For Us

11. Singing in the dark.

{Kurt}

Kurt's normal Sunday morning activity was a visit to the local walk-in clinic on 109 street for a routine STI check and a renewal of his PreP prescription. Since he'd sobered up, Kurt had taken charge of protecting himself. No point avoiding death by liver disease just to expose himself to HIV. The tiny PreP pills were a miracle of medicine for gay bottoms everywhere, and they gave Kurt some freedom, as the dominant partner, to be generous with dudes who preferred the feeling of skin on skin.

Walking out of the clinic today with an additional prescription for a round of penicillin, Kurt felt the seismic shift in his thinking about the coming week. He would have to backtrack and contact all the partners who'd possibly contracted this minor but unpleasant STI from him--annoying, but pretty routine. There were just a handful; the long hours building basements were satisfyingly tiring, and these days he often stayed home in the evening, texting with Jon before the other man went to his shift at River House.

What Kurt was wrapping his head around was, next week he didn't need to make this visit—he was on holidays from being sexually active for the first time since Grade Twelve. It had never crossed his mind to just—not. It blew his mind a little that all the Sundays he'd been dropping into the clinic on 109, Jon had been sitting in a pew in church. If Kurt hadn't felt Jon's heart racing against his chest and seen the blush in his cheeks after holding Kurt in his arms, he would have wondered if they were the same species at all.

Did Jon want to have sex, ever? Did he not have the same urges Kurt had? How did he just live without? Why would he?

I am never hooking up with you.

Out of all the things Jon had said last night, this was the line Kurt couldn't stop picking at. Jon's furious disgust had crumpled the little hope that had come to live in Kurt's chest. When Jon had crushed on him in high school, Kurt had been as much of a virgin with guys as he was.

There was so much shit under the bridge since then. The chances that Jon would ever agree to be his actual boyfriend felt pretty much non-existent now. They were too different. Kurt seriously doubted Jon would see Kurt's sober hook ups as the empowering story he felt like they were. Kurt never wanted to see that expression on Jon's face again, looking at him.

By the time Kurt got back to his apartment, he was discouraged and sick of himself. The dismal surroundings of his trashy one-room didn't help lift his mood. He'd been desperate to move out of the homeless shelter when he found this place. It had felt like a big step up from sleeping in a dorm room full of rank male bodies. Next month maybe he could finally afford someplace decent, if his Corolla didn't die first.

Kurt crawled into his bed, pulling his covers over his head so he didn't have to smell the carpet.

He thought of Jon's lemony clean-man smell and the breath of his voice on Kurt's cheek. We are so loved. It felt like something that had happened in a dream.

Dully, Kurt pulled out his phone to poke out terse messages to the dudes whose parts had been who knows where with who knows how many people, to get themselves checked out. Beyond that, it wasn't his problem. His STI was staying put until the round of penicillin killed it dead. Thank God for modern medicine.

(Did Jon actually thank God for things? Did he still pray?)

His phone chimed with Jon's tone and Kurt drew in a breath, pulling it back to his face.

Jon: <clarification needed: are you my practise bf over text?>

A corner of Kurt's mouth pulled up. Oh my god he was cute though, even over text. <is ur phone secure?> he texted back.