Ellen reminds me of Kurt, in a way, those beautiful, soft freckles covering her pale skin like flecks of misplaced pepper, as she strives to help me abandon my invasive insecurities again and again and again. Her words running through my brain until her positive notions take root and I actually start to believe her; until the ideas begin to bloom and I actually start to trust, wholeheartedly, in what she’s actually saying to me. It’s such a beautiful feeling, that knowledge that, deep down, I know that I’m doing okay; that I’m surviving; that I’m slowly moving on. That I just forget sometimes.

It’s not easy- trying to retrieve yourself from the rubble and the wreckage of your life but I know that with a little determination and a lot of self-belief I can do it. I can do this. In fact, I’m absolutely determined to fix myself now because I have so much going for me. There’s so much hope burning deep down inside of my chest- and despite all of the dramatic changes in my life and all of the unexpected shifts thrown at me by an already unsteady tide- I can actually see a bold and bright future for myself. A future that not only matches my continuing desire to make something of myself but also highlights my need to be loved by another human being and underlines an ever-expanding part of me that’s almost ready to be completely free.

I’m almost ready to leap into the unknown and spread my wings wide open; I’m almost ready to let the wind carry me away from my past because no one can tether me down, not anymore, I’m no longer confined to live a half-life in a cage, my voice isn‘t being smothered anymore. I can reach out and sing my song, my honest song in all of it‘s glory. I’m finally reclaiming my voice. I can physically feel the shift sometimes. Every passing day is a new beginning where I learn new things about myself and I’m always scared, of course I am, but it’s the fear of the unknown rather than the fear of the familiar and that feels so much better. That feels like such a welcomed relief.

I refocus on Ellen now, watching as her expressive hands travel through the air as she talks. I’ve been in her company for a little over forty minutes today- her bright sea-green eyes sparkling brightly at me as she continues to ask me delicate question after delicate question. Searching me so carefully, in a way that I‘ve come to realise is very Ellen, never pushing me too hard, but not giving up until I’ve informed her about absolutely everything that’s happened to me over the last few days- from Finn, to spending time with Kurt, to exploring my own body, to the horrific nightmare I had. The nightmare that wasn’t supposed to slip past the lock on Kurt’s door. The nightmare that’s thrown me a little because I thought they were gone; I thought that part was over. But it’s okay because Ellen says it’s okay and I trust her.

I find it hard not to tell her the truth, I find it impossible to look at Ellen and then flat out deny her the knowledge of my true feelings- the twisting, shifting emotions that I‘m not even aware I have sometimes. The feelings that gush out of me in huge torrents- only for her to gather them all up fearlessly and then return them to me in a neat, manageable bundle. She’s my secret keeper. My beautiful red-headed confidant with her soft, inviting office and her proudly displayed certificates that prove she knows what she‘s doing.

In here, in her office, I just talk and talk and talk until I’ve laid my heart out for her, until I’ve ripped it clean out of my chest and offered it up to her with a heartfelt letter of apology and a burning measure of shame to wash it all down with. She’s looking right at me now, curiosity written all over her face, holding my eyes steadfast with hers, trying to make me truly understand that I’m still making progress, that I’m still moving in the right direction, that these things do actually happen. That it’s not a sign of overwhelming failure, that it’s not a reason to let hope slip through my fingers. She’s urging me to comprehend that I’m actually doing well as I grip a balled up, damp tissue. But my tears have long stopped.

“The real question,” Ellen says eventually, her words flowing out of her oh-so easily, like our entire session has been building up to this moment, and maybe it has, “Is are you ready to go back to school? Is Blaine Anderson ready to walk up and down hallways again? Is Blaine Anderson ready to make a new set of friends? Craft a brand new beginning for himself? Achieve the academic success that we both know he‘s very capable of? Is he ready to spread his wings?” That final expression catches my attention and I tilt my head a little. Can she see in my head that clearly? I think about it for a while and then I think about everything else. Ellen watching me carefully as my brain ticks over and my fingertips start to press themselves together. A subconscious habit I’ve formed when I’m nervous- or so Ellen tells me.

