alone on a little spot, Kurt screamed until his voice was gone. It was so black, he didn't dare take a step in case it was a void all around him. His gasping breaths were the only sound and no matter how loud he cried, no one heard him and no one came.

Jerking awake, Kurt fumbled for his phone or the lamp or anything to push back the dark, registering the sheets, the bed, the quiet street noise outside his window. His hand slapped the lamp on and he scrambled up to sit in the circle of light, his knees pulled to his chest, scooping tears out of his eyes.

His throat was raw and the echo of his own voice rattled inside the void of his skull: Mom? Nicky? Jon? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!

Diving out of bed he went into the hall, his feet stopping in front of Jon's closed door. He caught himself with his hand half-way to the knob, his breath sobbing in his chest. He just needed the sound of another human breathing, the weight of another body beside him.

Covering his mouth and nose for quiet, he eased Jon's door open. There was just enough light to see which side Jon was sleeping on, spread on his back with his hands open above his head. Kurt crept between the sheets on the empty side, making his long body as small as possible.

In spite of his care, Jon stirred and his hand bumped Kurt's shoulder. Kurt caught his breath, humming a small, hurt noise. Please don't make me leave. God I can't be alone tonight. Jon's hand felt his face, brushing through his hair.

"Kurt?" His voice was lower than it was in the day, thick with sleep.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, two more tears sliding hot onto his cheeks. "Can I sleep here?" he asked hoarsely. "I'll be so quiet. You won't even know I exist."

Jon was still, his hand on Kurt's hair. "Yeah you can," Jon said.

Kurt sighed, wiping his face on his shirt and curling on his side, the catch in his breathing gradually releasing. The bed rocked and then Jon's body was warm against his back, curling around him. Kurt reached back and pulled Jon's arm over his chest, tucking it tight against himself. He felt Jon's lips brush his shoulder and the warm sigh of his breath through the thin fabric of Kurt's nightshirt.

Jon had miraculous powers of sleep. It only took a minute or two for Jon's breathing to deepen and his body to relax, his heavy arm pulling Kurt down into a dreamless unconscious after him.

2684 words.