Trigger warning: references to sexual assault. No flashbacks.

{Kurt}

Kurt woke up face down in his bed with a splitting headache, a filthy taste in his mouth, and a body that felt like it had been pounded for steak tartar. More importantly, he woke up in the house he shared with Jon, on Jon's day off. That thought rolled him out of bed to see if a tub full of hot steamy water could make him feel more like a human and less like a trashed hotel room after a Marianas Trench concert.

Thank God for Cary's massive tub. Kurt curled on his side, hiding under the warm, scented water right up to his nose, resting his cheek on his hand until his fingers were prunes. He'd been looking forward to this day all week—had planned to whisk Jon away to the mountains to spend the day in Jasper, holding hands and shopping and hiking. He smiled and hummed to himself at the daydream. They were still doing that, just not today. He wasn't walking anywhere today.

There was a text in his phone from Cary: <Tylenol in the cabinet. Pills in my truck. Home in a couple hours>

Kurt carefully towel-dried his throbbing head. There was a knot as big as a golf ball on the back of his skull, and his headache had the thick, foggy quality he remembered from a football concussion years ago. It was not a great combination with the sloshing pain of a hangover.

He brushed his teeth and downed a couple Tylenol and as much water as he could drink, leaning on the sink with his back to the mirror. He didn't feel up to meeting Kurt Visser's eyes just now. How he looked was how he looked. Tomorrow would be better. Today just had to be endured.

Jon's room was empty, the bed neatly made, when Kurt tapped on the door. He crept in, fingering the clothes in Jon's closet. He dug one of Jon's baggy hoodies out of the laundry basket, the comforting smell of his boyfriend's body wafting up around his face as he pulled it on, and took a pair of yoga pants as well, a little short on his legs but soft as butter against his skin.

There were so many damn stairs in their house. Kurt took them slow, leaning on the wall to catch his breath, glad no one was watching. The main floor was empty, but he heard the sound of someone working the heavy bag through the open basement door. Kurt paused, rubbing his unsettled stomach. He was willing to say anything here to make this better, and he sent up a prayer to the God he didn't believe in anymore: you fucker don't take this away from me too.

He climbed slowly down the stairs, checking to see if it was Jon. The rhythmic 'smack-smack-thud' fell silent and his boyfriend glanced up at him, breathing hard, steadying the bag with one gloved hand. Sweat made Jon's hair stick up in chunks.

"Mistakes were made," Kurt drawled, smiling as he eased himself onto the couch.

Jon didn't smile, tapping the tip of his glove against the bag, watching it swing. "You need to get to an AA meeting today?"

"Mmm...feel like I need a day to just, like, recover." Kurt's insides felt like Jello and he thought he might be afraid to leave the safety of these four walls. Jon's silence was heavy on his gut and he let out his breath. "I fucked up, White. I know it--I'm sorry."

There was an edge to Jon's words. "I don't know if I'm more angry about you drinking or you spending one more night out with Nicky."

The shiver tightened his whole aching body. "I regret everything."

"I love your music, Kurt." Jon touched him with a look, his eyes darker than usual. Jerking the tape open on his gloves with his teeth, Jon dropped them; his hands were still fisted, wrapped knuckle to wrist. "I wanted to give Nicky a chance for you. But I hate the way he looks at you. I hate the way he talks to you. I hate how he touches you all the time." His face twisted and he turned it away.

Kurt lifted his chin, his heart drumming in his rib cage. "I don't want him. I want you."

Jon walked lightly over the sparring floor, his eyebrows drawn down and colour high in his cheeks. Taking Kurt's face in his hands, he slung his leg over Kurt's hips, kneeling on the couch, and his closeness steadied Kurt's trembling. Easing him off a bruise, Kurt ran his hands up Jon's back under his shirt, feeling the heat of the muscles he'd just been using.

Jon bent his head, finding his mouth. His hands were bulky in the wrappings, but his fingertips were gentle, working their way into the hair behind Kurt's ears as he kissed him. Kurt made a hungry sound in his throat and pulled him closer, tipping onto his back on the couch and pulling Jon down on top of him. With Jon's weight against him Kurt felt a little less like all the skin had been peeled off the front of his body. He opened his mouth, putting every word he couldn't say into the meeting of their breath and the touch of his tongue.

