{Jon}

With effort, Jon moved his worry about Kurt into another room and closed the door as he stepped into River House for his shift. He noted the dishes were only half done and Dusty's reading light was on under his door. In the office, Angel gave him a tight smile. "Boss, thank God you're back. All the drama from the weekend is in the notes."

That got Jon's full attention. "Quick summary?" he asked.

She pulled her tuque over her feathery hair. "One of the weekend staff, Sharon, kicked up a fit about using Jordin's pronoun. Naomi had words with her but you'll see she used the log for a lonnnnng note of complaint. She says she doesn't want to work in an environment that demands she violate her personal beliefs."

Jon just caught himself from making a face. Welcome to my world, Sharon.

Angel rolled her eyes. "Wish I could say she's the only one, but she's the loudest. I'm so glad Jordin wasn't here this weekend."

Jon dropped his eyes to the log book, tapping his fingers on the desktop, thinking. If staff were threatening to quit, his boss probably needed to know about that. "Thanks Angel. I'll get on that." He rolled out his neck, sighing softly. Time for another carefully worded email.

"You got this, boss." She gave him a smile. "Dusty's waiting up for you."

Jon's face lifted in a genuine smile. Day already better.

Dusty sat up bolt upright in bed when Jon tapped on his door and came in. His eyes sparkled in the light of his reading lamp. "Pops!" He held out his arms, opening and closing his hands, and Jon knelt to hug him, taking comfort in the feel of his skinny body cuddling against him.

"Guess what?" Dusty asked, rushing on without waiting for an answer. "My mom's coming home for Christmas forever. She says we're going to be a family again!"

Jon made a smile back at the boy, but his heart sank. Promises had been made before and broken. "When did she tell you this?"

"She came for Kokum's goose dinner and she said she's going to a treatment and we should write her letters. Jordin says he--she," he corrected himself swiftly, "Isn't good at writing but I made a card already with glitter and Mom stuck it in her bag to take. My mom is coming home for Christmas Jon and I'm going to be her Christmas present!"

Jon stroked his hand over the boy's hair. Someone had brushed it out this weekend, pulling it into two braids. Bright red yarn was knotted around the end of one, but had slipped off the end of the other. He chose his words carefully. "That sounds really awesome, Dusty." He was going to have to reach their social worker, and the Kickingbird's grandmother on the reserve to confirm how much of this story was really true. Unfortunately, Dusty's hopes were already sky-high. "I'm so glad she could be with you for Thanksgiving."

Dusty wiggled back under the blankets. "I showed her how to make the tent and she made it for me every night." He closed his eyes, his hands clasped on his chest and a blissful expression on his face. "Can you pray for my mom to be good at treatment, Pops? And then we can all be together."

Jon rubbed his hands over his face, steadying himself to carry the weight of one more person. "Yeah, of course I can," he said. He took a breath to pray. "Creator, thank you for today." Jon called to mind the parts of the day that had been good, that he could actually say thank you for. "For sun in the sky and a safe home and people we love, and tasty goose dinner for Dusty and Jordin. Please be with Dusty's mom and help her to put the pieces together and heal so she can be with her family at Christmas."

He thought of his own boyfriend, labouring to leave the past behind and remake his life as a sober, thriving person. "Give her good people around her at treatment and help her to remember how much her boys love her and how much You love her. Bless her and Jordin and Dusty and Kokum—"

"And you, Pops," Dusty broke in quietly.

"And me," Jon said, smoothing his hand over his chest, thinking of his own people. And Kurt, and Cary. "Bless us all out of your love. Spread your tent of peace and love over us tonight. Amen."

{Kurt}

Kurt was used to having his guitar in his hands when this restless, anxious feeling was in his body. He paced through the main floor of their house, checking the windows like there might be anything out there other than a quiet, ordinary residential street. When he threw the locks on the doors he felt a little better, but the house still seemed too large and empty around him.

He poked his head up into the attic, where Cary was sitting at his drafting desk, chewing on his cuticles, an assortment of coloured pencils stuck in his messy dark hair. His dark eyes glanced back at Kurt on the stairs—he'd obviously heard him coming.

"Mind if I come up?" Kurt asked.

"Be my guest." Cary waved a hand at the empty armchair. "Got some things I want you to look at anyways."

Pleased, Kurt came up behind his shoulder, and Cary spread three drawings out on the table under the light of the lamp. "The Ringmaster," he said.

Boldly colourful, these drawings were markedly different than the one Kurt had seen before. Each featured a dynamic female figure against a landscape of circus trucks, striped tents, and exotic animals, but their outfits were barely sketched in, just a swatch of colour here and there.

"I dunno about her look," Cary said. "Which do you like better?"

