{Kurt}

Kurt resigned himself to sleeping like shit for a couple weeks. When he startled awake in the middle of the night, kicking the blankets off and staring around the room, he made himself just lie back down, pressing his hands against his chest to slow his breathing and watch the stars pass over the ceiling above him. When that didn't work to make him sleepy again, he pulled on Jon's hoodie and padded down the stairs, checking the doors and windows for the hundredth time this week, his revving heart gradually slowing.

When dawn showed its first dim signs of light through the scarves draping his window, Kurt sighed and got up for real, pulling on his work clothes and making the bed tidy and tight. The thought of Jon glancing in his room, checking on him, made his stomach buzz with the same low grade anxiety he'd been feeling in the house all week. He was more than ready to be done with the sense that he was being watched.

He'd forgotten Fridays were Jon's early start. The other man was in the kitchen, leaning against the stove with tea steaming in one hand and Kurt's phone in the other, scrolling with his thumb. Kurt stopped short in the doorway, turning aside to head upstairs or downstairs or... just anywhere else so his boyfriend could fucking check his phone in peace.

"Kurt." Jon's voice caught him before he could get away, and Kurt shrugged a shoulder up to his ear, turning back on his sock heel.

"Mm-hm?"

Jon was unexpectedly silent, and Kurt dropped his eyes from the top of the cupboards to check his face. Jon was watching him, his mouth tucked in at the corner. Kurt looked aside, hating how much he still wanted to kiss that mouth; Kurt Visser clearly could not be trusted. "Something you wanted, White? Anything on there I should know about?"

Jon's fingers touched the phone, lying on the counter now, nudging it towards him a fraction before withdrawing. "No. You have shit friends." His voice was low. "You should keep that in your room. It makes me mad every time I look at it."

Kurt wasn't really interested in getting within arms' reach to retrieve the phone, so he stayed where he was. "Noted," he drawled. "Don't worry, White. I've been managing angry men my whole life. You're in good hands until I'm gone."

Jon turned aside, bowing his head. "God I'm bad at this," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "Can we please--talk? Before you go?"

"I guess," Kurt said reluctantly. "You're a pretty busy guy. I don't want to take up more of your time." It felt dangerous as hell to spend any amount of time in the same room as Jon. His palms were already sweating.

Jon turned his head so Kurt could see the side of his face. "I'm free tonight?"

"I'm not," Kurt said.

Jon's hazel eyes glanced sharply at him.

"Out with some AA friends, if you must know. There's a rookie who wants to shoot some hoops and grab a meal after."

"I could wait up," Jon said.

"Sure," Kurt said. "Suit yourself." He went back to his room to listen to music until the sound of the front door closing told him Jon was gone and it was safe to come down and make his coffee.

*

Kurt had forgotten about the conversation by the evening and he came in the front door humming to himself, energized from too many cups of bad coffee and hours shooting hoops with the kid who inexplicably kept coming back to their AA meetings. All the lights were off in the house, but he instinctively made himself silent, his eyes touching the mounded shapes of his stuff in the living room, exactly where Jon had unloaded them days ago. His stomach sank a little at the memory. He was counting the days until he could leave this all behind.

"Kurt," a soft voice said, and he startled, noticing for the first time that Jon was folded in the corner of the carpet, the front curtains open a crack beside him. Evidently he'd been watching for him to come home.

"I was out with some friends from AA like I said." Kurt's voice was sharp. "Do you want to breath test me, White?"

"I'm not..." Jon fell silent; Kurt couldn't read his face in the shadows. "I just wanted to talk." When he unfolded, Kurt shifted his feet, managing not to back up in the dim hallway, his heart drumming in his chest. Run run run.

Kurt crossed his arms tight, taking a deep breath. Possibly he wasn't in a good head-space here and he wished Jon hadn't startled him.

"Can I make us a cup of tea?" Jon asked.

"Sure," Kurt said slowly. He took his time hanging his coat and re-settling his scarf around his neck, fingering the fringe. He took his shoes off to feel the floor under his feet and counted five breaths before he went to the kitchen and leaned his shoulder in the doorway.

Jon glanced over his shoulder at him as he put the kettle on. He looked pale and strained. "Do you want to put a playlist on?"

"Not really," Kurt said. "I wasn't planning to linger. What did you want to say?"

Jon lifted his chin. "I want you to check my phone." He pulled it out, tapped in the code and laid it open on the table. "I have a text I would send to Nicky. If it will make things better."

Cautiously, Kurt edged into the room and pulled up a chair in front of Jon's phone. The screen glowed up at him and he twisted his shaking fingers, looking at it. There was an unsent text there, composed to Nicky's number.

"Where did you get this number?" Kurt asked.

Jon was standing at his shoulder, one hand on the back of his neck and the other buried in his hoodie pocket. "I copied it off your phone. The day after—you came home from the concert." His voice was flat. "I haven't used it."

Kurt pulled up on the screen, confirming there was no text thread of outgoing messages. He reached an arm out, catching his glasses off the counter and putting them on his face so the letters were crisp on the screen.

<Nicky this is Jon White. I came to your house on Wednesday to collect Kurt's guitars. I apologize for threatening you. You won't hear from me again. I just want you to know I did this of my own accord. Kurt was not involved. He didn't ask me to visit you or give me access to his phone. I'm sorry for interfering and am willing to make amends if you feel that's necessary>

Kurt pushed a breath out of his tight chest, sliding the phone away from his body on the table. It took a minute to collect his thoughts; a huge wave of feelings had buried him in response to the idea of Jon sending this text to his ex-boyfriend. "You want my opinion? On whether you should send this?"