{Jon}

Jon kissed Kurt with his eyes open, his forearms braced against the couch arm to keep most of his weight off of Kurt's body. The moment Kurt's face flinched, and his body shifted under Jon, Jon lifted himself off him, settling on the floor next to the couch instead, one arm still slung over Kurt's chest. Kurt wove his fingers into Jon's stiff, wrapped ones.

"You don't have to work today, do you?" Kurt's normally relaxed, confident drawl was unsteady. Jon shook his head, not trusting his voice to speak.

"Everything's okay with your job though, right? Last night didn't fuck that up?"

His tension headache sharpened, stabbing him, and he rolled his neck. "Think so. I haven't heard anything."

Kurt took a breath, pressing Jon's hand more securely into his chest. "Thank Christ. I was so afraid I'd wrecked your life I lost my head for a bit there." He laughed a little at himself.

Jon's free hand fisted on the floor next to his hip. "I can fight my own battles, Visser," he said softly.

Kurt turned on his side toward him, tucking his hand under his cheek, smiling with half his mouth. "You would if you could. It's all right, love." He leaned in, kissing the corner of Jon's jaw, rubbing the tension out of the back of Jon's neck. "Your secret's safe with me."

Jon closed his eyes.

Kurt's breath sighed against his cheek. "God, I'm too old for this shit. Would it be okay if your boyfriend wasn't a rock star anymore? I just want to cuddle with you and watch something completely gay, for, like, every night of the rest of our life."

Jon turned his head to kiss the side of Kurt's mouth. "Sounds good," he said lightly. "I'll make you my hangover remedy—you'll hate it but your body will thank you later."

Kurt's lips smiled against his. "Can't wait."

*

Jon called in sick to work for the second Sunday in a row. Kurt fell asleep against his chest while they watched The Nanny. Leaning his head sideways against the leather back of the couch, Jon breathed in the smell of Old Spice and leather and smoke. It was the smell of Cary...or maybe Cary smelled like this couch. Kurt felt weighty in his arms and Jon closed his eyes, trying to deepen his breathing, trying to pray. His hands tightened around Kurt's chest and he didn't have any words.

Late in the afternoon, Cary jogged down the steps, then pulled up, glancing from Kurt's sleeping body, to Jon's wrapped hands holding him. "Thought you worked today," Cary said gruffly. He could barely meet Jon's eyes.

"Called in sick," Jon said. He frowned at Cary's clean-shaven face, which he hadn't seen since they were seventeen. His friend had worn a beard for as many years as he'd been able to grow one. Cary was also inexplicably in his paint-spattered work clothes and cap. "Thought you didn't work on Sundays."

Cary ducked his head. "Just wanted to finish something at the last job." He turned and went back up the stairs. Jon watched him go, wondering if he'd planned to keep Kurt company or kick the shit of the bag down here.

Later, Kurt woke up abruptly, sitting up with a gasp. His eyes were dark with pupil as he looked back at Jon, lying behind him with his arms spilled open.

"Hey," Jon said. "You fell asleep watching The Nanny." He lifted his chin, trying to smile. "You're in our house. You're safe." He pulled his legs free; one foot was asleep and he had a crick in his neck from holding still so long, holding Kurt. "Do you want something to eat yet?"

Kurt blinked, glancing at the used smoothie cup. "That'd be good." He cleared his throat. "I'm gonna use the washroom."

He got up stiffly and in the corner of his eye Jon watched him climb the stairs, saw Kurt lean on the wall and hum a little noise of pain to himself before he reached the top. When the door closed, Jon let out his breath through his clenched teeth, putting his fists against his eyes. His body already knew what his brain wouldn't make the words for. God. We need you. He scraped his eyes dry on the wrappings around his wrists.

Tugging the Velcro strips open, Jon unwrapped his hands. He was going to need to be soft for Kurt today, and he shoved down anything else he might feel about that or need for himself right now. He'd been loved his whole life: he could live off of his reserves and just give for a long time before he was dry. He didn't count the cost: whatever it took he was paying it.

{Kurt}

When he rejoined Jon in the kitchen, Kurt was surprised to see that the sky was darkening to indigo out the window. "I slept the day away, sorry love. I wrecked our plans together."

"That's all right," Jon said softly. "There's risotto leftovers, want some?"

"Just a little. Stomach's not feeling too good," Kurt admitted. His mouth slipped crooked with worry, glancing at Jon. "That's the last time, Jon. I swear to you, I'm done drinking."

