{Jon}

By mid-afternoon, Jon was one-hundred percent regretting that he hadn't punched Nicky in the mouth or at least broken a couple more fingers. He slid down low in the back row of his Psych class, reading the post on his social media feed. He had an anonymous profile that he used to follow bands and people that interested him, and since Kurt and his band were tagged in this post it had come up on his feed.

There was a picture of Nicky's broken finger, up close and ugly with bruises, and paragraphs about Kurt. An itemized list of stuff Nicky claimed Kurt stole from him and sold for drinking money. A mocking description of Kurt's personal habits, with details from the years they lived together. Nicky was an unfortunately skillful writer, and Jon was already wincing, wishing he could look away.

Finally, a list of men Kurt cheated with, some of them tagged, with Nicky's comment, "If anyone wants a piece of my ex-boyfriends ass, I don't f**cking care have at him. If anyone else wants to beat @kurtvisser into the ground just send me pictures when you're done so I can laugh."

Jon sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, digging his heels into the floor. His head throbbed sharply. He stabbed the icon in the corner of the post and reported it to the site administrators, hoping they could tear it down before Kurt saw it.

He walked out in the middle of class, texting Kurt on his way to his car.

<where are you right now? are you okay?>

His phone stayed dark and silent on the road home. When he pulled up to their house he tried calling. Kurt didn't pick up so Jon called Cary.

"Yuh?" Cary's gruff voice said.

"Is Visser with you?" Jon asked.

"Yuh," Cary said.

Jon hesitated. He didn't want Kurt to look if he hadn't already seen the post. "Is he okay?"

"Uh... yup." He couldn't tell if Cary was being terse because they were in the middle of a job, or for some other reason.

"Are you coming home for supper?" Jon's voice cracked a little, giving away his desperation.

"Yuh, we'll be there," Cary said, and hung up.

When Jon walked in the house, the room full of gear seemed to accuse him. Nicky's post hadn't actually included these items, which seemed to confirm that Jon was right. This gear belonged to Kurt. It should have felt good to have settled up the account between Kurt and his ex, with everyone getting what was theirs in the end.

It didn't feel good. He couldn't believe that Nicky's post today was the behaviour of a forty-year-old man. More like a child having a temper-tantrum. Someone should take his phone away from him.

It was a tempting idea, and Jon amused himself with it while he wore himself out on the punching bag in the basement.

{Kurt}

It was about as bad as he'd expected. Kurt saw Nicky's post when he checked his social media over lunch break, and the words buzzed against his body like he'd been tazed. When he could breathe again, he spent the half-hour locked in the men's room, deleting his profile on all his social media apps. Whatever shit Nicky tagged him in, at least now it wouldn't be attached to a picture of his face or any personal information.

He Google-searched his own name and lost his breath when he saw the number of articles and photos of him available online that he couldn't take down. Putting his arms over his head he leaned against the locked bathroom door, trying not to hyperventilate while that wave of panic collided with his body. Why the hell had he thought it was a good idea to be so recognizable?

Humming, Kurt counted his breaths, feeling the texture of his own hair between his fingers and the tiled floor under his work boots. No one was going to take Nicky up on his charming offers, right? No one was actually going to stop him in the street to beat him down on the word of his bitter ex-boyfriend. Their mutual friends were going to see through the bullshit and have a good laugh.

Kurt couldn't quite make his body believe it.

Just before he deleted the last profile, he remembered that he was an administrator for their band page. Kurt stared at their feed for a long minute, scrolling through all the videos of their shows and live performances. Nicky must have forgotten to remove him.

He exhaled, whispering, "Fuck you too, Nicky," and used his admin privileges to lock Nicky out and tear the page down. He was pretty sure Nicky still planned to flog their EP and pick up radio play over Christmas. His ex would have to create a new page on this site to do so, and that would make him furious. It was the tiniest act of rebellion, but just as much as Kurt was capable of right now.

{Jon}

At home, Jon cooked supper for three--even on the worst days they still needed to eat, right? The smell of garlic and ginger frying in the wok didn't cheer him up. When Cary and Kurt arrived from work, no one called hello. Kurt swept through the kitchen, scooping his old phone off the table and heading upstairs without a word. Jon's eyes followed him, tension winding his body a little tighter.