I try to explain myself then.

“I.. I’m honestly just trying to figure out who I am. Who Blaine Anderson is.” I mutter truthfully and somewhat surprisingly her smile grows.

“I still don’t know exactly who Ellen Walker is, Blaine, it’s not something you need to be specifically worried about. I promise you. You’re human. You grow, develop and change with every passing day and sometimes it can be hard to follow- especially if you‘ve had your personality and your opinions repressed- but that‘s not your fault and now you finally have an opportunity to catch up with yourself. You should take it. Some people never get that chance.” She finishes without difficulty, the ease of her manner calming the nerves that threaten to surge through me any minute now.

“Do you think--” I begin then, my hands falling into my lap, clasping together nervously- both bashful and bold all at once, “Do you think I’ll be okay?”

“I think you’ve got enough gumption to see you through anything, Blaine; the fact that you have such a wonderful, understanding and accepting support system will only aid your recovery.” she urges again and I tilt my head in thought. Recovery. She uses that word a lot; easily as often as she uses words like ‘progress’ and ‘change’ and ‘future’. And I can’t help but smile to myself then. Thinking about how, in the short weeks I’ve known Ellen, her words have moved so far away from ‘fear’ and ‘unsafe’ and ‘confused’.

“I think… I think I want to go to school.” I say eventually, pressing my palms into my thighs, the heels of my hands digging into my legs almost uncomfortably, “I mean, for me, you know? I just.. I worry so damn much about it. It‘s all I‘ve been thinking about.”

“What about it worries you the most?” Ellen asks encouragingly, my eyes falling to the floor as a sudden flourish of shame rises through me. One of my hands rising shakily to curl around a bicep. I feel like such a child, sitting here like this, doing this.

“I worry about everything.” I start anxiously, my eyes flickering from her to the window and the world outside, “I worry that I might have a flashback… that I’ll completely humiliate myself in front of hundreds of people. I worry that they‘ll hate me; that they‘ll look at me with disgust and hatred burning in their eyes. I worry that I wont fit in, that maybe I can’t fit in, that I wont be able to find my place. I worry that, somehow, everyone will find out about my secrets or that no-one will find out about my secrets .. because that almost seems as bad, you know? Does that even make sense? I probably doesn’t, I’m sorry, Ellen. I’m just so scared. If those people who couldn’t destroy Kurt start on me… they will destroy me. I’m not as strong as Kurt is and I just don‘t want to give anybody any reasons to start.” I say honestly and Ellen’s eyes start searching me, probing me for clues, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth and I look away, I have to.

I decide to focus on the clouds outside instead.

Just let me fly.

“Reasons?” she asks then and I shrug awkwardly.

“Reasons to bully me, I guess.. reasons to push me around.. reasons to hate me without even trying to get to know me.” My eyes fall to the floor, “I don‘t want them to become what I‘ve just escaped. I don‘t want to let them get away with hurting me… like I let my father get away with hurting me. I‘m sick of feeling like a pushover. I‘m done with it. I‘m done with being so damn afraid all of the time. I want to be the Blaine Anderson that‘s not scared of everything. The person inside of me that just wants to live.. to love.” I mutter hopelessly.

“Blaine, you are that person. As for your flashbacks, you just have to stay very alert. Focus on reality. Stick close to Puck and Finn. Settle yourself in. Face it head on but at your pace. I know it must feel like such a lot to comprehend but if you’re careful then being surrounded by something new could actually be very good for you.” Ellen says then and I look up at her again. Our eyes meeting firmly.

“I hope it is. I want it to be good for me.” I say and she smiles warmly at me, “If you do have a problem, though, you need to tell someone, okay? Don’t let it fester. You’re not alone anymore. You can always call me. You have my number. Or talk to Kurt- he seems to ground you quite easily. He pulls you out of a lot of things that you can‘t handle by yourself right now. Which is perfectly normal, given what you went through, Blaine. Plus, it‘s good to have someone like Kurt around regardless.” She finishes sweetly.

