{Cary}

Monday morning, Cary was laying out his single pour-over when Kurt came down the stairs in his paint-spattered work jeans and one of Jon's hoodies. He looked rugged and tired, and Cary set his pour over aside and dumped extra scoops into the coffee maker instead. Neither of them said anything while the coffee perked, the sound of Jon working the bag coming through the basement door.

When they both had coffee in their hands, Cary said gruffly, "You up for this today? Thought you might want some time off."

Kurt flicked him a flat look over his mug. "Nah. What am I gonna do at home alone all day? Louise said I'm good if I don't operate heavy machinery or lift heavy shit."

Cary dropped his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. He guessed normalcy could be as healing as a rest.

Steps jogged up the stairs and Jon appeared, sweat-soaked and shirtless, his knuckles still wrapped from his work-out. Kurt's lips curled, checking him out.

"Hey," Jon said, darting in for a kiss. "Sorry I'm so gross."

"Apology not necessary." Kurt chuckled, his eyes following Jon as he started making a smoothie.

Cary watched Jon dump an extra protein scoop in the cup like he used to when he was packing on muscle to compete in a Jui Jitsu tournament.

"Who's cooking tonight?" Jon asked.

"You home for supper?" Kurt's face lit up.

Jon narrowed his eyes at him, his mouth curving in half a smile. "Sure. What do you want to try on us next?"

"Damn, I need to think. Food has not been very interesting the past 24 hours."

"I trust you, Visser. I'll be back from class at six, shift at nine." Jon whirred up his breakfast and slupped it back in one long draft. "See you then, love." He jogged upstairs, Kurt's eyes following him up.

"Hi-ho hi-ho—it's off to work I go," Kurt sang. "Let's go, Douglas--sooner we get this done, sooner we can be home for dinner."

*

At the work site, Cary kept an eye on Kurt, holding himself back to work at the other man's speed. Mid-morning, he made the excuse that he was hungry and packed them back into the truck for breakfast and what looked like a needed break for Kurt's body.

Beside him, Kurt checked his phone, sliding down low as he scrolled through his texts. "Shit," he said low.

"Everything okay?"

The other man shot him an incredulous look. "Did you seriously break Nicky's fingers?"

"Uhhh...just the one," Cary said, holding up his pinky.

"Holy Christ." Kurt rubbed his face. "I don't even understand what I'm reading here."

When Cary pulled into the parking lot, Kurt caught his sleeve. "Care, can you just--stay here for a sec? While I make this call?"

Cary settled back in his seat, remembering Kurt's freezing fingers squeezing his hand at the clinic. "Sure. I'll just do drive-though."

Kurt flipped his hood up, yanking it tight around his face, then thumbed the call button and tucked the phone next to his ear. "Hey Nicky."

Cary looked sharply at him. The voice on the other line sounded energetic and excited, and Kurt listened with his hand on his forehead, leaning against the door.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna do that," he said, when the voice took a break.

Nicky laughed, saying something before Kurt cut him off. "Listen, you and the band just run with it. I'm not interested. I'm stepping back."

A sharp question, and Kurt shook his head, hard. "No, I'm done with the band. Saturday was my last--"

The voice rose, and Kurt wrapped his arm over his chest. "I'm sorry." It didn't make a dent in the tirade of words on the other end and Kurt's face flinched. "I know, I'm sorry."

Cary squeezed and released the wheel to keep from just grabbing the phone off Kurt's ear and telling Nicky to go to hell.

Kurt dragged in a breath, closing his eyes. "That's fine, do what you want with it. Yup. Sure. I won't change my mind. You just—keep everything. I'm done. Bye." He tossed the phone on the dashboard, pulling his hoodie up over his face until all that was visible were his clenched fingers and the messy top of his head.

Cary leaned out the window, growling at the speaker. "Two large coffees, six egg McMuffins and hashbrowns."

The phone buzzed and jumped on the dash, and Kurt emerged to shut it up. He set it on Cary's leg, patting it gingerly. "You just keep that for a bit while he cools down, okay?"

Cary glanced at him, wondering if Kurt was the kind of person who wanted to talk about this. "How'd that go?"

Kurt rubbed his ears like they were ringing. "I might need to say that a couple more times. Nicky has trouble taking no for an answer."

The woman at the pick-up window shied back from the force of Cary's glare, and he snatched the bag of food and coffees, unable to wipe the anger off his face.