He turned to Cary, who was leaning next to the stove. "Nicky posted a bunch of garbage about Kurt on social media today," Jon said softly. "Did he see it?"

Cary took a slow breath. "I'm guessing yeah. He disappeared at lunch. It was not a great day to be working in small spaces with Kurt Visser."

Jon rolled his neck and shrugged his shoulders to try and get them to release. "I reported the post so hopefully it'll come down tonight. Nicky tagged a bunch of their friends and told them to...hurt Kurt if they see him. And shared a bunch of hurtful shit from their past." It felt like something was stuck in his throat, and Jon lifted his chin. Anger was easier than the other thing he was feeling. "Like a fucking three year old having a tantrum and throwing his own poop around."

When Kurt came back downstairs, showered and changed into his 'Sounds gay' T-shirt and Cary's quilted jacket, the floral smell of his hair product made Jon's throat ache. Kurt didn't look at him once.

"Mind if I take the truck to a meeting, Douglas?" Kurt asked casually.

"Go for it," Cary said.

"Starts in twenty so I'm going to head." Kurt tossed his old phone on the table with a 'clunk.' "Have a look, White, and see if there's anything there you should be worried about. My dad's been keeping tabs on my phone since I was thirteen and Nicky took over that chore when I was twenty one so I'm real used to it. You just knock yourself out if it makes you feel better."

Jon picked up the phone, looking at Kurt with concern. "Did Nicky contact you directly today? You blocked him on your social media, yes?"

Kurt made a dry noise. "Uh—yeah." He helped himself to the truck keys on the counter and slammed the door behind him.

Jon frowned at Cary, the phone cool and weighty in his fingers as Kurt's accusation sank in. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm not keeping tabs on his phone, I just--"

"Leave me out of it," Cary growled. "Supper's burning."

Quickly Jon returned his attention to the wok, his thoughts as jumbled and tossed about as the veg in the pan.

It was a silent meal, both of them shovelling the rice and stir fry into their mouths in less time it took to prepare. Jon scrolled through the text thread with Nicky with one finger, as he ate. There was a gap in messages from the last one he'd seen, Kurt's 'have a nice life.' As of today, there were five new texts from Nicky and one incoming call.

<you want to play this game Klassen? who took the most shit u or me? U win. I staked my reputation on you and you fucked me over every time>

Jon set his bowl down, half-eaten, his stomach turning as he read the rest. "Jesus. He doesn't let up," he muttered.

He set his elbows on the table, pulling up on his aching neck. He felt like he'd been watching a series of explosions go off all day, and it was hard to escape the feeling that he'd tapped the detonator himself. "This is so fucking wrong. Kurt should be able to get his stuff back without Nicky going off like a pipe bomb."

Cary stretched his leg out, easing his bad hip. "Did it occur to you that Visser knew how he would react and chose his way out for a reason?" he asked, shooting Jon a look under his eyebrows. "Nicky's an asshole. He's going to take his shit out on whoever he can reach. He doesn't know who you are or where to find you, so—" He shoved his hand to the door that Kurt had exited.

Jon dug his knuckles into his eyes, as his leg jumped under the table. "Nicky doesn't know how lucky he is that I didn't break the rest of his fingers."

"Wouldn't have changed anything," Cary said gruffly. "Just put off the explosion 'til he could type again."

"What am I supposed to do now." Jon's voice was flat.

"Say sorry?" Cary suggested.

Jon dropped his hands to glare at him. "I'm sorry I didn't put Nicky in the hospital. I regret not smashing his ugly, filthy hands to a pulp."

"Uh huh," Cary said. "Not like that." He got up from the table to set his bowl in the sink. "You take some time to think about it, maybe. I'll just sit up with your boyfriend tonight when he can't settle because he's afraid Nicky's coming through the window for him."

Jon jerked upright, slapping the table with a 'crack.' "That's not happening. That's not real. He's safe here. You both are."

Cary's eyes were dark, considering him."Sure," he said softly. "Pretty easy for you to say though, isn't it."

1664 words.