{Kurt}

Misty sleepily lifted her head off the foot of Cary's bed, pricking her ears when Kurt poked his head into the room. Cary's space was austere and spare, just a bed neatly made, an old fashioned rocking chair, and a wooden stool with a lamp set on top. Kurt gathered Misty's warm, liquid body against his chest and climbed the set of stairs he'd never used; Jon had not included the attic room in the tour.

Sniffing at the marijuana smell, Kurt poked his head above the floor. The room was dark, the drawing table unoccupied. Misty jumped lightly from his arms and padded over the floor with a 'prrt?' noise.

"Hey cat." Cary's voice came out of the dark, soft and frayed.

Misty purred, rubbing her side against the shadow under the window.

"Where are the lights in this place?" Kurt asked, coming all the way up the stairs. He fumbled with the desk lamp, finally locating the switch. The drawing on the desk jumped into stark relief and he made a sound like it had punched him.

"Jesus Christ." Quickly, he snapped the light off again, pulling his hands away and holding them up like he might be accused of having anything to do with that. "What the hell kind of horrifying children's story are you working on up here, Douglas?"

An ember glowed briefly from under the window. "Mine," Cary rumbled quietly. "Done now. Leave the light off please."

Kurt's hands settled on his chest, his heart still pounding from the image laid out like an eviscerated body on the desk. His eyes adjusted to the dark so he could see Cary slumped against the wall under the window, one knee clasped against his chest.

Without a word, Kurt went downstairs and returned with a lit pillar candle and a pocket full of votives. He lit the little candles one by one and set them around the attic space on shelves and the ledge of the desk, the small 'fizz' of the wicks catching and Misty's rasping purr the only sounds in the dark. He set the pillar candle on the floor next to Cary and settled into the armchair, his legs stretched towards the other man.

Cary rubbed his eyes and Kurt saw him make an effort to pull himself together. "How was the night?" Cary's voice was wrecked, like Kurt's after a nightmare.

"Fabulous," Kurt said. His lips curled and he got lost in a daydream for a second, tasting Jon. All the firsts Jon had given him were his most treasured possession now. He was hoarding the memories like gold.

"Good, happy for you," Cary said.

Kurt brought himself back to the present, folding his arms loosely over his front, studying Cary's face, turned partially away from him. His friend looked flat and dull like he'd killed himself in real life and not just in a picture on a page.

"I don't really know how this works," Kurt said. "Do you want to talk about this...trigger? Does that help?"

Cary made a dry noise. "Probably. Doesn't mean I want to."

Candlelight made the room feel close and cozy. Sitting quietly, Kurt ran his fingers through his own childhood shit, in the pile with shit from Nicky and every other stupid thing he'd done all on his own to fuck up his life. There were pieces he still came back to, holding them in his hand like touchstones: this is Kurt. "Tell me something about little Cary that you liked."

"What?" Cary' face swung towards him, creased, his eyes pits of shadow.

"The kid you were," Kurt said. "So--me. Little Kurt liked to put on his mother's gloves and dance to Madonna." His mouth curled up at the memory. "Now--you."

Cary was silent a moment, his hands closing on his legs. "Little Cary liked to climb the monkey bars and stand on the top," he said. "Before they made playgrounds stupid and safe."

Kurt chuckled. "That's a good one. Okay--little Kurt liked to make raisin cookies with his Grandma Visser and lick the spoon. I've tried to make those damn cookies a hundred times, Douglas. She had some magic ingredient I can't figure out."

"Raisons, huh?" Cary said. "Not my thing." He was quiet again. "Little Cary liked to watch his mother put on her face. All the paints and brushes and colours were like magic."

Kurt got excited. "Ooh, me too." He laughed. "Little Kurt liked to wear his mother's lipstick and leave smootchy prints on her mirror."

Cary's laugh cracked. "I definitely did not do that. Little Cary..." But the words abruptly pinched off. Cary made a sound like someone had shoved all the air out of his chest, and his hands flew up to cover his face.

Kurt put his fingers to his mouth, taking a breath. Oh. That's what he'd been feeling, an ocean of tears dammed up tight. Cary cried with sobs as large as he was, not hiding it at all.

Kurt blinked, his own tears sliding down his cheeks. It was right under his fingers, familiar as a minor chord. "What happened to your mother, Cary?" he asked softly.

Cary wiped his eyes on the backs of his wrists, on his shirt, but the tears didn't stop. "She left," he said hoarsely. "She took my brother and they're gone."

Kurt blinked. "I didn't know you had a brother other than Jon."

Cary hauled himself to his feet, fumbling for a tissue box, the candles throwing his shadow huge and unsteady around the room. "Liam. Haven't seen him since he was just months old." He blew his nose, leaning against the window frame and looking out at the dark. "He's--seven. Now." His voice broke. "Somewhere."