I smile just thinking about him.

I smile just thinking about us.

“He’s perfect.” I say automatically, before I cringe. I sound like such a lovesick teenager, my cheeks flushing a blistering red as if to prove the point. Ellen just laughs lightly and says somewhat seriously, “Love suits you, Blaine, and it‘s a perfectly healthy relationship, so, I certainly approve from a professional standpoint.”

“We’re not… we’re not together yet.” I remind her quietly and she nods, still smiling over at me as she talks, “I know that, Blaine, that’s why I approve of him, he understands you and what you‘re going through. He’s giving you a lot of support and time. He‘s not about to rush you into anything- which is so, so important. You need to remember that. Don‘t push yourself into something you‘re not ready for.” She finishes firmly, exerting her authority.

A silence hangs between us then and I think it’s a lot heavier than it was supposed to be. Kurt would never push me into something I wasn’t ready for. Kurt would never let me push myself into something I wasn‘t ready for. He’s not that person, he’ll never be that guy.

“He would never hit me or hurt me.” I say then, my mouth acting without seeking prior permission from my brain, and Ellen stiffens for a second before her face comes back to life.

“Blaine? What makes you say that? Have you ever suspected that he might hit you or hurt you? This is really important.” she says, very seriously, the positive mood of the room suffocating under the weight of her questions. It’s like she’s suddenly very concerned that she’s missed something absolutely huge. Like she’s terrified that she’s just approved someone being in my life and now she’s discovered something awful about them. There’s a flicker of genuine panic that lingers in her eyes; it‘s utterly terrifying.

“Of course not. No.” I say firmly, trying to sound slightly offended, but my voice fails me completely, from the shock of it all, and she’s waiting for me to carry on. She’s staring at me now with wide pleading eyes; they’re begging me to tell her the truth and I do. I have to. I take a deep breath, “I just.. I never imagined that after.. after everything. I never thought I’d find someone like him, someone who’d dream of being even half as kind to me as Kurt is. Someone so damn honest and pure and utterly disgusted by everything.. by the things that my father did to me. He helps me remember that it wasn‘t normal. That it wasn‘t healthy. That it wasn‘t right… that it wasn’t my fault. He‘d never hurt me.” I finish in a desperate whisper. Tears threatening to build again but I wont cry.

I bite my lip and look up at the ceiling- I heard once that it’s almost impossible to cry if you’re looking upwards. It seems to work. For the most part. I tighten my grip on the tissue in my hand.

“Blaine. I’m sorry if I upset you.” Ellen says immediately, looking incredibly guilty but seeming to relax a little. I just brush it off, “No, it’s okay, it’s just a sore spot, I guess. Out of everyone Kurt is the only person in the world I’d never be afraid of, you know?” I drag my eyes down until I’m looking at her, “I don’t like him been thought of as a monster, not even for a second. He’s the only person I‘d trust with absolutely anything … he‘s my best friend. In the whole universe.” I finish knowingly, emotionally, and Ellen just nods, her smile finally returning.

“I’m proud of you, Blaine.” she says then, “I’m proud of the steps your taking-especially the huge ones that you’re not even aware of. Keep treating yourself well, okay? And don’t be so hard on yourself. Keep letting Kurt look after you when you need him to and keep talking to Burt. It’s okay to need help. There‘s no shame in it.” She implores and this time I nod.

“I know.” I promise her and she just looks at me for a while, as if pondering something.

“Are you okay to go home with Mr Hummel now?” she asks, briefly glancing at the tissue in my hand, and I nod, “Yes, yeah, of course. Thank you so much, Ellen, for being a constant, professional, reminder that I‘m okay and not completely helpless.” It’s meant to be light-hearted and, thankfully, it doesn’t fall completely flat.

