anderson
June 8, 2012, 1:58 a.m.
To Break a Heart
For a long time, Burt Hummel isn't sure how he feels about his son's boyfriend. (Burt POV)
K - Words: 408 - Last Updated: Jun 08, 2012 901 0 0 1 Categories: Angst, Characters: Blaine Anderson, Burt Hummel, Kurt Hummel, Tags: established relationship,
For a long time, Burt Hummel isn’t sure how he feels about his son’s boyfriend.
How is a father supposed to handle his little boy growing up to date the person that came to him to talk about sex? Who asked him to teach his son about sex because he was worried? He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with his son dating that boy a week after they had their talk; a week after he realised how innocent Kurt was, how he needed to be protected.
But there was something about the kid that tugged on Burt’s heart, and it took him a good few weeks to work out.
The doorbell rang and Finn rushed to answer it, greeting Blaine with a smack on the back and a bright smile. The shorter boy grinned and stepped in - but he didn’t move to take off his scarf or his shoes, he didn’t reply to Finn asking how he was. He searched; Burt could see it. His eyes moved across the room, running over every surface, looking at every chair and, when he saw nothing but emptyness, his smile faltered a little. Burt didn’t understand, not at first, as he stepped forward to join in the conversation about football.
Then Kurt appeared. He twirled around the top of the banister with a shout, rushing down the stairs. And Burt couldn’t tear his eyes away from Blaine, not for a second.
If he was a man for poetry and all that wish-wash he would have said that that’s what he saw in Blaine’s eyes - poetry. Blaine seemed to stop breathing for a second, his chest hitching, his fingers falling from where he had absently plucked at a thread of wool. The frown-behind-a-smile fell from his face and he beamed - he radiated happiness like the sunshine was in his eyes.
He stepped forward and put a hand on Kurt’s arm, slipped his hand down and tangled his fingers with Kurt’s, and he looked like he’d been found. Like a man starved that had been fed, but not in the way that would make any father reach for his shotgun. In the way that a lost animal got when the love it was used to was taken away, dangled before it and then given back.
And then? Then Burt couldn’t find a reason to hate Blaine. Because, he thought, Blaine wouldn’t be breaking anyone’s heart, not anytime soon. Not when he looked like that.
How is a father supposed to handle his little boy growing up to date the person that came to him to talk about sex? Who asked him to teach his son about sex because he was worried? He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with his son dating that boy a week after they had their talk; a week after he realised how innocent Kurt was, how he needed to be protected.
But there was something about the kid that tugged on Burt’s heart, and it took him a good few weeks to work out.
The doorbell rang and Finn rushed to answer it, greeting Blaine with a smack on the back and a bright smile. The shorter boy grinned and stepped in - but he didn’t move to take off his scarf or his shoes, he didn’t reply to Finn asking how he was. He searched; Burt could see it. His eyes moved across the room, running over every surface, looking at every chair and, when he saw nothing but emptyness, his smile faltered a little. Burt didn’t understand, not at first, as he stepped forward to join in the conversation about football.
Then Kurt appeared. He twirled around the top of the banister with a shout, rushing down the stairs. And Burt couldn’t tear his eyes away from Blaine, not for a second.
If he was a man for poetry and all that wish-wash he would have said that that’s what he saw in Blaine’s eyes - poetry. Blaine seemed to stop breathing for a second, his chest hitching, his fingers falling from where he had absently plucked at a thread of wool. The frown-behind-a-smile fell from his face and he beamed - he radiated happiness like the sunshine was in his eyes.
He stepped forward and put a hand on Kurt’s arm, slipped his hand down and tangled his fingers with Kurt’s, and he looked like he’d been found. Like a man starved that had been fed, but not in the way that would make any father reach for his shotgun. In the way that a lost animal got when the love it was used to was taken away, dangled before it and then given back.
And then? Then Burt couldn’t find a reason to hate Blaine. Because, he thought, Blaine wouldn’t be breaking anyone’s heart, not anytime soon. Not when he looked like that.