{Jon}

When Jon got home that Thursday morning, he was greeted by a living room full of every piece of equipment he'd loaded into his car the day before. He lowered his head, the dead weight of that decision settling on top of his body, and jogged up the stairs.

He didn't notice that Kurt was coming down the steps, until the other man's feet were backing up ahead of him, standing aside in the hall to give him room. Jon glanced sideways at him, tucking away any unnecessary feelings behind a neutral expression. Kurt's face was equally blank as he tugged his work cap down over his hair.

"White," Kurt said. The word sounded normal and even.

Jon was afraid to say his name back in case his voice cracked and gave him away. He gave a little salute instead, ducking into his own bedroom and locking the door. Miserable, he crawled into bed and pulled the covers over his head with his clothes still on. He had to be at work again by three-there was no time to waste on anything other than sleep.

*

Jon went through the motions of getting ready for work like a robot. His boss wanted to meet him off site, to talk about Jordin presumably. Jon pulled up to a near-by coffee shop at quarter to three, showered and in a clean change of clothes, which honestly felt like a major accomplishment today. Before he got out of his car, he opened a text to his dad.

<tough conversation with my boss today please pray>

When the phone rang with a call from Pete a minute later, Jon silenced it. He couldn't do extra words right now.

He was early; his stomach was churning and he was sweating, anticipating Terry's arrival. Jon had barely settled in the cafe chair before he was up again, ducking into the washroom to throw up. When his stomach was empty and he'd rinsed his mouth, his nerves felt marginally better.

Jon's boss, Terry, was an energetic older man with a buzz cut and frameless glasses, which were a reluctant concession to his failing eyesight. He arrived looking as usual like they were going for a jog instead of having a work meeting. Jon would have infinitely preferred a jog.

"Good to see you, Jon." Terry stuck out his hand to shake Jon's hand, his ready smile beaming.

Jon hoped he couldn't feel how cold and clammy his palms were.

"Terry," Jon said softly. He was probably going to need to get his voice to go louder than that and he had no idea where to find the volume.

"Can I get you a drink?'

Jon shifted his feet, glancing up at the menu boards. Neither sugar nor caffeine seemed like a good idea right now. "Just a chamomile tea please, thanks."

Terry laughed. "Just like my grandmother, nice."

Terry tried to make chat while they stood at the till, and Jon could only make brief responses. He was wiping his hand on his pant leg unconsciously, the one that had been wrung by Terry's.

Finally, the other man said, "Are you all right, Jon? You seem a little out of sorts today."

Jon wrapped his fingers around the warmth of the paper cup of tea, pulling it gratefully to his chest. He did something he normally hated; he told a little white lie. "Recovering from that stomach bug the kids caught from school."

Terry made a face. "Gosh, that's the worst. Is there anything worse than throwing up as a grown up?"

Jon shook his head, a blank expression on his face.

When they were seated, Terry seemed a little anxious. "Listen, Jon. I think I need to apologize for speaking so freely to you the other day. Um, it came to my attention that-you have a brother who's a homosexual and if I'd known that I would have been more careful with my words. I was upset, and it was inappropriate to share that with you. I don't want you to think that...I would ever treat your brother in a way that's unkind. Right? That's not what I'm about."

It was completely unexpected. Jon stared at him, blank. "Thank you for that apology," he said slowly. "It did...take me back."

Terry heaved a sigh of relief. "Great, I'm glad we could talk about that. Listen, how can I help with the situation with Jordin?"

Jon blinked, taking a sip of his tea to collect himself. "In what way?"

"So I reviewed your email report, and checked the logs. Sharon's behaviour is way out of line. We're in a pinch here with the Ministry of Social Services. Up until now they've been overjoyed with how we've handled Jordin and frankly, we need all the love from them we can get. It's not easy to be an openly Christian not-for-profit in our cultural climate right now."