A soft, genuine smile spreading across her features.

“The pleasure is always mine, Blaine. Especially now that you’ve found that beautiful smile of yours.” she says as she stands and walks me to the waiting room, handing me my notebook as she steps beyond her office door, “Keep working hard on this and on everything else, okay? It is paying off and good luck with school. Just be yourself, you‘re a beautiful, beautiful person.”

Ellen and I exchange our final goodbyes then and as I turn, to face the seating area, Burt is already walking over to me. Of course he is. My coat and scarf bundled haphazardly in his arms as he strides over to me, somewhat proudly. He’s not ashamed of me, he’s not ashamed that I have to come here sometimes and that means I’m not ashamed of it either. And I could be ashamed, I know I could. It’d be so easy to be ashamed of needing medical help but I can’t feel that way when he doesn’t. It’s always so nice to see him after I’ve seen Ellen. It’s always lovely to have Burt care so much about me.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks as soon as he’s standing in front of me and I nod. Offering him a small smile before I stuff the tissue that’s been crushed by my hand for half an hour into my back pocket.

“Yeah, I am. Thank you, Burt.” I offer sincerely then and it’s the same thing I say every time we leave here but I’m so, so grateful for this; that he scrapes the money together for me every week.

Burt just shakes his head softly at that and says, with a curious expression on his face, “Don’t worry about it, kid. You know it’s not a problem. Your health is important- both here and here- don‘t you forget that.” He finishes quietly as he points to his head and then his heart.

I offer him a smile then - teeth and all- and I hope that he understands what it means. I hope he understand that it’s saying: You’ve made such a dent in my life, Burt, and I will never forget this. I will never forget you, or your humility, for as long as I live.

Before I have the opportunity to step towards the door, Burt is thrusting my coat at me, fatherly concern lacing his words, “Put it on, kid, and your scarf. I don’t want you getting sick on me. Kurt would be beside himself if you so much as got a cold. You know how he is- he gets it from his mother.” Burt laughs lightly and I can’t help but smile again too. Buttoning my coat up tightly and wrapping my scarf around my neck - the comforting warmth engulfing me as I sink into the thick woollen fabric.

As soon as we step outside the building I stuff my hands into my pockets and say, with as much confidence as I can muster, “I‘m ready to try school.”

Burt doesn’t say anything for a while, he just lets us walk, our feet falling and rising against the hard concrete, but then, as we turn the corner, he reaches out an always welcomed hand and wraps his arm effortlessly around my shoulders. His quiet ‘that’s my boy’ instantly filling my heart with unprecedented joy. I feel like I’ve just made him proud and that alone makes me feel so damn proud of myself.

The rest of Monday and all of Tuesday bring me nothing new- except the pens, pencils, folders and highlighters that I acquired with Carole on an impromptu shopping trip. We had a lot of fun just being together, Carole and I, and it’s really not that hard to understand why Burt fell in love with her. She’s such a strong, generous, beautiful woman.

But, anyway, I simply enjoy living my life for a couple of days. I help Burt with his monthly finances, I help Carole make dinner every night, I help Finn practice football in the yard and I help Kurt with his homework. Not that Kurt needs help with his homework but it’s nice to feel like he needs me; especially as he makes me explain chemical processes to him- processes that I’m one hundred percent sure he already knows.

It’s Wednesday morning when I settle it in my mind- if this is what life has for me, I will gladly take it. It may seem ridiculously bland and routine but after eight years of being beaten in your own home, by a man you thought loved you, bland is good. Routine is excellent.

It’s Wednesday evening when Kurt comes home from school and breaks the routine- unshed tears glistening in his eyes and his arms loaded with heavy books. I don’t notice at first, not really, because I’m sitting on his bed reading the timetable I have, courtesy of Finn, in preparation for tomorrow. My first day of school. Finn has helpfully scrawled either his own name or Puck’s name, or the name of some kid called Mike, under almost all of my classes. All but one- Advanced Art. I’m about to ask Kurt if I should be worried about being alone in Art when I look up and catch him wiping at his eyes. Sniffling discreetly into his sleeve as he shakes head and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He doesn’t want me to notice.