Kurt wrapped his fingers around the paper cup, his eyes flat and tired. "They got an offer from a label—a guy was at the concert and wants to sign them."

"He's not doing that without you," Cary said.

Kurt glanced at him. "You don't think they'll find someone else?"

"No," Cary said. "There's only one Kurt Visser."

"Klassen," Kurt said. "Is the name on the album credits. Nicky didn't want to reprint and change it." He breathed into the lid of the cup, his eyes lowered. "Whatever, that's done. I'm not making music anymore. Went out in a blaze of glory, that's good enough for me. Guess I'm a contractor now, just like you." He gave himself a shake, and dug into the bag, a little spark coming back into his expression. "Damn, these smell good."

Cary tapped on the back of the phone on his leg. "What am I doing with this?"

Kurt glanced warily at it. "Can you keep tabs on that today?"

"Yeah," Cary said.

Kurt rubbed his knuckles against his chest, like he had a muscle pain there. "Just if there's anything I really need to know or...the standard bullshit. I saved the photos I want on the cloud."

"Of Jon-Jonny-Jon?" Cary teased.

Kurt's eyes touched his, and Cary wondered how much he actually remembered from the aftermath of the concert. One corner of Kurt's mouth smiled. "Obviously." He bit off half a McMuffin at once, slouching with his boots on the dash. "Hey, if we swing by the mall on the way home I can just get a new one. Only people I care about are you and Jon. An' my Aunt Aleen. Oh, and I guess a couple folks from AA." Kurt laughed, making jazz hands. "Heyyy, Kurt Visser has his own sober friends."

Cary huffed his own quiet laugh, chucking the phone in the back seat. "Let's knock off an hour early, get you your phone and pick up some things for supper." Breaking up with Nicky and the band felt like a reason for celebration. There was no way Kurt Visser was really done with music. 

But by mid-afternoon, Kurt was silent: not a hum or a whistle or a word out of him as he held up his end of the sheets for Cary to thud the nails home into the studs. There was still one short wall left when Cary emptied the nail gun and tucked it back in their tool bag.

"Let's get you home," he said quietly.

Kurt didn't even argue, just headed for the stairs, jogging the first three, then catching himself and leaning on the wall to walk the rest.

In the truck, Cary popped the glove compartment in front of the other man's knees. "Yours are the yellow bottle. Mine are the white. I wouldn't advise giving them a go." He kept his stash of painkillers out of the house for reasons--not just that he lived with Jon, but also some days his hip tapped out early and he needed a couple T3s to finish his work day and get himself home.

Silently, Kurt cracked the yellow bottle and swallowed two, dry.

"You want to cancel supper?" Cary asked.

Kurt gave him a narrow look. "No. I'm gonna sleep this off. I'll be fine by tonight."

Cary sighed. "Nothing wrong with asking for help."

"I don't have much planned for food," the other man admitted.

"Why don't I just pick something up. There's a curry place Jon likes."

"Oof." Kurt put his hand on his stomach, wincing. "I can't do anything spicy today."

"Vietnamese noodle soup then."

Kurt nodded, folding his arms over his body and shifting in his seat. With a sigh, he put his head back and closed his eyes, looking strained, his cheekbones sharp under his translucent skin.

Cary rubbed his hand over his mouth, his own stomach aching. He had to remind himself that bodies heal, pushing his feet against the floor and tapping his fingers on the wheel. Sadness gaped inside him for the time it was going to take for that healing, and the bruises on the inside that a nurse couldn't patch up. 

{Kurt}

Kurt took a bath and crawled back into his bed, aching inside and out. The memory of the concert filled his mind—not the shit that came after, but the incandescent, incomparable feeling he had had while that music poured out of him. Every person in that room had been fused together by song, Nicky's steady drumbeat carrying them all. Over and gone.

Heat prickled Kurt's eyes and he curled underneath the covers, hugging a pillow against his chest. Before Nicky, his song-writing had been rambling and self-indulgent. Even he knew it was garbage. The other man's focus, his sharp insightful feedback had been exactly what Kurt needed and suddenly his music sparked, it caught, it blazed and began to draw an audience. When they played together, Nicky dropped his ego and was the backbone for Kurt to open himself and spill his music on the stage.