Terry pushed his glasses up with a rueful smile. "What I'm saying is: I consider you the expert here, Jon. We're really lucky to have a person with your experience at the helm right now and I just want to know how I can help. Honestly, I've been tempted to come to your staff meeting tomorrow and just let everyone know that I'm behind you on this one hundred percent. If you wouldn't consider that to be stepping on your toes."

Jon's mouth was hanging open, and he had to remind himself to shut it. "No, I wouldn't," he stammered. "Consider that stepping on my toes. That would be really great for the staff to hear that from you. I don't want to lose anyone over this but Jordin needs us to be consistently supportive. It's a vulnerable time for her."

"Gosh, isn't that the truth." Terry sat back in his chair, looking troubled. "The statistics really aren't good for trans kids like Jordin. I wish we could have persuaded him..." He trailed off, but Jon guessed what was in his mind.

"Conversion therapy is illegal, Terry," Jon said, meeting his eyes directly. "No one wants the hellfire that would rain down on us if the Ministry got wind of a trans Indigenous youth in our care being 'persuaded' not to be trans."

Terry looked grim; he got it and Jon pressed his advantage, making an encouraging smile. "The statistics are significantly better for LGBTQ+ kids who have supportive adults in their lives. It's a small thing for us to be kind. I really think we can do this, and I really think it will make a difference for Jordin as she steps into young adulthood."

Terry made a clucking noise with his tongue. "Well-if you say so, I trust you, Jon. I don't want to keep you long-anything else we need to discuss?"

Jon's body relaxed a little, realizing that was really all his boss wanted to say. Half his mouth tucked in, imagining himself adding, Just wondering what you think about your house manager's relationship status. Maybe it wasn't even relevant anymore. "No, that's everything from me. Staff meeting is tomorrow at nine."

"I'll bring the donuts," Terry said.

Jon walked out of the coffee shop with three-quarters of his tea left to drink. Sitting in his car, he nursed the tea and texted his dad. <You still got it dad. Went amazingly well. Thanks for praying>

For the rest of his shift at River House, Jon allowed himself to be completely present to Dusty, Jordin and Grace. He made homemade pizzas and they watched a movie together before bed. Once the house was quiet, he took a quick break with his personal phone.

There was a red heart emoji from his dad. Nothing from Kurt.

He leaned on the edge of the desk, looking out the window at the dark for a moment. He was tempted to text Cary and check that Kurt was okay, but that felt like overstepping again. Instead, Jon just opened a message to Kurt:

<am I sleeping with you tonight?>

Did it sound too much like he wanted to, like he needed this? Or just a matter of fact question? He thumbed the send, the memory of Kurt folding his body around his, warm and easy, pricking his skin. Exhaling, Jon rubbed his face.

A few minutes later, a text back from Kurt arrived: <no thanks i better get used to sleeping alone>

Numbly, Jon stared at the words, then tucked his phone back in his pocket. He had no answer--what could he even say? He would have thought after years of sleeping alone that would be an easy thing to go back to.

*

When Jon returned home late that night, he couldn't look in the living room at all. He was so sick of the sight of those guitars and amps reminding him of how much he'd fucked this up. He went up the stairs in the dark, listening for any sign that Kurt was still awake. The other man's door was closed, only the faint flickering of his night light showing underneath. Standing uncertainly in the hall, Jon stripped his hoodie off, easing his neck from side to side.

Warm light poured down the stairs from Cary's studio, so Jon trudged up the last set of stairs.

From his desk, Cary glanced back at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile. "Hey Jon. Haven't had you up here in a while. Hope you're not going to be so busy with your boyfriend you forget about me."

Jon sagged into the smushy armchair, pulling his sock feet up onto the seat and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Nope. I'm going to have lots of time for you. Kurt's moving out."

Cary's expression grew careful. "He mentioned something about that."

Jon put his face against his knees.

"Um...you want to tell me what happened?" Cary asked.

Jon shook his head.

"You want to tell me how you feel about that?" Cary asked.

Jon shook his head.

His friend paused. "You come up here for any particular reason, Jon?"