“Kurt?” I whisper then and he frowns, straightening himself up and organising the books he’s just put on his desk. He ignores me, quite obviously, and I automatically climb to my feet, leaving my new timetable on the pillow as I walk over to him. Uncertainty instantly clouding my mind. He’s isn’t like him, not anymore.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I enquire softly- to which Kurt shakes his head, his hand wrapping briefly around his waist. He wants me to give him space and I would except he‘s crying and he’s shaking and I love him. He wants me to leave him alone but his bottom lip is slipping between his teeth as he sits down and starts flicking through the pages of a book and I just can’t walk away from that. I can’t. It’d break my heart.

“Kurt?” I say somewhat desperately, placing a soft hand on one of his shoulders. He tries to shrug off the gesture and frowns- picking up a pen and drumming it off the table. He’s not even looking at the desk anymore, he’s looking at the floor. He’s trying to distract himself. He’s trying to escape his own head. I’ve seen him do this before.

“Did something happen at school today?” I ask finally, my heart racing as his body stiffens and he shakes his head.

“Of course not.” he mutters quietly, his voice riddled with emotion, “It’s Dalton Academy, Blaine, zero tolerance on bad behaviour, remember? You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” he promises shakily but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. He’s still upset, he’s still crying and he’s still not telling me why.

“Please, Kurt?” I ask softly, moving to the side of his chair. Crouching down next to him and sitting back on my legs- catching his eyes briefly as I settle but he just looks away. He looks so sad, I haven’t seen him like this is a very long time. I hoped I’d never see this again.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kurt whispers lightly, after a pause, trying to regain control over his feelings, moving to pick up the pen he must have dropped at some point. I reach out and place my hand over his.

“I am worrying, Kurt. You’re hurting and you wont tell me why and it‘s upsetting.” I implore, hoping he’ll understand, as he gazes back at me with heavy, swollen eyelids. A watery smile plastered on his face but he can barely hold it there. It’s less than convincing, the mask he‘s wearing, I might as well be made of glass.

“I don’t want to upset you, Blaine, you have a big day tomorrow.” he reasons then and I frown. I don’t want him keeping this to himself because of me. I don’t want him dealing with this, whatever it is, alone in a misguided attempt to protect me.

“I care about you much more than I care about tomorrow, Kurt.” I offer quickly and his smile slips into a grimace. My chest starts to ache.

“It’s nothing anyone has done.” he promises then and I pull his hand off the table. His fingers twitching under mine before they push upwards and he‘s holding my hand. I feel like I can connect to him when we’re like this.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice betraying me as it wavers, and that’s all it takes because his face completely collapses right in front of me.

“Blaine.” he whispers then, his tearful eyes gazing at me, “It’s my mom’s birthday.”

“Oh, Kurt.” I say instantly, because I understand this, I understand exactly how it feels as the birthdays pass you by year after year, I understand the longing and the sense of loss, “You could have told me, Kurt. I could have helped you somehow.” I try- the memory of Kurt breaking down in the Lima Bean flooding my head with startling clarity.

It had happened a few short days after our first meeting, as Kurt and I had shared a hazelnut cookie over steaming, polystyrene cups of coffee, and I made the mistake of saying, ‘Have you told your mom about what’s going on at school?’ And he’d replied to me, after a pause, with watery eyes and the unexpectedly blunt words, ‘I tell her everyday, every single day, but she can’t help me.. she’s dead.’

“Blaine, she’s dead.” Kurt whispers harshly- mirroring my memory- and I cringe before I say sadly, “I know, Kurt. I’m so sorry. I do this too. I get upset. I cry. I wonder what might have been… how different my life might have been if she was around.” The words I wonder if my father would still have hurt me or if he’d have started hurting her too never leaving my lips.