"I'm glad," Jon said. He was very quiet today, and Kurt hated that he had fucked up and hurt him. "I just want good things for you, Kurt. I want you to be well and--loved." Jon scooped minty tea leaves into a pair of mugs. "This'll feel good on your stomach."

Frowning, Kurt put his eyes forward, wondering if he mis-remembered this through the blur of alcohol and Nicky's hands everywhere: Jon's fierce face in the shadow of his hood saying he loved him. Scooped out and raw, it felt like there was only one good thing left inside him. "I love you," Kurt said out loud. He had definitely said this at the Barns. Did that mean...?

Beside him, Jon bent his head, focusing on pouring water over their tea leaves. "I love you too," he said.

Kurt felt his chest crumpling when Jon wouldn't look at him. "But?" he asked.

Jon's hazel eye glanced sideways at him. "There's no 'but.' I love you, Kurt Visser." The words were matter of fact.

Jon's body was so tense, he looked like he was ready to take someone down and he had all day. Kurt took a short breath. "Is this about Nicky?"

Jon was still a second, then resumed spooning honey into their mugs. He rolled his shoulders. "You tell me. Does Nicky have something to do with us?"

Kurt brushed his hand over his face, tucking his hair behind his ear to cover the fact that he couldn't breathe for a second, Nicky's breath hot on his neck in the back of the van, trying to just ride it out when he wanted to be anywhere else. "No." The word was small. "I'm breaking up with him."

Jon was rigid, touching the back of his hand to his mouth, his knuckles white on the edge of the counter.

"With the band," Kurt corrected himself. "Fuck." He rubbed his face hard, trying to snap out of it. "Sorry. Last night fucked me up."

Abruptly, Jon turned and put his arms around him, hugging him tight. Blindly, Kurt put his face into Jon's neck, filling his mouth and nose with Jon's smell--clean laundry and the cinnamon warmth of his shampoo. The tightness in his chest gradually eased, releasing under the pressure of Jon's embrace.

Feeling came back into Kurt's hands and arms and he brought them up to wrap them around Jon's shoulders, sighing.

"I wanted to come home to you," Kurt said unsteadily. "An' they took my phone so I couldn't call. I was so stupid drunk I didn't think I coulda just gone over to the bar to ask someone to use a phone. They were all— crowding me an' no one wanted me to go except...me." His breath caught, and Jon drew back, his hazel eyes going over Kurt's face. He took Kurt's cheeks in his hands, wiping the tears with his thumbs. Kurt hadn't realized he was crying.

"You felt trapped," Jon said.

Kurt pressed his lips closed, a hurt noise humming in his throat. He shut his eyes and turned his face aside to hide just how true that had been.

Jon stroked his hands down his arms. "That sounds very scary, love. It's getting dark out; we don't need to talk about this tonight."

"I need you to hear I'm sorry," Kurt whispered. "I don't want you to leave me for this. It won't happen again."

Jon made a dry noise, putting his warm palm against Kurt's chest. "Not a chance, Visser, am I leaving you for this." Kurt's heart thudded, straining against his ribs to touch the hand laid over it. "Do I seem like a quitter to you?"

Kurt's laugh cracked. "No."

"Right. I'm not. I'll fight for you long after you might wish I would quit. I think you're amazing, and you deserve better than the shit hand you've been dealt up to now. Anytime you want to step away you're free to go. I won't hold you back. But as long as you're here...I'm all in."

Kurt rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes, his lips curling tentatively as he looked sideways at Jon. "'Kay." He got a full breath in his chest. They were going to be okay. Tomorrow would be better.

{Jon}

Kurt fell asleep in his arms in their bed, but Jon's body was vibrating with contained energy, not sleepy at all. The 'pop' and 'crackle' of a bonfire came through the window, and he slipped out of bed, pulling his clothes back on.

The night was cool and dark; Cary was a bulky shadow beside the fire, the cherry of his joint red at his mouth, and the fragrant smell of marijuana filling their backyard.

"You've been avoiding the hell out of me," Jon said.

Cary glanced at him, then up at the darkened window of the guest bedroom. "Kurt asleep?" he asked.

Jon's hands fisted in his hoodie pocket. "Yeah. I had to hold him 'til he fell asleep. Like, tight. Like he's terrified to be alone in the dark. What the hell happened last night."

