It was a warm, sticky, end-of-August day in New York City. Kurt had been sitting in the car for hours and didn't know how much longer he could stand it - the aching in his legs, yearning to move, and the anticipation of meeting new people, seeing new things, starting a new life.

"Just about a half-hour left," said Burt with a sad smile. That was one thing Kurt would miss about Lima. He always loved seeing his dad smile, even though the smile he just saw hinted at Burt's holding back tears for quite some time. "So what are you most excited for, buddy?" Kurt didn't know where to begin. "I'm just happy I get to start over where people are more open-minded, Dad. That's all I've ever really wanted." Once again, Burt smiled, and Kurt took his father's big and calloused free hand into his own hand, smooth and slender.

"Your mother would be so proud of you, Kurt. I'm so proud of you." And now Burt couldn't hold back the tears anymore. His tears started welling up the second they'd pulled out of the driveway on Thursday morning. Now it was Sunday morning, and it was almost too much for him to take. His little (well, not so little anymore) boy was really growing up, really moving out. Kurt's porcelain skin, blue eyes, and delicate features reminded him of his wife, Elizabeth, from the time Kurt was a baby. But now, Kurt was everything about Elizabeth that Burt had ever loved. Kurt was kind and gentle, but he spoke his mind and he was strong. Kurt had gone through so much, and every day, Burt watched him become even more beautiful, inside and out. What was he going to do without Kurt? They had been there for each other since day one and knew each other better than anyone else. Burt had Carole and Finn back at home, but his own son, baking a soufflé or reading a new issue of Vogue, wouldn't be there when he came home each day.

“Thank you, Dad.” Burt looked at Kurt with a confused expression on his face. “For what, buddy?” Kurt took a deep breath and smiled. “You're the only person who never told me I couldn't do this. And look where I am! We're moving my things into my apartment in Manhattan. I couldn't have done any of this without you. It's just all starting to hit me now.” Kurt smiled again and Burt gave his son's hand a squeeze, realizing he was going to have to let go – very soon.

Burt and Kurt arrived around ten o'clock and managed to move all of Kurt's belongings into the apartment (well, a more appropriate term would be “shoebox”) within three hours. Just after the two men had unpacked the last box, Kurt's phone rang.

“Rachel, I have no idea where you are, but since I got here first, I already chose my bedroom... What do you mean you're not getting here until tomorrow?”

Burt watched his son with wide eyes. He knew his son, and he knew that tone of voice. For Rachel's sake, he really hoped she knew exactly what to say to Kurt at that moment. Burt sometimes thought to himself that, if it were possible for someone to shoot daggers with his eyes, that someone was Kurt. He was sure Kurt could inflict some kind of damage with his voice in that tone too.

“Well, okay... I understand... Mhm, I hope your dad feels better soon,” he said in a clipped tone, tapping his foot impatiently. “Love you! See you tomorrow.”

Kurt hung up his phone and stomped across (what normally would have been) the living room. “Ugh, one of Rachel's dads got carsick and her other dad refuses to continue driving until tomorrow morning. Good thing classes don't start for another week.” Kurt covered his face with his hands and took a few deep breaths.

Burt decided Kurt had calmed down enough for him to start speaking. “Hey, buddy? When we drove down the block, I saw someplace with a salad bar up near the corner. Wanna go grab lunch? I won't even put dressing on my salad,” Burt suggested with a hopeful smile. Kurt smiled back. “That sounds great, Dad. Do you mind if I change my clothes first? Nothing fancy, but I just feel so gross after all that lifting.” Kurt Hummel? Nothing fancy?, Burt thought to himself. “Sure, kiddo. Take your time!”

Kurt washed up quickly and threw on his favorite – and by favorite, he meant only – sweatshirt, with “Juilliard” written across the front in bold, navy lettering. When he and Burt walked downstairs, he saw a boy – a gorgeous boy – wearing a purple NYU sweatshirt who must have been moving into the building, as well. NYU boy smiled at Kurt, and Kurt attempted to smile back, but couldn't manage to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. As soon as he stepped outside, he nearly screamed. “The ONE time I go out looking less than fabulous, ohmyGod, seriously.” Burt couldn't suppress his laughter as he watched Kurt storm up the block ahead of him. This was certainly going to be an interesting year... or four.