Kurt couldn't imagine getting up in front of a crowd of people to play without him. All year he'd been hoping they could make something work creatively so that he could have the music he loved and a personal life separate from Nicky's control. He'd been willing to compromise on any number of things and give shit up to make it work. But Nicky wanted everything—he wanted things Kurt had planned to keep for himself and share with Jon.

After spending the years of his adolescence under his father's thumb, training and competing and doing exactly as he was told right down to the food on his plate, Kurt had dived into Nicky's world. The best thing about coming out was the chance to get free from being controlled by someone else. And it just kept happening over and over again. What was wrong with him? Was there just something embedded in Kurt Visser's DNA that invited abuse? It felt like the only way he was ever going to be with someone was if they engulfed him and used him, a hand in his glove, until he was discarded, crumpled and empty again.

A wave of grief smacked Kurt's chest, sweeping him away from any sense of time or perspective, and he just hugged himself and cried.

{Jon}

When Jon arrived home, Kurt's boots were in the entryway, but the main floor was empty and quiet. Jon hesitated, glancing up the stairs, then texted. <you home?>

After a moment, Kurt's reply bubbled up: <down in a min>

While he waited, Jon whisked up eggs and minced garlic for an extra protein serving. His shoulders burned pleasantly from his work out this morning; he hadn't spent much time on the bag the past couple months and it was good to be back. Also, anger hummed in his body just under his  awareness and he was happy to punch something. He was already looking forward to meeting the bag again after his shift tomorrow morning.

When Kurt came downstairs, he was wearing one of Jon's grey sweaters, the hood up and his hands buried in the front pocket. (All the laundry Jon was going to have to do this week. He missed Kurt's colourful wardrobe with a physical pang.)

Jon smiled over his shoulder at him, while he scrambled the eggs, noticing his boyfriend's face was blotchy and his eyes were tender and raw. "Hey," Jon said. Kurt's mouth made a small smile. "Hungry at all?"

"Douglas is bringing food," Kurt said. His voice was thick and he cleared his throat. "I crashed this afternoon, sorry White. Still paying for my sins on Saturday."

Jon ducked his head, cracking the eggs so hastily he made a crushed mess of one shell in his hand. He shook off the fragments and washed his fingers. "You okay?" he asked, without looking at Kurt.

Kurt leaned his hip against the counter, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. "Just having a feelings' day," he said huskily.

Jon bit the corner of his mouth, looking sideways at his boyfriend.

"I called Nicky today and told him I'm done. I quit the band. No more music for Kurt." Kurt's breath caught and his eyes swam with fresh tears.

The pan hissed, garlic and olive oil fragrant in the kitchen, and Jon quickly took it off the heat. He wasn't going to contradict Kurt's feelings, but he was pretty sure this wasn't the end of making music, just the end of making music with a toxic, over-bearing asshole. He turned, putting his arms out. "C'mere," he said softly, and Kurt shuffled towards him, bumping his body against Jon's, his hands still buried in his pocket.

Jon wrapped him in his embrace and Kurt folded to lay his head on his shoulder, his face hot through the fabric of Jon's shirt. None of the things that burned in Jon's chest felt like the right thing to say. He wasn't sad at all that Kurt had broken it off with Nicky and the band. This hug was the only thing he knew how to do for Kurt right now, but it seemed to be enough.

*
Cary arrived, laden with take-out bags and a tiny white box. "Picked up your phone, Visser," he said. "You said you weren't picky, so I got the one with the good camera." He crinkled his dark eyes at Kurt, and Kurt's face lit up a little, unboxing the shiny new phone.

Cary pulled Kurt's old phone out of his pocket, propping it between the candles on the table. "We can switch your contacts after supper."

Jon eyed the device. "I thought Nicky took your phone?" Jon asked, as he popped open the Styrofoam containers full of steaming rice noodles and brightly coloured veggies.

"Douglas went back for it," Kurt said, chuckling. "He was all 'scary Cary' and now Nicky thinks my boyfriend is a complete badass."

Jon's eyebrows flicked up, and Kurt caught his look, saying quickly, "Which he is, obviously."

Cary wouldn't meet Jon's eyes, rubbing his clean-shaven face. Sensing more to that story, Jon let it lie for now. "Let's eat," he said, and took Kurt's hand to say the grace.

While they were slurping noodles, Kurt said, "Anything I need to know on there, Douglas?"

Cary shook his head, eyes lowered. "Doesn't get it. Charming as usual. Finally gave up an hour ago when you didn't give him anything back."

