For Us

22. Slow.

{Jon}

Early in the morning, Jon felt Kurt slip out of his arms, leaving the warm imprint of his body in the bed beside him. In a haze of post-migraine hangover, Jon eased onto his back, sinking into his body. His scalp felt tender, and his neck and shoulders ached, but the pulsing quasar of pain in his head had dissolved. He breathed, opening his fingers, releasing the tension in his body piece by piece.

At the 'click' of his door opening, Jon lifted the shirt off his face a crack. Kurt was arranging a water glass and a bowl of cut bananas on the bedside table. His blue eye glanced through his hair at Jon's movement, and one side of his mouth smiled. "Need another round of meds?" he asked.

"No, thank you." Jon pushed himself up on his elbow and drank, then laid his eggshell head back on the pillow, closing his eyes. "I'm getting up. Just...give me a few."

There was a simplicity to the morning after a migraine that Jon just surrendered to now, having figured out the hard way that recovery couldn't be hurried. No email, no reading, no screens. Hot shower, slow movements, clean food, water, water, water. It was a day for listening to his body and caring gently for its needs, like he was one of his kids and they had all the time in the world. If he wanted to be functional for work or school on Monday, he couldn't stress about those things today at all.

There was warm coffee in the pot and all the blinds were closed against the morning sunlight when he finally made his way into the kitchen. "Bless you, Visser," Jon said, cleaning up the toast crumbs and helping himself.

A cacophony of sound beat against the basement door, the wail of Kurt's electric guitar and his voice raging a counter-point. Jon leaned against the counter, his coffee warm between his hands, easing his neck from side to side.

It was abruptly simple. With his head soft and fragile as an egg, the uncomplicated voice of his body was plain as day. From the tender top of his head to the ends of his fingers and toes, Jon's body wanted to be with Kurt Visser.

Jon had never in his adult life felt this warm, tidal pull towards another man. Sure he'd had momentary crushes on guys, but the thought of acting on those feelings and ending up all over each other naked was just...horrifying. No part of Jon was interested, and unfortunately he could speak from some experience. It had been one more blow to absorb; his body didn't respond to women and, even though he was attracted to guys, he seemed to have zero drive to actually have sex with them.

But Kurt. Jon had every kind of feeling for Kurt. His whole body responded when Kurt was in the room.

He wanted to be with the man making something so incandescently beautiful out of his pain that Jon felt the intensity of the music through the soles of his feet. He wanted to be with the man who crept, shivering, into his bed last night just to fall asleep together. He wanted to be with the man reading by lamplight with his glasses on, and the man swaggering under the nightclub lights, his eyes smoky and dark with makeup. Jon's body wanted all the things with Kurt Visser.

Jon closed his eyes, a slow smile spreading over his face. Nothing like a night of blinding pain to snap things into clarity. He didn't have to capacity today to overthink this even if he wanted to. They were safe in his house; they were adults and old friends. Maybe Kurt wanted more than that with him too. How did you make a relationship when you were a mostly-closeted mostly-not-sexy gay man? Jon didn't have a plan, just a jumping off point. All he needed to know was if Kurt wanted to be with him back.

Geronimo.

Jon lit the candles and rolled out his mat for his post-migraine yoga flow. At some point as he breathed, gliding from movement to movement, the basement fell silent. For a few moments, he wasn't aware of anything except his body and his breathing. When he opened his eyes on the room, Kurt was leaning in the doorway, an arm wrapped over his chest, watching him with a complicated expression on his face.