For Keeps

15. If you need it you can have it.

{Jon}

The sleep meds lasted exactly six hours, as promised. Jon unglued his sticky eyelids, listening to the silence in the house. He'd thought he was going to make it through this week, but the energy he'd felt midway was sucked dry. Pulling the blankets over his head, he smothered himself in a warm, Kurt-scented dark. It was long minutes before he could muster the energy to lift his phone.

Dragging his finger over the screen, he texted: <what time u home>

Jon let the phone drop, feeling the weight of his body sinking into the bed, the ceaseless in and out of his breathing and thump of his heart. He was tired of fighting and tired of carrying everything and his body was so damn determined to live. The slow grind of his thoughts turned to the ways he could jam the gears and actually make it all stop and just not. Have to go on any further.

His phone buzzed in his hand and Jon took another breath in, lifting the light of the screen to his face.

Kurt: <on our way home now bringing viet-thai *heart face*>

Jon pushed himself up and away from the sinking darkness of bed, smacking his cheeks sharply and opening his eyes wide. Yup, still here. Doing this day.

He made himself shower for his partner, then forgot to shave the right side of his face and had to go back to finish the job, half-dressed in front of the mirror.

The sound of the front door thumping closed and Kurt's cheerful, "Honey, I'm home!" put enough life into Jon for him to keep moving forward. It wasn't opes, but it was what he had right now until he decided if he was getting on that train to pull through the rest of this weekend.

Jon's conscience pricked him and his body ached like those ribs were broken again, instead of long healed. Maybe he was on that train already; he had a stash and a plan and half a dozen lies behind him. How many more lies was it going to take to keep Kurt in the dark about the dark?

Jon's feet stuttered to a stop on the top of the stairs and he leaned against the wall to dig his fist into chest, feeling the little bumps where the bones had joined. His ribs didn't still hurt; it was just his fucking addicted brain telling him they did so he would give in and give it what it wanted to feel better.

Shutting his eyes, Jon made himself breathe, fill his ribcage with air and let it out slowly. He wasn't in pain; it wasn't real. He didn't need opes because here he was breathing. He just needed to keep...doing that.

{Kurt}

The moment Kurt saw Jon pad into the kitchen, wrapped in a hoodie pulled down over his hands, his heart squeezed, seeing in Jon's strained face the child Cary had told him about the night before, shouldering the burden of being the son who lived.

With one hand full of the take-out bag, Kurt had to settle for a one-armed hug around Jon's tense body and a kiss on his hair. "Hey love, it's the weekend!" He opened the bag with a flourish. "We thought we'd make our lives easier with take-out and there's lots for left overs tomorrow."

"Maybe," Cary said, coming in behind him. "I'm hungry as a bear."

Jon's mouth lifted in a smile, but Kurt couldn't help noticing the purple thumbprints pressed under his eyes.

"I'm grabbing a shower quick," Cary said, patting Jon's shoulder on the way by. "Good to see you Jon."

"How'd you sleep?" Kurt asked.

Jon rubbed a fist into his eye, cracking a yawn before Kurt was even done asking. "Okay, I guess," he said. He let his hand drop, making a brief smile. "The question is if I'll sleep good tonight."