For Us

57. A million broken pieces.

{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.