For Keeps

23. Jesus is a brown dude.

{Jon}

The sleeping pills gave Jon six blissfully oblivious hours of sleep, but it was still dark when his eyes blinked open in Kurt's tent. Jon's hand dropped to find the soft mop of Kurt's hair, tucked against his ribs, his partner's slow sleeping breaths brushing the skin above Jon's hip.

Today. Tomorrow. Almost through.

Jon tucked his left arm over his chest, feeling the warmth of his own body and the rise and fall of his breath while his skin prickled as if to call to his mind every line that he had unzipped for relief before. He slowed his breathing, reminding himself of where he was; not only in the bed he shared with the man he loved, but also tucked next to the dark bulk of a God who was bigger that all his shit, who overshadowed him with care. In December, Jon had to keep calling back to his mind the times that God had been comprehensible, had shown up for him in ways he could understand, and hold onto the belief that God had not changed and would show up for him again.

Once out of all the times Jon had opened his skin, he had woken up the next morning with those cuts closed and healed and the lingering taste of a kiss from Jesus' own lips in his mouth. It was an experience too vivid and strange to categorize, entirely consistent with who God said he was on paper but unexpectedly personal. Apparently, some days Divine Love made time to step into the bedrooms of angsty, borderline suicidal gay teenagers and intervene.

Maybe that kind of spiritual encounter only happened when you were young. Jesus wasn't hanging out in Jon's bedroom now, or at least not in a way that was visible to Jon, but for all the darkness arrayed against him on these December days, Jon was still sure he was loved. When he came up empty and dry, nothing left for himself, that memory came back to tap on his shoulder. Jon might look alone, but he was not alone.

When he stirred to get out of bed, Kurt's fingers found his wrist, catching him. "Where you goin'?" his voice slurred sleepily.

Jon's smile curved. He wasn't alone at all, anymore. Kurt's very present care strengthened Jon's resolve to do this day sober, skin intact. "I'm hitting the bag. Jumping rope. Getting all sweaty then coming back here for a shower." He touched his lips to Kurt's scruffy cheek. "I'll get you up for coffee."

"Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do," Kurt grumbled, then pulled the blankets over his head.

{Kurt}

Kurt didn't fall back asleep after the bump of adrenaline that came with waking up to Jon leaving him. Curling around Jon's pillow, Kurt thought dreamily of Jon's lips brushing his cheek and the way the other man had cuddled into him at bedtime, just wanting to be held until his sleeping pills kicked in. Kurt was used to blending into the background when someone needed him, becoming whatever his mom or Nicky needed in the moment. The only way he got heard in those relationships was if he turned the volume way up on his own needs and feelings.

Thinking of Jon touching his face and telling him he was beautiful all the time, Kurt's heart squeezed and expanded. His partner was hella fragile right now and he still looked in Kurt's eyes and saw him and loved him. Every day Kurt thought, I love Jon as much as its possible for me to love anyone. And every day he saw little things about Jon--the way he touched him softly on the way by, the way he asked for help with his eyes--and found his heart stretching yet another size bigger in response.

He wanted to do something for Jon. Something that was outrageous enough to tell Jon how much he loved him, and intimate enough that Jon wouldn't be embarrassed.

Kurt rolled out of bed and flipped on the light, finger-combing his hair and smiling at himself in the mirror. He jumped back into his chinos and pulled on a fresh V-neck T, as blue as the pool he used to have, on a day in June. Their church was totally ready for Kurt Visser to show a little colour.