Kurt wished he could remember more of Cary's story: their family had lived in the same neighbourhood and he'd attended the same large public high school as him for a couple of years. All he knew was Cary's father had done time for the scars on Cary's body, and that Cary Douglas had lived with the White family ever since.

"I never paid attention when all that shit was going down for you, I'm sorry," Kurt said. "I was wrapped up in my little closeted hell. Can you--tell me about her?"

"No." Cary made a dry noise. "I have no fucking clue what my mother was really like under the--face she put on. I stayed for her. I covered for her with him. Little Cary's fucking ten-year-old body took punches for her--" He rubbed his hands, hard, over his face, and Kurt thought it wasn't just the candlelight that was shaking.

"God I love that kid so much now," Cary said softly. He took a deep breath, crossing his arms tight over his chest. "When I finally opened my mouth on our shit she packed up and left. I fucking--gutted myself for social workers and police and a courtroom full of grown-ups so she could get away and Liam would never know the shit I know." He made his shoulders as small as they would go, leaning his forehead against the windowpane.

Kurt's face creased, waiting for the ending. "And?" he finally prompted.

Cary's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "And they're gone."

"Did you--look? Did you ask around?"

Cary laughed tightly. "You have no idea. She doesn't want to be found. All I know for sure is she didn't go back to him when he got out of jail. Best I can figure, she changed their names to disappear." His voice dropped low. "She cut me out and moved on."

The sadness of that opened in his chest, and Kurt got up, putting his arms around Cary's barrel chest. "I'm hugging you now," he said gruffly. He had been right, Cary was shaking, trembling in the aftermath of opening all that today.

Cary patted his shoulder and his laugh caught. "I imagine they're safe, you know? Like I think about Liam and how maybe he likes cowboys now, or baseball or--I don't even know what the fuck children do, I was never really a child." He got a jerky breath in and Kurt leaned on the other side of the window sill, his throat aching.

"I imagine them somewhere together and my mom--" Cary spread his hand over his heart, bowing his head as his voice frayed to a thread. "--tucking him in and touching his hair and he never--flinches because he has no bruises. If I could just know they were safe..." He dropped back into the armchair, arms hanging limply over the sides, legs splayed out in front of him. He let out a huge, shaky sigh, closing his eyes. "Jesus-God."

Kurt breathed out with him, leaning his head against the window frame. At least he knew where his mom and little brother were. He could drive by the house any day and check they were there. He didn't have any words for this--but words weren't needed anyways. He leaned over to pull a tissue and blew his own nose.

"I needed a cry about that," Cary finally said, without opening his eyes. "So thanks for that, Visser."

Kurt lifted his own shoulders. "You're welcome?" he said hesitantly.

"I'm done drawing this abuse shit." A little more energy came into Cary's voice. "I need something fun to work on next. Something ridiculous and fucking... playful. That is actually suitable for children."

"Something with sequins and glitter?" Kurt suggested. "And, oh my god, drag queens?"

"Absolutely, sequins and drag queens," Cary said. His eyes opened, warm and brown in his blotchy, tender-looking face. "And... talking bears and lions and tigers." Misty glanced back at him from the windowsill, her gold eyes flashing.

Kurt drew in his breath. "Like a circus."

Cary's smile spread slowly over his face, and he rubbed his right hand like he was already thinking of grabbing a pencil. "Like a fucking big top with everything amazing crammed underneath. And light. God...I want to draw light." He sighed, closing his eyes and spreading his hands over his chest.

Kurt nudged his foot. "Don't fall asleep on me, Care." The name Jon called his brother sounded good coming from his mouth; Kurt liked it. "No one's carrying you downstairs."

Cary got slowly to his feet and limped down the stairs. Behind him, Kurt blew out the candles, leaving the drawing in the dark. That shit needed the light of day to handle.

In the hallway, he realized the door to Jon's room was open and the rumpled, empty bed was glaringly obvious. Blushing, he flicked off Jon's light and closed the door on the unused bedroom, feeling Cary's eyes on him.

There was nothing for it but to open the door of his own room, the slice of light from the hall falling over Jon's body sleeping in his bed. His boyfriend's arms were stretched over his head, a shirt pulled over his eyes. Kurt's room even smelled different with Jon in it, like beeswax and Old Spice. Kurt took a steadying breath, a smile curling his lips as he slipped inside and closed the door on them both.

*Can I just say, lovelies, as the author living with Cary's abuse shit for the past 12 years, I was SO HAPPY to hear him say he's done drawing the basement.

This seed of an idea that Cary and Kurt come up--sequins, drag queens, bears, lions, tigers and a big top crammed with light--with turns into an fictional graphic novel series called 'The Light Circus.' It features in an upcoming book I'm creating with my daughter... which is live now, as of December 2021! Link in the comments. You'll want to add it to your 'Read NEXT' list  ;)*

1942 words.