For Us

25. Little Cary (and the origin of The Light Circus).

{Kurt}

Misty sleepily lifted her head off the foot of Cary's bed, pricking her ears when Kurt poked his head into the room. Cary's space was austere and spare, just a bed neatly made, an old fashioned rocking chair, and a wooden stool with a lamp set on top. Kurt gathered Misty's warm, liquid body against his chest and climbed the set of stairs he'd never used; Jon had not included the attic room in the tour.

Sniffing at the marijuana smell, Kurt poked his head above the floor. The room was dark, the drawing table unoccupied. Misty jumped lightly from his arms and padded over the floor with a 'prrt?' noise.

"Hey cat." Cary's voice came out of the dark, soft and frayed.

Misty purred, rubbing her side against the shadow under the window.

"Where are the lights in this place?" Kurt asked, coming all the way up the stairs. He fumbled with the desk lamp, finally locating the switch. The drawing on the desk jumped into stark relief and he made a sound like it had punched him.

"Jesus Christ." Quickly, he snapped the light off again, pulling his hands away and holding them up like he might be accused of having anything to do with that. "What the hell kind of horrifying children's story are you working on up here, Douglas?"

An ember glowed briefly from under the window. "Mine," Cary rumbled quietly. "Done now. Leave the light off please."

Kurt's hands settled on his chest, his heart still pounding from the image laid out like an eviscerated body on the desk. His eyes adjusted to the dark so he could see Cary slumped against the wall under the window, one knee clasped against his chest.

Without a word, Kurt went downstairs and returned with a lit pillar candle and a pocket full of votives. He lit the little candles one by one and set them around the attic space on shelves and the ledge of the desk, the small 'fizz' of the wicks catching and Misty's rasping purr the only sounds in the dark. He set the pillar candle on the floor next to Cary and settled into the armchair, his legs stretched towards the other man.

Cary rubbed his eyes and Kurt saw him make an effort to pull himself together. "How was the night?" Cary's voice was wrecked, like Kurt's after a nightmare.

"Fabulous," Kurt said. His lips curled and he got lost in a daydream for a second, tasting Jon. All the firsts Jon had given him were his most treasured possession now. He was hoarding the memories like gold.

"Good, happy for you," Cary said.

Kurt brought himself back to the present, folding his arms loosely over his front, studying Cary's face, turned partially away from him. His friend looked flat and dull like he'd killed himself in real life and not just in a picture on a page.

"I don't really know how this works," Kurt said. "Do you want to talk about this...trigger? Does that help?"

Cary made a dry noise. "Probably. Doesn't mean I want to."

Candlelight made the room feel close and cozy. Sitting quietly, Kurt ran his fingers through his own childhood shit, in the pile with shit from Nicky and every other stupid thing he'd done all on his own to fuck up his life. There were pieces he still came back to, holding them in his hand like touchstones: this is Kurt. "Tell me something about little Cary that you liked."

"What?" Cary' face swung towards him, creased, his eyes pits of shadow.

"The kid you were," Kurt said. "So--me. Little Kurt liked to put on his mother's gloves and dance to Madonna." His mouth curled up at the memory. "Now--you."

Cary was silent a moment, his hands closing on his legs. "Little Cary liked to climb the monkey bars and stand on the top," he said. "Before they made playgrounds stupid and safe."