"No," Jon said. "I want your permission. This is your relationship, Kurt. I want to make things better for you, but I won't send that if you don't want me to."

Kurt made a sharp noise. "If it matters. I don't want you to."

Jon met his eyes a second, then quickly looked away, taking down their mugs from the cupboard. "Why not?" he asked lightly. "Can I ask that?"

Kurt exhaled. "A dozen reasons. Nicky'll have your number if you send this. He'll have your name. And it won't help. He'll put two and two together and figure out...we're together." Past tense? Present tense? He guessed it didn't matter, either would screw Jon over with his job.

Jon was arranging their tea bags, fiddling with the tags to wrap them around the handles. "What if I don't care about that?"

"I care about that," Kurt snapped. "Over my dead fucking body would I give you away to Nicky. He has a gossipy mouth the size of Saskatchewan and—I don't know if you noticed—a mean streak to match."

Jon carefully poured boiling water into their mugs and set one in front of Kurt, sitting beside him, hunched a little. His mouth was hard. "If it makes things better for you out in the world I really don't care," Jon said. "Nicky can blame the right person for scaring him and call off his dogs."

Kurt's chest went up and down, but he pressed his mouth closed on how much he wanted to yell at Jon. Finally he said, "I don't give you permission to send this to Nicky. I don't want you to contact him at all. Ever." He dug his feet into the floor and hung onto the table saying this directly with Jon sitting right there.

Jon pulled his phone towards himself and tapped the screen, holding down the delete button. He flashed the now-blank message box at Kurt, and then rapidly thumbed through the apps. He pulled up the contact he'd created for Nicky and laid the phone down in front of Kurt's chest to make sure he could see it. His finger tapped 'delete contact—permanently delete' and there was a little 'whoosh' as the number vanished.

Jon folded his arms and leaned his chest against the edge of the table, watching Kurt for his response.

Kurt let out his breath, rubbing his face hard. "Thank you. Christ."

"I'm sorry I copied this number," Jon said. His throat moved as Kurt met his eyes. "I'm sorry I used your phone and went to Nicky's house. I overstepped. I was wrong and I'm—sorry, Kurt."

Kurt slouched a little lower in his chair, looking away from him and digging his hand against his aching chest. "Yeah, you really were."

"How do I make this better?" Jon's voice was a little thin. "You know Nicky. How do I fix this?"

"You don't," Kurt said.

Jon's body went rigid, his hands fisting under his arms.

Kurt lifted his shoulders, sighing. "This isn't a fight you can win, Jon. Roll over. Play dead. He'll kick you around a bit and then he'll get bored and move on."

"He'll kick you around a bit," Jon said sharply.

"Well—yeah." Kurt let his shoulders drop. "But my relationship shit really isn't your problem. I've been on my way to this train wreck of an ending with Nicky for...years probably. And, honestly, I'm glad it's here. Because it means we're really done. One of these days I'm not going to have to look over my shoulder, or hold my breath when I check my phone because he'll have moved on. And I'll get up off the ground and live my life."

Jon's face was white and blazed with fury. "I. Hate. That," he said jerkily. "There has to be—"

Kurt saw him eat the rest of those words, shaking with the effort. Jon made an inarticulate noise as he bowed his face to the table. His shoulders slumped and his head stayed down.

"Goes against your grain, I know." Kurt chuckled softly, allowing himself to stroke the back of Jon's neck just once. The other man trembled and he made a muffled sound, like he was hurt. Kurt withdrew his hand. "Sorry for dumping my shitty life on you, White. You had a good thing going before I came along. I'll be out of your hair soon enough and you can get back to doing your thing."

Jon pushed stiffly away from the table, moving like he was exhausted. He probably was—Kurt didn't know how he was managing the schedule he kept. The last thing Jon needed on top of everything else was a week like this one. Jon stopped in the kitchen doorway, steadying himself with one hand on the frame. "You want me to drop Nicky's stuff back to him? I can just—leave it by the garage. When he's at work one day."

Kurt moved his mouth back and forth, thinking. "You know, funny thing. He hasn't asked for it back. I'm thinking I might just keep it."

Jon glanced back at him, looking as if he had something to say, then he bent his head and went silently up the stairs.

{Jon}

By the time he made it to the top of the stairs, his brain felt like it was two sizes too big for his head, his scalp stretched tight and pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His ears had been ringing all evening; he'd hoped he had been mistaken that this was a migraine coming on, that these were just symptoms of being stressed out about his conversation with Kurt. He'd told himself he'd feel better once they talked.

Obviously, wrong again.

He leaned heavily against Cary's door, knocking once. "Care?" he said, then cracked it open. The room was empty, and it struck him that Cary had gone to their folks this evening and must not have returned. Thoughts were narrowing to a tiny thread of consciousness, squeezed by a bulge of pain. He was going to have to take care of himself.

Whimpering a prayer, Jon crawled to his own bedroom and burrowed into the blessed dark and cool of his closet. He pressed the supernova of his skull into the corner of that tiny space like that would keep the explosion from getting any larger, and shut out the light by kicking the door closed behind him.

*How did Jon do? Good apology? Why do you think Kurt's responding the way he is?*

2308 words.