Cary wouldn't look at him. "It's his story to tell."

Jon breathed in sharply, putting his eyes on the night sky. "But you know."

Cary was silent.

"And you promised not to tell."

Cary was silent.

Jon swiped his eyes with his hand, his throat aching. "So I'm in love with this man," he said conversationally. "Kurt Visser." The feeling that went with those words barely fit in his ribcage; he felt a breath away from blowing open. "And he is not okay right now. So here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to talk and you're just going to tell me if I'm wrong. Can you do that, Care?"

His friend looked up at him, his eyes dark pools in his worried face. He nodded once.

Jon crossed his arms tight. "I work with abused kids every single day. If Kurt was one of my kids I would be sending for a rape kit and calling the cops to take a statement. Tell me I'm wrong." His voice cracked, and he set his feet a little wider to steady himself. "Tell me I'm a privileged asshole that doesn't know shit about this."

Cary was silent, holding his eyes, his mouth a hard line in his bare face.

Jon swayed back. "Shit, Cary--tell me I'm wrong."

Cary rubbed his hand over his eyes. "We said no lying." His voice was dry as ashes. "Friends don't lie."

The noise that came out of Jon's chest was unrecognizable. "Was it Nicky—was it his fucking asshole ex?"

Cary loomed up off his chair and put his arms around Jon; it was like being hugged by a mountain, except warm and smelling of weed. A sob choked Jon and he buried his face in Cary's jacket, twisting the fabric in his fists, then screaming all the rage and pain of that into Cary's hug.

{Cary}

"What do we do now?" Jon sat slumped in the deck chair across from him, a cigarette dangling from his fingers—a habit he didn't often indulge in in front of Cary, although Cary suspected from the smell of Jon's car that he smoked fairly regularly.

"Dunno," Cary said. The blunt in his fingers was down to the nub and he was weighing out whether he needed another to sleep. His own experience of just barely making it out alive was heavy on his mind tonight. "Kurt didn't want to report it."

"Can we just find Nicky and kill him?" Jon exhaled smoke through his teeth. "Can I just beat the shit out of him?"

Cary rubbed his face hard. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "You want to do jail time, Jon? You want to lose your job?"

Jon glanced at him, firelight reflecting blankly on his eyes. "It's what you used to do."

"And I went to court!" Cary growled. "This isn't like Batman, or whatever. You don't get away with that shit. I'm just lucky they closed my juvenile record and I got a fresh start. You're an adult. Aggravated assault would go with you forever. And I think you have better things to do with your life. Like...loving Kurt Visser, for one."

Jon's face was enigmatic in the flickering light as he rolled his cigarette between his fingers, scattering embers on the concrete. "Just say... I wanted to beat the shit out of him a little bit. What then?"

"No." Cary said flatly. He didn't think adding that he'd already broken Nicky's finger would do anything but put fuel on this fire. "I'm not helping you. He's a piece of shit. Don't waste a minute on him, Jon."

"I don't need your help," Jon said.

Cary looked at him across the fire. Under his bulky hoodie, his friend's body was coiled and dangerous, and he'd been laid out enough times on their sparring floor to know Nicky was in trouble if Jon came after him. The knots in his stomach tightened and Cary flinched.

"You're scaring the shit out of me," Cary said. "Promise me you won't go after him. Yeah you can take Nicky, but I can't help you with the cops who'll come after. Think it through, Jon. I have one brother. Who's not missing or dead. And I just want you to be safe. And what would I do with Visser if you went to jail?" Cary added plaintively. "He'll be climbing the walls and taking me shopping..."

Jon snorted a laugh, chucking his cigarette into the fire and sagging back into the deck chair. "Imagine the conjugal visits though. Just picturing Visser's outfit ahead of time would be enough to keep me going." His breath hitched and he squeezed his hand over his eyes. "God he's so sexy. I hate. So much. That this happened to him." Exhaling, he slapped his cheeks and shook his head. "No more crying. Fuck. I'm going to bed."

Cary's eyes followed him up; Jon had not promised him. "You'll be safe?" he asked in a low voice.

Jon glanced back, not quite meeting his eyes. "Yeah I heard you, Care. You and Visser are my priority." He made a little salute on his forehead. "Message received. Do not go to jail. Got it."

His friend's fists were balled up tight at he went back in the house.

3454 words.