"Oh," Kurt said, clapping his hands. "I love this. Um...." He leaned next to Cary to study the pictures, and the big man set his tattooed elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, glancing from the drawings to Kurt's face for his response. Kurt already felt better with Jon's brother in the room with him. At this point he would have trusted Cary with his life.

Kurt touched the middle drawing. "This one? She's glorious. But her shoes are wrong and she needs a coat that's—" He made a flaring motion around his hips. "With, like, embroidery?" He fingered imaginary lapels. "And, oh my god, a top hat. Wait, I'll find you something online for you to reference."

He slouched in the armchair, pulling out his phone.

"Thank you very much, Visser," Cary said, setting the other two drawings aside and pulling a couple pencils out of his hair, quickly sketching in a coat around her hips.

They worked on The Ringmaster concept all evening, Kurt piecing together her wardrobe from photos online, and Cary filling page after page with details. When Cary settled in to draw a final version of the character, Kurt played with his new phone, downloading his music streaming app, and his photos of Jon at the zoo. Their selfie before the concert was so blazingly hopeful it was hard to look at, so he tapped over to his social media instead. A fan had posted a video from the concert, tagging the band page, and Kurt thumbed 'play.'

The opening chords of 'Lover's Prayer' came out of his phone and Kurt laid it on the chair arm, closing his eyes and folding his arms over his body just to listen. From the stage, under the glare of the lights, the edges of The Barns had been in shadows, but the Natty Light sign had glowed softly on the wall in the row of alcohol logos, and Kurt had felt Jon's presence there, anchoring him, pulling every line of music out of him with an intensity of joy he'd never felt before. It wasn't a song about something Kurt longed for, anymore—it was a song about something he had.

The crowd's roar was a thin hush of sound from his phone and Cary glanced at him as Kurt silenced it. "God that was a good show," Kurt said, swiping tears off his face, laughing a little. "If I do say so myself."

"It was," Cary agreed.

A rising wave of sadness lapped against Kurt's chest, and he sat quietly to let it come up over his face, cover him completely and then recede, washing away. He sighed, using Jon's hoodie to dry his face.

"Appreciate you coming for me, Cary," he said, leaning his cheek against the back of the chair. When Cary had appeared in the bar it had felt like the other man hauled him from dead to alive as he picked him up over the table, out from under Nicky's arm. "Can't remember if I said thank you already. When I lost my phone I thought I was fucked, good and proper."

Cary knuckled his eyes, taking an unsteady breath. "Came as fast as I could when you quit answering. Wish I hadda checked on you before I left."

Kurt blinked at him, realizing that Cary was upset. He'd been as immovable as stone the night of the concert, and Kurt had assumed he wasn't bothered. "I'm a grown-ass man," he said. "I never should've taken the first drink—I know myself better than that."

As Kurt collected his phone, he was surprised by the time. His body still felt on high alert. "Shit, we have to work in the morning."

Cary got up stiffly, stretching his back. He could only stand full height in the peak of the room. "I'm grabbing a bedtime snack."

Kurt followed him downstairs even though he wasn't hungry. Humming to himself to keep fear at bay, he went from window to window, glancing at the quiet, lamp-lit street. The thing about his previous apartment was the window had been three stories up. For some reason, knowing that someone could be standing at ground level looking into their house was making the skin crawl all over the front of his body.

From the kitchen table where he was munching cereal, Cary watched Kurt pace from the front door to the back, touching the locked handles.

Cary got up, putting his empty bowl in the sink. "Got something for your room, Kurt," he said gruffly. "Think it'll fit right in with your aesthetic." He crinkled his eyes in a smile for Kurt, and Kurt was immediately distracted by the possibility of a present.

Digging into the back of his closet, Cary emerged, holding what appeared to be a round paper lantern. When they plugged it in on Kurt's nightstand, the light rotated slowly inside the paper shade, casting rainbow-coloured shapes of moon and stars and comets all over the walls of his room. Cary stood back, arms crossed, a pleased expression on his face as he watched the stars parade over Kurt's ceiling and bed. Kurt clasped his hands under his chin, taking a big, happy breath as tiny rainbows passed over his body.

"Mom got that for me," Cary said. "When I was having trouble sleeping after some shit that happened to me. I'd wake up and watch the galaxy turn and think about the people who loved me and fall back asleep." His eyes dropped to Kurt's face. "Not as good as a Jon to cuddle, I guess, but it's something."

Speechless, Kurt threw his arms around the other man, hugging him. He felt the huff of Cary's laugh against his chest, and his friend's big hands patted him gently. "Sleep tight, Visser," Cary said. "Believe me—if anyone other than Jon steps in this house I'll be up in a second to deal with them."

That hug, and the knowledge that Cary was right across the hall, settled Kurt. He fell asleep cuddled around Jon's pillow, a sleepy time playlist streaming next to his gorgeous lantern.

*What do you use to fall asleep on anxious nights, lovelies?*

2036 words.