“I know it’s stupid to be this upset after all of these years. I just miss her so much and today I couldn’t help but fall apart, you know? I haven’t even spoken to my dad. I don’t know what to say to him. He tried to talk to me and I just ran straight past him and came down here. What kind of a son am I? It‘s his dead wife‘s birthday, Blaine.” He cries then, tears running down his face, and he’s looking right at me. I move forward, using my free hand to wipe his tears away, he’s heartbroken; I feel sick.

“It’s not stupid at all.” I say eventually, tears filling my own eyes now, “Kurt, I’d like to hear more about her, if you’d like to talk about it, I mean. I‘d like to know more about the woman who left such a huge mark of my best friend.”

“Really?” He whispers then, swallowing down a sob, his voice little more than a squeak as he looks up at me hopefully. My chest tightens, it’s too much, him being like this, him being this unsure of everything; of himself.

“Really.” I say and that’s all it takes for him to slide down onto the floor and start talking about a woman he wishes was still alive, a soft smile taking possession of his mouth as he remembers her, as he conjures her up in his memories and lets her live again, just for tonight, because a moment longer would be too much for him to handle. So, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and says, with his damp cheeks still shining under the light, “She was so, so beautiful, Blaine. My dad says she was a real life angel...”

Kurt and I are curled up on his sofa, watching the credits of Moulin Rogue through our tears, our hands pressed firmly together, when we hear a knocking on the bedroom door. We glance over at each other quickly, Kurt wiping harshly at his eyes with his pyjama-top’s sleeve as he tries to suppress the mixed emotions of the film’s climax and his mother’s birthday- so he can answer the door without scaring away whoever it is that stands on the other side. It doesn’t really work, though, his eyes are still bright red and he looks doubly exhausted now.

He moves to stand, regardless of the state he’s in, but I pull him back onto the sofa, “I’ll get it.” I say and Kurt offers me the tiniest of smiles before he reaches for the tissues that were wedged between our legs and starts pulling them out of the box.

I move up the stairs as quickly as I can, only pausing to swipe quickly at my eyes, then I reach out and flick the lock on the door. Pulling it open to reveal an equally exhausted Burt. Holding a tray in his hands as he looks past me, for Kurt. When he pulls his eyes back to me he studies my face and frowns.

“Is he okay?” Burt asks, two mugs shuddering on the tray as his hands start to shake a little. I’ve never seen this side of Burt.

“He’s fine.” I offer carefully, “We’ve just watched Moulin Rogue so he’s bit upset, and he’s still crying, but he’s okay.” I try to reassure him. Burt just sighs, but he’s not annoyed, it’s something else, like something incredibly fragile from inside of him is escaping.

“I made these for you boys,” he says nodding down at the tray, visibly pulling himself together, “It’s warm milk. His mom--Elizabeth-- she used to make a mug for him every night and I don’t know if he told you but it’s her birthday today. I know this, the taste, the warmth, the texture makes him feel a lot better.” Burt explains and I feel overwhelmed.

“Yeah, he told me.” I say softly before I look back over my shoulder, “Do you want to bring it down to him? I think he‘d really like to talk to you, Burt, but I think he‘s scared it’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t want to upset him, son. He ran straight past me earlier. Not even a glance.” Burt says and I nod- one of my hands rising to wrap around a bicep.

“Then he came down here,” I offer earnestly, “And he cried his heart out, Burt. More than anything, I think he just misses him mom and he’s so worried that he’ll upset you by being so upset himself.” I look at him then and I can tell he’s processing everything I’ve just said and what it all actually means in terms of Kurt.

“I’m coming down.” He says decisively, after a beat, and I nod.

“Do you want me to stay up here?” I ask then, allowing him space to talk to his son alone; it doesn’t take long for the reply.

“No, you’re a part of this family now. You can stay here if you need to but you‘re more than welcome to follow me down.” I nod my head, there isn’t even a doubt in my mind. I’m following him down. I let him past me and I lock the door behind us, the click resonating off the walls, Burt doesn’t stop, doesn’t say a word, he just carries on.