It was quiet a few moments, then Kurt plucked the phone up and swiped it open. He leaned his shoulder against Jon's body, and Jon shifted, tucking his arm around Kurt's waist. It wasn't easy to eat rice noodles one handed, but he didn't care.

Kurt's thumbs rapidly texted, deleted, texted again. He paused, re-reading his message, then thumbed the screen. The phone made the little 'whoosh' sound of sending. Exhaling, Kurt squeezed the phone until it was black and blank. "All done," he said to himself.

It was a quiet meal. Jon's leg jogged under the table while he ate one-handed, snugged up next to Kurt. When he was finished, he played with Kurt's hair, lifting it off his neck and twisting it between his fingers, getting Kurt's eyes to flick to his face for just a second, the corner of his mouth curling.

"Is there anything for dessert?" Jon asked hopefully.

Kurt shook his head once, "Don't have my guitar anymore. Don't feel like singing without her."

Jon's fingers stilled on his hair. "What do you mean, you don't have your guitar anymore?"

Kurt brushed a kiss on his cheek and got up to clear the table. "That's all Nicky's now. I left my gear at The Barns because I was drunk and stupid and he took it back to his place."

Jon made an short, angry noise, trading a look with Cary. His friend's expression was guarded and his arms were crossed over his barrel chest. "So let's just go back for it."

Kurt glanced back at him. "No." He shrugged, looking tired. "I don't want to see him again. I can live without it if it means it's done."

It closed around Jon's throat like a fist. "But--your guitar, Kurt. You've had that since we were together in high school."

"It's just a thing," Kurt said. He narrowed his eyes at Jon, barely a smile. "I'm fine, White. Don't get your pants all in a knot over it."

Jon thought of Kurt's tender, tear-stained face earlier this afternoon, and looked away, swallowing back anything more he might say about that now. He was well aware his boyfriend was not fine, and he was damned if he was letting Nicky take one more thing from Kurt.

*

Jon spent the evening cross-legged on his bed, typing emails and assignments, with Kurt curled around his body, his boyfriend's head propped in his hand reading. When he stretched and dropped his hand on Kurt's thigh, Jon felt the other man startle, the tiny flinch of his body before Kurt curled more tightly around him, wrapping his arms around his waist. "Heading out now?" Kurt's voice was muffled, his face hidden in Jon's lap.

"Yeah." Jon tucked Kurt's hair behind his ear. "Wish I could stay." His stomach ached with anxiety about leaving Kurt alone all night. His boyfriend hadn't allowed him to be further than arms' reach from his body since their hug in the kitchen. "You have any plans?"

"Mm," Kurt said. "Maybe I'll drag Cary to an AA meeting."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Too bad I don't have a dog to snuggle with tonight." Kurt's laugh was a little unsteady.

"You could shut Misty in with you," Jon said. "Cary does that sometimes. She'll try and sleep on your face though."

Kurt's chuckle warmed. "I consider myself warned."

Jon pulled himself free of Kurt's arms, kissing his cheek. "Call me if you need me, okay? I'm alone all night and the kids are asleep by ten."

Kurt sat up and wrapped his arms around himself, making a smile. "Sure. You go do your thing, Jon. We'll be here when you get back."

The main floor was empty and quiet and Kurt's old phone was still propped between the pair of melted pillar candles on their kitchen table. It caught Jon's eye as he went to the front door to put on his shoes. In the time it took him to tie the laces, his mind was made up. He paced back to the kitchen, squeezing the phone until it buzzed awake in his hand. He opened it with one swipe; Kurt had unlocked it for Cary.

The text thread was open on the screen, the last words Kurt had sent glowing there:

<Nicky Saturday night was fucked up I'm not doing that with you anymore. I have something good right now and that's all I care about. I can't see you again. I won't say shit to anyone about you I'm just done. Thanks for everything you did for me old man I hope you have a good life>

Jon took a short breath, resisting the urge to scroll up and see anything more. Glancing at the stairs, he pulled out his own phone and copied Nicky's number into his contacts. Quickly, he turned Kurt's phone off again and left it propped between the candles as he left to go to work.

*How great did you feel about Kurt making up his mind to end it with Nicky? Personally, I felt excellent ;)

What do you think Jon should do here?

Thanks for your reads and votes--I appreciate every comment!*

3377 words.