For Keeps

1. St. Aidan's queer choir.

{Jon}

Jon brushed snow off his hair and wiped his boots as he stepped in the nave of St. Aidan's United church. The prelude music had already started; a heavily pregnant woman was at the piano, leaning in as she played, accompanied by a young man with a long Moses-like beard on an acoustic guitar. Jon recognized the tune of 'O Come O Come Emmanuel' and rubbed tension in his neck.

Was it that time of year already? December meant an avalanche of final exams, awkward parties, scheduling headaches juggling everyone's holiday requests, and hoping for a Christmas miracle for his kids to have a safe day with their bio families on the 25th.

Behind him, Kurt swept snow off the shoulders of his wool peacoat and shook the flakes out of his dark-blonde and multi-coloured hair. He grinned at the musicians in the front of the nave. "Are we singing Christmas carols already? It's not even December."

"Thank God," Jon muttered.

"It's Advent," Cary said, stomping off his boots. His canvas chore jacket looked incongruous over his crisp button-up shirt. Sunday was still the one day Cary dressed up. His face lifted in a smile as he glanced at the wreath beside the communion table. "I've been looking forward to this for weeks. We light the first candle today."

"Does this mean you're putting up the Christmas trees this afternoon?" Jon asked drily.

"Tree-s?" Kurt's face lit up. "As in more than one?"

"Yup," Cary said. "One for each floor."

Jon sighed, rubbing his face. "Ughhh I have so much homework to do. I can't even think about Christmas right now."

"Wanna help, Visser?" Cary asked.

Kurt raised his arms like he was celebrating a touchdown. "Hell yes!" He whisper-yelled, then glanced at the elderly couple hanging up their jackets beside them. He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes sparkling with irrepressible mischief. "Sorry Mr. And Mrs. Sannes, I got a little excited. It's Advent!"

The couple smiled indulgently at him, and Jon laughed. Over the past six weeks of Sunday service and soup potlucks, Kurt had pretty much charmed everyone over sixty in their church--which was over half the congregation. His boyfriend had a weekly Bridge night now with a trio of gossipy old women in permed and purple-tinted hair. Jon hoped Kurt didn't get any ideas-he was very fond of the pinkish highlights Kurt had now.

They filed into the pew, and Kurt leaned his chin on Jon's shoulder to read the printed order of service in Jon's hands. "What are we singing today?"

Jon glanced at his face, his heart bumping a little in his chest. Kurt didn't sing in church, and Jon only caught snatches of him singing at home--in the shower, or practising with his guitar in the basement. He missed Kurt's voice, but he was trying to be patient for the other man's timing.

Silently, he put his thumb next to the songs listed, and Kurt's pleased hum was warm against his shoulder. Relaxing back in the pew, Jon took Kurt's hand, folding their fingers together on the smooth wooden seat as he turned his attention to the front.

Kurt's eyes wandered all over the sanctuary, as usual, and abruptly Jon felt his boyfriend go rigid against his arm. "Jon," Kurt whispered. "Is that--?"

Jon glanced in the direction Kurt was looking, his heart stuttering to a halt as he recognized a familiar slight form bundled up in a Frankenstein sweater, brushing snow out of her feathery pastel hair.

"Angel," he said, low.

Kurt tugged their hands apart, giving Cary a shove next to him. "Move over, Douglas," he hissed. "I'm sorry but you're playing my boyfriend in church now."