For Us

23. Put all the strings on me.

{Jon}

Jon spent the afternoon tending the simple animal needs of his body: water, sleep, slow movements. Finally, it was time to pick up Kurt. His stomach buzzed pleasantly with anticipation as he pulled his ball cap down low over his face and headed back out.

Kurt's text said: <don't get out leaving my shit at Nicky's for the week>, so Jon waited in the driver's seat in the driveway, watching Kurt come out of the garage studio. His posture was slumped and his mouth was flat. Kurt slung his acoustic into the back seat and dropped into the front seat, folding in half to thump his head on the dashboard.

Concerned, Jon touched his shoulder as he backed the car out of the drive and turned for home.

"I am a steaming pile of shit." Kurt's voice was muffled against the dashboard. "Someone fucking fire me and put us all out of our misery."

It was so over-the-top that Jon laughed a little. "No one's firing you, you're the lead singer."

Kurt's laugh was cracked. "That's a joke, oh my god, if you could have heard me today." He put his hand to his throat, making quacking noises, and Jon shot him a look, half-laughing, half-worried. "Dying ducks would have been better." He did sound hoarse.

"So...you had an off day. Kurt, I've heard you. Rest your voice—you'll be fine."

However, it took Kurt most of the car ride to climb down from his tragic mountain of despair, and Jon couldn't tell if Kurt enjoyed the drama or if he was genuinely on the verge of jumping off a cliff. He drove with one hand on Kurt's shoulder and made sympathetic noises since rational argument didn't seem to make a dent.

Finally Kurt lifted his head, carefully flicking tears away without messing up his makeup. "I'm not fucking this up. We worked our asses off to get here." He shook his hair out of his face, taking a deep breath. "You're right, Jon, I just need to rest my voice. Tomorrow will be better."

Jon's hand gripped the steering wheel like he might strangle it, pretty sure where Kurt got the idea that he was a 'steaming pile of shit'. He kept his mouth shut about Nicky; this was Kurt's dream and sometimes you had to make it work with shitty people. Kurt was as much an adult as he was.

"Enough of my drama, god, I'm sorry." Kurt turned to him, his eyebrows lifting. "You're a sight for sore eyes, White. How was your afternoon? How are you?"

Jon smiled. "I am excellent. Head screwed on nice and tight. We have the living room to ourselves tonight—Cary's working to a deadline."

Then he had to explain the graphic novel project to Kurt and answer a hundred questions about Cary's drawings and art classes and studio. By the time they pulled up to the house, Kurt was bright-eyed and energetic again, jumping up the steps with his guitar in his hand.

Jon laughed, following more slowly. Kurt's emotions were as varied and colourful as his wardrobe and after years of grey, it was like stepping into the sunshine and realizing he'd been missing half the spectrum. It took some getting used to, but he was loving the change of scenery.

He found himself asking what he would give to keep Kurt's colour in his life as long as possible. 

{Kurt}

As they moved around each other in the kitchen making dinner, Kurt's afternoon with Nicky and the band vanished like it had happened a hundred years ago. Jon's hip brushed his, his hands touched Kurt's shoulder on the way by, his eyes sent warm, wordless messages when they met Kurt's.

Kurt did not have a category for this evening with Jon. They weren't on a date—they were in their own home together. He suspected there would be kissing later, but he honestly wasn't in a rush to get there. (Unless he thought about Jon's body rippling against him this morning; that move had taken off the top of his head and emptied his brain for a hot second.)