For Keeps

19. Glad to be alive.

{Cary}

Cary slept poorly, eyes blinking open at every sound, ears straining in the dark. By four in the morning it occurred to him that he had forgotten to take the tiny pink pill his doctor had prescribed years ago to smooth out his nighttime anxiety, which nudged him over the edge of sleep every night. Sighing, Cary got up. It was too late to take that med now, unless he wanted to sleep half of Saturday away. He was too worried about Jon to stay in bed.

Quietly, he paced through their house, floor by floor, checking every room and behind every door, leaving the basement for last. He guessed he could have just checked Kurt's room first, but that felt like a pretty serious invasion of the other man's privacy, to poke his head in while he was sleeping and defenseless.

Misty trotted at his heels, her tail flipping back and forth, and Cary nudged her back with his sock foot at the basement door. "No cats downstairs. Tinsel will give you a hell of a hairball, sweetheart."

He hurried down the steps to slap on the light at the bottom; the lack of light switch at the top of the basement stairs was by far his least favorite thing about this house. Bright fluorescents lit up their empty sparring floor, Jon's battered punching bag, the glittering toy tree and the mini fridge tucked beside it.

Telling himself he just wanted to turn on the string of twinkle lights to admire the tree, Cary padded over the springy floor and plugged them in. Then he looked over his shoulder to check the last corner, his stomach in knots.

There was a storage space under the stairs, the half-door not visible from the top of the steps. Cary pressed his knuckles hard against his moustache, for a single second seeing that door open to the dark, dusty space, partially concealing Jon White's body curled behind it, like an animal that had crept away to die.

The door was closed; the unfinished concrete floor in front of it swept clean.

He let out his breath, scrubbing his hands through his hair and blinking against his burning eyes. Of all the scary shit Cary had lived through, that moment and the ones that followed haunted him still--he guessed because there was always a chance he'd have to live through that again. His father was a broken-down old man drinking himself to death in southern Alberta and couldn't have hurt him now if he tried.

Jon White was still very much capable of crossing himself off the list of the living people Cary loved more than life. He left the toy tree lights on and went back upstairs.

Footsteps pattered lightly down from upstairs as he was starting his coffee and Jon came into the kitchen, dressed for a workout, his arms bare. Seeing Cary, his face lifted in an honest-to-God smile.

"Morning," Jon said softly.

Cary's own mouth lifted and he turned aside. "Hey Jon. Want a coffee?"

Jon's hand touched his shoulder briefly on the way by. "After my yoga sesh, yeah I do." He shoved their carpet to the edge of the room and rolled out his mat in front of the tree. "You're up early." Jon's eyes flicked to him, concern plain in their look.

"Forgot to take my sleep med," Cary said, shrugging.

He lingered over his coffee at the table while the whole main floor filled with steamy warmth, listening to the sound of his brother breathing.

{Jon}

The smell of the tree beside him intensified in the heat; every breath was a lungful of fresh green pine scent. It was more effort than usual to move through his yoga flow; his body was stiff and out of shape from weeks cramming hours of studying around his work schedule. His yoga mat was damp with his own sweat under his palms as he pushed his body into the air and leaned the soles of his feet against the wall in an assisted handstand.