Jon pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, baring his arms to his shoulders without lifting his face. "Probably came to tell you I'm not cutting." He let his sleeves fall and put his cheek on his knees, risking a sideways look at Cary.

His friend's dark eyes were weighing him. "Well," Cary said slowly. "I'm glad." Glancing at the peak of the ceiling, he rubbed his fingertips over his palms. "I guess you felt like cutting today?"

Jon's voice was thin. "Stupidly. Yes."

Cary's face creased with worry. "So I'm wondering about you and Kurt," he said. "Are you two... breaking up?"

Jon tucked his elbows against his body, clasping his ankles. "I think so." His eyelids felt like they were scraping over his eyes when he blinked. "He said he...didn't want to be under my thumb." Shivering, he took a slow breath. That had caught him deep under his defences--he was still bleeding everywhere and he couldn't figure out how to staunch the flow.

"So you talked about this?" Cary asked.

Jon lifted his shoulders. "Figured he was going to leave me eventually. I just didn't think it would be so soon." His voice cracked and he tried to swallow. "I thought if I had time I might have a chance-" The sob caught him unprepared and he wrapped his arms over his head to muffle it. Swearing, he fought the tears back.

"So anyways," Jon said, scraping his face dry on his shirt sleeve. "That happened."

"Hasn't happened yet," Cary said swiftly. "You're not just gonna let him go, are you?"

Unpeeling his fists, Jon set his elbows on his knees to put his hands in the air. He met Cary's eyes. "I already fucked this up so hard." The words barely made it above a whisper. "If Kurt wants to go-he can go. I'm not holding him."

Cary made an exasperated noise. "Now you stop fighting? Jon-that's Kurt Visser sleeping in your bed down there-that's the man you've been dreaming about since you were fifteen. There's gotta be something you can say or do to at least try. God, if I had what you have I'd lay down in front of a train to save it."

Jon's laugh was dry. "That seems very dramatic for you."

Cary turned aside. "Yeah well... I've been hanging out with Kurt seven days a week." He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "This mean I'm going to need to find a new guy?"

Jon shook his head wiping his nose on his arm. "I think it's just me. I think he just needs-space from me. So. If you keep the Jon stories to a minimum. You'll be fine."

"Jesus." Cary's shoulders slumped. "No wonder you want to cut. This is making my heart hurt."

Jon's hands were freezing and he fisted them closed, then open again, cupping them together on his knees and huddling against his legs. "No one dies of heartbreak, right?" he asked unsteadily. "I'm not going to die of this?"

He held Cary's eyes, his body trembling with the effort of keeping together. "I literally feel like I broke something and I can't find where it's bleeding." He put his fingers under his shirt to check that the skin of his chest was whole. "If I was actually bleeding I could just wrap it up and it would heal. I don't know what the hell to do with this. Care, what do I do?"

Cary crossed his arms against his chest, his mouth crooked. "Aw Jon. I wish I knew. Guess we're going to be old bachelors together."

Jon's laugh shook him like a sob. "Could be worse. Glad I have you. You'll find someone--and I'll babysit all the babies you're going to have."

Cary swiped his hand over his face quick. "Yeah maybe."

"I have my babysitting license and everything." Jon tried to hold onto a smile.

Abruptly, Cary reached out and clasped Jon's hand, pulling it against his cheek, his beard soft against Jon's knuckles. "Jon. Listen. Yeah you always got me. You're my brother. But you're gonna try and fix this, right? The clock's still going on you-don't tell me you're done."

The tender gesture pulled on Jon's guts, surprising him. Of the two of them, Cary was more affectionate, but this was a lot for him. He squeezed Cary's hand back, the calloused warmth of Cary's grip putting some life back into his body. "I think I'm beat," Jon said. "I don't know how to fix this."

Cary patted his hand, chafing his knuckles before he released it again. "You're just tired," he said gruffly. "You're not thinking clear. You sleep on it and maybe something will come to you. Don't tap out on me, okay Jon? You're good for another round."

2509 words.