Kurt is sat on the sofa with his knees pulled up under his chin, his face hidden by an arm, surrounded by discarded tissues as his shoulders shake softly. Even when he’s heartbroken he manages to look beautiful. Burt walks over to the table in front of the sofa and puts the tray down, glancing at Kurt with an understanding expression before he lifts one of the mugs and moves to sit next to his son. I sit on the arm of the chair- on the opposite side of Kurt- and watch intently as Burt reaches out a hand and fearlessly places it on his son’s shoulders. Kurt freezes, just for a second, and then his whole body is shuddering.

“Kurt.” Burt says, like he just wants to let him know that he’s there, “I know, son.”

Kurt cries and cries and cries until Burt moves one of his son’s arms from his face and whispers, “Do you want your milk before it gets cold?” Kurt looks over then and stares at his dad for a while before he nods and forces himself to sit up properly. His legs falling down as he wipes his eyes and takes the milk from Burt. His hands wrapping around the mug, soaking in the warmth as a whimper escapes him.

“Drink it up.” Burt says before he looks over at me and says, “You too. We could all do with a pick-me-up.” I nod and reach out, taking the warm mug from the tray and wrapping my fingers around it.

Kurt shuffles over and rests his head on his dad’s shoulder then, only moving when he wants to take a sip. I’m content just watching the unspoken words fly between them both, amongst all of the love, but that doesn’t satisfy Kurt.

Kurt wedges his mug between his thighs, momentarily, and reaches out a hand - pulling me off the arm of the chair and onto the sofa. I land mere centimetres away from him. He smiles a little- as I struggle to keep the remainder of my warm milk in the mug- and then he puts his hand on my leg.

It’s a beautiful gesture, a gesture he doesn’t need to make but he does anyway. And, as he leans back on his dad’s shoulder, he’s telling me that he knows I’m always there for him and that he’s grateful and I have never understood what being a family truly means- not as much as I do in this moment.

I belong here. I move my hand to cover his.

Burt is still with us when Kurt falls asleep- his hand still in mine and his head still on Burt’s shoulder. It’s not awkward, it’s not uncomfortable, it’s just beautiful.

“I’ll carry him to bed.” Burt says eventually, after a period of soft silence, and I nod before a thought crosses my mind; before worry etches itself on my face.

“Your heart, Burt. I should carry him.” I say but he just laughs lightly.

“I can manage a few feet, buddy. Plus, he’s taller than you, you’d hurt yourself. I’m not risking that.” He whispers half seriously.

“Are you sure?” I ask then and he just nods before he stands and somehow manoeuvres a sleeping Kurt all at once. Lifting his son like it’s absolutely nothing and I can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this. How many times Burt’s carried his exhausted, sleeping son to his bed.

I follow them over and pull the covers back for Burt, watching as he lays Kurt down on the bed and tucks the covers tightly around him. Stooping down to brush stray strands of hair from his son’s face before he lays a soft kiss on his forehead, “She’s so proud of you, Kurt.” he whispers and then he turns to look at me.

There’s a delicate smile on his face and I can tell he’s thinking of her. He’s thinking about Elizabeth, his beautiful wife who, like a real life angel, was taken away from the world much too soon.

Burt has Carole now and Kurt has me but they still miss her sometimes and that’s okay.

“You want me to tuck you in too?” Burt asks then, without hesitation, and I smile back at him.

“I need to lock the door.” I offer regretfully and he shakes his head.

“Kurt’s mom will be here, you don’t have to worry about that, not tonight, son.” he says softly and my eyes start to fill again.

“I’d like that.” I whisper honestly and he nods. Watching as I climb into bed before he moves around carefully to my side of the bed.

He lets me settle into the pillows that surround my head before he tucks me in and kisses his fingertips- pressing them softly against my forehead as he says, with a caring smile, “ Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning, buddy.”